#this is a lot happier than the prompt might suggest

[zepskies]

Outlander - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Ready for some more Cowboy Dean? Here we go with Outlander Part 1! This is a sequel story directly following The Honorable Choice, where Dean not only saves the member of a Native American tribe, but falls in love with her. (She saves him a lot in return.) Now, he’ll have to learn how to live in her world if he wants to stay with her.

This sequel series will be 4 parts! 💜

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Suggestiveness/implied smut and spice, hunting (in the more traditional sense), angst, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff. **Pronunciation guide at the end!

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Two Worlds

Her people call this river Little Cheyenne. It’s because Big Cheyenne cuts through the land of the Sioux Indians by half, but Little Cheyenne almost meets it in the south, stretching all the way up to the Black Hills.

Mila’s tribe has always lived near this river. Its waters have bled red during battles with other tribes, and sometimes during battles with White Men.

The White Men’s fort, the one her husband came from, lies farther down in the south. The tribe had to move their village higher north along the river after Mila returned with Dean Winchester, just to be safe.

On a cloudy afternoon, Mila scrubs at a bundle of dirty clothes until they’re clean. She rinses them off in the river and is thorough about her work, but she knows she can’t be here much longer. She has a stew simmering on hot coals in her tipi…

Well, the one she now shares with her husband.

Unconsciously, she smiles. She remembers leading Dean through the tribe, to the place where she hoped he would find rest. They stopped at the foot of her tipi. 

“This one’s yours?” he asked.

She paused, giving him another small smile. 

“Ours.”

Mila continues scrubbing, though she frowns when her fingers slip through a tear in one of the new tunics she made for him (even though he keeps calling it a shirt). The tear was made by a blade, or maybe an arrowhead, she realizes. 

The crunch of feet on the riverbed’s gravel makes her raise her head and look over her shoulder. Unease prickles down her spine. She braces herself for a familiar shadow, come to disturb her peace.    

But then she relaxes. She’s being joined by two of the older women in her tribe. Mila has known them her whole life, and so she calls them tunwin. Aunt. They both greet her kindly and kneel beside her with their own bundles of clothes for washing, but Eyota, the older one, has a sharper eye. She is their tribe’s medicine woman. 

“Your husband wears out his clothes,” she remarks.

“He’s been working hard training with Šóta and the other men,” Mila explains.

“He seems to be learning quickly,” says Misae. She has a more playful glint in her eyes. “Who knew that you could catch and tame a White Man. Looks like they are no different from wild horses.”

Mila smiles slightly, but it’s not genuine. She nods in agreement. “He’s learning quickly.”

She holds her tongue from saying anything else, even though she wants to. Dean isn’t a man to be tamed, any more than she was, in his people’s eyes. She aims to change the subject. 

“Do you have any good herbs or spices for wahonpi? I’ve had the stew simmering all morning,” she asks Eyota. Not only is she a gifted healer, but Eyota is also one of the best cooks, and she knows it. She nods and straightens her shoulders the way she always does when someone asks her for advice—and even when they don’t ask for it.

“Of course, child. What you need is…”

“Goddamn it,” Dean huffs under his breath.

The jackrabbit flees from him again, or more accurately, from his terribly aimed arrow. He’s an excellent marksman…just not with a bow, it seems.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong here, and he’s not likely to figure it out. Not by the way Takoda, Šóta, and the other men are laughing at him.

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows when he’s being hazed.

These men are bare-chested warriors, each of them richly tanned under the sun. Most of them wear their hair long, half of it gathered high on their heads, or braided in some way. Šóta is his wife’s cousin, and as the Chief’s son, he wears a small adornment of eagle feathers threaded into his hair. His closest friends are Takoda and Otaktay. Both of them laugh at Dean the most, and in their language, using just enough gestures and body language that Dean knows he’s being talked about. They point at his boots and his brown Stetson hat—two of the only things he’s kept of his own that make him feel comfortable in his own skin.

Finally, Šóta goes over to him. “Good try,” he says, in his usual patronizing tone.

Dean knows he can’t punch out Mila’s cousin, no matter how bad he’s asking for it. Somehow, Dean manages to hold onto his temper.

“What’re they saying?” he asks lowly, gesturing at the two chuckle brothers.

Šóta’s lips twitch. He glances down at Dean’s feet. “They say your…shoes are loud on the earth. You give yourself away before the animal even catches your scent.”

Dean’s given up a lot of things, but his boots won’t be one of them. He wants to learn. He wants to belong here, in Mila’s world, but he also wants to stay himself.

So the men move on, mounting their horses. Dean rides with Baby at a plodding clip. Her black coat ripples with a healthy sheen. He thinks she’s come to enjoy the more natural surroundings and freer pasture of the grasslands, and he can’t deny, this part of it all feels right. The sun peeks through between the dappled leaves of oak trees, painting the ground in red, green, and gold. It’s quiet and beautiful here as Šóta leads the pack through the forest, just southwest of the village.

Eventually, he stops them between a denser thatch of trees and shrub. He raises a hand signal that Dean’s come to recognize. He raises his bow belatedly after the others though. He follows Šóta’s line of vision, and there is a deer grazing in a small clearing. A young buck.

Šóta signals at Dean. Try again, his eyes say.

Dean takes in a deep, quiet breath through his nose, and he takes aim.

He really misses his damn rifle.

Dean shoulders the sting of failure while he makes his way through the camp, leading Baby by the reigns. He drops her off at the large horse pen. There he feeds her and brushes her long coat, all while murmuring soft affectionate things. She’s still one of his only friends here.

But even she leaves him short to join her new friend, Mato. The two have become thick as thieves. Mato greets the black mare with a friendly whinny. Their noses touch in affection, and Mato playfully nips at her ear.

Dean raises his brows. “Well, that’s a little more friendly than usual. You guys start courting when I wasn’t looking?”

He walks over to Mato, who’s softened up to him in recent weeks.

“You sly dog,” Dean remarks, smirking. “Didn’t even ask me for her hand.”

Mato blows a hot breath through his nose at Dean, who has to blink, wiping his face.

“Now that’s just rude.” Still, he offers the mustang an apple from his pocket. Mato takes it from his palm, letting Dean rub his neck while he munches on his snack. “As fathers-in-law go, you lucked out, pal. See? I’m a delight.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Baby had her first foal by spring. Dean grins at the thought, but it soon falls. If only his father-in-law were so easy to please.

His mind dwells on it as he starts making his way back to the heart of the village. Chatan, Mila’s father, hasn’t warmed up to him any better than Šóta or the other men. Tahatan is the only one of them who treats Dean civilly, and overall, he seems to be a good leader.

Dean has that thought, just when he sees the older man himself walking with a woman Dean sort of recognizes. She wears a long necklace made of blue beads and seashells. Tahatan goes into her tipi, even though Dean knows…that woman isn’t the Chief’s wife.

Dean raises his brows, but he subtly pivots on his heel and takes a different route back to his own tipi. Whatever he just saw, it’s definitely not his business.

“Honey, I’m home,” he teases.

She welcomes him into her arms, her hands traveling warmly up his shoulders. He bends to kiss her, soft and slow at first. And then deeper, sucking on her lower lip and teasing her with a sensuous tongue. She hums in surprise into his mouth, making him smile.

He’s exhausted and feeling low, but he doesn’t want to let on to her. He just wants to forget about his day, and hopefully recharge with a better night.

“How did it go today?” she asks, after he allows her to breathe.

Dean nods (and lies). “Pretty good.”

She waits for him to continue. When he just continues to hold her, she raises her brows up at him.

“Dean?”

“What? I’m workin’ on archery. Lots of progress.”

She eyes him in suspicion, and he knows he doesn’t have her fooled. Actually, she looks like she’s going to press him about it, so he releases her from his hold and goes to change out of his dirty clothes to avoid her gaze.

“Hey, uh, maybe it’s none of my business, but I saw the Chief go into some other woman’s tent today. Holding hands, bedroom eyes, the whole deal,” he says while he changes. He glances back at her and waggles his brows. Mila smiles slightly.

“Did she wear her hair in a half-braid, or did she wear a necklace made of seashells?” she asks.

Dean’s surprised that she doesn’t seem surprised, but he thinks back to what he saw.

“Uh, seashells. Yeah, she wore seashells,” he says.

Mila nods. “Yes, that woman is also his…the chiefs of my people are known to take more than one wife.”

At that, Dean becomes even more surprised. He finishes dressing and leaves his boots by the tipi’s entrance. His raised brows even out into a smirk.

“Well, okay. Guess it’s good to be Chief,” he says.

Mila���s lips purse as she eyes him narrowly. She goes back to stirring the stew with a wide, wooden spoon. Dean doesn’t see her reaction, but he does notices that something’s missing from his side of the bedding. He frowns.

“Hey, where’s my gun?” He asks Mila, who shakes her head without looking at him.

“I moved it,” she curtly replies.

Dean’s frown deepens. He touches her arm to get her attention.

“I’d rather you didn’t do that, baby,” he says. He’s made sure that she knows the basics of a gun well enough, but he doesn’t want to take the chance of her hurting herself.

“Don’t leave it out, then,” she snips back. “It shouldn’t go where we sleep.”

Dean tilts his head at her. He’s a bit confused at her tone, especially because they’ve had this conversation before.

“I have it there just in case something happens at night,” he reminds her. His pistol is really just for emergencies though. There are only three bullets left in it, and he can’t exactly go shopping for more. 

Dean realizes then that Mila’s mood has shifted. He approaches her from behind.

“What’s wrong, huh?” His hands find familiar purchase along the curve of her waist. He swipes her braid away and presses a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. More teasingly, he asks, “What’d I do now?”

Mila remains tight-lipped, until she glances at him over her shoulder.

“Do you want another woman?” she asks.

It’s a simple question, but it succeeds in completely tripping him up. He blinks at her, incredulous and bewildered.

“What?”

She continues shredding another herb to put into the stew. Somehow, it makes the broth smell a bit worse. 

“You seem to admire the Chief for having three wives, so you must want another one too,” she says.

Holy shit, three wives? Dean wonders. The man must be a saint. Look at the hell I’m catching with one.

He can’t help but laugh, a deep belly chuckle that does nothing to take away Mila’s ire. She glares at him now, genuinely upset, and Dean knows he’s starting to shit the bed on this one. He sobers up and raises his hands in surrender.

“Sweetheart,” he says, in a placating tone.

Despite her annoyance, she allows him to hold her again. He plies her with more tantalizing kisses along her neck. He breathes in the sweet-smelling oil she uses on her hair.

“You’re more than enough woman for me. You know that, right?” he whispers against her skin. It earns her slight shudder, and he smiles. He teases the spot just under her ear, grazing with his teeth, then soothing with his tongue. She can’t help but writhe against him a bit. It stirs a well of desire in his lower belly, especially when he squeezes her hips, pressing himself to her from behind.

She tries to remain strong as she clears her throat, no doubt feeling his growing hardness against her. She starts to blush hotly.

“It’s all I can do just to make sure you stay sweet for me,” Dean says, a hint of teasing returned to his voice.

Mila finally breaks into a laugh. She reaches back to swat him on the head, but his ministrations work. Once she manages to escape from his grasp with a teasing smile of her own, she more happily serves him a bowl of stew.

Dean smirks. Fine, he can be patient. He’ll just have to wait until dessert, then. After a moment to calm himself, he sits down on the ground beside her and brings a large spoonful of stew to his lips. There, he pauses. The strange taste that assaults his tongue nearly makes him choke, but he does his best to swallow it down. The meat’s tough as nails, for Christ’s sake…

Hearing a spoon clatter against the bowl, he chances glancing at Mila. She sits stock still, her brows furrowed as she frowns. Slowly, she sets the bowl down and says,

“Stop eating.”

She looks angry at herself. Dean feels bad for her, his sympathy striking at his chest.

“What do you mean? I’m hungry,” he says, and gamely takes another couple of bites.

She just watches him. Her upset worsens while he tries and fails to cover up a hacking cough.

Finally, Mila can stand no more. She takes the bowl from him, making some of the foul broth slosh over their hands and onto the ground. She tried to make wahonpi, one of the most basic soups in her people’s culture, made from bison, potatoes, corn, and carrots stewed in the broth.

Eyota told me it was simple! she thinks in dismay. How did it go so wrong?

“It’s no good,” she says, her voice hard. “I will go to my mother and see what she cooked. She may have extra for us.”

She rises to her feet, and Dean quickly follows her. He catches sight of her tears, even though she turns her face away from him to grab her shoes. He reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm. He tugs her back to face him.

“Hey, it’s okay. Why’re you getting so upset?” he says. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever you make.”

Or maybe next time, I’ll try doing the cooking, he thinks.

“Because!” she blurts. Tears well up in her eyes and begin to slip down her cheeks, no matter how much she tries to brush them away. “Because you shouldn’t have to eat it. Because it should be good. You deserve to eat something good!”

Mila finally realizes why her mother tried so hard to teach her these things. She’s embarrassed, feeling sorry for herself, but it’s also far worse than that. Her heart hurts knowing what Dean has gone through, and what he continues to go through for her sake. The least she could do is make sure he eats well, and it seems she can’t even do that.

“Mila,” he says with a sigh. He guides her into his embrace. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

She can’t allow herself to be comforted. She pushes at his chest to look up at him.

“You think I don’t know what happens outside?” she says. “It’s a small village, and people talk when they think I’m not listening. I know what the men are doing to you.”

Dean shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You should not have to,” she insists, resting a hand over his heart. “You have proven yourself to be a man of honor. Tahatan said it himself. They should not be this way.” 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I can handle it.” 

He bows his head and captures her lips, plying her with a deeper kiss. The heat of it grows and becomes more than a distraction, more than comfort. It strips everything else away, until it’s just the two of them again, like the night she found him at the riverbank and held him until he woke up in her arms.

What they eat doesn’t matter. Other people don’t matter. All that matters is this.

He squeezes her hips and presses her harder against him, so she can feel every part of his desire. She moans into his mouth, curling her fingers into his shirt. So he guides her down to the bedding, where he shows her what he’d rather get a taste of.

Later that evening, Mila and Dean have dinner with her parents. Her mother, Weaya, is a gracious host, treating Dean both like a guest and a proper son-in-law. She gives him a special cut of braised bison meat, not to mention extra corn and potato hash. Chatan says nothing to him and eats in gruff, stoic silence. 

Dean can tell it both hurts and annoys his wife, but he has to focus on answering Weaya’s many questions about his life—mainly about his family and the farm he grew up on. In some ways, raising crops and rearing up cows, chickens, and horses there isn’t so different from the Lakota village.  

“You must miss that place. Your home,” she says. Dean meets his mother-in-law’s eyes, pausing in polishing off the meat sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. Chatan looks up from his meal, and so does Mila, who hesitates too. He sees the thread of her concern there, behind her eyes, so Dean hides the stab of sadness that hits him every time he thinks of Lawrence. 

“Sometimes,” he admits. He looks over at Mila. “But I’m not alone. That’s what matters.”

She smiles at him softly. Dean has the urge to take her hand, maybe raise it up to his lips, but he’ll leave that for when they’re alone. He doesn’t want to upset her father any more than he has just by sitting in Chatan’s house. Tent…whatever.

He’s glad when, after almost another hour and a round of hot tea, Mila finishes chatting with her mother and stands. It means they can finally get the hell out of here. No disrespect to her parents, but with so much change happening so quickly, Dean had been able to put Lawrence out of his mind for a while. Tonight he thinks about his mom and his brother more than makes him comfortable on their way through the village. He follows Mila inside their tipi, then starts up a candle while she gets ready to rest for the evening. 

Living here is like going back in time—before the lantern, before indoor plumbing and the water heater. It’s not a huge hardship for Dean, who’s spent a lot of his life sleeping on hard, dusty ground, or military bases with less than most modern amenities, but it’s still another adjustment. 

He undresses down to his pants and settles down to the bedding and furs, waiting for his wife. She kneels beside him after undressing down to just her shift. He lays on his back with an arm tucked behind his head, and he watches her unbind her long, dark hair, undoing the braid from the bottom strands. She has this concentrated look on her face, like her mind is far away, even though she’s right here next to him. He threads his fingers through her loose hair while she works, giving her a smile.   

“You okay?” he asks. 

Mila pauses. She lets her tresses escape from her fingers and reaches for him, laying her hand on his chest. Dean holds it there and finally allows himself to press a kiss into her palm. 

I’m sorry, is what she wants to say, but she knows he’ll only reply, For what?

So she lowers down and slips into his warm embrace, as if this can make them both forget the day. She rests her cheek over his beating heart. 

“You will never be alone,” she promises. 

Dean quirks a smile. Instead of answering, he brushes her cheek tenderly with his hand, and he closes his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he finds sleep.

The candle slowly flickers out.   

On most nights, Mila falls asleep before Dean, and so his light snores don’t bother her. Tonight, even though she’s tried, she can’t tune out his rumbles. Or maybe it’s her own mind she can’t tune out.

She carefully maneuvers out of his hold and slips on her shoes. Maybe the moon will give her clarity tonight. 

She pushes open the front flap of the tent and steps out into the cooler air. She looks up at the moon’s white-blue glow, a wide crescent peeking out from between two large clouds. A strong breeze tugs at her hair and flutters her lashes when she closes her eyes. She crosses her arms when goosebumps spread across her tan skin.

“What troubles you, Kimmímila?”

The voice is steady and male, and all too familiar. Still, the intrusion startles her. Her eyes fly open wide and she jolts, inhaling sharply. She frowns when she realizes it’s him. 

“What are you doing? It’s late,” she says.

He steps out from the shadows with his pipe in hand. He smells strongly of tobacco. Her father and uncle smoke as well, but she doesn’t like it herself. She’s glad Dean doesn’t either.  

“Easing my mind,” he says, raising his pipe. “I see you’re up to the same thing.”

Mila shakes her head. She returns her attention to the moon. “Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Are we not friends, Mila?” he says. “Can’t we talk and share like we used to?”

His voice is disheartened enough that it earns her gaze. She sighs at him. 

“I am sorry, but I can’t give you what you want,” she says. “Don’t test me anymore.”

He pauses with his pipe in hand. It drops to his side, and he takes measured steps closer, until he’s looking down at her. Even with the litheness of his form, he’s still taller and broader than her. His long, dark hair is half pulled onto the top of his head, threaded together with a beaded leather string she made for him when they were children. He has used it ever since. The rest of his hair lays loose down his back, brushing his arms. 

“If you actually loved him, it wouldn’t be a test,” he teases.  

He tries to touch her cheek, but she guides his hand down. She shakes her head and steps away from him. 

“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You know I mean what I say.”

His anger and frustration surfaces, with a sharp exhale of breath and the crunch of his dark brows.

“You would choose the Outlander over your own people,” he accuses.

Mila’s gaze is firm as she heads back to her tipi. If he will not be reasonable, then she will make it clear enough to hurt. 

“I choose him over you,” she says. 

Then, she slips back inside.     

The shadow outside remains, just long enough for the moon to become clear past the moving clouds. 

In the morning, Mila goes to her uncle, Chief Tahatan. She finds her parents there in his tipi as well, all of them sharing breakfast. Her aunt passes around more bread and wojapi, a sweet mixed berry sauce, while her father is resting a broken ankle. He’s complaining again, even though it happened over a week ago now. 

“If you hadn’t let the horse buck you off, you wouldn’t be hurting,” she says sharply now. She’s become annoyed with his griping. “Or better yet, you can finally admit that you’re beyond the years of breaking young stallions.” 

Chatan is the Horsemaster of their tribe, and has been since Mila was a little girl, inheriting the position from her great uncle, the former chief’s younger brother. Mila knows, however, that Chatan is getting too old to do the harder work. Many years have meant many battles too, and they’ve taken their toll on his bones. 

An idea grows in her mind, and she goes to sit beside her father. She applies the poultice Eyota gives Weaya for him, before rewrapping his ankle.

“Father,” she begins, imploring him gently, “perhaps Dean could help you care for the horses.”

Chatan eyes her with a frown. “Your husband already has his hands filled with training.” 

“Šóta and Takoda can’t do it all themselves, and Dean has experience with breaking young horses,” she reasons.  

Chatan ignores her and hefts himself to his feet without her or his wife’s help. He leaves with her mother on his heels, even though she looks back at her daughter apologetically. You know your father, her eyes say. 

Mila frowns at his back, both frustrated and upset. When they’re gone, she heaves a sigh. She remains determined though. 

She goes to Chief Tahatan next. He sits in his chair of whicker and wood while he smokes his pipe. Her aunt has gone to help the other women harvesting chokeberries and wild onions. Mila will go there soon, but first, she has business here.

“Uncle,” she says. 

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, crossed between a grunt and a groan. He knows what's coming. She kneels at his feet and touches his hand in a sign of humbleness, reverence, and familial love all at once. 

“Uncle,” she repeats. “Dean has done nothing but try to please Father, but still, he’s being stubborn…will you talk to him? Please?”

Tahatan sighs deeply. “You must understand your father, child. The decision you’ve made affects us all.”

“I do understand, Uncle. But the truth of it is, none of you have given Dean a chance to prove himself.”

“His chance is right now,” Tahatan says, his tone more stern. “Have I not been gracious? Did I not allow him to stay and live among us?”

“Yes, but you continue to judge him in your mind, like everyone else,” she says. The Chief remains quiet. She moves to stand before him, holding his gaze directly. “Let us perform the Huŋkápi.”

Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. Her people first created the tradition to make peace between Lakota and rival tribes, like the Ree. It can even be used to unite extended families within the tribe, especially in times of marriage. There is no better time for it, she thinks. 

The Chief shakes his head. “Kimmímila.”

“Is he not my husband?” she says. “In the eyes of our people, this is the joining of two families, and accepting an outsider into our tribe. That is exactly what the ceremony is for.”

“He has no family,” Tahatan snaps. “It is not exactly the tradition.”

“Then let us make it new,” she argues.

Tahatan hesitates. He shakes his head and rubs at his chin in a gesture of long-suffering. He thanks the spirits that he never had daughters. While he loves his niece, he has never envied his brother. 

