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bubmyg · 5 years

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trophy - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: lawyer!au, established relationship, fluff, angst but it’s not really related to the couple, implications of misogyny/sexism, angry yoongi is a warning right?, ft intern jeongguk, also ft yoongi’s ass in dress pants

word count: 2,440

summary: in which you hold your own against yoongi’s clients or i won’t ask again. leave.

Somewhere between shoving earrings through weeping, pierced skin, swiping the wrong color to your lips, and centering the chain of a necklace, a disconnected pair of hands worked at the cool zipper fitting to your spine with each ascending link, lips connected to those hands pressing to your shoulder while a soft voice told the cusp of your ear you’re beautiful.

You shared the sentiment when you routinely looped a tie, classic black, around Yoongi’s neck, letting him knot it but taking the extra step to straighten it on his throat (a step you normally avoided in the mornings when the people he’d be interacting with were limited to Jeongguk and an elderly landlord with a difficult tenant in his apartment complex), lips landing on the heated apple of his cheek to profess, “Handsome.”

And when he turned in the bathroom mirror, your eyes traveled to the generous stretch of fabric on his ass, “Is this how you woo all your clients?”

He had to lift on his toes to peer closer in the mirror anyway, a teasing lift of his eyebrows at your reflection as delicate index fingers continued to fiddle with styled fringe, “I don’t know. You can ask them tonight, if you like.”

“I’d rather not find out that Janet from accounting that you helped with divorce papers last week thinks your ass is nice,” You leaned into the doorframe, easy smile laced on your lips.

Yoongi mirrored your expression as he brushed past you in route to snatch his suit jacket where it was meticulously sprawled across the edge of the bed, making a point to pause, dramatically swing his arm backward, and get a handful of his own ass.

“It’s all yours, anyway.”

And somewhere between realizing this party wasn’t filled with Janet’s from accounting but rather assholes from Yoongi’s various corporate partners, the jewelry swaying off your ears seemed to pick up a five pound dumbbell on each side, lipstick flaking it sizable chunks onto your tongue, and necklace drowning in the clamminess that sprung underneath the collar of your dress.

The rectangle of cheese delicately clutched in your fingertips tasted sour next to the clump of toothpaste still clinging to your back molars and the visible wince on your features and the half eaten block of sharp cheddar made you long for pained dinner parties with business sharks who had Yoongi at their every beck and call if trouble ever were to arise within their companies where you could simply excuse yourself to your kitchen and feed Holly the disgusting hunk of fucking cheese.

Your closest thing to Holly was a one Jeon Jeongguk, irises rounded like the cheap chandeliers barely emitting any light into the banquet room of some building placed just inches away from a golf course. You flaked away the parts your teeth had touched with a delicate fingernail, uncaring as you smashed the bits into the velvet, forest green carpet below the sole of your shoe as your path became purposeful for the lanky intern clutching a champagne glass in white knuckles.

You nudged his arm once you reached him. “Alright?”

Jeongguk barely confirmed it was you and half considered the object you stretched out to him, stressed mind registering food! and snatching it to push between puffed cheeks, mumbling a fine and thanks all the same as he chewed. He swallowed, seeming to calm at the amused and comforting smile you offered when he glanced at you. “Sorry…” He tried this time, sheepish as the smallest sliver of his teeth appeared. You followed his gaze as it flitted away from you, slow in pivoting a short distance across the room to the small group of men gathered just beyond a table full of empty chairs.

You noticed Yoongi first, the other faces vaguely familiar, but Yoongi’s easy stance, sat into his hip with one knee slightly bent, glass of water clutched in loose fingertips almost empty, wrist swirling the last of it at the bottom as he nodded along to the dialog of one of the other men, cracking an easy smile paired with something, a joke apparently, that earned an audible melody of chuckles. You couldn’t help but smile too, some sort of proud fond swelling your heart into your throat but you tended to Jeongguk first.

“You can go over there, you know.”

Jeongguk peered at you like you’d grown a second nose on your forehead, covering the feigned shock with a cough and he shook his head, “No...it’s okay. Maybe later.”

“He’s proud of you, you know,” You patted the younger man’s arm, “I’m sure he’d love to brag on you. What’s that called? Networking? And with your reference in person!”

Jeongguk laughed, shoving his free hand deep in the pocket of his dress pants and one curly hair escaped from where he’d styled it over his ears, “Maybe...have you met them yet?”

“Not them specifically. I’ve met some people here.”

Another laugh, this one more tender and Jeongguk nudged you back this time, eyes soft under a lidded gaze, “You should go over there. He’s probably talking about you, anyway.”

Something burned at your skin, paired to your oversized heart still throbbing in your throat and you coughed when your chin dropped, shy at Jeongguk’s admission. You recovered with a shrug, scuffing your foot into the carpet floor and more cheese trailed in its wake. “Eh, probably not.”

Stupid cliche’ timing called your name in the form of Yoongi’s voice and you found three pairs of eyes resting on you, the one of home negating the scrutiny of the other two. Your joints seemed to lock you in place and it was only Jeongguk’s teasing told you so in your ear that had you shuffling a step forward at the beckon of Yoongi’s encouraging smile and outstretched hand.

“Come with me,” You managed to corral at the last second and you twisted your fingers in the cuffed fabric at Jeongguk’s wrist to yank him the first few steps after you, releasing him with an easy smile directed only at your husband as you took his hand when you came close enough.

Yoongi pulled you against his side, dropping a kiss to your temple as he murmured, “How are you?” against your skin. You squeezed his hand in response, opposite hand stretching for the man closest to you, customer service smile happily in disguise.

“Chang Jung,” The first informed, tight lipped and tight gripped.

“Park Heechul,” The second lingered, eyes cast across your face as he gripped your hand in two palms for longer than necessary, “and you must be the wife Mr. Min speaks so highly of.”

You subconsciously shuffled closer to Yoongi’s side, the soft bump of your presence making him defer to the swaying figure beyond your shoulder, “And this is my intern, Jeon Jeongguk. Very talented, probably did the bulk of the paperwork you all have received in the past few months.”

Another few easy chuckles. Mr. Chang, the more soft spoken of the two elicited the quieting of the laughter by speaking between the two of you.

“So, you two attended the same universities?”

Yoongi nodded, “Undergrad and beyond.”

“A great masters program in business goes in tandem with a university that has an excellent law school, I suppose,” You agreed and another discreet squeeze to your hand had your shoulders setting when you were addressed for the first time by Mr. Park.

“We understand you work with...animals?” His gaze shifted to Yoongi who was already nodding. The snort that came from deep within his nasal cavity didn’t settle right with you as he continued, “...what exactly does that entail?”

“I don’t directly handle the animals. I make it so the great individuals at all the shelters in the area have the means and funds and paychecks to be able to handle animals,” The ease that came with talking about your passions helped you along, “I work in finance but my specialty is nonprofit. The vast majority of my clientele are the animal shelters in the region. I attract and manage funds for them. Essentially.”

“Ah,” You glared at the bob of the man’s throat as he took a disinterested gulp of his wine, “Charity.”

“Animal shelter employees are paid?” Mr. Chang spoke, “I thought that was on a volunteer basis?”

“Some are, some aren’t. Each is different in what they receive as far as tax dollars, city funding, the like,” You frowned, “Running a successful animal shelter is a full time operation, sir.”

“I guess I need to check where my tax dollars are going,” Mr. Park laughed as if it were a joke and as if he had a choice or say in the matter. “And you, dear, I can almost assure would make more by simply becoming his secretary.”

Yoongi tensed next to you but you spoke before he could, bristling on the verge of your patience, “I help when he needs me to. Doesn’t require me being on the payroll.”

“Speaking of help, I hear you’re a fantastic cook,” Mr. Park considered the empty table beyond him, a nearby plate clean aside from a few crumbs decorating the lipped edges, “Was the pork your recipe?”

You shouldered the insinuation, knowing Yoongi certainly didn’t sell you as a housewife with a knack for a stack of untouched cookbooks displayed on some rack in the middle of an expensive kitchen island.

“I’m not on the payroll but I’m informed enough to know we have enough of a budget to hire a caterer for that,” You nodded, smile on your lips a line of cordiality.

“Feisty too,” Mr. Park’s eyebrows lifted as Mr. Chang began to chortle along with him, “We could use someone like you at my company, answering phone calls, filtering out the particularly difficult patrons…”

You didn’t realize you’d let go of Yoongi’s hand until you hit his elbow in route to cross your arms over your chest.

“With absolutely no respect at all, Mr. Park—” You bristled into the widest smile you’d cracked the entire interaction, “—I believe I’m overqualified to work at any position at your company. Particularly yours.” A curt wave of the top hand folded over your chest and you quipped, “Have a good evening.” before fleeing off into the dim room.

Yoongi barely glanced at Jeongguk, an unspoken request to go after you while he tended to the mess before him. The decision was easy, and he approached it with the powerful aura that encompassed his previously relaxed state, seeping into the way a veined appendage was pointed in placing his glass of water down on the table, fingers folding at his belt buckle as he sucked air in and out through his nose.

“As my wife put it,” Yoongi started, smile not quite reaching his teeth like yours had but similar in meaning all the same, “With absolutely zero respect, sirs, I think it’s unspoken that our contract is terminated. I suggest you seek out another attorney to handle your affairs.”

“Mr. Min, there was no offense meant by—”

Yoongi held up a steady palm the other fishing for the chair Mr. Park had previously been seated in, easily sliding it until it touched the table cloth fluttering off the table. “I also suggest that you leave. Immediately.”

Another laugh, cocky at best, slipped into the two hands Mr. Park held up now. “Can’t we speak about this as men?”

The smile met Yoongi’s teeth now, leaning a fraction closer to the older man.

“I won’t ask again.”

Jeongguk was stationed in front of the bathroom door like a coondog who’d just treed a frightened animal except the roles were reversed. He was the frightened animal, eyes growing wider as Yoongi’s purposeful stride approached and when he pointed to the door, Yoongi broke into a jog, shrugging past his younger friend to shoulder his way through the swinging door.

The singular stall door was closed, your earrings abandoned on the lip of the sink bowl, phone and purse on the tiny couch with unidentified stains dotting the blue velvet.

“It’s me,” He breathed after a moment, knuckles gentle on the locked door.

“Can’t come to the phone right now,” He would have smiled if he wouldn’t have heard the clear sniffle in your voice. “Try again later.”

So he paused, knocked after a dozen heartbeats, and then, “This is later. Hello? Is anyone home?”

The door opened to your red eyes and defeated stature, shoulders slumped as you tried to smile through the tracks of liquid still slipping down the slope of your cheeks. It barely twitched high enough to be considered a smirk until it broke again, directly preceding the step you took to get to Yoongi.

“Did you kick their asses?”

