#11k..... jesus......
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fun fact i look like this atm. my back hurts.
#im pissed off#i dont know why i write#who writes when they hate (love) the entire process#a TRUE love hate relationship#jesus CHRIST omg im like i need to be freed wtf#i wrote like 11k words about 2 characters from only ones perspective THEN HAD THE WONDERFUL IDEA TO REWRITE IT FROM THE OTHER'S.#who DOES THAT.#blah blah!
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Ooooo headline buff goes kinda crazy
#i can get 3-4k off of pictures ALONE its gonna be like. maybe 4-5k pictures only??? jesus#in plain sight#in plain sight 2#roblox#nighty chatter#also i get like 9k minimum with this camera if i actually play the game#becoming a tryhard usually nets me like 11k#oooooohhh this is so SO good for me#i gotta do some more ips fanart smtime but also usually if im thinking abt this game#im then immediately on my way to play it lol
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I posted 12,066 times in 2022
That's 8,781 more posts than 2021!
781 posts created (6%)
11,285 posts reblogged (94%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@visible-disappointment
@low-life1985
@thedevotionaltour
@lizard-spams-your-dash-too
@nettys-girl
I tagged 7,350 of my posts in 2022
Only 39% of my posts had no tags
#depeche mode - 2,421 posts
#dave gahan - 1,333 posts
#alan wilder - 1,187 posts
#martin gore - 948 posts
#andy fletcher - 765 posts
#audio - 194 posts
#pen & paper - 182 posts
#words! - 182 posts
#gentle reminder - 176 posts
#đ¸ - 160 posts
Longest Tag: 83 characters
#âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸âź
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
See the full post
248 notes - Posted July 10, 2022
#4
ALAN SHORTS TUESDAY
250 notes - Posted May 31, 2022
#3
this is easily the most memeable depeche mode interview moment of all time
253 notes - Posted April 17, 2022
#2
See the full post
280 notes - Posted July 2, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
10,749 notes - Posted June 24, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review â
#doing this bc i saw visis#(also vis if u see this hi hello bestie)#also hello mutuals who i reblog from 24/7#also JFC IS THE PERSONAL JESUS POST SERIOUSLY NEARLY AT 11K ???#also also if my cherry blossom tag WORKED then why the fuck doesnât it show up when i search for it or look in my archive ???????#also also very happy that a lot of my popular posts were my gifsets thanks yâall <33#ALSO I POST WAY TOO MUCH JESUS FUCKING CHRIST LMAO
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Between Friends
Summary: Bradley and you donât 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 âRoosterâ 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!)
đđđ
Rooster couldnât 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, heâd 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 everyoneâs 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 theyâd 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 didnât know what your answer was going to be.
So he is just as shocked as his teammates are when you tentatively reveal, âSo, um, my first time was with Rooster.â He doesnât miss the way all his friendsâ heads snap towards him.Â
All eyes are on the two of you, and youâre 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 wasnât him. He didnât realize that you still considered him your first. Heâd 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 didnât care that people knew, he just wasnât 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, âI knew it! I knew yâall couldnât have been friends all this time and not have tried it out at least once.â
âJesus Christ, dude, chill,â Javy mutters. Heâs 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 heâd lost his to a girl from his AP Econ class after a playoff baseball game.
He stares at the way youâre nervously picking at the label of the Blue Moon heâd 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 heâd lost his one summer in college to another camp counselor, going into more detail than heâs 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 Bobâs cream sodas from now on on his own tab.
He doesnât know what heâs supposed to do here. Or where to look. Or where to put his hands. He wants to talk to you, but thereâs 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 heâd talked you into canceling to hang out with him instead. He likes having all of your attention on him. And maybe heâs been a little selfish with you, because he doesnât like to share you with anyone else. Youâve always been his best friend.
Rooster likes that he gets to talk to you whenever he wants now, and that it doesnât feel like a never-ending game of catch up anymore. In the year since the Uranium mission, heâd felt like all the fragmented pieces of his life had finally come together. Heâd 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 didnât just want the highlights with you, he wanted everything in between too. Thereâs 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 heâll get to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him.
He feels like heâs 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. âWell, we all know itâs not the first who matters, but who was the best.â Rooster doesnât trust the gleam in his eyes or the sharp smile on his face. âSince Bradshaw cut you off before, howâs about you go first this time, darlinâ. You can tell us about who knocked your socks off. Maybe this time heâll let you finish, if you know what I mean.â
Itâs thinly veiled snooping disguised as chivalry, and it doesnât fool anyone. Natâs eyes dart to him briefly, trying to get a read on him.
Heâd been 21 at the time. And while he knows more now that he did then, he also knows his name isnât 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 youâve been with other people. Youâd 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 doesnât want to hear this. Not because of his ego, but because he doesnât know what to do about the knot thatâs formed in his stomach.
Your mouth opens and closes a couple times before you speak, âThat title would also go to Rooster.â The admission is soft, but sure.Â
Where his heart had been pounding before, now it feels like it had stopped completely.
Itâs been 13 years since that Spring Break. 13 years and heâs still your best?
Barely five minutes ago, he hadnât known where to look. But now? Now he couldnât stop staring at you.
He just didnât understand why you still wouldnât look at him back.
đđđđđđ đđđđđ, đđđđđ đđ���đ
When youâd floated the idea by Bradley about visiting him at UVA for Spring Break during your weekly phone call, youâd been braced for the disappointment of him already having plans. It was his Senior year, it wouldnât 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 heâd 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 youâd even booked a plane ticket.
Youâd started looking up airfare before youâd 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 youâd last seen him. He usually spent his Winter Break with your family, but this year heâd stayed on campus for the holidays and it was the longest the two of you had ever been apart since youâd first met him when you were 8.
And maybe thatâs why it took you so long to spot him in the Arrivals area of the Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.
Youâve always prided yourself in being able to pick Bradley out of a crowd anywhere, but in your cursory glance you hadnât recognized the tall, broad guy with the UVA shirt pulled taut across his chest and wearing a baseball hat backward on his head. It wasnât until your third searching pass that youâd 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.
Heâd filled out in the months since youâd last seen him. He was more toned than you remembered him being with definition in places where there hadnât 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 heâd mimicked casting a fishing line in your direction and reeling it in. And it was so endearingly stupid- so him- that you couldnât help but take the bait and made your way towards him with the biggest grin on your face.
Youâd ignored the jittery flutter in your stomach as youâd weaved between people and luggage. Youâve 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 youâd shoved that out of your mind, because you were finally standing in front of him in person for the first time in months.Â
âHey, kid,â heâd greeted you, taking your bag, âCharlottesville must have known you were coming, because sheâs going to be sunny for you all week.â As soon as you were within armâs 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 heâd bought after selling his prized Montero, the car that Mav had given him for his birthday.
Youâre only there for a week and Bradley doesnât 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 âfor sustenanceâ 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 heâd puked after his 21st birthday.
Itâs clear heâd put so much thought into your visit because it seems like there is never a down moment. By the end of the third day youâre 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, âI didnât realize youâd become such a patron of the cultural arts.â
âHey now, I like artsy shit,â heâd said, only mildly affronted.
You snorted at that. âIs there an exhibit on beer pong and blunt rolling you wanted to see?â Through the window youâd 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.
âYou just missed that one, it was last month,â Bradley lobbed back, opening the door for you.
âWhat a pity,â youâd said with a dramatic sigh, âGuess weâll have to settle for some tasteful nudes instead.â
âIf weâre lucky,â heâd muttered under his breath, as you passed under his arm.
And then youâd felt the corners of your mouth kick up.
Turning around youâd pressed your finger to his chest, whispering so the person behind the ticket desk didnât hear you, âTwenty bucks says you donât make it thirty minutes in there.â
He narrowed his eyes, taking in your sly grin, âYouâre on, kid.â
Itâs the easiest $20 youâve 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 âMad Bowlâ 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 heâd uncapped himself using the opener that he had on his keychain, the one that still had the little fighter jet charm youâd 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 wasnât where heâd originally wanted to be- where he thought heâd 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 Bradleyâs Spring Break To-Do List, thereâd been something youâd been wanting to talk to him about. But you were having so much fun with him, youâd missed your best friend over those long months apart, and you didnât 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 canât 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 werenât sure would ever come. And if you were being honest, you werenât 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, youâd set the alarm without comment. Even though he did have to gently pry you out of his roommateâs 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.
Youâre cozied up on your bed for the week, flipping through a book youâd brought with you, but hadnât 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. Â
He drops a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the nightstand next to you.
You hadnât 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, âSo.â
âSo?â you repeat, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a sip.
âAre you going to tell me whatâs been up with you?â
You wince, and itâs not because the coffee tastes like tar.Â
âWhat do you mean?â you try to ask casually.
Bradley gives you a look that says you donât fool me, kid. âYouâve been squirrely. I didnât want to press it, but I can tell thereâs something on your mind.â He takes a sip of his own milky battery acid. âAre classes going better since you switched majors?â
You nod, looking anywhere else other than at him.
âHow are things with your Dad?â
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.
âIs it a guy?â Bradley tries again.
You swear you feel your heart stop, because you knew what you wanted to ask him, but you didnât know how he was going to take it.
You fiddle with a string on his roommateâs comforter. âThereâs something I wanted to talk to you about,â you admit, tentatively, âBut Iâm nervous.â
Bradleyâs eyebrows pull together as he sets his coffee aside, âCâmon, itâs just me. You can talk to me about anything.â
âItâs more of a question.â One youâre still deflecting from asking.
âOk, well you know you can ask me anything.â His tiny dorm room feels even smaller as the two of you try to read the otherâs face.
Taking a deep breath, you ask the question thatâs been rattling around in your brain for weeks.
âBradley, I was wondering if youâd be my first?â
Less than ten words. Thatâs all it takes to tilt Bradleyâs world off its axis.
Heâs loved getting to show you around UVA this week. It wasnât where he thought heâd end up, but he hadnât 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 heâd been excited to share with you.
Bradley had originally been invited to go stay with one of his friends at his familyâs beach house, but when you called and asked about coming to visit Charlottesville, it was an easy choice for him. Heâd pick you every time.
It had been even better getting to cross off some of the things on the bucket list heâd made for his Senior Year with you in tow, like the hike heâd taken you on this morning.
He loves the views from up there and thought it would be something youâd like too, but heâd 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 heâd 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 donât 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.
âYour firstâŚâ
You take another deep breath and tip your chin up in resolve before looking him dead in the eye, thereâs so much vulnerability reflected in them, âI havenât had sex before, Bradley. And Iâm really hoping that my first time can be with you.â
Bradley wants to tell you to put your Styrofoam cup down because heâs worried the tight grip you have on it might crush it, but he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.
He didnât 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. Thereâs too much restless energy coursing through him to just sit like he isnât completely reeling.Â
âShouldnât you want to do this with someone special? Like with rose petals and all that shit?â He scrubs a hand over his face. Rose petals and all that shit? God, he sounds like such a fucking dumbass, but heâs struggling to keep up.
And if heâs being entirely honest, heâs pretty surprised to learn youâre still a virgin. Not that thereâs anything wrong with it, but he knows youâve had at least one serious boyfriend since youâve gone to college. He figured that you got asked out all the time. He saw the way that some of the guys in his buddyâs 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 youâre trying not to cave in on yourself, âSo, you donât want to?â
âI didnât say that.â 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.Â
âWould it help to make a pro con list?â you offer, less than helpfully with a little shrug.