“I will think on it,” he says. 

Mila frowns, but she tries her best to accept this, for now. She thanks him respectfully and leans in to kiss his cheek. Tahatan grunts an acknowledgement and watches her go with another shake of his head, despite a small smile. Between her and his sons, they will keep adding years to his life. 

On her way out of the Chief’s tipi, she runs into her cousin, Šóta. He walks with all the comfortable cockiness of a rooster among his harem.

“Good morning, sister,” he greets, even as he playfully pulls at her braid and tosses it into her face.

She flicks it away and meets him with an irritated frown. She’s in no mood to be teased, especially by him. “You’re still a child.”

“Ho-ho, hey now,” he chuckles, and he cuts off her path by standing in her way, crossing his arms. “Watch it. When I become Chief, don’t think I’ll let you talk to me so disrespectfully, my sister.”

“Just because you will be Chief one day does not make you wise,” she says. Her voice is as sharp as the snap of a blackberry vine. “And don’t call me sister. You have lost that right.”

Šóta finally becomes serious; he realizes that she means what she says.

“What are you talking about? What have I done?” he asks, more earnestly.

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Mila snaps. “If you were a good leader, you would take your father’s words to heart when he accepted my husband into our tribe. If you were my brother, you wouldn’t let the men mock him. If you were a man at all, you would do what is right. You would be guiding him right now, instead of letting the others ‘train’ him.”

She storms away from him, leaving Šóta feeling irritated, but also with an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in his gut. 

Mila moves brusquely through the camp until she reaches the clearing edged by the forest. There the horses are fenced in. They’ve been given their food and water for the morning, so they’re rather frisky as they clop around and graze.

She looks for Mato. Baby is no doubt with Dean today, so the Kiger mustang keeps to himself underneath a large sycamore tree. His tail flicks when she approaches, and he turns to her with a sound of greeting. She allows her hand to run along his dun-colored coat as she draws closer.

“I need you, my friend,” she whispers. 

She holds his snout, pressing her forehead against his as she squeezes her eyes shut against the burn of frustrated tears. Mato bumps her shoulder with his nose, softly whinnying. She smiles, sniffling, and rubs his cheek. 

“Let’s go for a ride.”

AN: Well, here we go! Sorry for ending on some angst, but here we've got the pieces in motion for a fun-filled, four-part sequel. 😂💜 Dean and Mila are both struggling in their own ways while he tries to navigate this new world he's trying to live in.

And how do you think he's gonna react to the "mystery man" trying to win her back? 😬

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

Next Time:

But she feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They are getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring. 

However, she pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name. 

She gasps and whips around. He is there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[sequinsmile-x]

Kallos

[καλός, ˈkal.los] Origin: Greek, Noun

good, beautiful, noble.

Whenever she had thought of her wedding dress when she was growing up, she never considered that she’d wear something she’d bought off the rack.

AKA - the one in which Emily and Aaron elope.

A one shot in my series of unrelated kissing prompt fics

-x-

Hi besties,

What better way to start the New Year than with a very fluffy, soft thing where they just love each other a whole lot?

This is one of the prompts from my kissing prompt series, and fulfils the 'forever mine kisses' prompt.

As always, please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: None, so sweet I recommend flossing afterwards to prevent cavities.

Words: 3.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily hums to herself as she steps back to look at her reflection in the mirror, a soft nursery rhyme she never remembered the name of filling the air around her as she inspects her outfit. She runs her hands over the satin material of her dress, her smile as soft as the material flowing over her skin. She’d never thought too much about her wedding dress growing up. She always thought that she’d have little choice in it, that she’d have little choice in anything to do with her wedding. She assumed she’d marry someone rich, whom her parents approved of, and never escape the society she’d never quite belonged in. 

Whenever she had thought of her wedding dress when she was growing up, she never considered that she’d wear something she’d bought off the rack. The thought of her mother’s reaction to it when she finds out, when she sees pictures of her daughter in a simple white dress instead of a made-to-measure designer gown, makes her smile and she’s sure Aaron would joke that’s part of the reason she’d insisted they elope in the first place. 

The worst part was, he wasn’t entirely wrong, but it wasn’t the only reason. 

A crackle comes over the baby monitor, followed by Aaron’s voice, the soft tone he used for her and the kids washing over her as she listens to him speak to their daughter. He’d insisted on getting Alice ready this morning, his smile soft as he kissed her cheek and said he’d give her time to get ready herself as he fed and dressed their 8-month-old. 

“You look so beautiful princess,” he says, and she can picture his smile as he looks at Alice, “Usually you tie top place with Mommy for the most beautiful girl in the world, but today she might just have you beat, she deserves to be the most beautiful in the world on her wedding day.” 

Emily presses her lips together to suppress a smile, her joy almost overwhelming as her cheeks ache with it. Aaron had proposed just before they found out she was pregnant, and she’d been insistent that she didn’t want to be a pregnant bride. Planning a wedding was stressful, especially if her mother tried to take control of most of it like Emily was sure she would, so she didn’t want to put herself through it, not when her pregnancy was already high risk because of her age. Then Alice was born, and she’d never been happier, and time slipped through her fingers like sand. She couldn’t believe her little girl was 8 months old already, that she was growing every day, her personality forming in front of her eyes, and somehow it had almost been two years since Aaron had proposed and they were nowhere closer to getting married. 

She’s the one who suggested going to city hall, just the two of them and the kids, and more than once Aaron had asked if she was sure. It made her love him even more, if that was possible because she knew he would do whatever she wanted. That he’d have the big, over-the-top, wedding she always thought she’d have growing up if that’s what she wanted, or that he’d be happy with something smaller and intimate. She told him one night recently when they were snuggled up in bed, that all she wanted was to be his wife. It seemed to be the final assurance he needed that she was serious about eloping. 

She knew their friends would struggle with their decision, and her mother would too, so they decided to keep it a secret until the deed was done - putting her lifelong rule of ‘it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission’ to good use.

A knock on the bedroom door pulls her attention away from her reflection, and it’s followed by Aaron’s voice.

“Can we come in?” 

She smoothes her hands down the material of her dress again and turns to the door, “Come in.” 

He pauses when he walks in, his hold on Alice in his arms tightening as he looks at Emily, his breath caught in his chest as he takes her in. She was beautiful all the time, her smile something that had always drawn him in, but somehow she always managed to outdo herself. The first time they woke up together and he’d seen her in amongst his sheets, her hair curled from their shared shower and her skin bare, she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her. When he proposed, the smile on her face was bright and he saw his future shining in it and she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her. When she had Alice, when he watched her as she watched their little girl, she’d never been more beautiful. All tired eyes and tear streaked cheeks as she listed off all the features on their daughter’s face as if she wasn’t where Alice got them from. 

Right now, as she stood in their bedroom, her hands nervously straightening out the dress she’d marry him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as they stare at each other, he knew he’d never seen her more beautiful. 

“Em…” he chokes out, clearing his throat as he trips over her name, “You look…”

“You too.” She takes pity on him and steps forward, straightening out his tie needlessly, letting the red silk of it rasp between her finger and thumb. He’d asked her if she wanted him to buy a tux or a new suit for the wedding, but she’d said no, that she wanted to marry him in one of the suits he’d worn when she fell in love with him. Alice coos, reaching out for Emily, who takes her gladly, kissing her temple as she settles her on her hip, “You look beautiful, sweet girl,” she says, smiling to herself as she looks at the rose-covered dress Aaron had put her in. Her smile turns into a smirk as she looks up at her husband, “Like the second most beautiful girl in the world.” 

Aaron freezes, his eyes wide as he looks over at the baby monitor, “You heard that huh?” 

She hums and kisses his cheek, “I did,” she replies, stamping her lips against his, “Although I think she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world,” she tickles Alice’s belly, smiling when it draws a giggle out of her, “But I did make her so I might be biased.” 

“Like I said, usually you’re tied for first place, but it will be her turn when it’s her wedding day.” 

She groans at the thought, holding Alice a little closer as she kisses the top of her head, “Please, I can barely think of her being old enough to walk by herself, let's not marry her off just yet.” 

He smiles knowingly, but is cut off from saying anything as the door flies open and Jack runs into the room, his tie lopsided and grin wide. 

“Mom, you look so pretty!” he exclaims, reaching out for Alice’s hand. His smile becomes impossibly wider as she wraps her hand around his finger. “You too, Lissy.” 

Watching Jack become a big brother had been one of her favourite things since Alice had been born. He’d been excited from the start, even more so when they found out they were having a girl, and he’d been fascinated by every little thing about his little sister. He helped in whatever way he could, and was impatiently waiting for her to be old enough to play ‘properly’ with him. Emily on the other hand wanted time to slow down a little so she could enjoy this time with her children when they still needed her as much as they did, forever worried about a day when they’d try and run away from her instead of towards her. 

“And what about me?” Aaron asks, making a point of straightening out his cuffs, and Jack laughs, leaning against Emily’s side as she wraps an arm around him. 

“You’re very pretty too, Dad,” Jack says, and Emily smiles and nods, running her fingers through his hair. 

“He really is isn’t he? We all are,” she says, winking at her soon to be husband as he lovingly rolls his eyes at her, “We should get going.” 

Jack nods, his excitement palpable, the room filling with it until it sneaks under all of their skin, “Yes, we have to go get married.” 

Emily chuckles and smiles at Aaron, “You heard him, let's go get married.”

___

She can’t help but smile as Jack sighs and rests his head on her shoulder as if he had the weight of the world on his. She turns her head to kiss his temple and wraps her arm around him, You okay, kiddo?” 

“Getting married is more boring than I thought it would be.” 

“It’s our turn next,” she replies as she runs her fingers through his hair, and she turns to exchange a smile with Aaron as he paces back and forth with a fussy Alice in his arms, “Do you want me to take her?” 

Aaron shakes his head and adjusts his hold on Alice, making sure she’s comfortable on his hip, “We’re okay, aren’t we princess?” 

“Applicants Hotchner and Prentiss.” 

Jack jumps up the moment he hears the judge’s voice, “That’s us!” 

Emily stands up too, her hand on Jack’s shoulder as she stops him from going into the judge's chambers, “Is it okay if the kids come in?” 

“Of course,” she replies and she smiles at Jack, “I’m Judge Davis, what’s your name?” 

“Jack!”

“And is it your mommy and daddy who are getting married today?” Judge Davis asks, and Jack nods enthusiastically. 

Even though Jack had called her Mom for a while now, Emily still wasn’t used to it. There were times when it would take her breath away, when her chest would stutter because she was his mom. It felt like an honour in an entirely different way from how it felt to be Alice’s mom. She hadn’t raised him since he was a tiny little thing, she hadn’t felt him kick and turn inside of her. She’d earned his love and trust as a friend first and she would have happily been his Emmy for the rest of her life, but being his mom was more than she could have ever hoped for. 

“Yes,” Jack replies, he turns and points at Alice, who Aaron had just strapped back into her stroller, “And that’s my little sister Alice.” 

Judge Davis exchanges a smile with Aaron and Emily as she leads them into her chambers and then turns her attention back to the little boy, “Well you’ve got a really important job of looking after Alice whilst I help Mom and Dad get married, okay?” 

He nods enthusiastically and stands next to Alice’s stroller. She grunts in frustration when Aaron steps away and Jack tries to shush her, “Lissy, we’ve got to be quiet whilst Mom and Dad get married.” 

“Here,” Aaron says, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to the little girl, “This should keep her distracted.” 

Emily chuckles and raises her eyebrow at him as he walks over to her, “What happened to the no screen time apart from educational cartoons rule?” 

He winks at her and reaches for her hand, “If it keeps her quiet for a few minutes I think it’s worth breaking the rule this once.” 

“Are you two ready?” Judge Davis asks and they take a moment to look at each other. For a moment, it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world slowing down around them as Aaron squeezes her hand, a look in his eyes that tells her that if she’d changed her mind, if she really wanted a wedding with all their friends and family that they could leave now and he wouldn’t mind. It makes her fall in love with him all over again, her cheeks warm and skin fizzing with it as she squeezes his hand back, her thumb skimming over the finger she was about to slip a ring onto. 

“We’re ready.” 

Aaron hands Judge Davis the paperwork, and despite the almost clinical nature of it all, the way Judge Davis looks over their driving licenses and marriage license and passes them back, the way she double checks their middle names as she says their names whilst she has them repeat lines back at her, it’s romantic. It’s them and their love for each other, and the sound of their children in the background, and neither one of them could imagine doing this in any other way. 

They exchange their rings and vow and a kiss, and when they pull back to press their foreheads together it’s like nothing and everything has changed all at once. It’s a kiss they’d exchanged countless times. Soft and quick and the kiss they’d usually use to say goodbye or hello. But it’s also a promise of forever. A way for them to claim that they belonged to each other for the rest of their lives, forever each other’s as companions in love and life. 

Emily is brought back to earth by Judge Davis stamping their paperwork, the sound of it breaking the small bubble they’d formed in her office. She hands the paperwork over, her smile kind, with an efficiency to it that reminds them she has an appointment after them.

“I need you to sign these,” she says, handing each of them a pen. Emily holds Aaron’s right hand in her left, finding herself more grateful than ever that he’s left-handed as they sign the paperwork without breaking away from each other, the thought of not holding his hand almost a ridiculous notion. “According to the laws of the Commonwealth of Virginia, I now declare you husband and wife.”

Emily leans in to kiss him, but it’s more of a smile pressed against another smile as Aaron cups the back of her head, both of them keen for this moment to last as long as possible. 

“Are they married now?” Jack asks from the corner of the room, and all three adults laugh and nod.

“Yes, Jack,” Emily replies, squeezing her husband’s hand, “We’re married.” 

___

Emily tilts her head downwards to double check Alice is asleep against her, and she smiles at the sight of her. She takes it all in, and makes a point of remembering every single thing about her because she knows she’ll carry on growing far too quickly. She looks at her closed eyes and long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, her cheek squished against her chest and her open mouth. The slope of her nose that she’d never seen the beauty in until she saw it on her daughter’s face. 

She lays Alice down in her crib, making sure to kiss her head first, whispering words of love in every language she knew against her skin. She leaves the nursery as quietly as she can, and makes sure to step over the creaky floorboard outside Jack’s room so she doesn’t wake him up. She loved her children, she really did, but she wanted some time alone with her husband, wanted to sit on the couch and share a glass of wine with him and just be them for a couple of hours. Aaron and Emily the newlyweds, not Aaron and Emily the mom and dad. 

She finds him on the couch, a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of him. She leans over the back of the couch and kisses his cheek, smiling as he turns to look at her. She’d changed since she took Alice upstairs to bed, she was wearing a t-shirt of his and a pair of leggings. She smiles as he squeezes her thigh when she sits next to him and she curls into his side, her hand cupping his head as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“I know it’s not exactly what you’d expect your wife to wear on your wedding night-”

“No,” he says, squeezing her thigh again as he leans in to kiss her, “You’re beautiful. More beautiful than ever.” 

She chuckles, “You always say that.” 

“And I’m always right,” he leans in to kiss her again, “I have to show you something.” 

She hums curiously as he picks up his phone and unlocks it, “You haven’t booked a vacation or something have you?” 

“Not yet,” he replies, opening up his photo gallery on his phone, “I was looking at the photos the receptionist took of us all, and I found this.” 

He hands his phone over to her and starts to play a video. She smiles and huffs out a laugh as she’s met with her daughter’s face, a close up of Alice as she babbles to herself, her grip on the phone tight as now and again her thumb blocks the camera. Emily notices the wallpaper from Judge Davis’s office.  

“What’s this?” She asks, and Aaron loops his arm around her shoulder, “This is from today.” 

“She must have accidentally started filming it when she had my phone earlier,” he says, kissing her temple, “She filmed the whole ceremony.” 

Emily gasps, the sound catching in her chest somewhere between a sob and a laugh and she reaches out to touch Alice’s face on the screen, her four tiny teeth visible as she laughs. Jack leans in, his face visible for a second before he whispers to Alice.

“Mommy and Daddy are getting married,” he says, “That means we’ll all be together forever.” 

She blows out a slow breath and half buries her face in Aaron’s shoulder, her tears making his shirt stick to his skin, “They really are beautiful aren’t they.” 

He hums and kisses the top of her head, “They really are,” he replies, “Just like you.” 

She tilts her head up to look at him and she cups his cheek, something that makes him smile with the press of both of her rings against his skin, and she kisses him. They lose themselves in it for a moment, in the simple beauty of it. 

“And you,” she says as she pulls back, kissing him again before she looks at the video again, “You’re beautiful too,” the video comes to a stop and she presses play again, giggling as it loops and she wipes tears from her cheeks as she listens to Jack talk quietly to Alice as they watch them watch them get married, “Do you think if we showed the team and my mom this video the cuteness will undo any anger over us eloping?” 

He laughs and then kisses her cheek as he tightens his hold on her, “Not a chance sweetheart. Not a chance.” 

[depizan]

So I saw a post earlier about fiction (unintentionally) promoting torture earlier. I don't disagree, but a flaw in one of the articles it linked prompted me to vagueblog.

The article is mostly about how we've known for a very long time that torturing people for information doesn't work and fiction probably should stop pretending it does. Among other suggestions and commentary, most of which I have no argument with at all, the writer basically says that only stupid villains would torture someone for information and that that undermines the villains.

The thing is, in other parts of the article they talk about how one of the problems with fiction showing torture working is that it fools people into thinking it does. Are fictional villains any less susceptible to cultural propaganda than real life fiction consumers?

Just as we know torture doesn't work, we also have really good studies showing that people will work against their own best interests if working for their best interests conflicts with deeply held beliefs.

There was a study quite some time back (my dad told me about this when I was a kid, and it might have been in one of his psych or social psych texts then), where a factory gave workers a lot of control over their day, when they could take breaks, etc, and this was a huge success for everyone. The workers were happier, the factory made more usable widgets (I've forgotten the kind of factory) a day--total win/win, right? Well, after the test period, the factory went back to its previous awful for workers way of doing things because the owners weren't comfortable with the workers having more free time and sometimes going home early. Even though they made more money when the workers did so.

I don't think "stupid" is the right word for those factory owners. It's not a failure of intelligence, exactly, it's a failure to be able to change one's world view.

There are tons of similar examples all over the place, from official studies, to things you see on the nightly news.

Now, maybe the author of the article meant it more like "your audience will think the villains are stupid if you show them torturing people, getting inaccurate information, and not learning from it" but even then... people are like that. About all kinds of things. And, yes, fiction needs to be more sensible than reality, but I think another option is to actively address how much trouble people have changing their mind about stuff they've unquestioningly absorbed, particularly when it's somehow central to their view of the world.

I don't know. It just felt weird to see article aimed at getting people to change something they've unquestioningly absorbed call fictional people stupid for unquestioningly absorbing the same thing. Hence, alternatives.

[january-summers]

Dear Brain, I hate you with the force of ten thousand suns. Stop making things worse, stop making things horrible, stop hurting Agent Washington. No love, January.

So, this post right? Feral Wash Awol Murder Rampage through Covie Forces Au?

My brain went: but what if we made things suck even more for poor David? Like, a lot?

Cause I was thinking, right, how would I tell that story if I wrote it? Well, I mean there was five other thoughts happening simultaneously, but the end result was:

Warnings for below the cut: injury, murder, semi-graphic descriptions of injury and death, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, events which might be considered self harm, aspects of unreality, excessive use of 'David' instead of 'Wash(ington)'

no beta, I die like all the freelancers who aren't Wash or Carolina (Or California.)

this implies a somewhat slightly less feral Wash/David than the previous, and got a bit rambling and somewhat very dark, and I really need to stop hurting Wash/David, and spend time in much happier AUs, like a soft PFL AU where things are nice and the worst thing to happen to Wash is that during an undercover op, out-of-armour Wash is outed as a former rockstar by a fan.

Anywho:

-

We start with David in the psych ward, a therapist is with him while he tells them he doesn't remember, he doesn't stop asking he can't remember!!! The base was attacked, and they were fighting and now he's here, everything was just a blur between all that, stop asking for details, he doesn't have them!

But the therapist asks him to try, to start at the beginning, what's his name, his rank, his serial number, tell them about his team mates, no you can't see them right now, please answer the questions.

So David answers as best as he can, (and at this point I would like to take a small hilarity break to suggest his last name is actually something very normal, like Cooper, or Campbell, or Church, or anything that makes his initials D.C.) and slowly starts recounting the story, with prompting from the therapist when he falters.

He talks about the base, how they (he and his team) would hang out and train and prepare for the covie forces to arrive, and how they arrived without warning, swept over the base and would have killed everyone inside if David hadn't disobeyed his Sargent's orders. But he'd survived, he falters as he tries to get through the attack, tries to put into words the fear he'd felt at losing sight of each of his team mates, and lets the therapist slowly wheedle him into telling how he'd found each and every member, banged up but alive, how they'd fought and run and fought some more and blown up so many of the damn covie bastards until there was silence at last.

How they'd walked through what remained of the base looking for any survivors and finding only the Sargent. Hiding.

David stops here, again, and the therapist tells him that it's okay, they already know, there was camera footage recovered, they know what David did, but they want to hear it in his own words.

So David confesses. He'd dragged his Sargent through the blood and scorch marks, made him look at the dead, and then he'd beaten his Sargent's face bloody, hadn't stopped until his face didn't look like a face anymore, and then he'd let the Sargent crawl away just far enough to think he had a chance before putting a single bullet through the back of his head.

The therapist thanks him, and tells him he did really well, and that David should rest now. Outside David's room, the therapist talks to others, arguing that their work isn't done, not only was David found so many miles away from that base that he should have been able to walk it in the month he was missing, there were all those destroyed covenant bases, he might have information! Plus, his confession wasn't accurate, several key details were wrong. (what they don't exactly say, by they mention the footage, talk about whether or not David knows he was lying.)

The therapist gets an allowance, they have until the court date of David's court-martial to get anything they can out of him, but he's confessed enough to the crime he's being charged for, everything else is just filler.