Yoongi laughed, genuine as his palm cradled the back of your head against his rumbling chest, “No. But I wanted to.”

“You should have,” You clutched the lapels of his jacket as he walked your statures backward, falling gently to the tiny couch, “I would have bailed you out of jail.”

He shifted you in his embrace, hugging you against his side as you kicked your shoes off to curl completely into him. Lips found your forehead this time, “Violence is never the answer but...I would have enjoyed seeing you sock one of them in the face. Both, preferably, but one good punch would have sufficed me for at least a couple years.”

A tiny laugh emitted from your lips, but it sobered when your voice broke in a whisper, simple in your obvious feelings but it broke Yoongi’s heart all the same.

“I didn’t like that.”

“I’m always proud of you, you know that, right? I’m continuously awed and inspired by you,” Yoongi took your face in his hands, swiping at fresh tears that angrily curled into your skin to look directly into your eyes, “I love you.”

You sniffled unattractively and you were partially kidding but the largest part of you in that moment helped you inquire, “I’m not just your trophy wife, huh?”

His chaste kiss lingered on the softness of your lips, mumbling between the seam of your mouth, “Absolutely not. Don’t let two dumbasses belittle the high regard I hold you in but especially not your opinion of yourself.”

“You’re badass, angel,” Yoongi’s lips pressed against your cheek, rubbing your nose with his as he grinned, gums and all, “If anything, I’m the trophy husband.”

You buried yourself in his neck, smile hidden against his shoulder, “Flattering ourselves, are we?”

“...but frankly, your ass doesn’t disagree with that label—”

#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi imagines #min yoongi imagines #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #fic: lawyer yoongi #i've had this planned since like the beginning of the au owo #also!!! we know oc's occupation!!!!!!

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orangetail-works · 4 years

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A Phoenix and a Raven: Mission Impossible

A/N: The prompt for this one is a little long, but I think it would be impossibly cute. PROMPT: Person A was sent to kill Person B but they got hurt and now Person B is naively nursing Person A back to health and calling them cute pet names and Person A just cannot do this. It turned out to be its own monster, let me tell you. A lot longer than I thought it would be and so different than what I originally planned for plot. Once I start typing, all plans were out the door. Happy reading!

Chapter: Mission Impossible

“Well, it looks like everything is in order. You will have a protection order if you so choose and an unmarked vehicle parked on your block,” the officer read off from a page and stood up to stretch out his legs. His deep voice echoed off the walls of the dank and blank walls of the interrogation room walls around them making it seem more like a cave or dungeon, “Do you have any questions?”

A younger man sat behind the table, his hands in his lap as he scanned his eyes around the room and then to the officer in front of him, “Is all this really all that necessary? He doesn't even know who I am.”

“You can't think that he doesn't,” the officer warned and sat down across from him again, “You are the only witness that we have against Stefan Barnes.”

“I'm not even sure if what you're saying is what I actually saw,” he argued and leaned on the table. He folded his hands over one another on the steel surface, “You all are making speculations at this point.”

The officer opened the statement that he just signed, “You saw Mr. Barnes walk into the coffee house and joined Henry Perce at the table. After they talked over a few items- including the addition of Stefan to the man's will as successor- Henry was distracted. You noticed Stefan add something to his cup. A sip later and the man is dead. Yes, you don't know what was in that addition, but you can see where we would connect the dots.”

“It could have been sugar and the poor guy choked on the bagel he was eating!”

“And the coroner just happened to find a fatal dose of Atropine in the system?”

The guy leaned back in his chair a little exasperated, “Why would Barnes single me out?”

“How many other patrons were in that coffee shop at the time?”

“We have been over this. Other than them, it was me and two men at the front.”

“Those other two men are already dead. Car wreck, highly suspicious,” the officer shook his head, “Mr. Barnes has connections to the darker parts of our city.”

“Like?”

“Like assassins.”

“Assassins?” a moment passed as he waited for the punchline, but it never came about, “I'm starting not to take this seriously. If you think that this man is truly guilty and you need my help, I will. I will testify that I was in the coffee shop, enjoying my morning when a gentleman died and I saw something go into his cup before hand. But I don't think that statement is worth my life. I doubt they would think that either. Any lawyer worth their merit could argue what went into that cup.”

“Or just rid of the problem to begin with,” the officer argued back, but then shook his head, “Don't come back to haunt us when you get taken out by someone like Black Feather, Phoenix or the Green Curse.”

“I am an insignificant man in the larger realm of things,” he pushed up from the chair, “Can I go now?”

“You are free to go and live your life. However short you make it, Mr. Fitheach.”

“Diaval, please,” he threw back and then walked out the door.

Diaval left the police station and shook his head at the slight audacity of the officers. How a morning coffee and something to nibble on can lead to a murder investigation he had no idea. Now, all he wanted was something to eat and head home.

As he reached his car in the parking lot, he noticed a small puddle of liquid from under one of the back tires. He leaned down and took a peek to see liquid not only falling from the one tire, but from the other back tire as well. He hummed to himself and leaned back.

“That doesn't look good, 'ol girl,” he patted the trunk of his car from the bumper.

He frowned at his reflection in the chrome and noticed another form behind him. He looked over his shoulder and his chin nearly dropped to the ground. Diaval looked up to see one of the most stunning women he had ever met. Her eyes nearly glowed green with hazel gold, sculpted cheek bones and her brunette hair straight and shining under the sun. A small shoulder bag hung at her side. She wore a flowing dress that still was able to show off her slim figure and a short dark jacket and covered her top. Her hands were behind her back as she looked over him.

“Is everything all right?” she only lifted her brow as she looked him over.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off in front of her, unsure of how to continue without making himself out being a complete fool. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to say something. Anything.

“With your car?” she asked as if she needed to explain her inquiry further.

“Oh!” Diaval turned back to his car and then back to her, “She's a bit of an older vehicle. Been falling apart for years. Need to get myself another new model, you know?”

“Is uh... she safe to drive?”

“Probably not,” Diaval shrugged and bumped the tire with his toe, “I am no mechanic, but she seems to be leaking some kind of fluid. No problem, I will catch a cab more than likely.”

At that point his stomach began to growl and he looked mortified as he looked from his stomach to the woman. He scratched at the back of his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, I'm a bit peckish. Been in a meeting all morning.”

“If you head down 5th street, there is a lovely little bistro-” she offered and began to point before she stopped and took his hand, “Come with me.”

“W-wh-hat?” he stammered, but let her lead him irregardless.

They found a booth with no problem and she sat down across from him. She peered over at him, her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. He was nothing special as far as he knew. Dark hair, darker eyes and a penchant for dark clothes as well. He desperately hoped that she didn't think he was into the darker side of life. He actually enjoyed the brighter side quite a bit.

“You are a bit of a quiet one, aren't you?” she asked and took off the short jacket. It slid off her shoulders and fell beside her in the booth seat. She grabbed the menu and began to peruse the selection in practiced familiarity.

“Just wait until you get to know me,” Diaval shook himself out of a quiet stupor, “Then it's a bit of a difference, I am afraid.”

“Afraid? You talk too much?” she asked with a slight frown though she kept her eyes on the menu.

“I wouldn't say that either,” he shrugged and tried to distract himself with the menu as well, “I don't slip secrets or anything of the sort, but once I am familiar with you, I start to spout gibberish or facts about things that I find interesting. My interests aren't always everyone's cup of tea.”

There was a slight pause and he flicked his eyes up to find her staring at him again as if waiting for something.

“Such as?” she prompted.

“Oh, well,” he looked out the window for a moment, his brain scrambling to remember his own interests. Sitting not to far away from them on a small tree were two ravens and he smiled, “Ravens.”

“Ravens?” she tilted her head and another brow lift.

“Yes, did you know they have to be the most intelligent of birds? Right up there with chimps and dolphins as far as brains in the animal kingdom.”

“You don't say,” she said in a aloof tone, but he saw the slight smirk in the corner of her lips.

The waiter came back to the table, “Are you ready?”

“We will both have the lobster bisque with a basket of french bread to share with extra sharp cheddar,” she handed her and his menu to the waiter without another word. The waiter bowed and walked to the kitchen.

“How did you know I wanted the bisque?” he tilted his head.

“I'm a very observant individual. I saw your eyes drift to it more than once,” she nodded and looked at him again. She leaned forward on the table, her perfect skin almost luminescent in the bistro's dim lights, “Tell me something else.”

“About ravens? Sure, they are very adaptable. Able to trick most of their predators to actually hunt for them. They can mimic a wolf's howl so that a pack will take down an elk or open up a fresh kill and the raven will feast on what is left. Not only that, they usually know if they are being watched and will try to trick other birds on where their hoard is hidden. Clever things. They are also very empathetic. Care very fondly for one another.”

“You are passionate about them.”

“They're on my family crest. I started young,” he scratched the back of his head a little in embarrassment.

“Do you see some raven qualities in yourself?” she asked as the bread and cheddar was placed between them. She immediately took a slice of the bread and a piece of cheese to her plate to nibble on.

“Adaptability, I would say so,” he nodded and then shrugged, “I don't know about intelligence as I keep putting myself in bad situations.”

“Is that why you were in the police station?” she asked.

“More of wrong place, wrong time, but nothing on the criminal spectrum, I assure you.”

She hummed to herself and took a bite of the french bread and the cheese. She shifted in her seat and then her jacket fell to the floor. She muttered something as she put a hand to her mouth so she wouldn't spit out her bite.

“I got it,” Diaval assured her and picked up the jacket from the floor. He handed it back to her and she nodded her thanks after she finally swallowed. She put the jacket on the other side of her.

“The bread and cheese is so good here,” she mentioned and looked up at the waiter as he set down their bisque, “Thank you.”

“I am more of meat eater,” Diaval mentioned and picked up his spoon to dig in to his bisque, “Even if it is shellfish.”

She looked a little disappointed, but continued with her meal.

The rest of the meal was spent talking over his other interests- food critiquing mostly. Then it turned to her quite quickly as he wanted to know more about her.

Hesitantly at first, she told him very vague things of her childhood and her family. Her parents had been killed on the same day, leaving her distant relatives to care for her. The harsher life that she fell into after being used to more grand things when her parents were still alive. She even went into the silly crush in her youth that turned into a dead end. After minutes slipped by and an hour almost passed them by, she relaxed and more of herself opened to the stranger. Her standoffish nature melted away with the minutes and she even found herself smiling at something that he said, but then the smile would turn sad and she would build another wall up behind her eyes.

“I still manage to find myself still at his beck and call,” she sighed heavily and scooped at the last of her bisque with the last bit of her first slice of bread. She popped it into her mouth and then sighed, “He calls for favors and I fulfill them. Even now, when he has moved on and married and has a child of his own.”

“You still love him?” Diaval asked and poked his spoon in her direction.

