#she can smell bullshit along with blueberries

[itsteddydarling]

Mr. Reed every time Sister Barnes kept asking about the blueberry pie or his wife during his religious questioning:

[avintagekiss24]

GOOD STUFF || ANDY BARBER

pairing: Andy Barber x black!reader || word count: 3,798 || warnings: smut, sex, slight degradation, cum play, public sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying kink, praise kink || request: #39 - “they have good stuff down at the farmers market” w/ lawyer daddy Andy

authors note: back on my bullshit with this man. this is the first 4k celebration fic! i actually got this request some time last week when I first reblogged one of the prompt lists. inspiration for the sexy time came from @honeychicanawrites​ headcanon (🥴🤤 so fucking good), line divider by @firefly-graphics​!

You tap your fingernails against the open refrigerator door as you bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes bouncing around. You push a few items around, open the drawers, then move more items around, failing to find anything particularly appetizing. You could order a pizza; or chinese - Andy loves Chinese… but you know he’s been in court all week, his long days turning even longer; he can’t even relax when he’s home. The jury has been out for two days, and he’s worried. A home cooked meal is exactly what he needs.

You close the refrigerator and spin on your heel, grabbing your keys from the table and sling your purse over your shoulder and chest. You smile gently to yourself as you move out into the garage, hearing Andy’s voice in your head. Again? What is it with you and that farmers market?

It’s a short drive to your favorite little market, and within twenty minutes your nose is full of the fresh smell of fruits and vegetables, your fingers wrapped around a small basket. The air is crisp as autumn starts to blow through, the leaves on the trees all burnt oranges and browns, but the breeze is unseasonably warm. You browse slowly, stopping more frequently than not to pick up a ripe tomato, or an ear of corn just to smell them.

You scan through recipes mentally as you move through the large, crowded market picking up a little of everything on your way. Your phone buzzes in your hand, Andy’s name flashing across the front as you turn it over.

“Babe?” You say gently as you lift the sleek phone to your ear. Your stomach drops a little - it’s hours before he’s supposed to be home. The decision is in.

“We won.” Is all he says and you can hear the relief in his voice.

You close your eyes and tilt your head upwards, a smile on your face, “I knew you would baby. I’m so happy for you.”

“Well, you were the only one that knew,” his low chuckle rumbles in your ear, “I need to get the fuck out of here before I pull my hair out.”

“I’m at the store, so I’ll meet you at the house.”

He pauses, “Again?”

“What do you mean again?” you laugh, “I haven’t been to the store this week.”

“I know you better than that, you’re at the damn market again.”

You laugh, “They have good stuff down at the farmers market.”

You can practically hear his eyes roll, “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

“No, babe, just go home and take a nice long shower.” You start, smiling as you pass a twenty to the young girl at the stand, “Get in your sweats - just relax. You can turn on some stupid Eddie Murphy movie and fall asleep with your hand down your pants and I won’t even complain.” His laugh travels through your ears and you can’t help but smile, “You deserve it.”

You can hear the soft click of his briefcase in the background, his steps against the marble floors of the courthouse, “I’ll meet you in twenty. Love you.”

The phone clicks before you can get out another word. You shake your head but smile as you slide the phone into your purse and start to move towards the front, to wait for him.

Andy Barber is nothing but punctual. Twenty minutes on the dot you spot his black Audi pulling into the parking lot and another smile spreads on your face. You continue to watch as he emerges from the front seat, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it in the back seat before he slides his sunglasses over his eyes. He moves around the back of the car, undoing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up his forearms as he walks.

Your core tightens as you look him up and down, having to take a deep breath and expel it out of your nostrils to combat the sudden heat that flushes through your body. Your smile widens when he lifts his head and smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he approaches.

He reaches for you, holding out his large hand and without thinking, you slide your smaller palm into his, letting him pull you into his hard body, “Hey baby.” His voice is deep, slow - tired.

You squeeze him, letting out another deep breath, “Hey, you.” You lean back after a few seconds, cupping his face in your palm as your eyes move around his face, “You look tired.”

He nods slowly, running his hand through his hair before he smiles softly at you again, “Nothing I can’t handle. Come on.”

“Lynn is going to give you a break, right? Is she gonna give some stuff to Neal for a change?”

He cuts his eyes at you at the sound of his name, “Not if anything big comes along, but yeah, she will.”

He links his fingers with yours, holding your hand tight as the two of you start to move down the aisle of the market. The breeze whips around you as the two of you make small talk, you careful not to bring up the case unless he does. You know it’s the last thing he wants to talk about. Taking your cues from him, you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he pokes and prods at random pieces of fruit. You run your hand up and down his long arm, up over his shoulder and massage the back of his neck as he pays for some blueberries, popping a few into his mouth as you laugh.

“I told you not to do that,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his back, “You need to wash them first.”

He shrugs and thanks the older woman before he pulls you around his body, tucking you into his side as he throws his arm over your shoulder. He kisses your forehead, “You look cute today.”

You laugh again, “Don’t ignore me, you can get sick from doing that, Andy!” He tickles the back of your exposed thigh, making you jump and squeal, giggles falling from your lips, “Andrew Barber!”

“That’s my name, you can totally wear it out.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “What a fuckin’ nerd.”

“I’m a nerd because I like hearing you scream my name?” He asks seriously, stopping in front of you.

Your mouth drops open as your eyes widen, “Shhh!” you hiss, looking around, “Keep your voice down!”

He wraps you back up in his arms, pushing his chest and crotch into you, “Okay,” he whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress when we get home.”

His words suck the air right out of your lungs. Your lips part as you blink back at him, your face hot, your legs turning to jelly at just the thought. You inhale sharply, a dumbstruck look on your face as your mind goes blank. He laughs at you, “Cat got your tongue, baby?”

“Andy,” Is all you can mutter.

He sucks his teeth, glancing over the top of your head as he sneaks his hand up into your skirt, palming your ass, making you gasp, “I haven’t fucked you all week. I’m horny, my cock misses you.” He purrs into your ear, gently swaying the two of you back and forth.

You exhale hard. Your eyes skirt around the market as your heart starts to beat faster, the blood rushing in your ears. He pinches your ass, then slides his hand slowly around your hip before he cups your sex, his fingers rubbing your slit through your panties.

The air chokes in your throat. You hear him grunt softly as your panties start to stick to your skin. He chuckles before he leans down to kiss your lips, “Such a responsive girl. Come, let’s get you home, hm?”

He grabs your hand, linking your fingers with his as he takes a few steps, “Better yet,” he says, bopping your nose with his index finger before he grabs your wrist and starts to pull you through the aisles in the opposite direction.

You follow behind him, almost having to jog to keep up with his long gait. He pulls you out of the small market and crosses the street, looking both ways as you run behind a few moving cars. He pulls you between two office buildings, stopping and turning suddenly to grab your face and crash his lips to yours. You drop the bags carrying your food around your feet, moaning into his mouth as you squeeze his sides.

He backs you into the brick building behind you, lifting your leg by your thigh and throwing it over his hip. You can’t object - you can’t find the words. You just wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him to you as he nips at your neck, right underneath your jaw - just how you like it. You tilt your head towards the sky, grunting softly as you arch your back from the wall, pushing your hips into his.

He grips your thigh tight, his wedding ring pressing into your skin - searing your flesh. He bites down into the crook of your neck and you jump from the sudden pain, your mouth falling open, a sharp moan slipping from your lips. He chuckles, deeply, slowly, into your ear as he runs his fingers over your pussy, palming your hot sex through your underwear, “You like that, baby?”

He leans back, his blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your dark eyes as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He circles your clit, pressing the pads of his fingers against your heat. You roll your hips into his hand as you pant heavily, trying to keep your eyes linked with his. You have to sink your teeth into your own lip to stop yourself from getting loud - and he loves it. He loves doing this to you in the worst places.

He grabs your lips with his again, kissing you hard - his velvet tongue sweeping over your lip and the roof of your mouth as he finally pushes your panties to the side, “Andy-” you hiss, sucking in air as he pushes his fingers through your sticky folds, “Fuck, Andy.”

“Can you be a quiet girl? Hmm?” He asks softly, turning his head slightly to glance towards the sidewalk, “Can you be good for me?”

You nod quickly, completely out of breath and nearly vibrating from the lust pooling in your stomach, “Yes.” You whisper hard.

You drop your eyes to his crotch, watching as his hands start to undo his belt and pop the button of his expensive slacks. You whine audibly - digging your fingers into his shoulders in anticipation of that pretty cock. He pulls himself free and you could melt into a puddle. He’s hard, and long - thick - his tip shiny and wet from the droplets of precum that have dribbled out. He wraps his hand around his girth, stroking himself slowly - from his base to the tip, sweeping his fingers over his slit.

“Andy,” you beg, pushing your hips into him, wanting to feel him spread you open, “Please, baby.”

He smiles.

He slips his cock through your folds, rubbing your clit with his tip before he pushes at your opening. He flicks his eyes up to you and rests his forehead against yours - his lips brushing over your swollen lips, “You gonna be a quiet girl?”

“Yes!”

He licks your lips with his hot tongue, “Good girl.”

He pushes slowly and you help - sinking down onto his thick cock - letting him spread your tight, wet muscles. Your eyes flutter - your mouth drops open as he occupies your depth, filling you right up. You wrap your arms around his neck again as he nuzzles into the side of your face, his soft beard rubbing against your cheek, adding to your desire. You dig your fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful to gip as he starts to move, pulling completely out of your cunt before he delves back in.

You can’t help the moans that fall from your lips and fill the air as his hips push you slightly up the wall. You keep your leg thrown over his hip as he fucks into you, one of his hands around your throat, the other flattened on the bricks to hold his weight. He pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, and you bite down before you push your tongue along it, inviting him to shove the rest of it in so you can suck on it.

“You are such a good girl,” he grunts into your ear, nibbling and pulling on your earlobe.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the praise, your chest swelling with pride. You are such a good girl. He continues to pound his hips into yours, bouncing you up and down on his dick as he lifts your hand, his fingers playing with the big, shiny rock on your finger. He kisses it before shoving your fingers into his mouth, a thick, heavy moan scratching at the back of his throat.

A shiver runs the length of your spine as his tongue swirls around your thin digits, his hips still digging into yours. Your slick muscles start to squeak from the wetness; from his warmth pushing and pulling from you, filling every inch of space your sweet pussy has to offer. You can feel your arousal slipping down the inside of your thigh, thick and warm, a mixture of your slick and his seed.

Andy pushes deep inside of you, halting his hard rhythm to wiggle his hips slowly, wanting to go deeper - to feel every part of you. He leans back again, his eyelids low as he watches you squirm. A slow smirk covers his mouth as he pumps his hips just once, pushing deep again, “Do I feel good?”

His voice is husky - full and silky as he teases you. You nod as your head swims, your stomach and chest tight, your clit swollen and achy, begging to be touched. You writhe, pushing your tits and hard nipples into his chest and roll your hips, catching the faintest touch of his pants against your bundle of nerves, making you shiver again. He slams into you unexpectedly and you squeal, digging your nails into his bare forearm.

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his words slightly slurred as his own arousal gets the best of him, “Do I feel good to you, baby?”

“You know you do, Andy, baby,” you groan, rolling your hips again, “S’good.”

He slips his hand down your body and between your legs, pushing his fingers against your clit and begins to rub you slowly, his eyes staying on yours, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You like being my little whore, don’t you baby girl? Hmm?”

You grunt at the words. Your body tenses as your lust and need of him unfurls in your stomach. This man - this reticent, straight-laced, uptight man turns into the absolute devil at the sight of you - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Gone are the eloquent speeches he laces together on almost a whim to charm and convince his jury. All that’s left are the dirty, lush, hot words that strike you to your core. It must be the Gemini in him.

You pull your hips back, his cock sliding out of you before you roll back onto him, pushing that fat cock back in, “I love being your whore.” You whisper, biting your lip just as the last word slips between your teeth.

He shutters. You feel it roll through him and you can’t help but smile. You love this little game.

Andy hisses as he pulls out of you slowly and jams himself back in, nipping at your mouth with his as he starts his pace again. His fingers continue to push against your clit, rough and quick as your octave starts to rise. He stops suddenly, shaking his head as he places his index finger to his lips, “Be a quiet girl.” He reminds you, his voice hushed, “Or you won’t get anymore.”

You sink your teeth into your lip again and nod frantically, urging him to move. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling his chest into yours and slam your eyes closed as he sends you on a journey. He fucks into you hard and fast, grunting and growling in your ear as your cunt tightens around him.

“Fuckin’ hell, girl,” he mutters, his chest tight, his large palm gripping and pinching your thigh.

You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries as shockwaves start to roll through you. Each pulse of your orgasm gets harder and more intense, your legs shaking, your hips jerking into his as it washes over you. Your choked mewls fill the small area between the two buildings that shield you from view as you arch your back away from the wall, pushing your thick nipples into his hard chest.

“You want my cum, baby? Hmm?” He asks, his voice strained, “You crave my cum, don’t you girl? That’s right,” he breathes, “You love my cum.”

It isn’t long after that - the convulsions of your heat, the slick of your femininity - coax his untethering. His strokes punctuate each spit of his cock, his thick, silky cum filling you up to the very brim. He grunts, low and deep - scratchy - as his dick jumps inside of you, giving you every ounce of him. He slips out of you seconds later and falls to his knees, pulling your short, flowy skirt up to your waist.

He pulls your panties down, leaving them in the middle of your thighs before he pushes your legs open as wide as they can go. He grabs your arms and wraps them over your stomach, holding your wrists in one of his hands, pushing them into you to keep you still as the other hand slips through your folds. You squeeze your muscles tight, wanting to keep every drip of him inside but it trickles out, running down your thigh.

“Aww baby,” he coos, flicking his eyes up to yours, “That pretty little pussy is so full! You need me to help you keep it all in, don’t you? You always need daddy’s help.”

You whimper, pushing your hips into his face as he drags his fingers up your thigh, collecting his cum, pushing it back up to your messy pussy. He shoves his thick fingers into you, groaning loudly as you tense and jump - still sensitive, still reeling from your shattering orgasm. He pumps his fingers inside of you, staring at your wet, sticky, puffy cunt, sucking his teeth and moaning all the while.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he praises, still holding your arms tight so you can’t move, “You are such a good girl, taking my cum like that. I love how well you take my cum.”

You pant hard, your face breaking as emotion starts to roll down your cheeks. You cry softly as he fingers your delicate, sore cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you. You start to shiver, whimpering and crying as you rest your head against the wall, tilting your head towards the sky. It feels so good to be so full of him - his fingers, his cum - it just feels so damn good.

His tongue skirts across your clit and you sob, your body jerking at the sudden spark of electricity that flashes through you, “Oh my god,” you cry, “Andy.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking hard before he pulls away with a loud smack - moaning as he watches his fingers plunge in and out of you, “You’ve earned this baby girl,” he says softly, “For being such a good girl while I was working. I hate neglecting you.” He moans again as he pushes his face into your sex, sucking your flesh back into his mouth before he pulls away again, “You are my favorite girl in the whole world.”

You cum again within minutes, all over his fingers and face, his soft hums vibrating through you as he laps it up. Your legs are jelly as he kisses the insides of your thighs and down to your knee as he continues pushing his fingers in and out of you, curling them gently, massaging your taut muscles.

He thumbs your clit as he peppers kisses up and down your leg. Your clit stings from the stimulation, your heart pounds in your chest - the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. When he knows you’ve had enough, when you can barely stand any longer, he pulls his fingers from you. He kisses your swollen cunt sweetly before he stands and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

He hugs you tightly, his large hands sweeping up and down your back, “I love you so much,” he whispers softly, dropping kisses along your forehead and cheeks, over your nose, in the corners of your mouth, “I love you so, so much. You know that, right? I can’t ever get enough of you, baby.”

You ball his shirt in your hand as he lifts you from your feet, wrapping your legs around his waist. You’re a crying mess - unable to verbalize your love for him, but you know that he just knows. He holds you tight, rubbing your back slowly as you nuzzle into his neck. He only sits you back on your feet once you’ve calmed down, hovering over you, his thumbs wiping at your cheeks to remove the wetness of your tears. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you gently, purring as a smile tugs at his lips.

“Your lips are always so soft after you cry.”

You smile soft, your eyes still closed as you run your hands up and down his veiny, hairy forearms - still grounding yourself, “Yours are always soft.”

He smiles, warm and gentle, making you swoon like you were back in college, laying eyes on him for the very first time. He pushes his hands along the sides of your face again, both of his thumbs brushing over your plump lips, “Let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” you giggle, “Just grab the bags for me, please.”

“I don’t want you driving.” He brings your hand to his lips, kissing the backs of your fingers, “I’ll come get your car later. Come.”

His tone is stern. You know better than to argue with the best district attorney in all of Massachusetts.

[sxvxrxssnape]

severus' sixty-first birthday

- minerva sends severus a birthday card every year and though she doesn't sign it or return address it, he knows they're from her. they worked together for years, he recognizes her handwriting

- he's not entirely sure how she found his address but maybe owls are just that good at tracking people. still, she never asks to see him or mentions how the rest of the wizarding world has long thought he's dead

- at this point, he opens his kitchen window in the morning and watches the sun peaking over the horizon as it starts to rise, sipping on his coffee, as he waits for the letter to arrive

- he'll read through it, smiling softly (though he wonders about the part where she mentions a gift on the way. shes never sent anything more than a card) before tucking the card away with all the others. he'll get dressed then and then walk into town. it's a quiet place where he's chosen to live and he's made friendly with a number of people and sometimes he misses the vibrancy of the wizarding world and the comaderie of being a hogwarts professor but that atmosphere had long fizzled out and going back would never truly mean going back. he's moved on and he's fine with that

- he prefers early morning to get the shopping done. it's less crowded and the world feels untouched, pure and magical, at this hour. he'll stop at the local bakery, buy himself a pastry and another cup of coffee, savoring sweet almond and blueberry, before continuing to the grocery store and picking up the few things he needs for tonight's dinner

- its his 61st birthday today and though he doesn't want to make a big deal out of his birthday, he's learned that it's okay to celebrate your own existence and indulge in the things that make him happy

- as it stands, a well made shepherds pie with good bread and red wine would make him very happy today

- his grocery tote is charmed to keep cool and feather light, so after gathering what he needs he'll head to the bookshop. this is one of his favorite activities and absolutely not reserved for his birthday. his favorite bookshop is old and quaint, hosting strange books with mysterious origins. a lot of the locals think its all false but severus has a trained eye and can recognize magical tombs when he sees them. the first time he came, he cleared out any that could be considered dangerous to muggles. now he likes to browse through the remains and pick up a new read or two; they're not all magical but they are all interesting. the shopkeeper is a very old woman who looks very out of place in this millennium, but he supposes he does too some days

- she wishes him a happy birthday, eyeing his black coat with a certain kind of scrutiny he's gotten used to from her. he was never able to give up his long coats and now he wears them unbuttoned over black turtlenecks. it makes him look less imposing, he supposes, although enough people have asked what he teaches that it sets him on edge

- he doesn't remember when she learned his birthday, but he pays it no mind. a few of the people he's come across here have learned his birthday by now. its the reason he'll get a free scoop of ice cream on his way home. she always looks at him like he's familiar but just can't place how, and part of him worries she's going barmy and starting to forget he's been coming here for years

- as he's paying for the two new books he's found, she says something that feels like its meant to be a warning but feels more like a threat: the aurors are in town today

- "pardon?" he asks, but she just smiles sweetly and waves him off like nothing was amiss, as if his blood hadn't just turned to ice beneath his skin

- he leaves the shop numbly, thinking it over. she couldnt have meant anything serious by it, although now he's kicking himself for not realizing she was a witch (or perhaps a squib?) he kept up with the wizarding world fairly regularly when he'd first disappeared. he knew potter had cleared his name posthumously and that he was hailed a hero, so whatever the reason for the aurors being in town, it has nothing to do with him. he decides to carry on as normal; too many years have passed for him to be known by this new generation of aurors.

- he does get his free ice cream, a scoop of vanilla caramel with a drizzle of chocolate, and he's sitting in a wrought iron chair outside the shop, under a carefully cast warming charm to keep him comfortable in the january air but with a cooling charm cast over his frozen treat, when he sees them

- there's two of them, fairly young and most likely born during the second war. they're dressed in the muggle version of their uniform he's come to recognize and watches them from his peripheral as they head down the street and wonders what they could be in town for

- he doesn't notice the third, older auror watching him with widening eyes, no longer paranoid enough to check who's standing behind him, as he swirls his spoon through the remnants of melted ice cream and gets lost in his thoughts

- he heads home after that, lights a fire, and makes a tomato and cheese sandwich for lunch. he catches up on a few episodes of his current favorite show (a historical drama this time) and enjoys his quiet afternoon

- when its time to start on dinner, he'll put something on the record player (he's got a soft spot for the record player alright, he's aware of what spotify is, he just enjoys the nostalgia of vinyl), and get to work. he's got a glass of wine and he's singing along to pearl jam as he cuts carrots and potatoes

- he grows wild thyme and rosemary in the front yard, right next to the white chrysanthemums, so he puts his spoon down and goes to fetch some

- he doesn't expect to find potter standing just outside the gate with a pink bakery box in his hands looking simultaneously like a deer in the headlights and like he's just seen a ghost. which he supposes he has

- he ignores him in favor of picking the herbs. once he's done, he glances once in the direction of harry potter before returning inside. he leaves the door open and waits. it isn't until the herbs are washed and finely chopped, being stirred into the stew, that potter finally enters the kitchen. he holds the box tightly and blurts out "i thought you were dead"

- "evidently not." severus responds, spooning the mix into a baking dish and begins to top it with the mashed potatoes. "how did you find me?"

- he mutters some nonsense of working a case involving a local store selling magical wares to muggles (and severus frowns at this information, worried it might be imelda) and seeing him outside the ice cream shop. getting his address wasn't that hard and the cake he brought was simply a social nicety

- perhaps he hasn't been a professor for years now but he can still smell bullshit so he raises an eyebrow at the answer he's gotten. potter has grown in the years since he's seen him, no longer a strong-willed seventeen year old but now a tired looking auror of forty who's still just as bad at lying as he ever was. he thinks how he was around his age when they last spoke and that fact feels a little dizzying

- "you dont seem that surprised." severus muses, putting the pie in the oven and bringing down another glass. he has a feeling potter will be staying and the idea is already giving him headache. he thinks back to minervas letter and wonders if this is what she meant. perhaps its time to finally write back, he thinks, as he pours them each some wine; they have a lot to talk about it seems

[graceslavenderhaze]

fight night  (jatp crew x reader)

readers home life hasn’t been the best and they’ve been lying to their friends about it. one night it all builds up and the reader shows up to julies, distraught. ( for this the boys are alive bc it just worked out best but other than that no changes.)

this has been sitting in my drafts so i thought i’d post it

trigger warning: family fights, anxiety, depression, past talk of eating disorders.

For a long time you use to just keep everything buried down. That was your fatal flaw. It wasn’t a trust issue, you just always had this feeling that if no one knew then everything would be fine. But your family had lately been falling apart, your parents always seemed disappointed in you, you were fighting with your siblings more and it felt it a ballon that kept on expanding. you didn’t know when everything was going to explode it just kept getting worse.

Today was the exploding point. It seemed like no matter what you did, it just wasn’t good enough. You were the black sheep in your family, they made you out to be it. They complained about how you dressed, what your room looked like, the music you played, the people you hung out with, and for what? You didn’t do anything that was textbook problem child material. 

You tried your hardest in school, you never asked for much, you cleaned almost everyone’s mess at home, and after a while that became your routine. Never be seen, never be heard and never get any credit for everything you do. Meanwhile your siblings, little miss perfect and the star academic got everything you wanted. Your parents attention, their approval, and their constant reassurance. 

By the time you were in high school, you were emotionally independent. A stranger to your own family pretty much. You went to an art school along with your siblings. Even as the oldest, you quickly fell into their shadows. Your sister a musical protégé on the violin, your parents paid for the best lessons, and without a doubt she’ll probably attend some ivy league. Your brother was in the advanced academics program, with yale and harvard already offering him scholarships in his sophomore year. Then there was you. You were in the art program, and while your teacher swears that all the top art schools have you on their radar. You still felt insignificant.

You worked a weekend job at the local coffee shop, latte love , it wasn’t everything but it helped pay for art supplies for you to build your portfolio. Their you met Julie Molina and Flynn Davis. Two girls who were your age, they attended the music program at your art school. You recognized them, Julie had been like the sun at the school. In the hallways always smiling and then her mom died, the sun went away hidden behind clouds. While Flynn was unapologetically herself and didn’t backdown from telling people how things were, she was fearless. They were also probably the first two people who knew your siblings and were able to separate you from them. 

Then later on in the year the three of you met Luke, Alex and Reggie. Latte Love was hosting its monthly open mic night. It was almost a year after Julie’s mom died, so in an attempt to coax her back into music, Flynn brought her around. You offered free hot chocolate on the house as a bribe if she wanted to come. After an hour of mainly middle schoolers trying to face stage fright, soccer parents who desperately tried to hold onto their high school garage band phase and any other mediocre act who gave it their all in effort. Sunset Curve preformed. 

That night honestly sent all six of your lives’ into a full spiral but in the best way. A month after you had met sunset curve, they formed a band with Julie and became, Julie and the Phantoms. Flynn becoming the band manager and you being the artist for ticket designs, posters and anything else. It helped distract you from everything going on in your life and with your friends you didn’t feel left out or the black sheep. You were you and they loved you for all of it. 

But you could only be happy for so long. Your family always managed to make you feel horrible about yourself, this week had felt like the worst its ever been. Your sister being recruited for a summer symphony in Australia, your brother would be off at a stem camp and your summer plans were just to work, make art and hang with your friends. Your family wasted no time in telling you that you were wasting your time, or that it was just some silly childish thing. They didn’t understand how big Julie and the Phantoms were becoming. The latest gig being opening for panic at the disco at the Orpheum. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, which is how you ended up walking to Julie’s house right in the beginning of a thunderstorm. When you finally made it to Julie’s front stoop you were drenched head to toe. Julie being the one to pull you in the front door. In her oversized smiley face sweatshirt and baggy sweats. The movie night dress code.

“Did you walk here?” She exclaims looking at the outdoor storm and turning back to her best friend. Your eyes red from crying and cheeks raw from wiping your tears rapidly. She’d been expecting you for weekly movie night, especially since her dad and brother had been away for a baseball game for the weekend. Just not in this state.

“More like swam.” You replied with a dry laugh. Trying to desperately hold yourself together. Knowing your friends were all in the living room, you didn’t want to burden them with your breakdown. 

“Hey was that the chinese food! Y/n? Whats wrong bean?” Flynn stated her mood changing halfway through the sentence noticing the state of their best friend. Who looked like she’d just had the world’s worst day. You smiled fondly at the nice name she’d given you, which was a coffee pun. 

“Family shit. Like always.” You said looking down at the floor and the puddle that you were slowly dripping onto the Molina residence’s welcome mat. Both girls smiled sympathetically, they had their fair share of stories of how bad things could get at the L/n household. 

“Come on! It’s movie night, you’re getting into cozy clothes and having junk food with your friends.” Julie said taking your hand and leading you upstairs to her room. Julie handed you spare clothes due to you being completely soaked. Then a towel to dry yourself off.

“Here, once you’re ready to come downstairs, we can put your stuff into the dryer.” Julie said smiling at her friend before leaving to give her privacy. Taking the towel she gave you and trying to dry your hair. Then changing into the cozy clothes she gave you. Your phone blowing up from texts from your family. Your parents wanting to know where you were. Not caring how hurt you were. Your siblings saying half assed apologies they didn’t mean. They’d done this before and they’d do it again. 

Ignoring the messages, you walked back downstairs. The comforting smell of chinese food wafting at you. Julie, Alex and Flynn stood at the table. Meanwhile Luke and Reggie were were at the local 7/11 getting slushies. 

“Did anyone order a hot mess?” You said jokingly getting their attention. Alex standing up and instantly hugging you as if he’d never see you again. Hugging him back. Alex’s hugs always felt as if it was a cloud. 

The Molina residence house phone then rang, the caller id labeling your house. “We can just let it go to message.” Julie said turning back from the phone to you. You shook your head, “I’m so over this bullshit.” Walking over to the phone you picked it up. 

“Hello ever so loving parental unit.” You said with sarcasm dripping off every word. “Pop off!” Flynn said as she bit into a dumpling. You bit back a smile. “Where are you? You can’t run out because you’re upset.” You heard your mom say. You rolled your eye. 

“Where i am every friday night. I told you in advance i had plans so when you take your attention span off miss perfect and genius boy remember you have a third fucking child. Goodnight!” You said promptly and then hung up placing the phone back on back on its home base. “Beyoncé would approve.” Flynn said clapping for dramatic effect.

“How much trouble are you going to be in for that?” Alex said passing your usual that Julie knew to order for you, you shrugged. “Bold of you to assume they’ll remember to ground me.” 