Over the next week or two, the therapist gets the story out of David in bits and bites, of how he and his team had discovered their comms were fried beyond repair, then made the decision to try and hoof it to the next base after salvaging whatever they could from theirs. Covie and UNSC weapons alike.

The discovery of the next base being wiped out. No comms. Low supplies. Plenty of tracks to follow.

They'd decided to take revenge against the covies, hadn't expected to walk out, but they had. First one covie away team, then two, then scout and small teams, then finally a base.

Always waiting for each fight to be the one that kills them.

David talks slowly and with morbid humour about how he'd used the weapons he'd stolen to kill the covies in increasingly creative ways.

Sitting by a river trying to wipe dark blueish-purply blood off of his... everything.

"I have some very important notes on the minimum safe distance to reach after shoving grenades down a gator's throat, by the way."

How one base had been in a large indent in the rock, not really deep enough to call it a cave, to tall and exposed at the front, but he really didn't know what else to call it. David stops to laugh as he recalls the conversation right before he'd begun the plan for that base.

"This is the worst life choice I have made. Ever. Of all time," David had complained, tightening the rope's knot to make sure his makeshift harness was secure. "Your worst life choice ever, of all time, so far!" His team mate had corrected him before David had jumped off the cliff, running along the rock face to swing out across the opening, so high up no one would have expected it, shooting out the bases shield generators despite being upside down and swinging very fast and not having very long to locate and terminate before they were adjusted to cover his surprising angle. The clamber up the far side of the opening, back onto the small outcropping to load the makeshift bomb (a lot of grenades duct-taped together) in his hastily abandoned harness so he can throw it over the edge. One of his team mates frantically praying as David judged the swing to cut the rope so the bomb would release right into the center of camp. The explosion and the realisation the ridge wouldn't hold as the cave collapsed, his team racing ahead and calling back for him. Getting caught in the rock slide and coming to with one arm pinned beneath stone. Stuck there in the sweltering sun until his team had found a stick to lever it off of him.

The therapist takes several breaks over the course of the interview/interrogation, to talk to their own team, who've been watching via live camera feeds.

"You really believe this kid and his team did all that?" one of the therapist's team asks. "Some of what he said contradicts, you had to have noticed. And where's this team of his? I thought he was the only one they picked up?" "You haven't noticed?" another asks the first, amused, and perhaps a little condescending like they're waiting for the first to catch up. "That David seems to be the star of it all, the big hero making all the plans and taking all the action? His team is a supporting cast of two-dimensional characters? No alarm bells ringing for you?" "So he's making himself out to be the hero?" "He knows he's lying," the therapist says, staring into the ether, replaying David's words and actions as he'd retold the events. "He knows exactly when he's lying." "So what, he never did any of it? His team carried him? or none of it happened? How'd the covies die then? Rogue Spartan?" "Hahahaha," the second team mate laughs like they can't believe the first can be so stupid. "No, but seriously, how did you get a job here, was it nepotism? Go back and watch the footage, look at his body language, his body keeps telling the truth even when his mouth is lying to us."

The therapist perseveres, helping David tell the story in his own time, how tired the team had gotten, how hard it had been to sleep, how they'd discovered that one type of covie ration was edible for humans but it was also, for humans, a space weed brownie, how they'd accidentally discovered certain types of polarized lenses could... not entirely reveal active camo, but would show more obvious signs of it than looking straight on.

"It's not something you can use all the time," David says, holding his hands up like he's using two pairs of something (sunglasses) to act like a active camo radar. "You're better off waiting until you have reason to believe they're there... even if they show up unexpectedly it's not, it's just not feasible to use them all the time, and besides, the real trick is making the shot, you've either gotta turn away from the reflection at shoot where you think they should be, or make the shot using the reflection to target." He extends his right arm up and behind him, keeping his eyes on his left hand as he mimes a gunshot.

The first of the therapist's team mates comes to a conclusion. "Okay, I understand, he got his team mates killed along the way, that's why they weren't picked up with him, they didn't survive his insane theatrics in the field!"

"Ooohhh, partial points," the second tells them. "Right track, but you got off at the wrong destination, you're a little early... or late in this case."

Finally, two days before the hearing/trial/court-martial, they reach the end of the story. And the therapist asks:

What happened on the first day, what happened during the attack on the base?

"I told you." David says, "I already told you, stop asking. I told you what happened."

"Where is your team?"

"No, no I don't want to. Don't make me look." David hides his face in his hands, body curling in on itself. "If I look it's real. I'm not ready yet, it can't be real yet."

"David please, tell us what happened to them, tell me what happened during the attack on the base?"

And David looks up, looks at the therapist, looks at his team standing behind them. They smile, give him encouragement, and for a moment he hates them for it.

So David starts again, retells the beginning, the base, the quiet before, the surprise attack, the fear as he loses sight of his team one by one, and then finds them.

Riddled with crystal needles, burned, crushed, one of them torn in half at the waist (David had thought for a moment that one was fine until he'd moved far enough to see...), and one of them he almost hadn't found. Wouldn't have found, if it hadn't been for the sight of their lucky rubber duck half fallen from the torn pocket of a headless corpse.

He retells the desperation of the battle, determined to take as many of the covie bastards with him as he could before he joined his team mates.

The absolute rage he'd felt at being denied when the last covie had fallen but David had remained.

And the cold, burning beyond fury when he'd found the Sargent, how he'd broken the man's knee and dragged him through the base, through ash and blood to each and every member of David's team, to make him look at them, how he'd beaten his Sargent's face, demanding he apologise, until the man finally agreed.

"I'm Sorry! I'm Sorry, Please, stop, I'm sorry!" "No," David had said, "Not to me." He'd stood, given his Sargent enough room to turn over to see where David was pointing. To the team's youngest, staring wide eyed and unseeing, looking almost untouched... above the waist where there was still a body to see. "You apologise, to them." And the Sargent had, crawling and begging for forgiveness. David had sighed. "No." He'd denied the Sargent's pleas for forgiveness and put a bullet through his brain. "We don't get to be forgiven for this."

David is sent away, off to face military justice, and left behind in the psych ward, the psych team unwinds.

"I don't get it, did you read it in a file, about the team already being dead?" The first team mate asks. The second team mate lets out a long, drawn out sigh of annoyance. "Go back and watch the footage, watch the way he moved his body. For the most part, he's contained, small movements, fury, fear, frustration, all held in check. When he made big movements it was in two types of situation. First, when he was demonstrating something-" second mimics David's illustration of reflective lenses and shooting behind themselves "- and second, when he talked about the team having active roles in events, like when he was pinned under the rock? Or when he found each of them "alive". go watch, imagine the story without the team, his body will show you what happened." And the team mate does watch, piecing together events with the story and how David moves. How his shoulder had twisted and his leg had stretched like he wanted to pull something closer with it. How his arm had turned and legs had gone uneven in a way that hadn't made sense... until first team mate puts themselves in David's position, pinned under a rock by one arm and desperate, desperate enough to use his own legs as a fulcrum to leverage the rock off his arm.

They won't see David again. In several months they won't particularly remember him, not with the number of patients who come through their doors, cycling through as the war drags on and on and on.

[starkstruck27]

Eighth fill for @mungrovebingos!! I've been in a little writing slump lately, but I'm back baby!! This one is just cute and sweet and I hope everyone enjoys it. Ao3 link is here, and happy reading!!

Prompt is "California Dreaming" and it's 3,376 words.

As the trees thawed out around March and the streams began to run again as it turned to April, Eddie couldn’t help but notice a slight change in his boyfriend. Billy had never really been a fan of cold weather, but once he got used to it, it wasn’t quite as bad. But now that the sun was beginning to warm the Earth, the misery he’d been feeling back in October when he’d had to leave his home behind was back, and stronger than ever as the temperatures continued to rise. Eddie thought that maybe he’d get even happier as the summer rolled around, but he supposed that the rainy, humid Indiana summer would’ve been torture when you’re used to sunny, moderate days with even higher temperatures. And he also supposed that when you’re used to a beach just outside your door or down the block, being completely landlocked felt like being in a prison.

It was making Billy mopey. Not even angry, like it’d been in the fall, just… sad. He’d often stare out the windows whenever Eddie was driving them somewhere and sigh with this forlorn look on his face, like he was imagining himself somewhere else entirely. Sometimes he wouldn’t even notice if Eddie was talking to him when he got like this. He’d need to tap his shoulder or something to get him to respond, and even then, it was little more than a grunt or a hum of acknowledgement. And it was at its worst when Billy got so upset, he’d sometimes refuse to go out at all, just staying in bed or in the house because he was so depressed. That was what Eddie worried about the most, when he got into those deep depressions. It was clearly not good for him at all.

And according to the kids, Max was in a similar state. Dustin and Lucas had told him just the other day that she had declined their invitation to explore the abandoned hospital outside of town because she was too upset to do anything. Lucas was worried that she wasn’t getting enough to eat, or enough sun, and Eddie was inclined to agree. Billy still ate and went out, but it had been less than usual lately, and he knew it had to be from homesickness. He also knew that he had to think of something to get them out of their funk, and he had to do it fast.

“But what can we do? We tried everything to get Max out of the house, roller skating, the mall, the movies, bowling, but no matter what, she wouldn’t budge! And it’s not like we can just go to their house. So what can we do?” Dustin asked as they tried to come up with a plan. It had to be amazing, good enough to break them out of their sadness, but Dustin was right, they didn’t have a whole lot of options other than the ones they’d already tried. 

“I don’t know, but if you’d shut your trap for a minute and let me think, maybe I could come up with something,” Eddie sighed, chewing on his hair.

“We could take them on a trip somewhere. Eddie has a van. Maybe a road trip?” Mike suggested, he, Will and El had been brought up to speed so they could try and help.

“Yeah, with what money? And where would we even go? Besides, there’s no way any of your parents would let you take a road trip with Billy and I as the only adults there,” Eddie sighed.

“Well, maybe a day trip, then? They miss California, so we should take them somewhere that reminds them of home. Like an aquarium or something,” Will chimed in, and Eddie shook his head, but it must’ve shaken the cobwebs from his brain, because he got an idea.

“Y’know, you might be onto something, Byers. I think I’ve got an idea. Are you all free this Saturday?” Eddie asked, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he pulled them all into a huddle.

The plan was simple. Saturday was June 21st, the first official day of summer, so they’d do it then. It was a lot to put together within just three days, but it was possible, and that’s all they needed. They couldn’t take Billy and Max back to California. But they could do their best to bring California to them.

Dustin and Lucas immediately started on their part of the plan, heading out as soon as their little meeting was over and scoping out different spots around Lover’s Lake, eventually finding an open area by the water that nobody ever really went to that was big enough for their purposes and wouldn’t be crowded. They used their walkie talkies to give Mike and Will the coordinates, and once they showed up with the pieces of scrap wood and tools in Holly’s old red wagon and Mr. Wheeler’s tool box, they started on their part. Dustin and Lucas left then, going to the home goods store and using the money that Eddie had given them to buy two fake potted palm trees, using the wagon to get them back to the spot and set them down in the sand.

By this time, El had managed to purloin some police tape from Hopper while he wasn’t looking, and she and Erica worked together to rope off the area so that it wouldn’t be messed with, and as the sun began to set, they all went home.

The next day was a bit simpler. Mike and Will worked on finishing up the structure they’d built, then switched gears and began to paint it, using only bright colors and adding on some glitter glue to really make it pop. Lucas and Dustin had gone home and gotten Mrs. Henderson’s beach umbrella and as many lawn chairs as they could find, bringing them to the clearing and even stopping at Steve’s house to ask if they could borrow some of the nicer pool loungers he had, in case anyone wanted to stretch out and lie in the sun. He helped them carry it all to the clearing and set up, and he volunteered to help with anything else they needed, too. Eddie was grateful for that, since Erica and El had just shown up with the grill they’d begged Hopper to borrow, and he had no idea how to work the damn thing. Steve knew how to get it started and flipping burgers and hot dogs was easy enough, so just like that, he was in on the plan, too.

“So, how’re you gonna get them out here?” He asked as he helped Eddie set up Wayne’s old camping tent. It had a bad rip on one of the walls, but Eddie figured he could use a bedsheet or one of his homemade band flags to cover it easily enough.

“Um, I’m thinking about either leaving them a note with directions to this place or showing up out of the blue and telling them that there’s an emergency so that they’ll come with me, but I haven’t decided yet,” Eddie replied, pinning the sign the kids had made to the door of the tent now that it was set up.

“So, cryptic treasure maps or kidnapping are your only ideas?” Steve laughed a little, kicking at one of the tent posts to make sure it was secure. “Why not just tell them that you’ve got a surprise for them and that you worked really hard on it so they have to come and see it? I feel like that would go over a little bit better, don’t you?”

“Stephen, you’re a genius!” Eddie said, smiling as he slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Now, can you do me a favor and take Lucas and El to the grocery store? I made a list of things we’ll need, but they might also have some suggestions for snacks and shit.”

“Sure thing,” Steve chuckled, taking the cash and list Eddie handed him and rounding up the two kids he was to take with him. Eddie smiled as they walked off, then turned around to check the progress of their project. Everything was pretty much done, the only things left to do was fix up the tent, bring in the food and drinks, make the mixtapes, and gather up a few more things to bring it all together. All in all, this was coming together perfectly, and it was a good thing Eddie had to stay up to make the mixtapes, because he was so excited, he could hardly sleep. By the time he’d gotten enough music, though, it was nearing two in the morning, and he finally settled down enough to sleep. After all, he needed to be well rested if he was going to pull this off.

The next morning, Eddie met up with the kids early to make sure everything was ready. He used one of his Corroded Coffin flags to patch up the wall of the tent, made sure he had enough sunscreen for all of them, and called Steve to make sure he would be coming with the food, and once he made sure everything was in place, he popped the first tape he’d made into the player he’d brought and reminded Dustin to keep an ear out on the walkies for his signal to start it.

“I know, Eddie! We got this, I swear, now go get Billy and Max! We’ll finish setting up and everything’ll be ready once you’re back, I promise!” Dustin replied, turning his hat around so the brim was in the back and slipping some sunglasses on his face. Eddie smiled and obliged, heading to his van and starting it as he schooled his features into something a little more casual. 

He pulled up to the Hargrove house and let out the last few excited giggles before sauntering up to the door, knocking twice before Max’s mom opened it, looking a bit confused.

“Can I help you?” She asked, looking Eddie up and down with her hand still on the door.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Eddie, a friend of Billy’s. Max’s friends and myself have noticed that they’ve been feeling a bit down lately, so we planned a little surprise for them to cheer them up. Are they home?” Eddie asked, shaking her hand but quickly returning them to his pockets as he tried to act natural.

“Oh, yes! That’s so sweet of you all! I’ll just go get them, would you like to wait inside?” Susan asked, her face lightening up instantly.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Eddie said, flashing a bright smile as Susan went inside the house, leaving Eddie on the porch as she rounded up Billy and Max. They were both confused as they stepped out onto the sunroom porch and saw him standing there, but before they could ask any questions, Eddie was grabbing their hands and rushing out to the van, practically throwing them inside and climbing into the driver’s seat in the blink of an eye.

“Eddie, what is going on? Where are we going?” Billy asked, massaging his temples as if he had a headache.

“It’s a surprise, but don’t worry, it’s not far. And I’m sure it’ll make you smile,” Eddie said, practically speeding towards the road that would take them to their destination. He turned onto it and slowed down a bit, and finally parked in the grove of trees just beyond the clearing they’d set up.

“Okay, your surprise is gonna be just around the corner, but you have to give me a two minute headstart to make sure everything is ready, okay? After two minutes, get out and follow the same path you’re gonna see me taking. I promise, it’s gonna be worth it, okay?” Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear as he jumped out of the car and ran away through the trees, calling back to them to start counting  down. 

“Dustin, start the music!” Eddie said into the walkie as he ran, finally popping out of the trees into the clearing. He ran over to get into place and took his jeans off once he was there, revealing a pair of brightly colored swim trunks underneath and taking off his shirt so he could slip on one of Wayne’s old Hawiian shirts, only doing a few buttons near the bottom and leaving the top part open. By the time he’d done all that, he barely had enough time to slip out of his sneakers and into flip flops before he heard the sound of twigs and leaves crunching on the path, accompanied by Max and Billy’s voices as they finally fought their way through the trees and into the clearing.

At first, they didn’t know what they were looking at. They could obviously tell they were at the lake, they could see the water, but what confused them was the chairs, plastic palm trees and umbrella set up in the sand, the three small wooden stands scattered around with their friends behind them, and the camping tent off to the side of one of the stands.

“Eddie, what the hell is all this?” Billy asked, looking at Eddie. He was behind one of the little stands, brightly colored flowers and tropical fruits painted on it surrounding the words “Totally Tubular Tiki Bar”.

“Hey there, bros! C’mon, let me make you a drink,” Eddie called, waving them over and handing them two brightly colored leis that El had found while they were shopping yesterday. He got turned on the generator Wayne used to use on their camping trips when he was a kid and pulled out a blender that they’d borrowed from Mrs. Byers, turning around to the coolers they’d brought to get out the things he’d need.

“So, how’re you enjoying your stay in sunny California?” Eddie asked as he turned around, pouring coconut milk, pineapple juice and ice into the blender. As soon as he pressed the button to start it, a dawning look appeared on Max and Billy’s faces, and Eddie was glad to see that they were both smiling as he turned the blender off and began to pour their drinks.

“We, uh, actually just got here,” Billy said, playing along, “We’re not too familiar with it here just yet. Could you maybe tell us a little bit about what it’s like around here?”

“Sure, brah! Right here, this is our Totally Tubular Tiki Bar, we’ve got all the drinks, so just come up and ask if you want anything. To the right is our Radical Rentals, they give out bathing suits, towels, sunscreen and anything else you’ll need for a great day on the beach. They also have a changing tent set up next to them, and they’ll keep your clothes for you until you need them back. On the left is our Funky Fresh Food stand, which, as the name implies, is where all the food is at. The menu is written up next to the sign, just tell the chef what you want and he’ll have it up for you in a jiff! And if you don’t want to wait there for it, you can go take a seat and one of our resort staff will bring it to you. Anything else you need, you can ask any of us, and we’ll do our best to accommodate you. Anyway, here’s your drinks. We’re so stoked to have you! Hope you enjoy your stay!” Eddie explained, using the worst stereotypical surfer voice Billy had ever heard. It was so terrible that he and Max both just had to laugh as they took their drinks, both garnished with pineapple slices, maraschino cherries and little toothpick umbrellas, and sipping on them through the blue straws Eddie had stuck in before he pushed them towards them. 

Max took her drink and immediately went over to the ‘rental’ stand, hugging Dustin and Will as they handed her one of El’s borrowed bathing suits and holding her drink for her as she changed. They were already in their bathing suits and, once she was changed, followed her into the water, grabbing the other kids as well so that they could all play together in the water. Billy and Eddie stood there and watched them, Steve having brought them some food as they did and talking with them until the kids called for them all to join them. Steve finished his burger quickly and ran into the water, leaving Billy and Eddie on the shore by themselves. 

“Wanna go for a swim?” Eddie asked as he stepped out from behind the bar that Mike and Will had made, taking Billy’s hand as he nodded and pulling him over to the rental stand, getting the trunks he’d left at his trailer the last time he’d stayed over after work and leading him into the tent, zipping up the door, but staying in there with him.

“Y’know, it’s not exactly professional for resort employees to be in the tent while guests are trying to change,” Billy teased as he yanked off his shirt, his pendant bouncing against his chest.

“Well, it’s not everyday that we get guests as beautiful as you are,” Eddie said back, grinning as he leaned in close to Billy, kissing his nose.

“You’re such a sap,” Billy said, shoving him away playfully as he took off his jeans and put the trunks on.

“I know. But it cheers you up, right?” Eddie asked, suddenly feeling his heartbeat tick up. He knew it was nothing but nerves, but why was he nervous all of a sudden?

“It does, I just don’t know what I did to deserve it,” Billy admitted, shrugging his shoulders as he started to slather sunscreen on his arms.

“Well, you were depressed and homesick. The kids told me Max was, too, so we cooked this up. We knew we couldn’t take you to California, but we hoped we could try and bring California to you,” Eddie said, and his heart only sped faster when he saw the adoring look Billy was giving him. “And you know you don’t have to do anything to earn surprises and good things, right? You always deserve good things.”

“I know that. Objectively, at least. Still kinda wrapping my head around the abstraction of it, but I think I’m getting there. You’re definitely helping a lot. And you did a great job with the surprise, too. Somehow this place is nicer than most of the beaches in Cali. At least it’s not covered in trash and crying toddlers,” Billy grinned, finally finishing with the sunscreen and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend so he could pull him in for a kiss. 

“Good,” Eddie said as they broke apart, still smiling brightly, “I’m glad we pulled it off.”

After that, they left the tent, leaving their clothes on one of the chairs and finishing their food as they watched the kids and Steve still playing in the water. The sun had started getting lower in the sky, not quite setting yet, but casting a warm, golden glow over everything as they splashed around. 

“Eddie! Billy! C’mon in and swim with us!” Will called from the water, waving them over as they finished their burgers, both of them laughing as Mike and Dustin snuck up behind him and dunked him under as he shrieked.

“We’re coming!” Billy called back, turning back so that he could toss his trash into the bad Eddie was holding out for him. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Eddie said, shrugging his shoulders and tying up the bag.

“Well, for that, too, but I meant thanks for all this. I don’t think I said that, yet, but I mean it. This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, so, thanks,” Billy smiled sheepishly, taking Eddie’s hand and giving it a squeeze. Eddie smiled and brought the hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

“Of course, baby. There’s nobody I’d rather do it for,” he said, his face feeling hot, but he wasn’t sure if it was a blush or just sunburn. “Now, c’mon, let’s go swim. Last one in is shark bait!”

