#11k..... jesus......

[bedforddanes75]

fun fact i look like this atm. my back hurts.

[nightseeye]

Ooooo headline buff goes kinda crazy

[sometimesanalice]

Between Friends

Summary: Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 11K

Warning: smut (including loss of virginity), brief mention of underage drinking, and college!bradley in a backwards hat

(Author's note: Happy Birthday Jordan! I wrote this just for you! Look at me keeping secrets from you! Enjoy!)

𝐍𝐎𝐖

Rooster couldn’t control his bouncing leg.

That night at the Hard Deck had started out like any other: good music, good drinks, good people. Over the course of the evening, he’d found himself seated between you and Bob in a lopsided circle with the rest of the Daggers around a few tall tables that had been pushed together just shooting the shit.

It was all fun and games until swapping stories about embarrassing middle school moments turned into cringing over first kiss stories turned into Seresin grinning like a shark asking about how everyone’s first time went down.

Rooster felt his pulse kick up with every collective laugh and groan as his friends went one by one sharing how they’d lost their virginities. Because with each passing story, it meant that you were one person closer to going. And for the first time in his life- even after over two decades of friendship- he didn’t know what your answer was going to be.

So he is just as shocked as his teammates are when you tentatively reveal, “So, um, my first time was with Rooster.” He doesn’t miss the way all his friends’ heads snap towards him. 

All eyes are on the two of you, and you’re pointedly looking anywhere but him.

Rooster had been anxiously waiting to hear the story of your first official time, the one that was with someone who wasn’t him. He didn’t realize that you still considered him your first.  He’d figured that part of your history had long been overwritten by whoever had been lucky enough to catch your eye and make your heart race in a romantic way.

The two of you had never talked about it in the after.

Not once, not ever.

He didn’t care that people knew, he just wasn’t expecting it.

Jake starts the group out of its stunned silence by slapping a heavy hand on top of the table, nearly sending some bottles to the floor, “I knew it! I knew y’all couldn’t have been friends all this time and not have tried it out at least once.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, chill,” Javy mutters. He’s always been the better of the two about reading the room.

Trying to spare you from being put on the spot even more than you already were now, Rooster mumbles through the way he’d lost his to a girl from his AP Econ class after a playoff baseball game.

He stares at the way you’re nervously picking at the label of the Blue Moon he’d grabbed for you when he went to get a refill of his own. He can practically hear the way your brain is buzzing. He wonders if you wish you could take back the words from where they are sitting on the table with the collection of bottles and peanut shells for everyone to see.

Bob being the team player that he is starts talking about how he’d lost his one summer in college to another camp counselor, going into more detail than he’s ever given before, probably trying to redirect the attention to himself to give the two of you a moment to regroup.

Rooster makes a mental note to tell Penny to put all of Bob’s cream sodas from now on on his own tab.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here. Or where to look. Or where to put his hands. He wants to talk to you, but there’s no good way for him to go about it without drawing even more attention to the two of you.

You were supposed to be going on a first date tonight, but he’d talked you into canceling to hang out with him instead. He likes having all of your attention on him. And maybe he’s been a little selfish with you, because he doesn’t like to share you with anyone else. You’ve always been his best friend.

Rooster likes that he gets to talk to you whenever he wants now, and that it doesn’t feel like a never-ending game of catch up anymore. In the year since the Uranium mission, he’d felt like all the fragmented pieces of his life had finally come together. He’d reconnected with Mav, he was living in the same city as his best friend, and he had a place he could finally call home.

He didn’t just want the highlights with you, he wanted everything in between too. There’s no more distance due to time zones and scheduling times to call because now you only live 20 minutes away from him. And the next time he comes home from a deployment, he knows he’ll get to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him.

He feels like he’s learned so much more about the grown-up version of you over the last year than he has in the last ten.

Jake jumps in barely a breath after Bob finishes telling his story. “Well, we all know it’s not the first who matters, but who was the best.” Rooster doesn’t trust the gleam in his eyes or the sharp smile on his face. “Since Bradshaw cut you off before, how’s about you go first this time, darlin’. You can tell us about who knocked your socks off. Maybe this time he’ll let you finish, if you know what I mean.”

It’s thinly veiled snooping disguised as chivalry, and it doesn’t fool anyone. Nat’s eyes dart to him briefly, trying to get a read on him.

He’d been 21 at the time. And while he knows more now that he did then, he also knows his name isn’t going to be coming out of your mouth for a second time tonight.

Rooster takes a sip of his beer, needing something to do.

He knows you’ve been with other people. You’d lived with your ex for over a couple years, for fuck's sake. But it was like an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not talk about your sex lives with each other.

His leg starts bouncing again and he realizes he really doesn’t want to hear this. Not because of his ego, but because he doesn’t know what to do about the knot that’s formed in his stomach.

Your mouth opens and closes a couple times before you speak, “That title would also go to Rooster.” The admission is soft, but sure. 

Where his heart had been pounding before, now it feels like it had stopped completely.

It’s been 13 years since that Spring Break. 13 years and he’s still your best?

Barely five minutes ago, he hadn’t known where to look. But now? Now he couldn’t stop staring at you.

He just didn’t understand why you still wouldn’t look at him back.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟎

When you’d floated the idea by Bradley about visiting him at UVA for Spring Break during your weekly phone call, you’d been braced for the disappointment of him already having plans. It was his Senior year, it wouldn’t surprise you if he wanted to go out with a bang and make the most of it. Especially since he would belong to the Navy soon enough.

But he’d taken you by surprise when he started enthusiastically listing off all the places he wanted to show you, planning out your trip like a well-seasoned travel agent before you’d even booked a plane ticket.

You’d started looking up airfare before you’d even hung up the phone. And thirty minutes later you had a confirmation email flagged in your inbox after elatedly charging that aisle seat to the credit card you only used for emergencies.

It had been close to a year since you’d last seen him. He usually spent his Winter Break with your family, but this year he’d stayed on campus for the holidays and it was the longest the two of you had ever been apart since you’d first met him when you were 8.

And maybe that’s why it took you so long to spot him in the Arrivals area of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.

You’ve always prided yourself in being able to pick Bradley out of a crowd anywhere, but in your cursory glance you hadn’t recognized the tall, broad guy with the UVA shirt pulled taut across his chest and wearing a baseball hat backward on his head. It wasn’t until your third searching pass that you’d caught the lips that were quirked up in amusement and those familiar brown eyes trained on you as he leaned ever-so-casually against the faux wood paneling on the wall waiting for you to notice him.

He’d filled out in the months since you’d last seen him. He was more toned than you remembered him being with definition in places where there hadn’t been before. His face had more distinct angles and less baby fat cushioned curves. Still a bit boyish, but he was well on his way to looking like a man.

Bradley raised his hand like he was going to wave, but then he’d mimicked casting a fishing line in your direction and reeling it in. And it was so endearingly stupid- so him- that you couldn’t help but take the bait and made your way towards him with the biggest grin on your face.

You’d ignored the jittery flutter in your stomach as you’d weaved between people and luggage. You’ve never been nervous around your best friend before. There was something that had on your mind a lot as the days to your visit inched closer, but you’d shoved that out of your mind, because you were finally standing in front of him in person for the first time in months. 

“Hey, kid,” he’d greeted you, taking your bag, “Charlottesville must have known you were coming, because she’s going to be sunny for you all week.” As soon as you were within arm’s reach, he tugged you right into his chest for a hug. You could feel the unspoken I missed you in the way he squeezed you just that bit tighter before releasing you.

Then he was dropping an arm over your shoulders and steering you towards the exit and driving you into town in the beat-up car he’d bought after selling his prized Montero, the car that Mav had given him for his birthday.

You’re only there for a week and Bradley doesn’t waste a single moment of it.

After dropping your things off in his dorm room, he takes you straight to campus where he gives you the Official Bradley Bradshaw Certified UVA Tour. He buys you lunch from one of the food trucks in the Amphitheater “for sustenance” before taking you to see the highlights. You start with the Rotunda and then the academic village, making a special pitstop at the Whispering Wall for you to tell it a secret. And then he takes you on a more historical tour, like showing you the exact route he used to streak The Lawn and pointing out the place he’d puked after his 21st birthday.

It’s clear he’d put so much thought into your visit because it seems like there is never a down moment. By the end of the third day you’re more surprised that you don't wake up every morning with a printed itinerary on your pillow.

He sneaks you into the Slaughter Rec Center to rock climb, claiming he had a person on the inside with the right connections. But really from what you could tell, the pretty girl at the check-in counter clearly had a crush on him. He takes you to the batting cages he likes to go to before Dead Week, and spends the time there equal parts making fun of your power swing and trying to fix it.

You get your revenge the next day standing outside of the imposing columns and massive doors to the Fralin Art Museum. Skeptically eyeing the sculpture in the front of the building that kind of looked like a giant wisdom tooth, you mentioned, “I didn’t realize you’d become such a patron of the cultural arts.”

“Hey now, I like artsy shit,” he’d said, only mildly affronted.

You snorted at that. “Is there an exhibit on beer pong and blunt rolling you wanted to see?” Through the window you’d spotted some large landscape oil paintings in ornate gilded frames and carved marble busts of what you assumed were probably of some of the Founding Fathers.

“You just missed that one, it was last month,” Bradley lobbed back, opening the door for you.

“What a pity,” you’d said with a dramatic sigh, “Guess we’ll have to settle for some tasteful nudes instead.”

“If we’re lucky,” he’d muttered under his breath, as you passed under his arm.

And then you’d felt the corners of your mouth kick up.

Turning around you’d pressed your finger to his chest, whispering so the person behind the ticket desk didn’t hear you, “Twenty bucks says you don’t make it thirty minutes in there.”

He narrowed his eyes, taking in your sly grin, “You’re on, kid.”

It’s the easiest $20 you’ve ever made.

The two of you call it a truce only after he tips your kayak into the still chilly Rivanna River.

Later that night, he takes you to a party on “Mad Bowl” that one of his frat friends was hosting. The backyard was all strung up with red and green Christmas lights like they had been too lazy to take them down after the holidays and decided it added to the outdoor ambiance instead of packing them away.

He was still just as protective over you as he was back in high school. Spending the whole night keeping an eye on you and handing you drinks that he’d uncapped himself using the opener that he had on his keychain, the one that still had the little fighter jet charm you’d given him ages ago dangling from it.

The days pass all too quickly as he shows you all of his favorite spots.

You knew UVA wasn’t where he’d originally wanted to be- where he thought he’d be- but you were happy that he seemed happy here.

But in between the late-night microwave ramen and movie watching and crossing off all the things on Bradley’s Spring Break To-Do List, there’d been something you’d been wanting to talk to him about. But you were having so much fun with him, you’d missed your best friend over those long months apart, and you didn’t want to ruin the time you had left with him here.

It lingered at the back of your mind like a phantom hair that you can feel, but can’t ever seem to brush off no matter how many times you attempt to. You felt like you were waiting for the right time that you weren’t sure would ever come. And if you were being honest, you weren’t entirely sure you would even be brave enough to ask if the time came.

The two of you had woken up way before the sun this morning.

If anyone other than Bradley had asked you to wake up before 5 AM to go hike to watch the sunrise, you would have laughed at them. But because it was Bradley, you’d set the alarm without comment. Even though he did have to gently pry you out of his roommate’s bed- with the fresh sheets he told you he bought especially for your visit- and lace up your shoes for you.

The views at Humpback Rock had been worth the hour hike up to the outcrop of craggy rocks. The sunrise painted them a stunning shade of soft orange as the rays illuminated evergreen covered hills and valleys that extended in front of you to the skyline. You and Bradley watched it in silence, shoulders pressed against each other  as you took it all in.

You’re cozied up on your bed for the week, flipping through a book you’d brought with you, but hadn’t touched at all until now when Bradley comes back from the showers. His hair is still damp and the ends are starting to curl a bit.  

He drops a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the nightstand next to you.

You hadn’t been sure what rooming with him would be like, the two of you together 24/7 since his roommate had left to go home for the break.  But it felt like you were two kids at sleepaway camp getting away with mischief rather than two broke college students only pretending to get away with mischief.

He sits down at the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, “So.”

“So?” you repeat, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a sip.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been up with you?”

You wince, and it’s not because the coffee tastes like tar. 

“What do you mean?” you try to ask casually.

Bradley gives you a look that says you don’t fool me, kid. “You’ve been squirrely. I didn’t want to press it, but I can tell there’s something on your mind.” He takes a sip of his own milky battery acid. “Are classes going better since you switched majors?”

You nod, looking anywhere else other than at him.

“How are things with your Dad?”

You offer him a shrug.

He sighs your name in exasperation. You can tell he is trying to tamper his frustration at your lack of cooperation.

“Is it a guy?” Bradley tries again.

You swear you feel your heart stop, because you knew what you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know how he was going to take it.

You fiddle with a string on his roommate’s comforter. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” you admit, tentatively, “But I’m nervous.”

Bradley’s eyebrows pull together as he sets his coffee aside, “C’mon, it’s just me. You can talk to me about anything.”

“It’s more of a question.” One you’re still deflecting from asking.

“Ok, well you know you can ask me anything.” His tiny dorm room feels even smaller as the two of you try to read the other’s face.

Taking a deep breath, you ask the question that’s been rattling around in your brain for weeks.

“Bradley, I was wondering if you’d be my first?”

Less than ten words. That’s all it takes to tilt Bradley’s world off its axis.

He’s loved getting to show you around UVA this week. It wasn’t where he thought he’d end up, but he hadn’t lost sight of where he was going. He was going to be a Naval Aviator one way or another. He just also got to have a normal college experience too, one he’d been excited to share with you.

Bradley had originally been invited to go stay with one of his friends at his family’s beach house, but when you called and asked about coming to visit Charlottesville, it was an easy choice for him. He’d pick you every time.

It had been even better getting to cross off some of the things on the bucket list he’d made for his Senior Year with you in tow, like the hike he’d taken you on this morning.

He loves the views from up there and thought it would be something you’d like too, but he’d never done the hike early enough to catch the sunrise before. It was actually something he was planning on going the morning of graduation as a symbolic way to end his time at UVA, but getting to do it with you was special in its own way.

And while he’d caught you lost in thought more than a few times over the last few days as he showed you around, he never in a million years would have ever expected you to ask him that.

Bradley knows all the words you just used, but they don’t make sense to him in that order.

His brain is working in overdrive trying to figure out if there is any possible way he could have misinterpreted you.

“Your first…”

You take another deep breath and tip your chin up in resolve before looking him dead in the eye, there’s so much vulnerability reflected in them, “I haven’t had sex before, Bradley. And I’m really hoping that my first time can be with you.”

Bradley wants to tell you to put your Styrofoam cup down because he’s worried the tight grip you have on it might crush it, but he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

He didn’t realize when his leg started bouncing until he sees you glance down at it.

Shooting to his feet and off his bed, he goes to lean against his recently decluttered desk. There’s too much restless energy coursing through him to just sit like he isn’t completely reeling. 

“Shouldn’t you want to do this with someone special? Like with rose petals and all that shit?” He scrubs a hand over his face. Rose petals and all that shit? God, he sounds like such a fucking dumbass, but he’s struggling to keep up.

And if he’s being entirely honest, he’s pretty surprised to learn you’re still a virgin. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but he knows you’ve had at least one serious boyfriend since you’ve gone to college. He figured that you got asked out all the time. He saw the way that some of the guys in his buddy’s frat were looking at the pretty girl with the dimples and big smile.

The girl who just asked him to be her first.

He hates the way your shoulders have slumped forward, like you’re trying not to cave in on yourself, “So, you don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” His answer takes him by surprise.

The only other sound in the room other than his pounding heart is the whir of the air circulating in his dorm. 

“Would it help to make a pro con list?” you offer, less than helpfully with a little shrug.

“Jesus Christ,” Bradley mutters under his breath, looking up at the speckled ceiling trying to decode the flecks like tea leaves. “She’s cracking jokes like she didn’t ask me to make her come.”

“Technically, I didn’t say anything about that. I just asked you to be my first.”

“I’m not taking your virginity and not giving you an orgasm,” he states, and your eyes get wide. He runs his hands through his hair. “Sex makes things complicated, kid. We’ve got a good friendship.”

You sit up straighter on his roommate’s bed and bring your knees to your chest. It exposes the backs of your thighs and he has to shake the mental images of skin on skin out of his head.

There’s a look on your face that tells him you feel ridiculous even asking him, “Do you think you’re going to fall in love with me or something?”

“No,” Bradley says, honestly.

He knows you’re just trying to make a point.

The two of you have been friends for over a decade. He knows he cares about you- he always has- but he couldn’t imagine what anything other than just friendship would look like with you.

You nod in agreement, like you had been anticipating the answer before you’d even asked him the question.

“And do you think I’m going to fall in love with you?” you ask, your head tilting to the side.

He doesn’t even blink, “You can do better than me.”

And he means it.

Even if there was something more between the two of you, you’ve always been too good for him. And knowing him, he’d find a way to fuck it up. You’re the last person in the world he’d ever want to hurt. He’d let you down before, he doesn’t want to do it ever again.

You shoot him a disappointed look, like you don’t like hearing him say that about himself. And he’s oddly touched that you’re defending him against himself. 

“You’d literally be doing me a favor.”

Bradley is still surprised that he hasn’t ended this conversation yet. The two of you were supposed to go to the movies, but that definitely wasn’t happening now.

“I’m not saying no,” he says, “But I need you to help me understand. Why me? Why now?”

“Bradley, I want it to be with you because there’s no one else I’ll ever feel as comfortable with as I do with you,” you explain.

He watches as you unfold yourself and climb off the bed, coming to stand in front of him. You gingerly reach out and put your hand on his forearm, like you don’t want to startle him. Not that he’d be able to move anyways since it feels like the soles of his feet are cemented to the floor.

“I keep waiting for it to not feel like such a big thing, but every time it seems like it’s going to happen, I freeze. And I know you’d take care of me, and I’m not talking about orgasms.” You stumble over the word a bit, not fully meeting his eyes as you say it. “It’s scary enough as a girl and I’m worried I’m going to be too in my head with anyone else. But I also don’t want to look back and have any regrets, and I know I wouldn’t have any with you.”

The mention of regrets makes his stomach twinge. His heart feels like it’s hammering in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say.

You are looking at him with such open sincerity. He has never been good with talking about his feelings, he’s always been the type to bottle things up, while you have always worn your heart on your sleeve. It was just another way that you were braver than him.

“I know it’s a lot,” you say, letting go of him to take a step back, like you want to give him breathing room, “So if it’s too big of an ask. Or if it’s not something you’re comfortable with-”

Bradley shakes his head cutting you off, “It’s not that at all, kid. I just haven’t done this before.” Your eyebrow scrunches together in confusion. “I mean, I have,” he corrects, “But it’s not the same. All the girls I’ve been with had already had experience. And if we were going to do this, I would want to make sure it’s as nice for you as it can be.”

“So you’d be my first and I’d be yours? Well, kind of.” You give him a little smile, it’s a shy but hopeful thing. There’s only a hint of your dimples, but it’s enough. And he feels that practical part of him that had been holding back soften at the sight of it.

He doesn’t think he’s ever said no to you, excluding the times you tried to get him to give you his beer at the house parties he took you to in high school, and that was more out of self-preservation from a healthy fear of your mom than anything else.

When you wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift? He took you to the abandoned parking lot, it didn’t matter that you didn’t have your learner’s permit yet. When you wanted to learn how to throw a punch? He was making sure you knew not to tuck your thumb under your fingers, so that you didn’t break your own thumb instead of someone’s nose.

He’s always had your back and you’ve had his. That’s how it was between the two of you.

You’ve already said it, but he needs to hear it again, “You really want to do it?”

“I really want it to be you, Bradley. I really want to do this with you. I trust you the most.”

He’s always been willing to help you with anything you’ve ever asked of him, why should this be any different? What’s a couple orgasms between friends?

“Ok,” Bradley nods. If it’s to reassure you or himself, he couldn’t say. “I’ll do it. We can do it.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, like you were fully prepared for him to let you down gently, “Really?”

You didn’t ask for his why he was agreeing, but he was going to give it to you anyway.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this, but I lost mine to Samantha Prescod after the game against Centennial that got us a spot at State that year,” he waits until he sees the recognition cross your face before continuing, “But I had also just learned about my mom’s diagnosis and I was trying to find anything I could do to not think about it.” He rubs at a spot underneath his collarbone, it never got any easier talking about his mom. “I think she assumed that I’d done it before, because we didn’t really talk about it. She was there and into it, so it just sort of happened. Actually, I’m pretty sure she only slept with me because she wanted to make her ex-boyfriend jealous, because they got back together like three days later.”

It’s probably for the best that Samantha Prescod lives on the other side of the country now because you look livid. Your eyes spark with anger and disbelief on his behalf.

“It was years ago, it’s fine, kid” he shrugs, trying to brush off your concern. “But if I had a do-over, I don’t know if I’d make the same choice again. And that’s not something I’d ever want for you.” You deserve the rose petals, but he’ll do his best for you. “So we can do it, but I have one condition.”

The relief on your face and the way the tension in your shoulder releases only solidifies his decision.

“Tell me,” you say, taking a half-step towards him, “I want you to be comfortable too.”

Bradley pushes off his desk and meets you the rest of the way, “If you even think you’re feeling uncomfortable- about any of it- I need you to tell me. And we’ll stop and figure out where to go from there. If it’s a change of position, if it’s a full stop and order pizza instead, we’ll do that.” He pauses and reaches out to tip your chin up. “I’ll do whatever you need, got it?”

You throw your arms around him, and his wrap around you just as easily. Your hair smells like the travel sized shampoo he’d picked up for you, figuring you wouldn’t want to use his 2-in-1. You murmur your thank you into his shirt followed by a fuck Samantha Prescod that makes him squeeze you just a bit tighter to him in affection.

When you step back and look at him, your lips twitch upwards, “What’s with the look, Bradshaw? Don’t tell me you’re going to lie back and think of England?”

That makes him chuckle, your joke lightening the mood in only the way that you can do. He rolls his eyes in equal parts exasperation and fondness.

“God, I haven’t been this nervous since I lost my own virginity. I was so stressed I was going to blow my load in two pumps and lose my street cred.”

You snort and send him a smirk, “Well, you must have done just fine. I overheard some glowing reviews in the girl’s bathroom on more than one occasion.”

“I maybe lasted ten trusts, but I had the good sense to eat her out after,” he admits, and then tacks on for good measure, “I’ve gotten better since then.”

“What a stud,” you tease.

This is easier, this feels like the two of you. This should be fun, it shouldn’t feel serious. He can make it good for you.

You look up at him shyly from under your lashes, “So how do we do this?”

He feels like he only just wrapped his head around the idea of it, but now he was facing the very real possibility of seeing you very naked very soon.

“You want to do it now?” Bradley blinks.

“I mean, if you’re up for it.” You scrunch your nose when you realize you’ve made a terrible double entendre. “No pun intended, I promise.”  

He wipes his hands on his pants.

“You sure?” he asks again.

“I’m sure, Bradley. As long as you are too.”

He nods, “Then I guess we just…”

He’s not sure where he was going to go with that. But he’s spared from being roasted by you for making some sure to be lame birthday suit joke because you’re untying the bow on the soft lounge shorts you’d thrown on after your shower from the hike, and all the words get trapped in his throat.

You don’t look at Bradley as you slide your shorts down your legs. And you definitely don’t look at him when you pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in only a soft green mesh bra and your cotton underwear. They’re mismatched, but sex with Bradley wasn’t originally on the Spring Break To-Do List agenda for today.

In fact, you hadn’t even been sure you were going to go through with asking him until he brought up the point that he knew you had something on your mind because you apparently had no poker face.

While it felt like you had a swarm of butterflies whirling in your stomach, you also knew wholeheartedly that this was the right choice for you. Everything he had said had solidified that for you.

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to thank him for this, but you had a lifetime of friendship with Bradley to figure it out.

His room cast in the soft afternoon light, the blinds only partly closed. There are little streaks of gold that line the plaid comforter on his bed. He’d been right, Charlottesville had stayed sunny just for you.

As you climb into it and situate yourself against his pillows, you can help but notice just how much his bed smells like him. It’s not the spicy scent you associated with the High School version of him. The woodsy and warm scent embedded in the threads of his sheets suits this grown up version of him.

You feel equal parts overdressed and underdressed in your bra and underwear. You know the latter are going to come off eventually, so you make a split-second decision to just take them off yourself under his covers. The idea of Bradley helping you to pull them off later seems like it would be too intimate based on the way the thought of it makes your cheeks heat up.

It’s practical, you’re being practical, you think to yourself.

You chance a peek at him and are surprised to see that he hasn’t budged an inch. It’s almost like he is waiting for you to get completely settled before he dares to move a muscle. His eyes are trained on the pile of your clothes on the floor, he looks lost in thought.

“Bradley?”

The sound of your voice seems to kickstart him into action.

He shucks off his shirt in that kind of reckless way that seems to be ingrained in boys and then unbuttons his pants. You’re torn between feeling like you should give him privacy and wanting to watch. What you were expecting is the way he takes the time to pick his clothes up before folding them over the back of the chair at his desk.

Your mouth goes dry as you take in the sight of his body, the diffused light perfectly outlines the shape of him. His broad shoulders are rounded with the muscles he’s gained from whatever exercises the NROTC has been putting him through. Your eyes dip down to his defined chest and over the ridges of his abs. You’ve seen him in swim trunks plenty of times, but seeing the way the muscles of his thick thighs fill out the black boxer briefs he was wearing was entirely new to you.

Bradley approaches you and then pauses as he bends down to collect your pile of clothes on the floor, his hand hesitating only for a second when he reaches for your underwear. He drapes all of your things on top of his on the chair and makes his way back to you.

The gesture makes you melt a little like a soft serve ice cream cone on a summer afternoon.

You lift the corner of the cover for Bradley and he climbs in next to you. You move closer to the wall, trying to make more room for the bulk of him in his small bed, and he shifts in even closer into you until your bodies pressed tight against one another. The curves and angles of the two of you slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.

It feels like the two of you are teetering there on the edge of something. You both know exactly where it’s going, but are unsure of how to make it from Point A to Point B. Both waiting on the other person to make the first move.

He rests his warm hand on your stomach, the muscles there jumping on their own under his touch in anticipation. Your faces are close since you’re sharing his pillow. His brown eyes are searching yours, probably looking for any sign of hesitation that you don’t feel.

“Tell me how you’re feeling.” It’s not a question, but a request.

“Overwhelmed,” you admit, “But in a good way.” He runs his palm lightly up your stomach and back down, soothingly.

“Good, that’s good,” Bradley says, clearing his throat, “You’re supposed to feel a little ‘overwhelmed, but in a good way.’” You feel your lips pull up at his gentle teasing.

He smiles softly at you. His face has always been so familiar to you. The pink from his scars have finally faded, but you wonder when his eyes start crinkling around the corners.

You let go of the comforter to run a finger down the top of his nose, “I don’t know how this has stayed so straight.” He’d been in more than a couple fights in his teen years, including one that had sent him through a sliding glass door.

“Probably the combination of a little luck and the fact that none of those guys could throw a punch,” Bradley smirks. He shifts on his side, propping himself up on an elbow looking down at you, still running his hand along your stomach. “What have you done so far?”

His fingertips circle your bellybutton and your stomach swoops like it’s on the swing carousel ride at the fair.

“Some over the clothes stuff…” you stammer. You’re having trouble focusing because all your attention is on his big hand and how it feels against your oversensitive skin. “And I have a vibrator, but ah…”

You’re so keenly aware of his hand. With every lazy circle he makes, he has you wondering if this is going to be the one where he finally moves his hand lower. That part of you in flutters in expectation because you know it’s coming.

You let out a shaky huff when his fingers trails back up your stomach.

“What is it?” Bradley’s hand stops moving. “What are you thinking?”

“Honestly?” you say, trying not to squirm, “I’m getting really horny and you keep teasing me.”

He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh at your overshare, and there’s amusement in his eyes.

“You know, some people call it foreplay,” he drawls. You’d roll your eyes but his fingertips are by your bellybutton again and you want him to keep going. “You ready for more?” You nod a few times because if he doesn’t touch you soon you might just crawl out of your skin. “Ok, gonna stop ‘teasing’ you now.”

This time his hand doesn’t stop at your bellybutton, it keeps moving down, down.

You stutter over a breath when Bradley’s fingers touch your clit. You feel yourself melt a little further into his mattress. He’s making easy circles, letting you get used to someone’s fingers other than your own on the most sensitive part of you. Your hands are clutching tightly to his comforter, unsure of what else to do with them.

“Spread your legs a little wider for me,” he murmurs. You feel your face heat up. He’d just given you a direction, but it sounds almost indecent coming out of his mouth.

You shift, moving your legs apart further for him, until he secures your left between his own, opening you up even more. You know you’re wet and now he does too. Bradley’s fingers slide easily over you as he increases the pressure on your clit. You can feel the intensity of his gaze on you watching for your reaction as he figures out what you like the most.

It doesn’t take him long to learn your body. You don’t know whether to be impressed with him or embarrassed with yourself at how quickly he’s worked you up.

Your breathing feels so loud in your ears in the quiet room, every breath and sigh is amplified. There’s a certain thrill in not knowing how he’s going to touch you next, your own fingers pale in comparison now.

His warm breath coasts down the side of your neck causing you to shiver at the sensation. It makes goosebumps break out along your arms and your nipples pull taut.

He notices. Of course he notices.

“Are you cold?” His voice is low in your ear.

“No, I-” Oh god, you’re right there. “B-bradley, I’m-” You’ve made yourself orgasm plenty of times, but you’ve never shared that part of yourself with anyone else before. No one knows what you sound like or what you look like when you come. But now, Bradley was going to have the piece of you too. A whine escapes you without your permission.

“It’s ok, kid, I’ve got you.”

You’re seeking and searching, but it’s Bradley’s fingers that have the answer.

And you come with your stomach twitching and hips jerking as he murmurs praise in your ear.

His fingers slow down, featherlight on your clit, but your heart is still racing when he rasps, “There’s one, you up for another?”

Bradley loves that moment during sex when he hears that first gasp or moan. He loves learning what sounds of satisfaction he can pull from his partner. He loves knowing he earned it. But he never in his life could have ever anticipated hearing those sounds from you.

In his bed. Because of him.

He didn’t expect the lick of heat that curled up his spine at the shape of your legs and the curve of your ass as you were stepping out of your shorts. He’d never seen anything so strangely endearing as it was watching you shimmy your underwear off under the shield of his covers.

Every hitch in your breath made his blood run hotter in his veins. He was trying to control his cock, but he’d started getting hard the second you’d pulled your shirt off. Your bra was some kind of sheer thing that left nothing to the imagination, and while he wasn’t trying to check you out- because that’s not how it was between the two of you- he couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down.

You’re slippery, wet, and warm. And he knows he can make you come again.

“Do you want me to use my fingers now?”

You crack an eye open at him, it’s the first time you’ve opened your eyes since he first touched you. Your eyes are bright in that way that only comes with an orgasm. “I thought you already were.”

“Such a smartass,” he grins.

Bradley changes the unhurried circles he’d been making on your clit to the upstroke that made your hips jerk up into his hand the first time he’d tried it. The little noises you’re making have him fighting the urge to grind himself against you for some relief of his own. He’s still got your knee tucked between his own; where there had been a hint of polite space between your bodies, the way you’re writhing now has him pressed up against your hip.

You gasp, breathily, “Oh, you’re hard.” The disbelief is evident in your voice, but it’s the look in your eyes that he doesn’t know what to make of, something like surprise.

He’s been trying to be a gentleman, this is about you and not him. There might not be anything romantic happening between the two of you, but this was hot and he was more than a little turned on. And he knows you are too because he can feel how wet you are under his fingers.

“’Course I am,” Bradley says, nudging his nose against your temple, “I’ve got a pretty girl in my bed half naked.” He didn’t want you to feel like you were in this on your own, so he lightly rocks against you. He wants you to feel him, he wants you to know he is into this too. “Are you ready more?”

“I’m ready, I want more,” you confirm, wrapping your hand around his bicep.

Your breath hitches as he teases you with just the tip of his finger.

He’s been told before he has big hands and thick fingers, he’s always taken it as a compliment in the past, but now he’s scanning your face for any trace of discomfort as he sinks one into you.

Your eyebrows twitch then smooth out and your mouth drops open as he starts pumping his finger into you in a smooth rhythm.

“That feels nice,” you sigh, airily.

He knows you like it when your hips tip up just a fraction. His comforter is bunched around your waist and your nipples are peaked against the see-through fabric of your bra. He gets his thumb on your clit and you whimper as you tentatively roll your hips against his fingers.

Bradley hums his approval, “Atta girl. There you go, find what feels good for you.” His voice sounds low even to his own ears, a throaty rumble. He feels you clench around his fingers and it sets his pulse racing. It’s a piece of information he tucks away for himself.

He’s gentle on your clit, but now that he knows you’re into it he’s setting a more purposeful pace with his fingers.

You’ve got your bottom lip pinned between your teeth, like you’re trying to swallow down your sounds. He didn’t realize how much he liked hearing these new sounds from you until you started trying to muffle them. On the next slide of his finger into you, he knows exactly what he’s looking for.

You suck in a sharp breath of surprise when he finds it.

“Is that the right spot, kid?” He sounds so smug. You curse and your hand clutches at his shoulder. “You want to try a second finger?” he murmurs into your ear.

“Yes,” you rock into his hand, “Yes, please.”

“Whatever you want, Miss Manners.” His chest feels like he’s taken a shot of Fireball. “You’re so polite when you’re trying to get your way.”

“I’m always polite,” you challenged weakly, pressing your head further into his pillow.

“Mhm,” he indulges, fondly, “You’re the sweetest girl I know.”

And then he fills you with two fingers.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you gasp, offering more of yourself to him.

Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder as he lets your whimpers and whines guide his hands.

The two of you have your eyes fixed on the way the tendons of the visible part of his forearm are flexing before it disappears under the covers as he works you.

Bradley curls his fingers into that spongy part of you and your hand flies to his wrist, gripping him tight. It makes him pause, worried that he might have pushed you too far too fast.

“No, no. D-don’t stop,” you plead, desperately, “I’m so close. Keep going, please.” You squeeze his wrist encouragingly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he soothes. He focuses his efforts on that spot again now that he knows you weren’t wanting him to slow down, but rather trying to hold him in place. His fingers inside of you and his thumb on your clit working in tandem to get you there again.

“I just- yes. Like that. Oh fuck. Keep doing that. Oh my god. Please, Bradley.”

He’s heard you say his name a lot of different ways, but never like this.

Your back arches and you twist yourself towards him, burying your face against him and keening into the hollow of his throat as you come around his fingers.

You jerk and writhe into his hand, your knee slips free of his and your thighs clamp together around him. Bradley rolls off the arm he’d been leaning on and brings it to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer and holding you to him as he steadily works you through it until you’re loose-limbed in his arms.

He waits until your rapid pants have evened out before he slips his fingers from you. The displeased sound that you make makes the corners of his mouth twitch. He should have known you’d be bossy. He rubs gentle circles into the divots at the base of your neck as you come down.

Bradley can feel your lips graze the side of his neck when you finally speak, “So, um, let me know if you need a letter of recommendation or anything. I’d be happy to pass one along to your next partner.” You languidly prop yourself up on his chest and he notes with pride that you look a little flushed. “But, seriously, I get it now.”

He huffs a laugh as he toys with the end of your hair, “I’m glad it lived up to the hype. Well, at least that part of it.”

You press your lips together like you’re deciding something, tracing idle shapes on his stomach, and he can’t decide if he thinks you’re doing it without realizing it or if you’re the one doing the teasing this time. Your eyes flick down to his visibly hard cock and he feels his face heat up, “Can I?”

“Do you want to?” Bradley wants this experience to be everything you need and want it to be, but something about the tables turning here and the idea of you being the one to touch him like that makes his heart pound.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you softly tell him, resting your chin on your shoulder. The tender way you’re looking at him makes his teeth ache.

“Ok, but only for a little bit,” he agrees. Bradley knows he’s walking a tightrope with this, he’s aching and more than ready to be touched, but he doesn’t want to come all over your hand.

He plants his feet into his mattress and lifts his hips enough to pull off his boxer briefs, sighing in relief as his cock bobs free.

“That can’t be average,” you mutter under your breath.

He doesn’t know if you meant to have said it out loud but he smirks all the same, “I’ve never been average a day in my life, kid, Grade A student here.”

A groan slips out of him as your tentative fingers grasp his cock. There’s a lack of finesse in the way you touch him, your hand isn’t nearly as well-practiced as his own. He wraps his hand over yours, guiding your strokes as he shows you just what he likes.

“You can grip it a little firmer,” he coaches. You nod studiously, like you’re going to be tested on it later. Together the two of you work him from root to tip.

Bradley had never given much thought to his size until now. He knew he was big, but seeing that your thumb couldn’t reach the tips of your fingers when your hand was curved around him was an ego boost he didn’t know he needed.

You get more confident with every glide up and down the length of him. Your tricky thumb sweeps over the tip, collecting what precum had gathered there, and it makes your hand slide easier over him. When he accidentally thrusts into your hand, you grin and there are those dimples again.

“Ok, ok,” he blows out a shaky breath, stilling your hand with his. “We gotta stop or I’m going to come. And I’m not about to be a one pump chump.”

“It sounded like you’re more of a ten pump chump, if I remember correctly,” you tease, looking all too pleased with yourself. “Don’t worry, Bradshaw, your street cred is safe with me.”

He shakes his head in amused disbelief, “You’re such a goddamn menace. I knew I shouldn’t have told you that part.” He surprises the both of you when he wraps an arm around you and rolls to pin you under him.

And it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room because your thighs are cradling his hips and his cock is resting heavy on your stomach.

Neither one of you dare to move. He’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right now, he feels out of his depth as he watches you watching him.

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, “Are you on-”

You nod before he even finishes the question.

“Do you have-”

He nods before you finish yours.

“What did you promise me?” he prompts, squeezing the dip of your waist.

You hold up your pinky to him, “I’ll tell you.” He wraps his own crooked one around yours and gives it a shake.

Bradley doesn’t know what comes over him, but he drops a kiss to your shoulder as he reaches over you into the drawer of his nightstand to fish out what he needs. He’s thankful when you don’t comment on it because he wouldn’t even know how to explain it.

He leans back on his knees and rolls the condom on with practiced ease, then flicks open the cap to the bottle of lube he’s also grabbed and drizzles it over his cock.

“Am I not…” you trail off. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound this shy with him before.

“You’re plenty wet,” he assures you, pumping himself- once, twice- just enough to coat himself, “But this’ll be good too. I think you’ll like it.”

Bradley settles back over you, one arm braced by your head and the other on your hip, as your hands come up to rest lightly on either side of his ribcage. He rocks against you to demonstrate; the head of his cock nudges your clit with each silky pass. You exhale heavily at the sensation as he eases you into the motion of it, as he shows you what it’s like with another person.

You’re holding him close, and in just a moment the two of you will be the closest two people can be.

He makes only enough room to reach down between your bodies, only looks away from your face long enough to line himself up with you. There is such trust in your eyes as you gaze up at him, it’s not something Bradley takes for granted.

You nod, your fingers stroking his sides.

God, does he want this to be good for you.

He takes a breath.

And then he’s shifting forward and pressing in.

Bradley thrusts into you with all the careful gentleness you’d expect from him.

His thumb skimming along your forehead as he pushes in, in, in.

When he found that spot inside of you with his fingers, you thought you were going to fly away from the intensity of it, but then he’d pulled you into the safety of his arms and you felt like you could fall apart because he’d be keeping the pieces of you together.

He’s been so good to you. He is so good to you. He’s the best person you know.

The more of him he gives you, the less you feel like you can catch your breath.

You feel hot, hot all over. And much fuller than you’ve ever been.

Some sound must make its way out of you because Bradley offers you a low soothing noise before you feel his lightly chapped lips against your temple.

There’s something about this that reminds you of the time he tried to teach you how to skateboard. Always waited until you told him you were ready, until you found your balance. He’d held your hand as you cautiously rolled along the sidewalk, you were less worried about falling with him by your side. Only this time, his hand is on your waist and the only movements are his hips against yours as he rocks into you.

Little by little. Inch by inch.

You clutch at his biceps at the slight stinging sensation and you feel him hesitate.

“It’s just a lot,” you whisper. His fingers flex on your waist.

“You’re doing so good, just a bit more,” Bradley murmurs, encouragingly.

There’s pressure, there’s a give, and then there’s relief when his hips finally, finally meet yours.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath.

Your eyes had flickered shut somewhere along the way. You open them to see that Bradley’s face and chest are flushed pink, the muscle of his jaw flexing. The furrow between his eyebrows is so deep that you release your grip on him to smooth out the lines with an unsteady fingertip.

He reads the question in your eyes.

“You’re just really tight,” he grits out, voice strained.

You assumed that was a good thing, but he’s holding himself so tense above you that now you’re not sure. “Do I-,” you fumble over the words, “Does this feel good for you?”

He huffs an incredulous laugh, and brushes back some hair from off your face, “You feel really fucking good, sweet-”

Your whimper cuts him off when he pulls out a fraction and then pushes back in.

His brown eyes take you in as he does it again, more this time. Pulling out just a bit- just enough- and then filling you again. The discomfort fading more with each thrust as he guides his hips to yours until yours are tilting up to meet his seeking more.

It’s a conversation between your bodies, the give and the take of it all as Bradley introduces you to this new unspoken language. You feel yourself flutter around his cock, stretched wider than you’ve ever been.

You feel that heat spreading underneath your skin again as he surely and steadily pumps into you. It feels like your nerves are on fire. You didn’t expect to even come once and you’re well on your way to a third.

He reaches down and hooks your leg over his hip. His hand slides up along the outside of your thigh and under your ass, tilting your hips up towards his even more. He’s so much deeper like this. Your hands slide into his hair, tugging at his curls.

“Bradley, I-I think… I feel-”

 “You’re gonna come,” he rasps, nodding at you. Encouraging, coaxing.

He grinds his pelvis against your clit with every deliciously slow roll into you.

Your mouth drops open at the feel of it, it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined. You don’t think your faces have ever been closer than they are now. Bradley is breathing your air, and you’re breathing his. Bradley’s pupils are blown wide, his heavy-lidded eyes are locked on yours. You didn’t know there could be so many shades of brown. His curls are a mess and it’s all because of you. He licks his lips and your breath catches in your throat when his eyes dart down to your parted mouth.

His next thrust into you hits that spot inside of you just so right that it has you gasping.

It’s so good, it’s too good, it’s overwhelming.

You wrap your arms around his neck clinging to him, your face buried against him. Bradley drops his head to your shoulder, you feel his lips brush against your clavicle. Your head moves away on instinct, making more room for him if he wants to do it again.

You get lost in the feeling of his cock hitting you in all the places you’ve heard about and read about, but have never felt for yourself until now. He’s still got your ass gripped in his hand, whereas your hands can’t stay in one spot. They’re tangled in his hair, running over his shoulders and down his abs, gliding over his back aided by the sheen of sweat he’s worked up.

You’re not trying to hold yourself back, but it feels like you’re standing on the tallest diving board at the pool, your toes curled around the edge, but still too nervous about the drop to jump.

“C’mon, kid. You’re right there,” he breathes hard, “I need you to come for me. Just one more.”

He gets his fingers back on your clit and it’s the end of you. Your back is arching so much you think you might snap. Your toes curl so tights they may never unfurl. The force your orgasm overtakes you, demanding everything you have up to offer and then some.

You hear Bradley’s moan as you pulse around his cock, trembling under him as the waves of pleasure wash over you. His hips stutter against yours, finally losing that steady rhythm he’d set, you pull him tighter to you and it’s not long until he comes too.

It’s all white noise. All you can feel is your heartbeat pounding, until little pieces of the world come back into focus.

The hum of the fan.

The beam of warm afternoon light through the blinds.

The smell of the now cold coffee on his nightstand.

In the after, you’re all too aware of every place your body is touching Bradley’s.

He’d somehow managed to roll on his back and had taken you with him. He was literally just inside of you, but yet it feels like your leg draped over his thigh is somehow more intimate. A prickly self-conscious feeling settles over you. Unsure of what the rules were for friends who just had sex, you attempt to peel yourself off of him, but the heavy arm over your waist keeps you in place.

“Come back here, kid,” Bradley mumbles, his eyes still closed, “I need to cuddle after I come, so I’m gonna need you to indulge me here for a moment.” He strokes a soothing hand down your back. And while he says it’s for him, you know he’s still trying to take care of you.

He hums when you lay back down. You set a hand on his chest. He reaches for it with his free one and threads your fingers together. It makes you melt further into him.

You feel a little different. But mostly, you feel like a weight you didn’t know you’d been carrying had been lifted off of you.

Your first time was everything you hoped it would be. You were safe and cared for, and you already knew, you’d never have any regrets about it. And it was all because of him.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you say, softly.

“Anything for you, kid.”

Your early morning catches up with you as you lay there, warm and secure. Your eyelids get heavier with each pass of Bradley’s hand along your spine. And you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.

You’re still you. And Bradley is still Bradley.

It was just… something between friends.

A few hours later the two of you are still in his bed.

Only now you’re clothed and swapping the cartons of Chinese food that he’d ordered while you’d napped against his chest, and fighting over the fortune cookies watching some reruns of old sitcoms. You couldn’t hear their laugh tracks over your own.

The last couple of days you had at UVA fly by just as quickly.

You don’t know how, but the two of you managed to cross of all the things on his Spring Break To-Do List. And before you knew it you were back at the airport.

Bradley had insisted on walking you in, wanting to see you off.

Neither one of you has ever been good with goodbyes. So you don’t give him one, instead you reach for your bag and tell him, “Ok, see you in June.”

Bradley doesn’t let go, clearly confused, “What the hell are you talking about?”

You grin because it feels like a checkmate.

“You didn’t think you’d be getting that diploma all by yourself, did you?”

He looks thunderstruck.

You and your mom already had the plane tickets and hotel room booked. Your stepdad wouldn’t be able to come, but he was planning on sending your mom with one of the cakes from his family’s bakery. You’d been tasked with finding out what flavor, carrot cake or peanut butter- Bradley’s two favorites- but you could iron out the details with him later.

You’d had a busy week, plus it was more fun this way.

Bradley tugs you into his arms, yours wrap around him just as easily as they always have.

“June?” he asks into the crown of your head.

“June,” you promise.

And when he lets you go- for real this time- it’s with a smile that takes up his whole face.

He doesn’t say goodbye either, “Be good, kid. See you in June.”

𝐍𝐎𝐖

You avoid Rooster for the rest of the night.

And Jake too, for that matter. Bless Javy for finding ways to distract him because you could tell than man was chomping at the bit for more details. But you’d already given him more than enough.

You could have lied, you probably should have lied. It might have been easier than feeling like you’d hung up part of yourself on the drying line for everyone to see. But in that moment, the thought of lying and saying anyone else’s name other than Rooster’s had made your stomach turn.

Because it was the truth, he was your first, but he was also your best.

When you come out of the bathroom, there’s no missing Rooster. He’s leaning against the wall by the entrance. It takes him a moment to notice you since he looks lost in thought, but when he does you feel pinned to the wall by the intense look in his eyes.

He stands to his full height as you approach, you know he wants to talk about it.

You shake your head at him, “We don’t need to do this.”

“No, kid, we really do.” He takes you by the arm and leads you to a quieter spot away from everyone else.

“It was just a game,” you start before he can, “And now I know more about everyone’s sex life than I ever wanted to.” He crosses his arms over his chest at your attempt at deflection. “Look, I’m really sorry if that was something you wanted to keep a secret or just between us. I should have asked you first if that was ok to share.”

“I don’t care about that.” Rooster waves you off and takes a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. “All this time and I’m the best you’ve ever had?”

“Are we really doing this? Here and now?”

You peer around him to look and see if anyone is watching the two of you, it feels like a showdown. But all the Daggers are occupied, probably on purpose. You’ve never seen Mickey with such a serious look of concentration on his face.

“Here and now,” he confirms.

You feel flustered, “Rooster, it’s been 12 years and we haven’t talked about it once-”

“Bradley,” he cuts you off. He takes another step towards you, so you’re toe to toe with him. “I’ve always been Bradley to you.”

The tension that had crept up in your shoulders releases a bit.

“Bradley,” you say, softly. “Listen, I’ve had a lot of good sex since then. Great sex even.” He presses his lips together and nods. “And with other men, if I felt like they weren’t putting in their best effort I’d kick them out because the bar was set very high early on.”

You see him fight back a smirk.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, with pride.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, you know he hears it because his eyes take on a richer shade of brown. You both feel the shift, tension churning between the two of you.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “But I was telling the truth when I said you were my best. Probably because of the way you made sure I knew that you cared. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different with you.”

You feel his finger graze the back of your hand.

The sounds of the Hard Deck fade into the background as you stare at each other. Entire conversations are being had as you look into his eyes and he looks into yours. Words and sentences spoken with glances.

Just friends don’t look at each other like this.

“It’s never been like this,” you whisper, “We’ve never been like this before.” You gesture at how close he is to you.

How he’s almost got you backed up against a wall.

How he’s looking at you like you’re his.

“I know.”

He says your name and your heart somersaults in your chest.

“I want to see your tattoo. I keep finding myself looking for it when we’re all at the beach. And then I get annoyed, knowing that people have seen it and I haven’t.”

“My tattoo? Bradley, what-”

“I want to see your tattoo,” he repeats like it’s a fact. “And I want to punch Seresin in his smug face every time he flirts with you.”

You roll your eyes, “Jake doesn’t flirt with me, not really. He just likes riling you up.”

“What if I said I wanted to try this as more than friends.” Bradley settles a large hand on your hip. “What if I said that since you’ve moved here I’ve had a hard time keeping my head on straight.”

“Bradley.” His name falls out of your mouth so easily now that it can.

“I want to take you home with me. I want to kiss you. I want to make you come. I need to know if you sound the same in my bed. And then I want to take you out for breakfast and buy whatever fancy coffee you want and as many pancakes as you can eat.”

You’ve been told that you wear your heart on your sleeve, but he has always worn his on his face. There’s no mistaking the open want on his face.

“Bradley, it’ll be different this time.” For so many reasons.

Because it’s not a favor being asked. It’s not some new experience being tried with the person you trust the most, with everything. You’d be on equal footing. It wouldn’t be a friend helping a friend, the two of you would be crossing that line between friends and more because you want each other in that way.

“I want it to be different, sweet girl,” he says, cupping your face in his familiar hand, “I’m ready for it to be different, if you are.”

He looks from your eyes down to your parted lips.

“We didn’t do that last time,” you whisper. Feeling brave, you reach out and run your fingers along the buttons of his shirt.

“No, we didn’t,” he agrees. His eyes are trained on his thumb as he skims it under your lip. “And that’s a damn shame.”

Bradley’s face is all you can see. Warm eyes, a still-straight nose, and a soft smile that is for you and you alone.

He dips down and your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping up on its own in anticipation.

His lips brush your cheek. It’s not enough.

You tug on his collar, but he chuckles and kisses your cheek again, lingering longer this time.

“I’m not kissing you for the first time around the corner from a bathroom,” he rasps.

You open your eyes and see the amusement in his. He always did like teasing you.

“Oh, where do you plan on doing it then?”

“Outside your front door, like a gentleman,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You can’t help but grin because Bradley Bradshaw can’t wait the extra 10 minutes it would take to drive to his place instead of yours. He wants that kiss just as badly as you do. You watch as a matching smile to yours blooms across his face.

It feels normal to slide your fingers between his much larger ones. It feels right as you lead the way out of the Hard Deck with him only a step behind you.

As it turns out, he only makes it as far as the Bronco before he’s spinning you back towards him and pressing you against it. His hands are on your hips and yours are wrapped around his neck as he kisses you for the very first time.

Bradley kisses you like a man who knows what he wants. And what he wants is you.

It’s not tentative in the way that first kisses usually are.

He kisses you like he knows you.

Because he does.

Later, when he closes the door to the Bronco for you, it feels like the end of one thing. But as he slips his fingers into yours when he backs out of the parking space it feels like the beginning of something new.

That night tangled in Bradley’s sheets- he’d kissed you at every light which made those extra 10 minutes it took to get to his home worth it- he makes your back arch and your toes curl as he makes you come with his fingers and mouth and tongue and cock. His lips dropping kiss after kiss on every part of you that he can reach. Because he can, because you want him and he wants you. 

The way he touches you tells you that he remembers it all.

He was you first, but what you wouldn’t learn until later, is that he would also be your last.

And he’d be the only man to ever have your entire heart.

Happy Birthday Jordan! An AU just for you! 💖 I adore you and I hope this year is the best one yet!

A big thank you to @callsignspark and @ofstoriesandstardust for their help and beta reading and their woogirling! I appreciate you two so much!

Author's Note: this was a "what-if" AU set in the 'Like I Can' universe! If you want to read about what really happens you can read it here!

You can read more of my stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[programmedradly]

As someone who volunteers for a website whose userbase has had their fair share of meltdowns over design changes big and small over the years, I find all the hate directed @ staff incredibly upsetting to see.

I don't mean the "I hate the new layout" posts, you can hate the new layout (I use the iOS app pretty much exclusively, which works fine for me), but I just saw a post on my dash that had four copies of an image with the words "I WILL KILL YOU" in it, and called @ staff "YOU STUPID BASTARDS", and apparently people think this is okay? It had 11k notes?

