#this got way longer than I originally intended holy shit

[mystiriuminc]

Time is magic, not simply spells and timeturners but in an essentially intangible way. Time changes everything. The seasons turn verdant green and growth into desolate cold and barren branches, but time also permits new buds to grow from where the was once nothing. The forest grows best after a fire after all. Lands razed by flames are nourished by the ashes. Time continues on and the trees grow again.

As the time shifts from the loneliness of night, the sun breaks through and light shines on what was once cloaked in darkness.

There's something magic about the dawn too, the first peaks of orangey sun that lights the horizon in a rainbow of soft clouds. In a metaphysical sense, renewal and birth have always been associated with the first light of morning, but it's something more than that. There's a sort of primordial peace to it, waking to the calm of a world not yet bustling with people but still...alive

The sky is filled with pink, yellows, and oranges. The birds are singing and everything is coated with morning dew. It's cool but not unbearably so and one could practically taste the world waking beside him.

Regulus' eyes to the open view on the astronomy tower but he's not in the position he fell asleep in. When he fell into dreams last night, his back was to the railing and he was staring at Canis Major, his brother's constellation. Now he's on his side and there's something soft under his head.

He scowls a bit and sits up to look. It's a small lump of red he'd know anywhere, his boyfriend's jumper. His jaw drops as he looks down to his legs where he'd mostly kicked off the blanket laid over his legs. The 'blanket' in question was no doubt a school robe transfigured to be something more comfortable to sleep under.

There's a note too, right next to the make-shift pillow and a small cup of tea. Regulus furrows his brow and picks up the parchment.

'Hey Love,' it reads in Potter's impossibly scratchy penmanship. Regulus feels his throat burn with emotion and keeps reading.

'I don't know what happened or if I did something wrong. I know I can be a bit of a prat without realizing it. You seemed upset last night, but I didn't want to disturb your sleep. Merlin knows you don't sleep enough. I hope it was a bit more comfortable like this.

I'd like to talk when you're ready. It's been a bit since I've seen you, and I miss you something fierce (but what else is new?)

See you soon, Starlight - Your handsome and possibly repentant dearest

p.s. the tea has a stasis charm on it. It should still be hot when you wake'

Regulus groans and rubs his hand down his face. With a lazy Finite he releases the charm on the tea and takes a sip.

It's prefect.

James knows exactly how he takes his tea—two sugars, no cream, and a splash of lemon.

He doesn't know why he's surprised, Potter has made him tea before but suddenly he's crying again. Completely without permission, tears are betraying him and leaking down his cheek.

What kind of impossibly thoughtful prat is James? Regulus gives him the cold shoulder and ignores him for days and Potter still basically tucks him in to bed and gives him tea to wake to in the morning. And he'd assumed it was his fault!

Regulus feels awful. A familiar swirling pit of dreadful guilt is threatening to draw him under the surface and suffocate him. He doesn't feel he deserves this kindness. He's tired of making his partner upset. He's tired of feeling a disconnect from people. How is any of this fair? How is it fair that he's uniquely maudlin and upsetting to be around?

Still, James brought him tea. He found Regulus in his hiding spot, like he always seems to do, and he made an effort to show him he's loved and cared for. Potter even left his precious jumper here for him to rest on.

Regulus sniffles and wipes off the tears. He throat is tight and his eyes still burn, but he refuses to be weighed down by self-pity in this moment. No, he has a mission.

The Gryffindor common seems empty, and it ought to be this early in the morning. The house elves are probably just now rising to make breakfast, and the Great Hall won't have students in it for hours. The castle, for once, is quiet.

He'd intended to leave the 'blanket' and jumper in the common room and go back to his own, but when he goes to lie them on the table, he sees a birds nest of hair propped up on the arm on one of the couches.

Sleeping with his head at a doubtless uncomfortable angle and a blank piece of parchment gripped in his hand, Potter is out like a light in the middle of his common room. There's drool on his chin and he's snoring like a roaring lion.

What's he doing down here? And why did he fall asleep like that? It looks like an accident, actually, like he'd been trying to stay awake and failed perhaps.

Regulus frowns and with a wrench of his heart hopes James wasn't staying up for him.

Still, his boyfriend's neck is crooked in a way that will surely be painful if he stays there too long, and though he is loath to wake him and deal with emotional turmoil at this current moment, Regulus can't leave James like that after he came up to help in the Astronomy Tower last night.

With a tired sigh, he moves the parchment to the table and attempts to gently, slowly pull Potter farther down without waking him. He gets his boyfriend's head off its twisted perch on the arm of the couch, but then James is shooting up with a grumbling, confused, "Huh?"

He stops still and watches as Potter blinks away the sleep from his eyes. When he finally seems to understand where his is what's going on, he looks at Regulus and his face spread with a pleased, bright smile. "Hey, Love," he greets, voice gravelly from sleep.

He stomach cinches, and the bubbling guilt mixes with the lovely warm sunlight feeling Regulus gets around his boyfriend. He doesn't understand why James is so happy to see him after last night.

"Hi," he replies weakly.

The bright grin drops yet again, turning into a confused frown. Ah, there it is, the inevitable moment Regulus ruins everything.

"Are you alright?" James asks with that patented, concerned but warm expression on his face. Too bloody good for him.

"I'm fine," Regulus answers, clipped and emotionless.

"But you were upset last night," Potter starts, "I don't know if I did something wrong or—"

"You're fine, Merlin," Regulus interrupts with an eye roll he knows is coming off defensive, "My problems aren't yours to solve. You don't have to look after me constantly."

"But I want to," James replies quizzically, like the thought of not helping hadn't even occurred to him. Then, soft and patient he asks, "Please, will you tell me what's going on?"

Regulus doesn't know how to explain that feeling that creeps up on him like it's disillusioned until suddenly you feel like you're the least important person on the planet. He doesn't understand why he wakes up sometimes and it feels like everything hurts. Other people's joy feels like a personal affront and their unhappiness feels like it's all his fault. It doesn't make sense, but there are days where it feels like all the world's misery is centered on him and anything he touches will be poisoned by his touch.

"It's stupid," Regulus mumbles, looking down at his feet.

"Well, you tell me almost everything I do is stupid, so I should be an expert on the subject," James jokes assuringly. It's meant to make him feel better, but all it does is make Regulus feel more guilt. Why does Potter want him when all he does insult and upset him?

He swallows down the tightness in his throat, still not looking at his boyfriend and says, "It's not important."

James grabs his hand and tangles their finger together, then with a small, reassuring smile he requests, "Tell me anyway. Blimey, you listen to me whinge about Quidditch and Padfoot and Potions. It's no trouble for me to return the favor, promise."

"I..." Regulus trails off. This doesn't seem like something his partner is going to let go, but he doesn't know how to explain anything properly. This is all in his head, his own torrent of dread and pain. It's intangible and larger than even he understands, but he supposes he can try at least. "Have you ever wondered how long it would take for people to notice if you simply disappeared?" he asks. James furrows his brow in further confusion and Regulus sighs. "No, of course you haven't. If you went missing for even 10 minutes, my brother would send out your entire house as a search party."

"Do you think we wouldn't notice if you disappeared?" James asks and its dripping with a hurt that Regulus feels biting shame for pushing on him yet again.

Why does he only hurt people?

"Would you?" Regulus questions under his breath, "Would anyone?"

"Of course we would," James states, firm and resolute, Gryffindor fire on full display, "Me and Sirius both notice when you're not around. We were worried when you didn't show up to dinner last night."

Regulus shakes his head. He's not explaining this properly. "That's not—It's not the same—Ugh," he tips his head back and blinks away the burning in his eyes. "It's different I..." he stares at a portrait high on the wall, "You wouldn't understand what it's like. Everyone loves you, your whole house, the professors, my bloody brother, but people don't see me that way. I'm no one's first choice. You and Sirius have each other, Barty and Evan, Pandora and Xeno." Regulus feels the tears coming despite how he fights them. With bitterness in his voice he continues, "My entire life, I've been the spare. I'm there, but I'm not important. People barely notice when I'm gone, and even if I am there, I just make people upset. I'm like venom to everyone around me and—"

"Stop," James interrupts, standing to look down in his eyes, "None of that is true, Reg. So many people care about you. Why do you think they don't?"

"They care as much as it suits them," Regulus sneers, "but I'll never be anyone's favorite. Mother and Sirius fight constantly, but she still cares more about him. We're dating, but I know even you'd choose him over me if it came down—"

"That's not true," James asserts, holding the sides of his face and looking directly in his eyes to tell him, "Regulus you are so bloody important. I can't believe you don't know how much. Relationships aren't an either-or. You can care about more than one person at once and so many people care about you, me and your brother especially."

"I'm tired of being second choice," Regulus whispers, sniffling a bit as he tears are wiped away by Potter's thumbs, "You don't understand what it's like, James, to know everyone else has someone better for them. Sirius makes you happier than I do. Merlin, as soon as you saw me yesterday, you looked at me like I'd killed your pet."

"You were crying!" James defends.

"But I always make you upset!" Regulus argues, pushing away the hands on his face, "I know I'm difficult. I know I'm emotional and off-putting. There's a reason people don't like me."

"I like you!" James argues, sounding angry now, "You bloody idiot, I love you and so does Sirius! I'm willing to bet your friends do too! You don't have to happy all the time for people to care about you."

"I'm tired of making everyone around me upset!" Regulus argues, "Look what I've done right now!"

"I'm upset because you don't understand how much you mean to me, you prat!" James exclaims, "You've obviously been feeling like this for a while and you didn't tell me. If you'd have talked to me, if you'd told me you were feeling like this, I would've told you a lot sooner that you mean that bloody world to me. I always notice when you're not around. I'm thinking about you almost every bloody second of the day, but I didn't want to suffocate you. I know I come on strong and I thought you'd hate it if I was bothering you all the time."

"What?" Regulus breathes, confused and still teary-eyed.

"Yeah!" James yells, "You're my favorite bloody person. I love you so much it hurts. I can't believe you don't think I'd choose you."

"But my brother—"

"Is my best mate," James cuts in, "and I would be absolutely gutted without him, but it's not the same thing. He has Moony—and he would never ask me to choose anyway! Sirius knows how much we mean to each other; that's why he isn't throwing a fit about us dating anymore. He knows you and I need each other like Sirius and I need each other. It's not mutually exclusive."

"He makes you happier," Regulus points out weakly.

"Sometimes," James huffs, throwing his arms out in frustration, "but sometimes he's a git that makes me want to tear my hair out. Sometimes I want to hex him stupid, but that doesn't mean I love him any less, and being concerned about you being upset is absolutely not a sign that you don't make me happy too because you do, every bloody day."

"It's not fair," Regulus tries, "You're always looking after me and dealing with my moods. I don't do that for you."

"You do, just not in that same way. Maybe I'm not as outwardly emotional, but that doesn't mean I don't go to you when I'm upset. Merlin, you kept me from falling apart after that rubbish prank Sirius pulled on Snape."

"Because he wasn't around to do it," Regulus mutters irritably.

"I love Pads, but he's not always the greatest at comforting people. Sometimes, being around you is the only thing that makes me feel calm and safe. You and Pads are so different, and that's what I love about you both. Sure, he'll pull pranks and have fun with me, but you're the only thing that makes me feel like I can breathe on bad days. I need you, Regulus, and the fact that you don't know that hurts."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, looking back at his feet, that dreadful guilt making it feel like he might suffocate soon.

"Oi, no!" James exclaims, "Don't do that. I'm not telling you to make you feel bad. I'm telling you because I want you to tell me when you're feeling things like this. I know it's not something that can be fixed like magic, but I want to comfort you when I can."

"Isn't that tiring?" Regulus asks, "Isn't constantly monitoring my emotional state exhausting? You shouldn't have to do that."

"Says the boy that ran away to the Astronomy Tower because I frowned at him," James points out, half-joking. Regulus glares at him and Potter shakes his head. "Honestly, I'm not bothered. It gives me an excuse to tell you how much I love you more often, which is one of my favorite activities. You'd be doing me a favor, really."

Despite himself, Regulus snorts a bit. "You're ridiculous."

"Mmhmm," James nods, coming closer, "and you're amazing and beautiful and clever and—"

"Stop."

James grins and wraps his arms around his center. "Nope, you brought this on yourself. Apparently I've missed out on giving you enough affection, and I've got to make up for it. Now, it's compliments galore for my handsome, sweet, passionate, brilliant—"

"I will hex you," Regulus warns with a threatening eyebrow raised.

"Worth it," James smiles, "No partner of mine is going around thinking I don't absolutely love them to pieces. It was an oversight on my part, and it must be amended. What would my mum think, knowing you didn't think you were my favorite person?"

"You don't have to pretend like—"

"I'm not pretending," James says, mirthful but emphatic, "If anything, I was pretending not to be absolutely mental about you before. Y'know, to keep you from getting scared off."

Regulus narrows his eyes and grumbles, "You're exaggerating."

"You're underestimating me, Love," James murmurs, resting their foreheads together, "When I do something, I do with my whole heart, and that includes loving you."

"Corny," he complains, scrunching his nose.

"Yeah, it's me," James grins before placing a soft kiss against his lips.

"Yeah," Regulus sighs, "I still don't think I'm good for you."

"You're allowed to be wrong," James quips, "Just promise you won't hide this stuff from my anymore, alright? We could both do with talking more about what's making us upset, yeah?"

"I suppose," Regulus huffs, "Don't think I'm going to be professing my every passing thought and feeling to you though."

"No, I know that," James tells him, big beautiful hazel eyes looking into his, "Just let me help when I can, yeah? And I'll do the same with you. I want to be a team, helping each other and all that rot."

"That...works for me," Regulus agrees. When Potter grins at him, all smug and all too satisfied, he decides kissing him would be a good way to shut him up for now.

And times goes on. The dark of night is broken by the sun and the daylight eventually get swallowed to let the stars shine in the sky. Over and over, the cycle goes. The only constant in time is change, and there's some magic in that, isn't there?

Regulus gets like this sometimes. He feels as if nobody cares about him, nobody wants him. He'll loves someone so much, they'll replace him. It's happened to many times to even count.

Regulus walks in his dorm, exhausted from the day, his heart aching. All he wants to do, is curl up in a ball and let his imagination take him somewhere different.

"Evan?" No. Not Evan. Regulus wants to reply, but he knows if he spoke his voice would only come out high pitched, broken. So instead, he opens the curtains to his bed just enough for him to slip in and shuts them behind him. "Reg?" Regulus doesn't reply once again, he simply burys himself in his duvets, hoping Barty will catch on and shut up.

Suddenly, breaking through Regulus' mind is the sound of footsteps leading over to his bed. The curtain opens, light streaming in.

"Oh, hi. I was hoping Evan was back." Those words stab Regulus' mind like a needle, peircing it's way through.

"Go find him then." Regulus says, taking his curtain back and shoving it close.

"Merlin, okay?" Barty says, and Regulus hears his feet pad to the door, opening it up and closing it.

Regulus eventually falls into a light, mindless sleep. Pandora wakes him when it's dinner time, and he shrugs her off, telling her he's not in the mood.

Soon, he leaves his room, eyes red with unfallen tears.

He has to say something to James. What's going on? Why does nobody want him?

He sits in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for everyone to be done with supper, and he just thinks. Is James really being different or is it his mind playing tricks on him? Why is his best friend replacing him? Maybe this is a dumb idea, maybe he should just go back to bed, push down his feelings and ignore them.

As he starts to get up, he hears the sound he loves the most. James' barking laugh as he enters the common room.

Regulus' eye nearly twitches when he sees how happy James is, his stomach clenches and his heart throbs. He can tell how rough he must look, but nobody can outshine the sun.

When James' eyes catch a glance at Regulus, his smile almost instantly drops and this is Regulus' last straw. Tears drip down his face, he pushes past his brother and his boyfriend, wishing he was somewhere else.

Why can his brother give James so much joy, but just the sight of Regulus makes him unhappy? Why can Sirius make James shine brighter, but Regulus rains on him, making his bright yellow dark brown?

The portrait closes tightly around, nobody follows him. Where does he even go? He doesn't want to be around his friends. He doesn't even know if he can call them his friends.

So, instead of going somewhere with tons of people, he goes outside in the deep, cool night of December. He climbs all the way to the top of the Astronomy tower and falls asleep. Nobody comes for him. Nobody even cares.

[soildmud]

reading inky mystery

good morning y’all, it is currently 3AM right now and i have developed some very strong opinions about inky mystery that i need to projectile vomit onto the internet. this is gonna be like a book review so i have some disclaimers/warnings:

#1: this “review” is not intended for the author, TAP, or anyone directly involved with the writing of IM. this is readers-only!

#3: i will most likely say very few positive things about the fic so if you don’t want to see negative remarks about your fav fic/story, maybe don’t read this. and also if you can’t handle strong language.

#4: i have not read all of IM, and there is a reason why. i will explain later on but i don’t need anyone to try and avoid spoilers. i don’t care for this fic enough to worry about that. talk to your heart’s content, i want to hear what y’all have to say!!!!

#5: i still enjoy inky mystery and its concepts and the overall story ideas. i think it’s fun and a cool spin on the original qftim au (an au that had so much potential and such shitty execution) and love how the fic has created an entire community around it! don’t get this twisted, i got nothing against IM or TAP.

now i’m gonna put the “review” (more like a rant) under a cut so as to not take up space on people’s dashes more than i already have lol—have fun!!

with such an interesting and promising premise, inky mystery has so far been a frustrating disappointment. i started reading it a while ago (had to stop because of school) and picked up again last night, hoping to get further into the fic and reach the parts that seem to be much more compelling than the exposition. i’m only on chapter 20 and already want to just stop reading it altogether. the more i progress through this the more i think to myself, “is this fic even worth reading 2.5 million words and 335 chapters?” as i’ve come to the beginning of chapter 21, i’m starting to think it most definitely is not.

obviously the biggest criticism is the length. there is absolutely no reason for why this fic is like 3 times longer than the fucking BIBLE. twelve “books” for what? to leave us in the same spot of the plot for the fifth time in a row when the conflict could have been resolved in almost half a chapter? the over-explanation of everything and the placement of practically useless dialogue is excruciating. i don’t understand how having chapter long bits of the warner shenanigans was necessary; i get it was meant for comedy but i don’t think they should dragged any longer than like a paragraph. their dialogue gets old incredibly fast, and it’s just a hinder to the fic’s flow. and before anyone says anything—I HAVE WATCHED ANIMANIACS BEFORE. in fact, i used to be obsessed with them and watched every episode until it stopped airing in 2014. i know they’re supposed to be the way they are in the fic but Holy SHIT DUDE. SHUT THEM THE FUCK UP ALREADY.

listen. i know this was originally written in 2017, but if you’re still updating this into 2024, at this point you need to remake the whole fic and shorten it. the way the author is updating the fic with basically filler makes me feel like they care more about creating content for their readers rather than actually writing a coherent narrative. you don’t need to take down the OG fic but there has got to be a way to shorten it so it doesn’t take literally a week straight to finish the fic in one sitting.

anyways. apart from that, i need to say that the writing style is so juvenile in a way that feels aggravating. i read the most recent chapter to see if anything changed and while it certainly improved in small ways, i feel like TAP still hasn’t learned how to not make sentences like four words long and dialogue sequences that don’t make up half the chapter. i also feel like the narrative is just…holding the readers hand and explaining every little thing like they expect the reader not to have any media literacy at all. i don’t need to know explicitly that boris and bendy are tired from walking for hours, i knew that from your narration mentioning their legs aching and them getting mucky from clambering in the forest.

next, i hate the random inclusion of unnecessary characters. the way the two detectives seem to only show up when it’s convenient and how the warners were used basically like a deus ex machina is frustrating. don’t introduce so many characters with so much detail and then have them show up like twice. i don’t know how to explain this because it’s almost 4AM now and my brain is foggy but god. when those two fox characters were randomly introduced at the end of idk what chapter to have a completely useless conversation with the detectives i felt so annoyed. i don’t know if they have any real significance later on in the story (and i don’t mean that they show up to say hi later) and honestly i cannot be bothered to find out if they do, but if they don’t, that entire section of the chapter was fucking stupid. let your MAIN CHARACTERS learn information from other sources for the love of god.

in the end, i don’t know if i’ll ever finish Inky Mystery, at least not anytime soon. i had fun at the start and now i’m just annoyed and frustrated. also, to the wiki people, PLEASE MAKE CHAPTER SUMMARIES AND SHIT—IT WOULD BE A DREAM FOR THOSE OF US WHO DON’T WANT TO SIT THROUGH 2.5 MILLION WORDS FOR PLOT AND STORY!!!!

also, i am not claiming to be a better writer or have superior knowledge to TAP. i think TAP is good at writing, but has some flaws that really limit their full potential. i myself am an amateur writer with no training or anything, but i am a reader, so that’s why i’m yapping.