[erin-bo-berin]

I’m sorry this is a long one but I feel like I need clarity - is there any evidence/substantial rumour that Maika ever did anything particularly harmful/toxic during her relationship with Joe? Because some of the asks you receive suggest people have a HUGE problem with the possibility that they’re even still in contact with each other, let alone anything more. Is the negativity towards her fuelled by something she actually did, or is it literally just because she dated their celebrity crush? For example people saying ‘he doesn’t want her ass?’ Its very hateful language IMO and seems like a really strong dislike towards her?

I only ask because I remember from my teen years how male celebrity’s fan bases can be quite vicious towards the people they date, and how easy it is to get desensitised to unkind and unfair online commentary, particularly towards women. And now I’m in my 20s I really don’t want to be exposed to anyone’s jealousy towards Maika and/or unhealthy obsession towards Joe. It just makes me uncomfortable.

This in no way is meant to be directed at you, I get that you’re just responding to asks, you’re blog is your space to do with what you please, and I enjoy the updates you share on Joe’s professional projects. But in the interest of taking responsibility for my own content consumption, I’m concerned that a lot of what I’m seeing on the subject is becoming increasingly toxic, and dare I say even anti-feminist. So I’m just seeking clarity on what’s prompted it?

Just as a heads up, I respect everyone’s opinions on her and regardless my opinion on her or others, I really do try to be as kind as possible since we don’t know what actually happened. I just want this to be as positive of a space for everyone.

I’d just like to say since I came around so late, I personally don’t know much other than what other fans who’ve been around longer have told me. I don’t know what’s true or what’s speculation.

I will add that there was some speculation (basing off of Joe’s lyrics alone) that there might have been something going on with her and her costar Karl Glusman. They had hung out as friends back during summer 2021 and were spotted together by a fan in an actual video where the guy yelled a hello to Joe and Joe waved to said fan. Karl was with him and Maika at the time. Not even a month later, he and Maika broke up for the first time. There was actual evidence of that because they were never spotted together for 2-3 months. Around September-November-ish. Also there was an old video on one of Maika’s friends’ highlights where they were in Paris and you can hear them talking in the background and you hear her say “yeah we’re taking a break” and the friend asking M if she was okay and M being like “oh yeah.”

Granted, I know that break up could’ve been about ANYTHING. It doesn’t prove that there was cheating. Just giving you some backstory. By November ‘21 they seemed to be back together again as they were spotted twice in NYC together. Once that month and once again in December. Then we enter 2022 and they were together up until about summertime and that’s when they broke up for good in what we assume is mid to late August. A few weeks later in September she was spotted making out with Karl. Could be a coincidence, could not. I know this isn’t solid proof, this is just what I was told/what I saw happen around the time I came around.

Anyways, I know that’s not much and could be anything, but just filling you in. I’m sure some of the distaste some people have for her could be jealousy, but it might not be either. I personally don’t fully believe in the cheating rumors on either side—it honestly could’ve been that they just realized their relationship wasn’t working out as they obviously want two different things out of life. You can tell this by the way they’ve been post breakup. She’s happier living in LA, going to events and parties, enjoying the glitz and the glam of Hollywood. He’s more lowkey, seems to enjoy NY so much more in comparison to LA and he doesn’t seem as wild about the events and parties of LA.

I will say, though I don’t know her personally, it has raised my brow at some of the company she keeps/people she’s friends with lately Examples: Jared Leto, G-Eazy (who she hooked up with and was spotted being pretty cozy with for a while at the end of last year I believe?) and most concerningly, at least I think, Bella Thorne. I know that doesn’t have any relation to Joe, but I wanted to throw this in because it may not make her a bad person, but it does say a lot about a person I think in the choice of company they keep and I do hope she’s smarter than that.

I do have to say, I have been unironically rooting for her and Karl cause just from snippets I’ve seen, they do seem to have a lot of chemistry after doing not one but now two films together. I’ve always wondered, at least now if there’s something there—if maybe on his end.

Anyways, I hope this was somewhat helpful. I do try to stay neutral on the topic no matter what the person’s opinion is. For me, personally, Joe’s lyrics—especially from Decide—is the main reason I wouldn’t be as enthusiastic about them reuniting is because it seemed the relationship struggled badly at the end. It just seems they wanted two different things out of life and sometimes things like that will make or break a relationship.

Regardless, at the end of the day I just wish Joe all the happiness in the world and I have no ill intentions against her either.

I also apologize for the essay and hope this helped as I have a tendency to ramble 😅

[eatossolutions]

Supercharge Your Sales with Advanced Voice AI Food Ordering Systems

Blistering summer day. In light of this, the customers sprawl about on couches, eyes latched to the game, phones clasped into the other hand. You can see the signs—the glazed eyes flicking from the screen to the fridge, the general rumble emanating from the couch potato colony growing louder. But something about reaching for their phone to order takeout feels like a Herculean effort.

In enters your secret weapon: voice AI food ordering system. One simple voice command will rescue your customers from the awful scroll and order their best-loved dishes—right from the couch. No typing, no searching—just pure, blissful convenience.

The Voice AI Revolution: It's Not Just Science Fiction

AI voice food-ordering systems aren't from the pages of science fiction; they are here and now, ready to transform the way you do business. Here is why you should also be excited:

Easy Ordering for the Whole Family

Can you remember what it was like in the past during a busy family night? Just eliminate the minutes of wrestling away from screens with the kids to place an order. Thanks to Voice AI, fun with ordering becomes an interactive process, and the whole family—even the youngest members—can get in on the fun. Let's just hope they don't order dessert first!

Accessibility for All

Be it customers with visual disabilities or dexterity limitations, voice AI makes it possible for everyone to order food independently, thus making it more accessible and leading to an increase in satisfaction.

Increase Order Accuracy

Let's be honest—with our thumbs moving a mile a minute, typos are bound to happen. Reduce the chance of customers receiving the wrong food with voice AI, which means guests get exactly what they are looking for. This, in fact, simply translates into fewer order corrections, happier diners, and a more streamlined experience.

Multitasking Made Easy

Customers can order food while doing a load of washing, prepping dinner for the kids, or even watching the game. This convenience factor is yet another way you save them time in our fast-paced world, and it turns into more sales for you.

Beyond the Basics: Voice AI Features That Make You Stand Out

Voice AI food ordering systems offer a lot more than just hands-free convenience. Below are some additional features that will take your restaurant to the top of the tech-savvy foodie chain:

Personalized Recommendations

Imagine the system remembering your usual order, prompting you with a friendly voice, and suggesting your favorite dishes. All these personalizations can help in building a connection and encourage repeat business.

Smart Combo Creation

Voice AI reviews the history of orders and selects exciting partnering options based on customer tastes to present an upsell that grows the average order value without being pushy.

Easy Dietary Restrictions

If a customer has a dietary restriction, it will be easy to specify with a voice command. The system could screen menu options for certain allergies and preferences, ensuring a safe and healthy dining experience for everyone involved.

Real-Time Wait Time Updates

No more hungry customers wondering about their food's wait time. Voice AI gives wait-time updates that set realistic expectations, leading to customer satisfaction.

Taking the Plunge on Voice AI: An Implementation Plan for a Smooth Experience

Ready to have the world of voice AI and food ordering at your restaurant come together? Hit the road with the following steps:

Choose your AI partner for voice

When researching various AI ordering systems, focus on those features and functionalities best suited to your needs and budget. Consider ease of use, integrations with other systems you might have in place, and the possibilities of customer support. Look for reputed providers like eatOS who offer systems that are functional for all kinds of restaurants. 

Train your team

Train your staff to use the new system by showing them the different functionalities of the system such that they can explain the voice-ordering process to customers if they need any help or have questions, and they can work their way around the system without a problem.

Spread the Word

You'll want to make a splash with your new voice AI ordering system, so be sure to popularize it in every way you can. This can be done through social media or in-store with signing and even menu inserts. Share anything about the convenience and benefits of greater accessibility.

Collect Feedback and Data Analysis

Pay attention to what the customers have to say and the feedback. With the data analytics tool integrated within, you can have the details to work more on and refine the ordering experience with voice AI toward better performance.

This Is the Future of Food Ordering: Let Your Customers Drive Your Sales Boom

The landscape of food ordering is changing, and voice AI is at the vanguard of this revolution. Embrace this innovative technology; you're not only offering convenience, but you're making a personalized, inclusive, and future-proof dining experience for your customers.

Don't lag in the voice AI revolution! Buy yourself a voice AI food ordering system from eatOS and let your sales sing the sweet song of success. In the fiercely competitive world of food service, it's often the loudmouth who nabs the most customers. So let's celebrate the "yaps" and get ready to supercharge your sales!

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Prompt: Bucky forgetting Tony and his anniversary because he spends all his time with Steve.

Tony knew he didn't really have any right to complain. Considering the number of times he had forgotten Pepper's birthday or any other important date they'd shared, he actually deserved to be at the other end of the equation for once. The thing was just that he'd made an effort this time. He had decided, at the very start of his and Bucky's relationship, that he would do better.

Nowadays, Tony made sure to mark every important date in his calendar and asked JARVIS to remind him well enough in advance that he could plan gifts or make reservations — whatever seemed suitable for the occasion. Tony was determined not to make the same mistakes as he had with Pepper. The sheer number of times he'd made her feel ignored or forgotten would haunt him for the rest of his life, and he didn't blame her in the slightest for breaking up with him.

So, when his and Bucky's one-year anniversary rolled around, Tony was prepared. He'd finally learned that unnecessarily bombastic gifts usually weren't the way to go — another thing Pepper had had to suffer through — and had settled for buying Bucky a new, fancy leather jacket and a pair of headphones. Both were of expensive brands, granted, because Tony didn't know how to buy things cheap, but they were also things Bucky genuinely wanted. That hopefully made them better gifts than an obscenely large stuffed bunny.

Bucky's favorite place to eat didn't really require reservations, but Tony had made sure to call ahead to warn them that two Avengers would be dropping by and had politely requested a table in the back, if possible. When Tony had explained that it was for an anniversary dinner, they had been more than happy to help — and offered their well-wishes.

Everything was set. Tony had even made sure he was free from SI and Avengers obligations the entire day, intending to focus solely on Bucky. That had been one of the main problems in all of Tony's previous relationships; his work and projects always came first. In general, Bucky seemed to have nothing against that — he was surprisingly uninterested in changing Tony — but their anniversary, of all days, shouldn't be like that. Tony wanted Bucky to know just how much he loved him, even if he didn't always manage to say it with actual words.

Disappointingly, the day didn't turn out at all like Tony had planned.

(Mobile readers, watch out for the break)

First of all, he woke up alone. That wasn't entirely unexpected — he and Bucky kept different schedules — but he had hoped Bucky might sleep in on account of what day it was. Usually, Bucky loved to cuddle in bed, but his morning run with Steve must have held more appeal.

Tony pushed his disappointment aside, telling himself that didn't matter. There were still plenty of hours left in the day; Bucky would have time for him later.

Except when Bucky and Steve returned from their run and stopped by the kitchen for a water bottle each, all Tony got was a quick smile and a chaste kiss from Bucky before both super soldiers disappeared in the direction of the gym. Tony stood frozen on the spot, bereft, coffee cup in hand and unspoken words dying on his lips. He had wanted to ask Bucky what his plans for the day were, but Tony supposed he already had his answer.

Tony told himself not to be so greedy. He couldn't expect Bucky to always have time for him. Being too demanding was another reason for the rift between him and Pepper — the way she'd put Tony's needs before hers, time and time again. It was both selfish and cruel.

If Bucky wanted to spend his day with his best friend, who was Tony to stop him?

Tony swallowed and quickly gathered up his composure. If Bucky was busy, Tony might as well get some work done on his numerous projects. Bucky would come find him sooner or later, and then they could make arrangements for when to eat dinner.

Tony clung to that thought as he headed for his workshop, but there was no denying the lump of dread growing in his stomach. He had a feeling this day would turn out to be the opposite of what he had hoped.

---

A gentle kiss was pressed against Tony's temple and he felt himself smile, a shiver of delight running down his spine. He looked up from his soldering and was met by Bucky's grinning face.

"How are you, doll?" Bucky's words were soft and drawling, intimate in a way that never failed to make Tony's heart skip a beat. Bucky ran his hand through Tony's hair, as if he just couldn't resist the temptation to touch him.

This was what Tony had pictured their anniversary to be like.

"I'm good." Tony put his tools down and turned his chair around, pulling Bucky closer by his belt loops. "You?"

Bucky's hair was still a little wet from the shower he'd taken after his workout and Tony was pleased to note that Bucky was now wearing that lovely red Henley of his. It was one of Tony's favorites.

"Right now? Absolutely perfect," Bucky murmured with a fond smile, before leaning down for a proper kiss. Tony got so caught up in it — the warmth and taste of him — that he almost missed the words Bucky whispered against his lips as soon as the kiss ended. "I just wanted to see you before Steve and I head out again."

Tony stiffened, blinking in surprise. "Out?"

"Yeah." Bucky straightened and combed his fingers through Tony's hair once more, though this time it didn't feel particularly comforting. "The baseball game, remember? Steve got us tickets months ago."

"Oh. Right." Tony felt his heart sink, cold realization beginning to spread through his veins.

Had Bucky forgotten what day it was? Or did he just not care about celebrating anniversaries? Or maybe Tony had assumed their relationship was a bigger deal than it actually was? Perhaps Bucky saw what they had as something more casual, and therefore didn't want to acknowledge that they'd been dating for a year?

The thought made Tony's throat tighten.

"You okay?" Bucky was frowning, his voice full of concern.

Tony couldn't tell him. He'd either make a fool out of himself or make Bucky feel guilty for prioritizing spending time with his best friend. Tony and Bucky hadn't actually agreed to do anything special for their anniversary — they hadn't even mentioned it, in fact — so he shouldn't feel disappointed that Bucky had other plans.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tony faked a smile, even if he knew that Bucky could probably see right through it.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky wasn't convinced. "You sure? You look..." Bucky didn't finish the sentence, obviously not sure how to catalogue whatever look was on Tony's face.

"I'm just tired," Tony deflected. "I didn't get much sleep."

It was a flimsy excuse. Bucky seemed to agree, judging by the frown he was wearing.

"Do you want me to stay in tonight?"

"No." Tony shook his head, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, but that wouldn't be fair to Bucky. He and Steve had obviously started planning their evening months ago — even before Tony had started making his preparations. "What good would that do? I probably won't be good company anyway. I'd rather see you go out and have fun with Steve."

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked.

"Absolutely." Tony wasn't even lying. He would only feel bad if Bucky stayed at home because Tony had asked him to, knowing he'd rather be at the game.

Bucky still looked concerned, but relented. "Okay, but let me know if you change your mind."

This was outright torture. Tony's chest felt heavy with disappointment and what could, quite possibly, be grief. He was fairly certain this meant Bucky had forgotten — he wouldn't be this oblivious if he was just uninterested in celebrating their anniversary — but that option was no less depressing. Bucky didn't consider the date notable enough to remember.

"I will." Tony's stomach was a tightly clenched ball of misery, but he managed a smile. "Now get going, before Steve leaves without you."

Bucky smiled too, his thumb stroking Tony's cheek. "See you when I get back?"

Tony nodded, not sure if his voice would carry without cracking. He returned the kiss Bucky gave him, but he could admit his heart wasn't in it. As he watched Bucky leave the workshop, on his way to spend the evening with Steve, Tony was almost a little surprised by how much it hurt.

Was this how Pepper had felt? If so, he didn't know how the hell she'd held out for as long as she had. It was excruciating to know his and Bucky's anniversary had been forgotten by the one other person who should remember it.

As soon as the elevator slid shut behind Bucky, Tony could feel his eyes begin to burn. He had no right to feel hurt, he knew that — he had treated Pepper way worse during their relationship — but he would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed. Bucky had always been so caring and considerate that the possibility of him forgetting their anniversary hadn't even occurred to Tony as an option. It seemed like the kind of thing Bucky would remember even if they had been in the middle of an Avengers mission.

Tony gritted his teeth and looked up at the ceiling, blinking the tears away. He was just overreacting, that was all. They hadn't said the day was special and, just because Tony had, for once, made an effort, that didn't mean he should fault Bucky for not doing the same. Bucky already put up with so much when it came to Tony, so if he wanted to go to a baseball game instead of having dinner with Tony, then he'd certainly earned that.

"JARVIS." Tony cleared his throat to get rid of the telltale tremble in his voice. "Let the restaurant know we're not coming."

"Of course, Sir."

Tony tried to convince himself that wasn't pity in JARVIS's voice, but he wasn't particularly successful.

---

As much as Tony tried to pretend that everything was fine in the days following their anniversary, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of disappointment. He stuffed Bucky's presents into one of the drawers in the workshop, praying he'd forget about them entirely, and did his best to smile like nothing was wrong.

It wasn't a big deal that Bucky had forgotten. Tony had no right to complain about something he had done so many times himself. A part of him wanted to get passive aggressive about it, sure, but Bucky deserved better than that. Tony was trying so hard not to fall back into old, childish patterns.

He was a little stiffer than usual, though, and found himself spending more time in the workshop, unfairly trying to spare himself the stab of hurt he felt whenever seeing Bucky. Tony just couldn't let it go, even if he knew he should. Whether or not they celebrated their anniversary didn't make or break their relationship. Tony might feel a painful clench in his chest whenever he thought about it, but he could learn to ignore that.

If Bucky noticed something was wrong, he never said anything.

---

Tony woke to gentle fingers stroking his hair and a soft kiss against his forehead. If the purpose was to make him eager to get out of bed, it was a poor tactic; tenderness of that kind only made him want to stay in bed longer.

"I brought coffee," Bucky whispered fondly.

Reluctantly, Tony cracked open one eye. "Are you bribing me?" he asked, mock-suspicious.

Bucky laughed and kissed his cheek. "I might be." He straightened and gestured towards Tony. "Come on, sit up."

Tony rolled his eyes but did as told, failing to suppress a wide yawn. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand — 9:13 AM — before getting distracted by the breakfast tray standing on fold-out legs next to the bed.

"You brought breakfast?" It was a stupid question since Tony could see for himself that Bucky had — toast, pancakes, sliced fruit, juice, and the aforementioned coffee. He wasn't displeased, just a little surprised.

"Nothin' gets past you, does it?" Bucky replied teasingly as he lifted the tray off the floor and placed it in front of Tony instead. Only then did Tony notice the rose lying next to the juice pitcher — rich, dark red with gold glitter along the edges of the petals.

"That's for you," Bucky said, obviously having noticed where Tony's gaze had strayed. Bucky picked up the rose and held it out to Tony, his smile breathtakingly sweet. "I know it's a little cheesy, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

Truth be told, Tony had trouble swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He was pretty bad at romantic gestures and perhaps not overly fond of showing heartfelt emotions, but he couldn't not like it when Bucky was being so sincere. This was why Tony had wanted to do something special for their anniversary — he knew Bucky valued these kinds of things.

"You dork," Tony whispered, albeit fondly. He accepted the rose with one hand and pulled Bucky down for a kiss with the other. Bucky hummed against Tony's lips but soon drew back, grinning proudly.

"Let's eat." He was unusually eager, even for a hungry super soldier, and Tony couldn't help laughing when Bucky crawled over Tony's legs to settle next to him, propped up against the pillows. As soon as Bucky was in place, he leaned in to kiss Tony's cheek. "I love you."

Tony's throat closed up. He knew he was being ungrateful, but why couldn't Bucky have done this on their anniversary instead? This was exactly the kind of thing Tony had expected to share on that day, but instead Bucky had been off spending time with Steve. Of course Tony still appreciated the attention he was given now, but he'd been carrying the disappointment for days and it wasn't any easier when knowing just how considerate Bucky could be.

"I love you too," Tony replied, even if his voice sounded a little choked. Hopefully, Bucky would take it as Tony being touched instead of a tiny bit heartbroken.

To give himself some time to gather his composure, Tony picked up his coffee and took a sip. Immediately, Tony could tell Bucky had prepared it himself. It was quite endearing that no matter how many times Tony explained that he had appliances that could grind the beans and make the actual coffee, both Bucky and Steve occasionally insisted on doing it the old-fashioned way. Tony would be lying if he said it wasn't terribly flattering that Bucky wanted to spend that kind of time and effort on Tony's coffee, though.

Tony cleared his throat, careful not to meet Bucky's gaze. "So, what are we celebrating?"

While Bucky was a whole lot better at romantic gestures than Tony, they usually had a purpose of some kind.

Bucky laughed. "It's our anniversary, sweetheart."

Tony froze, coffee cup halfway to his lips. He turned his head and stared at Bucky, feeling a sickening roll in his stomach. "No, it's not," he said.

Their anniversary had been five days ago — Tony was sure of it.

His heart clenched when Bucky reached out and took his free hand, raising it to his lips to kiss Tony's knuckles. "Yes, it is." Bucky smiled, thumb stroking Tony's fingers. "And it's okay if you've forgotten — Pepper warned me that you might."

Tony's throat clicked and he hastily looked down at the breakfast tray in his lap. He hadn't forgotten. For once he hadn't forgotten, but he understood if everyone assumed he had — it was how he usually operated, after all. He wasn't sure how they'd mixed up the days — Tony trusted JARVIS with his life, and he would never have given the wrong date — so the fault must lie with Tony.

That shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone.

"Okay." He swallowed and carefully placed his coffee cup back on the tray. "I'm sorry." Even he could hear that his tone was too flat.

"Tony?" Bucky sounded concerned — maybe even a little sad. "I mean it. It's okay if you don't—"

"I should get to work," Tony interrupted. He pulled his hand back from Bucky and grabbed the handles of the tray, preparing to lift it to the side. "I have a lot to—"

"No, wait!" Bucky took hold of Tony's wrist, not tightly enough that Tony couldn't break free, but still enough to make him freeze in place. "Tony, what's wrong?" There was outright panic in Bucky's voice now. "Was it something I did?"

Tony quickly shook his head, but he didn't let go of the breakfast tray or look up at Bucky. "No, you're wonderful. This is wonderful. Everything is fine, I just need to—"

"Please don't lie to me."

Tony shut his mouth with a clack. Lying never helped a relationship, Tony knew that much. Bucky deserved better than lies.