This is literally a free website you're using, for free, to upload and look at tons of media, which costs money, and there are real people trying to keep it alive somehow, who aren't actually out to get you? From all I've seen, they're listening to feedback, and trying to balance the quirky fun side of Tumblr with the cold hard reality of needing to make money. They're also real human beings, Jesus fucking Christ.

Begging you all to take a deep breath before pinging @ staff in your all-caps rants, and then not. Also please don't send death threats or yell at support; the people directly dealing with users are usually not responsible for design changes.

[mj0702]

The other Bronze – Pt.8

Okay... this is the last Barça part for now (hold your pitchforks - we will get back to Barcelona in the future)

I feel different about this chapter since there's less chaos and more feels but I still hope you like it❤️

I can't put into words how much I appreciate all your support especially @samkerrworshipper and @valewosomtb but also all you anons like my lunatic and gold star ❤️❤️ now go and enjoy 11k of Bronzeness

As soon as Keira and you entered her flat she retreated to the kitchen letting you standing in the hallway

“You need help Kei?” you asked knowing full well she'll decline since you got banned from kitchen duty after you nearly cut off your hand when you wanted to help her and Lucy one night (back in the day back in england) and the night ended in hospital

“You already know the answer to that, Bitsy... go shower...” you heard her yelling back as you heard pots clatter

“I showered at the Beach... with the sexy spaniard” you said now moved to stand in the kitchen entrance

“And then you went to have your little outbreak in the Sea... believe me... you'll want to shower or you'll wake up in the middle of the night itching and scratching your skin off... and I swear to god if you wake me up at 2AM because you decide it would be a good time to shower I'll have your head” the blonde englishwoman answered measuring some stuff for your requested Shepherds pie

“But I don't have my shower stuff here and yours is so... flowery” you whined

“Your choice Bitsy... but I really will have your head if you wake me up in the middle of the night...” Keira looked at you raising an eyebrow in challenge

“Ugh” you huffed pushing yourself of the doorframe as you dragged yourself towards her bathroom

“Good choice” you heard the blonde yelling after you and you could hear the smirk in her voice

“Good choice” you imitated her under your breath “I'm gonna smell like a fucking field of poppies”

After 20 Minutes you cracked opened the door of the bathroom a little bit to yell for Keira

“Keira???!!!” you yelled loudly so she would hear you in the kitchen

“What?” she yelled back and you could hear a nuance of annoyance in her voice

“I forgot clothes” you yelled as Keira stayed in the kitchen and you didn't want to leave the bathroom in your (her) towel

“Ugh kid... I still don't know how you survive without me constantly around” she said as she came out of the kitchen walking down the hall to get you some clothes

“I have a good system of supporting people around me... I refer to them as my cult” you said as she passed you “they make sure I don't die – they're too scared of you”

“I bet... let me guess... Mary, Millie, Rachel, Tooney and Russo?” Keira rolled her eyes knowing you have basically all her lionesses teammates wrapped around your pinkie and if you just look at them with HALF a puppy eye they all scramble to grant you every wish

“And Hempo and Meado and Scotto and Viv and Daan and Greensie and ChloChlo and Leila and Guerrero and Stina and Lia and Kimmi and...” you counted on your fingers smirking as Keira made her way back to you some shorts and a shirt in her hand

“God... you really always get whatever you want” she rolled her eyes but a smile tugged on her lips

“Not everything... otherwise you'd be a Bronze” you shrugged your shoulders as you took the pieces of clothing out of her hand and shut the door

“Don't do that Bitsy...” Keira sighed against the door “... it's not your fault”

“But it feels like it” you answered from inside the bathroom fighting with your balance as you tried to get into the shorts but struggled since you suddenly were overcome with a wave of dizziness

“It's not... stop telling yourself that... it just happened Bitsy...” Keira answered softly as she heard a crashing sound from the inside “You okay Bits?” she asked a little concerned

“All good” you said quickly picking yourself up from inside the shower you fell backwards into “Got stuck on the shorts”

“Dear jesus chirst kid.... I swear you're so clumsy at this point it's more luck than sanity that you're still alive...” the blonde huffed out

You tried to stand up again only to find the room spinning again so you decided to do something you hated doing

“Kei help please....” you said your voice low

Keira knew that when you actually asked for help it was a serious matter so she quickly pushed the door open to find you sitting in the shower back against the tiles

“What's wrong Bits?” she asked concerned crouching down in front of you

“Room's spinning” you mumbled

“You have a headache too?” the blonde asked already knowing what's wrong with you

“Little bit...” you answered honestly

“You have a sunstroke Bits...” Keira smiled lightly “Not used to the spanish sun...”

“Is not fun” you mumbled trying to contain the nausea

“Come on Bits...” the blonde huffed pulling you up into a standing position but keeping a good hold of you “... you gonna lay down on the couch and rest okay...” she said before leading you back into the livening room minus the shorts so you were just in your boxers and a sports bra

“My shorts” you whined

“First... these are MY shorts and secondly... you don't need shorts.. it's just me” Keira said softly before deposing you on the couch “Gonna bring you some water okay”

“Kei...” you whined “... I'm not feeling good”

“I know Bitsy... I know” the blonde sighed before getting you the promised water

“Why am I feeling sick?” you whined turning onto your side

“Sunstroke Bitsy... drink some water... it'll help I promise” Keira said lovingly as she stroke softly through your hair

You carefully took small sips of water as Keira decided to sit down by your head her hand never leaving your face. Softly stroking through your hair, over your forehead or caressing your cheek smiling softly as you continue to whine about how bad you felt

“Take a nap Bitsy.... that'll help too” the blonde englishwoman spoke lowly as she saw your eyes dropping

“You not mad anymore?” you asked half asleep

“I was never mad Bitsy... I was scared” Keira said softly “You mean the world to me, Bitsy and alone the thought of loosing you without being able to do anything scared me – really scared me”

“You mean the world to me too Kei... you're always there” you sighed as Keira started to lightly scratch your scalp

“I've seen you grow up Bits... you fought so many battles and still grew into an amazing person I can't nor do I want to imagen a world without you in it... you have so much more to explore and offer and seeing you out there... without anyone responsible near it squeezed all air out of my lungs Bits... you really can't do things like that” you heard the crack in her voice at the end and force your eyes open again.

Even with your blurred eyesight you could make out Keiras tears

“Kei...” you said lowly waiting for her to look at you “... nothing's gonna happen to me... the stupid always have the luck on their side... so I'm safe... won't leave you Kei... you're my sister too you know... and most of the time you're the better sister.. I love Luce really love her – but I love you just as much because I know you're always there for me... I promise I won't leave you Kei...”

“You can't promise something like this Bitsy... because if you ever break this promise I'm gonna break... not only are you like a sister to me, you are basically my child...” Keira said her voice heavy

“I never broke a promise with you” you said your voice insisted looking her straight in the eye “I never did and I never will...”

“I need you to PROMISE me to start thinking before you do things Bits...” the blonde said and you knew you would never EVER break that promise

“I promise...” you just answered and Keira could hear the honesty in your voice “But you need to promise to never leave me”

“I promise Bitsy... wherever I end up either in my career or afterwards... I'll be always there for you” Keira said softly

“Good... because let's be honest if I have to live of Luces cooking I'm gonna be gone pretty quickly because of food poisoning” you said as a matter of fact

“She got better... she doesn't burn the pasta anymore...” Keira smiled through her tears

“Kei... she was meant to BOIL the pasta... she's the only person I know who burns pasta in cooking water!!!! And she stuffed fish-fingers in a toaster and nearly burned our flat down!!” you exclaimed bewildered

“I know... she had some... questionable ideas” Keira tried to find the right words

“She has shit ideas when it comes to cooking,... I mean who thinks it's a good idea to serve RAW fish” you exclaimed loudly

“To her defence... sushi is raw fish” the blonde said

“WHEN IT'S FRESH IT IS.... this... thing was probably a week old... and on top of that she KNOWS I hate fish” you couldn't contain your outburst

“Fish is good...” Keira smiled knowing just how much you despise it

“Nope... nuh-uh.... it's disgusting... it normally looks at you when served...” you shook your head which reminded you immediately of your nausea again “Uh... wrong move” you mumbled

“Oh Bitsy...” the blonde sighed putting her hand against your forehead “You're burning up... I'll get you some paracetamol and then you'll have a nap... if you feel up to it later we can eat a little bit and then off to bed you scramble”

“Ugh please no paracetamol” you whined

“Ah yeah... I always forget that you always get sick from paracetamol... Aspirin it is then...” the blonde said pitiful as she softly stroke over your forehead experienced first hand before how bad a sunstroke feels

“Can I call G?” you whined miserable

“Of course Bitsy... why are you asking?” Keira asked confused

“Didn't know if you'd be a fan of me calling her... Lucy is not a fan” you mumbled your eyes already dropping again

“Lucy is very much a fan... but more and foremost she's your sister... she swore to protect you Bitsy” the blonde chuckled getting her phone from the side table dialling Georgias number

“Hey best friend... what gives me the unwanted pleasure of you calling me?” Georgias happy voice came out of the speaker and you could hear the smile in her voice

“You really milking that best friend card since Leah is out” Keira deadpanned but couldn't help but smile too

“I mean... I take what I can get...” the younger blonde said grinning “But seriously... what can I help you with”

“Not me.... but you could help your girlfriend out” Keira chuckled

“Ehrm... while you're there?” Georgia asked unsure and you could just picture how her cheeks flush and she rubbed the back of her neck

“Dear jesus... not like that” Kei exclaimed “What is wrong with you??”

“I haven't seen her in WEEKS, Kei... WEEKS...” the younger blonde insistent

“I don't CARE” Keira said back just as insistent

“G” you whispered exhausted

“Hey baby” immediately your girlfriends voice changed into a soft caring low tone

Keira left to finally get the shepherds pie into the oven but still was listening to your conversation with one and a half ear

“Not feeling good” you whispered

“What happened baby...” Georgia asked softly

“Parrently M not used to sun” you mumbled

“You're english... of course we're not used to sun...” your girlfriend chuckled lightly “... what you need from me baby?”

“Just talk... M sleepy” you mumbled your speaking slurred with sleep

“Usual topics?” Georgia double checked softly

“Mhm” you mumbled confirming

“Okay... sooooo... I kinda overslept this morning... but just like... 20 Minutes – still made it to training in time but I couldn't stop at that little bakery.. you know the one on the corner with the colourful dotty thingies on the windows... but I'll make sure to stop there tomorrow again...” Georgia began to lowly tell you about her day with all the little details as you slipped into a peaceful slumber

As your girlfriend heard your even breathing she stopped talking for a second before asking

“Keira?”

“Yes?” the blonde answered

“She asleep?” Georgia asked already knowing the answer

“What do you really want to ask, G? What's on your mind?” Keira chuckled

“How mad is Lucy?” your girlfriend mumbled concerned

“Lucy isn't mad... she's protective... I can promise you deep down inside she's relieved it's you... you're a good person, G and Luce knows that... and I'm happy it's you – because let's be real for a second... any girl Bitsy would have brought home would run for the hills after a “talk” from Lucy Bronze – you can handle that just fine. So Lucy isn't mad... but you're dating her baby sister... she swore to protect her no matter what since the moment she found out y/n will be a girl... and she waited 16 years to give someone “The Talk”... so she'll act all overprotective and threatening and what not but in secret she's happy for the two of you... just let her waltz over you with her “If you're hurting her”-talk and smile politely” Keira said knowing G needs some reassurance right now “Just... don't kiss her in front of Lucy right away... baby sister and all that”

“No kissing got it” G repeated nodding her head – even if no one could see it

“I didn't said no kissing... I said no kissing in front of Luce” the blonde corrected her younger friend

“Isn't that the same thing?” Georgia asked confused

“Gosh G... get creative... didn't YOU tell me about 30 minutes ago you haven't seen your girl for weeks” Keira huffed out as she left the living room with her phone to check on the shepherds pie

“I mean... yeah... but that would involve a lot more than kissing” G answered and Keira could hear her embarrassment

“I love you G, I really do... but I won't cover for you or get Lucy of your backs.... just saying” the blonde said as she pulled dinner out of the oven

“Can we not... talk about that... maybe?” your girlfriend asked even more embarrassed

“We're grown ups, G... we can talk about sex” Keira rolled her eyes before speaking to herself “Do I wake you up Bitsy or not?”

“Why do you want to wake her up? I literally just put her to sleep” Georgia ignored the first part and just jumped on the you-waggon

“She should eat... but as you said... she just fell asleep...” Keira mumbled looking over to your sleeping form

“Wake her... I still got time so I can bore her to sleep again” G said happily

“How often do you talk anyway?” Keira asked finding it quiet endearing how your relationship blossomed and she was very grateful that she was one of the first (if not the first) to witness it

“You mean like now? Or texting?” your girlfriend asked

��Like now.... you immediately knew what she needed – it's cute” the blonde grinned

“Every Day... even when I have games we make time... if it's just five minutes” Georgia said and Keira could hear how important it was for the younger girl

“Didn't peck you as a routine girl, G” Keira teased her friend

“It's important to her....” your girlfriend answered and her voice showed nothing but love for you.

“God G... you sound like your neck deep in love” the blonde chuckled but was met with silence from the other end

“G??” Keira asked kinda bewildered

“Yeah... still there” the younger one mumbled ashamed

“Talk to me G” the blonde encouraged her

“I know it sounds stupid but... god Kei I do love her... I know we haven't dated for long but... I can see her as my forever... I know it's early to say something like that but it feels so different with her... good different...” Georgia tried to put her feelings into word

“Calm down G... it's okay.. it's just me... honestly... I can see it too – you shouldn't say anything like that to Luce tho... at least not for the next... 10.... no... 25 years” Keira said softly and tried to lighten the mood a little bit

“It just... it scares me a little bit I never felt like this about anyone” Georgia explained

“G... if you know, you know... and it's okay to get scared or overwhelmed... but you need to talk to someone – ideally with y/n but you can always talk to me too... keep communicating” the blonde said trying to calm her friend down

“I just never felt like this... like... she's my air you know... god I sound so cheesy... but when I look at her nothing else matters... when she smiles it's like getting hit with a truck and Kei.... when she laughs... it's the most beautiful sound in the world” your girlfriend said and Keira could just HEAR the love

“Tell her G... tell her that every day... because even if they always act so tough... both of them Bronzes need to hear things like that” Keira said softly

“How do you know?” Georgia asked confused

“And she's back” the blonde rolled her eyes “Why do all of you always forget that I dated a Bronze.... for YEARS”

“Ah yeah... you dated the other Bronze” your girlfriend laughed

“Technically I dated the one Bronze... you date the other Bronze” Keira said

Suddenly there was a crashing sound from the living room followed by a whined “Keira” and Keira groaned

“She fell of the couch again?” Georgia asked knowingly

“Yep.... catch you later G... I have to go aid your girlfriend” the blonde huffed

“Tell her I love her, yeah” your girlfriend said hopefully

“Will do... see you in a few days in Camp G... and G” Keira said

“Yeah?”

“You're good for her... Lucy will see this too... so don't let Luce push you around... stand up for your relationship” the blonde said and her voice had a loving tone

“Thanks Kei... I mean it” your girlfriend answered honesty

“KEIRAAAAA” you whined from the floor of the living room

“COMING... jesus...” the blonde yelled back “See you in a few day G...” she said before ending the call

“What happened there Bitsy, hm?” the blonde asked you as she knelt down beside you

“Fell off” you mumbled

“I see that” Keira chuckled “You want to go back to sleep or eat a little bit”

“Shepherds pie?” you asked your eyes shining hopefully

“Waiting in the Kitchen” the blonde smiled as she pulled you up by your good wrist “After that you go straight to bed, do you hear me?”

“Yeah mom” you mumbled and Keira noticed you're definitely still asleep

Keira basically had to feed you since you nearly face planted into your plate several times before she dragged you back to her guestroom. As usual you didn't want to sleep alone so you just started to whine until the blonde gave in once again leading you towards her bedroom. You were dead asleep the second your head hit the pillow so Keira just threw a blanket over you and went back to the living room after she cleaned the kitchen and started packing for her (hopefully) call-up to national camp. Just as Kei was halfway through her packing her phone rang and Lucys name showed up on the display

“What can I do for you ex?” she grinned into the phone as she locked her phone in between her ear and shoulder to have her hands free

“Hello to you too other mother of my princess... Bubs around?” Lucy shot back but Keira knew she wasn't serious

“OUR princess, ex...” the blonde corrected grinning “Nope... your sister is dead to the world in my bed”

“I KNEW there was something going on... G is just a cover, innit?” Lucy exclaimed and faked being shocked

“Oh no... you figured us out” Keira answered monotonous and pausing for a second before starting to chuckle “What you need from her? Not that I could get her up anyway but I'm sure she'll be up at some point in the night”

“I actually need YOU” Lucy mused and Keira heard the slight begging undertone

“Oh my Luce... I thought we were past the sex with the ex act... does Ona know what you're proposing right now?” the blonde just couldn't give up such an opportunity to tease her ex girlfriend

“Oh my god... no... not for that... that front is very well covered thank you very much...” your sister stuttered shocked which caused Keira to start laughing “I need you to bring y/n with you to training tomorrow...”

“That's a given” Keira rolled her eyes “You think I'm gonna leave her out of my sight after the stunt she pulled today?”

“... as fast asleep as possible” Lucy finished her sentences ignoring Keiras interruption

“She definitely outgrown the dino-harness...” the blonde said knowing exactly what Lucy was planning

“I... modified it?” your sister said slowly

“Modified it?” Keira asked confused

“The buckle just works like I belt... so I strapped a belt into the buckle so it would fit...” Lucy said reluctantly

“She will throw a whole ass tantrum you know that right... and you want me to get involved as well” the blonde said warningly

“I know... but come on Kei... she proved today that she actually is not grown up enough to be left to her own devices...” your sister huffed out

“Did it accrue to you that she actually IS grown up enough and she just lets her guard down around you because she knows you're the only person in the entire world that will always be in her corner no matter what... I mean... except for me” Keira said and she knew she hit a nerve when there was no come back from the other end of the line

“I was scared Kei” Lucy admitted her voice low

“I know... I was scared too Luce... but she's growing up... you have to let her make mistakes” the blonde sighed knowing it was so hard to let you off the (imaginary) leash

“I know... but let me have my moment tomorrow.. I'm taking the blame... tell her you didn't knew” Lucy begged a little bit

“If she doesn't talk to you for weeks don't come to me crying” Keira warned “You have a girlfriend for that now... not my problem anymore”

“Deal... but I promise I'll get in her good books at end of training again” your sister said and Kei could hear her grin

“Do I want to know?? I feel a headache forming” the blonde mumbled

“I'll let her drive my Cupra... we just need to wait long enough till the parking lot is empty” your sister said excited thinking she could fulfil a wish for you

“Oh Luce” Keira sighed

“I know... she's going to be so happy” Lucy could hardly contain her excitement

“Oh you have no idea” the blonde tried to warn her friend without saying too much

What Lucy of course didn't knew was that Jill (Scott), Millie and Rachel gifted you 10 driving lessons for your birthday – but not just driving lessons they were stunt driving lessons. Of course it was mostly courtesy of Jill who knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy. So while your sister was under the dreamy impression that she would make you happy being the first one who's letting you drive (even if it was kinda illegal) you perfected the art of drifting, donuts and race gear shifting. And of course how to use the breaks – you weren't completely stupid. But it was the second best present this day. Jill even went so far in buying you race driver shoes – like formula one shoes.

“So you bring her in tomorrow?” Lucy asked hopefully

“Asleep as possible... I'll get her to Nuo around 8... you better be there and get her in that harness before she interacts with Mapí because that will kick-start her” Keira sighed again knowing tomorrow will be an absolute disaster.

“Thanks Kei” your sister said happily “I'll wait in front of the locker room for you”

“You owe me Luce...” the blonde replied

“What do you want?” Lucy asked interested

“I want to have Narla over Christmas” Keira said

“Hard bargain there, Walsh... but okay... but I get her new years” your sister huffed out

“Okay... 8 o'clock locker room.. if you're late I'll let Mapí talk to her” the blonde threatened playfully

“Aye woman...” Lucy answered and Keira could just picture how she put her hand up to a mock salute

“Hate you” the blonde grinned

“No you don't.... see you tomorrow Kiewa” your sister answered using a stupid nickname you once tried to get spread through national team

Keira just hung up continuing to pack some shirts before she called it a night too. She carefully entered her bedroom to find you still dead asleep but you moved to her side your nose pressed deep into her pillow

“Why can't you always be so sweet?” the blonde mumbled lowly a slight smile on her lips

As if you heard her you started to snore – very lightly which caused Keira to laugh quietly before laying down on your other side. Just like always you immediately noticed the “intruder” as you turned around still asleep as you cuddled up to Keiras side

“Bitsy come on.. wake up... we're leaving in five” Keira shook you awake next morning

“Nooooo...” you whined sleepily turning away from her “... five more minutes”

“We're leaving in five, Bitsy... come on... up and at em” the blonde didn't give up “Up... now... teeth, clothes, car” she said sternly

“Kei... nooooo” you whined trying to get away from her shaking

“Up NOW Bitsy” the blonde got even more firm – which she hated herself for

“Yeah okay... I'm up” you grumbled as you stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom

Exactly 5 minutes later you stood at the door where Keira was waiting for you impatiently. You had your shirt on backwards, Barcelona training kit shorts which were slightly too big for you and a England bucket hat on your head

“Is that my bucky?” the blonde asked confused

“Couldn't find anything else and I'm NOT sitting in the sun today... learned my lesson” you mumbled and Keira noticed how grumpy you were

“Come on Bitsy... I'll get you coffee at Camp Nuo” the blonde said hoping to get your spirits up just a little bit – at this point you'd probably rip Lucys throat apart with your teeth if she'd touch you and buckle you up in the harness. She decided to give Lucy a warning which your sister replied with a thumbs up

“Kay” you mumbled as you stumbled towards Keiras car

23 Minutes later you arrived at Camp Nuo and Keira manoeuvres you expertly through the long hallways

“Jesus... bet some people died in here trying to find a toilet” you grumbled as Keira pushed you around another corner which caused the blonde to chuckle behind you her hand never leaving the small of your back

“Not so bad once you figured it out... you were here before, you know.. you just were very VERY high... Alexia lost you twice – not that your sister knows but still... Capi needed to confine someone” Keira laughed

“I actually don't know... I was high... I know NOTHING from that day” you grumbled as you spotted your sister waiting in front of a door that looked just like the 500 doors you already passed.

“Bon dia Bubs” your sister smiled warmly

“Bon fuck yourself” you grumbled while you walked passed her thinking you need to keep going as Lucy grabbed your shirt to pull you back

“Locker room is this way” she said not letting you get to her nerves as you outright sweared at her.

Next thing you knew was that you were buckled up in something and as you looked down you spotted the familiar face of Bronzo the Bronto (courtesy of Dszenifer who thought it would be funny to name your dino-harness Bronzo). Before your brain could even recognise what just happened you heard Lucy victorious chuckle “Still got it”

“Wha... Wha... Wait what??” you stuttered as you tried to comprehend what just happened

“It's okay Bubs... just want you to be save” Lucy said lowly knowing this could go two ways. Either you accept it since you haven't even had coffee yet OR you could completely explode.

Your brain choose option two for you and you just started to sprint. Your sister didn't see that coming she was more prepared for you to attack her directly so you got a few meters between the two of you before Lucy grabbed the leash tightly in her hand trying to stop your running. What she also wasn't prepared for was the strength you could get out of your fury so Alexia was met with a angry faced running you as she rounded the corner as you basically dragged Lucy behind you who still tried to get you under control

“Bubs come on... calm down” your sister tried again “Bon dia Capi” she smile quickly at Alexia before she got dragged on

“I... don't even want to know” the blonde spaniard mumbled to herself as she continued her way to the locker room

“The Bronzes out there?” Keira asked as Alexia entered the changing room

“This way... Cariño seemed quite aggressive this morning” the blonde pointed to the right

“Yeah... Lucy jumped her with the dino-harness... did anyone had any blood on them?” Keira asked getting a little concerned when Alexia used “aggressive”

“Not that I saw... but the Cariño pulled Lucy around like she weight nothing...” the spaniard answered as she tied her cleats

“Yeah... y/n in a bad mood is someone you don't want to cross...” the blonde englishwoman said as she stood up from her cubical grabbing her water bottle

“And why exactly is Cariño pulling around Lucia?” Alexia now questioned as she copied Keira and grabbed her bottle as well when the two women make their way to the field

“You'll see” Keira grinned knowingly

“Bon dia” the two blonde smiled towards the media staff as they recorded the famous arriving of the players

“LEFT!!! TO THE LEFT!!!!” the whole team heard Lucys yelling and all heads turned towards the tunnel exit

“I'LL PRESENT YOU MY LEFT TO YOUR NOSE IN A SECOND!!!!! LET ME THE FUCK GO!!! THIS IS LITERALLY KIDNAPPING!!!” you shouted back and Keira heard that you were about to lose it

“HA!!!!!” Lucy exclaimed as she pulled you out after her “You admit you're a kid... so you get treated like one.... Bon dia” your sister smiled at the camera having the leash over her shoulder walking slightly hunched forward as you got pulled backwards.

“I swear to god Lucy... I rip you to pieces” you sneered as you passed the media staff

The whole team watched the interaction between the two of you and before you knew it you heard a loud laugh. Mapí just couldn't help herself as she saw you in the bright green dino-harness kicking and pouting like a three year old. You of course didn't think it was funny so you turned and sprinted past Lucy about to fight the tattooed spaniard as Lucy hauled you back

“Nooooo... we don't fight” your sister said sternly as she held the leash tightly digging her feet into the grass so you couldn't pull her along again

“She's laughing” you said accusing and even Lucy saw that your patience’s wearing thin

“Let her Bubs... come on... I even got you some coffee and ice cream” your sister tried to lure you away as Mapí stupidly opened her mouth

“You wearing a kiddie-leash” the spaniard laughed loudly as Ingrid stepped in looking at Lucy

“Where did you find that? That is a great idea!!” the Norwegian asked interested

“Bronzo? Bought it back in Lyon when missy here decided to go on a stroll while I was... occupied and I had to pick her up hours later at a police station” your sister grinned as she playfully tugged on the leash

“You weren’t “occupied” you were shoving your tongue down Keiras throat!!!” you exclaimed aggregated

“I think my life would benefit from something like this as well” Ingrid mused her eyes sparkling

“Why would we need something like this, mi amor?” Mapí now asked confused

Ingrid just raised an eyebrow expectantly at her girlfriend waiting for her to catch on – and finally she did

“NO.... I don’t need something like this... I’m no hija” the tattooed spaniard exclaimed annoyed looking at you pointingly as she referred to you as a child

“You sure sound like one at the moment...” the Norwegian grinned as Mapí pouted and crossed her arms over her chest before sticking out her tongue to you

You tried to get to her again as Alexia now stepped in and stopped you

“cálmate” the blonde spaniard said calmly and the usage of spanish got you out of your head

“Huh?” you asked as you looked at her confused

“cálmate” Alexia repeated softly

“Cellmate?” you asked even more confused “makes no sense dude”

“It means “Calm down” in spanish” the blonde answered her voice calm and low

“Ha... so calm mate is making sense” you said but weirdly you felt much more calm

“It kinda does, doesn't it” the Capitan still kept her voice calm as she grabbed your waist manoeuvring you to the side line without breaking eye contact as she feared you would jump on Mapí and kill her.

Everyone watched the interaction stunned as you just let Alexia carefully move you away from the team. Even Lucy and Keira couldn't believe it since it was normally a fight for hours till you calmed down.

“Shit Capi is good” Lucy mumbled loosening the leash so you wouldn't feel the pressure and would snap again

“Shut up before you shift her focus and we have another fight on our hands” Keira shushed her ex girlfriend warningly

Alexia manoeuvred you into a shady corner the leash now dragging behind you since Lucy had to let go of it to not disturb the little moment you have with her Capitan.

“Are you gonna be good and stay here or do I have to tie this leash to one of the posts?” Alexia asked you quietly but still firmly

“Not gonna run” you mumbled kinda ashamed and embarrassed being strapped into a kiddie-harness right in front of (yet again) world class players “So embarrassing”

“No need to be embarrassed Cariño... we just want you save” the blonde said quietly keeping this interaction as private as possible “And it makes Lucia feel so much better knowing you're save”

“She could just have...” you started but couldn't come up with a reasonable solution

“It's the best solution for now... and after training I'll let you chase Mapí for making fun of you, okay.. now please stay here – I give you the... depth of doubt and won't tie this leash up but if you disappoint me I won't hesitate to do so” Alexia said softly but it was a fair warning to you

“Benefit...” you mumbled not meeting her eyes “It's benefit of the doubt... but thank you”

“If you need something just yell or tell one of the staff members okay?” the blonde smiled warmly at you

“Is there coffee around?” you asked hopefully as the blonde started laughing signalling to one of the staff to come over. She quickly spoke to the young man in spanish and he jogged off back into the building

“Cortado is on the way” the Capitan winked “you remember “thank you” in spanish?”

“Moohtschas grazia or something like that” you said after a second of thinking and you could see Alexia visibly flinch at your butchering her mother tongue

“You have to speak softer, Cariño... spanish is a soft language – not harsh... try again... muchas gracias” the blonde encouraged you to try again

“That's what I said... Moohtschas grazias” you said confused

“You are to hard on the “s”... it's “s” like … sunshine... not “z” like... what's this white and black horse?” she tried to remember

“Zebra” you helped her out

“Sí... Zebra... again... muchas...” Alexia spoke slowly empathizing the “s”

“muchas” you tried to copy her pronunciation

“gracias” the blonde said slowly again

“gracias” you followed

“Bíen... muchas gracias” Alexia smiled proudly at you “Now be good and stay here” she said as she pressed a light kiss to your forehead and left you standing there rooted in place.

The only people who were allowed to give forehead kisses were Lucy, Keira, Sarina and Georgia. Alexia wasn't allowed and you were very careful when it came to physical contact. Keira of course kept an eye on you through warm ups and saw the interaction with Alexia. As soon as the blonde spaniard leant down to press a small kiss to your forehead Keira already moved towards you

“It's okay Bitsy... it's how the spanish are, okay... she doesn't mean any harm” Keira spoke calmly since she knew what physical contact – at least not predicted one – did to you.

“It's just the way they are around here, okay... they're very touchy feely... no need to freak out Bitsy okay” the blonde englishwoman kept talking until you looked at her

“She... she kissed me” you stuttered out

“I saw... but she doesn't mean any harm – it's really how they are here” Keira reassured you

“I... didn't like it... she didn't say anything beforehand” you said and the blonde could see how you were fighting an internal battle

“She doesn't know... no one knows you don't like contact like that” the blonde stayed calm through your conversation

“Why did she do that?” you asked confused

“She wanted to show you how good you did” Keira once again reassured you

“Ice cream would have done the job” you mumbled which caused the blonde to burst out laughing

“I know... but I can see some coffee coming this way... I bet it has your name on it” Keira smiled as she stroke through your hair and turned around to leave you to re-join training.

“muchas gracias” you said as the young man who grinned widely as he answered “De Nada”

You sat down on the ground sipping on your coffee watching the training going on as they switched from passing drills to 5 a side. You remembered these drills like the back of your hand and you already knew who would pass to whom and who would assist to who to get the ball into the back of the net. The drills they were playing were so predictable that you groaned internally. Just happens to not be internally – you groaned so loudly that even Jona turned around looking at you as if he tried to figure out if you're hurt again. He signalled Lucy and spoke to her quietly as her eyes snapped towards you before she came jogging over

“What's wrong Bubs... Jona said you might have hurt yourself he said you groaned quite loudly” your sister asked worried

“M not hurt... but this is so boring and your playing is so predictable...” you rolled your eyes

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked confused

“Okay wait...” you waited until the whistle blew again “Ingrid will pass it to Ona, Mapí tries to intercept but her footing is wrong so she won't get there in time. Ona will pass it as a high ball to that brown haired one who will TRY to get it down the middle with as a half-volley but Alexia stands to close so brown hair only gets the ball to bounce of Alexias hip... she will pass the ball to the right to flawless and flawless will cross it back into the middle to the blonde norwegian... who will make it look like she's going in for a header but she'll let the ball cross to the Jamaican spaniard who's already waiting at the back post... oh yeah... and Kei was open in the middle the whole time” you said and it happened exactly like you said just that you said it about 10 seconds before it all happened

“What the...” your sister listened to you as you predicted the whole tactic move before it even got played out now looking at you shocked

“Told you.. predictable” you shrugged your shoulders as Lucy waved Jona over to her speaking to him in spanish as now HIS eyes snapped towards you.

“Mind if we try something Bubs?” Lucy asked you smiling slightly

“I'm NOT trying your protein shakes again” you exclaimed

“No... I just want to show Jona something” she laughed as she nodded to her trainer.

Jona yelled something in spanish and the teams mixed up before he looked at you expectantly

“Tell me what's going to happen now, Bubs... I'll translate for him” Lucy encouraged you as you scanned the field and who the players were positioned

After a few minutes you looked at your sister “Team Yellow is going to score first... they have a technical midfield and even if Team Red has the better defence, they will concentrate on the forwards instead of the midfield and either Kei or tweedledee will score – team reds defence will probably only watch tweedledumb and Jamaican spaniard and forget about the technical finesse these two midfielders have... Alexia will realize it first but it will be to late” you shrugged your sister as she spoke lowly to her trainer who then turned around to blow the whistle.

Again you watched bored as the game rolled out just as you said – it was Keira who had the finishing touch on the ball to hit the back of the net. Jona turned around to you looking like he saw a ghost

“How did you know this?” Lucy asked you after Jona talked to her for a minute

“Predictable” you felt like a broken record “You guys focus too much on the forwards... you have an amazing midfield but you only go for the forwards... it’s a wonder you’re opponents haven’t figured it out already”

Lucy again translated what you said to her trainer who couldn't stop to look at you with a shocked face

“He wants you” your sister grinned

“Yeah no... I don't dingdongs... sorry” you waved off before yelling over to the field “Keira... rotate your hip more when you go for that high ball... and lock your ankle... you look like a fucking penguin trying to walk on ice”

“He wants you in his training staff you horny bitch” Lucy bit out

“Yeah... he can get in line” you mumbled watching Keira closely as she tried to follow through with what you just said

“What was that?” your sister asked confused

“KEIRA for god sakes... LOCK THIS BLOODY ANKLE... you locked it around my sisters waist enough times that I know you're able to do so!!!” you yelled again not happy with the outcome of your “pointers”

“Dear heavens” Lucy groaned as half the team looked at her while the other half looks at Keira “No more caffeine for you”

“It's not the caffeine that's the problem here...” you mumbled watching Keira step up to the ball again

“Then what is?” Lucy asked annoyed

“You REALLY want the answer to this question?” you raised an eyebrow at her

“On second thought...” your sister interrupted quickly

“Yep.. thought so...” you grinned fake “BETTER KEI!! Good job” you yelled out as the ball was nearly perfect

“Thanks Bitsy” the blonde yelled back smiling

“Always” you shouted before sitting down again

“What did you mean when you said Jona can get in line?” Lucy asked bringing the former topic back up

“You really think he's the first trainer that offered me a job??” you looked at her in disbelieve

“I... can't follow you” your sister said getting more and more confused

“The first one who offered was Sarina after the Euros... you think it was an accident to bring Tooney and Less in just after halftime? Second one was Alex Straus, third one was Emma, fourth one was Jonas, fifth was Gareth and on place no. 6 now the spanish guy... so yeah... he can get in line” you said seriously as you looked your sister straight in the eye

“I had no idea” Lucy said slowly compensating the information

“Yeah... it's not like I make a big deal out of it” you shrugged but Lucy knew you wanted to say something else

“You can always talk to me, Bubs” she said knowing you would need to hear it again and again and again

“Yeah... I know” you sighed

“Good... I'm going back to training okay... we have about 30 minutes left then we can go for ice cream...” she smiled softly at you before turning around leaving

“Hey Luce?” you shouted after her

“Yeah?”

“Can I have your phone please... mines dead again and I'm bored... you have games on your phone right?” you asked pouting a little for good measure

“Sure... pin is your birthday” your sister went over to her bag quickly and tossed you her phone

“Love you” you shouted after her.

Just as you wanted to start playing candy crush it started to ring. Caller was “Lionesses”. So you figured you could answer the phone.

“Lucy Bronzes phone... you're speaking with the better looking and younger version” you answered the call

There was a beat of silence before the other person started to speak

“Y/n??” you heard a confuses voice

“Hi Mama Rina” you said happily noticing Sarinas voice immediately

“I thought I called Lucy” the Dutch was majorly confused

“You did... I'm currently at the Camp Nope watching her train and I got bored so I got her phone to play candy crush” you explained as the smile never left your face.

“Oooooh okay... think she can make it to Camp next week?” Sarina asked and you could her smile through the phone

“Wait... I'll ask her...” you said before covering the phone with your hand “LUUUCCYYYY!!!! SARINA WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU ARE FREE NEXT WEEK FOR CAMP!!!” you yelled of the top of your lungs

“WHAT?” your sister asked confused

“NATIONALCAMP NEXT WEEK!! YES? NO?” you yelled again

“YES OF COURSE!!!” Lucy yelled already on her way over again

“She said yes... Keira is here too” you got back to the call

“Would you mind, Liefje?” Sarina asked you already pulling the phone away from her ear knowing you're going to start yelling in a second

“KEIRA??? NATIONALCAMP – YES OR NO?!” you yelled to the blonde englishwoman

“YES” Keira just yelled back not bothering asking why you asked her

“Kei said yes too...” you repeated the answer to the womans national coach

“Thank you, snoepje... I'll see you all in a week then” the Dutch smiled and ended the call

“Why are you on the phone with Sarina?” your sister asked

“She called...” you shrugged your shoulders “Flights will be send per email as usual”

“She called... okay...” Lucy said dumb folded and left again

Just as training was about to end and you roamed the side line a little bit – always under the watchful eye of Alexia, Lucy and Keira – Mapí tried to do a midfield shot on goal. Of course she booted the ball without any precision and the ball ended up in your direction

“Y/N!! WATCH OUT!” Keira yelled as she saw the ball rocketing towards you.

You lifted your head just in time to recognise the ball but you didn't have time to THINK what you would do. Your body reacted out of reflex and muscle memory. You stopped the ball perfectly with your chest before you volleyed it down the field with your right food and your precision was so on point that the ball came in perfect for Keira who stopped the ball with her foot mid air to turn with it and just tipped it into the open goal. Everyone on the pitch looked at you shocked and even you were shocked about what happened. Since you got your diagnosis with your third ACL you swore to yourself to never touch a ball again – and yet here you were assisting a “goal” for Keira and it was all Mapís fault. No one dared to move as they kept staring at you – and suddenly it clicked in your head. You looked at Lucy. You looked at Keira.

“Bubs no... it's okay... you're okay” Lucy tried to approach you slowly as she spoke softly seeing in your eyes exactly what your next move would be.

Oh how right she was – the second it really sunk in what just happened you bolted. You jumped over the barrier running as fast as you could. OF COURSE you forgot about the dino-harness. You just entered the tunnel as you got hauled backwards with such a force that you lost your footing and crashed into the ground. You just laid there as you tried to breath but your breathing became more hectic and rapid. Your sisters face appeared next to you only seconds later pulling you upon into a sitting position as she shuffled in behind you pressing your body back into hers as you tried to fight her grip

“It's okay Bubs... nothing happened... you're okay..” Lucy reassured you over and over again as you keep struggling in her arms trying to get free

“You need to breath for me Bubs... come one... deep breaths” your sister spoke softly ignoring the fact that you already hit her twice in the rips as she sat with you on the ground in the tunnel.

Suddenly Lucy heard fast approaching footsteps and the next second a panic stroked Mapí dropped to her knees in front of the two of you.

“Neña... Neña I'm so sorry... I didn't mean too... please” the spaniard begged you as she took your face in her hands seeing you so majorly distressed brought her to the verge of tears

You jerked back from her touch successfully head butting Lucy in the face who groaned painfully and felt hot liquid shooting out of her nose right into you hair as you kept your face away from Mapí. Your sister tightened the grip around you body basically switching to koala hug you from behind as tight as possible as you kept throwing your weight around

“Maps please... I know you're sorry and I know it wasn't on purpose but I need you to leave us alone right now” Lucy said through gritted teeth not because she was angry she just felt her strength leaving her arms and she knew the second she would let go you'd be gone and probably gone for days.

“I just want her to know how sorry I am... I really didn't mean to... Keira said I opened the box of Pandora” the tattooed spaniard said and Lucy heard the desperation in her voice

“I know Maps... I know it wasn’t intentional... and I promise you everything will be okay again – it's not the first time I'm going through this with her and she will calm down eventually... we just need space” your sister answered – even tho her voice got quite nasally – calmly to not set the spaniard off even more.

She could see how Mapí beat herself up but she was oh so thankful when she heard another pair of footsteps approaching and seconds later Mapí got hurled to her feet and dragged away by her girlfriend. As soon as the spaniard was gone from your vision you calmed down significantly reducing to a whimpering mess in your sisters arms

“I know Bubs... it's still too much for you and I know you need to work through it in your own time...” Lucy spoke quietly into your hair as she started to rock the both of you back and forth.

Lucy loosened her grip around you slightly to see your reaction but not too much if you'd try to bolt. Thankfully you exhausted yourself to the point where you just sack against her trying to find as much comfort in her touch as possible. You stayed like this for another 10 minutes with your sister mumbling sweet nothings into your hair before Lucy heard a low whistle coming from the tunnel entrance. As she looked up she saw Keira poking her head around the corner an eyebrow raised in question. The blonde knew from past experiences that you would get send right into another panic attack if there was anyone else except for Lucy around you. Lucy looked down on your hunched form back up at Kei and nodded. Keira approached the two of you carefully always ready to stop or even retreat if you showed any sign of discomfort

“That was a bad one” the blonde whispered as she slid down next to the two of you.

“I'm so thankful for that stupid leash... we wouldn't have found her for at least days Kei... if not weeks” Lucy whispered back as she adjusted your hold on you pulling you closer to her chest

“I know... but Mapí didn't mean too...” Keira said as she kept her voice low

“I know... I'm not blaming her or anyone... it was a stupid coincidence” your sister answered her eyes never leaving you

“She just broke down in the locker room... she's beating herself up really bad for that” the blonde whispered

“Ingrid with her?” Lucy asked alarmed not wanting Mapí to fall down into a mental hole as well – one mental breakdown was enough for one day.

“Course... Alexia as well... but she needs to hear it from y/n... it's funny isn't it? They know her for a few days but I bet my yearly salary that every single woman in that room would jump in front of a truck for her” Keira said and a low chuckle left her throat

“It's the Bronze charm... you fell for it too... twice actually” your sister smiled slightly

“You wish... you figured out already that G is a cover... you think I was after you?” the blonde teased back

“Keira Fae...” Lucy faked gasped shocked “... are you implying you were after my Sister the whole time?”

Keira just grinned enjoying the playful banter that just shows what good of a relationship Lucy and her were still having. A purely friendly relationship but still up for banter.

As you registered more of your surroundings you noticed that at one point Keira must have entered the scene and you blindly patted your hand towards her hoping she'd understood. And of course she did – she took your hand into hers without and comment making sure to keep a good hold of it.

“It's okay Bitsy... we're here” the blonde whispered calmly

You just sunk deeper into your sisters arms pressing your face into the crook of her neck feeling utterly exhausted

“You should get your nose checked out” Keira said referring to the dried blood on Lucys face

“Later... not important right now” your sister mumbled squeezing you tighter to her chest

“M sorry Luce” you mumbled against her neck

“S okay Bubs... you just got scared” Lucy mumbled back pressing a kiss to your forehead

“M sorry to Mapí too... probly scared her” you half-slurred as your body felt heavy your mind exhausted

“Don't worry about it... you can talk to her tomorrow on the phone, okay?” your sister reassured you softly

“Want to pologize n person” you said as your closed again

“Okay... but tomorrow... you okay moving to the locker room?” Lucy asked carefully

“Don't want to see anyone” you shook your head

“I'll clear it out” Keira said as she stood up “Give me five minutes”

After five minutes Keira came back around the corner nodding. Lucy tried to stand up but with you in her lap and sitting on the hard ground for nearly an hour she wasn't able too. Your hand clutched her shirt tightly fearing she would disappear once you'd let go

“Come here Bitsy... the old woman needs help to stand up” Keira said her voice teasing as she pulled you off your sister into her arms.

You were basically dead weight at this point only be held up by the blondes strength. As soon as Lucy stood up (with a loud groan) she lifted you bridal style and started to walk towards the locker room where Alexia waited outside the door. The blonde spaniards eyes grew wide in shock as she saw Lucys face but recovered quickly as she just opened the door to the mostly empty locker room in silence letting your sister carry you inside before closing the door behind you. Inside Ona waited with a water bottle offering it to you as Lucy placed you in a corner on the bench letting you lean against the cool wall.

“I'm just gonna jump the shower quickly Bubs, okay... is it okay if Ona has an eye on you or do you want her to leave” Lucy spoke softly knowing from past experience that you couldn't deal with loud noises in that state

“S okay...” you mumbled taking a small sip of the water

“Okay” your sister sighed relieved “I'll be back in a flash okay Bubs”

You just nodded sipping slowly on your water while Ona retreated to the other side of the room not wanting to invade your space or scare you. You were pretty impressed she knew what you needed – then again Keira probably gave her a run down. The all to familiar feeling of loneliness spread in your chest again and you just grunted hoping Ona would understand your silent request. She wasn't Keira so you had to make yourself known a second time – this time with a whine. Ona noticed you were slightly in distress but didn't knew how to react. Keira told her to be there but not too close. But after you whined out she kicked all plans out the window approaching you carefully sitting down two cubical away from you

“You need anything, Bebita?” the blonde freckled spaniard asked quietly

“Hug” you whined out

“Ven aquí entonces” Ona mumbled out and to both of your surprise you basically threw yourself into her arms.

That's how Lucy found you 10 Minutes later – you fast asleep in Onas arms who looked like she was hardly breathing not wanting to scare you.

“Welcome to the family” Lucy smiled as she passed you seeing how content you apparently felt in her girlfriends arms

“I didn't to anything I swear... she asked for a hug then threw herself at me and seconds later she was out like a light” the spaniard whispered her voice slightly panicked not wanting to set you off.

“Don't worry... she won't wake up...” Lucy waved off speaking normal volume “I know you didn't started it... but you have no idea what this means... you are basically now her sister too... she accepts no one other than Keira or me to touch her in that state... and here we are with her fast asleep in your arms... you made it Babe”

“Is this her way of telling me she's okay with me dating you?” Ona smiled

“It's more than that... she's telling you that she trusts you” your sister said as she put a new shirt on “You know if a physio is still around? Need my nose checked out – don't think it's broken but better save than sorry”

“Marc should still be around...” the spaniard answered “What's with her”

“Hope you're comfortable... I'll be back quickly” Lucy grinned widely before slipping out of the door before her girlfriend could protest

Outside she was met with Keira and Alexia both leaning against the opposite wall

“Wow... extra security detail... she's asleep – no need for bodyguards” your sister joked as she laid eyes on her two teammates

“How is she?” Keira asked cutting straight to the point

“Asleep... Ona seems to meet her standards when it comes to sleepability” Lucy smiled

“Good... keep me updated... and if you need anything” the blonde started already grabbing her things knowing there's nothing for her to do anymore

“I'll text you... thanks Kei... it really meant a lot... also means... thank you” your sister said honestly

“Always Luce... always... whatever you need... or whatever she needs” Keira smiled back warmly

“Kay... see you tomorrow Kei” Lucy hugged her ex girlfriend and pressed a soft kiss to her temple

“And what can I do for you Capi?” your sister asked expectantly after she turned around

“Let's take a walk?” the blonde spaniard asked

“I need to see Marc anyway...” Lucy shrugged her shoulders

“What happened?” Alexia asked straight away

“Panic attack” your sister answered as the two women walked down the hallway

“But why... nothing happened” the blonde asked confused

“For us it was nothing... for her it opened up old deep wounds” Lucy answered “I'm about 95% sure it was the first time she touched a ball in over three years. You see... you just went through an ACL tear and rehab yourself... you know what it takes and how it feels... now imagine being 13 and went through it twice already and you AGAIN tore your ACL... I still can remember the look she had on her face when I told her what the diagnosis was... she was just stoic... for weeks she didn't talk just basics... she hardly ate – just what Keira and I basically forced down her throat and there were a lot of panic attacks and nightmares... at some point she got better again – but she never worked it out... and I'm still waiting for the day when she finally breaks... that earlier was just a panic attack about touching a ball again”

Alexia listened carefully before looking at Lucy with a sorrow face

“No...” your sister immediately said sternly “We don't pity her of feel sorry for her... we're proud of her...”

“She didn't deserve that... that ball was PERFECT Lucia...” the blonde spaniard said and her voice was full of hurt

“I know... you haven't seen her play... how she ran circles around Jill Scott or Ellen White out dribbling them with such ease.. how she kicked a Gatorade bottle off the crossbar – from the other box just for fun... how she spend HOURS on the side line when I had training just playing keep ups... believe me Alexia when I say... I KNOW” Lucy answered and for a second Alexia saw just how hurt Lucy was for you “But she fought... three times she fought back... doc said she'd probably will have a limp all live – do you see her limping? No... because she fought... so no, we don't pity her... we're so SO proud of her”

“She is remarkable, just like her biggest Idol....” Alexia smiled but it had a sad nuance

“I wish I was half as Tough as she is” your sister smiled back understanding her Capitan immediately.

“Just keep being there for her Lucia... she doesn't need anything more from you...” the blonde squeezed Lucys shoulder lightly “And now get that nose checked... you looked... not very appealing”

“I looked like shit... but thanks Capi... see you tomorrow” your sister smiled as she went inside to the physio who told her a few proddings later that her nose was in fact fine

“Hey... I'm back” Lucy said lowly finding you and Ona in the same position she left you in

“Hola... you okay?” Ona asked smiling slightly as you drooled on her shirt your head laying on her shoulder

“Nothing broken... just bruised.... home?” your sister asked as she already packed up hers and Onas stuff

“You really want to move her? She's sleeping so peacefully” the blonde asked concerned looking down on you.

“You want to stay here all night?” Lucy asked back raising an eyebrow

“Let's get her home” Ona said after a second

“Yep thought so... You bags I her?” your sister asked smiling

“I bag and keys...” the blonde grinned “... you know since she's around I'm driving your car more than you do... I like it... she can stay” the blonde winked

“You wish...” Lucy huffed as she pulled you into her arms to carry you to the car “Let's go home Bubs” she whispered and smiled as you sighed out pressing your face against her neck.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Showers, Stolen Glimpses & Fireplaces (Week Two)

Chapter Summary: Another week bring new experiences and challenges and an opportunity to open up with each other, learning new things about Joel and a few moments of brief yearning that lead to a blow up of lust-filled proportions.

Chapter Warnings: (11k) no outbreak, joel goes fishin', more dinners together, joel being worried/caring, minor descriptions of a burn injury to reader, lots of touching, joel doubting himself, joel loves to whittle, joel opening up, strip card games and bad choices, drinking, mutual masturbation, the inappropriate use of a dining room table, protected piv, fingering, grinding, ect

There’s an eerie absence to the spot beside you when you awake, feeling the cold sheets and knowing that Joel has probably been up for a while. You feel heavier, the weight of the comforter dragging you down but you realize at some point Joel must have grabbed another blanket and draped it over you, rubbing your fingers against the fuzziness of the material. The door was closed, lights were off—maybe he had snuck to the couch in the middle of the night.

Eventually, you wander out of the bedroom, expecting a similar sight of Joel making his morning coffee or lounging around on the couch in silence, a peek into his normal routine outside of this place. You try to ignore how much your body craves the more aspect of it all. More of Joel, more of this.

But, Joel is nowhere to be found.

You wander toward the kitchen with a mission—breakfast first.

There’s a small note stuck to the coffee pot that was already filled and still hot, plucking the paper between your fingers you read the messy writing to yourself.

Went fishin’. Back in an hour.

      — Joel

You can hear him saying it, snorting softly at the twangy voice in your head.

But, fishing? In the winter?

He had to be insane. 

You can’t complain though, helping yourself to a warm cup of coffee and a quick breakfast, eating in the silence and enjoying the now clear sky as you take a seat at the table, a few sips into your coffee that was quickly growing cold and you feel so lost in the lack of thought, spotting a small woodland critter off in the distance burrowing a hole into a tree, completely oblivious to the large—very large deer that has creeped up on you, as curious of your presence as it should be and it’s already too late that you’re spilling your coffee over your chest at the sight, feeling fully awake now.

“Jesus, dude,” You talk to the animal on the other side of the glass, “seriously?”

It only cocks its head, waiting for a moment until you stand to gather things to clean up your mess and then it is gone within seconds, scampering off into the massive expanse of trees.

You force a breath through your nose and stare down at your coffee stained shirt, a pungent sweetness that felt sticky against your skin now. You resign to the idea that breakfast is over, placing your dishes in the sink and grabbing a towel to clean up the mess you made before traveling toward the shower.

You try to be efficient, void of any lingering thoughts and eager to wash the stickiness away from your body and swiftly finish, there’s a brief second where you poke your head between the gap in the door as you look for any warning signs of Joel and eventually decide that you have enough time to grab clothes from your room—which is a quick venture, knowing wet and cold don’t mix well.

Changing in Joel’s—well, effectively, also your bedroom is much more welcomed. You drop your towel without a care, laying out your clothes carefully over the half-made bed.

