#she is having lunch with him and the other fieldworkers tomorrow

[exopelagic]

hdbxbndhdhHbdhdhdhaHSHZHDH fuck this guy

[averytiredhuman]

One conversation (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader)

A/N: Thanks to @liberace2 for the idea

“Well, go and talk to her.” He shook his head, the frown deepening, “Not going to happen shitty hair,” sighing Kirishima’s eyes follow y/n as she makes her way to her office, y/n, also known as Titan, has been working with the pair on a case for the last few days, and all Bakugou could get out when he saw the pro-hero was a grunt or a growl, leading the woman to avoid talking to him believing that he does not like her, “Hey Red, we have an update on the case.” Her head peeked out from her office, inviting the pair into the room.

The skin covering Kirishima’s forehead began to form a deep red circular shape, he had been slamming his palm against his face each time Bakugou tried to talk to y/n, “Babe, come on it can’t be that bad?” Mina’s voice is soft as she rubs the large man’s shoulders, “Mina you have no idea, she won’t even talk to him regarding the case because when she does all he replies with is a grunt, y/n didn’t go to UA, she doesn’t know how he is.” Mina shook her head, y/n had gone to Shiketsu High School and had only met Bakugou briefly at the provisional licensing exam in their first year. “How ‘bout this, I have a lunch date with her tomorrow, I’ll try and get her to talk to Katsuki and you get him to say something other than a grunt, and form a conversation.” Kirishima gave her a toothy grin, “You are the most brilliant person I have ever met.”

Steam rose from the teacup in front of y/n, her face - which previously held a calm and relaxed look, now held one of shock and fear, “Mina, you have to be joking, the only reason why I’m still on the case and hadn’t asked for a transfer yet is because of Kirishima, he is like the sweetness to Bakugou’s spiciness,” Mina laughs, “Girl, come on, he’s not that bad, sure he lacks social skills when it comes to talking to a beautiful woman, but he’s nice and his cooking is amazing.” Lifting the teacup to her lips y/n shook her head, “Nope, you can enjoy his cooking, and let’s be honest with ourselves, the only social skill that Bakugou lacks is being social. I’ve heard what people say, he’s still as rude as he was when you guys were in U.A.” Again Mina laughs, setting her teacup down, “Okay he’s still a little rough around the edges, but he’s perfect for you, please just one conversation, and if it doesn’t work out, lunch is on me for the next month.” Y/n’s hand stills, her face spreads into a large grin, “Fine, but when this doesn’t work out, we’re not going to our normal lunch place, no, we are going fancy, misses number six.” Mina laughs, “You’re number four on the charts y/n why are you like this?” Tea now finished, y/n placed the cup down gently, “Because I’m proud of my friends.”

“One talk, just one, with actual words, please man.” Kirishima has been begging Bakugou to at least talk to y/n for the last hour, it just so happens that Kirishima and Mina, wanted to convince their best friends to get together, Bakugou, who showed less aggression when it came to you, and you who smiled a bit more when Bakugou snarked at others. This gave the two the idea that Bakugou and y/n were the best options when it came to their dating lives. “Fuck off, Shitty hair, I’m not talking to the walking black hole.” Kirishima shook his head, “Fine, I’ll do your paperwork for a month.” Stopping in his tracks Katsuki gave him a menacing grin, “Two when this fails and blows up in your face.” The pro-hero nods, “Deal” His hand stuck out, and Bakugou grabs onto it, giving the hand a tight squeeze. “Deal.”

It was two days later when Bakugou, Kirishima and y/n got together to talk about the last portion of their case, actually doing fieldwork. “I propose a stake-out, we still need some more information on the targets and well Dynamite and Titan are best suited for this, they have the best skills among us.” Kirishima relays to FatGum, who nods “Alright, Dynamite, Titan, do you two have any objections?” Titan shook her head, afraid her voice might crack if she were to speak, Bakugou only grunted in response. FatGum smiles, “Wonderful, you guys can go tonight if it's not too much?” Titan nods her head in response followed by Bakugou who ‘tsks’ and stands up, “We’ll meet outside the agency at 5 pm, wear your stealth suit.” He tells her as he walks out, as the door closes she relaxes her shoulders, “He really doesn’t like me does he?” Y/n asks as she stares at the closed door, Kirishima shakes his head “No, he does like you, he just has a weird way of showing affection.” FatGum nods in agreement with the red-haired pro.

The pair sat silently on the rooftop across from their target’s location, every now and then a light but cold breeze would blow over the two, causing a shiver to crawl down Titan’s exposed back, “This is stupid, we should be going in there, we have the needed information to take him down.” Bakugou grunts as he becomes impatient. Y/n turns her gaze to him, “We still need some information on the group, not just the man, you know this.” He grunts in response. Pushing her lips together y/n nods slowly “Great conversation, thanks” her voice is quiet, and sarcastic, which made Bakugou snap his head in her direction, “Say that again.” She hums as if she had no idea what he is talking about, pissing the man off more.

“Fine, a conversation you want, a conversation you get.” She giggles lightly, “Fine, but allow me to set up some traps in case our conversation makes us miss something.” He nods, watching as a light purple transparent cloud moved from her body to the building they were watching, it covered the whole building. “So, you went to the U.A, how was that?” Her eyes held the same purple colour as the cloud, showing her quirk being active. “Interesting, I learned a lot being in Aizawa’s class.” She nodded, “How is Aizawa by the way? I heard from Mina that you see him regularly.” With a light twitch of his brow, Katsuki sat back against the wall behind him, “Mina is a gossip, don’t listen to everything she says.” Her lip twitches upwards, “Not denying that you see Aizawa,” She points out, “Yeah, fine, I see him once a week for my anger management classes, he’s doing good, still always tired.” He says, “Anger management?” Her voice held an air of surprise, “Yeah, don’t go telling the media,” She laughs, “Please, I’m more surprised he is the one who’s your coach and not Hound Dog, crazy though, I think it explains why Aizawa didn’t want to be my anger management coach.” His eyes search hers for any indication of a lie. “You, have anger management issues?” She nods, also leaning against the wall next to Katsuki.

“I had an incident a few months after going pro, smashed a guy’s face into a wall for harassing a lovely young lady,” Katsuki nods, his mind trying to recall the incident, “Wait, you’re the one that smashed air-for-brains’ head in?” She laughs again, “If you’re talking about Kaminari Denki or Chargebolt, then yeah, it was me,” He stuck out his hand silently asking for a high-five, which he got, “I’ve been wanting to do that since my first year, but no, won’t be good for my image.” She smiles, “Yeah I know how it goes, your PR manager berating you for your anger is like a mom scolding a kid for eating a cookie before dinner.” Katsuki got all excited, “I know, my PR guy is a dick, doesn’t know when to shut his trap.” She laughs, “At least you can fire yours, my PR guy is the boss’s nephew.” He frowns, “Aren’t you the boss, it’s your agency.” She hums in agreement, “I know, I owed my brother a lot, so I gave his son a job, he has a degree in Public Relations, and well I needed one, don’t get me wrong, Baki is great at his job, but he just won’t cut me any slack, after the incident with Chargebolt, my numbers went down slightly, with like 0.001%, and well, I’m fighting to stay number four, for as long as I can and Yaorozo is on my ass in the ranks.”

Katsuki ran through a mental list of the Japan Hero Billboards, remembering that Deku still held number one, himself at second and Todoroki in third, Titan at fourth, Momo at fifth, Mina at sixth, Denki at seventh, Jiro at eight and nine and ten were two extras he didn’t even bother to remember. “I get that, my numbers are always fluxing, and after my anger outburst, my PR team told me to go to the anger management classes.” She nodded, opening her mouth to reply, but her head snapped to the building, “Movement, unknown energy source.” She says.

“So how did the stake-out go?” Mina asked her, y/n just grunts a frown on her face, “It went well enough, we had that conversation you told me to have with him, but shit went south soon after,” She lifts her arm that was held at a bent angle, “Could the doctors not heal you?” She shook her head, “The bone was shattered, they had to remove the pieces of bone before they could heal, but my quirk wouldn’t allow them to come close enough to me, to actually cut the skin, so they went with my own quirk option saying that my quirk will dissolve the bone as it heals me.” Mina cringes, “And how long are you out for?” With a deep breath through her nose y/n replies, “A month.”

“A month?!” Katsuki was fuming, not only had he allowed his partner to get hurt, she was now out of commission for a whole month, “Dude relax, she’ll be fine.” Kirishima was not helping at all, “Relax? Relax! Don’t tell me to fucking relax, she’s hurt because of me, if only hadn’t had that stupid fucking conversation with her, my attention would have been on the mission, not her!” He pulled at his hair as he paced the length of his office floor, “So you did talk to her, how did that go?” Bakugou grunts, glaring at his friend, “That great? That’s wonderful dude!” He shook his head, “Yeah, sure, but now she’ll blame me for her dropping down the ranks and ruining her success rate for the next month.” Kirishima frowns, “What are you on about man?”

Mina and Kirishima sat defeated next to each other, "He thinks that she'll hate him if she drops?" Mina asked, Kirishima hums, "And she thinks he hates her because she was hurt?" Kirishima asked, Mina, hums, "They are the dumbest people we have ever met." They say in unison.

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 3: “Es Tuyo”

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: After having spent some days recovering and getting to her new surroundings the reader goes back to work where she seems to attract some male attention. Javier is displeased and on his breaking point.

Warnings: Major trigger warning: mention of pregnancy termination, cursing, angst, fluff, mentions of injury

Masterlist

A/N: that photo is totally Javi in that evidence closet

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“That is not how you pronounce that at all”, you cackled from the couch.

Connie threw her hands up in defence: “Well, then how? C’mon help me out here amigo!”

“Amiga”, you corrected, grinning as she set the plate down in front of you.

Your friend shook her head as she took a deep breath, lips curled up in a smirk. “You know, you’re supposed to teach me Spanish, not bully me.”

The door swung open as the both of you ate and laughed together, revealing a more than exhausted Steve. “Murphy, come sit with us, Connie made the most amazing pasta.”

He hung his jacket on the wall and kicked off his shoes before plopping down next to Connie, pressing a short peck to her lips. “What’s got you two all riled up?”

“Connie’s been drinking the night away and I am so sleep-deprived that even the telenovelas have become entertaining”, you answered, mouth full of pasta.

“What’s been keeping you up then?”, he asked while reaching over for a plate.

You shrugged your shoulders: “Just the thought of going back to work tomorrow.. I know it’ll just be paperwork but I-I’m just nervous I guess. I need to figure out a way to talk to Messina about resigning without raising any eyebrows and.. it’s just a lot.”

“You know I can get you another doc’s note”, Connie intervened, tilting her head at you.

“Yeah, I know, Con, I know. I just want to get up and get moving. No offense, but y’all can be boring as hell.”

She playfully threw a pillow at you, which hit you square in the belly, making you huff out a small laugh. “It’s not my fault we both have jobs to do, your highness.”

“When’s that first check-up-thingy of yours anyway?”, Murphy questioned.

“Next week, after hours, but I can get there myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal, the Sicarios know your face now, best to have a chaperone out there.”

Steve was right and deep down you’d thought about it too. Of course the narco-men already had most of the DEA’s information and agents in their databases, but you were still unknown to them. It was rare for a female agent to work in the field, let alone be placed in Columbia whatsoever, you’d been an element of surprise, but now even that had been taken away by Escobar. You knew a pregnancy meant the end of your career as a DEA agent, at least in the field. The past three days were meant for you to readjust to your temporary living space with your friends, but you’d really only spent it within the depths of your own head. There was so much you had to do and you couldn’t even figure out where to start, you had to tell Javier at some point, quit your job or risk putting him in danger as well and most of all.. tell your parents. The last one could wait, they wouldn’t care much anyways, you figured. But Javier couldn’t, even though you were just over a month along, you knew you’d have to tell him eventually, this kind of thing wasn’t something you could hide forever.

While you were zoned-out, caught within your own head, Steve and Connie watched you. The grip on your plate tightened, eyes staring straight ahead and chest rising and falling more rapidly. Connie carefully put her hand over yours, making you jerk you head towards her, sending a wave of pain through your left shoulder. “I-I think I’m gonna head off for the night”, you mumbled, quickly getting up and putting your half-empty plate on the kitchen counter.

As soon as you shut the door your lips started trembling, eyes burning from the effort of trying to keep the hot tears from spilling. You pressed your right palm to your forehead, mustering up every last ounce of strength to keep yourself at bay. Another deep breath, another memory of his lips on yours, another step towards the bed, another fading remembrance of his rough hands ghosting over your body. This had to stop, you knew it – hell – you’d known from before you even got into his bed. Javier Peña was a bachelor at heart, free of any commitment, who were you to think you could change his mind. Here you were, heartbroken, knocked-up with a fucked-up shoulder, on a pull-out couch in your best friends’ apartment, what a life.

You carefully grabbed a hold of your Walkman, slipping the headphones on and laying down on the bed. You closed your eyes as you listened to the Cure’s “Boys don’t cry”, reminiscing on the hot summer in the States, when you’d bought the cassette and played it on repeat in your car. A soft smile settled on your face and eventually you fell asleep just like that, fully dressed and headphones still on your ears.

Though the next morning, when the three of you sat around the breakfast table, you in yesterday’s clothes and the two of them in their work attire, there was a bit of an atmosphere going on. Not a word was said over breakfast, only increasing the tension even more, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, like a kid scolded by their father, it was odd. It wasn’t until later, on your way to the embassy in Steve’s passenger’s seat that he finally broke his silence.