"Tony, please. Talk to me." There was so much pleading sincerity in Bucky's voice — Tony didn't have the heart to deny him.

It still wasn't easy, though. Tony sat quiet for long, agonizing seconds before he gathered enough courage to speak. Bucky's fingers remained wrapped around Tony's wrist the entire time, as if he was afraid that Tony would leave as soon as he let go.

"I didn't forget," Tony said, gaze fixed on the cooling pancakes. He licked his lips. "I just thought it was five days ago, that's all."

There was a stunned silence.

"You did? Why didn't you say anything?"

Tony refused to reply to that, and he also refused to meet Bucky's gaze. He couldn't quite decide if he felt depressed or just stupid — perhaps both.

"Five days ago was—" Bucky cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. "Oh Tony, no." He sounded devastated. "That's why you looked so sad when I said I was going to the game with Steve."

Since it wasn't a question, Tony saw no reason to reply.

"I could tell somethin's been off these past couple o' days," Bucky continued softly, "but I didn't know if you wanted to talk about it."

Tony closed his eyes when Bucky touched his cheek, breathtakingly gentle, as always.

"Please look at me."

Tony sighed but did as asked — there were few things he could deny Bucky — and wasn't the least bit surprised when he saw the pained look on Bucky's face.

"I would never do that to you." The amount of conviction in Bucky's voice was rather comforting, but Tony still felt a pang of sadness. "I would never force you to spend our anniversary alone. Not even for Steve."

"I know." Tony did know that. Bucky wouldn't knowingly be that cruel to someone he cared about, and Bucky did care about Tony. It had taken a while to get used to the thought, but Tony eventually had. "I just figured you'd forgotten."

Tony tried to sound nonchalant but he was fairly certain that he failed.

Bucky cupped Tony's cheek. "I would never forget somethin' as important as that." He swallowed, his smile faint. "And I'm sorry I assumed you had."

"Hey, it's okay — it's what I do." Tony shrugged, gaze skittering to look at the wall behind Bucky's shoulder. "You're right to expect the worst—"

"Tony, no." Bucky's words were gentle but the look in his eyes was firm. "I'm sorry. I know you've been tryin' really hard and I shouldn't have doubted you. That wasn't fair. Please accept my apology?"

Tony frowned. "I still got the wrong date so I don't see why you should apologize for—"

"Tony."

"Fine!" Tony exclaimed, both exasperated and a little bit fond. He felt a reluctant smile twitch at the corner of his lips. "I accept your apology."

"Thank you." Bucky leaned in for a soft kiss, clearly relieved. He bumped their foreheads together. "Are we good?"

"Yeah." Tony closed his eyes, soaking up the comfort of having Bucky close — their breaths mingling, Bucky's warmth pressed against his side. "We're good."

Bucky hummed and gave Tony another quick kiss. "In that case, I suggest breakfast."

Tony snorted but saw no reason to protest. A lot of the tension he'd been carrying the past couple of days was gone. Sure, he'd still gotten the date wrong, despite his best efforts, but at least this meant Bucky hadn't forgotten about their anniversary.

"I'm sorry I mixed up the days," Tony said, settling back against the pillows before taking another sip of coffee. "I still have the presents I got you, but I haven't made any dinner reservations."

Bucky picked up a piece of toast and smiled. "That's okay — I have."

Tony grinned back and was a little surprised when JARVIS interrupted the sweet moment — he usually had enough tact not to.

"Sirs, if I may?"

"Sure, JARVIS," Tony replied, reaching for one of the forks. "Go ahead."

"You were not mistaken about the date."

"JARVIS, it's not your fault." Tony used the side of his fork to cut a decent piece of pancake for himself, slapping Bucky's fingers away when he tried to steal it. "I just gave you the wrong date to keep track off. No harm done."

"No, Sir, you were right. All of my logs — and your credit card receipts — confirm that it was one year and five days ago that you and Sergeant Barnes had your first outing."

Both Tony and Bucky froze, then turned to look at each other in surprise. Bucky couldn't be the one who had gotten the date wrong, could he? Tony was pretty certain that was his job.

"Wait, you count from the first date?" Bucky asked, frowning.

"You don't?"

"No?"

It was Tony's turn to frown. "Then what anniversary are we having today?"

"Our first kiss." Bucky looked a little hesitant. "I mean, isn't that technically when we got together?"

"I..." Tony was beginning to feel hesitant too. "I don't know?"

There was a brief silence, Bucky and Tony staring at each other in confusion.

"Both dates are milestones within your relationship," JARVIS helpfully cut in, "so neither of you are necessarily wrong. They are both anniversaries."

If Tony hadn't been so stunned, he would probably have found the situation quite hilarious. But at least he was beginning to understand why they said that communication was key in any relationship.

"Perhaps, in preparation for next year, you should agree on a date together?" JARVIS kindly suggested. "To avoid further misunderstandings."

Bucky let out a short laugh, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, that's probably for the best."

"Let's go with today in that case," Tony decided. "A first kiss is more fun to celebrate than a first date."

"Sounds good to me," Bucky replied, a soft smile on his lips.

Tony just had to lean in and give him a quick kiss which, unsurprisingly, ended up being everything but quick. Once Tony managed to pull back, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he felt slightly lightheaded, his entire being tingling with happiness and contentment.

He cleared his throat while trying — and failing — not to smile. "JARVIS, rearrange the schedule and mark today as our anniversary instead."

"Certainly, Sir."

JARVIS reply was partly lost to Tony since he was busy returning the next kiss Bucky pulled him in for — a deep and needy thing that made his heart rate spike and toes curl. There was a flutter of warmth in Tony's chest, growing steadily stronger, and he reveled in the closeness — the feeling of belonging and the sizzle of desire pooling low in his stomach.

Bucky made him feel all kinds of wonderful things.

For the first time in five days, Tony was able to let go of the worry he'd been carrying and simply enjoy Bucky's company.

It was, after all, their anniversary, and what better way to spend it?

_____________

- Amethystina

[multifandomwritings]

Valentine's song prompts | Line Without a Hook (Lester Sinclair)

Fandoms/characters: House of Wax/slashers (Lester Sinclair, reader)

Song: 42. Line Without a Hook - Ricky Montgomery

Genre: Angst/romance with fluff near the end

Format: Oneshot

Word count: 1848 (a little lengthier? I got carried away lol)

Summary: Lester, who is still insecure about your relationship, distances himself from you. Later, he catches you crying to yourself because you think he's losing interest.

Notes: I know everyone has different takes on characters and such but for me, I usually write Lester as very sweet/warm. It might not be everyone's cup of tea though, so I'm just letting you know. This also feels kinda sloppy to me :/ But I tried lol. Apologies in advance for any mistakes and sloppiness >_>

You adored Lester.

From his goofy sense of humor and the smile that often followed his cheesy jokes, to his warmth and kindness. He was so accepting of every part of you in the most casual way. Your relationship wasn't really conventional, and maybe it was strange, but you never felt more comfortable around anyone than you did him.

But you were beginning to suspect the feeling wasn't mutual.

You knew the circumstances. You had been patient and understanding, and you tried your best to always let him know how much you cared for him. But it seemed like every time you got closer, he pulled farther away. You hated the thought that he was insecure, or uncomfortable, because of you.

Lester adored you, as well. Too much, maybe.

He loved every part of you, every detail — even those you didn't like about yourself. His life was often far from pleasant, but you had stumbled along into it and had given him something he never expected. He wasn't even sure he deserved you at all, really.

He wanted to trust you, to believe your feelings were sincere — and he did. But he couldn't help but wonder if you would be better off without him. He felt like he was holding you back. You had sacrificed a lot to be with him, whether or not you even realized it. You were stuck in the backwoods of Louisiana, away from everything, and for what?

Would you be happier elsewhere? With someone else? Every day, he came home to you, alone in his little house, always happy to see him. It was amazing for him, but there was always a tinge of guilt in the back of his mind when he saw you like that. He couldn't be worth it, he thought. You'd resent him.

Knowingly or unknowingly, he had started to avoid you. Before, he was always so tender and sweet. He'd sweep you up and pepper your face with kisses, smiling at your every word. He was so smitten with you and for that, he couldn't stand the thought of losing you.

Yet, he was pushing you away more and more with every passing day.

Now, his greetings were brief and stifled. He'd press a brief kiss to the top of your head, exchanging small talk before he found a million reasons to avoid you. You felt as if you never saw him. And you knew it was intentional on his part.

You tried to wait it out, to talk with him and smooth things over. But it was hard to do when he was constantly working, or preoccupied with town-related things. A constant sick feeling ate at you, an uneasiness at the feeling of feeling unwanted, unwelcome. You loved him so much but you were starting to feel like a nuisance — like a temporary fascination that was overstaying their welcome.

***

You had tried to ignore your feelings, hoping things would naturally improve. But they didn't, and slowly but surely, all of the emotions you'd tried to keep at bay came crashing in all at once.

It wasn't as if there was any reason you shouldn't let it out. You were entirely alone, as usual. He wouldn't be home until it was late and he could plop down next to you in bed, spending time wordlessly, both of your minds rushing.

It was worse than usual, too. He had made so many little hints and suggestions that made you think you weren't as welcome in Ambrose as you thought you were. That maybe you missed where you came from, that you'd be happier elsewhere. He didn't say much, but when he did, it stung. Maybe he didn't mean it to, but he'd leave you alone again with your thoughts, overthinking each word spoken, and each one absent.

You sat in your bed, slowly crumbling as everything sunk in. Tears flooded as you thought about everything you hoped would happen between you and Lester. It felt pointless now, like the best of your time together had already passed. You couldn't help but feel as if you'd done something wrong, although you didn't know what. He was so warm and sweet, usually, but now he would barely look at you.

You started at the distant sound of the door opening through the house. You froze, trying to collect yourself as you wiped the tears from your cheeks. You half considered running to the bathroom and locking the door behind you until your eyes looked less teary, but it was too late. Maybe he should catch you anyway, you thought — at least then you'd have to talk about it.

He probably wouldn't have even noticed, had he not had to get a change of clothes from your shared room. He stepped inside, already wearing a forced smile, before he noticed you sniffling and wiping your eyes. Right away, his heart sunk.

He slowly trailed around the bed, sitting next to you and examining you seriously. His eyes were already dewy, even just from seeing you like that. Your heart twisted up at the sight of him all concerned, brown eyes wide and focused.

"What's the matter?" He asked, lifting his hand to your cheek reluctantly and swiping away some of your tears with his thumb.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for a while," You replied, letting out a shaky, weak laugh as you wiped away the rest of your tears.

He only stared, sadly wondering if this was a common occurrence when he wasn't around.

"What's wrong?" He repeated, pulling his hand away as his eyes flickered between yours.

You weren't even sure how you should explain. Surely he knew why you were like this — the effect his absence and coldness had on you?

"You're just never here."

It was so easy for you to tug Lester's heartstrings. A handful of words made his stomach churn. How could someone like you be crying over him like that?

When he didn't answer, you continued, "...You know, if you don't want me around anymore, you could just tell me. It would be better than keeping this up."

He let out a nervous scoff, searching you almost as if to tell if you were serious, "Why would you think that?"

"Because, you're never here," You repeated, the corners of your lips quivering, "These days, you barely even talk to me, or look at me."

He wanted to contradict you, but you were right. But in a way, he thought he was doing you a favor. He felt like he was the one in the way most of the time — the one that would be better off out of your life.

"I'm sorry," Was all he could really manage, his voice breaking slightly. He was so stupid, he thought, hurting someone like you. All the more reason why he didn't deserve you. He was so infatuated with you, and the closer you got, the more he didn't know how to accept your feelings. He wanted to, but years of insecurities and cruel words had made him wonder how he'd managed to get so lucky with you.

After a long moment of silence, he finally mustered up his courage.

"D'you want me to?" He asked, making you tilt your head forward in disbelief.

"What?"

"Do you really want me around? Do you really want to be here, with me?" He asked, once more giving one of his nervous, forced smiles.

"Of course I do," You firmly replied, "Why would you even think otherwise?"

He said nothing, guilt and insecurities eating away at him. After another moment, he only apologized again, too torn up to even explain himself.

You understood him better than he realized. Another moment of silence allowed you to cool off and collect your thoughts. The ache in your heart slowly shifted from loneliness and hurt to aching for him instead. His question, and his behavior, made you realize he hadn't really been avoiding you because of you.

"Lester, I really want to be here. And I'm not just saying that," You began, slipping your hand over the sheets and tangling your fingers around his, "I love you. I just want you to be around, you know? And if I made you feel like I don't, I'm sorry."

He stared uncertainly, but his hand rearranging to hold yours was more than enough encouragement to continue. You loved him so much, and you desperately wanted him to know it. The thought of him not knowing, or doubting your feelings, made your stomach knot up. You loved every little detail of him, and if nothing else, you wanted to make sure he knew it.

"That's why I'm like this, I've missed you. I thought you didn't like me anymore," You admitted, earning a surprised look. It felt so ridiculous to admit, but your own insecurities kept deepening as he avoided you.

"'Course I do, how could you even-?" He began, stopping himself when he realized he was just repeating your own words. He let out a short, emotional laugh, realizing how you both sounded, "How could I not? I just can't see how someone like you'd wanna be here with someone like me."

You hated hearing those kinds of words from him. He was more than enough for you, yet the unkind words of countless people had taken root in him, to the point where he started to believe them. You would just have to replace them, you thought, with kinder, softer, truer things.

"How could I not?" You said, his brown eyes searching you lovingly as you spoke, "No one else makes me as comfortable as you do. You're so warm, and kind, and-"

You stopped, seeing the corners of his lips slowly upturn with your every word. You bit the corner of your lips to hold back a smile yourself, instantly relaxing at the sight of him smiling. Tears still stung at your eyes, emotions all mixed up, but at least you had cleared the air a little. Seeing his reaction, however, you wondered how he would respond to complete, unfettered honesty.

"...And handsome," You said, testing his reaction before continuing. He grinned, turning his gaze away from yours from embarrassment, "I love you," You repeated, rearranging yourself for easier access to him, "I love your eyes," You said, grinning as you earned a curious look as your arms wrapped around his neck, "And your nose..." You said, pressing a kiss on top of it. His smile grew wider and wider as his face lit up tomato-red with your every word. At this point, you were just wondering how far he'd let you go. You loved making him laugh and smile, and would continue to tease him for as long as you could get away with. "...And your smile," You continued, earning a laugh as you peppered his face with kisses.

Lester understood your point, but had no interest at all in stopping you. And you had no problem with that, as having him wrapped in up your arms, smiling and laughing at your affectionate doting, was more than enough to ease the hurt you had been feeling so short a time ago. You knew it still wouldn't be perfect, that it would take time for him to completely trust your feelings for him. But it was a start.

[aminiatureworld]

Old Faces

Characters: Albedo, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: None

Premise: In which the reader runs into their ex

Author’s Note: Did something a little different by changing which character perspective it was for different prompts. I found it a good way to explore this particular prompt.

Albedo

The moment Albedo walked out of his office door he felt his stomach sink a bit.

Though the alchemist liked to think that he was a man of perfect rationality, whether by nature or by will, he couldn’t help but feel a knot in his stomach as he watched you talking to your ex.

Albedo knew that things hadn’t ended well in your last relationship, knew that there had been a lot of shouting and crying done by both parties, all culminating in you getting kicked out of your shared apartment. You didn’t like to talk about it even now, focusing on your relationship with Albedo instead of dwelling on the past. If any reminder of your ex ever surfaced you usually glared it before moving on.

That knowledge made your evidently awkward conversation all the worse. As you leaned against one of the beams which held up the alchemy front, seemingly distancing yourself as much as possible from the person in front of you, Albedo felt a sudden urge to run and wedge himself between the two of you. OF course he would never act upon something so unhelpful, but the alchemist was finding more and more that he’d be seized by illogical wishes the more he opened himself up to you.

Now he curbed his thoughts and made his way over, planting himself firmly next to you and not bothering to introduce himself beyond a curt nod. Not as if he needed an introduction anyways, as Albedo had run into your former partner a few times before, and the icy coldness between him and them was completely natural, at least on Albedo’s part.

“Ah Albedo!” You turned, smiling brightening for a moment. Placing a quick kiss on the alchemist’s cheek, something which caused warmth to immediately flood his face, you turned back towards your ex. “I’m sure you know about my partner, this is Albedo.”

“So you’ve been screwing around with this runt,” you ex shook his head as if disgusted. Narrowing his eyes, Albedo felt irritation wash over him, and for a moment he wondered if there was a potion that might indispose your ex for at least a week that could be easily hidden.

“Yes I’m currently in a relationship with him,” you replied, ignoring your ex’s jeer. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“None of my business? Don’t I have the right to be worried for you?”

“Oh please,” you snorted. “If you really worried about me you wouldn’t have kicked me out. Now if you please I have something to do. I’m very glad to hear that you’re well and getting your life on track and everything, but in truth I think this is really awkward, so could you please give me at least a head’s up next time.”

“You’re still think you’re better than everyone,” your ex spat.

“No, they don’t.” Albedo heard himself say, finding himself more and more irritated by this conversation. “But though they would never admit it, they are certainly better than you. I suggest you listen to their warnings, otherwise there are a few elixirs that could certainly use a human test subject.”

Your ex’s face paled, and they let out a curse before turning away. Suddenly feeling very depleted of energy Albedo sighed.

“Hey, thanks for that.”

“Of course,” Albedo looked up at you. “You seemed uncomfortable.”

“I was,” you admitted. “They weren’t really listening to me, so thank you.”

Leaning over to kiss Albedo once more you stopped in surprise as your partner tilted his head so that your lips met his, instead of the cheek you were aiming for. Pulling back Albedo looked at the ground.

“Sorry, I realize that wasn’t what you were planning.”

“I don’t mind!” Your reply came fast. “I’m just surprised. You okay?”

“Of course I’m alright,” Albedo looked at you. “You should be more worried about yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I be also worried about you?” You tilted your head. “I know that you don’t really like conflict. And I’m sure that was awkward for you as well.”

Albedo said nothing in reply, merely leaning over to kiss you gently on the forehead. You were so quick to notice things sometimes he couldn’t fathom it.

As the afternoon drifted on Albedo found himself once more thinking about how wonderful you were. There was no one in the world like you, no one nearly so precious to him, so worthy of love. If this was beyond the intelligence of a shadow of the past, well, what did it matter.

  Xiao

“Why don’t you just go back to them?”

You stared at your partner, surprised by the words that had just come out of his mouth. All day Xiao had been as prickly as a cactus, even more standoffish than usual, and all day you’d been trying to coax some words out of the silent yaksha who had taken to standing next to you all day. Now you wondered if that hadn’t been a mistake.

“What do you mean?” You felt your voice waver slightly. “Xiao why are you telling me to go back to my ex?”

You had run into a former significant other of yours at the Inn a day ago, as they had taken up a carpentry contract for the rotting bits of stairwell that made the Inn so difficult to manage sometimes. Though you two had long since been finished, the split had been amicable, and at the time it had felt nostalgic to simply chat with an old friend, a memory of an earlier part of your life when everything had been so different.

Though you were certainly aware that Xiao might have been watching, a suspicion confirmed by the adeptus’ questions that evening, you had never thought much of it. Sure it was your former partner, but it was too long ago to even think about now. You had been a dumb kid then, and though you might not be infallible now, you were certainly different. Standing across from your partner now you realized that not everyone appeared to hold the same opinon.

“Xiao, I know that I was talking to my ex yesterday, but just because I was doing so doesn’t mean I don’t love you or care about you. That was a very long time ago for me, if not for you, and I don’t see in them a partner anyone, I haven’t for years. I understand if you might not feel the same way regarding the timeframe, but there’s no reason to, well, I don’t know what you’re doing right now.”

You stared at your partner, who appeared to be glaring at the railing right next to your hand. You loved Xiao, despite all the rumors that often circulated him and the rest of the adepti. You also knew that Xiao had an incredibly fine-tuned sense of justice and logic. He normally wouldn’t hurl something at you like a challenge. Though he wasn’t perhaps the most well-versed in the ordinary lives of humans, you would hardly call him oblivious to human customs. Partner’s weren’t always partner’s for life. Why then was Xiao acting so cagey?

Now you partner let out a small “hmph!” Shifting himself so he was facing the outside, he stared out at the inky night of Liyue. His cheeks were warmed by the flickering candles of the Inn, and in that moment he seemed oddly vulnerable.

“Xiao,” you ventured. “Is something wrong, are you, are you still uneasy about yesterday.”

For a moment Xiao said nothing, and your heart began to sink. As you turned to walk away however you heard the soft tones of your partner’s voice.

“Would you be happier with them?”

“No,” the answer came automatic and true, “though I may have been their partner once, now they’re merely a friend. There is no one like you to me Xiao, there never will be; I realized that a while ago. Even if you worry about your karma or you lack of knowledge or whatever you shouldn’t worry that I’ll ever leave you.”

You quickly found yourself enveloped in your partner’s embrace. Letting a small sigh of relief pass your lips you returned the embrace fiercely. Feeling the arms around you tighten ever so slightly you found the strangest urge to laugh. Maybe because it was so silly, the idea that you would ever leave your partner. Though it was sad that he would never know how deeply those feelings ran.

“I’ll never go back to anyone but you,” you murmured.

 Zhongli

The first thing Zhongli thought was that you two looked so right together.

Though the ex-archon did not like to admit it, the doubts that he had had at the beginning of the relationship still plagued him. Not the doubts about his love for you, oh no he could never doubt such a thing not if all the stars went out. No, his doubts lay in himself, in who he was. Perhaps it was wrong of him to still linger on his impending immortality, something that you assured him you had come to terms with. It felt disrespectful towards your decision to continuously feel this way. Yet standing at the door of the Funeral Parlor, watching as you chatted with your former partner, Zhongli could not help but feel the familiar pain.

The walk home was spent in a bit of a fog, as Zhongli half-listened to you discuss your day. Normally he found everything about you fascinating, and the things your job put you through were no different. This time though the words trickled off his back like water off a duck’s wings, the image of your and your “ex”, as you called it, pressing down upon him.