But, the comfort of being alone in your vulnerability is short-lived when Joel innocently mistakes the idea that you were still asleep, pushing the door open without warning and allowing himself a full glimpse of your naked body. Plush skin and the soft slope of your breasts as you turn, startled at the sudden intrusion. In any other situation you would have immediately switched to anger, given the intruder a piece of your mind.

You can only laugh, the shell-shocked expression on Joel’s face quickly morphing to a mix of fear and…something else. You don’t want to mistake it for what it isn’t, but his eyes wander for a brief moment before his brain restarts and he quickly apologizes.

“Fuckin’—I’m sorry…sorry,” He turns on his heels and shuts the door, but not before adding another, “Sorry.” You can hear him descending down the hall, pulling on the remainder of your clothes, the image of his eyes boring into the sight of you stuck in the forefront of your mind.

After a moment, giving Joel the time to collect himself, you approach him from where he’s lingering in the kitchen, working away at something you can’t see, his body acting as a shield. 

You approach carefully and peer around his shoulder, noting the pile of fish stowed away in a cooler and immediately make a noise of disgust that pulls Joel’s attention your way.

Not addressing the elephant in the room, you say, “Why the hell are you fishing in the winter?”

Joel clears his throat and closes the lid, still valiantly avoiding the opportunity to turn toward you fully, like there was a level of vulnerability there.

“Trout are a winter fish,” Joel explains, “easier to catch around this time.”

“Oh.” You’re slightly disinterested, disgusted by the idea of raw and dead fish sitting a few feet away from you.

“I fish a lot,” Joel offers as a way to break the awkward silence, “back home.���

You smile half-heartedly, hoping that he might actually attempt to look at you when he speaks, silently wondering if he was going to attempt to avoid any type of eye contact with you the rest of the vacation—so, you quickly defuse the tension.

“Joel…” You test the waters, moving beside him to stretch yourself into the stool, leaning into his view to catch his gaze, “you saw me naked.”

Joel glances your way briefly—alright, better.

“That I did.” Joel offers.

“You apologized, I’m not mad.”

Joel stays quiet, the usual scowl creeping back on his face.

“If we’re being realistic, it was going to happen at some point.” 

Joel doesn’t respond much, outside of an utterance of words you can’t hear and don’t bother to understand, shifting the subject back to the disgusting thing a few feet away from you both.

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t catch those for fun?” You ask curiously.

“Figured I could cook ‘em,” Joel offers, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “—guess I never asked, but you like fish?”

“When it’s cooked, yeah.” You joke lightly. “Do you always cook this much?”

Joel nods, finally chancing a look in your direction, noting the unlikely cheerfulness in your eyes—he knows he shouldn’t feel worried about overstepping a boundary like that despite what he thought, the things that have riddled his mind since the night before, and possibly even before that.

“I might need to convince you to give me a few lessons before we leave here,” You chide lightly, elbowing him, “I mean, if you’re open to that.”

“How about tonight?” Joel asks.

You smile wider, relieved that the incident this morning hadn’t completely broken Joel.

“Deal.”

—

Joel does the favor of descaling and taking a part the fish on his own, not sure you could stomach it if he asked you to help, so he saddles you up with a cutting board and a mix of different vegetables and allows you to head the task on your own, minus a few notes he offers about how to cut safely, quickly—your mind wandering when he slips the knife out of your grip and practically forces himself into your space to show the proper way, fingers curled inwards away from the knife to avoid nicking your fingers. It would’ve been great to catch his demonstration if your eyes hadn’t been locked on the side of his face the entire time and watching the way his jaw tensed when he started cutting.

During the actual process of cooking, Joel takes a more hands on approach. It was a vast difference from earlier, his eagerness to rid himself of your presence after the mishap—he’s hovering for safety, but also out of his own selfishness of wanting to be close to you, this being a perfect excuse.

You're tilting the pan at a dangerous angle that forces Joel to come from behind, leaving his spot where he had been lingering against the opposite counter to see what you could handle.

“You’ll burn yourself if you keep it like that,” Joel explains, arm slipping behind you to adjust the pan, finding the sweet spot, “right—now you spoon the butter over the top and it’ll cook it while the pan sears the other side.”

You glance up at him curiously, to which he quickly settles to the idea that he needs to be your second pair of hands as he guides you through the process, “And this is called?”

“Basting,” Joel explains, “eyes on the pan, darlin’.”

You nod, returning your attention to the pan. But, you can still feel Joel’s eyes as you turn away, and you know. After a few minutes, you feel the boldness to call him out on it, “Joel, eyes on the pan.” You turn again quickly, catching him in the act. Even under the thickness of facial hair you can see the faint blush on his cheeks and the faintness of a smile he tries to hide, “remember?”

Joe shifts you aside gently as he prys the pan from your grip, shunning you to watch now.

“Go sit,” He nods toward the stool on the exterior of the island, “I’ll finish up.”

And he does, working away quietly at the food before he’s sliding a plate your way, offering a fork up by the handle. You smile and take it with a soft look of appreciation.

“So, think you’ll take up cookin’ classes when you get back to Austin?” Joel jokes, digging into his own food as he comes to sit beside you.

“Probably not,” you decide, chewing thoughtfully around a bite, “I can appreciate it, but it doesn’t really…intrigue me, I guess.”

Joel surprises you with a quick reply, “What does?”

You’ve never really thought about it, wondering if that was why you felt so lost in your life. You didn’t feel like there was a driving purpose behind your actions, not that there needed to be, but it felt like you were spinning in circles with no direction to lead off in. You decide on a few things, mostly meaningless but it gives Joel an answer.

“Uh, books. Art…spending vacation with strangers,” A smile creeps on your face when Joel flicks his eyes up at you briefly, the lingering you that never escapes your lips even as it sits on the edge of your mind, “I like trying new things.”

Joel can’t ignore the double entendre it serves, but bites the inside of his cheek to force his thinking straight.

Two fuller stomachs later and the shared duty of cleaning up, because yes, Joel insisted this time, you were both nearly catatonic on the couch—you laid out on the couch with a blanket tucked up to your neck and Joel on the adjoining couch that was only inches from yours, feet resting against the table that was placed in the center.

You think Joel has fallen asleep, eyes lingering on his face as he scrunches his nose up and blows air through his lips, peeking an eye open to catch you in the process.

There’s no shame this time, hiding your quiet laugh behind the blanket.

“How do you feel about movies?” Joel asks curiously, rising from his seat lazily.

“They’re…fine?” You look at him with full confusion, following his figure as he moves around the living area, “Why?”

“Mean—how do you feel about watchin’ a movie?”

“Joel, we kinda need a television for that.”

And as if he was a fucking magician, he pads slowly toward the large area over the fireplace, careful to avoid any incident, shoves the curtain away that you had assumed was hiding another window—guess not.

“What the fuck?” You ask in utter shock, rising slightly from your position on the couch. 

“You’re not very observant, you know?” Joel jokes playfully, in his own way.

“Only when I want to be.” You shrug, offering a mischievous smile that implies something that Joel isn’t touching—not a fuckin’ chance.

He quickly switches bases.

“I think I saw some old movies in the storage room when I got here,” Joel offers, “Stay put.”

As if you had the energy to move.

You slump back down, head resting in the arm outstretched beneath you.

Joel returns a few minutes later with some disappointment, “So—pretty sure these are all a bunch of foreign films,” flipping a couple of the covers back and forth, failing to discern anything of tangible recognition, “but, it’ll have to work.”

“What? You don’t know—” You snatch one of the cases away when he’s close enough, glancing over the cover, “French?”

“Do you?” Joel asks, genuine curiosity in his voice as he fiddles with the television until he can get the movie going, snatching the remote as he ignores his original spot now, shoving your feet aside gently. 

You shrug, “Nope.”

It made sense, given the awkward angle and Joel’s sensitive, aching joints—a painful sign of his dwindling opportunity to live fully, always trailing behind the masses now, not as young and spry as he used to be. 

You shift to your back, tucking a pillow under your head and jumping on the opportunity to outstretch your legs over Joel’s lap, his hands enveloping the expanse of your ankles covered by a pair of silly Christmas socks, the stitching of a reindeer and red puffball sewn into the material—Joel flicks the ball lightly and huffs a quiet laugh.

The voices on screen quickly mesh with the silence, both of you watching quietly, intently as you follow the subtitles on-screen, making back and forth comments about the story, nothing of significance as sleep wanes and bleeds behind your eyelids, eventually taking hold somewhere toward the end of the movie.

Joel calls out your name softly, wondering if you’re playing an innocent joke on him at first, but quickly realizes how exhausted you seemed, oblivious to the world as you slept deeply, head turned toward the couch and away from the flashing screen, expression slightly obscured by the arm slung over your face. 

He half considers staying like this, admiring the sight of you so relaxed, knowing the lingering darkness that you both identified with washed away for a brief moment—comfortable in the presence of a stranger. The idea that you trusted Joel enough with your safety that you could fall asleep beside him, on him, without any worries. But, his bones are already starting to ache and he knows you’ll find a way to make him feel the ultimate wrath if he brought you to bed and opted for the couch for himself. 

He moves carefully, hand sliding up your calf as he places them down gently. He tucks a solid arm under your knees and then your back, feeling the protest in his old knees as he bares your weight and carries you to the bedroom, thankful that you’re sound asleep and unmoving. There’s a moment when his heart stops as you shift when your body meets the mattress, but you never stir awake, shifting comfortably in the bed as Joel places the covers over you, repeating the process of placing a secondary blanket over the first and tucking it around you, something he’s always done for Sarah—not that this is similar, but it’s the natural instinct of taking care of in Joel, the need to protect and provide, it’s always been there, no matter how dormant. 

He’s still careful to keep his distance, a makeshift barrier separating you both, but he sleeps peacefully—just like the night before. 

—

Almost too peacefully, he’ll eventually realize.

You blame the instinct of your body searching for heat, Joel burning life a furnace beside you and in the haze of your sleep, you’ve snuggled up to his chest with your arms held close to yours—though his arm is draped over your side somewhere between the layer of blankets. You blink slowly, feeling the weight of his body pressed against you.

There’s a moment where your heart rate spikes, panicking for a brief moment before you find his face, buried into his pillow beside your head, snoring softly into the fabric. 

He’s unaware, blissfully, sleeping like he hasn’t in years and his walls are down, selfishly craving your own body heat to mix with his own—and normally you hated the idea, feeling suffocated by the temperature and sweat, but in this weather and under the low light of the morning, it’s desirable. 

Selfishly, you take a moment to admire Joel when your eyes finally adjust, staring up at him innocently as you scan his face, noticing the small cuts that have faded into scars and you freeze when he adjusts in his sleep, turning on his back now and relinquishing you from his hold, though his fingers still linger against your forearm and you can’t be bothered to move them. You spot the deeper scar near his temple, something that once was probably a nasty gash.

His beard is patchy in spots as his facial hair has grown out again, the unevenness of his salt and pepper beard slowly fading into his hair. You assume it used to be a perfect, stark black or a dark brown—curlier than it was now, but some of the pattern still remained where it wasn’t flattened out by sleep. He also seems to keep his neck trimmed up, stubble stopping somewhere around his Adam's apple.

You’ve never spent so much time looking—admiring, someone to this extent. 

Maybe you were hoping to capture this version of him to store away in your memories knowing that you would never see him again, that maybe if you memorized him now he would be a part of you forever, even if only in quick flashes of your thoughts. 

“Finally awake?” Joel asks suddenly, voice thick with sleep but his eyes remain closed. You jump slightly and it forces a chuckle from Joel.

“I fell asleep during the movie,” You gather when you finally pull yourself from the trance of admiring Joel, “didn’t I?”

Joel nods silently, raising a hand to run through his messy hair, scratching at his scalp idly.

“Did you carry me to bed?” 

The answer seemed obvious, but the confirmation is something to ease your mind.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Joel apologizes, “you were sleepin’ pretty deep and I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Things grow quiet, you shifting on your side to lay comfortably against the pillow and Joel, still struggling to fully wake, keeps his eyes closed but turns on his side to face you. 

“Any plans today?” You ask curiously, softer in tone than before. 

“Think I might catch up on some sleep of my own, actually.” Joel admits, peeking his eyes open briefly to catch a glimpse of you as he feels you shift slightly, readying yourself to face the day as you slipped out of bed.

It feels weirdly domestic, having not shared a bed with anyone in the past thirteen or so years—and he wishes it felt unsettling, but it brings a comfort that Joel thinks he could find himself becoming addicted to.

“Can you figure out the fireplace?” Joel asks suddenly as you slowly depart for the door, catching your attention as your hand grasps handle.

Your eyebrows knit together in a look of ridiculousness, “Duh, Joel.”

It sounds confident, but admittedly, you were clueless.

—

The highlight of your day wasn’t managing to actually start the fire—you try to memorize what Joel had done, carefully arranging the logs in a delicate stack and adding a fair amount of kindling. 

You could blame Joel for struggling so hard at first, but it was all you—Joel was just very distracting and you had eyes, so it only seemed fair to enjoy the view. 

Tight jeans over taut, tensed thighs as he leans into the small space and adjusts the logs, strong muscled arms that could overpower you in a second—it also shouldn’t be mistake than Joel always makes an effort to basically flaunt his ass off when he leans inside to clean up the leftover ash. 

Regardless, you find the highlight of your day comes later—not the long hours of staring off into the distance without a thought in your mind, other long sprints of reading books or wandering into the kitchen for a snack, but rather as you catch Joel tucked away in the small nook in the dining area, trashcan sat between his legs as he works away at something in his hands, small and delicate. 

You watch him over the couch, arm tucked under your chin as you squint to focus and realize that whatever he’s focused on is wood, in the shape of something you can’t make out.

“Go on and ask,” Joel senses your eyes, “you look like you’re gonna hurt yourself thinkin’ so hard.” He hadn’t even looked your way—but then his eyes were flicking up to catch your guilty gaze.

“What are you doing?” You take the bait and ask.

“Ever heard of whittlin’?” Joel asks, shaving off a couple pieces into the trash, “Makin’ fancy stuff out of wood?”

Normally, Joel wouldn’t outright admit this was his hobby, only allowing the people who were lucky enough to take a peek inside of his home and gather their own assumptions—but with you here, barriers down and attraction high, Joel wants to let you in. 

Little steps, he thinks.

Still, he battles with the idea of letting you get too close.

“S’that what you like doing in your free time?”

Joel shrugs, lips pursed together indifferently.

“Come on,” You tease, “I think it’s cool.”

Joel rotates the piece in his hand, rubbing off the extra shavings and admires it for a moment before taking a short breath and standing, walking your way.

You perk up immediately, awaiting his heavy footsteps as he approaches, offering the trinket up carefully—you rub your fingers over the softened, worn down edges and admire what Joel had been working so diligently on most of the day.

It’s a butterfly—nothing incredibly detailed, more cartoonish with bubble wings but the sentiment is there all the same.

“I like it,” You offer up, “something tells me you’re not a butterfly type guy, though.”

Joel snorts out a gentle laugh and retrieves the wooden butterfly from your hands, not mistaking the way his fingertips glide against your own, a featherlight touch that drives your mind to near insanity.

“It’s uh—“ Joel hesitates briefly, but remembers the small secret he shared with you during a moment of vulnerability, “for my daughter.”

“She likes butterflies?” You surmise, noticing the way Joel cradles it in his hands, rubs the wood gingerly with his thumb like he’s remembering something, your eyes looking up to find the sadness in his expression, subtle but there. 

He quickly wills it away, nodding, “Yeah—got ‘em all over her room.”

You ignore the glaringly obvious matter at hand. Joel was here, his daughter was not, and it clearly had some extent of an affect on him. He’s allowed himself to suffer in silence and you’re starting realize that—luckily, you had an idea.

Not a brilliant one. But, it was something.

“Hey,” You call out, pulling at his sleeve as he starts to retreat back to his seat, nearly unphased by your touch now, he looks down at your hold on his wrist, then at you, “let me cook dinner for you.”

It’s an insane concept—and you read the reaction all over Joel’s face.

“Oh, stop,” You push him gently, “seriously—I can handle basic stuff, just let me try?”

You add an irresistible pout that Joel can’t deny.

He caves with a soft, “Sure.”

—

Spaghetti seemed like a safe option.

You were wrong.

The noodles were a breeze, thankfully. But, gaining ambition in an attempt to make your own sauce from scratch and take on the challenge of adding meatballs was a recipe for chaos. 

First, you manage to slice your finger when you ignore Joel’s previous instruction about tucking your fingertips in—

“Fuck.” You hiss, dropping that knife as it clatters against the cutting board, Joel immediately pushing away from his spot a few feet away to check that you hadn’t somehow managed to stab through your hand entirely.

Thankfully, it’s nothing major. Joel tracks down the bandaids and is careful as he dabs the trickle of blood away with a napkin before helping you wrap the bandage around your pointer finger, ordering you to start on forming up the meatballs as he cleans up the mess and finishes dicing up the vegetables for the sauce.

But, again, the peace is short lived. 

Though, you can’t fully blame yourself on this one.

Placing the formed up meatballs in the pan with a soft sizzle, Joel passes behind you with a soft warning and a hand on your waist to avoiding bumping into you entirely, but instead the feeling of his touch is a surprise and you jolt forward, lower abdomen hitting the scolding hot pan, sending you into a panic as you half yell, half sob at the immediate impact and back away furiously, sending Joel backwards into the counter behind you, your back smacking against his chest.

“Goddamnit!” You shout in frustration, lifting up your shirt slightly with your uninjured hand, spotting the quickly growing red patch of skin. 

Joel quickly switches off the burner to pull his focus on you, reducing the chaos to allow you to calm down as he approaches, grabbing a paper towel that he wets with cold water before hesitantly pressing his fingertips against the edge of your shirt, looking for the permission he needs.

You nod and move your hand, allowing him to raise your shirt higher, “It’s nothin’ major, just gonna sting for about an hour or so probably. Keep this on there and it’ll help with the burning.”

You do as you’re told, letting him guide your hand to replace his own and catching the seriousness in his eyes.

“Go, sit.” He orders, nodding in the direction of the dining table, “I’ll finish up.”

You sit with the frown of a scolded child, holding your injured stomach and watching Joel cook, feeling even more defeated as he keeps checking on you, that doting look that could melt your heart if you weren’t so annoyed at your inability to handle something so simple.

Eventually, Joel wraps up cooking but doesn’t immediately plate anything, walking towards you leisurely as he motions with his fingers for you to stand and removes the damp paper towel, tossing it aside as he touches the back of his fingers against the burn—you can’t help but since slightly, but the sting is much more dull. 

“Still hurt pretty bad?” Joel asks, hand unmoving against your skin, both of your eyes locked on the contact, sinking and rising with the shallow breath you take.

“I’ll survive.”

You look up at Joel sheepishly, spotting him chewing away at the inside of his cheek in thought before he’s backing away from you suddenly, searching through cabinets for something, silent as he looks. 

When he finally finds what he’s looking for he cradles it in his hands with a tight grip, approaching and forcing your shirt a few inches higher, just above your navel.

“Honey?” You look at him, puzzled.

Joel nods, dolloping a small amount on his fingertips and using his free hand to hold you steady by your waist, your hands occupied with the hem of your shirt, fingertips pressing against the burn as he spreads the thick, syrupy liquid. 

“Let me go searchin’ for that first aid kit,” Joel tells you, “think I saw it under the bathroom sink.”

“Joel,” You plead, “it’s fine—it’s just a burn.”

But, he hears none of it. 

He’s gone and back within seconds, laying the box out like he was performing an impromptu surgery, grabbing a small patch of gauze and tape to keep the area from being disturbed.

He makes sure the bandage is secure before he moves your shirt back down before again, pointing at the seat with a look that provides no room for argument. 

Defeated, you sit.

—

“So, honey?” You ask curiously, “What's the trick with that?”

“Uh—has healin’ properties,” Joel says slowly, brow scrunched together in thought, “the uh—“

“You don’t know.” You quickly interject, a mischievous smile on your face.

“No,” Joel admits, “just somethin’ my mom used when I was young, always helped. I don’t know the science behind it.”

Joel is quiet over dinner, the lighthearted mood shifting to something you can’t really put your finger on, but you feel a need to clear the air of any doubt, knowing that Joel probably felt some sort of responsibility in your subsequent injury.

“Joel, it’s not your fault,” You laugh softly, “I’m clumsy, you touched me and I jumped, it’s fine.”

“Seems you do a lot of that ‘round me,” Joel says, dejected, “I’m sorry.”

Fuck it—Joel needed the reassurance and you were going to give it to him.

You quickly stab a fork into the meatball he’s going for, pulling his attention up abruptly.

“Let me clear this up,” You tell him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours, “I’m jumpy because you make me nervous, alright?”

Joel doesn’t respond, sensing that you had more to say, but also because he didn’t know what to say. 

“And not bad nervous, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Joel looks down at the fork impaling his food and makes a quick comment, “You wanna give that up or are you tryin’ to keep it hostage?” You smirk slightly and shake the meatball off your fork.

Then, Joel surprises you.

“So…good nervous then?” And you nod, Joel still feigns confusion, “What’s that about?”

“Oh, so we’re done pouting now?” It’s a double-edge sword, but you could Joel in the depths of the flirtation you were surrounding him with and he was waxing his way in your direction carefully—you had to ease him into it. “Come on, Joel—I’m sure you’ve got enough experience to know…”

Maybe it was your inability to admit you were attracted to Joel in the off chance those feelings weren’t returned, but you want Joel to figure things out for himself.

“Huh,” Joel huffs out a breath, smiling creeping on his face, “guess all that starin’ wasn’t just cause you thought I looked funny?”

Absolutely not—never in a million fucking years.

“Good eye,” You congratulate him playfully, “but, I don’t think I’m the only guilty one, ya’ know?”

Which, fine—it was only the two of you here and things were bound to happen, eyes were meant to wander, but the energy was palpable, the newfound intrigue and ability to touch without fear.

Joel had tended to your wound like he went and stabbed you himself, trying to make amends for his own actions—really, you were just nervous.

Good nervousness that ended up with a burn across your stomach, but still—it was something.

Joel does seem slightly guilty for his actions, but there is little to be said, nothing to be excused. You didn’t mind and Joel was quickly coming to that conclusion himself. 

“Own it, Joel,” You tease, “if I had a problem with it you would’ve known by now.”

Joel looks away with guilt, fork scraping against an empty plate as he sets the silverware down.

You bite your bottom lip to muffle whatever remark is bound to slip out, looking at a dejected Joel with eyes that bleed with sadness, his own mind having an internal battle with itself.

He doesn’t realize you’re cleaning up without him until a few minutes later, lost in thought with nothing but the battling forces in his head telling him—No. Don’t entertain this. Nothing good can come of it. 

But, then he turns and you’re smiling at him. It’s inviting, warm, and Joel wants to stifle it with his own mouth—a thought that startles him from his stupor and gets him moving, offering to help now that he’s caught up.

And despite every bad reason his own mind is giving him for interacting with you, allowing the soft touches and passing glances, he leans into it.

Joel allows himself a moment of selfishness, all rational thinking slipping through the cracks.

There’s a brief moment of wrestling over the dishes as Joel eventually wins out, prying the pan from your wet grip and flicking soap on you in the process which, frankly, is childish even for Joel. Dipping your hand into the hot water quickly, running your open palm against his face and into his hair, matting down his loose curls with the water and earning a look you’ve yet to witness.

It wasn’t disappointment or anger, nothing that leaned toward any idea that Joel might be upset—instead, he almost expects you to do more. Like he’s challenging it. Playful. That’s what it was. Not a smile that made you feel the comfort of Joel, but an intrigue that struck your gut with the subtle smirk on his face.

“Do it again,” Joel warns, catching your hand hovering above the sink of water, pan held tight in his grip and in any other situation you would expect it to be used as a weapon, “I dare you.”

Instead, he drops it. Water splashing about carelessly as you dip both hands in this time, cupping them until you had a fair amount of water to splash at Joel, but is ultimately futile with Joel’s quick thinking, hands now completely free. 

He’s got your wrists in a solid hold before you can think, water backfiring as it drenches your shirt, but even then—the look on Joel’s face? Priceless. 

Your chest rises and falls furiously, struggling feebly against his hold.

There he is. 

This is the Joel you’ve wanted to see. That you’ve always expected was there, but deeply hidden away.

And in any other situation, this would end in a kiss. Sealing the deal. Breaking the tension. But, it doesn’t happen.

Instead, Joel holds you there—the most contact he’s offered since you met a week and a half ago, hoping that you’ll pull away. That the intensity of his stare might scare you off.

The laugh that bubbles from your chest surprises him, soft but full of life.

“What?” You tease, “Can’t handle getting a little wet?”

“Think I should be askin’ you the same thing?”

And, for some reason, you don’t think he’s talking about the water.

Luckily, you find it in you to finally wiggle from his grip before you’re being shooed away by him, ultimately. You stow away some of the random items on the counter in the overhead cabinets, an idea brewing in your head.

“Hey,” You call out as a forewarning, catching Joel angle his head toward you slightly, “how about another movie night?”

“Darlin’, I don’t think there’s much of a selection back there,” Joel offers, insides turning to goo at the warmth in his voice, “much as I’d enjoy that.”

Fine. Scratch that.

You abandon the kitchen with a devious idea in your head, determined to find something.

“Where you goin’?” Joel calls out after you, brow furrowed in confusion as he looks after you, still appearing ridiculously haphazard from his hair mussed and shirt half damp from your attack.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reassure him, disappearing down the hall with a sweet smile that spelled nothing but trouble for Joel.

-

There were few choices, deciding that the owners of this place clearly didn’t enjoy anything other than foreign films and an odd amount of non-fiction books stored away in the back room of the cabin, but you eventually manage to find a pack of cards, deciding that even if futile, you could make something out of it.

Now, you have no idea how to play poker. Not even the faintest of a clue. 

You could’ve established some idea of it in college, but the idea never appealed to you. 

Joel is already on the couch when you return, sleeves pushed up his forearms still from where he would’ve had them submerged into water otherwise. He must’ve fixed his hair at some point, finding that while it was still mostly a mess, it wasn’t as lopsided and noticeable.

You climb over the side of the couch and plop down onto the cushion beside him, holding up the pack of cards in your grip like it was a prize, mischief behind your eyes.

“Cards?” Joel sounds a little lackluster, “You wanna play poker?”

“Uh, no—not exactly,” You explain, pulling at his hand until he splayed his palm out face up, slapping the box into it, “how about Go Fish? ‘Least that’s more my speed.”

“I can teach you ‘f you want,” Joel offers, but is quickly shot down by a shake of your head, “—Okay…”

“I’ll go pour us some drinks,” You explain, “and you can move the table around so we both have enough room to sit on each side.”

“What are you plannin’?” Joel eyes you suspiciously, noticing the grin that hasn’t faded from your face, only growing wider when he asks.

“Just trust me, okay?”

It was an absurd thing to ask of someone you barely knew, but for whatever reason, Joel agrees.

Joel follows through with your orders as you fetch a couple beers for you both to enjoy, another few stowed away to the side as he settles for the side with the couch, making himself comfortable against the cushion as you kneel, adjusting the fluffy rug against your bare knees—meanwhile, Joel’s eyes are tracking every moment, curiously suspicious.

“Alright, out with it,” Joel finally finds the courage to force the confession out of you, “what’s goin’ on in the head of yours?”

You allow him to linger in the state of unknowing for a moment before sliding his beer across the table in trade of the cards, dealing them out appropriately and placing the leftover in the middle.

“So—I never played much poker in college, all I can really understand is Go Fish, but,” Joel feels like he might explode if you don’t reach the point and he’s sure that’s what you’re aiming for, so he keeps his cool, “I figure Strip Poker is a thing, so why not try it with this?”

“I don’t think—” 

Joel, again, is self-sabotaging, against his own better judgement.

“Joel, it’s fine.” You assure him, “We’re both consenting adults and it’s harmless.”

 Harmless. Yeah.

Joel fears that might be a statement that goes down in history as the biggest lie he’s ever heard.

“Unless, you know, you’re scared.”

He knew it was coming and saw that teasing look on your face as you sipped gingerly at the lip of the bottle, a small chug of beer that refreshed your senses. It was working, Joel was considering it.

Joel bites his tongue, taking a long swig of his own beer before biting first.

“Give me your jacks.” He orders, spreading his cards out in his grip.

Strike one.

“Mmm,” You hesitate, eyes flicking up deviously, “go fish, Joel.”

“Bullshit.” Joel fires back, much to your surprise. It pulls a laugh from your chest.

“Hey, I’m playing fair.” You respond calmly, “Those are the rules.”

It’s a hit to Joel’s ego, losing first. He works diligent fingers around his watch, flicking the clasp open before laying it gently on the table.

“Alright,” You take a breath, scanning over your cards, “Uh..got any 7s?”

Joel eyes you for a brief moment, wondering if you were cheating. He knows it’s impossible, that it’s just dumb luck. But, still, he can’t help but be a little bitter about it.

He hands over the one card he has, your confidence growing at his dissatisfaction.

And what Joel assumed would be an easy win on his behalf, quickly takes a turn.

Jacks? Nope, go fishin’, Joel.

He removes his socks, begrudgingly.

But, of course—Joel had the spades you asked for.

Fine. Queens, then?

He can see the smirk on your face before you answer and he doesn’t even bother to hear you say the words, retching his shirt over his head and tossing it over the back of the couch.

Suddenly, you feel you’ve made a minor mistake—your triumph quickly fading as you’re forced to stare at Joel’s bare chest, making matters worse as he leans back against the couch, barefoot propped against the ledge of the table as he sips from his beer, staring angrily at his cards, dwindling with every turn.

Though, Joel had an obvious advantage here.

You were wearing fewer layers. A couple of losses and you’d be left very, very vulnerable and nearly naked in front of him.

Not that it was the worst idea, but this was all meant to be a playful tease to open up Joel to the idea of allowing himself to be more comfortable with you. To ease his mind and show him there was nothing to worry about. You take a big chug of your beer and ask for his 6s.

Joel has an immediate expression of elated victoriousness.

“Go fishin’.” Joel tells you.

Fair is fair. You pull your shirt over your head like ripping off a bandage, baring your breasts held tightly in the bra you wore and while it wasn’t the first time Joel’s seen this much skin on you, it feels different under these terms.

If Joel was bothered, he didn’t show it.

“Shit,” You laugh at that thick piece of gauze still taped to your stomach, “I forgot all about that.”

“You can probably take it off now,” Joel suggests, “if it ain’t stingin’ anymore.”

You feel there may be an ulterior motive here, squinting at him suspiciously.

You place your cards face down on the table and point a firm finger into the set.

“No peeking.” You order. “I’m serious.”

…Joel can’t help himself.

He finds himself sneaking a glance the moment your back is turned away, resigning it to memory as he busies himself with the act of drinking his beer as you turn back to check on him. 

And Joel doesn’t lay in immediately, throws you off with his first guess that ends with him shedding his pants, down to nothing but his underwear—he doesn’t think you’ll take it further, but there were often times when he couldn’t read you at all.

You try to hide your expression behind your cards, the carnal longing of a stranger—all man and nothing else, the strange pulse of heat between your thighs startling you to a near cardiac arrest—and no, the pair doesn't look much different from what you caught glimpse of the other night, but the context is entirely different.

You had fucked yourself. Hard.

If there was anything you and Joel knew about each other in this short time was that you were both terribly stubborn and this wasn’t going to end well. But, you were already too deep.

You sigh slightly, biting at your bottom lip in concentration.

“Okay, got any 3s?” You ask curiously, feeling the impending denial before it comes.

Joel shakes his head, taking another sip from his beer

That smug motherfucker.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

You press your cards into the table and stand, shimming your shorts down your hips in a way that is completely unnecessary, but very warranted. Thumbs slipping into the waistband of your shorts and slowly sliding over the curve of your ass as you turn, using any surface nearby for leverage as you slip them the rest of the way off, giving Joel another full view of your ass as you lean down to pick them up, throwing them in his direction this time as they hit him square in the chest.

But, the kicker is that Joel seems unbothered now. Calmly waiting for his moment of attack.

He asks for your Kings with a smirk and you know.

“No, fuck that—” You retort, “You fucking looked, didn’t you?”

Joel looks taken aback, “‘Course not.”

He was a good liar, but not that great.

You’re halfway over the table now, palms pressed flat as you invade his space and Joel, like a magnet, leans towards you, pressing his cards into the table with a pressure that isn’t required, but is very noticeable.

A few inches forward and Joel could close the space, snatch you over the table and pull you into his lap—and you’re imagining it, the glint in your eyes as Joel searches for your doubt, seeing it vividly. You knew he was lying, but you were laying in wait.

Who jumps first?

“Joel,” You speak softly, “did you look?”

And if Joel had any sense, he’d run now.

Instead, he doubles down in the heat of the moment and that’s what snaps the cord.

Joel grins, an enticing sight that even you weren’t immune to.

“No, I—”

You knock over an empty beer bottle in the process, stepping over the table and falling into Joel’s lap, following his movements as he grabs at your thighs instinctively, leaving you straddling him on the couch, nothing to mistake the growing bulge in Joel’s groin as you find yourself fully seated against him, the idea of going from hardly any point of contact to having the most intimate part of your bodies pressed against each other, bar a flimsy piece of clothing.

“You looked.” You tell him decisively. 

Joel forces out a shaky breath as you press closer, towering over him at this angle in a way that forces him to look up at you. He nods, simple, concise.

“I said no peeking.”

Joel licks his lips, a decisive move that has your eyes tracking the motion.

“Couldn’t help myself, darlin’.”

You nod slowly, like you might understand. But, Joel knows it’s all for show.

“Well, we should do somethin’ about that.” You suggest, a few ideas on the horizon.

Luckily, Joel doesn’t give you the time to list them off, a large hand rising to placate your need for touch as he cradles the back of your head, pressing his lips against yours in a delicate touch that feels like it has been years in the making.

It’s a little dramatic, but you can’t stress how good it feels to finally be touched after so long. Given you both have suffered through a dry spell that has stretched far too thin, the desperation is expected. You don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed about how much you needed Joel’s touch right now.

He satisfies your desire with a rougher push of his lips, igniting something inside of you that finally grabs your attention and allows you to reciprocate fully, guiding his free hand down to mold against the shape of your back, fingers hovering so temptingly above your ass, his fingertips press into the skin, forcing one testing glide of your clothed cunt over his cock, adding to the levity of the situation, the realization that this was actually happening.

You sigh, drinking in the overload of lust-filled touches and noises, the heedful intentions behind every one of Joel’s touches, squeezing you in places that have you squeaking out in surprise, opening up the opportunity for him to slip his tongue past your lips and explore…and explore, he does. 

You’ve never been kissed so surely, expertise beyond your own that manages to pull noises from you that you weren’t sure existed, dull fingertips pressing into the back of your skull and keeping you there, stilling you until you’re pliant to him, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases, apple the pressure he’s seeking, and you feel breathless.

It doesn’t help that your hands feel empty, unsure where they should go—but you know. You press your hands against his chest, feeling the stubble of a well-kept man built from solid muscle and soft skin, all while being consumed by his own desire, soft groans mingling with the curiousness of your hands, the muscles of his abdomen clenching as you inch closer to the thick hem of his briefs and Joel very swiftly gets with the program and switches gears, the hand squeezing at the edge of your back, so dangerously close to your ass by now, slips and slides into the front of your underwear with a quickness that has you gasping out how easily your body welcomes his touch, slick sticking to his fingers as he slides them testingly through your folds.

Not a word shared, but your thoughts are running wild. Both of you fear that if you do speak, the moment will be lost. You moan softly, his cock growing harder at the idea that he’s barely touched you and you’re already wet enough that he can slip a finger inside of you with little resistance, virtually non-existent.

Foreheads touching firmly, eyes closed, you delve into the delicate dance of whatever this was, too fearful to put a label on it either, fingers running along the underside of Joel’s cock and grabbing him firmly, his own groan slipping past his lips for the first time that night, always so assured of himself and priding himself of not showing how he feels.

But, not here, not with you.

You find that he likes things fast, quick, a little on the rougher side, squeezing him until he’s practically hissing in pleasure—though, the same can’t be said for yourself, who enjoys the slow rub of his middle finger as it grazes your clit, keeping up the pressure until he can feel you shaking under his grip.

And you can feel the word slip out before you process it in your mind, knowing the mistake you’ve made after the thought.

“Joel.” It’s a simple thing, full of meaning.

Joel, more. Joel, please. Joel, thank you.

But, instead, it breaks the peace and brings you both back to the surface and has Joel pushing himself away from you rather insistently, quickly situating his underwear into their proper place, shirt falling somewhere over his lap as he heaves a heavy breath, avoiding you entirely.

Was it really that horrible of an idea? You move away, more than just a little dejected.

Really, what should you have expected?

“Joel,” It sounds different now, eerie, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Joel is more than thrown when he hears the apology fall from your lips, almost offended. He knows this is on him, playing into the game, knowing he could’ve shut things down long ago—but here he was, dragging you along like there was a possibility of something. Anything.

“I think I’ll take the couch tonight,” Joel offers after a long, drawn out silence, “alright?”

No, not alright. 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?” You ask hesitantly, “Because if I did, I’m sor–”

Again, apologizing. It strikes a cord in Joel that he doesn’t like, the quick switch to anger and dissociation when things got too personal for him, with anyone. People took the blame for him when he knew he was the problem. 

It was his fault. Him. Repeating it in his head like a mantra.

Your arm crosses your body hesitantly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“Um…okay,” You decide eventually, rising to gather your clothes that were discarded haphazardly, pulling them back on in the silence, beers and cards forgotten on the table, “just…don’t think you have to sleep on the couch or anything.”

Joel doesn’t answer, lost in his own thoughts.

And you weren’t mad, not even upset. Maybe…disappointed? You weren’t expecting anything from Joel, but given his track record, pulling away from you during a moment of vulnerability made sense. 

You could give him space, let him sleep it off, then work things out in the morning.

Things would be fine—they had to be.

-

Neither of you get the sleep you need.

Joel knew that sleeping on the couch wouldn’t help, because his mind was still racing, despite his desire to sleep. He’s thought, over-thought, racked his brain for every possible reason to deny you aside from his own selfish problems. Like he had the gall to have morals after the things he’s done, trying to treat this as a lesson for himself.

You toss and turn most of the night, strangely missing his warmth beside you—hoping you’ll eventually succumb to your exhaustion and wake up on the other side, a new morning to think things through, apologize for your actions and try to move on.

It was stupid to think Joel could have any attraction toward you, you think. That despite the looks, the touching, that he could never see you, let alone have you, in that way. 

A few hours pass, well into the darkness of night, and you eventually find yourself wandering to the kitchen—mouth dry and needing something to quench that thirst.

Though, part of you is curious. You just want to check on him, wondering if hadn’t up and disappeared in the middle of the night.

You try to be quiet, careful footsteps as you traverse the flooring until you hit the kitchen, prying open a cabinet quietly to find a glass and you hear a subtle shifting behind you.

So, he wasn’t asleep. He’s probably been up just as long as you.

“Sorry,” You find yourself apologizing again, “I was thirsty.”

Joel doesn’t respond, rather turns on his side and faces the fireplaces, the flame low and crackling in the silence. He didn’t hear you approach, only notices you when you’re rounding the couch and taking a seat on the other couch several feet away, relaxing in the warmth but also yearning to be near Joel, to make sure he was okay.

Your bare feet touch the plush rug, eyes drawn down as you take a sip of your water, welcoming the warmth into your body.

The bed had been entirely too cold without Joel.

“You can sleep in the bed, Joel.” You assure him, not chancing a glance his way in fear that he wouldn’t look back, you couldn’t handle the vehement rejection, not right now. “Things don’t have to be weird.”

Joel doesn’t answer, still trapped in his own mind.

Stop it. Stop lookin’ at her like that. She’s half your age, full life ahead of her—who are you to taint something so perfect? 

Joel fears the attachment, despite there being no pretenses or obligations—and not that you would become attached, but he. 

He’s a victim to his vices and he knows the second he allows himself a taste of the sweet sin that you carry—he’s done for.

You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully, finger trailing at the glass now half-empty before you decide that this isn’t worth it—the shame or the embarrassment. Back to bed it was.

And Joel is stuck here, staring at that damn fireplace like he can will it out, growing much stronger in intensity the longer he stares.

It’s gotta be a sign—a warning, even.

That desire, that need that settled in his gut wouldn’t go away and just being in your presence he feels it grow again.

Just this once. Just for this trip.

He could leave you behind, pluck you from his mind and pretend he didn’t divulge into this fantasy when he goes home.

But here, now—he wants you.

And the fireplace cracks loudly, snapping like a twig as Joel rises to his feet suddenly, impending footsteps approaching you from behind.

You spin on your heels, ass and empty cup hitting the surface of the dining table as Joel nearly pounces on you, lifting you off your feet just enough that you land against the surface.

“What? Joel—“

“Stop sayin’ my name like that.” He forces out, face pressed against your own at every point of contact possible, noses slotting together carefully, eyelids barely touching as you blink, his mouth pressed against your lips but just barely, his right hand cradling your face as he tilts your head to the side, inhaling your scent like a drug.

“You used my shower again.” Joel deduces, hair barely damp after air-drying but he can smell his body wash, a distinct difference from your own.

The desperation in his voice would drive you insane if it weren’t for his sudden change in behavior, feeling like mental whiplash as his lips press against the junction in your shoulder where your neck begins.

“Joel, what’s going on?” You feel forced to ask, “A few hours ago you couldn’t even stand touching me.”

“I don’t understand it,” Joel admits, “why I need this so bad.”

Why he needs you.

“Keep tellin’ myself I don’t need this,” He admits gruffly, pointedly squeezing at your thighs as he pulls you in close, knees resting against his hips as he waits for you to feel him, the hard line of his cock pressed against your shorts and if it weren’t for the couple layers of clothing you might’ve given in right then, no preamble or argument, “but you don’t quit.”

And he doesn’t think he can quit you. 

You pull away slowly, hand fisting into his gently until you physically force him to look at you, a softness in his eyes that was gradually being edged out by his own desires. 

He looks wrecked. Pleading. Desperate.

“Take what you want, Joel.” 

There’s no other way to say it, offering yourself over with no argument.

“That’s a big offer, darlin’.” Joel points out, not ignoring the way your hips seek him out further, the slow drag of your cunt against his cock, head nudging at your entrance through your shorts. “Don’t just go around sayin’ things you don’t mean when you don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”

“Look at it this way,” You rub your thumb against Joel’s temple, feeling him lean into your touch, “we’ll never see each other after this—and frankly, I fucking need this.”

Joel doesn’t expect an open confession, but it eases his own fears, knowing he needed this too. A moment away from reality, with you. Just sex, nothing more.

“No limits, no feelings,” You offer, “We meet each other halfway, alright?”

Joel could manage that. He could.

Joel sneaks a finger past your shorts and underwear until he can feel your cunt bare, just as slick and needy as earlier. You gasp, hand shooting to use his wrist as leverage.

He sure didn’t like to waste time. 

“Kiss me.” You plead and Joel nods insistently, taking your breath away in one fell swoop as he licks into your mouth, feeling you come alive as you grip his hair at the root, tighter, moaning loudly into the messy exchange of lips and tongue.

Somewhere between then and now, Joel removes your shorts, fingers dancing under the waistband of your panties at your hips and dragging his cock against the fabric until they’re soaked, a feeble piece of clothing that stood no chance against your arousal and if it weren’t for the barrier and Joel’s own worries, he would’ve pushed into you like nothing and watch you fall apart in the process.

Instead, you both watch for a moment as the head of his cock catches against the fabric and nearly slips inside of you—and despite your own wants, this was far too risky. You could gawk for longer, appreciate how nice of a cock Joel had and boost his ego into the fucking stratosphere or—

“I—I have condoms,” You force out, voice only wavering slightly, “I can go grab one.”

Joel feels like it could’ve stifled the moment, the nervousness in your tone, your worrisome eyes. And his quizzical expression sends you into a fit of laughter that quickly dissipates any thoughts he’s having.

“To be clear, I always carry some with me,” You admit, “I don’t appreciate the excuse of—oh well, I don’t have one—plus, you can never be to safe, right?”

Joel grins at your nervous ramble and softly swats your thigh, sending you off—watching your giddiness transfer into the way you quickly run away, leaving Joel a moment to breathe and focus.

And as soon as he fears he’s been in his head too long, you’re back, pressing the foil package into his hand and returning to your seat on the edge of the table, fingers digging into his shirt to raise it slightly as he rips at the package with his teeth, swiftly rolling the condom down his shaft but not before you memorize every inch of what is soon to be buried inside of you, his own thumb trailing the long vein the trails the underside of it, the pink head begging to have your lips around it—which…is a thought.

A good one, but not appropriate right now.

Joel is far too fidgety to withstand an hour of you worshiping his dick in every way physically possible. 

You settle for this, cock sheathed under the condom as he finally pulls at your underwear, soft cotton sticking to the dampness of your folds and Joel snickers lightly, tucking them somewhere behind you as he taps your thighs open, urging you to spread.

And normally, he would start slowly—lick his way through your pussy to figure out what makes you tick, what makes you feel like you just might ascend into another realm—but you…are also far too impatient.

“Just do it,” You assure him, beyond the point of giving a shit, “not now—later.”

Later.

Joel bites his tongue to stifle the way he groans at the idea, using his right hand to guide himself to your entrance, a tenacious drag through your slick before he’s pushing inside slowly, allowing you to adjust to the full girth of him.

It was a lot, truthfully. But, the desire to have him is nothing compare to what a few moments of stinging may feel like, the pain quickly dulling out the further he presses in, his own eyes focused on his pursuit while a free hand travels to your face, tucked under your chin like he wants you in position and waiting, thumb rubbing tenderly at the small area under your lip until he’s fully seated, your groans mingling together in relief.

His hooded eyes peek from his lowered gaze and he smiles at the sight of your sated expression, bearing your weight on your open palms spread out behind you, shirt askew and the peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric—it is a sight that Joel would never will himself to forget.

“You with me?” He asks, sounding much more held together than you, a minor amount of stress to his voice as he keeps himself still, allowing you to warm his cock with your wet heat, his free hand kneading at the side of your thigh gently, keeping you snug against him.

As if you had any reason to run.

It was too late for that now. You weren’t letting go. 

You nod, a soft laugh falling from your lips as Joel takes that as an understanding, switching his mind grip under your chin to fully grasp your face, thumb on one side and the other four fingers on the other, holding you tight is his grip as he pulls almost fully out, the very tip of his head grazing the edge of slipping out before pistoning his hips forward sharply, sending the table skidding backwards loudly until it hits an adjoining wall, the start of a rhythm bang! bang! bang! as Joel feeds your starving body with the pleasure you’ve been begging for.

He doesn’t hold back and you love that.

There’s no judgment here. Just two people desperately running from their own loneliness. Fulfilling some of that by seeking out intimacy with commitment, and you can feel it with the way Joel looks at you now, unabashed and raw. Mouth hung open slightly with every growing intensity to his thrust, thighs sticky with sweat as they cling to his hips, your hand slipping out from under you but instead of allowing yourself to free-fall, you cling to him instead, using him as your anchor. 

“Just had to play that—stupid fuckin’ game,” He pauses breifly in his speech, slightly out of breath, “didn’t you?”

His grip on your face tightens minutely, but you feel it.

You want more. More pressure, more power. 

You want—need him to assert it.

You feel your eyes rolling back at the angle he’s hitting, the hand on your thigh angling your legs up at a nearly impossible angle, folded in the small space within Joel’s arms, and there’s an outpouring of adoration you feel toward him despite his passive touching, giving you exactly what you asked for.

“No more apologizing,” Joel reprimands, pulling your face mere centimeters from his own, bottom lip brushing against the tip of your nose, “not unless you mean it.”

“I do—IdoIdoIdo,” You mutter, whining softly when he strikes something deep inside of you, cunt squeezing down on him out of pure instinct, pulling him impossibly deeper, “fuck, it’s—it’s right there.”

And you feel like it may actually happen—coming from the actions of something other than your own hands or tiny electric toys that have become your best friends over the years and Joel can see you slipping, a softness to his voice as he draws your attention.

“Got you,” He murmurs, “—‘m right here.”

Joel answers your silent prayers as his hand drops your thigh to find your clit, middle finger working diligently to bring you teetering over the edge, “Keep on squeezin’ me like that, sweetheart. Pussy feels fuckin’ amazing—“

It isn’t the vulgarness of his words that startle you, rather how forceful your orgasm hits you with no warning, an intensity you haven’t been privy to experience like this, used to feeling empty as your cunt clenched around nothing but your fingers, instead it’s Joel—more specifically Joel’s cock that is hammering away inside of you still, mind-numbingly.

Joel is enough of a gentleman to help ease you over the high until you’re nearly delirious before he’s pulling out, condom snapping as he rips it away, grasping his dick in his hands with a rushed, “Whe—where? Where can I?”

Oh. This was different.

The asking, at least. You’ve never been asked.

You clasp your own hand over his, guiding him a little further under the burn near your navel, “Here, right here.” You pant, watching his eyes squeeze shut despite how hard he tries to keep focus as he cums in thick spurts over your cunt, careful to keep the mess contained beyond how quickly he was losing himself, reminding him so vividly of his age and how, as much as liked to fuck like he was still in his twenties, that wasn’t the case.

You sigh, an exasperated squeak as you finally fall against the table, another deafening bang that has you both giggling like idiots for a brief moment.

Joel pats your thigh gently, a displeased groan as he tucks himself back into his sleep pants and traverses through the kitchen, finding something to clean you up with.

He returns with a wet, warm towel and wipes up the mess despite your lack of acknowledgement, which has Joel chuckling under his breath, a delicate hand grasping yours as the other slides behind your back to lift you forward before discarding the rest of his mess, tossing the condom in a nearby trash can, finally pulling you back into focus when his throat clears, his hands offering up your discarded clothes.

Your nose scrunches up funnily—and Joel can’t help but find it adorable, “Think these are kinda ruined, least not without a wash first.”

Joel agrees, half-heartedly as he nods and matches your expression with a nose scrunch of his own. Your feet find a nearby chair, perching them there so they’re not dangling, practicing a little bit of distance between you and Joel, given the fact that you had no problem jumping his bones against at any given moment. 

“Look—we don’t need to have a deep talk about this,” You assure him, “two weeks from now we won’t exist to each other, but…right now, I just want to enjoy…whatever this is.”

The pauses are palpable, oozing with a silent tension neither of you acknowledge.

It shouldn’t string—the idea of leaving here and going back to your normal lives. But, it does. 

“Wasn’t gonna try it.” Joel agrees, quickly deflecting.

You nod in agreement, standing on unsteady feet, wobbling as you gain your footing and—Woah, that is different. 

Your muscles feel like they’re not your own, coming quickly to the realization that you’ve never been so thouroughly fucked like that before, laughing at your own naivety. 

Joel responded with a soft chiding grin, “What's funny?”

“I think you fucked my equilibrium out of me.”

It was…definitely something.

“Don’t boost my ego like that, darlin.” Joel warns, “You’ll come to regret it.”

Excuse you—the hell does that mean?

You’re too tired to ask, unfortunately. And Joel seems to share the exhaustion as he yawns, still holding you steady.

You had a feeling there was no need for a barrier tonight and that much is clear as Joel doesn’t hesitate to tuck you under his chin, no fussing or arguing, allowing you the full degree of a proper cuddle from him.

It feels fleeting, it is—knowing he would eventually slip from your grip, but you were bound to savor every moment while you could.

[lemoncrushh]

Rain Rain

Summary: Lexie is on her way to visit her sister, and she's taking Harry on the road trip with her, planning to drop him off at his friend's house for a wedding. But the weather has other plans.

Warnings: Not much - this is pretty much fluff with just a little petting and making out.

Word Count: 11k+

A/N: This is your basic "friends with one bed" trope. Harry x Bi!OC, AU, written in third person. Originally written and posted in 2019. This was based on a request I had gotten back then (which I still had copied into my docs): no worries if you’re not down to write about this, but it would be amazing if you wrote about someone who is mostly into women but just has this love for harry like no other. (maybe smutty idk) Thank you to that original anon wherever they are now! This ended up being three short parts, but I've combined them into one.

The rain was pouring so hard and so fast, the pavement was nothing but a blur as Lexie gazed out the window at the parking lot. She was grateful she’d remembered her raincoat, but cursed herself for not bringing along her boots. Her sneakers were bound to be a saturated, wet mess even after the short jog from the car. She could feel her bare toes curling against the rubber soles, and with a bitter scowl she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat.

“Lex?”

“Hmm?” she turned her head in slow motion to see Harry looking at her with a raised brow.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

Lexie nodded, giving a hesitant grin. “‘s fine. No worries.”

With a short nod to the man behind the counter, Harry took the room key and covered his head with the hood of his jacket. Pushing the door open, he grunted at the volume of the rain, both the noise and the amount, allowing Lexie to exit the lobby first.

“I can’t believe they only had one room,” he grumbled as she passed.

“Harry, don’t worry about it,” Lexie assured him. “We save money this way anyhow.”

Harry lifted his head to check that she was smiling, her nearly ever-present grin lighting her face, even on a full shit day such as this. He grinned back, making his way down the sidewalk to the last room on the left. Rain seemed to pelt against them sideways despite the awning above their heads.

“Jesus, it’s cold though,” Harry heard Lexie mutter as she bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting for Harry to unlock the door.

Sliding the key into the slot, the light flickered green and Harry pushed the door open. Rushing inside, Lexie pushed her hood off her face and took a gander around the room.