“Wow what a rag tag group of mommy and daddy issues we are.” Reggie announced as he placed the tray of slushies down on the counter. “Excuse you!” Julie exclaimed as she took a slip of her blueberry slushie. “She’s dead, that’s an issue.” Flynn said as she grabbed her green apple one. You choked on your food for a second, “Out of pocket!” 

“She’s right babe.” Luke said hugging her from behind. “You have mommy issues too.” Julie said turning around slightly. “Only the hottest people have both mommy and daddy issues!” Alex exclaimed holding a hand of for you and Reggie to high five. 

“My back hurts from having a healthy parental relationship and carrying that standard.” Flynn said cracking open her fortune cookie. You laughed looking around at your dysfunctional friend group. 

“We are all going to hell for these jokes alone.” You said taking a sip of your slushie. Reggie scoffed, “We’re just warming up.” 

[marvelousstevetony]

would you do: Behind Closed Doors - (character) has a solid public face, but in private they let themselves be taken care of when they’re not well, for stevetony? thanks!

Ahh, anon, I love this prompt. It definitely gives me all the Tony-feels, so that’s what I went with. Hope you enjoy this little ficlet of sick!Tony and a very sweet Steve taking care of him. (2.1k words)

———

Had Steve not woken up to Tony’s stuffy, little snores, and had he not noticed the quiet sniffles and subtle nose rubs throughout breakfast, Steve would’ve never thought Tony was any less than a-okay. He would’ve kissed his boyfriend good morning with a gentle brush of their lips instead of pressing a peck to his temple, and he would’ve filled Tony’s mug with dark roasted coffee instead of lemon tea with honey. But Steve was… well, he was Steve, and though Tony was thought to be the genius of the two, Steve was an expert when it came to Tony Stark. It had not taken long, even in a sleep-induced haze, for Steve to conclude that Tony had caught a cold and that he was in for a very interesting morning. It went something like this:

Tony awoke to an empty bed that was still warm from where Steve had lain, which meant it could’ve only been about fifteen minutes since he’d left. Wincing at the sudden soreness he felt in his throat, he swallowed and coughed a few times as he scrubbed his hands over his face. He could hear pans clattering from the kitchen and figured Steve was making breakfast, but he wasn’t sure as he couldn’t smell anything through his blocked nose. 

He was right, though, because when he emerged from the bedroom and entered the kitchen, Steve was stood at the stove —clad in his apron that said I am tortellini in love with you, which Tony had gifted him because it was the corniest thing he’d ever seen and therefore very Steve— and something that looked a lot like blueberry pancakes were sizzling on the pan in front of him.

“‘Morning,” Tony rasped, slumped onto the chair at the breakfast bar and smiled sleepily and murmured a quiet thanks when Steve handed over his mug, then went on to frowning at it when he realized it wasn’t coffee. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle and said “It’ll feel good on your throat” as a way of explaining, then continued to ask, “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

Tony shrugged and sniffled into the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt, and Steve gave a sympathetic hum in reply.

“How did you know something’s up? I literally just woke up,” the brunette said and grimaced when he sipped at the tea, muttering something along the lines of disgusting flower-water.

“It’s not flower-water, Tony, it’s lemon,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. “You were snoring,” he clarified, unable to keep the fondness from his tone.

“I don’t snore,” Tony defended grumpily.

“You do,” Steve retorted with a laugh. Tony huffed. “Especially when you’re sick. Thus, tea and pancakes.”

“You’re a heathen and a saint, and I don’t know how to feel about that.” Tony narrowed his eyes, forging a thoughtful expression.

“I think you love it,” Steve said charmingly and reached over the counter to place a stack of blueberry pancakes drowned in maple syrup in front of Tony, sweet and warm and perfect.

They chatted as they ate, Steve talking about the new recruits he was training at the compound, Tony grumbling about the press conference he had to attend later that day. When Tony’s nose visibly twitched and his eyes began to flutter shut, Steve reached to grab a few tissues from a box on the kitchen counter and handed them to Tony, who gratefully accepted them just as he drew in a desperate breath.

“h’uhh- hetCHISHhew! snff… hehSCHss!” Tony muffled the sneezes into the tissues and sighed stuffily.

“God bless you, baby… If you’re sick you should cancel. Tony,” Steve said earnestly, frowning concernedly when Tony rolled his eyes.

“It’s just a small cold,” Tony shrugged, “I’ve worked through worse things.”

Taking Tony’s hands in his, Steve rubbed Tony’s knuckles with his thumbs, then brought their combined hands to his lips as he plastered a myriad of soft pecks on the back of Tony’s hand.

“I know you have,” Steve said in between the kisses, “but the things is… you really shouldn’t have to. I want to take care of you.”

“It won’t take long,” Tony offered, his voice low and warm despite the slight rasp. “And then, later, I’ll let you fuss about me all you want, Doctor Rogers,” he added with a playful wink and a blinding smile, and how was Steve ever going to argue with Tony when looked like that; soft and sweet and drop-dead gorgeous.

“You play dirty, Mr Stark,” Steve sighed and shook his head, unable to keep the creeping smile from tugging at his lips.

——————————————

Steve was sat in front of the television in the common room, reading through various forms and applications, when he caught sight of Tony’s face in the large frame of moving pictures. He looked amazing, he always did, clad in a casual suit that fitted him faultlessly. It accentuated his body in all the right places, his shoulders, his waist, his butt… Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and placed the piece of paper he was holding on the coffee table. Now that he was already distracted, he might as well watch his boyfriend outwit all the reporters.

Tony maneuvered his way through all question he was asked with ease; a trademark quip and an equally characteristic charming wink.

“Mr Stark! Rumor has it you and Captain America have separated. What’s your respond to this?”

Steve had seen the reporter before, multiple times, actually. Short, blonde, eyes so wide and piercing it made Steve a little uncomfortable looking at them. She worked for one of the tabloids, the one with all the celebrity gossip and that published an article about Iron Man and Captain America breaking up about every three months. The rumors were never true, of course, but Steve still felt a prickly feeling in his chest whenever he’d read what they’d written. Even just the headlines made his blood boil.

Tony Stark cheating on boyfriend Steve Rogers!

Trouble in Avengers Tower: Power-couple SPLITTING UP!

Iron Man leaving Captain America for personal assistant!

Tony had advised Steve not to read them — it never left him in a good mood and it was all a bunch of bullshit anyways. Steve couldn’t help it though and, as expected, he was furious at the fact that anyone dared calling his boyfriend a bedswerver. Tony just shrugged it off, I’ve gotten used to it, he’d say and laugh at Steve’s grumpy mutterings and adorable pout. The rumors didn’t matter, though, they both knew where they stood in terms of their relationship, both feet planted solidly, their names invisibly engraved deeply into each other’s chest. Which is why Steve barely even flinched when the reporter asked the question.

“Ugh, I wish. He’s such a distraction sometimes and never lets me work overtime. He’s all kinds of stubborn, though, so I doubt I can get rid of him that easily. And, he makes sure I’m alive, so I might just hang on to him until I get bored,” Tony said nonchalantly, but eyes twinkled and his tone was fond and left no doubt that they were still very much together.

Steve felt warmth rise to his cheeks and went back to reading the recruitment forms.

Every once in a while, he’d look up to catch a glimpse of Tony. If Steve hadn’t already known Tony was nursing a cold, he never would’ve guessed it. Tony was so good at switching between his public figure and the man underneath the armor, wether it was a three piece suit or his actual Iron Man amour. It made Steve sad, in a way, knowing Tony had so much experience pretending that it didn’t even bother him anymore. He loved Tony in every way, but he never hid the fact that his favorite Tony was the one who dressed in worn-out band t-shirts or Steve’s sweatshirts that were way too big on him. The one who sang and danced along to the overly loud music playing in the workshop and who didn’t care that he looked ridiculous doing so. The one who clung onto Steve like a koala bear when they were tangled up in bed, refusing to let go of him in his sleep-warm haze.

God, Steve really wanted that press conference to finish.

————————

It did finish, and not too long after, Steve heard the doors to the elevator open, revealing a tired and soft looking Tony.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said as he got off the couch and walked to where Tony was taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He started helplessly fumbling with his tie, but Steve quickly intervened. “Here, let me do that.”

Tony sighed thankfully, closing his eyes when Steve’s strong hands removed the fabric around his neck and sighed once more when Steve stroked his jaw with his thumb.

“You alright?” Steve asked softly and moved his hand closer to Tony’s face, tracing his index finger down the bridge of his nose. The gentle touch seemed to have an immediate effect as Tony’s nose twitched, and he drew back a couple of inches before turning away from Steve, crushing a fit of sneezes into his fist.

“hetCHISHhew! hetCHshh’oo!” Steve chuckled as Tony’s body shuddered slightly with each sneeze, and with a fond voice commented, “So sensitive when you’re sick.”

Tony managed to give him a disapproving glare before letting out a final sneeze.“huh’uhh… huhESChhh! snff! Ugh, sorry, excuse me.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve murmured, “you’ve probably been been holding those off all day, hm?”

Tony sniffled into his wrist and smiled wryly. “I guess so, yeah… didn’t really think of it, to be honest.”

“I truly don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“How you handle all those reporters, all those stupid questions. Especially when you’re this sick, babe.” Steve voice was a mixture of pure awe and deep concern.

Tony shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Stark men are made of iron and all that jazz. They’re just stupid reporters, anyways.”

Steve bit his lip, drawing Tony in close until he felt Tony’s stubble rub against his neck. “Yeah I- I know. It’s just… those articles, what they’re saying about you, it makes me so… so angry, and I-“

“Hey, no, none of that,” Tony interrupted. “I couldn’t care less about what those reporters say, hell, what anyone says about me. The only opinion I care about is yours.”

Steve sighed with a watery smile Tony couldn’t see. “I love you,” he said and leaned in to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, which was warm, too warm, and frowned. “God, Tony, you’re burning up. You must be feeling awful.”

The cough Tony let out into Steve’s sweater confirmed that statement, but for good measure Tony said, “yeah, I think I need to lie down soon. I’m kinda tired and, uh, I-ihh, heh- huhETsch’oo! ehH’eschoo!”

“Bless you! How about you get ready for bed, and I’ll bring you soup and then some tea afterwa-“

“No! No tea,” Tony disrupted and winced just at the thought of it, “None of that yucky flower-water.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve let out a laugh and tried once again to explain that lemon tea wasn’t flower-water, and Tony just muttered tastes like flowers to me, but neither could bring themselves to discuss the matter any further.

“Okay, so no tea then. Soup, maybe some medicine, tissues, definitely, and— Tony, no.”

Steve’s expression went flat and stern when he looked down at Tony, who in return was looking up at the blonde with big, brown doe-eyes, pouting. “But Steeeve-“

“No, Tony, absolutely not!” Steve repeated. “No coffee, you’re sick and need to rest.”

Tony groaned dramatically. “Such a spoilsport. I guess you’ll have to compensate the lack of coffee with cuddles instead, then.”

“Cuddles instead of coffee?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise when Tony nodded into his shoulder. “Now that is probably the best negotiation I could’ve hoped for.”

About thirty minutes later, the two of them were snuggled up in bed, an empty bowl on the nightstand, tissues scattered randomly across the bed, and some movie neither of them knew the name of was playing on the tv. Steve had him arm around Tony’s shoulder, feeling the heat from Tony’s cheek on his chest through his thin t-shirt. It wasn’t hard to tell the moment Tony drifted off to sleep, the way he cuddled even closer to Steve and his quiet, small snores were enough to tell Steve that he was finally resting.

[captainillogical]

Distant Lands Ch.19

Stranded on a planet with toxic conditions and nothing but the clothes on your back, your only means of survival lies within the gem that got you here in the first place.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants​

Strangely enough, you wake up in your bed.

You don’t remember coming into your room to sleep, but here you are. It’s light out - the blinds are closed, but the window is glowing with sunlight. You rub at your eyes, trying to get the rest of the lingering feeling of sleep out of them. You wonder what time it is, and you look over to see your phone left on your small bedside dresser. Without moving from your lying position, you reach over to grab it off the flat surface.

You pull out the charging cable, and open your lock screen. It’s a bit past two in the afternoon. Ugh. You see a couple texts from Steven, and some from an unknown number. You open his messages first.

[10:23] Steven: I woke up fairly early and saw you asleep on the couch with Spinel. Color my face surprised. Wasn't expecting you two to be so chummy considering how you met, initially.

[10:23] Steven: I told you to get some sleep but you really don’t want to listen to me, huh? She helped me put you to bed. Was a little surprised at how careful she was with you.

[10:23] Steven: Anyway, you looked like you needed quite a bit of rest so Pearl, myself and Spinel are going to Little Homeworld ourselves to introduce her to some of the others and show her around a bit.

[10:24] Steven: Take it easy today, and don’t fret about the small stuff. I’ll take care of it, as well as giving some of the others a quick run-down of what happened so you’re not bombarded with the same questions multiple times. 

[10:24] Steven: I gave Spinel one of my old cell phones that Peridot ‘upgraded’, the one with the heart stickers you put on the back (I thought it was funny), and gave her your number. Watching her try to navigate human technology was hilarious, btw.

[10:24] Steven: Also we still have that tub of blueberry yogurt in the fridge that I didn’t really like, so if you’re hungry please eat that first. Pearl won’t let me buy more yogurt until I finish that one. :(

You stare at the texts for a moment, brain working a little slow still. Lord.. you can't believe Steven saw you like that, and with Spinel. He could've reacted way worse, but you're glad that it wasn't the case. You kinda have a feeling he might ask you a couple personal questions regarding that.. ugh. You’re also trying to not be disappointed that you’re not there with them and Spinel, and getting to see her interactions with the others.

Oh well, nothing you can do about it now. You text him back before opening the other messages.

[02:09] Y/N: Pssh, I’ll sleep when I want to sleep. Plus, I couldn’t really pass out before talking to her about shit on my mind. It’s fine. And thanks for making sure I didn’t wake up with a stiff neck.

[02:09] Y/N: Keep an eye on her for me, yeah? She’s anxious about all of this.

[02:09] Y/N: And.. thank you, Steven. You know you're my favorite, right?

After sending the texts, you go over and open the unsaved number’s messages from a couple hours ago. They’re clearly from Spinel, so you save the number to your contacts before reading them all.

[10:42] Spinel: did it send

[10:42] Spinel: i think it did this time, phewwww no error message

[10:42] Spinel: this tech is old and weird but i can deal with it for now

[10:42] Spinel: i hope you got okay sleep

[10:42] Spinel: i’m out with steven and pearl as i’m sure he’s told you already

[10:42] Spinel: she’s kinda annoying sometimes, is that normal for her? i don’t know how to feel about her, especially knowing pink as much as i did

[10:43] Spinel: and i know you told me to be nice to steven, but he’s already laughed at me for being confused at your human tech. never listening to you again

[10:43] Spinel: little homeworld is not what i was expecting, but i think i like this a little better than whatever i had thought, anyway

[10:43] Spinel: bismuth is fun. i like her. she says she’ll put me to work for it, but she has a small place for me in this new housing block that’ll be ready for me later today

[10:43] Spinel: it feels kinda like too much at once and it’s a little overwhelming

[10:43] Spinel: but steven has helped a ton, and i’m starting to understand why you defended him as much as you did.

[12:16] Spinel: [attachment received]

You open the file, and it’s a very blurry image of the sidewalk and what you think is Spinel’s shoes. Did she mean to send that? You feel your face smiling, despite the weird feelings starting to blossom in your stomach. You’re glad she’s getting along with the others. You had been.. wary, really, and for good reason. But if the others can get over other gems trying to kill Steven fairly quickly, then you’re not surprised they can get over this, this soon. It was always you technically that held a grudge against the other gems that tried causing him harm. And well, you did hold a bit of a grudge against Spinel for a while..

You sigh out loud, and sit up before texting her back. It feels weird to be texting her, when you were so used to face-to-face communication.

[02:12] Y/N: I slept fine. Thanks for putting me to bed, Steven said some nice things about you :P

[02:12] Y/N: I’m glad you got used to cellphones pretty quickly, I’m a little impressed. And give Pearl some time, you just gotta brush off half her nagging for the most part.

[02:12] Y/N: What were you expecting little homeworld to be like? And how sweet of Bismuth, you should take a pic of the place when you get into it, I wanna see what it looks like inside.

[02:13] Y/N: Yeah.. it will feel like too much, Spinel. Think of what your life was like before this. I did say there was going to be a lot to adjust to.

[02:13] Y/N: Also did you mean to send that last image because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at exactly, there.

You check your social media for a second as you try not to let all of your thoughts linger on Spinel, and then roll your eyes at yourself when you realize ah right, a month didn’t actually pass here. There’s nothing new. You stand up, stretching your arms way over your head.

It feels good, not sleeping on the ground for once.

You make quick work of changing into an oversized sweater and some shorts from your current sleepwear, wanting to wear something loose and different. Phone in hand, you meander out of your room hungry, and into the kitchen. You see Amethyst in the living room, chilling on the couch and reading some magazine. Except you know she’s not reading it, she’s just looking for weird images to cut out and prank Pearl with in weird places.

“‘Sup.” She says without looking up from her browsing as you open the fridge, looking for anything but that yogurt. A month of only bullshit weird, plain fruit to eat and he thinks you’ll finish off his yogurt for him?

“Hey.” You reply back to her, and ugh.. unless you want to go through the effort of making eggs, toast and yogurt are really your only option since they haven’t gone food shopping.  You make a face at the fridge, grabbing for the yogurt and closing the door.

“How ya’ feelin’?” She asks casually, flipping a page. An eye drifts over the page to land on you, and she lifts an eyebrow in interest. “You look better than you did yesterday.”

“...Thanks,” It comes out slightly insulted, but, well, it’s Amethyst. She doesn’t mince her words. “I got some decent sleep for once. Is Garnet home?”

“Nah, she’s got one of her lessons going on.” 

“And you don’t?” You grab the bread out of the cupboard, and squint at it for a second. There’s.. a bit of fucking mold on the edge. Ugh. Your luck. You toss the bread onto the counter for Amethyst to eat later, and spot a single bagel left in the cupboard behind a bag of flour. Oh hell yeah.

“Not today, we pushed mine til tomorrow because Onion couldn’t participate for some reason.” She blows a lock of hair out of her face, turning a page.

“All for Onion, and he’s not even a gem. He can sit out one lesson.” You put the bagel in the toaster - getting crumbs everywhere and not caring, and grabbing a spoon for your yogurt.

“C’mon, you know the others love him, it was basically all their decision anyway.” She flips another page, and you can see her giving you a pointed look that you’re going to ignore. “Besides, I wanted to relax today anyway, considering all the stress you just put me under.”

“Cause it was totally by choice.” You retort with a roll of your eyes, opening the lid of the yogurt disdainfully and giving it a sniff. It smells fine but.. Ugh. You’re not much of a fan of yogurt. You take a bite, and it’s okay you guess.

“What are you planning on doing with the rest of your afternoon, anyway?” She asks as soon as you take another bite of yogurt.

“I uh,” You swallow. “I don’t know, actually. I was thinking I’d be with Steven and Pearl, showing Spinel around, but it seems they’re all doing that without me.” You say, half a frown forming on your face. You kind of realize that you’re way more disappointed by that fact than you had previously figured, but that train of thought is interrupted by the bagel popping out of the toaster. You jump slightly, almost launching your yogurt out of your hands. Amethyst notices but doesn’t make a comment about it.

“Y/N, I know you’re really caring and wanna help, but don’t you think you should take a couple days just for you?” She gives you a look.

“A couple days to what?” You match her look, popping an eyebrow for extra emphasis. “Relax? Like the weeks I just spent doing absolutely nothing on a forgotten planet in the middle of nowhere? I’m good.”

She looks at you, deadpan, and sighs. You notice a bunch of bananas on the top of the fridge that you had missed earlier, and get an idea that’s better than just eating yogurt.

“You’re kind of impossible. I’m telling Steven to not let you help him with any more of his current projects.” She sets the magazine down and cracks her knuckles obnoxiously. “Maybe it will force you to go out and do something for yourself for once.”

“Don’t you dare.” You say in annoyance, grabbing the bananas and blender from the top of the fridge, setting them on the counter. You grab the milk from the fridge and pour a little inside, and dump some of the yogurt in as well. You don’t care for proper proportions, you measure smoothies with your soul.

“I’m literally texting him right now and you can’t stop me.” She grabs for her phone, typing on it quickly.

“You can’t make me relax, Amethyst.” You say, peeling two bananas and tearing them into small enough chunks to blend, putting those in as well with a couple cubes of ice for good measure. “If I want to help out, I’m helping out.”

“Not if I can help it.” You hear her say as you put on the lid of the blender and plug it into the outlet next to it.

You grab your phone to text Steven to dissuade him from whatever Amethyst is saying to him, and press the liquify button on the blender.

A terribly familiar whirring noise fills the room, and your blood runs cold. You freeze on the spot.

You rip the plug from the outlet near violently, silence filling the immediate space. A beat or two passes.

“Uh.” You hear Amethyst say from fifteen feet behind you. “Y/N? You okay?”

You’re staring at the blender, and you can’t get your mouth to move. The chunks of ice shift, light from the afternoon sun hitting it and causing it to sparkle. 

“Y/N?” She asks again, and you hear slight shuffling.

There’s this indescribable feeling of fear and dread swirling at the pit of your stomach, and then you feel an arm pulling at your elbow. 

“Y/N.” Amethyst reiterates from beside you, and suddenly, you can turn your head to face her.

“Yeah?” You answer, facing her and blinking. She looks at you for a second before answering.

“What was that?” Her brows furrow in concern.

“I, um.” You realize you aren’t hungry anymore. “That was nothing.”

“Bullshit.” She looks offended at your response. “I’ve never seen you react that way before, to like, anything.”

“Uhhhhh, you know what?” You say, feeling like your mouth is working on autopilot at this point. “I’m gonna go out actually.”

You spin around, walking around Amethyst entirely despite her protests, and leave out the front door. You hear it slam shut behind you.

-

By the time you check the time, it’s nearly five in the afternoon, and you’re in front of the new bakery, Spacestries. You uh.. you didn’t realize you had walked all the way over here. You think you wandered the beach for a while, trying to definitely not think about what happened in the kitchen, with Amethyst as a fucking witness. Embarrassing. Could’ve been worse, you guess - it could have been Pearl there. It’s probably best if you don’t use the blender for a while. 

You’re completely annoyed with yourself about all of that, really, and by pushing all of that away you’re trying to not let the rest of your thoughts linger on the other thing you shouldn’t put any more thought into, which are your obvious feelings for Spinel. That area is a whole ass disaster that you’d rather ignore right now. You have a few notifications that you swipe away as soon as they come; your heart pathetically skipping a beat when it sees her name there for a split second - you’re not in the right mood to reply to the messages at the moment. Later.

You sigh, pocketing your phone. You look at the shiny new sign above, squinting at the sun in your eyes, and someone nearly walks into you on the sidewalk. Ugh. You stand there for a second, letting the hot air of summer waft by. You smell fries from somewhere nearby, and your stomach growls. A car honks off in the distance.

It’s not even a busy day out. It’s just another lazy afternoon, something you’ve experienced many, many times in your life. But you find yourself listening to the muted sounds of Beach City, thankful that you’re standing here on a paved sidewalk that was made by humans. Your hair tickles your nose, and you blow air to get it out of your face.

A minute or so passes. You figure you should just go in and buy yourself a cheese roll or something. You don’t know why you’re just standing outside.

You take in a deep breath, and open the door. It chimes as you come in.

It’s cool inside from the air conditioning, and there’s no one behind the counter. You walk in slowly, hearing your footsteps tapping on the floor. There’s a small FM radio off to the side playing the top 40’s that you can barely make out due to all the static. It’s been a while since you’ve heard music.

There’s a lot of pastries on display, and they look good. You wonder if he’s working today. You walk up to the counter leisurely, looking at the glazed fruit tarts on the top display shelf.

“I’LL BE UP FRONT IN A SECOND!” You hear a familiar muffled voice coming from the back room. 

“Take your time, Lars. It’s just me.” You reply, hearing your voice not carry very far. You hope he heard you despite the white noise of the AC. There’s a couple more shuffling sounds, as it sounds like he’s rounding the corner.

You see the tray of cream puffs in one hand before Lars walks out, and he’s got another in the other hand, balanced on his hip.

“Y/N? Is that you out ther-” He stops abruptly as soon as he sees your face; and one of the trays slips out of his hand, clattering on the floor loudly.

He opens and closes his mouth. Twice.

“What in the actual fuck happened to you!?” He nearly shouts, eyes wide. He rushes to set the remaining tray on the counter, and completely ignores what is on the floor to get over to where you’re standing.

“Uh..” You pull your sweater sleeves down, AC giving your arms goosebumps. “A lot. Can I have one of your fresh cheese rolls?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “Yeah, as soon as you tell me how you fucking died!? What the hell have I missed in the last fews days while I was out of town!?”

“Cheese roll first, buddy.” You say, and cross your arms.

“Ugh, FINE!” He tosses his hands into the air, and makes quick work of grabbing his freshest roll for you, placing it into your hands with a napkin. He gives you another look.

You take a bite out of it, and it tastes so good that you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes, and you cannot stop them from forming. Lars seems to take notice.

“Spill. You’re being weird and I’m actually concerned right now.” He puts his hands on his hips. You finish chewing before answering, but he holds up a finger instead. “Wait. Sit down and finish that, I’ll go grab some coffee for the both of us, I just made fresh pot that should be done brewing by now.”

He leaves momentarily to grab the coffee, and you sit down at the little two person table in the corner of the shop. You feel your phone vibrate a few times in your pocket, but you opt to ignore it instead. They can wait; you told Amethyst you were just going out, and your brain can really only deal with so much right now. Namely food, and hyping yourself up to talk to Lars about this.

A few cars pass out on the street outside, and your eyes are glued to the bright blue sky and those giant fluffy clouds that are floating idly by. You take another bite out of the roll, savoring the way the buttery crust melts on your tongue. The song changes to one particular pop number that you hate, and you aren’t even irritated about it. You find yourself having missed the small things.

You hear footsteps approaching from behind you, and Lars sets down two cups of black coffee with a cream puff in front of you. Eh. You’ll deal with the coffee being black with no sweetner for it.

“So,” He sits down, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate. Was there some kind of freak accident or something?”

You take a sip of coffee before answering, staring at the new plugs in his ears. They’re filled with stars, and it’s kind of cute. Looks nice on him.

“You want a short version, or the whole thing? Because there’s a lot.” You say, exhaling out a long breath. The coffee is good, despite the bitterness.

He looks around his shop for a second, shrugging when his eyes fall back on you. “Business has been extremely slow all day, I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Okay. Well.. technically this was yesterday? Ish? It’s been a blur. Anyway..”

You find yourself opening up to him more than you did with the others, and you think it’s because he might be the only person who maybe understands how you feel in this moment. Human, thrown into too much space bullshit just to try to survive.

“..and yeah. That’s about all of it.” You finish, taking a small sip of your coffee. 

Lars puts his face in his hands, sighing exaggeratedly. He’s been patiently listening this entire time, which is surprising for him.

“I need more coffee for this.” He says, getting up immediately to do so. It takes him a minute, but he comes back with a fresh cup for you both, and you’re thankful for it.

“Thanks.” You take a sip, and it’s nearly hot enough to burn your tongue.

“You know, I wouldn’t believe half the shit you just said if I didn’t actually know you. That’s nuts and utterly awful, even for it having to do with more gem bullshit.” He takes a drink, eyes roaming your face and hair. 

“Yeah. I know.” You reply. “But what is life around Steven if not life-threatening and ridiculous? You know how it goes.”

“Yeahhh.. you’re telling me. Oh, has Amethyst texted you since your ‘incident’ earlier?” He asks, lifting his hands to do the air quotations with his index fingers.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’ve ignored every notification that has popped up on my phone since leaving the house earlier.” You feel another buzz ironically inside your pocket. Ugh.

“You can’t ignore all your problems forever you know, you should probably text them back sooner rather than later. I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

“I’ll get to it in a bit.” You say with a huff.

“Hm.. it’s kind of funny how I’ve also been stranded against my will somewhere away from civilization, now that I think about it. It just wasn’t with an alien.. and it was at least on Earth.”

“Yeah that’s a weird coincidence, I didn’t even realize.” You feel half your face perk in a wry smile. “You’re lucky you had Sadie instead of Spinel though, Sadie’s.. so much nicer.” He rolls his eyes at that. “Can I ask you something Lars? If you don’t mind.”

“Yeah? Of course.” He replies, perking an eyebrow in question.

“How did you deal with dying? Or uh, anything of what happened to you in space?” You avoid his eyes for a moment, looking out the window. You can see the heat rising off the pavement from here.

“Oh, god.” You hear him take another drink of his coffee. “Not well, at first. The off-colors helped me tremendously in dealing with my problems. I’m pretty whatever about the whole thing now, honestly. I take it day by day, and keeping busy doing what I love at this shop is helping. Also, I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, as thankful as I am to be alive.” He points to his pink hair and face with his index finger, raising an eyebrow. “I hate the looks I get when I leave Beach City.”