“My love?” He found himself saying, not realizing he had made up the decision to ask you something. You paused your conversation, titling your head slightly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” It was a lie perhaps, but an understandable one. “I just wished to comment upon the fact that I saw you with your former significant other. I hope that all was well with them.”

“They’re fine,” you replied. “Doing great actually, if what they say is true. Then again then were always prone to lying.” You let out a small laugh.

“Do you miss them?” Zhongli found he could not contain his questions today.

“No, not really. To be honest, talking to them kinda sucked. They sort of half-ghosted me back in the day, and even though you have to keep up appearances and all, I mean I can’t take them to task now, it still hurt.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Oh don’t be!” You shook your head. “I’m perfectly happy where I am now. Even if that whole debacle sucked, it’s worth it if it let this happen.”

The both of you glanced down at you intertwined hands. The image was so perfect in Zhongli’s mind that for a moment all his worries went away, and the golden sun seemed to brighten just a little bit.

Later that evening however Zhongli once more found himself thinking about it. He really had been shaken by you talking with your former partner. Even if they were not the right one, they were still human. Did that not make things easier for you? Happier for you? Zhongli thought back at your hands. How fast would they age in his mind, how fast would you notice how frozen Zhongli was. As if he was carved from rock, the ex-archon could only be eroded slowly. He could not grow old with you.

“My darling?” Zhongli murmured. It was dark and the two of you were in bed. Limbs tangled together, heads nestled close, Zhongli felt as if he could ask what he so feared.

“Yes?” Your voice was heavy with sleep.

“Do you ever regret falling in love with me?”

“No,” your murmured. “I know that you might not believe me, or you might not stop worrying, but you should. I love only you, my dear. I always will. Death will not change how much I love you.”

Zhongli pondered these words as your breathing evened and you slipped off into dreams. How could you say such a thing so nonchalantly, how could you be so sure? Then again, humans always seemed to be more confident in their decisions than those who had been given immortality.

Though the ex-archon wasn’t always fond of sleep, Zhongli felt himself begin to slip away. In the in between of awake and asleep everything seemed painted over, made simple by the logic of one half-dreaming. He would never be rid of these feelings. Perhaps then he should rely on yours. He relied on your for so much already.

Kissing your cheek before finally being dragged into sleep the last coherent thought Zhongli was aware of was that he loved you so very much.

[chrysanthemumgames]

A bit angst here... But how would the ROs react to PC who's just entirely lock themselves in their room when things go wrong, and in fact really need someone to be there for them but too scare to ask as they're rather 'friendless' before the Underworld...

I decided to do a bit of a writing warm-up today, with this as the prompt. :)

Pyri frowns, leaning back against the leg of the couch behind them and stretching their legs out in front, so they disappear under the table. "Dio didn't come to dinner," they say.

This is obvious, of course. Everyone else in the room was there, too, and knows it as well as they do. They also probably know that Dionysus always comes to dinner, so this is unusual. And bad. Not that he should force himself, if he doesn't feel good, but bad in the sense that things are just better when he's around.

Hades tilts his head for a moment. "He's in his room," he says. "Perhaps he simply wished for a bit of quiet this time?"

It would be a perfectly reasonable thing to want, Pyri supposes. They know they aren't really conducive to 'quiet' most of the time. Sometimes people need breaks from them. Or used to. Their friends now usually seem happier when they're themself, but that's beside the point. There's nothing wrong with needing a break from people, but…

"Actually I think it might not be that," Hermes says, giving the tone of it something like a hint of admission and glancing towards Hekate.

She sighs quietly, and nods. "Practice today was… not very productive," she explains. "We were attempting to teach him fire magic. I wasn't quite quick enough in responding to a mishap, and Dionysus's spell burned me a little. It wasn't anything significant, and I fixed it immediately, but I don't think he took it very well. We cut matters short, and he left. I think perhaps he went straight there and hasn't emerged since."

That would have been only a couple hours ago, but… "We should all go see him!" Pyri suggests, moving their feet back and forth on their heels to tap their toes together. "He probably feels bad. I know I did, the first time that happened to me."

Maybe they could offer to practice with him? They're completely fireproof, after all.

"I… don't know if all of us is a good idea," Charon says, at the same time as Alekto lifts her hands to sign.

Not all. Too many is overwhelming.

Or something like that. Pyri doesn't have signing all the way down yet.

They puff their cheeks, then release the breath. "Well someone should go," they insist.

That doesn't seem to be something anyone disagrees with. Hades looks thoughtful for a moment, then hums under his breath.

"Perhaps… one of us could go, whilst the rest of us prepare an activity? I think perhaps he is unaccustomed to being around people who wish to help, rather than being averse to the notion. If there were a ready invitation to issue, that might go some way towards convincing him that he is no longer without such people."

"What kind of activity, though?" Hekate asks, shooting a suspicious glance at Hermes.

He grins, more than happy to play into her expectations. Pyri has figured out, with a lot of trial and error, that Hermes says a lot of things just to be funny, even though he might present them as 'serious' suggestions, and they think he's gearing up to do that now.

Alekto seems to recognize as much, too. No, she says, before he even opens his mouth.

He laughs. "Damn, Leks. You're getting quicker on the draw." Even his signs have a playfulness to them, conveying the same teasing that's in his tone.

She rolls her eyes.

Charon clears their throat. "Perhaps something quieter, considering he likely doesn't feel the best?"

"He does like various crafts, as I understand it," Hades notes, turning his attention to Alekto. "Have you any suggestions for one we might all do together?"

She narrows her eyes in thought, then shrugs. Perhaps we could all attempt to paint the same thing, and see how they turn out?

Hekate chuckles. "That, I think would be quite entertaining."

Hades nods, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Very well. Then, I think the rest of us will set up the canvases and find a suitable subject. Pyri, would you like to go talk to Dionysus on behalf of us all?"

Pyri startles a little in surprise. "Me?"

It seems like kind of an absurd suggestion. They're not exactly the most thoughtful or sensitive person, and they barely understand what being a deity even is, still. They do want Dio to feel better, but they somehow doubt they're exactly the one who would have that effect, especially alone.

But no one else looks in the least bit surprised. Alekto nods, like the choice was somehow obvious, and Hermes and Hekate exchange some… weird kind of look Pyri can't interpret.

Charon smiles gently at them. "I think Pyri's the perfect choice," they say, the remark infused with warm reassurance.

"Okay, well… if you think so. But I'm badgering you guys with Erebus if I mess up."

[duskholland]

Zip It || Peter Parker

prompt ↠ “oh, you want to kiss me so fucking bad, don’t you?” / “... what if I do?”

summary ↠ you didn’t think it could get any worse than the shared bed at the hotel, but then you find out you have to pretend to be peter’s girlfriend for the duration of the mission. it really feels like the universe is laughing in your face. ↠ enemies to lovers, fake dating, college au. word count ↠ 6.3k. warnings ↠ alcohol + a college party, brief use of needles, all the teasing and cursing that comes with an enemies to lovers, and some suggestive tension! this is sfw! a/n ↠ I love this prompt. I’ve wanted to write something based off it for ages, and what better scenario to explore it than in an enemies to lovers fake dating situation lmao? :’) it’s been a while since I wrote anything long with pete so I’m a lil rusty, but this was still a lot fun! I hope you like it

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Are you falling asleep right now? Seriously?” Your voice is scathing, your face pinched into a scowl as you stare across the hotel room. “Peter, we have to go in an hour.”

There’s the sound of the duvet rustling as Peter Parker very slowly looks up to glare at you. He’s sprawled beneath the covers of the large double bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin. The heat he carries in his eyes as he hears your accusation is considerably softened by the oversized burgundy hoodie he’s being swallowed by, and the fact his hair is wild and unkempt.

“No,” he says, voice cracking from its high pitch. He clears his throat immediately, cheeks flushing a little darker as he grimaces and looks away. “I’m just...chilling, Y/N.”

“Sure,” you reply. You shift around in the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room, feeling pain shoot up your back from the hunched position you’ve been in for far too long. “Liar.”

Peter sits up a little straighter, pulling a face. It’s quick to shatter as he yawns suddenly, and loudly, the sound so brash and unexpected that it makes you jump. Amusement mixes with his annoyance as he looks at you, brown eyes glinting almost amber beneath the light from the bedside lamp.

“I’m not lying. I’m just enjoying this really comfy bed,” he says. His pink lips quirk into a smirk, and he looks so fucking smug as he buries himself back beneath the covers. “It’s so warm. I think the, uh, the sheets are satin. Feels like a cloud, or something. And the pillows…” Peter releases a strangled sound, hitting the back of his head off one of the feathery pillows for dramatic effect. “So nice… Um, unrelated, Y/N, but… how’s that chair? Looks pretty uncomfortable.”

You scowl. “Shut up,” you snap. “You’re completely insufferable. I can’t believe I have to be here with you right now.” You drop your voice, speaking in mutters as you add, more to yourself, “why couldn’t it be Cap? Or Natasha? Why’d it have to be you?”

Peter releases a mirthless chuckle. You glance back, watching as he combs a hand through his fluffy brown curls, messy and wild from so long lounging around. He looks a little bit like an angry teddy bear, wrapped up in such a large hoodie, tucked up in bed. You’re quick to push down that thought. There is nothing cute or inoffensive about Peter Parker.

“Do you think I’m any happier than you about this?” he responds, voice dull. “This is the worst mission I’ve ever been assigned to, and that’s saying a lot. Do you remember that one we did, with the, uh, the… The chemicals? In the lab? Or the time that we had to go and deal with all those freaky alien snakes?” he breaks off, shivering, then recomposes himself enough to shoot you a sour look. “This is worse than all of those times.”

The ache in your back from the chair grows too much to bear, so you stand up slowly, trying to hide your expression of pain.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll get this over with soon,” you reply, voice a mutter. You cast him a distrustful look. “I might kill you if I have to spend much longer with you.”

Peter just smirks, rolling onto his side as he snuggles back into bed. “Feeling’s mutual, baby,” he calls out, looking back at his phone.

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you stalk over to your suitcase and pull out your outfit for tonight, followed by a bag of makeup and hair products. You don’t bother to say anything more as you stride into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you for effect. The moment it’s shut, you throw everything down on the counter and grab at the cool porcelain of the basin, staring yourself in the mirror as you try to calm down.

Peter makes you so frustrated. Since high school and the cramped hallways of Midtown, he’s been an irritant to you. Back then, he was always hanging around, crowding your space, infiltrating your friend group. You understood it, at first. He was a new addition to the Avengers, a team you’ve been a part of since you were 14. Maybe it was to be expected that he clung to you like he did back then, and stuck to your side like glue. Maybe you’d liked it at first.

But then he’d grown up. Peter had become cockier, bolder. The biggest transformation was when you both went to college and somehow ended up on the same course, sharing 90% of the same classes. You got to watch as he was scouted by the college lacrosse team, and thus his ego inflated. To most people, you know he appears charming. He’s polite, considerate, compassionate, and those qualities have awarded him both the attention of your entire college population and the acclaim of the citizens of New York. They herald him, repeatedly, as their saviour, and whilst you’re not jealous of the attention he gets, it irritates you.

Peter does stupid things, all the time, and everyone just lets him get away with it. Like when he accidentally webbed you down during a mission or tossed a bomb your way assuming you could magically diffuse it within the five seconds left on the timer. He steals your food from the fridge in the Avengers’ compound every single time, despite the notes and the padlocks you’ve resorted to using. It’s as if Peter is intent on ruining your life, and when he’s not doing it by fucking up a mission, he’s always just...there. Hanging around, with a sly smirk on his lips or a witty remark laying at the tip of his tongue, trying to get a rise out of you.

You can’t stand being around him.

To add insult to injury, you’ve both been roped into working this mission together. It’s an odd pairing—usually, you’d have at least one other member of the team to act as a buffer between you both. This time, though, with the objective being the infiltration of a college party, apparently you and Peter are the only people who look the right age. You think it’s just some elaborate ploy to get you to work better together, but your complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

You sigh as you look at your reflection in the mirror.

As you do your makeup and fix your hair, you try to let go of some of the frustration you feel. You’re jumpy and shaking, feeling like an uncontrollable livewire. You always feel oddly unsettled whenever you’re around Peter, and it’s only been growing worse recently.

A weight rolls from your shoulders when you finish painting your face and fixing your hair. All that’s left is your dress, and you pick it up with a smile on your face. It’s short, one of your own, and a pretty shade of red—the perfect number for a college party. You slip into it, wriggling as the silky material slides up to press against your soft skin. It’s going well, but then...

You can’t reach the zip.

“Fuck,” you mutter, scrunching up your nose as you reach back and paw helplessly at the undone zipper. You’d forgotten when you’d packed it that the high rise of the zip on this particular dress always gives you trouble. “Peter!”

“What?” he yells back.

You grimace and try a final time to grab the zipper yourself.

“Can you come here?”

“Is that how you ask for something politely?”

You inhale a shuddering breath, clenching your fists as you glance up at the ceiling. Through tight, irritated lips, you call back, “Peter Parker, oh generous and kind saviour of New York City, could you please come here and help me?”

You hear the sheets of the bed rustle very slowly, followed by the heavy set sounds of footsteps stomping over the carpet. You wonder if he’s being purposefully annoying, or if he’s just like this. A moment later, Peter opens the bathroom door, sticking his head around the doorframe with a scowl on his face. He opens his mouth to speak, only for the words to catch as his eyes bulge and take in your figure. You stand a little straighter, arching an eyebrow as you watch him swallow, deeply, taking in the tight fit of the dress and the way it clings confidently to your form.

“Uh- oh, uh, what?” he mutters, cheeks burning red.

“Can you get my zip? Please?” you ask, biting back a smile as you see how flustered he’s become. It gives you a rush of confidence that you can’t quite explain to have him looking at you like that. “It’s uh, just too high for me to reach.” You turn so you have your back to him, glancing into the long bathroom mirror to watch him tentatively step forward.

“Yeah,” he responds, voice gentle. He shuffles nearer, still shrouded in that soft hoodie.

You bend down slightly and make sure he’s got open access to the back as you stand still. A small pulse of electricity crackles down your spine when Peter perches one of his warm hands on your bare shoulder, fingertips brushing up against the thin strap as the other curves down to your back.

“You, uh… You look nice,” Peter murmurs. He’s gentle as his fingers tug the zip, and you have to look away from the mirror, something in your chest tightening as you observe how delicate he is with you. It’s a stark contrast to how haphazardly he treats you out on the field when you’re both protected by your suits.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

It’s tense. You can feel his breath coming out across the back of your neck, and you’re entirely aware of the hand resting on your shoulder. As the sound of the zip slowly being pulled up fills the small space of the bathroom, you find yourself holding your breath.

“There,” Peter mutters. He steps back, immediately pulling away all contact with your body, and your skin feels cold without him. You glance in the mirror, seeing that he’s fixed it perfectly, and give him a short nod.

“Thanks,” you say again, lacking any better words. Your brain feels fuzzy.  

Peter’s phone buzzes and you watch as he digs through his front pocket to find it. “Oh!” he exclaims. His nimble fingers pad over the front screen. “They’ve sent through our fake identities.”

“Ooh,” you say, suddenly feeling excited. This is your favourite part of going undercover—the fake names, the fabricated social media accounts, and the backstory you get to spin. Whoever HQ designs for you becomes your character for the night, and it’s thrilling. Makes you feel a little bit like a movie star. “Let me see.”

Peter’s brows furrow and you watch his jaw drop as his eyes widen. He glances at you, nervousness mixing with his frustration.

“You’re not going to like this,” he says.

“Why? What are you talking about? What have they done? Why—”

He passes you the phone with a roll of his eyes, and you snatch it from his hand.

“Oh, yeah, no problem, Y/N, you don’t need to say thanks,” Peter says sarcastically.

Entranced by the phone, you sit on the marble bathroom counter, continuing to scroll through the fake social media profiles as Peter faffs around in front of the mirror. You’re numbly aware of him pulling off his hoodie, then inspecting his teeth and uncapping his tub of hair gel.

The profiles seem fine. You can’t see anything wrong with them. You’ll be Fi Hardy, Peter as Ben Beckerman. You scroll down your own orchestrated instagram feed, seeing photos of you, pictures of typical college things, then…

“Wait.” You feel your breath catch. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smirk in Peter’s voice. “I know.”

The tech team back at HQ is incredibly talented. One of their freakiest and most irritating skills is their ability to photoshop photos that look so real it’s disconcerting. Their latest feat seems to be a series of photos of you and Peter together, except, it’s not really you kissing his cheek, and it’s definitely not him with his arms wrapped around you and his face nuzzled into your neck.

“They...want us to be a couple?” you mutter, voice tight.

“Mmm. Gets worse than that, though. Look at the caption on the newest one.”

You scroll back up, eyes catching on the small, almost insignificant detail of the photo. It’s you both, again, standing together at a party that never took place. Your left-hand rests on Peter’s shoulder, and though some of the details are blurry, the presence of a ring is not.

@fi_hardy: feel like the happiest girl in the world. can’t wait to have you as my husband <3

Beneath the post is hundreds of likes, and a stream of comments from fake accounts congratulating the two of you on your engagement.

It makes sense, you suppose. You’ve read the file. You know that the man you’re trying to bug tonight has a history of pursuing taken women, and you suspect that your engagement ring might give you access to him that you might otherwise not get. On a basic level, you understand it, and if it was anyone else assigned as your fiancé, you’d be fine with it. But it’s not. It’s him.

You throw Peter’s phone on the counter angrily.

“Hey!” he yells, quickly snatching it up and cradling it close. “Careful!”

You slip down from the counter, your fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms as you pace the short space. Peter jumps out of your way, eyeing you with amusement in his eyes.

“Are you seriously laughing right now?” you quip, needing to direct your irritation at someone.

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. You’re being really dramatic.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that I don’t particularly like the idea of walking around a party pretending to be engaged to you.” Your eyes widen as you start to think about what this actually entails. “Clearly, these people are gross and affectionate. Have you even thought about what that might mean?”

Peter loses a little bit of his confidence, his cheeks paling slightly. “Well, uh, we don’t have to play into it that much—”

“Yes, we do,” you challenge. “They’ve clearly set it up like this for a reason. If we don’t follow it exactly, then we’ll fuck up the mission.” You meet his gaze, nostrils flaring. “I’m not going to fuck up this mission, Peter, and you better not either.”

“Woah,” he mutters, throwing his hands in the air. His fingers glint beneath the harsh bathroom lighting, still partly sticky from the hair gel. “I’m not planning on messing up the mission.” He tilts his head to the side, chuckling. “I’m gonna be the most convincing fake fiancé you’ve ever had.”

You pause, crossing your arms. “Oh, really?” You raise a brow. “You know, that means you’re going to have to, like… Hold my hand.”

Peter nods, gelled hair staying in place. He copies your movements, biceps bulging against the thin white t-shirt as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he says. He steps a little closer, smirking, and you breathe in the scent of his cologne. “Might even have to kiss you, too.”

Something inside your chest rebels against your irritation, and you find yourself puzzling as an odd combination of emotions strikes you.

“You will,” you say, narrowing your eyes. You look away, trying to shake off the odd feelings in your stomach. “I, uh… I’m going to go and find the rest of my jewellery.” You walk towards the bathroom door, glancing back just in time to catch Peter’s eyes admiring your form. His cheeks flush again, and you raise a brow. “Hurry up,” you mutter. “We need to go.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

An hour later, you’re there, thrown thick into the fray of a Chicago house party. From the outside, you’d been sceptical—the house looked to be a normal building, smack bang in the centre of a residential street. Inside, though, it wears all the marks of a college party: tacky red cups, a terrible DJ, and a persistent level of noise that makes your ears ache. As a student yourself, you usually love parties, but you will admit it’s a little disconcerting to be at one where you know no one. Undercover and knowing no one but Peter, you find yourself in the back corner of the room with him, his arm thrown easily around your shoulders as the two of you scout the room.

Peter’s presence at your side is merely for protection, and both of you know it. With neither of you in your suits and your skills leaning more towards the pick-pocketing side than his, the plan is simple. You’ll both work together to identify your target, then you’ll discreetly take his phone and pass it off to Peter who will make a copy of all the files. Hopefully you’ll be able to return it to Harry Osborn, the son of the elusive CEO of Oscorp, before he notices that his phone, which contains precious information about illegal scientific experiments, has been taken.

It should be simple.

“Where the fuck is he?” you murmur, squinting your eyes as you survey the crowd. It’s Harry’s party, yet the host hadn’t been on the door, nor does he appear to be in the living room.

“Don’t know,” Peter responds.

You glance up at him, biting back a snarling comment as you get distracted by the sight of his face. It’s quite… It’s quite cute.

Peter’s pulled a blue plaid shirt over the top of his white t-shirt. The cuffs obscure the web shooters he’d refused to leave behind, and the material clings tightly to his torso. He’s buffed up considerably since joining the lacrosse team, and though you despise the way he’s now able to press more than you in the gym, you will admit he looks good with his chest full and muscular.

“Um, Fi?” Peter’s looking at you, eyebrows arched. His thin lips twitch into almost a smile, and he tugs you a little bit closer. You squeak as you fall into him, having to reach up and grab at his shoulders to steady yourself. The glint of the golden band, sitting on your ring finger, draws your attention. “Are you okay, baby? Looking a little bit… Distracted.”

He doesn’t know you were checking him out. There’s no way. He doesn’t.

...Does he?

You smile sweetly, trying to look at him like you’re in love. “Sorry, babe,” you respond. There are people all around you, chatting and swaying to the music, so you have to maintain the rouse. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Peter coos, reaching up to pat your cheek softly. You have to press down the urge to bite his finger.

“‘Course you do,” he soothes. His eyes flitter around your face, then back to the rest of the room as he surveys the crowd. Peter’s expression suddenly clears, and he pats your cheek softly. “He’s here,” he murmurs, voice low. “Eleven o’clock.”