ALSO ALSO, i am not doing this to shit on TAP or IM or anyone who likes this story and everything. like i said, i actually like IM and really want to get into it so i can make fanart and everything, but it has been a struggle and i want to voice that because this is my blog and i use it like a virtual diary. i will continue to skim and push through IM, and will most definitely use it as a learning tool for my own au, SITP.

again, this review was made with zero malice in mind. however if anyone wants to say anything i’m 100% open to conversation, and if this reaches TAP’s screen somehow, please know i’m not trying to be a hater!!! i love your ideas and the community you’ve created, promise!!!! i’m done now cus i’m tired and need to sleep so bye to anybody who read through this beast of a post lol plus i don’t have the energy to write all i wanted to say. sorry if there’s any mistakes i’m falling asleep as i write LMAO

bye!!!!!!

[outsiders-apo]

Hello again!

Sorry, I forgot that you wouldn't know what I meant by 'text'. I, and at least a few other voices here can see you like text on a screen. When you started being able to talk to us without Owen, it appeared like another screen option to click on. The text appears different for each person talking too. On your screen, you talking appears as plain black text, as does Owen on his. When we see you through the other's screen though, your text is red and his is orange. Rasbi appears purple on both screens. The text can be different sizes, bolded, or italicized depending on the tone of what you say.

The glitched text, however, is covered in strange symbols and glitches that trail off to the top and bottom, often obscuring other text. It is visibly very different from any other text.

Also, since it seems different for every voice, I thought I'd share? I do have a lot of other screens I can interact with. Hundreds of thousands, actually, and most of them I have never clicked. Some are text, like yours, and others are like videos. Some allow me to interact, and others I am merely a spectator. A lot of them are from entirely different worlds, or maybe universes, as well. Where the rules are different for life and sometimes even death is considered a temporary minor annoyance. On many occasions I have encountered multiple of the same person, too! In different worlds, and leading different lives, but unmistakably the same person with same name and face. Usually, they aren't aware of any other versions of themselves, but there are exceptions.

There are many voices out there like me too, I have encountered tens of thousands, even in just the 15-20 worlds I've seen.

Wow, this got a lot longer than I originally intended. Sorry about any potential information overload. -Purple Voice

Hey, Purple Voice! This looks like a lot, so I'm just gonna respond to it as best I can, yeah?

...Okay, first off: you see how we talk through text on a screen. That's... interesting. I guess I always assumed you could hear us? The colored text thing- that's really interesting. So I showed up as a separate application of sorts? Another page from Owen's? I guess that makes sense, as does the colored text thing. If I'm on Owen's screen, you guys would need a way to differentiate, as well as him on mine. So it sounds like the black text is kind of the default for whoever's talking, whoever's in charge? And Rasbi is purple. Interesting.

Woah, so if I STARTED YELLING REALLY LOUD, it would look different than if I were to whisper? Interesting. Really really interesting.

Oh, I remember the glitched text- that's what it looks like to you when Owen gets all static-y. Yeah. "Strange symbols"... huh. Is it anything like Vex Voice? Because I've noticed that Vex Voice sounds different from all the others too. Not static-y like the apparent "glitched text", but more... warbly, kind of. Like you're hearing them from underwater.

Oh! What it's like for you as a Voice! Yeah, I was always a little bit confused by that. You all seem the same to us, how can you all be so different? Some of you are ghosts, some of you are real people with real lives- it's a little bit crazy, the diversity among you. It sets my head reeling a little bit, I'll be honest.

"Other screens"... and you described talking to Owen and talking to me as "screens". Gotcha.

That's... that's a little bit crazy, actually. I'm guessing our screens are the text variety, from what you've said? That's actually insane. I can't imagine... hundreds of thousands? I have never... that's a little bit concerning, actually. That makes my head hurt, thinking about that.

Death as a minor annoyance? What?! That's... holy shit, man, that's certainly something else. Multiple of the same person? Are there... are there more than one of me? More than one Owen?

Wait. Holy shit.

Pastry Voice- I overheard them talking to Owen the other day, mentioning how one of his "brothers" had just gotten a "happy ending." Is that... is this what they meant by that? That's... this is a lot, but in a good way, a really good way! This is ridiculously helpful, Purple Voice, you have no idea. This... yeah, this really opened my eyes.

Wow.

That's... a little bit- a lot bit actually. That's ridiculously out of this world insane crazy.

And no worries about information overload- this was all super helpful. Thank you so much.

...

Wow.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

EXCUSE ME, you can't talk about that sub!Steve x Bucky fic in your tags for that post and not share! Holy shit, it sounds amazing and I want to read it!

related to these tags on this post

gif credit @/stevenrogered

That wasn't actually a particular fic that I read and could now recommend. It's just a thought that was in my head! I mean- maybe it's just the dom in me but, yeah... 👀 the idea of two subs just being absolutely useless while together is too fucking much.

Just, like, two subs, melting into each other; whining and panting into each other's sweaty skin, handing desperately grabbing at any part of the other's body they can. Both of them are squirming badly to try and get something done but it doesn't ever work- getting too distracted by the other's soft, pretty mouth to get too far into that half-formed plan. 🥴🥴

And with those two photoshoots of Chris and Seb in @fishcustardandclintbarton 's original post in mind...

Putting the rest of this under the cut because it got out of control and is way longer than I intended lol

I'm picturing these two subs, Steve and Bucky, as being unable to keep their hands off of each other after a night of straight-up fucking foreplay at a bar.

You know how it goes:

Dancing way too close, sweaty, with sneaking hands under skimpy clothing that only gets rucked up and pushed out of place to expose more the more they move together. Bucky's hands find Steve's fuzzy tits and abs under his flannel shirt that's been left open with stained white tank top under it, his ratty tank was at one point tucked into his belt with its chunky buckle shining in the low light but it's not anymore. Instead, there's a pretty big gap between his shirt and and his boot-cut, worn-from-work jeans- a delicious slice of skin for Bucky's eyes to devour, the v of his hips sharp and well-defined.

Then, God, soon enough Steve's huge hands find their way to Bucky's slick, summer tanned, dust-dirty skin too. Slipping under his thin, practically see-through shirt and down his tight pants, the bottoms of which have been stuffed into cowboy boots. The mark of a city boy that ran away from his home the second he turned 18 and is now trying to fit in here. Nothing but a pretty young face and a brand-new farmers tan; just a hand for hire, just trying to be rugged. Bucky’s gotten close to looking like a local but he's not quite there.

Steve's from 'round here originally and he fits right in (almost, he fits in here except for his like for getting a dick in his mouth so much that he'd do it for free but gets paid for it whenever possible, taking in all those sad John's that're too deep in the closet to find their way out). Well, not 'round, 'round here exactly...

Here is the only gay bar for miles and miles.

Steve is just from this state. Not the bar itself. And the bar...

It's a grimy little dive bar. Packed with all the fellas and gals and folks in between or beyond that everyone else will pretend they don't recognize once the sun comes up. For now though... the lights beat down on them like heat-lamps, cooking them and giving the heavy, humid air a raunchy, red color. It tints their vision and their emotions, turning everything into want. Seek and destroy.

It's so hot in the packed bar that there might as well be steam rising off them both with the way they're sweating. Sweating from all their dancing- grinding on the dance floor. Closer than they should be in public. Especially the public of these parts...

Steve buys the first round for them, watching with heavy, dark eyes as Bucky downs it like it's water. Like it's nothing. His throat bobbing, head leaned way back.

When he finishes, throwing the glass back down against the counter... he licks his lips, smirking. There's a wild look in his eyes too. Those pretty eyes that he can't quite tell the color of under the heat-lamp lights.

Steve's throat is dry enough suddenly that he's glad to have not taken his shot yet. He does, downing it with a wince.

Bucky instantly orders two more for them each. Cheers-ing him and taking it right to the face.

Steve is somehow already dizzy. The alcohol going right to his veins, no chaser.

And now re-hydrated, they go back out to the dance floor. Grinding closer, sweating more, swearing under their breath as the tension grows and grows. Shouting at each other over the other people and pounding music. They're hoping to hear the other's flirting fully but neither of them ever gets all of it until-

"DO YOU SMOKE!?"

"CHOKE!? I'M NOT CHOKING?"

"SMOKE! DO YOU SMOKE?" Bucky shouts again, his hand disappearing off of Steve's ass to find and rattle a carton he's gotten from... somewhere. Not from anywhere in his pants. Steve's felt him completely up, there was nowhere those pants weren't skin tight to his body.

Not that it matters where the fuck he got those smokes because, hell yeah, Steve wants a smoke. He wants that nicotine buzz and he wants to see Bucky's mouth wrapped 'round one of 'em. Bad.

He wants it bad.

"YEAH!" Steve shouts, nodding exaggeratedly so Bucky can see even if he can't hear.

Together, they go outside.

Bucky grabs his hand to lead them and Steve squeezes his back so they don't get separated in the pulsing crowd. They leave out the back exit next to the bathrooms that, if all else failed, Steve had thought about dragging Bucky into to f-

Do what about every other person that comes out of the bathrooms looks like they were doing. Clothes askew. Hair messy. Blush or bite marks decorating their skin.

Bucky shakes one out of the carton and lights it up, not offering Steve a second but instead taking a drag off his now lit one, then handing it off to Steve. Steve inhales shakily, not because he's never smoked - he's currently "quit" - but because there's a difference here. When Bucky's taste is so fresh on the smoke it's different.

The taste goes into his lungs, hazy and slow. He exhales. Inhales again. Blinking soft and slow. His head usually spins less as a result of these things but... now that he's smoking this unbelievably attractive and not-completely-strange stranger's cigarette? His head is spinning more.

They share the whole cigarette.

Breathing in each other's smoke and taking it deep into their chests, yet their breathing still remains uneven. Sweat drying on their skin. The burn of shots sizzling in the back of their throats.

Steve gets the last drag as he leans against the brick wall in the dim-lit, dirty alley at the veeeery end of town. Lungs and skin buzzing, he moans as he lets go of the last drag in a cloud because Bucky has his mouth on his neck, his fist curled so tight in his tank top that one of his nipples is exposed, peaked and hard like its cold out despite the sweltering summer night.

Bucky snatches the smoldering cigarette from between Steve's fingers, only the filter left, and flicks it away, stomping on it with his boot to put it out. One elegant move. Almost like he's practiced it, like putting out a cigarette is the new art of seduction.

Steve swallows.

There's a moment of silence.

Crickets complain of the humidity somewhere out in the darkness that envelops the rest of their surroundings beyond the back porch light of the underground, shady gay bar.

Quickly though, the silence explodes into kissing that tastes like smoke and alcohol and sweat. Steve moans into Bucky's mouth. The other man groans back, attacking him that much harder. But they just keeps kissing, Bucky's mouth stays a little slack, like he's expecting Steve to fuck his tongue in between his lips. Steve is expecting Bucky to take control though. He's- he's never on the other side of it. He's always the one taking and he likes it that way. He doesn't know how to give. And it seems like Bucky doesn't know how to give either. Why would he? Looking like that, why would he ever have to lift a finger... both of them might be something of pillow princesses. Maybe...

Their kissing is wet and messy. They keep moaning. Groaning. Gasping.

They keep coming to a stop with their messy kissing because they're both breathing too hard, fighting the thick night air and the arousal boiling up inside them. Steve pants hard against Bucky's lips. His mouth is tingling. His body is buzzing. He's hungry. He bites Bucky's bottom lip. Bucky moans in shock and recovers enough to bite him back, hands squeezing tighter around his forearms. And just like that, they both remember they have hands-

Fuck, yes.

Their hands roam viciously. Bucky slides his hands up his forearms to his shoulders, and around the back of his neck. Steve does the same with his own hands. They're chest to chest. Hearts both pounding.

Steve doesn't know who started the kissing or who got handsy again first, all he knows is that both are back and both are good. So much better than just dancing. So much better than breathing in each other's smoke.

Suddenly Steve’s leaned up against the wall tighter, harder than when he'd been smoking and leaning against it. Tighter not because Bucky is pushing him into the wall as he kisses him senseless but because Bucky is melting into him. His knees going weak just like Steve's own are. Pushing into each other.

Steve squeezes the back then the front of Bucky's neck as he melts forward. Bucky moans when the pressure comes to the front of his neck. His lips slip from where they were slotted against Steve's own down to his jaw, hungrily mouthing at him there. Oh. Exposing his neck more for more of that, Steve loses all ability to give a fuck about anything but this.

Right up until-

"Ay!" a voice breaks into the hot night air like the sound of two hands clapping together without warning.

They're shaken out of their lust, freezing in place.

The person, obscured by shadows mutters something to them about how they don't need another reason for the boys in blue to come sniffing 'round. No extra attention so no free shows outside the bar. There's a hotel down the way though. If you gotta.

One of them nods stiffly at the person as they keep on doing their thing- taking out the trash maybe?

They're startled but grateful to have been warned as opposed to beat or arrested or whatever hellish other thing might happen in this particular area. However, they're too into one another to really lose the heat, the hardness pressed up against the other's body, and so without a word between them... they understand they're going to the hotel. Steve knows the one the shadowed person is talking about. And the name "hotel" is generous. More a run-down motel than anything else. At least Steve knows they actually wash their sheets. And there's a couple a' rooms that have jacuzzi tubs... a few with mirrored ceilings too, just like you see in big cities with the glitz, the glam, the pretty fucking people just like the pretty boy Steve has in front of him.

Oh, Lord.

It's a struggle to get to the motel without giving away what is going on too much. But they do it. Stumbling under few and far between working, buzzing streetlights.

When they finally get checked in and pile on in, their bodies hit the shitty, squeaky mattress with enough force to bounce. Bucky is on bottom first but he squirms enough trying to get out of his shoes that they end up more side-by-side on the bed. Devesting themselves of their clothing in a mad dash. Bucky has one boot off. Steve has both off. Thats as far as they get before they both give up on their clothes. What the hell does it matter? They're already sweaty enough that the outfits will need to be washed twice and they both have a near literal puddle of pre-cum wetting their underwear so a little messy grinding doesn't matter. It doesn't feel bad. No. It doesn't feel bad, not even though the fabric is rough and heavy. No. It feels so good.

Squirming against each other on the bed without one of them moving to roll over on top and take control of the situation, they just stay locked together on their sides, pawing at each other. Grinding against each other with more desperation than technique. Panting into each other's mouths rather than talking and negotiating who's gonna do what here.

Words are a waste of breath.

Breath that feels so much better fanning out over skin, heavy and panting on sweaty skin. Breath that keeps being punched out of lungs in moans and gasps and whines.

They're both wearing too many clothes, fabric getting caught and tangling them up so, so close. Their necklaces too, keep getting caught up. It makes Bucky laugh recklessly, their hands fighting between their heaving chests. Steve's necklace is a cross on a chain leftover from when he actively tried to be the same as everyone else in the town he comes from, including prayin' and goin' to church, and Bucky's fashionable, pretty necklace from his days as a dangerous and salacious city boy- a thin string of leather that hangs down below his pretty collarbones under his stretched out shirt. He might've shoplifted it from some big-name, chain store that could survive without in as he made his way out here. To the middle of fucking nowhere.

It doesn't matter. Their necklaces don't matter. Their clothes don't matter. All that matters is that they're just as tangled as those fucking necklaces, in the way of each others pleasure like their clothes are in the way because together they're useless. Moving recklessly against each other. Grabbing and kissing. Spit mixing. Lust growing hotter and hotter until with a whine that's truly pathetic and shoves a spear of heat through Bucky’s gut, Steve gets his hands un-fisted from Bucky's already stretched shirt to shove the heel of one against Bucky's pants.

The bulge of his election under hand is so fucking satisfying. In the most animal way.

"Fuck!" Bucky moans, now even more desperate. He grinds hard into Steve's hand. Shaking. Trembling. He can feel the friction in his teeth. God.

So good.

Steve's hand is hot and heavy against him. His hips grind harder. Dirtier.

Although, before Bucky can get his shit together enough to throw Steve's dirty game back at him, getting a hand on the fucking huge bulge of his cock in his on-the-way-to-being-ruined jeans, Steve squirms down.

Bucky groans in complaint as Steve squirms and takes his hand off his aching dick.

Steve shoves his face against Bucky's bulge instead of his hand the second he's low enough on the creaky, uncomfortable hotel bed.

Bucky moans.

Steve shoves his face against Bucky's bulge and fucking nuzzles him like a kitten. Mouthing at his cock through the denim. Hot and humid. His tongue lavs over the shape of him through his clothes.

Shit.

It's so much. It's not enough.

Bucky wants to growl and grip his hair and demand for him to use his mouth to take his pants off with his teeth then really blow him like he thinks he should, based on how sex usually goes when he's the one in Steve's position, but he can't make himself do anything but grab weakly at Steve's shoulders and make useless little sounds in the back of his throat. Choked. Whimpered. Pathetic. He's just drowning in it. Drowning in the naughty pleasure. This shouldn't be so hot. This shouldn't be so hot! They're just grinding and acting all helpless like they're fucking teenagers again. Unskilled and just going with what feels the best.

It. Feels. So. Good.

Steve's face smashed up against his throbbing erection. Moaning and franctic with it. Continuing to mouth at him as his hands fail terribly at peeling Bucky out of his too-tight jeans. Unable to get a grip on them and tug them down. Unable to get what he wants and now whimpering, fuck, no, he's crying about it now.