“I don't even know anymore,” she answered truthfully and looked at his bowl, “Are you going to finish?”

“I am finished,” he pouted with a slight chuckle and looked at his bowl which held smeared remnants of his bisque.

“No, you are not,” she frowned and reached over to pick up another piece of french bread. She put it in front of his face to show him, then mopped the bottom of her bowl with the bread until it was clean and took the bite that had the bisque. She nodded then as if to show him that was the way it was done.

“If you say so,” he huffed and frowned at his bowl, “I think that I'm all full. You know, we've been here talking this whole time and I don't even know your name or why you'd even want to sit down with me.”

There was a long silence and he looked up to find her eyes dilated and her breath shallow. She blinked slowly a couple of times before she frowned a looked at the table confused.

“Are you okay?”

“I- I- so stupid,” she gasped between breaths and dug into her purse. She brought out a vile and drank some of the substance inside. She took deep breaths after and continued to blink slowly.

“You need help, I'll call-”

“No!”she yelled tough it was quite slurred and put her hand over his, “No ambulance, no police... please. I'll be fine- had medicine.”

“Are you having a reaction to the food?” he asked and put his other hand over hers.

“You could say that,” she smirked and began to waiver in her seat.

“I need to get you out of here,” he whispered to her and she only bobbed her head.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“She's having a bad reaction to the food. I don't know why,” he said and walked around the booth to grab her jacket and threw it over her shoulders, “I will pay in a moment, but we have to leave now.”

“We did not know that she was allergic to shellfish-”

“It wasn't the shellfish,” Diaval muttered, “She got sick after eating more of that bread.”

“Take your wife home, sir. We will take care of the check,” a manager came up from behind the waiter, “She doesn't look well to stay.”

“Thank you,” Diaval didn't bother in correcting his assumption and picked her off her seat. He pulled her arm over his neck as she wobbled as soon as she stood. He held her tight around her waist and pulled her against him so she wouldn't fall to the floor. They made their way out to the curb and waved down a taxi. He settled her in the cab and then sat next to her, “Where are we going?”

“Going? Are we on a trip?” she asked with a hand to her chest.

“One of us is,” Diaval noted and looked to the cab driver, “Home it is.”

He gave the cab driver his address and they were off.

Once they got to the apartment building Diaval helped her out of the cab, to the elevator and all the way in to his studio apartment. He laid her gently on the bed and headed to the sink. He dampened a washcloth with cool water and came back over to her. He patted her forehead with the cloth and noticed that her breathing had finally evened out.

“Are you still with me?” he asked and brushed the washcloth carefully over her forehead, “You gave me quite a scare back there.”

“Barely,” she huffed and her eyes fluttered open, “I'll be okay. Took medicine. Do not call-”

“I know, no doctors, no cops,” he smirked, “Just like me to find a stunning woman with a possible sketchy past. Don't even know your name. This is what I mean about the lack of intelligence.”

She gave a soft smile back at him and put a gentle hand at his cheek, “Such a empathetic raven, you are.”

“That's me,” he nodded, “Are you okay to sleep?”

“Sleep would be good,” she nodded and turned her head into the pillow.

“Well, we may be here for a little while,” he hummed and went to re-wet the cloth.

Diaval didn't leave her side for more than a few moments at a time over the next few hours. She would talk in her sleep of ripped wings and dangerous places, but nothing that made sense. He trusted that she knew what she had talked about with the medication and he hoped to God that she would wake up good as new. Evening time came about and he cooked basic bacon and eggs at his stove as that was all he had in the fridge. He was not used to company and he definitely did not see her coming into his life.

“Are you cooking bacon at this hour?”

He quickly turned to the voice from the side of the room. She sat up in the bed, a hand to her head as she blinked and tried to make sense of her surroundings.

“... and eggs,” he added with a nod. He took the pan off the fire and walked over to her, “Do you need anything? You've been out for the past five or six hours now.”

“Water,” she said and grimaced as she held her head.

“As my mistress commands,” he nodded and went to the fridge to pull out a bottled water. He brought it back to her and sat at the end of the bed.

“Mistress?” she asked as she took a sip.

“I still don't know your name,” he offered back and shrugged his shoulders, “With you getting as sick as you did, I thought that you had the right to order me about if you needed. So, what else does my mistress ask of me?”

“I have been out cold for the last five or six hours and the worst you have done is come up with a nickname for me?” she asked a little shocked.

“Another thing you need to know of ravens,” he stood up and pulled at the front of his shirt, “We are gentlemen through and through.”

“And here I thought that you could have been a dragon,” she added on.

“I bet if you give me the right motivation,” he shrugged and turned to the stove, “I'll get you a plate.”

She watched after him and looked over the side of the bed where her purse laid on the floor. It was still partially open, but she found all of her items there. Everything that she had was still in the same pockets, the same lay out that she had meticulously put them in. He didn't even look for a wallet- a phone. He just trusted her to know and do what she asked of him.

“You trusted me...” she whispered. Then to the side of her bag was a bowl of water and a few drying washcloths on the rim. He had cared for her during the time she was out. She knew so many people who would have left her on the curb, but he took a stranger into his home and helped her in whatever way he could, “You tried to help me.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing with that medication, but you were getting warm and weren't sweating. I hoped that you weren't running a fever. Whatever you had a reaction to from the bread was bad,” he said as he came back over to her and handed her the plate with a fork, “Hope you can eat something now, Mistress.”

“I don't need you to call me Mistress,” she narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

“Well, then I will need to call you something,” he smirked and went to grab his own plate. He sat down at the end of the bed again, “You can call me Diaval.”

She looked him over and shook her head before she let out a single syllable, “Mal.”

“Okay, Mal,” he smiled brightly and then began to eat.

She took a long look at him one more time before she began to eat.

A few hours passed since she first woke up and during that time they found more to talk about between his food critiquing and her mysterious food allergy to pass the time. He also showed her his collection of polished gem stones as he was always drawn to shiny things and strange little nick-knacks. She told him some of the gemstones were used in a variety of ways and he was enamored with her knowledge.

She looked at his bookcase where there was a picture of him and a little girl with golden curls, “You have a daughter?”

“Oh, no,” Diaval smirked as he caught sight of the picture she was looking at, “That's Rory. She's my little sister.”

“She doesn't look like you. I don't see the family resemblance.”

“Not blood related,” Diaval walked up to her and pointed to the shirts that they were wearing in the picture, “Part of the big brother program. Knew her since she was just a little thing. Her parents aren't around much. She usually stays with her aunts for the most part. Her mother's busy with her own father and his business and I never met Rory's father. She doesn't talk about him much.”

“Hm,” Mal hummed and drew a finger down the girl's hair, “Pretty little thing.”

“Turning sixteen in a few months. Throwing her a party since her father won't.”

“You sound more like a father than a brother,” she folded her arms over her chest.

“Sometimes feels like it,too. I call her my little fledgling,” he took a pause and looked at Mal, “She would get a kick out of you.”

“Would she?”

“Always likes a puzzle, just like me,” he laughed at her expression.

She paused for a moment as if in deep thought, “You are a good man, Diaval.”

“I don't know about that, I'm just trying to do my best with the cards I'm dealt,” he felt his cheeks heat for a moment and walked toward the washroom to make sure he didn't embarrass himself.

“Diaval?”

“Yes, Mistress?” he asked as he reached the door.

She frowned again at the nickname, “Thank you again for your hospitality... and the meal.”

“Anytime,” he hesitantly turned back at to her and leaned on the door frame, “Would be quite happy to do it again, in fact.”

“We shall see, you silly bird,” she teased him.

He excused himself to the restroom, but when he came back out she was gone and there was a small handwritten 'Thanks again' on his bed.

“We shall see,” he whispered and let out a sigh before actually getting some sleep.

Over the course of the next few days, Diaval was able to pick up his car from the police lot. He found out that it was his brake lines that were leaking from behind his tires. Definitely not a good sign. He was happy that he noticed the leak, otherwise he would have been devastated if something happened to Mal if he had tried to drive them to his apartment in his car after her food allergy episode. The cops were even more paranoid- as was the usual.

He walked down the sidewalk on his way to the market for some essentials when he turned the corner and ran right into someone. They both spun for a moment and he landed with his back against the brick wall and the other person right in front of him. He looked down and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Mistress!”

“Hello, silly bird,” she greeted and dusted herself off as she took a step back from him.

“I'm not just a bird, a raven,” he corrected and pushed himself from the wall.

She turned to one side and pulled him with her as he heard something hit the wall where he just was, “What are you doing, running around without your car?”

“She's falling apart,” he shrugged. He heard something hit the ground behind him and he turned his head to look, “Ready for a new one, I think.”

“You could always walk and taxi,” she shifted again and pulled him with her with a grip at his sleeve.

“I guess- what are you doing?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Thinking,” she narrowed her eyes, “Are you free tonight?”

“I- I... uhm, yeah,” he muttered out.

“Good, come with me,” she looped her arm through his and began to walk down the opposite corner of the building.

“Where are you leading me this time?” he asked, but was happy to be led.

“Dancing,” she smiled up at him as she led him to a little hole in the wall dance bar, “It's as close to flying as you can get around here.”

The next few weeks continued on much like that day. To or from work, Diaval would bump into Mal or vice versa and they spent the rest of the day or evening together. They would have dinner- taking great care with any gluten- or would enjoy one another's company in an outing. He even introduced her to Rory on one occasion. She was a bit uncomfortable with the teenager at first, but warmed up to her in mere moments. Rory had a way to do that with people. When she had left to walk to the town car her mother sent for her she had hugged Mal goodbye. It shocked the usual stoic woman who lightly hugged her back.

“She is quite delightful,” Mal said as they waved down at Rory from his window, “You've done a wonderful job with her.”

“She's a good kid all her own. Didn't need me,” he waved her compliment away and then turned from the window. He walked to the television and held up a couple of disks, “What's it to be tonight? Horror or slap stick?”

“You know I enjoy a good blood bath,” she smiled warmly over her shoulder. He went back to the player to get the disk ready while she turned back to the window. She looked up at the top of the next building over and frowned.

“Are you ready?” he asked from the couch.

“Yes, just going to close the blinds,” she said quietly and she moved to do just that.

The court hearing finally came and Diaval was asked to come to play witness. He dressed his best as it was still a court room and rolled his neck. He really disliked court. Even if he was just to be a witness.

“Are you sure you should do this?” Mal asked from the end of the bed as he fiddled with his tie, “The police are constantly at your block and haven't lost sight of you in weeks. What if they really have something to this whole assassination attempt?”

“If there was a hit on me, I would have noticed it by now,” he rolled his eyes and walked over to her. He knelt down in front of her to look her directly in the eyes, “And I wouldn't have let you anywhere near me if it meant that my dear mistress was in danger.”