âJesus Christ,â Bradley mutters under his breath, looking up at the speckled ceiling trying to decode the flecks like tea leaves. âSheâs cracking jokes like she didnât ask me to make her come.â
âTechnically, I didnât say anything about that. I just asked you to be my first.â
âIâm not taking your virginity and not giving you an orgasm,â he states, and your eyes get wide. He runs his hands through his hair. âSex makes things complicated, kid. Weâve got a good friendship.â
You sit up straighter on his roommateâs 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.
Thereâs a look on your face that tells him you feel ridiculous even asking him, âDo you think youâre going to fall in love with me or something?â
âNo,â Bradley says, honestly.
He knows youâre 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 couldnât imagine what anything other than just friendship would look like with you.
You nod in agreement, like you had been anticipating the answer before youâd even asked him the question.
âAnd do you think Iâm going to fall in love with you?â you ask, your head tilting to the side.
He doesnât even blink, âYou can do better than me.â
And he means it.
Even if there was something more between the two of you, youâve always been too good for him. And knowing him, heâd find a way to fuck it up. Youâre the last person in the world heâd ever want to hurt. Heâd let you down before, he doesnât want to do it ever again.
You shoot him a disappointed look, like you donât like hearing him say that about himself. And heâs oddly touched that youâre defending him against himself.Â
âYouâd literally be doing me a favor.â
Bradley is still surprised that he hasnât ended this conversation yet. The two of you were supposed to go to the movies, but that definitely wasnât happening now.
âIâm not saying no,â he says, âBut I need you to help me understand. Why me? Why now?â
âBradley, I want it to be with you because thereâs no one else Iâll ever feel as comfortable with as I do with you,â 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 donât want to startle him. Not that heâd be able to move anyways since it feels like the soles of his feet are cemented to the floor.
âI keep waiting for it to not feel like such a big thing, but every time it seems like itâs going to happen, I freeze. And I know youâd take care of me, and Iâm not talking about orgasms.â You stumble over the word a bit, not fully meeting his eyes as you say it. âItâs scary enough as a girl and Iâm worried Iâm going to be too in my head with anyone else. But I also donât want to look back and have any regrets, and I know I wouldnât have any with you.â
The mention of regrets makes his stomach twinge. His heart feels like itâs hammering in his chest. He doesnât know what to say.
You are looking at him with such open sincerity. He has never been good with talking about his feelings, heâs 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.
âI know itâs a lot,â you say, letting go of him to take a step back, like you want to give him breathing room, âSo if itâs too big of an ask. Or if itâs not something youâre comfortable with-â
Bradley shakes his head cutting you off, âItâs not that at all, kid. I just havenât done this before.â Your eyebrow scrunches together in confusion. âI mean, I have,â he corrects, âBut itâs not the same. All the girls Iâve been with had already had experience. And if we were going to do this, I would want to make sure itâs as nice for you as it can be.â
âSo youâd be my first and Iâd be yours? Well, kind of.â You give him a little smile, itâs a shy but hopeful thing. Thereâs only a hint of your dimples, but itâs enough. And he feels that practical part of him that had been holding back soften at the sight of it.
He doesnât think heâs 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 didnât matter that you didnât have your learnerâs 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 didnât break your own thumb instead of someoneâs nose.
Heâs always had your back and youâve had his. Thatâs how it was between the two of you.
Youâve already said it, but he needs to hear it again, âYou really want to do it?â
âI really want it to be you, Bradley. I really want to do this with you. I trust you the most.â
Heâs always been willing to help you with anything youâve ever asked of him, why should this be any different? Whatâs a couple orgasms between friends?
âOk,â Bradley nods. If itâs to reassure you or himself, he couldnât say. âIâll do it. We can do it.â
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, like you were fully prepared for him to let you down gently, âReally?â
You didnât ask for his why he was agreeing, but he was going to give it to you anyway.
âI donât think Iâve told you this, but I lost mine to Samantha Prescod after the game against Centennial that got us a spot at State that year,â he waits until he sees the recognition cross your face before continuing, âBut I had also just learned about my momâs diagnosis and I was trying to find anything I could do to not think about it.â He rubs at a spot underneath his collarbone, it never got any easier talking about his mom. âI think she assumed that Iâd done it before, because we didnât really talk about it. She was there and into it, so it just sort of happened. Actually, Iâm 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.â
Itâs 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.
âIt was years ago, itâs fine, kidâ he shrugs, trying to brush off your concern. âBut if I had a do-over, I donât know if Iâd make the same choice again. And thatâs not something Iâd ever want for you.â You deserve the rose petals, but heâll do his best for you. âSo we can do it, but I have one condition.â
The relief on your face and the way the tension in your shoulder releases only solidifies his decision.
âTell me,â you say, taking a half-step towards him, âI want you to be comfortable too.â
Bradley pushes off his desk and meets you the rest of the way, âIf you even think youâre feeling uncomfortable- about any of it- I need you to tell me. And weâll stop and figure out where to go from there. If itâs a change of position, if itâs a full stop and order pizza instead, weâll do that.â He pauses and reaches out to tip your chin up. âIâll do whatever you need, got it?â
You throw your arms around him, and his wrap around you just as easily. Your hair smells like the travel sized shampoo heâd picked up for you, figuring you wouldnât 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, âWhatâs with the look, Bradshaw? Donât tell me youâre going to lie back and think of England?â
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.
âGod, I havenât 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.â
You snort and send him a smirk, âWell, you must have done just fine. I overheard some glowing reviews in the girlâs bathroom on more than one occasion.â
âI maybe lasted ten trusts, but I had the good sense to eat her out after,â he admits, and then tacks on for good measure, âIâve gotten better since then.â
âWhat a stud,â you tease.
This is easier, this feels like the two of you. This should be fun, it shouldnât feel serious. He can make it good for you.
You look up at him shyly from under your lashes, âSo how do we do this?â
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.
âYou want to do it now?â Bradley blinks.
âI mean, if youâre up for it.â You scrunch your nose when you realize youâve made a terrible double entendre. âNo pun intended, I promise.â Â
He wipes his hands on his pants.
âYou sure?â he asks again.
âIâm sure, Bradley. As long as you are too.â
He nods, âThen I guess we justâŚâ
Heâs not sure where he was going to go with that. But heâs spared from being roasted by you for making some sure to be lame birthday suit joke because youâre untying the bow on the soft lounge shorts youâd thrown on after your shower from the hike, and all the words get trapped in his throat.
You donât look at Bradley as you slide your shorts down your legs. And you definitely donât look at him when you pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in only a soft green mesh bra and your cotton underwear. Theyâre mismatched, but sex with Bradley wasnât originally on the Spring Break To-Do List agenda for today.
In fact, you hadnât 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 werenât 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. Heâd 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. Itâs 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.
Itâs practical, youâre being practical, you think to yourself.
You chance a peek at him and are surprised to see that he hasnât budged an inch. Itâs 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.
âBradley?â
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. Youâre 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 heâs 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. Youâve 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 itâs 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 youâre sharing his pillow. His brown eyes are searching yours, probably looking for any sign of hesitation that you donât feel.
âTell me how youâre feeling.â Itâs not a question, but a request.
âOverwhelmed,â you admit, âBut in a good way.â He runs his palm lightly up your stomach and back down, soothingly.
âGood, thatâs good,â Bradley says, clearing his throat, âYouâre supposed to feel a little âoverwhelmed, but in a good way.ââ 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, âI donât know how this has stayed so straight.â Heâd been in more than a couple fights in his teen years, including one that had sent him through a sliding glass door.
âProbably the combination of a little luck and the fact that none of those guys could throw a punch,â Bradley smirks. He shifts on his side, propping himself up on an elbow looking down at you, still running his hand along your stomach. âWhat have you done so far?â
His fingertips circle your bellybutton and your stomach swoops like itâs on the swing carousel ride at the fair.
âSome over the clothes stuffâŚâ you stammer. Youâre having trouble focusing because all your attention is on his big hand and how it feels against your oversensitive skin. âAnd I have a vibrator, but ahâŚâ
Youâre 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 itâs coming.
You let out a shaky huff when his fingers trails back up your stomach.
âWhat is it?â Bradleyâs hand stops moving. âWhat are you thinking?â
âHonestly?â you say, trying not to squirm, âIâm getting really horny and you keep teasing me.â
He presses his lips together like heâs trying not to laugh at your overshare, and thereâs amusement in his eyes.
âYou know, some people call it foreplay,â he drawls. Youâd roll your eyes but his fingertips are by your bellybutton again and you want him to keep going. âYou ready for more?â You nod a few times because if he doesnât touch you soon you might just crawl out of your skin. âOk, gonna stop âteasingâ you now.â
This time his hand doesnât stop at your bellybutton, it keeps moving down, down.
You stutter over a breath when Bradleyâs fingers touch your clit. You feel yourself melt a little further into his mattress. Heâs making easy circles, letting you get used to someoneâs 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.
âSpread your legs a little wider for me,â he murmurs. You feel your face heat up. Heâd 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 youâre wet and now he does too. Bradleyâs 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 doesnât take him long to learn your body. You donât know whether to be impressed with him or embarrassed with yourself at how quickly heâs worked you up.
Your breathing feels so loud in your ears in the quiet room, every breath and sigh is amplified. Thereâs a certain thrill in not knowing how heâs 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.
âAre you cold?â His voice is low in your ear.
âNo, I-â Oh god, youâre right there. âB-bradley, Iâm-â Youâve made yourself orgasm plenty of times, but youâve 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.
âItâs ok, kid, Iâve got you.â
Youâre seeking and searching, but itâs Bradleyâs 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, âThereâs one, you up for another?â
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 didnât 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. Heâd 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 heâd started getting hard the second youâd pulled your shirt off. Your bra was some kind of sheer thing that left nothing to the imagination, and while he wasnât trying to check you out- because thatâs not how it was between the two of you- he couldnât help the way his eyes flickered down.
Youâre slippery, wet, and warm. And he knows he can make you come again.
âDo you want me to use my fingers now?â
You crack an eye open at him, itâs the first time youâve opened your eyes since he first touched you. Your eyes are bright in that way that only comes with an orgasm. âI thought you already were.â
âSuch a smartass,â he grins.
Bradley changes the unhurried circles heâd been making on your clit to the upstroke that made your hips jerk up into his hand the first time heâd tried it. The little noises youâre making have him fighting the urge to grind himself against you for some relief of his own. Heâs still got your knee tucked between his own; where there had been a hint of polite space between your bodies, the way youâre writhing now has him pressed up against your hip.
You gasp, breathily, âOh, youâre hard.â The disbelief is evident in your voice, but itâs the look in your eyes that he doesnât know what to make of, something like surprise.
Heâs 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.
ââCourse I am,â Bradley says, nudging his nose against your temple, âIâve got a pretty girl in my bed half naked.â He didnât 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. âAre you ready more?â
âIâm ready, I want more,â you confirm, wrapping your hand around his bicep.
Your breath hitches as he teases you with just the tip of his finger.