It's so filthy and desperate. Steve is just trying to blow him but he's too fucking horny and fuck-dumb to figure it out as he grinds himself against Bucky's shin. It's so filthy. It's so desperate. It's so good that Bucky is cumming before he wants to admit it, biting on his full lower lip until he tastes copper.

It's okay, Steve can lick it off and out of his mouth later. Dirty and slutty.

Through the rest of the night and into the morning, they get into lots more of trouble. Steve gets hard again first and can't help himself from grinding into the bed. It's encouraged by Bucky, who grabs the pillow at the top of the bed, slipping it between Steve's legs... Steve, with heavy eyelids and an a lazy-open mouth, goes to town whimpering until Bucky can't help but grind up into the heel of his own hand watching.

They make out in the tub, side-by-side, trying to lean into each other, trying to sit in the others lap but not getting anywhere.

They sit in the jacuzzi tub with the jets going and touch each other's slick, wet bodies. Admiring the way water runs over muscles and skin and the other's pretty face. Taking full advantage of their nakedness.

They take turns fingering each other. Encouraging the other saying, yeah, yeah, yeah, feels good, could you just- because they're never been on the other side of fingering someone else. Usually they're the ones getting fingered and running off of the blueprint of what feels good when they're on the bottom.

They rut against each other's slick thighs, once they get naked for slipping into the tub and they don't get dressed again until they leave the motel room, painting each other in cum.

Bucky begs Steve to come and get 'im whenever he needs it, find him at one of his odd jobs and get filthy while on the clock. Take a literal roll in the hay when he's done baling hay but then is stacking 'em in the barn. Maybe find him when he's chopping down those trees that aren't growing good in the woods behind the Johnson's farm. Sweaty and naked from the waist up, muscles flexing with every chop. In need of a fucking break, held up against a tree and sucked off until his eyes roll back in his head. Steve wagers that he'll only do it if Bucky comes and finds him too, when he's hanging out in back alleys, by the convent store bathrooms and showers, or by the pool at the one nice hotel they've got... waiting for a lonely John to pick him up. He won't even charge Bucky. Not for the good time they could have, talkin' about what all those filthy men have been paying Steve to do. And, hey, there's an idea. Maybe Bucky could make a lil extra cash there too. Maybe they both could. Sell themselves as a pair. Two of a kind. Two pretty, submissive boys for use... if you're lonely, we can fix that for sure.

Just overall, they are completely unable to focus on anything else but the draw of the other pretty, subby boy. It's intoxicating. And the experience of subpiling like that has kinda ruined the possiblity of hooking up with a top/dom. Unless... yeah, maybe they get a dom between the two of them some time. Someone that can order them both around and make the hard decisions that their brains get too mushy to process like who's dick goes in who's hole 👀

[suzuki-violin-school]

Dynamite Attitude

It was just supposed to be a tiw but here we are I guess, a whole new series

Masterlist

Content: swearing, yelling, desperate bakugo

“Why the hell do you think I need a fuckin’ partner?! I’m one of the top goddamn Heroes in the fuckin’ country, I can take care o’ shit on my own!”

Bakugo froze, foot readied to kick open the door.

That was his line. He was about to bust the door off its goddamn hinges and scream at the people rearranging his work schedule and fucking up his dynamic.

Who the fuck stole his line?

A little less forcefully than originally intended, he kicked the door open, met with the sight of a secretary cowering behind a clipboard and a Hero he didn’t know clearly three seconds away from tearing someone apart. Both people turned their attention to the door.

“H-Hello, Dynamight,” the secretary whimpered. “Uh- This is, uh, Y/n L/n, or, uh- Uh, Ace Shot.”

“Jesus,” Y/n muttered to herself, clearly fed up with the secretary’s stuttering and mumbling.

“This is the bitch I’m supposed to work with?!”

“Who the hell are you calling a bitch?!”

“You, bitch!”

“Fucking asshole,” Y/n grumbled, rolling her eyes and looking back at the secretary. She crossed her arms in the most confrontational way Bakugo had ever seen. He thought only he could pull off turning something mundane like crossing his arms into a threat. “You expect me to work with him?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Can you shut the fuck up?! I’m talkin’ to the little wimp over there!” Y/n whipped her attention between the two angrily. “I’m not taking up this fuckin’ offer. No way I’m working with the most violent, explosive bastard this agency's ever seen! Fuck this, I’m transferring back to my old agency, you can fucking forget about takin’ me in or whatever the fuck dumbass excuse my damn boss came up with!”

Bakugo stared, almost impressed. What the fuck was going on?

Holy shit. Is this how people feel when I start blowing up?

Y/n threw her hands in the air angrily before running her fingers through her hair. She left the room in a huff, flipping Bakugo the bird as she walked away.

Bakugo looked back at the secretary, staring defeatedly at the floor where Ace Shot had been standing.

“Who the fuck is she, anyway?” Bakugo asked, marching into the room and falling into one of the chairs heavily. “Never heard of her.”

“Ace Shot, she’s from Sapporo, her agency transferred her here because they thought we could handle her since we handle you,” the secretary sighed. “What they don’t know, I guess, is that we can barely handle you. Ugh, I wanna quit so bad right now.”

“Whose fucking idea was it to put us two together anyway?” Bakugo asked, scowling. “Whoever paired us up clearly has no fucking clue who either of are. She might even be worse than I am.”

“No,” the secretary said, far too quickly for them to register exactly what they admitted.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, would you look at that, it’s my break, I gotta go, I’ve only got fifteen minutes, sorry, bye!”

=

Y/n was standing in a hallway, leaning against a wall with her phone in hand, texting away at lightspeed.

“Oh. Hey, Ace Shot.”

“Shut the fuck up, you grenade-ass little bitch boy.”

What the actual fuck. Even I’m not this mean.

“Wanna go make out in the third floor unused janitor’s closet for half an hour?”

“Not really, I’m more in the mood to fuck your mom.”

“God, you’re hot.”

“My pinky finger is longer than your dick, go fuck that nerdy-ass little secretary.”

“How the fuck would you know how big my dick is?”

Y/n looked up from her phone to stare Bakugo dead in the eyes.

“It’s my Quirk.”

His eyes widened, and she cracked a smirk after a few seconds of terrified silence.

“Kidding, dumbass,” she said. “It’s an educated guess.”

“Let me take you on a date.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”

Y/n rolled her eyes.

“Sure, whatever. I just hope your desperation isn’t contagious, fuck-up.”

===

Taglist: (Want to be on it? Fill this out!) @sageyrage @ventini @patchworkpuzzle @sendhelpimstupid @devilgirlcrybabiey @itszero16 @niicevibe @ushijimasslut @matriarchofworms

[shitty17]

Rating every Gordon Freeman

Half life 1 gordon

Beloved and classic. Cannot beat the original! You gotta respect your roots. The man who started it all. He’s a tough quiet little redhead with a fun little pony tail. Fascinating design choices lead him to be a regular blank slate character who you can still pick out of the mass of similar ones by his iconic goatee and glasses. The early 90s art did a good job of showing you “this isn’t a giant beast of a killer man, this is your 40 something geometry teacher in a microwave with a gun” and that set the WHOLE precedent for Gordon’s character for me. The glasses, goatee, and defined cheek lines that seemed to be in every half life model at the time age him a touch more than 27, but if you stare at him long enough you can believe it. Plus, not a lot of detail to glean from a low poly model anyhow. His expression shows him as cool, level headed, and focused. He’s so fucking ORANGE holy shit. This is our very first Gordon! The fucking sexy SNATCHED little waist and chicken neck give him extra points for being a shitty little skinny legend. The metal diaper and looking like he’s about to give me detention because I spoke too loud in class docks tho.

9/10 Beloved classic Gordon who’s flaws can easily be waved away with “it was our first try”, and yet also make him a fun original stand out character.

Half life 2 Gordon

He is no longer my pain in the ass highschool teacher, he is now my bitchy gay college TA who rolls his eyes when the professor says some dumb shit and looks WAY too much like House MD if you get too close. Props for consistencey, this really is just a dolled up version of low poly Gordon. Still got his heavy brow and aged face creases so he looks more like a 30 something dad than a 27 y/o scientist, but that can be blamed on all the stress. Hes got bigger prettier eyes now. He’s still remaining cool and focused, but he’s getting upset. He’s getting distracted. He’s had enough already. And yet, he still finds it in himself to keep going. The new HEV is a VERY sexy little upgrade, maintaining core features such as keeping that waist cinched, and supporting his skinny chicken neck. Finally got RID of that diaper and replaced it with a stylish yet flirty dragon underbelly scale set. It do kinda give the vibe that his dick out tho, which is both hilarious and also pretty ballsy, pun not intended. The colors are not so orange now, which is good! Balanced it out with a lot of grey. Makes him easier to look at, but a little easier to glaze over. Everyone from my generation will know Gordon Freeman by these images, they’re iconic. A good medium between “a regular guy” and “rough tough white mchandsome fps protagonist”. Hairs a lil more of a pretty chestnut brown and still got that nice warm red tone to it. I can’t tell if these images are so iconic that it’s seen as the norm, or if I’ve seen this guys face so much that I’m used to it by now, but he does give off “just kinda of a mediocre guy design wise”. I like that about him. Gordon Freeman just being a regular dude is huge and important to his character. He’s been upgraded to be sleeker and cooler and that’s got him serious traction amongst fans but he falls a bit more to the “generic badass” bin with this. Still, a lot to love.

8/10: Brilliant, iconic, handsome, sleek, and cool to look at, but making him easy to sell action figures of detracts from his character. An upgrade visually but has yet to convince me that he really is as cool as he looks.

Half-life: Alyx

Sweet holy mother of Jesus Christ our lord.

Like. Where do I start. Okay I’ll start with the obvious. He’s cute now. He’s super fucking cute now. He no longer looks like Walter white. He looks like a young man. He looks like a barista you would get at Starbucks who’s voice has deepened from 5 years of T and he tells you to “have a nice day :)” in the sweetest of tones and you really do have a nice day because of it. He’s got big ole peepers now. His old man wrinkles have smoothed out. He’s got noticable birthmarks and freckles. His cranium is regular sized now instead of cartoonishly massive, making his hairline look less like it’s receding.

But also? The most important part? Even when he looks angry, even when he puts back on the cool focused serious look? Even when he tries to put on his classic badass look? It’s not convincing anyone any more. We know now. We know this is just a young man in a HEV suit. He’s not indestructible, he’s scared. Look at him. He clings to these weapons because they’re the only thing stopping everything else in the world from killing him. His brows are furrowed not because he’s pissed with blind rage, but because he has to focus and think and be careful or else he will get dropped. He’s hurt. He has taken damage to his suit. He is not indestructible unstoppable badass or the idol of freedom he’s been made out to be, he’s been sold as. This is a man. This is your friend. He needs your help as much as you need his. This in particular reflects the plight of society nowadays. In 2020, we have less and less faith in our governments and ruling classes, and the only faith we have left is feeling vulnerable and asking for help. This Gordon is relatable. This Gordon shows pain. This Gordon needs his family as much as they need him. This Gordon is being pushed too far, but he still says he can take it. This Gordon is way more badass.

They fucking nailed it. They made a perfect Gordon Freeman. I straight up could look at this dude for hours. He’s so cute I need to give him a bowl of soup and a kiss.

10/10. Unreal.

Bonus!

10000/10 if you squint Lamarrs eyes can look like Gordon’s eyebrows.

[so-writing]

'I didn't realize I was such an inconvenience' with Jonathan Toews

Jonathan was easily one of the best people you knew.

He was kind and intelligent and a laundry list of other positive things that charmed pretty much everyone he spoke to. You were no different, but you managed to hang around, claiming a spot in his life as one of his closest friends.

“I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t, please, shit happens.”

“Jon, I’m almost thirty and I’m begging to sleep on my best friend’s couch because my boyfriend left me for someone else.”

“He left you, as far as I’m concerned, he’s the stupid one.”

“Thank you, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I know. You don’t have to sleep on the couch though, I have several guest rooms.”

“Fucking rich people.”

The both of you chuckled at your words before he showed you to the room you’d be staying in.

“Don’t rush out of here. You’re welcome to stay as long you want.”

“Thanks so much, J, I’ll try not to be a burden.”

“You have never and will never be a burden to me.”

*

It was almost midnight and you were camped out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and the first Halloween movie playing on the television in front of you when the door burst open.

“Who is that?”

“No one,” Jon was quick to silence his flavor of the evening, “come on.”

They disappeared into his bedroom and you didn’t think about them again.

*

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she had let herself into the apartment, “Jon said you wouldn’t be.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to leave. He never said anything.”

“Hm,” she shrugged you off and made her way into his bedroom.

Jon got home twenty minutes later and barely acknowledged your existence.

*

“You’re either incredibly stupid or he hasn’t said anything.”

Her name was Haley and holy shit, she was so fucking mean to you.

“Sorry, what?”

You were in the middle of decorating the Christmas tree when she wandered out of Jon’s room and decided to begin running her mouth.

“He doesn’t want you here. He never did but he cares about you and your pathetic well being so he won’t say anything.”

The glass ornament fell out of your hands as quickly as your face dropped but you were able to recover from the latter. Broken glass surrounded the two of you as Haley scoffed and rolled her eyes before leaving the room.

Was that the truth? You’d definitely stayed with Jon much longer than you had originally planned but he hadn’t said a single thing about wanting you out. Maybe he didn’t need to, because he had Haley to pass along the message.

*

Jon pulled his newly minted fiancé into a kiss when the ball dropped while you stood alone in the kitchen throwing back an obnoxiously large shot of vodka.

“Happy fuckin’ new year,” you slurred to no one.

The party soon dispersed and people began to fill the kitchen in search of drinks and food. The mood shifted when you felt Jon’s hand on your shoulder and his voice in your ear, “we should talk.”

You knew what he was going to say and you probably should’ve kept it cool but fuck it, you were drunk and you didn’t like his fiancé and why not start some shit right off the bat?

“Talk about what? How much you want me to fucking leave but you won’t tell me yourself?”

Jon said nothing, indicating his guilt, because you knew him and you knew how he was.

“I’m so sorry, Jonny, that I overstayed my welcome. It wasn’t my intention but you didn’t need to send your fiancé to do your dirty work. I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” his voice was weak.

“No we fucking aren’t, because if we were, you would’ve said something earlier.”

He opened his mouth to speak but you pressed a finger to his lips and let out a laugh that was more menacing than intended.

“I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience, Jonathan Toews, I’ll move my shit out tomorrow and you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

If Jon wanted you gone, you were going to go. You were going to go without saying goodbye because he didn’t deserve it.

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means. 

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place. 

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking? 

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his. 

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today. 

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way. 

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan. 

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!” 

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.” 

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.” 

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

 Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile. 

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried. 

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life. 

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.  

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism. 

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want! 

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart. 

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time. 

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

 “But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much. 

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line. 

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one. 

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi  to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!” 

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour. 

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made. 

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them. 

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good. 

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into. 

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie? 

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun. 

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking. 

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable. 

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up. 

 Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this? 

It didn’t matter. 

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed. 

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good. 

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

���Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?” 

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully. 

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

[hockeywhy]

caught in the middle (2); m. barzal

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 WARNINGS: language; there’s a suggestive scene in one of the flashbacks, but nothing more than that. WORD COUNT: 8.1k A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the first part! Your feedback got me so excited to continue working on this, and I hope you’ll enjoy this part also. I’ve been thinking about the story so far and its development, and I don’t see it ending at three parts like originally intended, so let’s see how it goes. Again, sections in italics represent flashbacks.

You swipe a palm across the mirror, brushing some of the condensation away and heave a sigh at your reflection. From beyond the door, you can just barely make out the sound of footsteps across the parquet of the living room accompanied by what was undoubtedly the slide of suitcase wheels. The room is otherwise quiet, no television on or music to provide a distraction or perhaps a little more noise and now more than ever, you know what it means when they say silence can be deafening. It makes you feel more exposed, anxiety heightened as if you should do anything in your power to try and lighten the mood but you’ve had countless of experiences in which trying too hard rarely paid off - if ever, really. Mat hadn’t said much either aside from letting you know you could have the bed as the couch could be converted into one and there were spare pillows and covers stored neatly in one of the cupboards, so you simply thanked him then called dibs on being the first to shower. 

It isn’t running away, you remind yourself, head bowed. It’s buying some extra time. 

Not only is this the first time in months you are to be in Mat’s presence for longer than a few minutes, but this is also the first time you and Mat would spend the night separated by a wall when previously, you couldn’t seem to be able to get close enough to one another. Before this, enough wasn’t quite enough. Before this, you’d count the minutes to when you could get home and be with Mat. It’s strange to be so close to him, to need to be so close to him, and yet neither of you can find comfort in that any longer. 

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly until you see stars behind them, then open them a few seconds later and blink away the brief daze. Like a presenter about to walk on a stage in front of thousands, you take a deep breath and exhale it quickly before proceeding to replace the towel around your body with one of the hotel issued robes.

You crack the door open just a little, briefly taking a peek of Mat right as he begins wrestling with opening the couch. There’s more grunting and turning one way or the other to peek at the inner mechanisms than there is actually succeeding in stretching it out and you can’t help the feelings of guilt that course through you. But it’s not like you can imagine being in the same bed as him again and trying to check for any additional spare rooms with reception is entirely out of question. There’s no way you’d be able to do that without anyone catching on to that and questioning it. This isn’t the weekend for it, after all. The last thing you need is to take or share the limelight. 

Mat must’ve felt your presence because he turns to look at you over his shoulder, and he takes that as a cue to give himself a break from wrestling with the couch. He huffs tiredly, standing up and brushing his palms against his jeans.

“All yours,” you say, stepping away from the bathroom door, the clothes you wore on the drive over held closely against your chest. “No luck with that yet?” 

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Mat responds, frowning down at the couch.

He stands rooted to the spot looking down at it as if it offended him, hands on hips and all, while you look at him glued to your own space halfway between the bathroom and the door to the bedroom of the suite. In a manner you can’t quite explain, it feels almost as if time stops in place because of course, your luck is that bad apparently: heaven forbid it would’ve done that at a better time in your life. He appears to be lost in thought, so despite yourself, you make the most of this moment. 

You look at his profile and recall how many times you cradled his head in your hands, pulling him in to kiss him: his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, lips trailing along the line of his jaw. You think of the countless times in which his lips pressed against yours and every inch on your body and recall how his voice emanated warmth and love, and during those moments, you thought nothing and no one would be able to tear you apart from each other. You look at his hair and if you truly take the time to focus, you can easily recall the texture of those strands, just the perfect length for your fingers to twirl and play with, and how you would often detect notes of vanilla, coconut and something flowery - you shampoo, because he loved it so much. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his torso and remember the countless times his body was pressed against your own and how each and every time you thought this is where I’m safest. You look at his hands and still feel the softness of them upon your own and even know, you can still picture the way your fingers interlocked with his own and they fit perfectly. 