“I’ll get used to it in time, probably. Still surprised when I look in the mirror." You sigh. You fix your eyes on the cup in front of you. “I also don’t want the gems to worry about me, and about what happened.”

“It’s something that took me quite a while to get used to. You’re wayyy more adaptable than I am, though, so I’m sure you’ll be a little quicker with it.” He says, running a hand through his hair and taking another drink of his coffee. “I’m sure they’ll worry about you regardless, and there isn’t really anything you can do about it. Kinda happens when they consider you family. Also, you’ve been through a lot. This isn’t just, like, breaking a leg or something.”

“I made the best of a shitty situation, and I’m alive and okay, it really isn’t a huge deal. I don’t want them walking on eggshells around me, or coddling me. I hate that. I’m not seventeen and stupid anymore.” 

Lars stares at you like you’re definitely seventeen and stupid, expression that says ‘I cannot believe you right now.’

“You’re literally traumatized, you fucking idiot.” He says, completely exasperated. “Stop acting like what you’ve been through is as common as the cold. It isn’t. It’s going to take you time, and them some time. Talk to them if you’re that bothered with it.”

You shrug at him, affronted. “It’s whatever. I just want a normal life again.” Is what you hear coming out of your mouth. 

“Your life stopped being normal the moment you accepted that babysitting job with the gems.” He rolls his eyes at you again, and you wanna kick him under the table. Just a little. “How are the gems dealing with Spinel by the way? I bet they thought they’d never have to fight another gem again, sheesh.”

“I was a little worried, but I think they’ll be fine honestly. They’ve dealt with worse. It probably helped that I was there to defend and vouch for her, really.” Someone passes the shop window, distracting your eyes for a second. A beat or two goes by, another car speeds down the street, and you wonder how Spinel’s doing right now. You hope Steven works his friendship magic on her, and you hope they become quick friends. They’re kind of like, two of the most important people to you. Oh, fuck. You think to yourself. Quick question, self? When the fuck did Spinel become that important to you? What the hell? Was it somewhere between hating her and dying for her?! You get the feeling you’re being watched all of a sudden so you look back over to Lars, and he’s studying your face with enough concentration to make you nervous.

“I feel like you’re still sitting on something that you want to talk about, but you’re too chickenshit to say it.” He says, full seriousness. You break eye contact, looking at your cup of coffee instead and sigh.

You and Lars have never been what you’d call good friends. Recently he’s been a lot better and you can actually talk to him like he’s a peer since he came back from space, but he used to be such a dick to Steven that you basically hated him, and you never hid that. You have no idea how he can see through you so well. 

“How can you even tell?”

“Your posture isn’t relaxed whatsoever. You’ve been sitting like someone strapped a yard stick to your spine.” He answers bluntly. “You’re normally a sloucher.”

“Don’t read me like that ever again.” You scowl. “I’m sitting on it because I’m not sure I want to verbalize it out loud, okay? And I haven’t talked to anyone about it..” You say, ignoring his pointed look at you.

“Y/N, unless you’re going to say that you want to move back in with your shitty parents, or that all of a sudden you believe in the existence of saint nicholas, it can’t be that strange to say considering everything else you’ve said.” He leans his chin on his hand, nudging his coffee cup slightly with his fingers. You think, maybe.. maybe you can trust him with this too. Another shadow passes by the window, but you ignore it in favor of the swirling thoughts in your head.

“I have feelings for Spinel,” You blurt out with about as much grace as ripping off a band-aid; just as he takes another drink of his coffee. He chokes on it, sputtering everywhere - the entry door swings open with a chime and a customer walks in. He stands up suddenly, coughing into his hand.

“Give me just a second,” He says, turning to the customer, and rushes away from the table to go cough violently into the sink behind the counter.

The customer stares at him.

“Are you open?” They ask, even though they just came through the open, unlocked bakery door. You know, with the clearly printed hours on the glass.

He gives a thumbs up, coughing into the sink again and wiping his face.

“Yeah, just come up to the counter and I’ll help you out.” He says, a few coughs coming out here and there. He gives you a particular look from across the shop, and you’re not sure how to interpret it. 

Your heart is beating wildly out of nervousness, and you kind of regret your honesty a little. Having feelings for a gem can’t be.. that weird. Right? Today is taking its toll on you already, and you’ve only been awake for a few short hours. You tune out Lars and the customer’s interactions, and pull out your phone instead. You should answer your messages. 

You can kind of see the customer glancing at you in the corner, and you try ignoring it. You answer Amethyst messages first to let her know that you’re fine.

[02:48] Amethyst: dude, dont just leave

[02:48] Amethyst: esp after something like that [02:48] Amethyst: im worried about you, you know you can talk to me about stuff if you want

[02:48] Amethyst: or if u want a lounge buddy for distractions ig 

[02:48] Amethyst: im here.

You feel bad that you rushed out like that on her, but you couldn’t stand in that kitchen anymore and you needed to be anywhere else but right there.

[05:32] Y/N: I’m fine, Amethyst.. I just needed some air.

[05:32] Y/N: Your concern is appreciated. Really.

[05:32] Y/N: Just needed to run away for a bit.

[05:32] Y/N: And I know. Thank you.

The customer talking to Lars is asking way too many questions about the gluten in the fruit fritters, and you can feel Lars’ annoyance from here. You see replies from Steven, and read those next. 

[03:10] Steven: Of course I’m your favorite, who else has this Universe charm? ;)

[03:10] Steven: I’m gonna pick up pizza for us later, you deserve some good food after all of this, lol.

[03:10] Steven: And what’s Amethyst saying about not letting you help me out?

[03:10] Steven: Are you not resting like I told you to? I said to take it easy. I know we were planning on adding in a bunch of new classes and recruiting more people to teach them, but I can have Pearl help me out with that. Maybe Buck. He owes me a big favor anyway.

[03:10] Steven: It doesn’t matter, I was gonna tell you to take the next week for yourself anyway, because you need to chill.

[03:11] Steven: I’ll be home in a couple hours, and if you wanted to cancel wednesday movie night, I understand. :(

You stare at your phone, trying to not be irritated like you want to. You don’t want to be replaced, responsibility-wise. You like helping Steven out. It makes you feel useful, and if you aren’t being useful, what’s the point. You feel like no matter what you say to him, he won’t care though. He’s really stubborn like that. You’ll take the next few days off for yourself regardless.

[05:35] Y/N: I’m just out rn okay, didn’t want to be cooped up at home. I went out for a walk because of how much I missed the sand.

[05:35] Y/N: And no, I think I need movie night now more than ever lol. Kinda just don’t want to lay around in bed.

Mere seconds pass of you replying to his texts, and he’s answered you back.

[05:35] Steven: Want it to just be the two of us, or would you be okay with me inviting Spinel and the others? 

[05:36] Steven: I might’ve hyped up Princess Diaries to her earlier, and well, this may be an easy way for her to be more.. at ease with everyone.

Oh thank god he asked. You didn’t want to seem desperate for her presence enough to suggest it. Also, he’s not wrong. You smile slightly to yourself as you reply to him.

[05:36] Y/N: Please do. :) That sounds fun.

Lars and the customer are now going back and forth about prices. You know he can handle himself, clearly, but you keep an ear perked in case this person goes full on karen-mode. You open Spinel’s messages last.

[02:52] Spinel: oops that wasnt what i was trying to send

[02:52] Spinel: [attachment received]

It’s another blurry picture, but it’s a candid shot of Pearl making a funny face while criticizing Steven about something. It’s actually fucking hilarious. You kinda want to send it to Amethyst.

[02:52] Spinel: shes been like this the last five minutes

[02:52] Spinel: its fun to watch

[02:52] Spinel: earth’s organisms are fun though so far

[02:53] Spinel: steven threw some food at the birds and i almost caught one

[02:53] Spinel: it pecked me 

You try not to laugh out loud at the mental image, wishing desperately that you could’ve seen this.

[05:36] Y/N: I was going to ask why, except I know the answer to that already. You deserved being pecked, stop heckling local wildlife you fucking birdbrain

Before you can type up another message, you hear the door jingle again as the customer leaves - drawing you out of looking directly at only your phone. You must’ve tuned out the last of their interactions, because Lars is standing in front of the table with crossed arms.

He’s staring at you, half an eyebrow perked; like he’s trying to read your mind. You can hear his foot tapping on the cold tile floor. You are not going to lie to yourself - if you could get up and abscond, you’d do exactly just that. He suddenly whips his arm out, placing it upon the back of your chair.

“Don’t even think about running away from this conversation, Y/N.” He says, the radio crackling a bit in the background. 

“Why would you think I want to run, Lars?” You avoid his eyes out of nervousness.

“Because I can see it in your eyes.” He plops back down in his seat, and sighs. His eyes haven’t moved from his gaze on you. “So. What the actual fuck?”

“Look. I didn’t even realize that I had these feelings until a couple days ago.. technically. Days on Golgotha. Not here, I mean.” 

He brings his hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief and scrunching his eyes. “You’re telling me.. that you have feelings for a gem that tried to kill Steven and yourself, after being stuck on a different planet with her for weeks?”

You’re staring at him, unmoving. A second or three passes.

“Don’t put it so plainly out there like that..” You groan. “I already feel stupid about this.”

“I’ve known you for years now, and you’ve refused any kind of prospect of romance. I watched you turn down several people, including fucking JENNY of all people. Where the hell is this coming from!?” God he’s so worked up about this that he’s half talking with his hands.

“Yeah because I was busy with Steven! Also I just wasn’t ..interested in anyone.” You level him with a look, slightly miffed about all of this.

“What made her different?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” You hear your voice raise, heart beating wildly in your chest. You can feel the adrenaline running through you. “At first I thought it was because she didn’t treat me like a fragile meatbag! Or maybe because she took my shit and threw it back at me!! AND THEN SHE STARTED TO GET ALL CARING, LIKE, SHE ACTUALLY CARED ABOUT MY WELL-BEING? GENUINELY? And she wanted to be my friend EVEN after I treated her like shit!”

“Oh, my god. You DO have feelings for her!!!” He shouts accusingly, pointing his finger directly at you.

“I WASN’T LYING YOU IDIOT.” 

“Well?! What are you going to do about it?!” He implores, leaning into the table - practically knocking off his half cup of coffee.

“Nothing, probably,” You say, avoiding his eyes again.

“You’re joking.”

“What if I’ve been reading signals all weird, and she thinks humans are super gross?”

He levels you with a Look, one you deem The Judgemental Gaze of Judgement. He sighs for like the fifth time this conversation.

“Ugh! Give me your phone.”

“NO.” 

“Let me talk to her!” 

“DEFINITELY NO.” You hear your own voice echo throughout the room.

“Okay, so, you’re just going to steep in your own feelings and pretend you don’t have them? Really, Y/N?” 

“Well.. no. Maybe. I don't know.”

“You’re being stupid.” He says with a roll of his eyes. “What are you actually afraid of?”

“...what if she can only see me as a friend?” You reply, a bit nervously. 

“It’s not the worst thing ever, honestly. At least she’d still be your friend, take it from me..” He glances at his phone on the table for a moment, a notification popping up. “But I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet, but if she’s everything you’ve said to me so far.. I think you might be a little dumb about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re right, but I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“If I happen to see her in the next week, I’m telling her if you haven’t by then.” He says with a perk of his eyebrow, tone half mocking. 

“If I catch wind of that happening I’ll set your shop on fire.” You reply, deadpan. His eyes get large.

“No arson!” He points to the center of your torso, like this would be a thing you’d actually do. “Anyway, I gotta get back to making a new batch of what I dropped earlier before the delivery I’m supposed to receive in an hour gets here. You’re welcome to stay if you wanna help me out. I had 3 part timers quit in the last month.”

“Bet they left because you suck at being a manager.” You say, pocketing your cell phone and standing up. “And as much as I’d like to keep busy right now, it’s best I be getting back soon anyway.”

“I’m a great manager, for the record! Just unlucky. Thankfully the off-colors help out plenty, even if most of them are preoccupied doing things for themselves now. Let me know if you know anyone that wants any part time hours? I’m flexible.” He also stands up, pushing his chair in and grabbing both cups of coffee - now empty. He gives you a look before smiling a little. “I’m glad you’re alive and well, Y/N. And really. Talk to Spinel. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, you’ll feel a lot better getting it off your chest.”

“Yeah, yeahhhhhh. We’ll see.” You reply with an eye roll, and head out the door.

-

On your way home you stop by the boardwalk by Funland. The sun is beating down on you, but you don’t really mind this heat. It isn’t nearly as humid as on the surface of that awful place. It’s almost lovely compared to it. You sit on one of the nearby benches to zone out for a couple minutes, watching people and their dogs pass by as you internally fight yourself. 

You should talk to Spinel. You think briefly that you should just text her about it, and then immediately swat that thought away. That’s the cowards route. Get it the fuck together. You’ve been through so much shit already, and you’re this hung up on your feelings. Also, Spinel deserves a lot more than just a stupid text.

Oh my godddd, you do not want to put too much thought into this shit, it will just make you even more anxious around her. Ugh. Seriously, you've been through waaay more anxiety inducing scenarios than this, what's your deal? You feel your phone vibrate with a notification, and you pull it up to see that it’s a message from Steven saying that they’ll be home soon. It’s a bit after six by now, and you send him a reply saying that you’ll see him there.

The distant sounds of the crashing waves of the ocean put you at ease. You pocket your phone, and you notice Mr. Smiley talking to a couple kids with cotton candy forty feet away or so. He sees you, and you can see his eyebrows raise in confusion all the way over from here.

Ugh. You’re kind of tired of explaining what’s happened to you. You get up and leave to avoid any kind of conversation about it, opting to just go straight home instead.

-

You take your flip flops off as you walk through the sand up to Steven’s house. It’s warm, and the salty sea breeze tickles your skin. It’s making you a little reluctant to go up the stairs. You’re halfway up when you hear muffled voices coming from inside, quite a few actually. The rest of them must have got here before you did, oops. You hope they don’t implore too much about where you’ve been and why it’s taken so long.

Once you open the front door you feel a couple eyes turn to you, and you swallow the weird anxiety in your gut. 

“Y/N!” Peridot shouts from across the room, and you set your flip flops down on the ground near the door. “Jeez, took you long enough to get home.”

“Sorry, I took the long way home.” You reply, seeing her with Bismuth, Lapis and Pearl all chatting animatedly about something on the couch with each other. 

“You guys only got here a couple minutes ago anyway.” Amethyst snorts, walking into the kitchen after she gives you a discreet look-over to make sure you’re visibly okay. 

“Yeah but she’s the last one here, and that means she gets cleanup duty!” She retorts, giving you a pointed smirk from across the room.

“I feel like I should be exempt from cleaning duty for the next couple of weeks.” You walk over to the kitchen where Steven and Spinel are talking to Garnet about something, and your heart does this stupid, stupid little flip when you see her with the others. Her eyes gravitate over to you as she’s talking, something sparkling in them when she sees that it’s you - and tears her eyes away back to the others quickly.

What the hell. That was kinda weird. Steven looks over to you, and then to Peridot after he hears you. 

“I’ve volunteered to take over her responsibilities this week, anyway, so suck it Peridot.” He says, sticking his tongue out at her childishly. 

“You mean it?” You reply, feeling immense amounts of affection bubbling up inside for him. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not wrong about being exempt for now. Also I just love you.” He grins, shrugging at you. You walk over to his side, ruffling his thick brown curls.

“Steeeeven, what would I do without you?” You say, and you see Spinel watching you out of the corner of her eye as Garnet talks to her. “I miss when you were shorter than me, who am I supposed to use as a chinrest now? Amethyst? She’s too short.”

“Hey!” Amethyst huffs, flipping some of her hair over her shoulder. “Being this short is one of my best qualities.”

“I thought it was your obnoxious personality?” You raise an eyebrow in mockery at her.

“I thought that was yours.” You hear Spinel say as your heart jumps into your throat, and you whip your face to hers.

“You of all people cannot say that to me!” You hiss out at her automatically without missing a beat, and the others burst out laughing. Even Garnet. You feel your face heat up as Spinel grins, and whatever thoughts you had about her acting weird earlier vanish. When the laughter dies down, Steven looks over to her.

“I’ve gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that talks to Y/N that way and gets away with it.” He says, still smiling and shaking his head.

“Really?” Her eyes light up at that, and she gives you a particular look that makes you want to smack her. “I guess I must be kinda special or somethin’.”

“No, you’re just too stupid to realize when I’m telling you off.” You reply, and she splutters with a glare while the others laugh boisterously again. 

It’s good to be in this kind of company again, you think. 

Steven grabs the three boxes of pizza on the counter that you just noticed were there. The smell is very enticing. “Since we’re all here, I’m gonna go set up the movie so I can finally eat because I am starrrrrving.” He says, dragging it on a bit dramatically as he walks up the stairs over to his loft bed. “You guys can join whenever!”

You follow him immediately, mainly because you want food. Also, Spinel’s looking at you in a way that makes you hyper aware of literally every single thing you’re doing, and you need to sit down and calm yourself before you have some kind of self-induced heart attack.

“You wanna sit on the bed? You get first pick since.. y’know.” He looks at you, setting the pizza boxes down on the floor by the foot of his bed.

“Nah, I want the beanbag.” You say as the others make their way up here, and you grab said seat from the corner of his room, dragging it to the spot you want on the far left opposite of the stairs and next to Steven’s bed. Peridot likes to throw things during dramatic moments and you’d prefer to not be placed in the crossfire again.

“Suuuit yourself.” He says, popping the dvd case open and inserting the disk into the system below the tv. Amethyst plops on his bed with a satisfied sigh, rolling over to the edge to grab a slice from the boxes on the floor. 

The rest of them come in, finding places to sit and lounge - all of them as loud as ever. You see Spinel off to the side by Pearl, and she looks like she doesn’t know where to sit. Eventually her eyes land on you - your heart doing a little flip, and you make a point to pat the ground next to you. Her eyes light up instantly. Not like you saved a seat for her or anything.

She gets over to you - having to stretch her leg waaay over to the side of the multiple gems in the center of the room making a commotion loudly over who gets to sit in front of the tv. She sits down next to you; wrapping her arms around her knees, her body language a little more at ease beside you than she was earlier.

You ignore your brain screaming about the implications. Just act normal, fucking idiot.

“You have fun today?” You turn your face to ask her, Bismuth bellowing out a laugh at something behind you.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting them to be so.. welcoming.” She says a bit quietly so the others don’t hear, pulling her gloved hand up to scratch at her cheek sheepishly. “I still don’t feel like I deserve this.” 

“Well, you do.” You lean forward, grabbing a slice of pizza and a napkin. “So you better get used to it.” Before you even take a bite, you notice her staring at you. Steven’s cursing out the dvd player for giving him issues, and Pearl’s tutting him for his language. “What? You wanna try?”

“No. It just looks weird.” She replies, scrunching her face.

“Spinel.” You look at her, deadpan. “Unless you try it, you don’t get to judge pizza. Even Amethyst likes it.” You take a bite, melty cheese easily pulling off the slice. Her eyes go kinda wide, watching you - and then her face gets suspiciously smug.

“Wow, what is that? Kinda similar to how much I can stretch-” You give her a kick with your bare foot, and she chokes out a laugh. You roll your eyes, taking another bite. Her constant teasing makes your heart grow fonder, and that fact irritates you.

“Finally!” Steven says, pressing the play button on the menu. Guess he finally got it to work. He sits on his bed where his pillows are, Amethyst up at the front. The others are lounging around the rest of the room as the volume dies down.

The movie starts to play, and you settle comfortably in your beanbag. Once you’re done adjusting yourself, Spinel leans half her side and props her elbow up on your chair, resting her chin on her hand. She’s close enough to where you can feel the heat emanating off her slightly. She’s most comfortable around you, clearly. 

You’ve seen the princess diaries many, many times as it’s one of Steven’s favorite movies - he starts singing ‘stupid cupid’ and you join along, earning a wink from him. Spinel makes comments here and there about the absurdities of royalty here, and several human traditions that the other gems laugh and nod in agreement. She seems to like it though, as she laughs pretty hard at a couple scenes.

You're content, you feel. You didn't think you'd get to experience this like, ever, with her.

Two thirds through the movie and several slices of pizza later, you notice Spinel watching you more than the movie out of the corner of your eye. You try not to be self-conscious about it, but you wish you could ask her if you have something on your face without alerting the others around you. She lays her arm down on your beanbag, parallel to yours resting against your thigh; and you have a quiet moment of panic because your immediate thought is to grab her hand and hold it.

Okay. You need to calm the fuck down, first of all. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Also, the thought of anyone of them seeing that makes you want to run outside into the ocean to never return. You spend the rest of this movie consumed with so many thoughts about Spinel beside you that you don’t realize that the movie has already ended with the credits rolling, and the others are chatting and stretching their limbs from their stationary positions on the floor.

“Okay, do we want to watch another movie, or call it a night guys?” Steven asks, and a few of the others immediately all say they want to watch another movie. 

“Okay but what exactly are we watching?” You turn your face to look at him. “Because I don’t want to watch the sequel.”

“But I loooooooooove the sequel!!!” He cries out, putting a hand on his chest in mock offense. “It has Chris Pine’s dreamy eyes!”

“There’s another one?” Spinel interjects, raising an eyebrow. “But they didn’t really leave room for continuation.”

“Exactly my point.” You reply. “It’s a bad sequel.”

“It’s not! You just hate good fun!” Steven whines.

“I kinda wanna watch it. I like the part when she pushes him into the fountain.” Amethyst chuckles, stuffing a room-temperature slice of pizza into her mouth in a single bite.

“Sweet! Then we’re watching it.” He says smugly, getting up to change the dvd out.

“You’re so biased it’s not even funny.” You groan, flopping your head back on the beanbag dramatically. “Next time I get to pick.”

“No! You always pick horror movies!” You see Steven whip his head towards you from the corner of your eye.

“Alien is a classic though. And besides, you always pick fucking romantic comedies my guy.” You retort.

“Yeah, how can you not get enough of them?” He sighs happily. “They always end good.”

“Alien ends good..” You pout, and hear him snort a little. “The cat lives.”

The movie starts, and you try to not zone out after the first ten minutes. Spinel makes several comments about ‘who the fuck is this guy? Where’s that guy she kissed in the last movie?’ and you get the joy of being the one to explain to her that sometimes, sequels are just Like That.

An hour or so in of you only half paying attention to the movie, and you think you see Spinel’s eyes droop.

Is she.. is she tired?

Another twenty minutes pass, and yeah, she’s definitely tired. She’s leaning against her hand on your beanbag again, a mere foot or so from yourself. You catch her drifting off a little - hand slipping - quietly startling herself awake. It’s so cute. You’ve never seen her this sleepy before. It’s strange, gems don’t get tired.. You think, briefly, of what that might imply. When was the last time she slept, you wonder? You worry a little about it - clearly she needs some rest if she’s nodding off right here. 

By the time the movie is done and the credits are rolling, she’s got half her head curled into her arm that’s digging into your side, completely asleep. It makes your heart swell to see her like this. Steven turns his bedside lamp on, illuminating most of the room in a warm glow.

“Well! I’m beat.” He says, grinning and turning his face to you. “Did Spinel like the movies?”

“I’d ask her, but..” You look at him, shrugging and pointing to her.

“Is she asleep?” He whispers, some of the others looking over in your direction and away from their quiet conversations. For some reason your heart rate speeds up.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting her to pass out. It isn’t really like her to be this tired.” You reply. Your legs are numb from lack of circulation, and you stretch them out in front of you.

“Spinel.. sleeps?” An eyebrow shoots up into his hairline that has you feeling strange about what you had just said.

“I mean, yeah? It’s not that weird, Amethyst does it sometimes.” 

“Yeah, that’s because I’m just lazy. But you don’t see me sleeping on you.” Amethyst chuckles lowly, a slow grin spreading on her face. 

“What the hell are you implying?” You ask, feeling your face start to heat up. 

“Nothing! She must trust you a lot is all, sleeping like that.” She laughs a little. “She looks kind of like a lapdog.”

“Don’t call her a dog, jeez.” You roll your eyes, pushing down the blush on your face. 

“Look at you, defending her even when she can’t defend herself, when earlier you were so easy to insult her.” Pearl says from across the room, putting a finger to her lip and looking smug. “You know…”

“Alright, enough picking on Y/N. I wanna go to bed.” Steven says with a yawn, and the others file out of his loft down the stairs without much of a fight.

“Does she have a bed in her new place?” You watch her shoulders rise and fall with her breathing.

“No, er, she has a bedroom though. Wasn’t expecting her to be the sleeping type, honestly. I’ll get with Bismuth tomorrow about it. Shouldn’t take long, though. She can sleep on the couch tonight if anything.” He says, taking his socks off and flinging them across the other side of his room into the pile of laundry he has there.

"Alright." You say, thinking about several things at once. Hm. She looks so soft right now, and it's taking like, all of your self control to not stroke her head. It sucks that you've got to wake her. 

Steven gets up to go to the bathroom and brush his teeth before sleeping, and makes a comment about his floor better not ‘be occupied’ when he comes back. You roll your eyes, smiling at him fondly. You love his teen attitude.

Very gently, you shake Spinel's shoulders a little. You're actually surprised when she lifts her head a little, slow blinking and confusion all over her face. She's got lines pressed into her face where she slept a little too hard against her arm. It's extremely endearing. 

"Did I pass out?" She asks, rubbing her eyes but still looking very drowsy.

"Yeah. We finished the other movie. The others went off on their own, and Steven's going to sleep."

You lead the gem down the stairs, careful to not let her sleep-heavy self trip. You sit her on the couch, and walk away to grab the spare blankets from the cupboard for her. You pass Steven coming out of the bathroom on your way back over, him giving the both of you a peace sign and telling you to get decent sleep. He also apologises to Spinel in case she hears any snoring coming from him.

Once he’s out of sight, you place the spare blankets and pillow next to her on the couch. 

“Are you gonna be okay out here? Let me know if you need anything.” Leaning your hands on your hips, you give her a quick look-over. She’s tired, clearly, but a little more awake than before.

She looks at you hesitantly, like she wants to say something, but is unsure how.

"What?" You whisper at her. "Is there something wrong?"

"Um.." She looks away momentarily, like she's nervous to admit something. It's making you anxious.

"Spit it out, Spinel." You say, and it comes out a little harsher than intended. 

"I don't know if I can sleep. I've had.. really bad nightmares every time I've tried, so I stopped trying. It's been weeks.." She trails off, avoiding your eyes. "That nap earlier was the most solid sleep I've had in a while."

Oh. You.. you weren't expecting her to say that. You feel horrible about it, actually..

"Do you want to sleep with me?" You hear the words coming out of your mouth, horrified at what it kind of implied. "I-I mean, um, maybe having another person next to you might help you sleep?" You quickly correct yourself, feeling your face heat up in mortification. Yeah yeah idiot, ask the gem to sleep with you god what the hell is wrong with you.

Thankfully, you think she’s too tired to really catch on to that, as she kind of looks a little.. sheepish when her eyes lock on to yours.

“You’re not just sayin’ that, right? To be nice?” You think you see her wring her hands nervously in her lap, and you’re confused by it. Why the hell is she nervous?

"You think I'm purposefully nice?" 

"Well.." She gives you a look. 

"Come on." You say with a sigh. "My bed is big enough for the both of us, and it's comfier than this couch." 

She follows you to your bedroom, and your heartbeats pick up pace. Calm down. Sure, this is like, completely new territory for the both of you. She's seen where you live, what you're like around other people, and now she's about to see your room. It almost feels.. strangely intimate. You have no idea why this particular thought puts you on edge. Like you're.. waiting on something. 

You open your bedroom door, the both of you shuffling inside and closing the door behind you with a solid click. She looks around at the walls, intrigued by many of the things you've put up as decoration. You watch her for a moment, your brain repeating the words 'Spinel is in my bedroom' like a mantra.

"Hmmm." Is all she says, and you feel a little insulted for some reason.

"Why do I feel like you're making fun of me by saying that?"

"I like it. Reminds me of you." She gives you a cheeky smile, and you don't know if you'd rather slap her or kiss her.

All of a sudden you realize you're alone with her, like actually alone, without anyone having the ability to hear you. Not that there is anything to hear..

You shake your skull, dismissing the thoughts in your head. You're not going there today, brain. It's time to sleep.

"Before I lay down, I'm gonna change into better clothes. Make yourself comfortable." You say as you walk over to your closet, and immediately grab a tank top because you know you'll be warm. You also grab another pair of shorts. You make quick work of going out to the bathroom to change and to brush your teeth, and by the time you get back to your bedroom, she's looking at all the photostrips you have with Steven.

You pull back your blankets, sitting down on the surface of your bed and setting your phone on your nightstand.

"Aren't you tired?" You say with a yawn, and she turns to you. 

"Very." She's halfway to the bed when you stop her before she gets in, and she gives you a perplexed look.

"This is gonna sound weird, but I don't want you in my bed wearing those."

"My.. clothes?" She gives you a look, half a grin forming on her face - her canines shining a little in the dim light of your bedroom. "Are 'ya saying you want me in there naked?"