“Who is it?”, he asked, tone harsher than usual.

You let out a nervous chuckle, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “Mind giving me a hand here, I’m not sure I-“

“Who did you fuck?”, he interrupted you, voice rigid and determined.

“Steve”, you huffed, “what the hell are-“

“I’m no idiot y/n. Now tell me, who the hell is it.” His frustration started showing in his driving style, his braking much more abrupt than usual.

You scoffed at him, resting your hand on the door handle, at an attempt to feel somewhat secure. “That’s just not none of your fucking business Murphy.”

“It is if I’m losing a partner over it, maybe even two.”

“Peña? Don’t make me fucking laugh”, you lied, voice surprisingly confident. “He’s the biggest jerk there.”

“Then who? Santiago, Lopez, that FBI guy?”, he pressed as he parked the car.

You flipped him off before yanking the car door open, hurrying your way into the embassy. You didn’t bother to stop at the front desk or politely bid you co-workers a “good morning”, no, you just wanted to get to Messina, get your assignments for the day and get to work, away from both your partners.

As predicted, you were to write reports for the foreseeable future, Messina putter her faith in your ability to type them out with just one hand. You’d agreed, not wanting to argue or come up with an alternative yourself and made your way over to your office. Despite your request to be put into a confined space, away from Murphy and Peña, Messina insisted you’d just work at your regular desk, so the two of them could provide you some assistance if needed.

Luckily for you the two of them were out for most of the day, leaving you to work alone, in a comfortable silence. A fellow agent would step in to check if you were alright every now and then, helping you with carrying out file boxes or bringing in new ones. It was times like this that your reputation really preceded you, the sweet girl that would bring coffees on Fridays and bake cookies for birthdays and holidays. You knew your way around the office and compensated for your shortages (aka the fact that you were a woman) by innocent bribery. Lopez had even been so attentive as to bring you a hot lunch, which you gladly accepted and enjoyed in his company.

Steve and Javier were both surprised to see the two of you, laughing and just having a good time. Though they both had different motives, their suspicions aligned perfectly: he’s being too friendly. The two of them walked into the office, yet the two of you didn’t look up, no on the contrary, Lopez leaned in even closer, fidgeting with the sling on your arm.

Javier was not fucking having this today, so he loudly cleared his throat, both of your heads perking up in his direction. Lopez got up off your desk and gave you another smile before walking out of the now-way-too-crowed-with-testosterone office space. He gave the two of them a polite nod, muttering a “Peña y Murphy” before disappearing into the hallway.

“I fucking knew it”, Steve sighed, letting himself fall into his desk chair.

You threw a pencil at his face, chuckling when it ultimately did hit him square in the nose. “You’re a fucking idiot Murphy, Lopez was just bringing me lunch.”

“If you say so”, Steve mumbled, throwing the pencil right back at you.

 The day had stayed calm and you were able to go home without having to talk to Peña at all, to your great relief. The next few days had been the exact same, tonnes of fieldwork for them and an amazing lunch with some of the other agents for you. On Thursday night, when Steve and Javier were working late due to an unexpected lead, you tagged along with the guys, heading out to some bar, where you enjoyed a non-alcoholic beverage or two and even were treated to a lovely platter of grilled goods.

Climbing the stairs to their apartment, you smiled to yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you had friends and options, maybe Javier didn’t need to be in the picture, maybe it was meant to be this way. As you slipped your key in the door you took a deep breath, you felt at peace. Which was swiftly stolen away from you as a more than distressed Steve and Connie, baby held in his arms, were revealed.

Your keys hit the floor in surprise, face contorting in confusion. You quickly picked them up, nodded at Connie and walked into your room. A kid and an injured friend were too much for anyone to handle, you knew that, the story would follow, but for now you’d be heading back to your place. Steve gave you an apologetic look as you placed the key on the table, offering the both of them a genuine smile on the way out.

As you hauled your bag down the stairs, you let out a pained groan, your shoulder disagreeing with your every movement. On the next floor down, a familiar door swung open, revealing no one other than Javier, shirt halfway unbuttoned. “C’mon, I already made the bed.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine”, you answered, bag falling off of your shoulder.

He shook his head before walking over to you, taking the bags as he urged you to follow him. “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Beer’s in the fridge, cigs are on the table.”

You hesitantly trailed after him, cringing a bit when setting foot in his apartment, the memories of the previous nights spent there flooding your mind within mere seconds. “Javi, I’m really fine, I’d rather just go home.”

“M’sorry hermosa, Murphy’s orders”, he said from the bedroom, coming back empty-handed. “We don’t have to talk, you can take a bath if you want, watch tv, just do whatever you want.”

You stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching as he made his way over to the couch, quickly laying down. “The kid..”

“Escobar.”

That’s all you needed to know, you could fill in the blanks yourself. A hand hovered over your abdomen, stomach turning in knots as the mere idea of something like that happening to you crossed your mind. You closed your eyes, a cold shiver running down your back, the bile starting to rise in your throat. It wasn’t just the news, you’d been “lucky” enough to have limited episodes of nausea, but when you did it was either early on in the morning or later at night, never throughout the day, which really helped your work situation.

“Hey, hey, hey, you sick again?”, Javier asked, quickly getting up and rushing over to you.

You braced yourself by placing your good hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths. “I need to sit down.”

He gave frantic set of nods, putting an arm around your waist and leading you over to the couch, slowly helping you down. He sat down on his knees between your legs, eyes looking over your features, trying to read you. “Concussion?”

You quickly shoved him aside, rushing over to his bathroom where you dropped down to your knees, head hung over the toilet bowl. It didn’t take long for him to follow, one warm hand resting on your upper back and the other holding on to your hair. His eyes were laced with worry and concern, your pained cries mixed in with the retching breaking his heart. With every convulsion of your body your arm bucked along, causing an immense pain to course through your mending bones. When you eventually stopped and rested your head on your arm, which rested on the porcelain itself, he let go of your hair. He disappeared for a fraction of a second, quickly coming back with some water and a towel.

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

You took a sip of the water, eager to get the vile taste out of your system. “No, no, I’m fine, just drank too much.”

He nodded, despite not believing you. He’d seen you drunk before and this wasn’t that. There was no lingering smell of alcohol, no sexual advances, no sarcasm, you were just.. you – except you were lying to his face. Javier decided not to push on it, not wanting to bother you when you obviously weren’t feeling too great.

Eventually you managed to feel somewhat better and get ready for the night, Javier helping you into a fresh shirt, mindful not to hurt you. When it came to it and you went to bed you decided to ask him to join you, not wanting to be alone after having talked over what exactly had happened that night.

The two of you talked about the baby girl and the fucked up shit the sicarios did as you rested comfortably in his arms. It wasn’t anything sexual, you two were solemnly comforting one another after an incredibly rough day. As he spoke, chest buzzing in tune with his voice, his fingers traced weary circles on your side. He just kept talking and venting, knowing fully well you had passed out. That night Javier slept better than he had in ages, it was also the first time the two of you had stayed with one another until the morning. It was nice. None of you had to sneak out or slip away in the middle of the night and the sight of you when he woke up was a welcome one, making him feel at ease. He gently woke you up, helping you into the bathroom where you took a brief shower, the hot water working wonders on your aching muscles.

When you walked into the kitchen, towel wrapped around your frame, Javier was buttering some toast. “Hi, I hate to do this but I can’t quite get dressed..”

He gave a curt not, putting down the knife before walking over to you, taking the bra and shirt from your hands. “What’s with the shoes?”, he asked as he fastened the hooks of your bra.

“Well, don’t need to run for reports.. so no flats.”

Javier gave a low chuckle as he slipped the dress over your head, fingers ghosting over the tender skin of your neck. “Are you sure it’s not Lopez you want to impress?”

Now it was your turn to huff out a laugh. “Javier Peña, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Should I be?”

As soon as you both were dressed and had somewhat of a breakfast you were headed to the embassy. The drive was quiet other than the radio, and surprisingly soothing. The domestic bliss stayed with you as you took a seat behind your typewriter, Javier’s gaze trained on your figure. You thought it was because of the dress, but in all reality he was trying to figure out why in the hell you would lie to him. Maybe you and Lopez were really becoming a thing or maybe the two of you had always been, maybe he was too late. All the more reasons to move on from you, the mere fucking idea of you.

By the time lunch rolled around Lopez found his way to your desk, a plate held in each hand. “Buenas Peña”, the man croaked out before walking over to your desk.

You uncrossed your legs and smiled up at the man, making Javier’s right eye twitch. Upon looking at the plate your face briefly fell, muttering an apology before declaring you were allergic to seafood. That was another fucking lie, Javier thought.

“But Javier enjoys crawfish”, you chuckled, “let him have my plate, I’ll run down to the market myself.”

Before any of them could protest, you grabbed your purse and fled the office, not wanting to experience a showdown of sorts. Javier took the opportunity to just smirk at the other man, grabbing the plate and shooing him out of the office. But not before providing the man with a sassy “piérdete, fracas ado” (get lost, loser).

The short walk to the market and back had given you the air you needed. Your head was spinning once again, the same thing as always: Javi. What the fuck was all this meddling about? He was so nice all of a sudden, domestic even, which wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic as you’d experienced him like this before.. but it wasn’t as if you were sleeping together again. Maybe that’s just what he expected to get from this. Of fucking course he’d take you in to his place. You scoffed before sinking your teeth into the spicy lunch you’d treated yourself to. Walking back into the office you were surprised to find all three desks empty. Well, you were aware that Murphy was unlikely to show up at all with his new responsibility, but Javier? Maybe he’d been requested for some field work.

You set your bag down before making your way over to the kitchen, wanting to grab a fresh drink. But before you could make it there you were pulled into the nearest evidence room, well closet more like, somebody pulling you in by your right arm.

“Mierda Javier ¿cuál es tu problema“, you yelped (Fuck Javier, what’s your issue?).

“I’m not the one lying to everyone’s fucking face”, he replied with a dark laugh.

You swatted his hand off of you and tried to shove past him when he blocked the door. “I’m not in the mood for this”, you warned, eyes locking with his.

“Missing your little boyfriend already?” Your mouth went agape in shock. “You’re not as clever as you think, hermosa.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, idiota celoso.” (jealous prick).

He wore a devilish smirk as he moved closer, lips ghosting over your ear shell. “Look who’s the whore now, huh..”

That one hurt, a lot. You pulled back from him, emotion catching in your throat. “Stop..”

“You been sleeping with everyone in the office then? Or were Lopez and I the only ones good enough for you.”

You could barely believe your ears, his evil words making tears form in your eyes. “Javier-“

“I at least thought you would’ve been smart enough not to get knocked up”, his words were laden with disgust and you stumbled backwards, feeling more unsafe than ever with him.

You tried to gather your thoughts and come up with a response but you could only manage a sad laugh as you looked at him. “You’re so fucking naïve.”

“¿Qué quiere decir?”, he inquired, lips pursed together. ‘What are you trying to say?)

“Es tuyo”, you declared. (It’s yours).

Those two words were everything he was so terrified of. You, him, a baby? Fuck. This was no place for a baby, he was no dad-material, shit man, he couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that he longed to be with you, let alone take care of you like that. He didn’t dese- no, you didn’t deserve this, all this- his misery.

“I thought you were fucking safe”, he shouted.

You felt incredibly small now, and even more terrified. “It takes two, you know”, you answered.

Javier took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to calm down.

“I-I can give you the money”, he stuttered.

“What?”, you asked, deeply confused.

“To get rid of it.”

If you weren’t infuriated before, you sure were now. The mere mention of it, the mere fucking idea that he wouldn’t even own up to what he did. He’d done it now, but you know what, good. If this is who he really was, then it was best you found out now.

“I-I don’t want you to lose your job..”, he murmured, voice much quieter and soft now.

The tears were streaming over your face at a high speed, blurring your vision as you looked at him. “Move, please.”

“We need to t-“

“Get out of my way”, you screamed.

He hesitantly stepped aside and watched as you speed-walked your way out of there, loudly sobbing and wiping at your eyes. Everyone’s attention was on the two of you, everyone seemingly understanding what had gone down. And as if things couldn’t get worse, around the corner came a familiar tuft of blonde hair, Steve fucking Murphy, giving him the death stare. Well fuck.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @pedritomando​ @radiowallet��

[phantomato]

Thoughts on academic nerd dads nottmort? I’m so in love with the idea of professor Tom lol

Nerd dads Nottmort! I need a little pick-me-up after editing my piece for tomorrow, so let’s have some fun with imagining this.

I love Thoros and Tom as older fathers. At the earliest, I see them having a child in their mid-40s—but assuming Tom gets his appointment at Hogwarts in the late 1960s, like I’ve written elsewhere, they might wait a bit after that to make sure his career is settled and he’s happy. Theodore comes along in the mid-1970s (and it’s always Theodore, and he always looks like a miniature Thoros, I accept no other options for when they choose to have a child) and he’s precious, of course.

So, the thing about being an academic is that even though the work is quite all-encompassing, it’s also extremely flexible. Hogwarts should be more like a primary or secondary school than a university, but it’s my rules and Tom teaches Muggle studies which is only an elective and I say he can teach mostly morning sessions and leave in the early afternoon for nursery school pickup. Things like snow delays (or cancellations) mean that sometimes he’s got to bring little Theo into the office with him, and you know Pomona and Horace are enthusiastic about little kids and Minerva is awful with them but thinks she’s decent and Albus doesn’t even pretend to try. Students are mostly shocked that Professor Riddle has a young child because that’s weird, it means he has a life outside of being their professor.