“I know you wouldn't,” she pinched his chin playfully and looked at the mess of a tie he had on, “Let me see this.”

He sat still as she fixed his tie and pulled on it to make it secure. He watched her face as she concentrated on the knot. Her straight hair fell flawlessly over her shoulders and her lips pressed and puckered as she worried over the tie in her hands. Her beautiful eyes swept from one side of his collar to the other and then to his face when she had finished. For a moment he couldn't catch his breath.

He coughed into his hand to clear his throat, “How do I look?”

“All preened and ready to go,” she smiled and carded a hand through his hair, “Handsome raven as ever.”

“You coming with?”

“Of course I am,” she smirked and followed him to the door, “Need to make sure you stay in one piece.”

“And just what are you going to do to an assassin should one come after me?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“You'd be surprised.”

After the hearing they stood outside the courtroom and heard that the case was going to trial. In part thanks to his testimony and there were also more factors and evidence to consider.

Diaval nodded to her and then toward the elevator. He laughed to himself as they waited, “Well, if they wanted me dead before, it's going to be worse now.”

“Stop talking like that,” she hit his chest with the back of her hand.

“Should I take them up on the safe house?” he joked, earning yet another hit to his chest.

“Mister Fitheach!” a voice called from down the hall.

Both Mal and he turned to see Stefan and his lawyer walk toward them. Mal stood in front of Diaval as they approached. Diaval put his hand on her arm and took the step in front of her in response.

“Don't think it's a good move to talk to a witness outside of court, Mister Barnes,” Diaval said and stuck his hands in his pockets, “I don't have anything for you.”

“All my client wants is the truth,” the attorney summarized.

“Then he needs to remember what he put in that cup of coffee. I told them what I saw. I didn't say it was poison and I didn't say it was creamer. The jury can think for themselves on the contents.”

“You little piece of crap,” Stefan took a step toward him.

Mal was instantly in front of Diaval and took a long look at Stefan in the eyes.

“Mally,” Stefan breathed out and looked from her to Diaval and then back again, “Not as strong as I thought you were.”

“Stronger than you ever dared to hope,” she growled back at him.

“I would sleep with one eye open, Fitheach,” Stefan said as he still stared at Mal, “She's not who you think she is.”

“Come on, Stefan,” his attorney pulled at his client's arm to the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed Mal let out a breath.

“I didn't know you knew him.”

“I thought that I did,” she muttered and looked at Diaval who just looked confused and a little hurt. She took another deep breath in, “I need to tell you something.”

“Something that is better in private, I think,” he nodded and pushed her toward the other elevator that arrived.

Once they made it to his apartment, he threw off his jacket and pulled off his tie. He sat on his small couch and looked up at her, “So?”

Mal shuffled on her feet and opened her mouth a few times to start, but couldn't get very far past one word. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head as she struggled with words. He got back off his couch and went to the cupboard for a glass and something harder to drink than water.

“This is harder for me than you think it should be,” she finally said after he took a shot.

“He's the childhood crush, I get it,” Diaval nodded and turned to lean back against his stove, his arms crossed over his chest, “Did he send you to- what? Provoke me? Threaten me? Distract me?”

“No, he... he,” she muttered and let out a muffled scream from between her teeth in frustration, “He did much worse.”

“How's that?” Diaval tilted his head to the side in wonder and then shook his head, “How could it be any worse than throwing your ex at a man even though she still had feelings for you? What kind of man would do that to someone who clearly cares for him?”

Mal's lips trembled a little and she looked away for a moment to pace.

“Did he tell you to keep seeing me? Running into me?”

“No!” she fumed, her temper now beginning to show.

“Then why do it?!”

“To keep you safe!” she screamed and threw her bag across the room and onto his bed.

“Safe? From what?”

“From others like me,” her shoulders dropped and she stared at him with a gloss over her eyes, “Others that would take my place and try to kill you.”

“Kill me?” he narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to say something else, until he ran right at her. He caught her around the middle and they both dropped to the floor just a moment before the vase behind her shattered. He stayed over her for a moment before he looked over at his windows, now wide open instead of closed and locked like before. He then looked up at the wall and noticed the red dot that had been over Mal's chest. He looked down at her and raised a single finger, “We are not done with this discussion.”

She nodded and looked toward the bed where she threw her purse, “My gun is in my purse.”

“You smuggled a gun into the courthouse?”

“I always have a firearm handy,” she said nonchalantly.

“Strange,” Diaval muttered and then rolled to his couch a foot away and hit the side panel of the base. The panel slid out and pulled a small glock with a silencer. He handed it to her and then pulled out a rifle with the same outfitting before he closed it up again. He checked for ammunition and then looked back at her again, “I'm the same way.”

Her eyes were so large at that point, he didn't know if they were going to fall out of her head.

“Get this guy off our tail and then we have a long night of questions ahead of us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she breathed out.

“I'll take the East window.”

“I'll take the West,” she nodded and they both crawled toward their windows.

“Think you know who it is?” Diaval asked as he carefully set up his rifle and looked out the scope.

“If I had to guess, it would be Borra,” she explained and tried to get a good feel on where he was set up, “If there was anyone that would take the contract on you and get to take me out as a bonus, it would be him.”

“Type?”

“Bulky, likes his muscles and rifle do the talking,” Mal growled, “Not much going on up stairs.”

“Good, won't be as big of a mess.”

“He's on the Southern edge. Laser scope.”

“I see him,” Diaval focused his sight and just as the laser pointed his way again, he squeezed and no more laser. No more shooter.

“Hold for a moment,” Mal said before either of them moved from their places. A second lazer came into view from a story down from Borra, “There is another.”

“Yeah, I see the end of the rifle, but not them,” Diaval frowned and leaned back, “They have a better shot at me then I do of them.”

He heard the soft shot through the silencer from his other window. The end of the other rifle fell back and then it was still. He looked over her Mal who shook her head and stood from her spot at the window.

“You hit them with the glock?”

“I had a shot,” she said as if he had insulted her, “Give me some credit.”

He finally shut his window and walked over to shut hers, “Okay, so questions and answers.”

“How?” she asked and held up the glock, “You're a food critic.”

“Part-time food critic,” he corrected and took the glock from her before he went to put it back into the couch hide hole, “You know how I wasn't worried about assassins?”

“Yes, I thought that you were being way too under prepared for it.”

“Ever heard of Black Feather?”

“That's you?”

He laughed, “I really had hoped that they would pick up on the feathers left on the bodies belonged to a raven, but when you leave it to the media to name you...”

“Raven... you and ravens,” she shook her head and sat on the back of the couch to face him.

“Like you should talk,” he smirked and sat next to her, “Phoenix.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since you picked me up from the police parking lot,” he admitted and looked at the floor at their feet, “I knew that someone was after me when my break lines were cut. Then a gorgeous woman takes me to lunch out of no where? What did you have behind your back at the car?”

“Injectable nightshade,” she said quickly as if to soften the blow, “You saw me quick. I'm glad you did.”

“Good trick with the jacket at the bistro,” he shook his finger at her, “Would have tricked most men. I'm sorry I didn't stop you from eating that second slice. I thought that you knew which slices were safe to ingest since you put the poison on there.”

She laughed under her breath, “Yes, that. I got distracted.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” he smiled and bumped her shoulder with his, “I distracted you into poisoning yourself. That is a new one.”

“Stop that, you insufferable raven,” she rolled her eyes at his laughter and looked at his profile, “Then you knew what I was doing after that day.”

“You probably tried to get the gang to call off the hit on me on the days following our meeting,” he guessed at which she nodded and then he frowned, “But once you found out someone else tried to take up the bounty, you came to keep me out of harms way- you know, I thought those were bullets hitting behind me.”

“They were.”

“What changed from today where they targeted you too?”

“Stefan,” she shook her head and her teeth ground together, “He put the hit on you to begin with, just like the other men who were caught in that coffee shop with you. He asked me to take care of it. When he saw me with you today, he finally realized that I truly wasn't going to go through with it. I wasn't going to kill you. I was going to protect you. I then became the second target.”

Diaval took a moment and finally looked back at her, “Not that I'm glad you didn't keep trying to kill me after your disastrous first attempt, but why didn't you?”

She looked at him, deep in his dark eyes and shook her head, “I was being stupid and reckless and sentimental...”

He chuckled and she laughed lightly with him.

She took his hand in hers to poke at his palm, “And, I may just had fallen in love with you.”

“After that first day?”

“No, I knew you were a good man after that first day,” she rectified and kept a hold of his hand, drawing over the lines in his palm, “Then I got to know you, and Rory. More and more and it just grew. You were the first one to genuinely ask after me. About me.”

Her head suddenly lifted in a single notion, “You did want to know me?”

“Yeah, I did,” Diaval nodded and pulled at the hand that was in his, “I still do.”

“After everything that I told you? After you know what I am?”

“A killer just like me?”

“You kill the bad guys. You're a vigilante and a hired gun for those you deem worthy. I've read up on you,” she smirked, “The blood on your hands is merited, mine is dirty... so very dirty.”

“Blood is blood. We've both done things that we regret- some things that we will never speak of because we think it will label us monsters. Things we blame ourselves for. I know your track record too. Every single target,” he answered and took a deep breath. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side, “The worst part is, I love you anyway.”

She smiled up at him and then leaned her head on his shoulder as he hugged her to him.

“I need to let you know something,” he whispered into her hair above her.

“More?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Yeah,” he squinted and rubbed the back of his head, “I was supposed to kill you too.”

“What?” she frowned.

“After you killed me, actually,” he chuckled a little, “Stefan tried to contact Black feather to take out another hit man after they finished with their target. He wanted to tie up loose ends. I think he figured out that wasn't going to happen either. He kept asking, I kept ignoring him. He finally gave up.”

“So, we were asked by the same man to kill each other?” she asked and narrowed her eyes at him, “I think that we should at least let him know that the contracts cannot be completed. Don't you?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded as she tried to pull away from him. He caught her arm and pulled her back to sit in front of him, “But before we do-”

She looked at him in question until he leaned forward and kissed her. His hand lifted to gently caress her cheek and fingers gently stroked the hair pinned behind her ear. She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. She nearly crawled into his lap as he tried to steer them to the bed.

Much later that night, they found themselves wrapped in the sheets in his bed as they planned their first of many team contracts.