“Not too bad,” she appraised, sitting on the bed and kicking off her wet shoes.

“I’ll go get the bags,” offered Harry.

“Oh shit, I forgot!” exclaimed Lexie. “Let me put my sneakers back on.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Harry waved his hand. “Sit, relax, get warm. I’ll just be a second.”

Lexie made a face, but reluctantly took off her raincoat and sat back on the bed, watching Harry make a run for it. She could see him out the window, opening the trunk of her car to retrieve their luggage, laughing to herself as she recalled how he’d called it a boot when they’d packed it.

The trip was supposed to have been a short one. So far it was twice as long as it should have been, nothing but a string of disaster after disaster. They were way behind schedule. But if Lex was being honest, she didn’t mind. Harry had proven to be a great travel companion, entertaining her jokes and chipping in some doozies of his own. When they’d gotten a flat tire, she’d helped him change it and then bought him breakfast. When Shelby had called her cell unexpectedly, and she’d panicked, Harry had covered for her, saying she was driving and couldn’t stop to talk.

“Safety first,” he’d said, even though she had bluetooth in her car.

Rising from the bed, Lexie held the door open for Harry as he ran back inside, a bag on each shoulder. Dropping them down beside the television with a huff, he finally got his own look at the room.

“Sorry about the one bed,” he sighed, unsure how Lexie felt about having to share it. “I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry, it’s a King! And should you really be offering that with your terrible back? I won’t have you complain for the rest of the trip.”

With a chuckle, Harry unzipped his hoodie and shrugged out of it, tossing it on the nearby chair. Fingers ran through his damp curls as he stepped out of his shoes and placed them next to the door. Unzipping his duffle bag, he pulled out some dry clothes.

“Mind if I shower?” he asked, pointing to the bathroom. “Unless you were…”

“No, it’s fine,” replied Lexie, grabbing the remote. “You go. I���ll watch some TV and see how this storm’s doing.”

“No calling Shelby, right?” Harry raised a brow.

Lexie scoffed. “No! We talked about this.”

“Alright. Just making sure. I mean, I can’t tell you what to do, but if it were me…”

“Harry!” exclaimed Lexie. “Go! I’m fine, I swear. I’m not calling her.”

“Or texting.”

“Or texting!”

With a smirk, Harry turned for the bathroom and shut the door. Lexie turned on the television, finding the local weather. No surprise there was a big storm in their area, possible hurricane and flood warnings.

“No shit,” she muttered under her breath.

She was bummed she wouldn’t be at her sister’s tomorrow afternoon, but she wasn’t really in a huge hurry either. It was Harry she was more concerned about. He was supposed to be at his friend’s on Saturday for a wedding and Lexie was dropping him off on the way. If this storm kept up and they got stranded, they might not make it in time.

Getting bored with the newscasters, Lexie reached for her phone. She stared at it for a few minutes, reading the last text from her ex-girlfriend. Her fingertip ghosted over her name as she contemplated texting her back. The sound of thunder made her jump, however, and with a grumble she took it as a warning, just like she knew Harry would have done.

Setting her phone next to her, she scooted back on the bed and leaned against the headboard. She heard the squeaky turn of a faucet and the shower stopped. Moments later, Harry emerged, his hair sticking out in pieces around his head from towel drying it. Lexie couldn’t help staring at him, though she didn’t realize she was until Harry caught her in the mirror and wiggled his eyebrows. She swiftly turned her attention back to the TV where the news was on some story about a robbery at a local convenience store. She could hear Harry brush his teeth and spit in the sink before he turned for the bed.

“So how’s it looking?” he asked as he climbed onto the bed next to her.

“Huh?” Lexie half-gasped.

Harry chuckled. “The weather. How’s it look for us the rest of the night?”

“Oh. Um...possible flooding they said. Hurricane conditions.”

“Bugger,” Harry muttered as he settled himself against the pillow. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get back on the road in the morning.”

“Fingers crossed,” said Lexie, crossing her hands over her stomach.

The news broke for commercial, but Lexie remained focused on the television. Her hand itched to reach for her phone, but she resisted. Her nose had suddenly made her hyper aware of her sense of smell as she inhaled the scent of soap, shampoo and something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Harry smelled so good lying beside her, it made her mouth water. Her stomach did some weird flip, her face was warm to the touch, and she tried to put her focus on the 1-800 numbers flashing on the screen as she wondered from where on earth this feeling had emerged.

The truth was, Lexie had been attracted to Harry since the day they’d met. They’d had a few mutual friends, one of which had introduced them at a party for another. And while Lexie considered herself bisexual, she had almost exclusively been dating women for the last few years. In fact, she had just begun a serious relationship with Shelby when she’d met Harry at that party. They’d become fast friends which she was fine with, but she couldn’t deny there was some sort of spark there, at least from her point of view.

The sound of a hearty laugh made her turn her head abruptly, but she realized Harry was giggling at the trailer for a new comedy. Lexie watched his face for a moment, the way his eyes squinted when he laughed, the deep dimple in his left cheek. These were just a couple of things that she liked about him, though she could probably make a long list.

Seemingly aware of her stare, Harry mimicked her gaze, his eyes twinkling. Lexie smiled at him, trying to come off as casual and not like a staring buffoon.

“Are you gonna go?” Harry inquired.

“Huh?”

“The shower, love,” he explained. “Thought you were gonna go next.”

“Oh,” Lexie blushed. “Of course.”

Rising from the bed, she grabbed her phone before it slid off. Harry, however, was quick too and reached for it.

“Nope. Not bringing that with you.”

“Fine,” Lexie rolled her eyes. “Wasn’t gonna look at it anyway.”

Harry smirked as Lexie rummaged through her suitcase for something to sleep in, then stuck out her tongue before closing the bathroom door, making Harry giggle again.

Lexie let the hot water soothe her muscles as she stood under the stream. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense, but she blamed it on the weather and Shelby’s texts. Her ex wanted to get back together, it was obvious, though she hadn’t said it directly. But Lexie knew it was over. It had been over long before they’d actually broken up. Still, she couldn’t deny that she missed her.

Lexie thought about the phone call in the car when Harry had answered her cell. Afterwards he and Lex had a deep, albeit short conversation about relationships and how sometimes things quit working because you’ve run out of road.

“You’ve just reached a dead end,” he’d said. “And that’s when you know it’s time to say goodbye, let it go and travel down a new path.”

Though she knew he was right, Lexie was hesitant about taking that detour.

As she shut off the water and grabbed a towel, she could hear singing. She grinned when she realized it was Harry in the other room singing along to a commercial. She giggled to herself as she got dressed, finding herself humming the tune as well. Harry was a joy to be around. He made every situation bearable, no matter the circumstances. Perhaps, she considered, her attraction to him was merely his light that shone from within, and not anything sexual. When she emerged from the bathroom, however, and found him sprawled out on the bed in a simple t-shirt and sweats, one arm behind his head as the glow from the television defined the lines and curves of his face, she dismissed that notion.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath before crossing the room to her suitcase.

“What’s wrong?” Harry inquired, his eyes following her. He watched her pull out a small pouch from her bag and return to the vanity.

“Nothing,” she lied, taking out her toothbrush. “That thunder just...doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, I think it’s getting closer than further away,” Harry commented, shifting onto his side to face Lexie while she brushed her teeth. Resting his head in his hand, his gaze roamed down her body as he noticed her sleeping attire.

“Those are cute,” he said, not meaning to. It just slipped.

“Wha’?” she sounded, her mouth full of toothpaste. Spitting into the sink, she eyed him in the mirror. “What’d you say?”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I just...I like those pajamas. They’re cute.”

“Oh,” Lexie blushed. “They’re old. But thanks.”

She couldn’t think of any other reply. He liked her old, worn out flannel pajamas? She’d had them since before Shel-

Clearing her throat, she ran a brush through her hair before making her way back to the bed. She could feel Harry’s eyes on her as she climbed in beside him again, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Wanna watch a movie or something?” she asked, her gaze on the TV.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask you that,” Harry replied. “Unless you’re too tired.”

“I’m not really ready for sleep yet. What is there to watch?”

“Actually, not much. Most anything I found worthwhile is halfway over and has commercials. And I don’t reckon we wanna pay for something, especially if we end up losing power.”

Just as he said the last sentence, another crack of thunder sounded and made Lexie jump.

“Um…” she muttered with a grimace, “maybe we should just pick whatever’s on and hope for the best.”

With an easy grin, Harry rose from the bed.

“While you decide, I’m gonna go get some ice and a few things from the machines, if there is any. What would you like?”

“I'd like you to stay here with me,” she blurted without thinking.

Harry’s smile grew wider as he slipped back into his jacket. Lexie bit her lip as she felt herself blush for the second time.

“I won’t be gone long,” Harry offered.

“But I just brushed my teeth.”

Harry chuckled. “Then brush ‘em again. You know you want snacks, I can see the look in your eyes.”

“Yeah,” muttered Lexie. “I guess I do.”

“Plus if we end up stranded, you’re not eating my leg.”

Lexie burst out laughing. “Good thinking. I’ll take some potato chips and any kind of cookies they’ve got.”

“Soda?”

“Juice if they have it. If not, something without caffeine. Do you need money?”

“Nah, I got it,” Harry said, grabbing the ice bucket. “Be back in a second.”

Lexie sat back on the bed and flipped through the channels before landing on a Spiderman movie. She’d forgotten if she’d seen that one before or not, but it didn’t really matter. It was more for a distraction anyway, from both the booming thunder outside and the thumping of her heart inside her chest.

Harry rushed back into the room in record time, his hands full. Dropping several items onto the bed, he left again only to return seconds later with the ice bucket. Lexie watched as the door shut behind him and he pushed his hood back, revealing his damp curls.

“Were the vending machines not covered?” Lexie asked, grabbing one of the Sprite bottles Harry had brought.

“They were, but the water was dripping between the slats right above them, so I got a bit wet. No worries, though.”

“Harry, why is nothing a big worry to you?” Lexie eyed him as she took a sip of soda.

Harry shrugged as he returned his jacket to the chair and kicked off his shoes.

“Pick my battles,” he explained. “We got food, drinks and ice. Mission accomplished. A little rain didn’t stop me.”

“A little rain?” Lexie scoffed. “Sometimes you’re just a little too Mary Sunshine.”

Harry looked at her as he sat next to her on the bed. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I stepped in a puddle and nearly hit my head on a metal beam when I heard the thunder?”

Lexie smiled. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Reaching for a bag of Lay’s, she could feel his eyes on her. Finally when she bit into a chip, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re one to talk.”

“What?” Lexie raised a brow.

“Mary Sunshine.”

“Excuse me, I am not Mary Sunshine.”

“Yeah, you are,” said Harry. “You were totally cool with taking me along on this trip. You were fine with us sharing a room here, even just the one bed. Right now, you seem perfectly fine with that soda instead of the juice you’d really wanted. Honestly, you’ve barely even said one negative thing the entire time. Except maybe regarding Shelby, and even that you seem to be taking in stride.”

Lexie considered his words for a moment before giving a shrug. “Maybe I pick my battles, too.”

“Fair enough.”

Taking another swig from her Sprite bottle, she looked down at her lap. “It might have something to do with present company, too,” she said softly.

Harry turned his head and looked at her, his eyes seeming to study her face, hoping she’d expand on her admission.

“You’re easy to be with,” she added. “You don’t judge me and you’re considerate and nice and...I dunno, I just like that about you. Rubs off on me, I suppose.”

Harry continued to look at her as she ate her potato chips, her eyes on the television.

“Oh,” he finally managed to voice. “That’s...really lovely, Lex. Thank you.”

Lexie gave him a soft, short smile before biting into another chip. The two of them ate and watched the movie in silence for a while, until the next commercial break. When Lexie rose from the bed to shake off the crumbs and throw away her trash, she heard Harry speak again.

“I like that about you, too, you know?”

“What?” she raised a brow.

“I like that you’re easy to be with. Fun, actually. You don’t complain a lot, and you almost always have a smile on your face.”

Lexie tried to hide her current smile but failed.

“I’m not sure that last part is true,” she commented.

“Oh, it definitely is,” said Harry. “I just noticed it earlier. I know you’re...still getting over...um...someone...but you still seem happy.”

“That’s a facade,” Lexie confessed. “Inside I’m a mess.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Lexie eyed Harry with a smirk. “I guess I just did.”

Softening his expression, Harry nodded. “‘m sorry. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Harry studied Lexie’s face for a moment, wondering if she would change her mind. But when she didn’t, he knew not to push her. “Okay.”

Lying back on his pillow, he folded an arm behind his head. Something about his relaxed state made her want to cuddle with him and tell him all her problems. Shaking away the thought, Lexie lied back too, her eyes on the TV.

“I think we just grew apart,” she finally muttered.

“What?” Harry turned his head to look at her.

“Shelby and me,” she explained. “We just...got too comfortable, I guess? If that makes sense. It became boring. And when I get bored, I start to get restless.”

“I think that makes sense,” Harry commented. “You can only spread yourself so far.”

“Exactly!” Lexie nodded. She rolled onto her side, facing Harry. He blinked at her nearness, her wide-eyed expression.

“Like I’m willing to give myself to somebody, everything I have. When I love someone, they’re my world. But after a while it felt kind of one-sided.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again. “How did Shelby feel about it?”

Lexie shrugged. “We would just end up arguing when I brought it up. She said she wasn’t like me, that she needs her space and time separate from me. I told her I understood that, but I still needed her to meet me in the middle once in a while.”

“And maybe more?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?”

This time, Harry turned onto his side, so he was face to face with Lexie. “Maybe sometimes you needed her to make the full effort like you were doing, so you didn’t have to meet her in the middle at all.”

Harry watched Lexie’s eyelashes flutter rapidly until a tiny drop fell down her cheek. Without thinking, he lifted his hand to brush it away with his thumb.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he whispered.

Lexie shook her head, then reached her hand up and grasped Harry’s wrist. “No. You’re absolutely right. How did you know?”

Harry shrugged. “‘s not hard to figure out, Lex. You’ve worn yourself thin.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t try,” she choked.

“I know.”

“I loved her.”

“Course you did. Maybe you still do?” Harry lowered his hand, releasing it from her grip.

Lexie pursed her lips. “I dunno. I guess I’ll always love her in some way. But I think the real love was gone a long time ago.”

“You think she feels the same?” Harry asked.

“Well...she was angry when we broke up. But now she says she wants to get back together.”

“What do you want?”

Lexie sighed, running a hand through her hair as her eyes darted around the room. “I guess...I dunno I just don’t think she can change. She’s just...she’s probably gonna keep calling me…”

Harry stopped her by taking her hand, making her look at him again. “That’s not what I asked, Lex. What do you want?”

Lexie opened her mouth to speak but shut it quickly. Then biting her lip, she really considered Harry’s question.

“I just want to move on, to be honest,” she finally admitted.

“Then move on.”

A loud boom of thunder sounded then, once again timely as though it punctuated Harry’s words. Neither of them, however even made a move. They lay facing each other in silence, the movie credits scrolling up the ignored television screen.

Butterflies danced in Lexie’s stomach as she stared at Harry, his green eyes seeming to say unspoken words. Though she wasn’t quite sure what those words were, she had an idea. Swallowing hard, she loosened her hand from his grip only to thread her fingers with his. Harry dropped his gaze to their joined hands before his eyes darted back up to her face, landing on her mouth. Instinctively, Lexie licked her lips and in one split second, she felt Harry’s lips pressed against them.

They were so soft. That was the first thought that crossed her mind. The second was that she hoped he didn’t stop any time soon.

Thunder cracked once again as Harry released Lexie’s hand to cup her cheek. She sighed against his mouth, and that was enough for him to know it was okay to deepen the kiss. Lexie opened her mouth to him, allowing his tongue to meet hers. She felt something then - something more than just arousal.

Rain continued to pelt against the roof and the window, the sound so loud, one would think the glass might break and water would rush in. But at that moment, Lexie heard nothing but the beating of her own heart in her chest.

Harry shifted slightly then, resting his leg between hers as he laid on top of her. Their kisses became intense, an apparent hunger as though they couldn’t get enough. Lexie’s hands found the back of Harry’s jeans, her fingers looping into his belt at his waistband. She held on for a few moments as his hips began to buck against hers, causing a friction that drove her mad. When his lips finally left hers and dragged across her jaw, she gasped for air.

“Ha-harry…” she sounded. Swallowing hard, she blinked to get her bearings. “Harry.”

Lifting his head, he looked at her face, her eyes reading uncertainty.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Jesus, Lex, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“No,” Lexie interrupted. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry.” She shook her head. “About anything.”

“Really? Then why…”

“It’s just…” she licked her lips. “I’ve never...been with a guy...before…”

Harry’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, but Lexie pulled him back.

“I mean...not like this. I’ve dated men. Well...boys really,” she chuckled nervously. “But it’s been a while.”

“But have you…”

Lexie shut her eyes and shook her head. She heard Harry sigh and felt his body relax against hers. She felt a flutter in her chest at the idea that he hadn’t moved off of her. She liked the feeling of his body against hers. When she opened her eyes, she saw him eyeing her, his expression sweet and calm.

“I don’t wanna make you do something you’ll regret, Lex,” he said. “But you should know, I didn’t tell you to move on in hopes that you’ll sleep with me.”

Lexie giggled. “But I am sleeping with you.”

Harry rolled his eyes and smirked. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Lexie said softly. “I also know I like you.”

Harry’s smile grew as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You do?”

“Mhmm,” Lexie nodded. “The truth?”

Harry raised a brow as Lex grazed her fingertips across his back. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever had these kinds of feelings about.”

“What kind of feelings?” he whispered.

“You know…” Lexie hesitated. “Feelings like...I think you’re incredible and sweet. And I want to touch you. And I want you to touch me.”

Lexie felt Harry shift again, his thigh nearly pressing exactly where she wanted it to.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes studying her face intently.

With the flutter of her eyelids, she nodded again. “Please.”

“Lexie…”

Before she could say more, before she barely had time to process how sexy and deep his voice sounded when he said her name, his lips were on hers again.

Lexie shoved her pajamas into her overnight bag as she watched the light yet steady rain continue to fall outside. The weather wasn’t as bad as it had been during the night. The thunder and lightning had stopped, and the parking lot wasn’t flooded like Harry had predicted.

Harry.

She could hear his footsteps coming up the sidewalk. Taking her eyes from the window, Lexie turned toward the sink to grab her toothbrush and other toiletries. She heard the door open behind her and the sound of feet stomping to rid of their dirt or water.

“We’re all checked out,” he announced. “So...whenever you’re ready…”

“Okay,” Lexie called over her shoulder before turning around and dropping her toiletry bag inside her suitcase. Then she zipped it up and gave a tight smile. “All set.”

“Here, I’ll take that,” Harry declared with a nod as he reached for Lexie’s bag.

Sucking in her lips, Lexie decided not to argue, accepting Harry’s chivalry as she slid her arms into her raincoat. Then she followed him out to her car where she unlocked it and popped open the trunk. Lexie sat in the driver’s seat, the engine running while she heard Harry slam the trunk and rush to his side.

“Rain’s not so bad now,” he commented, rubbing his hands together, “but the temperature’s dropped.”

“Yeah, it’s cold,” Lex agreed, immediately regretting it.

The entire morning had been nothing but short, redundant replies to his comments or questions, punctuated with tight-lipped smiles and nods. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the thick air between them.

“Breakfast?” Lexie managed to ask when she shifted the car into reverse.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said as he buckled his seatbelt. “Don’t reckon those potato chips and sodas lasted long after…”

Though his words trailed off, Lexie looked at him with wide eyes. When his gaze lifted from the click of his seatbelt and he gave a smirk, however, she felt herself blush. A small, nervous giggle escaped her throat as she shifted back into drive and turned out of the parking lot.

Still catching a flicker of a grin on Harry’s face out of the corner of her eye, Lexie quickly found a radio station that was to her liking, and she quietly hummed along. Truth was, she was nervous as hell, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She didn’t like it that Harry suddenly made her nervous either, because he never had before. He was her friend. But now he was…

Harry.

Her mind wandered to the night before, his soft kisses, his hands on her hips as his own pressed against her. He hadn’t tried to rush her. In fact, he had been completely gentle and respectful, knowing she was hesitant. Her own brain had been spinning like a whirlwind, unsure of how far to go. She knew she liked him and was attracted to him, that was a given. And the feeling of his lips on hers only confirmed that. But it had only been a short time that she’d been broken up from Shelby, her long-term girlfriend and the only person who’d even seen her naked in two years.

She’d let him touch her. When his hand had slipped inside her pajama bottoms, she hadn’t stopped him, though his eyes questioned her. She’d bit her lip and opened her legs, a sigh quickly releasing from her lungs when she felt his fingers on her. His gaze had been focused on her face the entire time while his hands had done the magic, making her throw her head back and moan as her legs shook. She thought she might have breathed his name, though she wasn’t sure. It was a possibility it had gotten lost behind the sound of the thunder. She did remember, however, the tender kiss he’d given her when she’d come down, his hands cradling her face as though she was a china doll.

“Lex?”

“Huh?” Lexie blinked. She blushed again, realizing her focus was not on the road.

“Looks like there’s a diner up there,” Harry pointed. “Unless you just wanted to find a McDonald’s.”

“Oh! No...yeah...that sounds great, actually.”

“I know I could go for some pancakes,” Harry commented, patting his belly.

Lexie smiled at him. “Yeah. Me too.”

Pulling into a spot next to a pickup truck, Lexie put the car in park and killed the engine. Pushing her door open, she felt something brush her hand. But just as she turned to look at Harry, she saw him quickly peel his eyes away and open his own door, shutting it with a thud.

The overly chipper waitress seated them at a table by the window. After ordering coffee and juice, Lexie pulled out her phone, prepared to text her sister when she suddenly frowned. Harry caught it, his breath stalling in his throat as he waited for Lexie to say something.

He watched her silently as she typed hastily on her phone. He wanted to snatch it from her hands and throw it out the window, but instead he waited. Despite what happened between them the night before, it was none of his business whom she was texting. But he really hoped to God it wasn’t Shelby.

The waitress returned with their beverages then, and Lexie laid down her phone with a smile. They both ordered a big breakfast with pancakes, but suddenly Harry wasn’t very hungry.

“Um…” he hesitated, reaching for his silverware. “Everything okay?”

“What? Oh…” Lexie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine. I had a text from Shelby, but I ignored it. I was texting my sister to let her know I made it through the storm, and that I’ll text her again once I’ve dropped you off.”

Harry sucked in his lips and nodded, though he felt his insides release the tension they’d been holding.

“I’m sorry I had to tag along,” he muttered.

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” Lexie waved him off before dropping a straw into her orange juice and taking a sip.

“Well, if you didn’t have to take me to Brian’s, you could get to your sister’s sooner. You have to go out of the way.”

“Harry, it’s not out of the way. In fact, it’s exactly on the way. It’s fine.”

Harry watched Lexie’s eyes as she took another drink. He liked the way her eyelashes fluttered slowly, laying delicately against her cheeks. He thought of kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. He’d never been this awkward around anyone before, the morning after. But this wasn’t just anyone.

“Besides,” Lexie added, sitting back in her seat, “it was you that needed the ride. It just so happened that I could visit my sister at the same time.”

The waitress returned with their food, and for several minutes they ate in awkward silence. Or perhaps it was only Harry who felt awkward. He wanted to mention the night before, but he reckoned in a diner while eating pancakes was not the best place to bring it up.

“So, are you excited about the wedding?” Lexie asked, breaking the silence.

Harry shrugged. “I like weddings. But I’m not sure excited would be the right word.”

Lex giggled, making Harry look up from his breakfast. He’d come to notice that he really liked her laugh.

“Why not?”

“Well…” he began, swallowing the bite in his mouth, “Brian’s an old friend of mine. And I’m happy for him. His family’s always been great to me. Looks like he’s found a great girl. It’s just…”

Lexie looked at him, tilting her head. “Just what? You’re not jealous, are you Harry?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Not jealous. I just...he’s got a big family, lots of cousins and friends. I’ll be the only person there alone.”

“Oh,” Lexie mouthed. She wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Last time I visited them,” he added, surprising Lex, “I was seeing someone.”

“Oh,” she whispered again.

With another shrug, Harry dismissed his own thoughts, diving back into his pancakes. “Doesn’t matter, I know. It’s my mate’s wedding. It’s not about me.”

“That’s true,” Lexie nodded. “You’re just there to show support.”

“Exactly,” Harry said with his mouth full.

With an odd feeling in her stomach, Lexie managed to eat the rest of her breakfast. She mentally kicked herself for even bringing up the subject and vowed to stay quiet about it until they’d reached their destination.

Back on the road, Lexie gave Harry control of the music, letting him choose a playlist from her phone. Except for a comment here or there on the songs, the conversation was sparse. They were on a long stretch of highway with nothing much on either side but pasture and the occasional farm or herd of cows.

“So, um…” Harry hesitated a moment before deciding to just admit what he was thinking. “I enjoyed last night.”

“What?” Lexie turned her head quickly before returning her eyes to the road. She heard Harry let out a soft, deep laugh, making her weak in the knees.

“I was wondering how long it would take either of us to mention it, but it’s been hours now and...well, I reckoned I’d have to be the one to address the elephant in the room...or, um...car.”

Sucking in her lips, Lexie felt herself blush as she gripped the steering wheel.

“Sorry,” she finally muttered, stealing a glance at Harry. “Guess I’m not very good at this.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Harry. He paused before adding his question. “Did you enjoy it?”

Lexie felt her lips curl up as she kept her eyes on the road. Then tapping her thumbs on the wheel, she nodded. “Yes. Very much.”

“Good.” Harry sat back in his seat then, trying his best not to seem cocky. But she’d said she’d liked it. And that made him happy.

“I um...just want you to know…” he added, “it doesn’t have to be...weird between us now.”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Lexie agreed hastily.

“It’s just...um...I’d really like to do it again, but if you feel-”

“If I feel what?” Lexie eyed him, her cheeks still pink.

Harry grinned, looked down at his knees and licked his lips. He was kind of enjoying the obvious effect he had on her, but he didn’t want to push it.

“Just...if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.”

“Harry, I um…” Lexie shifted in her seat, gripping the wheel. “Something else you should know about me. I’m not a one and done type of girl. I don’t...sleep around.”

Harry’s lips widened, his dimples deeper. “I know that, Lex.”

“But by the same token,” she continued, “I don’t rush into things either. I mean, I just broke up with-”

She stopped when she felt Harry’s hand on her elbow.

“Say no more,” he murmured. “I understand.”

Slowly releasing her grip on the steering wheel, Lexie lowered her arm to the seat, laying her hand next to her, palm up. Taking it as the gesture it was, Harry gracefully slipped his fingers through hers. Their hands remained like that through the next three songs as they both hummed softly along until stopping at the next exit to fill up on gas.

Harry had gone inside the food market to get a few snacks for the road while Lexie pumped the gas. Paying the cashier, he pushed the door open to see Lexie with her back to him, leaning against the driver’s side. It wasn’t until he got closer that he realized she was talking on her cell.

“I just can’t do it anymore, Shel,” he heard her say. “I just...I think it’s time we both moved on.”

Afraid he was intruding, Harry started to turn back to the market, pretending he’d forgotten something.

“Harry!”

Stopping in his tracks, he turned around again. Lexie beamed at him as she pushed a strand of hair from her face. He never thought she looked so pretty. Except maybe last night…

“What’d you get me?” she asked, jogging around the back of the car. Peeking into the paper bag, she raised her brows. Then she giggled, recognizing the potato chips, cookies and juice. “All my favorites.”

“Well, you didn’t get your juice last night so-”

Lexie planted a haste kiss on his cheek. “You’re sweet. I’m going to the ladies’. Be right back.”

“Hey, would you like me to drive for a while?” Harry inquired.

“If you like,” she smiled, handing him the keys.

Harry watched her practically prance into the market. He didn’t want to jinx it, but it certainly seemed like she’d gotten the closure she needed with Shelby. He was happy to see her with a little pep in her step.

Setting the groceries in the backseat, Harry put the key in the ignition. Then reaching back, he grabbed the two juices and placed them in the cup holders between the front seats. Just as Lexie returned to the car, Harry noticed it was sprinkling.

“Good timing, I guess,” remarked Lex as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I saw the dark clouds forming a few miles back.”

Switching on the windshield wipers, Harry pulled out of the gas station. As soon as they were back on the highway, he heard Lexie open the bottles then hand him one.

“Cheers,” she said with a sly grin.

Harry mimicked her, tapping his bottle against hers. “Thanks.”

“So, tell me more about this Brian guy,” said Lex as she pulled out the bag of potato chips and opened them.

Harry looked at her and then back at the road. “You sure are in a good mood.”

“Am I not supposed to be?”

“I dunno. I just thought…”

“That I’d be sad or still hung up on Shelby?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Lexie was quiet for a moment as she stared at the chip in her hand.

“It’s over,” she admitted softly. Then turning, she captured Harry’s gaze. “I ended it. Officially.”

Swallowing, Harry set his juice in the cup holder and nodded. “How do you feel about that?”

With a grin slowly spreading across her face, Lexie popped the chip into her mouth.

“I feel good about it,” she announced. “Great, actually. Is that awful?”

Harry shook his head. “Not at all. I’m glad you got the closure you needed.”

“Me too,” Lex agreed. Then like before, she laid her hand palm up across the console. Harry took it as an invitation and with a tiny flicker of a spark, he threaded his fingers through hers.

“Thank you.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done, but the look on her face and the touch of her skin was enough reason.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now hand me some of those cookies.”

“Hurry before you catch pneumonia!” Lexie heard the woman at the door call out.

The rain had been coming down nonstop for the last couple hours. Though Lexie had been grateful to Harry for taking over behind the wheel, she felt guilty for making him drive through that grueling weather. They’d finally made it to his friend Brian’s house, or rather, his mother’s, but the rain was determined to be difficult, the wind only adding to the arduous driving conditions.

Closing the trunk of the car, Lexie followed Harry as he carried both bags up the steps of the large farmhouse, stomping his feet on the massive wrap-around porch. Lex had given Harry a short questioning glance when he’d grabbed her bag, but with the woman shouting and the rain pouring down, she decided not to argue.

“Virginia!” he shouted. “Nice to see you.”

“Harry Styles, get in this house this instant!”

Practically shooing him over the threshold, the woman wasn’t slow to notice the girl following behind.

“Hello, dear!” she greeted. “Welcome.”

Lexie barely got a thank you out before Virginia addressed Harry again. “Who did you bring, handsome?”

“This is Lexie, Virginia,” Harry answered as he dropped the bags in the foyer. “We drove here in her car.”

“Oh, I see,” Virginia beamed. “Lovely to meet you...Lexie, you said?”

“Well, it’s Alexis actually, but…”

“Oh, come here, give me a hug,” the older woman insisted. “I’m so happy for you.”

Lexie wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed because she was wet from the rain, or because the woman obviously thought she and Harry were a legit couple. Catching only a slight twitch of nervousness in Harry’s reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, she opted to once again leave it be. Virginia was certainly used to playing hostess, and from the aroma in the house, Lexie could already tell she was good at it.

“Styles, you made it!”

Lexie looked up to see a man around Harry’s height and build saunter down the stairs. Meeting Harry, he caught him in a tight embrace, murmuring thank yous and missed yous.

“Lex, meet one of my oldest, dearest mates, Brian Ramsey.”

“Nice to meet you,” Lexie nodded, extending her hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

“And you already met his mother, Mrs. Ramsey, AKA Virginia, AKA the best cook aside from my mum.”

“AKA the one you never come to see anymore,” Mrs. Ramsey swatted at Harry with her dishcloth.

“I’m sorry love, I’ve been busy,” Harry smirked.

“Mhmm, I see,” she nodded, eyeing Lexie and then giving a wink.

“Well, c’mon, Harry, let’s go have a drink,” Brian gestured down the hall to where Lexie only assumed was the kitchen. “Pretty sure Pops, Jenny and Serena are back here.”

Eager to join him, Harry looked back at Lexie with a smile.

“Oh,” she mouthed. “Actually, I should probably get going.”

“What?” Virginia asked incredulously.

“Yeah, um...I was actually just dropping Harry off. I have to get to my sister’s.”

“Oh, honey, you can’t go out in this weather!” Virginia insisted. “It’s supposed to be raining all night, possible flooding. Maybe even a tornado.”

“Oh.”

“And the roads around here usually flood pretty quickly, so they close them off. You probably won’t be able to get out until tomorrow morning, at the earliest.”

“Oh,” she whispered again.

“Don’t worry about it, Lex,” Harry offered. “I’m sure Mrs. Ramsey won’t mind you staying over.”

“Of course not, dear!” she exclaimed. “Trust me, you’re not going anywhere in this.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Lex started to argue.

“Nonsense! I have enough rooms, blankets, towels and food for an army!”

“Ugh, the army line again,” scoffed Brian.

“Hush, you!” Virginia said, daring him with his own swat from the dishcloth.

Reluctantly, Lexie followed the two boys through the hall and into a large open area with the kitchen to the left, and a family room to the right.

“I thought a heard a raucous out there!” announced the man sitting in the leather recliner. Rising from it, he quickly held his hand out. “Harry, good to see you, son.”

“Hey, Pops,” said Harry, giving him a big hug. “How’s life treating you?”

“Can’t complain.”

With a grin, Harry stepped back and placed his hand on the small of Lexie’s back. “Pops, this is Lexie.”

“Hello, Lexie,” the older man greeted with a handshake. Then placing his other hand on top, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Just so you know, he’s one of the good ones.”

“What are you telling her, Pops?” asked a young woman who’d just walked into the room.

“None of your business.”

“Lies.”

Lex eyed Harry who let out a burst of giggles.

“Hi, I’m Jenny,” said the woman. “Brian’s older but wiser sister.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“And that one over there,” she pointed to the brunette in the kitchen, “is Brian’s fiancée, Serena.”

“Not for much longer,” Serena sang, taking a cookie sheet from the oven and placing it on top of the stove. Then wiping her hands on her apron, she walked around the counter, holding out her hand. “Hi, so nice to meet you, Lexie.”

Lexie suddenly felt as if she was in a movie, one of those wholesome Christmas films that were shown on television every year. Everyone was so nice and hospitable, it seemed...unreal.

Brian emerged from the kitchen then with two glasses of wine, offering them to Harry and Lex. Lifting his glass, Harry proposed a toast to the happy couple, wishing them all the best.

After several games of cards, and a couple rounds of charades, in which Harry won both, plus far too many of Serena’s cookies, the evening had finally wound down. The wedding pair retired to their room upstairs and Mrs. Ramsey set both Harry and Lexie up with their own rooms, across the hall from each other. Lexie had already called her sister to tell her the situation, and that she would be arriving later than scheduled.

After brushing her teeth, Lexie opened the bathroom door to find Harry standing in the hallway. A smile slowly spread across his face as he took her in. His gaze suddenly made Lexie self-conscious, and she looked down at her ensemble.

“Different pajamas,” she remarked.

“I can see that,” Harry smirked. “I like those, too.”

Blushing, she bit her lip, then ran a hand through her hair. “Um, did you need the restroom?”

“Oh...yeah.”

As Lexie turned down her bed, a beautiful blue and white rose quilt, she found herself humming one of the songs she and Harry had listened to earlier that day in the car. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as she recalled the way he’d told her he’d enjoyed the night before.

Suddenly, a knock sounded behind her, and she looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Lexie gestured.

Harry stepped into the room, gazing up at the photos and paintings on the walls, then walked over to the dresser and inspected everything on it.

“The Ramseys are really nice,” Lexie remarked, taking a seat on the bed as she watched Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “They’re like...my second family.”

“I can tell. They’re definitely fond of you.”

“Yes.”

“And it was very kind of them to let me stay. Even though it was mostly Virginia’s idea,” Lexie laughed. “I don’t think she was about to let me set foot outside again.”

Harry chuckled nervously in agreement. “She’s a tough one, that Virginia. What she says goes.”

Placing an old, framed photo back onto the dresser, he let out a sigh. Finally, turning around, he sucked in his lips. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Harry looked at the floor.

“Um...hey I know it’s kind of last minute, and you need to get to your sister’s and all…” he paused, biting his bottom lip before finally lifting his eyes to Lexie, “but I was wondering...and you totally don’t have to...if you’d like to stay...a little longer tomorrow...and be my date. For the wedding.”

Lexie’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected him to ask her that.

“Oh!” she breathed. “Oh, well...I…”

Harry shook his head. “It’s alright. It was a dumb thing to ask.”

“No!” Lexie exclaimed. “I mean...no, it wasn’t a dumb thing to ask. I mean...actually…”

The corners of Harry’s mouth quivered slightly before his lips spread into a smile and his dimples appeared. He let out a tiny chuckle, causing Lexie to glare at him.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re as nervous as I am,” he replied.

Lexie blushed as she realized he was absolutely right. With a smile that nearly blinded Harry, Lexie stepped forward and took his hand.

“I’d love to be your date,” she beamed.

Lexie stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. While she wouldn’t call the dress exactly her style, she was grateful that Jenny let her borrow it for the special occasion. She liked the dainty blue flowers and flowing sleeves.

“I think it’s perfect,” declared Brian’s sister. “You look so pretty.”

“I do?” asked Lexie bashfully, her cheeks blushing a light pink.

“Definitely. Looks better on you than it ever did on me. Lucky we’re the same size.”

Biting her lip, Lexie ran her hands across her waist. She silently wondered what Harry would think.

“What about your hair?” asked Jenny. “Were you planning on wearing it up or down?”

Lex grinned nervously. “I actually hadn’t thought about it. This whole thing wasn’t planned at all.”

“Of course,” Jenny smiled.

“I usually wear my hair down though,” Lexie added, winding a strand around her finger. “What do you think?”

Jenny’s smile widened. “I have a great idea.”

Turning to her dresser, she opened the top drawer and pulled out a headband, bringing it to Lexie.

“What do you think of this?” she asked. The headband was simple, adorned with dainty flowers and leaves in gold metal.

“I love it!” exclaimed Lex.

With gentle ease, Jenny placed the headband on the center of Lexie’s head, allowing her soft, delicate hair to fall around it.

“Yes,” beamed Jenny. “Absolutely perfect.”

A knock sounded on the door then, and Jenny walked across the room to open it.

“Harry, you can’t see us yet,” Lex heard Jenny say. “It’s bad luck.”

“I thought that was just the bride and groom,” Harry chuckled from the doorway.

“Even so,” Jenny whispered. “I wasn’t quite finished.”

“With what?”

It was then that Harry spotted Lexie across the room, her reflection in the mirror as she looked down at her hands.

“Oh!” he sounded, his eyes wide.

With a sigh, Jenny stepped back and allowed Harry to enter the room.

“Wow, Lex, you look amazing!” he announced.

“Thanks,” she muttered, turning around to face him. Grabbing the sides of the dress, she felt herself blush again. “Jenny let me borrow it.”

“It’s lovely on you.”

Lexie and Harry seemed to stare at each other for a few moments until the silence was broken by Jenny’s voice.

“Shoes!” she squealed, nearly making Lexie jump. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“Um…” Lexie swallowed, “eight.”

“Aw crap,” Jenny scowled, snapping her hands on her waist. “I’m a nine. They’d be too big.”

“It’s okay.”

“I bet Serena’s your size,” she added. “I’m not sure if she brought any other shoes with her, but I could ask.”

“Really, it’s okay,” Lex chuckled. “You’ve done enough for me. Besides after the weather last night, I might be glad I’m in my sneakers.”

“Oh, that reminds me why I came up,” said Harry. “Your mum needs you downstairs. Something about a broken table and angry caterers.”

“Ugh,” Jenny rolled her eyes.

“Oh no, I hope everything’s okay,” said Lexie. “Maybe I should help.”

“No need,” Jenny held up a hand as she headed for the door. “When Virginia Ramsey’s involved, there is a way.”

“Send out an S.O.S. if you need us,” called Harry.

“Will do!”

Harry’s shoulders shook with laughter as his best friend’s sister left the room, leaving him alone with Lexie.

“Look at you,” said Lex, making Harry turn and raise a brow. “You clean up nice, Styles.”

Harry looked down at his suit, his hands on the jacket lapels.

“Wha’ this ol’ thing?” he smirked, causing Lexie to giggle.

Stepping closer to him, she reached for the cross around his neck, displayed in the center of his chest.

“I take it you’re not a tie kind of guy,” she remarked.

“Not particularly,” Harry grinned at her. “Why, do you think I should wear one?”

Lexie shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

She felt his hand on her waist before he pulled her closer, his chest colliding with hers. His green eyes seemed to dance as his other hand slid under her ear.

“You look really pretty, Lex,” he said softly.

“Thanks. So do you.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched before he leaned forward, his lips so close to hers she could feel his breath on them.

“Is it okay if I kiss you now?” he asked.

“I was beginning to wonder why you hadn’t already.”

Lexie gasped when Harry opened the back door, and she followed him out onto the large porch. It was trimmed with dangling lights and floral garlands that cascaded down the banisters to the large canopy in the backyard.

“Kinda magical, innit?” asked Harry, catching Lexie’s eye. She smiled and nodded.

“C’mere you two!” someone called from the yard and Lexie turned to see Mrs. Ramsey beckoning them. “I could use your help.”

Taking her hand, Harry lead Lexie down the steps and between the rows of white chairs to where Virginia stood.

“At your service,” offered Harry with a grin. “What do you need us to do?”

“Oh honey, don’t you look lovely!” exclaimed Virginia when she finally got a good look at Harry’s date up close.

“Thank you,” Lexie said shyly, looking down at her sneakered feet.

Her hand went to her forehead to brush a strand of hair from her face when she remembered the headband. Gently, she adjusted it, careful not to make a mess of it before the wedding as she caught the gleam in Virginia’s eyes when she smiled at Harry.

“If you wouldn’t mind, my dears,” said Mrs. Ramsey, “could you kindly stand outside the gate to greet the guests as they come in? Brian’s cousins are ushers, but I’d just like to have someone out there to make sure they’re entering on the right side, and no one steps in a mud puddle or anything.”

 “No problem,” Harry and Lexie replied in unison.

Squeezing her hand that he was still holding, Harry gave Lexie a wink before guiding her around the corner to the large fence that surrounded the Ramsey’s backyard. Then unlocking the gate, he released her hand only to push it open.

“So, we just stand out here?” inquired Lexie.

“Yep. Guests should be arriving soon.”

Twirling around, Lexie inspected the view of the backyard through the gate, getting an idea of what guests might see when they walk through.

“This is really a great place for a wedding,” she commented.

“It is,” agreed Harry with a nod.

“And convenient, too. They probably saved a ton of money.”

“You better believe it,” Harry chuckled. “And not just because it’s the Ramsey’s house. Virginia will find the best deal anywhere. She’s kind of famous for it.”

“Really?” Lexie smiled, intrigued.

“Yeah, if she can do it herself, or get Pops to do it, she will. If not, she knows everyone within the next three towns, and she won’t let them take advantage of her. She always gets her way.”

Lexie laughed. “She’s a pretty cool lady.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched as he stepped closer.

“You’re a pretty cool lady, too,” he declared.

“Stop,” Lexie playfully swatted at him as he tried to put his arms around her.

“Too cheesy?”

“Hmm, maybe a little…” she bit her lip.

“Sorry,” said Harry as he managed to pull her closer. “I’ll cut back on the cheese.”

“No, it’s...it’s cute.”

“I really like you, Lex. And I’m glad you’re here.”

A big smile spread across her face as she slid her hands up his arms. “Me too.”

Harry was just about to ask which statement she was agreeing with when an older couple approached them from the front yard.

“Don’t tell me the wedding’s started already,” the man chided.

“No, sir,” Lexie began before she noticed the twinkle in his eye.

“Harry,” he added, holding out his hand. “Good to see you, young man.”

“Mr. McRay, a pleasure,” Harry greeted.

“How’s that beautiful mother of yours?”

“She’s just fine, sir, thanks for asking.” Harry reached for Lexie then, placing his hand on her back. “Lex, this is Mr. and Mrs. McRay, the Ramsey’s neighbors.”

“How do you do,” Lexie smiled.

“I do wonderful, pretty lady,” Mr. McRay said, giving her a wink and earning himself a poke from his wife.

“Charles is a big flirt,” she scoffed. “Don’t mind him.”

Lexie felt herself blush as Harry’s fingertips dug into her waist as he gently pulled her closer to his side.

“You two look lovely,” Mrs. McRay added. “I trust Virginia’s inside, running herself ragged?”

“Just a wee bit,” said Harry, making Lexie giggle.

“I better see if she needs my help. Hope to see you two later.”

“Enjoy the wedding,” smiled Lexie.

By the time the McRays made it inside the gate, a short line of cars had formed along the curb, some on the driveway. Lexie took a deep breath as she watched guests exit their cars and begin the walk up to the gate.

After greeting at least half a dozen couples and clusters of families, Lexie noticed something. Harry’s hand had remained on her back the entire time. Perhaps it was a silent reassurance that even though she wasn’t a member of the wedding party or even an originally invited guest, she was still very much a part of the day’s activities because she was Harry’s date.

His date. Lexie let the word roll around her brain for a moment while she watched him chat with someone else he’d known nearly all his life. She liked the word. It was simple, not too formal or labeling. He’d introduced her as his date a couple of times already, a big, dimpled smile on his face as he’d said it.

“This is my date, Lexie,” he’d beamed, his hand giving her another light squeeze.

She liked that he hadn’t said “friend”. Although she certainly was his friend, she always thought that word held little romantic value. Even Shelby would sometimes introduce her as her friend, after they’d been dating for months, and it would rub her wrong to put it mildly. It wasn’t that she thought she and Harry had crossed the line into more than just friends after just one night together, but…

“Lex?” Harry asked, making her blink.

“Yeah, sorry,” she swallowed. “What did you say?”

“I was just telling Jackson about our little adventure on the road to get here.”

“Oh!” Lexie’s eyes widened.

Harry let out a gleeful chuckle and leaned into her. “Not the motel part, love.”

Lexie couldn’t help but laugh in spite of herself, and when she found she couldn’t stop, she rolled her head into Harry’s chest.

“Seems she’s gotten a fit of the giggles,” Harry explained to Jackson who’d joined in on the humor of an obvious inside joke.

“I’m so sorry!” Lexie shouted, muffled from Harry’s shirt.

“I’ll meet you inside,” laughed Jackson. “Good to meet you, Lexie.”

“You too!”

Harry’s chest continued to shake with laughter as he gently rubbed Lexie’s back. Once Jackson was out of earshot, she slowly lifted her head.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whined.

“Why?” Harry asked, an enormous grin on his face.

“It’s not that I thought you’d told him...it’s just...it’s the first thing that came to mind, and...oh, God.”

Grabbing the lapels of his jacket and burying her face in his neck, Lexie got a good whiff of Harry’s cologne and suddenly felt her legs go weak.

“You are so fucking cute, Lex,” she heard him say.

“I am?” she asked, breathing him in. His skin was so close to her lips, she wanted to touch it.

“Yeah. I kind of always thought of you as very confident and self-assured.” Harry’s free hand found the back of her head and began to lightly brush his fingers through her hair. “And you are, I find it very sexy. But this…”

“Hmm?” Lexie sounded when he paused.

“This is a different side of you,” Harry explained. “I dunno if it’s because of me, but...it’s like you have your guard down a little bit. And I think it’s very sexy, too.”

Her legs now jelly, Lexie shifted slightly until her lips met the warm skin on his neck. She pressed three soft kisses there until she felt him hum against her mouth.

“Lex…” he whispered.

Lifting her head, she saw a deep green in his eyes she’d never seen before. He brushed a tiny strand of hair from her face before cupping her chin. Just as he was about the lean forward, however, a voice behind him interrupted.

“Harry, son, they’re getting the wedding party ready,” announced Mr. Ramsey.

“Oh yes, of course,” Harry cleared his throat. “Be right there.”

Lexie gave another look of embarrassment that only earned her a grin from Harry. Then taking her hand, he kissed the back of it.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to your seat.”

“You know, I knew you were the Best Man, but I guess I wasn’t thinking about the fact that you wouldn’t be sitting with me. Makes me kinda sad.”

“‘m sorry, love,” Harry frowned.

“It’s okay. I’m being dramatic,” Lexie teased. “At least I get to watch you.”

Harry chuckled low as they reached the end of a row of chairs where Lexie took a seat.

“Who says I won’t be watching you?”

“Please, it’s a wedding, Harry. Nobody’s even looking at anything but the bride and groom.”

“Hmm...that’s what you think.”

With another giggle in her chest, Lexie watched Harry turn down the aisle and walk up the porch steps. Soon enough, the music started and Brian escorted Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey to their seats on the front row. Serena’s mother was escorted next, followed by Harry and Jenny, serving as the Best Man and Maid of Honor.

Finally, the wedding march began, and Serena emerged from the porch and down the steps, her arm looped with her father’s. Lexie immediately felt the heaviness in her chest as Serena walked down the aisle, her face all aglow as her eyes met Brian’s. Then turning in her seat, Lexie caught the look on Brian’s face and just about lost it. No matter how strong and self-assured she sometimes seemed, Lex was no stranger to crying at weddings. Perhaps she was a true romantic at heart.

Just when the ceremony began, Lexie heard a familiar sound and realized it was raining again. However, with the party safe under the large canopy, it was almost tranquil.

As the couple said their vows, Lexie’s eyes veered toward her date who stood behind the groom. Her insides nearly melted when she realized he was looking at her too. And when the rings were exchanged and a tear made its way down her cheek, Lexie caught Harry’s lips curl up until they widened into a smile.

When the happy couple was pronounced husband and wife, the guests clapped and watched them make their way up the aisle. As Harry followed, he discreetly held out his hand to allow it to graze across Lexie’s shoulder. As if the looks he’d given her during the ceremony weren’t enough, her entire skin was now on fire.

Moments later, as the reception began, Lexie had just finished chatting with a friend of Serena’s that she’d met earlier when she felt the familiar hand on her waist.

“Did you enjoy that?” he whispered in her ear.

“Did you enjoy mocking me?” she teased.

“Mocking you?”

“Yeah, what was with the huge grin while I was clearly in tears over the vows?”

“That was not mocking,” argued Harry. “I was happy.”

“Happy I was crying?”

“Well...kinda, yeah,” Harry shrugged.

“Meanie!”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean I was happy that it moved you that much.”

“Oh.”

“I told you I was gonna watch you,” Harry added.

“Glad to be your entertainment.” Lexie folded her arms and looked down at her sneakers.

“Heyyy,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it was...it was a beautiful wedding.”

“It was. But it’s not over yet. We have a party.” Harry spread his arms out.

“Yeah...I can’t stay that long though.”

“Oh,” Harry dropped his arms and frowned. “Why not?”

“I just...I have to get to my sister’s.”

“I thought you had that all worked out.”

“Yeah, but I feel bad. I was supposed to be there a long time ago, and now I’ll only get like a day and a half with her as it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry muttered.

“Not your fault,” Lexie waved her hand. “I should...I should probably go ahead and get changed. Pack my stuff. Looks like the rain stopped, so I should get out before it starts again.”

As she turned toward the back porch, Harry grabbed her hand.

“But wait…” he pleaded. “We...we haven’t had our dance yet.”

“Dance?”

As if on cue, a slow love song began to play, and a few couples took to the dance floor.

“Please?” Harry held out his hand.

With a sigh, Lexie took it and followed him. They began to sway in each other’s arms, the music leading them.

“Thanks for coming with me, Lex,” Harry said low. “And for being my date.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I wish we...had more time.”

Lexie stared at Harry’s lips for a long while before shifting her gaze to his eyes which seemed to burn into hers.

“Me too,” she finally admitted.

“Yeah?”

Shutting her eyes, Lexie leaned forward.

“Harry…” she whispered. “I don’t wanna go.”

“What?”

“I mean...I still wanna see my sister, but...I don’t wanna leave you.”

“Lexie…” Harry breathed, lifting his hand to her cheek.

“Is that awful?” she asked when she opened her eyes.

“No.”

Harry’s face looked so serene and beautiful, Lexie couldn’t help but feel a sudden calmness, even though her heart was beating a mile a minute.

“I’ve had the best time with you,” she confessed. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

“Me neither.”

“Would it be...completely awkward or inappropriate if I asked you to come with me?”

“To your sister’s?” Harry asked.

“Yeah…” Lexie’s expression faltered. “Never mind, forget it. It’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” murmured Harry as he blinked slowly, pulled her closer and pressed his lips to hers.

Rain began to pelt against the canopy once again just as the fire she’d felt before returned full force and Lexie fell into the kiss. Their bodies continued to sway as their lips and tongues collided, until the song finally came to an end. Then leaning his forehead against hers, Harry gave her another of his dazzling smiles.

 “I’d love to,” he said.

Hope you enjoyed!

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[sergeifyodorov]

would you actually be willing to give like a pretty long rundown of those main guys from the 2015 draft class?? because i would be Very interested

Of course! I wrote this in a Google doc so I could get it all down. It's a LOT btw -- this is the abridged version, leaving out what are probably important details, and it's still [checks] 11k words long. Sorry about that.

Anyone who tells you that the draft is a science is an idiot not worth their twenty-dollar stadium beer. The draft has analytical elements, sure, but it is a crapshoot through and through. If you dare to take a look back on draft histories from the past ten years -- the past twenty, the past thirty -- only rarely is the first pick, the “best in show,” actually the best of his class. I mean, no wonder, right? How well can you determine how good a man is going to be at hockey when you have only seen him as a teenager? Accuracy and prophecy are not kin.