"No, stupid! It's just, you wear those clothes everywhere, and it feels unsanitary to-"

"Yeah, yeah, calm down you brat. I get it.” She gets this kind of.. excited look on her face, eyes brightening. “Am I gonna get to steal your clothes then?”

“Pick whatever you want from my closet I guess.” You say, and watch her rifle through your clothes.

“You have a lot of sweaters in here.” 

“Sweaters are comfy. They’re my favorite thing to wear.” You state, the feeling of being on edge still fully not going away. 

It’s strange, being this casual with her. Like you didn’t meet her under the circumstances you did, and didn’t go through all of that with her either. You haven’t really had many close friends in your life, but you like to think that if you had met her differently, you’d still eventually form some kind of tentative.. friendship, or whatever you call this, with her. Halfway friends, halfway something else. See now you’re just being too hopeful, because technically she hasn’t brought up feelings at all. Or that kiss. Or whatever the fuck she was going to say before she left you on the hill.

“-were you wanting to watch me change, or should I go to the bathroom?” You’re torn out of your thoughts by the sound of her voice, and you feel your face heat up as you tear your eyes away. How embarrassing. It's not like she can read your thoughts though, right? 

“Was spacing, sorry. I’ll look away.” You keep your face turned towards your phone, checking the time and thinking momentarily about setting an alarm. You hear the shuffling sounds of moving fabric and boots hitting the ground, and forego the alarm altogether. Who’re you kidding yourself, you’re not waking up early. 

Before you realize it, she’s pulling the covers away on the other side of you and you feel a weight dipping into the mattress beside you. You're getting jitters in your stomach as you turn to catch her eye, because she's got one of your oversized Sadie Killer band tees on that's large enough that the top half of her gem is peeking out, and her hair isn't up in twintails anymore and now you're just staring at this point. The fact that you can see the entirety of her neck as well as the area around her collarbones has you feeling some way that you just know is absolutely showing on your face. You've never seen her show this much skin.

"What.." She gets this sort of stubbornly shy look when she realizes you're staring at her, her cheeks coloring faintly. She looks so different like this.. vulnerable, mostly. She doesn't have her gloves on, and you're pretty sure she's wearing a pair of your shorts as well because you can see her bare legs. "Is there something on my face? Don't give me that look."

"No, I just wasn't expecting to see you with your hair down."

"It doesn't look weird does it?  I wasn't-"

"Shut up, you look cute.. and very non-threatening." You say, throwing in the jab with a bit of a smirk.

She rolls her eyes, scowling a bit. You think you see her cheeks darken ever so slightly, but it could also be a trick of the dim light in your room and the lines on her cheeks. You'd love to see just how far you can push those buttons of hers sometime. The look on her face when she's frustrated is probably one of your favorites, but you'd only ever admit that to yourself.

"Oh, I'll show you threatening.." She replies with a glint in her eye, the corner of her lips twitching. 

"Pfft, go to sleep. You're about as threatening as a chihuahua." You retort, feeling that smirk grow a little wider, but also seeing her reach for her cell phone. "Spinel, I forbid you from looking that up until the morning."

"Uggggggghhhh, you can't tell me what to do!" She flops down onto the bed next to you, magenta hair messily all around her head. She fixes it with a huff, giving you a dirty look that you find amusing as you lower yourself into the blankets you're sharing with her. "If I wasn't so tired I'd fight you."

"Oh, I'm sure." You reply with a chuckle, turning to the center of the bed to face her.

She turns her head to look at you, face drawn in a glare and yet her eyes are so very warm. Your eyes are caught here with hers for a moment, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. Two.. three seconds pass, and you're pretty sure she's looking at your mouth. She looks like she's about to say something, her lips parting ever so slightly.

And then she flops over to her other side, and you're left laying there wondering what in the fuck was that.

Ugh. You hate girls. And aliens.

"Don't let me sleep forever." She mumbles, and you lean over to your lamp to switch it off.

"No promises." The room is blanketed in darkness in a single click, and you switch on your salt lamp before leaning your head down on your pillow, back flat against the bed. There's still a tiny bit of light coming from the glow of the moon through the blinds, and you pull your blanket up to your chest. You try getting comfortable, and it's.. fairly difficult when you're hyper aware of the person next to you.

"Would it be too much to ask if you could.. y'know.." You hear her say, almost too quiet for you to hear. You think your heart does a little backflip inside your chest.

"Are you asking me to cuddle you?!" You reply, barely being able to hold the mirth in your voice back.

You hear her sigh aggravatingly, and you roll over to put an arm around her waist before she can protest. 

"You are so annoying." She spits out.

"Whatever. I knew you liked being the little spoon." You grin smugly behind her back, siphoning all the warmth from her as you can. Your knees are almost hitting the back of hers, and because of how squishy your bed is, this is the closest you think you've ever been to her as you're basically flush with her body. It's comfortable, and intimate, and you're trying to not think about how easy it'd be to just.. confess your feelings to her.

"Shut it." You hear her say; and you just know she's rolling her eyes even if you can't see her, and smiling regardless. 

Silence envelops the both of you, and you're feeling sleep start to catch up with you when all of a sudden you feel her arm move, and then her soft fingers are tentatively being entwined with yours.

Your heart speeds up tremendously and all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears. Your face is on fucking fire, and you can feel it. She has to know that you're having an internal fucking panic right now, you're like a hundred percent sure your hand is shaking. What the fuck do you do? Are you gonna talk about this? Is this what's happening? 

A mere minute passes that feels like a lifetime of you fighting with yourself. As soon as you open your mouth to say something, you hear steady sounds of breathing coming from her.

Oh.

She's fallen asleep holding your hand.

You blow out the breath you didn't realize you were holding, and stifle the laugh that wants to come out of your mouth.

You think, maybe, that you love her.

You watch the back of her head until you get tired, and fall asleep fairly easily, her hand warm in yours.

[regrettablewritings]

Technically he wasn't included in the list of one's you could write for but I know you've written for him before, would you be willing to do a Matt Murdock x Reader for the ship meme? Either way, thank you. Your the best.

Crap, I knew I was forgetting something! Sure thing, though! Apologies beforehand if it’s not up to par – I did my best with all the crap going on today.

How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: When you first met Matt, you were just like everybody else and bought the schtick where he acts unassuming due to his disability. Nobody could blame you, that was the point of it. However, what stood out to you most was his apparently big heart: After all, most forms would turn you down upon hearing what little (yet all) you had to offer regarding the inhospitable conditions at your place of work.

But according to the Nelson part of Nelson & Murdock, any price was perfectly fine (“Feel free to throw in a blueberry pie,” he joked). And the Murdock half flashed a smile in your general direction, assuring you that they would get to the bottom of this. To your surprise, they not only did but also did so while treating you like an actual goddamn human being.

As for Matt, the first thing he thought of when he met you was, “She’s innocent.” Of course, he meant this in reference to your heartbeat when discussing your situation, as he always did when concerning a potential client. But the more he talked to you about the case, the subsequent things regarding your personal life he learned. And the more vivid of a picture he had in his head.Due to his reliance on sound and the things he could hear, as well as how secretive he actually was, Matt managed to develop a newfound opinion of you before you could of him.By the time the two of you accepted yourselves as a couple, Matt knew you as a resourceful type of person who wanted to make sure that the ones she cared about were comfortable and taken care of. However, if shit went down, you were absolutely not afraid to take a stand and call bullshit.You, on the other hand, still held your belief that Matt had a big heart. The problem was, it took a very long while before you also realized how self-destructive he could be. And it makes you worry tremendously. You still admire him, but you really wish he’d quit playing the martyr.

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Foggy’s beyond glad that you’ve entered Matt’s life because he foolishly believes that with a healthy love life, it’ll force Matt to have to reconsider his actions. He’s always been foolhardy, using the stigma of a docile blindman to convince others not in the know that he was careful with his decisions and actions. Perhaps having you and something to strive for besides the safety of Hell’s Kitchen might give him a reason to not be such a martyr and quit volunteering to jump in front of the swinging fist of some thug.Karen, similarly, is glad that there’s somebody who can look out for Matt potentially more because you’re more likely to be in a more intimate setting than she and Foggy would as just friends.Matt nearly won your friends and family over by the mere mention of him being a lawyer. Of course, it did come up that his particular firm was notorious for accepting cases with payments of pies, bananas, and IOUs. You really tried to hype up that this was due to Matt’s good hearted nature, but it was still accepted with some hesitancy.Otherwise, they don’t find him unpleasant and as long as you’re both happy and he treats you well, they can’t find too much to gripe about. (Though your folks still make occasional jabs at the question of his ability to provide for you in terms of a long-term relationship…)

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: Matt’s protectiveness works well with your need to assure the comfort of others. Additionally, you both have a sense of justice. The difference is that his involves dressing up like a devil and doing parkour around ten blocks of New York nearly every night and beating the shit out of people.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: You enjoy Matt’s wit, and he enjoys how you can make a person feel comfortable. He keeps you laughing with his dry humor, and your thing for hospitality meant you helped repay Nelson & Murdock by redecorating the office to feel less sterile and unprofessional.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: Technically speaking, Matt’s secretiveness and martyr complex isn’t a pet peeve. Nevertheless, drives you insane the most and really tests your relationship. He takes way too much upon himself with little regard for the effects; he’s certainly not a scale, because he constantly proves he can’t balance everything as well as he thinks he can.The thing that annoys him about you is arguably and comparatively chill: Sometimes you just do things too loudly. Cutting up food, slamming cabinets — the usual. You try to keep it quieter, you really do, but what’s normal to most others is loud to the man.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Matt’s lawyer mode unfortunately shines during arguments with you, and sometimes it results with him saying things that pierce you to the bone. The moment he hears you inhale sharply, smell the salt of the tears welling in your eyes, and hears a change in your breathing pattern, he knows he’s gone too far and regrets it. If you need space away from him, he doesn’t blame you and will probably hate himself: He made uncomfortable the one person who tries her best to make others feel happy and safe.If you’ll hear him out, he’ll likely give an apology riddled with self-deprecation until you’ve had enough. Unfortunately, his typical go-to is makeup sex as a result of him being used to doing that with Elektra. Given that you’re the first healthy relationship he’s ever had, he isn’t entirely sure of what else to do if this doesn’t suit your fancy; but Matt’s no quitter.He’ll try and do to you the things you do to him when you make him feel comfortable: Cuddle you, read stories (though, given that most of his literature is law books in Braille, you may want to skip this), order food from the Thai place down the street, and so on.On your end, usually all you have to do is apologize and Matt will hear it in your heart how truly honest you’re being and how much it’s hurting you to keep being angry with him. Once he hugs you close and whispers that the apology was accepted, you know all is better. Maybe not well, but better.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: Matt’s never really ventured out of New York or gone on vacation for that matter. Wasn’t the entire point of vacation to see new sites? Of course, you’re not buying that crap for a minute. With Luke Cage and Jessica Jones and god knows who else is running about, you promised him it’d be okay if he took a break and went elsewhere for a week or two. Somewhere nice and fresh, away from the pollution of an urban area would be ideal. A nice, small town perhaps. Rural. Where you can both sleep in under linen sheets and breathe in the cleaner, country air…

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time: Matt was quite aware of how odd it was for a blind man to be wandering around such a shady area of the Kitchen. At best, people would scoff at him and try to bring him back to “a nicer area”; but at worst, they might attempt to mug him. He made sure to put extra focus on his awareness, praying that the noises and smells of the jazz club wouldn’t distract him for too long.Go in, eavesdrop, get out. Go in, eavesdrop, get out.He repeated this mantra over and over in his head as he recited the password to the doorman. He didn’t need to see to be aware of the quirked brow the guard wore when they heard the clicking of his walking stick, having realized that the red-tinted shades weren’t for fashion.Immediately, he could smelling the choking stench of cigars and alcohol and cheap perfumes and expensive colognes alike. With the rustle of his fingers, he could feel the fabrics of the bar patrons, hear the chattering and obnoxious guffaws of overly flirtatious women as men slapped their palms on the wooden tables, making their glasses rattle.Matt tried not to appear uncomfortable, pretending to feel around for a seat he could “see” quite clearly. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth coming down here to get a lead on a self-directed investigation. Surely there was another way…“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage the lovely (Y/N) (L/N); she’s a little shy so be sure to give her a nice warm welcome.”Crap.If he tried to leave now, it might draw more attention than what he’d already gained as a visually impaired patron. Matt bit back a grimace as he slid into his seat, courteously joining the small crowd in light applause. No choice now but to go along with it, pretend he was enjoying the music when really his ears were scrambling to focus on a particular voice of the one suspect he was tailing.But, oh, was the attempt in vain.“There’s a saying old, says that love is bliiiiind… Still, we’re often told, ‘Seek and ye shall fiiiinndd.’ So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had…in miiiiiiindd…”Matt had heard many voices in his life — possibly more than the average person, given his hypersensitive hearing.He could not say even years from that moment precisely what it was about your voice that made him lose focus in record time from his initial mission.Maybe it was that you sounded like Ella, only somehow sweeter than Ella. Or how your handling of the words made each syllable slink the the air with honey-like grace. If he allowed himself to indulge in a very rare instance of sappiness, however, Matt would have probably secretly humored that God blesses your voice to be particularly wondrous that evening.In fact, he very much did think so.“I’d like to add his initials to my monograamm. Wheeeere is the shepherd for thiiiiisss looooossst laaammbb?”Cross that: Your voice was bewitching more than anything to him. (And had his vision been available, his sight of you would only encourage such: A red, curve-caressing dress; hair styled to display softness even at a distance; devilish, red lips that one wouldn’t expect to produce such sweet sounds.)“There’s someone I’m longing to seeeee I hope that heeee turns out to beeeee… someoonne who’ll waaaatch… oooover meeeee…”Matthew Michael Murdock had only ever heard of love at first sight – and he already didn’t believe in such rubbish. But as he heard you on that stage, his focus now completely on you, he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps love at first song might’ve been a thing. At the very least, infatuation at first song.He no longer cared how unusual it was for a blind man to be in a club in the seedier part of the Kitchen. Nor did he care with how much enthusiasm he applauded your performance. Hell, he barely cared about the reason he came here in the first place.He heard you thanking the audience with gleeful yet shy appreciation, followed by the sounds of you hopping down from the stage … and walking towards him! Matt felt like an imbecilic college student again, flustered at the realization that a pretty-sounding girl was coming for him! … And passed him. His heart calmed with a gut-jolting thud, only to pick up as he caught a whiff of your perfume. Wait … Lotion, he corrected himself. How unusual for a club singer to bathe her scent in lotion and not perfume. But to Matt, it was a tiny yet wonderful thing. It made him want to get to know you more.She might have something to say about our guy, he told himself as he listened for your movements. He could hear the sway of your hips as you waltzed on over and took a seat at the bar. He heard you talk to the bartender an a highly amicable manner and order your drink. He could hear the parting of your rich lips as you took a sip, a sigh of relief as your parched throat was finally aided. You noticed that this copper-brown-haired man was headed towards you before he did – the click-clacking of his cane cued him in to you in spite of his own personal use of the item.He could hear you producing a confused smile. He didn’t mind. “Good evening, Miss,” he uttered, turning on the Murdock Men’s charm, whatever that was. Whatever it was, indeed – because even years from that moment, you wouldn’t be able to explain precisely what it was about Matt Murdock’s voice that stood out from the many others you had heard up to that point in your life.Maybe it was because it was deep yet encased with warmth. Or maybe it was how even among the chatter of the bar patrons, his voice seemed to caress your ears as gentle hands would. Or maybe it was because the words flowed from such a lovely-looking man, of whom proved himself to be quite the conversational partner as the evening wore on.

Whatever the case, by the time the both of you had left, you were both questioning the same thing: Was love or infatuation at first sound a thing?

Send me a character ship

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Ch. 8

Hey, look, I finally posted something. Entire work still lives here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525500?view_full_work=true

And of course, I always love good feedback.

*1 week before Clone Fest*

Frigid wind blew trash against the window of Fung's Diner while Sarah and Art met for their weekly lunch. Art had started giving her little mental challenges, based on past cases of his, and sometimes she enjoyed it, but today she just shook her head.

“Okay,” he said, “you gotta tell me what's on your mind, then.”

She pushed her eyebrows up with her fingers and tried to avoid the quasi-command for a minute or so before giving in. “Mostly just the usual bullshit. And Alison wants me to help plan this Clone Fest thing she's got coming up.”

“Clone Fest?!”

“Yeah. It's like, to celebrate all of our birthdays, or whatever, sort of between all the actual birthdays. It's next week.”

“Oh, that'll be nice. Yeah, Beth's birthday is... was right around this time, now that I think about it.” He chuckled, but shook his head. “April Fools Day. We used to laugh about that.”

She put her hand on his forearm. “Hey. It's still her birthday, right? And we're gonna try to do something to celebrate her, something special just for her, plus the party for all the rest of us weirdos. The party's the bitch, though. It's just...” She put the heels of both hands to her forehead, a gesture she'd picked up from Cosima some time ago, and shook her head. “It's just I have no idea what do.”

“What do you mean?”

“For, like, activities and shit. Alison wants to me to come up with 'fun activities' for everyone, and all I can think of doing is going to a club and getting drunk and high and shitfaced in every possible way until you can't remember who you even are any more. That's been just about every birthday party I've ever been to. Well, birthday party for adults, that is. Been going to more kids' parties these days, haven't I?”

Art smiled. “I dunno, Gemma's indoor pool party a couple months ago sounded like a blast. Maybe that's just more my speed these days.”

She took a bite of her BLT and considered that. “Okay, so we can get shitfaced at an indoor pool instead.”

He got that serious look on his face again. “No. Please don't. Sarah...”

“Hey, glow sticks look pretty cool underwater, you gotta admit.”

“Who else is gonna be there, other than the sisters?”

“Fucking, like, everybody, I guess? Cos and Delphine are flying in from wherever the fuck they are, and Scott's taking time off work to be there. Alison and Donnie and Helena, of course. Fe, naturally. You, hopefully. Not the kids, though. Alison's found a sitter to watch them for the evening.”

“What about Colin?”

She rolled her eyes and ate more of her sandwich.

“Uh oh.”

“If you really wanna know, ask Fe. There's some drama, but he's not telling me about it.”

“Well, even if he does come, I don't think he's got a lot of lifeguarding experience, so it answers my real question either way – who's gonna save your ass when one of you falls into the deep end tripping balls so hard you think that you actually fell up?”

“Cosima said she was a lifeguard in college.”

“In college.” When Sarah gave him a So What look, he clarified, “That means more than 10 years ago, and I'm guessing she hasn't been keeping her license up-to-date.”

When she didn't respond right away, he ate quietly and watched people ducking their heads against the wind outside. She knew what he was thinking, and she wanted to slap him for it.

“Look, we can enjoy ourselves for one bloody night, okay?”

“I'm not saying you can't.”

“You're doing everything but.” She stole one of the olives from his salad and mentally dared his forehead furrows to deepen. “Cosima and Delphine have been off saving our sisters' lives in, like, the shittiest places on the planet, so the least we can do is have a decent party for them. And for me and Alison and Helena, too, of course, 'cause our lives haven't been total picnics, but mostly for them.”

“That's funny,” he said, “I got a postcard from them with a picture of a real fancy resort on it. Said they were having a blast.”

“Yeah, I got that one, too, about a week after one that showed the earth splitting open and spewing fire. They move around a lot, yeah? Point is, it's everyone's birthday celebration, including Cosima's, and hell, including mine! You're not supposed to be responsible at a birthday party, Art!”

He made his “okey-dokey-then” face and cleaned the salad dressing from his chin. “Just don't count on me being there if there's anything other than alcohol involved. And I mean anything.”

** The morning of Clone Fest **

Cosima and Delphine both woke early, their bodies still wired to Middle East time. The weather report showed unseasonably warm temperatures, with highs around 18C and clear skies. After checking the weather report, Cosima dropped the phone next to her pillow and contemplated the day ahead. They were having lunch at Sarah's, followed by relaxed family time and then “something super fun” that evening.

“We should go to the market,” Delphine said, rolling over so that her nose almost touched Cosima's cheek. “The one in the park, you know? With all the sellers with vegetables and fruits. I know they might not have much this time of year, but someone will have eggs, I think.”

The mental image of Delphine casually perusing market stalls, in, like, a straw hat and a peasant skirt and carrying a straw basket made Cosima grin. “You wanna go to the farmer's market to get eggs?”

“Yes.” She kissed Cosima's chin and angled her torso above hers. “And anything else that looks good.”

She played with Delphine's fingers, splayed out next to her face, and smiled. “Can I get you, then?”

“Mmmm.... maybe.” There was another kiss, and Delphine threw back the covers, making Cosima yelp. “We'll see.” And with a smile, she sauntered off to the bathroom while Cosima scrambled to cover herself back up.

It was still chilly when they left at 7:30 in hats and scarves, but the sunlight kissing the buildings and the edges of the still-bare branches hinted at the warmer temperatures ahead. Cosima would have sucked up the chill and walked, but a city bus lumbered up as they neared a stop, so they got on and rode the mile or so to the park, where the market atmosphere was in full swing. At the entrance, they got coffee and home-baked muffins from a stall supporting the local children's orchestra, while a bluegrass duo played guitar and fiddle.

“Hang on,” Cosima said as they passed. “Are they playing Wagon Wheel?”

“What?”

She listened more closely, picking through years of memories for the tune. Then the fiddle picked up again, sawing at the chords, and she nodded. “Yup. It's definitely Wagon Wheel. Haven't heard this song since... well, let's just say it's been a while. Only words I remember is where they sing about having a nice long toke.”

“Ah. That's why you remember it. Maybe you can play it for me sometime.”

“Maybe.” She rubbed her shoulder against Delphine's as they made their way through the already crowded pathways between stalls. The muffin was good, if a little light on the blueberries, and the coffee warmed her hands and insides. “If you come out to California with me, I'm sure one of my uncles or cousins will play it on the guitar and we'll all sing along while we're drunk or high. Or both.”

They ducked into a stall selling leafy greens and inspected the wares, and Delphine asked, “If? Is it in question whether I'll go to California with you some day?”

Cosima balanced her half-eaten muffin on her coffee lid and set them on the counter. “No. I hope not.”

“Then why if?”

“I dunno...” She bagged a few handfuls of mesclun greens, tied the bags, and did the same with some kale. “It just doesn't seem that, like, certain, I guess.” Way to be articulate, Niehaus, she thought. The funk she'd been in a few days prior had dissipated with the family meals and the vigorous fuckings, but now it lurked at the edge of her mind again.

“No?”

And then Delphine was rubbing her back, and it was almost okay, but a young woman nearby scolded her child in Arabic, and Cosima remembered they were going to Baghdad in three days.

“It's fine.” She tilted her head to kiss Delphine, and turned back to the counter to pay for the greens.

They took their time exploring the market, sampling mushrooms and honey and pickled everything, and also buying three dozen eggs, a log of goat cheese, a pack of crème fraiche, fresh dill from the same greenhouse the leafy greens came from, carrots, chopped walnuts, and various snacks to take along. By the time they reached the end of the line of stalls and sat down to snack, the sun had risen and they needed to remove their hats and scarves.

Looking out at the park stretched out in front of them, distant high-rises visible over the treetops, Cosima rested her head on Delphine's shoulder. “It's a nice place.”

“Mhm,” Delphine agreed around a mouthful of apricot.

“D'you remember that day we were gonna have a picnic out here...”

“The day it rained?”

“No, the other time.”

“The day you were pissed at me?”

“Was it... wait. Which day that I was pissed at you?” Cosima paused and thought back. She'd been thinking of the plans they'd made, to bring blankets and some hot spiced wine out here, to listen to the drummers and snuggle up together in public. And then they hadn't done that, because...

“You don't remember? The day you learned that that dental pulp came from Kira's tooth.”

“Was that the same day? Maybe. I remember them as two completely separate events.”

“It was the same day. I'd already set my schedule to leave early, but then you overheard me talking to Scott, and...”

“And the rest is history.”

People with dogs and baby strollers passed, less densely here than at other parts. A distant off-key trumpet player honked out “When the Saints Come Marching In,” and the combined smells of grilled meat, popcorn, and weed made the park smell like a fairground.

“We could get married here.”

Delphine had her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, but she set it down again at that. “As a replacement picnic, perhaps?”

“If you wanna think of it that way. We did tell everyone we'd get married in Toronto, didn't we?”

“Yes, we did. I don't think either of us will want to jaunt off anywhere for a destination wedding.”

Cosima's laugh slid into a groan, and she covered her eyes. “I am trying so hard not to think about jaunting off anywhere right now. Today was supposed to be my day off from jaunting.”

“Ooh, pauvre petit chiot...” Delphine rubbed her shoulder and nuzzled her hair. “I'm sorry that I brought it up.”

“Eh, it's whatever. What do you think, though? Of getting married here? We don't need to decide right now, obviously.”

“Obviously. I think it's nice, as long as it doesn't rain.”

“We can have a backup for rain.”

Delphine giggled. “Like one of those giant circus tents?”

“Exactly like one of those. Oh, and there could be streamers that are, like, DNA-shaped coming down from the top.”

“Mmm, maybe. What else would there be?”

“DNA symbols on the cake, obviously.”

“A DNA cake, maybe?”

“Oooh, that's a good idea.”

They finished off their snacks, and just as they were about to rise, a loud boBOOP emanated from Delphine's purse, making them both pause. While Delphine fished around for the clone business phone, it gave off two more boBOOPs in rapid succession, and Cosima's heart picked up its pace. Maybe it was Özlem, and Cosima's suspicions about the coughing were correct. Or maybe it was someone with some information about Malika, finally. Or maybe it was just some doctor, confirming an appointment in Baghdad or Tehran or wherever.

Delphine unlocked the screen and frowned, then smiled. “Look.”

Leaning over, Cosima saw a picture, likely taken by a webcam, of three children – Fatima, Nabil, and Mohammed Al Numery, the oldest of the Yemeni orphans they'd met in Djibouti. In the picture, only Fatima looked directly at the camera, large dark eyes serious under her headscarf while the boys poked each other from each side of her. With a swipe, Delphine revealed the second photo. The boys smiled here, but Fatima did not.

“They are such good kids,” Cosima said.

“They sent a message, too.”

hello dr delphine cormier it began. we are nabl Fatima and Mhmmd in DJIBOUTI CITY DJIBOUTI please you help aunt nooran sister we say hello ehllo

“Oh my god that is so cute.” Cosima wondered if they'd sent it from one of the internet cafés in the city, or if they'd made a friend with a laptop. She wondered if Nooran had told them how much she wanted Cosima and Delphine to take the children away with them.

“We should write back,” Delphine said. “But with what?”

Cosima took the phone from her and turned it to landscape position. “Easy. Smile.”

*

They strolled down a residential street on their way back from the market, Cosima's arm around Delphine's waist and Delphine's arm around Cosima's shoulders, each of them with bags of goodies slung over their shoulders.

Several blocks away from the park, in an upscale but cozy neighborhood, they saw a house with at least ten balloons dancing in the wind around a multicolored OPEN HOUSE sign. A woman in a burgundy pant suit waved as they approached. “Open house today, ladies! Wanna come take a look around?”

“Eh...” said Delphine, but Cosima stopped and looked up at it. She was fuzzy on architectural terms, but she put the facade around early 1900s, with dark stately brick and those bump-out windows that give the inhabitants a nice cross breeze in the summer. It was three stories, including an English basement, and there was a tiny garden out front with some brave little daffodils poking up.

“We're not in the market, actually,” Delphine said.

“Oh, that's fine!” the agent assured them. “You can still come in and take a look around, get some ideas for when you are in the market one day. Are you two from around here?”

They exchanged a glance. “Not exactly,” Cosima said.

“Well, I see you've done some shopping! We do have a really nice kitchen inside, I have to say. Newly renovated! Come on in! There's free coffee!”

It was such a tacky sales pitch, but another couple walked out of the house and gave them a view of a spacious entry way past a practical mudroom with rain boots set up as props. She looked up at Delphine. “What d'you think, babe? Take a look around real quick, grab some free coffee? It'll give us a chance to put these bags down for a minute.”

Delphine arched her eyebrows and looked down at her with those caramel brown eyes, and Cosima knew it wasn't practical, and that Delphine thought she was being silly, but she didn't care.

“Please?”

“Alright. If you really want to.”

The inside of the house was furnished by the real estate agency in a way that blended Rachel Duncan and Alison Hendrix, but the agent had been right about the kitchen – it was fantastic, although Cosima had to admit that her standards for kitchens had always been pretty low. There was an island with a granite countertop, plenty of cabinet space, and a gas stove. It was easy to imagine having the nieces and nephews over for a weekend and making pancakes for them in this kitchen, or cooking up a romantic dinner with Delphine on a Friday night. A window over the sink and a half-glass door beside the cabinets looked out on a spacious fenced-in backyard where two black-haired little girls ran around with balloons. Cosima thought of the pictures they'd just seen, and imagined Fatima finally being able to relax and run around with her siblings in a yard like this.

“You guys been upstairs yet?”

Cosima turned to see a paunchy man in khakis addressing her and Delphine. “Uh, no,” she said.