You turn in his arms, sinking back into Peter’s form as he adjusts to hold you in a loose hug. His chin presses into your shoulder, slick hair brushing up against the bottom of your face. His warm grip on your waist makes you gulp.

Harry Osborn has entered the room. The blond is surrounded by a group of his friends and wearing a long, green and purple checkered jacket. Even from across the room, he emanates the stench of old money and thick charm.

“Alright,” you say. You pull away from Peter, having to fight for a few moments to break free from his firm grip. You turn back to look at him, blinking a few times as you take in his unreadable expression. “I’m going in. Stay close.”

Peter gives you a curt nod. “Gotcha,” he says. He drops his voice, eyes darkening. “Be safe,” he adds, voice a little quieter.

You swallow, nodding in return. “You too.”

Before he can say another word, you take off, melting into the crowd with ease. You’ve got a vague game plan building in your mind, but you won’t know the best way to get close to Harry until you get a better read on his character. You know a few things from his file, such as his naturally outgoing personality and a supposed affinity for taken girls, but beyond that, he’s a mystery.

You find a cup of cheap beer and stand fairly near Harry and the rest of his friends. There’s a few of them, standing in a circle, laughing loudly and talking in obscenities. You sway with the rest of the partiers, making direct and focused eyes towards him until he glances up and spots you. His eyes caress your figure, then he wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you slap on your best I’m interested face.

Harry excuses himself from his friends, walking over to you, intrigued.

“Hey,” he calls out, falling to a stop in front of you. His wavy blond curls complement the icy depths of his blue eyes. “Do I know you?” His tone is light but curious.

You nod immediately, slapping on a bright smile. “Yeah,” you reply. “We were in the same chem class last semester? I’m Fi.�� Your words are instilled with so much brash confidence that Harry accepts them. He leans into you as you step closer and place your free hand up on his shoulder, fingertips feeling the soft material of his jacket. “I always had a bit of a crush on you, if I’m being honest.”

Harry chuckles, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes. You match his movements, doing it under the guise of checking him out, but really, you’re trying to locate the position of his phone. A frown finds your lips as you begin to suspect it might be in one of his inner pockets. Your brain starts to spin, running through a variety of different actions you could pull that might give you closer access to him.

“You’re cute,” he decides. Harry smirks, then he plucks the red solo cup from your hand and raises it to his own lips. After draining it, he haphazardly throws it behind him, and your eyes follow it as it soars through the air and bounces off someone’s head. A snort slips past your lips as the figure jolts up, and you recognise the bed of brown curls as Peter. “D’you want to dance with me?”

You nod immediately, forcing a smile as you bring your eyes away from Peter, and back to Harry.

“I would love that,” you respond. Harry grins, then reaches forward to take your hand, only to halt as his beady eyes fall on your ring. Your breath hitches as you hope and pray the intel on his romantic tendencies is correct.

“Are you getting hitched?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

You shrug, trying to pass it off as a mere inconvenience. You distract him with fingers in his hair, stroking through the ends of his strands.

“Does it bother you?” you coo, stepping up to whisper in his ear. “He isn’t around at the moment, and I really want to dance with you, Harry.”

The blond’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head. “No problem with me, sweetheart,” he bounces back. He tugs you further into the room, and from the corner of your eye, you see Peter following.

You dance together for a while and slowly, you inch closer to Harry. What starts out as a casual exploration of his form with your hands quickly turns into a full-body pat-down, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. As you slide your fingers beneath the heavy material of his jacket, his lips tickle your neck, kissing your skin harshly. You hide a scowl as your fingers shift lower, lower, and finally, you feel it—his phone.

Harry coaxes you away from his shoulder, and you feel disappointment dampen your excitement as he glances at you, slightly flushed.

“D’you want to go upstairs?” he asks, voice sultry.

You pout softly. “Can we just dance? For a little bit longer?” You know if he gives you one more shot at it, you’ll be able to snatch his phone.

Harry nods, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His palm is cool and calloused, and it feels alien on your face.

“Of course,” he responds, voice soft. His eyes slip down to your lips, and you know what he wants. You think that it’d be a small price to pay for completing the mission. “You’re so pretty.”

He starts to lean in, his touch on your face encouraging you to do the same. Your eyes flutter shut, but before you’re able to seal the deal, something very large crashes into you.

You yelp, being pushed back from Harry. Your eyes spring back open, and nothing short of volatile irritation burns across you as you see that it’s Peter.

“Woah, man, what the fuck?” Harry snaps. “Look where you’re going.”

Peter snarls at him and reaches down to grab your hand. Your eyes widen, and you squeeze his fingers hard.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should watch where you’re putting your hands before you try and make a move on my girl.”

You jolt up, staring at him, horrified. Before Harry can get in another word, Peter’s jerking you across the room, pulling you in the direction of the patio.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaim, voice high. “What did you do that for? Eh? I was so close to getting the fucking phone, Peter!” you drop your voice as you speak his real name. You try to shake yourself out of his grip, only for him to squeeze you tighter.

Peter doesn’t say anything—not until you’re outside, standing away from the rest of the party, shielded in the trees. He drops your hand and starts to pace in front of you, eyes wild, face scowling.

“You weren’t,” he says, pointing at your left hand. “We’re supposed to be engaged. You were going to blow our cover.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Excuse me? That’s bullshit. Both of us know that this,” you pause to throw your hand up and point at your ring, “is part of it. He likes taken girls, idiot. He found it hot. What the fuck is your problem?”

Peter stops pacing, and he stands in front of you, breathing heavily through flared nostrils. His eyes trail across you, and he jumps forward a few steps.

“He was...sleazy,” he says, scrunching up the tip of his nose. “We’ll just take him out another way. Like, we- we can just wait until he’s alone, and jump him. You’ve still got those, uh, those unconscious injection things, right? We’ll just jab him, steal the phone, use the memory wiping ones, and it’ll be fine.” He’s sputtering and stammering over his words, and you press both hands into your waist as you stare at him, incredulously.

“I understand now,” you say, speaking quickly. “You’re jealous.”

Peter’s expression shifts into one of horror. He opens his mouth to speak, but you jump in first.

“No, I’m talking,” you interrupt. You step closer, finding yourself drawn to the fierce anger churning in his eyes. “You want to be the one who gets all the credit for the mission. You can’t stand the thought of me doing the hard work, can you? You’d rather sabotage the whole thing than let me do my job.”

Peter shakes his head roughly, a few strands of his hair bursting free from the confines of the gel.

“No,” he stresses. “That’s not it at all, Y/N. How self-centred do you think I am?”

You laugh coldly. You’re so close now, you can almost feel his warm breath coming out over your face.

“Incredibly self-centred, Parker,” you respond, not even bothering to use his code name. You’re too far away from anyone else for them to hear you, anyway. “You’re selfish, and volatile, and you do whatever the fuck you want to do. You’re no better than a child.”

He blinks a few times, pursing his pink lips. “Well, fuck you,” he replies, voice dancing with irritation. “You think I’m a child? You’re the one who never fails to throw insults at me, or make fun of all the things I like to do. You’re always, always, hanging around me, watching me like I’m about to trip up. You’re the one who’s self-centred and doesn’t let anyone help you. You’re stubbornly independent, infuriatingly curious, and you- you- you make me so mad.”

Peter’s glowing, his cheeks bright pink, and his eyes a rich shade of brown that takes your breath away. You don’t know how to respond, so you fall back to the thought that’s been bouncing through your head since he’d tugged up your zipper.

“Oh, you want to kiss me so bad.”

“...What if I do?”

There’s a tense silence as you meet his eyes. Your chest is heaving, Peter’s too, but in sync, you seem to surge together. His hands go to your waist, and you wrap yours around his neck, and he kisses you, suddenly. You moan from surprise, but you push back into it, twirling your fingers into his hair as you kiss him fiercely. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, but they make you feel warm inside, and you realise in a quick moment that you love the feeling of them moving over yours. When he breaks off to gasp for breath, you’re quick to smother him again, craving the sensation, rejoicing in how nice it feels to be held in his strong arms.

You kiss him, and suddenly you understand why it annoys you so much every time you see him playing lacrosse and being cheered on by the crowds in the stands. It becomes clear why you couldn’t stand the sight of him with MJ. The way your skin crawls and your heart seizes in your chest every time Peter looks at you become explainable.

You kiss him, and it all makes sense.

When your lungs burn for air, you fall back. As you inhale the fresh air instead of his lips, your mind starts to clear.

“Peter?” You whisper.

Peter’s holding your waist, forehead pressed against yours as his ragged breath comes out across your face. When you open your eyes, you see the way his eyes are similarly wide with shock.

“I, uh…”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from inside the house. Peter jumps back, eyebrows furrowing as if he’s listening to something.

“Gotta go,” he mutters. “Spidey sense. Stay here.”

You try to reach out to grab him, but he slips away.

“B-Ben!” you call after him, but it’s already too late. Peter’s vanished, and your eyes have little more to grasp but the sight of him running over the patio and vaulting into the room.

You decide to follow him, head spinning.

When you reach the house, you see that one of the tables has been pushed over. You suspect that was the source of the loud noise, but a glance around the room gives you no sight of Peter, nor Harry. Your eyes flutter around the sea of people, and where you draw up blank, you decide you’ll need to comb the house.

Using your intuition, you quickly run up the stairs, dress flapping around the bottom of your thighs. It’s quieter upstairs, but you have to push through a few entangled couples. Worry hangs heavy in your heart. There’s a selection of rooms up here, but the one at the end has its door flung wide open. You squint your eyes and stare into it, gaze widening. It’s the master, and it leads out to a large balcony. On the balcony are Peter and Harry, engaged in what seems to be hand-to-hand combat.

You groan as you run into the room, but the sight of Harry’s jacket strewn across the floor makes you pause. You bend down, rummaging through his pockets and grinning as you feel his phone. After pulling it out, you dig into your slim black bag and pull out the transmission beacon. Whilst keeping half an eye on the fight out on the balcony, you use the other to slot Harry’s phone into the device. As the machine absorbs the intel from Harry’s phone, you stand up and hurry out, digging through your bag as you go to join the fight.

It’s a lot worse now that you’re out here. You’d thought Peter was in control, but now you’re closer, you can see that Harry is holding a sharp, thin knife. Usually, in his suit, Peter would be able to hold his own easily. Yet, it seems that Harry is exceptionally good at close combat, and you find them sparring on an equal level, one of Peter’s sleeves slashed and red blood staining the material.

“Who the fuck are you?” Harry sneers, breathless as he dodges a kick from Peter.

“None of your business,” your partner snaps back. Peter sees you, his face clearing with relief, but it knocks his concentration. You gasp as Harry manages to punch him in the side of the face and Peter goes spiralling back, grunting as the force behind it pushes him onto the cement floor.

“Well, if you won’t identify yourself, I’m sure the coroners will,” Harry snarls. He bends down to kneel on Peter, pinning him down with his wrists and legs.

Panic courses through your veins, but you’re finally able to shake it as you realise the fight has tilted very seriously out of Peter’s favour. You grab one of the syringes from your bag and vault across the large balcony, jumping onto Harry’s back. The man grunts, trying to turn around and take you on, too, but you jam the fast-acting needle into his arm, and he immediately slackens. You fall to the side, crashing onto the patio beside Peter as both of you watch Harry pass out. You wince as the blond falls back, slumping onto the balcony with his eyes closed.

“Shit,” Peter murmurs. He sits up, rubbing at his arm. “Thanks.”

You bring your gaze back to him, uncertain and nervous.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” you say. You swallow deeply. Peter’s eyes are dark but kind, glinting like stars beneath the night sky. “You’re my partner, so, uh… I had to protect you.”

“You saved me. He was this close to gutting me.” Peter holds up his fingers, showing you a tiny space as he smiles shyly.

You shrug bashfully, enjoying the way he’s looking at you.

“I couldn’t let you die,” you whisper.

Peter crawls over to you, and you melt like a candle against his lips as he reaches up to cup your face and kiss you, gently. It’s warmer this time and lacks the frenzied anger that’d tainted the last one. You sigh into it, and relax back, letting him press you down against the cool ground as he chases your lips. Peter shifts over you, planking above you, and the hand messily sprawled over your cheek holds you in place, allowing him to kiss you again and again.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back, brows furrowing. The sight of him above you, messy hair falling out around his face makes you smile. “What about your arm?”

Peter makes a noncommittal noise. “Super healing,” he mutters. “Worth it.”

You swallow, ghosting your lips over his again.

“But… But don’t you hate me?” you find yourself asking.

“Nah.” Peter’s smiling, his expression warm. “I think, uh… it was more frustration. I think I… I think I feel the opposite of hate. If you… If you know what I mean.”

Your lips twitch into a wide smile. “I know what you mean,” you reply. Teasingly, you press a very light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You drive me mad, but… in a good way.”

Peter chuckles, the sound vibrating through the air. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles between kisses. You play with his hair, aching in every single way to feel more of him. The attraction you feel towards him is consuming and fulfilling, and you wonder why it took you so long to get to the root of your feelings. “I, uh… I couldn’t stand the sight of you two together. That’s why I interrupted you guys. Sorry for, uh, blowing the mission.”

You giggle. Finally, Peter shifts away, standing up with a grunt and offering you a hand up.

“It’s fine,” you say. You curl into his side, his hand resting comfortably on your waist as the two of you look down at Harry. He’s snoring loudly. “It was a memory tranq. He won’t remember any of this tomorrow.” There’s a beeping sound coming from inside his room, and you nudge Peter’s side. “That’ll be the data transfer complete, too.”

Peter hums. He looks back to you, handsome eyes flickering over your face.

“So… Mission complete?” he asks, squeezing your waist.

You nod, smiling. “Mission complete.” You step closer and kiss his cheek, your grin widening as he blushes. “You want to, uh… Get out of here?”

Peter quirks an eyebrow, understanding fluttering out across his face. There are a hundred different things you know you’ll need to talk about and work through, but you don’t feel scared about that. You have a feeling that communicating with Peter is about to get a whole lot easier.

“What, to our very exciting hotel room with that really comfy bed?”

You giggle. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

“Mhmm.” Peter grabs your hand and squeezes it, then returns your kiss with a brief scattering of light pecks, stretching from cheek to cheek. “Can’t think of anything better, baby.”

You bite your lip, your cheeks aching from the stretch of your smile.

“Me neither.”

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woooh yay :’) we lov college peter

lmk what you think !!!

m-list and taglist are linked in my bio <3

[cuttoothed]

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

*

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

elmosolyodni for the wordstuck prompts 💕

elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness.

read on ao3

As much as he wanted it to be, as much as he wanted it for himself, Eddie’s never been great at romance. 

His proposal to Shannon was more like a suggestion, a stuttering statement that tumbled out of him when she showed him the positive test six months after their first date. And he didn’t give it much thought again — didn’t have time to think about it — until a couple months into his tour, when his team was swapping stories about wives and husbands over dinner and someone asked, “So Diaz, how’d you pop the question?”

The fact that he didn’t have a story to tell stung more than he thought it would.

He tried to make it up to her — bought her flowers when he was home, took her out for their anniversary every year, but between parenthood and redeployment and the growing chasm between them when he came back the second time, any notion of romance felt harder and harder to hold onto. And when she left, amid the panic and shame and anger, there was also a sadness, a resignation that the romance he’d quietly craved just wasn’t meant for him. He had bills to pay, a kid to take care of, a life to rebuild. Sweeping gestures from him or for him no longer seemed important.

That all changed when he met Buck, as most things in his life did.

Even before they started dating, Eddie wanted to do things for Buck. He wanted to buy him the shirt in the window display that reminded him of his eyes, wanted to make sure that they always had his weird Icelandic yogurt in the fridge for when he stayed over, wanted to wrap him up when he got that broken look on his face and remind him that he is loved by everyone and especially by Eddie. It was a physical need, one he felt in his gut every time, but he’d shut that part of himself off so firmly that all he could do was hope it didn’t linger too long. Buck needed a friend, and he’d be damned if he did anything stupid enough to ruin what they already had, what they’d already built.

It took a bullet ripping through his abdomen to make him realize what a terrible idea that had been.

But a year later wounds are healed, PT is long done, and he wakes up next to Buck every morning feeling happier than he has in almost a decade. He gets to buy the shirt for him, stock up on yogurt, and press himself into Buck’s space until his eyes get their spark back. He can fantasize about the house they’ll buy or the dogs they’ll adopt once Chris moves out.

He can see a titanium ring in the display case of the jewelry store at the mall and perfectly imagine what it would look like on Buck’s finger.

And he can make it all the way to his truck after buying it before the panic starts to set it.

He doesn’t register driving to Maddie and Chim’s until he’s frantically knocking on the door, hoping he heard Buck right and that Maddie’s off today taking care of a sick Jee-yun. The door flies open, and he sees Maddie’s face go from pissed to surprised to confused as she zeros in on the velvet box held limply in his hand.

“Uh, Eddie, that’s really sweet, but there are a lot of reasons why this would never work.”

His laugh is borderline hysterical as he gently pushes into the apartment. “It’s for Buck, but I— we haven’t really— I don’t even know if—” He doesn’t realize he’s pacing until Maddie takes his elbow and steers him to the couch, hands him a glass of water, and pushes him to sit.

“Breathe. Drink,” she says, and he does as his mind keeps spinning. She sets the empty glass on the coffee table and sits in the armchair across from him. “Okay. You want to propose. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course.” It’s the best thing, at the very top of a list of things he thought were untoppable.

“Have you guys talked about getting married?”

It wasn’t so much a conversation as a shift in language — one day the phrase “if we get married” changed to “when we get married” and neither of them thought twice about it because it felt so right.

“Sort of,” he settles on.

“And you’re sure he’d say yes?”

“Yes.” There’s few things in life he’s ever been so sure of, no matter what his earlier panic was making him think.

“So what’s the problem?”

He slumps back on the couch, hands running through his hair. “I don’t know how to do it.”

Maddie squints at him. “Eddie, it’s a pretty hard thing to mess up. And you’ve already been married, so don’t you have some practice?”

“That was different,” he says. “Shannon was already pregnant, it was more like a to-do list item than anything else. I didn’t even get her a ring until a couple months later.”

“Well you’re already a step ahead there, so that’s good.”

He sighs, pulling the ring box out of his pocket again and opening it. The thin line of silver running through the black glints in the sunlight, and he can still picture Buck wearing it so clearly, he’s just not sure how it gets there. All he knows is this aching need he can feel in his chest to make sure that however he does it, it’s enough — more than enough — that Buck knows exactly how deep his love runs, exactly how desperately Eddie needs him in his life and by his side.

Maddie moves to sit next to him and takes the box, and Eddie falls back into the cushions again. “I just want it to be perfect for him,” he says quietly. “Romantic. All the stuff people dream about when they think about getting engaged. But I have no idea how to do that.”

Maddie studies the ring for a minute before shutting the box, pressing it into his hand until he looks her in the eye. Her gaze is steady, piercing, and very (scarily) reminiscent of her brother’s. “You are asking him to marry you. It’s already perfect.” The reassurance helps, and it’s easy to smile back at her when she squeezes his hand. 

“But,” she says, reaching for a pen and notebook on the coffee table, “a little romance never killed anyone, so let’s make some lists and figure out what you do and don’t want to do.”

Lists sound good. Eddie can work with lists.

“Rule number one,” she says, already scribbling, “no sporting events. Nothing kills the mood faster than seeing your face on a Jumbotron…”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, none of the lists really matter.

Because two weeks later, they’re sitting on the back patio after dinner, night air cool and lit up around them by the lights Chris insisted on hanging for his last backyard sleepover. Buck’s going on about a patient who tried to insist he could do CPR on himself, and Eddie’s hypnotized by his enthusiasm, the expressiveness of his hands and the joyful blush on his cheeks. He says something that makes both of them laugh, bubbling through the quiet of the neighborhood, and Eddie knows, immediately and with every part of him.

He has to ask Buck now. It’s not the candlelit dinner and walk on the beach he’d decided on with Maddie, nor is it even close to as big and bold as anything else they’d come up with. But none of that matters now because his skin is buzzing and his heart is pounding and he doesn’t want the ring burning in his pocket a minute longer — he wants to swear himself to Buck right here, in this moment that is extraordinarily ordinary and perfectly them. This is a story he wants to tell people over and over, to their family and friends and anyone else who will listen.

The universe must still be trying to make up for the hell it put him through last year, because the playlist coming through their portable speaker changes to something softer, romantic, and Eddie takes his chance before he talks himself out of it.

“Dance with me,” he says, standing and offering his hand to Buck. 

“I’m sorry, are my stories boring?” Buck laughs as he takes his hand, folding into Eddie’s space like he’s always meant to be there, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Never,” Eddie says, and he pauses, because the one thing he and Maddie didn’t talk about was what he actually wanted to say to Buck when he asked. And now that he’s here with very little preparation, the huge, all-encompassing feelings he has for Buck refuse to be wrangled into a few measly sentences. None of the words he can think of feel big enough to capture how deeply his love runs, and he can feel his skin start buzzing for a much more unpleasant reason.

Hands squeeze his waist, zoning him back in and focusing him on Buck, on the crease between his eyebrows and the worry around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he asks, because he always knows when Eddie gets lost in himself, sometimes even before Eddie figures it out. 

Buck knows him better than he knows himself. He doesn’t need big, poetic monologues for Buck to understand what’s going on inside his head.

The buzzing changes again, fueling his determination as he slips his hand into his pocket. “I love you. So much it’s almost scary. But I’m more scared of spending the rest of my life without you,” he holds the ring up between them, “so will you marry me?”

Buck freezes, stopping them both from swaying with the music. Eddie watches his eyes flit between the ring and Eddie and back again, holding his breath as he waits for an answer. Finally, Buck’s eyes lock on Eddie and stay there, a soft smile growing and growing until it’s so incandescently bright that Eddie’s afraid he might have to look away or risk losing his vision.

And then, just as quickly, Buck drops his hands from Eddie’s waist and runs back into the house.