A shortness of breath makes you cough quietly, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden blurriness and before Mat can look your way, you quickly cover the distance to the room and the door latches closed behind you with a soft click. 

Palms pressed against your mouth to muffle any sounds, you squeeze your eyes as tightly as you can and slide down against the wood until you’re down on the floor and pray to whoever or whatever may be listening that Mat can’t hear the sobs you’re trying so hard to hold back despite this battle having been lost before you even had a chance to stand against it.

You know now as well as you knew it back then: you miss Mat and you love him, and you’re terrified that a time when all of these feelings will be nothing but dull memories will never come.

*

“Holy shit, that was cool.” 

Mat shifts his body, turning so that he can prop himself up on his forearms, one on each side of your body. You look down at him, fingers falling out from his hair and he arches an eyebrow.

“I can do that with my eyes closed,” he declares.

You blink, a little confused, and then it dawns on you. “Pff.” A short laugh leaves your mouth and that seems to prompt Mat to narrow his eyes at you. Two can play the game, and you’re a pro at keeping up with him. “I mean, you say you can but you didn’t score a goal like that yet, so what makes you so sure?” 

On TV, the commentators pour praise on the unique between-the-legs goal scored and you make an entire show out of admiring the replay, whistling quietly. Mat gently tips your head away from the TV and he continues holding on to your chin to prevent you from looking away a second time. 

“Mark my words, baby. I’ll do it at our next game and then you’ll see. It’ll be ten times cooler,” he promises, determination backing his every word and it makes you grin because you know Mat is a man of his word and you can already imagine him trying his damnest to make that happen. 

Still, you hum contemplatively, not quite wanting to give in to him so quickly. You know Mat’s playful display of ‘jealousy’ was nothing but a front. It was one of his many ways of saying look at me or give me attention, any variant of an indirect way of asking you to reiterate your love towards him simply because he loved hearing the reassurance. Not that you could imagine feeling any other way towards him; not that you’d want to have it any other way. That, and, well, Mat could be a bit of a baby sometimes. 

“Do that,” you begin, and this time, it’s your hand under his chin, encouraging him to come closer, closer, closer until his warm breath collides with your own, “and I’ll make your congratulations, you’re so cool award the most unforgettable one so far.” 

You know your words would put a gleam in his eyes, that unmistakable hitch of his breath and the curve of a smirk on his lips. He crawls a bit further up until he’s almost nose to nose with you and instinctively, you raise a leg and wrap it over his waist, squeezing a little. He’s close enough, practically glued to you, but it’s the first evening you get to have him all to yourself after weeks of away games and you want all of him. As does he. Mat leans down to peck your lips once, twice, three times and he whispers an ‘oh yeah?’ that makes goosebumps form across your skin. 

“Mhm,” you hum and this time, you crane your neck to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers gently grazing along the back of his neck. He trembles ever so lightly in your hold and you know that has nothing to do with the temperature in the apartment because it’s warm, just right. “Do it for me, Mat. Show off.” 

He laughs quietly against your lips and he begins trailing kisses from your jaw to the side of your neck and you tip your head back for him, eyes fluttering closed as a content sigh leaves your parted lips. There’s a shift of material and moments later, Mat’s slightly calloused palms crawl underneath the t-shirt that was once him but you claimed as your own months ago. It’s big around you, sleeves coming up to your elbows and you know that his last name is written in big bold white letters on the back although it’s pretty washed out now. His lips are now on your exposed stomach, butterfly kisses peppering your warm skin and you bite your lip while watching him do this. Strands of unstyled jet black hair tickle as he moves and you giggle quietly. It’s the sound of it that makes Mat look up and there’s a wicked smile on his lips. Moving swiftly, he sits back on the couch and pulls you to straddle his lap, body yielding to him before he gives you the control. Do what you want, however you want it. 

It’s your turn to slide your hands under his shirt and he doesn’t hesitate to stretch his arms up so that you can remove it for him, discarding it wherever it may fall. You slide your thumb against his lower lip and Mat barely just manages a chaste kiss to it before you lower your head down to kiss him and his lips part, the movement automatic. It’s the sort of kiss that’s sloppy and hot and you know you’ll remember it for days; hell, he’ll remember it for days, asking you to do that thing you did in the early hours of the morning or long after the sun has gone down or bringing it up over the phone when it’s just him and no one else in a hotel room hundreds of miles away from home, missing everything that has to do with you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breathless and flushed once you both part from the kiss. You can’t help but grin proudly at how his eyes flutter closed and he stills in your arms though you know adrenaline pumps through his body the same way it does through yours. “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom,” he admits and you burst into laughter. 

“Yeah, no shit,” you agree and just to make a point out of it, you relax your body so that you’re sitting back on his lap and there’s no mistaking whatsoever that he’s hard. “Well, there’s no rush anyway. We have all the time in the world, and an entire place to ourselves so…” you trail off, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. 

Mat opens his eyes and moves his hands from your hips to cradle your face, holding you in place to peck your lips. “So, I’m gonna love you so hard, it might just give that award of yours a run for its money.” 

You arch an eyebrow, pulling back enough so that you can tug the t-shirt over your head, dropping it to join his. “Walk the talk, Barzy,” you say.

He didn’t need any more encouragement than you already gave, but your words kick him into action almost instantly. 

*

A sharp thwack sound catches your attention and you look over in the distance to where Mat looks off in the distance while Tito prepares for his turn. It’s too far for you to see where the ball went but judging by Mat’s reaction, it’s obvious he didn’t quite nail whatever he intended to do. Tito probably chirps him for it because Mat throws a punch at his arm that you know is so light that probably neither of them felt it. Still, they laugh and the sound barely just carries over to where you’re sat. 

“He’s like that now, but if you’d seen him before the two of you got here…” Elise trails off and you just about manage to see her shake her head as if words wouldn’t even be sufficient in describing how Tito was. Still, there’s just so much fondness in her expression as she looks towards him out on the golf course that it makes you warmer than the light fleece blanket you wrapped around your shoulders. 

“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” you say.

“You’d think!” Elise repeats. “The past two mornings, he got up at who fucking knows when and went for a run. Not even a casual jog or whatever, but you’d think he’s been training for the Olympics.” 

You burst into laughter at the image that forms in your head of Tito being so full of nervous energy that he becomes the metaphorical lion in a cage. Still, it doesn’t surprise you as much as you thought it would. While away, you and Tito have been in contact occasionally either through texts or through the phone and often, he’d begin by saying “what do you think she’d say to XYZ”. He never failed to amuse you because many of his concerns were so small, but you could only imagine what it’d be like to be in his shoes: they were about to tie the knot and this isn’t exactly a day to day type of event. Elise was at that point also, back when preparations for it were just kicking off and most of their days consisted of appointment after appointment with wedding planners that occasionally made her feel as if she’d never be able to pick from all the choices laid out to her. With the day just around the corner, she seems more content, more relaxed. Of course, her nerves are still there but Elise has the sort of air around her that puts you under the impression it wouldn’t be impossible for her to conquer the world in the next hour if she suddenly decides to. 

You reach for your drink, twirling the straw around the glass before taking a sip from it. The tang of citrus is refreshing but you do need a quick sip of water to mellow the sharpness of alcohol mixed in. 

“Want to bet he’ll be the one crying when he sees you walk the aisle?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows at her suggestively. 

Elise smiles, a small almost shy smile as she diverts her gaze towards her own drink. She takes a sip from it but she still smiles around the straw. “Let’s hope I don’t start first and end up tripping on my way there.” She physically cringes at the thought of it, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders trembling before she quickly waves her hands as if trying to dismiss the idea. “Oh god, no, I can’t think of it otherwise it’ll happen.”

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her, reaching to grasp her hand and Elise welcomes the gesture, squeezing your own in return but still holds on to it as if for dear life. “I promise. It’ll go by so smoothly and everything will be perfect.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You’re usually right.” 

“Not always,” you correct her, lightheartedly while trying to prevent your mind from beginning a count of the amount of times you’ve been wrong. You don’t need that spoiling your mood or worse, the evening overall.

Elise ponders on that. “Actually, you’re right. Remember before you left and said Mat would be fine, he’s a big boy, after I said it’ll be hard for him to get used to it?” You swallow uncomfortably. Yes, you remember that. Clear as if it only happened yesterday. “Well, you were wrong about that for sure.”

Your mouth feels dry and it’s as if all energy has been sucked out of you suddenly, and all in one go. You don’t want to have this conversation and you certainly don’t want to look into this much more than you should. After all, you and Mat agreed you’ll put up a front so for all you know, he may just be a better actor than you imagined he’d be. Mat was only putting on an attitude everyone expected him to have and that’s all there is to it. You did it too, after all. When Elise would call or come down to Baltimore and Mat would come up in conversation, you told her how much you missed him; how even if you called and FaceTimed, it wasn’t enough. 

“So then come back,” she’d tell you. “It’s not like they wouldn’t want you back in New York, if it’s work related.” 

“Mat understands,” you’d push back each time. “Besides, he’s coming over this weekend,” you’d add and make a note to text him so that he doesn’t end up in some New York bar with Tito, Elise and other people when he should be in Baltimore instead. 

It was selfish and restricting, and you’d apologise for it but each time, Mat would brush it off without fail. 

It’s fine, he’d assure through text. I wanted an excuse to spend the weekend in, anyway.

“I’m sure he was exaggerating most of the time,” you tell Elise dismissively, carefully sliding your hand from hers as you lean back in the plush seat and pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders. 

You try not to look at Elise because you know the expression she wears: it’s serious; the type of look that she puts on whenever you try to make light of a serious situation, practically reading don’t lie to yourself and mostly importantly, don’t try and bamboozle me. It never works. Not with her. 

“Y/N.” Your name falls from her mouth sharply and you can’t help but direct your gaze back to her. “I don’t know Mat like you do, maybe not even as well as Tito does, but you’d think he was going through heartbreak when you left. Moping, I can put up with and distract from so believe me when I say that wasn’t what he was doing. You’ve seen his games, right? You saw how it even affected him on ice.”

You bite on your back teeth, jaw squaring. As much as you wanted to keep yourself away from anything to do with Mat, you couldn’t help but switch back to his games whenever they were on, doing some childish back and forth between channels. Mat did play differently. Still giving it his best, but aggressively; sometimes, he even fell for whatever bait the opposing team would throw at him in the form of chirps and you didn’t need to be a lip-reading expert to know he’d always respond. Once or twice, he landed himself in the penalty box for minor misconducts that seemed so out of character for him. 

“It’s fine now,” you say, in hopes of leading out of this subject. “I’m back in New York for a while, so it’s fine now.”

“Is it?” She asks, and you know this isn’t just because of what she saw of Mat without you. She questions it because she’s also seen you without Mat. “Was there… Uh. Was there more to it?” She cringes a little, and quickly tries to dismiss herself with a wave of her hand. “Don���t feel obliged to tell me if you don’t want to. It does seem like you guys are fine, but… You know I’m here for you, right?” 

You force a smile and nod quickly.

The first few weeks in Baltimore gave you a good taste of what your own personal little hell was like. You didn’t have Elise, you didn’t have Rachel, you had none of your closest friends and it felt like a lot of the after-work drinks you’d go on with your new colleagues were mostly out of your own desperation to stretch the day longer, essentially avoiding returning to an empty place. Generally, you adapt well to situations and people, but you were effectively trying to build afresh from the ground up and on bad days, the really awful ones when loneliness and heartache reared their ugliest faces towards you, there was no one for you to pour your most honest feelings out to. Several times, you wanted to reach out to Elise and come clean but it wouldn’t be fair. She was in the full swing of preparing for her wedding and the last thing you wanted to do is go crying to her. 

Of course, there was no Mat either. There was no Mat because there was no such thing as breaks in a relationship so you gave him the thing you were certain he tried to avoid voicing, but definitely referred to: a break-up. 

“No, nothing else to it than that,” you assure her, breaking your own train of thought while simultaneously giving yourself a mental pat on the back for the ease with which you weaved your story. “I mean, it’s been a bit weird to be apart over the period, especially since we didn’t know what’s to come, work-wise, but we’re fine now.”

“You two know best what’s good for the both of you and your relationship,” Elise says, “but take it from me: get away together if you can. It’s not easy, you know. Doing your own thing while he does his, progressing in what you’re both best at but sometimes, it gets to you. The distance, the days gone by with them on the road, the worry that maybe, just maybe, they’ll come back and they won’t be the same. I had that worry also once too, you know.”

The admission takes you by surprise. Elise laughs quietly at the sight of your slightly widened eyes because you haven’t heard this before. Sure, she told you of missing Tito while the Islanders were off to away games but she never truly admitted the thoughts coursing through her mind. 

“He never once gave me reasons to doubt him, but at the back of my mind, I’d be so worried. You know how the stereotype surrounding athletes goes.” She rolls her eyes, and you know exactly what she’s referring to. “Tito’s handsome and young and his face is on TV, but the fact that a man is taken hasn’t exactly stopped people before. I can’t tell you how many times I waited—no. Expected him to come back and be different, then tell me it’s over. Seriously, I lost track. One day, he called me out on it though.” She takes a break to sip from her drink and look out towards the golf course and you do too. It’s probably not long now before their game will be over. “He’d just gotten back the night before and to me, he seemed a little weird. Looking back on it, he was just exhausted. They didn’t have their best performance, but I didn’t even think of that. In my head, I already had this entire scenario planned that that was it.

“In the morning, I snapped at him. I wish I could just forget it now because it’s so embarrassing but I did it, and there’s no brushing that under the carpet. I was like, you were different last night and you were different through text. I told him he was acting different and when he asked what I meant, I said, you’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” She physically cringes at the memory and in your chest, your heart races. It’s almost identical to your own anxieties during those final moments of your relationship with Mat, and it seems as if you’re merely listening to someone recite your story back to you rather than their own. “Didn’t think of the games, didn’t think he might be down and distant because he blamed himself for some of the missed shots. Instead, I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I overlooked all we’ve done together so far, overlooked the simple fact that I had nothing to back up my accusation and instead, I took it out on him.”

“Elise… what the— you never mentioned this. When did all of this happen?” 

“Two years ago now, probably. We joke about it every now and then, but I couldn’t imagine telling anyone what happened. I felt so stupid after we dealt with it.” She sighs, shaking her head incredulously at the situation. “What we really needed was some time away. We left as soon as the season ended, renting out a little place outside of Montreal and we talked, Y/N. Not casual, day-to-day things, but he asked me where I see us going. I told him honestly, I don’t know and he said it’s not good enough and not fair for our relationship and us, individually. He’s the one who brought up marrying, after the dust settled.” 

The brief silence that falls between the two of you leaves your head buzzing with questions, with possibilities, with recollections of you-and-Mat but also of you and Mat during what would be your last moments together. There is a continuous string of what ifs rolling through your mind at such rapid speed that they blend in together until you can’t tell one statement apart from the next. You free a hand from the confines of the blanket, bringing it up to rub lightly at the side of your head while Elise stares off in the distance, a pensive look on her face. There are things she’ll tell you and others, and then there are things she will keep private for herself and Tito only, and you respect that. Still, you find the need of actually biting down onto your tongue to ask How?

How did you make it work? How did you talk with each other? How did you prevent a train wreck? How did you accept what happened, and got to this point? 

You blink and that’s when you realise tears built up in your eyes and when Elise focuses back to the present, you realise she is in a similar position. You both begin laughing, dabbing at your eyes.

“How did you manage to make each other cry?” 

The incredulity in Tito’s voice makes you and Elise burst into laughter again, louder and less tearful now.

While Elise assure Tito there’s nothing to worry about and dismisses the tears as being wedding related, Mat takes the seat next to yours on the small two-seater, throwing you a what happened look. You shake your head, rubbing lightly at your cheeks to brush away any remaining stray tears. 

“Wedding tears,” you confirm to him also because he doesn’t cease staring at you, and though it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced by that, it’s easy to let it slide. “Did you win?” 

Mat shakes his head and reaches for the water glass nearest to him. You don’t bother telling him it’s yours and figure it might come across as weird to the couple across from you anyway. “I let him win to give him a boost of confidence,” Mat tells you and snickers when Tito complains that it isn’t true.

Dismissing Tito’s effort at trying to shut that down, you hum quietly. “That sounds fair to me,” you tell Mat and then, to Tito, “did he let you win properly?”

Tito rolls his eyes while Elise lets out an ‘aww’ in consolation, and leans over to peck his cheek. “He put up a decent fight, I suppose. It’s been a while since he had this much energy, but he’s never been the best at golf.”

“He’s not the worst either,” you defend because you’ve always done that and it comes to you reflexively. You feel Mat’s eyes on you, but you keep yours carefully trained on the couple ahead. 

“You say that because you’re supposed to,” Elise argues and she leans comfortably against Tito’s side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer to kiss the top of her head and when he looks back towards you, he grins proudly. 

You huff, then shift in your seat to look at Mat properly. “If I was bad at something, would you say I didn’t because you’re supposed to?” You ask, in an attempt to prove your point, and pitch your voice just a little to imitate Elise’s. 

“Are you bad at something?” He pitches his question like a rhetorical one and across from you, Tito and Elise coo over the response that sends a wave of heat through your body. 

You narrow your eyes at him, bumping your knee against his own. “I absolutely cannot stop properly on skates.”

“Oh.” Mat sighs, takes a sip of water and his shoulders slump. “Yeah, I forgot about that. Don’t tell me you still—“ You quickly knock your knee against his again, a silent warning which you doubt is the most subtle of ones, but Mat changes course smoothly. “After all those hours we spent on ice…” He shakes his head slowly in disappointment, but it’s not like you blame him or take it personally.

You lost track of how often Mat would carefully instruct you through making proper stops on ice, only for you to still end up relying on crashing against the barriers. Although you’d laugh at it time and time again, Mat would always freak out over it, flooding you with endless are you okay questions out of sheer fear you’d end up hurt.

“Sorry we can’t all be pros,” you mumble, eyes rolling but there’s no heat behind this: it’s lighthearted bickering, a conversation that flows easily and you let it go by like this, without overthinking it out of sheer fear you’ll end up spoiling it. 

You all fall into discussions revolving around the wedding, mostly focusing on the events leading up to it. It takes you back to months ago when evenings like these were almost regular. You, Mat, Elise and Tito would hang out either at each other’s places or somewhere out in town and you’d talk until one of you would realise it was the early hours of the morning. 

It’s easy to get swept back into the comforting feeling that brings you. So much so, that you don’t really think much of it when you open up your blanket and hold a half of it out to Mat, who accepts it wordlessly and settles in closer to you. Arm pressed again arm, leg pressed against leg, you can’t find it in you to pour energy into making a conscious effort of shifting in such way that you place some distance between the two of you without it being odd. You’re convinced neither Elise nor Tito are acutely aware of every minor shift in your body language or tone, but a part of you remains worried about it. So, you stay in your place and enjoy the extra bit of warmth Mat’s body next to yours provides and pretend what the two of you are doing is perfectly okay. 

*

“I can’t do it,” you sigh, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice as you glare down at your skates. 