#maleval #maleficent x diaval #assassin au #orangetail-works #APheonixAndARaven #One-shot

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eifort-alchimique · 4 years

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Eifort's Exquisite Creole Cacciatore

Rice Mixture:

1 box (6.9 oz) Zatarain's Spanish Rice

2 cups PentaWater

1 can (14.5 oz) Margaret Holmes Tomatoes, Okra & Corn

1 can (4 oz) Ortega Hot Diced Green Chiles

2 TBSP Mazola Corn Oil

¼ cup Melinda's Habanero Wing Sauce

2 TBSP Horseradish Mustard

2 TBSP Mrs. Dash Extra Spicy Seasoning Blend

1 TBSP Garlic Powder

Meat Mixture:

1 cup Cheddarwurst, diced

½ cup Salad Shrimp, cooked & peeled

1 cube Beef Bouillon

1 cup PentaWater

Serving Ingredients:

1 package La Banderita Corn Tortillas

(Prepared cornbread can also be used)

1 cup Sour Cream

1 TBSP chopped cilantro, garnish

1 cup Sharp Cheddar Cheese, when using cornbread

In a 6 quart nonstick pan, add Rice Mixture ingredients. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to Low. Cover. Simmer 25 minutes or until rice is tender, stirring occasionally. Once rice is tender, turn burner off. Do not remove from heat. Next, prepare beef bouillon in cup water for 2 minutes on High in Microwave. Then, stir in Meat Mixture. Let stand 5 minutes on burner. Stir & Serve w/ your choice of tortillas & sour cream/cornbread & sharp cheddar cheese.

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clatterbane · 5 years

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Mr. C spotted some more of these on the cheap at Lidl the other day, and one of the pouches came in handy for a quick low-spoons supper tonight.

(My eyes and migraine are thankfully doing some better today, but I still didn't quite manage to make it out to the store before he got home. Less pressing then, since he brought cat food. Hopefully tomorrow!)

Anyway, I was initially more than a tad skeptical of what is essentially shelf stable hash browns in a vacuum pouch. Even if they are apparently fairly popular to keep around in Switzerland these days.

But, excellent and easy about covers it! The texture is better than I would have expected, and everyone here has some sensory issues around texture.

Just turn it out into a pan, brown it on both sides, and you're ready to go. These have a lot more bacon than cheese flavor. I don't think he got any plain ones this time.

Tonight I used a very little butter in the pan for extra flavor (and because I was worried about it sticking without), which turned out pretty well. Then I just put the potatoes out on a plate and used the same skillet to scramble some eggs with green onion, and a little sharp cheddar melted on top. Some of the homemade mixed pickles on the side, because why not and it's technically veggies.

Made for a pretty good meal, without much effort.

I haven't tried other brands so far, but I would definitely recommend the röstis inna pouch that Lidl periodically has.

#food #staying fed #low spoons food #rösti #pupil dilation hell #thankfully improving finally

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cutechristmaswishes-blog · 5 years

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Cute Christmas Wishes

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You both shimmer dazzling in the midst of Christmas for individuals around you. ♣ Mr. besides, Mrs. snowmen state thank you for permitting them the opportunity to experience this Christmas with someone exceptional… You! ♣ What bett

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mbergansmile · 6 years

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Worst of you// part 2

Other Parts: Part 1

playlist

Leaning over the bathroom sink, y/n tried to forget one thing . She had kissed her boss. This was not something she had dreamt or something she had imagined in her head. Nope it actually happened and there was nothing she could do except to forget. He was right,no one could know. He had his wife and She had this job. Y/n hands gripped tighter on the sink. It wasn’t even the kiss that was bothering her, it was what happens after the kiss. Usually whenever Y/n would hook up with someone it would mostly consist of making out and drunk conversations. Then she’d leave and never really see them again.Even if she did see them again it wouldn’t be awkward giving the time gap and they would just share a hello as they pass one another.

But this wasn’t a drunk hook up and she actually had to see him again this time. Her thoughts kept circulating in her head. Not knowing witch Instincts to follow. She obviously had never been in a situation like this before. It was completely new territory for her.

Y/n had let the water running in the faucet. She placed her palms under the running water and splashed some onto her face.

“ it’s gonna be fine” she mutters to herself “ Just walk in there like nothing happened “ she continued trying to giver herself the courage.

“ it’ll be fine” She looked away from the mirror and grabbed on of the towels and rubbed it on her face. She was going to be fine, she was going to get over this. It was going to be alright.

Y/n pulls up to the parking lot in her fathers old hand me down Jeep. That Jeep had been in the family for over 2 decades. She remembered riding in it for the first time ever. She was about 12 years old. Before than her father always kept the car in the garage. He would always look at her and say “ This car honey, this car is for special occasions only” It was his most precious possession. The car was a dusty military green with the exception of the roof that was black.

That day when her father took her riding in the car, she had just overheard a fight between her parents.

Her father had taken her out that day on a car ride to get her mind of things. But really it was for him. The whole town looked different that day. She looked at the trees and the street lights differently. The things that had looked so casual to her only days before were now suddenly a nostalgic memory. She had the same exact thoughts and feeling when she drove for the first time through her hometown.

“ you little- watch where you’re going” She snaps, she doesn’t even look up. When Y/n lifts her eyes she’s sees a male. He had pale skin and raven hair.His hair was styled in a prince charming like hairstyle en it honestly made him look younger. His eyes were empty, they looked as if he hadn’t said or seen the outside world for over a month. Dark circles were under his emerald green eyes.Making Y/n wonder what actually had happened to him the day before. He had spilled Doritos. Cheddar floured Doritos, fell out of the bag and onto her. Favourite white blouse. She wanted to scream at him and tell him not to eat junk food near a high state building. That building probably had pencils worth more than that guy. She couldn’t believe it. The crumps had a light sound as she stepped on the fallen Dorito-chips. Y/n closes the car door annoyed.

“ holy shi- I’m so sorry”

“ My names Fionn, I just thought you wanted you know ” He said. Was he seriously introducing himself in this monent. There weren’t sharp stains, in fact you couldn’t barley see them until he tried to get the stain off. Because he already had Dorito crumps in his finger tips it just ended up smudging the blouse more. Y7n pushed his file hands away from her blouse and started walking away.

“ I truly am sorry “ he continued. She was to far by now to hear anything, if he even did say anything. Her first priority was to get rid of the stain. Y/n looks at her clock and sees that she still has about 15 minuets till work starts. Plenty of time to get her shirt cleaned. Y/n walks over to Janice and leans over the desk eyes her “ you wouldn’t know if we have a washing machine of some sort” Janice looks at her as if she was the dumbest person in this world “ I dunno hot stuff, why don’t you ask the cleaning ladies ?” Janice was clearly not having a good day either or maybe she was just annoyed to be the information guide“ calm down Janice, I was just asking” Y/n replied with a condescending tone. Just as she had cleared her mind a little she remember that she actually had an extra shirt. It was tucked away in her bag, she remembered that she had put it there for emergency’s like this. She gave Janice a small ignorant smile before leaving for the bathroom. Could this morning be any worse?

Y/n runs into the bathroom, she checks the time on her wrist “ Shit 5 minuets”she mumbles to herself as she stripped the shirt off her Body. Picking up the new one and put on. It so simply fit her body, even if it was a somewhat oversized sweater.

Y/n tucked it into the jeans and walked out of the bathroom running over to her desk.

Getting to her desk just in time, she threw her stuff beside her chair and sat down. Tom called her into the office. His voice was sharp and stern. A little frightening-yes but she did as she was told.

“Late again I see” He said. A fake smile form on her lips

“ I know I’m sorry” The muscular man has wonder in his eyes, it can almost be portrayed as desire. He eyes the woman in front of him closely.Most likely wondering why she was wearing a white aliens are rad t-shirt. Curling his lips as he utters the words “Would you be so kind and close the door”y/n walked over and closed the huge enchanting door. They were Victoria like almost but still had the brown colour of the wood. She turns around graciously and sits down. Sitting face to face with Tom felt comfortable, weird and it wasn’t something she enjoyed. He wasn’t saying anything to her, he just looked at her closely. Y/n shifts in her chair, her breathing getting louder and louder in her head.

“I uh” he pauses and puts his hands together, intertwining his fingers and starts to fiddle his thumbs. There was something about Tom that always made Y/n wonder, was this all to much for her.? “I’m sure you know why I want to have a little chat?” She did. She knew exactly why he wanted to talk to her “ obviously the kiss was a mistake a mistake never to be repeated, understood” she nodded.Thomas Stanley Holland was mostly a self absorbed ass who didn’t care about anything other than himself and his company. Y/n knew that and she actually had been debating if she could put up with it. She’d heard awful Stories about him from Tabitha. It was clear to her that Tom Holland was not a good person. “ You may leave now” Y/n got up and started walking over to the big wooden doors.

“Oh and miss y/l/n make sure to see if my father is still set for our meeting later and also don’t let anyone in. I have a lot of work to get done and don’t want to be disturbed “ She nodded and walked out the door. Her finger runs through her hair as she exhales, she had been holding her breath the entire time trying nit to say or do anything stupid. She looks up at her surrounding trying to make sense

Y/n sat back down behind her desk and called Domenic “ Hello Mr Holland, yeah it’s Y/N Y/L/N Tom’s assistant. I was just calling to check in the dinner meeting was still on ?”

“Is Thomas being a little paranoid ?” His dark husky voice vibrated through her ears. He sounded like Tom, if Tom was a smoker of 30 years.

“No sir, it’s just my job to check up on meetings incase there’s been any changed of plans” She explained, lying of course. Tom was being paranoid or at least not never trustful of his father. She wondered how Tom and Dom could sound almost identical but have two different ways of speaking. Dom was well calm and collected to his tone, Tom was the opposite. You could tell by the way he spoke that he was insecure. He didn’t have everything under control and She’s pretty sure that is what Dom thinks as well.

“Tell my son that he doesn’t have to worry” he hung up the phone. Just as Y/n looks up from the cell phone she had just placed back into it’s operator a female walked past her. Y/n watched for a second before remember that she was not allowed to let anyone in “ Hey Miss you can’t go in there” the gorgeous female turns around and smiles “ Darling, I can go wherever I want whenever I want” she turned to doorknob and walks inside the office ‘Shit I’m getting fired’ y/n thought and got up. She ran after her into the office “ Sir I tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listened, should I call security?” Tom was watching the golden haired beauty with hearts in his eyes “ no need she’s my wife” she just nodded and stood by the doorway. She remembered that Tabitha had mentioned something about a wife. Y/n turns around leaving the office and closing the door behind her.

I'm so sorry for another shitty ass chapter next one will hopefully be better and be up quicker lol. It’s just I'm currently writing a novel, like an actual young adult novel and I'm really excited and so that is why I haven’t updated. Again I am so sorry I hope you at least enjoyed this.

tags:

@peteryesparker

#tom holland #tom holland smut #spiderman homecoming #avengers infinity war

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iambutteryum · 3 years

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Old Fashioned Baked Mac and Cheese

My Mother-in-law is famous for her Baked Macaroni and Cheese. It frequently makes appearances at family functions because everyone loves it so much. This is not your typical creamy, stove-top mac and cheese, but rather one that has pockets of melted sharp cheddar cheese throughout. The recipe is extremely rich, but oh so worth it. Mr. 20-something literally ate half the pan all by himself… and I had to whisk away the last little bit in order capture a quick photo before he finished it off. When you make this recipe (and trust me, your family will be forever grateful), be sure to use good quality sharp cheddar cheese that you grate yourself!