“You should check out the balcony. That about sold this place for me, honestly.”

Cosima wasn't sure what to say to that, but Delphine suggested that he put an offer on the house if he liked it so much, and the woman he was with groaned. That set off an argument between the two of them, and Cosima and Delphine scooted away up the stairs.

Upstairs, Delphine wandered into the smaller hall bathroom while Cosima explored the master bedroom. She could see what the guy downstairs had meant. French doors opened onto a balcony large enough to comfortably host ten people. She walked out, ran her fingers over the stained wooden railing, and then rested her forearms on it to look out on the backyard.

The realtor wasn't lying when she said “great backyard,” either. If anything, it was an understatement; the yard was easily three or four times the size of the Hendrix's backyard. The realtor's voice drifted up from below. “Oh, there's definitely room for a swing set! Swing set, sandbox, fire pit, you name it!”

There were maple trees out there, too, with tiny buds giving them a fuzzy appearance. They were just about large enough to string a hammock up between them, but if that didn't work, they could always put a bench beneath them, and sit out in the shade on warm days. They could have cook-outs with the family, or just sit out there together with drinks, just the two of them. She could come home and find Delphine on that sofa downstairs, or in the kitchen making fancy cuisine look effortless. Sometimes she would get home first, and Delphine would come home from work to find Cosima making Kraft dinner or doing a smelly pet science project out on this balcony.

“Hey.” Delphine came up and rubbed her shoulders. “What are you thinking about?”

She smiled over at her, loving the sight of Delphine on this balcony, in her comfy sweater and multi-pocket pants. “Just stupid shit.”

“Ah.” Delphine watched her for a moment. “We can't buy it. You know that.”

Fucking hell... Cosima laughed. “I know that!”

“Okay, just checking. You have that far away look on your face, though.”

“I do not.”

“You most definitely do.” Delphine scooted over to tuck herself beside Cosima, and nuzzled the top of her head. “One more year, if that, chérie, and then we can stay. Not in this house, of course! But we can stay here. Or wherever you want. Back in Minnesota, or California, wherever.”

“I know.”

“We really should be going, though. People are waiting for us, and we have perishables.”

Cosima giggled. “Yeah. Maybe I just like hearing you say perishables.”

On the way to Sarah's house, they passed hundred-year-old maples and oak trees in yards and parks, brown front lawns that would turn verdant in a few months, and all manner of people getting an early start on their weekend. At one corner house, while Cosima and Delphine waited for the light to let them cross, a man and woman looked up at the roof of their house.

“Earliest the contractors can come out is next week,” the woman told the man.

They didn't stay at the corner long enough to find out what the contractors would be coming out for, but all Cosima could think of was We're not even going to be on this continent next week.

She didn't even want a house. They were too much work, with the lawn upkeep and the plumbing and the pest control and making sure the roof didn't cave in. Her parents always said their boat was easier to maintain than any of their houses had been. She didn't want a house.

Once Sarah's house was in view, Cosima's steps slowed. Her sisters were there, and her niece, and she felt as comfortable there as anywhere else, but it wasn't home.

“You okay?” Delphine asked.

And Delphine was several feet in front of her, checking on her, making sure she was okay, knowing her moods before Cosima herself knew them.

“Yeah,” she said, jaunting across the short distance to kiss her lips. “I'm okay.”

[zillyeh]

Storm Season (3/???)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word count: 3545

Content warning: Implications of a less than healthy relationship, baby M*djug

Synopsis: After having worked for Miles for a few solid weeks, an old... friend of Voss' pops up unexpectedly. No not that one, older than that. Well. Yeah actually that one too.

Google Doc

The winter over Delhon snapped hard into the negatives, but that didn’t stop Voss from walking nearly everywhere. The only thing that could possibly do that would be, say, having a car.

Evidently the weather didn’t stop many others either. Bundled up highbloods and lowbloods alike waddled along the sidewalk, hurriedly as possible without breaking their necks on the ice.

Voss, more than anything, wanted to be home. Sure his apartment sucked ass and leaked heat like it was its job, but it was a shit ton better than being outside. He’d be passing by Miles’ cafe on his way, but he didn’t exactly have enough expendable income at the moment to justify it. Yet. God rich people were shit at tipping. Even if he did tend to get better tables.

He had coffee at home, though. He’d be fine. The cigarette between his lips would keep him warm enough.

“Voss?” A familiar voice called from behind him. He almost wasn’t sure he heard right. That couldn’t possibly be… “Hey Voss!”

His footsteps fell heavy behind Voss, catching up to him easily with his longer legs.

“Dosie?” Voss asked incredulously, moving his half done cig between his fingers.

“Hey, long time no see!” Dosiro beamed, adorably bundled up with his teal scarf and dark trenchcoat. He looked almost exactly the same- hard jawed and sharp toothed- though he’d grown something of a beard since Voss last had anything to do with that face.

“H- heh, yeah, wild. Four sweeps now or something? Fleet really eats up your time.”

“Shit, yeah I almost forgot about that- uh, are you just back, or-?”

“Yeah, kinda, been almost a month-” Annoyed trolls hurried past them, both of them having slowed down significantly. “Uh, Dosie, maybe this isn’t the best place to have, like, our reunion-”

“Oh, yeah, right, uh-” Dosiro picked up the pace, putting an overly familiar hand on Voss’ shoulders. “There’s a cafe down the street that I was already- I mean if you’re not busy-”

“Oh I am not busy, believe me.” Voss said, wondering when the hell his luck was going to run dry. “You can take me absolutely wherever.”

Dosiro rushed him to the very same cafe he’d been in with Miles not too long ago. The smell of caffeine and the near volcanic warmth it brought improved Voss' mood almost instantly.

Dosie preferred the table by the window, but furthest from the door. He excitedly threw off his outer layer, still just as curved in all Voss' favorite places- and unwilling to wear anything that wouldn't show it- as Voss remembered him being. Even in his work button up. Voschi was more reluctant to relieve himself of his miserable outer layer. God he needed a new jacket bad, but one even half as nice as Dosiro’s big detective coat would cost money money.

“So, nice to see you again.” Dosiro said, his teal eyes bright with an excitement almost genuine enough to make Voss blush.

“Could say the same about you.” Voss said, a little smile perking up the corners of his mouth. How much of a mess must he look like right now? He sure felt like one, even if his Gilded Palace uniform was the nicest thing he owned. “You look good, D.”

“Aw thanks, Voschi.” Dosiro’s smile was more than infectious.

“Hate to interrupt, gentlemen,” Interrupted a waitress, “But can I get you two something to- Oh it’s you.” The goldblood’s face dropped more than was professional, but immediately picked back up when she remembered who Voss was usually in here with.

“You know you missed me.” Voss said with a cheeky smile. She rolled her eyes.

“Usual, then?” She huffed. One of these nights Voss was going to learn her name. He nodded, then paused.

“I’m good on the muffin.” He said with a shrug.

“You sure?” Dosiro asked, an appraising eyebrow raised. “You look like you could use it.”

“Only if you’re paying for this.” Voss said with a bat of his eyes. Dosiro laughed.

“Of course, I forced you in here, didn’t I?”

“Forced is strong, but not incorrect. Muffin then.”

“Great.” Their waitress said through gritted teeth. “For you?”

“Uh, black coffee is fine. Actually I kind of want a muffin too now that you mention it? Whatever he’s having.”

“Oka-”

“Not whatever he’s having.” Voss said, putting up a hand “You’re still allergic to blueberries, right?”

“I- you remembered- yeah, uh, banana then.” The waitress scribbled that down a little rougher than necessary, and forced a smile at the both of them.

“Be right back.” She said, turning on her heel.

“Come here a lot, huh Voss?” Dosiro teased.

“Been here a few times. Never on my own dime though.”

“Right back into dating then, huh?” His tone was still light, but Voss could sense some coolness behind it. Oh what was that? It couldn’t possibly have been a touch of jealousy, not for Voss’ sake. That was never Dosiro’s thing.

“Something like that.” Voss said airily, rolling one of the cream cups on the table between his fingers. Dosiro seemed to expect some elaboration on that. He didn’t receive it. Nor did he deserve it.

“How’s life been treating you down here?” Voss asked instead, taking a real good look at him. “You look both more and less like a cop now.”

“Senior Detective Dosiro Hemoni at your service.” Dosiro said, tipping an invisible hat.

“Oh no shit huh? Congrats, Dosie.” Voss grinned lopsidedly. “I always figured you’d claw your way up the ranks eventually. Would’ve sent you a card or something if I heard about it.”

“Haha, well, wasn’t easy, y’know.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, never thought I’d actually see you again Chichi.” Hearing his old nickname made something warm up in Voss’ gut, but not the same way Dosiro’s pet names used to. In a way, it burned.

“Don’t… I, uh wasn’t supposed to come back.” Voss said, looking out the window at the small spits of snow falling from the sky. “I guess I got lucky, if you could call it that.”

“I mean, I’m glad you’re around again. So, uh what’re you doing with yourself these nights? Like, work wise?”

“Oh y’know… Uh, bullshit.” Voss shrugged, leaning his face on his palm. “Met a guy who hooked me up with a… decent enough gig. Waiting tables at some fancy ass place a few blocks over.”

“Oof, you? Waiting tables?” Dosiro tapped his fingers against his chin in a way that was… uneasily familiar. Voss couldn’t quite remember why.

“Eh, I get good enough tips cause I’m cute.” It was… something, even if the clink of silverware and plates rattled his head.

“Heh. That big obnoxious lookin’ place up on Cyan?” Voss nodded. “Well damn, I’ve never actually even been inside. Er, as a customer. You got someone to hook you up with a job in there?”

“This face works wonders, Dosie.” Voss grinned, poking his fingers into his dimples. “You of all people should know how that works.” Dosiro snorted, a touch of color rising to his cheeks. How many times had Dosie smiled and winked to get Voss to drop everything and go looking through files? Evidence? Other people's desks? Probably more than Voss was willing to admit to falling for, honestly.

“But, uh, yeah.” Voss continued, not wanting to dwell on their past too long. “Guy knows a guy… if he’s not the one who owns the place.” He still wasn’t sure on that one. Could be either. Both.

“That’s not a little sus, Voss?” Dosiro snorted, amused but definitely hiding… something. Concern maybe?

Hopefully?

“Aww, worried about me, Dosie?” Voss grinned. “Don’t be I can take care of myself.”

“I- I dunno Voss,” Dosie said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve never known anyone to just give people… well, anything really without expecting something back.”

“Maybe that’s just a you thing.” Voss shot with more ice than he meant to. Ugh, Dosiro had a point but…

Miles was holding out on whatever it was he wanted from Voss. It’s not like he hadn’t considered that possibility, he wasn’t that stupid and infatuated with the man. Though he did have an awfully bad track record…

Dosiro winced, his leg beginning to bounce under the table. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see their waitress. It was so busy in the cafe that they’d be lucky if their orders came tonight.

“Uh, right. Sorry.” Dosiro cleared his throat and sat up a little. “I- I dunno, I just don’t wanna see you hurt. Who is this guy anyway?”

“Who says he’s gonna hurt me?” Voss asked, squinting at him. There was something off about his fidgety-ness. The way he kept pretending he wasn’t looking at his watch. “I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t let- I mean, he’s nice, Dosie. Nicer than the fuckin’ Empire, that’s for sure. His name’s Aarika. Rich ass jadeblood.”

“Really?” Dosiro asked, some light that Voss didn’t trust coming on in his eyes. “Like… fish rich?”

“Mhm probably if his hive is anything to go by…” Voss let that one fester, watching that light in Dosiro’s eyes flicker before he continued. “He’s got the prettiest eyes too.” Voss sighed dreamily. Partially to punctuate, partially because thinking of Miles for any amount of time made him feel… Giddy, almost. Clearly this had the opposite effect on Dosiro.

“Voss, listen I know you’re-”

“I’m.” Voss dared, only imagining the places Dosiro would go with that thought. Clearly it wasn’t anywhere nice as he paused and rethought his sentence.

“I know you’re… des- down on your luck.The fleet does that to you. But you’re trusting, and sweet on anyone who’s nice to you. It’s almost your best and worst quality.”

“You seemed to be an awful big fan back in the day.” Voss eyed him with suspicion. And annoyance. Dosiro sighed and glanced at his watch again, then out the window over Voschi’s shoulder. Something he saw made color rush to his cheeks.

“Listen, Voss, you know I care about you, right?” He said quickly, leaning in. “I always have. Which is why we-”

The door to the cafe jingled open, and in entered another, skinnier tealblood, flushed by the harsh cold outside.

“Dos!” He called, catching Dosiro’s eye when he looked over his shoulder. Dosiro groaned and swore under his breath.

“Friend of yours?” Voss asked as the new teal wordlessly invited himself to their table, pulling up a chair to the empty side.

“Voss this is Jug.” Dosiro said, somewhat pained, “My, uh, partner.”

“Jug.” Voss repeated, taking the cold gloved hand Jug so eagerly extended to him.

“Detective Medjug Albath.” Jug corrected. He was uncomfortably… familiar looking. Tall, but probably shorter than Dosiro still, neatly coiffed black hair- though his had streaks of teal at the temples- double spiked horns, skinny but still muscular somewhere underneath his layers. Even down to the, albeit much sparser, dusting of freckles. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror. Aside from the glasses.

“Ex-Imperial Officer Voschi Horjan, if we’re doing the full title thing.” Voss shot an accusatory look to Dosiro, who looked like he could melt into the cafe’s pristine tiles.

“Oh there’s another one of you. Great.” Their waitress returned finally, happy as ever. She slid Voss’ latte and muffin in front of him carefully, Dosiro’s not so much. “Do you need anything, or-”

“No ma’am.” Jug said quickly, sliding his rectangular glasses up his nose. “I’m fine, and might I just say-”

“No you might not. If you need anything else just holler, Mr. Horjan.”

She was gone again faster than Voschi could say “fine.” Jug attentively watched Dosiro pour sugar into his coffee for a moment before turning to Voschi.

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” He said, undoing the buttons of his coat.

“No you haven’t.” Dosiro shot through a clenched jaw. He worriedly looked to Voss, who had already started to withdraw from the conversation. He certainly wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Me?” Voss asked, pressing a hand to his chest. “Why whatever for?”

“Well Detective Hemoni moans an awful lot about missing having a-” Dosiro shot Jug a look that could melt the snow drifts outside. “Er, a friend in the more stuffy paperwork oriented side of things.”

“I’m sure he does.” Voss said cooly, admiring the cartoony tiger face the barista made in his foam. “You haven’t found another prettyboy to charm in the evidence room after all this time? Or the DA's office?”

“I uh-” Dosiro opted to tug on his coffee instead of answering. His leg shook under the table, reminding Voss just how bad a liar he was. He’d let it slide so many times…

“Mhm.” Voss hummed, bitterness rising in him even despite the sweetness of his drink. “So were you just walking by here and happened to see us, Detective Albath, or..?” Dosiro shot him a look. One that Voss wasn’t meant to catch, but of course he did.

“Oh, uh yeah, actually.” Jug nodded, an even worse liar. How were these two detectives again? “I wanted to make- to uh, go over some urgent c-case things.”

“Do you do that whenever you see your partner on what could be a date through a window or do you just not have a phone?” Jug swallowed. Dosiro glared at him. Voss waited expectantly, sipping on his latte even though it was still a touch too hot.

“Voss, c’mon…” Dosiro started guiltily. “I- this isn’t about-”

“Dos you fucking suck. What do you want from me?”

“I thought you would have gotten to the point by now, Hemoni.” Jug started, rising from his seat. “My apologies, I can just-”

“You stay.” Dosiro and Voschi said at the same time, not looking away from each other. Voss was definitely winning their stare down. He had more hate in his eyes than Dosiro was capable of.

“Alright, fine, I’ve known you were in town since the day you landed. Happy?”

“What do you think?” Voss should have known better. He should have known better sweeps ago, but he couldn’t help himself then. Fortunately he was a lot meaner now. “I can’t fucking believe- no I can. Of course I can. Because it’s you. What can I do for you, detectives? You have until I finish this.”

“I’m concerned about you, Chichi.” Dosiro pleaded, leg still bouncing under the table.

“Call me Chichi again and I leave immediately.” Voss said, narrowing his eyes. “Chatterbox, what’s happening here?” Jug looked to Dosiro for approval, not exactly receiving it, but not being given any other instruction either.

“We do have, er, concerns, Mr. Horjan.”

“About?”

“Voss before he-”

“You know what, Hemoni? You can call me Mr. Horjan too. I’m starting to like how it sounds.” Dosiro blinked, not used to this much hostility- not from Voss anyway. Jug fumbled for a manilla folder from the inner pockets of his jacket.

“We- uh- caught wind of your… new association with a, erm, person of interest in one of our cases.” Jug said, readjusting his glasses on his nose. Again.

“Okay.” Voss’ intensity seemed to make the poor skittish tealblood even more nervous.

“We were… Um… Well, detective Hemoni thought… that… help… please...”

“Look, Voschi,” Dosiro said, leaning in across the table, lowering his voice. “I mean it when I say that I’m worried about you, you have to know that. This guy Aarika- allegedly- has been seeking out ex-fleets to recruit into his gang. He knows the ones that come back here have to be some kind of desperate-”

That word struck a nerve in Voschi’s scrambled head- so hard that he didn’t even realise he’d kicked Dosiro in the shin until he yelped. Jug jumped about half a mile. Voss’ eye twitched as he leaned back further in his chair.

“Sorry.” Voss said, not even bothering to pretend to be. “Foot slipped.”

“Alright, maybe I deserved that.” Dosiro winced. “And more, I know, but can you listen to me? Please? I cannot stress enough how important this is.”

Voss "relaxed" in his seat, biting the top of his muffin like an apple. Dosiro sighed and took Jug’s hefty file, plucking out a blurry, but still recognizable picture of Miles. Voss actually felt his heart skip a bit.

“This guy, Voss.” He said, tapping the photo on the table. “Amillo Aarika, head of the Divinity Cl-”

“I know who he is, Dosiro.” Voss huffed. “He told me that much.”

“Did he tell you anything el- you said you were in his- no I’m getting ahead of myself.” Even despite Voss’ clear sour disposition he couldn’t help but go straight into detective mode. The restraint he must have had to hold it back this long… He wanted to catch the bad guy more than he gave a shit about him.

What else was new?

“We have reason to believe that- uh Mr. Aarika is also involved in a massive organized crime operation in Delhon.” Jug interjected. “And that, er, you may be in danger, physically speaking.”

“Oh really?” Voss said, turning the photo over in his hand. This was awfully recent… And… in fact… that grey outfit… That street corner...

“There’s no evidence of any sort of, er, trafficking, Mr. Horjan.” Jug nodded. “In fact, the city’s been better than in sweeps in that regard as of late.” Voss was going to shove those stupid glasses into his eyes if he kept messing with them.

“Is he gonna eat me?” Voss asked disinterestedly. Jug was doing an awfully piss poor job of making a potential criminal sound dangerous. Maybe it was because Milo was far more endearing. “Cause I’d probably let him.” Dosiro groaned into his coffee cup.

“Er-”

“Voss, he grooms ex fleets and whoever into… whatever he needs. Drug dealers, thieves, hell we’ve even linked assassins to-”

“Potentially linked.” Jug corrected.

“Ugh, do you think I have it in me to kill anyone?” Voss groaned. Sure he did, but… Being paid for it would take some of the magic away. Plus, since he’d been home? That part of him felt like a completely different person. Escaped when his skull had been cracked apart.

“I know you don’t Voschi.” Dosiro sighed. “You’re… fragile.”

“We, er, may need you to, though.” Jug said, very matter of factly. Voss nearly choked on his muffin.

“Excuse me?”

“Jug, don’t-”

“We have other, more pressing cases to work today, Hemoni.” Jug huffed, some confidence in himself found. “We can’t just sit here beating around the bush all night for your pet project.”

“What do you-” Voss stopped himself, glaring at a guilty, guilty looking Dosiro.

“You want me to keep going along with this.” He breathed. “Oh my god, so much for being concerned about my safety-”

“Voss, please calm down-”

“Don’t you have officers for that? Like actual trained people who are meant to-”

“Mr. Horjan you have to understand that Mr. Aarika- allegedly- has a certain… hold over Delhon’s police department. Contracting outside assistance is, perhaps, our only option at this point.” Voss shook his head incredulously at the both of them.

“Mr. Aarika gave me a job.” Voss hissed. “One that’s far less likely to fucking kill me than outsourced undercover work.”

“That’s his first step, Voschi!” Dosiro exclaimed, frustrated, “What don’t you get about that? He’s not being nice to you because he likes you, he’s being nice to you because this is his game. It's the first step to using you to get what he wants.”

“Oh, what could being used possibly be like?” Voss seethed. “What a horrible new experience for me!” Dosiro opened his mouth to respond, but Jug swooped in to calm him down.

“Mr. Horjan, please, people are starting to… look.” Voss made accidental furious eye contact with their waitress, who promptly turned on her heel and marched to the back.

“And we aren’t asking for much, in all honesty.” Jug continued.

“Aren’t you, though?” Voss hadn’t felt this mad since before he’d gone comatose. Had he ever been this mad, actually? His memory was foggy, but fury like this just wasn’t him. He was a simmer, a pot that never quite boiled over. Not like he wanted to right now.

“No, we just- just continue doing what you’re doing, and report anything suspicious or outwardly criminal to one of us. Take pictures, be nosy… If it ends up being nothing…”

“Which it won’t.” Dosiro muttered. Jug produced a smart looking business card from his pocket, sliding it across the table to Voss.

“Think about it, won’t you? You’ll get as much protection as we can offer, as well as payment, obviously.”

“Hm. No.” Voss threw the last of his muffin in his mouth, washing it down with the rest of his latte. He left that card sitting there as he stood.

“Both of you can shove it up your ass. Together, maybe! You especially can eat shit, Hemoni. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think you actually missed me.”

Voss zipped his jacket back up, storming back into the frigid cold air. Fortunately this time he had his rage to keep him warm.

[jemej3m]

Only - pt 3

Ok. Look. I’m still not sure if this was how i wanted to end it, but i decided enough was enough. its been, what, months?? 

i have not been doing so great, and writing has been difficult, but excuses excuses: here’s the highly anticipated end of Only (feel welcome to tell me what did and didn’t live up to your expectations)

~

There was something to be said about a fear of heights.

Most, at the very least, felt some sort of vertigo when staring over an edge. Some felt something a little more potent.

Others lied.

And some. Well. Some saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Andrew had been on so many more aeroplanes since that flight from California to Southern Carolina, but the sputtering engines and unsubtle swoops still froze him. He didn’t move for the entire flight back to Upstate Regional, wishing he could have his knives.

He should have driven.

It was strange to desire his knifes as much as he did: He hadn’t needed their presence for a long, long time, not when the gap was filled.

That gap had reappeared, torn at the edges and larger than ever before.

The flight touched down and Andrew’s head fell back, eyes shut, stomach threatening to turn itself inside out.

He bolted. It was hard to not seemed panicked: He wasn’t panicked, but he was cramped up, feeling like he was being tossed around on puppet strings. He fucking hated it.

Bee was waiting for him at arrivals, swathed in light like some avenging angel, and Andrew fucking hated it. He hated that the southern humidity and the sight of the only woman who’d given a damn made him feel a little more anchored. He’d given so much to Neil: It wouldn’t be long before this haven was torn away from him too.

He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again. It didn’t do much to the cotton wad in his throat, and the constricting sensation of being swarmed by other bodies, despite there being no one remotely close to them at this ungodly hour of the morning.

Bee smiled warmly and offered her hands. He nodded: She placed them gently on his shoulders.

“Welcome back.” She said it like this place was home.

Palmetto hadn’t been anything but the place he’d met Neil: And then, the place he would go back to visit Neil. So now, it was technically nothing. You couldn’t go back to something that wasn’t yours anymore. Not even nostalgia could keep him company: He fucking hated this place.

She’d bought a new car and it still smelled fresh. It was stony silence on the drive, filled with the generic pop music that Bee enjoyed and Andrew didn’t loathe enough to bother changing it.

Andrew would like to say that he felt nothing, but he was impossibly angry. He was furious. It shook his hands and clenched his jaw and make his stomach tie itself in knots.

He pulled out his phone and stared at his blank screen. He’d run his battery dead over the past week, staring at the texts that he’d sent, wondering how it’d gone so wrong.

He knew Neil. He knew how it’d gone so wrong, but he was incapable of fixing it. They couldn’t attempt that over the phone. It was killing Andrew: He needed to know if they could come back from this. He needed an ultimatum more real than just go away. If he was going to lose his reason to live completely, he had to have some sort of closure.

Bee would have a heart attack if she knew what he was thinking.

Andrew had tethered himself to the world with a single thread, and made the mistake of assuming it was much thicker than it truly was.

And then he’d cut it.

~

“Neil!”

Dan crushed him, but not before hesitating for his confirmation.

It had been a while: She’d been an assistant coach in Maryland and a full-time coach over in Washington. Now she was in South Carolina, assistant coach of Matt’s professional team down in Augusta and slowly filling in for Wymack, learning how to handle the Foxes, one season and set of players at a time.

“Hello.” He said, voice weak with oxygen deprivation. Sucking in a gasp of air when she let him go, he smiled weakly. “Hi, Dan. Where’s Matt?”

“He’s inside: We’re expecting the takeout to get here any moment, and you weren’t meant to be here for another hour.”

“Roads were clear.” Neil shrugged. It’d been a long stretch of driving with merely him and his dangerous snare of a mind. The still unfamiliar hatred of being alone pressed that accelerator down for him. Dan grabbed the tiny suitcase from behind him and threw open the front door. “Babe, the takeout’s at the door, do you mind?”

“Coming!” There was a loud clutter and Dan winked at him, taking his suitcase down the hall. “Hey, when’s Neil getting here, honey?” When Dan snuck into the guest room on the left, he called out again as he rounded the corner. “Dan?”

And then:

“Neil!”

Neil gave Matt as flat of a look as possible before being engulfed in a lot of t-shirt and muscle, nearly knocking him over completely.

“Neil, Neil, Neil, buddy!” Matt gushed; star struck, awed, amazed. Neil was still confused as to why: It was just him, just plain old Neil. “You’re early! Fantastic! Dan, Neil’s already here!”

Dan walked out of Neil’s room with a flat look. “I let him in, Matt.”

Matt grinned. “Right.”

Neil sunk between worn cushions, red duck curry thrust into his hands and warmth wrapping around him in a soft cocoon. The off season was just beginning, and he had the two of them and Palmetto just around the corner to ground him. Maybe a visit to Betsy. An introduction to the newest Foxes, if he was here long enough to meet them when they arrived.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

He wasn’t sure whether or not Andrew was the last or the only thing he wanted to talk about, and decided that Dan and Matt would dictate that choice for him. If they asked, he’d answer. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything. It was like that for him, for most of the original Foxes. They would instigate and he would gladly continue, but starting something was where he was still finding trouble.

It was a familiar scene: A television playing a movie in the background, Dan gently coercing Neil into conversation over dinner, Matt popping in and cutting over and constantly swiping his thumb over the back of Dan’s knuckles where they were clasped together, but nothing more. They were trying to be subtle about a lack of close-ness, Neil could understand that much. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about their carefulness: Seeing Dan with her legs draped over Matt’s lap wasn’t going to send him spiralling down into a ditch of depression. There wasn’t much further he could go, anyway.

The guest room’s bed was soft and comfortable. Neil stayed awake and stared at the ceiling all night anyway, unable to sleep peacefully when he knew there were terrors behind his eyelids and no one to shake him out of sleep when it got nasty.

Neil couldn’t sleep, so he agonised and analysed until he was rubbing his temples, attempting to calm the ache in his head.                                      

This wasn’t fine.

Neil wasn’t sure of what he could do. He’d always been fine. What was left of him now that he wasn’t?

His fingers drifted to his phone and gripped it in a tight fist, fighting off stinging eyes, lips rolled into his mouth.

Andrew, come back.

~

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

Neil ate blueberry pancakes that were too sweet and reminded him of exactly how Andrew liked his own.

Andrew didn’t eat, but had his coffee without milk or sugar. Wymack was smart enough not to comment.

Neither were asked about the other, but both were waiting for something to happen.

~

Neil sat, fingers tapping on his thigh for the entire ride up to Palmetto. This year, there were no Foxes who stayed back for the rest of the summer like the Monsters had. The court was, in Dan’s opinion, scarily quiet. She was going back for the morning to help Wymack finalise dorm rooms but mostly to take a trip down nostalgia lane with Neil.

He stared at the Tower on it’s grass knoll and did not look at the roof’s concrete ledge, because he knew he’d be looking for a tin tendril of smoke held between careful, calloused hands. He kept an eye out for the Foxhole Court’s looming orange arena. The sight of it didn’t bring him peace like it should have. It made him doubly as anxious.

“What’s the code now?” Neil asked, half in jest.

“Pretty sure it’s someone’s birthday.” Dan said, with a half-hearted shrug.

Neil’s eyebrow quirked. “Whose?”