“I couldn’t do it in one day either, baby, we just need to keep practicing,” Mat encourages you gently and he takes hold of your hands as he begins skating backwards, dragging you forwards. 

You throw your head back in frustration, occasionally giving yourself a bit of a push to keep up with him. “It’s not so bad though, using the barriers to stop.” 

Mat fixes you with a pointed stare. “Remember that time when you just zoomed across the entire rink and ended up—“

“No, no—“

“—with the worst bruise—“

“— we don’t talk—“

“— across your ribs—“

“— about it!”

“— because you crashed into the barriers?” Mat continues, letting go of your hands to skate backwards a little further. “Because I do, and I promised myself and you that it won’t happen again. It’s for your safety above anything else.”

You groan quietly, pushing forward to catch up to him. Mat stretches out his arms, letting you bump against his body once you reach him and you bury your head against his chest while you both come to a stop in the middle of the rink. You’re pretty certain that had you been on public ice, you would’ve had plenty of stares and disgruntled skaters passing by but to your luck, the ice at Nassau had an off-day from training so you and Mat were permitted to make the most of it. 

You and Mat often took to the ice and of course the level in skill was entirely different between the two of you, but you were grateful you knew enough to get by without making a fool of yourself in public. Then again, it’s not like you really had to worry about it much: Mat was always there by your side, even if you’d sometimes send him off to just enjoy it however he wanted to and you’d catch up to him eventually.

“I’m enjoying it,” he’d assure you without fail. “I’m with you, so I’m not missing out on anything.”

“You can be so unbelievably cheesy sometimes,” you’d tell him without heat because you loved it, and you were pretty sure he was well aware of it and considered it encouragement.

You pull away from him and he lets you go ahead while he trails behind you slowly. The silence between you is filled by the slashing of blades against the ice, the sound occasionally louder and echoing further whenever Mat pushes ahead with more force. You smile to yourself whenever you feel you can afford to draw some of your concentration away from your own skating to catch sight of Mat. Much to your displeasure though, a feeling of tightness forms in your chest and without thinking of it, you press a hand to your chest, rubbing against it lightly as if that might ease it but to no avail.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Mat asks once he slows down and twirls on his skates so he skates backwards in order to face you. 

“What? Oh, nothing. I was only trying to picture how well you’d pull of figure skating.” 

Mat scrunches up his face a little. “Mh, not very well, I think, but nice try.” He reaches out for your hand and you let him take it so he leads you around the rink. “What’s on your mind really?” He insists. 

Bite the bullet, you think. Try it.

“Couple of work stuff, nothing that important,” you begin carefully and when Mat doesn’t respond, you press on. “Turns out our branch in Baltimore is looking to expand a little more. There’s been a consultation completed there and recommendations all point towards the potential for growth. There’s been a few talks in a few departments, including my own, about the possibility of uh, some people heading out there.”

Mat nods slowly, a contemplative look on his face. “Sounds pretty good for them, then. Do they have any idea who might be involved in that from your office?” 

“Not yet, and anyway, they’ll consult first with anyone who might consider relocating,” you inform him lightly, shrugging.

There’s no beating around the bush with Mat though. He reads you like an open book. “There’s no hockey teams there, huh?” 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“And would you want to go there?” 

“Temporarily? I wouldn’t say no, honestly. I have a few ideas and I think they’d fit in great with a smaller but growing branch.”

Mat slows down carefully to not trip you or catch you by surprise and once you also come to a halt, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Give them just a taste of what you can do and they’ll want to keep you there.” 

“It’s rich of you to assume they wouldn’t go for someone in a more senior position than my own.”

“It’s rich of you to assume they’d skip out on you,” Mat parrots and you laugh softly. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you say so and it’s a temporary thing.” 

You ponder his words for a moment, humming quietly. You didn’t expect anything less from Mat: he’s always been supportive, ready to vouch for you and be the first to jump in your corner, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d stand by his words if you were to tell him there was more to it than that. Because a relocation wouldn’t mean a month or two. Maybe not even a half year. A relocation could very well be anywhere upwards of one year, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that just yet. Not when anything isn’t concrete, not when you’re hardly even sure this is a step you’d even want to consider.

You’ll cross that bridge if you get there. When you get there.

*

You roll on your back and huff quietly, throwing an arm over your forehead. The room is dark and you can barely just make out the metal shape of the spotlights dotting the ceiling, so you try focusing on one that gleams just a little more in the hopes that your eyes will start to feel heavy and finally, finally you can fall asleep. In your mind, you count to ten and when that doesn’t work, you count to twenty then try to thirty but stop at fourteen and sit up. You want to cry and the feeling of needing to do that overwhelms you, though that’s quickly replaced by frustration when even a single tear won’t blur your vision. It seemed like that came to you so easily throughout the day, but when you need it most in hopes of it exhausting you, it doesn’t happen. Naturally. 

Your gaze drifts towards the door which is just ever so slightly parted and in the silence of the night, you can make out the unmistakable creak of mattress springs shifting. It’s not a gentle movement though. It happens again just moments later and it’s as if your body responds to it without your mind consenting. Slowly, you tip-toe your way across the room and towards the door, thankful you don’t need to press down on the handle but rather, pull it ever so slightly so you can just see through the crack. 

The living room basks in darkness and the only clear light source comes from a digital clock on a mantle. The blue numbers indicate it’s just a little past one in the morning. The thicker curtains haven’t been pulled over the windows properly, so very low light from outside filters in, but barely just. Again, the mattress creaks and you shuffle sideways behind the door as if you’d be seen. There’s no chance of that happening whatsoever. Again, the creaking. Harsher now, more frustrated and you recognise your own routine over the past hour or so since you climbed in bed and called it a day. You lick your lips, eyes falling shut briefly and you barely just press your forehead to the cold door. Count backwards from five and on one, you pull open the door properly and step into the living room.

“Get in the bed, Mat.”

Silence. You rub at your forehead, a little irritated. 

“I know you’re not sleeping, so don’t try to pretend,” you tell him but your voice doesn’t quite pack the punch it should have. “That thing keeps squeaking and it’s keeping me up. Get in the bed, Mat.” 

“Just close the door if you can’t sleep,” he says. 

Huffing quietly, you step further in the living room and it takes a while for your eyes to get used to the darkness but soon enough, you can just make out Mat’s shape in the pull-out bed. He faces the windows, back towards you and you’ve no doubt the pull-out couch is sturdy and decently comfortable but you hate it. You hate the sight of it, you hate the idea of him in it, you hate everything about this. 

“Please, Mat. I…” you trail off, running both hands across your face before they drop to your sides with a noticeable smack sound. “I swear I’d still hearing the creaking through the walls. I can’t fall asleep with it, it’s driving me insane so please,” you plea, exhausted yet weirdly tuned into your emotions - and they’re all overwhelming. If you were wondering why you couldn’t cry just moments ago, it sure feels as if you’re standing right at the very edge of a breakdown right now. The timing couldn’t be worse. “Get in the bed, Mat,” you repeat once again, voice low and tired.

There’s a moment of stillness during which you stand there, feeling defeated and ashamed while Mat lies just ahead of you and you wonder what goes on through his mind. Not for the first time, you wish you had the power to hear it all regardless of how much worse it’d make you feel. And then, he moves. He sits up and there’s some shuffling of bedsheets, and moments later, he’s moving past you into the room with a pillow under his arm even if there’s plenty on the bed already. You allow yourself a brief second to draw in a silent breath of air then release it before following after him. This time, you circle around the bed frame because Mat settled on the right side. He always took the right side because that’s what you agreed on years ago.

You pull the bedsheets up to your nose and open your mouth ready to say something. But what more is there to say? 

“Do you ever think where it went wrong?” 

Mat’s question takes you by surprise and you swallow the lump in your throat uncomfortably. The it is more of a we, but it makes it feel just a little more impersonal though it doesn’t quite soften the blow it delivers. You wish you could curl into a ball, grasp the covers tightly around your body like a cocoon but you’re rooted to your place and the most you can do is grab at the sheets with your fingers tightly. If it wasn’t for the material, you’re convinced your nails would dig into your palms and leave half moons there that would hurt like a bitch. 

“I did,” you tell him, at last. 

“I do,” Mat admits without hesitating, without needing you to prompt him and you don’t miss the way he phrases it as if this is a thing he continues to do in the present. But his tone is calculated, detached and you can’t help but wonder whether that’s true or you’re about to let yourself get roped into a blame game you’ve already played before. 

You lost it, of course. But you try not to think about how bitter it felt. You think there might be something lodged in your throat, something that resembles an apology you owe him, but every time it feels as if you’ll let it slip past your mouth, invisible walls are built up and nothing gets past those. 

“I think I lost you somewhere along the way,” he continues because this is a thing that Mat does: he doesn’t let something slip past him so easily. Not always, anyway. “And I don’t think I did enough to meet you halfway.” A pause and you barely just shift under the blankets. Your arm brushes against soft cotton and belatedly, you realise that’s his spare pillow between the two of you. You really do hate everything about this. “I don’t think you did either,” he admits.

You have to give it to him: he has guts. And you really hate that you can’t bring yourself to let your own show, even in the dark. Especially in the dark, where your faces are hidden and your bodies are separated by a flimsy pillow and there’s a chance that you might both forget this in the morning or pass it off as a lucid dream. It’s a small chance, but existent nevertheless. 

“What good will it do us if we keep thinking about it?” You ask, but it’s directed more at yourself than it is to him.

Your mind betrays you by giving you the answer: it won’t change the past, but it may very well change the future. And your heart throbs rapidly at the thought and there’s heat in your belly and adrenaline in your veins, and there’s an explosion of what ifs coursing through your mind even if you know it’s too late. Because it must be, right?

“Let it go, Mat,” you tell him and shift under the covers, turning your back to him and curling up underneath the covers. “Go to sleep.”

He scoffs ever so quietly, but you pick up on the sound because there’s nothing else to distract you from it. “Right, sorry. I forgot you give up just like that now.”

You frown, glaring at the darkness ahead. “It’s not me giving up, Mat. It’s called me being rational about it.” You sigh, eyes closing and you press your fingers against them until you see stars behind them. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Don’t know.” Mat sighs and the bed shifts. His voice sounds quieter and you wonder if he turned his back to you in return. “Maybe some proper closure, I guess. I wouldn’t call what happened then and what’s happening now a… what did you call it? A clean break?”

“And you want it now at like, what, one in the morning? Will that make you go to sleep?” 

“Dunno,” Mat murmurs and it’s obvious his voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Maybe.” 

You push down the memories threatening to squeeze their way at the forefront of your mind because you’d be at it all night without doubt. The silence lingers between you, undisrupted, and you manage to count to twenty five in your mind slowly before you carefully turn your head to look over your shoulder. Your heart jumps in your throat. Mat is on his side facing you and his eyes are closed. You can’t be certain that he managed to fall asleep but his breathing seems steady enough. Ever so carefully, you turn until you’re on your back again and cast your gaze upwards towards the ceiling. 

“I’d sleep, but probably not a great deal.”

Mat’s voice, silent as it is, catches you by surprise and you jolt ever so slightly. The movement doesn’t seem to disturb him though. He remains still as a statue and despite the darkness, you can’t find it in you to look towards him. It doesn’t mean your skin doesn’t tingle in that very odd way it does whenever someone looks at you. You close your eyes and throw an arm over them for extra measure. 

“Just go to sleep, Mat,” you whisper.

You blame not finding it in you to give him what he wants on the sudden exhaustion coursing through you, but there’s always tomorrow. If he insists on it, you can assure him there’s always tomorrow. 

But Mat doesn’t force the subject and soon enough, you feel your shoulder relaxing, your body settling against the mattress and a familiar lull pulls you away from consciousness. 

[rainileo]

heyy!! i love ur blog so much! could i request joshua (seventeen) x sub/bottom reader smut with some degradation and humiliation? you can go wild with everything else 🥰

yes.

my get out of jail free card (m)

joshua x (female reader)

warnings: dom josh, humiliation, degradation, spitting, spanking, cream pie, unprotected sex, pet names, doggy style, “dudes being dudes🙄” lmao, mentions of drinking and marijuana.

lmk if i miss anything (not proof read)

a/n: this turned out to be longer than i thought sorry lmao i got carried away

5:33 pm

———————————————————

josh always thought you were naturally sexy, you always being able to make him shift in his seat uncomfortably when he watches you do daily tasks, or just anything in general (you were just that sexy). sometimes you liked to use that information to your advantage by either dressing up in something a little more revealing for fun and walking around the apartment to tease him, or maybe buying a sexy lingerie to surprise him spontaneously.

but before it was different.

josh used to despise you. you thought it was ironic, because he was all over you now, but back then, he couldn’t even look at you without getting uncomfortable. you were polar opposites and you were on the more rebellious end.

josh used to like to finish his homework early, he liked to stay in on a friday night with his small group of friends and play bored games (pun intended).

he refused to partake in the consumption and use of narcotics and alcohol, and couldn’t stand the idea of premarital sex. and then he fell in love with you, your personality and your body, practically leaving the idea of premarital sex behind and risking the idea of ending up in a forever hell all for you and his temptations. and now, you had the advantage of surprising and teasing him in this flimsy set to get him to bang the shit out if your just for the sake of it.

you now reside in your shared bedroom, checking yourself out in the head to toe mirror, clad in the set you mentioned before. you think you’re cute, and you pose to see all angles. you giggle tp yourself as you bubble with excitement, preparing to surprise josh.

you turn around, looking at yourself one more time before struting out of the room towards where your boyfriend is seated in the living room. you enter the warm room and you see him spread out of the couch that sits in the middle of the room, phone in his hand and a random show playing in the background.

“babe.” you gently call from behind him to get his attention on your figure.

“yeah.” he lazily replies, not moving his original position and keeping his eyes trained on his phone, probably texting a member or looking through social media.

you roll your eyes in irritation and attempt to complete your mission as you try again, “josh~.” you say singsongingly, and he exhales and replies again,

“what.” he says a little bit more seriously, probably getting annoyed that your bothering him while he’s busy on his phone, or because you won’t go in front of him to actually get his attention.

“joshua.” you say sternly, trying to get his attention still, and succeeding when he angrily turns around saying, “what y/n-,” angrily and he stops mid sentence, gulping, looking at you from head to toe, examining the material that sits on your body.

“oh, holy shit.” he swears and you giggle, teasingly walking towards him, swaying your hips slightly. “you shouldn’t use that tone with me like that.” you say as he completely turns his torso towards you, as his attention is completely on you now. “sorry babe, i didn’t mean to sound mean like that.” he apologizes and reaches his closer hand out to you and caresses your ass. you couldn’t tell if his hand on your ass was just a sexual gesture, if he just wanted his hand on you just for the sake of it, or if he was using his touch to apologize to you; you couldn’t tell, so you roll your eyes again over the fact that he’s completely changed his attitude now that you stand infront of him, half naked.

he blinks at you for a second and you smirk at him, and he begins speaking again, “please accept my apology baby.” he says sweetly, also lightly squeezing your ass while looking at you with the cutest eyes you can’t resist.

“ok,” you trail off and swing your hair from one side of your shoulder to the other, barely listening to his response. “but on one condition, i’ll accept your apology.” you say, pulling his hand off your backside as his face contorts in confusion due to the sentence you had just put out. “what is it?” he asks, getting out of his spot, rounding the couch to you so he can directly stand in front of you.

“you have to fuck the absolute shit out of me.” you reply, watching as his face drops in of disbelief; those words went straight to his sick to be honest.

how did he manage to snatch up a girl like you?, he thinks to himself and you shift in your spot, biting your lip, smiling and looking up at him. his eyes visibly get darker and bhs bites his lip, instinctively moving closer to you.

“go to the bedroom now.” he instructs for you to do and you follow his orders as you turn around in the direction of the room, walking away teasingly, swaying your hips again. he slaps your ass and shamelessly watches your ass as you walk away.

a lot of his band mates also used to tease him about the way he would respectfully look away from you when you were naked or changing and etcetera. they later explained to him that it’s ok to check her if you guys are dating, (if she allows it that is). he later completely understood it after years of avoiding your body and now you’re like his personal playboy magazine.

——————————————————

you had finally made your way to your shared room, comfortably positioning yourself on your bed, waiting for him to come into the room.

your heart began to pound a little when you watch him walk through the doo. he runs his hands through his hair as he continues his stride over to you. “it’s almost like using a get out of jail free card whenever you do this.” he says coming to a stop in front of the bottom edge of the bed to stare at where you’re seated on the middle of the bed.

you giggle at his joke as you shift towards him on your knees, coming up in front of him and reaching your hands out to the bottom of his shirt and playing with it to get him a little riled up.

“yeah? and why is that?” your curiosity causes a smile to break out on his face. “i don’t even have to try to get into your pants.” he answers truthfully, leaning into you to kiss you roughly.

the kiss is demanding and causes you to fight for dominance between the two of you. he obviously wins when he shoves his tongue into your mouth and you comply, allowing him to explore your mouth.

he suddenly pulls away and begins, “babe.” he now sternly looks in your eyes with only lust. it immediately grabs your attention and you clench around nothing, feeling yourself pulse in excitement. “yes?” you say biting your lip and looking back at him. you try to hold a smile back as he grips your hips and pulls your entire body right against his. “what do you want?” he asks, his tone now darker as he moves his hands down to your ass and strokes slightly. “you.” you sigh out, wrapping your arms around his neck,

“well i would hope that you would want me.” he jokes, pinching your ass and you laugh at his joke for a second and press yourself even closer to him, now feeling his friend completely hard down against your thigh.

“seriously babe, what do you want, my fingers? my mouth?” he asks again, stroking your hips and legs. you smile to yourself as you speak out, “i want you to eat me out, and then i want you to fuck the shit out of me.” you say as you reach down to palm him and he grunts, gripping your backside tightly.

“yeah, i can do that.” he breathlessly says, grabbing your thighs to wrap your legs around his hips so he can move you two more easily on the bed.

once he situates you at the pile of pillows at the the top of the bed, you begin to make out again. the both of you are fighting for dominance again and it’s messy, spit begins to dribble between your mouths on your chin. you moan into his mouth and he grips your thighs to place it over his shoulders to position himself comfortably against you. he moves his left hand beside your head for balance while wrapping his right around your neck, lightly asphyxiating you. he shoves his tongue into your mouth again and you moan against him as he also starts to grind against your core. “josh.” you both let go of the kiss and a string of saliva stays between the two of you as you part. “what?” he asks as you grip the arm that is wrapped around your neck with both of your hands.

he’s in awe when he looks down to see the full sight of his hand wrapped around your neck as your smaller hands grip his large, veiny arm for leverage.

you look at him with pleading eyes, the friction of him grinding against you not being enough to stimulate your core. “please.” he breathes out at the sound of your voice, it now changing into a lighter tone due to your submissive position now.

he laughs at your sudden weakness and pushes on. “y/n, you have to use your words.” he says, stopping the movements against your hips, ceasing all pleasure now. your eyes begin to tear up as anger boils in your chest. you know he knows what you want, but he won’t give in, he likes to tease you and break you until your confidence has completely vanished.