Heâs been told before he has big hands and thick fingers, heâs always taken it as a compliment in the past, but now heâs 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.
âThat feels nice,â 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, âAtta girl. There you go, find what feels good for you.â 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. Itâs a piece of information he tucks away for himself.
Heâs gentle on your clit, but now that he knows youâre into it heâs setting a more purposeful pace with his fingers.
Youâve got your bottom lip pinned between your teeth, like youâre trying to swallow down your sounds. He didnât 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 heâs looking for.
You suck in a sharp breath of surprise when he finds it.
âIs that the right spot, kid?â He sounds so smug. You curse and your hand clutches at his shoulder. âYou want to try a second finger?â he murmurs into your ear.
âYes,â you rock into his hand, âYes, please.â
âWhatever you want, Miss Manners.â His chest feels like heâs taken a shot of Fireball. âYouâre so polite when youâre trying to get your way.â
âIâm always polite,â you challenged weakly, pressing your head further into his pillow.
âMhm,â he indulges, fondly, âYouâre the sweetest girl I know.â
And then he fills you with two fingers.
âJesus, Bradley,â 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.
âNo, no. D-donât stop,â you plead, desperately, âIâm so close. Keep going, please.â You squeeze his wrist encouragingly.
âSorry, sorry,â he soothes. He focuses his efforts on that spot again now that he knows you werenât 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.
âI just- yes. Like that. Oh fuck. Keep doing that. Oh my god. Please, Bradley.â
Heâs 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 heâd 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 youâre 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 youâd 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, âSo, um, let me know if you need a letter of recommendation or anything. Iâd be happy to pass one along to your next partner.â You languidly prop yourself up on his chest and he notes with pride that you look a little flushed. âBut, seriously, I get it now.â
He huffs a laugh as he toys with the end of your hair, âIâm glad it lived up to the hype. Well, at least that part of it.â
You press your lips together like youâre deciding something, tracing idle shapes on his stomach, and he canât decide if he thinks youâre doing it without realizing it or if youâre the one doing the teasing this time. Your eyes flick down to his visibly hard cock and he feels his face heat up, âCan I?â
âDo you want to?â 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.
âI want to make you feel good too,â you softly tell him, resting your chin on your shoulder. The tender way youâre looking at him makes his teeth ache.
âOk, but only for a little bit,â he agrees. Bradley knows heâs walking a tightrope with this, heâs aching and more than ready to be touched, but he doesnât 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.
âThat canât be average,â you mutter under your breath.
He doesnât know if you meant to have said it out loud but he smirks all the same, âIâve never been average a day in my life, kid, Grade A student here.â
A groan slips out of him as your tentative fingers grasp his cock. Thereâs a lack of finesse in the way you touch him, your hand isnât nearly as well-practiced as his own. He wraps his hand over yours, guiding your strokes as he shows you just what he likes.
âYou can grip it a little firmer,â he coaches. You nod studiously, like youâre 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 couldnât reach the tips of your fingers when your hand was curved around him was an ego boost he didnât 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.
âOk, ok,â he blows out a shaky breath, stilling your hand with his. âWe gotta stop or Iâm going to come. And Iâm not about to be a one pump chump.â
âIt sounded like youâre more of a ten pump chump, if I remember correctly,â you tease, looking all too pleased with yourself. âDonât worry, Bradshaw, your street cred is safe with me.â
He shakes his head in amused disbelief, âYouâre such a goddamn menace. I knew I shouldnât have told you that part.â He surprises the both of you when he wraps an arm around you and rolls to pin you under him.
And itâs 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. Heâd give anything to know what youâre thinking right now, he feels out of his depth as he watches you watching him.
His tongue feels thick in his mouth, âAre you on-â
You nod before he even finishes the question.
âDo you have-â
He nods before you finish yours.
âWhat did you promise me?â he prompts, squeezing the dip of your waist.
You hold up your pinky to him, âIâll tell you.â He wraps his own crooked one around yours and gives it a shake.
Bradley doesnât 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. Heâs thankful when you donât comment on it because he wouldnât 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 heâs also grabbed and drizzles it over his cock.
âAm I notâŚâ you trail off. He doesnât think heâs ever heard you sound this shy with him before.
âYouâre plenty wet,â he assures you, pumping himself- once, twice- just enough to coat himself, âBut thisâll be good too. I think youâll like it.â
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 itâs like with another person.
Youâre 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, itâs 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 heâs shifting forward and pressing in.
Bradley thrusts into you with all the careful gentleness youâd 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 heâd pulled you into the safety of his arms and you felt like you could fall apart because heâd be keeping the pieces of you together.
Heâs been so good to you. He is so good to you. Heâs 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 youâve 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.
Thereâs 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. Heâd 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.
âItâs just a lot,â you whisper. His fingers flex on your waist.
âYouâre doing so good, just a bit more,â Bradley murmurs, encouragingly.
Thereâs pressure, thereâs a give, and then thereâs relief when his hips finally, finally meet yours.
âShit,â he curses under his breath.
Your eyes had flickered shut somewhere along the way. You open them to see that Bradleyâs 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.
âYouâre just really tight,â he grits out, voice strained.
You assumed that was a good thing, but heâs holding himself so tense above you that now youâre not sure. âDo I-,â you fumble over the words, âDoes this feel good for you?â
He huffs an incredulous laugh, and brushes back some hair from off your face, âYou feel really fucking good, sweet-â
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.
Itâs 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 youâve 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 didnât expect to even come once and youâre 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. Heâs so much deeper like this. Your hands slide into his hair, tugging at his curls.
âBradley, I-I think⌠I feel-â
 âYouâre gonna come,â 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, itâs better than anything youâve ever imagined. You donât think your faces have ever been closer than they are now. Bradley is breathing your air, and youâre breathing his. Bradleyâs pupils are blown wide, his heavy-lidded eyes are locked on yours. You didnât know there could be so many shades of brown. His curls are a mess and itâs 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.
Itâs so good, itâs too good, itâs 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 youâve heard about and read about, but have never felt for yourself until now. Heâs still got your ass gripped in his hand, whereas your hands canât stay in one spot. Theyâre tangled in his hair, running over his shoulders and down his abs, gliding over his back aided by the sheen of sweat heâs worked up.
Youâre not trying to hold yourself back, but it feels like youâre standing on the tallest diving board at the pool, your toes curled around the edge, but still too nervous about the drop to jump.
âCâmon, kid. Youâre right there,â he breathes hard, âI need you to come for me. Just one more.â
He gets his fingers back on your clit and itâs 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 Bradleyâs 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 heâd set, you pull him tighter to you and itâs not long until he comes too.
Itâs 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, youâre all too aware of every place your body is touching Bradleyâs.
Heâd 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.
âCome back here, kid,â Bradley mumbles, his eyes still closed, âI need to cuddle after I come, so Iâm gonna need you to indulge me here for a moment.â He strokes a soothing hand down your back. And while he says itâs for him, you know heâs 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 didnât know youâd 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, youâd never have any regrets about it. And it was all because of him.
âThank you, Bradley,â you say, softly.
âAnything for you, kid.â
Your early morning catches up with you as you lay there, warm and secure. Your eyelids get heavier with each pass of Bradleyâs hand along your spine. And you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.
Youâre 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 youâre clothed and swapping the cartons of Chinese food that heâd ordered while youâd napped against his chest, and fighting over the fortune cookies watching some reruns of old sitcoms. You couldnât hear their laugh tracks over your own.
The last couple of days you had at UVA fly by just as quickly.
You donât 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 donât give him one, instead you reach for your bag and tell him, âOk, see you in June.â
Bradley doesnât let go, clearly confused, âWhat the hell are you talking about?â
You grin because it feels like a checkmate.
âYou didnât think youâd be getting that diploma all by yourself, did you?â
He looks thunderstruck.
You and your mom already had the plane tickets and hotel room booked. Your stepdad wouldnât be able to come, but he was planning on sending your mom with one of the cakes from his familyâs bakery. Youâd been tasked with finding out what flavor, carrot cake or peanut butter- Bradleyâs two favorites- but you could iron out the details with him later.
Youâd 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.
âJune?â he asks into the crown of your head.
âJune,â you promise.
And when he lets you go- for real this time- itâs with a smile that takes up his whole face.
He doesnât say goodbye either, âBe good, kid. See you in June.â
đđđ
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 youâd already given him more than enough.
You could have lied, you probably should have lied. It might have been easier than feeling like youâd hung up part of yourself on the drying line for everyone to see. But in that moment, the thought of lying and saying anyone elseâs name other than Roosterâs 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, thereâs no missing Rooster. Heâs 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, âWe donât need to do this.â
âNo, kid, we really do.â He takes you by the arm and leads you to a quieter spot away from everyone else.
âIt was just a game,â you start before he can, âAnd now I know more about everyoneâs sex life than I ever wanted to.â He crosses his arms over his chest at your attempt at deflection. âLook, Iâm 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.â
âI donât care about that.â Rooster waves you off and takes a step closer to you, his eyes searching yours. âAll this time and Iâm the best youâve ever had?â
âAre we really doing this? Here and now?â
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. Youâve never seen Mickey with such a serious look of concentration on his face.
âHere and now,â he confirms.
You feel flustered, âRooster, itâs been 12 years and we havenât talked about it once-â
âBradley,â he cuts you off. He takes another step towards you, so youâre toe to toe with him. âIâve always been Bradley to you.â
The tension that had crept up in your shoulders releases a bit.
âBradley,â you say, softly. âListen, Iâve had a lot of good sex since then. Great sex even.â He presses his lips together and nods. âAnd with other men, if I felt like they werenât putting in their best effort Iâd kick them out because the bar was set very high early on.â
You see him fight back a smirk.
âThatâs my girl,â 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, âBut 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 donât know how to describe it. It was just different with you.â
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 donât look at each other like this.
âItâs never been like this,â you whisper, âWeâve never been like this before.â You gesture at how close he is to you.
How heâs almost got you backed up against a wall.
How heâs looking at you like youâre his.
âI know.â
He says your name and your heart somersaults in your chest.
âI want to see your tattoo. I keep finding myself looking for it when weâre all at the beach. And then I get annoyed, knowing that people have seen it and I havenât.â
âMy tattoo? Bradley, what-â
âI want to see your tattoo,â he repeats like itâs a fact. âAnd I want to punch Seresin in his smug face every time he flirts with you.â
You roll your eyes, âJake doesnât flirt with me, not really. He just likes riling you up.â
âWhat if I said I wanted to try this as more than friends.â Bradley settles a large hand on your hip. âWhat if I said that since youâve moved here Iâve had a hard time keeping my head on straight.â
âBradley.â His name falls out of your mouth so easily now that it can.
âI 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.â
Youâve been told that you wear your heart on your sleeve, but he has always worn his on his face. Thereâs no mistaking the open want on his face.
âBradley, itâll be different this time.â For so many reasons.
Because itâs not a favor being asked. Itâs not some new experience being tried with the person you trust the most, with everything. Youâd be on equal footing. It wouldnât 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.
âI want it to be different, sweet girl,â he says, cupping your face in his familiar hand, âIâm ready for it to be different, if you are.â
He looks from your eyes down to your parted lips.
âWe didnât do that last time,â you whisper. Feeling brave, you reach out and run your fingers along the buttons of his shirt.