Every ten years, though, you come across someone whose trajectory is easy to map. A prospect who is so head and shoulders above everyone else -- in numbers, in the eye test -- that you cannot help but say that they are going to be The Next One. God save the poor boy you put that name on.

In this case, it is 2014, and they are speaking those words again. On the dingy ice of an OHL arena, a red-haired Toronto boy with scared fawn’s eyes paces around the circles, faster than anyone else in the building. There are articles written about him already, calling his experience the torture test and labelling him Jesus, the saviour, the new great. It will get worse for him from here.

A Generational Prospect

It is 2004, and all eyes are on Sidney Crosby. He has eclipsed QMJHL scoring records. He performs highlight-reel antics. It is known that he will make the NHL as a teenager, and that whichever team has him will have an asset they should not ever think to relinquish.

Now, in 2023, all expectations of him are blown away. He is fifteenth on the all-time scoring list, having played most of his life in the dead-puck era, and will be inside the top ten by the time he retires. He has never been below a point per game, having gotten to a hundred points as an eighteen-year-old rookie and only slowed down to ninety at thirty-five. He has won three Cups; two Harts; two each Art Ross and Rocket Richard.

Something similar can be said for his contemporary, one Alex Ovechkin, sixteenth in all-time scoring, second ever in goals. While neither were always the most singular, dominant player of the past eighteen years (has it really been that long?) their longevity and consistent high-level play have cemented them into that tier of all-time greats. 

Such players only emerge once (or, for them, twice) in a generation; a “generational talent.” Gordie Howe was the first, before drafting happened at all, then Gretzky, joined as a part of the WHA merger, then Lemieux, then, debatably, Jagr through the early half of the dead-puck era, then Crosby and Ovechkin. Jagr was drafted fifth overall partly due to political constraints (it was 1990, and Czechia was behind the Iron Curtain), but all of the other drafted ones went first. While development curves for everyone else are hard to map, it is easy to tell, for them, how good they are as youths. We all call Gretzky the “Great One,” but he actually got that nickname before he was a teenager, because of how much better than the rest of his peers he was.

This is how we go up to the 2015 draft. Let’s say that it is September 2014, a full hockey season before the draft, so we can set the scene. Go back to the dingy Erie rink, watch the red-haired boy speed around the ice.

This is Connor McDavid. He was born in January just outside Toronto; if you are unfamiliar with the term “GTA,” I will pause now to tell you that it means Greater Toronto Area, and that it is the nexus of all hockey in the world. He is a Leafs fan, as so many of the GTA hockey-playing hopefuls are. 

Connor is an unusual child, even by young hockey prospect standards. Entry to any of the CHL major junior leagues -- the OHL, the WHL, the QMJHL -- starts at sixteen, but select few can apply early, and if they are academically, physically, and emotionally deemed adept they can be accepted for exceptional status and join at fifteen. This happens once every two or three years nowadays; Tavares and Ekblad were the only ones to predate McDavid. As well as being deemed exceptional by the board of the CHL, he is exceptional among peers, too: intelligent and analytical, black-and-white, painfully shy. He works hard in school, desperate to avoid coming off as a “dumb jock.” Media interviewers ask for him, but they have to change the settings on their microphones in order to pick up his voice, it is so soft. 

He has already won trophies; scholastic achievement, sportsmanlike behaviour, CHL rookie of the year. He will score at least one point in all but one of the first eighteen games of the 2014-15 OHL season, before breaking his hand in a fight (getting himself a Gordie Howe hatty, being that he already has a goal and an assist). He will score a hundred points in thirty-eight games, and a hundred and twenty points in the forty-seven games he will play.

Understandably, his name is penned in at number one on the draft board. Even such deficits as breaking a hand and being out for six weeks don’t tank his stock, it is so obvious how well on track he is to outpace all but the best.

He is sweet and shy, a captain of Erie based mostly on skill, and tight-laced into the destiny of future franchise saviour.

At least he has a friend, though, right?

Dylan

The 2014-15 Erie Otters are a good team. A great one, even -- third in league standings by season’s end, and you don’t get that far if your single generational superstar is sidelined half the year with a hand injury.

This is where Dylan comes in. Like Connor, he’s a GTA boy, and a young Leafs fan. Unlike Connor, he’s part of a serious hockey family -- the middle child of three. His older brother Ryan has already been drafted, in the first round, no less. He’s a real student of the game, too, a stats obsessive and a calm, steadfast personality. 

Remember how we said the draft is a crapshoot? That’s very true. Prospects may have precise rankings when all is said and done, but in the meantime I find it best thinking of them as instead arranging into tiers -- there’s the generational talent in this year, but disregarding him we have a first overall-level, then a small handful of top prospects. Not saviours in their entirety, but certain to make a team very happy. Dylan projects as the latter group -- he’ll be somewhere between three and five. In 2014-15, he’s the OHL scoring leader, and takes the Erie Otters’ single-season record.

He and Connor are also best friends. Connor’s quiet, anxious even, but Dylan has a coolheaded sort of confidence that brings out the best in him. Rarely are they pictured without each other; rarely are they spoken to without mentioning the other. There’s a sweet little video out there of the Otters going to New York state and going on this little ziplining/outdoor climbing gym, and Connor and Dylan are about as glued to each other’s sides as you can be while obeying the harness safety rules. In hockey terms, while a little young for it, they’re married. Much like Crosby and Malkin are, although over a much shorter term, and publically the two Otters are much closer.

Dylan is the one I feel as if I can talk the least about. He is mostly defined by what he is not: not Connor, to start, and before the actual draft takes place that is the most of it. 

Of course, that’s the most of what any of it is, isn’t it? These are teenagers, separated into imprecise tiers and mostly defined by which tier they slot into. The three boys below Connor, no matter how good they are, are defined by being not Connor.

Jack Eichel most of all.

Jack, to start, is American, unlike any of the other three. He’s a late birthday -- born in November of 1996 instead of  the first eight and a half months of 1997 -- so he’s, in theory, had another year to adapt. (Brief footnote: the September 15 cutoff is what determines draft eligibility, either the year you turn eighteen or the year you turn nineteen. If you were born in, say, June of 2000, you would be eligible for the draft in 2018. If you had the audacity to be born in October of 2000 instead, you’d have to wait until 2019.) His development pipeline is also unlike the others, having come up into the NCAA, college hockey, and playing at the US National Development team before committing to Boston University. He won the Hobey Baker award as a freshman, and led the NCAA in scoring as a rookie.

He was marketed, coming into the draft, as the American Connor -- the new face of American hockey, a homegrown star, a fellow generational talent, although that was a feeble marketing strategy to dull the disappointment of going second to greatness. He was proud and polite, quiet but not scared, a young man uncomfortably aware of his own myth and rather irritated at the fact he had a myth in the first place. Taken in and treated well, he would probably have a well-suited disposition to a high-stress, playoff-bound team.

It’s unfortunate that that wouldn’t realize until eight years after he was drafted.

The Draft Itself, or, What Caused All These Problems In The First Place

The draft lottery rolls around. The lottery and the draft take place on different days -- the lottery several weeks before, so that for a long time the boys have an idea of to whom they will go. The first four teams to pick are, in order:

Edmonton. Edmonton had been very bad, for a very long time, and had three shiny prizes already to show for it: Taylor Hall, drafted first overall in 2010; Nail Yakupov, drafted first overall in 2012; and Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, drafted first overall in 2013. I’m sure you already know this, but Edmonton was Gretzky’s team, while Gretzky won all his cups, and they now stand to get themselves another generational talent in Connor McDavid.

Buffalo. The Sabres have a few decent pieces: Ryan O’Reilly, Sam Reinhart. They haven’t made the playoffs in a few years, and have plummeted to the bottom of the standings, finishing thirtieth out of thirty.

Arizona. Arizona has never gotten off the ground, not once. They are a dust mote of a franchise, held in place by Gary Bettman’s fragile ego and the skimmings of Original Six markets. Their survival, as doomed as we know it is, is banking on a distant hope of good prospect luck and better PDO.

Toronto. While Arizona is the smallest of small markets, Toronto is… well, it’s Toronto. Remember earlier, how I said that the GTA is the nexus of hockey? Toronto is called the Centre of the Universe, and for good goddamn reason. The Leafs are one of the most storied franchises in the NHL, and simultaneously one of the winningest (the second-most Stanley Cups, after Montreal) and the losingest (their most recent Cup was almost sixty years ago.) Their fanbase dwarfs all but the most hardcore of French Canadian separatist contingents. There’s a common phrase now, when any hockey news is mentioned -- but how does this affect the Leafs? It’s well-done satire.

And with four teams, we have four boys. So I come upon the last one now: Mitch Marner. Mitch, like Dylan and Connor, is a GTA boy, a born and raised Leafs fan on an OHL team. He plays for the London Knights -- a diminutive forward (he weighs in at 160 pounds soaking wet at eighteen, and eight years later barely cracks 180) with fantastic playmaking skills, the creativity and gall to do things other players have never even thought of. He’s a sweet one, too, bubbly and energetic and cuddly and kind.

Here is how the draft goes:

The Oilers take the stage first, for the fourth time in six years. The ceremony is unnecessary. Connor McDavid is the name everyone knows they will say. Connor walks up to the stage, looking vaguely nauseous, and dons the jersey and the hat. (His facial expression in the interviews afterward is thoroughly dissected over the next eight years. Some say it’s simple stage fright; others say it’s personal distaste for the Oilers -- remember, Toronto boy, Toronto heart. I choose to believe it’s the first one. Not all of us are John Tavares.)

After a first-round prospect is chosen, they bring him down for an interview, then shuffle him off to some arena underbelly for photos upon photos. Connor performs his niceties, but before he is taken back, he asks to stay. He wants to watch Dylan get drafted.

The Buffalo Sabres come second, and pick Jack Eichel. Eichel is asked, throughout, how he feels about Connor, being behind Connor, coming second to Connor. The narrative being pushed is called McEichel -- the Canadian wunderkind versus the American one -- and he wants no part in it. He’s impressed by Connor’s play, in their few brief meetings he thinks of him as nice enough, he wants to carve out his own path.

This refusal to play along may have been the start of the discontent, in hindsight. The media clearly wasn’t going to get anything out of soft-voiced scared-eyed perfect Canadian boy Connor, but Jack, sharper edges and colder heart, might be good for a soundbite or two about this new league-made rivalry. Jack, though, ever aware, puts himself solidly into Generic Hockey Interview voice and backs off.

The Coyotes come third. Here is where a choice occurs, the first genuine decision. Connor McDavid had been slotted into first pick since the day he got accepted for exceptional status. Eichel had taken a few years more, but his place in second after Connor was well known for months on end. Dylan and Mitch, however, were up in the air. Do you pick the big one with more points, or the small one with star power?

The Coyotes follow the conventional hockey wisdom, and take the big boy. Connor waits to watch his friend take the jersey, then hugs him in the wings.

Finally, the Leafs.

Let’s actually take a step back to talk about the Leafs rebuild, for a second, because it, like everything the Leafs have ever done, is a testament to failure. Also, somewhat, because it is relevant. Also, moreso, because I can’t shut up about hockey and you’ve asked me to talk as long as I like. If you’re still reading, I want you to know that a) I am ever thankful for your time and b) we’re, like, just getting started here.

The Leafs’ last contending era was before the 04-05 lockout season, which means it predates the salary cap. They struggled in the midsection, for a long time, then finally fell enough to gain the fifth overall pick in 2008, with which they selected a big tough young defenceman named Luke Schenn, the first official piece of the Leafs’ rebuild, strange as it may be. Luke, while competent enough, was obviously not the sort of franchise-changing star the Leafs needed, and they struggled in the midsection again, before gaining, once more, the fifth overall pick, with which they selected Schenn’s partner, one Morgan Rielly. The two would be perfect partners, but we won’t know this for eleven years. Luke was traded twelve hours after Rielly’s draft.

Rielly is still in the AHL the next year, 2013, when the Leafs make the playoffs. This is the infamous 4-1 series: the Leafs go down 3-1 in the series, claw their way back up to game seven. They gain a 4-1 lead, going into the third period, and then blow it completely and lose the game, and the series, in overtime. They do not make the playoffs in 2013-14, and before the 2014-15 season begins they change management. The man they install as President decides to tank, and tank hard, selling as much of the Leafs as he can in the hopes of landing that elusive first pick.

They end up with fourth overall, and Mike Babcock, the Leafs’ head coach, does not want Mitch Marner, instead asking the then-management for the bigger defenceman, a boy named Hanifin who will go fifth to the Hurricanes. The Leafs take Marner anyway. Watch him as his name is called. He, like the first three, sits in a nest of other prospects and their families -- Mitch actually sits right behind Jack Eichel -- but unlike them, when his name is called the other prospects lean over to offer him congratulations, as well as his parents and brother. Mat Barzal, from across the aisle, offers a bro-hug as Mitch goes by.

The rest of the draft goes as usual. The 2015 draft, beyond narratively, is one of the deepest drafts in recent memory; players you may recognize include Timo Meier, Mikko Rantanen, Travis Konecny, Sebastian Aho (the Carolina one!), Roope Hintz, Kirill Kaprizov, Troy Terry… the list goes on. These players have their own stories, but few really tie in to this one. (So far.)

Summer passes; we move on. Training camp rolls around.

Connor McDavid, as expected, makes the team. He moves in with Taylor Hall, a fellow first overall. Jack Eichel also makes the team.

Dylan and Mitch do not. Dylan’s reasons are unknown to me, but Mitch is sent down because, again, Babcock does not want him. He’s naturally undersized and does not have a frame that builds muscle; Babcock is not under the impression that young men in Mitch’s image make good hockey players. Both Mitch and Dylan are returned to the OHL.

The stage is set now; each boy has a team. Eight years on, only half of them are on those teams. But we can’t worry about that yet! We have to make it to the NHL first!

World Juniors and the Memorial Cup

Once Connor makes the Oilers, Dylan Strome is named captain of the Erie Otters. Very cool, to only get what you deserve after the golden boy is gone.

Jack and Connor are off playing with the big boys. They’ll get their own section later -- we have to work our way up, not up and down and up and down. I’ve got to be somewhat cohesive, you know? So, we’ll stay, for now, in the world of junior hockey.

The Otters and the London Knights, Mitch’s team, are in the wonderful circumstance of not only both being very good at the same time, but also being in the same division as one another. This means they see each other quite often (no plane travel in the OHL. Bus only.) and have thus formed… a bit of a rivalry. It is becoming difficult to dance around: Dylan Strome, despite the politeness they’ve shown each other at the draft, hates Mitch Marner.

And why wouldn’t you? He’s the one Dylan fought with all last season for the OHL scoring title; he’s fast on his feet and can shoot from impossible angles; he makes plays you’ve never even considered, much less considered possible. He dangles through the Otters and scores the easiest impossible goal you’ve ever seen and laughs as light as air about the whole thing. And he’s tiny. Unfortunately for the rest of us, Marner drew a lot of comparisons to Patrick Kane in his junior days -- thankfully without the character in common, but as a hockey player. An undersized (almost comically so) London winger with otherworldly ability to manifest scoring chances out of nothing. The exact sort of irritating worm that not one of us wants on the other team.

So, of course, they get put on the same team.

The 2016 World Juniors are summoned. Connor McDavid, then dealing with a broken collarbone and a great deal of pressure, is not on Team Canada’s roster. Dylan Strome and Mitch Marner both are. Suddenly and thankfully, the media’s focus shifts from one, false rivalry in McEichel to a very very real one.

I don’t want to dismiss what happens next as a mere symptom of the fact that hockey players are engineered to get along with their teammates, even if they don’t like each other. Admittedly, it does start that way -- Mitch is a winger and Dylan a centre, and both skilled, so the coach puts them on the same line. Simple enough. And then they spark up a friendship.

Dylan’s reasons for hating Mitch were not personal, just hockey-related. Dylan hated Mitch because he was good and he knew it, the simple way a teenager hates their direct competitor. On the same team, though, the competition aspect is removed, and the barrier for hatred is gone. This is the Dylan/Mitch enemies to lovers arc, if you want to put it that way.

Mitch, for the record, I doubt ever hated Dylan. He doesn’t have that in him, never had. He saw a rival, sure, and as soon as that rival wore a matching jersey I assume he taped the word friend over whatever defined their relationship before. Mitch is probably one of the most gregarious, friendly, charming hockey players out there. Beyond his cute little face and on-ice highlights, even. He’s loud, sure, but when he talks he knows how to include you. He finds out what you like and talks about it, he singles you out if you’re shy and builds up your confidence. He’s just plain nice.

Dylan, like the rest of us, was charmed. Within weeks he went from calling Mitch annoying to telling us all about how he loves cuddling (!?) with him. They became fast friends and great linemates.

Dylan’s not the only one Mitch Marner befriends at Worlds, though. Somewhere between matches, Mitch takes an elevator at the complex they’re staying at, and ends up sharing it with a boy from the American team, a tall square-jawed Mexican centre with a Justin Bieber obsession. This is Auston Matthews, one of the projected top picks of the 2016 draft -- born just two days after the cutoff that would have made him eligible to go in 2015. He played with Jack Eichel at the USNTDP, before taking his age-eighteen year to go play pro in Switzerland. He holds the NTDP scoring record as a seventeen-year-old, and will continue to hold it until Jack Hughes breaks onto the scene. The two boys in the elevator do not yet know it, but they are about to share the mantle of franchise saviour, for the franchise most desperately in need of saving.

Either way. The Canadians place sixth at World Juniors, the Americans do better, the Finns win the whole thing. (In the long run, Laine turns out not to be better than Matthews after all.) Mitch and Dylan go back to their OHL teams.

Erie and London tie in points that year, but London wins the OHL title and goes to Alberta for the Memorial Cup, the CHL trophy. Mitch Marner takes home the scoring title, the Stafford Smythe (CHL equivalent of the Conn Smythe), and the Memorial Cup itself. He is one of the most decorated winners in OHL history, touted as being clutch, creating magic, and racking up points. He has close friends in Dylan Strome and fellow Knight Matthew Tkachuk, who will be selected sixth overall in the 2016 draft, the second American after Auston Matthews himself. And when NHL training camp rolls around in the fall, even Babcock cannot deny he is ready, no matter how slight he may still be.

Connor Complex

There’s nothing that fuels story like a good rivalry, and the NHL was obsessed with marketing this rivalry. The Canadian versus the American. The perfect child of a long line of red-blooded southern Ontario tradition versus the Boston boy with a chip on his shoulder. Jack and Connor, Connor and Jack. They hyped Jack up the time leading up to the draft, trying to hint that he was almost as good -- no, just as good -- as McDavid himself.

He was not, and everyone knew.

The 2014-15 Sabres, then the worst team in the NHL and having done an elite job at tanking (they are one of the worst teams in the analytics era, besides the 2022-23 Anaheim Ducks -- I wonder what prize might be waiting at that number one spot? Surely not someone named Connor.) wanted McDavid. The Pegulas, the owners of the Sabres, tried to hide their disappointment in him as pride. They had an all-American star, they said, someone who had grown up not too far from Buffalo himself, and in the same country, no less. He would be the sort of man to lead them into a new golden age, away from the misery of the tank years.

And yet the narrative persisted. McEichel, they whispered. Look at how good Connor McDavid is, and look at how much Eichel is not him. McDavid, they say, McDavid McDavid McDavid. No article could be written about Jack without mentioning how he came second to Connor.

The Sabres tried to quell the whispers. Look at our boy, they say. They signed Eichel to an eight-year, ten million dollar contract, and in the beginning of the 2018-19 season they named him captain. Isn’t our boy great.

The team does not improve. The Sabres hadn’t made the playoffs for three years when they drafted Eichel; they still haven’t made the playoffs today. I wasn’t around to look, but the team was bad. Eichel did his best, but he was young and inexperienced and did not -- never did -- have captain’s blood in him; Ryan O’Reilly lost his love for the game.

The whispers of character issues start to come out. Jack Eichel is a “locker room cancer;” he’s selfish, stuck-up, quick-tempered. He’s caught in a cage where the only key is to be Connor, something which he never wanted to achieve in the first place, and never could have even if he did want it. The whole narrative was completely fabricated. He liked Connor well enough when they met.

I do imagine he has feelings about it, though, and feelings about Connor now. He didn’t know him, not enough to have an opinion on the boy, but the name followed him around long enough for him to think about it. Imagine it. You’re good in your field, great, even. You’re doing well enough to earn yourself a superstar contract, you’re an All-Star, and yet the only way you will get any recognition at all is when they say that you are worse than one of the greatest players ever to play the game. They lock you into a connection that you have never wanted, barring you from forging your own path. You exist permanently in that orange-and-blue shadow. I don’t blame Jack for being angry. I would be too.

Babcock

Auston Matthews was incredible from the jump. He was big, he was strong, his wrister is the stuff of legend. He won the Calder in his and Mitch’s rookie year, by a not insignificant margin, well ahead of Laine. He was a coach’s dream doll, unusual enough to be marketed and good enough to be useful. Unavoidably masculine even at nineteen.

Mitch less so. Mitch is still small, remember, and struggles to gain weight. I know I talk about his size a lot, but it’s genuinely important. Hockey and its fan culture has long been a group that prioritized size and raw power above all things. Mitch possessed neither of those things, and when he struggled with gaining muscle it was seen as an unwillingness to try. If you know anything about the ability of our bodies to gain or lose weight, you know that it is simply a genetic roll of the dice, a scale that puts a little bit of us into the “gains muscle mass easily” category and decides when to stop. Most hockey players actually aren’t very far up the muscle-gaining spectrum, especially when compared to American football or baseball players -- mass is strength, yes, but it’s also more to move around on ice -- but Mitch is especially low on the scale. Because of this, he is seen as unmanly, a dangerous thing to be.

The Leafs media market is a nightmare, and always has been. Because this is the Centre of the Universe, there are more eyes on the Leafs than on any other team. More eyes mean more writers, means you have to say weirder and wilder things to beg for clicks. Outrage is a good marketing tactic. Getting mad about one of the prize prospects seemingly not wanting to bulk up for the good of the team is a very easy thing to do.

What’s more, Mitch, after his entry-level contract had expired, had had a very difficult and long-drawn out contract negotiation, asking for a lot of money -- essentially the maximum that the Leafs could afford at the time. Because of the salary cap constraint, this was seen as kind of selfish. The angry clicks move. Mitch is sensitive, they say. Soft, selfish, weak.

It’s easy enough to dismiss out of hand when your uncle from Belleville does it, because what does he know. It’s different when it’s the head coach of the Leafs. Mike Babcock, is, at the time of hiring, the highest-paid coach in the NHL. He was signed before the 2015-16 season, and at that point had an eight-year contract, which would have carried him up until this year.

Mike Babcock sucked. Structurally, his teams were fine -- the Leafs made the playoffs in 2016-17, and haven’t missed it since, but he was awful, horribly mean to the boys under him, and especially, especially Mitch. 

We should skip ahead a little bit. It’s the beginning of the 2019-20 season. The Leafs have made the playoffs three times already, and lost in the first round each time -- but this, too, is not yet a phrase that strikes worry into our hearts. They’re young, and they have plenty of time left. 

Respected veteran Jason Spezza came home to the Leafs, having spent his career -- a player who might squeak the Hall of Fame, but is more likely just below its level -- in first Ottawa, where he was the captain of the Senators briefly and one of its most well-loved players, and then Dallas. Like the boys I talk about here, Jason Spezza is a former OHL player, a GTA boy, a Leafs fan. The Leafs’ season opener is against Ottawa, the team where Jason Spezza left most of his mark. There used to be a promotion with the Senators -- a local branch of some pizza chain would offer a free slice if the Sens scored more than five goals in a game. Spezza (and his linemates, Heatley and Alfredsson) were so good, they named his line the Pizza line. Mike Babcock makes Jason Spezza a healthy scratch on that day.

This is seen as disrespectful, but no more than a coach living up to his hardass reputation. You do what the coach tells you, don’t you? Lest you become a whiner, or worse, a locker room cancer. Scratching an extremely well-respected veteran on the opener against his former team is just something some guys do. A message, if you will. Stay the course, Babcock just wants his players to respect him.

And then news of the list leaks.

It happened when Mitch was a rookie, but they kept it hidden for three years. The Leafs went on a father-and-sons trip, one they do every season. They’re on a road trip, with only their fathers, isolated from their home.

(A brief aside to talk about Mitch’s dad; his name is Paul Marner, and he is the most stereotypical hardass hockey dad on the planet. A nitpicker, an armchair coach, a bully. I do not imagine Mitch felt particularly comforted by his and Babcock’s combined presence on this trip.)

Babcock approached Mitch and asked him to organize all of his teammates in a list. He wanted Mitch to arrange them in order of hardest workers to laziest; he thought Mitch was one of the lazy ones, and wanted to drive this point home by making him categorize his teammates like this. Mitch, as a rookie hockey player does in the presence of the Maple Leaf hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles, obliged. He was under the impression it would be a private affair, just an assignment from Babcock to teach him some sort of lesson. Whether it be out of fear or honesty, he placed himself last on the list. 

Babcock told the others.

Specifically, two Leafs vets that Mitch had placed low on the list -- Nazem Kadri and Tyler Bozak. Imagine this: you are a decent centre on a bubble team, but nonetheless an established NHL veteran of about a decade, and your coach shows you a list a rookie made. He tells you that the rookie arranged everyone by work ethic, grinders to lazy shits. You are firmly on the “lazy shit” end.

How much does the coach have to suck, or how much does the rookie have to be loved, for Kadri and Bozak to react like they did? The rumour says they called for Babcock’s head on the spot. Mitch was in tears. I wouldn’t want to stay in Toronto if that happened to me. No wonder he and Auston signed for so much -- Babcock was barely halfway through his contract when they did. If I’d thought that I would have to deal with him for that long, I wouldn’t accept anything less than as much as they could possibly pay me.

In the end, in the beginning of December, 2019, Mitch got hurt and the Leafs went on a road trip. They were already losing by the time they’d left, and they kept losing. Normally, a team on a road trip doesn’t take the hurt players with them, but they took Mitch. The Leafs lost six in a row and finally fired Babcock, letting Sheldon Keefe take his place. Mitch’s presence was a comfort.

Go West

The Leafs make the playoffs first, and take Mitch with them. The Sabres are fighting a silent war with their star centre, but they are no closer to success. 

Connor McDavid is named captain at nineteen, the youngest in the history of the NHL. He scrapes the team to a playoff spot, then to a second round loss. He wins the Art Ross and the Hart.

The year before his entry-level contract expires, when he is first eligible, he signs what is then the most expensive per-year contract in NHL history -- eight years, a hundred million dollars. He is looking forward to spending the rest of his prime as an Oiler. He wins the Art Ross the next year, comes very close the year after. The Oilers do not make the playoffs again until after Covid hits.

He gets hurt a lot, too -- he breaks his collarbone as a rookie, missing half the season, and at the very end of the 2018-19 year, crashes into the net irons and shatters his knee. There are rumours of the man who broke Connor’s collarbone doing it on purpose; Connor claims that he overheard the man bragging about it, and I am inclined to believe him. This guy gets traded to the Oilers not too long after that.

In the meantime, Dylan is struggling. The Coyotes stick him in Tucson, a team he is obviously too good for. His entry-level contract slides another season. He wiffles between Tucson and Arizona, not being considered good enough to stay up but being too good to stay down. In the end, on the last year of his entry-level contract, he is traded from the Coyotes to the Chicago Blackhawks, a similarly bad team with a few remnants of its Cup-winning days. Dylan, a feeble icon of Chicagoan hope for one last dance with the aging core, centres Patrick Kane.

In his first half-season with the Blackhawks, he scores 51 points in 58 games. There are hopeful flashes of what he can be, the touted prospect he once was. 

Things wrap up on New Years like this: Connor is beyond a hundred-point pace; Dylan, although in no less danger, is at least out of the dust at the bottom of the barrel; Jack is caught in a cold war; the team loves Mitch. 

John Tavares has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Playoff Series

March of 2020 rolls around, and with it the coronavirus pandemic. The league is shut down before the season ends, and the playoffs re-formed in July, inside a bubble -- no one in, no one out until they are eliminated. The Sabres stay with their families, having once again missed the playoffs. The Leafs are set to play the Columbus Blue Jackets, and the Oilers are set to play the Blackhawks.

This, to date, is Dylan’s only playoff appearance, and he is set to face Connor.

Dylan wins.

The qualifying round -- functioning as the first round of the bubble playoffs -- is a best of five, not of seven, and the Blackhawks defeat the Oilers 3-1. They then proceed to lose in five games (this one is a best of seven) to Vegas, but Dylan’s job is done.

The Leafs lose in the first round again. The Leafs have made the playoffs since Auston and Mitch’s debut, every single year, but they lose each time; in six, to the Capitals, then in seven every year after that. Or, in this case, in five.

Covid had not stopped by the end of the 2020 season ( :/ ) and the NHL was rearranged for what would be ostensibly the 2020-2021 season, but ended up being played mostly in 2021. Because of border laws, the Canadian teams are sequestered into their own, North division. Dylan Strome signs a two-year contract extension with Chicago right before the season starts -- one that will carry him until the end of the 2021-2022 season. 

If you’ve seen All or Nothing on Amazon Prime, it is this season that is covered. The Leafs tear through what is seen as a weaker North division, taking a comfortable first place spot. Connor McDavid cracks a hundred points in fifty-six games. Both Leafs and Oilers lose in the first round.

The Leafs do it perhaps most remarkably. They have drawn the Canadiens, a rather insubstantial team who are in their spot mostly because they have one of the best goaltenders in recent memory at their back.

I watched this game, live, before I was a serious Leafs fan. I can only imagine what it would be like if you were already invested at that point; I would not wish to live that horror on anyone. I tried to watch All or Nothing, later, but I stop here. 

Corey Perry and John Tavares are both on the ice, in the race for the puck. Tavares catches an edge, as you sometimes do, and falls, and Perry’s knee is in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time, and it catches Tavares in the side of the head. He falls to the ice, his limbs splaying unnaturally. He won’t move. 

Medics come over, to try and raise him to his feet. He fights against them, blood streaming from a cut in his forehead, unable to tell if they are trying to hurt him or not. There is no one in the crowd, the stadium empty for the pandemic. The camera cuts to Kyle Dubas in the rafters, who has a phone in his hand and swiftly vanishes back into the halls of the arena. He is calling Tavares’ wife. We do not know what is going to happen. Everyone looks shaken -- the Habs have just watched a man nearly die, the Leafs have just lost their captain, perhaps forever. They lose, although the game feels like an afterthought. I do not want to watch hockey anymore.

They win the next three straight, though, even without him. Then they lose, twice, in overtime.

The Leafs, as they have done for the past four years up to this point, go to game seven.

Partway through the game, Mitch Marner panics in his defensive zone and puts the puck over the glass. This is a penalty, it is a penalty every time, and he knows that. He sits in the box, looking defeated already. He curls in on himself, and the camera flashes to the penalty box. He’s crying. He knows the game is lost.

The Leafs are eliminated again, and there is a target on his back now, not only for the puck going over the glass but for the tears. He’s soft, they say. As they have said since he was picked, because he doesn’t look like a hockey player should, because he doesn’t act like a hockey player should, because he doesn’t play hockey like a hockey player should. He makes too much and he disappears when it matters.

Thoughts on the Leafs’ playoff successes suddenly switch from the core is young, even if this is frustrating to they need to win before it’s too late. Already, in recent years, they have suffered historic game-seven chokes and drastic failures to launch. Whether they do it against teams like the President’s Trophy-winning Capitals or the barely-alive wild-card Canadiens is irrelevant. They cannot win a round, at all. The Leafs are already the team with the greatest Cup drought, and they are now gaining a long playoff round victory drought too. It should be time, at least, for them to look like they are a contender. 

This is how the Leafs find themself stuck; a particularly frustrating timeloop, even though hockey itself is nothing but. Sports are cyclical by nature. A team is bad, then okay, then good, then declining, then bad again, and this repeats anew. Some teams try to get themselves out of this cycle by being good forever; I can assure you that this only really happens to the New York Yankees, who employ a cadre of evil wizards to keep everything on that hell team going well for them. Most other teams who try end up stuck like the Canucks are, right now: bad enough to miss the playoffs, but not good enough to get key picks for a rebuild. I can see next season play out, clear as day: they struggle out of the gate, one of their stars gets hurt right when it seems like they’re at the very, very start of gathering momentum, they’re bottom-10 by January and the team says everyone but Pettersson are on the table, they trade picks and low-grade players, they get blazing hot post-deadline and finish twenty-first.

There is, unfortunately, also a perception that pure talent is not what makes players playoff performers -- instead, some so-called “clutch gene” that exists, or not. The reality is somewhere in between. Clutch exists. There are always players who can score when no one else can even dream of it, but a greater problem is luck. President’s Trophy winners are not often Cup winners (even if higher seeds are most likely to win), because the regular season is a much, much bigger sample size and the playoffs can change the course of all of it by a goalie having a hot streak at the right time. The 2018-19 Tampa Bay Lightning, third-best team in NHL history, got swept in the first round by Sergei Bobrovsky going crazy. The 2022-23 Bruins lost in seven in the first round in much the same manner.

And no matter what, the Leafs are always on the wrong end of the luck. Bounces hit the post. The refs take back goals for reasons they would have ignored at any other time of year. John Tavares slips, and his head makes contact with a knee.

Mitch ends up the whipping boy. He is the Leafs’ most valuable player, and this is a team with Auston Matthews on it, but I’m serious. He was the Leafs’ leading playoff scorer in 2023, he’s one of the best penalty-killers in the league, he’s adored by everyone who’s ever once talked to him. He only ever wanted to be a Leaf, and now that he is here he is the sacrificial lamb for the anger at a curse that is not his fault.

I do blame the media. I will always blame the media, those who turn on him at a moment’s notice because they know picking on the skinny pretty unmanly one will get more clicks than anything else. I beg of you -- know that, of anything that it could be, it is not Mitch’s fault.

Jack Eichel has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Neck Injury

It is 2021, and the Sabres aren’t going to make the playoffs. Jack Eichel has been captain for coming up on three years, and has been a Sabre for coming up on six, none of which have even slightly improved the team. He is widely disliked within the fanbase, and, rumouredly, within the locker room and organization. 

Jack is frustrated, dragging a mediocre team along through a slog of the past six years, and he has never been the kindest man on the planet. He is about to get worse. The Sabres are on a losing streak when they head to Long Island, and Jack is hit the wrong way and slips a disk in his neck. The Sabres insist he’ll only be out a week and a half. 

It is a great sin in hockey, to go against team. Anything that can be seen as selfish is demonized; shooting from a difficult angle when your teammate is wide open, not playing when you can muscle through the pain. Not trusting your coach or management is about as bad as you can get. If you’re a team guy, willing to sacrifice health and limb for the boys, you are held as saint, no matter how hurt you become in the end. This is a philosophy that has been drilled into these men since they were kids, as soon as they put their first skates on. You can stand any pain for the length of a hockey shift; you can play through anything for two minutes. It is a dangerous, dangerous school of thought, one of the most destructive parts of hockey culture. But it is, nonetheless, law.

Eichel is about to commit a sin so great they’ll kick him out of Heaven. I do think that, of the four of them, he is the only one with any semblance of genre awareness: when he was first scouted as a prospect and they were comparing him to McDavid, I think that he would be the only one to ignore the media’s spin on that as thoroughly as he did. He knows what he is, and he knows himself. Of course it comes off as bitchy and selfish, though -- that kind of pressure can’t be kind to anyone.

Before the week and a half is up, he visits a specialist doctor about his neck. This is where it all starts to go wrong.

The Sabres take issue with that for two reasons: one, that they hoped he’d be able to come back after the end of it. Keep in mind that he has herniated a disk in his neck, an injury typically so severe it’s impressive he’s walking -- slipping a cervical disk often causes nerve pain that radiates down through the entire spinal cord below that point, which is the whole body from how high up his is. Two, that the doctor he consults is an independent surgeon, one unaffiliated with the Sabres themselves. 

The thing about belonging to a hockey team is that you are, because of the way your employment is linked to your physical health, essentially their property. They make your medical decisions for you, they feed you, they tell you how to move. Going to someone else is a breach of contract, and the already-tense connection between Jack and the Sabres gets more tense. The Sabres keep losing. They lose eighteen games in a row.

Jack’s doctor recommended a surgery that no NHL player has ever had; cervical disk replacement. The Sabres did not want this -- the surgery carries risks, yes, but they also wanted to control the way that Jack’s injury was handled, and going through with this surgery was Jack’s wish, not theirs. The Sabres do their own evaluation, and ask for a different, more common surgery: spinal fusion. This surgery carries less immediate risk, but the bones in Eichel’s neck will also be fused, and he doesn’t want that. Because the team has final control over a player’s health, not the player, they decline his disk replacement. Having reached a stalemate, they rule him out for the rest of the season, trying to win a war of attrition.

September 2021 rolls around, and the Sabres, along with thirty-one other teams, take training camp. At the beginning of training camp, players do a physical exam. Jack, because his herniated disk has not improved, because he needs a surgery that has been denied from him, because he is stubbornly and bravely willing to wait out the Sabres, fails his physical. As a result, the Sabres, fed up with him, strip the captain’s C from his chest.

Jack makes one final request to the team: either let him get the surgery or trade him. In the end, they trade him to the Vegas Golden Knights, a team that did not exist when he was drafted. The Golden Knights approve him for the disk replacement surgery the day they acquire him.

The surgery is a success; his rehab goes better than anyone expects, and he starts tearing it up when he comes back. I would argue that, if the Golden Knights win the Cup this year, he should get the Conn Smythe -- he has been an invaluable member of the team, even without a letter on his chest.

It is less important for him to win his million awards than it is for him to come in and out of this surgery in the first place, still able to play. He fought with the team that was supposed to have upheld him as their star for months over his right to do what he wanted with his own health; in the end, the only way to go was for him to change that team. He was the first to have this surgery, but after him there have already been hockey players who have undergone it -- much like Tommy John, the baseball player who got his ulnar ligament reconstructed and the surgery to do so named after him. He fought for the chance to control his own body and won.

And for that, he was demonized.

The Sabres missed the playoffs every year they had him; they missed the playoffs every year after he left. Because he was the captain and he had the audacity to go against the organization’s wishes, he was hated. In Buffalo, he is still hated. If you ask, they’ll tell you he was a locker room cancer, that he was undevoted to winning. If you look at him in Vegas, neither of those things are true.

Jack Eichel is a rare man -- he does have that “clutch” gene, or rather doesn’t have the choke instinct. He has always been unbothered by the spiral around him. He operates well in the mire, and when the pressure rises it doesn’t affect him (or maybe, even better, he feeds on it.) He has the right kind of mentality -- that fuck-you, I’m here and you can’t change that, you tried to control me and I wouldn’t bend mentality. He has only made the playoffs once, this year. Like Dylan, actually, his only appearance has involved defeating Connor McDavid. Go back and watch his highlights from the Vegas-Edmonton series if you can: he has a couple of pretty goals and more than a couple great defensive takeaways, but he doesn’t lose his cool, not once. He has earned his right to be here, and he knows it more than anyone else. I’m rooting for the Stars, but I hope he wins some day.

153

How do you talk about the Edmonton Oilers? I mean, without either excusing or demonizing them, although I admit I have Hater Instinct and trend towards the latter. They have the best player in the world; that grown-up incarnation of the wide-eyed boy on the Erie rink. They have the best playoff performer in the world; Leon Draisaitl, who I have not avoided mentioning until now on purpose, but whom I cannot continue without bringing up. They have been terribly cap-managed since the day McDavid was drafted, and are an unstable roster with blazing-hot offense and very little defence or goaltending at all.

For a brief moment, let’s not talk about the Oilers. Let’s only talk about Connor himself.

McDavid has 850 points in 569 career games. Not even Sid had that many points through that few games. If he stays healthy, Connor’s well on track to become the second player ever to hit two thousand for his career -- after a certain other Oiler, who need not be mentioned. He has won just about every award you can win, with the exception of the Selke… and the Cup.

If it’s possible, he has proven himself better than all of the hype at the draft saying he would become a great. To watch him, you can see the way he has changed his team, how even though they have all learned from him that he is still the best.

There is something that many Oilers do. When next your team plays them, pay attention to it: they cut into the offensive zone with possession on the outside, using tight little crossovers to gain speed, after which they’ll usually try to rush the net (if there are no defenders in the way). This is a move that McDavid has patented; he’ll use it, just as many of the others will, but he’ll probably be the one that scores. The depth all skate like him, really, fast and in wide arcs, trying to generate a rush chance. 

Connor as a player is a tour de force, the best power-player in the world by a mile, no slouch at even strength, speedy enough to score even shorthanded. The boy’s got wheels. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which NHLers are fast and which are slow, but Connor’s just that tick above everyone else that you can see it without eye training at all.

Connor as a person is a bit less showy. He’s quiet by nature, shy and soft-voiced. Because he was hyped so much (franchise saviour, McJesus, Next One) he has been media trained into sterility, giving the same level answers as everyone else, hardly daring to express any opinion at all. His eyes are big, rounded, and one of them is lazy from a time when his brother tried to take it out as a child, and that combined with his heavy brow and stiff expression -- he’s never been a good smiler, smirks with one corner of his mouth and that’s mostly it -- give him a resting expression of something like concern, or maybe despair. When he laughs, he doesn’t really “laugh,” just kind of coughs, a one or two-syllable affair. He avoids eye contact with the camera, and often the reporters as well. There is no seething emotion under the surface, not like with Eichel, nor does he speak analytically like Dylan does. He moves through his life as if he is someone who does not want it to turn out quite like this.

I do not know if he wants to be in Edmonton. There are jokes about how he is desperate to leave, but I definitely don’t believe those; there’s a difference between not wanting to stay and wanting to go. I don’t think he hates it. He has been given a responsibility, the captain’s C -- and because, unlike Jack Eichel, he is a good Canadian boy who has been given a destiny, he accepts it. He loves his teammates, especially Draisaitl, whom he seems to derive all his confidence from.

I will also say that I don’t believe he’s stupid. Naive, perhaps; not stupid. There is no way out for him, even if he was sure he wanted to leave; he’s the best player in the world, far too expensive for any contender to afford in either trade or cap space, and if he asks for a trade he won’t let himself go to a team that isn’t already a contender. He will remain an Oiler at least until his contract is up, and I imagine that his staying afterwards depends on Draisaitl.

People talk about him leaving a lot, largely because of the team that has been assembled around him. The Oilers are not a well-created team, and I will say that plainly now and spend as little time technically deconstructing it as possible.

Beyond McDavid and Draisaitl, they have:

A rookie starting goaltender, whose success as we know it is based on a single-season sample size and a complete playoff collapse.

A five million dollar backup goaltender, who earned his contract by being carried by the Leafs, despite being utterly horrendous for a long enough stretch leading up to his free agency that anyone who looked beyond the win-loss numbers wouldn’t have signed him.

One genuine shutdown defender.

One young up-and-coming defender; by far one of the most promising Oiler (or otherwise) defensive prospects, beyond the usual suspects.

One netfront grinder who is great at playing wing to high-power setters, but cannot drive his own line.

One decent 2C.

Sarah Nurse’s cousin. Sarah’s better.

A supporting cast of bad defencemen and middling-at-best forwards.

Many charming characters, of course: Zach Hyman, the grinder, is a beloved ex-Leaf, and I’m personally a fan of Nugent-Hopkins, the 2C, but the vast majority of this is not the sort of thing a contending team is built upon. McDavid has missed the playoffs almost as often as he’s made them. The playoffs are a crapshoot, but in order to try your luck you have to at least be able to enter the lottery, and it takes a stunning amount of effort to be able to do that.

So, McDavid lingers, in this kind of limbo. It mirrors the Leafs, almost. (And yes. Because McDavid is an Ontario boy, and the Leafs are the Centre of the Universe, we have to mention them both in conversation. Not all stories revolve around the Leafs, but this one does.) One true contender, and one generational talent, both what we picture to be well overdue for their Cup run, but neither having yet done so. 

The thing about the stories of the class of 2015 is that they intertwine, that they mimic and mirror each other. These boys have not simply gotten drafted in the same handful of picks in the same year and gone on their merry ways -- they layer, they parallel, they weave around each other. Connor is the captain of a team that cannot win, Jack is a captain, Mitch cannot win. Jack fought for the right to control his body and was demonized for it; Mitch negotiated for a contract that he determined to be a fair price for Babcock, and was demonized for it. Whatever pure saviour they figure Connor to be, Jack is the twisted inverse of that, falling from grace.

Connor has one of the best seasons in NHL history, one of only seventeen player-seasons with over a hundred and fifty points (Nine of those seasons belong to Gretzky. Another four belong to Lemieux.) He loses, in six games in the second round, to the Vegas Golden Knights. At the time that he’s eliminated, he leads the playoffs in points. Leon Draisaitl is tied for second place. Counting from the date Mitch Marner played his first game in the NHL, the Oilers and Leafs have almost exactly the same number of playoff game wins, with the Oilers having one more.

There’s No Place Like Strome

Before we can look to the future, there is one person I have been neglecting. Dylan, poor Dylan. I think it would be only half an unfair assessment to call him a draft bust. He’s talented, for sure, but not nearly the same calibre that the draftees around him are. Hardly a Marner, an Eichel, or even a Rantanen or a Meier. 

His career has existed quietly in the shadows, so far from Connor McDavid that it only feels fair to mention them in the same conversation in this context. It has been eight years since they were best friends, Connor so close to Dylan he waited in the stadium in order to watch him get drafted. They didn’t look each other in the eye in the handshake line when Dylan won their series. Connor didn’t go to his wedding.

That being said: so far, he has found himself a knack for landing in the shadow of greatness. When he was an Erie Otter, it was Connor -- Dylan held the scoring title in their draft year, while Connor was out nursing his hand, but Connor was the chosen son and Dylan was the Coyotes’ consolation prize. When he was traded to the Blackhawks, he found himself centring Kane and Debrincat, but of course both of them were the offseason and trade deadline’s prizes, and not him.

And then he signed in Washington.

So now, we go back to Ovechkin. Alex Ovechkin is one of the greatest players of all time; his Capitals are on the decline now, but they contended for a long time while he was playing and may still contend as long as Ovi still skates. For a long time, the team relied on Ovechkin’s goalscoring, assisted mostly by his faithful centre, Nicklas Backstrom. They, too, are married; they have played a thousand games as teammates, been through a decade of heartbreak together before the Cup was theirs. During the 2021-2022 season, Backstrom took time off -- he needed hip surgery, something likely to end his career. Ovi was alone.

There is a fundamental difference, of course, between the expectations of wingers and centres. A winger, like Ovi, scores, or assists, at his own leisure, but it is the centre’s job to drive his line. Ovechkin is generational -- he will sink forty goals no matter what -- but he still needs someone to move him out of the defensive zone, someone to make his assist.

Enter Dylan -- a young centre, not especially fast on his feet but intelligent, and clearly experienced in the realm of managing high-calibre wingers (see: Debrincat, and the ghost of Patrick Kane.) He joins the Capitals on a one-year contract, desperate to prove himself. Chicago didn’t want him, and Arizona didn’t either. It takes barely until November before he is, once again, the necessary shadow of greatness. 

Ovechkin, the team’s captain and centrepoint, clearly likes what he sees, and the management does, as well. The Capitals offer Strome a five-year extension.

Maybe it’s because he’s less of a superstar then the other three members of his draft class, but Dylan has a life outside of hockey -- a wife and young daughter. After being thrown away by other teams, and with his new family, I can only imagine that it was… peaceful, if anything, to be offered this contract.

Chicago, after rapidly getting rid of him, Debrincat, and then Kane, would go on to tank spectacularly, and win themselves the first overall pick. They will use it to draft another generational talent. His name is also Connor.

The Blue Wedding

So, here we stand, at the end of it all. Dylan finally has a home, a mother hen of a Russian bear that it has become his job to assist in record-breaking, and soon to be two daughters. Jack has a team that loves him, freedom from pain, and an ongoing potential Cup run. Connor has a sterile mansion, a best friend, and an unsteady team. Mitch’s life is up in the air.

Right as I’m writing this, the general manager of the Leafs has been unceremoniously kicked out. His tenure will end the day before Mitch’s no-move contract kicks in, but it is not known if Mitch’s time as a Leaf will survive that long. He is well on track to become one of the greatest Leafs of all time, and his tenure might be cut short in the prime of his career. 

But let’s wrap up with this: Mitch will get married this summer. Because he’s Mitch, the darling of the league, everyone’s best friend, I imagine the wedding party to be extensive/ Packed to the brim of current and former Leafs, as well as people who have never been Leafs. I wonder if Dylan Strome will be there -- or even Connor McDavid, although McDavid never even attended Dylan’s wedding.

The stories, as they do, go on.

[possibility-left]

Good Omens fic recs #51

From this point, I am going to tag authors who include their Tumblr links in their fic.  If you would like that link removed, please reply to the post or DM me.

Under Pressure by CopperBeech/@copperplatebeech - A/C, 5k words.  This is a sweet little fic mostly focused on Crowley's pining through the ages, and his habit of sneakily kissing Aziraphale when they're both completely plastered.  Very sweet and fluffy; the pining isn't too painful and we get a very loving glimpse of the bodyswap in here as well.

Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile/@idiopathicsmile - A/C, 4k words.  An extremely fun and at points straight up funny story in which Aziraphale builds a nest for the two of them and Crowley does not understand why until they force themselves to have an actual conversation.

Jesus, Etc. by fellshish/@fellshish - A/C, 7k words.  This is a very light-hearted take on S3 in which Aziraphale keeps finding reasons for Jesus not to start the Second Coming, like Taylor Swift tickets.  Crowley finds himself helping out despite himself.

A Narrow Escape to the Country by shaggydogstail/@shaggydogstail - A/C, 11k words.  A fun outsider POV story in which, post nebulous S3 resolution, Crowley and Aziraphale go on a reality house-hunting show and the producer has to deal with them being their usual very weird selves.  The characterization in this is so good, and the dialogue, that their personalities come through great through mostly outsider POV.

Pray for Plagues (To Come Down on this Egypt) by veganthranduil/@veganthranduil (fic), A_J_Crowley/@songbird-of-eden (art) - A/C, 36k words.  Honestly I'm shocked by how few comments this story has.  It's this astonishing little novella in which Crowley and Aziraphale drive across Europe fleeing a second Apocalypse after S1.  There are a bunch of stellar original characters and world-building, and the story just drives you forward to conclusion in a way I really enjoyed.

[forbescaroline]

11k celebration: top 50 m/f friendships (as voted by my followers) #42. jesus adams foster and mariana adams foster - the fosters

[boolger]

READ ME A VERSE - COD

☆Kate Laswell x afab!Reader - explicit - MDNI - 11k words ☆AU to a certain degree. Reader and Kate are in a fictional radical christian group who is pretty secluded in a little town. Inspired by the song Verse by Emily Jeffri, which i have been obsessed with for a while, but in particular this part;

“Last time I saw her, we were in church I said my love to her and somebody heard We haven't locked eyes since or said a word.” Verse, by Emily Jeffri

☆tags: radical religion, homophobia, religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, sexism, abuse, violence, isolation, mention of miscarriage, dub-con, non-con sex, non-con kissing, victim blaming, bad parents, mention of death, afab!reader, forced marriage, masturbation, fingering, oral sex. Happy ending.

☆Summary: You had been considered ‘sick’ for years, sent away from your hometown and family to get better, isolated and forced to repent. But years later, when you are ‘healed’ and granted permission to return, there is a woman in church that you don’t know. You want to be a good Christian woman, even if you don’t want to marry Phillips Graves, but this Kate haunts your mind. No prayers can stop your thoughts, the verses are not able to stop how the two of you  constantly feel pulled towards each other, lured by your sinful thoughts and the lust for actual love.

You grew up here, in between good Christian women and men, with sin seeping into your bones, only hidden by your fragile flesh and skin. Organs rotten with wicked thoughts, every day of sickness a punishment for your refusal to repent, you were sure.

That was the way you had lived your entire life, knowing something was wrong with you - but every waking hour, you couldn’t help but wonder, if this sin, this evil, the crime, was merely that in their eyes. In the community’s eyes.

Once, when you were younger, 19 and naive, you had told your best friend, thinking she could keep the secret, thinking she might understand that it wasn’t something that should be said out loud. Yet, barely 24 hours passed and then your parents knew, pulling you to the church, to the elders of your village, the leaders of the church making you admit out loud to your immorality, to the sinful demons of lust that had taken over your body.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they said, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman - your lust is only for your future husband.

Your mother cried, sobs echoing through the empty church, no doubt with people around it, listening in to the judgment of the crime that had never manifested anywhere but your body.

Your father’s face was like stone, but the disappointment dripped from him wordlessly, at his refusal to even look at you.

It can be cured, they said, their wrinkled faces spitting out your sentence, praying, bible reading, hard work - and sending her away. Only when she is changed, when she truly repents, can she be loved by our Lord again.

With such simple words, your fate had been sealed for the upcoming years, pulling you from your well-known home, from your family and the town you had never truly left for longer than a couple of hours. To a farm, miles and miles away. You had been there once, several years ago with your family, vague memories of petting some cows and collecting eggs.

Instead you watched the car drive away after an hour or so, leaving you behind in the middle of nowhere, your trusty flip-phone taken from you as well.

At the farm, two couples lived, a younger and an older pair. The only good thing about your years at the place was that you couldn’t be married off when considered “sick”. You prayed that God would never forgive you, when you saw how the couples treated each other. A couple of farmhands appeared now and again, that you weren’t allowed to speak to but other than that, you didn’t speak to anyone but the couples.