She paused after keying it in and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t remember.”

Neil’s chest constricted when he ran the numbers through his head, and said numbly, “That’s the twins’ birthday.”

She shrugged again. “We alternate. Coincidence that it was one of us O-Gs, huh?”

Neil thought coincidences were bullshit.

She shut the door behind them and shoved it closed to make sure it locked before looping her fingers around Neil’s wrist. The hallway was unlit and spookily dim, the only source of light from the small fogged window in the door.

“I’m sorry, Neil.”

“Please don’t be.” He mumbled.

“I know you probably think it’s stupid, but—“

“Dan, please don’t.”

She frowned. He started walking down the hallway but she refused to let it go.

“Neil, you’re not okay. Are you going to talk about this?”

“There’s not much I can do about it, Dan.” He murmured, pushing open the door to the foyer.

“There’s not much you can do about it, but there’s plenty you can do for you.” Dan insisted. “You know that, right? It’s not a be-all-end-all. It’s not the end of the line.”

“Dan, I’m demi.” He knew what it meant, now. He hadn’t quite believed there was a label for him until he’d seen it, thought about it, related to it. “It is the end of the line.”

She looked pained. “Maybe.”

He turned around. There was no reasoning with her.

“Neil?”

“Hey, Coach.”

Wymack’s hair was considerably more silver, his face considerably more etched in. He wondered how different he looked since his old coach had last seen him without the grate of an Exy helmet distorting his appearance.

“Neil, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“He’s down with me for a little while.” Dan, back to cheery-as-ever. “Tagging along on the off-season.”

“Court could do with a little use whilst no one’s here.” He grit his teeth. “Dan, a moment.”

Neil waited by the door and let his eyes slide closed as there was a harsh murmur from behind Wymack’s hastily shut door. Dan reemerged five minutes later, jaw clenched.

“Everything okay?”

Dan snapped out of her reverie but didn’t smile. “Fine. I’m just going to work out some hiccups with the dorm rooms with Coach, did you want some time on the court?”

“I’m actually going to go for a walk.” Neil decided. “Around campus.”

“I’ll ring you when I’m heading back to Augustus.”

“Sure.”

~

Andrew’s day hadn’t started particularly remarkable, but having Wymack and Danielle Wilds storming in, hot on his old coach’s heels, was a slight turn in events.

“Fuck you.” Dan pointed her finger at him.

“Dan,” Wymack said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t.”

Dan stared at Andrew with her nostrils flared, breathing raggedly in a way that lifted up her shoulders. Her eyes slowly slid shut, but her jaw and fists remained clenched tight.

“I already told you that he doesn’t know, Dan. Leave it.”

Andrew felt it like a hot knife, leaving him cut and feverish and aching. He had no clue what Danielle Wilds was angry about, and for the first time, he cared. Whatever it was between them, Andrew was excluded, and he was excluded for a reason.

Andrew was sick of being kicked out and cast aside. Looked over and abandoned. Neil had been the first to see him, to truly read past a facade—

Andrew stood off the couch and shouldered his way around the Foxes’ coaches, his nonchalance effortlessly convincing through practise. “Have fun.”

Just before Andrew closed the door, Dan let out a soft “It’s like they never happened.” and—

Well.

Andrew was not okay.

~

It happened in a series of painful coincidences. Andrew sitting on the roof of the Fox Tower until he didn’t want to anymore, and Neil sitting up in the stands, filling time by counting the rows of white and orange like he used to. They just missed each other as one went to exactly where the other was before.

Neil didn’t walk up to the edge of the roof, leaning against the door with his hand resting against the handle like the summer warmth could be residual heat from Andrew’s hands, despite thinking that Andrew hadn’t been up here for years.

Andrew broke into the inner court with old keys and sat within the goalkeepers’ box, eyes closing and seeing the original team standing in front of him, the goal lit up red, and the striker who’d scored turning around with hair just as red as the goal and triumphant eyes just as bright.

They’d only missed each other walking too and from because Neil went around the long way, winding through campus to take up his time.

Dan did not mention finding Andrew on the court to Neil, and Betsy didn’t mention Neil’s brief visit to Reddin Centre when saying hello to Andrew.

Lucky, perhaps, that the confrontation was postponed to the next day, because it was raining.

A light drizzle. Neil caught his ride to Palmetto State with Dan once again, but this time Matt tagged along.

“How often are you up here?” Neil curled his arm around his knee, propping up the heel on the leather seats of Dan’s new car.

“Not usually. But it’s off-season—hooray!” Matt grinned, nudging Neil’s shoulder lightly. “Good timing, Neil. If only campus was a little more lively: We could have hit all our best nap spots and terrorised our old professors. Or the baby Foxes. Hell, maybe we’d have time for both.”

“I’m afraid it’s just me and Wymack.” Dan piped up. “So nothing too rowdy, babe.”

Neil was dressed in his running clothes, but it was only lightly drizzling outside. Acutely ignoring the grey clouds, he bid the couple farewell. Matt thought he was crazy, but didn’t stop him. He’d have sandwiches for lunch if Neil came back on time.

And there we was, running. Again. In a less metaphorical sense, this time. But he could still feel that strange, wound-up anxiety in his chest that eased ever so slightly, the longer his legs stretched as he ran, the more blurred his surroundings became.

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have ignored those black clouds. He barely noticed when the blurriness of his surroundings was the rainfall, and he only paused when he tilted his head up to breathe in, but was soaked through to the skin.

He was fucking shivering, he realised, now that he’d stopped running. For fuck’s sake. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and flipped up the hood to his thin, breathable running jacket, and started walking.

There were still cars on the road, but as the whole sky darkened and rain thickened, they seemed to lessen to almost none. A crack of thunder concealed the skid of tires as a car turned onto the road Neil walked along, and as it raced down, water sprayed up from the gutters. Rainfall Neil could deal with, but not buckets of muddy gutter water. Neil stood still, looking down at himself in unattached disdain, only to see the car who’d splashed him having pulled up and parked.

Someone got out and slammed the car door shut loud enough that you could hear it over the rain and another crack of thunder: Neil wiped his face and flicked the water off his hands (Though that did absolutely nothing) to see the figure approaching him.

Blond and five-foot even, he wasn’t much of a physical presence. If you didn’t know him, Andrew Minyard wasn’t much of a metaphysical presence either. To Neil, it was like every one of his nerve endings had caught on fire.

Andrew tugged down Neil’s hood, like Neil’s wet, red hair was the indicator of who he was, rather than the scars on his cheeks or the blue of his eyes. He was squinting at Neil, though it was probably just the rain.

Neil didn’t know why he let himself be tugged along, Andrew’s hand gripping Neil’s arm and the other yanking open the back door of the car and pushing Neil inside.

Neil looked at his shaking hands when Andrew got back into the driver’s seat, putting it back into drive and shooting off, like he hadn’t just picked Neil off the side of the road.

He didn’t even look at Neil.

You were right.

Anger—that was anger. Pulsating through his veins.

But it was— it had to be—grief. Grief that was pulling tighter on the rope around Neil’s neck.

Andrew had the heaters blasting, which did little for Neil’s shivering. Neil alternated between staring at the headrest in front of him—who’s car was this?—and his hands. His stomach knotted over and over, every time they took a turn. They were getting closer and closer to Palmetto State: Where would they stop? Would Andrew just kick him out? Would he say anything to Neil at all?

They pulled up to a stop outside the Foxhole Court, and Andrew hadn’t even looked at him.

Fine.

Neil shoved the door open and stumbled out into the oncoming rain. The car’s engine didn’t start up, even after Neil shut the door but he refused to turn around. Andrew doesn’t care. Andrew never cared. Andrew won’t care, even if you kick up a fuss.

Neil’s back pocket buzzed.

from: Andrew // 08:46am 13/4

roof y/n

His throat constricted.

Andrew said he couldn’t ‘do this’ over text, and yet here they were, and Andrew still wouldn’t look him in the eye and breathe a word in his direction.

to: Andrew // 08:49 - sent

will you even say anything if i go? have you suddenly gone mute? you haven't even looked at me.

The car door opened, and Neil clutched his phone to his chest.

“Yes or no, Neil.”

The clap of thunder was awfully theatric, and the flash of lightning illuminated everything, for only a moment.

He looked over his shoulder, still refusing to turn around. “When it clears up.”

He walked away.

~

“Neil,” Matt shook him by the shoulders. Neil was still gripping his phone, nauseous with shock, emptiness slowly gnawing at his stomach. A strange hollowness. “Neil, for god’s sake, you had your phone with you! Why didn’t you reply?”

“I was running.” Neil mumbled. “I wasn’t checking my phone.”

“Neil.” Dan urged. “Running? In this weather?”

“I’m fine.” Neil insisted.

“You take off five years from my life expectancy every time you say that.” Matt’s hand was resting on Neil’s head.

“You’d be dead.” Dan remarked.

“Let me dry off and change out, and then we can run some drills.” Neil ducked out of Matt’s gentle reach. “It was just some rain.”

“Some? You can barely see out there!”

Neil ran them up the court until they stopped complaining about Neil’s recklessness and started complaining about Neil’s obsession with the sport, despite all three of their careers centred around it. It was only Neil’s career that his life depended on, though, and they knew that. They also knew Neil was most comfortable in familiarity, and he was most familiar with their gentle jostling and their slight overbearing care, where they pushed at boundaries enough to get him to pay attention but not enough to make him uncomfortable.

“I was thinking of going to see Wymack later.” Neil towelled his washed hair, walking back out into the mailroom where Dan had been waiting for him an Matt. “Maybe we could all go have dinner at Abby’s.”

They looked at each other, like there was something Neil was missing.

Oh, Neil felt like an idiot when he realised. Andrew will be with Wymack.

Of course, they didn’t know that Neil knew that Andrew was here. Neil looked from Matt to Dan, and wondered if they would ever confess.

“I’ll call him.” Dan said, which was neither here nor there.

They don’t want to hurt me, Neil reminded himself. They don’t want to make me upset.

Neil followed them outside, sullen.

“It’s cleared up.” Matt commented, holding a palm out and inspecting it not a moment later. “You can always rely on South Carolina to dry everything out as soon as it can.”

Yes or no, Neil.

When it clears up.

Neil looked up at the blue sky, and marvelled at how it contrasted so awfully with the sick, tumbling feeling in his stomach.

“Lunch?”

Neil was moving in robotics: He didn’t want to dash off, because where would he go? What excuse would they believe? He hated lying to them, but until this rocking feeling stopped making him nauseous, until this confrontation was resolved and past him, he didn’t want to say anything.

Neil was sitting on top of a hastily constructed building of support: The Foxes were his family, were the walls and windows and doors and expansive gardens. Andrew had kept it from crumbling. Andrew was the foundations.

Neil didn’t want to fall down: He was terrified of it. How much worse could this get? How much lower could he fall?

Lunch was subdued but Neil felt watched, unwelcome eyes roaming over the landscape of his skin. Neil hated feeling like he was being watched. Paranoia was a sickly familiar smoke that he inhaled, making him thick-headed and heavy. He was meant to be safe. He was meant to be safe.

“Neil,” Matt put his hand over where Neil’s had yet to pick up his knife, despite his lunch being set down in front of him 6 minutes ago. “How are the antidepressants going?”

Sometimes Neil forgot he told Matt most things. He lifted his head from where it’d been resting in his palm and said: “They’re going okay.”

“Have you noticed a difference?”

“I trialled two different kinds but…” Neil flapped his hand. “They all do the same thing. They’re going fine, I think.”

“You talked to Betsy?”

“Yesterday, actually.”

“Good.” Matt smiled.

Neil almost smiled back.

Dan gazed off, pretending to not be intrigued about this rare exchange of information that Neil didn’t share with just anyone. They finished lunch slowly, and Neil payed as Dan and Matt helped the waiter clean up. He followed them out the door, looking at the puddles disappearing on the ground, and the clouds disappearing over the horizon.

His time was up.

He veered off the path, fingers gripping awfully tight at the strap of his bag as he said over his shoulder: “Text me when to get to Abby’s.”

“Where are you going?”

“Fresh air.”

“But you—“

Matt tugged Dan away. Neil closed his eyes only for a moment: He forced himself to pull them open to stare at his feet, taking one step after another.

He was walking along the edge of campus. He walked past the Foxhole Court, and two lecture halls, and an empty sorority, his old route on Perimeter Road. He stared at the Fox Tower like it was something with an ugly, heavy presence, but that was just Neil’s subconscious, curling itself into a cowardly ball to hide from whatever awaited Neil at the top of the stairs.

Neil climbed the stairs. Jostled the door open. Slowly stepped out.

“Took your time.”

Neil paused just before slamming the door shut and chose to shut it as quietly as he could, before turning around. He crouched down and pressed his fingertips into the small puddle on the concrete and watched rainwater slide down into his palms.

He stood up. “I said when it cleared up.”

“Theatrical.” Andrew scoffed.

“Should I come back in two hours?” Neil offered, looking at him. “Would that be enough time for you decide whether or not you’re going to be fucking prick or not?”

“Stop it.” Andrew turned around: He’d been looking out over the roof: Now he looked up at Neil with golden-hazel eyes, and permanently-etched in shadows under his eyes, and a hint of desperation but not much else. “Spit it out, instead of talking in circles.”

“Spit what out?” Neil clenched his hands into fists. He almost reached out to grasp Andrew’s face between his hands, but he remembered: No. I don’t trust him anymore. Wait.

“Your decision, your ultimatum, your latest argument with Kevin: I don’t care, Neil.” Andrew took a step closer. “Just—don’t leave me with nothing.” Everyone’s left me with nothing, He didn’t say. You were the one who wasn’t meant to leave.

“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in two months.” Neil muttered through his teeth. Every muscle in his body was wound like a spring, pulled taut like a rope.

“You are apt at ignoring calls.” Andrew decided. “I almost expected something to happen whilst I was gone.”

Whilst I was gone.

“Are you back?”

Neil watched the swallow work down Andrew’s throat, the unsteady inhale that was held in as he said: “If you would like me to be.”

None of this made sense. There should have been an apology: Andrew should have been begging for Neil’s forgiveness. But he was standing here like he expected Neil to say yes, like nothing had happened and nothing had changed as a result.

But he reminded himself: Andrew had already apologised. He’d already sung please like a prayer, crossing his own boundaries like he’d crossed his own wrists in a desperate urge to communicate to Neil how important this was to him. Despite both of them hating that word, despite both of them knowing that they each hated it as much as the other did: He’d still used it, and it echoed around Neil’s head and conjured up a strange feeling on his skin, like thin knife-blades dancing across vulnerable skin, digging in just hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to break the skin.

Slowly, Neil nodded.

Andrew let go of the breath he’d been holding and reached out to slide his hand to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Neil’s neck, but he stood out of Andrew’s reach when he felt sick. “No.”

Andrew flinched, ever so slightly, but it was enough for Neil so see. Wariness. Confusion. Andrew hadn’t realised what had changed.

“Neil?” Andrew murmured. It was a silent why? that Neil didn’t need to be asked out loud.

“You need—” Neil looked at him. “You need to give me time.”

Andrew’s lips thinned as he rolled them into his mouth.

“You can’t expect me to just trust you implicitly, instantly.”

Andrew took a step back, and nodded.

This was all on Neil’s terms now. When this had started, Neil had been tip-toeing around grey zones, wondering where was safe and what he could say. Now it was reversed: Neither of them were good at functioning as normal human beings did, but it was Andrew who needed to be conscious of what he said, what he did.

Neil didn’t want apologies, he realised. He didn’t need Andrew to beg him for forgiveness. He just needed to trust Andrew, and to know that Andrew trusted him. It never came quickly.

Neil walked to the edge of the roof and looked over it, then out over the Palmetto State campus.

Andrew had been the catalyst of how living changed for Neil. He was no longer fighting to be alive, no longer living just to survive. Now he was living for a life he wanted. And in this life, he wanted Andrew.

“I can hear you thinking from back here.”

Neil looked back at him, and then brushed his fingers over the concrete ledge in front of him. “Won’t you join me?”

“Things have changed, Neil.” Andrew’s head fell to the side, and he was looking at Neil like that. “I don’t need to sit on the edge of a roof to feel something.”

“I want to go to Eden’s.” Neil knotted his fingers together, wringing them out like damp towels. He let Andrew pull his hands apart, but Andrew immediately dropped his hands instead of holding his wrists, like they used to.

“Retracing your steps?” To anyone, this was impassive. Andrew was a brick wall yielding no information, no emotion. Neil saw the inquisition in his eyes and the curious raise to his eyebrows, and the slight pucker of apprehension to his lips.

“Something like that.”

Andrew followed Neil down the steps.

~

They went the following evening, on a Monday. Eden’s was less of a club this early in the week, and more of a bar to men and women after work. They came in jeans and dress-shirts and did not stand out in that regard, just two men walking into a bar. But after years, many of the staff had moved on, and they were no longer treated like VIPs

Andrew didn’t know what he—himself and Neil alike—was doing, and he didn’t like it. Neil never voluntarily came here for a good time: He went because Andrew went, but Andrew watched him approach the bar and sit on an empty stool, fingers brushing gently over the one next to him as a gesture for Andrew to sit down.

Andrew didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He still felt like he needed to apologise, to explain himself, but that wasn’t what Neil wanted. For the first time, he didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he felt lost.

“Roland’s moved on, I think.” Neil commented, looking up and down the bar.

Andrew didn’t want to correct him by saying he hadn’t, because they’d still remained in touch via text, and that probably wasn't something to bring up when Andrew felt like he was treading on this ice. He rested his head in his hand and waited for Roland to come out of the kitchen. He watched Neil’s reaction for when he did, wondering if this was a test.

“Hey,” Roland blanched. “What are you two doing here?”

“Catching up.” Neil shook out his curls and Andrew’s stomach rolled.

Roland looked between them. “With me, or each other?”

Neil gave him a stone-cold look, and Andrew stared at the shelves behind the bar.

Two rum-and-cokes were settled down in front of them, and Andrew stared at his, eyes clouded over with thought. What did Neil want from him, by doing this? Did he want Andrew to let his guard down? Was this a test of how much Andrew trusted Neil, or how much Neil trusted him?

Turns out, the correct answer was none of them. When Andrew finally came to himself, another drink was being pushed in front of Neil, and he barely hesitated to look at Andrew before throwing it back. Andrew reached out to take it from him after he put it down. “Neil?”

“Mm?” He looked at Andrew blearily.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m in a bar. What else—“ He coughed. “Would I be doing?”

“Why are you getting—“

“Because I can.” Neil pointed right in his face, like he was throwing an accusation. “Because I don’t trust myself to shitface—to get shitfaced—around anyone else, but you were the reason I wanted to, but I couldn’t, because you were there. Weren’t.” Neil corrected.

“Christ, Neil.”

“I hate you.” Neil spat, head falling forward. Andrew kept very still as Neil’s head rested on Andrew’s shoulder, thinking we truly have reversed positions, haven’t we.

“You have every right to.” Andrew carefully placed his hand on Neil’s shoulder to keep him steady, sitting on the rickety barstool that he was. The scarring on his shoulder was familiar under his fingers, despite a dress shirt separating them, and Andrew relaxed.

Neil breathed out and Andrew felt it on his collarbone.

“You are not falling asleep here.”

“Two seconds.” Neil murmured.

“How many drinks have you had?”

“Enough.” Neil mumbled the word against the skin of Andrew’s neck, and Andrew swallowed.

“I think it’s time to go.”

Neil didn’t say anything.

Andrew waved Roland over, who eyed Neil with trepidation. Andrew took out his wallet from his back pocket and threw it at Roland, but Roland threw it right back with a timid smile.

“Drinks are on the house.” He said. “Take care of him, Andrew.”

Andrew thought he had been, but now he knew that it hadn’t been enough.

Andrew slipped Neil off the barstool. Neil was barely walking, half-asleep and all of his weight pulling against the arm Andrew had around Neil’s waist. Andrew settled him carefully in Bee’s car and shut the door.

Neil made a soft sound as they drove, and Andrew’s throat was tight. How did I almost lose him?

His phone was ringing.

“What.”

“Where are you?” He heard Wymack tapping his fingers on a wooden surface, most likely his desk. The old man would be sitting, lounging back with his foot crossed over his ankle, books and papers scattered absolutely everywhere, but just enough space for him to rest his elbow along the parallel edge of the desk. He was the only father figure Andrew had ever known. Andrew knew every one of his affectations and could construct this perfect image without a qualm.

“Driving.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Now. I’ll be there in an hour. Who’s there?”

“Abby’s going to head back soon. She can give Betsy a lift.”

“I’m coming, Bee can take her own car.”

“Okay, Andrew.”

There was an awful, prolonged silence, and it weighed like bricks on his chest.

“Andrew.”

Andrew said nothing.

“They can’t find Neil.”

Andrew briefly looked at Neil where he’d curled up. “Who’s they?”

“Dan and Matt. He was staying with them in Augustus.”

“Tell them he’s fine.”

Wymack paused. “Is he with you?”

“Tell them to go home.”

A pause.

“Alright.”

The line went dead, and Neil sighed softly. Andrew’s head leaned back to rest against the headrest, his swallow working it’s way down his throat. It’ll be okay. Bee’s voice of reason soothed his frazzled nerves and relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel.

He listened to the soft rhythm of Neil’s breathing for the rest of the drive and concentrated on pushing the whittling sneer of his conscience far enough away that he couldn’t hear it.

~

David heard the awkward fumbling with the door handle and the jingle of keys, so he walked out into the living room where Andrew was just shouldering his way into his apartment, with Betsy’s keys in one hand and—

Neil. Neil, being carried in his arms. Andrew had positioned Neil’s head to rest on his shoulder, forehead pressed into the side of Andrew’s neck, rested both of Neil’s arms in his lap, and held onto him securely.

They were both dressed nicely, and neither had any visible bruising or blood. Andrew slowly eased Neil onto David’s couch and then turned around, looking away. Betsy stood up from the dining table to approach him, taking the keys out of Andrew’s offering palm and whispering something in Andrew’s ear. The door shut behind her, and Wymack slowly approached the couch.

“Is he alright?”

“He drank too much.” Andrew sat precariously, right on the edge of the couch and giving Neil as much space as he could. Andrew looked up at David, and David had never seen Andrew at ease like this.

“Are you two alright?”

“He needs time.”

That was—that was neither here nor there. “A loss of trust?”

Andrew shrugged, and gently—ever so gently—moved a curl away from Neil’s forehead. Then, he sunk down onto the floor next to the couch and took Neil’s hand, fingers dusting over the scars like he’d memorised their pattern, closing his eyes.

That was more than enough for David, who assumed Andrew would sort himself out and moved into the bedroom, raising his phone to his ear.

“He’s here, Dan.”

She let out an exhale of relief. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. They’re fine, I think.”

“Who, Andrew and him? He was with Andrew?”

“Mm.” Wymack turned back to hint a smile at the closed door.

“Well.” Dan said, sounding confused. “Remind him to give us a call when he wants to come get his things.”

“I will. Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night.”

[avecorviidae]

Fic: Aubade - Chapter Four

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: M Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 3696

Ao3 Link

His stomach is turning with how early it is, but he can’t seem to get back to sleep.

It’s been years since his dad leaving for work has woken him up, but he finds himself staring at his closet door nonetheless, listening to the muffled sounds from the hallway, his parents’ low voices murmuring something to each other, the soft jingling of keys and the tap tap tap of shoes on the floor as his dad moves from the front hall into the kitchen, and then back. It’s probably not that long in all, but it feels like an eternity before he finally hears the door slam, and the sound of a car starting outside. He hears his mother for a few moments longer, locking the door and then rustling around in the kitchen for a while, but she quickly retreats back into the bedroom—probably to go back to sleep—and the house falls silent once more.

He watches as the sunlight filters through his blinds, gradually illuminating his bedroom until the dull, muted shadows have transformed themselves into more familiar shapes. The alarm clock on his bedside table reads 7:19, which is frankly too early to be awake during summer break, but while Ritsu’s eyes are blurred and heavy with sleep, he’s not sure that he’s actually tired anymore. Or, rather, he’s too busy thinking to be tired.

He lazily shifts his gaze downwards, looking at Shou on the ground. His intricately crafted nest looks like it’s been through a natural disaster, with his single pillow lying halfway across the room at the foot of the door, the quilt that Ritsu had put down folded half in on itself, and Shou not actually on the pallet in the first place, instead having rolled off onto the carpet at some point during the night and taking most of the blankets in a twisted mess along with him. He’s face down on the floor, wrapped up in a cocoon with only his hair and a single leg escaping his burrow. As if on cue, he starts to shift around, making to roll over but getting caught in his blanket straightjacket, and settling on his stomach again with a muffled sigh. Ritsu takes a moment to be intensely jealous of Shou, who is probably on god-only-knows what timezone, and won’t wake up until noon at the earliest. “I mean, you don’t have to answer right now. Think about it, though?” Well, Ritsu’s thinking about it alright. It’s probably the reason he can’t get back to sleep. He rolls over to stare at the wall instead, Shou’s words from last night echoing in his mind. Really, it takes a certain type of person to drop a “let’s move in together” into a conversation, yawn, and then fall asleep without providing any further details or explanation.

The part of Ritsu’s mind that has been desperately trying to rationalize with his anxiety since middle school argues that it’s nothing to freak out over, and that he really shouldn’t start over-analyzing three sentences before Shou is even awake to explain them. The rest of Ritsu’s mind, which is analysis-oriented, exists in a state of complete structural and emotional chaos, and listens to no man, is just about ready to blow. Because, well, this could go one of two ways. On one hand, Shou could be serious. He might actually, legitimately, for whatever reason be suggesting that he and Ritsu get an apartment together, which... While appealing on the surface, it presents a whole range of issues and little details that he can’t be bothered to think about beyond a big chaotic ball of ‘this wouldn’t work’ in his mind. Still though, he finds himself quashing the impulse to go shake Shou awake and say ‘yes’ without a second thought, because details and obstacles always seem to be less concrete around Shou, but… Well, on the other hand. It could be something that he said while he was tired, and when he wakes up, he’ll either ignore it altogether, or brush it off with a laugh, and somehow that’s worse, because Ritsu is realizing with growing irritation that he wants Shou to be serious, which is stupid, this is a ridiculous idea, and it’s the kind of thing that requires serious consideration and planning and mutual discussions, not an offhanded suggestion right before falling asleep.

Wouldn’t he do that kind of thing totally impulsively, though? He sits up, shaking his head slightly to dispel the devil’s advocate in the back of his mind. This train of thought is going nowhere quickly, but it’s certainly not getting him anywhere nearer to sleep, so he might as well get up.

Shou is a heavy enough sleeper that Ritsu doesn’t worry about tiptoeing past him to reach the door, although he does take care not to step on his stray leg, and he opens and closes the bedroom door slowly to minimize the creaking. The wooden floor sticks to his bare feet as he pads down the hallway into the kitchen, following the vague smell of coffee floating around the house. Most of the pot that his dad must’ve brewed this morning is gone, probably poured into a thermos so that he could drink it on the drive, but there’s just enough left for Ritsu to fill one mug. For a few minutes he just leans against the counter, nursing his drink in silence. He knows, rationally, that there have been some moments of silence over the last year, but he’s still having trouble processing it in large amounts, this state of nothing in the house making noise except for his own breathing. No TV on in the other room, no loud Skype calls from elsewhere in the dorm, no shouting or music from down the hall, no horns or revving engines or street vendors outside of the window. It doesn’t feel real. After a while, the near-unreality gets to be too much, and he pulls out his phone to satisfy the nagging voice in his mind. Once he’d graduated, his brother had never woken up before ten in the morning, but his partner…

TO: TERUKI You awake FROM: TERUKI Of course! :0 but why are you?? Suspicions confirmed, Ritsu flips to Teru’s contact page and hits call. He most likely won’t be interrupting anything; Teru usually isn’t awake early for any specific reason, he’s just a morning person, because of course he is. He’s probably already back from a morning bike ride, sitting in the kitchen drinking a smoothie made of some bizarre trendy health fruit. “Little brother?” Teru picks up on the second ring. “Hey. You knew that Shou was coming back here, right?” There are a few moments of silence, but Ritsu waits. “...He may have mentioned it to me at some poin-” “Don’t bullshit me, Hanazawa, you had yesterday completely planned.”

Ritsu hears a soft, static-filled sigh on the other end of the line before Teru starts to speak again. “I hope you’re not hurt by the fact that he didn’t tell you? He was worried you would be, he wanted to back out of the whole thing… it was really me who told him to keep the secret for the sake of the surprise.”