âNo, we didnât,â he agrees. His eyes are trained on his thumb as he skims it under your lip. âAnd thatâs a damn shame.â
Bradleyâs 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. Itâs not enough.
You tug on his collar, but he chuckles and kisses your cheek again, lingering longer this time.
âIâm not kissing you for the first time around the corner from a bathroom,â he rasps.
You open your eyes and see the amusement in his. He always did like teasing you.
âOh, where do you plan on doing it then?â
âOutside your front door, like a gentleman,â he says, like itâs obvious.
You canât help but grin because Bradley Bradshaw canât 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 heâs 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.
Itâs 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 Bradleyâs sheets- heâd 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.Â
The way he touches you tells you that he remembers it all.
He was you first, but what you wouldnât learn until later, is that he would also be your last.
And heâd be the only man to ever have your entire heart.
Happy Birthday Jordan! An AU just for you! đ 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
#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw smut#top gun imagine#topgun fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#rooster x reader#rooster x you#rooster x female reader
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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.
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The other Bronze â 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 itâ¤ď¸
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 â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ 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
âYou need help Kei?â 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
âYou already know the answer to that, Bitsy... go shower...â you heard her yelling back as you heard pots clatter
âI showered at the Beach... with the sexy spaniardâ you said now moved to stand in the kitchen entrance
âAnd 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 headâ the blonde englishwoman answered measuring some stuff for your requested Shepherds pie
âBut I don't have my shower stuff here and yours is so... floweryâ you whined
âYour choice Bitsy... but I really will have your head if you wake me up in the middle of the night...â Keira looked at you raising an eyebrow in challenge
âUghâ you huffed pushing yourself of the doorframe as you dragged yourself towards her bathroom
âGood choiceâ you heard the blonde yelling after you and you could hear the smirk in her voice
âGood choiceâ you imitated her under your breath âI'm gonna smell like a fucking field of poppiesâ
After 20 Minutes you cracked opened the door of the bathroom a little bit to yell for Keira
âKeira???!!!â you yelled loudly so she would hear you in the kitchen
âWhat?â she yelled back and you could hear a nuance of annoyance in her voice
âI forgot clothesâ you yelled as Keira stayed in the kitchen and you didn't want to leave the bathroom in your (her) towel
âUgh kid... I still don't know how you survive without me constantly aroundâ she said as she came out of the kitchen walking down the hall to get you some clothes
âI have a good system of supporting people around me... I refer to them as my cultâ you said as she passed you âthey make sure I don't die â they're too scared of youâ
âI bet... let me guess... Mary, Millie, Rachel, Tooney and Russo?â 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
âAnd Hempo and Meado and Scotto and Viv and Daan and Greensie and ChloChlo and Leila and Guerrero and Stina and Lia and Kimmi and...â you counted on your fingers smirking as Keira made her way back to you some shorts and a shirt in her hand
âGod... you really always get whatever you wantâ she rolled her eyes but a smile tugged on her lips
âNot everything... otherwise you'd be a Bronzeâ you shrugged your shoulders as you took the pieces of clothing out of her hand and shut the door
âDon't do that Bitsy...â Keira sighed against the door â... it's not your faultâ
âBut it feels like itâ 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
âIt's not... stop telling yourself that... it just happened Bitsy...â Keira answered softly as she heard a crashing sound from the inside âYou okay Bits?â she asked a little concerned
âAll goodâ you said quickly picking yourself up from inside the shower you fell backwards into âGot stuck on the shortsâ
âDear jesus chirst kid.... I swear you're so clumsy at this point it's more luck than sanity that you're still alive...â 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
âKei help please....â 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
âWhat's wrong Bits?â she asked concerned crouching down in front of you
âRoom's spinningâ you mumbled
âYou have a headache too?â the blonde asked already knowing what's wrong with you
âLittle bit...â you answered honestly
âYou have a sunstroke Bits...â Keira smiled lightly âNot used to the spanish sun...â
âIs not funâ you mumbled trying to contain the nausea
âCome on Bits...â the blonde huffed pulling you up into a standing position but keeping a good hold of you â... you gonna lay down on the couch and rest okay...â she said before leading you back into the livening room minus the shorts so you were just in your boxers and a sports bra
âMy shortsâ you whined
âFirst... these are MY shorts and secondly... you don't need shorts.. it's just meâ Keira said softly before deposing you on the couch âGonna bring you some water okayâ
âKei...â you whined â... I'm not feeling goodâ
âI know Bitsy... I knowâ the blonde sighed before getting you the promised water
âWhy am I feeling sick?â you whined turning onto your side
âSunstroke Bitsy... drink some water... it'll help I promiseâ 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
âTake a nap Bitsy.... that'll help tooâ the blonde englishwoman spoke lowly as she saw your eyes dropping
âYou not mad anymore?â you asked half asleep
âI was never mad Bitsy... I was scaredâ Keira said softly âYou mean the world to me, Bitsy and alone the thought of loosing you without being able to do anything scared me â really scared meâ
âYou mean the world to me too Kei... you're always thereâ you sighed as Keira started to lightly scratch your scalp
âI'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 thatâ 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
âKei...â you said lowly waiting for her to look at you â... 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 â but I love you just as much because I know you're always there for me... I promise I won't leave you Kei...â
âYou 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...â Keira said her voice heavy
âI never broke a promise with youâ you said your voice insisted looking her straight in the eye âI never did and I never will...â
âI need you to PROMISE me to start thinking before you do things Bits...â the blonde said and you knew you would never EVER break that promise
âI promise...â you just answered and Keira could hear the honesty in your voice âBut you need to promise to never leave meâ
âI promise Bitsy... wherever I end up either in my career or afterwards... I'll be always there for youâ Keira said softly
âGood... because let's be honest if I have to live of Luces cooking I'm gonna be gone pretty quickly because of food poisoningâ you said as a matter of fact
âShe got better... she doesn't burn the pasta anymore...â Keira smiled through her tears
âKei... 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!!â you exclaimed bewildered
âI know... she had some... questionable ideasâ Keira tried to find the right words
âShe has shit ideas when it comes to cooking,... I mean who thinks it's a good idea to serve RAW fishâ you exclaimed loudly
âTo her defence... sushi is raw fishâ the blonde said
âWHEN IT'S FRESH IT IS.... this... thing was probably a week old... and on top of that she KNOWS I hate fishâ you couldn't contain your outburst
âFish is good...â Keira smiled knowing just how much you despise it
âNope... nuh-uh.... it's disgusting... it normally looks at you when served...â you shook your head which reminded you immediately of your nausea again âUh... wrong moveâ you mumbled
âOh Bitsy...â the blonde sighed putting her hand against your forehead âYou'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 scrambleâ
âUgh please no paracetamolâ you whined
âAh yeah... I always forget that you always get sick from paracetamol... Aspirin it is then...â the blonde said pitiful as she softly stroke over your forehead experienced first hand before how bad a sunstroke feels
âCan I call G?â you whined miserable
âOf course Bitsy... why are you asking?â Keira asked confused
âDidn't know if you'd be a fan of me calling her... Lucy is not a fanâ you mumbled your eyes already dropping again
âLucy is very much a fan... but more and foremost she's your sister... she swore to protect you Bitsyâ the blonde chuckled getting her phone from the side table dialling Georgias number
âHey best friend... what gives me the unwanted pleasure of you calling me?â Georgias happy voice came out of the speaker and you could hear the smile in her voice
âYou really milking that best friend card since Leah is outâ Keira deadpanned but couldn't help but smile too
âI mean... I take what I can get...â the younger blonde said grinning âBut seriously... what can I help you withâ
âNot me.... but you could help your girlfriend outâ Keira chuckled
âEhrm... while you're there?â Georgia asked unsure and you could just picture how her cheeks flush and she rubbed the back of her neck
âDear jesus... not like thatâ Kei exclaimed âWhat is wrong with you??â
âI haven't seen her in WEEKS, Kei... WEEKS...â the younger blonde insistent
âI don't CAREâ Keira said back just as insistent
âGâ you whispered exhausted
âHey babyâ 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
âNot feeling goodâ you whispered
âWhat happened baby...â Georgia asked softly
âParrently M not used to sunâ you mumbled
âYou're english... of course we're not used to sun...â your girlfriend chuckled lightly â... what you need from me baby?â
âJust talk... M sleepyâ you mumbled your speaking slurred with sleep
âUsual topics?â Georgia double checked softly
âMhmâ you mumbled confirming
âOkay... sooooo... I kinda overslept this morning... but just like... 20 Minutes â 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...â 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
âKeira?â
âYes?â the blonde answered
âShe asleep?â Georgia asked already knowing the answer
âWhat do you really want to ask, G? What's on your mind?â Keira chuckled
âHow mad is Lucy?â your girlfriend mumbled concerned
âLucy 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 â because let's be real for a second... any girl Bitsy would have brought home would run for the hills after a âtalkâ from Lucy Bronze â 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 âThe Talkâ... 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 âIf you're hurting herâ-talk and smile politelyâ Keira said knowing G needs some reassurance right now âJust... don't kiss her in front of Lucy right away... baby sister and all thatâ
âNo kissing got itâ G repeated nodding her head â even if no one could see it
âI didn't said no kissing... I said no kissing in front of Luceâ the blonde corrected her younger friend
âIsn't that the same thing?â Georgia asked confused
âGosh G... get creative... didn't YOU tell me about 30 minutes ago you haven't seen your girl for weeksâ Keira huffed out as she left the living room with her phone to check on the shepherds pie
âI mean... yeah... but that would involve a lot more than kissingâ G answered and Keira could hear her embarrassment
âI love you G, I really do... but I won't cover for you or get Lucy of your backs.... just sayingâ the blonde said as she pulled dinner out of the oven
âCan we not... talk about that... maybe?â your girlfriend asked even more embarrassed
âWe're grown ups, G... we can talk about sexâ Keira rolled her eyes before speaking to herself âDo I wake you up Bitsy or not?â
âWhy do you want to wake her up? I literally just put her to sleepâ Georgia ignored the first part and just jumped on the you-waggon
âShe should eat... but as you said... she just fell asleep...â Keira mumbled looking over to your sleeping form
âWake her... I still got time so I can bore her to sleep againâ G said happily
âHow often do you talk anyway?â 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
âYou mean like now? Or texting?â your girlfriend asked
âLike now.... you immediately knew what she needed â it's cuteâ the blonde grinned
âEvery Day... even when I have games we make time... if it's just five minutesâ Georgia said and Keira could hear how important it was for the younger girl
âDidn't peck you as a routine girl, Gâ Keira teased her friend
âIt's important to her....â your girlfriend answered and her voice showed nothing but love for you.