You lived in a small room, bare walls except the cross next to your bed and the painting of Jesus next  to the door - caught in between a painting of a man you were constantly forced to read about and a crucifix that would remind you of the punishments if you didn’t change.

Simple food, simple clothes, work hard, routines and prayers several times a day. The men would read out verses in the evenings sometimes, as you all sat around them. You weren’t allowed to watch anything but specific christians movies every saturday. After watching each one twice, you stopped asking for it.

A year passed before you saw your parents again. Once again your mother was crying, but she seemed happier now, talking about how you had grown, how you looked healthier. You showed her and the upper church members who had tagged along around the farm, doing your best to seem better. Sinfre. Never mentioning anything bad. They went into the kitchen to talk, while you were sent to feed the chicken and collect eggs, denied access to your second judgment.

Another year, they said, another year would do her well, just to make sure she is truly well again.

Your mother kissed your forehead, telling you to read your verses, your father saying he would pray for you. They all would, they comforted you, another year and you could join them in the car, go home with them.

That night you ran, crawling through the window, abandoning Jesus and his crucifix, no plan in mind other than to get away. Another year wouldn’t cure you, one year hadn’t even done much. You understood it was wrong, sure, but you couldn’t stop it. You refused to be on the farm till you turned 21. 

The town wouldn’t offer you any sanctuary, you knew, so you ran the opposite way, into the unknown darkness.

They found you the next day, walking along the road towards another town, hoping someone would pick you up and help you. You screamed, fighting all you could, scratched and kicked as they pulled you back into the car - returning you to the farm. They belted the soles of your feet until they bled and left you in your cleared room, with nothing but a bible.

You knew then, that it would probably be more than a year before you would return home. After that night, the door to your room was locked every night, bars put in front of the window, keeping you from crawling out through it again.

Days passed, prayers spilling from your mind, weeks then, verses recited, months - it took almost three years more before the lies spilled as easily from your lips as the prayers did, and the people around you finally dared to believe. The lies about dreaming of a husband, of stepping into the role of a good, christian housewife, of bearing children for your husband, all sin free. You were a good girl now, a woman of God, who prayed every night for a husband and finally, finally they believed you, men of the church and your parents once again returning. 

You felt alienated to them, yet you smiled, saying you were cured now. Said you dreamt of marrying, of having your own house with a husband. Your mother cried tears of joy. Healthy again, you stepped into the car, going back to a town you no longer considered home, after four years of departure. 

“A sheep led back to the fold by the Lord,” your mother whispered to you in the car, holding your hand, but you felt no relief as you returned to the town.

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You had thought you could wait a little longer - thought they wouldn’t bring it up so soon, but you supposed it made sense in a way; they had to prove to the town that you were cured, you had to prove that the homosexuality no longer festered inside your body, but that you had become a pure woman now. A woman, just waiting to be married off.

Usually, women in the town would marry when they turned 21, so to not be married at 23, almost 24? A scandal that had to be avoided, your status had to be changed as soon as possible.

It was the first time back in church, back in the fold, that you saw her.

The most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Dark blond hair neatly pulled back in a low bun, face sharp and eyes blue, arm in arm with Shepherd - despite the modest clothes, you felt a fire run through you, the wounds blooming up inside your rotten organs, crawling along the spine like demons, demons that the priest and elders had promised were banished. The wrong thoughts and feelings to have inside a church - God would judge you, wouldn’t he? 

Let you suffer, just like Christ had, make them pull you back to the farm.  

You hurried to look away, instead looking at the men in church. Asking your mother about some of the men, some new members. You had been gone for almost four years, things had changed, people had passed, babies had been born.

Your old best friend, whom you had whispered your secret to, who had done the right thing according to everyone around you, had married her childhood crush, carrying a small child on her arm - smiling at you as she passed, her stomach having the iconic bump proving another child was on the way.

Most of the people you had grown up with and considered friends were married now, most of them already parents as well. 

You had spent years worshiping in silence, barely surrounded by more than 4 people and now you were surrounded by over 100 followers, singing the hymns of the Lord that was supposed to have freed you from the madness of your lust.

She sang too, you noted, sitting dutifully next to Shepherd who looked like an old man next to her, though you doubted he was that much older. You grabbed your hymnbook harder, fingers hurting with how hard you gripped it, looking down even though you knew every word and tone.

The prayers spilled easily, the verses familiar, the daily cleansing of your soul. 

Your eyes had met, just for a second. It was like your world paused, frozen, just to make sure that you understood that she had looked at you too. Only to immediately look away again, both of you pretending you hadn’t looked. Like a fallen angel, ready to be overcome with the thing that made you unholy at the first point, you let yourself dream of meeting her, properly.

Your appearance at the church, well looking and submissive, dutifully following your parents, knowing your prayers, your worship clear, it all made your parents look good. The priest blessed you as you left, saying it was good to have you back. You thanked him, saying it was good to be back, to be free of demons.

Lies, lies, lies, spilling from your lips, just like the prayers, prayers, prayers. You wanted them to be true, wanted to be free so that you wouldn’t suffer so much. 

But butterflies uncurled from their cocoons as you passed the woman who stood with Sheperd, your parents greeting them politely - you too, smiling as a good girl should, your eyes lingering on her for just a second longer, noting how she was looking at you too; it was your imagination surely, but still. You followed your parents, your sister who had been 15 when you left and who was 19 now, the age at which you had disappeared, babbling away.

“She is Mr. Shepherd's new wife, Kate Laswell,” your sister explained as you sat next to each other in the car, apparently aware of everything going on in the town now - or at least, of the gossip, “An outsider, mind you.”

“Alice,” your mother warned from the front seat, the tone sharp, “She isn’t any longer - and she is Mrs. Shepherd, not Laswell anymore. Besides, her parents are good Christian people too… just not a part of our Church. Yet.”

Your sister just waved her hand at her, as if to say ‘details details, mother’, while she continued, “He met her about three years ago on a trip, she came here while you were sick and they married. Before coming here she had a miscarria–”

“Alice!” Your mother turned around in the seat, sending your sister a sharp look, clearly displeased, just as the car pulled into the little driveway, “It’s improper to talk about such things.”

“Sorry, mom,” Alice said, even as she didn’t look apologetic one bit.

You were still stuck at her words, while you were sick. The memories of running in the night, the endless hours of work, of prayers and verses that were supposed to free you. Of people telling you that you were sick, that demons had possessed you. Four years of being turned into a good, pious woman.

“Mr. Shepherd is a good man,” you said, feeling emotionless but knowing that was what you were supposed to say, if this thing had been told to you while on the farm.

“He is,” your mother confirmed, “He is happier after he met her, too - now come on, we have things to do.”

You knew his first wife had died - pneumonia, they said, quickly and without warning - God always takes the good ones first. The bells had rung, echoing through the houses, into your mind as you remembered how the entire town wore black at the funeral. Had it only been that sickness that had curled in between your ribs and infected your organs, things might have ended differently. 

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The Graves family was respected in your little town, wealthy, the Mr. Graves Senior one of the church leaders.  He had been one those who took a part of your judgment, of sealing your fate for four years, making your parents abandon you in between harsh treatment and farm animals, surrounded by neverending fields of wheat and corn.

Yet, somehow, despite knowing of your sickness first hand, having been a part of the healing, having touched your head and prayed for you, he still came to your parents’ house, with a smile on his lips.

Feeling hostage in your own childhood home, you served him and your father dinner with your mother, leaving your parents to talk with the older man, told off to do the laundry. You only returned once the doorbell rang, opening it…

To one Mr. Graves Jr.

“My my,” he stepped in, pushing the door open as you stepped back out of reflex, his blue eyes instantly on you, shamelessly running over your body, the arrogant smile you remembered from when you were younger, still present on his face “Haven’t you grown.”

“Mr. Graves,” you answered politely, already wanting to request him to leave. To not look at you in such a manner, to not say such words in that tone. 

“Nah, just call me Phillip, darling. You will soon anyway.” His voice was honeyed and he winked at you and before you could ask what he meant, your mother appeared - ushering you away and back to the laundry room, while he was led to the living room.

You tried distracting yourself, humming the familiar hymns as you emptied the washing machine, loading it with dirty clothes, wishing you could enter it too - but no matter what, the words you will soon anyway echoed inside your hollow body.

The Graves family was respected. They were looked up to by many people, one of the few families where the men were allowed to leave now and again. Even having the father of the family over for lunch like this, was a good sign that your family was being respected again, despite the veil of disgrace you had thrown over them.

So really, you should be honored. Not feel nausea in your throat, your heart beating so fast you were sure it would spring out from your ribcage, barely able to breathe. You could barely get the word out. 

“Marriage?” You repeated, watching your mother’s excited face as she nodded, your father proudly smoking behind her, standing in the door frame, clearly pleased too, “With… Mr. Graves’ son?”

“Yes dear – oh Phillip is a kind man, bless his heart,” you didn’t like her tone, “Even with everything that has happened, he still wants to marry you!”

“He is a good man,” Your father added from the door frame, eyes watching you, clearly waiting for a reaction, “Wanted to marry you before you were sick - waited for you.”

Waited for you.

You wanted to scream of horror. Legs trembling, feeling like you went blind for a second. Once, when you were a child and your family had been driving home, a deer had been caught in the lights of the car, gone rigid at the sight. It had managed to escape, just in time, saved from death. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to escape your fate, however. 

“I don’t know if I–” you barely knew what apology to spew out, what lies to tell them.

“Don’t worry - I know this is sudden, dear,” you mom said, taking your hands in hers, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “but God is really looking out for you.”

“It’s a miracle that the Graves family would even consider her,” your father muttered, thrown at you like a stone, but you barely felt the impact, even as your mother hissed his name.

“Oh, I’ll have to call my sister - you will have the grandest wedding, my baby girl.”

That was what you feared. Your mother disappeared again to go call her sister and within hours the entire town would probably know - not even caring what your answer had been to the proposal that hadn’t happened. 

“You’re not going to cause a scene, are you?” Your father stared at you and you wondered for a moment if you would prefer the farm over this. Out there your tears would dry, no woman could seduce your mind, no man would marry you.

“No,” you answered, giving him a smile that barely seemed real, “of course not.”

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You stared at the date, the 8th of July, 2010, with your name printed next to Phillip Graves Jr. - to be wed. They had given you two months, two months to get to know each other, though you knew you wouldn’t get a say, not truly.

The mere fact that Graves Senior hadn’t stopped his son, meant that they all believed you were free of sin. Yet you always felt watched. As if the security cameras scattered around the town would be able to catch the way you were still sick.

“You’re getting married,” a gentle voice said behind you; it wasn’t a question, more of a statement - just like it had been for you. 

You turned, distracted from the bulletin board in front of the Church, only for your eyes to meet those blue ones you kept dreaming of.

“Mr. Shepherd,” you greeted, giving her what you hoped was a polite smile, “I am, yes - in two months.”

She nodded, turning to look at the bulletin board. You dared to think that the smile on her face truly looked a little sad.

“Were you given a choice?” her voice was careful, barely above a whisper. You stared at her, barely able to blink for a couple of seconds as the words sank in.

“His offer of proposal is a blessing,” you felt like it was your mother’s words that escaped you, not your own, “given my time of… sickness… it’s very kind of the Graves family to have even considered me.”

As your eyes met, you recognised the look. Sad, resigned in a way, as if she recognised that it wasn’t your own words, that you were a mere hostage in this situation. You wondered for a brief moment if her situation had been like this. If she too hadn’t had a choice, even though she was older than you. Probably ten years. No more than that. Her lips looked soft, but bitten; probably from nervousness, your mother did that too sometimes. 

“It is not a sickness.”

Five words. She made it sound so simple. You felt your jaw clench, your teeth grind together. Verses ran through your mind, prayers through your blood, the urge to step into the church and repent, for something you hadn’t even said.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you hissed, anger that was forced down your throat for years escaping you, as you looked back at the board, whispering out a “it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” it was like needles escaped your mouth, forcing words of others, “it’s because you’re from the outside.”

“What if–”

“I must go,” you said, fearing you had stood there on the main street, close to her for too long, “Have a good day.”

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It is not a sickness, it echoed through your mind for several days, it is not a sickness.

Tell on her, a dark part of your mind offered, she is spewing sin. But if you told on her to the elders, then you would have to tell why the subject was even present in your conversation.

What if you would never see her again then? The mere idea of not getting to see her again, made you want to cry, even if you had barely talked.

The world outside our community is godless, they said, disgraceful and evil, with demons and fallen angels roaming among the humans. Leaving us is like surrendering your place in heaven with our Lord.

Yet you yearned. With each ring of the church bell, you wondered if you could find peace outside, even if it meant your eternal damnation. 

No verses had the answers to why you were sick. They had tried to tell you many proved it, yet it was like it never quite fit.

As if God wouldn’t admit to you why he made you this way, even as you submitted to him. 

You wanted Kate despite barely having talked to her, certain in your bones that something connected you. Whatever it was.

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You didn’t have a lot of opinions when it came to planning the wedding - it didn’t feel like yours anyways. You saw her, now and again. Glimpses of her as you looked at flower options with your mother at the little florist of the town. In church, next to her husband, never looking happy.

Your eyes met, but you never talked. Anger bubbled beneath your skin, remembering her saying it wasn’t a sickness.

Because if it wasn’t, truly wasn’t, like she had dared to say and you dared to dream, then you had spent four years in hell for nothing. Then you had endured four years of loneliness, surrounded by ghosts who merely reminded you of the words in the book that was your entire word. Watched every night by the painting of Christ, who said love thy neighbor like thyself , but according to the town that didn’t count if thy neighbor were gay.

It was the scars beneath your feet that ache after a long day, it was the darkness of the room you were abandoned in with your bible. These made you angry, when she dared to come here and say it wasn’t a sickness, that it wasn’t wrong.

Because… it was… wasn’t it?

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Despite your anger, the pleasure continued to grow in your abdomen until it became too much.

Pulling open the string of your pajama pants felt wrong, yet you did it, sliding your hand beneath the fabric, then beneath your underwear too. You were 24, you had touched yourself before but it had been years. The farm had snubbed any urge.

You thought of her hands, wandering over your skin, her soft looking, anxious bitten lips kissing yours. Skin pressed against yours, nails digging into it.

Your cunt was wet as you hesitantly touched yourself, fingers sliding in between the lips, the wetness feeling forbidden and sacred almost. It felt as if your body was on fire, a fire that you thought had been killed years ago, making you press your lips together to keep silent. To not let any sound escape your traitorous mouth that had lied for so long, electricity going through your bones as your fingers brushed your clit.

Whether Kate would touch you there or not, you dared to hope she would. You dared to hope that she would let you touch her, the sinful ideas mixing with the shame, though it only seemed to spur you on.

Toes curled, legs cramping and eyelashes fluttered as you came on two fingers, imagining Kate being next to you. Immoral, just like you.

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“Graves,” The name stumbled from your mouth as you stumbled back a few steps, feeling trapped in the garden, your back almost pressed against the apple tree, the fruits hanging around you, heavy on the branches. Your fingers gripped the basket with the apples so hard that you feared it might splinter beneath them.

“That’s my father, darling,” the older man pointed out, stepping closer, breathing a little heavy as he looked at you, confident smile on his lips as always, “I told you to call me Phillip, didn’t I?”

You let out a little huff, smiling at him the best you could, “yeah, sorry - Philip, then.”

“You look beautiful,” it dripped like honey soaked from his lips and you wondered for a moment, if the honey could be poisoned, if he was the snake in the garden - or if the sickness inside you were, “love your dress.”

He stepped closer, your heart quickening, yet not from excitement. 

“T-thank you,” you managed, face heating up, eyes flickering towards the house, but you didn’t see any sign of your parents being home - had he just wandered into the garden, knowing you were home alone, “I uhm - why are you here, Phillip?” 

He laughed, reaching out to take one of the apples out of your basket, big hand almost swallowing up the fresh fruit.

“What? Can’t I go lookin’ for my wife?” There was a boyish charm to him, you supposed. Most of the women in town would swoon for him and you wondered why he had decided on you.

“We’re not married yet,” you pointed out before you could help yourself, “you really shouldn’t be here, if our parents–”

“What? Think they will be upset about me being here?” he teased, free hand suddenly raising to gently caress your cheek, taking a hold of your chin, leaning closer, grip stopping you from pulling your head back, “I’m a man, darling - not a woman.”

You swallowed.

“Dirty thing,” he crooned, “I’m gonna heal you, yeah? Make you a good an’ proper woman.”

“I-I’m not dirty,” you whispered, barely believing your own words, “I was healed at the farm.” 

He chuckled, dark and low, grinning so you could see his gums and you wondered if he would ruin you, bite from bite, take your life from you, “Not properly cured until you marry a man, hon.”

All you felt when he kissed you were burned saccharine and bitter fear. It was a short kiss but it burned on your lips, spreading nausea through your body like a plague, infecting your blood. He let go of you then, stepped back, winking as he raised the apple, “I’ll see ya’ soon, wifey.” 

As he left the garden of Eden, the crisp sound of his bite of the fruit almost echoing, you couldn’t help but hope there was a worm in the apple.

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You went to church the next day, earlier than you were supposed to, promising to do your chores later. You needed to talk to God, Mary, Christ, whoever would listen, any saint who might help you feel clean again. Homosexual sin tainting your fingers from masturbation and burning impure lips from the unwelcome kiss from your future husband. 

What were you thinking, they would say, you were sure, have you learned nothing? Have you gone mad, sick again from the devils and demons dancing inside your mind and body?

Christ hung on the crucifix in front of you as you sat on the pew, looking up at him. Would he consider you wicked too or had he forgiven you the moment he took upon humanity’s sins?

Would Saint Peter truly turn you away, push you from the loving home of heaven, to the dark, demonic –

“Hi.”

It was barely above a whisper, yet you felt as if it echoed throughout the church, into every crevice, making any statue or painting upon the walls look to the two of you. You turned on reflex, not to her, but to the everpresent church servant. The man was snoring gently, head resting against the cold wall behind him. Unaware of the other’s arrival. 

Finally, your eyes met Kate’s, flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach as she smiled gently at you.

“Hi,” you dared to whisper back, watching her as she sat down next to you at the pew.

Silence grew for a moment and you listened to the vague snoring of the servant, your eyes moving to watch Christ on the cross once again. He hadn’t moved one bit since you last looked at him, eyes still on the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry I upset you.”

Forgiveness - could you really offer her forgiveness, when deep down in your putrid organs, you knew that she was right? You looked over at her, a careful, worried expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” you answered, voice not as loud, “I - uhm… Was mean too.” A small smile appeared and you found yourself smiling back at her, despite your fear. For another moment you hesitated, unsure whether you should utter the truth at her or not. “I don’t want to marry him.”

The words made you feel small, but you continued, though you looked up at Christ once again, keeping your voice low, “but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

She was quiet for a moment, as if to agree with you silently. It was as Philip Graves had said, wasn’t it? A dirty thing who can only become pure again by marriage with a man.

“You do,” she whispered, “but it’s not an easy one.”

You almost jumped when her hand touched yours, warm and soft against your skin. A choice, an opportunity. You had an inkling that you already knew what she would suggest, a part of you wanting to stop her from doing so.

“Leave,” she whispered, the word sounding so simple, yet it was filled to the brim with danger, immorality… the unknown.

“I can’t,” it escaped like an instinct, “My home is here.”

“Is it a home if you cannot be yourself?” Her hand squeezed yours, “don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me. Please.”

The sound of the bells rang throughout the church, calling to the daily prayer. She stood suddenly, hand slipping away from yours, stepping to the pew on the opposite side, eyes turned towards the altar. A groan left the Church servant, who mumbled a little, surprised at the sight of you - but he made no other comment.

Don’t let them convince you to marry, don’t make the same mistake as me.

Was she, as an outsider, forced too? She was older than you, probably around 32 or something, but she had been here three years, while you were at the farm. Shepherd was older than her, probably only a few years, but the everpresent angry look always made him seem older.

The prayers tasted like ash at that Church sentence, not dripping as easily as they used to. You did your best to hide it, listening to the verses, worshiping like you were expected to.

Philip winked at you as he passed you on the way out. Creep.

Your eyes met Kate’s  but you didn’t react and neither did she. It was like playing with fire - you were sure your parents wouldn’t find her company too agreeable. 

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“He is your fiance,” your mother pointed out as you stared at the apples you were cutting up, trying to keep the scowl from your face,“I think a walk together near the lake would be a good idea. So you can get to know each other some more.”

“What if…” you didn’t know how to not express your already growing disdain for your future husband, “What if he wants to do something improper? Like, I don’t know, kiss?”

Your mother laughed, your father huffing from behind the local newspaper.

“Philip is a good man,” your mother said, patting your shoulder as she passed.

“I kissed your mother before marriage,” your father’s comment, calmly but with a hint of mischievousness, made your mother shriek.

“Edward! Don’t tell her that!”

“What? We did.”

The knife in your hand parted the piece of apple into two.

“That’s not proper,” you pointed out, the ever present reminders of what was improper and sinful and what was not that you learnt from the farm, the words you had to repeat, had to know, even in the middle of the night. 

“It’s no sin,” your dad pointed out, “nothing wrong with a kiss or two.”

“Don’t kiss him if you don’t want to, darling girl,” your mother assured you, “besides, Philip would hardly ask you to do something like that.”

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“Kiss me?” Oh how you wished you still had the knife that you used to cut the apples, in the palm of your hand.

“Uhm, we really shouldn’t,” you pointed out, stepping back as he stepped forward, trying to keep some distance in between the two of you.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You tried twisting free instantly, fear overwhelming you as his smile slowly disappeared, his blue eyes seeming darker. You wanted to scream for help, but who would come to your rescue? You were almost halfway around the lake, away from most eyes, though it wouldn’t surprise you if there were some security cameras out here in the trees as well.

Before a loud enough sound could leave you, his hand was on your mouth and he was pushing you in between the bushes, up against a tree.

He touched you, like you had touched yourself that night in bed, thinking of Kate - but you weren’t crying out or fighting the pleasure now, instead it was the disgust that overwhelmed you, your lower half exposed as he had pulled your skirt up. Apparently he quickly grew bored of touching your cunt, unable to make you do anything but cry - but as he pulled out your cock, you truly panicked.

Hitting him in the chest, pulling his hand from your mouth. “nonononno, please -” “shut up-” “Phillip I can get pregnant-” He laughed, turning you so quickly you almost fell, pushing you against the tree, “Don’t worry baby, I’m not putting it in, just fucking your thighs–”

He did so, pressing your thighs together as you cried against the bark of the tree. As he grunted and moaned in your ear, you disappeared into your mind, back to the farm. Praying, bible reading, hard work, just like they had said, had filled your life for four years. Four terrible years, yet you would rather go back to the farm than this.

You wanted to feed the chickens and collect the eggs, you wanted to pet the sheep, making sure all of them returned in the evenings. You wanted to clean the wooden floors again, forced to do so while praying and singing hymns as a punishment for talking back. 

You felt dirty afterwards, unsure of what really had happened but there was cum on your thighs as he pushed down the skirt.

“Don’t tell anyone, no? You tempted me, after all,” he pointed out as he fixed his shirt a second time, grinning as you sniffled.

You shook your head. 

“Knew you were a smart girl, baby girl,” the words made you want to throw up and your eyes didn’t meet his, “Lemme get ya’ home.”

You didn’t tell your parents everything - and when your sister asked if you had kissed, you had shaken your head. Phillip is a good man, you had said, he will be a wonderful husband.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

A part of you wanted to leave the house and go directly to the priest, stare him in the eyes as you admitted that demons still hungered around your body, that you were still sick. That the homosexuality had never left your body, that only lies had dripped from your lips when you weren’t praying. Those four years had changed nothing but messed up your mind, not your sexuality.

Yet you refrained, instead going to the church early every day. Watching the church servant sleep, sitting on your pew, in the familiar spot, watching the altar. Wondering why God would do this to you. Why he would make you wrong in the eyes of the town, why he would send Phillip Graves to touch you against your will.

Almost every morning she would appear.

Sweet, beautiful Kate. Always kind and soft despite the world that surrounded the two of you. You dared to bring her a piece of cake at one point, one that you had baked yourself, loving how her face lit up at the sight. Basking in the praise she had given you in her whispers.

You would live, survive for those times with her in the church. Perhaps, that was why you didn’t admit to your sins, why you didn’t truly repent. Because, if they sent you away once more or locked you away inside a home, you wouldn’t be able to see Kate anymore.

Kate, who held your hand. Kate, who you dared to kiss on the cheek one morning two weeks later, as the church servant snored particularly loudly - who then framed your face with her wonderful hands and kissed you on the lips.

Every day that passed brought you closer to the day of the wedding, but also to Kate.

You didn’t need to ask to know that she was infected, just like you. That her organs were also rotten with sin, bones decaying from the want.

You dared to pull her to the bathroom of the church with you, listen to her whisper out oh God, taking the Lord’s name in vain as you ate her out, pride blossoming from it.

She came on your tongue, on your fingers. You came on hers too, on her thigh once. 

Panties soaked the entire service that followed, the prayers and sermon barely understood, constantly reminded of how she had looked as you rode her thigh, muttering praises into your ear as you kept it down, as not to draw any attention.

The forbidden fruit had never tasted better, but you knew that it too would rot, given how close the wedding was. 

You exchanged numbers but were too afraid to call or text, fearing being caught; you by your parents or by Phillip, her by her husband Shepherd.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

It wouldn’t last forever, that you knew, yet you had hoped it could. 

“What were you doing in the church with Mrs. Shepherd?” your dad asked one day at the dinner table, giving you no time to figure out an answer or to truly understand how he would know.

“Praying,” you lied, the words feeling so familiar by now, despite the ashy taste, “We don’t talk together. We just pray.”

Your father was staring at you, eyes cold, anger possibly boiling just beneath his skin.

“Wilson said he never saw you two.” You could strangle the bloody church servant and his snoring body.

“Lies,” you merely answered, “Mr. Wilson sleeps every day in the back of the church. His snoring echoes, disturbing my prayers.”

He didn’t look convinced. You wanted to scream at him, to mind his own bloody business. To not judge you, to accept you and love you, despite what they deemed flaws. 

“You can come with me yourself tomorrow - see how he sleeps in his chair, leant against the wall. Or hear it, I suppose - Mrs. Shepherd and I merely greet each other - nothing else.”

Somehow, the fact that you were willing to take him along - not really, but you wouldn’t mind proving your point, just to be able to continue your time with Kate - seemed good enough.

“Bloody always asleep, that man,” your father finally grumbled.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There was a week until your wedding, the days having disappeared in between your fingers. You hadn’t been able to see Kate except during church service, not able to speak together or utter a word to each other - Shepherd's angry eyes would find you every time, staring you down. You did your best to ignore him, ignoring the judgment you were sure he had placed upon you and focused on the hymns. You tried worshiping the divine, in a desperate attempt to escape reality. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The dress felt too tight. Modest, barely showing anything but you hands and head, nothing like you had dreamt of when you were a kid, nothing like you had seen in a magazine that you found when you were 13, buried in a book in the little library of the town.

“You look beautiful,” your mother whispered, voice wet, having cried all day. You felt hollowed out, watching yourself in a white dress as if you were a lamb, sent to slaughter.

“It’s tight,” you muttered, the seamstress removing a pin or two but not enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the size but merely the fact you didn’t want it.

Four days, then there would be nothing improper about all the things Graves had whispered that he wanted to do with you. Then your moments with Kate, excused by the lies of prayers and hymns, would stop. Then you couldn’t forget the world with the slightly older woman, who would tell you of the world outside. Of parades for sinners like you, where you could be accepted and loved for who you were. Of art and music, of books and poetry, of politics  and of animals who weren’t kept merely for food.

It was simple, modest like everyone expected it to be. Long loose sleeves, ankle long skirt with white lace trim. Fake white flowers on the headband with the veil, pearls that Philip had gifted you for around your neck.

You had the feeling that your parents wanted to show you off, prove that they were good Christians who had raised a child that wasn’t lost. Who had been sick but was cured. The Graves family wanted to prove what great people they were, showing that you could be saved by the church even if Satan tried to claim you.

Philip wanted to show you off before he ruined you.

You cried then, when the seamstress said she would be ready with it in two days. Your mother took it for tears of joy and you lied once more, as you had for years, saying it was.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“They’re saying she is becoming mad,” you heard them whisper, your body freezing, barely breathing as you tried listening. Your mother had people over for bible study but it was rarely actual studying.

“She was mad even before he got her,” one of the neighbors whispered, “told Shepherd didn’t I? Why would he take an outsider?”

“I heard Stacy say it was a favor for her parents —“

“She is probably going to the farm.”

You felt your mind spiral, almost dropping the basket of laundry, before you recognised your mother saying your name.

“- don’t want her to know. She is cured and healthy, but I don’t want her to think there is anybody sick in this town.”

“Might infect her again,” another neighbor pointed out, making you feel like you could barely breathe.

“God forbid,” your mother mumbled, “she is finally getting married. A baby or two will do her well.”

You abandoned the laundry basket in the hallway to find your phone. 

You had seen some of the better families in town had fancy phones, with touch screens and everything. When younger you might have been overcome with jealousy but by now, you just felt relieved you had a phone to contact Kate with, old as it was.

Women aren’t supposed to fall in love with other women, they had said the day your fate was sealed, damning you to years on the farm without your family, abandoned with animals and prayers, verses read to you about how wrong you were, you’re not supposed to lust after another woman.

Sure, you had been 19 and the fire inside of you had turned to embers - and Kate was older, wiser, but if she was sent to the farm, the two of you would surely never see each other again.

Your fingers felt numb as you wrote out the message, knowing you would be in trouble if anyone ever found out you had sent it.

>They’re going to send you to the farm

You waited for a reply, but it didn’t come immediately like you had hoped. 

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours - all while you pretended everything was fine. You were with your family, listening to your mother pointing out everything they needed to get ready for your wedding. Your father talking about the money, your sister about dresses she could wear, about what hairstyles you should have.

In many ways Alice seemed more excited about your wedding than yourself. A part of you wondered if she ever found what it was about you that everyone declared an illness - or if she lived blissfully unaware of it. If she would marry for the sake of the family like you were forced to or if a young man from church would shyly appear on your doorstep and ask to court her.

If she wanted babies - while you didn’t. At least not with Philip. Not with any man. You just wanted Kate.

Kate, Kate. Your saint, your light in the dark, your guiding star in the evil that surrounded you.

Kate who had whispered that you had a choice but it wasn’t an easy one.

You knew she had been right then - and you knew she was right now.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆���

The air was cold as you crawled out the window, your small backpack strapped to your back, nails digging into the sill as you almost slipped. You managed to get a footing on the roof, slowly lowering yourself. There was a scent of rotting apples in the air, the last fruits rotting beneath the tree, while your organs flowered and grew stronger inside your body.

Because maybe you weren’t the rotten, sick one - possibly they were. And even if you were wrong, even if it was truly demons having possessed your mind and making you sin… then you would rather sin and rot together with Kate.

You wanted to live a life where you didn’t have to worry about what was wrong with you, every minute of the day - but one with Kate where you could sin in peace, perhaps in a town that didn’t hate you for the feelings you had for each other. You wanted a life without prayers, without the constant urge to seek forgiveness from a God that never showed you any love.

Or at the very least, you wanted a death with Kate. One where your rotten bodies could disappear together, melt into the ground and disappear, away from the people who had hated you for so long.

Despite the fear and the sweet, rotten scent of the apples, you felt the strongest you ever had as you crawled down the roof and jumped to the ground - even as you fell rather clumsily, making more noise than you had planned.

A window snapped open and you looked up, staring up at Alice. Neither of you spoke, merely staring up at her.

You wordlessly begged her, no, screamed at her to not tell, to not call out for your parents. Even in the vague light of the moon you could see her drown.

Young and confused, a good girl, who reminded you terribly of your mother. Whom you loved but didn’t trust - not anymore.

Finally, your sister moved her hands - quickly motioning for you to keep moving, not to come inside. You hoped she could see the thankful smile you sent her as you got up from the grass and moved towards the garden gate. Tomorrow they would find your letter on the pillow of your neatly done bed, written with your favorite pen, on heavy paper. On top of it, the engagement ring would rest, abandoned to be worn by somebody else who would have the misfortune of marrying Phillip Graves.

Your room would seem the same except for a few missing pieces. Pictures, phone, passport and the little money you had, would be gone. Pressed into that little backpack of yours, that was currently crossing the street, wary to not be seen by anyone.

There weren’t many words on the letter, you didn’t want to leave much behind, you didn’t want them to think you would forgive them.

You are the sick ones. I am sorry. Goodbye.

Your mother would cry in the morning, clutching the paper, while your sister would have laid there and expected it all night, knowing you had run away. Your father would perhaps be able to shed a tear. If not, you didn’t care. You wouldn’t be around to find out either way.

Guilt tried following you as you crossed another street, slipping in between houses to keep in the shadows, working your way towards the Shepherd’s house. Further than that you hadn’t planned but you couldn’t return now - you would rather try and fail, than to never have tried at all. The church loomed above you, letting you walk in the shadows of it, the bells not ringing and calling out your deed.

As if the church allowed you to pass, allowed you to continue your mission, whispering encouraging words for once instead of judgemental once. Blessing your decision to abandon everything, to abandon Christ, God.

You stopped outside of the Shepherd residence, your courage shaking for just a moment, unsure of how to get in - how to get in contact with Kate. By now your plans dried up, but you doubted you would ever have a possibility like this. Kate was worth the fear that burned inside you.

The door was locked - it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it wasn’t uncommon to leave the door unlocked in your town, merely because you rarely dealt with crimes in that way- then it was outsiders who broke in. Checking several windows, doing your best to move silently around. However, you hadn’t learnt a lot from the last couple of years, other than taking care of animals, saying prayers, and singing hymns to cleanse your soul.

You found a half open window into what looked like a living room. You wished you could have crawled in discreetly, barely making a sound, like a ghost seeping into a new house to haunt.

Instead you fell onto a little table, which tipped over, a potted plant falling over, the pot shattering. The soil, barely visible in the dark, stained the floor with your fear.

However, silence still ruled the dark house, keeping you safe for now. For a moment, you wondered if there truly was a God who cared, just a little, for your broken soul.

That was until the lights turned on suddenly and the first thing you saw was a barrel pointed towards your head.

Herschel Shepherd had never seemed like a kind man to you, but a spiteful man, filled with greed and hatred. He was a respected man in the town, sure, and when he became a widower you were sure many of the other widowers dreamt of a marriage with him. He was rich, involved with the church and traveled with his company, that you didn’t even know what did. Especially after returning from the farm, seeing Kate next to him, never smiling despite having whom you considered a saint as a wife. The two of you had never talked about it but you suspected that he wasn’t a good husband. That perhaps he was open to the idea of sending away his wife, forcing her to manual labor in an isolated area for years in an attempt to control her even more.

You were willing to die for Kate, just so she shouldn’t see the room in which you had suffered. The painting of Jesus Christ who would be judging her day and night, the crucifix next to her bed, the never ending fields of loneliness, the constant repeating of the ashtasting verses and prayers, the dying hymns about love for a God that had never loved you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, not lowering the shotgun despite seeing it was only you, an unarmed member of the church.

Like a monster stepping out from a fairytale book, or a demon, ready to stop the noble Christian knight from his goal. You barely managed to speak before he did so again.

“Bloody roach,” he hissed, venom spitting from his mouth, “they should have abandoned you at the farm, let you stay mad and broken out there”

“Fuck you.” You were proud of how your voice barely shook as you blurted it out, how you got to your feet, staring at the only man in between the one you were ready to love forever.

“Shooting you will be—“ You hadn’t seen Kate come up behind him before the lamp collided with his head.

As blood splattered, you found yourself even more in love than before. Like embers filled up every bone in your body, your heart ringing its own church bells, declaring it true love. Perhaps you shouldn’t be turned on by her committing a violent act like that, yet it did, because Kate did it for you.

Kate was a savior, a knight in shining armor, even if she merely wore nightdress and a gown, her sword nothing but a wooden lamp that had blood stains on it now.

Her blue eyes staring down at the dragon that had kept her captive for years, in her own kind of hell - before your eyes finally met.

The lamp was abandoned on the floor next to Shepherd and you met halfway in the living room, embracing each other for only a short moment, before pressing your lips against each other’s.

Starved for the acceptance you had found in a woman in church, who you fell in love with, even when you knew it could end horrendously for the both of you.

Foreheads pressed against each other as you both breathed hard, fingers running over the other’s hair, face shoulders. As if to make sure it wasn’t a dream or hallucination, that you were actually both standing there in the room.

“You ok?” You whispered and her eyes flickered to the man on the floor before she answered, voice strong and steady, “yeah, better than I’ve been for years.”

You finally dared to look down at Sherpherd.

“Is he dead?” You asked, as if you only realized what she had done.

Sin sin sin sin sin sin

Killing was a sin. It was a big sin, or was one of the worst, it was— he was breathing, you realized. Chest moving up and down, even as blood from the wound from where the lamp had connected, sept into the carpet beneath him, staining it. Shotgun next to him. You could kill him. It would be an easy kill even, you would just have to take the gun, point it to his head and pull the —

“No - he will wake in a couple of hours with a headache,” Kate confirmed, hand then grabbing yours, “we can’t stay here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You liked that nickname.

“I know, I mean, I’m here to get you out-“ your words stumbled from your mouth as you followed her, only to be quieted down by a kiss. It was deeper than before even if it wasn’t long, a small whine escaping you as she pulled away again once more.

It was water after thirst, it was sun warming your skin after freezing in the snow. 

“My hero,” she whispered, touching your cheek, her blue eyes watering just a little, even as she clearly tried keeping them back, continuing,“and I know where the car keys are.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Leaving the town felt wrong on so many levels. By escaping its clutches, painful and sharp, you also abandoned what you considered your home and the safety of the church. The community it had given you throughout the years, the promises of a better afterlife, without eternal suffering.

You wanted to throw up, beg her to stop the car, fear crawling inside your throat and filling your lungs, making sobs escape as you shook. You wanted to run back, let Kate escape.

She kept driving, constantly looking over at you, as you curled together in the passenger seat next to her; she touched your shoulder, held your hand, petted your hair. Whispering sweet words, that weren’t prayers, that weren’t promises of a God who would look over the two of you. But of how the two of you would be alright, how you would figure things out.

How she could get you out of the country, how the two of you could start somewhere new, somewhere safe.

Create your own paradise. Together. 

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The two of you didn’t stop driving for hours - only stopping at a gas station to get more gas and some food. If the two of you looked weird, you in an oddly modest long blue dress, soil on it, with red and puffy eyes, Kate in a morning gown pulled tight around her waist, well then the cashier was nice enough to keep his mouth shut.

You watched the world pass by, watched nature change, the endless fields, the cows, different kinds of cars you had never seen before began to pass.

It was at the second stop at a gas station that you dared to stop for good. Car pulled to the side, Kate’s hand shaking as she took your phone and pressed a number. Then she waited, your hand holding her free hand.

The two of you sat in the backseat of the fancy car that Shepherd always rode. Hours had passed since you abandoned the town, the church, your family, your God, everything. You wondered if they had found your letter by now, if they were trying to call your phone, only to realize you had blocked them.

You wondered who they would blame; the two of you or God.

“Price,” you heard a gruff voice say.

“John,” Kate could barely say the name, voice almost trembling and you wanted to hold her tight, crawl into her lap and embrace her into a hug she couldn’t escape. 

“Kate?” The sound of disbelief, as if he had never expected to hear her voice again; as if she had been considered dead, had risen again. You were pretty sure you could hear a British accent to his voice, one you had only heard in movies, “Is that really you?”

“It is - I, John – fuck - we need you and the boys’ help. If your offer still stands.”

“Always Kate,” the certainty in his voice made you want to cry, “no matter where you are.”

—--

You abandoned the car in a random town and took a bus to the next town over, that would be close to where they would pick you up, Kate explained.

That night you slept in a motel together, close, breathing in each other’s air. Kissing each other, watching the other’s chest, just to make sure the other was alive. You listened to her heart before falling asleep, your head resting on her chest. A part of you wished that you could crawl inside her ribcage, in an attempt to get closer to her heart, to make sure she would never stop living

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had never seen an actual helicopter this close. Once one had passed over the farm, but that was years ago and it had barely been visible. You stood next to her, your fingers intertwined with Kate’s, just like you wanted your ribs to be. You weren’t necessarily proud of how you hid halfways behind her, but she seemed so calm around the machine - which meant she had probably been around some before. Both of your clothes were moving wildly due to the air from the wings, the grass laying down as if it was a divine figure who appeared from the sky, to offer you a way to safety.

You wanted to kiss her, as you had the night before in the motel, not caring if the sins would swallow you whole, drag you to hell and let you burn for all eternity. You would eat all forbidden fruits, if it meant another minute with her - no matter how scared you were of the world outside.

No matter how much the sight of five men stepping out from the helicopter, with the engine slowly stopping, walking towards you scared you, you stayed right there with Kate. The men who stepped out seemed like divine symbols of sins, of fallen angels, ready to welcome you into the damned eternity. No verses or prayers could save you now.

One of the angels wore a skull mask, a clear representation of death and while you trusted Kate with your life, wanted to trust these men too, since she said they were close friends, you wondered what life she had lived before coming to the town, before becoming Shepherd's wife.

Before meeting you.

She let go of your hand when they got close and you almost wanted to cry, wanted to beg her not to abandon you. But then she stepped forward to embrace the man who reached them first. He wore some sort of hat you hadn’t seen before, an oddly shaped beard too – a military uniform of some sort, they all did. 

“Kate,” he said, before embracing her hard and you watched how his fingers fisted in the night gown, as if afraid she would disappear in front of you. Then his eyes found yours; while you had escaped some sort of anger, some sort of judgment or perhaps a facial expression that proved that you shouldn’t trust it, there was none. Instead his eyes and face softened at the sight of you, not looking away until he and Kate broke the embrace, his eyes almost seeming shiny as he held her face in his hands, saying it was good to see her again. Then he turned to you, while Kate turned to the next man, greeting somebody called Nikolai, who twirled her around, but you were busy fearing the other man.

He offered you his hand, movement slow, as if he could see that you were like a skittish deer, ready to bolt at the sign of any danger.

“I’m John Price,” he said as he gently shook your hand, “An old military friend of Kate.”

You told him your name, even as it tasted a little foreign on your tongue, like you had to admit who you were, to a stranger for the first time. An outsider.

“I’m…”

What were you? Somebody who had fallen in love the moment you saw Kate, who had spent years being told you were wrong, who was supposed to be married today but who had instead run off with the woman that made your heart beat.

“My girlfriend,” Kate said, “She is my girlfriend.”

Warmth enveloped your entire body and Price didn’t look upset instead he smiled. Looking happy for you, for Kate, a reaction so alien to you that you barely believed it.

The others introduced themselves. Nikolai - who also spun you around, saying you were already loved by him, much to your confusion - then the demon-looking man who introduced himself as Simon or Ghost, as if you could decide what kind of danger you wanted him to be. Then Kyle - or Gaz - who thanked you for taking care of Kate, even if he knew nothing about what happened, why the hell Kate Laswell was out in the middle of a field, wearing only a night dress and gown, why a messy looking woman in a long dressed stood next to her, looking like she was ready to run. Then Soap - or Johnny, he had added with a grin, who said he didn’t know Kate, but that his team trusted her, so he did too - as well as you. But during the whole thing, your thoughts rummaged around the word girlfriend.

You were Kate’s girlfriend. She took your hand afterwards and you smiled at her, as if you saw her for the first time once more, hoping to wordlessly tell her how much you loved her, even if you didn’t dare to whisper the words out loud.

You curled up next to her in the helicopter, afraid of the sounds, the feeling of flying, of everything. She kept her arm around you, offering you safety once more, from the overwhelming world you had never been in before.

“What the ‘ell happened, Kate?” Simon or the grim reaper looking man asked, an accent that you suspected to be some kind of British, voice rough through the microphone. You didn’t look at Kate, weren’t sure how she would even explain this. You weren’t even sure how to explain it. It had been your entire life after all.

“It’s a long story,” Kate said, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “I’ll tell you later. When we’re safe somewhere.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The UK was gray most of the time, but you didn’t really care, had grown accustomed to it as time passed.

Kate was still the light of your life. She was often busy, but you didn’t mind, knowing her burning passion for her work. You worked in a library a couple of hours a week, even if she had enough money to let you do whatever you wanted and never work another hour of your life. You went to therapy, a lot in the beginning but less and less as the years passed and you got better.

You were slowly forgetting the words of the hymns you had grown up with, and the verses forced upon you. It had taken years, but you felt like a good person. Not a sick, sinful one, even though the urge to repent made its ugly return once and again - it was easier to dismiss now, easier to talk about.

Reborn into a human being who made her own choices. Who could love who she wanted.

You had brought a house in the suburbs, big enough that you were able to have some chickens in the garden and two cats. They kept you company and kept you busy, the chickens following you around the garden, the cats sleeping in your laps and on you stomach whenever Kate was at work.

You were forever grateful for Kate’s friends, who helped you assimilate to the world, to Britain, their partners' close friends too by now. You liked looking after John’s and Kyle’s son, Johnny’s, Simon’s and their girlfriend’s dogs. Like drinking coffee or eating together with their partners or family members - you had managed to get friends through the library, who introduced you to so much literature and media that you had never even dreamt of existed.

Though, it was always Kate who brought you the most joy. You had married her, a year after you escaped together, which was a little over a decade ago. It wasn’t anything like what was planned up to the wedding you were supposed to have had with Phillip. A marriage that apparently wouldn’t even be official and recognised by the government, since the town wouldn’t tell anyone about it. Kate’s marriage wasn’t even valid, so nothing stopped the two of you from marrying.

It was nothing wild, no church, nothing you had to live up to. Your rings were simple, so were your clothes. It was at town hall, it was small and simple, John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle your witnesses - their partners, more of Kate’s friends and the few others you had met outside, ready to celebrate you. It reminded you more of a birthday party or barbeque, something like that, nothing formal. Casual clothes, food made on the grill and in the kitchen, eaten in the garden. Games played, alcohol drunk, music that you never listened to before playing softly. It was happy, simple, with Kate kissing your hand and pulling you away to kiss your lips, making you whine happily.

You finally felt happy, cured. Not from the love you had for Kate, but from the hatred and pain that had been forced on you all of your life. A life that you were ready to spend with Kate.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics with no smut as requested in an ask that got lost somehow I'm so sorry! If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis/Harry -

🩵 forever is in your eyes by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 125k, fantasy) “Jesus Christ.” He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isn’t even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothing’s changed, and of course he does, because he’s a statue. A statue that Louis has just kissed.

🩵 Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k, lighthouse au) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

🩵 An Amazing Race Around the World (And to my Heart) by Thingssicant / @slowlyseducedbycurls

(E, 89k, enemies to lovers) Or an Amazing race Hate to Lovers au

🩵 Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis / @night-is-a-feeling

(M, 87k, character study) With the help of the captivating bartender, Louis, who he can’t seem to stop daydreaming about, and his enchanting group of friends; Harry remembers what it is to be alive. This is a story about small-town secrets, found family, queer identities, and the battle between fight and flight.

🩵 Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 76k, While You Were Sleeping au) When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son. In the Paynes, Harry finds the big family he's always longed for...and a love he never saw coming.

🩵 another dream but always you by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 66k, famous/not famous) Harry is a Dreamwalker; he has the ability to visit people in their dreams and help put them on the right path. He's assigned to Louis, who's struggling after the break-up of his band.

🩵 Forget the Silent Nights by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 44k, roommates) Either way, the last Christmas with the seven of them in that broken old house on Redwood all together was probably one of the most memorable holidays each of them had, what with the wedding and the the snowstorm and the raccoons in their attic...And the baby they stole, of course.

🩵 Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2

(M, 35k, omegaverse) the one where Harry doesn’t present as an alpha… until he does.

🩵 All Out of Love by SunTomato / @sun-tomato

(G, 32k, cupid au) Harry is a Cupid, who work their magic on a different plane, invisible to humans.

🩵 Fuck You For Ruining New York City For Me by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 11k, exes) Louis broke up with him in their New York apartment, so Harry left the city for good. Except now he’s back, visiting with his new boyfriend.

🩵 Does it Ever Drive You Crazy? (Just How Fast the Night Changes) by xx_soup_xx

(G, 7k, strangers to lovers) Baker Harry Styles takes it upon himself to get his mysterious grumpy customer, Louis Tomlinson, to like Christmas by taking him on a disastrous first date.

🩵 Girl Crush by Hopeless_blue

(T, 7k, strangers to lovers) He used to be so close to fulfilling his dreams when he participated in X-Factor. But that was four years ago, and now, on a rainy day, he wanders the streets looking for a pub where he could sing sometimes. Charming bartender Louis is ready to give him a shot...

🩵 Why Don’t We Start Writing The Story Of Us by red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa

(T, 6k, omegaverse) Alpha Louis and Omega Harry get off on the wrong foot, Louis has the worst timing, and Harry believes in second chances. Three times Louis asks Harry on a date and the one time Harry accepts

🩵 now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 5k, 5 times fic) Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest.

🩵 Missed Connection by @kingsofeverything

(M, 3k, humor) Harry is absolutely clueless when it comes to figuring out if other guys are into him, so he enlists his friend Niall to assist. That may or may not be a mistake.

🩵 You & Me by @allwaswell16

(G, 3k, uni) Louis hasn't had much luck in love, so he decides to finally meet this boy his mother thinks is his match. As fate would have it, he encounters an intriguing stranger to confide in before he meets with destiny.

🩵 All The Way Home I'll Be Warm by @justanothershadeofblue

(T, 2k, friends to lovers) Harry & Louis jokingly send out holiday cards together as friends, and now everyone is congratulating them for finally getting together. A 5+1 fic, for Christmas.

🩵 skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal

(G, 880 words, exes) It’s a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.

- Rare Pairs -

🩵 I Go Down Blazing, Feeling Like I'm Going Crazy (series) by @lululawrence

(NR, 29k, Niall/RoryMcIlroy) the soulmates AU where Niall won't know who his soulmate is until his twenty-first birthday, but becoming friends with Rory McIlroy is a great distraction while he navigates fame and does his best to be patient.

🩵 Blind Date by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(G, 13k, ot5) Louis Tomlinson, model and aspiring actor, has been chosen to appear on Blind Date. The only problem is, all the contestants are wonderful. And so is the host. It's making things difficult.

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 22

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, language, mild violence, minor medical episode (seizure-esque), Steve Rogers definitely not being jealous.

✦ Word Count: 11k

✦ Playlist: Here

[Master List]

There’s a physical weight settling into Steve’s stomach as he stands there in the aftermath of the fight. A nasty mix of guilt and bruised egos permeates the room as his attention falls on you and your blazing golden eyes, chest heaving and hands clenched. A trickle of blood falls from your ear down the curve of your chin, landing with small plops on the ivory draping of your dress. 

In a moment that should be a victory, all he can taste is the bitter sting of defeat.

Though a drone lays unmoving at their feet, there is no sense of battles won at this moment, as all eyes seem to round on the sole owner of said robot.

Someone says his name then with a warning tone that verges on the blossoms of bristling rage:

“Stark - ”

But Tony is already scrambling off the floor and bounding up the stairs to his lab, with nearly the entire team following after him just a beat later.

“Quinjet people, let’s move it.”

“Stark!” Thor bellows.

Driven by an invisible motor, however, the man in question ignores them all entirely in favor of jamming the elevator button repeatedly.

And just when Steve is ready to confront him, a million questions coming to mind, the lab plunges into pitch darkness.

“Oh, that’s just great. JARVIS, talk to me here - ”

Seemingly at once, the majority of the team pulls out their phones - using the built-in flashlight feature to light the eleven of them up in an awkward switching of straight-beam lights.

“Not the eyes, Jesus, man - ” Clint flinches, throwing a hand over his face as someone across from him quickly lowers their phone down to a reasonable level.

In the chaos of the room, Steve seeks you out. 

But he doesn’t have to look long because there you are, already at his side, eyes searching his face. 

Perhaps due to the adrenaline still rushing through his system, he entwines your hands together - squeezing a sense of reassurance across the connection. A steady breath releases from your lips and he can even feel himself relaxing as an invisible teether keeps the two of you from drifting into the madness of the situation.

You had taken on an alien invasion together and fought the likes of HYDRA side-by-side. A few drones controlled by Stark couldn’t be that bad.

“Okay, JARVIS is down,” Tony announces a moment later, tangible frustration lacing his words as he rubs his free hand over his face.

“Which means the quinjet is out of commission until reboot,” Nat supplies.

“Bingo.”

Your fingers pull from his hold and Steve releases your hand as you move toward the center of the lab, your index finger being the last to loosen from his grip. And it’s foolish how reluctant his heart is to fully let it escape his reach. Priorities, he tries to convince himself.

“At least three drones escaped. If they’re rogue or their AI is corrupted, they’re considered a risk.”

Steve watches as your eyes briefly land on him before your attention returns to the billionaire.

“We need to go after them, now.”

Rhodey slaps Tony’s arm, “Let’s suit up, man.”

“Out of the question.”

Steve turns, eyes landing on Maria who’s sat on the edge of a workbench, seemingly pulling shards of glass from the sole of her foot.

“She’s right,” Tony nods, reluctantly. “Suits could be equally corrupted and unstable.”

“We need fliers then,” you realize.

Everyone seems to turn toward Thor at that moment, but Steve and the goddess of old find their attention landing firmly on Sam.

Someone’s phone light illuminates your body then, still dressed in your elegant white dress. But behind you, a table is finally put into view.