Old Fashioned Baked Macaroni and Cheese

makes a 9x13-inch pan

Printable Recipe

Ingredients

16 ounces uncooked elbow macaroni

8 tablespoons salted butter

1 cup half and half (or evaporated milk)

16 ounces sharp cheddar cheese, shredded (avoid pre-shredded)

1/4 cup shredded or grated parmesan or pecorino cheese

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated black pepper.

Directions

Preheat oven to 350F and place rack in center position.

Butter a 9x13-inch baking pan and set aside until needed.

In a 5-quart or larger stockpot, cook pasta in salted water until al dente, drain and return to stockpot; add butter and stir until completely melted.

Stir in freshly shredded cheese, half and half, and black pepper; stir until cheese is evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into prepared pan and sprinkle parmesan or pecorino evenly over the top.

Bake, uncovered, for 45 minutes (place directly under broiler for last 2-3 minutes for an extra crispy top).

Remove from oven and rest for 10-15 minutes before serving.

Notes

Block cheese that you shred yourself melts much better than pre-shredded cheese.

Although it doesn’t matter if you use white or yellow cheddar, I prefer the finished appearance of this recipe when yellow cheddar is used.

Traditionally, evaporated milk is used, but we prefer to use half and half - either work equally well.

#pasta recipes #side dish recipes

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Ted Lasso and Other TV Bosses We’d Walk Over Hot Coals For

https://ift.tt/3ryGOvx

In the heady moments of celebration after England’s victory over Denmark in this year’s Euros semi-final, the sight of team manager Gareth Southgate prompted ITV pundit Gary Neville to comment: “The standard of leaders in this country the past couple of years has been poor. Looking at that man, he’s everything a leader should be: respectful, humble, he tells the truth.”

The former Man U right-back’s words, directed at the political rulers of a country riven by Brexit, tap into a modern craving for decency. Fed a diet of self-serving narcissism from our public figures, we hunger for more wholesome fare: moral character, humility, honesty, kindness. In the year of horrors that was 2020, that appetite was temporarily sated on TV by fictional football manager Ted Lasso.

Played in the Apple TV series by Jason Sudeikis (who, in true Ted style, wore a shirt to the Ted Lasso season two launch in support of the three young Black England footballers who received racist abuse after their team’s eventual loss to Italy in the final), Ted’s thoroughgoing decency won everyone over to The Lasso Way. He’s the gold standard of TV bosses – selfless, caring, wise, inspirational, and patiently dedicated to bringing out the best in his players and the team as a whole. He may not always win on the pitch, but he always wins in our hearts. And if those words make you want to heave, then you, friend, may just need a little more Lasso in your life. #Believe.

To celebrate his return, we present Ted’s TV peers, the bosses for whom you’d go any number of extra miles.

Leslie Knope – Parks & Recreation

There is no finer example set in the TV workplace than Leslie Barbara Knope. The Pawnee public servant leads from the front, the sides and the back. She’s the waffle-powered sheepdog of City Hall, yapping co-workers and townsfolk into shape with her relentless work ethic and bottomless optimism. Leslie’s a boss who cares so much that she’s already bought your Christmas gift. And your birthday gift. And made you a special hand-crafted gift to mark the half-year anniversary of the day you first met. She sleeps three hours a night, runs entirely on sugar (or should that be salgar?), has a binder for every eventuality, and always, always has your back. Her rubber-soled energy is so infectious that over seven seasons she even manages to motivate the lazy (Tom), disaffected (April), dumb (Andy), aloof (Donna), hapless (Jerry) and the downright obstructive (Ron). For a gal named ‘nope’, she’s a whole lot of yes. LM

Bertram Cooper – Mad Men

Technically, advertising firm Sterling Cooper on Mad Men has two bosses – Roger Sterling and Bertram Cooper. Coop, however, is the let’s say…more experienced of the two and takes on the role of boss. And what a boss he is! The eccentric office sage played by Robert Morse takes a decidedly hands off approach to managing the workplace. Do whatever you want in this Madison Avenue ad agency, as long as you take your shoes off when you enter Bert’s office. And if you’re nice enough he might show you his collection of erotic octopus art. AB

Jacqueline Carlyle – The Bold Type

The Editor-In-Chief of Scarlet magazine, the women’s title at the heart of ridiculous millennial wish fulfillment vehicle The Bold Type is part mentor, part mother figure, part fairy godmother to the three young women at the centre of the show. Jane is an intern when she first meets Jacqueline, who greets her with “Are you a writer? You look like a writer.” Because, yep, it really is that easy to get a job at a top magazine. The Bold Type is nonsense but it’s very good hearted nonsense which tries in earnest to tackle big issues while maintaining a sunny outlook. Be yourself, be passionate, be bold, the show says, and the world is at your feet. Sent a couple of tweets? Congratulations, have a promotion! Threatened with a lawsuit because of something you wrote? No bother, have a promotion! Fraudulently passed yourself off as a stylist when you’re not, thereby ruining a key relationship? Meh. Promotion for you! Promotions all round! Jacqueline is glamorous and wise, endlessly patient with her proteges and seemingly in possession of a bottomless budget. We all wish we worked for Jacqueline and she’s a wonderful (imaginary) role model. We’re just slightly nervous for any young fans of the show who ever get to work for an actual, real life Editor-In-Chief… RF

Mr. Krabs – SpongeBob SquarePants

Mr. Krabs is a good boss because he’s refreshingly upfront about what matters to him. Simply put: the crab likes money. As long as you’re putting in the hours and keeping the profit margins fat, Mr. Krabs will be your best friend. Sure, he takes advantage of SpongeBob’s naivete from time to time. But deep down, you know the guy has a heart as big as his enormous whale daughter, Pearl. AB

Supt. Ted Hastings – Line of Duty

Think of Ted Hastings, head of Central Police’s Anti-Corruption Unit 12, as Ulysses – a man sailing on dangerous waters but so determined not to be seduced by the sirens’ song that he’s tied himself to the ship’s mast and stopped his ears with wax. Except replace ‘siren’s song’ with ‘bungs from criminal gangs’, and ‘ship’s mast’ and ‘wax’ with ‘sheer force of will, son’. Ted’s a colossus of integrity in a world of backhanders and turning-a-blind-eye. He does the right thing even when it’s the hard thing, and if you’re one of his officers, then you’re his for life. (Unless you’re a corrupt gangster plant, in which case, by Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, he’ll never live down the shame.) Ted may have more decency in his side-parting than most officers have in their whole bodies, but he still has his flaws. The stock he puts in loyalty makes him inflexible, and his temper’s a thing to be seen, but the key thing about Ted as a leader is that when he makes a mistake, he owns up to it. We should all be so lucky to have a gaffer like him. LM

Ron Donald – Party Down

Starz’s brilliant comedy Party Down premiered around the same time as classic NBC sitcom Parks and Recreation. As such, Ken Marino’s perpetually stressed boss character Ron Donald didn’t get nearly as much attention as another boss named Ron: Ron Swanson. Let’s be clear, however, nobody would want Ron Swanson as a boss because that means you’d have to regularly interact with a libertarian. Instead, it’s far better to be in the good graces of Ron Donald. This Ron will support your dreams all the while telling you about his own to own a Souper Crackers franchise. AB

Press Gang: How Steven Moffat’s First Show Shaped a Generation

By Rosie Fletcher

Party Down: a US sitcom that richly deserves your time

By Louisa Mellor

Lynda Day – Press Gang

Bit of of a niche one – you probably have to be British and in your 40s to even know who this is – but Lynda Day, played by Julia Sawalha deserves a mention as the youngest boss on the list. Editor of the Junior Gazette, the after school newspaper run by pupils at the heart of Steven Moffat’s very first show she’s an erudite journalist, a ruthless news hound and a self possessed young woman who cares more about being right than about being liked. Lynda isn’t particularly soft or warm but she is a boss who would make you a better writer. You’d strive to please Lynda, want to live up to her incredibly high standards and know that the work you were doing on the paper could actually make a difference. Lynda is all about work ethic and integrity. Small of frame, sharp of tongue, you wouldn’t wanna mess with her, but you know she’ll get shit done. RF

Captain Holt – Brooklyn 99

It says something about a boss when you wouldn’t just walk over hot coals for them, you would also do it for their pet dog. Cheddar the corgi is just one of many reasons to snap your sharpest salute to Captain Raymond “Do Not Call Me Ray Or Use Contractions In My Presence” Holt. Precinct captain of the 99, Holt is a walking yardstick of fine taste, good manners, linguistic clarity and grammatical coherence. Holt values simplicity and despises vulgarity. Do your job and do it right, and you will earn his hard-won respect, perhaps indicated by a very slight incline of the head if he is feeling frivolous. Holt has already earned your respect, for leading an exemplary career as an openly gay NYC cop since 1987, facing down racists, homophobes and the lowest of the low: people who use “What’s up?” as a greeting. Captain Holt’s impossibly high standards are a bar few reach, but to which we can all aspire. LM

Ian Grimm and Poppy Li – Mythic Quest

Mythic Quest creative directors Ian Grimm (Rob McElhenney) and Poppy Li (Charlotte Nicdao) are messes on their own. But when their personalities combine, they create one great boss unit who keeps things moving and keeps things lively. Granted, I wouldn’t want to work for Ian and Poppy as a programmer or dev on the Mythic Quest team because crunch is real (and I also have no such skills). They would make for a great boss team in just about any other industry though. AB

DCI Cassie Stuart – Unforgotten

Some bosses try to impress their status on employees by turning up the volume, but not DCI Cassie Stuart. Everything she does in ITV police drama Unforgotten, from case meetings to suspect interrogations, she does in the same controlled, low voice. It gives her words an intensity that shouting wouldn’t achieve and makes her cold-case murder team lean in to absorb the significance of what she’s saying. Usually, that’s on the theme of how they owe victims answers and are going to find them. Diligent and dedicated, she trusts her team, especially partner Sunny, and is the kind of boss whose praise really means something. A ‘good work’ from her and you’d be walking on air. LM

Conan O’Brien – Conan

This is technically violating the spirit of this thought exercise because Conan O’Brien is not fictional. What he is, however, is a boss…in both the metaphorical and literal sense of the word. No late night talk show host has ever reveled in being the boss of a staff as much as Conan O’Brien has on his shows like Late Night, The Tonight Show, and Conan. He views his role as boss as an opportunity to troll his employees like a corny father torturing his children with dad jokes. Many of Conan’s behind the scenes workers have become stars in their own right, like producer Jordan Schlansky or assistant Sona Movessian. And it’s all because Conan can’t help but want everyone to be involved and having a good time. Just like any great boss would want. AB

Captain Janeway – Star Trek Voyager

Anyone can be a good boss in a thriving workplace, but it takes a person of strong character to stay empathetic, decisive, and focused when everything goes to hell. In the very first episode of Star Trek: Voyager, Captain Janeway is stranded with her crew on the wrong side of the galaxy, 70,000 light years from home. She is tasked with getting not only her Starfleet crew home, but also the remaining members of the Maquis vessel Voyager was trying to capture when they were both pulled into the unexplored Delta quadrant. She does this all without the institutional support of the Federation, and without the certainty that they will ever make it back. It’s not always pretty, and Janeway makes some questionable decisions along the way, but it’s hard to imagine Voyager making it home without Janeway as their tough-as-nails boss. KB

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Ted Lasso Season 2 is available now on Apple TV+

The post Ted Lasso and Other TV Bosses We’d Walk Over Hot Coals For appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2VddvT9

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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kittsu-and-company · 5 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/catfindr/739277820862267392

Mr. Extra Sharp Cheddar

WHY DO I HAVE CATFINDR BLOCKED???