âGod G... you sound like your neck deep in loveâ the blonde chuckled but was met with silence from the other end
âG??â Keira asked kinda bewildered
âYeah... still thereâ the younger one mumbled ashamed
âTalk to me Gâ the blonde encouraged her
âI 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...â Georgia tried to put her feelings into word
âCalm down G... it's okay.. it's just me... honestly... I can see it too â you shouldn't say anything like that to Luce tho... at least not for the next... 10.... no... 25 yearsâ Keira said softly and tried to lighten the mood a little bit
âIt just... it scares me a little bit I never felt like this about anyoneâ Georgia explained
âG... if you know, you know... and it's okay to get scared or overwhelmed... but you need to talk to someone â ideally with y/n but you can always talk to me too... keep communicatingâ the blonde said trying to calm her friend down
âI 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 worldâ your girlfriend said and Keira could just HEAR the love
âTell her G... tell her that every day... because even if they always act so tough... both of them Bronzes need to hear things like thatâ Keira said softly
âHow do you know?â Georgia asked confused
âAnd she's backâ the blonde rolled her eyes âWhy do all of you always forget that I dated a Bronze.... for YEARSâ
âAh yeah... you dated the other Bronzeâ your girlfriend laughed
âTechnically I dated the one Bronze... you date the other Bronzeâ Keira said
Suddenly there was a crashing sound from the living room followed by a whined âKeiraâ and Keira groaned
âShe fell of the couch again?â Georgia asked knowingly
âYep.... catch you later G... I have to go aid your girlfriendâ the blonde huffed
âTell her I love her, yeahâ your girlfriend said hopefully
âWill do... see you in a few days in Camp G... and Gâ Keira said
âYeah?â
âYou're good for her... Lucy will see this too... so don't let Luce push you around... stand up for your relationshipâ the blonde said and her voice had a loving tone
âThanks Kei... I mean itâ your girlfriend answered honesty
âKEIRAAAAAâ you whined from the floor of the living room
âCOMING... jesus...â the blonde yelled back âSee you in a few day G...â she said before ending the call
âWhat happened there Bitsy, hm?â the blonde asked you as she knelt down beside you
âFell offâ you mumbled
âI see thatâ Keira chuckled âYou want to go back to sleep or eat a little bitâ
âShepherds pie?â you asked your eyes shining hopefully
âWaiting in the Kitchenâ the blonde smiled as she pulled you up by your good wrist âAfter that you go straight to bed, do you hear me?â
âYeah momâ 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
âWhat can I do for you ex?â she grinned into the phone as she locked her phone in between her ear and shoulder to have her hands free
âHello to you too other mother of my princess... Bubs around?â Lucy shot back but Keira knew she wasn't serious
âOUR princess, ex...â the blonde corrected grinning âNope... your sister is dead to the world in my bedâ
âI KNEW there was something going on... G is just a cover, innit?â Lucy exclaimed and faked being shocked
âOh no... you figured us outâ Keira answered monotonous and pausing for a second before starting to chuckle âWhat 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 nightâ
âI actually need YOUâ Lucy mused and Keira heard the slight begging undertone
âOh my Luce... I thought we were past the sex with the ex act... does Ona know what you're proposing right now?â the blonde just couldn't give up such an opportunity to tease her ex girlfriend
âOh my god... no... not for that... that front is very well covered thank you very much...â your sister stuttered shocked which caused Keira to start laughing âI need you to bring y/n with you to training tomorrow...â
âThat's a givenâ Keira rolled her eyes âYou think I'm gonna leave her out of my sight after the stunt she pulled today?â
â... as fast asleep as possibleâ Lucy finished her sentences ignoring Keiras interruption
âShe definitely outgrown the dino-harness...â the blonde said knowing exactly what Lucy was planning
âI... modified it?â your sister said slowly
âModified it?â Keira asked confused
âThe buckle just works like I belt... so I strapped a belt into the buckle so it would fit...â Lucy said reluctantly
âShe will throw a whole ass tantrum you know that right... and you want me to get involved as wellâ the blonde said warningly
âI know... but come on Kei... she proved today that she actually is not grown up enough to be left to her own devices...â your sister huffed out
âDid 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 meâ Keira said and she knew she hit a nerve when there was no come back from the other end of the line
âI was scared Keiâ Lucy admitted her voice low
âI know... I was scared too Luce... but she's growing up... you have to let her make mistakesâ the blonde sighed knowing it was so hard to let you off the (imaginary) leash
âI know... but let me have my moment tomorrow.. I'm taking the blame... tell her you didn't knewâ Lucy begged a little bit
âIf she doesn't talk to you for weeks don't come to me cryingâ Keira warned âYou have a girlfriend for that now... not my problem anymoreâ
âDeal... but I promise I'll get in her good books at end of training againâ your sister said and Kei could hear her grin
âDo I want to know?? I feel a headache formingâ the blonde mumbled
âI'll let her drive my Cupra... we just need to wait long enough till the parking lot is emptyâ your sister said excited thinking she could fulfil a wish for you
âOh Luceâ Keira sighed
âI know... she's going to be so happyâ Lucy could hardly contain her excitement
âOh you have no ideaâ 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 â 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 â 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 â like formula one shoes.
âSo you bring her in tomorrow?â Lucy asked hopefully
âAsleep as possible... I'll get her to Nuo around 8... you better be there and get her in that harness before she interacts with MapĂ because that will kick-start herâ Keira sighed again knowing tomorrow will be an absolute disaster.
âThanks Keiâ your sister said happily âI'll wait in front of the locker room for youâ
âYou owe me Luce...â the blonde replied
âWhat do you want?â Lucy asked interested
âI want to have Narla over Christmasâ Keira said
âHard bargain there, Walsh... but okay... but I get her new yearsâ your sister huffed out
âOkay... 8 o'clock locker room.. if you're late I'll let MapĂ talk to herâ the blonde threatened playfully
âAye woman...â Lucy answered and Keira could just picture how she put her hand up to a mock salute
âHate youâ the blonde grinned
âNo you don't.... see you tomorrow Kiewaâ 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
âWhy can't you always be so sweet?â the blonde mumbled lowly a slight smile on her lips
As if you heard her you started to snore â very lightly which caused Keira to laugh quietly before laying down on your other side. Just like always you immediately noticed the âintruderâ as you turned around still asleep as you cuddled up to Keiras side
âBitsy come on.. wake up... we're leaving in fiveâ Keira shook you awake next morning
âNooooo...â you whined sleepily turning away from her â... five more minutesâ
âWe're leaving in five, Bitsy... come on... up and at emâ the blonde didn't give up âUp... now... teeth, clothes, carâ she said sternly
âKei... noooooâ you whined trying to get away from her shaking
âUp NOW Bitsyâ the blonde got even more firm â which she hated herself for
âYeah okay... I'm upâ 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
âIs that my bucky?â the blonde asked confused
âCouldn't find anything else and I'm NOT sitting in the sun today... learned my lessonâ you mumbled and Keira noticed how grumpy you were
âCome on Bitsy... I'll get you coffee at Camp Nuoâ the blonde said hoping to get your spirits up just a little bit â 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
âKayâ 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
âJesus... bet some people died in here trying to find a toiletâ 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
âNot so bad once you figured it out... you were here before, you know.. you just were very VERY high... Alexia lost you twice â not that your sister knows but still... Capi needed to confine someoneâ Keira laughed
âI actually don't know... I was high... I know NOTHING from that dayâ you grumbled as you spotted your sister waiting in front of a door that looked just like the 500 doors you already passed.
âBon dia Bubsâ your sister smiled warmly
âBon fuck yourselfâ you grumbled while you walked passed her thinking you need to keep going as Lucy grabbed your shirt to pull you back
âLocker room is this wayâ 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 âStill got itâ
âWha... Wha... Wait what??â you stuttered as you tried to comprehend what just happened
âIt's okay Bubs... just want you to be saveâ 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
âBubs come on... calm downâ your sister tried again âBon dia Capiâ she smile quickly at Alexia before she got dragged on
âI... don't even want to knowâ the blonde spaniard mumbled to herself as she continued her way to the locker room
âThe Bronzes out there?â Keira asked as Alexia entered the changing room
âThis way... CariĂąo seemed quite aggressive this morningâ the blonde pointed to the right
âYeah... Lucy jumped her with the dino-harness... did anyone had any blood on them?â Keira asked getting a little concerned when Alexia used âaggressiveâ
âNot that I saw... but the CariĂąo pulled Lucy around like she weight nothing...â the spaniard answered as she tied her cleats
âYeah... y/n in a bad mood is someone you don't want to cross...â the blonde englishwoman said as she stood up from her cubical grabbing her water bottle
âAnd why exactly is CariĂąo pulling around Lucia?â Alexia now questioned as she copied Keira and grabbed her bottle as well when the two women make their way to the field
âYou'll seeâ Keira grinned knowingly
âBon diaâ the two blonde smiled towards the media staff as they recorded the famous arriving of the players
âLEFT!!! TO THE LEFT!!!!â the whole team heard Lucys yelling and all heads turned towards the tunnel exit
âI'LL PRESENT YOU MY LEFT TO YOUR NOSE IN A SECOND!!!!! LET ME THE FUCK GO!!! THIS IS LITERALLY KIDNAPPING!!!â you shouted back and Keira heard that you were about to lose it
âHA!!!!!â Lucy exclaimed as she pulled you out after her âYou admit you're a kid... so you get treated like one.... Bon diaâ your sister smiled at the camera having the leash over her shoulder walking slightly hunched forward as you got pulled backwards.
âI swear to god Lucy... I rip you to piecesâ 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. MapĂ 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
âNooooo... we don't fightâ your sister said sternly as she held the leash tightly digging her feet into the grass so you couldn't pull her along again
âShe's laughingâ you said accusing and even Lucy saw that your patienceâs wearing thin
âLet her Bubs... come on... I even got you some coffee and ice creamâ your sister tried to lure you away as MapĂ stupidly opened her mouth
âYou wearing a kiddie-leashâ the spaniard laughed loudly as Ingrid stepped in looking at Lucy
âWhere did you find that? That is a great idea!!â the Norwegian asked interested
âBronzo? 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 stationâ your sister grinned as she playfully tugged on the leash
âYou werenât âoccupiedâ you were shoving your tongue down Keiras throat!!!â you exclaimed aggregated
âI think my life would benefit from something like this as wellâ Ingrid mused her eyes sparkling
âWhy would we need something like this, mi amor?â MapĂ now asked confused
Ingrid just raised an eyebrow expectantly at her girlfriend waiting for her to catch on â and finally she did
âNO.... I donât need something like this... Iâm no hijaâ the tattooed spaniard exclaimed annoyed looking at you pointingly as she referred to you as a child
âYou sure sound like one at the moment...â the Norwegian grinned as MapĂ 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
âcĂĄlmateâ the blonde spaniard said calmly and the usage of spanish got you out of your head
âHuh?â you asked as you looked at her confused
âcĂĄlmateâ Alexia repeated softly
âCellmate?â you asked even more confused âmakes no sense dudeâ
âIt means âCalm downâ in spanishâ the blonde answered her voice calm and low
âHa... so calm mate is making senseâ you said but weirdly you felt much more calm
âIt kinda does, doesn't itâ 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 MapĂ 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.
âShit Capi is goodâ Lucy mumbled loosening the leash so you wouldn't feel the pressure and would snap again
âShut up before you shift her focus and we have another fight on our handsâ 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.