He lets Theo sit on his lap when he grades papers and talks through why he’s taking off each point, because Theo is brilliant, of course, and will understand a NEWT-level essay at age five. Tom is sure of this. Theo likes his dad’s office candy and rummaging through the office supplies in his desk drawer.

When Thoros has to take Theo into the office—which can only happen on a day he doesn’t have fieldwork and doesn’t have to conduct a ritual—he puts Theo at his desk chair so that he can scribble on spare parchment. Thoros takes the sofa. Theo doesn’t like Thoros’ office candy as much—butter mints versus Mars bars, there’s no contest for a little kid—but he loves that everyone in Thor’s office has to listen to him. (Papa is the boss!) He thinks he’s tricking the administrative staff into ordering elaborate lunches for him and his Papa, but he doesn’t see Thoros silently nodding his assent behind him.

Being massive nerds doesn’t stop at the workplace or academic topics, though, so Tom and Thoros are also nerds about what they do for fun. I love the idea that they sing to him or watch wildly age-inappropriate films or Tom brings him along to his knitting circle (Galatea Merrythought and her friends, Tom’s the baby of the group) or Thoros brings him along to quidditch matches with Rosier and Mulciber. Whatever Thor and Tom do for fun, they do it with as much dedication as they devote to their academic interests, and Theo grows up surrounded by that. Obviously, he also becomes a nerd.

I haven’t done this, I barely even know where I could stick an idea like this, but goodness this is so sweet. I love nerd dads Nottmort.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part ii

Here’s part ii! Please reblog and send your thoughts, I love hearing feedback! I was doing a ton of research on American immigration law, and it doesn’t look like Canadians technically need a visa for most work circumstances, but I’m taking it as a matter of artistic license.

https://slapshot-to-the-heart.tumblr.com/post/615257287896989696/flatbush-atlantic-part-i

part ii

October 5

“Mat, I’m in the middle of a meeting,” Chris said, glancing up at him with a bemused-yet-slightly-annoyed look on his face. 

Mat looked over at Cass, ducking his head and sheepishly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. For sure. I’m sorry, I should have knocked, but I got this letter, and. Yeah. I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Cass couldn’t help but let out a snicker at his rambling, and Mat turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand. She took it. “Sorry about that.” His cheeks colored. “I keep apologizing. I’m Mat Barzal.”

“Cass Cabrera Shaw,” she replied. 

“Cass is our new intern, so you’ll be seeing each other around. Hopefully not too often.” Chris said, nodding to where she sat in front of him. 

“I got the job?” Cass asked, her head jerking back to look at Chris. 

Chris nodded like it should have been obvious. “Cassidy. You’re more than qualified, you know the sport, you understand the responsibilities. You go to a top 5 law school. Yeah, you’re hired.” She blinked, still trying to take it all in. Chris turned to Mat. “Okay, Barzal, you’re up. What’s wrong?”

Mat scratched his neck. “Okay, so I know I should have looked into it sooner and taken responsibility for it. And I do, I mean, take responsibility for it. It’s just, I was in Vancouver for the summer and then vacation and then training camp and—”

Chris cut him off. “Barzal. What is it?”

“I missed the deadline for my visa renewal.” That sounds familiar, Cass thought ruefully. At least she wouldn’t be alone in her dumbassery.

Chris put his head in his hands.

Mat held up a hand. “Wait, it’s not as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Try me.”

“I called whoever’s in charge, they left a number on the letter—”

“State Department,” Cass said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her hair when Mat looked back at her, a hint of a smile on his face. 

He nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, them. I called them and explained the situation, and they agreed to give me an extension.”

Chris cleared his throat. “And by ‘the situation,’ you mean…” He trailed off. 

“That I was an NHL player who wasn’t in the country when they sent reminder letters. I might have used the Commissioner’s name once or twice.” Mat said sheepishly. 

“And we all know how much weight Gary Bettman’s name carries with American immigration policy,” Chris deadpanned. “Okay, give me a second to think how we’re going to get this done. How much of the forms have you filled out?”

Mat flipped open the folder he had brought, scanning the pages. “Most of it.” At least he’s not entirely hopeless. “There were a couple things I wasn’t sure about, and some new stuff that I don’t remember from last time. I figured it was better to bring it in than try to submit it on my own and get it all horribly wrong.”

“Thank God for that,” Chris said, giving a half-smile. After another minute or so of thinking, he raised his head and looked to where Cassidy was still sitting, straight across the desk. “I saw on your transcript that you’ve taken several immigration law classes. Any fieldwork?” Chris asked. 

Cass nodded. “Yeah, there was a clinic run by the school that reviewed visa applications and other paperwork for recent immigrants, I volunteered there for a few months.”

“Good. How familiar are you with O1 visas?” He asked, looking in between Cassidy and Mat. 

“For extraordinary capability? I’ve studied them a little, I know that’s the kind that most NHL players are obviously on but I’m not an expert by any means,” she said.

Chris tapped his fingers on the desk, seemingly lost in thought, before his eyes flickered between her and Mat. “Okay. You’ll be running point on Mat’s visa renewal.” Cassidy’s face blanched. “It’s mostly done so it shouldn’t be too hard. But between you and me,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at Mat, “I wouldn’t trust this boy to fill out the paperwork to adopt a goldfish, so make sure you double-check everything he wrote in. Come to me or Richard with any questions, but I really do think you’ll be fine. Got it?”

Cass jerkily nodded her head, still trying to fully process. In the span of the last ten minutes, she had gotten a job that she thought she had no chance for and had been put in charge of a very delicate, very expensive, very important set of immigration paperwork for Mat Barzal. Mat Barzal, the 2018 Calder Trophy winner. Mathew Barzal, the future of the Islanders. No pressure. 

“I should probably give you my number,” Mat said, pulling out his phone and holding it out to her. She looked at him with confusion, head tilted to one side. Mat’s face flushed and he rushed to clarify. “Like for the work stuff. In case I have questions about the visa or you need me to translate my chicken scratch for you.”

Now it was Cass’ turn to blush, gently taking his phone out of his hands and navigating to the messages. “I’ll text myself, that way you’ll have my number too. For questions,” she paused briefly, “or anything else.” Cass was typically never that bold, but there was something about the way Mat cracked a smile that made her sure she had made the right decision.

Chris coughed, bringing their attention back to the desk and the issue at hand. “I’ll go and make a copy of these for your records, Mat,” he said, standing up and reaching over the desk for the file with the visa forms, “and Cass, you’ll be working off of the originals.” He glanced between the pair. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” 

Chris closed the door behind him, and Mat leaned up against one of the filing cabinets. “So, you’re working for the team now?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded. “I’m excited, it seems like it’ll be a great position, but I think the prospect of my betrayal might be too much for my poor dad. Working for the enemy and all.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Rangers fan?”

“Big one. I’m from Connecticut so he grew up with the Whalers mostly, but when they folded the family allegiance switched. And when Mike Shaw is in on something, he’s all in. I’m fearing for my well being,” she joked dryly, the corner of her mouth twitching up. 

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said, looking up at her. “Tell your dad that I promise we’re not as bad as we seem. Tito, maybe,” he added, wiggling his hand. “But I’m a good guy, as long as you promise not to sell off our training secrets and pass formations to the highest bidder.”

Cass held up three fingers. “I give you my word as a former Girl Scout that I won’t leak the absolute mountains of information I have access to.”

“Pinky promise?” Mat asked, holding out his hand. 

It was Cass’ turn to laugh, and she stood up from her chair, leaning over and interlocking their fingers. “Pinky promise.”

Chris chose that particular moment to walk back in, raising his eyebrows briefly. “What’s going on here?”

Mat cleared his throat. “It took a lot of convincing, but I got Cass to pinky promise me that she won’t sell us out to the Rangers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Apparently there was a rash of double-crossing by interns that I wasn’t aware of,” Chris said, handing over the sheaf of copies to Mat. “And Cassidy, I’ll see you tomorrow at 10?” Cass internally groaned, knowing that it would take well over an hour on the train. Still, she nodded curtly. “Of course.”

He smiled, reaching over the desk and shaking her hand. “I’ll put these,” he said, gesturing to the forms, “in your desk tomorrow. You’ll be working out in the main area, we’ll get you set up when you come in. Other than that, you’re good to go. Glad to have you on board. Genuinely.” 

Cass leaned down to pick up her backpack, walking out the door and into the elevator with Mat by her side. “So, I’ll call you if I’ve got questions on any of this, right?” He asked, folding the papers and tucking them into his inside jacket pocket. 

She nodded. “Yeah. This one is a little different but I’ve done a lot of filling out forms and revision for this before, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of an issue. If I don’t know the answer to something, I can find it for you. I might have some questions tomorrow, you guys have a game, right?” Cass asked. Mat nodded. “So obviously I know you’ll have morning skate and be by the arena most of the day, but try to have your phone with you when you can so we don’t have to play phone tag, y’know?”

He smiled, holding the front door open for her as they existed onto the busy street. “I’ll do my best, Cass. See you soon.”

As promised, as soon as Mat had turned the corner, Cass pulled out her phone, clicking on Samaira’s contact. She picked up on the first ring. “Samaira, you’re not going to believe what my afternoon has been like.” 

She headed straight to her room after getting home, managing to squeeze in a few hours of reading before getting started on dinner. Pasta was easy to make for everyone; Alicia was lactose intolerant and Stella kept kosher, so simplicity was often key in group meals. Sautéeing some collard greens with onions and garlic, she turned her head towards the rooms and hollered to the rest of the apartment. “DINNER’S ALMOST READY!”

Much to her chagrin, Cass got up bright and early the next day, shoveling down a bowl of cereal before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

October 12 (fri)

The Islanders had a weeklong road trip, so Cass had been reassigned to contract review since she was all but done with Mat’s visa renewal. She glanced at her watch, seeing that it was nearly noon. Nearly noon meant nearly lunchtime. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to have for lunch quite yet, but food carts in New York were a dime a dozen; while she wasn’t being paid for the internship, she was given a stipend for lunch and travel expenses that she took full advantage of. Just as she flipped the page over, the office door opened. Assuming that it was some assistant coming for Chris or one of the other lawyers returning from a different office, she didn’t pay it too much mind. That was, however, until the figure stopped by her desk, coughing to get her attention. “Yeah?” She questioned, looking up and tilting her head in confusion when she saw that it was Mat. 

“I had a question about one of the employment history sections, and the office said you’d be here today. I brought food,” he said, holding up a paper back emblazoned with the name of a local Chinese restaurant. 

“Oh God, bless your heart,” she said, pulling over another chair. “I’m starving. Sit down, walk me through it. What’s got you confused?” It didn’t occur to Cass that he could have easily asked her over text.

October 17 (tues)

Sitting at her desk, Cass was trying (and failing) to finish her notes before midnight when her phone lit up with a text. And then another one. And then another. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up, expecting something from one of her younger siblings or a friend from back home. Instead, it was Mat. Hew brow instantly furrowed, swiping up to see what was the matter. He had sent two pictures, both screenshots from newspapers. Florida Man Arrested for Throwing Gator at Mother-in-Law, the first one read. Florida Man Charged with Reckless Endangerment for Filling Nursing Home Koi Pond with Baby Gators, said the other. Do u think it’s the same guy? He asked. 

Rolling her eyes, Cass wrote out a reply. No doubt. Criminals have patterns. 

So do u think all Florida men are obsessed with gators or just this one?

Gator cult. She tapped send, picking it back up almost immediately. Obviously. 

October 21 (sat)

The plane back from Montréal is about to leave. Any album recs?

Mat and Cass had been texting back-and-forth for the past few days, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that he asked her. 

Wasteland, Baby - Hozier, Electric Light - James Bay. Amidst the Chaos - Sara Bareilles if ya wanna get a little spicy. I’m mostly an indie kinda girl, give me a sec and I’ll send you my playlist. 

Can’t wait, Mat responded. Cass loved music, and always found it to be something intensely personal. So what was it about Mat that made her so willing to share?

October 23 (mon)

Cass hated getting up early, but there were some things better than sleep. You wanna get coffee before your classes? Mat had texted the night before. Coffee was one of them. Grabbing her backpack and tugging on her favorite pair of ankle boots, she headed out the door at 7:02. 

“Where are you headed this early?” Alicia asked quizzically, her own tote slung over one shoulder. Ryanne almost always left the earliest, usually having to get to her rounds well before anyone else had woken up. 

“Mat and I are going out for coffee,” she said, picking up her keys from the nail by the door. 

Alicia wiggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, Cass has a daaaateee,” she said in a sing-song voice. 

Cass’s cheeks burned. “It’s not a date, I’m just helping him out with some paperwork. He’s asking me out as a friend. Just because he’s cute—”

Alicia cut her off. “AHA! So you DO admit that you think he’s cute?”

Cass groaned. “Yeah, okay, he’s cute. You happy?” Alicia nodded. “But just because I think he’s attractive doesn’t mean that this is going to be anything other than friends getting together before work, okay?” 

Her friend shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cass. Have fun, be safe! Use prot—” Cass closed the door as quickly as she could without slamming it. Forty minutes later, she was walking up to the coffee shop, greeting Mat with a hug. 

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Cass said. 