“Stark. Where is the scepter?”

Thor, in all his towering power, crosses the lab in three giant steps before he stands in front of the man in question - backed into a workbench - a violent shimmer of ice-blue lightning flashing across his body. In the blackout, you had all failed to notice the most glaring difference in the lab. The lack of light had obscured your attention away from the now empty table where the scepter had previously been secured.

Sensing the ensuing chaos, Steve clears his throat, “Sam. Do you have your wings?”

“Course I do,” he huffs.

“Take the stairs, hurry,” you implore.

With a nod and slightly confused eyes, Sam takes off for the nearest emergency exit door - his phone’s light guiding the way. 

With that set in motion, Steve watches as you move toward the shattered windows. He’s a few steps behind when you give a sharp high-pitched whistle. Coming to stand by your right side, he crosses his arms as he looks out at the darkened skies. He says nothing, but after a moment, he can spot the shimmering blue trail as a jet of bursting light comes hurtling toward the two of you.

Pallas swoops down through the archway, his talons circling your arm as he comes to perch. You coo at your avian friend.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve greets.

The owl immediately leans toward him and Steve can’t help but brush his index finger over the bird’s head.

“You seriously have an animal sidekick?”

Clint, who has pulled away from Nat and Bruce immediately rounds on you - voice filled with genuine disbelief.

“Something like that,” you reply, brushing your finger over your companion’s plumage. 

Tilting your head in the direction of the others, Steve and the archer part for you as you stride over toward Tony - who remains on the receiving end of a god’s fury.

Your voice cuts through their building argument with clear precision, “Thor, you need to follow their trail - now.”

Steve returns to the conversation, staring down the other god as Thor’s golden eyes fall upon your face. They ease out, after a second, returning to the more familiar blue hues, causing Steve to relax his shoulders and clenched fists a fraction.

“As I was trying to say - ” Tony begins.

“Ah!” Your fingers snap in the direction of his mouth - effectively silencing the billionaire as he forces his lips back together, “Not now, Anthony.”

“Noted.”

The man pulls away, crossing his arms as he leans against an adjacent workbench next to Rhodey, who shoots him a particularly heated look. The supersoldier's fingers dig into his own forearms.

Steve watches as you command the situation with ease, turning toward Thor with a plan already in place.

“We have no jet. You can fly and we both know your vision is superior to just about everyone here. Now, go. I’ll send Pallas on as well.”

“A bird?”

“An owl who tracks foes across dimensions and worlds, with eyes better than anyone else in this room - even you, God of Thunder.”

He bristles back, eyes hardening.

Sam comes bounding in just a moment later, chest heaving, his hands gripping his wingpack.

“Got it.”

“Another set of eyes, particularly at night, can’t hurt. Without access to the quinjet yet and Stark’s legion, we need someone to follow their trail.”

Steve nods, picking up on the plan immediately without a single word shared between the two of you.

“There were three of them that shot out of here. Follow their trails as far as you can. Sam, get redwing on it too if you have to. Find out where the hell they’re taking it.”

“Now, the three of you - go!”

Thor gives a petulant look at the owl before he summons his hammer to his hand and heads for the window. Sam slings the pack on, eyeing Steve as he does so.

You whisper something then to Pallas, though above the readying of Sam’s wings, he can’t make out what exactly you say. With a squawk of acknowledgment, Pallas leaps from your arm and soars out the window, with Thor and Sam on his tail just a moment later.

He watches you then, as you move toward the open windows of the tower. Hands gripping your bare arms as a brewing sea of troubles flits across your features at a disturbing rate.

Maybe it was similar to the things that were crossing his mind.

The hows and whys. The what-ifs and should-haves.

Had it been foolish - naive - of them all to bring the scepter back here? To let it sit, relatively unsecured, in the lab for three days. The same weapon, Steve recalls, that caused the entire team to turn upon one another three years prior. The tool that had turned Barton against his teammate, that had swayed several brilliant minds into helping Loki, of all beings.

He should have known better.

That thing should have been handed over to Thor and sent back to Asgard the minute they cleared Sokovian air space three days back.

And then his attention falls back on the woman beside him. Her gaze is despondent as she stares out into the emptiness of the night air. Steve takes a steadying breath before nudging your shoulder with his arm.

“You okay?”

Your face turns then, a grimace forced into a tight smile as you nod.

The lights flicker back to life, nearly blinding you both as you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness overhead.

“Hey, look at that,” someone proclaims.

You look more assured now, ready to stride forward once again, and Steve is determined to stay by your side as you do.

“Okay,” you start, returning to the group. “We need to know everything that happened in this lab tonight. Can you pull up JARVIS?”

Tony looks up with slightly widened eyes before he glances back down at his phone in dismay.

“That’s gonna be a no-go, Wonder Woman.”

Steve takes a step forward, curiosity mixing with his already heightened frustration, “And why’s that?”

With a flick of his wrist, a hologram shoots out from the billionaire’s phone. Fragments of orange and blue light, scattered apart from a central sphere, hover in the open space of the lab - illuminating the entire room.

It’s Bruce who takes a step forward then, pulling his glasses on as he stares into the depths of the image, “This is insane.”

With a shake of his head, Steve says what everyone else was also likely thinking, “Jarvis was the first line of defense.”

“But this doesn’t make sense,” Bruce responds, looking to Steve, then Tony. “Ultron could have assimilated Jarvis into its system. They’re different AIs, but this… this isn’t strategy.”

“It looks like the hole Thor would have left in Tony’s head if he had the chance,” Clint adds with nearly no amusement.

You nod in agreement, “It’s rage.”

“Lucky he didn’t kill you tonight then,” Rhodey clips.

Tony actually rolls his eyes at that, pushing away from the table and pulling the hologram with him. 

“That was never going to happen.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that then? The system was too bonded to you, its creator?”

“Something like that,” you add.

A few curious eyes meet your gaze - Steve’s included - and Tony gives a little nod in return.

With a sigh, you elaborate, “The three laws of robotics. Number One: a robot can not harm or injure a human, or, through inaction, allow a human to be harmed.”

At that, Rhodey pushes up, anger flaring across his usually composed features.

“Oh, was that what that was? Cause I thought that thing was dangling him by the goddamn neck sixty stories above the street? Or maybe I’m just blind. What exactly would you call that?”

Tony puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder just as Steve moves to stand beside you.

“That’s enough.”

The billionaire rolls his eyes, turning instead to address Rhodes.

“He couldn’t do anything more than that. I wasn’t being choked and I was never going to be dropped. It’s exactly what it was; a threat. And… a promise, from the sounds of it.”

“A promise to do what?” Clint questions, hands on his hips and brows raised in clear confusion.

“If I had to take a guess,” Maria speaks up from behind you and Steve. “I’d say your drone thinks he can do a better job of keeping the peace than he thinks you guys can.”

Tony points his phone at him, “Right on the money.”

“And now we have a rogue robot running around with a scepter that allowed Loki to bring an alien army to Manhattan. Imagine the possibilities,” Natasha intones with a shake of her red curls.

“Uhm… guys?”

Steve, and the rest of the team, are pulled by the sound of Helen Cho’s voice. 

Standing near the shattered window frames, overlooking the city, they all wander over to the doctor. Laid out before them is complete and utter darkness from the business district, and the street lights, and the countless restaurants and apartments. Only directly down on the street itself, do the headlights of the cars remain to illuminate the blackout.

“What the hell?” Clint murmurs with a hand over his jaw.

“So… this is bad,” Bruce adds, eyes wide as he glances from Tony to you to the window once again.

As Steve’s mind comes up empty for an explanation, he looks over to see you with a look on your face that seems to say you have already pieced the puzzle together. Leaning into his side, you explain: 

“The drones disabled the arc reactor that supplies the tower… and the local grid.”

Right. In the years following the dismantling of his suits, Tony had focused his efforts on expanding the arc reactor’s reach. Moving from just supplying the Tower, eventually, the entire city was switched over to the “clean energy” route, with plans to move to a country-wide operation in the near future.

Steve had picked that up one early morning when Tony had been working through calculations when the supersoldier returned from his 5 AM run.

But the only thought that comes to mind is simply, “Why?”

You shake your head, hands clutching your crossed arms, “Distraction maybe - keep us from following after right away. The whole tower was shut down, meaning the jet was too. I’m not sure. Only he could answer that, honestly.”

Pointing your chin in the direction of Stark, he follows your gaze.

“I don’t have a read on the system,” you continue. “But vengeance isn’t typically embedded into a robot’s coding.”

“But these aren’t usual circumstances,” Steve concludes.

You nod in return.

“And with ours back on and working, the city goes into blackout, and chaos reins,” Nat smirks.

“Yeah, and the Terminator gets to fly off and do hell knows what while we’re stuck here,” Clint finishes his statement with a swift kick to a cabinet.

Tony pushes away from the workbench, pocketing his phone, “Well, fun as this is. I need to go secure the rest of these fuckers before we have a mass break-out. Banner?”

Bruce’s head pops up at the call of his name, “Yeah? Yup, coming.”

The archer watches them go, holding out a hand in clear incredulousness.

“And we just… what, exactly?”

Your eyes find Steve’s furrowed expression for a moment before you both look toward the shattered window frames once again.

While Sam and Thor were in the wind, following a trail that would hopefully lead you all to the scepter, the rest of you formulated a plan.

With some minor begrudging and hesitation, Rhodey was suited up and sent to work on fixing the line to the arc reactor in the bay. The entire legion was a no-go, currently on full lockdown in the tower, thankfully. And without JARVIS, Tony couldn’t access his standby suit which Pepper definitely didn’t know about. And he was about 99% sure that Rhodes' suit would be fine as it operated on a different system.

“What about the other 1%?” he had questioned.

“I’ll be with you the entire time,” Tony had promised.

From what Maria was able to tell you, with her access to both SHIELD’s information and the news outside of the city, panic was beginning to pulse across the island. Local news networks were unable to broadcast and the national news was only just starting to pick up on the situation - not that the majority of Manhattan could see that: the whole power outage, and all.

“Ouch.”

You glance up from your position on the floor, Maria’s foot in your hand as you carefully remove the last few pieces of glass with the medical tweezers.

“Sorry, I promise it’s almost all out.”

“No,” she shakes her head, turning her tablet around for you to see. “I was referring to this coverage.”

Your eyes squint to read the article in front of you, published all of two minutes ago by The Daily Bugle.

Party at Stark Tower Causes Mass Outages; Mayor Marino Asks for Public to Remain Patient

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” you bite, shaking your head as you return to the task at hand.

“Yeah, public opinion, that’s all we need to help the situation right now.”

“No mention of the rogue drones though, right? Just Tony and his excessive electric bill?”

“Of course,” Maria grins.

While you remained at the tower with Helen and Maria to resume order and keep an eye on the possibly impending situation out in the city, the others had gotten the quinjet up and running. Steve, Natasha, and Clint had blazed out of the lab as soon as Tony gave the all-clear.

About fifteen minutes behind Thor and Sam (and Pallas, of course), the likelihood of them actually tracking one of the bots down was nearly zero. At best, they could assist the others if they actually managed to find the one wielding the scepter. But even those odds were becoming lower and lower as the minutes ticked by.

With her foot properly bandaged, Maria begins setting up a pseudo-command station at one of the cleared workbenches in the lab. She was the only access point to the outside world right now.

Diverting your attention to the only other person in the room, you make your way over to Dr. Cho.

Standing near the stairs overlooking the main atrium where the party had been broken up, she holds Steve’s leather jacket even closer to her frame. It practically engulfs her entire upper body and, as you draw near, you can make out the faint fragrance of the supersoldier’s musky cologne.

“Hi,” she greets, darting a quick look in your direction as you come to a stop.

“How are you doing? Anything need tending to?”

“Wha- oh, no. No, I’m fine.”

You give a nod, crossing your arms as you look out at the destruction.

In the morning, no doubt, Tony would have cleaning crews up here to deal with the mess. And there was a good amount of it. Between the shattered glass, shards of broken furniture, and dented walls and floors.

But where your attention falls, is on the mangled drone still lying at the base of the stairs.

Without another word, you make your way down the steps before you drop to your knee, staring down into the unlit visual optics of the robot. You turn its head from side to side as if expecting to find an answer to one of the many questions you had brewing around in your mind after the attack.

Now, human vengeance you understood all too well. Centuries of first-hand experience to the fact, actually. But this? Corrupted software? That was an entirely different playing field.

Steve had told you all about the likes of the supercomputer that housed the remnants of Arnim Zola. But even that coding had elements of humanity in it. Ultron wasn’t nearly comparable. Apples and oranges, someone might say. But the rage and destruction that had occurred tonight… you couldn’t ignore that.

Releasing the robot from your grip, your fingers instead reach up and wrap around the silver locket.

Perhaps this is what Hermes and Dionysus had been sent to warn you about. Something large and unforgiving was heading your way. But, as your eyes fall back upon the lifeless drone, you can’t help but wonder if something so easily overtaken was truly that great of a threat.

Prying the lock free, you stare at the flickering flame held within the pendant.

Surely not dangerous enough to warrant a direct link to the Promethean Flame?

An hour passes, yet you receive no word from the away teams. Bruce pops his head in at one point to check on Helen. He offhandedly comments on the state of Rhodes and Tony, and their progress on repairing the Arc Reactor’s main lines, but otherwise has little to contribute.

It was a total feeling of helplessness.

While the others were at least chasing down the threat that the rogue Ultron bots posed, you were stuck in the tower. Waiting for the tides to turn, or for the masses to revolt in full.

Maria had been keeping you in the loop, relaying intel from SHIELD and other groups your way.

The majority of Manhattan remained where they were, patiently waiting for the return of their electricity. But others were taking the lack of surveillance as a free pass to do what they pleased.

Perched behind Maria, your arms crossed and eyes focused on the screen in front of the agent, you try to listen as notifications continue to pop up on her main video feed.

“NYPD is spread thin, but nothing truly alarming yet. Break-ins and looting for the most part. No mention of killer bots, thankfully,” she reports with a long sigh.

“How much longer until we’re at an escalation level though?” You ponder pushing away from her command station to pace the length of the lab.

“Well, it’s just after midnight on a weekend,” she shrugs. “I give it another hour.”

“Honestly, last of my worries right now.”

The two of you look up as Tony makes his entrance. His usually-kept hair is tousled and wild as if his fingers have been raking through it for the past two hours. The three-piece suit is dismantled down to his button-up shirt, hastily rolled up to his elbows, with signs of grease and oil present upon his forearms and hands.

“What is it?” you question, rising to your full height as the billionaire draws near.

“He cleared out. Dumped everything I had. Basically used the internet as an escape hatch before he flew the coop. Everything downstairs is worthless.”

You shake your head, disbelief rattling through your body, “One giant distraction to get what he really wanted.”

“Had his fingers in everything,” Tony continues, perching on the edge of one of his lab’s tables. “Files, surveillance, pretty much everything that got dropped by Agent Carter after the whole SHIELD / HYDRA mess courtesy of Cap.”

Even though you shoot him a look then, he plows forward.

“Big question I’m wondering here though is… what’s his endgame? Access to everything we go now, what’s step two?”

Maria scoffs, barely looking up from her computer, “He’s got our files, but let’s say he’s feeling even more bold. Nuclear codes or something like that.”

“Nukes?”

Your eyes meet Helen’s from across the room when she enters with Bruce at her side. Maria blinks, mouth opening and closing for just a moment longer before she swipes up her phone and pulls away from the table.

“I’m gonna make some more calls. While we still can.”

The four of you watch as she makes a hasty exit, already speaking to someone before she’s even fully out of the room. But then you look upon Tony and Bruce. A weight seems to settle onto your shoulders as the gravity of the situation sinks further into place.

Banner tugs off his glasses, rubbing his forehead for a second before the words come out.

“It said it wanted us dead.”

Tony shakes his head, “Not us as in the whole human race, mind you. Just… us.”

“No,” you retort, dropping down into the chair Maria had previously occupied. “Not dead… extinct.”

“Po-ta-toe, po-ta-toh,” Stark waves dismissively.

Your brows arch, but you remain silent as your eyes fall upon the sudden clap of thunder outside the tower.

Thor’s feet slam against the floor as he strides toward the four of you, gaze focused on only one person. Before you can even move from the chair, Thor wraps his hand around Tony’s neck and successfully lifts him from the ground.

“Come on, use your words, buddy.”

“Odinson,” you warn, moving to step between the two.

“I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark,” he bites.

“Thor. The drone?”

Your fellow god spares you but a look before he drops Tony with little fanfare. As the man stumbles backward, gasping as he holds his reddened throat, Thor lets out a long breath.

“I followed it across the ocean, one hundred miles out, before it lost its head.”

Bruce steps into view, “Did it… did it have the scepter?”

“Nay.”

You share a nod of understanding with the doctor.

It was down to Sam, the team on the quinjet, and Pallas to locate and track down the remaining two.

When the away team returned a near half-hour later, they too reported engaging with a bot. While the drone was successfully defeated and its body returned to the tower, the scepter was nowhere to be found.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, his helmet resting on the table beside him.

The others had cleared out of the lab, yet the two of you chose to remain.

Perhaps under the intention of feeling useful while you truly had nothing else to offer in the matter. Energies exhausted and options limited, yet neither one of you could simply call it quits just yet.

Your eyes travel down to the still-open laptop that Maria had left behind. Coverage from CNN showed minor instances of looting, arson, and a group of people just outside of the tower’s entrance - shouting inaudibly as the anchors covered the strange power outage.

It wasn’t anything that required your assistance yet. And, honestly, you hoped it wouldn’t. That was the last thing these people needed. Seeing the group of you out there trying to break up the madness after you inadvertently caused the blackout in the first place.

“We tried,” he explains, yet again. “Nothing was coming up on our systems though.”

You offer him a small smile, looking away from the computer, “It makes sense that they would shoot off in three different directions. Ultron had to be expecting to be followed.”

Sam had even sent Redwing out after Pallas, but the drone had returned with nothing of use.

Steve’s tired eyes meet yours as he stares up at you from his seated position.

“Will he be…?”

You understand his line of questioning and immediately shake your head, “He’ll be more than fine. Trust me. The fool won’t try and engage a robot, I assure you. He’ll just return to my side when he’s sure of a location. He knows how to keep his distance.”

The blonde gives a reluctant nod.

After a beat of silence, you move to stand beside him, resting your hip against the edge of the table. His gaze travels down your side, landing on the hem of your dress where a small splatter of your blood remains, staining the soft fabric.

You watch as his fingers gently tug on the material, smoothing over the already-dried splotch. A breath catches in your throat and you quickly cough to recover from it. Steve’s eyes meet yours once again.

“I - this is why I don’t do parties,” you settle on.

His brows raise, but a curious smile tugs at his lips.

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm, and let me tell, you that is quite a feat to accomplish back on Olympus.”

“I imagine so.”

“Between Dion and Apollo, you could barely sleep at night,” you smile at the memory of ages past. Absently, your hand clutches at the pendant around your neck once again. Your finger drags over the raised engraving on the cover clasp.

And then Steve’s standing up. One hand comes to rest on the table beside your left hip, though his added height makes him have to bend his head down to keep your gaze level.

“You know,” he starts, eyes dipping down for just a second. “If we can’t locate the scepter right away, we’ll need to go back to raid missions.”

“Yeah.”

The thought had occurred to you. After all, you had only been planning to stay around long enough to wrap up the business with the scepter before returning to Fury’s side. But the prospect of working alongside a team to hunt down the remnants of HYDRA certainly sounded more favorable now.

“And it’d probably be easier having you here at the tower than trying to track you across Europe.”

“Is that right?” you smile in return.

He shrugs, “Just a thought.”

With him this close, you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and smell the bitter Asgardian ale on his breath. Sweat that beaded up on his hair makes his usually soft blonde hues look darker. You can even feel the sudden sensation of his thumb rubbing against your clothed outer thigh.

You clear your throat, pulling yourself further back on the table. Steve immediately takes a step back as well - hands returning to his sides.

“Hey, Stark says the reactor’s back on.”

The two of you whip your heads in the direction of Clint who enters the lab, gaze firmly set on his phone. He looks up a beat later, when he’s met with silence, and immediately grins.

“I wasn’t interrupting something, was I?”

Your face scrunches in confusion, looking from him to the supersoldier and back again.

“No? Steve was just saying that I should remain here if we need to go on more raids.”

“Did he?” Barton sounds almost gleeful as he rocks up on his heels.

You look toward Steve again, but his eyes remain on the archer.

Clint stops, mouth closing as he jerks his thumb back in the direction of which he had just came from, “Yeah. I’m just gonna…”

He walks backward for a moment before he turns and heads down the stairs and out of the lab. You watch him go and then you turn your attention back to the man standing in front of you. He shakes his head, letting out a huff of unamused laughter.

“Well,” you brush the draping of your dress that rests below your knees. “Until Pallas returns, it looks like you’re stuck with me, Rogers.”

His radiant blue eyes meet your soft expression as you hop up from your place on the edge of the table. He lends you a hand as you steady yourself.

“That’s not so bad,” he replies with a gentle tone.

You give him a smile in return.

One last glance at the laptop shows updated images of the lit New York skyline before you close the lid. At least a riot wasn’t on the agenda for tonight.

As you make your way down the stairs, toward the elevator to the residence floor, Steve’s hand comes to rest on your lower back as you side-step a large pile of broken glass.

“I don’t think I mentioned earlier,” he starts, gazing down at your face as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor.

“What?”

He takes a breath, darkened eyes focused on your own, “You look beautiful tonight.”

You look away, feeling a strange rush of heat to your cheeks and ears, as a surprising smile graces your features at the compliment.

Steve rocks back on his heels for a moment, also looking up toward the floor indicator light before his fingers tighten briefly on your back.

Natasha’s in the kitchen when he returns to the tower. She has a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand when she looks up from her phone to greet him.

“Good run?”

When she's given no reply, she looks up, green eyes hardening as she sees right through him. He shakes his head, moving his attention to the fridge where he seeks out a bottle of water.

“Should have kept it to the gym.”

Her sculpted brow arches in question.

Taking a moment to unscrew the lid and have a gulp of the much-needed cold drink, Steve brushes his lips dry with the back of his hand, head thudding against the door of the refrigerator.

“Rogers. What happened?”

He gives a small shake of his head, hardly believing the events of the morning himself.

“People on the street weren’t in the best of moods today.”

“Wow. New York on a Sunday, who would have guessed?” she laughs, returning to her coffee.

“It’s not…” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his sweatpants. “Not people being people. I mean, they were shouting at me. Things about last night and where my priorities lie. There was genuine hate there.”

She deposits her drink back down on the counter.

“Are they honestly still mad about that? The power was restored in less than five hours.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, pushing off from the fridge. “Apparently there’s some distaste in their mouths after the news was all over the party last night.”

Nat gives a nod of understanding.

“Tony, extravagance, using up the entire grid for his party, of course.”

“What’s the point in public servants if that’s what we’re doing in our free time?” Steve says, recalling the words of a young woman who had crossed his path near the coffee shop by Grand Central.

“Well, I’m sure you’re all too used to that at this point. Wasn’t WHiH claiming you were hellbent on destroying D.C. because you were… what was it?”

“Demanding a pay increase,” he snaps, cooly remembering the headlines that graced the media two years prior.

She snorts, taking a sip of her beverage once again.

“Look, when you’re in this business long enough, with a public image, you’re going to get bad press every now and then. As far as they know, there were no Ultron drones tearing up the tower. Better to have them know less of the truth and deal with a little public fallout than mass panic, don’t you think?”

Steve sighs, holding the bottle against his cheek for a moment as his emotions rattle their way through his system.

“I guess.”

She gives him a pointed look then.

“Anyway, Tony’s prepping to give an address at ten. Calm general worry and all that jazz.”

“Good.”

Steve was not a stranger in the realm of negative press. The days of wearing blue-knit tights and holding a wooden shield hadn’t strayed that far from his mind. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of dislike and general disgust. To be booed and have tomatoes thrown at you and generally feel like a piece of crap, to put it lightly.

But this was the modern era, news traveled faster than he could have ever believed. And one negative story could easily spiral out of control until public opinion was permanently changed.

It was only two years after D.C., and three since the Battle of New York. When, even after saving the city from an alien invasion and their own government trying to bomb them out of existence, the public was still up in arms over the concept of them.

The assassin stares at him for a moment more, before she changes her tone entirely.

“So… how were things last night?”

He rolls his eyes, “Come on.”

“No, I’m genuinely asking. Barton was all doe-eyed when he reenacted it to us. Something about walking in before a big declaration of love?”

“I’ll see you later, Nat,” he announces, striding out of the kitchen with a quickened pace as her laughter follows after him.

While he had allowed himself to spend a portion of his morning recalling everything about you from the party, the run had largely soured Steve’s mood. And it had refocused his attention back on the rather pressing issue that was a missing and corrupted robot with an alien-based scepter.

He hadn’t been able to sleep after he dropped you off at your room. Tossing and turning on his bed for a solid two hours before he just threw his hands up and decided to go for his usual morning run. Half of the team was still out for the moment - too exhausted from the events of the late night to be awake before eight - though he had a feeling that no one would be getting particularly restful sleep.

And while you had reassured him that you were confident in Pallas’ situation, Steve could still see the hint of worry in your eyes.

Maybe that’s why Steve isn’t entirely surprised to see you when he rounds the corner to the living quarters. With your arms resting on the window ledge, your attention is focused on the city down below. He clears his throat, giving you a moment to acknowledge his approach before he comes to rest on your left side, mirroring your pose.

“Hey,” you greet, voice soft but strained with a lingering sense of tiredness. “Get any sleep?”

He snorts, “Not a wink.”

You offer him a look, lips barely able to reach up into a proper smile.

As the silence stretches for a minute longer, Steve looks down at your hands whereupon he notices a small scrap of paper held tightly between your fingers. You twiddle with it as the seconds pass, but he can see nothing on it. Drawing his eyes back to your face, the supersoldier lets out a sigh.

“It’s the worst, feeling stationary, isn’t it?”

That makes your gaze pull up, curiosity piqued.

“Never was very good at waiting around while things went on around me that felt… out of my control.”

“You were never a proper soldier,” you smirk.

He can feel his smile grow.

“Do you want to spar?” 

When your eyes meet his, he feels the need to elaborate. “I have all this tension from last night and I think I’ve wrecked just about every one of Stark’s punching bags at this point.”

“Oh, am I the replacement for your usual punching bag? Is that it?”

Though it’s teasing in nature, your smile overpowers the harshness of it.

Steve inclines his head in the direction of the gym before he shakes his head and adds, “Never.”

Steve’s head slams onto the mat as all of the breath is pushed from his lungs. You’re securely sat on top of him, holding his wrists together in one of your hands as you lean down - your chests pressed together.

“You’re getting better at this, honestly.”

He huffs out a sound of laughter as you gently release him and pull back, resting on your haunches.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he grunts with just a hint of playfulness behind his ocean-blue eyes.

You give him a little shrug.

“What, like it’s easy to take down a god? Honestly, Rogers.”

This had been your routine for the past two days. While public outcry died down and Stark began cleaning up the tower and securing his current systems, the two of you found yourselves in the gym more often than not.

Sometimes the others would join you. Feeling equally stuck in the waiting game that you and the supersoldier did.

There had been no word from Pallas, nor sightings of a silver robot wandering around with a deadly alien scepter. So, you used your time in the only way that seemed appropriate.

Steve sits up, hands resting on either side of your hips, catching you somewhat off guard as the heated breath from his lips meets the tip of your nose. 

You wriggle against him, feeling slightly caged by his positioning.

But then his fingers are digging into your sides, tickling you, and the shocking gasps of laughter surprise even you as you find yourself being rolled over onto the mat.

“Ste-Eve! Cronusss, mercy! Mercy!”

It lasts a minute more before Steve stops his attack, chuckling at your exposed position. While it wasn’t a well-known fact, goddesses could also feel the effects of tickling. When his hands retreat and your breathing calms, you find yourself staring up into those darkened blue eyes as he straddles you.

There’s a glint of a smile on his lips as he leans forward, gaze moving from your eyes down to your lips.

“First time for everything,” you whisper.

There’s a strange dichotomy draping over you as he tilts forward. The blanket of heat that lays across your body mixes with the screaming anxiety in the pit of your stomach that commands you to move, to pull away. And like an ice bath, that feeling tips over until your body begins to shake involuntarily and your vision blurs.

You can hear his voice, but it’s far away, drifting toward you through muddied waters.

And while you lose sight of the gym, of Steve’s face above yours, your eyes blink open to the sight of reddish-orange bricks.

You force another harsh blink of your eyes, trying to see more of what lies in front of you.

Distantly, someone is shouting your name and it takes all your energy to yell back shut up, but even that sound never reaches your ears.

You can feel the rustle of the breeze in the tree you’re perched within, light dim in the late afternoon sky, as the white words finally come into sharper clarity for you. Grasping everything in front of you like a sponge sucking up knowledge, you try to retain it all down to the last detail.

Bodies are strewn across the ground, ripped apart with careless blasts, the large metal doors are destroyed, and a siren rings out. And you can see a silver drone, and a man being pulled along, muttering something, something… his arm is missing, blood gushing down his side as he is pulled away, red eyes land on you and panic rises in your throat as a hole is blasted into the trunk just an inch from your head.

And then, at last -

“Daughter of Zeus. Return to me. Athena. My Lady, Athena. Return to me.”

It takes a second, but a punch of air pushes out from your lungs as the sight of the gym comes back into view, nausea rising to a volatile level. You shield your eyes against the light as someone is quick to block out the remaining fluorescents from your sight. A hand presses down on your shuddering chest, holding you steady against the sticky mat.

“Her eyes,” someone says. “They were silver, like she had film over them or - ”

“A vision,” a deeper tone replies.

With another breath, you finally look up to see the curious eyes of Thor. A braided strand of his blonde hair rests upon your clavicle as he peers down at you, searching your eyes for something.

“Where is it?”

A hand cradles your cheek and your stomach sloshes.

Letters and images flash by your inner mind until, at last, a location comes forward and a word is spat out:

 “Netherlands.”

You can feel Steve’s gaze upon you as you sit on the cream-colored couch in the central living space of the tower. Knees bent and pulled up to your chest as your body tries to recover from the experience.

It had taken the strength of the supersoldier and the other god to get you here as your own feet had been reluctant to function in the aftermath. Even now, an involuntary shudder wracks your body.

While the experience had lasted only seconds for you, Steve said you were out for several minutes. With your eyes glazed over and your body convulsing so hard he thought the worst. Thor had merely been passing by the gym when he found the two of you.

Of course, your fellow god knew exactly what had happened.

“I have a link to Pallas when necessary,” you explain to the team. “When he was sure of Ultron’s location, he connected with me. Sorry, by the way - ” you direct this part to Steve.

He waves his hand in dismissal, but his face clearly gives away his discomfort with what had just transpired.

“Great. Where’s the bastard?” Clint claps his hands together.

Giving yourself a moment to breathe, you answer at last, “The Hague Penitentiary.”

Tony’s head snaps up, pointing a finger as if he wants to say something before he grabs his phone instead.

“A prison?” Sam questions.

“Not just a prison,” Natasha continues for you.

From across the room, the billionaire pulls up a hologram of the location, alongside a map and a 3D globe.

“It’s the main detention unit for NATO.”

Clint blinks, “Seriously?”

“And wouldn’t you know it, there was a breakout less than an hour ago,” Stark snaps.

A holographic list of prisoners is thrown into the center of the room before it lands on a single name. Pulling up the accompanying image, your memory of the vision suddenly connects with the portrait in front of you.

“Strucker.”

Someone’s hand slams onto a table behind you, but you can barely hear it over the sound of anger pulsing through your own ears.

“That fucker,” Clint spits.

Thor stalks off across the room to stare out the windows, you can see his shoulders visibly shaking as he clenches his fists. Shocks of electric blue travel along his frame.

“Why?”

When you feel the gaze of the team fall upon you, you reiterate, “Why him?”

“Strucker was working with the scepter before this; days before literally,” Tony suggests.

Steve shakes his head, “Access to everything online - HYDRA included, why would Ultron need him?”

At that, Tony opens and closes his mouth, perplexed into silence.

Steve had a point, of course. What use was Strucker to Ultron when the drone knew anything and everything? Probably even more than the Baron did about the scepter. For a supposed superior peacekeeper it was surely strange for the bot to take a man like Strucker hostage. No, he needed him for something. But what?

Thor snorts, turning back toward the team.

“Personally, I care not for the why.”

“Same, actually,” Clint cracks his knuckles. “We put him away once, maybe we should make it permanent.”

Nat places a silent hand on his forearm.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, pocketing his phone. “Let’s get the bastard.”

That’s how you find yourselves in the air, barely ten minutes later. While Tony and Bruce chose to remain at the Tower, the rest of you hopped on the jet with a course set for the Hague district.

Clint drums his hands upon his knees, sitting across from you on the benches, while Thor continues to pace the length of the jet. Twisting and turning his hammer around in his grip. Everyone has the sense to steer clear of the God of Thunder.

When Natasha comes back to sit beside the archer, you push up from your own seat to move toward the controls at the front of the plane where Sam and Steve reside.

“See, this is what’s pissing me off.”

You arch a brow at the supersoldier when you come to stand beside his chair. He has a fist drawn to his mouth, gaze drawn in thought as Tony’s voice comes over the speakers.

“Think I can get footage of these two? No. Think I can find any functioning camera in a fifty-mile radius of this place? No. I’m serious, Cap. I’m off the robotics market after this. I can’t have my projects trying to outsmart me.”

“We’ll do it the old-fashioned way then,” Steve sighs, trying to placate the situation.

There’s a beat of crackling static before Tony responds.

“Yeah. Let me know how that works out.”

The comm link switches off and Sam lets out a low whistle.

Steve stares at the controls for a long moment before he finally meets your gaze.

“They’re in the wind, aren’t they?”

He nods.

It’s another twenty minutes of flying before the quinjet crosses Dutch borders. The team, while rattled by the revelation that they were basically back at square one with the scepter, got to work on their last-minute preparations. Across the ocean, back in New York, Tony and Bruce were working to get a signal on the rogue bot. Still technically connected to the original Ultron AI network, there was a large possibility of finding it.

Perhaps if the drone hadn’t rearranged Tony’s schematics and software before he left, it would already be up and running. But, as it was, Stark was stuck working around his own systems to get to what he needed.

“Damn.”

You look up from your spot behind Steve, craning your neck to see out the windshield.

At Sam’s exclamation, you finally see the large coverage of agents outside the penitentiary, followed by camera crews and vans held behind barriers on the streets. There’s a handful of them, in the center of the yard, frantically waving their hands in an X motion at the jet.

The two men share a look between themselves, before pulling the lever on the panel that would allow the ship to remain in the air.

“What’s the hold-up?” Natasha questions, the smirk on her face falling by a fraction as she joins the three of you at the front of the jet.

Clint’s a step behind her, “What the hell?”

“Are they denying us permission to land?”

Steve flips a switch, static ringing out for a moment, before he speaks, “Tony. We’re not cleared to land.”

There’s a long sigh that follows across the comm.

“Yeah, okay. Let me make a call.”

You press forward, looking down at the masses. Black body bags covered the entrance path, just like your vision had shown you. The doors to the main center of the unit were barely hanging on their hinges now. On instinct alone, you begin searching the outlying trees and perches - seeking out the one who had brought you all here in the first place.

“Any sign?” Steve intones, leaning into your side.

You shake your head, “Not yet. But he’s out there.”

The blonde takes a moment to scan the ground below, but also seems to come up empty.

“Okay. Fantastic news,” Tony announces. “They’re denying you entry and want you to vacate the area, immediately.”

“That’s… that’s not good news,” Clint states.

Nat gives the archer a little shove, moving closer to the speaker.

“Did they give you a reason why?”

You can imagine Tony rolling his eyes, shrugging, and fiddling with a screwdriver all at once when he replies.

“Something about not needing extra hands getting into their mess, press coverage, international borders, a polite thanks, but fuck off sort of vibe. Oh! And for an extra sprinkle of fun, the Dutch Customs and Border Office is trying to deny you permanent entry into the country.”

“You’re kidding me,” Steve deadpans.

A crackle of thunder makes you turn, eyes falling upon Thor as he tosses his hammer up and back down into his hand.

“You know,” you start, turning toward the microphone. “Technically speaking, international law only really applies to… well, humans.”

A deep chuckle reaches your ears.

“Always the clever one, my dear Lady.”

“Pardon! Je kunt hier niet zijn - ”

Thor pushes the agent out of the way by simply pressing his hammer into the man’s chest.

“This won’t take long,” you placate as you pass.

The two of you move past the working agents who all remain too stunned to do much more than stare at you both. Dressed in your usual battle regalias, you appear indomitable and all too similar to the legends that were born in your wake.

A screech rings across the busy courtyard as a pair of sharp talons bears down onto your right shoulder. Thor gives you a curious look as you quickly wrap your hand around Pallas’ head.

“Well done. Now, don’t scare me like that again.”

The tawny owl gives you a light nip on your finger in apology.

“Hey, love the energy,” someone says, trying to cross your path. “But this is a secure area, and I’m afraid, Mr. Odison and Miss…”

“Parthenos,” you supply.

“Miss Parthenos,” the man nods, looking from your face to Pallas and back again. “I’m afraid you’re currently in violation of local ordinances and I have strict orders to have you escorted from the premises.”

Thor genuinely chortles at that, staring up at the quinjet still hovering overhead.

“That’s unfortunate,” you say, drawing closer to the man. “For we do not work within the bounds of human law. Now, I believe you have something we require.”

Without a further word, Thor pushes the man thoroughly out of your way as the pair of you move into the NATO unit. You can hear the man make a sound of distaste, barking orders and demanding the head of their agency be called immediately.

The interior of the detention center is quartered off with yellow caution tape, while extra security remains on hand to deal with the breach.

“Pathetic,” Thor snorts, staring down at the armed guards as you pass unburdened.

You tilt your head toward the left hall, “Tony said it should be down here.”

The central office is a mess of people when you enter, two calls are happening simultaneously in both Dutch and English while men shout over each other. The two gods merely stand in the doorway, watching on with the amused sense of a child with a magnifying glass staring down an ant hill.

“Hey! You can’t be here!”

Your head tilts to the side, Pallas ruffles his feathers, and Thor crosses his arms as someone, at last, notices your presence.

“I’ll have you arrested! No Avengers! No superheroes, no meddling, thank you! Good day!”

The God of Thunder looks down at you, then back toward the man. Silence rings out for a long stretched moment before the man takes a step back, posture shrinking slightly.

“We have rights,” someone else decides to perk up. “Our country has laws, you know. Who can come in and mess about and those who can’t.”

“Laws?” you question, voice pitched and brow raised. “Laws that keep assistance from reaching you, helping to stop an armed criminal from further terrorizing this world?”

“It is under control.”

Thor huffs, “Your laws do not pertain to us.”

“Perhaps if you got in touch with Themis,” you joke, tone sharp and biting. “Or… who was it again?”

“Forsetti,” Thor answers, tilting his head down toward you. “Occassionally Tyr if you get him in the right mood.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry,” a third man stands, hands held wide. “What is happening here?”

“Apologies,” you schmooze. “You have information on the man who was taken from this unit, do you not?”

He balks, mustache twitching as he looks away, “It’s being handled by the appropriate authorities.”

“Not fast enough.”

Thor leans over again, “This is drawing too long.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, “I’m asking nicely only once. After that, I can’t be held responsible for what he does.”

The hulking blonde tosses his hammer up once, for added show. The men visibly gulp as you move forward, leaning your arms upon the nearest desk.

“So… what do you have for me?”

Steve can’t help but stare at the way you and Thor interact upon your return to the tower. The team had been given the breakdown of what had transpired inside the detention unit, but he had this nagging feeling that certain things were being left unsaid. 

The blonde god places his hand on your shoulder, leaning down to speak more words Steve can’t hear into your ear. He has to physically look away before his emotions get the better of him. As if tensions weren’t already high.

“Okay,” Tony claps his hands together, gathering the team’s attention.

They’re centered in the lab again, standing in a sort of circle around the central hub.

“Here’s what we got to work with, people. Strucker,” the man’s image appears in holographic form in the middle of the lab. “ - was placed with an internal tracker the minute he entered custody. Unfortunately… it looks like that tracker was picked up just outside of his cell.”

“His arm was chopped off,” you supply from behind him.

Steve whips his head around to look at you, but you merely shrug, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal to you. Perhaps it wasn’t. It was Strucker after all.

Tony grimaces, “Yikes. Now, this thorn in my side has been sidestepping us whenever it comes to tracking them down. A little Bonnie and Clyde scenario.”

Bruce coughs, managing to redirect the billionaire’s train of thought.

“Anyway, good news is we might have a lock on Ultron in the next few hours. The system’s… getting there. Not-so-great news… everything we had on Strucker has been erased. Bastard still has a backdoor into my stuff.”

“Fantastic. And you want us to, what? Wait?” Clint clarifies. “While the T-800 pairs up with HYDRA?”

Stark rolls his eyes, “What do you take me for? Actually, don’t answer that.”

The archer closes his mouth, holding back the insult he so clearly wanted to say.

“When technology fails you, go old school,” Tony drops a large brown catalog box down onto the workbench, giving it a gentle smack.

Steve stares at the SHIELD emblem on the side of the container before he meets the billionaire’s eye, brow raising. Maria enters a beat later, a trolley cart stacked with even more boxes.

“Awesome,” Clint groans.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Sam questions.

“Look, there’s something Strucker knows that Ultron needs. We’re just gonna have to connect the dots in between.”

Sam gives a small nod, looking entirely unassured by the prospect.

Everyone grabs a box for themselves, sorting through near decades of files on Wolfgang von Strucker. The archer and Natasha occupy a corner of the lab for themselves, while Tony and Bruce spread out over a series of workbenches - with the former tossing papers left and right and the latter neatly stacking everything he goes through.

You’re on the bottom step of the stairs, flipping through manilla folders and papers. Pallas is comfortably perched on the railing above you, eyes nearly shut.

Steve drops his second box down on the floor beside you and you immediately offer him a sheepish smile as he takes a seat across from you, mindful of your own pile.

“Anything?” he questions.

“Known associates mostly,” you sigh, closing yet another folder and filing it back into the catalog box.

“He have a lot of friends?” Steve can’t help but snort.

You roll your eyes, “A few. One name’s popped up a few times, but I can’t for the life of me remember where I heard it from.”

He lifts his brows, waiting as you turn a particular file around for him to see.

Ophelia Sarkissian.

Humming in thought, he takes hold of the paper and stands up, moving across the lab to where Tony is seated on a stool, raking his hands through his hair.

“This name ring a bell?” he asks.

With an annoyed sigh from being interrupted, Stark grabs it with a slight flourish and squints at the name.

“Sarkissian. Sarkissian. We know a Sarkissian, right?” he peers over at Bruce.

The Doctor blinks, “That was… that was the other name, wasn’t it?”

Tucking his hands onto his belt, Steve asks, “What name?”

The paper is shoved back against his chest as Tony rolls off the stool and saunters across the room. Clint and Nat watch him as he passes.

“There were four other people in Strucker’s block that took a break for it when Ultron came knocking.”

He pulls out his phone, scrolling for a moment until he finds what he’s searching for. Steve looks over at Banner before he follows after Tony.

“A. Burgos, G. Van der Berg, M. Gbadamoshi, and… yeah, there it is, O. Sarkissian. All otherwise unnoteworthy criminals of international repute. Everyone was found and rounded up within three hours, but Miss Sarkissian is still missing.”

The billionaire shrugs, “Might be worth looking into.”

Another two hours pass, looking through old catalogs of information collected by the previous SHIELD organization.

Natasha went on a coffee run while Clint took a temporary nap on one of the tables, a folder covering his eyes. Thor remains by the window, slamming file after file when he finds nothing of actual use. Bruce was pinning images on a physical map that Tony had wheeled into the lab. A pencil between his teeth as he stares at two separate points located in Eastern Asia.

Pallas has fully drifted off to sleep on the railing now, and even you, the goddess who claimed required no sleep, looked fully exhausted. Steve had to admit that the words were beginning to blur together now too, as he skimmed through years of HYDRA experiments and SHIELD intel logs.

With yet another file to discard, Steve drops the folder into his pile and looks up at you.

You have your hair tied back and a thumb pressed between your teeth as you flick through another outdated report. And though there is so much going on around him right now, he can’t help but allow himself this small moment to watch you.

He knew his feelings were growing by the day, bursting to a point of no return whenever you were around. But he didn’t know how to approach it yet. Nat’s words had truly struck a cord in him. You were two centuries old and a relationship had never once been mentioned in the history or mythology books, and definitely never by you.

And maybe that was why he was constantly reaching out to you, but equally hesitant to let the words spill out. You had become far too important in his life for him to recklessly rush forward and mess this up. No… he was going to take his time with this. Do it right.

As you shut your folder, your bleary eyes glance up and find his gaze. You give a little sigh of discontent as the file slips from your lap.

“Hey! I know that guy.”

The two of you turn as Tony reaches across the workbench to nab one of the files Bruce had been browsing through. Feeling like a breakthrough might actually be happening, you both drop your folders to the side and move to where the two scientists are stationed.

“From back in the day. He operates off the African coast, black market arms.”

Steve can’t help the immediate look of distrust that crosses his face, choice words rising to his lips. But he’s quickly silenced by Tony who gives him a pointed expression.

“There are conventions, all right? You meet people. I didn’t sell him anything.”

You’re holding onto the file that Tony had discovered when Thor wanders over. The other god pushes in between the two of you as he peers over your shoulder to stare at the image of the man in question.

“What’s this?” Thor questions, pointing at the man’s neck.

The billionaire shrugs, “A tattoo. I don’t think he had it when we met.”

“No,” Thor continues. “Those are tattoos, this is a brand.”

You pull the picture closer, also studying the image before holding it for Steve to examine as well.

“Great, he’s branded, so what? We know he’s slimy if he’s working with anyone dealing with HYDRA,” Tony digs through the box where Banner had first found the file.

“No, no. I know that dialect,” you clarify, pulling the photo away from the group as you move toward the windows into more direct sunlight.

“It’s similar to Swahili, but… no, that’s not it.”

Steve watches you pace, eyes closed as you try to recall the exact language.

“Bast! Of course,” you exclaim, striding over to the stationary map, swiping up a pin, and dropping it down into a tiny African country. “It’s Wakandan. Klaue received that brand in Wakanda, I’m sure of it.”

He watches your bright expression seek him out as the others begin moving around you.

“It means thief, essentially. But with some less friendly connotations,” you elaborate.

But that’s not where his attention immediately falls. Instead, he looks toward Tony.

“If this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods - ”

Steve feels an eerie sensation traveling along his spine as the implications become more and more terrifying.

“I thought you said your father got the last of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce clears his throat, looking at each of them for a moment. “I’m not following. What comes out of Wakanda?”

You give a little gasp, understanding drawing clear across your face as you look toward the map once again. Steve crosses his arms, fingers digging rivets into his flesh as he looks down, unwilling to even try to process the thought.

Tony supplements in his steed, “The strongest metal on Earth. Vibranium.”

“Shit,” Clint groans.

Sam drags a hand over his jaw, “So, Ultron breaks out Strucker, gets the intel he needs, and what? Goes after this guy?”

Nat moves beside Steve, peering over at the mess on the workbench, “It’s a lead.”

“I mean, realistically,” Tony intones. “They keep a pretty big lock and key on the whole secret mineral. Not many people are gonna know about it. And if Strucker or Ultron gets their hands on vibranium…”

He trails off, but the implications are fairly apparent.

“And where is this Klaue now?” Thor questions, tone sharp.

There’s an immediate flurry of papers as Tony begins yanking folders out of the box, flipping through pages of intel.

“Ran out of the Congo, spotted in Kenya… yikes, Madagascar too. And… yeah.”

It takes a minute, but he blinks and steps toward the map, grabbing a final red pin and bullseying the coast of South Africa.

“Best guess, really,” he clarifies, stepping back to look at his handiwork.

“Better be sure,” you quip, arms crossing as you look over at Stark.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[wikiangela]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 💖

more of the cheating fic and Hen being done with Buck's bs, bc I really wanna finish this fic soon and need motivation and to stop jumping around my wips so much (easier said than done tho lol) 🤣 it's only 11k so far but I decided to divide it into chapters, this is chapter 3, there might be 5 or 6 overall, we'll see haha

prev snippet

___

“No, I- I asked her to move in with me instead.” he admits, immediately feeling embarrassed, and Hen’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You what?” she almost yells, but catches herself in time, lowering her voice. “Buck, this is honestly, genuinely, the stupidest thing I’ve heard you do.” she shakes her head slowly, looking at Buck with wide eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know, it just slipped out. I just- I wanted to give us a shot.” he mumbles, looking down at the table, not wanting to meet Hen’s eyes. “I think I might fall for her eventually.” he adds quietly, and hears a deep, tired sigh.

“It’s too early for this shit, Jesus.” Out of the corner of his eye Buck sees Hen rubbing her forehead with a pained expression, then take a long sip of coffee. “A question to move in together, which is a huge step in a relationship, ‘just slipped out’? And you don’t even love her?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.” he shrugs, his face burning.

“When do you ever?” she sighs again, closes her eyes for a second.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @transbuck @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @dangerpronebuddie @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc

[persephoneflouwers]

🌺 my favourite girl direction fics under the cut! 🌺

There is nothing else in this world that I love more than women. I grew up in a family built around the strongest women I’ll ever met in my life. So powerful, so determined, yet so gentle and affectionate. Huge personalities and all.

It took me awhile to understand who I am and I’m not completely sure I do and this little world where women love women feels so safe for me.

Can I also use this post to open my research for my next wife? No, I can’t? No, I shouldn’t? Whaaaat I just did! Please, babe HMU 🫶

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[cloudwhisper23]

Chapter 3, let's go!

Thank you to my cowriter @pixlokita for the art at the end 💛

11k chapter below the cut

Jeremy felt cold as he sat anxiously in that waiting room. He knew he didn’t need to stick around, knew he needed to go in and help with an incident report, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Even the nursing staff kept sending him worried looks, muttering about shock.

Eventually one of them approached him and gently took him back to clean up his hands. They asked if they needed to call anyone for him, so he gave them Ramona’s number.

She fussed over him in the car ride, asking a bunch of questions he couldn’t think of answers to as he stared out the window in silence.

“Jer? Are you even listening to me?” Ramona asked when they finally arrived at her apartment.

The silence that followed made her sigh. “Let’s get you inside.”

Ramona kept a hand between Jeremy’s shoulders as she guided him up the stairs and into her apartment. Percy lifted his head from where he’d been sleeping on the rug. He whined, padding over to Jeremy to climb on the couch beside him. Ramona said something about a change of clothes as Percy licked the side of Jeremy’s face.

He still didn’t really move, remembering the fierce glare of the ghosts and the warm sticky blood soaking through his jacket. Michael had hardly moved at all after passing out, his breathing shallow and unsteady. For the brief moment he’d seen the injury, Jeremy had noticed that the skin was ripped back just above Michael’s eyebrow spanning down his face to the edge of his mouth.

Jeremy hoped that he’d be fine, but he couldn’t be completely sure. Not until he saw Michael back at work, glaring at him whenever he tried to make conversation.

“Jeremy, you should change out of those clothes,” Ramona said quietly.

“I…” Jeremy coughed, realizing he’d stopped breathing for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you need anything? Water maybe?” Ramona brushed back a strand of hair that had pulled free from Jeremy’s ponytail.

“Water sounds nice,” Jeremy said softly, taking the bundle of clothes to go change.

When he slipped back out, significantly less uncomfortable than before, Ramona handed him a glass of water and gestured for him to sit. He let Percy put paws in his lap, glad to note that his dog didn’t seem nearly as afraid of him anymore.

“What happened, Jerebear?”

“One of the animatronics…” Jeremy trailed off, taking a sip from his water. It soothed his dry throat, helping loosen some of the tension in him body from earlier. “I was…”

Jeremy struggled to say something. Did he tell her that he’d fallen asleep on the job? That was the only conclusion he himself could come to, and it seemed like he had completely been out until Michael screamed in pain. And then that begged the question of whether he should tell Ramona about his more monstrous side.

“I was on patrol,” Jeremy settled with. “And I already told you that there are ghosts hanging around.”

“Mhm,” Ramona nodded.

“Well, I guess we were wrong about just how many of those ghosts were fine with Michael being around, or maybe Mangle doesn’t have a ghost inside them. I don’t know. But while I was out, Mangle got in. And…” Jeremy swallowed. “Well, they took a bite out of Michael’s face.”

Ramona winced. It seemed even her hatred and distrust of Michael hadn’t completely made her heartless. “So that was the blood all over you.”

“Yeah. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard Michael’s scream.” Jeremy trembled. “I wasn’t the only one.”

“No, I’d imagine not,” Ramona stood up, a hand slipping back to ruin her normally perfect hair. “Jesus, Jeremy.”

“Mangle was in the corner when I got there. I didn’t fully know what to do, but Evan did. And then when the music box stopped, I didn’t bother trying to protect myself. But it turns out the Puppet is also possessed, and she was more mad about us keeping her in the box than anything else.”

Jeremy let out a dry chuckle. “I guess she knew Michael when she was alive, since she didn’t try to go after me once she saw me trying to stop the bleeding. She and Evan just started arguing.”

“Wow.” Ramona’s eyes were wide as Jeremy drank more of his water. “No wonder you couldn’t hardly speak when I picked you up. That sounds like something out of a horror film or something.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy shifted to pull his knees up onto the couch. “Sorry to wake you up so much earlier.”