âAre you gonna be good and stay here or do I have to tie this leash to one of the posts?â Alexia asked you quietly but still firmly
âNot gonna runâ you mumbled kinda ashamed and embarrassed being strapped into a kiddie-harness right in front of (yet again) world class players âSo embarrassingâ
âNo need to be embarrassed CariĂąo... we just want you saveâ the blonde said quietly keeping this interaction as private as possible âAnd it makes Lucia feel so much better knowing you're saveâ
âShe could just have...â you started but couldn't come up with a reasonable solution
âIt's the best solution for now... and after training I'll let you chase MapĂ for making fun of you, okay.. now please stay here â 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 soâ Alexia said softly but it was a fair warning to you
âBenefit...â you mumbled not meeting her eyes âIt's benefit of the doubt... but thank youâ
âIf you need something just yell or tell one of the staff members okay?â the blonde smiled warmly at you
âIs there coffee around?â 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
âCortado is on the wayâ the Capitan winked âyou remember âthank youâ in spanish?â
âMoohtschas grazia or something like thatâ you said after a second of thinking and you could see Alexia visibly flinch at your butchering her mother tongue
âYou have to speak softer, CariĂąo... spanish is a soft language â not harsh... try again... muchas graciasâ the blonde encouraged you to try again
âThat's what I said... Moohtschas graziasâ you said confused
âYou are to hard on the âsâ... it's âsâ like ⌠sunshine... not âzâ like... what's this white and black horse?â she tried to remember
âZebraâ you helped her out
âSĂ... Zebra... again... muchas...â Alexia spoke slowly empathizing the âsâ
âmuchasâ you tried to copy her pronunciation
âgraciasâ the blonde said slowly again
âgraciasâ you followed
âBĂen... muchas graciasâ Alexia smiled proudly at you âNow be good and stay hereâ 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
âIt's okay Bitsy... it's how the spanish are, okay... she doesn't mean any harmâ Keira spoke calmly since she knew what physical contact â at least not predicted one â did to you.
âIt's just the way they are around here, okay... they're very touchy feely... no need to freak out Bitsy okayâ the blonde englishwoman kept talking until you looked at her
âShe... she kissed meâ you stuttered out
âI saw... but she doesn't mean any harm â it's really how they are hereâ Keira reassured you
âI... didn't like it... she didn't say anything beforehandâ you said and the blonde could see how you were fighting an internal battle
âShe doesn't know... no one knows you don't like contact like thatâ the blonde stayed calm through your conversation
âWhy did she do that?â you asked confused
âShe wanted to show you how good you didâ Keira once again reassured you
âIce cream would have done the jobâ you mumbled which caused the blonde to burst out laughing
âI know... but I can see some coffee coming this way... I bet it has your name on itâ Keira smiled as she stroke through your hair and turned around to leave you to re-join training.
âmuchas graciasâ you said as the young man who grinned widely as he answered âDe Nadaâ
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 â 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
âWhat's wrong Bubs... Jona said you might have hurt yourself he said you groaned quite loudlyâ your sister asked worried
âM not hurt... but this is so boring and your playing is so predictable...â you rolled your eyes
âWhat do you mean?â Lucy asked confused
âOkay wait...â you waited until the whistle blew again âIngrid will pass it to Ona, MapĂ 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 timeâ you said and it happened exactly like you said just that you said it about 10 seconds before it all happened
âWhat the...â your sister listened to you as you predicted the whole tactic move before it even got played out now looking at you shocked
âTold you.. predictableâ you shrugged your shoulders as Lucy waved Jona over to her speaking to him in spanish as now HIS eyes snapped towards you.
âMind if we try something Bubs?â Lucy asked you smiling slightly
âI'm NOT trying your protein shakes againâ you exclaimed
âNo... I just want to show Jona somethingâ she laughed as she nodded to her trainer.
Jona yelled something in spanish and the teams mixed up before he looked at you expectantly
âTell me what's going to happen now, Bubs... I'll translate for himâ Lucy encouraged you as you scanned the field and who the players were positioned
After a few minutes you looked at your sister âTeam 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 â 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 lateâ 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 â 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
âHow did you know this?â Lucy asked you after Jona talked to her for a minute
âPredictableâ you felt like a broken record âYou guys focus too much on the forwards... you have an amazing midfield but you only go for the forwards... itâs a wonder youâre opponents havenât figured it out alreadyâ
Lucy again translated what you said to her trainer who couldn't stop to look at you with a shocked face
âHe wants youâ your sister grinned
âYeah no... I don't dingdongs... sorryâ you waved off before yelling over to the field âKeira... 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 iceâ
âHe wants you in his training staff you horny bitchâ Lucy bit out
âYeah... he can get in lineâ you mumbled watching Keira closely as she tried to follow through with what you just said
âWhat was that?â your sister asked confused
âKEIRA 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!!!â you yelled again not happy with the outcome of your âpointersâ
âDear heavensâ Lucy groaned as half the team looked at her while the other half looks at Keira âNo more caffeine for youâ
âIt's not the caffeine that's the problem here...â you mumbled watching Keira step up to the ball again
âThen what is?â Lucy asked annoyed
âYou REALLY want the answer to this question?â you raised an eyebrow at her
âOn second thought...â your sister interrupted quickly
âYep.. thought so...â you grinned fake âBETTER KEI!! Good jobâ you yelled out as the ball was nearly perfect
âThanks Bitsyâ the blonde yelled back smiling
âAlwaysâ you shouted before sitting down again
âWhat did you mean when you said Jona can get in line?â Lucy asked bringing the former topic back up
âYou really think he's the first trainer that offered me a job??â you looked at her in disbelieve
âI... can't follow youâ your sister said getting more and more confused
âThe 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 lineâ you said seriously as you looked your sister straight in the eye
âI had no ideaâ Lucy said slowly compensating the information
âYeah... it's not like I make a big deal out of itâ you shrugged but Lucy knew you wanted to say something else
âYou can always talk to me, Bubsâ she said knowing you would need to hear it again and again and again
âYeah... I knowâ you sighed
âGood... I'm going back to training okay... we have about 30 minutes left then we can go for ice cream...â she smiled softly at you before turning around leaving
âHey Luce?â you shouted after her
âYeah?â
âCan I have your phone please... mines dead again and I'm bored... you have games on your phone right?â you asked pouting a little for good measure
âSure... pin is your birthdayâ your sister went over to her bag quickly and tossed you her phone
âLove youâ you shouted after her.
Just as you wanted to start playing candy crush it started to ring. Caller was âLionessesâ. So you figured you could answer the phone.
âLucy Bronzes phone... you're speaking with the better looking and younger versionâ you answered the call
There was a beat of silence before the other person started to speak
âY/n??â you heard a confuses voice
âHi Mama Rinaâ you said happily noticing Sarinas voice immediately
âI thought I called Lucyâ the Dutch was majorly confused
âYou did... I'm currently at the Camp Nope watching her train and I got bored so I got her phone to play candy crushâ you explained as the smile never left your face.
âOooooh okay... think she can make it to Camp next week?â Sarina asked and you could her smile through the phone
âWait... I'll ask her...â you said before covering the phone with your hand âLUUUCCYYYY!!!! SARINA WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU ARE FREE NEXT WEEK FOR CAMP!!!â you yelled of the top of your lungs
âWHAT?â your sister asked confused
âNATIONALCAMP NEXT WEEK!! YES? NO?â you yelled again
âYES OF COURSE!!!â Lucy yelled already on her way over again
âShe said yes... Keira is here tooâ you got back to the call
âWould you mind, Liefje?â Sarina asked you already pulling the phone away from her ear knowing you're going to start yelling in a second
âKEIRA??? NATIONALCAMP â YES OR NO?!â you yelled to the blonde englishwoman
âYESâ Keira just yelled back not bothering asking why you asked her
âKei said yes too...â you repeated the answer to the womans national coach
âThank you, snoepje... I'll see you all in a week thenâ the Dutch smiled and ended the call
âWhy are you on the phone with Sarina?â your sister asked
âShe called...â you shrugged your shoulders âFlights will be send per email as usualâ
âShe called... okay...â Lucy said dumb folded and left again
Just as training was about to end and you roamed the side line a little bit â always under the watchful eye of Alexia, Lucy and Keira â MapĂ 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
âY/N!! WATCH OUT!â 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 â and yet here you were assisting a âgoalâ for Keira and it was all MapĂs fault. No one dared to move as they kept staring at you â and suddenly it clicked in your head. You looked at Lucy. You looked at Keira.
âBubs no... it's okay... you're okayâ 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 â 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
âIt's okay Bubs... nothing happened... you're okay..â Lucy reassured you over and over again as you keep struggling in her arms trying to get free
âYou need to breath for me Bubs... come one... deep breathsâ 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 MapĂ dropped to her knees in front of the two of you.
âNeĂąa... NeĂąa I'm so sorry... I didn't mean too... pleaseâ 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 MapĂ. 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
âMaps please... I know you're sorry and I know it wasn't on purpose but I need you to leave us alone right nowâ 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.
âI just want her to know how sorry I am... I really didn't mean to... Keira said I opened the box of Pandoraâ the tattooed spaniard said and Lucy heard the desperation in her voice
âI know Maps... I know it wasnât intentional... and I promise you everything will be okay again â it's not the first time I'm going through this with her and she will calm down eventually... we just need spaceâ your sister answered â even tho her voice got quite nasally â calmly to not set the spaniard off even more.
She could see how MapĂ beat herself up but she was oh so thankful when she heard another pair of footsteps approaching and seconds later MapĂ 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
âI know Bubs... it's still too much for you and I know you need to work through it in your own time...â 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
âThat was a bad oneâ the blonde whispered as she slid down next to the two of you.
âI'm so thankful for that stupid leash... we wouldn't have found her for at least days Kei... if not weeksâ Lucy whispered back as she adjusted your hold on you pulling you closer to her chest
âI know... but MapĂ didn't mean too...â Keira said as she kept her voice low
âI know... I'm not blaming her or anyone... it was a stupid coincidenceâ your sister answered her eyes never leaving you
âShe just broke down in the locker room... she's beating herself up really bad for thatâ the blonde whispered
âIngrid with her?â Lucy asked alarmed not wanting MapĂ to fall down into a mental hole as well â one mental breakdown was enough for one day.
âCourse... 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 herâ Keira said and a low chuckle left her throat
âIt's the Bronze charm... you fell for it too... twice actuallyâ your sister smiled slightly
âYou wish... you figured out already that G is a cover... you think I was after you?â the blonde teased back
âKeira Fae...â Lucy faked gasped shocked â... are you implying you were after my Sister the whole time?â
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 â she took your hand into hers without and comment making sure to keep a good hold of it.
âIt's okay Bitsy... we're hereâ the blonde whispered calmly
You just sunk deeper into your sisters arms pressing your face into the crook of her neck feeling utterly exhausted
âYou should get your nose checked outâ Keira said referring to the dried blood on Lucys face
âLater... not important right nowâ your sister mumbled squeezing you tighter to her chest
âM sorry Luceâ you mumbled against her neck
âS okay Bubs... you just got scaredâ Lucy mumbled back pressing a kiss to your forehead
âM sorry to MapĂ too... probly scared herâ you half-slurred as your body felt heavy your mind exhausted
âDon't worry about it... you can talk to her tomorrow on the phone, okay?â your sister reassured you softly
âWant to pologize n personâ you said as your closed again
âOkay... but tomorrow... you okay moving to the locker room?â Lucy asked carefully
âDon't want to see anyoneâ you shook your head
âI'll clear it outâ Keira said as she stood up âGive me five minutesâ
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
âCome here Bitsy... the old woman needs help to stand upâ 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.