Mat shook his head. “You didn’t, don’t apologize.” He opened the door for her, hand ghosting over the small of her back as he followed her in line. A few minutes later, Mat was at the register, ordering a cappuccino. He turned to her. “What do you want, Cass?” 

“Mat, you don’t have to pay for me,” Cass said, pulling out her wallet. 

Mat gently pushed her hand down. “I was the one who suggested it, Cass. I’m paying the bill.” He handed over his card to the barista, turning back to her with a smile. “You can get it next time.” She laughed. 

“Fine, you win. Coconut milk latté.”

Oct 25 (wed)

“Afternoon pick-me-up?” Cass looked up from her desk, confused but excited to see Mat in front of her desk. 

“Huh?”

He held up a coffee cup, a speckled white-and-blue reusable. “You mentioned something about needing me to sign the last page or something? I brought you coffee, the cup’s for you too. Place says you’ll save 25¢ whenever you use it.” 

“Yeah,” Cass said slowly, “and you faxed it over, right? Kristie said they got it in this morning.” Kristie was the office assistant, and had handed the page to Cass right as she had walked in the door half an hour prior.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Mat said, seemingly flustered. “I was worried I might have made a mistake on it, so I thought I’d come over and double-check.”

“You’re worried you made a mistake signing your own name?” Cass didn’t quite understand it, but there was something really endearing about him wanting to come down and check it himself rather than just calling her or emailing Chris. “Okay then,” she said, leaning over her laptop to grab the folder. She traded it for the coffee in Mat’s hand, the Post-it note on the side of the cup catching her eye. Coconut milk latté. He remembered. 

Oct 26 (thurs)

What are your thoughts on sushi? Cass got a text from Mat as she was about to get out of her environmental law lecture. The professor had already started packing up her things, so she risked a message back. 

As a concept or as a food?

The food haha

All positive, love sushi!

I know this great place in Chelsea, want to grab dinner later?

You don’t have a late practice or anything with the guys? From what she had gathered, even when it wasn’t a game day, Mat would usually get an extra workout in after practice or go out with Tito and some of the rest of the team.

Nope :) Nothing after 2

Cass bit her lip, weighing her options as she shut her laptop and exited the lecture hall. She wasn’t reading too much into it, was she? Friends got dinner together all the time, it wasn’t weird for him to have asked her. It was normal. Typical friend stuff. Sure, she liked him. She liked him a lot. But it wasn’t worth jeopardizing her career and reputation to try and fabricate something that probably wasn’t even there. Sounds good! I should be able to get there 6ish if that works for you?

Perfect! He wrote back, I’ll send you the address.

Les and Fiona caught up to her that afternoon after she practically ran out of their review session the second it was done. “Woah woah woah,” Fiona asked, catching Cass just as she was about to exit the library. “Where are you headed off to so quick?”

Cass tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, scrunching up her nose. “Getting dinner with Mat.” 

Les wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, your man?”

Cass went red. “He’s not my man! He just asked if I wanted to get sushi. And I’m hungry, and he said he’s paying. So I said yes.”

“But you like him,” Les said, as if he was stating the obvious. Which, in a way, he was?

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. It’s hard not to. But he asked me out as friends. It’s not a date. If it was a date, he would have said so? Right?” She was starting to ramble.

Fiona reached out to touch her shoulder, rubbing her thumb back and forth. “Maybe. But maybe not. It’s possible that he is into you, but you and I both know that’s a question best answered by someone other than us,” she pointed at her and Les. “And even if he doesn’t, it’s still a free dinner.” 

Cass let out a small smile. “You’re right.” She glanced at her watch. “I told him I’d be there by 6, so I probably should get going if I want to catch the train in time.” She gave each of them a brief hug. “See you next week!”

“GOOD LUCK!” Tyler hollered as she turned the corner. Cass’ cheeks burned, and she was beginning to realize why.

---

Cass got home from the restaurant just after 9, trying desperately to make sense of the past few weeks. Getting ahead of herself had never led to anything good, and much though she wanted to, Cass wasn’t about to put words in Mat’s mouth. But he had been the one to suggest dinner, and he had picked up the tab again. “You’re in law school,” Mat had said with a shrug when the check came. “I’m not about to make you pay for your own food when you don’t have to.” Shaking her head and pulling out the kettle to make a cup of tea, she tried again to rationalize everything. “We’re friends. I’m doing him a solid by helping him out with this paperwork, he’s just trying to be nice and pay me back. Which he doesn’t need to do, because it’s my job. But he’s nice, so he’s doing it anyway. Because we’re friends.” Frustrated, she grabbed her mug, walking back to her bedroom and barely paying any mind to the splashes of near-boiling water that hit the ground. 

Oct. 27 (fri)

It was a quarter to 6, and Cass couldn’t wait to get out of the office. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job. It was incredible and she was so thankful for the opportunity. It was the fact that Mat fucking Barzal had been on her mind all day and she had been finding it so damn hard to concentrate on research and contracts and precedent when she was busy trying to sift through her own feelings. Cass wasn’t a particularly insecure person; like anyone else, she had those days, but it wasn’t really a matter of her thinking he was “out of her league” or that she wasn’t good enough for him. She knew that the whole concept of “leagues” was dumb and classist, but there was something about the whole dynamic that she couldn’t quite shake, and couldn’t quite tell if it was something good or not. It was five minutes to six, and she couldn’t stop her fingers tapping on her desk, waiting to be set free. Waiting for her mind to stop racing. Waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

She spent the next five minutes trying in vain to get through a paper Chris had sent her — she had even broken out her neon highlighters — but nothing was working. Thankfully, Chris chose that moment to stick his head out of his office and call to her. “Cass?” Her head perked up. “I’ve got some files to email you, mind coming in for a sec before you leave?” She nodded, pushing out of her chair and crossing the room. 

“How was your day?” Chris asked, pulling up the files to email her. 

“Uh, pretty good!” Cass said. “Fridays are relatively light for me, I had a morning meeting with the law review and then headed over here. Mat and I got sushi last night, so that was nice.”

Chris looked up over his laptop. “You and Mat?”

Cass nodded, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Is that an issue?” It was never something she had bothered considering, but — 

“Not that I can think of, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re spending a lot of time together, though, have you noticed that?” 

“Yeah, I mean, we’re friends, but I didn’t think that was a problem—” Chris held up a hand, cutting her off with a smile. 

“I’m not so sure that what Mat wants is a friendship, Cassidy.” He paused. “My son’s about his age, and please feel free to stop me if you’d like, but this is exactly how he acted when he met Iris.” 

“Iris?” Cass questioned. 

“His fiancée. If I’m reading the situation right, and I think I am, the poor boy’s head over heels for you, Cass.” He clicked his mousepad. “Just sent them over, try to go through them by Monday.”

She nodded, seemingly in a daze as she picked up her bag and walked out of the office, pulling out her phone. 

To: Mat

Are you free later?

Oct 28. (sat)

Tapping her foot nervously, Cass fiddled with her phone just to give her hands something to do. They had grabbed breakfast before she had to head to the office and he had to go to morning skate, and she had stolen the check while he was in the bathroom. But she still hadn’t brought up what Chris had said, or for that matter what Les or Samaira or Alicia had been pestering her about for the better part of the past month. 

Mat returned to the table, snapping Cass out of her thoughts. “You ready to head out?” It was only just past nine, so the plan had been to take a walk around Prospect Park before they had to take off. Cass nodded awkwardly, grabbing her coat and scarf from the back of the chair and looping it around her neck. Mat’s brow furrowed in confusion, but if he suspected anything, he didn’t say so. He walked a few steps ahead of Cass, holding the door open for her. They walked in silence for a block or two; not an awkward silence and not a comfortable one, but some kind of strange liminal space in between the two where it was clear that neither of them was really able to read the room. Mat’s knuckles brushed up against her own.

As they crossed the street into the gardens, Cass took a deep breath and looked up at him. It’s now or never. “What are we doing?” She breathed, so softly that Mat wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been standing scarcely a foot away. 

“We’re going to a park?” Mat questioned. 

She wrung her hands, trying to avoid looking at him. “I mean, what are we doing. You and I.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want you to think that I’m reading too much into things, or that I haven’t enjoyed getting to know you and spend time with you because I have, but I just need to know what there is going on between us. If there is anything going on between us.”

Mat shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning up against a lamppost. “I mean, I’d like there to be. I’m into you, Cass, I thought I had made that clear,” he added with a single laugh. Cass gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think I actually needed to come into the office every time I dropped in on you? That I’d ask just anyone for music recs? That I asked you out to coffee or dinner just as friends? Cassidy,” he said, standing upright and taking a tentative step towards her, “I don’t even know Tito’s coffee order. But I know yours.” He took another step forwards when she didn’t move back, faces so close that their noses were almost touching. “I wouldn’t ever want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. But Cass,” he tilted her chin up with his hand, “I’m all in if you are.”

She took a shaky breath, willing the voices inside of her head to still themselves for just one moment so she could gather her thoughts. “Mat, I want this,” Cass said, gesturing between the two of them with one hand, the other wound with frustration in her curls. “You have no idea how much I want this. But I work for the team. We both do. And I can’t have anyone thinking that I’m here for anything but the job, that I’m a puck bunny or will be distracted from my work and go run off with my boyfriend or whatever you are—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Trotz might get mad at you, sure. I don’t think it would really matter on your end, though. You wouldn’t face any actual consequences. I’m expendable to this team. You’re not.”

 Mat’s hand came up to cup her cheek, one thumb swiping away a tear gently, so gently, that she hadn’t even realized had leaked out of her eye. “You’re not expendable, Cass. Not to me, not to the team, not to anyone who’s ever bothered getting to know you. You are such an incredible woman and I know you know it, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like you really believe it. If this is scary for me, and it is, I know it must be downright terrifying for you. And I know you’re worried how it would look, us being together, what the team or Chris or whoever would think, but you need to remember to let your talent speak for itself. If I have a shitty game, miss an easy shot or whatever, there’s always the people who say that Trotz should move me down a line, or that I should be traded, or whatever. And there’s always going to be those people. But if you keep your head in the game—”

“Alright, Troy Bolton,” Cass said, finally giving him a watery smile. 

“You realize that if I’m Troy, you’re Gabriella?” Mat asked, raising one eyebrow, hand still on her cheek as the other perched on her waist. Cass leaned into his touch, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but Cass, you’re brilliant. You’re such a good student and you’re so dedicated at work. You’re going to make an incredible lawyer. Everyone sees that. And I absolutely respect that you’re worried about what our relationship might do for your career,” He swallowed hard, skating his hand down her arm to hold her hand. “And I’m not sure what else I could say other than what I already have. But you’re good, so good, and they’d be idiots for letting you go over something like this.”

Cass swallowed. “They say some things are worth the risk.”

“Are we gonna do this?” Mat’s hand moved to the small of her back, leaning down so their lips were almost touching, barely, not quite. 

“We’re gonna do this.” Cass closed the gap. 

[ussjellyfish]

fic: Work-Life Balance pt 5 | AoS | Philinda | mature

Summary: Phil and Melinda help her cadets learn not to be distracted by kissing. Melinda finally tells him her secret.

read on Ao3

Espionage 418 - committing fully to the mission: intimacy in field work

Melinda already has her notes and her laptop out on the kitchen table when he gets out of the shower. Phil pours himself the rest of the pot of coffee, more out of habit than need for caffeine. It's relaxing, not needing to save the world, having this time with her. He sniffs his coffee with a smile. At least since he's doing the grocery shopping, it's what he likes. 

Her hair's down today, soft in waves on the shoulders of her maroon sweater. She's been favoring sweaters over blazers and there's something so gentle and wonderful about her not having to worry about what's practical to fight in. 

She sips her tea, reading yet another cadet's mock mission report. 

"Did you eat breakfast?"

Melinda shakes her head, smiling without looking up. "You didn't cook it yet."

"That would be a hangup," he agrees, glancing in the fridge before he decides on oatmeal. She didn't finish dinner last night when he made steak so maybe they just need something bland. "What's your seminar today?" 

"Oh it's a fun one, Phil, your favorite." Her eyes never twinkle like that when anything good is going to happen to him. 

"Oh?"

"Kissing you at the fundraiser was so distracting to my cadets that I moved this class up several weeks: use of intimacy during fieldwork."

"You're kidding." He covers the oatmeal on the stove and heads to the table just to make sure. She holds up the seminar schedule and there it is, "Committing fully to the mission: use of intimacy in field work". "They let you name the class, didn't they?"

"It's my class." She touches his shoulder and her fingers slip out towards his neck. She's so distracting. "It would be so helpful if you came."

"I'm here to help." He stares into her intoxicating dark eyes so long that the beep of the stove timer pulls him away before he finds more words. "How are you teaching it?"

She finishes her tea and sets it down. "You and I can start, then they'll pair off and try some of the scenarios and we'll talk about how they can be useful and how to telegraph the type of intimacy you need for the mission." 

"Do I have to take off your bra?"

"Only if that card comes up," she teases, patting a worn set of notecards. "I'm sure Maria put that in here somewhere."

"Maria wasn't available to teach it with you this time?"

"Sadly not." Melinda sighs dramatically over her oatmeal and berries as he hands it over. "You'll have to do."

"I'll do my best." Worst case, he has to kiss her a few times in front of some shocked cadets. Even if it's far from the golden, bittersweet moments in Tahiti, they kissed plenty yesterday, and now she's not wearing lipstick yet. He hasn't kissed Melinda this much since they left the island, though he's making an effort to catch up, and she's just as eager to touch him. 