“Honey, I’m awake at 5, you’re fine. 5:30? That’s nothing.” Ramona sat on the floor to lean on the couch armrest. “Do you need me to stick around? I can cancel my trip back-“

“No, that’s not necessary! I’ll be fine,” Jeremy interrupted, determined to reassure his sister. “Besides, you still want to go see Becky, and I’m sure she’d love to see you and Percy.”

“The offer to come along still stands.”

“I know. But I need to catch up from those days I was gone, Mona.”

“Alright…” Ramona sighed. “I need to probably start getting ready for work, but you can rest here for as long as you want.”

“They’ll expect me in sometime today to give a report, I’d imagine,” Jeremy said wearily.

“That’s okay. Just take some time for yourself, alright?” Ramona squeezed him in a quick hug. “You need recovery time too. Just because you weren’t physically harmed doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt by this.” She hesitated before saying softly. “And I know how hard you were trying to be friends with him before.”

Jeremy buried his face in Percy’s golden fur, not wanting to have this conversation with Ramona. She was talking as though her words about Michael over the last few weeks were not vicious.

“Make sure you take care of yourself, Jeremy,” Ramona said, pulling the ponytail out of Jeremy’s hair. “I should be back around 1 o’clock, but if you need me at all, feel free to call the salon. I won’t mind.”

“Okay,” Jeremy’s words were muffled by Percy’s fur, and he was very grateful for his dog in that moment.

“Don’t forget to walk Percy before you pass out,” Ramona warned, retrieving Jeremy’s water glass to bring to the kitchen. “He’s an impatient dog when he wants his walk.”

“I know,” Jeremy pulled his face out of Percy’s fur to roll his eyes. “He’s my dog, Ramona.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ramona waved her hand dismissively. “See you later.”

As it turned out, Jeremy was not unwound enough to properly go to sleep. He walked Percy, and then fed him before walking straight back to Freddy’s to give his report. He told Lloyd much of what he’d told Ramona, leaving out the detail about the ghosts and the Puppet’s entrance, but everything else was exactly the same.

Lloyd frowned at the report he was working on for a moment. “I need to be honest with you kid.”

“What?” Jeremy asked wearily.

“Look, I don’t know that this is public knowledge per say, but I do know that Michael was at least honest with me about it. His last name isn’t Schmidt.”

“Okay…?” Jeremy blinked, surprised that Lloyd knew that. Michael hadn’t been pleased when Jeremy found out, so he probably would’ve hated to know that Lloyd had figured him out.

“He was upfront with me about it, but he didn’t want the rest of the staff to know.” Lloyd fiddled with his pen. “But I figured that since you have to work with the guy, maybe I should give you a little context. Not to mention that the hospital called early this morning to ask for more information. Seems that Michael’s never been to the hospital in town before.”

“Oh. So they had to request medical records from elsewhere?”

Lloyd sighed. “They needed to know his emergency contacts. So I gave them his last name to figure that out.”

“And why are you telling me this?” Jeremy asked.

“Because his father called.” Lloyd scowled. “We have been wanting to get in contact with the old owners, but I really wish we’d had luck with the other one. William Afton is…” Lloyd couldn’t seem to find the phrasing he wanted. “Well, he wants to talk with you. I can give you a couple nights off. Phil volunteered to takeover the second shift for a few days, so you can have some time to properly adjust to the daytime in order to talk with Mr. Afton and then a few more to get back to the night schedule.”

“Oh.” Jeremy felt his throat tighten. “And… why does he want to talk to me?”

“They lost contact with each other a while back or something.” Lloyd shrugged. “Not that I’d blame Mike if he’d cut contact on purpose, but that’s none of my business. He wants to catch up on what his son’s been up to.”

“Me and Michael aren’t really friends…”

“Yeah, but nobody is. I doubt the man has any real friends in this town after how many jobs turned him away or fired him for not showing up to work. I asked him, and it’s something to do with the rain. Although he seems to be more willing to handle the weather here. Must be the familiarity.”

“I’m the closest thing to a friend that Michael has?” Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be right.”

“But it is. I have a note here with Mr. Afton’s phone number. I told him I’d pass it on to you. If you don’t want to contact him, that’s fine. I don’t blame you one bit.”

Jeremy took the piece of paper, holding it out like it was dangerous. “Yeah, I…” He cleared his throat. “I guess I can take care of this. Probably best to get past this as soon as we can, right?”

Lloyd brightened. “Exactly! I’ll get you scheduled for some paid-time-off, and then you’ll be set.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy blinked, not expecting the offer of extra time. “I’ll… I’m-“

“No, no, don’t worry. We got it all covered. Phil volunteered since his wife is back from her trip, and Scott will have someone to supervise him. Not that he’s too happy about it.” Lloyd chuckled. “But anyway. If we need extra people, I can always grab another shift, so don’t stress it, alright?”

“Okay.” Jeremy shoved the note in his pocket. “I guess I’ll be back to clock-in in like, a week?”

“Two weeks,” Lloyd corrected. “Gives you a few days to adjust to the day, and then a few more days to get back on the night schedule.”

“Oh, okay. Two weeks.” Jeremy blinked again, still processing everything that had happened. “I guess that’s it then?”

“That’s all I need from you. Go get some rest, Jeremy. You look like you need it.”

“Yeah, okay…” Shaking his head, Jeremy walked back out, taking his car back to his house to make the phone call. Was 8 a.m. too early to call?

Jeremy was suddenly very apprehensive about what he was doing. Maybe this was all a very bad idea. The kids were very sure he had killed him, and that probably meant that Jeremy should not risk getting in contact. It would be safest to just stick around in the background where no one would know he was there.

But he was also curious, and Michael was very tight-lipped about his life. Evan was a little better, but if they were both there at the same time, Jeremy never had much luck. He didn’t even know Michael’s favorite animatronic, for goodness sake! That was usually the easiest thing to figure out about his coworkers. Scott liked Freddy, Phil loved the old Foxy model, Lloyd liked the Puppet, but Michael was a complete mystery.

Shaking off his nerves, Jeremy decided that the risk was worth his curiosity. Besides, this would be too cut and dry if Michael’s father did try to kill him. Lloyd knew exactly what he’d been up to, and connecting those dots would not be hard. Especially after knowing how much Lloyd didn’t like the man.

The phone rang over and over, and Jeremy found himself listening to a voicemail box. “Hello, this is William Afton. I am currently unavailable and unable to take your call. Please leave your message after the tone.”

So formal, damn, Jeremy found himself thinking.

“Uh, hi. This is Jeremy Fitzgerald. I… I work the night shift at Freddy’s? I called the hospital about Michael’s injury. My manager told me you wanted to talk to me? So uh, yeah.” Jeremy winced internally at his poor delivery of the message he was leaving. “I’m around for a few days if you still wanted to talk, but if not, just let me know. Thanks. Bye.”

I am so bad at this, Jeremy thought to himself. Maybe sleep was a good idea after all?

The moment his head hit his pillow, Jeremy crashed. He didn’t need to feel tired to actually be tired as it turned out. His weird hours and mental exhaustion had finally caught up to him, and they were going to be sure that he did not wake up until he’d recovered sufficiently.

Ramona knew her brother was careless with his own health. How could she not? She’d had to force him to open up about his struggles when they were younger, only just catching him in time to stop him from ending it all. Since then, she kept a constant eye on him to make sure he was okay, and when he randomly vanished like this? It was time to find him before he hurt himself.

She was glad, of course, to find him at home. Asleep in his own bed. Good job Jeremy. However, he had not taken his shoes off, something that endlessly offended her. Ramona pulled the shoes from his feet, debating whether it mattered that he was still wearing socks.

If she was going to be picky, it was probably best that she went all the way. Ramona peeled the socks off his feet as well before sighing. “You really are a mess, Jeremy.”

She wiped a bit of drool away from his mouth before readjusting the blanket and tucking him in. Ramona closed the curtains and shut the door quietly behind her. Jeremy was fine. He was safe. What a mess, she thought to herself as she glanced around the living room.

Rolling up her sleeves, she got to work, quickly gathering clothes into piles and starting up a load of laundry before folding the blanket on the couch and going into the kitchen to wash the small pile of dishes Jeremy managed to amass over the past week.

It seemed he’d been distracted by something that he refused to tell her. Well, she’d get it out of him eventually. For now it was best to give him a clean environment.

Ramona made a phone call, happily chattering to Becky about how life was going before updating her friend on Jeremy’s current situation.

“Is he in love?” Becky inquired.

“I haven’t been able to confirm it with him, but I think he is.”

“With this guy in the hospital?”

“Yes. And it just so happens that I’ve been trying to warn Jeremy off of this guy for three weeks now. Now I just feel like a bitch.”

“You are,” Becky replied cheerfully. “But that’s okay. We can worry about that a different day.”

“Thanks,” Ramona sighed, rolling her eyes to avoid smiling. “Do you have any suggestions for cheering him up? He doesn’t even want to talk about it, which rules out basically every strategy I have.

“Well, we both know food works wonders,” Becky replied. “Especially the right kind of food.”

“I can’t cook,” Ramona pointed out. “I think I’d rather not burn down his kitchen on top of everything else.”

“Oh, you’re in Jeremy’s kitchen,” Becky said thoughtfully. “Hmm, doesn’t he have a slow cooker?”

“Yes.” Ramona’s shoulders sank as she realized what Becky was planning. “No, don’t tell me you want me to cook. I just said-“

“I know, but this recipe is super easy. Promise! And it’ll hit all the good vibes. Jeremy loves spicy food.” Becky sounded like she was moving around a bit. “Could you check and see if he has diced tomatoes, black beans, canned or frozen corn, chicken, tortilla chips…”

Ramona started opening cupboards and checking the freezer to look for the ingredients Becky was listing. She only half-regretted asking Becky for advice, knowing that Jeremy would love the surprise if she did it right, but dreading the potential for failing to make the soup incorrectly. But Becky was happily giving her suggestions as she went along, and they had a wonderful long conversation while waiting for the chicken to thaw out.

Ramona kept glancing at the door, expecting Jeremy to wake up and come out to ask what she was doing, but he didn’t end up ever doing it. Her phone call with Becky ended long before Jeremy was going to wake up.

She glanced impatiently at the time on the slow cooker, knowing she’d have to wait at least four hours before it would be ready but potentially more than that. Ramona hated waiting. She’d rather have the food done now, able to sit until Jeremy woke up instead of having to wait for it to get done while risking that Jeremy would wake before it was complete.

After an hour passed, the phone rang. Ramona eyed it suspiciously but picked it up anyway. “Jeremy’s not available to come to the phone right now, but I can take a message.”

“And who are you?” The voice prickled at Ramona’s memory, sounding far too much like Michael for her liking.

“His sister,” Ramona quipped back. “Can I get a name from you?”

“William. Afton. He’s expecting a call from me to arrange a time to speak.”

Really? Ramona had a hard time believing that, but Jeremy could be so reckless sometimes. Her mouth twitched into a frown. “He works nights. He’s asleep right now.”

“He told me he could be available sometime in the next few days,” William countered. “It sounds like you didn’t even know what was going on, so I think I’ll just call back when he can take my call. Good day.”

The phone clicked before Ramona could open her mouth to speak more. Rude. Then again, he was probably a child murderer. Can’t be having people suspicious and asking questions, she supposed. She scowled at the phone, laying it back in its cradle.

What the hell did those two even have to discuss anyway?

Jeremy’s head felt fuzzy when he finally woke up that night. He sat up slowly, feeling the ache of his muscles as he stretched. The blanket fell into his lap as he sat up, and Jeremy realized that his sister must have been here.

He squinted in the dark, smelling something delicious coming from the kitchen. Ramona hadn’t bought him food, had she? He wanted to be upset, but his stomach growled too loud for him to do anything other than concede as he walked to the kitchen and sat down.

“Good evening, sleepy head,” Ramona said, scratching his scalp. “Did you want some soup?”

Blearily, he realized that the slow cooker was out and the glass was foggy from being heated for a while. “You cooked?”

“Yeah, Becky’s recipe. I tried it out, and it is fantastic, if I do say so myself.”

Jeremy snorted. “You always say that when you make stuff. Remember when we were kids, and you’d burn the toast?”

“That was not my fault!” Ramona protested before going to fill a bowl for Jeremy. “No, Becky walked me through this one. I promise it’s good.”

“If you say so…” Jeremy reluctantly took up the spoon and took a bite. It was actually pretty good. He was surprised that it had a pleasant bite to it as well, not expecting Ramona to take his personal preferences into account when making food. “Oh. Wow, this is actually amazing.”

“I told you.” Ramona scoffed at him. “I can’t believe you doubted me for a moment. How dare you.”

“I have my reasons.”

“You always have your reasons,” Ramona retorted, filling her own bowl again. “You slept longer than you usually do. Are you feeling okay?”

“Ask me that once Michael’s out of the hospital,” Jeremy answered before he could think better of it.

Ramona made a face. “Your entire wellbeing should not be based on a man who has barely said a nice word to you since you met.”

“He just struggles to warm up to people! And you made it harder because of how rude you were.”

“I wanted to make sure my brother was safe! Is there really anything so wrong with that?” Ramona countered. “Let’s not fight about this today, okay? I get that you’re hurting and this whole thing has really been impacting you, but it seems like you’ve been struggling for a while now. This didn’t start with Michael, did it?”

“No.” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. “But I have it handled.”

Ramona’s mouth tightened, and she clearly didn’t agree with what Jeremy was saying, but she didn’t say that. Instead she went back to her food before saying, “William Afton called.”

Jeremy’s veins turned to ice. He could feel her disapproval, knew that she didn’t like the idea of befriending Michael, much less being on good terms with the guy they actually knew was a killer. “What did you say to him?”

“Not much. Just that you weren’t able to take a call at the time. He’s actually quite rude.”

“Lloyd told me that.”

“Ah. So you got his phone number from your boss.”

“Well-“ Jeremy sputtered. “Lloyd said he called the pizzeria to ask if he could talk to me.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring, Jeremy.”

“I know. But if I get it out of the way, then maybe he’ll leave me alone sooner rather than later.”

Ramona scowled. “This is a dangerous play.”

“I know it is. But I’m a grown man, and I can learn from my mistakes. Mona, I can handle this. I know I can.”

“You’ll call when it’s over? This meeting? I have a feeling he wouldn’t want me there, based off our conversation.”

“Of course I will.”

Ramona shook her head. “I still don’t like this. This is like, ten times worse than how I felt about you trying to become Michael’s friend. He’s gotta be a teddy bear compared to his father.”

“Probably explains why he was trying to distance himself from him.” Jeremy shrugged.

“Then why on earth would you help reconnect them?”

“I’m not! You honestly expect me to answer the guy’s questions accurately? I don’t even know anything about Michael, much less the stuff he’d need to know in order to try to reconnect. I just know about his injury.”

Ramona’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell him about the ghosts.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not going to just ruin Cassidy’s element of surprise for the sake of this.”

“Better to be on the ghosts’ good side,” Ramona agreed. “Okay. Since you’re so insistent I still go visit Becky, here’s the deal. You are going to check in with Sebastian every so often to prove that you’re handling things. If not, he will come find you.”

“Doesn’t sound much different from what you’ve been doing lately,” Jeremy pointed out. “I can handle that.”

“Good. Because there’s no room for debate on that.” Ramona seemed at least a bit pleased. “I’ll handle cleanup tonight if you want to call Afton back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jeremy’s nerves prickled again at the thought. Why had he agreed to do this again? Shaking his head, he dialed the number already burned into his mind.

“Afton residence, this is William.” The same formal voice greeted Jeremy as last time. Except this call was real. Oh god, Jeremy thought to himself. “Hello?”

“Ah, sorry. This is Jeremy. I called earlier?”

“Oh, yes. You’re Michael’s coworker on the night shift.” William’s tone seemed a bit less stiff now, relaxing into a weirdly soothing one. “It must’ve been terrible to have to go through such an incident. I went in today to see him, and he hasn’t woken up yet. Seems they’ve put him in some kind of medical coma.”

“Really?” Jeremy’s voice wavered. “That, uh. Doesn’t sound good.”

“He’s better off than he could be, from what I understand. Hospital staff say that if it had been caught much later, he could’ve died from the blood loss.” William’s voice remained just as soothing and comforting as before.

For some reason it pulled Jeremy’s guard down, and it felt almost too easy to get emotional. “Yeah.. yeah, there was a lot of, um, blood. I tried to stop it, but-“

“I would like to thank you for saving my son’s life, first and foremost. I was a bit surprised to hear that you’d left the hospital without getting checked over. Typically if one employee is injured, the other is also.”

“Oh, no, I was fine. Physically anyway,” Jeremy replied weakly.

“Really. Fascinating.” William’s voice took on a hint of curiosity at that. “But it’s understandable that you would’ve been taken in for shock or something similar, yes?”

“Well, I wasn’t. My sister came to get me right away, so I just went home.”

William made an irritated noise before muttering, “Bloody hospitals.”

A faint smile pulled at Jeremy’s mouth at that. He wasn’t completely composed all the time.

“You should still get checked over regardless. Just because you aren’t feeling anything doesn’t mean there’s no injuries,” William pressed further.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I have a doctor I go to out of town anyway, so I might give her a call.”

“Alright then. You’re a stubborn bloke, aren’t you? Probably drive Michael mad during shifts.”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy agreed, the smile growing a bit wider. “Yeah, he hates the fact that I do patrols around the pizzeria during the shift. Thinks it’s unnecessarily dangerous.”

“The office always was the most dangerous spot. I’m guessing you were on one of your nighttime patrols when the bloody thing attacked then?”

“Yeah. I ran back when I heard, but I wasn’t able to do much more than pull Mangle off him. They’d already bitten down.”

“Ah, well, you did your best. That’s better than some day guards can say. Four years ago they weren’t as good as you are. This is my second son to have this happen, did you know that?” William’s tone changed again, somewhat angry.

Lie, Jeremy told himself. Don’t make him suspicious. “Oh, I uh. I didn’t know that, actually.”

“Michael’s younger brother got himself caught on the inside of an animatronic’s mouth. The thing malfunctioned and clamped down. Still, it wasn’t actively hunting him, so at least that’s something, eh?”

“I guess so…” Jeremy was surprised that William hadn’t brought Michael’s name into it.

“Course, that guard hadn’t been paying good enough attention and ignored the screams he heard. Incompetent fool.”

“…” Jeremy didn’t know what to say to that.

“Glad you took action. It’s good to have guards with initiative on the job. If there were more men like you working at Freddy’s, I’d imagine that children’s incident never would’ve happened either!” William chuckled darkly.

Jeremy shivered at the implications. This was surely not a threat against him, right? “Maybe it’s harder to notice during the day shift? There’s not as much going on at night sir.”

“I suppose that’s true too. Still, good work.”

“Thanks…” Jeremy trailed off awkwardly as he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Ramona was gone.

“I tell you what. Since I appreciate what you did for my son, how about you let me treat you to a proper pizza. Not those cardboard things they serve at Freddy’s, but the old recipe. The good recipe.”

“Oh, that’s not… I don’t think that’s necessary-“

“I insist. Let me show my gratitude,” William pushed back against Jeremy’s reluctance. “And maybe I can show you some of Michael’s old photographs from when he was younger. Utterly foolish, that boy.”

Jeremy hesitated. Don’t you dare let your curiosity overrule your safety, he scolded himself. “Oh, I don’t know-“

“Now now. I know you already admitted to being a stubborn man, but you sound pretty young. It seems odd to decline a free meal.”

But he couldn’t let William be suspicious of him. “Oh, alright.”

“Splendid! When are you available?”

Wearily, Jeremy gave him all the necessary details. He didn’t want the man to know where he lived, so he offered to drive to his house. William hadn’t had any problems with that and even said he’d reimburse the gas money.

Was everybody else wrong about him? Maybe they’d been mistaken, or maybe they didn’t remember correctly. Jeremy didn’t realize that this was exactly how William Afton had caught all of his previous victims. The man was too charming to escape when he wanted to be.

“Okay, Fitzgerald. Something weird is going on with you.” Sebastian observed later that week.

He and Jeremy were sitting on his new couch, one Sebastian had helped carry in after doing a fantastic job fixing Jeremy’s floor.

“How do you mean?” Jeremy asked.

“You’re mopey. I have hardly seen a smile on your face since before Ramona left. What’s your deal, bud?”

“Ah, just going through some stuff.” Jeremy shrugged. He and Ramona had agreed not to let their friends in on all the details just yet. Between the murderer and the ghost children, it was best not to overcomplicate everything unnecessarily.

“You’ve got the hots for someone.” Sebastian blinked lazily at him. “And they’re not feeling too well or something.”

“I’m guessing you talked to Ramona then,” Jeremy pointedly looked away.

“Why don’t you just go visit him or something? Since you’ve apparently got enough time off to hang out at noon.”

“Ah, well. He’s in the hospital, and I don’t think they’re allowing visitors.”

“Oh shit, dude.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “No wonder you’re a mess.”

“I’m not a mess,” Jeremy insisted.

“You haven’t been sleeping, based on those bags,” Sebastian replied. “And your hair doesn’t usually get this bad either.”

“You try having thick curly hair.”

“It’s down to your waist, dude. I bet it would be easier if you cut it, but I’m not getting into that.” Sebastian shook his head. “Have you tried to visit him?”

“No…” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably.

“Why not? You know you like him, and I bet it would take a weight off if you like, checked in on him or something.”

“I don’t know…”

“Fine, then let me take you bowling or something.” Sebastian stood up, straightening his shirt. “Later tonight. I’m going to pick you up, and we’re going bowling. No outs.”

“Seb, you don’t need to do that-“ Jeremy tried to protest.

“Nuh uh, no outs. We’re bowling.”

“You hate bowling.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously. Which is why you should take this golden opportunity to whoop my ass.”

Jeremy smiled tentatively at that. “Alright.”

“There he is,” Sebastian grinned, ruffling his hair and making it even more tangled. “Eugh, but wash your hair first. That’s disgusting, dude.”

“I will, I will.” Jeremy shooed him away. “That’s my problem, not yours.”

“Yeah, whatever. And sometime this summer I’m taking you golfing. None of that minigolf stuff either. 18 holes, play it as it lies.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Consider it a favor you owe for this,” Sebastian’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll be back around 5, alright?”

“Okay. See you then.” Jeremy couldn’t help but smile. Sebastian was just too relaxed for his own good, somehow on par with how Jeremy was when in a better mood.

Still, even as he showered, the suggestion Sebastian made lingered in his head. Why shouldn’t he try to go in and see Michael? Who was really going to stop him? His father was able to visit, so why couldn’t Jeremy?

He glanced at the time, figuring Sebastian would be at least a tiny bit late to pick him up. And he had plenty of time! It was 1:30, and the hospital was only 20 minutes away.

Decision made, Jeremy shoved his shoes on his feet and grabbed his keys.

He’d forgotten how cold and uncomfortable the waiting room was. Jeremy patiently waited his turn to speak with the receptionist, who directed him to the room where Michael was recovering. That was how she phrased it. Recovering.

Jeremy stepped in, feeling weird as an older man with greying hair glanced up from beside Michael’s bedside. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello,” William studied Jeremy for a moment. “I’m guessing you know my son somehow?”

“Oh, yeah. We um. I’m Jeremy.”

“Ah.” William nodded. “Well, there’s a second seat if you’d like to sit down for a minute.”

“That sounds great, thanks.” Jeremy sat down awkwardly, his back very tense as he stared at his pale coworker.

Bandages wrapped the entire right side of Michael’s face, covering his eye completely. Bruises spread across the rest of it, and Jeremy noticed that an IV was stuck into his arm.

“He looks so…”

“Peaceful? Michael’s usually very tense,” William said quietly. He looked at Jeremy apologetically. “I should’ve called again to follow up. You said next week was fine?”

“Oh, to like, visit? Yeah, I guess so.”

William nodded, falling back into silence, reaching to cover Michael’s still hand with his own. “Apparently there were some complications with his eye.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy’s fingers curled tightly into his palms.

“The animatronic wasn’t exactly clean, you know.” William blew out an angry breath. “Whole place is too unhygienic to have a kid in there, much less a proper injury. They found plastic embedded in his skin and his eye. I don’t even understand how it got into his eye in the first place, but evidently it must have somehow.”

“So he’s got an infection?”

“They removed his eye.” William’s jaw clenched. “A pain to deal with, but supposedly they’ve had a bunch of luck with patients recovering and learning to live with just the one.” He paused for a moment, composing himself. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t qualify Michael for disability at all, even though he needs months to properly recover, but that’s the healthcare system for you.”

William chuckled dryly. “On the bright side, he’s nearly recovered enough to wake up. I suppose that’s something.”

“Yeah…” Jeremy’s eyebrows creased at that. On one hand, it was Michael’s right eye, so it wouldn’t be too big of a deal in the security office during work. On the other hand, it was his eye. A whole organ removed while he was unconscious. “Shit, I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

“Jeremy, there’s a high likelihood that you could’ve been hurt terribly had you been in the office at the time.”

“Or maybe, we would’ve heard the sounds in the vent, and it would’ve been fine,” Jeremy argued. His eyes were welling up with tears, but he couldn’t help it.

“There’s no way of knowing,” William said.

Jeremy wiped at his tears quickly, hoping to go unnoticed. “I guess. Sorry to, uh, put a damper on the conversation.”

“There’s plenty of time to be frustrated about something like this.” William patted Jeremy’s knee. “Especially when it’s someone you know and care about.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy did not like how easily everybody was figuring him out. “I might come back later this week to see if he’s awake. But uh, I gotta go now.”

“If he wakes up before you visit, I’ll call.” William smiled thinly. “Have a good afternoon, Jeremy.”

“Yeah. Uh, you too.” Jeremy waved, feeling a bit foolish.

Some things were awkward no matter what, it seemed.

They were impatient. Cassidy could tell easily from the way Evan’s mouth remained in a tight frown, the silver gleam of his eye nearly impossible to discern from the black. Charlie had broken the music box, having done so after it had been forgotten in the chaos of the bite. She sat cross-legged in front of the Spring Bonnie suit, which had yet again gone to a different spot.

“What have you guys found out so far?” Charlie asked. “Any news from your errand boy, Cassidy?”

“He’s a full grown adult, Charlotte.” Cassidy rolled her eyes. “And no, I haven’t. He’s supposed to work this time of night, but I haven’t seen him since the bite.”

“Which could’ve been avoided if you’d let me out of the box,” Charlie said, pointedly glaring at Evan. “And now we’re down two more kids.”

“It was so much easier when we could hear phone gossip,” Cassidy sighed mournfully. “Why’d they have to fire that other guy?”

“Toy Bonnie,” Evan answered.

“Ah yes. Because Cassidy made a literal golden rabbit our informant on what the day shift does.”

“Nothing happened while he was doing that anyway,” Cassidy countered. “And I didn’t know it was him until you told me.”

Charlie shrugged, dragging her finger through the dust in the floor, not leaving a mark. “I guess. But what are we going to do with that information?”

“You can reverse it, so does it really matter? Now that you’re out of the box, of course.”

Charlie scowled. “Why’d you even let them do that in the first place?”

“It would’ve been too suspicious if you were hovering around Uncle Henry all the time,” Evan answered quietly. “And it wasn’t exactly safe to have all that exposed electrical wiring in the pizzeria anyway.”

“Yeah, well someday I’m going to figure out what song puts you in a box, and then I’m going to leave it that way. Since obviously you can’t figure things out on your own,” Charlie shot back.

“Glad we worked things out,” Cassidy said sarcastically.

“That threat applies to you too.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Not that I’ve been able to do much anyway, since my partner doesn’t let me.”

“So it’s two against one now?” Evan asked. “Wow, way to make me feel like a member of the team.”

“You’re too bossy to be the leader,” Cassidy answered. “Maybe it’s time Charlie took charge. After all, a foggy head isn’t going to do us much good.”

“Foggy-“ Evan scowled. “I lost half my brain to an animatronic!”

“Yeah, and you’ve been bossing us around ever since. Maybe it’s for the best that you stop doing that. Plus, you seem really stressed, buddy.” Cassidy kicked Spring Bonnie’s arm, taking satisfaction in the snap it made.

Charlie and Evan both winced at the noise. “That’s going to cause a chain reaction-“ Charlie started as another springlock snapped.

“Wait, that’s so cool.” Cassidy watched in fascination as the springlocks “sprung” back to their places.

“The idea is to not have another animatronic running around,” Evan said, clearly still annoyed as he pried the springlocks back into their compacted positions. “Unless you want to babysit.”

“Oh, no thank you. I just think the noise is cool.”

“And deadly,” Charlie answered. “But I see why you didn’t volunteer yourself.”

“Ideally Jeremy or Michael would be in charge. But since we can’t consistently rely on Jeremy to be here, or Michael to have a brain-“

“Shut up, would you?” Evan glowered at her.

Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Ideally we’d have an adult.”

“We would if they ever stuck around in the suits,” Charlie answered, sounding annoyed. “But they got to rest in peace, and our bodies are stockpiled in the safe room.”

“Thanks for that nasty image,” Cassidy remarked.

“Anytime.” Charlie curled up, bunching her arms around her knees. “Do we actually have a plan in place, though? You said Jeremy’s daily checks kept him from doing anything, but that must mean he’s not doing his checks anymore.”

“The man’s probably terrified to come back into the pizzeria after you two terrorized him.”

“We didn’t terrorize him,” Charlie corrected. “We asked him questions.”

“About being a giant bunny? Yeah, okay. Maybe he’s insecure about it.”

“He said he never saw the thing. Except he is the bunny, so why didn’t he mention that?” Evan pushed.

Cassidy scoffed. “You two don’t get it. The first time we encountered that bunny, he was with a kid, right? Well have you stopped to consider that he thought the kid was in danger with us just as much as we thought the kid was in danger with him?”

Charlie blinked. “I mean, he is the night guard. That would make sense.”

“We didn’t know that though!” Evan argued.

“Yeah, but you told him about the golden bunny, I bet. And since he is one of the golden bunnies who have been in the pizzeria, he probably thought we were calling him the monster. Plenty of people are scared of ghosts. And he’d have good reason to hide that from us if he thought we would hurt him for it.”

Evan crossed his arms sullenly. “Then why hasn’t he come back to explain himself?”

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” Cassidy snorted. “He’s scared of us, duh.”

“I wish he would come back, though.” Charlie said thoughtfully. “I wanna know how he’s got that silvery stuff in his system.”

“You mean the same stuff in our system?” Evan asked.

“Those weird silvery strands you had during the bite incident to hold back Jerebunny?” Cassidy asked.

“You have a strange way with words, Cassidy.” Charlie shook her head. “But yet you’ve covered it. That’s in our systems as well. It’s what keeps us in control of our animatronics.”

“But we don’t really have an animatronic anymore. We just have his form,” Evan argued.

“Most people don’t share one either,” Charlie retorted. “But Jeremy’s got it in his system somehow. And he’s alive.”

“That is pretty weird,” Cassidy agreed. “Do you think he gets it from turning into a bunny, or do you think he turns into the bunny because of it?”

“I don’t know. I really want to ask about it though.”

“My father was looking into that stuff too, at one point. You guys remember, right?”

“You mean when he killed Cassidy?” Charlie asked, considering. “If that’s true, we need to keep Jeremy away from Uncle Will.”

“That’s the worst-case scenario,” Cassidy agreed. “I don’t want to give him anything more than he’s already got.”

“None of us do,” Evan whispered, shuddering. “If he got ahold of Jeremy before we did, who knows what would happen.”

“You’re doing terrible,” Sebastian observed as Jeremy threw his fourth gutter ball in a row.

“Just warming up. Getting the feel for it,” Jeremy replied, grinning at his friend. “Not that you’d understand.”

“Deliberately missing for the entire first half? No, I’m not sure I do understand. The goal is to hit the pins.” Sebastian’s second ball rolled down the lane and hit pins 6 and 10. He let out a frustrated grumble.

“The goal is to understand the lanes,” Jeremy retorted, his ball hitting the head pin perfectly to get a strike. “See? Familiarity helps.”

“That’s bullshit,” Sebastian shook his head before picking up his own ball again. “You can deliberately miss and then shoot strikes to show me up.”

“Who me?” Jeremy’s grin widened as Sebastian hit the 7 pin.

“This whole game is bullshit,” Sebastian muttered as Jeremy settled in to watch him throw his second ball. “I’m going to miss.”

“With that attitude you are.”

“I am going to destroy you at golf in April.”

“Without a doubt,” Jeremy agreed. “But for now, you suffer.”

Sebastian scowled as the ball rolled down the lane, drifting into the gutter without much preamble.

“How do you manage to be so bad at this? Seriously, we’ve been bowling together for years.”

“Shut up.” Sebastian grumbled as Jeremy picked up his ball again and got a second strike. “This is stupid.”

“You suggested it,” Jeremy pointed out.

“I forgot how insufferable you get when we bowl. God, dude.” Sebastian shook his head.

“Not worse than you get when we golf. That’s where the real suffering begins.”

“Is that the reason you asked Ryan out in high school? To make him go golfing with us?” Sebastian asked.

Jeremy’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re a weirdo, dude.” Sebastian cursed under his breath as his ball yet again only hit one pin.

“Sore loser.” Jeremy replied.

“That’ll be you come April.”

“That’s right, soothe yourself with the thoughts of destroying me in golf.”

“I will. Try not to throw your back out this time, yeah?”

Jeremy scoffed. “That was one time.”

“And it took you out for days! I still can’t believe you took that exam before going to an appointment for it.”

“Aw, shit dude. You know I hate doctor visits.”

“I could’ve gone with you to hold your hand.” Sebastian teased. “Big boy Jeremy can’t handle the little doctor with her needle.”

“Fuck off,” Jeremy snorted, still in good humor. “You were terrified of the dentist. Oh no, there’s fingers in poor Sebby’s mouth. Whatever will he do?”

“That shit’s terrifying.” Sebastian shuddered. “And I’ll be the victor when I still have all my teeth at 50.”

“Oooh, Mister Bigshot over here.” Jeremy joked as Sebastian finished out his game with 22 points. “Hey, it’s not golf, you know. Bigger scores are better.”

“Screw you.” Sebastian wacked his friend in the gut. “You’re going to get fucking 240, aren’t you? On a warmup.”

 “Oh, so now it’s a warmup. I see.” Jeremy’s last ball hit the pins, yet again getting him a strike.

“I hate you so much.”

“You’re jealous of my bowling skills.” Jeremy replied. “Bowling’s a more attractive sport than golf.”

“Seriously, you bring guys to the bowling alley on dates? Can’t afford to take them out somewhere nicer?” Sebastian countered. “At least my job pays well enough for that.”

“Wha- Hey.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Come on, that’s uncalled for.”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend since we dated Jeremy. You’re uncalled for.”

Jeremy stuck his tongue out at Sebastian in reply.

“That’s not a reasonable defense,” Sebastian pointed out.

“Yeah, well actions speak louder than words.”

“So you’re saying you’re like five?”

“Fucking hell dude.” Jeremy clapped a hand down on Sebastian’s shoulder. “We gotta hang out more.”

“And you gotta go to the gym less. Oww.” Sebastian rubbed his shoulder in mock pain.

“I don’t go anymore,” Jeremy replied, rolling his eyes.

“Where the hell did you get that muscle from then, you liar?”

Jeremy’s mouth twitched toward a frown. He didn’t want to answer that. “I’m just built different,” he told Sebastian.

“Evidently.” Sebastian shook his head. “You always lifted more than me anyway. I just didn’t think sitting in an office for six hours would keep your muscles bigger than mine.”

“I’m not sitting for the entire night.”

“No, but you aren’t lifting heavy equipment either!”

Jeremy shrugged. “I’m just happy I can still hold my bowling ball.”

“It’d kill you if you had to get a new ball,” Sebastian agreed. “At least endurance is more manageable to build up than fucking muscle mass.”

“You say that as if you don’t have a routine that keeps you in shape for your weirdass sport,” Jeremy pointed out.

“Ha ha. Clearly, you don’t have a routine.”

“I don’t take sports into my routine.”

“No wonder I haven’t seen you smile this much in forever. I thought something was actually wrong.” Sebastian yelped as Jeremy yanked him into a headlock.

“I can have fun in other ways,” Jeremy replied, dropping his voice two pitches.

“Clearly you’ve taken up harassment and assault then,” Sebastian replied sarcastically. “Let me up?”

“Yeah sure.”

After a few more games, Sebastian dragged Jeremy to grab something to eat, complaining that he had to pay since he lost. Jeremy laughed when Sebastian took him to Freddy’s.

“What’s that about better pay?” Jeremy muttered under his breath after they sat down.

“Oh, shut up. So this is where you work? Not seeing how this place could possibly cause you to be in shape.”

“Six hour shifts leave a lot of time to be awake,” Jeremy pointed out, his eyes automatically scanning the environment for things that were amiss.

“I see why you never eat here given the choice,” Sebastian noted, watching Jeremy’s eyes flit around the room. “Damn, dude. Do you ever stop working?”

“I, ah.” Jeremy blinked. “Sorry. Habit.”

“I can see that,” Sebastian laughed.

“I didn’t realize how gross everything looked under the light,” Jeremy observed.

“This whole place is sticky,” Sebastian complained, putting a napkin on the table to prove his point.

It didn’t come away easily, and Jeremy winced at the implications. Toddlers loved to hang around Mangle, and they were never clean, much less as clean as the tables were meant to be.

“Do they even clean at all?” Sebastian asked.

“I have no idea, Seb. None at all.” Jeremy fiddled with his straw as they waited for their pizza.

“Can definitely see why this is a kids’ restaurant though. It’s so colorful.”

“A lot less so at night. The animatronics are allowed to wander around after closing.” Jeremy shrugged.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow before leaning in close. “Dude, this place is fucking sketchy as hell.”

“I know that. But if I don’t work here, then the night shift is also sketchy.”

“That’s probably the safest time to be in the building, isn’t it? Just being in the security office.”

Jeremy hesitated. “Depends. But it’s definitely cleaner.”

He hadn’t realized how gross this place was outside of hearing his shoes peel off the floor every time he took a step. The security office was probably the cleanest place in the entire building, actually. Before he’d been attacked, Michael started getting to a point where he asked Jeremy for mops and cleaning supplies, and he’d mopped the entire security office and scrubbed the desk while Jeremy and Evan took turns checking cameras and winding the music box. The night shift was great when the danger of the animatronics was taken out of the equation.

“That’s horrifying to think about.” Sebastian made a face. “Is there anything, like, actually worth it here?”

“I don’t think so? I mean, I wouldn’t bring my kids here, that’s for sure.” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re really not selling the place, Jer.”

“It’s not my job to.”

Sebastian snorted. “No, I suppose not. At least it’s cheap, though, right?”

“Yeah, that’s something.”

They finally got their pizza, and it was cold. Cold, tacky, and flavorless.

“Dear god, this place is awful,” Sebastian muttered under his breath.

Jeremy agreed, realizing now why William Afton’s incentive had been a good pizza. He’d about kill for a proper pizza after trying that garbage. “Let’s split, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

On the drive home, Jeremy finally started to relax. “Hey, Seb? Thanks man.”

“For what?” Sebastian asked innocently.

“For this. For everything. I uh. I went and saw Michael at the hospital like you told me to. It did help, knowing he’s supposed to wake up later this week.”

“That’s great!” Sebastian beamed. “How much longer after that are you going to sit on your feelings?”

“Well, we’re not exactly friends, yet. More like coworkers?”

“Do not tell me you work with him. Those cannot be the words that come out of your mouth.”

“Uh, well-“

“Jeremy!” Sebastian yelped. “That is not a good thing!”

“He already hates me, how much worse can it get?” Jeremy shot back.

“Oh my god. The more I hear, this worse this sounds. You’re trying to get with a hospitalized coworker who hates you?”

“I never said I was trying to get with him. God, why does everybody think that?” Jeremy buried his face in his hands. “No, I want to be friends with him. I don’t want to like, date him. Not right now, anyway. I just want him to be nice to me.”

“Okay. But based on how you’re talking, you do find him attractive?” Sebastian checked, having somewhat calmed down.

“Yeah. He’s fucking hot as hell,” Jeremy muttered under his breath.

Sebastian caught it and laughed. “Why do you always go for the hard sells?”

“I don’t know! And what do you mean by that? Are you calling yourself a hard sell?”

Sebastian snorted. “You didn’t go for me. I went for you, remember?”

“Right, right. Silly me.” Jeremy smiled as well. “But uh, yeah, I’m not… Not looking for any sort of relationship like that right now.”

“Okay. And even if you were, that’s totally fine,” Sebastian told him quickly. “It’s just worry that makes me say things like that.”

“Oh, I know. I know. Just, uh. Just putting that out there too.”

“That’s fine by me. And don’t feel pressured to tell me if that ever changes, either. That’s completely your business man, and if you’re not comfortable sharing, then I’m not comfortable hearing it.”

Jeremy smiled gingerly. “What did I do to earn a friend like you?”

Sebastian snorted. “You joined the fucking golf team. I still cannot believe you did that, by the way. The audacity.”

“I didn’t know what to expect! And I didn’t want to do track or baseball,” Jeremy sputtered. “I wasn’t even the worst one on the team, you know.”

“I do know. But I still think you’re an idiot for joining the golf team,” Sebastian’s smile did not relent for the rest of the drive. And for now, that was all Jeremy needed.

Fiddling with his keys, Jeremy walked up the front step to knock on the front door. William Afton had a huge house and seeing it up close did not make him feel any better. He hesitated for what felt like the twentieth time today before knocking.

Sebastian was super busy today, and he wouldn’t be able to check in with him before coming over. And that was totally fine! He didn’t need to check in before, only after. Ramona would expect a phone call telling her it was over and there was no reason to worry.

“You’re very punctual,” William observed as he opened the door. “Most people don’t knock exactly when they’re expected at the door. Usually people are early or late.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks? I didn’t even do that on purpose.”

“It never happens,” William agreed. “People who try to be exactly on time almost never are.”

Jeremy didn’t know what to say to that, but he followed William into the house. “It’s unfortunate that Michael hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Yes, he seems to need that rest. Has he seemed extra stressed about anything lately? Anything that would’ve made him lose sleep?”

Aside from letters from you, I can’t think of anything. “Uh, not that I could tell. Maybe it’s just the trauma from the head injury?”

“Hm, I suppose that could be it. It does seem odd though, doesn’t it? That you walked out completely unharmed after grabbing an animatronic and pulling it off him, but his injuries keep him debilitated for so long?”

“I mean, he lost an eye and had a bunch of infections, so it doesn’t really surprise me.” Jeremy shuffled uncomfortably.

“Have you ever been injured on the job, Jeremy?”

“Once. It was basically nothing though. I cut my thumb, right here. See?” Jeremy held out his hand to show, and William traced the scar tissue with his finger.

“That’s an odd injury shape,” William pointed out, releasing Jeremy’s wrist. “Circular. You wouldn’t get that from most office equipment.”

“Oh, I uh. I didn’t? I mean, don’t tell my boss, but I tried to fix Mangle once. They had a screw loose between their heads. And I was trying to screw it back in. Cut my hand on the way out.”

“Did the cut get infected?”

“I mean, I cleaned it right away and wrapped it up, but it might’ve. It did hurt for a few days before it healed.”

���A few days?” William raised an eyebrow. “You mean before it scabbed over.”

“No, a few days before it looked like this. I think I cut it like two or three weeks ago.”

William stared at him. “That’s very interesting, Jeremy. Tell me. Have you had other injuries heal so quickly before?”

“Not before this, no.” Jeremy rubbed at the scar tissue nervously. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Oh, sure. Of course we can. I think I told you I’d show you old photo albums of Michael when he was little, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to-“

“No, it’s not any trouble. Especially if that conversation was a bit uncomfortable for you. Come see.”

Jeremy didn’t know how long he spent sitting with Michael’s father looking at pictures, but it was not helping him get over his feelings for the man. He’d been in baseball, from Little League to high school. William also said he’d been in cross country and went to state for both sports several times.

He had ridiculous haircuts in high school, something Jeremy couldn’t help laughing at. The fashion choices Michael had throughout hadn’t helped his look either. “How did anyone ever take him seriously?” Jeremy mused.

“I haven’t the faintest idea. He and his friends were never very good at being taken seriously, of course. Not by their parents anyway.” William’s mouth twitched slightly at that. “But he was somewhat responsible with his younger siblings. He may not have liked his brother, but he did just fine taking him and his sister to school.”

“You have a daughter?” Jeremy asked.

“I do. Two sons and a daughter.” William nodded. “Michael, Elizabeth, and Evan. Of course, I haven’t seen Evan or Michael for years, but sometimes I’ll stop in and say hello to Elizabeth.”

He must not visit the grave very often, Jeremy thought. “So Michael hasn’t been encouraging visits, I take it.”

“Not at all. He won’t even answer my letters! Absolute nonsense. I’m trying to contact him about his sister. Her health is in much better shape than it was when Michael first took off. Which is naturally why I’ve been trying to get ahold of him and send him Elizabeth’s address.”

“That makes sense…” Jeremy considered. “Well, why haven’t you tried in person?”

“Michael is very stubborn, and he would not have taken that very well. We didn’t leave each other on very good terms.” William rose from his chair. “Well, I do believe the pizza should be done by now. Would you like to tyr some?”

“I mean, you said it was better than what they serve at Freddy’s right? I am so curious about what they used to serve now that I have to try it.”

William blinked at that response. “Very well then. I’ll pull it from the oven, and you can experience the proper recipe.”

Jeremy closed the photo album and placed it on the table before following William, asking more questions about Michael’s life as he went.

“He doesn’t talk much to you, does he?” William mused as Jeremy took his first bite of the pizza, burning his mouth. “You have more questions than I expected.”

“He’s not a chatterbox, no.” Jeremy fanned at his mouth, and William poured him a glass of milk. “He doesn’t tend to talk much.”

“You talk plenty for the both of you, I’m sure.”

“Well, yeah. But most of that is asking questions.”

“Michael doesn’t like being bombarded from what I can recall. So I’m sure that contributed to his silence.”

“He’s pretty private too. The only time he ever volunteers information freely is when he thinks it’ll directly affect me or put me in any sort of danger.”

“Hmm.” William watched Jeremy’s eyes start losing focus, spilling milk across the counter.

Jeremy slid sideways out of his chair without another word, and William let him fall, observing how easily his plan had worked. “So you do have Remnant in your system. Quite a lot of it, if this was any indication.”

William chuckled to himself as he dragged Jeremy across the floor. He’d drugged the pizza, fully prepared to answer any questions about why he wasn’t eating any, but he hadn’t expected it to only take half a slice to make the young man drop unconscious.

The drug had been something William used constantly on the Funtimes, wanting to make sure he stayed safe. It worked very effectively, but it was tricky to make. The higher concentrations of Remnant did still allow electric shocks to work freely, however, so William had replaced the use of his concoction with those instead.

He didn’t yet have a place to put Jeremy, opting to lock him in the basement with the expectation that he’d need a taser to check in on him. Once he had a containment chamber, however, the experiments could begin.

It was a curious thing, after all. Knowing that a living person could have this much Remnant in their system.

William was eager to learn more.

Jeremy felt woozy when he woke up. Licking his lips to get rid of the dryness, he turned his head to realize he was lying. He was shirtless, but his pants and shoes were still on. Someone had restrained him and bound him to a table. What the hell?

Jeremy nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the blood-soaked animatronic slumped over beside him. Fredbear, Jeremy’s mind supplied, remembering Evan’s extensive rant about the stupid thing.

What was it doing here with Jeremy?

He prodded it with his foot, waiting for it to move or respond. No such luck. Jeremy pulled at the restraints, wondering if there was some way he could force the ghosts inside the suit to wake up. Maybe they’d help him get out of here.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Those restraints can give a hell of a kick if pulled too hard.” William Afton’s voice echoed in the quiet basement.

He yelped and stopped pulling at the restraints, his memories from earlier suddenly flooding back. “You…”

“Me.” William sighed. “I do wish it didn’t have to be this way, Mr. Fitzgerald. I really do. But see, you have information I need, and unfortunately that means I must keep you here.”

Jeremy blinked, not expecting that response. “You kidnapped me for information?”

“Yes. I did. And if I could just ask about it, I would. But the interesting thing is that while I thought the issue could’ve been more straightforward, it turns out that you have Remnant in your system while Michael does not. So my initial theory was wrong. Which means it is time for some experimentation.”

William was wearing surgical gloves. Oh god, Jeremy tugged at his bonds, glancing at the animatronic, hoping there was a random off-chance that Cassidy or Evan would wake up and help him.

“What is wrong with you?” Jeremy found himself saying, surprised by his own nerve.

“Nothing answers can’t fix.” William walked to the table beside Jeremy, ignoring the glare Jeremy shot him. “I’m sure this will be quick, but since I can’t be sure you’ll keep your mouth shut after all of this, you will of course, be staying here for a while.”

Jeremy tensed as William pressed the cold blade of the scalpel against his arm. He felt the pressure intensify, but he never felt pain. William’s brow furrowed as he pushed harder. “Interesting. No wonder the Mangle wasn’t able to harm you when you pulled it off of Michael. It seems there is nothing that can harm you.”

William put aside the scalpel and picked up some kind of swab. “Blood is easier for me to work with, but I suppose any bodily fluid will do.”

His fingers dug into the sides of Jeremy’s face, but Jeremy was determined to keep his mouth shut. Scowling, William thudded a hand down between Jeremy’s legs, presumably expecting him to cry or shout or something. Jeremy’s jaw remained firmly clenched, feeling the motion jolt through his body but do nothing further.

I don’t have the necessary parts for that to work, Jeremy thought smugly as William’s scowl deepened.

“This would be easier if you would just cooperate,” William muttered. “Don’t you want Michael to get better sooner?”

What did that have to do with anything? William tortured for the sake of his science or whatever apparently, but Jeremy could not see how this was possibly about Michael. Evan? Maybe?

Unless William had been lying when he told Jeremy that Michael was getting better. Unless he’d been trying to placate him enough to get close enough to-

Shit, who was he kidding? To William, Jeremy was just some way to fix the family he’d ruined. He was just some monster to tear apart to figure out how it worked, and how he could convert his family into monsters, and then they’d have to like him. Because only a monster could love another monster, right?

Except Michael isn’t a monster, Jeremy’s mind protested. But Michael was a fan of all animals. And his easy affection for the giant bunny hadn’t meant he liked all of Jeremy. Michael’s feeling for him extended just as far as seeing him as a giant fluffy creature. He hadn’t seen Jeremy’s truly monstrous side until he’d been attacked. So Jeremy didn’t even know that Michael even still cared for the rabbit in him.

Jeremy’s eyes blurred with tears as he continued to hold out against William’s attempts to force him to open his mouth. Don’t cry. He could use that, Jeremy scolded himself, managing to blink the tears away.

After what felt like hours, William finally let go of him. “You will break down, sooner or later.” And then William left the room, locking the door behind him.

And Jeremy finally let himself break down into tears, unable to do anything more than let them simply spill down the sides of his face.

William returned, presumably after a few days. Jeremy was starving and looked listlessly at him, wondering what the newest attempt to make him surrender would be. “Since you are so determined to make this harder on yourself, I have decided that more force would be useful.”

He hoisted a wrench in his hand, letting it hit the table with a heavy thunk.

Jeremy didn’t say anything, knowing that he would do everything in his power to keep William from figuring out what had turned him into this, and using it to turn his other two children into monsters as well.

“No response, huh?” William frowned, slamming the wrench down on Jeremy’s shoulder, shooting pain through Jeremy’s entire body. He pulled aggressively at his restraints, the pain redoubling as electricity ignited in his veins.

When he finally managed to get himself under control enough to stop struggling, William had a faint smile on his face. “I guessed it was something to do with that. See, most of the animatronics with Remnant can only be damaged by few things. Fire, electricity, and other Remnant. This wrench happens to use some melted parts of one of the spare animatronics at Freddy’s, and it’ll hurt plenty.”

Jeremy glared at him, hating that he’d helped figure out more things that would benefit William.

“I wanted to make sure you could feel it, of course, before I do what I actually came here for. That blood of yours will be very helpful.” William set the wrench aside and wiggled a knife in front of Jeremy’s face. “Of course, since you’ve been so uncooperative so far, I decided that I don’t have to worry about how much this hurts you anymore.”

William’s grin widened, and he dragged a thick line down Jeremy’s torso, digging deep. Jeremy tried to curl in impulsively, and this time he couldn’t help but let out a pained whimper as electricity ran under his skin. His blood pooled across his chest, and it felt so hot.

Jeremy banged his head back against the table, trying to stop reacting to the actions being performed on his body. The experimentation on him because he was a monster.

For the first time, Jeremy let himself imagine crushing someone’s body under the weight of his rabbit side. Wondered what it would be like to crunch through William’s body, to make him scream in anguish. He was already a monster. What would a little murder do to make a difference?

With that thought, Jeremy’s restraint snapped, and fur sprouted rapidly from his body, his spine growing longer, his body morphing.

William dropped the knife as the size of Jeremy’s body no longer fit, and Jeremy actually broke the table with his bigger body. Fur prickled, long, thick, and very ruffled as Jeremy let out an angry growl.

William scrambled at something at his waist, hitting Jeremy with a much stronger wave of electric shock. Jeremy screeched at the pain rolling through his body as William ran from the room, bolting the door shut behind him.

Jeremy dropped to the floor in a heavy ball of matted and bloody fur, heaving out weak breaths as his body stitched itself back together. He crept close to the Fredbear suit, nuzzling it gently before he passed out on the concrete floor.