The thing is, the thing is, Ritsu hadn’t even thought to be angry at Shou for not telling him he was coming home, he’d just been glad that he was there. He wonders when he stopped considering Shou’s presence a given in his life. Still, this was getting off-track. “No, it’s- I’m not. But, uh, did he tell you anything about his plans for once he got here?” It’s a bit of a long shot, sure. He’s not really sure how long Teru’s been sitting on the fact that Shou was coming back; it could’ve been two months, two weeks, or two days, giving them just enough time to actually plan the meetup. “Oh, you mean the fact that he’s staying for good? Yes, he told me.” Yeah, let’s go with that, Ritsu thinks. It’s close enough. “Yeah. Do you know where he’s planning on living?” He asks the question deliberately, lightly enough that if Teru genuinely doesn’t know a thing, he won’t take note of it, but if he’s bullshitting as much as Ritsu thinks he might be, it’ll cut through all of Teru’s deflections and get to the heart of the matter. Sure enough, when Teru responds, the jovially innocuous tone has been dropped, instead replaced with a dry, “He asked you, didn’t he?” Ritsu struggles to find the right way to phrase what he’s thinking, but eventually settles on a blunt, “Was he joking?” “Did you turn him down?” And now Teru sounds genuinely surprised, almost sputtering, although reasonably that could be the unreliable phone connection. No, wait, Ritsu hears a faint, “Shit, my blueberries!” on the other end, followed by distant clattering. He takes a moment to feel vaguely guilty for whatever breakfast food he just accidentally ruined. “He fell asleep before I could say anything. Did. He. Mean. It.” At this point it’s clear that Teru knows far more than he’s letting on, and Ritsu can be as bratty and grumpy as he likes about it, but Teru will probably remain cryptically neutral and try and force Ritsu to solve his own problems, because he’s actually a good friend, even if Ritsu kind of hates him for it most of the time. As predicted, once given the high ground again, Teru’s voice goes airy and vague. “What do you think, Ritsu? What would your plans be, in his place?” Ritsu’s first instinct is to say live in my giant fucking house, but… would he? Over the years, Ritsu hasn’t spent much time in Shou’s house, but he still remembers its sprawling, sparse rooms, its high gothic ceilings, its impersonal style, like it had been furnished to be a model home. More importantly, he knows that for periods, however brief, Shou lived in that house with his father. Teru, because he’s decent enough at leading a horse to water but can’t quite resist giving it one last hint that it’s supposed to be drinking, gives one last thought before hanging up. “He’s spent the better part of two days on a plane or in an airport. Don’t you think, after all that, the only thing you’d want would be to sleep in an actual bed? Instead, I’m guessing he spent the night on your floor.”

-

“Mom?” He steps into the kitchen, still scrubbing the damp towel over his hair to get rid of any stray dripping.

He’d spent a while kicking around in the living room, flipping through the TV and ending up on another episode of the same soap opera. It must’ve been on a marathon, because he’d still been watching it when his mother had finally gotten up and stolen the remote privileges from him, so that she could watch the tv while she was cooking. She’d then booted him out of the living room entirely, until he was “showered and dressed like a responsible adult,” which had taken him… probably a bit longer than entirely appropriate. By the time he’d finally felt gross enough to get out of bed and shower, it was because the sun was high in the sky and his room was uncomfortably warm. Today’s a baking day, apparently, judging by the absolute chaos of the kitchen. It’ll never fail to amaze him how his mother can make an entire meal and only leave a sinkful of dishes, but when it comes to baking, suddenly there’s three pans, fifteen bowls, and every spoon in the house strewn about the kitchen at random, coupled with streaks of batter and random starbursts of flour scattered on every available surface. Even without the clutter, the sweet smell filling the kitchen and rapidly spreading to the rest of the house gives it away. Curiously, he wanders over to the sink, peeking into one of the pans filled halfway with soapy water. Dark streaks of caramel climb the inside of the pot. Ah, Ritsu thinks, understanding suddenly dawning. He hears his mother’s voice from the hallway, just a moment before she steps into the room behind him. “Ritsu? You called– oh, there you are. Yes, yes, I know,” she tuts at his knowing smile, “they’re almost ready. Now, go get Suzuki up. He gets first taste.”

“Aw, what? I asked you to make them in the first place–” his protest is short-lived, ended by a flour-covered spatula to the arm. He ducks past her and out of the kitchen before she can start properly shooing him, and closes his bedroom door behind him with a small click. Shou has migrated again while Ritsu was in the shower, this time rolling over to the other side of the pallet, but still refusing to actually sleep on it. One of his arms has escaped the blanket cocoon now, and it’s stretched on the carpet above his head, drifting close enough to the edge of the room that Ritsu thinks he probably flung it up there and whacked his hand against the wall at some point. Ritsu crouches down by Shou’s head and taps him on the shoulder lightly, once, twice. “Shou? You awake?” Shou makes a low noise, not quite a groan, but definitely not awake enough to be a hum of acknowledgement. Ritsu just puts it down to Shou’s chronic inability to shut up.

Ritsu shifts so that he’s sitting more comfortably, legs curled underneath him and propping himself up on one hand. He tries again, this time shaking Shou’s shoulder until his eyes slowly blink open, looking up at Ritsu, bleary and unfocused. This time, the noise he makes is definitely awake, a disgruntled whine that makes Ritsu huff a quiet laugh.

He pulls away and leans back, giving Shou a dry smile. “Well good morning, Sunshine.”

Shou squints, before mumbling, “Morning? No. Never mind,” and making to roll over again. Ritsu grabs the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and tugs him back before he can, countering, “Almost one in the afternoon, actually.” That gets a sigh of resigned defeat, and Shou rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. There’s a pretty incredible imprint of the carpet on his face, climbing in red lines from his cheek to his temple. “Don’t wanna get up. Floor’s nice. Ritsu, your floor is good.” “Thank you.” He can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice, or the grin off of his face, but he does actually make an attempt to get them back on task. “Even so, you do have to get up. We’ve got stuff to talk about.” Ritsu mentally kicks himself, because that was a dick move, dropping a ‘we need to talk’ in there first thing after he wakes up, and he just hopes that Shou’s still too out of it to have noticed. “Plus, there’s food in the kitchen. C’mon, up.” With some more struggling, Ritsu manages to get Shou on his feet and shuffling to the kitchen, although he’d had to compromise with the blankets, allowing him to keep one of the bigger, fuzzy ones wrapped around his shoulders like a cape and trailing behind him like a bridal train. He lets Shou lean most of his weight against Ritsu’s side, because otherwise he’s a little worried Shou will wander straight into the wall.

He pauses under the archway to the kitchen, pulling Ritsu to a halt with a tug on his arm. Ritsu watches him squint, take a deep breath, and he murmurs, “Smells like…” and then his eyes go wide, and he’s grinning at Ritsu, so abruptly awake it’s almost starting. “I love this family,” he says, before he’s bounding into the kitchen, blanket still flowing behind him.

Ritsu knows for a fact that those cookies are still hot, especially taking into account the caramel factor, so he just pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in resignation when Shou grabs one off of the cooling rack and shoves the entire thing in his mouth. He’s not sure if pyrokinesis gives one immunity to all burns or if Shou just genuinely doesn’t care, but either way he seems unfazed, closing his eyes with a groan that’s borderline obscene.

Ritsu’s mother, hovering by the sink, is watching him with roughly the same dry bemusement that Ritsu is, although she does actually move to shoo him away from the counter before he can do something silly like try and float the entire tray away, or further damage the inside of his mouth. She stacks about half of the cookies onto a plate and sends them off with it, and Ritsu feels about fifteen years old again, sitting on the floor of his bedroom with his best friend and eating cookies for breakfast at one in the afternoon. Shou’s sitting cross-legged on the pallet, munching on one of the little cookies and probably getting crumbs all over the floor in the process. “So,” he says around a mouthful, leaning one elbow on his knee, “you said we were gonna talk?” Ritsu’s already given up phrasing this delicately before the conversation has even properly begun, so he doesn’t hesitate to say, “Yeah, about what you said last night.” Aside from lighting up in recognition, Shou’s expression gives very little away, but his leg instantly starts to bounce, just a little, beating up and down like a hummingbird wing. “Oh, right. I was just, thinking about it, I guess?” He shrugs a little. He’s clearly trying to keep his voice casual, but his nerves are about as subtle as a brick to the face. Ritsu stays silent, cueing him to continue, to explain his thoughts. Give Shou enough time and he will start talking, eventually.

“I’m not really gonna stay in that house. I might, uh, sell it? Or rent it out? Whatever. But I’m gonna look for an apartment somewhere. I don’t know where yet, but I’ve been thinking maybe around here or further north. I just thought that, y’know, with your dorm and all, you might wanna get out and into a proper place.”

That’s a lot of information for Ritsu to process. About halfway through, his explanation had started to sound almost rehearsed, meaning he’s thought about this. Shou’s stopped even trying to look at Ritsu, instead staring intently at his hands twisting in his lap, and Ritsu is just staring, and trying not to think about the fact that Shou has basically just admitted that he’s been looking at apartments near Grain City.

“Shou, I…” he starts, trails off into silence, sighs as he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Shou’s shoulders are hunched, like he’s bracing himself for what Ritsu’s going to say. He takes a breath and tries to start again. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” and the reluctance in his voice is genuine, “but the reason I’m in dorms in the first place is that I can’t afford an apartment. I can’t pay rent, or the bills, hell, I can barely contribute to the groceries as is.” Shou’s head shoots up and his eyes meet Ritsu’s, staring at him in open surprise. “Oh, I didn’t even think about… I don’t care about that.”

And, oh, Ritsu is an idiot, he’s actually just plain stupid. Of course money isn’t an issue for Shou. Between his father’s numerous global ventures, inheritance money, and a massive trust fund that had opened up for Shou when he’d turned eighteen, paying full rent on an apartment, even somewhere like Grain City, is probably nothing for him.

He’s immediately resistant to the idea of Shou paying for everything for both of them, taking advantage of him and always feeling like he’ll owe him something in return. The little devil’s advocate starts jabbering in the back of his mind, though, argues that he’ll probably do that anyways. Regardless of whether Ritsu’s living with him, Shou will get an apartment, and if he’s close enough to the university, Ritsu will probably be spending a decent amount of time over there, hanging out and mooching off of his wifi and the peace and quiet that he can’t get in his dorm.

Besides, and the voice is smug, like a lawyer giving the closing statement after the most one-sided case of his life. It sounds irritatingly like Teru.

You know he doesn’t want to live alone. Ritsu leans back until he can reach for his backpack, and tugs out a notepad and a pen. He flips it open to a blank page. “Right,” he says, pointing the pen right at Shou’s nose, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together, and we’re doing it right. We are not jumping into this blind and ending up in a shithole with no ceiling.”

Shou stares cross eyed at the tip of the pen for a moment, face blank, before he lights up, and Ritsu swears to god that the room gets just a little bit brighter. He scooches across the floor to press up against Ritsu’s side. “Gameplan time?” “Yep.”

-

Within an hour, their list reads as follows:

find an apartment

move out of dorm (paperwork???? talk to $ aid guy)

get dog DO NOT GET DOG

move into aptmt

furniture??

spoons silverware

towels

we need cups right

plates????

IKEA

Ritsu scans over the list on the floor in front of them, tapping the pen absently against Shou’s knee. “This is… a lot,” he says, with some trepidation. “We’re gonna have to go up and look at apartments before the the week is up, if we want to be moved in by the end of summer.” He’ll be sad to cut his visit short, considering just how little he gets to see his family, and he can already sense the impending stress that this move is going to cause. Still, he can’t help being excited, caught up in Shou’s boundless enthusiasm, especially seeing it all laid out as a concrete plan in front of him. “Do you think your mom will let us take the rest of the cookies?”

“Yes, Shou.”

[intrepidolivia]

Alexandria Country Club pt 6

Pairing: NeganXOlivia (OC)

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, discussion of violence, sensuality, fluff

Summary: AU! Olivia tries to relax despite the threat. Negan handles her while she’s intoxicated.

A/N: Kinda a fluff and filler chapter, but with some hints of things to come. I don’t usually work on stories this fast, so don’t get used to this pace, lol.  Hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want me to tag you!

Olivia’s sleep was restless, punctuated by unsettling dreams. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; the stress of knowing someone wanted you dead and had your address wasn’t exactly conducive to rest.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and found a robe in the closet. She’d never quite finished cleaning everything out when she moved into an apartment again. More than once since she’d gotten her own place Adair had offered to move her back in. That morning she was more tempted than usual.

The tension hadn’t dissipated by the time she got downstairs, so she decided to cook. The ritual of making food was soothing. It absorbed her whole attention, and pleased her need for order. The more stressed she became, the more elaborate the meals. It had been how Adair first knew things were not going well with her last dating attempt. The moment she pulled a rack of lamb from the oven, Adair had demanded to know what was wrong. Around the time the multi-layered chocolate cheesecake happened, she suspected he was researching hit-men.

The kitchen was well stocked, and blueberry pancakes sounded good, so she started gathering ingredients. She got coffee brewing, and because she still couldn’t shake her dreams, she brought a bottle of champagne out of the wine chiller. Mimosas sounded nice.

She was three mimosas in when Adair wandered into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Blueberry pancakes,” she told him. “Just reducing the syrup now, between that and the pancakes I used up all the blueberries. And I made bacon, because we need protein. And mimosas.” She waved a hand at the open bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

Adair gave her a little frown at that. He got concerned for her sometimes, which was understandable. He’d been there for her through the darkest days after John died.

He mixed his drink without comment, however, and sat at the counter. “Heard from Negan yet?”

She shook her head. “I kind of hope he’s still sleeping. I feel bad for keeping him up so late.”

“You should invite him over for breakfast, considering you have enough batter there to make food for a small army,” he sniffed.

Olivia glared at him, but didn’t deny it. “They’ll freeze and you can heat them up in a toaster oven. Now, take the plate of bacon into the dining room.”

While cooking breakfast had helped her relax a bit, she found her stomach too nervous for her to have much appetite. She ate a bit to appease Adair and absorb some of the champagne, but quickly found herself pushing food around with her fork. Adair watched her, sipping his coffee.

“It’ll be okay. I imagine it was an alcohol-fueled bit of bullshit. And even if it wasn’t, there’s no one who’s getting in here.”

She nodded, trying to make herself believe it. “You’re probably right.” She wasn’t so sure, though. Something about the wording of the threat had been chilling.

Olivia knew better, but it was easy to slip into drinking steadily. It wasn’t as though she were going anywhere, after all. She’d taken the day off work, and wasn’t inclined to leave the safety of Adair’s house. So, there seemed little reason not to open a bottle of wine at lunchtime.

Adair gave her disapproving looks of course, but it was keeping her from freaking out. She did feel a little better when Negan texted her that afternoon to check up on her. For the most part she busied herself in the kitchen.

Someone wanted her dead.

She made chocolates, flavoring them with bourbon. She poured herself a glass to be sure of the quality.

They wanted her to suffer.

She rolled the chocolates one by one in crushed nuts, nestling each in a little paper wrapper. Chocolate and bourbon went so well together.

They knew where she lived.

Someone was at the door. She glanced up and realized it was nearly six in the evening. She sipped a glass of wine she forgot pouring.

Adair led Negan into the kitchen. “And here she is. She’s been hammered since breakfast,” he said loftily.

“I have not.” Olivia scowled at him.

Negan raised an eyebrow. “That does explain the texts.”

She huffed, pushing hair out of her eyes awkwardly. “Don’t you two talk like I’m not in the room.”

“Sorry, doll.” Negan grinned and approached her, putting his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“I’m not ‘hammered’ I’m a little tipsy. I had a couple drinks because I was nervous.” She made a valiant effort to enunciate. She had to admit, the room seemed a little wobbly. She tried to take a sip of her wine, but Negan intercepted the glass, taking it from her.

“Sweetheart, you have had plenty,” he told her firmly.

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m fine.”

“You are damn fine, Livvy. But you’re also fucking sloshed.” He sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “Not that I can fucking blame you. Let’s get some food in you and try to get you halfway sober so you’re not sick tomorrow.”

“Want me to cook? I can cook,” she told him earnestly.

He chuckled. “Fuck no, baby. I don’t trust you near knives or a stove right now.” He glanced back at Adair. “How’s pizza sound?”

“Works for me,” Adair confirmed.

She let Negan propel her into the living room. She didn’t need him to keep her steady of course, but it was nice to have his arm around her. She settled on the couch beside him, cuddling into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, smirking slightly.

“So tell the truth, darlin’. How wasted are you?”

She let her head drop to his shoulder and rolled her eyes up at him. “Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He kept his arm around her, and cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I get it, doll. It’s a stressful thing that’s going on. I’ll give you the one. But after this you need to keep your head on straight. Think you can do that for me?”

She bit her lip, leaning her face into his hand. “Yes.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised.

Distantly, she realized she was pretty drunk. It was hard to focus on what was going on around her. Adair put on a movie she paid little attention to. Once the pizza arrived, Negan kept reminding her to eat, and forced glasses of water on her. Eventually, she curled up on the couch with her head on his lap and closed her eyes.

“Thanks. She won’t listen to me when she’s like this.” Adair’s voice.

“Like I said, I’m pretty sure I can handle her.” She could feel the thrum of Negan’s deep voice as she lay against him. His hand stroked her hair. “I take it you’ve had experience in the matter.”

A long pause then. “A couple years ago… well. Let’s just say it was bad.”

“No doubt,” Negan said quietly.

Part of her wanted to open her eyes. Maybe not to join the conversation, but at least to let them know she heard them. Then again, it seemed like too much trouble to bother.

“Any plans in the works?” Adair asked.

“Yeah. I called a buddy of mine. I figure you, me, and Simon can go have a nice little chat with the Applegate prick. Just got to catch him alone.”

“Give me a little time. I’m sure I can figure out a way to arrange something.” Adair sounded smug.

“Good deal. I wanna know how?” Negan chuckled.

“Nothing terribly illegal. I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll look forward to it. I can get free pretty easy. The other security guy owes me one.” Negan shifted a little, brushing her hair back from her face. “Think I should tuck this one in.”

“You’re probably better equipped to carry her if need be,” Adair allowed. “Up the stairs, second door on the right.”

She grumbled as Negan shook her gently. Their voices had been soothing. She just wanted to sleep. Forcing her eyes open, she looked up at him.

“Come on, babydoll. Let’s get you in bed.”

She couldn’t very well let that one go. Certainly not while she was still feeling a bit drunk. She rolled onto her back and grinned up at him, sliding her hand over his beard. “Ooh, I was hoping you’d say that sometime soon.”

He chuckled, catching her hand and kissing it. “Up we get.”

Olivia let him pull her to her feet. She yawned, winding an arm around his waist for support. Adair raised an eyebrow at her. “Have we learned anything?” he asked.

“Negan doesn’t trust me with knives,” she replied.

Adair rolled his eyes, but Negan laughed. “Only when you’re drunk, baby.”

She waved to Adair as Negan propelled her to the stairs, steadying her as they ascended. She was feeling more sober, but not completely there yet. She likely would have made it up on her own, but she certainly didn’t object to his help.

Her room was still decorated with art she’d chosen, and a few pictures sat framed on the dresser, along with some of her jewelry and makeup. Negan pulled back the bedclothes, sitting her down and pulling her shoes off. She struggled out of her jeans as well.

She saw him looking as she did it. His dark eyes flicked to her legs, and to the clingy black panties she was wearing. His tongue darted out, moistening his lips, and he forced his gaze back to her face.

“All right, doll. There’s a bottle of water on your nightstand. You’re going to be a little hungover tomorrow I’d guess. I’ll bring some nice greasy food to make you feel better, huh?” He gave her a wink.

He looked like he was going to leave. Olivia stood up, winding her arms around his neck and pressing against him. “Stay.”

He hesitated, his hands winding around her waist. He looked down at her, sucking in a breath. “That’s not a good idea right now, babydoll.”

“Why?” she whined. She rubbed against him, playing her hands through his hair. “We’re adults.”

He gave a soft little groan and with an effort that was visible, he untangled her arms from him and pressed her down to sit on the bed. “You’re a drunk adult. And I’m an asshole, but I’m not that.”

She knew he was probably right, but at the moment all she could think about was how handsome he looked. Standing over her in the half-light, slim hips and broad shoulders, those dark eyes, the salt and pepper beard. She caught his belt, leaning back playfully. “At least give me a goodnight kiss.”

Negan shook his head, smirking as he leaned down to her. “Little girl, you are asking for trouble.” She felt the bed shift as he braced a hand next to her, his other hand catching her cheek, tipping her face up. He kissed her, his lips sliding over hers, his teeth catching her bottom lip gently. She parted her lips for his questing tongue, eager for his attention.

The kiss was all too brief for her preference. He pulled back, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “Alright, sweetheart. You get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But--” she began.

Negan shook his head, bending and scooping an arm under her legs, pulling her up on the bed. He pulled up the bedclothes, tucking them around her firmly. “Nope, you get some sleep.”

Olivia sighed, flopping back on the pillow and pouting. “If you insist.”

There was a dangerous glimmer in his eyes, a little smile playing over his lips. “I insist,” he purred. “So you be a good girl for me, hmm?”

She blushed. She wanted to pull him down on top of her. Particularly with the way he was looking at her, and the tone of his voice. Part of her wanted to argue, just to see what he’d do. She didn’t quite have the courage for that yet, though. Instead she nodded obediently. “I’ll be good,” she said meekly.

His smile widened. “That’s what I like to hear.” He tapped his fingers under her chin gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Get some rest.”

He stood and walked out, pausing to glance back at her with a wink. She sighed as he pulled the door closed behind him. It wasn’t fair that he was so handsome, and so sexy. She rolled over, curling up on her side and closing her eyes.

Much more of this and Negan would be the death of her long before her stalker.

@noodlecupcakes @adair-donovan @glittered-unicorn-lava @genevievedarcygranger

[preciouslilpitches]

Apritello Oneshot: “For You”

I’ve never posted my writing on here before, but I just had this huge inkling to write this. I got my inspiration from a movie called “Blue Jay” featuring Sarah Paulsen and Mark Duplass. It’s also named after a song by Gavin James, which I happened to listen to the ENTIRE time I wrote this. Anyway, here goes nothing: 

When Donatello woke up face down at his desk for the sixth time that week, he took the protective goggles off of his head and wiped the drool from his arm. A small light was the only thing illuminating the lab, casting dark shadows over all of his forgotten projects. When he stretched, the joints in his arms popped, and he felt himself blinking to adjust his eyes to the room. His head pounded, reminding him. Need caffeine. The turtle shuffled to the door, which he pried open slowly. Though quiet, the entirety of his family occupied the lair. Michelangelo sat, playing video games, and Splinter read a newspaper on the couch beside him, thick glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Raphael relentlessly punched and hit their training dummy; Leonardo was in the kitchen, preparing a kettle for tea. Next to the sink, a small contraption hissed and gurgled with the makings of a large pot of coffee. Zombie-like, he walked over to it.

“Morning, Don,” his brother said.

He sighed, but said nothing. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a sizeable mug, placing it on the counter rather harshly. He knew what was coming. You missed training again. You can’t keep staying up late. Blah, blah, blah. Once his coffee was poured, he took a gulp, not caring that he’d singed a few taste buds.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

He brought the mug up to his lips again.

“Mike made some muffins. Blueberry. They’re in a plastic baggy in there.” He pointed to the small place they kept the bread. “There’s also some fruit cut up in the fridge.”

He blinked.

No lecture?, he thought.

“Don…”

Spoke too soon.

“We have to talk.”

He nodded, praying to whatever’s out there to make it quick and painless. He had projects to attend to, after all. Important ones. Some that would even benefit his family. (Like fixing the air conditioning…) His brother got up and began to walk. He followed. Just then, his T-Phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d patched into the police network, and wired the system to give them notifications when something happened. It was the only thing that made his phone go off these days, besides when Michelangelo sent him pictures of cats, or science memes. He ignored it; there was nothing worth going out for anymore. In fact, it’d been almost two weeks since the last time they went up top as a group. As they walked, Donatello felt the pounding in his head begin to subside. They stopped at the entrance of the dojo. No way. I’m not even done with my first cup of coffee yet. Leonardo slid the door open, allowing the turtle in purple to go through first. He rolled his eyes, and the phone vibrated again.

“I’m getting worried about-”

The phone buzzed again, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

Shit.

“Leo, we have a problem.”

“What is it?” he asked, striding over to him in two steps.

“Foot bots. Possible sighting. At the docks.”

That night, they took to the rooftops.

He had to admit that he was relieved to get out of the confines of the lair. He saw it in his brothers, too. There was a sort of freedom about it, despite them being on their way to “keep the streets clean” or whatever Leo liked to call it now. He especially saw it in Raph. He didn’t think he would ever see him smile again. Of course, there was also the possibility that they would be destroying some foot bots… Which would explain the shit eating grin that split his face when they arrived at the docks.

The gangs had quieted down. After The Shredder was defeated, Karai attempted to bring honor back to the name of the foot clan, but it was all for naught. The Purple Dragons, along with two other small gangs, didn’t take to her severing ties with them too well. Instead, they started an all-out gang war. They wanted what they deserved; what Oroku Saki wouldn’t give them. And they were ready to take it. The battle between them lasted almost six years. The Purple Dragons ended up getting the largest portion of the land, the Foot the next biggest. After headquarters was blown up, Karai fled the city.

Much to their father’s dismay, that was the last time any of them heard from her.

And that was upwards of four years ago.

Tiger Claw took over for the Foot, but kept it on the down low. It’d been months since there were any reports of disturbances from any of them, until two weeks ago. This was the second report of foot activity, and they had to be cautious.

“Over there,” Mike whispered, jutting his chin to a shipping container on the opposite side of the dock. It was decorated with yellow caution tape, and it smelled as if there had been a fire. They snuck closer, and that’s when Donatello saw it.

“Holy shit,” he said, gaping at the wide open doors.

An assortment of drug paraphernalia littered the inside. Or at least what was left of it. He followed the damage to the center of the thing, where the blaze started. Leonardo and Raph rooted through what didn’t fall apart at the touch.

“Guys, someone deliberately lit this thing up.”

“How do you figure that?” Raphael asked.

“See how it starts in the middle, and goes out? They must’ve- aha! Here!”

With a pair of tweezers, he picked up a match from beneath the ash.

“Why would The Foot get involved in this?” Michelangelo asked.

“‘Cause their leader’s a good-for-nothin’ pussy cat.” Mike fist bumped him, and he rolled his eyes, before reciprocating the gesture.

“That’s definitely a contributing factor. But it’s probably for financial reasons. The more money you accrue in the city, the more power you accrue in the city. People pay millions for this stuff. I’m not sure why though. It’s highly addictive nature is extremely detrimental for your body. Not to mention all the brain cells-”

“I call bullshit! Don, don’t be a hypogriff-”

He smacked his forehead and sighed.

“It’s hypocrite. A hypogriff is a creature from-”

“Whatever! All I’m saying is, you know your way around a bong.”

Raphael howled with laughter and smacked Mike’s arm, as Donatello’s face reddened. Leonardo spun around, looking confused and angry. They’d agreed to never tell him of their endeavors in recreational marijuana with Casey. Donnie just happened to be patrolling with them the night he first tried it. He’d smelled them when they came home before, but he thought nothing of it. As long as they came home safe, there was no reason to panic. Leo and Splinter were oblivious.

He was obviously repulsed at first; drugs compromised your judgement... Blah, blah, blah. Needless to say, Casey and his brothers basically bullied him into trying it. Don side-eyed his younger brother, who looked contrite. His heart softened a little. I really was being a bit two-faced. He smiled slightly up at him, and he nodded.

“Raph! Shut up! Dangerous mission, remember?” Leo eyed the other two skeptically. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said. The turtle in purple grimaced. Aren’t we a little old now, for you to play this holier than thou shit?, he thought. He hated the way Leo acted like their father. Like he was so morally sound. The truth was, his katana spilled blood too.

“Guys, I’ve got something,” he said. Reaching behind a charred box, he pulled out a shuriken embedded with The Foot emblem.

“So this wasn’t their shipment- it was someone else’s?

“Why would they sabotage someone’s shipping container? They’re already the toughest gang out there.”

“To prove a point,” Donatello and Leonardo said, simultaneously.

Outside, a voice could be heard barking orders.

“Salvage all that you can. The Boss lost a lotta dough for this, and he’s pissed. And if I catch you pocketin’ any of it, I’ll wear your fingers as a necklace.”

Immediately, the turtles vanished into the shadows.

“Aw shit, man. Look at this. There’s maybe one kilo here that’s any good.”

Leonardo noted that there were three inside, two out. His nose wrinkled at the smell of cigarettes and body odor. He glanced down and saw guns holstered to their hips. Stealth would be their friend, this time. He removed a hand from the wall and held a finger up to his lips, finding Raphael’s eyes in the dark. He signalled the others. Before they could even pick up a crate, they were knocked unconscious in near silence. By the time the others realized there was trouble, Leonardo swung down from the ceiling and struck them both.

They took the long way home, “in case of emergencies”, in Leo’s words. But they all knew he wanted to stay up top as long as possible. It was a gorgeous summer night. And with Splinter’s age, he needed their help more and more. Donatello reminded himself to run some more tests on him when they got home. They passed Kirby’s apartment on the way, and his heart sank. Until a familiar sound reached his ears.

He would know that laugh anywhere.

He skidded to a halt, peering over the edge of the building. His brothers stopped a few yards ahead, realizing he was gone, and ran back to him.

There she was.