He remembers that look in her eyes: that amusement, the challenge... Flirting for a cover is one of her favorite types of games. He's in trouble. 

After breakfast, he walks her to class, holding her hand, guiding her through doors. He could get used to this. Maybe get his own office in the same building, have lunch with her, and drop into her classes. He wants her presence, craves her smile like oxygen and it could happen. He could slip into her life and stay. They could do this together. 

The seminar is small, only sixteen students, all close to graduation, all specialists. He recognizes some of them from the fundraiser. These are the some cadets she tasked with being catering staff. The ones who gave themselves away to Mack when she started kissing him. She's right, they need practice before field work on their own. 

Melinda starts with a brief lecture on the importance of intimacy as a distraction and part of cover stories. A married couple who hold hands awkwardly should be part of your cover, not something that happens because you're not ready to give it your all, because all of it needs to be in your control. 

He's not blushing. Dammit. He is entirely good at hand holding now, thank you. The last time they were undercover together as husband and wife, they were fine. Completely convincing. He's never been married but it seems more possible every time it comes up. 

Melinda sits on the table in the front of the room, feet on the chair, smiling as the students laugh nervously at the idea of kissing each other. 

"Agent May-" 

He looks up at her, surprised. Agent May is him. They're going with this. She said it. He's Mr. May now. What else was he going to call himself? Can't really walk around being the Academy's namesake.

"-and I will demonstrate a few scenarios, then we'll dissect what we're doing as a class, then you'll try some with your partner. Tomorrow we'll show some scenarios to each other and work on the little things that make it real."

One of the cadets holds out the pile of notecards to Melinda but she waves the student to Phil. Making a point not to look, he shuffles a little and draws one. 

"Comfortably married couple on vacation," he reads aloud, burying his relief. Knowing Maria there are some incredibly steamy ones he doesn't want to demonstrate in public. He's not going to think about kissing Melinda breathless without an audience, or undoing her bra just to prove he can. Later, much later. 

He's kidding himself. Later means after class in her office, because she's so beautiful today that his newly repaired heart can barely handle it. She'll laugh that laugh if he tells her and he can already imagine her legs wrapped around his waist. 

Melinda holds out her hand and pulls him over. She slips off the table, standing facing him. She touches his cheek, smiling so gently that his chest aches. Later, you get her later. He strokes her hair, then kisses her forehead. 

"I had a really nice time yesterday."

"You love looking at old things."

"I don't consider you old."

Melinda smirks, taking his hand. "And here I thought you were distracted by the architecture."

Running his thumb over her collarbone, he leans in close. The cadets stare silently, as if watching Shakespeare. "I was." 

She rewards that with a kiss, warm and full. When they part, the students start raising their hands. 

Melinda releases him and his heart beats in his ears.  "Tell me what you noticed, then what you're wondering."

The first cadet talks about the way he touched her hair, and a second adds that their flirting showed a level of comfort with each other because age could be sensitive, but it obviously wasn't.

"What made it obvious?" Melinda prompts and he takes the chair beside her, listening and watching her work. 

"The way you touched each other was very gentle, familiar, without any tension. That made it seem like you'd been doing it a long time." 

"Good, good observation." 

The discussion flies by before Melinda draws another card. "Intoxicated newlyweds who don't speak the language," she reads, chuckling. "All right, honey, you ready?"

He dredges up the memories of being intoxicated, letting his body go loose as he stands up. Melinda takes a moment, then starts to giggle, nearly tripping against him. He doesn't even have to say anything, and it's as if he's said the funniest thing she's ever heard. 

"That's not true," he improvises. This time when he touches her face, he pulls her closer, makes it needy, hungry. Pretending she's the most beautiful woman alive is easy, too easy, because that's true, and the way she tugs at his shirt makes his skin tingle as they kiss, nearly pushing him into the table. 

"It is true." Throwing her arms around his neck, she examines his lips with clumsy obsession. "Most couples don't leave their bed on their honeymoon."

Lifting her up to the table, he slips between her knees. "Well that just sounds boring, kind of limits your options a little, doesn't it?"

Melinda's giggle deepens into almost a growl and she reaches for his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders as he grabs her hips. He pulls her in closer, almost a little rough. She grabs at his crotch, nearly missing his belt. 

A flush rises in his face and it's entirely unfair that this is work because he could just pull her into her office now and... 

"Time," the cadet with the stopwatch calls out. 

Her lipstick's smudged and her hair's mussed. The light in her eyes could be from being dragged from bed, and her cheeks are pink. She's beautiful in a way that claws at him. What is he missing? Something demands his attention and he just hasn't grasped it yet. 

"Wow," says one of the students. "You were totally different people."

"That's the point. Change your outfit, change your hair, or even change the way you touch someone and suddenly you're not the same person. You get noticed differently, or ignored when you want to be." She leads them through a discussion about how no one really wants to watch newlyweds and it's a good way to be ignored as you case a room, or head through somewhere with lots of people. 

"The first scene is about comfort, you're boring them with how much you love each other. You're not a threat. The newlywed cover is about making whoever is watching uncomfortable because it feels too intimate, too personal." She holds up the stack of notecards. "Take one with your partner and try it, then we'll discuss." 

Phil follows her lead, walking around the room, explaining how to tilt a chin in a way that speaks of old intimacy, or how to grab a thigh in a way that oozes with want. These are good students, advanced, and he's distracted watching more than one couple. They'll be good in the field, and better with practice. 

Melinda leads another discussion, guiding Phil's hands over her body to showcase new desire and old longing, what an abusive relationship might look like, and what to look for to give away other agents. She doesn't tell the bra story, and instead talks about dancing with him in that sequined dress and smiling until her face hurt. 

"I highly recommend the dance elective, even if you think it's stupid. It's very useful." 

That earns him a smile and they're about to do another round of student practice but one in the back raises his hand. "Could you two do one more? It's so helpful to be able to watch what choices you make." 

"Sure." Melinda offers him the cards and he draws. This time the handwritten words on the card catch in his throat as if he's choking on them. "Confessing a pregnancy to your partner."  Why is that one so intense? What did she say two days ago? 

Melinda blinks once in surprise, then nods. "All right, I guess I should take partner A?" Her joke amuses the class but for some reason her eyes are soft, not bright with mirth. 

She nods to the student with the stopwatch and stares down at her hands. One hand rests on her stomach, as if protecting something and his chest burns. She never got to have a child. She had Robin, for a time, and Daisy's theirs as much as anyone, but she never got this part.

She wanted it so much once. She deserved it. She'd be an incredible mother. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment, honey?"

He sets down his copy of the syllabus as if it's a newspaper. "Of course." 

"I know the timing isn't--" she stops, licking her lips as if she's terrified. 

Phil has no choice but to respond to that fear. She shouldn't be afraid, she should be thrilled. "The timing of what?" Of course the husband doesn't know, he never notices. 

"I know we talked about it, but it awhile ago, and then we didn't think about it because work was just so busy. We weren't but I--" she stops again, voice softer, throat tighter. She stares at his hands instead of at him, then grabs his hands, her palms damp against his. How'd she make herself so nervous? She's so good at this it's like it's real. 

"It's all right." He squeezes her hands and guides her to the chair. "Sit." He hands her the glass of water from the table and crouches down, his hands on her knees. "Maybe start at the beginning."

"It is a beginning," she says, hands trembling around the water glass. "It's the beginning and I don't know how to tell you." Setting the glass down, she takes his hand and brings it to her belly. Her stomach's firm against his hand, but soft somehow. He should stumble through some words, make sure she's all right, but her heart's pounding so fast he can feel it. She wouldn't fake that, would she? Why bother being that nervous?

This is real. 

His throat goes dry. Her exhaustion, the afternoon naps he teases her for, her lack of appetite, the way she's so careful standing up yet dizzy sometimes. 

"I know it's a surprise, hopefully it's a good one." 

"Heidi--" he starts, but she doesn't let him finish. He barely made himself use the cover, he almost slipped and said her name. 

"I'm pregnant." 

Everything stops. All of his senses collapse into her thudding heartbeat, echoing his own. 

That's the missing piece. Her hesitance, her fear what they have isn't what he wants. She's not afraid of them being together, it's that he won't want her and a baby. "You are," he whispers in awe. "Oh my god--" he adds so softly that no one else can hear. 

"You can't get me pregnant right now." She tried to tell him and he missed it. 

Melinda kisses his cheek, lingering against him and the heat of her feeling washes over him, rushing up in a torrent of apprehension, fear and joy. 

She's crying, he's crying, and there's not a dry eye in the room as her empathy carries her feelings over all of the cadets like a river cascading over its banks.

The stopwatch beeps, forgotten. 

He wants to demand how, why, when, are you all right, but that seems too crude. It's too simplistic. This is not something he needs to pull out of her. He can just be happy. She has something she's wanted since before Bahrain. 

"Who?" He asks without sound. 

"Yours," she replies silently, then shuts her eyes. This isn't a public discussion. "Class dismissed until tomorrow." She wipes her eyes and covers his hand on her belly with hers. Somehow, this is their baby. 

"Remember to practice your scene with your partner so we can discuss them."

The students start to file out, then on the way out they walk up, touching her shoulder, smiling, whispering their congratulations as if paying homage to a saint. One or two of the braver ones even hug her and her tears run faster once they're gone. She deserves every bit of their respect, and she has it. 

She strokes his cheek after they're gone, pulling him into her arms. 

"I was ready," she murmurs. "I couldn't wait."

He loses himself in her eyes, then touches her belly again, holding her with both hands. Her eyes drown him in affection, and warmth. "You've waited long enough."

"I didn't know you were coming back, we could have- but I didn't know if you'd want this and I didn't know what to say."

He has to swallow, then he laughs. "It's wonderful." Affection wells in his stomach, thick like honey and just as warm. Is this his feeling? Hers? Can she feel his confusion? 

"Who?" he starts but shakes his head. "It's not important." He can't press. It doesn't matter. They're together and he'll be everything she wants him to be.

"You," she answers before he can walk away from the question. "When you died, you left me everything. Your parents' old house in Wisconsin, Lola, your old DNA samples, from when we started field work."

"I was.going to say, we just had sex Wednesday, it would be pretty quick."

She smiles at that and wipes her eyes. "IVF is pretty unsexy."

"It was brave of you."

"Oh?"

"I know how long you've wanted this, and doing it alone..."

Years and several lifetimes ago, she wanted a baby with Andrew. They had so many conversations about what that child might be like. How she'd work around childcare and school plays and Phil had been so happy for her. He wanted her to have what made her complete.

"I didn't think he'd- you- would mind...I didn't want anyone else."

"I'm honored." He rubs his thumb over her sweater once, then pulls his hand back.

Melinda nods, struggling with her tears. 

He aches, wistful and worn. "I'm so sorry you were so alone." He left her that way. He didn't fight to stay with her even when she begged him. No wonder she was afraid to tell him. He lets her down, over and over. 

"It wasn't going to work." She fidgets with the note cards as she picks them up, unable to look at him. "It's like doing a vertical landing inside a cave during a hurricane. It shouldn't have--"

He touches her back, then her hair. "Hey, it's okay to be happy that it did."

She takes a breath, shivering. "Is it? I don't deserve it, I've never thought I'd be happy like this."

"You are everything." He touches her shoulders. Reassurance comes to both of them when he hugs her, wrapping their arms tight. "I want to be with you, and this doesn't change that. This is more, and that's beautiful."

"You keep talking about the future, and I didn't know how to tell you."

That clicks. "You stacked the deck."

Melinda laughs, kissing his neck. "Just the last time. I had to give myself a kick."

He lets go of her just to see her face, and kisses her, long and slow. "My future is you, if you'll have me, a baby is a wonderful addition to that."

"If I'll--' she repeats, scoffing. "Stay with me this time."

"As long as I can."

Nodding, she shuts her eyes and kisses him again, pulling him closer so his tears join her own. 

This requires no clarification. He loves and it pours out of him, she loves and it fills him, rich and vivid, overriding his senses. She loves him like the blinding sun, so warm and bright that his eyes sting and his heart feels like a candle in comparison. He has to earn her, love her like she should be loved, every day, all of his days. She deserves that. She needs it. 

Hopefully his determination to do that is as loud as the rest of his thoughts. 

The way she melts into him suggests that it got through. 

"This is why you're so tired." 

"I could sleep for days and my breasts hurt..." she trails off and shrugs. "The dizziness is morefrustrating."

"I knew something was different." He cups her breasts, gentle and smiling. "They're beautiful."

"They ache." She takes another breath, calming herself in a way that echoes through both of them. "It's like I can fall asleep standing up and my head keeps spinning."

"No nausea?"

"Not yet." She gives him that don't worry about me look. "You've made balancing much easier this week."

"Thanks." 

Maybe that's all he can do. Try to fill in what she needs, offer what he has. He doesn't have to have all the pieces. He brushes her hair back away from her face and smiles, really smiles in the way that exposes his whole heart. "You are extraordinary, Melinda May."

She takes a tissue out of her briefcase and fixes her smudged lipstick, then tosses it away. He picks up the case and waves towards the door. The seminar took most of the morning and her cadets have electives this afternoon. 

"How long?" He asks, keeping her in the classroom with her hand on the door. 

"Eight weeks they say, which is really six, but they-"

"Have the most ridiculous way of timing it." 