“please go down there.” you attempt to speak out, voice hoarse due to his grip around your neck. “what’s down there baby? you tell me.” he continues as he leans down to your ear. “m-my pussy.” you say, voice just above a whisper, too ashamed to say it out loud. “you can be louder than that, come on slut.” the nickname goes straight to your center as he pressures you and you give in, “my pussy,” you respond louder. he laughs at you again and you close your eyes to avoid his gaze, cheeks hearing in embarrassment.

he thinks it’s entertaining how bold you were a few moments ago, you now falling into sub space as you impatiently wait for him to pleasure you.

“yeah? and what do you want me to do to your pussy again?” he continues to push on, now right into your ear. you feel his heavy breath against your skin and you tingle all over.

“i...” you exhale, squeezing your eyes shut as he begins to place light kisses against your sweet spot on your neck. “i want you to eat me out.” you finish, a tear falling down your face in anticipation. his chest pushes off of your as he lifts himself off if you to look into your eyes deeply.

“that’s pathetic.” he spits out, hand still on your neck, occasionally squeezing it still. you frown and open your eyes to see what he’s doing and when you do, hes just staring.

“are you gonna take it like a good girl?” he questions, moving his left hand from it original position to stroke your side. he inches closer to your boob and when he reaches them, he lets go of his grip around his neck and completely leans back on his knees. he pushes the material of the bra over your boobs to let them fall out of it confines.

your boobs sit out in the open air and your nipples begin to harden under the slightly cool air. he brings both his hands to your chest and begins massaging them, pulling your nipples occasionally. you moan at his ministrations and he tenses in his pants in anticipation for you.

he reaches around your body, impressively undoing the bra and it easily falls off your chest and he throws it to the side of the bed. he leans back in again and admires your body. he continues with your underwear and pulls them down your legs and throws them across the room somewhere. he gives short kisses down your torso towards your center, leaving deep purple marks in his wake.

———————————————————

your back arches as he hits the specific spot inside you while he is knuckle deep with his fingers moving strategically inside you. your moans are so beautiful to him as he eats you out strategically. youre roughly gripping at his hair out of pleasure, face contorting from the pleasure he offers you.

“fuck josh.” you spit out, throwing your head back against the pillows and smirks at your reactions and begins sucking on your clit again, trying to bring you to your edge. “does it feel good?” he questions, letting go of your bundle of nerves and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you nod furiously, too caught up in the pleasure to properly respond. he chuckles at your answer and continues with his ministrations.

his fingers keep their same pace as his mouth alternates between liking, biting, sucking, and the odd time, spitting. “fucking slut.” he says, creating a glob of spit in his mouth as he backs away from your core, still fingering you. he spits the glob on you and you sit up to lean on your elbows to get a better view of him deliciously eating you out.

“you like it when i eat you like this, finger fucking your tight pussy open, right?” he questions and your face contorts out of pleasure when he hits the spot again.

“fuck-, yes, it feels so good, i love it.” you quickly reply as you continue to watch him with your mouth falling open slowly. he hums as he begins to suck around you again, feeling the pleasure build up inside you. “i’m close.” you breathlessly let out to tell him before it’s too late. he continues and your legs shake as you get closer to your edge. “are you?” you nod and your eyes begin to roll back into your head. he looks up at you and feels like he’ll almost cum in his pants just by the way you look alone.

your elbows give in and you end up with your back flat on the mattress with josh laughing between your legs, which added to the sensations which also made the coil snap and caused you to begin arching your back in the air. you moan out and grip his hair tighter and tighter, biting your lip and slumping on the mattress, heart pounding as your orgasm washes over you.

“look at you, such a cum slut, right princess?” he ask, moving up from between your legs. you open your mouth to respond but soon close it not trusting what sound could come out of your mouth. he grips your arms that lay lifelessly on your side and he pulls you up and flips you on your stomach. everything happens so fast and you have to think about it after you were manhandled by him.

“ass up babe.” he demands and you listen, quickly getting into the position. he grabs your arms again and pinning them behind your back. your head was planted onto the sheets so you try to move your head down so you can get a good look at the man behind you. when you successfully shift your head, he immediately makes eye contact with you. he gives you a side smile in response to the way you look at him desperately, still biting your lips to hold in your needy moans.

“josh please.” you whine lightly, trying to entice him to place his member inside of you, or even just taking his clothes off in the first place would be just as good. he leans down to your face again and roughly grips your hair in his hand and pulls your head to make you look at him directly. you moan out at his sudden roughness and he begins, “what do you want me to do, slut?” he questions, slightly gripping your hair rougher to make you pay attention. “i want you to pound my pussy.” you sob, a shaky hand going to his hand in your hair.

he finally gives in when he lets go of your hair and begins stripping himself. he grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head; you watch him intently, tears beginning to fall down your face again slightly, your body overwhelmed from the aftershocks of your orgasm. he throws the shirt somewhere in the room and then begins unbuttoning the pants. you close your eyes as he pulls his pants down.

another tear slips from your eyes as you squeeze them closed, also simultaneously squeezing your thighs together to get friction on your core to ease the pulse.

when he’s done taking his pants off, he toses them on the floor and watches you desperately rub your legs together.

“fucking slut, can’t even wait for me to touch you again.” he comments, placing his wet tip to your dripping pussy and rubbing it through the folds. you moan out and grip the sheets, waiting for him to put it in.

“please put it in josh.” you whine out, red eyes opening and looking at him straight in the eyes again, and when you guys make eye contact, he grabs your hair and turns your head on your chin and arches your back further with a hand on your lower back as well.

with the hand on the lower back, he grabs his dick again and pushes it into you perfectly. his dick slides in and be immediately begins pounding into you from behind. he lets go of your hair and comfortably positions himself to get a better grip for fucking you rougher.

he continues to roughly fuck you with the same hard pace, which makes you moan out loudly. “f-fuck please.” your voice comes out in a bizarre pattern with the noise of his hips slapping against you and you listen to it and enjoy his breathless pants behind you as well.

“please what babe?” he breathlessly asks, spanking you roughly and you moan out in response to the action and he rubs the area soothingly to ease your pain slightly. “please make me cum again.” you weakly answer, eyes fluttering shut when you feel his tip brush against the spot.

he scoffs in disbelief, “one orgasm wasn’t enough?” you internally groan, just wanting him to make you cum. you decide to move your hand down to your core to try and rub yourself to release. he notices that and grips your arm tightly and pulls it out from underneath you. he roughly spanks you and you yelp, free hand living to your side to grip the sheets.

“i didn't fucking say you could touch yourself.” he grunts out, pace quickening slightly. you moan out, mouth dropping open as you furrow your brows. you move your head onto it’s side again to situate yourself in a better position. his pace is relentless, causing the wind to be knocked out if your lungs now.

“josh~.” you whine at him breathlessly, the force of his thrust pushing you up the best.

he takes his free and and wraps it around your stomach to find your core and begins to roughly rub your spot perfectly, causing you to arch further into the bed. he groans out at your reaction and continues his movements, bringing you to your edge quickly.

his hands are both occupied, one roughly rubbing your core and the other that managed to travel back up to your hair again. his hand grips your hair even more tighter, making you yelp and squeeze your eyes shut.

you clench tightly around him in response to the pleasure you’re both feeling as you feel your end approaching as you let go of your grip around him, walls fluttering after your legs shake and quiver around his hand.

you begin to give out when your head falls to the side on the bed again and feel the coil in your gut snap and your orgasm washes over you. you let out a long loud moan, then slumping into the mattress, letting him fuck you like a toy so he can reach his high.

“you got what you wanted slut.” he says as he removes his hand from your center and begins another pace to bring himself to the edge. you keep your eyes closed as he uses you, letting him do whatever he wants.

“fuck yes” he expresses one last time, his hips stuttering against you, letting out a deep groan and cumming deep inside of you.

he lets go of your hair and whatever else he was gripping and leans over you and slumps. he relaxes his heavy body above you and both stay like that for a few minutes to catch your breaths.

“you ok?” he questions, pulling himself out of you and watching his cum drop out of you. you sigh and he pushes himself up off of above you so you can move freely from your uncomfortable position. you move your hands to beside your head and push yourself up and turn yourself to sit face to face to him. “i’m good.” you smile at him and he smiles back, leaning in and placing his hand on your neck, giving you a sloppy but sweet kiss.

“did you enjoy it?” he lets go of the kiss and asks sweetly, his dominant gone and replaced with his usual soft demeanor.

“yea i did, thank you for that.” you say, climbing into his arms and straddling him lap again and he gladly lets you sit comfortably on him.

“no, thank you babe, i kinda needed that.” he replies, kissing you again and placing his hands on your hips again. you smile against his lips and you pull away for a second to speak again. “how about a shower?” you ask and he smiles at though of a nice warm shower featuring your naked body at the moment. “yeah let’s have a shower.” he retorts and kisses you again.

[machinegunbun]

2

The house you eventually park in front of is much like yours, just a bit bigger, since Colson didn't live alone. The sound of sirens outside is carried almost melodically in the freezing wind. You soak it all in, wondering about who else in this city felt so far from home and yet right in the thick of it.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Colson quips, motioning to the steps, "but at least we got it to ourselves tonight," his grin could stretch a city mile.

Once inside, Colson immediately turns on a nearby heater and clears the couch, grabbing his RAW tray off the busted up coffee table, almost muscle memory, it seems, for both of you. You lay a fat sack down on the rolling tray as he sweeps the papers out of the way.

"Damn, do you really got glaucoma?" He snorts, untwisting the top. "No wonder I can smell it thru your backpack." He is all smiles while he breaks it down. "Have a seat, make yourself at home," he offers, pointing to the couch cushion free next to him.

You sit down on the very edge, causing Colson to stop in his tracks.

"Aw, come on, don't do me like that," he pouts, pulling a folded blanket from the chair to his left. "I got blankies," he teased, knowing how drafty all these houses are the heater won't cut it. "I said, make yourself at home," he playfully insists, and unexpectedly, he grabs your thigh to pull you so close, you can feel the heat emitting from his jeans.

He continues as if nothing had even happened, luxurious tongue peeking out to seal the blunt. So you wrap the blanket across your laps, and act nonchalant, too, trying to force the lump in your throat all the way down.

"A backwoods, that's classic," you offer as a change of subject, watching mesmerized as the ambient lighting and warm tones of the fake flames of the heater danced across his chiseled face. Godddd, why couldn't you control yourself?

Colson smirked before running a lighter across it. "Only the best for my guest."

The two of you sit cozy under the blanket for a short period of time, passively hitting the blunt and savoring before passing, while Colson rigged up a speaker. As the hip hop played softly, you felt your muscles relax a bit, most they had in 6 years.

Colson began probing you with his eyes again, like he was about to start 20 questions back up.

"So, you're not really from around here, are you?" He digs, pressing a thigh against yours to turn to face you better.

"Ah, no," you say, nodding

"From....?" He prompts, rolling his hand before passing the blunt.

"Down South," you're ashamed the more you divulge.

Colson pulls a face. "You don't have an accent, though," he contests.

"Got rid of it," you shrug. "People think you're stupid," you smile back.

Colson takes a hand and begins rubbing your thigh softly, as if to comfort you, although he can feel the tension increasing doing just the opposite. "I wouldn't think you're stupid, at all," he husks quietly, serious.

You don't want to make a sound for fear it will come out as a squeak.

"Look, I would ask what brings you all the way out here, but..." He trails off before hitting the blunt hard. "I'm a blunt motherfucker, so I'll just say it. I know about the..." He is swallowing the wrong words, struggling despite his frankness. "Well, the whole crew knows about the... The statutory situation," he whispers, like someone is listening. "You don't really talk to nobody, so.. They got curious. There's... There's lots of articles."

You almost disassociate, so he takes it as a sign to continue.

"I couldn't imagine. So, if I'm making you uncomfortable..." He begins to look worried, the desire to backpedal immediately written across his face.

You physically snap back, and force him to stop leaning away from you.

"You're blunt, huh?" You ask, now trying to comfort him.

"Yeah. I'm sorry," he relaxes into your touch, though.

"You don't have any chains or ropes here, so I'm not here by force," you smile, darkly, almost transported back to 15 again.

Colson winces, sympathetically, before shaking his head (to no doubt clear images) the articles he had read that paint an all too vivid picture out of his mind like an etch a sketch.

"Look, I ... I really wanted to get to know you, and... Everybody told me it was a bad idea, you know? Like I would fuck up your life. But I just really can't resist, you seem so cool, so sweet," Colson trails off, realizing in your vulnerable state he had began being too vulnerable as well.

"Thanks. I know that sounds stupid, but, most people... Well, most guys, avoid me like the plague."

Colson melts back into the couch, into your warmth surrounding you, before beginning to pull a cigarette out for each of you. He passes it to you, so intuitive to how on edge you're feeling. He knows you too well already.

"You don't have to be scared, you know," you remind him, "you can keep playing 20 questions." You're joking but serious. "I've possibly purposefully not made any friends here yet. I salute you breaking the ice AND addressing the elephant in the room," you admit. "I like cutting thru the bullshit."

Colson takes a thoughtful drag from his cigarette while formulating his next question.

" okay," he sounds more at ease, "do you have a boyfriend?" He risks, wincing at how insensitive it sounds, but he correctly got the impression it was forgiven and you wanted to move forward exactly as he intended originally.

"Oooh, no, actually," you giggle at the spicy question. "Other than, the, ya know... Situation, shall I say, never been with a man before." You're shocked at how honest you're being.

Colson can't help his jaw dropping. "How... How old are--you're still a virgin??" He is stumbling over his words.

"21, and, yeah," you choke out, sudden shyness taking over.

It was so refreshing he considered you a virgin still that you could die on the spot.

"Whoa. Just.... Damn," Colson stuttered, as the etch a sketch cleaned his slate once again. Hopefully be was clearing thoughts of how tight you must be still, not how damaged you are.

"Do, um," he clears his throat while putting out his cigarette, "what kind of tattoos and piercings do you have?"

"None, of either, actually," you admit, eyes hungrily scanning Colson's inked up neck.

It seems he can't believe his ears.

"Are you.. Holy shit, no way? Prove it," he challenges.

You shrug the blanket and flannel off to expose your belly, shoulders, and lift your crop top to show nothing on collar bones. Colson looks like he would spit if he had water he was drinking. He wasn't expecting you to show him anything for real.

He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek to brush your hair behind the ear, "wow, no ear piercings, either. You're magical," he says heavily. "You're younger than me, by, like, a lot, but anyone... like you, I never would have guessed..."

You realize now that his knuckles still lay resting on your cheek, stroking it softly, and he'll be able to feel them burning red hot with embarrassment and desire The shame, because you've never done this before, never been so close and intimate with someone, and the desire as well for the same reason.

"You're better than I ever even imagined," he admits before falling silent, soaking up your reaction fully,

Colson breaks the silence first. "I want to kiss you," he states, voice dripping with lust, and cracking slightly.

As you place a hand over his much larger on your cheek, he takes this as a sign to keep going. Leaning forward, foreheads almost touching, Colson licks his lips and scans your face hungrily.

"Can I?" He prompts, impatient, pupils blown, and jaw tight with anticipation.

You feel like you barely nod, hand dropping off of his, before he grabs it tightly to put it around his neck.

"Like this, let me show you," he whispers, lips ghosting yours.

In one Swift motion he slides a hand under your lower back in order to lay you down gently on the couch, hovering above you, on the edge of deranged with desire, like a wolf standing over a downed deer. You figure Colson has never had to exhibit this much self control before.

"I wanna defile you, take your innocence," he rasps, thumb finding its way to your bottom lip, stroking gently, opening your mouth ever so slightly. "I want it to be mine, I've wanted this for so long," he smiles, his rock hard cock pressing with a ungodly heat against your pubic bone. He's not even hiding anything anymore, using your exposed tummy and clothed pussy to hump and grind softly in order take the edge off.

"Can I touch you?" He asks desperately, biting his lip so hard you thought it might bleed. "I want to help you relax a little," Colson whispers, though you imagine it's just as much for him as it is you.

"Anything you want, Cols." You're almost choking.

He lets out a dark laugh at this, and in an instant his hands feel like they're all over you, exploring, finally coming to rest at your jugular, feeling the intense pounding underneath his fingertips.

"You're scared?" It's a question as much as it is a statement. "Or turned on?" Colson raises a brow, other hand massaging your thigh, slowly curling it around his waist, positioning and posing you like a ragdoll, your body defeated and limp to his touches. You are in a state of bliss and fear. "Maybe both," he concludes, smirking.

At this you close your eyes, expecting any second to wake up from this all too familiar dream, as you've pined for your coworker possibly even longer than he has.

Suddenly, Colson is at your ear, breath hot and desperate. "Don't be scared babydoll, you're in good hands," he reassures, nipping at your earlobe in such a way it sends a shiver all throughout your body. "I... Will go... Slowww," he teases out painstakingly, "slow as you need me to," he adds gently.

It was then you were startled into the reality of the situation by the sound of his belt coming undone, soft noises as it is expertly slipped out of his belt loops in one, fluid motion. Colson feels you panic underneath him, and he is quick to respond to this.

—-

Havent had a chance to read it yet but i wanted yall to have fhis lmfaoo. A gift from bigblakdix to me to you

[oodlyenough]

psychonauts 1!

I finished the original Psychonauts last night, by which I mean I reached the Meat Circus, instantly flounced and watched the rest on youtube.

I played the PS2 version ported to PS4 on my PS5 just like god intended for undoubtedly the smoothest possible gameplay experience :P "Press Start to begin" on a controller that no longer has a 'start' button really set the tone.

For some context, I first tried this game many years ago (on a Macbook no less), got frustrated by it quickly and quit. I've only come back years later after loving Psychonauts 2 so much. (Psychonauts 2 review over here.)

I am going to try not to make this post one big comparison -- feels kind of unfair, given how much time passed -- but it's uh hard because obviously that's my natural inclination and the context I was thinking of while I played.

Spoilers for game 1 and some nonspecific (tone/etc) spoilers for 2.

The pros:

Obviously the game is very funny. There were tons of lines I wanted to clip, or punchlines that surprised me. The script and story were surprising and full of personality. The game has a tone unlike any other game I think I've played... it honestly reminds me most of Invader Zim, lol.

I was about half-way through the game when I realized just HOW MUCH possible dialogue and NPC interaction there is, something I totally underestimated for a 2005 game. I've since been watching dialogue compilations on youtube, lol.

Because of the above I have to adjust my original opinion that the NPCs (specifically the campers) felt a bit hollow. This was my bad for not seeking them out often enough to keep track of their names and their lovelives, lol. I still struggle to remember any of their names, but I like that all of them had their own little subplots going on in the background of Raz's story, whether or not you paid attention to it.

The game is very creative. This was my favourite thing about 2, but the original gets bonus points for being, well, the original and pioneering these ideas in the first place. While I found some of the opening levels kind of bland/disappointing after seeing how grandiose stuff got in 2, Lungfishopolis was the major turning point into some really creative stuff.