Eddie honestly isn’t sure what to make of this, the only thought running through his head being what the fuck just happened here. But then Buck’s running back outside, still smiling and not-so-secretly holding something behind his back, and now it’s Eddie’s turn to glow.

“You’re joking,” he says quietly, cheeks already hurting from a smile that feels permanent and eyes feeling a little wet.

Buck shakes his head, his eyes shining too as he holds up the velvet box. “Bought it like a month ago when Chris and I went to buy him a new backpack, I had to bribe him with a new video game to keep him quiet. I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell Maddie yet.”

Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if the sheer amount of joy coursing through his veins was making him float a couple inches off the ground. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.

Buck’s laugh is loud and sharp, and Eddie can’t think of a more perfect sound. He takes the ring out and tosses the box aside, holding it up next to the one in Eddie’s hand. “Only if you’ll marry me too.”

It’s a flurry, then, of rings on fingers and breathless kisses and whispers of I love you, I love you so much. The whirlwind settles and they start swaying to the music again, holding each other even closer, and Eddie revels in the new weight on his hand that ties them together. He feels light and loved, completely enveloped in this romance that he’s finally able to give fully and receive just as well. 

Buck takes his hand and places a kiss just below his ring, and Eddie knows this is just the beginning. They have a lifetime of love and happiness ahead of them, and Eddie finally feels like he deserves it.

[plus-size-reader]

Company

Huck Finnigan x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2340 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Huck developing feelings for the reader, a patient who is equally as unsure of herself as he is

—————————————————————————————————

You woke up today as you did every day, in your room at the Lucia State Psychiatric Hospital, the light blaring in through the sliver separating the curtains.

It wasn’t a remarkable life.

If anything, it was boring and routine but at the very least, it kept you from hurting yourself. Besides, living in a facility like this wasn’t always bad. The food wasn’t too bad and you were allowed to bathe yourself, as long as you behaved.

For someone like you, it was an easy life. You had been hospitalised there due to a general diagnosis of melancholy, which made your family fear for your safety. Though, you always thought they just wanted to find somewhere to send you off to.

A young woman like you, unmarried and without prospects, was little more than a burden.

Some may have been upset about being sent off to stay in an institute like this one, taken away from everything they knew and left to die, but you didn’t see too much wrong with it. For someone like you, it wasn’t awful.

You were well taken care of, and even you had to admit that you were happier within these walls than you had been out there.

Not that all that change came from staying here alone.

In all the time that you had been staying in this place, you had found quite the interesting friend in a young orderly by the name of Huck Finnegan. He was interesting to you, as he was the sort of man who took care of other people even when it was difficult.

You knew that you didn’t have that much patience in your little finger, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with it.  In fact, Huck seemed to get a special kind of joy from taking care of other people, including you.

He really seemed to like coming to see you.

He was constantly coming to visit you during the day, checking on you and making sure that you had everything you needed, which might not have seemed so strange. After all, it was his job to make sure that the patients here were taken care of.

However, while you thought that he was just doing his job at first, taking his turn to do the rounds, eventually, it was hard to believe.  

It just didn’t seem plausible.

You knew for a fact that no one else ever took his place and when his visits came so frequently, it was becoming harder and hard to dismiss it as anything other than what it was.

Huck was sweet on you.

You didn’t really understand it, of course, and you weren’t entirely sure but there didn’t seem to be too many more reasons to be so attentive to another person. You certainly had never paid such close attention to someone else, unless you cared about them.

...And while it was possible you were way off base, it was a thought you couldn’t shake.

As far as you were concerned, someone like Huck would never be interested in you.  

It didn’t make any sense to you, because you didn’t have anything to offer him.  He was selfless and kind, thinking about others at all times and if the rumors were to be believed, he always had been.

Compared to all the things he’d done and all the people he’d saved, you looked like little more than a petulant child.

All things considered, you couldn’t have imagined him finding anything about you to love but in the months that you’d been here, something had certainly developed between you.  While you weren’t sure what it was, it didn’t really matter.

You didn’t mind the company.

As far as the folks in this place went, you could have done a lot worse than a handsome war veteran.

If nothing else, he was a good person and talking to him was going to be much better for your mental state than the other patients.

Then, as if thinking about him had somehow encouraged the man’s entrance, there was a knock at your door.

“Good afternoon,  can I come in?”

His words came as similarly as they did every day, meeting your ears in tandem with his knocking on the door. Technically, he didn’t have to do you the courtesy of knocking on the door or asking for entrance at all, but it was kind of him to do so.

It was a very human gesture, one that none of the other orderlies or nurses offered you.

Still, just as you did every day, you called out in affirmation, glad to see that Huck was one again coming to check on you. Of all the staff in the Lucia State Psychiatric Hospital, he was by far your favorite.

He was just so nice and polite.

...And it certainly didn’t hurt that he was more handsome than any man you’d ever seen.

Huck’s attractiveness went much deeper than his skin, which wasn’t altogether unattractive to begin with. It was just that the person he was, the person that lived within the skin was far too darling to ever let go of.

You really weren’t sure if you’d ever met a more wonderful person in your life.

“How are you today?” he asked, stepping into the room as casually as he could and closing the door behind him. You knew that this was one of those friendly visits, because you’d already had all your checkups and medicine that you would for the day.

He didn’t have any real reason to be here, but you were just as glad to see him anyway.

“I’m as good as I could be '' you shrugged, caught somewhere between being happy to see him and wishing that you could have met under different circumstances. When you really thought about it, you must have been crazier than any of them to think he could actually like you.

You were a patient of his.

You were out of your mind.

A man like Huck would never be interested in a chubby sad sack with nothing more to live for than walking around the hospital and doodling on your arm in pen. He was a hero, a beautiful soul, and someone you couldn’t have hoped to entice.

He was too good for you.

“Yeah? You’re doing alright? No distasteful thoughts or negativity this morning?” he hummed, doing the same thing he did every day, starting at the door with his arms folded behind his back. These visits always started off as clinical and professional as possible.

Though, before long, you knew well enough to know that Huck would be cracking jokes and smiling as if the two of you were little more than lifelong friends, catching up.

It was just the way this whole thing went.

“Nope, all good here” you teased, putting on your best cheesy grin as if that would somehow convince him. You did seem to be in good spirits today, compared to when you had a bad day, but that didn’t mean you were completely out of the woods.

If it was that easy to convince him, you wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

“Really, cause you kinda have that far off look in your eye again today” he prodded, relaxing a little further, just enough to let himself sit down on the far end of your bed.

It was a more intimate stance than he would ever take with another patient, not that he was going to tell you that. There was just something about you, and he felt really comfortable when he was with you.

Naturally, that kind of comforting energy made him much more calm and casual than he may have been otherwise.

Damn it.

You really didn’t want to tell him about the dreary realization you had just made but you knew well enough to know that Huck wasn’t going anywhere until you opened up and told him what was up.

By this point in your residence here, he knew you well enough to know when you had something on your mind.

“It’s no big deal. I just thought something was happening that wasn’t” you tried, keeping it as vague as you could while still telling him enough to satisfy him.  Considering what you were here for, it was much better to just talk to him than it would be to talk to everyone else.

Nurse Ratched tried her best to be understanding of your condition, much more than Bucket ever had, but they didn’t come close to the bond you shared with Huck.

You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, for even your most embarrassing secrets, and thoughts.

He was a real friend in that way.

“Tell me” he prompted, using the guiss of his profession to get you to talk to him, though you both knew that this was more of a personal suggestion than a professional one. He wanted to bond with you, to help you be better in a real way, but it wasn’t really that easy.

Getting you to open up to him in that way would require him giving away all of his own secrets.

You sighed again, of course.

The two of you had a lot of history between you in all the time you’d been living here but in regards to the feelings you shared for one another, you just didn’t talk about it. It was much easier to just dance around them, avoiding speaking it into life at all costs.

Both of you were too terrified of rejection to put yourselves out there.

“Why do you come here to see me every day? I mean, you don’t bring anything or need to take the time out? What is it about me?” you asked, trying your best to keep your wits about you, desperately avoiding making a fool out of yourself.

From where you were sitting, it seemed like Huck could leave at any time and never come back. It just seemed like you were reading too much into this and you were scared that you were going to ruin the whole relationship you had going.

You were friends.

If you made some kind of suggestion here that offended him, there was a good chance you would hardly see him around here at all.

Huck seemed taken aback by your question at first, partially because he hadn’t been expecting it, and mostly because he wasn’t sure how to answer. After all, he knew exactly what it was about you and why he was sitting here right now, but putting it into words was hardly easy.

He hadn’t been expecting to get into this today.

“I guess I like your company” he decided, figuring that would be the best way to say it without offending you somehow.  Huck wasn’t blind to the reality of what he was, or what he looked like, and he was terrified to suggest what he was thinking.

After all, a woman like you had no real reason to ever give a man like him the time of day.

He had seen himself in the mirror. Huck was well aware of what he looked like, and he was hardly a male model. At this point in his life, he considered himself lucky to be alive, and didn’t think too much about what he looked like, until now.

Where you were concerned, he was painfully aware of his outward appearance.

The two of you had that in common, because you couldn’t imagine any man, let alone a wonderful man like Huck ever falling for someone like you. It seemed as if, at this point, the only thing you two could agree on was the fact that you couldn’t admit how you felt.

It was hardly ideal.

“Well, I enjoy your company too” you smiled, content to leave it at that. However, Huck wasn’t quite ready to just call it there.

As terrified as he was to do what he was about to do, it seemed like if there was ever going to be a time to do it, it was now.

The two of you had been doing this whole thing, dancing around your feelings for each other for months, and he didn’t want to do it anymore.

He had to know if you felt the same, and your admission just now seemed like the push he’d been waiting for.

“This might be a little forward, and forgive me if it is, but would you like to join me for dinner tonight?” Huck tried, fidgeting light with his fingers as he did his best to get the words out.

This feeling was new for him.

He was used to being uncertain sometimes and uncomfortable with certain situations but this was something else entirely.

It actually felt like his heart may burst out of his chest, it was beating so fast.

...and you weren’t much better.

The idea of what he was asking you was insane. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, of course, dinner with Huck sounded amazing.

There was just one problem.

You couldn’t exactly hit the town whenever you felt like it.

“I would love to, but you know as well as I do that I can’t just waltz out the door” you reminded, once again put in your place.

Huck could go out and get anyone he wanted. It just didn’t make sense that he wanted to wait around here with you. You could hardly imagine how something like that would even work.

Thankfully, Huck was already way ahead of you.

He already spent more time here than he did anywhere else, and making a few adjustments to his plans on your account wasn’t going to kill him.

If it meant that the two of you could be together, he would do whatever he had to.

“You let me worry about that” he hummed, not even bothering to hide the huge grin on his face. After all this time, he’d finally done it.

Huck got the date.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Trust Me" Gift Fic For Erika.

Okay! So I am part of a fun little gift exchange a writing server I’m in is doing and I was off today and really buckled down on this! I got matched with the lovely and amazing @early20sfailingplenty , the fantastic Erika! I love her and her stuff, I know she is a MASSIVE Sinclair fan and she asked for something sweet or smutty and we all know how I roll but I tried to include some things she wanted from the softer prompt, hope it reads well and comes across! I worked hard as hell on this and hope you enjoy it! You are one of the biggest Sinclair fans I know so I hope I did your boys justice! This is also my first official thing I am writing for you which is always so exciting for me too! So because I wrote this for Erika, it has her name in here at points, feel free to read if you want but it isn't a full reader insert, keep that in mind. Without further ado, let’s get into it!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.4K. Bo, Vincent And Lester Sinclair X Erika. (You get all the boys. Not together! But you get them all.) AFAB! Body. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: NOT READER INSERT. Canon Dark Stuff. Kidnapping. Mentions Of Restrained Reader. Mentions Of Murder. Earning Trust. Kinda Domestic. The Most Mild Knife Play Ever. Teasing. Established Hook Ups. Consensual Somnophilia. Groping. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnlingus. Vaginal Sex.

—

Trust Me.

—

You probably shouldn’t feel the way you do.

It wasn’t normal.

Right?

No, no, definitely not normal to be in this situation at all, but more than that, your reaction to it wasn’t normal either. It wasn’t usual to be innocently travelling and getting trapped in a life or death situation, to be essentially kidnapped and held against your will and for that to slowly turn to you actually wantingly and willingly sticking around.

You think you read somewhere that Stockholm syndrome isn’t a real thing so you starting to develop feelings and seriously caring for them is fine, right?

The mental explanation isn’t really of any importance. You weren’t even sure you could articulate it yourself if pressed on the matter, all you know is that you feel that way and with the current hand you’ve been dealt feeling is kind of all you have. You have to trust your feelings or you might just go crazy in the mostly concrete room you’re kept in.

You earn their trust slowly.

Conversations and trying to get to know them during the times they were around, suggesting that you could be useful to them, could help out with their ‘work’, they question your motives but you are steadfast and it works.

You gain privileges, slowly allowed to venture out further from that room you were initially kept alive in. Then allowed around the town, supervised, to do work they needed done and eventually even the chains came off and you could do things on your own. Something that made you probably much happier than it should have.

The feeling of worry and trepidation never seems to fully melt away however in the three brothers who called Ambrose home and you can’t help but notice that. Not like you can blame them. The way you came into their lives wasn’t exactly regular.

You wanted them to fully trust you.

How to make that happen?

You weren’t fully sure but damn it, you might as well try.

You would do different things with the brothers and kind of fell into a routine. You were helping Lester on the outskirts of town with some general maintenance, it was getting late, the sun was going down and it was getting dark.

You had been talking casually most of the time you’d been working but a time of comfortable silence had fallen over the two of you and you were the one to break it. “Nice night.”

Lester’s head snapped up, seemingly almost surprised to hear you talking, he smiled a little, a nod with a hum, “Yeah, real nice, Eri.”

“Mmm. Really far out too.” You said softer as you leaned on your shovel. “Yeah, that too.”

“No one could hear if you did something out here…Could get away with a lot and not get caught.” You glanced over to him and he was looking at you, staring at your face, almost searching for something in your expression. He finally says slowly, “Suppose so.”

You stayed like that for a moment.

Just looking at each other, you crouched and still leaning and him standing, his own shovel in his hand as he was above you.

The implication was obvious. You didn’t need to say that you wouldn’t trust just anyone in such circumstances but you trusted him. Even on the outskirts of this town, both shovel in hand and the encroaching darkness you trusted him.

Again. Maybe that was foolish but you did.

You break the silence again.

“Ready to head back for dinner, Les?” You ask and he responds, “Yeah, M, starving.” he holds his hand out to help you up.

On the way back into town Lester couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

You had gotten Vincent into helping you cook.

He was surprisingly good at it and got a lot of enjoyment out of it. You started it to spend more personal time with him that didn’t involve dead bodies so heavily, as much as hauling bodies around with him was ‘fun’, you liked doing things with him that didn’t involve such back breaking labour or death and decay.

You would enjoy watching him work and hand him tools while doing his work but you’d get tired in the stuffy basement often. You asked him if he wanted to get more involved and he was unsure but one day you dragged him upstairs with you and got him involved and he took to it shockingly well.

Dinner prep was well underway and you couldn’t help looking at Vincent as he worked, even with the mask on you could tell that he was intensely focusing on the task at hand.

You’d constantly find yourself staring at his hands while he worked. The amount that he could do with them was frankly humbling.

You’d bore witness to a lot of cruelty that has befell many a traveller from those same hands but you didn’t feel worried or afraid around him.

You were so distracted you hadn’t even started chopping the vegetables yet. Your eyes dipped down and looked at the blade and you gripped the handle of the knife harder and the words left your mouth so quickly without you thinking, “You wanna chop these for me, Vin?”

He looked over to you and he had finished with what he was currently doing and you could tell he was a little confused why you wanted him to do this too but he came over all the same. You flipped the knife and held it out handle first, holding it out to him and he takes it from you but you don’t move out of the way of the cutting board yet.

Your hand meets his forearm and your eyes catch his and you say one thing to get your point across, “Careful. It’s sharp.”

You then purposefully move so your back is to him, ready to get out of the way to allow him the proper space to work.

That makes him pause before he pulls the knife closer. Instead of moving out of the way he moves you, presses you to the edge of the counter, his chest to your back and then that knife is pressed to you. The edge of the blade tracing gently up your exposed arm and the sensation of it as well as his body to yours makes your breath catch. You can’t even look at him, watching how the silver moves and traces up higher and higher until he finally pulls it away and you look over your shoulder up at him, he gives a single nod that confirms, yes, he will be careful.

The “-with you” on the end of it didn’t need to be said.

Dinner came out great that night.

You’d had a lot of conversations with Bo.

When you get him talking about the right subject he has the capacity to go on and on but you weren’t complaining, you liked to hear what he had to talk about. A lot of those conversations that happened weren’t while you were working with him but after the fact, late at night and after a few drinks.

Those conversations get progressively more open, less surface level and superficial.

You loved these conversations but as into them as you were they would always have to end.

Tonight was no different.

A movie in the living room, both on the couch, empty cans on the coffee table, he had his feet up and was still talking, not super loud but still going on, he felt your head lean on his shoulder and he glanced over to you and saw that you had fallen asleep curled up next to him.

It really hit him how much stuff had changed so quickly. Just here you were, totally trusting and comfortable with him, he couldn’t even bring himself to be upset that you fell asleep while he was talking, not when he liked how you were so close to him so much.

He stayed like that with you for a while until he thought about going to bed himself. He started to move you carefully to not try and wake you.

You’d been in your cosy clothes, which was an oversized shirt that used to belong to Bo and when he moved you it rode up and exposed the fact that you had nothing on under it.

His mind was immediately drawn back to one of those long and late night conversations, one where you told him about a fantasy of yours, one that you always wanted to try but never had. Said that you would love for someone to do that to you sometime.

“And am I included in that group of ‘someone you’d loooove to do that to you’, hon?” He asked with that smile that almost killed you, and you told him that duh, of course it included him.

You weren’t strangers in that area.

Part of why you were talking about that is because you’d been so physical with one another.

You’d been so good lately and had helped them out so much, were such a perfect fit into their lives and he had been wanting to give back, as well as helping himself out too. This was a golden opportunity.

He’d have to go slow to make sure he didn’t wake you up, at least to start.

One hand starting on your ankle and dragging up slowly, your skin was so fucking soft, he couldn’t get enough whenever his hands were on you, he needed to take it easy but it was so hard when you felt so good.

This wasn’t ALL about him.

But it was still partially about him.

He spread your legs further, pulled your shirt up more, revealing more of your skin to him, he touched carefully, really curious how much he could get away with before you woke up.

He really took you in. The credits from the movie were rolling by on the tv and you splayed out on the couch below him in the low light from the screen made you look fucking incredible. I mean how could he not be at least a little, okay, okay, a lot, obsessed with you when you looked like this and were just so inviting.

He adjusted his position on the couch to be more comfortable, on one knee as he was over you, one hand on your chest and feeling you up, could already feel himself getting hard just from the possibility of what he could do to you.

His hand trailed down over your stomach, backs of his knuckles dragged over your inner thighs and soon he swiped two fingers up through your folds and you barely moved, he did hear a slight change in your breathing but not much. He was thankful you were such a heavy sleeper.

He also noticed something else, you were already decently wet, did you get like that just from being around him? That was quite a nice ego boost. He slipped his fingers through again, lingering longer, slower, a few more passes, focusing on your clit a little more each time, his eyes going between your legs and your face.

You still looked mostly peaceful but your expression was slowly starting to change. He wondered what you were dreaming about, if it was about him, if what he was doing to you was changing what you were dreaming about.

He brought his hand up and tasted the evidence of your arousal on his fingers as he palmed his still clothed cock with his other hand. He supressed a moan upon tasting you, he fucking loved how you tasted, something so satisfying about it on his palate and he decided that he wanted more.

He positioned himself between your thighs and didn’t go as slowly now, more confident you wouldn’t wake up so easily.

His hands on your hips he tugs you a little closer and his tongue drags up, he almost moans against you when you squirm slightly, he does it again and again, tongue full and flat from hole to over your clit. When you started making those soft and delicious sounds he was getting to know so well he wanted to hear more, hands gripped harder, sucked on your clit and your breathing really started to pick up. Your face was clearly showing how good it was feeling, he was sure if he kept this up you would wake up and as nice as waking you up this way would be he didn’t want to do that.

He kept it up for a few minutes, really pushing it, playing around with how much you could react without waking up and entertained and turned himself on massively in the process. He loved the way your breath would hitch when his tongue circled that sensitive bud just right.

He eventually slowed his mouth, licks were softer, sucks not quite as aggressive and when your breathing got deeper, evened out more and you were positively soaked between your own juices and his spit he pulled back. Took his shirt off, got rid of the sweatpants he had on and readjusted his body again, between your spread legs. He spits into his own palm before wrapping it around his shaft, stroking himself a few times, spreading the extra lube before lining up.

You’ve been woken up in many ways.

Loud alarms, jolts of fear and adrenaline from nightmares, to the smell of breakfast cooking downstairs and that lovely wake up where you have the day off and nothing to do but this way. Waking up to Bo Sinclair having his hands on your hips, your legs over his solid thighs and that thick cock sliding inside of you totally tops the list, easily.

You were a little disoriented at first, eyes took a moment to adjust, the feeling so intense, pleasure was so sharp, as soon as he was fully inside it made you gasp out his name, back arching and he lives for those reactions. The almost whimpering moan when his hips pulled back and he drove forward again, looking up at him, still so sleepy and hands reaching out, desperate for something to hold onto.

He leans down, your hands immediately go to his shoulders, his nose brushing against yours as he rocks his hips before kissing you, the extra closeness and friction make you moan louder into his mouth. You luxuriate in the overwhelming amount of sensation, kissing him back, nails biting into his shoulders and your walls clenching around him before he pulls back. His forehead on yours as he says, “How’d you sleep, darlin’?”

He asked it in such a teasing tone and you can’t help letting out a breathy laugh, “Go-good, so, fuck, so good-”

That could be said for just about everything about your current life here, it was so good. Just like the stream of praise he started to breath into your ear as he fucked you on the couch.