"Yes." She shakes her head. "Very inexact." Melinda closes her eyes, centering herself. Maybe she's dizzy. Now that he knows he can worry about that. Help her take it easy sometimes.  

"Come on," he says into her hair, "show me this cafeteria you frequent so often." 

She chuckles. "It's nice."

"I don't doubt it." 

Chuckling, she leans into him. She must have wanted this so deeply to do it on her own, and she's not alone now. "I wanted to tell you so many times."

"You're worth waiting for."

Melinda kisses him one more time. Her cadets know and spies are terrible at keeping secrets. They have maybe a day before it gets to Mack, Elena, then Daisy, Fitz and Simmons. Might as well enjoy it while it’s just theirs.

"Takes you long enough to figure that out." 

He takes her hand. "Well, honey, lead the way." 

[thedistantstorm]

Come Together 06

Fandom: Destiny

Pairing: Devrim Kay/Marc

Warnings: less smut, angst, homophobia, domestic violence (mentioned) I’m so sorry guys, there is some actual plot happening and I’m cruel.

“A young city planner set his eyes on an older militiaman. He was unkempt and terribly forward. The militiaman had class. He wasn’t interested.”

“Clearly,” Marc tells their friends. “That’s why they decided to get married.”

(A story told in bits and pieces.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

-/

Their first fight comes five months into their relationship. And unlike previous relationships and partners past, it’s not some meaningless lovers quarrel over who’s turn it was to do something or plan a date.

It was bound to happen eventually: Marc’s mother running into them on the street, in the market, bright and early one Saturday morning. This had slowly become part of their weekly routine, heading down from one of their places, getting groceries and produce, and then cooking together in the evening.

But Marc had made a fatal error, withdrawing from Devrim’s arm as though he had the plague, introducing his mother, Esther, to Devrim. Introducing Devrim to her - as one of his good friends. Devrim was certainly cordial, very much his usual brand of polite and charismatic, and the conversation itself went off without a hitch. Well, almost.

“And your lady friend? Margaret, you said?”

“Oh,” Marc answered, his willing his face to remain neutral before sighing, lying through his teeth, “Yeah. She’s great. We’re very happy together.”

“You’ll have to bring her to dinner. We haven’t seen her in forever.”

“Her work keeps her away, as I’ve told you. She’s always so busy, I hardly get to see her, myself.” Panic lances through him, but it’s not himself he’s worried about.

His lies cut through Devrim far sharper than any knife.

“Pardon my interruption, but I believe I’ve forgotten a prior engagement,” Devrim had lied, excusing himself just as Marc’s mother - a similarly bronze skinned woman with long, sun-kissed hair - was chastising her boy for not calling home as much as she liked, “You’ll have to excuse me,” He’d said, handing Marc their groceries. 

Marc looked at him in mounting concern, but Devrim’s eyes were dark. Closed off. If he knew Devrim was furious, he didn’t let on, only nodding at key points in his mother’s monologue, watching his partner’s back as he walked briskly down the street.

The very moment his mother let him off - on the promise that he’d call sometime during the week, he all but ran back to Devrim’s flat. The door was unlocked. Perhaps it wasn’t-

His overnight bag was packed and sitting in the doorway. Devrim would even not look at him, his eyes gazing at the wall across from his couch, hands shaking, wrapped around a mug of tea. 

“Take your things and leave.”

“It’s not-”

“Now.”

-/

Devrim isn't at his post the following Monday. All of Marc's messages go unanswered. He needed to see him face-to-face. This wasn't a conversation - a situation to explain over messaging. 

He knew it was doubtful that Dev would be in their usual booth during their lunch hour, yet he still makes a point to look anyway. He checks the entire seating area to make sure that his sniper isn't sitting elsewhere, trying to throw him off. Devrim isn't. Marc will have to try again tomorrow.

By Wednesday, he goes to Devrim’s flat. Stands there for over an hour, like an idiot, knocking every so often. He doesn’t hear any sound inside, and resolves that he must not be in there. Which is strange. Devrim is always home on Wednesday nights. They show some history special he adores - Marc has taken to falling asleep against him while he gushes about Golden Age pyrotechnics and battle strategies.

By Thursday, he’s brave enough to approach the Militia officer who always stands opposite of Devrim in the mornings. Before he can get a word out, she smiles apologetically. “Devrim asked me not to speak with you if you came looking for him,” She informs him tightly.

“Is he alright?”

“I really shouldn’t say.”

“I did something stupid. He must think-” Marc shakes his head. “I’m awful. I just… even if he’s done with me, I want to explain.”

The woman looks him over carefully. “Wait. You did something?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Marc tilts his head, eyebrows knitting closer in his confusion. He composes himself. “Yes. I was an idiot. I handled a situation very poorly.”

“Wow. Uh, okay.” The militia-woman adjusts her hat, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Honestly, I thought he broke up with you.”

“What?” That makes his heart leap into his throat like nothing else. Certainly he considered it a rather heavy possibility, and really, this whole thing could have been avoided if he’d just told Devrim. But until he had the opportunity to explain himself, he was desperately trying to pretend like that wasn’t the most likely outcome of the situation. For his own sanity.

The woman rambles on, ignorant of his internal struggle. “Well, I mean, you’re getting to the whole committed stage. Devrim doesn’t do commitment. Nothing ever hurts him. He just doesn’t get that attached, y’know? It’s weird for a guy so polite, but I guess that’s why he’s always so mellow.” She waves a hand. “Anyway. This changes things. Maybe he’ll actually get his act together and want to marry you.”

“We’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months!” Marc exclaims. He’s relatively certain the higher possibility lies with him being excommunicated than marriage at this rate.

The woman pats his shoulder, laughing nervously. “Shh, keep it down! Look, my CO would be pissed if he saw me talking to you. Just… meet me at the combini at noon, okay? I know where he is.”

Marc nods. “Okay,” He says. “I-” He sighs. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Dev will be sooo mad at me.”

-/

Marc has met Devrim's partner for Tower patrol duty before. Zara is a bit brash, talks before she thinks, but really does mean well. Devrim is fond of her in the way one was of a little sister. She dips into the chair across from Marc as though she's in a hurry. 

"Here's the deal. He showed up Monday and volunteered for an assignment. They sent him out on the first rover headed for Old Russia. I didn't even know they sent us there, but apparently this was some Vanguard assistance thing. He'll be back tomorrow morning." She pauses. "Running away is kind of his thing. Man's afraid of his own feelings, I think." 

She pulls a drink from her pack, and Marc pushes his container of fries closer to the center of the table. She shoves a few in her mouth around saying, "Look. Usually I'm sitting here with him, telling him he should be talking through his breakups. My track record is way worse than his and I actually want to settle down. Anyway," She flops a fry in her hand, conversationally, "Usually he's the one who messes up. Forgets a date on purpose, then sends you a breakup message so polite you're thanking him before you know he's left you in the dirt. It's savage."

"But that's not what happened."

"Yeah," Zara says. "So what did happen?"

"My mother." He sighs, continuing before he loses his nerve. "She's not… she doesn't know I'm attracted to men."

"Exclusively?"

He rubs his left temple, hazel eyes tired and red. "Does it matter?" He sighs. "I introduced Devrim as a friend."

Her jaw hangs. "Shut up."

"What?"

"He did that to the last guy he was with. Or maybe the one before that? I can't remember. Wow, karma is a bitch." Zara leans back, watching Marc's expression sober. "Sorry, sorry, continue."

"My parents think I'm seeing this woman named Margaret. It's just… better, that way. Keeps Mother from nosing around in my business, makes her and my father think I'm on the straight and narrow.

"No." Zara looks at him, like there's something on his face. Staring almost hard enough that it hurts. "Oh. My. Light."

"Yeah."

"So he thinks-"

"Yeah."

"I gotta hand it to you. You really fucked this up."

"Definitely. I think he's gonna dump me."

"I wouldn't be so sure." She examines a fry before popping it in her mouth. "He's got no problem sending a breakup message." She doesn't explain the part where he'd seemed almost desperate to get sent out on an op, or the way his usual neutral, polite expression was saddened and not even the squad's teasing could cheer him up. "I think he needs some space to figure himself out. And I think you need to figure out your next step."

"Next step?"

"You gonna let your folks think you're seeing a woman named Margerie?"

It's Margaret, but Marc doesn't bother correcting her. He gets the point. "I mean-"

"Let's assume it goes well: you explain, Dev forgives, yada yada. You gonna live like this forever?" Her expression turns soft. "I wouldn't think you're here because you want to see it end."

"I'm not."

She smiles. "Good. Devrim will be back tomorrow before noon. He has afternoon rota with me. I'd try and catch him afterwards." She probably pulls the container over to herself, picks it up, and slides out of the booth. "Thanks for the fries."

Marc nods. Normally he'd be upset, but he'd hardly had any himself. Surely Zara can see the gears turning in his brain.

-/

Devrim spends his week doing what he knows best: fieldwork. Assisting Guardians in translating and understanding Fallen transmissions, using those to determine and rig their bases for detonation. Sniping the stragglers from afar while the Guardians dance about like elegant death - and dancing - machines.

He keeps busy. It helps clear his mind. Helps him re-establish his footing. Gives him time to analyze without obsessing. Not that he's obsessing, no. He's not that type, but… If it were really bothering him that much.

Which, it clearly is, as much as he'd like to admit otherwise. It's not until the convoy is on it's day-long expedition home that he lets himself think about what he knows from Marc's conversation with his mother.

At the time, all he'd been able to think about was this other person she'd mentioned, vehemently trying to ramp down the hurt at not being introduced as his partner, which-

Really, that was a whole other thing entirely, and Devrim had already laid awake at night plenty thinking about why that bothered him so. He might be fussy about entering relationships, and selective about who he keeps around, but he's not the type to fall in love. He's kind and doting, sure, but when it comes to forever he's paralyzed, afraid of making an irreversible, incorrect choice.

And yet, he was unmistakably hurt when Marc didn't tell his mother they were together. Normally, it would be a win-win. This was… 

Right. Getting his brain back on track, he thinks back to the conversation. All of Marc's cues, his body language. They were easily discernible as someone trying to cover up a lie, and no doubt, Marc was lying, but the lie itself was up for debate.

And now that he wasn't so livid he thought he'd scream, he supposed they needed to talk.

-/

A hand grabs him as he's headed into work. He's late, but it's better than nothing. "No. Oh no you don't. You look like you're going to keel over. Sit down."

A half-drank cup of coffee is pressed into his hands, and his rear immediately feels the cold of the concrete sinking in. He sighs, feeling his chest rattle with it.

"What happened?"

He doesn't answer that, instead asking, "Won't the squad be mad if they see me talking to you?"

"Whatever. I'm not wearing yesterday's clothes and look like I'm having an allergic reaction." She looks around. The man who stands opposite her and isn't Devrim shakes his head. "Zara, you know how you never understand why you get in trouble?"

"Can't leave someone who needs help. You know me," She grins, shrugging. "Not my style."

He looks up into deep brown eyes, flecked amber in concern. "I'm fine."

"Right, and I'm Ikora Rey."

"She's a Warlock, and I've never seen you both in the same place. Might be true," Comes the call of the other militiaman.

"Ha ha, Mitchell." She rolls her eyes, crouching down in front of Marc, so they're closer, whispering, "You've been crying. What happened?"

"I told my folks."

She rises, swift and serious. "I'm taking my lunch early," She announces. "Cover me."

"Zar-"

"I know, I know.  I'll owe you one." She winks.

-/

It takes the younger patrolwoman until the end of the day to talk to him. She's surprisingly attentive to her duty instead of mouthing off at him and chattering about every new weapon released by the bigger foundries. She caves though, like a guilty child, eventually holding his gaze.

"You're gonna be pissed at me," Zara says.

The brim of his uniform hat makes his eyes look exceptionally blue. He narrows them at her and she squirms. "I take it you've meddled while I was away?"

"Uh, a bit," The female officer admits, nervously.

"You're uncomfortable. How much is a bit, exactly?"

"A bit," She grits back, before looking him dead in the eyes. "How much do you like him?"

"A bit," He quips, unable to tell if there’s a tease in there or if she’s being serious. She’s acting suspiciously.

Crossing her arms, she asks, "Even though he lied to his mother?"

Serious, then. He adopts a warning tone. "Zara-"

She interrupts. "Answer the question. If you thought he cheated on you, this would have been cut and dry."

He waits for passers by to be out of earshot before answering, "Why does it sound like you're on his side?"

"Okay. First of all, I didn't think he was going to listen to me. But apparently he's serious about you. So if you're not serious about him, I want to know so I can do damage control."

"Come out with it," Devrim snaps, a sinking feeling in his gut. "What did you do?"

"We talked. He explained what had happened, that his folks aren't exactly… let's say kosher with him being interested in men. I might have said something about how if he wanted to be serious with you, that meant embracing it, even if they'd be unhappy."

His jaw tics. "And?"

"Yeah." She makes a concerning face. "Wasn't kosher at all." Zara looks up at him. "They, weren't good to him. He said he knew it wouldn't go well, but he didn't think they'd be so extreme."

"Extreme, how?"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Kay. I can feel the murderous rampage-"

He crosses the cobblestone walkway, to be at a more conversational distance apart. She almost wishes he’d stay back, because him yelling is far less intense than the drop in his tone and his focused attention. "I will not. Explain yourself."

"I took my break early. Walked him to his flat for some clothes, then dropped him off at mine. Everything's wrecked. He called them last night, it went south, they invited themselves over. He'd left when they started throwing things and having a tantrum. Really childish of them, if you ask me."