Even when I was getting irritated by dying or having difficulty platforming, etc, the creativity of the levels was undeniable. Every level was very unique and distinct, nothing felt like a reskin. Lungfishopolis was probably my favourite from a design standpoint -- so funny -- and Milkman Conspiracy my favourite from a dialogue standpoint, every single line from the G-Men just killed me.

I like collectathon platformers, what can I say. I am a child of the Spyro era. I'm not even a 100%er I just like finding secret passages and ledges full of Stuff.

The matador outfit for Raz in Black Velvetopia was adorable

What the fuck the random turtle at the end of the game fahklfhkl

I thought the Gloria's Theatre level was also super cool, even if I had to look up a lot of the solutions on youtube, lol. Just a really cool concept and fun change of pace.

The cons

I don't want to harp on the clunky controls too much because it's a game from 2005 that I am playing on a 3-gen-later console... so... I try to adjust my expectations accordingly. But holy shit!!! The number of awkward jumps, times double jump just seemed to not work??, wonky hitboxes, the terrible lock mechanic for psiblast attacks, TK throw being awkward af, whew. Very frustrating. That platforming section to get the musket in Waterloo World was CRAZY difficult for me and for what ?? It's basic platforming... 😭 Grab the bar Raz you asshole. I was sitting there ragegripping my controller like YOU'RE AN ACROBAT!!!!

I hated the ammo mechanic and I'm SO GLAD it went away. There was nothing more agitating than ending up in a boss fight with no mental aggression left and being like Guess I'll fuckin die.jpeg

There were lots of "What the fuck" game design moments for me. The Linda bossfight, getting sideswiped by suddenly needing a power or item that seemed optional until now and having to grind arrowheads to do it, the nightmares in the Milkman Conspiracy ?!!?!, these kinds of choices would just tank my enjoyment as soon as they came up. I ran to youtube a lot to figure out a strategy.

The script, while very funny, shows its age in a lot of places. Not "just" in the awkward use of That One Slur or the weird extended "Indian burial ground" jokes, but in other stuff too. Raz and Lili's relationship gets off on a super weird and off-puttingly heteronormative foot basically from jump -- a shame, because by the end of the game, and in 2, I'm fond enough of them, and found some of the "girlfriend" gags funny. Having Raz of all people call Milla the "mental minx" had me like 🥴.

The whole asylum plot felt just kind of icky and insensitive at times, I'd even say kind of ableist.

Also the level design of climbing that fucking tower where if you miss a jump you may have to redo the whole thing I swear to god 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

How come the cut scenes look SO much worse than the gameplay lol? I mean, whatever, I'm not expecting majesty from a 2005 indie, but I don't think I've ever seen a game where the cut scenes look WORSE than the gameplay before.

The concluding scenes in Meat Circus and after felt kinda rushed to me. Not terrible or anything, but they gave me major vibes of "we ran outta budget and we gotta wrap this up asap", lol. In particular I felt like we needed more from Raz and Augustus than we got, and honestly I felt like the game *wanted* to give it to me but didn't really have time so we just got a handful of dialogue and now you gotta punch this giant butcher.

In conclusion

Overall I found the tone of the game more callous than 2... which took a lot of adjusting for me, since the heart and sincerity in 2 is a large part of what I loved about it. I don't think the game intends to be cruel but I also think it doesn't take its own concepts seriously enough to treat them with the kind of sensitivity they need.

A big example for me is Raz just bruteforcing his way into people's minds when they were inconveniencing him lol. Extremely happy they changed this in 2. I understand that in the end what he does in their minds helps them (mostly??? Boyd u good???), but sheesh...

Raz in general feels like he got a, uh, personality update in 2. To be honest I think this change is emblematic of the whole tone shift, as well as the changing sensibilities of 2005 vs 2021. I still liked him in 1 but I don't think I'd feel as attached without 2. It did make me really appreciate [plotline redacted] in 2 more though!

I'm happy this game exists and was able to find enough cult success to eventually lead to 2. It's creative and interesting and funny, but it definitely is showing its age. I feel like 2 took all these good ideas and expanded on them and made them better, which is exactly what you want a sequel to do. I would recommend Psychonauts 2 to anyone who enjoys platformers; I would only recommend Psychonauts 1 to someone who really liked 2 and is willing to suffer through dated gameplay as a result.

[sodone-withlife]

i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心 ，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time 外婆 called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

[minecraftsz]

transcripts of my jack manifold character notes from his stream today below the cut :) (slightly edited for clarity, denoted by curly brackets) please rb if u find this useful <3 :D

Jack’s Lore Discussion (page 1)

Joins after first L’Manwar

Begins w/ ambiguous allyship

Paid to kill Tommy, burn his stuff by Dream

[Original plan (never came to be)

Double agent - has true loyalties, but it’s unknown]

(time skip - 2 month streaming break, allied with l’manburg {during this, left the day of schlatt’s election})

Returns w/ no knowledge of goings-on

Goes off on his own - abandoned by L’manburg/Pogtopia/Manberg

page 2

Abandons everyone to found Manifoldland (ML) after Schlatt’s death - no longer trusts his friends

Vows to run ML better than Schlatt {ran Manberg}

{creates} “be better” sign {with part of Schlatt’s portrait}

Pre-Exile

Manidolf wants to ally w/ Tubbo {+L’Manberg} after Dream attacks ML

{damage} not on purpose - product of Dream-Tommy feud

{”be better” sign is turned into “be worse” sign after ML’s vandalization}

Jealous of Tommy - feels like a side character in his own story

over time turns to malice

page 3

Wanted to play the *first* sympathetic villain of DSMP

then acknowledges wil lol {in reference to cc jack being reminded that wil did it first - cc wasn’t paying attention during 2 month break lol}

Tubbo refuses to ally (:c)

{in conversation} reveals Tommy is why Dream burned ML

{now Jack} knows that if Tommy fucks up 1 more time he’ll be exiled

{jack} frames Dream {in pranks} to get Tommy to lash back + get exiled & out of the way

(wanted to be a Doofenschmirtz)

Main goal: revenge on Dream (+Tommy) thru silly plans

page 4

*didn’t know how bad exile would be {(in reference to Jack wanting to get Tommy exiled}

Forgives Tommy during exile

Goes to visit + loses all his shit b/c Tommy kills him >:(

>Jack hates Tommy

Needs allies

Badlands

L’manburg, etc

Goes to L’Manburg festival

holy shit theyre blowing shit up !

>Protect Tubbo motivation

(preexisting - comes into play now)

{basically, b/c tubbo had always been nice to jack jack never disliked him and wants to keep him safe - this motivation continues through his later actions}

realizes it all boils down to Tommy and Dream

>Tommy is a villain

>has to ally w/ Tommy to kill Dream

page 5

Bench w/ everyone (inclu. Tommy) {post-total destruction while everyone’s mourning}

{retcons motivations:} starts to be sympathetic to L’Manburg - doesn’t stick

Loses final canon life to Techno

fights him b/c L’Manberg was just destroyed {- unclear if just due to high emotions or b/c of grief / anger over destruction}

FALLS INTO HELL (the void)

(happy accident! canonizes death) {before the lag glitch he hadn’t been planning to make the techno death canon}

realizes all his deaths were from Tommy + Dream

claws his way back out out of spite and anger

{the only reason he’s alive is to get revenge on tommy - not only were the deaths unfair but he was betrayed}

*didn’t fully die - hanging on by a thread* {retconned as a way to explain why dream could say that nobody had ever been revived before}

page 6

Jack + Niki team up to go after Tommy

Gets invited to Snowchester, tries and fails to nuke Tommy

{the vod goes a little out-of-order now}

Jack is maybe redeemable now?

{on Jack’s reasoning for using a nuke to kill Tommy}

Doesn’t want to hurt Tubbo

Thinks Tommy has manipulated Tubbo into becoming his sidekick

Believes {that while it might hurt him,} it’s in Tubbos’ best interest to die

> an accident {would be the least painful way (for Tubbo) to do this}

Promises to return to ML - still thinks it holds meaning for him

Tommy invites Jack to Biginnit Hotel

{Tommy is put in prison}

page 7

“I’m going to take and take and take” {while explaining why Jack took the Biginnit}

JM finally deserves to have something

nobody else deserves what they have

takes the BigInnit hotel

“fill the void with capitalism” lol {jack compensating for how empty + angry he feels after tommy’s (percieved?) betrayal}

plans to keep Tommy in prison

{this} reveals he might not {have} actually want{ed} Tommy dead

[Spire is not from unjust death, it’s motivated by {feelings of} betrayal] {he emphasized this point a LOT}

JM is lonely and upset and betrayed

TOMMY DIES:

celebration -> grief + realization

(plus anger at Dream {for taking revenge away from him}

page 8

thunder1408 -> Jack Manifold

{coincides with and is} representative of development :’) {someone in chat mentioned this, it wasn’t intended but he thought it was cool}

Came back for revenge - never got it

No more goals (hotel doesn’t count {- he calls it vapid, refers to it like it’s mostly just a distraction)

Misses Tommy, being friends, everything. {his death is} bittersweet.

[Tommy can’t hurt JM anymore,

this is best for the server,

(power trip - “i will save the server”)

but JM still misses him.]

extra page

Tommy doesn’t even know he’s hurt Jack {or given him a canon death either, most likely}

“Jack - no, no one’s hurt you, Jack” {(quote from Tommy during Dream’s capture)}

{there was more info and insight given after his main Lore Explanation during his dono Q&A but i didnt catch it bc i had to walk my dog lol)

that concludes the transcript hope this helped someone ehe :)

[a-deed-without-a-name]

Can you tell us about the AU in (I feel bad but I forgot the name of the fic, it was the one with Gabriel as a feeder for Sam) because I keep thinking about it- there was a lot of neat stuff there. Do you ever intend on fleshing it out?

The Gravity of Tempered Grace! Don't feel bad about forgetting the name. I forgot it, too.

I am thrilled by this ask.  Utterly thrilled.  There is a lot of world-building surrounding this particular fic that I wound up leaving out so it wouldn’t get too messy, which I believe I mentioned in the note at the beginning.

I’ve told people before my real kink is worldbuilding/headcanon, and they think I’m joking, but I am absolutely not.

I’m not sure I’ll ever flesh this AU out, but I can sure as shit dump the bits and pieces of the universe I remember here!

This is a “most monsters/magic are public and mundane”-type universe, which is how Gabriel and Castiel are dating people, renting apartments, and working normal jobs with their wings out all the time.  No real triggering “everybody found out” event, this is just the way things have always been and society reflects that.  Most species, humans included, are able to live comfortably with each other.  Negative stereotypes and stigmas exist, but resources do exist for those beings who need to feed on each other

Sam works for the Men of Letters, which is a public, overarching government institution in this universe.  Kind of a cross between the FBI, CDC, and a few other agencies.  His official job title is Occult Researcher, which means that he studies and refines magic.  He specializes in curses and everything surrounding them.  He’s mostly home office, but has traveled before to assist field teams.

Sam is a cambion.  The term can mean somebody with one human parent and one demonic, but that’s so rare nowadays the definition’s fallen out of use, and it mostly just means a human tainted with infernal magic, usually as a child.  It’s rare, but not impossible, and usually happens by accident or opportunity.  In Sam’s case, it happened because his mother made a deal with a demon and it tried to claim him (y’know, like...in canon).  Sam and Dean are both aware of this.

There are negative stereotypes surrounding cambions, and corresponding legislation meant to prevent discrimination.  The Men of Letters, however, consider them highly employable in certain roles, because they tend to have latent psychic and/or magical powers, they’ve got a high tolerance when it comes to curses and infernal magic, and while the demonic taint is a pain in the ass, there are easy workarounds.  Sam is offended by any implications he got his job because of the blood in his veins rather than on his merits.

Yes, an angel dating a cambion is unusual.  Sam and Gabriel have heard all the jokes.  At this point in their relationship, it’s a fact that barely registers anymore.

Modern angels’ ancestors originally immigrated from Heaven.  They were divine beings, but generations on Earth has rendered them mostly mortal.  A few hallmarks remain: their wings, their divine magical abilities, the fact they don’t need to eat and rarely need to sleep, their psychic connection with all members of their species, the angel blades some are born with, and their communal social behavior.  Some angels do still have extradimensional forms, but they’re basically vestigial by this point, and the aspects (extra eyes, flaming haloes, mandorlas) tend to only appear in moments of intense emotion.  It’s seen as an embarrassing thing, like blushing or crying when you argue.

Gabriel is a lesser archangel.  Castes/breeds used to mean a lot more in his species past, and a lot of angels are still defined behaviorally by their caste (Castiel is).  For Gabriel, this basically means only that he has four wings instead of the standard two or the higher-archangel six, that he’s highly powerful in terms of magic, and he’s looking at a lifespan of at least a thousand years.

Many angels still flock, or live in large groups (garrisons, choirs).  Even those that don’t, like Castiel and Gabriel, have a communal social mindset, which is a large part of the reason they’re compatible with Sam and Dean: they don’t think it’s weird to spend as much time with your brother as the two of them do, even when you’re adults and live separately.  Most flocks have adjusted and integrated well into modern society.  Some, however, prefer to live on their own and remain “pure,” and subscribe to outdated ideologies and practices involving the “holiness” of angels.  These groups have rigid rules, harshly punish disobedience, strictly isolate their members, and are usually ruled over by a single patriarch.  Cults, they’re cults.

Gabriel and Castiel are distant relatives.  They were raised in a cultic angel community.  Gabriel, who’s older and more powerful, left and took Castiel with him.

Sam and Dean were still raised as hunters in this universe, but because of the way that society and the legal system in general is set up here, their dad was basically the equivalent of a serial killer.  He was arrested when they were teenagers.  Sam is no longer in contact with him.  Dean is low-contact, which Sam isn’t aware of but Castiel is.

Castiel is a beat cop.  This is almost a stereotypical job for a seraph, between the advantage of flight, the built-in weapon, the fact they’re a “soldier” caste; the only way he could lean harder into it is if he’d joined the military (which he would have if Gabriel hadn’t talked him out of it).

Dean is in the construction and home improvement industry.  Specifically, he’s a warder, which is the blue-collar equivalent of Sam’s job.  He puts runic, magical, and mundane protections on homes and other buildings.  Some things come standard, but the more you want to be protected from and the rarer it is, the higher the price.

Dean was actually the one to introduce Sam to Gabriel.  He was a regular at his bakery and knew him tangentially (though he thought he was obnoxious), and had a meet-cute with Castiel involving doughnuts one morning.  When they were serious enough to meet each other’s families, that was when Sam and Gabriel were finally introduced.

There’s probably...more?  But I’m gonna let it go for now because holy fuuuuck did I overdo it lmao.

[jawabear]

Hello! I have a writing request 🥺 for Javi (Narcos). Can Y/n be a forensic psychiatrist, so Javi's coworker, but like from a different branch in the DEA. And can they be sort of friends, but you know, with the soft fuzzy feelings of something more than friendship. Oh, and if it isn't too much, could you include prompt 110? I'd like some fluff, maybe with some angst in the beginning. I read "Flowers' and I really liked it, so maybe that kind of vibe. Thank you already and happy holidays! 🥺

One Visit (Javier Peña X Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: I apologise for taking so long in writing this Anon. It was a challenge but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope I managed to write something close to what you requested or at least something you can enjoy. I got a little carried away so it’s a bit longer that I originally intended. I took it that the prompt you meant was from my prompt list but I apologise if not. Thank you for requesting! It was an interesting request and I’m glad you like my other story Flowers. That’s one of my favourites. Italics represent thoughts and flashback (I hope you’re able to figure out which is which). I hope you enjoy it. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Fem!Reader, drinking, smoking, Javi struggling with his feelings, Steve being annoying, talks of death

Summary: One visit. That’s all it took for him to remember his feelings for her.

“All I’m saying, Javi, is that it wouldn’t hurt to just try dating” Steve reiterate for his friend as they walked through the halls of the DEA office on their way outside.

This was all Steve had been going on about for the past two week. Javi getting a girlfriend. It wasn’t really that Javier was against getting a girlfriend. He just didn’t think he deserved one. Nor did he think he was boyfriend material. But he really didn’t know why Steve was all of a sudden hell bent on finding him a girl.

“Is there really no in you like?”

“I really have no idea what your obsession is with finding me a date, but can you stop?” Javi sighed.

Finally they made it outside and Javi was thankful to get some fresh air after being stuck inside all day which was really the only reason they had come outside in the first place. But as they were there, they both decided to light up a cigarette.

A little while into their smoke, a car pulled up outside the DEA building drawing both agents’ attention. From out of the back of the sleek black car came a girl. She pulled a bag from the car and swung it over her shoulder. She said something to the driver and gave him a smile before closing the car door and turning towards the building.

“Holy shit” Javi whispered as he threw his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his foot.

Steve noticed the way Javi’s eyes never left her as she walked over to him. She smiled and waved to him and he gave an acknowledge nod and a quick and nervous smile. “Hey Javi!” She said happily as she stopped a little distance away from the two agents.

“(Y/N)” he said, not sound as happy as she did, he sounded a little nervous or flustered. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Apparently you’re new boss wants to meet me. I don’t know why she wants to meet me when I’m not the one in charge of the department but according to my boss I’m the “best in the business” or something like that” she said using air quotes.

“As humble as ever I see” he commented making her laugh slightly. Steve stood there awkwardly as the two stared at each other. He could see what was happening even if they couldn’t.

He cleared his throat catching both Javi’s and (Y/N)’s attention. “Hi, I’m Steve Murphy. Javier’s partner” Steve introduced him self knowing that Javi wouldn’t. He held out his hand and she took it with a smile and shook it.

“(Y/N) (L/N)” She said “I’m a forensic psychiatrist for the DEA”

“Well, that a whole load of words I don’t understand” Steve joked making (Y/N) laugh cutely. Javi loved her laugh but not when it was directed at someone other than him.

“Well, I’ve got to go” she said as she removed her hand from Steve’s “it was lovely meeting you Steve. And it’s always a pleasure Javi. I’m sure I’ll see you both around but I really should get going”

“Y-Yeah, bye (Y/N)” Javi smiled softly to her as she walked past them and into the building.

Javi glance at Steve who was smirking at him “what the hell are you looking at me like that for?” He asked angrily.

“No reason” Steve said throwing his smoke to the floor and patting Javier’s shoulder. “No reason at all” he said before walking back inside. Javier let out a heavy sigh and rubbed over his face.

“Of all the fucking people” he mumbled as he looked up. He wasn’t really talking to anyone, unless there was a god up there who was listening and who hated him. He shook his head and followed his partner back inside.

The two agents sat back at their desks, Javi was reading through some files while Steve sat there. Watching and calculating. It was blindingly obvious what was happening and Steve simply found it funny that Javier was either an idiot or ignoring it.

“So it’s (Y/N) then?” Steve said finally after watching his friend for about ten minuets. He was trying his hardest but failing to contain his smirk.

“What?” Javi was trying to ignore him by distracting himself with papers but the mention of (Y/N)’s name always made him listen.

“It’s (Y/N)” Steve said again “it’s her who you like”

“Are you really still on this?” Javier sighed as he lit up a cigarette.