âI'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 leaveâ Lucy spoke softly knowing from past experience that you couldn't deal with loud noises in that state
âS okay...â you mumbled taking a small sip of the water
âOkayâ your sister sighed relieved âI'll be back in a flash okay Bubsâ
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 â 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 â 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
âYou need anything, Bebita?â the blonde freckled spaniard asked quietly
âHugâ you whined out
âVen aquĂ entoncesâ 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 â you fast asleep in Onas arms who looked like she was hardly breathing not wanting to scare you.
âWelcome to the familyâ Lucy smiled as she passed you seeing how content you apparently felt in her girlfriends arms
âI didn't to anything I swear... she asked for a hug then threw herself at me and seconds later she was out like a lightâ the spaniard whispered her voice slightly panicked not wanting to set you off.
âDon't worry... she won't wake up...â Lucy waved off speaking normal volume âI 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 Babeâ
âIs this her way of telling me she's okay with me dating you?â Ona smiled
âIt's more than that... she's telling you that she trusts youâ your sister said as she put a new shirt on âYou know if a physio is still around? Need my nose checked out â don't think it's broken but better save than sorryâ
âMarc should still be around...â the spaniard answered âWhat's with herâ
âHope you're comfortable... I'll be back quicklyâ 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
âWow... extra security detail... she's asleep â no need for bodyguardsâ your sister joked as she laid eyes on her two teammates
âHow is she?â Keira asked cutting straight to the point
âAsleep... Ona seems to meet her standards when it comes to sleepabilityâ Lucy smiled
âGood... keep me updated... and if you need anythingâ the blonde started already grabbing her things knowing there's nothing for her to do anymore
âI'll text you... thanks Kei... it really meant a lot... also means... thank youâ your sister said honestly
âAlways Luce... always... whatever you need... or whatever she needsâ Keira smiled back warmly
âKay... see you tomorrow Keiâ Lucy hugged her ex girlfriend and pressed a soft kiss to her temple
âAnd what can I do for you Capi?â your sister asked expectantly after she turned around
âLet's take a walk?â the blonde spaniard asked
âI need to see Marc anyway...â Lucy shrugged her shoulders
âWhat happened?â Alexia asked straight away
âPanic attackâ your sister answered as the two women walked down the hallway
âBut why... nothing happenedâ the blonde asked confused
âFor us it was nothing... for her it opened up old deep woundsâ Lucy answered âI'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 â 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 â 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 againâ
Alexia listened carefully before looking at Lucy with a sorrow face
âNo...â your sister immediately said sternly âWe don't pity her of feel sorry for her... we're proud of her...â
âShe didn't deserve that... that ball was PERFECT Lucia...â the blonde spaniard said and her voice was full of hurt
âI 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 â 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 KNOWâ Lucy answered and for a second Alexia saw just how hurt Lucy was for you âBut she fought... three times she fought back... doc said she'd probably will have a limp all live â do you see her limping? No... because she fought... so no, we don't pity her... we're so SO proud of herâ
âShe is remarkable, just like her biggest Idol....â Alexia smiled but it had a sad nuance
âI wish I was half as Tough as she isâ your sister smiled back understanding her Capitan immediately.
âJust keep being there for her Lucia... she doesn't need anything more from you...â the blonde squeezed Lucys shoulder lightly âAnd now get that nose checked... you looked... not very appealingâ
âI looked like shit... but thanks Capi... see you tomorrowâ your sister smiled as she went inside to the physio who told her a few proddings later that her nose was in fact fine
âHey... I'm backâ Lucy said lowly finding you and Ona in the same position she left you in
âHola... you okay?â Ona asked smiling slightly as you drooled on her shirt your head laying on her shoulder
âNothing broken... just bruised.... home?â your sister asked as she already packed up hers and Onas stuff
âYou really want to move her? She's sleeping so peacefullyâ the blonde asked concerned looking down on you.
âYou want to stay here all night?â Lucy asked back raising an eyebrow
âLet's get her homeâ Ona said after a second
âYep thought so... You bags I her?â your sister asked smiling
âI bag and keys...â the blonde grinned â... you know since she's around I'm driving your car more than you do... I like it... she can stayâ the blonde winked
âYou wish...â Lucy huffed as she pulled you into her arms to carry you to the car âLet's go home Bubsâ she whispered and smiled as you sighed out pressing your face against her neck.
#woso image#lucy bronze x reader#keira walsh x reader#barca femeni#mapi leon x reader#ingrid engen x reader#lucy bronze#ona batlle x reader#alexia putellas x reader
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đđđđ đđ đđ đđđ đđđđđ âł 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
Thereâs 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 offâmaybe 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 missionâbreakfast first.
Thereâs 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 fishinâ. Back in an hour.
      â 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.Â
You canât 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 largeâvery large deer that has creeped up on you, as curious of your presence as it should be and itâs already too late that youâre spilling your coffee over your chest at the sight, feeling fully awake now.
âJesus, dude,â You talk to the animal on the other side of the glass, âseriously?â
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, thereâs 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 roomâwhich is a quick venture, knowing wet and cold donât mix well.
Changing in Joelâsâwell, 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 Joelâs face quickly morphing to a mix of fear andâŚsomething else. You donât want to mistake it for what it isnât, but his eyes wander for a brief moment before his brain restarts and he quickly apologizes.
âFuckinââIâm sorryâŚsorry,â He turns on his heels and shuts the door, but not before adding another, âSorry.â 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 heâs lingering in the kitchen, working away at something you canât see, his body acting as a shield.Â
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 Joelâs attention your way.
Not addressing the elephant in the room, you say, âWhy the hell are you fishing in the winter?â
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.
âTrout are a winter fish,â Joel explains, âeasier to catch around this time.â
âOh.â Youâre slightly disinterested, disgusted by the idea of raw and dead fish sitting a few feet away from you.
âI fish a lot,â Joel offers as a way to break the awkward silence, âback home.â
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 vacationâso, you quickly defuse the tension.
âJoelâŚâ You test the waters, moving beside him to stretch yourself into the stool, leaning into his view to catch his gaze, âyou saw me naked.â
Joel glances your way brieflyâalright, better.
âThat I did.â Joel offers.
âYou apologized, Iâm not mad.â
Joel stays quiet, the usual scowl creeping back on his face.
âIf weâre being realistic, it was going to happen at some point.âÂ
Joel doesnât respond much, outside of an utterance of words you canât hear and donât bother to understand, shifting the subject back to the disgusting thing a few feet away from you both.
âSo, Iâm guessing you didnât catch those for fun?â You ask curiously.
âFigured I could cook âem,â Joel offers, his shoulders relaxing slightly, ââguess I never asked, but you like fish?â
âWhen itâs cooked, yeah.â You joke lightly. âDo you always cook this much?â
Joel nods, finally chancing a look in your direction, noting the unlikely cheerfulness in your eyesâhe knows he shouldnât 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.
âI might need to convince you to give me a few lessons before we leave here,â You chide lightly, elbowing him, âI mean, if youâre open to that.â
âHow about tonight?â Joel asks.
You smile wider, relieved that the incident this morning hadnât completely broken Joel.
âDeal.â
â
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, quicklyâyour 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 wouldâve been great to catch his demonstration if your eyes hadnât 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 mishapâheâs 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.
âYouâll burn yourself if you keep it like that,â Joel explains, arm slipping behind you to adjust the pan, finding the sweet spot, ârightânow you spoon the butter over the top and itâll cook it while the pan sears the other side.â
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, âAnd this is called?â
âBasting,â Joel explains, âeyes on the pan, darlinâ.â
You nod, returning your attention to the pan. But, you can still feel Joelâs eyes as you turn away, and you know. After a few minutes, you feel the boldness to call him out on it, âJoel, eyes on the pan.â 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, âremember?â
Joe shifts you aside gently as he prys the pan from your grip, shunning you to watch now.
âGo sit,â He nods toward the stool on the exterior of the island, âIâll finish up.â
And he does, working away quietly at the food before heâs sliding a plate your way, offering a fork up by the handle. You smile and take it with a soft look of appreciation.
âSo, think youâll take up cookinâ classes when you get back to Austin?â Joel jokes, digging into his own food as he comes to sit beside you.
âProbably not,â you decide, chewing thoughtfully around a bite, âI can appreciate it, but it doesnât reallyâŚintrigue me, I guess.â
Joel surprises you with a quick reply, âWhat does?â
Youâve never really thought about it, wondering if that was why you felt so lost in your life. You didnât 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.
âUh, books. ArtâŚspending vacation with strangers,â 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, âI like trying new things.â
Joel canât 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 couchâyou 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.
Thereâs no shame this time, hiding your quiet laugh behind the blanket.
âHow do you feel about movies?â Joel asks curiously, rising from his seat lazily.
âTheyâreâŚfine?â You look at him with full confusion, following his figure as he moves around the living area, âWhy?â
âMeanâhow do you feel about watchinâ a movie?â
âJoel, we kinda need a television for that.â
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 windowâguess not.
âWhat the fuck?â You ask in utter shock, rising slightly from your position on the couch.Â
âYouâre not very observant, you know?â Joel jokes playfully, in his own way.
âOnly when I want to be.â You shrug, offering a mischievous smile that implies something that Joel isnât touchingânot a fuckinâ chance.
He quickly switches bases.
âI think I saw some old movies in the storage room when I got here,â Joel offers, âStay put.â
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, âSoâpretty sure these are all a bunch of foreign films,â flipping a couple of the covers back and forth, failing to discern anything of tangible recognition, âbut, itâll have to work.â
âWhat? You donât knowââ You snatch one of the cases away when heâs close enough, glancing over the cover, âFrench?â
âDo you?â 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.Â
You shrug, âNope.â
It made sense, given the awkward angle and Joelâs sensitive, aching jointsâa 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.Â
You shift to your back, tucking a pillow under your head and jumping on the opportunity to outstretch your legs over Joelâs 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 materialâJoel 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 youâre 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.Â
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 momentâcomfortable 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 youâll find a way to make him feel the ultimate wrath if he brought you to bed and opted for the couch for himself.Â
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 youâre sound asleep and unmoving. Thereâs 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 heâs always done for Sarahânot that this is similar, but itâs the natural instinct of taking care of in Joel, the need to protect and provide, itâs always been there, no matter how dormant.Â
Heâs still careful to keep his distance, a makeshift barrier separating you both, but he sleeps peacefullyâjust like the night before.Â
â
Almost too peacefully, heâll 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, youâve snuggled up to his chest with your arms held close to yoursâthough 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.
Thereâs 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.Â
Heâs unaware, blissfully, sleeping like he hasnât in years and his walls are down, selfishly craving your own body heat to mix with his ownâand normally you hated the idea, feeling suffocated by the temperature and sweat, but in this weather and under the low light of the morning, itâs desirable.Â
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 canât 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 brownâcurlier than it was now, but some of the pattern still remained where it wasnât flattened out by sleep. He also seems to keep his neck trimmed up, stubble stopping somewhere around his Adam's apple.
Youâve never spent so much time lookingâadmiring, someone to this extent.Â
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.Â
âFinally awake?â Joel asks suddenly, voice thick with sleep but his eyes remain closed. You jump slightly and it forces a chuckle from Joel.