#ON THE LIST #kittsu #pokemon #pokemon rp #pokémon #rotomblr #rotumblr #pokéblog #pokémon irl #pokeblr #pokéblogging

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luzial · 7 years

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Eleven Questions

Absolutely was not tagged by anybody, just decided to do this because I saw it on my dash and it looked fun. BUT, I’m tagging @bearly-tolerable, @bexprime, @mysecretfanmoments, and @ladylike-foxes. (Sorry if you’ve already done this before!!)

1. What is the third line of your WIP?

I cheated and put in the third & fourth lines. (This is from the new chapter of Overgrown I’m working on.)

She’d assumed, from what Cass had said on the phone earlier, that the docent himself might be picking her up from the station. Instead, he’d sent the palest and most undernourished grad student she’d ever seen.

2. What is your favorite OTP to write about?

Gosh, hmm lemme think oh yeah that’s right I guess it’s pretty obviously Solavellan because I am 100% in the pit for life

3. How do you take your coffee?

With a hefty serving of creamer

4. Easy squeeze cheese on Crackers? Or just cheese on crackers?

I’m not sure I’ve ever had the easy squeeze stuff. I usually just have cheese - preferably extra sharp cheddar.

5. Have you ever dressed up as Santa Clause or Mrs. Claus?

I don’t think so but I once directed a play staring both Santa and Mrs. Claus if that has anything to do with this question

6. What is your favorite holiday?

I guess Halloween is the most fun, but I kinda like New Years. I’m not a big fan of actual New Years Eve celebrations - I’m usually asleep before midnight anyway. But I like all the organizing and planning and goal setting that goes along with New Years. That is very my jam.

7. Are you a morning person?

I’ve definitely become one in recent years, and working from home has been very helpful for that too. I hate when I sleep in and feel like I’ve missed a bunch of the day I could have spent working on stuff. Plus, sunrises are very pretty here.

8. Have you ever sang in the shower? What was the song?

I sing in the shower constantly. Pretty much every time I’m in there. Lately it’s been a lot of Jolene.

9. When do you allow Christmas music to be played in your house?

I’ll allow it after Thanksgiving but I honestly don’t play it all that often, except maybe on Christmas day. I do like listening to it in the car during December. There are a ton of Christmas songs I love, but I’ve just got to be in a pretty specific mood to want it playing in my house.

10. What is your idea of a great date? (not just a good one, a GREAT one)XD

Man, idk. I’m 33 years old and I just want to sit around and play dumb video games with my husband most of the time, or cook dinner together and watch Hulu. Honestly that all sounds pretty great to me.

11. What are the next three songs on your shuffled playlist right now?

Drip - MOOD ROBOT w/o u - GEMS Eyes Wide - Handsome Ghost, Whole Doubts

#personal #get to know the blogger

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lolcat76 · 7 years

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Folie a Deux pt 9

Thanks to @okaynextcrisis for the prompt, @cassiopeiasara for the best writing advice ever, and @thisisamadhouse for the suggestion that they watch an old video.

If you need a refresher on where we left off, it’s here. And my apologies, but the sneak peek is buried somewhere in the middle. I added to it on either side. Needed some more flavor :)

The door was ajar when Laura arrived at Bill’s apartment, Grace in tow. She figured that was as good an invitation to make themselves at home as any, so she let them in and settled Grace on the couch with her homework before following the scent of toasting bread and basil into the kitchen. Sure enough, Bill was standing in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup? You spoil me,” she said with a smile.

“Trying to,” he agreed. Bill handed her the spoon and asked her to taste the soup. She blew on it, then sucked it through her teeth. Not quite as good as her grandmother’s, but better by far than Campbell’s.

“Needs more salt.”

He waved at the spices lined up on his counter, and she eased around him to grab the salt and garlic powder for a little extra kick, trying hard to push back the memories of nights they’d fought over pasta or chicken, more pepper or salt, and whose turn it was to do the dishes.

His kitchen was small, but definitely bigger than the tiny excuse for a kitchen they’d shared in their studio apartment. She had room enough to step away from him as she stirred the pot, but she stayed close enough to lean her shoulder against his while she fiddled with the burner. Close enough that she could whisper that she liked her bread toasted, not burned, and feel his breath, warm against her ear, as he chuckled in response.

Close enough to know she was asking for trouble the longer she stood there. She dropped the spoon into the pot and took a few steps back, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “I hope to God that’s not Kraft singles.”

“Muenster and cheddar. If you think I’d feed you Kraft singles, you don’t know me at all.”

She did know him. Not as well as she used to, but well enough, and that was the problem.

***

The easy peace in the kitchen was shattered the minute she and Bill brought plates, bowls and silverware to the living room. Grace was on the verge of a temper tantrum when Laura shoved a plate in front of her. Carbs and cheese? Her niece was horrified. Better she choke down gruel and weak broth than processed flour and saturated fats. “I’m not eating this,” Grace said, sounding every inch the petulant teenager. “Aunt Laura, you can’t want me to eat this. There are no vegetables!” Suddenly, Laura regretted demanding that Grace finish her biology homework before dinner.

“What do you call tomato soup?” Laura replied.

“Tomatoes are a fruit, not a vegetable. Everyone knows that.”

She opened her mouth to argue with her niece, but Bill cut her off.

“My house, my rules. You eat what’s in front of you, or you don’t get fed.”

Grace looked a little too pleased at the thought of skipping a meal for Laura’s taste.

“And if you don’t eat, you don’t dance.”

“That’s not fair!” Grace whined. “We’re not in the studio now.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair. And when you’re in charge, you can figure out a way to fix that. Until then, you do what I say and you eat your damn sandwich.”

He’s changed. As Grace picked at her dinner, Laura studied her former partner. He’d always been loud and outspoken, but this new Bill - this Bill that was perfectly happy being in charge - he was a far cry from the egotistical partner she’d fought with all those years ago. She’d been forced into being in charge by circumstance and desperation, but Bill stepped into it without a second thought. Or without second guessing, she mused. She wheedled and begged and plotted to earn Grace’s cooperation - Bill demanded it without ceding an inch in return.

“If she’s not eating, I won’t either,” Grace muttered, bringing Laura’s attention back to her own plate.

“She eats. And she’s an adult, so she gets to make her own decisions.”

An adult. Ha. Still, she couldn’t argue with the fact that having Bill around, she’d started making a lot more decisions lately. Some good, some bad, but decisions nonetheless. All of which had led them to this moment in his apartment with a sullen teenager, a stubborn Bill, and a Laura with a full plate and a suddenly grumbling stomach. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, pulling at melted strings of cheese and looping them over her finger before she sucked them into her mouth. Grilled muenster and cheddar, almost as good as the diner two blocks away from the Met where they’d celebrated the end of the run of every show. Grace could starve, but Laura had every intention of enjoying her sandwich.

They argued for a few minutes about clean-up, but Laura was firm. He cooked, she cleaned. Bill eventually backed down, mumbling that he wanted to show Grace something anyway. Truthfully, she could use a little bit of quiet with a mindless task - she was more than a little worried about Grace’s eating habits these days. She welcomed the few minutes it took to scrub off the charred remains of cheese and crusty soup - it gave her time to clear her head. Laura was always better when she had a task to focus on, and dishes were as good a task as any. By the time she had the dishwasher loaded to her satisfaction, the living room had gone quiet, the lights were out, and she could hear the angry strains of Prokofiev over the hum of the dishwasher.

Laura dried her hands on her jeans and threw the dish towel on the counter. Time to face the music, as it were. The lights were out, and Grace and Bill were sitting on opposite sides of his couch - one sullen teenager and one stubborn middle-aged man - both staring at the tv screen. She settled between the two of them, pulling Grace against her, and then turned her attention to what they were watching.

A much younger Laura Roslin flitted across the stage, ducking through set pieces as she searched for her Romeo. Laura drew in a sharp breath. God, was she ever that young?

Romeo stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand to his Juliet, and Laura couldn’t help but steal a glance at the man sitting next to her. Was he ever that young?

She wanted to stop the DVD, to stuff Grace’s books back into her bag and take them both home where it was safe and where she was nothing but a thirty-something yoga teacher. She wanted to escape, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the screen where Romeo was pleading silently for Juliet to love him. Juliet ran from him, then ran to him, innocence and passion and longing in a pas de deux that had been rehashed for decades before she and Bill had stepped into the roles. She’d seen the greats perform Romeo and Juliet, both onstage and on film, but she couldn’t deny that what she was watching made her long for the two of them to finally…finally…get it right and live happily ever after.

Juliet was her crowning glory at ABT, the role that had won her praise from critics and gotten her a promotion to principal dancer. At the time, she’d never thought much of the role, too busy critiquing every misstep in her performance to even think that maybe the critics had been right. Her Juliet was good. A slight stutter in a pas de couru was nothing compared to the raw emotion she saw on the stage, so she willed her mind to just shut up already and enjoyed watching the girl onscreen throw herself into her Romeo’s arms and kiss him as if her life depended on it.

I know the feeling, she admitted silently to her younger self.

***

“You were really good,” Grace said as they drove through the streets of Philadelphia.

“I hope so. They don’t usually promote you to principal dancer if you’re just ok.”

“No,” Grace insisted, “you were really good. Like, I remember seeing you in the Nutcracker and I’ve seen you dance around the house, but that…Aunt Laura, that was really good.”

The New York Times review was a lot more eloquent, but Laura would take that compliment any day. “Thanks, sweetie. But why on earth were you watching that?”