His hands find her shoulders, decorum the only thing preventing him from shaking her. "Tell me he's unharmed."

Zara pats his scruffy cheek. "You do have it bad," She marvels. "Physically, he's fine."

[agent-houdini]

Drowned | pt. 1

in which i revisit this but... with lies and lessons. 

here’s your major warning for drowning, and ptsd?? tbh because i am sorry, whiskey, but you’re gonna get broken. 

part one of two.

Houdini was... a secret, to say the least.

A secret weapon, a secret lover -- 

Well, not that much of a secret. Not with the way Whiskey looked at her. Champ could read it a mile away.

It was why he had to address something... very seriously.

"Agent Houdini --" he started, that usual half-smile on his face as he leaned back in his chair. 

Houdini had warmed up to Champagne in the last year, despite most of her instincts telling her that he'd leave at some point or another.

"I have something that.. may be of importance for you."

"Huh?" Her nose wrinkled. She wasn't sent off on fancy missions, nor requested for fieldwork. She quite liked her office views and training lessons for agents new and old, and her days of surveillance were usually rather relaxing. 

"I need you to help us with the new recruits."

"Don't I already do that?" Houdini tilted her head, hands in her back pockets. Champ chuckled; she looked like she could be his daughter with the streaks of grey popping through her hair. Whiskey would about die if he heard his boss admit that.

"I did a little diggin' on ya, seems to me you used to be a lifeguard?"

She nodded; it was a job before things really turned sour in her life, before college and before... well...

"You need someone to watch the pool for their training? My cert's outta date but --"

"I know you didn't go through their training, but there's something we do a bit differently at Statesman. I'm surprised Whiskey hasn't told you about it yet, it's his favorite test for the large group," Champ explained, sitting up in his chair. "But we do a bit of teambuildin' with our large group. It's nice to shock them into workin' together."

"Explain, sir."

Champ chucked at the formality. "We do a bit of drownin'. Not real drowning, that would just be bad publicity. No one would ever want to join their ranks if someone died every time we went looking for new recruits. An' I understand that you used to do that sort of thing during your lifeguarding."

Houdini paled slightly; yes, she pretended to drown, but... "I was fully conscious the entire time."

"Don't sweat that part. We usually used one of our Seal friends, but seems to me they've been called away for their own work and can't help out. Ginger watches your vitals the entire time, you will never - and I mean, never - be in harm's way," he explained, elbows leaning against the desk. "I just know out of everyone in this entire organization, you're our best candidate."

She blinked for a moment; for once, Champ confirmed that she was good at what she did. Houdini nodded, chewing on her lip as Champ smiled softly.

"I don't mean to press you. But the timing falls just right; and don't you worry about Jack. I'll take care of him personally."

Houdini's paled face soon turned tomato-red; clearly, the secret was out. Champ had, in reality, known for months with the way Jack wouldn't shut up about their new 'find' and how she managed to drive herself into being better at just about everything.

"I -- uh --" she stammered, biting into her cheek.

"Don't you worry about a thing. If you're comfortable, go meet with Ginger down in the training center. She'll go over everything with you. I'll go make sure our Silver Pony gets taken out for a ride." Champ grinned, placing his hat back on his head. 

Houdini nodded and scrambled out, her cheeks hot as she made her way towards the training center. Hopefully, Champ did mean he'd take care of things with Whiskey... if he found out she'd be drowning, well...

--

"Darlin'! There you are. I was lookin' for you, what --" Whiskey said, bending down to press a kiss to Houdini's lips after checking the hallway was clear.

"Champ said he needed you for something!" she said, pulling back.

"I know, that's why I'm headin' this way, but what's the rush?" His thumb stroked her cheek and she felt her heart hiccup in her chest.

"He said it was urgent you saw him, that's why. I don't know much, only that it may be a day or two," Houdini said, looking rather worried. She hated lying to Jack but.. it was for his own good. He panicked enough when she was going out for surveillance.

"What? It didn't sound so urgent to me..." he objected, thumb still stroking gentle circles into her cheek.

"You should go see what it's about, Jack. I gotta go check on that video file I asked Ginger for." Houdini hopped up and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, her hand lingering against his forearm before skipping down the hallway.

Whatever Champ told Houdini wasn't sitting right with Whiskey.

--

In just under an hour, Houdini and Ginger had crafted an identity, a background, and even a file within the Statesman computer system as a potential trainee. 

"This way, everyone else involved will know," Ginger said, and Houdini nodded in agreement. "Speaking of knowing. Did you want to be alerted when the water would be rising?"

"No. I want to have as much of a genuine reaction as possible. Me knowing would just make things seem suspicious if someone in there knows what to look for," Houdini said, shaking her head. 

"You're giving these recruits way too much credit, but I know you'll be fine. We monitor trainee vitals anyway, so there won't be any reason to hide the tracker."

"Great! I'll go pack a bag --"

"No need, we provide everything for trainees. You just get to pick a color..." Ginger chuckled, "though I assume it'll be purple?"

"You know me so well."

--

"Listen, I'll be back sometime tomorrow night. Champ just wants me to fly out towards some area in Montana. Eastwood will keep you company tonight, okay?" Whiskey said, practically shouting over the sounds of the hangar.

"I've told you a thousand times. I'll be fine." Houdini retorted, putting her hands on her hips.

"Make sure you don't go too hard on those new recruits!" Whiskey added, chuckling. 

"I don't see them for a few weeks, Jack. Be safe."

"See you soon." 

With the chatter around them, the couple quickly shared a goodbye kiss hidden behind the wings of the Silver Pony.

Houdini prayed he'd be back after everything was said and done.

--

"Good evening, everyone. My name is Ginger Ale, and welcome to Statesman. You have been selected to be among the best in our nation, to serve and fight the unknown. This training will not be easy - for some of you, it may even mean death. Remember what got you here, your drive, and you will be successful. But know, only one of you can take the title of Agent Vodka..."

Ginger greeted the agents with a persona that felt right at home, her high-tech clipboard tucked under her arm. The expectations, as well as the procedures for failure, were also swiftly explained. Recruits of different backgrounds, ages and clearly from across the country relaxed as soon as Ginger left the room, moving to unpack their given belongings. 

"Quite the techie they've got --"

"I think the term is Quartermaster?"

"Oh, so like Q! I knew this place was James Bonds-y when we got here..."

Houdini had to restrain herself with her reply; "I think what you're looking for is Mission Impossible."

"You think they've got masks? I'm sure they have to, I mean, it is --"

The few male agents discussing what agency Statesman was most like were cut off by Ginger's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Wake-up is at 0700 tomorrow. Be ready for anything!"

Houdini chuckled at how cheery Ginger sounded. 

--

Morning came as quickly as the rest of the day had gone; Houdini wondered where Whiskey had flown off to and when he'd turn back around. Hopefully, it'd be another full day - late at night - when he would return. The recruits went off running as a warmup before heading to the firing range. In the back of her mind, she wondered when Ginger would trigger the button. While they were sleeping seemed to be the best case and really get them by surprise...

It wasn't until after lunch, when they were handed books and binders, did the other recruits quiet down. Tim, Jared, and David seemed to be unable to keep their mouths quiet about the theories and themselves. Amanda and Imani, two of the four female recruits, organized a small circle and welcomed Houdini into it, binders and books surrounding them.

"I think we should stick together. We all seem to have a good set of skills and good heads on our shoulders," Amanda smiled, glancing over at the group of three men.

"I think they're all former Marines. That's why they found themselves so easily," Imani commented, shaking her head.

"Well, let's get reading. I'd feel better getting a chunk of this work out of the way," Houdini smiled, opening her own copies as the other women agreed.

--

Whiskey, speeding along in the Silver Pony, noted some odd markings on his map along with some curious radio chatter. Something about 'Eden's Gate' continuously repeated, as if a warning. He quickly called it in before being given the command from headquarters to turn back; the phrase seemed questionable according to the few in the command station. It pinged a few searches with even more questionable material; Whiskey hummed to himself as a chill slipped down his spine.

"Good t'know, folks. Be sure to send Champ this info. Whiskey, out."

--

Ginger watched from the control room, tapping away at her clipboard. It was past dinner, and many of the agents were winding down in their beds. The day seemed to take a toll on them, meaning it was nearly time. 

--

"Champagne, sir, we've got a message for you pertaining the work you sent Agent Whiskey out for?" One of the radio comms said, paging in from the control tower.

"Go ahead."

"We're clearing him for landing now. We tried to reach you earlier, but that Montana business is much messier than expected. Key phrase 'Eden's Gate' popped up over radio chatter multiple times. Seemed better to return than to engage in their airspace."

"Keep him away from the training center. That is an order."

--

"Ginger, we've got a situation --" Champ had paged in just as the water began to rise. Most recruits were asleep, some with their arms and legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

All vitals appeared on one of the larger screens, beeping away happily. It was important to monitor Houdini's, given her role in tonight's production. Ginger ignored Champ's page as she watched carefully, waiting for the water to safely and completely rise before responding.

The water had reached the bottom of the mattress as the speed doubled. No one had reacted yet, many still fast asleep.

The door to the control room swung open and Whiskey wandered in, helmet under his arm. "Well, seems to me I'm gettin' a good show tonight!" 

Ginger slammed end on the pager and snapped around. "What are you doing back? You know you shouldn't be in here."

"Seems that our Montana problem is a bit bigger than expected. Works out better this way, now I can get a show before dinner! Where's Houdini? She should really see this for herself. Girl's lucky she never..." Whiskey dropped his helmet, staring at the screen where he saw Houdini's name and picture along with normal vitals.

"Ginger, what in the fuckin' hell is Houdini doing on this monitor?" His tone was harsh, sharp against the soft waves of the rising water.

"Whiskey, I told you, you can't be in here..." Ginger warned. 

"Ginger, you best not be playing any fuckin' games with me." His heart was pounding, matching the rate of Houdini's on the screen as she jolted upright, water up to her neck.

"Whiskey, listen --" Ginger pleaded, trying to pull his attention away from the window and the screens. "Listen to me. Everything is fine, this is just routine and you know that --"

"Don't you fucking do this! Stop the water right now. She can't be in there, she --"

"Jack."

He was getting frantic, pressing his hands to the glass, looking for any signs of his girl.

The water was rising up faster, soon swallowing the room up. The recruits struggled, and many only looked out for themselves as they swam towards the mirror. Houdini felt her own panic rise as she took one last breath, head bobbing against the ceiling before the room was completely filled. 

"Damn it! Give the controls to me, Ginger. I'm getting Laura out of there."

"No, you're not." The Quartermaster replied sternly, watching as Houdini was left on the other side of the room, her leg tangled in the sheets as she tried to swim away. 

Her hair had fanned out around her, dark and inky as Jack watched in absolute horror, unable to stop anything from happening. Houdini's vitals slowed, a cue for Ginger to prepare the draining system. No one managed to break the mirror, which would have dropped them into a smaller holding room; surprising, given a few of the recruits and their skills.

Jack clenched his fists so hard, his knuckles turned white.

Not again.

He couldn't watch the one he loved fade away - but he couldn't turn from the window. His upper lip twitched and he nearly bit the inside of his cheek off as the water level slowly dropped, Houdini's body floating back down. Jack felt sick to his stomach, watching as the recruits realized she had been drowned, and knowing that they did nothing did not help their case as prospective agents. He would have rushed in and grabbed Laura if he knew Ginger wasn't waiting with the tranquilizer hidden in their watches... instead, he kicked the lone chair across the room, leaving a dent in the wall.

“Fuck!”

"You can meet her in the medical wing," was all Ginger said before leaving the room.