“Well, I’m just saying that she is a very beautiful girl and you two seemed to get on pretty well. Maybe you should ask her out” Steve suggested.

“I’m not a kid, Murphy. And besides, she wouldn’t go out with me anyway” he mumbled the last part but Steve caught it loud and clear.

“Is she single?” He asked.

Javier was losing his patience a little with his partner “as far as I’m aware. Yes, she is single” he answered. Javi could already guess the next words that would come out of his partner’s mouth and he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m not discussing this with you anymore” he said sternly “stop fucking about and actually do something” Steve just made a noise before standing and leaving, probably to go get a coffee.

Javi sighed again and held his head in his hands. He was getting stressed out because Steve was right. Of course he was right. Javi did like (Y/N). He had since the moment they met. But what’s not to like? She smart, funny, caring and so beautiful. It was a wonder to him that she hadn’t got a boyfriend yet. Any guy would be lucky to have her. He just wanted to be that guy.

What the hell is wrong with me? He though angrily as he ran his hands through his hair. Pull yourself together Javier. It’s not going to happen.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was sat in Messina’s office listening to her ramble on about how things work now she’s in charge and whatnot. But (Y/N) wasn’t really listening to what she was saying. She was too distracted in her own thoughts.

Anyone who worked for the DEA knew about Javier Peña’s reputation. Everyone knew he was the asshole. Everyone knew his way of getting information. And for someone with the right mind, that would be enough to put them off him. But not (Y/N). Oh no.

Perhaps it was just her analytical nature that came with her job role that drew her to the dashing DEA agent. She saw a man who was clearly struggling. A man who was hiding himself from something or someone. Probably himself. She saw someone who by all accounts had dropped most their morals for the sake of a job. But she knew that beyond all that, beneath that cold exterior, was a kind and gentle man who simply wanted to be loved. She knew this because she had seen it.

It was a few months after they had first met. She was still pretty new to Columbia and she hadn’t really made many friends outside the people she worked with closely. Javier was the only other familiar face she knew. They both found themselves at the same bar at the same time, unintentionally of course.

(Y/N) didn’t know whether to approach him but he looked a little run down and she though she could maybe help with whatever was troubling him. She drew in a deep breath and walked over to him taking the empty stool beside him.

“(Y/N)?” He said a little confused to see her in a place such at this. She didn’t at all strike him as a drinker. She was a good girl who always played by the rules and never drank. So he though.

And he was right. She just ordered a glass of water.

“You don’t mind if I sit with you, Javier?” She asked shyly.

“No, of course not” he flashed her a brief smile before downing the rest of his drink, which she guessed to be a whiskey, before he held up his glass gesturing for a refill. “What brings you here?” He asked her as he swirled his freshly poured drink in his glass.

“I um...well I don’t really get out much. Or I didn’t at least when I lived in the states. Believe it or not I’m not a very “out going” person. So I thought that maybe I would try and be different down here, you know, new life and all” she laughed meekly as she circled the rim of her glass “a-and I just needed to clear my head from today...”

“Tough day?” Javi asked, his voice held a caring tone that made her feel warm inside, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was still more interested in his drink.

“The people down here are a lot more...intense than back in the states. I’m not really used to what I’m being given...”

“Well, you must be good at what you do. Other wise they wouldn’t have spent all that money flying you out here to work” he said “don’t worry though (Y/N),” the sweet caring tone of his voice had gone and changed into one of sarcasm “you’ll get used to it and you’ll become the same as everyone else who works in this shithole” he held up his drink and studied it for a brief moment before taking a massive swig “drinking away all your problems...” he mumbled to himself.

“I-Is that what you do?” (Y/N) asked quietly, not wanting to over step any boundaries. After all, they still didn’t really know each other. “You just drink away your problems”

“Yep” he spoke lowly but a hint of humour to his singular word.

“That’s-That’s not a great habit to get into Javier” she said “that’s pretty dangerous”

“Are you trying to get all psychologist on me?” He laughed.

“Psychiatrist” she correct “and no. Not really. But...maybe instead of just drinking, you could talk to someone about what’s going on with you. It might be better, and cheaper”

“(Y/N),” he said flatly as he put his drink on the bar and turned to face her “I haven’t spoken to anyone about my problems since my mother died when I was ten. If anyone cared about my problems, then I wouldn’t have any. But because no one does, I’m stuck with them”

“I care” she said quietly “and not just because it’s kind of my job to care about people but because...out of everyone I’ve met so far in my time being here, you’ve been the nicest to me. And I want to return the favour. So...if you wanted to talk, I’m here to listen even if you don’t want me to help you”

Javier frowned at her words. It wasn’t like a frustrated or fed up frown. It was more of a...sad frown. He swallowed his drink in one go, which was clearly a mistake on his part judging by the sharp hiss he let out from the burn of the drink. He rubbed his forehead as he set his now empty glass down but made no move to ask for another one.

“What do you want to know?” He asked.

The rest of the night they talked and they talked. Somehow, she managed to get him to open up to her. Not completely. She could tell that there were things he was not willing to share with her, at least not yet. But she saw a side of him that no one ever had. A warmer side. A more...vulnerable side.

Javi told her about his close relationship to his mother and how heart broken he was when she died. That was something he had never told anyone. He never spoke of his family, and certainly not his mother. But it seemed after that, he just kept going. He said how much he missed her and how much he needed her.

She didn’t tell him this because she didn’t quite know how to word it without making things seem worse. But in her head she came to the conclusion that his behaviour towards women was most likely a result of not having that female connection in his life. He didn’t have a loving mother or woman in his life like most people might, and the way he described their bond, clearly it had taken a serious toll on his life. But she wasn’t exactly surprised. The death of anyone in someone’s life can cause problems and pain. Especially a family member.

“Does that all sound doable to you?” Messina’s voice cut through her thoughts bringing her back to reality.

“O-Oh...y-yes. Yes” (Y/N) stuttered as she shifted in her seat to look a little more professional. “No actually. My apologies but I...”

“Wasn’t listening?” Messina said with a slight smile “I appreciate your honesty. It’s more then what I get here. All I was saying was that things are going to be run a bit differently from your end. Your work will stay the same but the work load may be different. Less. These people are dangerous and by the way these missions and raids have been going, it’s far more likely that the offenders you are meant to treat end up six feet under”

“Right...” (Y/N) said quietly with a nod.

“And also, if your up for it, I would like you to come down every so often and maybe check up on some of our own agents here”

“That’s not really what my job is” (Y/N) laughed nervously. She didn’t like telling people no but she wasn’t exactly cut out for the role of councillor to DEA agents.

“I know” Messina nodded “but your boss said you were the one must cut out to do it. It wouldn’t be something that you change from your current position to. Just, every so often coming down here and just talking to the agents. I think you can agree that with things happening in the world right now, everyone could use someone to talk too”

(Y/N) nodded but was still a little on the fence about the whole idea. Technically, it wasn’t too big an ask. She was technically qualified to do it, and it was technically what she was already doing. But what she was doing now was a little more advanced and intense then talking to agents about what they have seen in the field.

But she supposed it wasn’t too different to what she had done with Javi.

“But saying that, they probably wouldn’t even except the help. They prefer to bottle up their emotions and take it out on something or someone else” (Y/N) had a strong suspicion that she was referring to Javi, unless that was just something that all DEA agents did. “Especially agent Peña” There it was.

“Agent Peña” (Y/N) repeated quietly.

“He’s one of our agents focusing on the Escobar case, along with his partner-“

“Steve Murphy. Yes. I met him this morning. Me and Javier already know each other”

“Right” Messina said “well, you go careful with him” (Y/N) didn’t really know what she meant by that but she didn’t have time to question it before Messina stood and held her hand out to (Y/N) “I appreciate you coming out here”

(Y/N) stood too and shook her hand “thank you for having me. It was a pleasure”

“The pleasure was all mine. Let me show you out” just then the phone rang and (Y/N) waved off the offer.

“I know the way” she smiled soft before leaving the office and letting out a deep breath when the door had closed.

“Dude,” Steve said as he leaned over his desk to get Javi’s attention “heads up”

Javi turned and saw (Y/N). He wasn’t quite in control of his body as he ran over to her, offering to show her the way out of the base.

“So how was it?” He asked her.

“It was okay. I don’t really know what I was expecting. I wasn’t really told much about why I was coming here other than the fact she wanted to meet me”

“What did you talk about?”

“Not much. She just filled me in on who she was, her background and all that. And our role in helping the DEA. And...my role in the DEA”

“She didn’t fire you did she?” Javi said quickly.

“No!” She laughed “no, she didn’t fire me. I don’t think she has the power to fire me herself” Javi felt a little bit embarrassed after that “she sort of offered me a new job? I’m not really sure what she is planning though. She wants me to come here every so often to check on you DEA agents. You know, talk to you, make sure you’re okay”

“Well, I can’t imagine anyone else being the one for that role” they reach the outside of the base and came to a stop at the top of the steps. “So...where are you going now?”

“Technically it’s my day off so, home I guess”

“Right” he nodded “I’d give you a ride...but the boss said we’re not allowed off base”

“Following the rules? That’s not like you Javier” she chuckled. “It’s fine though. My ride should be here any second now anyway” as if on cue, the same sleek black car from earlier pulled into the gates “see”

“Y-Yeah” Javi said quietly.

“Well I um...I better go. But it was nice seeing you again Javi, even if it wasn’t for very long”

“Yeah. It was nice. Great. Great to see you again..”

“I’ll um..see you some when” she said as she began walked down the steps towards the car. He just waved as she got to the car and got in.

“Fuck” he swore under his breath watching as the car drove off “fuck”

Time seemed to drag on from that point until it was time to close up shop. The base was near empty aside from Javi, Steve and a few other officers who tended to always flitter around.

Steve let out a groan as he stretched his arms above his head “well,” he began “that’s me done” he dropped his arms and stood grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and his gun from his desk drawer. “You staying on?”

“Uh...yeah. I’m just gonna...finish up some stuff” Javi said taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ain’t got a hot date tonight then, huh?” Steve teased.

“No, I do not” Javi mumbled.

“That’s a real shame, man” Steve tutted as he adjusted his jacket.

“Why do you care so much about it anyway?” Javi asked.

“‘Cause you deserve someone Javi. You should’ve asked (Y/N) out. I’m sure she would’ve said yes” Javi didn’t respond, he just continued typing away at the typewriter. “Well, night Javi”

“Yeah” Javier grumbled as his partner left.

It was painfully quiet in the base. There were other officers still lingering about but none that Javi really knew. So really, he was alone.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray on his desk and leant back in his chair, running his hands over his face and groaning to himself. He dropped his hands and cast his gaze to the phone sitting on his desk.

Her phone number was basically engraved in his heart. He knew it better then he did his own number. Steve’s words played over and over in his head. Maybe he should ask her out.

But the phone just sat there. Mocking him. Laughing at him for being such a cowards. For being too afraid to ask the girl he liked out on a date. Or at least for a drink so he could see her again.

Javi sat forwards and pulled himself closer to his desk. He grabbed the phone but before he could even dial a number he slammed it back down again.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He said to himself. He was getting annoyed at himself now. But he was still annoyed at Steve for bringing it up so much recently. Just pick up the phone and call her.

So he did. It all happened so quickly but he suddenly found himself with the phone to his ear ringing. He just hoped she answered.

The phone rang and rang and he began to think she wouldn’t answer. He was about to put the phone down but then her voice came through the other line.

“Hello?” She said.

“(Y/N)? It’s Javi” he tried to calm his voice, hopefully the quality of the phone wasn’t clear enough for her to hear his nervous tone.

“Hey Javi. What’s up?” She asked sweetly making his heart pound and palms sweat.

“Oh...uh nothing. I just um...are you busy?” He asked.

“Uh..well I was just about to get ready for bed but-“

He didn’t let her finish before speaking again “you’re busy, don’t worry about it”

“No no!” She said quickly “I’m not. What’s wrong?”

He paused and swapped the phone to his other ear, his leg bouncing nervously as he worked up the courage to ask her out for a drink “would you...like to go get a drink...with me?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared himself for the cold hard rejection. But that wasn’t what he got “I’d love to” she said filling him with relief. He let out an audible sigh of relief that he hoped she didn’t hear.

“Great. I’ll um...meet you at the bar in say..” he looked at his watch “twenty minutes?”

“Sure thing, Javi” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice that made him smile too. “I’ll see you then”

“Yeah. See you then” he hung up the phone and fell back against his chair. He sat there for a moment just trying to comprehend what had just happened before he stood up and grabbed his jacket. He didn’t bother to tidy his desk before he was out the door and in his car driving towards the bar where he would meet her.

The bar was pretty quiet when he got there, which was strange considering the time. But he wasn’t complaining. He took at seat at the bar and ordered his usual drink, a whiskey. He sat there sipping his drink as he waited, the amber liquid calming his nerves.

“Javi,” came a voice from beside him. He tuned and saw (Y/N) taking the seat next to him. “Sorry I’m late” she said before ordering a glass of water.

It took him back to that day.

“I was early” he told her.

“So why did you ask me out here?” She asked as she took a sip of her drink “not that it’s a problem!” She was quick to add worried she had offended him in some way.

“I Uh, it was nice to see you again today and I just...wanted to see you again” he said quietly. She smiled at him and let out a happy noise as she took another sip of her drink.

He looked at her for a moment. There was something different about her from earlier. She looked at him confused but laughed nervously at his gaze “what?” She asked.

“Are you wearing lipstick?” He asked noticing how her lips were a more bold shade of red than usual. In all the time he had known her, he hadn’t ever seen her wear any kind of make up. But she didn’t need it. She was beautiful the way she was. If anything the lipstick was just...wrong. But not it a bad way, he just wasn’t used to seeing it on her.

“O-Oh. You noticed that” she looked away from him staring into her glass. She pulled a piece of hair from behind her ear to cover the side of her face so he wouldn’t see her. She felt like a complete fool.

He shifted closer to her, the stool he was sat on scraped against the floor as he did. Javi reached out and tucked the hair back behind her ear “it looks nice” he said making her looked back at him, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink at the soft touch “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear make up before”

“That’s becuase I haven’t. But it was something my cousin bought me as a joke for my birthday last year. She said it would help with all the guys I would get with and kiss”

“Has it worked?”

“No” she laughed “so far I haven’t been with or kissed a single person whilst I’ve been down here”

“Well, you may still find some use for it” he said.

A slightly awkward silence fell over the two of them as the sipped at their drinks, Javi finished first but didn’t ask for a second one. He turned back to look at her watching as she rubbed the now empty glass with her thumb.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” He asked her suddenly.

“A drive?” She asked “where to?”

Javi shrugged as he pulled out his wallet “I don’t know. Just a drive” he said pulling out some cash and throwing it on the bar before hopping off his stool.

“Okay?” She said hesitantly as she got off her own stool and followed him out of the bar to his car.

The drive to begin with was pretty quiet as she stared out the window trying to figure out where he was taking her. He did have a spot in mind but he didn’t want to spoil it for her.

“You’re not taking me somewhere to murder me, are you?” She joked “we seem to be getting away from the city a little bit” she noticed he was driving her to a more remote area rather than the open city. And it was slightly up a mountain too.

“No” he laughed “why would I ever want to murder you?”

She shrugged “I don’t know. Sometimes you don’t need a reason to murder someone”

“Well, I’m not bringing you somewhere to kill you (Y/N)”

“That’s what all murderers say!” She pointed out. He just laughed and pulled onto a patch of grass of the overlook he had brought them to. He brought the car to a stop and she examined the location “yep, definitely a murder spot”

“Jesus (Y/N)” he laughed.

“I don’t think he’s going to be much help” she said. “What is this place, Javi?”

“Come on” he said as he took off his seatbelt and got out the car. She followed suit and stood next to him as he leant against the front of his car.

“Oh my god” she gasped. She was in awe of the way the city looked from up there. The sky was completely clear of clouds as was full of beautiful silver stars. The lights from the houses were stars in their own right, but golden ones. She was pretty much lost for words at the sight.

“I know” Javi said “when you’re up here, looking down on this place, it’s hard to believe there’s a drug war going on”

“It’s a shame that a country as beautiful as this one won’t ever be known for...this” she said quietly “how did you find this place?”

“I don’t really know” he said “you get to a point where you just need to keep on going. And that’s what I did. I just kept driving and I ran out of fuel right here. But I’ve been coming back here ever since. It just...a nice place to be”

“It is very nice” she smiled to him. The conversation stopped for a moment as they both just enjoyed the sight. Enjoying how peacefully quite it was. And how fresh it was too.

“How many girls have you brought up here?” She asked his quietly.

“Out of everyone I’ve brought up here, you’re my favourite” he said “but that’s mainly down to the fact I’ve never brought anyone else up here other than myself”

“Well, I’m honoured to be the first” she said “thank you for bringing me up here Javi”

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to share it with someone...” he mumbled the last part but she still heard him.

(Y/N) just looked at him the same way he had looked at her earlier in the bar. She was trying to figure something out. He looked at her giving her the same nervous look she had, “what?” He said.

“Just something Messina said”

“Oh god, what did she say? That I’m a shit agent?”

“That I should be careful with you”

Javi didn’t speak right away, he shifted his stance and looked down “Yeah, I guess she had a point” he muttered “I’ve really made a name for myself. It’s no surprise that half the fucking DEA thinks I’m an asshole, the other half just have no idea who I am in general”

“I think she was wrong” (Y/N) said “I think they are all wrong about you Javier. You’re not an asshole Javi, at least not all the time. You’re just like every other person. And I think everyone is wrong to think so badly of you. Because you’re not a bad person”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to say that. You can tell me the truth. I get that it’s you’re job to make people feel good about themselves and shit like that but you don’t have to do that with me”

“I am telling you the truth” her voice was quiet and made him look at her, meeting her beautiful eyes with his “and my job isn’t just about making people feel good about themselves and shit like that, it’s about making people believe that they are good. It’s about helping people...and I...I want to help you”

“Why do you want to help me, (Y/N)?”

“Because I...” she stopped herself for a moment and looked at him, his eyes baring down on her as he awaited her answer.

“You what?” He pressed softly. He had turned his body to face her completely, standing incredibly close to her. “You what, (Y/N)?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he smashed his lips against hers. She felt her knees go weak at the sudden contact. She brought her hands up to grip his arms to hold her self steady as she returned the kiss. Javier slipped his arms around her waist pulling her towards him slightly. With his arms supporting her, she moved her hand up to thread her fingers through his soft hair.

“Because I love you” she whispered when he pulled back from her lips “and I believe you are worth helping, and I want you to see yourself as I see you”

“And how do you see me (Y/N)?” He asked in a low voice as he gently rubbed his nose against hers making her heart flutter as she stroked the back of his head with her thumbs.

“Someone who just wants to be loved” she admitted to him.

“Only if I’m loved by you” he whispered before kissing her again, deeper this time and not so hard. His arms wrapped more firmly around her, drawing her as close to him as possible without hurting her.

“Oh you are Javi” she whispered against his lips “you are”

2/01/21

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