Grace wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Adama said that he wanted me to see what a real dancer looks like after she eats half a pizza.”

She wasn’t sure what to address first, the Mr. Adama or the pizza. Leave it to Bill to bend the facts to suit his purpose. “That’s what a real dancer looked like before she ate half a pizza. If I tried to do that variation after eating that much, I’d have made myself sick.” Mindful of Grace’s recent eating habits, she continued “But, every night after we wrapped, we’d all go out for a midnight meal. And when it was my turn to pick, I always chose pizza, and I always ordered my own and refused to share.”

“I bet Bill hated that,” Grace said, the hint of a sly smile in her voice.

Oh, so he was Bill again. “He did. But he didn’t touch my pizza because he valued his life, and because he knew I could only eat half, and he’d get the rest eventually.”

“Like your crusts.”

She grinned, picturing Bill in his kitchen, picking at the crusts he’d so carefully cut off their sandwiches long after they’d left his apartment. “Like my crusts.”

“It’s so romantic,” Grace sighed, and Laura couldn’t stop her eyebrow from shooting up as she cast a glance over to the passenger seat. “I mean Romeo and Juliet. True love. They’d rather die than be apart.”

Nothing romantic about a suicide pact, she remembered Bill saying all those years ago.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said lightly. “True love doesn’t mean much if you’re too dead to enjoy it.”

Or too scared, she reminded herself. Grace didn’t answer, just continued looking out the car window at the safe, comfortable streets of their neighborhood. Not much risk of Mr. and Mrs. Reilly next door committing suicide to stay together. Far more likely that she’d hit him in the head with a rolling pin to get him to shut up about overwatering plants.

True love wasn’t about the grand gestures, she thought. it was about not killing the person you lived with, day in and day out, no matter how richly they deserved it. Or being grateful that they remembered that you didn’t like olives and cut the crusts off your sandwiches just to make you smile.

Grace was still such a baby, and maybe she needed to believe in the idea that true love, a terrible, destructive love that ended in death, was better than nothing. Having had eight years of nothing, Laura wasn’t in any hurry to destroy Grace’s dreams.

Given the choice, though, she’d take a man cooking her a crustless grilled cheese with muenster and cheddar and a cup of tomato soup over a teenager with a vial of poison anyday.

***

They slipped into something of a routine in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, and it happened so easily she didn’t even notice it until she realized that she’d been at his apartment for dinner twice that week and was making plans for him to join them the following night. Barring late rehearsals or Grace’s school schedule, they ate together almost every night. He came to her classes at least twice a week, and she called Billy to schedule him to teach the 10am class so that she could put on her pointe shoes and let Bill torture her in company class on Mondays and Fridays. (Tory’s good will toward Bill had burned off quickly, and she had informed Laura in no uncertain words that she was NOT there to pick up the slack so that Laura could playact at being a ballerina again.) (Tory was about two steps away from being booted out on her ass from the yoga studio; the only thing saving her job was that she was the only one who could manage to make the books balance at the end of the month.)

She was sitting on his kitchen counter, stunned into silence at the realization that she spent almost more time with Bill these days than she did with Grace. He kept talking as he loaded the dishwasher, not noticing the wide-eyed shock on her face as she realized that Bill was fast becoming a permanent fixture in her life. Again.

“So, next week is Thanksgiving and we have a lighter load before we go into tech at the stage. I was going to head up to New York, but Carolanne is taking the boys to her parents’ house in Ohio. I was thinking maybe we’d take a drive, explore some of Pennsylvania or maybe go down to Baltimore for the day and see the aquarium.”

Her silence finally registered with him, and he slammed the door of the dishwasher before he turned the full weight of his blue eyes on her. “Unless you have better ideas. Or a better plan.”

“Like what, the zoo?”

He shrugged. “The zoo, eating leftovers in front of the TV, or a date.”

She snorted before she could help herself. “A date. That’s funny.”

Bill leveled her with a stare that told her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t joking. “When was the last time you were on a date?”

“August of last year,” she replied without thinking. Better to not think at all about that night, and that man, and how eager she was to get away from him. “The guy who owns the building where I have my yoga studio asked me out a few times. I think Richard hoped that he could get me to agree to a lousy lease if he bought me dinner and paid me a few compliments.”

“Rookie mistake,” Bill said. He wrung out the sponge, trying to pretend that he was worried more about his cleaning supplies than he was about her answer.

“When was the last time you were on a date?” Laura asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from her love life. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she really didn’t want to keep talking about herself and her spectacular failures in the dating arena. He’d been married, even if it was to Carolanne, so he surely had a leg up on her in the romance department.

She hated to think about the legs he had on him the last eight years or so. He surely had enough recent experience to forget her legs wrapped around his waist. Her thighs twitched, muscle memory wanting to pull him close, but she wasn’t going down that path again. His muscles had memories too, and they sure as hell didn’t involve her, if his two sons were any indication.

“Depends on who you ask,” he answered, and it took her a second to remember just what she’d asked. Dating, right. She’d asked him about dating. He looked at her, again turning the full weight of his blue eyes on her. She was asking, and he was telling, and she was terrified of what he would say, because she knew without him saying a word that her legs and their kitchen played a large part in his answer.

He kept his distance, but a step to the left and he’d be settled against her, the way he used to be when they shared cooking duties. Bill kept eyeing the space she took up on his kitchen counter, and she had no doubt that to him, tonight was a date. She was wearing yoga pants and an old, beat up Eagles t-shirt, and he thought that they were on a date. One step, on hand on her thigh, and he’d move right past dating and into familiar, if ancient, territory.

Years ago, it had been threadbare tights and a beat-up sweater thrown on the kitchen floor, and the two of them gasping for breath after they’d stumbled to the hideous futon she’d hated from the first day she walked into his apartment.

At least she’d dressed up for Richard. She might be out of practice, but she knew that a date meant makeup and a dress and not hitching up yoga pants and arguing about crumbs on the counter at the end of the night.

“Good thing I’m not asking,” she muttered.

“Good thing. So, Baltimore? See some sharks, feed some fish? Or we could just stay here. Up to you.”

“Bill, what are we doing?” The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Well, I’m loading the dishwasher. You’re overthinking things.” He flicked the knob on the dishwasher,and she flinched when the machine purred to life.

She furrowed her brow. Was she overthinking things, or not thinking enough? She was sitting on his kitchen counter, and for the life of her, she had no idea how she’d made the decision to come here tonight, or last night, or how she’d invited him to her house two nights before.

She liked to plan things. She liked to know the outcome before she set a course of action. She was careful, dammit, and here she was, alone in the kitchen with the most dangerous man she’d ever known while her niece read a chapter of biology in the next room.

“I don’t overthink things.” He didn’t dignify her retort with a reply, just a grunt as he dried his hands on the dishtowel “I don’t. I think about everything the exact right amount.”

“Ok, then,” he said. He slapped the towel down on the counter. “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should go on a date.”

What the hell? She was thinking about traffic to Baltimore and crowds at the Inner Harbor. She most definitely was not thinking about a date, so why the hell had she said it?

His eyebrows shot up. Clearly she wasn’t the only person in the kitchen surprised by what came out of her mouth. Whatever he was expecting her to say, he sure hadn’t expected that. Makes two of us, she mused.

“Okay…I’m not going to disagree, but where did that come from?”

Laura shrugged, helpless to take the words back and even more incapable of explaining herself.

“A date,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. “Well, we didn’t exactly date before, but,” he grinned at her, “I’m game if you are.”

Oh, God. She buried her face in her hands.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven. Nobody cooks dinner, and no teenagers. We’ll see if this date thing is a good idea. Unless you overthink yourself out of it?”

There was a better than good chance that she’d do exactly that, but she couldn’t take it back now. He’d never forgive her if she backed out. She might not forgive herself either.

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Do you want to go to Baltimore or not?”

“I want to go to Baltimore,” Grace yelled from the living room. Oh, God. She’d heard that? And everything else? Laura silently prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Bill wrapped his hands around her wrists and tugged her arms away from his face. “Dinner tomorrow and Baltimore this weekend.”

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“Funny way of showing it, Roslin.” He pulled one of her hands to him and brushed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Now, go home. I have a class to teach in the morning, and you have a date to overthink.”

They were halfway home before Grace said anything. For the first ten minutes, Laura tried to convince herself that Grace hadn’t been listening, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Laura knew she was completely screwed.

“Sooo…you have a date tomorrow.”

Laura pressed her lips together. “We are not going to discuss it.”

“You’re going on a date with my teacher, and you think we’re not going to discuss it?”

Laura took her eyes off the road long enough to raise her eyebrow at her niece. “We are not going to discuss it. Some things are none of your business.”

“Well, yeah, but if he’s a bad kisser and you don’t want to see him again, and he takes it out on me, don’t you think that’s my business?”

First of all, no she did not. Second, she remembered only too well that Bill Adama was a good kisser. Good at other things, as she recalled, before she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Third, she was going to have to have a long talk with Grace about kissing and…those other things, and she didn’t think it was possible to miss another person as much as she missed her sister right now. “You don’t need to worry about that,” she muttered.

“Of course not, because you worry enough for both of us.”

What was this, Dump On Laura Day? Bill was rubbing off a little too much on her niece for Laura’s peace of mind. “I don’t worry. I merely consider.”

“Yeah,” Grace said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “You’re considering how to get out of going out with him tomorrow.”

She eased her foot on the brake, coming to a smooth stop at the last stoplight before she turned onto their street. “What I am considering is throwing you out of this car right now and letting you walk home.”

It was an empty threat, of course, and one she’d repeated countless times over the eight years she’d been Grace’s guardian. Maybe a little more serious this time; a walk in the chilly November night might do wonders for reminding Grace just who paid the heat bills in their house, and it would give her at least a good ten minutes to freak out in peace without a teenage audience.

Grace flexed her feet against the dashboard. “These toes are too valuable for mere walking.” At her aunt’s sharp glare, she tucked her feet under her, shifting in the seat so that she could give Laura her full attention. “But seriously,” she asked. “A date?”

A date. She hummed in response. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her love life with her teenage niece, but she was reminded of late-night phone calls to Cheryl when she’d talked about just that, going on and on about how much of an asshole her partner was, and Cheryl crowing that she liked him, and was he cute, and how did he fill out his tights, and Laura was in her twenties again and blushing furiously by the time she pulled into the garage.

“Lights out in an hour,” she said, “and I know you’re not done with your homework, so scoot.”

Grace lifted her hand to her brow in a mock salute before she gathered her bag from the floorboard. “Yes, ma’am.” She was through the door and into the house before Laura bothered to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Shit,” Laura whispered. She banged her head softly against the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit.”

#folie a deux #lolcatfic #spaceparents fic #spaceparents au #it's only 6 months until Christmas #surely I can finish this by then

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