[bdamantherapper]

BDaMan’s Show Log: WFNU Presents: Sprung! (3/22-3/24)

*The following events take place between March 22nd, 2019 and March 24th, 2019.* Friday 11:09pm - So, I feel great about the fact that B.Allen and I have four shows coming up. However, I found out some news the other day that is definitely having me worried. Thursday, B.Allen told me he wasn't feeling well and I usually know to keep on high alert about his health after past events in 2016. Later on in the day, he told me he went to urgent care and got told that it's the flu and had a fever of 103.2. As of this moment, the last update I got from him was, "Off and on sleep all day today feel like death finally saying this is it for me" Now, for those who know B.Allen as I do, you may find some humor in that. Those who don't or who don't find any humor in that, might be very concerned. If he didn't have the flu and said that, I might find it funny and tell him he'd be alright. However, the flu ain't no joke. So, unless he makes a miraculous miracle by the time I get up in the morning, it looks like I'm rocking this show solo. Saturday 3:16am - Unless a miracle happens, I'm going with the assumption that I'm performing solo tomorrow (later today, depending how you look at it). This will be the third time in a decade that I've performed a full set completely solo (two, if you exclude the set I did with Gazda back at Nomad in 2017). "Introspective Journals" is about 20 minutes, so that'll be the set list for the show, if I'm going at it solo. Gonna enjoy this tea and call it a night. 10:10am - Alarm goes off, so I know it's time to get moving. Gonna start my day how I ended yesterday, with some tea. 10:29am - I text B.Allen to see how he's doing and the update I got was, "sore and super hot but super cold at the same time at least able to drink water and hold it down tho". So, sounds somewhat better, but definitely not in shape to perform a set. It's 99.9% official - I'm rocking tonight's show solo. 12:04pm - Doing some minor run through of songs to make sure I've still got this "Introspective Journals" stuff memorized. 12:56pm - Double checked with Jeff to see if he was still coming to the show, looks like we're all good there. The homie, Jayce Serene might come through to the show tonight. He works at 5:30am though, so it might be tough for him to make it. 1:52pm - Finally getting some lunch in my system. Slowly starting to get my focus right for tonight. 2:40pm - Beats for tonight's show are on my flash drive, as well as emailed to SunDogs. While I can, I am going to get a nap in for a couple of hours. No telling what's denied holds, but I want to be sure I enjoy every moment of it and out of my head. 5:15pm - That nap was definitely needed. Time to get moving and get into that zone.6pm - I definitely take blame for the miscommunication on asking Jeff to pick me up haha. The whole "solo set" threw me off. Nonetheless, looks like he'll be here at about 6:45 and we'll be hauling ass to St. Paul. Time to get ready and listen to Smoke DZA's Ringside series. 7:11pm - So, based on how Jeff peeled around that corner down the street earlier, I can tell we're gonna be in a bit of a pinch to get to Hat Trick Lounge on time. Jeff just passed me his phone to play something off of Spotify. Choice of music? DMX! 7:45pm - We've arrived! It's a unique vibe in here tonight. It is now time to make that slow metamorphosis. Shortly after we got settled in there, Jeff and I hear the exact DMX song we heard in the car. (”24 Hrs To Live”) 8:25pm - I send B.Allen a picture of the stage and tell him it might be a blessing in disguise that he has the flu with the stage being a bit small, especially with the band's equipment up there. His reply was, "Lol good way to think of it , I'm mad I can't be out there with you bro kill it bring that energy man". Even with the moments that we can't always make an S.O.S. performance happen, he at least throws some good luck energy my way. That definitely will help going into the night. I decide to get some fresh air with Jeff and practice my set a bit. Mic stepped out to smoke real quick as I was practicing. Just as I started practicing "Ain't No Big Thing", I hear someone yell out "BDa!". Now, in St. Paul, I didn't expect to hear that. But, shortly, I'd see who exactly yelled my name from a car... 8:38pm - It was none other than MonoPoleJoe! Reidy, Tu'shawn and Mono have arrived! Mic comes back out shortly after and the six of us chat for a good minute about local music and other stuff. 9:05pm - Ron Wolf & The Smokin' Barrels are up now. A little blues action to start the night! 9:16pm - I get a good luck text from my girlfriend, Nikki and she gives me some extra hype within her good luck wishes. I let her know that I do feel good about my set, but I'm worried about people sticking around that late. 9:44pm - My buddy from the Sound Arts program, Teontre sends me a good luck text as well, as he won't be able to make it tonight, as he has an early morning gig himself. He is in a band called Papa Bleu & The Fistbump Congress, a 5-piece band that infuse world music, pop, hip hop, and rock. (https://youtu.be/ObvVnGgtENk) 10:09pm - Big Into is setting up now. Just got a text from the homie, Jayce Serene that he'd try to make it out tonight. 10:30pm - So, SunDogs definitely wasn't playing about having those earbuds ready! Big Into are killing it, but it done got loud as hell now. 10:55pm - Aaron Avis is up now. I'm digging his blend of rap with the guitar and metal feel. I have much appreciation to those who bend and break norms in music and this dude does just that. 11:47pm - J-Sully just killed it. The show is pretty damn behind, though. The crowd is a mixture of heading out early or trying to hold on and stick around. Mono, Reidy and Tu'Shawn headed out. 11:56pm - Ain't No Jok is up now! And the homie, Jayce just came through! Ain't No Jok got some cuts!! Sunday 12:51am - Chase Vibe is up now. Looks like the final 3 of us can only do like 3 songs. The next 7-10 minutes zoomed by like a double eviction night of Big Brother! -Spencer (Munny of SunDogs) lets me know that I only have to cut one song, since my set was at 16 minutes. -Jeff misheard me when I asked what song to cut, which was a funny experience within itself. -My coworker from Target Center, Kristen, who was there with Mic’s girlfriend, apparently knows Mic's girlfriend, so she actually got to see me perform. She, of course, gave me shit for not being at work much. With school and the main job (Fieldwork) in the mix, I stick to working my minimum of two events a month at Target Center. Everything moved so fast in that time span, I had just enough time to shake off my nerves, put my eyeglasses in my bag and put on Grandpa's aviators and do the damn thing! 1:15am - Just got off stage and damn! Aside from the breath control, I didn't lose my voice that much and I held my own on stage! My attempt at crowd participation wasn’t as strong as it normally was, but I gave the few people there a pass, as it was so late. In the words of a famous group, it was “one more for the cool guys!” I always pride myself in making the most out of performing for a small amount of people by performing as if there were hundreds of people there. 1:19am - The homie, MICdos is up now, closing out the night! For those that don't know, I've known Mic since about Sophomore year of high school. Cool ass dude, nothing but positive vibes anytime he's around. I'm glad that he's getting some well deserved shine in the music realm as well. 1:50am - That wraps up the show for the night! As Mic, Jeff and I step outside, Mic just bursts out into impromptu singing of songs. With the voice I had left, I jumped in on the songs and parts I knew. If I came out of retirement from singing, Mic and I might be able to pull off a little somethin-somethin! 2:20am - I ain't never seen this man, Jeff want to get out of dodge (St.Paul) as much as I did in this moment! Once we managed to get past the slow cars on the St. Paul streets past the clubs, it was nothing but smooth sailin' on the back roads back to the humble abode. 3:03am - Getting a very, very late dinner in and realizing just how sore my body is gonna be in the morning...

[oberynmartell]

preview:  “She let out a fake sob, rubbing her temples. ‘Gods, I just want to come home. All day long I’ve been dying to eat pizza and watch The X-Files with you.’”

// written for jonxsansafanfiction’s 15 days of valentine’s day celebration | day thirteen: a proposal/engagement

When Jon’s phone rang he could tell right off that something was the matter. “You’re not going to like hearing this.” Said Robb from the other end. Even from miles away Jon was able to hear the frown in his voice and before he was even told to Jon sat down, easing himself into one of the chairs he had set up hours before. “She’s not coming.”

“What?” Jon said. “What do you mean she’s not coming?”

“She just phoned Arya to say she’s stuck at school. Said your line was busy when she tried to ring you.”

Jon cursed. It had been three hours that he had been arranging everything. It had taken nearly an hour just to correct the menu of the restaurant, after the chef had tried to serve shellfish in lemon beurre blanc instead of the chicken he had originally planned. Even after Jon had repeatedly told the man he did not seem to understand that Sansa was allergic to shellfish and Jon did not desire to poison his girlfriend in the attempt of proposing to her.

continue below? or read on AO3

After that his next snafu had come when Jon had tried to think of a place to hide. At first Robb had said that he should press it between the layers of cake and cremé of the lemon cake he had brought from Margaery’s bakery- Sansa’s favourite. But the cake had been to soft and the ring had sunk right through, clattering onto the plate and nearly rolling off. So he had to come up with an alternative plan.

Jon had cursed himself, thinking that if he had thought to bring either Lady or Ghost he could have clipped the velvet box to their collars and had the dogs help in his proposal. Then he supposed he could just ask her point blank, pulling the ring from his breast pocket and offering to her from down on his knee. But he had wanted to do is more theatrically than that, especially after Sansa had been so smitten by Gendry’s proposal to Arya.

But now she wasn’t coming at all and all the weeks he had spent planning didn’t matter.

Jon ran a hand over his face. “I’ll give you a ring back in a minute.” he said. “Erm, let me….Let me phone her and see what’s going on.”

“Let me know.” said Robb, hanging up on the other end.

Before Jon could even dial, or take a long and much needed pull from the lukewarm beer he had sat upon the table, his phone rang again. “‘Lo?” he answered, frustration bubbling within him. 

“Hey sweetie.” said Sansa, sounding tired and frustrated. She let out a long sigh. “I’ve had the worst day.”

“Tell me about it.” said Jon, trying to sound at ease.

She sighed again. “So yesterday Professor Baelish emailed to ask if I could come in early today, to which I agreed because I just wanted to get this bloody test over with. So when you dropped me off I went to the café to get breakfast, only to find it was closed, then I walked back to his classroom only to find that he was not there.” she said. “Didn’t have his phone number to ring him, didn’t want to call you back to come get me because then you’d be late for work. So I sat there for two bloody hours before he arrives saying that he meant to come in early tomorrow, Saturday-“ she said for emphasis. “And not today. But because of his mistake he let me take it today.

“And then because I was two hours behind I didn’t have time to eat lunch before my second test and my stomach was rumbling like a mountain lion the entire time I was trying to do the bloody thing. So embarrassing. Professor Lannister took pity on me and gave me a banana, bless him.”

“That sounds awful, love.” said Jon. Would that he could solve all of her problems for her so that she would never have to face another trial or tribulation again.

“Unfortunately I’m not finished.” She said, Jon urging her to continue. “And you know how my fieldwork requires interning under another teacher. So Tyrion set up an internship at a grammar school, which is usually a blast for me. But today was art day.” She let out a long sigh and Jon could practically hear the sound of her sneaking a cigarette on the other end. “Long story short, I sat in paint and a little boy decided to use my shirt as a napkin.” She let out a fake sob, rubbing her temples. “Gods, I just want to come home. All day long I’ve been dying to eat pizza and watch The X-Files with you.”

“That does sound amazing.” Jon admitted. It was much more low-key than the four course meal he had planned for them. It was much more them.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” he asked.

“An hour, maybe an hour thirty.” Said Sansa.

“Well how about this-“ Jon began. “In an hour I’ll come get you under the guise of some emergency. I’ll pick up pizza and some lemon cakes on the way so when we get home all you have to do is put on your pyjamas.”

“What did I ever do to deserve such a boyfriend like you?” she asked.

“I ask myself the same thing every day.” 

“You ask yourself what you did to deserve a boyfriend like me?” she teased. “I know I haven’t shaved yet today but geez.” 

“Har har.” He said sarcastically. “Maybe you wouldn’t have such a manly voice if you didn’t keep smoking those cigs.” 

A pause. “How did you know?” 

“Call it a sixth sense.” 

She laughed. “Fine, fine. I put it out.” She said. “But you’d need one too if a little girl blew her nose with your trousers.” 

 “Yikes.” He agreed. “Is this a grammar school or American Horror Story: Children?”

“I’ll have to get back to you with that answer.” She said. “Mrs. Martell is calling me back in. We’re grading paintings.” She rolled her eyes. “If I see another painting of me sitting in paint I’m going to scream.”

“See you in an hour.” He chuckled. 

“Don’t forget the pizza.” She said. “Love you.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He teased, telling her he loved her in return. Jon worked quickly to pack everything up, regrettably forking over the money for the dinner he had planned and taking it all as take away, planning to bring it back to their flat for Robb and Arya so at least someone would get some pleasure out of it.

By the time he picked up the pizza and drove to Sansa’s grammar school it had been nearly an hour and when he phoned Sansa to tell her she picked up on the first ring, waiting eagerly for him. She practically ran out to him, vaulting onto the back of the bike and fastening her helmet in the same moment she tapped his shoulder to signal that he drive off.

Their flat awaited them when they arrived, Sansa taking the pizza, Jon handling the beer and her satchel. The front door was unlocked for them, probably Robb having left it open on his way in earlier in the night, and when Sansa walked in she found the house was lit up with what seemed like a thousand candles.

“What…” she began, turning to look questioningly at Jon only to find that he had sunk to his knees in the doorway. “Jon?” she questioned, half thinking that he had fallen. “What’s going on?”

“I planned an etravagent dinner tonight.” He said. “Four courses, a private band.”

“Gods, Jon I’m so sorry.” She said.

He waved her off. “Don’t be.” He said. “I just wanted to do something special for you. Something to tell you and show you how much I bloody well love you.” She smiled, a pretty pink blush settling in her cheeks. “I-“

“Wait, let me finish this before I lose my nerve.” He interrupted, licking his lips. “I have loved you for so, so long. I never thought that I would ever kiss you, ever even tell you that I loved you, let alone date you for two years. You’re my soulmate, Sansa Stark, and every day with you is just…the best day, and I don’t even want to think of spending even a day without you.” He said. “I let everyone tell me how I should do this. Where it should be, what I should be wearing, what I should be doing. But none of that really mattered. All that matters really is that it’s you and me forever.”

He paused to take a breath, fishing around in his pocket for something. He could see the way Sansa’s eyes glistened in the flickering candlelight. “So-“ said he. “Will you marry me?” he said. “So that as long as we both shall live we can stay the bloody hell home, order take away, and watch The X-Files.”

A tear rolled down her cheek like a pearl and before he could even stop her she was on her knees before him, hugging him so tightly that he fell off balance on his knees and fell sideways, taking her with him. they fell in a tangle of arms and legs and kisses, showering each other with kisses and hugs and tears.

“Of course I will.” She whispered. “Of course, I will.”

Jon kissed her, their first kiss as a bethrothed couple, and just then was able to see the half hidden faces of Arya and Robb poke out from behind the couch. “You can all come out now, she said yes.” Jon called.

A streak of light ran through the living room as Ghost catapulted himself on top of them, his tongue like wet sand against their cheeks, as though he knew what had just happened, and just on his tail came Arya and Robb, Lady padding behind them until Snows and Starks and wolves were rolling around on the floor, seemingly playing a game of who can give and receive the most kisses. Jon grinned, thinking that this was perhaps the most fitting way to begin not only their night but their lives together.