Her hair was long. To her shoulder blades. Her skin was sun-kissed, her body as fit as the last time he saw her. He gulped when he realized the luggage she was hauling out of the trunk was the same luggage that-

Kirby ran down the steps and greeted her, throwing his arms over her shoulders. He smiled. The opposite door of the taxi opened, and his eyes went wide. His stomach dropped. No way, he thought spitefully. No fucking way.

“Is that- with a- holy shit,” Mike exclaimed behind him.

Raph stood beside him and stared, too.

“C’mon, guys. Sensei’s gonna start to get worried.”

“Dude… It’s eight o’ clock. He’s probably watching Days of our Lives re-runs.”

“He watches The Young and the Restless.”

“Who cares!” he said, leaping over the edge of the building and onto the fire escape. Raphael followed, as did Leonardo. He stared still, as they entered the apartment complex, and his family snuck around to the back.

“No fucking way,” he whispered, before vaulting over the edge as well.

April had to admit that she wasn’t surprised that Mike tapped on the window. She’d texted them that they were visiting. Then again, she supposed she wasn’t in the T-Phone network anymore. They began to pile in the window, and she almost felt relieved that she didn’t see him. But she searched anyway. When Raph came in, they locked eyes, and he shook his head. Her face blazed as bright as her hair, and her gaze fell to the carpet. She turned away, to Michelangelo, who was barreling toward her with his arms wide.

“April! How are you?!” He practically yelled in her ear, as he wrapped his arms around her. She grinned; she’d missed his big bear hugs.

“I'm good, Mike. What about you? How's Ice Cream Kitty?” His face dropped. “Oh… oh, no. I'm so sorry.”

“It's all good… She was old. She’s not in pain anymore,” he said. His lip quivered a little and she cursed at herself in every language she knew how. “I'm trying to convince Leo to let us get a puppy…” Mike raised a browridge at his brother. He rolled his eyes and stepped up.

“I told him it wouldn’t be fair at all to keep a dog in the sewers… But enough about us, how are you?”

She blinked.

No one had asked her that in a long time. Not since-

“We’re great,” Casey said, smiling. She spun around to see he had her in his arms, swaddled in a blanket. Her eyes peeled open and she yawned.

Michelangelo practically squealed.

“I thought I saw you with a carseat, but I- oh my goodness, she’s so cute! What’s her name?!”

April smiled and took the baby.

“This is Mae,” she said. Raphael stifled a laugh, and Leonardo gave him a look. “It was Casey’s idea. And I was so doped up, I didn’t really notice. But it grew on me.” She stroked the child’s head and smiled. “You wanna hold her?”

“Do I?!” Slowly and carefully, she placed Mae in his arms, watching as she snuggled up to his plastron, and closed her eyes. “Wow, April- she’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Leo peeked his head around Mike’s shoulder and gazed down at her.

“She looks so much like you… She’s wise, like you,” he whispered.

Tears stung her eyes.

They stood there, for awhile, just staring. Even Raph came over and peered skeptically down at the baby. She saw his eyes soften though, and he stroked her cheek with a finger. Mike pulled out his T-Phone and snapped a quick photo of her. April realized how tiny she looked next to them; how small she looked in his massive hands. Kirby broke the silence.

“You guys wanna stay for a late dinner? We were just gonna have some pizza delivered.”

“Oh, no… That’s fine,” Leo said, still looking at Mae. “We should get back to Splinter anyway… Thank you though, for the offer, Mr. O’Neil.”

“Oh, please, call me Kirby. I insist.”

He nodded.

Just then, the baby’s face turned down in a frown and she started to cry; a piercing wail, causing them all to flinch. Mike tried to bounce her, console her, but she was past that. It was full-blown fit time. Raph stepped away, made uncomfortable by the noise, and Leonardo glanced over guiltily.

“She’s probably hungry. She hasn’t eaten since before we got into the city. I’ll take her. Case? Can you grab the diaper bag? I might as well change her too; she should be getting to bed soon.”

“Yeah, babe. Hold up.”

“Well, we oughta hit the road,” Raph said.

“It was so nice to see you!” April shouted over the child wailing. “Tell Splinter and D-” She gulped. “ Don that I said hello, would you?”

Mike nodded, walking over to plant a kiss on her cheek and the baby’s head.

“I’ll tell ‘em.”

He winked and they were gone.

Donatello woke to a pain in his shoulder. He was face-down at his desk once again, feeling the overwhelming need to ingest caffeine. When he glanced over at his T-Phone, a slough of messages littered the screen. They were from his brothers.

M: Hey, we’re gonna hang @ Mondo’s crib. Wanna come?

R: Slash will be there. And Leatherhead.

L: It would be good to go see them. Get out of the lab.

R: Or don’t. It’s whatever. We’re going anyway.

M: Ya never know, dude, there might be some hot mutant chicks there. ;P

L: Or you can see your friends you haven’t seen in years... That’s good, too.

R: Yo… you coming or not?

M: Guys, I just tried to wake him up. I thought he was dead! He’s def not coming with us.

L: Just to let you know, Sensei’s going  too. So you’ve got the lair to yourself. Maybe you could load the dishwasher? Vacuum the dojo? Thanks.

Truthfully, Leonardo’s comment would’ve made him mad any other day, but he figured it was the least he could do, after sleeping through a day with friends. Don made a mental note to send them a quick apology text. He did feel a little guilty, but… Well, for starters, things never really sat well with he and Mondo. And Leatherhead was just uncomfortable around him, after the last time he had an episode and they were together… Don reckoned he still had the scars around his neck… And then there was Slash. Who’d apologized relentlessly about his behavior. But he couldn’t help being suspicious. When someone tries to kill you, and then suddenly changes their game, there’s reason to get skeptical. His joints popped as he got up, and he shuffled to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. After his first two cups, he loaded the dishwasher and took the trash out, where they would pick it up for patrolling the next time they were up top. He thought back to last night- how great it felt to feel the fresh summer air against his skin. To finally feel like he was doing something worthwhile. Until… He remembered her slim figure. Her long legs, her freckled skin, and her long hair. The glint of the wedding ring in the light- the luggage. Casey fucking Jones getting out of the cab with a car seat. A baby… She had a baby. He shook his head. He knew it was wrong of him to be angry; it was her life. And she was happy. Isn’t that what he’d wished for?

Donatello grabbed the vacuum and started working in the living room area. He forgot how long it took to clean the place- which is why they always did it together. The first Saturday of every month. He turned on Beethoven’s 5th, focusing his thoughts on the music and the tasks at hand. It was three hours before he finished cleaning the entire lair, including his own room, which had grown messy from his nights in the lab. He kept the music going as he began to organize his lab. Certain sized washers, nuts, bolts, nails, etc, in different buckets, putting all of his projects together… He was welding some pieces together for a part for the Shell Raiser when he heard a noise. His hand instinctively went to his bo, and he slid the welding helmet up. Quietly and carefully, he clicked to the security cameras on one of his monitors, but they showed nothing. He unsheathed his weapon and creeped to his door, which was ajar. When he saw a shadow approach, his eyes went white and he melted into the darkness of the wall. The footsteps got closer, and he jumped out, ready to strike.

Only it wasn’t an intruder.

“April?!”

“Oh! Don! I’m so sorry! I just-”

“You scared the shit out of me! What-what are you doing here?”

He took off the helmet and sheathed his bo.

She stared at the ground.

“I… Honestly, I don’t know… I wanted to… I should-I should leave.”

“No! No, stay.”

“I can go. I should go.”

She turned to leave and he put a hand on her shoulder.

“No. April. Please. I insist.”

She smiled.

“Okay…”

“Coffee?”

“Oh God, yes please,” she said. The two made their way into the kitchen, and he pulled out the beans to grind them. She cleared her throat and went to the sink. Above it, was a cabinet, where they kept all the mugs. She grabbed two, and put them on the island. He looked over at her, and she realized what she’d done. Her face went hot with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry… I…”

“No, I… I just couldn’t believe you remembered where they were.”

“Had you forgotten that my Dad was kidnapped by the Kraang? And then turned into a giant, mutant bat? I spent a lot of time down here,” she said, smiling. Donatello laughed softly.

“You’re right. You did practically live here for a couple years. How is Kirby?”

“He’s alright… He’s been… Seeing a doctor. Getting mutated twice really took a toll on him. He’s better, though. Not like before, with the night terrors and the wandering…”

“That’s good. I’m glad he’s doing better.”

“Yeah, thanks… He’s been having nightmares lately. Calling me late at night. I mean, I’m usually awake anyway, but… I’m kinda worried about him.”

“Oh… I mean, if your Dad can get through all of that, he can get through this. He’s strong… How’s your job, Professor?”

“It’s fun, actually. My students are all pretty enthusiastic. They actually want to study Biology. It’s not like when I was interning at the high school and the kids just wanted to look down my shirt. It’s really cool to see how passionate they are about it… But what about you? How have you been?”

“Uh… I mean, nothing’s really changed. Ice Cream Kitty passed away. That was pretty hard on Mike… I started an online business. Basically, people pay me to update their websites and fix any viruses. It doesn’t pay much, but it helps for when the washer breaks or the place floods.” She blinked.

“Yeah… That’s happened a couple times. Once, there was at least three inches of sewage in here…”

“Oh my God. That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah… It took a really long time to get the smell out… It hasn’t happened in a couple years, though… Other than that… No big changes here.”

“Mike told me about Ice Cream Kitty last night… I’m so sorry.”

“I mean… She was mostly his, but she was nice to have around…” The room went silent for a bit, as the liquid poured into the pot.

“Why didn’t you come by last night?”

He froze.

“I… didn’t think I’d be welcome…”

“Oh… Don, of course you are. Always.”

“W-what’re you doing in the city, anyway? Don’t you live upstate?”

“Yeah, actually… We renovated the farmhouse. We were gonna get an apartment closer to the university, but then I found out that I was-” she stopped. His shoulder twitched.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“Pregnant. That I was pregnant... And we decided to buy the house. And it’s nice, ya know, raising my daughter in the house I grew up.”

Donatello felt a pang in his chest.

April has a daughter.

“That’s so great. I’m really happy for you… What’s her name?”

He grabbed the mugs and began pouring.

“You’re gonna laugh…”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Mae… With an ‘e’.”

He smiled, taking a sip of his coffee to hide it.

“I know, I know… I’d said that I never wanted to name my child that… And people always suggested it as a joke… But there were some complications with her birth, and I was so doped up… The doctors were asking for a name, and Casey just said it… But it grew on me, ya know? She’s such a sweetheart. Big, brown eyes… Red hair, though, surprisingly. Though, she’ll probably grow out of it. Here, I’ll just…”

He set her cup in front of her, and she brought out her phone. When she clicked on the button, her screen popped up. Behind the time, was a photo of a beautiful rosy-cheeked baby, grinning with half a tiny fist in her mouth.

“Oh… Oh, wow… April, she’s…”

He blinked away tears.

“W-what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing… I dunno, it’s this new thing… where I cry… Old age or something.”

She smiled uneasily.

“God, we are getting old, aren’t we?” When she looked down at her cup, she gasped. April looked up at him with that look; the kunoichi smile. He felt his stomach stir.

“You made it black…”

“Y-yeah… That’s how you always took your coffee…?”

“I just… Casey always puts creamer in mine… But you remembered…”

“Oh…”

The room fell silent again, and the two sipped from their mugs.

“I know this is weird, but… Would you wanna see some of my projects?”

“Dude, yes! I would love to!”

She began following Donatello, who was already rambling on about an article he read about thermodynamics and quantum shortcuts, and she couldn’t help but feel an impending sense of dread at the thought of his solitary life below the city.  He was so damned smart. He was lightyears ahead any of her peers at the University. He could've taught their courses at the age of sixteen. He’d played a part in saving the world more times than he could count on both hands.

And yet, they would never accept him.

She’d been there when they called him “freak”. When they put up signs reading “We don’t serve mutants.” When he pulled a woman’s baby from a fire and she screamed and ran away. She was there, dressing his wounds as he held back the tears and the anger at his own form. She knew what he was thinking: If only I were human… Donatello single handedly created a retromutagen for not only her father, but the entirety of New York. April had watched as he used his smartphone to hack an entire Kraang data base. But he would spend his life in hiding. Everything he did- even some of the best scientific discoveries of the twentieth century -would go unnoticed. It probably wouldn’t be in their lifetime that some of his discoveries would even be made by the scientists who would actually get credit for it. That was the life of a ninja, was it not? Hiding.

She shoved the thoughts from her head, and wandered about the room, clutching the mug against her chest, knuckles white. He was still talking when she approached his locker. He’d told her that it was all old junk from when they were kids. Pictures, toys, boring stuff. Still… it’d been so long. She reached for the handle and he ran over.

“Wait! Stop!”

“What’ve you got to hide, D?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Before he could protest again, she flung the door open. He stepped back, rubbing his neck awkwardly with one hand, and she blinked. At her eye-level, was the music box. A thin layer of dust coated it, dulling the glow of the gold heart that decorated the top. She pulled it out, setting her mug down, and opened it. An out-of-tune song could be heard playing, and fifteen-year-old Donnie smiled up at her. Tears stung her eyes, and she shut it.

“You… still have this? Don, I-”

“Yeah, I just… well, you didn’t- I mean, I-”

She ran her hand over it, feeling immense guilt waft over her.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m-”

“Don't.”

She turned to him quizzically. His expression softened and he smiled, taking the box from her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Donatello reached past her, to put it back, and his plastron brushed against her chest. A barely audible gasp escaped her lips as he stepped back, closer than before. His figure towered over her, and she felt her eyes fall to his bobbing throat. They stood in the silence for too long, before he coughed and stepped away.

“Hey, do you… wanna do something fun?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna have some fun?”

“I dunno, you're scaring me…”

“Just come with me.”

“I can't believe we’re actually doing this,” April whispered, concealing herself in the shadows of the alley. She knew it was juvenile, but she felt her heart hammer in her chest anyway.

“We’re fine. I’m on the lookout,” Donatello encouraged her, pressing his hand into the small of her back. Six hours ago, she would’ve felt uncomfortable with the contact, but she barely noticed it as she broke out in a nervous sweat. April crept toward the wall of the old building, and pulled the bandana over her face. She rolled and cracked her neck.

“C’mon, you sissy!” he teased, winking when she glanced back to shoot daggers at him. She raised her arm and shook the can, surprised by the rush of joy that warmed her chest. The red paint stained the wall and she grinned beneath her temporary mask. He gave her a thumbs up, and she was ready to laugh when the door swung open. A booming voice cursed at them in Italian, and they booked it around the corner. The two huddled against the wall, and Don stifled a laugh, peering around the edge of the brick. As the man got closer, the shadow of a gun came into view. The man yelled again, brandishing the weapon in the air.

“I’ll get you thugs! I’m not jokin’ this time! No more mista nice guy!” He fired a warning shot in the air, causing them to flinch. Her laughter ceased immediately, as Donatello pressed her into the cold brick, his arms on either side of her head. She watched as his eyes went white, and his left hand twitched toward his bo. After a few minutes, the man walked away, mumbling. April huffed, realizing that she’d been holding her breath.

“Phew! That was-”

“Shh!”

He got even closer, and his breath rolled down her neck. She blushed when she shivered, goosebumps rising on the skin that his breath touched. His nictitating membranes slid back and he relaxed.

“We’re clear,” he said, looking down into her eyes. He blinked a few times, before stepping away, turning his attention to their recent art project. It read:

WERE CUMIN FOR U NEXT, TIGER CLAW!

The red paint corrected every mistake in the poorly written threat. Adding an apostrophe and the rest of the word ‘you’. The word cumin was crossed out and written as ‘coming’. He smiled, thinking back to simpler times, when their grammatical and spelling errors were things that really mattered. When they watched the news cover the story about their graffiti.

“Jesus, you’d think they'd at least know that cumin is a spice…”

“Well, they spelled Tiger Claw right,” she said, tossing the can into a trash bin. She stood next to him, admiring the new and improved message.

“Nice work, professor O’Neil.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against him. Glancing at the time on her phone, she gasped. He looked over, concerned, and she dialed the number. She turned to hold a finger up at him, and walked around the corner.

“Hey, babe… I know I've been out awhile, but- oh. Oh, really? That's… Yeah that would be great. I shouldn't be long. I just ran into… an old friend. Give her kisses for me. There's breastmilk in the fridge. Alright. Bye. L-love you too. See ya.”

He raised an eyebrow when she got back, and she guiltily turned her gaze to the pavement.

“It's almost sunset… you wanna-”

“Yes,” he blurted.

She grinned.

When they finally got to the rooftop, their slurpees were practically melted, but she didn't care. It was the best seat in the house. One of the only places in the city that you could see the entire skyline, without a building obstructing the view. They talked and drank as the light faded away, huddling under a blanket and laying on a few old sleeping bags. He was pointing out constellations to her when she turned to him.

“It’s such a clear night,” he whispered, grinning.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“I've been… taking anti-depressants.”

His eyes went wide and a browridge furrowed. She gulped.

“Doc says it’s really common in new mothers, but I… I haven't even told Casey. He just thinks that I have it all together. That I have it all figured out, and the truth is, I look at her and I-I feel nothing… Well, not nothing. But I look in her eyes and I just… I’m waiting for the motherly instinct to just sink in, and it… doesn't. How is that fair to her? How can I be a good mother if… if…”

She began to cry. Hard. Sobs racking her body like dry heaves. He pulled her into him. She inhaled his familiar scent, waiting for him to say some scientific facts to make her feel better, but he just held her there, in the crisp night air. She sniffed and pulled away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay, so I told you something. Your turn.”

“What? No, that's-”

“Rules are rules.”

She wiped her nose with a sleeve of her sweater.

He put his head back, staring up at the stars. Donatello took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Sensei is sick,” he almost whispered. Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes and her gut twisted.

“What?”

“It's… cancer. H-he asked me not to…” His throat worked and his mask stained a dark purple. “Sorry, I… it’s the first time I've said it… out loud. And- God, I'm sorry.” He wiped his eyes with his wrist wraps and looked at her. “He asked me not to tell my brothers. He wants to do it himself.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed, and they sat quietly for awhile.

“Donnie…”

“Yeah?”

“Will you kiss me?”

He blinked, taking his hand out of her grip.

“April-”

“Please?”

He was hovering above her in an instant, licking his lips. She gulped, wrapping a hand around the base of his skull and pulling him in. She relished in the taste of him, his labored breath against her cheeks. He wrapped a massive hand under her back, and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his torso. Don attached his lips to her neck, and a moan escaped through her teeth. Caught off guard by the noise, she recoiled, and stumbled to her feet, gathering her purse.

“Shit,” she whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He got up too, guiltily rubbing the back of his neck. She kept her eyes to the ground.

“I have to go,” she said.

“April, no, I’m so sorry-”

“God, Donnie! I'm-I’m fucking married!”

“I'm so sorry…”

“I just- I’m married. I h-have to go. I have to go.”

“April, wait! I’m sorry-”

“Would you stop saying that?!”

He blinked.

“But I-”

“Just stop! Stop apologizing!”

“Oh, that's rich,” he spat.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that at least I am apologizing, April! I’m trying to-”

“Oh, so you're expecting me to?!”

“YES!” he boomed. “You left! You bailed when it got hard! I was ready to-to-”

“What, to wait for me?! You know that's not what I wanted!”

“No, of course not. You wanted me to just run away with you, and leave my family!”

“I never expected you to do that!”

“No, but you wanted me to! And did you ever think about I wanted?! That I was willing to make it work?! That it wasn't just all or nothing for me?! I was prepared to spend the rest of my life with-” He stopped, jaw working and turned away from her.

“You're the one who broke it off! You-”

He spun around then, storming over, towering above her.

“You gave me no other choice! You wanted ‘normal’! Any sort of normal you could muster up from all the shit that's happened. How could I keep you from having that?! And I don't blame you. I guess I wasn't human enough for you- or, maybe I just wasn't enough asshole-”

“Don't fucking bring Casey into this!”

“He brought himself into this!”

“That's not true, and you know it, Don!”

“He was pining for you since the day you met! And you just- you dangled him in front of me! He was always the more normal choice. The most obvious one. But instead, you chose me. You chose me, April! And no matter how many times I asked, you always told me he wasn't a problem. And then you give me a goddamn ultimatum!”

“I still don't see what he has to do with-”

“He has everything to do with it! Need I remind you of all the girls he brought home?”

“Shut up! He’s not like that anymore! He's grown up. A lot. Which is more than I can say for you!”

“How about what he did to Raph-”

She cut him off with a stinging slap, and he tumbled to the rooftop. April gasped, reaching for him, and he shrunk away, getting himself up. He turned his back to her again, and spoke up, his voice low and wavering.

“That was supposed to be my life.”

“Don-”

“No. Please, just let me say this?” She stayed quiet, waiting as the wind picked up. “All I ever wanted was to be accepted by humans. And all I was ever taught was that they never would. And then, you came along. God, I can still remember the day we met. When against all odds, you took my hand anyway. And that was the first time I ever had a spark of hope that maybe I wasn’t a disgusting freak of nature. Then again, when all odds were against me, you loved me. Me. An accident…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I would give anything to have what he has.” Donatello faced her, finally, tears staining his mask and her lip quivered.

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” she asked, sniffling.

“We were so young, April, I-I was scared.”

He stepped closer, as did she.

“I was scared too!”

“And how would it be fair of me to ask you to give up your life? To give up any semblance of a normal life?  It would’ve been so selfish of me to ask that of you!”

“So you just… let me go?” she asked, her fist clenched beside her.

He smiled sadly up at April and crossed to her.

“Do you love him?” he asked.

She blinked, and looked at the ground guiltily. Don tilted her face up to his, still smiling, and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Yes.”

“And you’re happy?”

“Yes I am,” she whispered.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

April sobbed then, doubling over, clutching a hand over her mouth. Don gulped, and pulled her into a fierce embrace. He kissed her head, tearing up as he realized she still used the same shampoo. He closed his eyes and thought of her daughter; that both her parents would attend her kindergarten graduation. That they both would take her to the park; and out to dinners after her school plays. Mae would have every opportunity he didn’t; graduating high school, college, having a career. A normal family…

Donatello hugged her tighter, and he knew.

He’d made the right decision all those years ago. 

[brido]

Mike and Vicky Go to Ecuador (Day 2)

What’s the best meal you’ve ever had in your life? Like, if you take into account the fancy cuisine or the company you kept or the surrounding ambience, you probably have a few contenders in your mind. Before this trip, I knew the best food week I’d ever had. My sister visited L.A. in May and her pre-trip Googling of “Best Restaurants in Los Angeles” led to a week of us dining out at Redbird, Officine Brera, A.O.C., the Bazaar by Jose Andres, A-Frame by Roy Choi, Villa Blanca, Night + Market Song and Broken Spanish in that order. None of which I deserved to have at all. But I think all that might have been topped on Day 2 in Ecuador by one trip to the absolute middle of nowhere. But first, we’d have to brave the treacherous altitudes and impending danger of one of the world’s tallest active volcanos. 

In the morning, the fam hopped back in the van (this time joined by one of my sister’s co-workers and her daughter) to head out from Quito to Cotopaxi National Park. It’s the second-most popular national park in Ecuador after the Galapagos Islands. And it’s home to the very tall (19,347 feet) and very active Cotopaxi volcano. Along the way, we picked up an interesting-smelling tour guide to tell us all about it. He even managed to slide in the fact that, who knows, it might even go off during the tour!    

I have to give an A+ to our guide. First of all, he only spoke Spanish and Quechua, so we made do with the Spanish while my sister rapidly translated into English. That made for some unintentionally hilarious moments. Most memorably, as he was showing us how lava melts glaciers and then creates devastating mudslides in the area, he threw in a fun fact about how Spanish conquistadors felt scandalized by llamas because they mated like humans.

I made him pause and go back to that.

As he continued matter-of-factly in Spanish and the oblivious kids screamed amongst each other in the background, my sister was forced to say, in the heightened pace of a professional translator, “Apparently… llamas kiss on the neck… and… the Spanish… also raped the llamas.” Holy shit. Maybe I need to reread that chapter in Jared Diamond or Howard Zinn. A quick Google fact check of the llama mating makes for some imagery you can never unsee. But the gist is that they mate about exactly how you’d think they would. Except in a much-hotter seated position. And for 20-45 minutes. Just don’t look it up if you’re a battle-hardened, smallpox-riddled and/or horny Christian soldier.  

The guide had too many facts, really. He showed us layers of ash still left over from Cotopaxi’s last eruption in 2015, aka the reason my sister and her family couldn’t attend my wedding. He implored us to eat llama meat instead of beef because of its healthier protein and the bovine methane gas (“Cow farts are responsible for 80% of global warming”). He showed us horrible-smelling and hallucinogenic plants. He told us the indigenous Mother God would warm our hands after touching said plants if we lifted them to the sky (and it was much weirder when that actually happened). 

We saw the base camp where climbers get acclimated to the 12,500 foot altitude before going up another 7000 feet. We learned about Ecuador’s Avenue of Volcanoes. We learned about the endangered Andean condor and it’s ten-foot wingspan and life of detrimental monogamy. We learned about the Chalupas supervolcano that could potentially murder everyone in Ecuador. And we learned about the severely unfortunate town of Latacunga, which, over the centuries, has been repeatedly destroyed by earthquakes and mudslides. When someone asked why people would still live there, the guide paraphrased the 19th Century Prussian explorer, Alexander von Humboldt, by saying, “Ecuadorians are strange and unique beings. They cheer up with sad music and sleep peacefully amid smoking volcanoes.” Like I said, he was an A+.    

The guide left us at the high-altitude (12,800 ft) Laguna de Limpiopungo and we continued on our van trek, through fields of volcanic boulders, crustose lichens that eat those boulders and a team of wild horses, to find our lunch destination. Our only hold-up was a small group of locals blocking the road to pick wild blueberries in preparation for the Ecuadorian All Soul’s Day tradition of colada morada and t’ants wawa, or dead baby bread. But I’ll get back to that on another day. The one thought that kept going through my mind on the drive was that we’d all entered an alien planet and that the altitude would age us 23 Earth years like that gravity planet on Interstellar. Luckily, much like my park guide, my science was a little off.

Our lunch destination was Chilcabamba Mountain Lodge in Pedregal, which is an area some dude in the New York Times said was one of the 52 places to go in 2017. So I only have 51 to go in the next two months (here I come, Langtang Region, Nepal!). And awaiting us at Chilcabamba was ten courses of pure awesomeness that put most every other pathetic eating experiences I’ve had in my life to shame. I should probably rephrase that as not to offend anyone close to me. It’s probably fair to say that I mainly eat like Slimer from Ghostbusters. And I do know some excellent cooks in my personal life. I’m just saying that this was probably better.    

The chef was my new pal, Alvaro Reinoso Carvalho, a hunky 30-something Ecuadorian/Brazilian who has studied at world class restaurants in Sao Paulo and Girona, Spain. Maybe it had something to do with all the wine consumption at 13,000 feet, but he really gave my sister’s co-worker the ooh-la-la’s and she started feeling like a Spaniard experiencing a llama for the first time. I can’t really blame her. If I was smart and knew how to do things, I’d sign him and rep him and turn him into a celebrity chef in America like I was Shep Gordon. Then I’d retire to my mansion in Hawaii, throwing dinner parties and being sad I never made babies. Which is still a possibility, I guess. Gotta get on that.    

A small part of what made this special, besides the everything, was that nobody is really ever going to have this experience again. Chef Alvaro is getting a new restaurant “by the McDonalds” in the hipster-ish Quito suburb of Cumbaya. I would have advised him to hold out for a better offer. An offer that includes my retirement in Hawaii. Hey, I’ve watched enough Chef’s Table episodes on Netflix to know what I’m talking about.

Speaking of which, the Chef’s Table episodes I’m specifically thinking about are Dan Barber’s farm to table thing in New York and Francis Mallmann’s isolated, cult-like hippie bullshit in Patagonia. Like, Chef Alvaro seriously made the cheese we ate in the afternoon that morning. He also caught the fish in our sixth course that morning. And probably chopped some fucking wood and foraged some wild Andean mountain truffles or invented some new kind of honey or some shit. The dude was a gorgeous magician.

On top of all of that, and possibly because it was a Sunday, we were absolutely the only people at the entire lodge. We had the whole place to ourselves. Just my crew from the van, Chef Alvaro and a lady helping out who made spaghetti for the kids. I guess the intimacy did lead to a few embarrassing interactions. I tried to impress Chef Alvaro by telling him I’d eaten at the Bazaar by Jose Andres in Beverly Hills one time. I also said things like, “What do you think of elBulli?” while he smiled politely and said, “Ah yes, Ferran Adria.” Because I’m a fucking dope. But I had to let him know I knew my way around the world of celebrity chefs. Because Hawaii.

After dinner our rugged van group got to explore the rugged grounds all to our rugged selves. And the only thing that could have made it any more perfect of an experience was if the stupid clouds hadn’t obscured actual Cotopaxi volcano for most of the day. Probably because the Spanish persecuted the Mother God too (those goddamn Spaniards). But with heavy food comas and heads woozy from the altitude, we piled back into the van and made our way back to Quito. Thus concluded Day 2.

Day 1.