âI fell asleep during the movie,â You gather when you finally pull yourself from the trance of admiring Joel, âdidnât I?â
Joel nods silently, raising a hand to run through his messy hair, scratching at his scalp idly.
âDid you carry me to bed?âÂ
The answer seemed obvious, but the confirmation is something to ease your mind.
âHope you donât mind,â Joel apologizes, âyou were sleepinâ pretty deep and I didnât wanna wake you.â
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.Â
âAny plans today?â You ask curiously, softer in tone than before.Â
âThink I might catch up on some sleep of my own, actually.â 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 yearsâand he wishes it felt unsettling, but it brings a comfort that Joel thinks he could find himself becoming addicted to.
âCan you figure out the fireplace?â 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, âDuh, Joel.â
It sounds confident, but admittedly, you were clueless.
â
The highlight of your day wasnât managing to actually start the fireâyou try to memorize what Joel had done, carefully arranging the logs in a delicate stack and adding a fair amount of kindling.Â
You could blame Joel for struggling so hard at first, but it was all youâJoel was just very distracting and you had eyes, so it only seemed fair to enjoy the view.Â
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 secondâit also shouldnât be mistake than Joel always makes an effort to basically flaunt his ass off when he leans inside to clean up the leftover ash.Â
Regardless, you find the highlight of your day comes laterânot 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.Â
You watch him over the couch, arm tucked under your chin as you squint to focus and realize that whatever heâs focused on is wood, in the shape of something you canât make out.
âGo on and ask,â Joel senses your eyes, âyou look like youâre gonna hurt yourself thinkinâ so hard.â He hadnât even looked your wayâbut then his eyes were flicking up to catch your guilty gaze.
âWhat are you doing?â You take the bait and ask.
âEver heard of whittlinâ?â Joel asks, shaving off a couple pieces into the trash, âMakinâ fancy stuff out of wood?â
Normally, Joel wouldnât 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 assumptionsâbut with you here, barriers down and attraction high, Joel wants to let you in.Â
Little steps, he thinks.
Still, he battles with the idea of letting you get too close.
âSâthat what you like doing in your free time?â
Joel shrugs, lips pursed together indifferently.
âCome on,â You tease, âI think itâs cool.â
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 carefullyâyou rub your fingers over the softened, worn down edges and admire what Joel had been working so diligently on most of the day.
Itâs a butterflyânothing incredibly detailed, more cartoonish with bubble wings but the sentiment is there all the same.
âI like it,â You offer up, âsomething tells me youâre not a butterfly type guy, though.â
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.
âItâs uhââ Joel hesitates briefly, but remembers the small secret he shared with you during a moment of vulnerability, âfor my daughter.â
âShe likes butterflies?â You surmise, noticing the way Joel cradles it in his hands, rubs the wood gingerly with his thumb like heâs remembering something, your eyes looking up to find the sadness in his expression, subtle but there.Â
He quickly wills it away, nodding, âYeahâgot âem all over her room.â
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. Heâs allowed himself to suffer in silence and youâre starting realize thatâluckily, you had an idea.
Not a brilliant one. But, it was something.
âHey,â 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, âlet me cook dinner for you.â
Itâs an insane conceptâand you read the reaction all over Joelâs face.
âOh, stop,â You push him gently, âseriouslyâI can handle basic stuff, just let me try?â
You add an irresistible pout that Joel canât deny.
He caves with a soft, âSure.â
â
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.Â
First, you manage to slice your finger when you ignore Joelâs previous instruction about tucking your fingertips inâ
âFuck.â 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 hadnât somehow managed to stab through your hand entirely.
Thankfully, itâs 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.Â
Though, you canât 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.
âGoddamnit!â You shout in frustration, lifting up your shirt slightly with your uninjured hand, spotting the quickly growing red patch of skin.Â
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, âItâs nothinâ major, just gonna sting for about an hour or so probably. Keep this on there and itâll help with the burning.â
You do as youâre told, letting him guide your hand to replace his own and catching the seriousness in his eyes.
âGo, sit.â He orders, nodding in the direction of the dining table, âIâll finish up.â
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 werenât so annoyed at your inability to handle something so simple.
Eventually, Joel wraps up cooking but doesnât 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 burnâyou canât help but since slightly, but the sting is much more dull.Â
âStill hurt pretty bad?â Joel asks, hand unmoving against your skin, both of your eyes locked on the contact, sinking and rising with the shallow breath you take.
âIâll survive.â
You look up at Joel sheepishly, spotting him chewing away at the inside of his cheek in thought before heâs backing away from you suddenly, searching through cabinets for something, silent as he looks.Â
When he finally finds what heâs 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.
âHoney?â 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.Â
âLet me go searchinâ for that first aid kit,â Joel tells you, âthink I saw it under the bathroom sink.â
âJoel,â You plead, âitâs fineâitâs just a burn.â
But, he hears none of it.Â
Heâs 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.Â
Defeated, you sit.
â
âSo, honey?â You ask curiously, âWhat's the trick with that?â
âUhâhas healinâ properties,â Joel says slowly, brow scrunched together in thought, âthe uhââ
âYou donât know.â You quickly interject, a mischievous smile on your face.
âNo,â Joel admits, âjust somethinâ my mom used when I was young, always helped. I donât know the science behind it.â
Joel is quiet over dinner, the lighthearted mood shifting to something you canât 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.
âJoel, itâs not your fault,â You laugh softly, âIâm clumsy, you touched me and I jumped, itâs fine.â
âSeems you do a lot of that âround me,â Joel says, dejected, âIâm sorry.â
Fuck itâJoel needed the reassurance and you were going to give it to him.
You quickly stab a fork into the meatball heâs going for, pulling his attention up abruptly.
âLet me clear this up,â You tell him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours, âIâm jumpy because you make me nervous, alright?â
Joel doesnât respond, sensing that you had more to say, but also because he didnât know what to say.Â
âAnd not bad nervous, if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
Joel looks down at the fork impaling his food and makes a quick comment, âYou wanna give that up or are you tryinâ to keep it hostage?â You smirk slightly and shake the meatball off your fork.
Then, Joel surprises you.
âSoâŚgood nervous then?â And you nod, Joel still feigns confusion, âWhatâs that about?â
âOh, so weâre done pouting now?â Itâs 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 carefullyâyou had to ease him into it. âCome on, JoelâIâm sure youâve got enough experience to knowâŚâ
Maybe it was your inability to admit you were attracted to Joel in the off chance those feelings werenât returned, but you want Joel to figure things out for himself.
âHuh,â Joel huffs out a breath, smiling creeping on his face, âguess all that starinâ wasnât just cause you thought I looked funny?â
Absolutely notânever in a million fucking years.
âGood eye,â You congratulate him playfully, âbut, I donât think Iâm the only guilty one, yaâ know?â
Which, fineâit 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 actionsâreally, you were just nervous.
Good nervousness that ended up with a burn across your stomach, but stillâit was something.
Joel does seem slightly guilty for his actions, but there is little to be said, nothing to be excused. You didnât mind and Joel was quickly coming to that conclusion himself.Â
âOwn it, Joel,â You tease, âif I had a problem with it you wouldâve known by now.â
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 doesnât realize youâre cleaning up without him until a few minutes later, lost in thought with nothing but the battling forces in his head telling himâNo. Donât entertain this. Nothing good can come of it.Â
But, then he turns and youâre smiling at him. Itâs inviting, warm, and Joel wants to stifle it with his own mouthâa thought that startles him from his stupor and gets him moving, offering to help now that heâs 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.
Thereâs 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 youâve yet to witness.
It wasnât disappointment or anger, nothing that leaned toward any idea that Joel might be upsetâinstead, he almost expects you to do more. Like heâs challenging it. Playful. Thatâs 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.
âDo it again,â 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, âI dare you.â
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 Joelâs quick thinking, hands now completely free.Â
Heâs got your wrists in a solid hold before you can think, water backfiring as it drenches your shirt, but even thenâthe look on Joelâs face? Priceless.Â
Your chest rises and falls furiously, struggling feebly against his hold.
There he is.Â
This is the Joel youâve wanted to see. That youâve 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 doesnât happen.
Instead, Joel holds you thereâthe most contact heâs offered since you met a week and a half ago, hoping that youâll 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.
âWhat?â You tease, âCanât handle getting a little wet?â
âThink I should be askinâ you the same thing?â
And, for some reason, you donât think heâs talking about the water.
Luckily, you find it in you to finally wiggle from his grip before youâre 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.
âHey,â You call out as a forewarning, catching Joel angle his head toward you slightly, âhow about another movie night?â
âDarlinâ, I donât think thereâs much of a selection back there,â Joel offers, insides turning to goo at the warmth in his voice, âmuch as Iâd enjoy that.â
Fine. Scratch that.
You abandon the kitchen with a devious idea in your head, determined to find something.
âWhere you goinâ?â 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.
âDonât worry about it.â 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 didnât 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.Â
You couldâve established some idea of it in college, but the idea never appealed to you.Â
Joel is already on the couch when you return, sleeves pushed up his forearms still from where he wouldâve had them submerged into water otherwise. He mustâve fixed his hair at some point, finding that while it was still mostly a mess, it wasnât 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.
âCards?â Joel sounds a little lackluster, âYou wanna play poker?â
âUh, noânot exactly,â You explain, pulling at his hand until he splayed his palm out face up, slapping the box into it, âhow about Go Fish? âLeast thatâs more my speed.â
âI can teach you âf you want,â Joel offers, but is quickly shot down by a shake of your head, ââOkayâŚâ
âIâll go pour us some drinks,â You explain, âand you can move the table around so we both have enough room to sit on each side.â
âWhat are you planninâ?â Joel eyes you suspiciously, noticing the grin that hasnât faded from your face, only growing wider when he asks.
âJust trust me, okay?â
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 kneesâmeanwhile, Joelâs eyes are tracking every moment, curiously suspicious.
âAlright, out with it,â Joel finally finds the courage to force the confession out of you, âwhatâs goinâ on in the head of yours?â
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.
âSoâI never played much poker in college, all I can really understand is Go Fish, but,â Joel feels like he might explode if you donât reach the point and heâs sure thatâs what youâre aiming for, so he keeps his cool, âI figure Strip Poker is a thing, so why not try it with this?â
âI donât thinkââÂ
Joel, again, is self-sabotaging, against his own better judgement.
âJoel, itâs fine.â You assure him, âWeâre both consenting adults and itâs harmless.â
 Harmless. Yeah.
Joel fears that might be a statement that goes down in history as the biggest lie heâs ever heard.
âUnless, you know, youâre scared.â
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.
âGive me your jacks.â He orders, spreading his cards out in his grip.
Strike one.
âMmm,â You hesitate, eyes flicking up deviously, âgo fish, Joel.â
âBullshit.â Joel fires back, much to your surprise. It pulls a laugh from your chest.
âHey, Iâm playing fair.â You respond calmly, âThose are the rules.â
Itâs a hit to Joelâs ego, losing first. He works diligent fingers around his watch, flicking the clasp open before laying it gently on the table.
âAlright,â You take a breath, scanning over your cards, âUh..got any 7s?â
Joel eyes you for a brief moment, wondering if you were cheating. He knows itâs impossible, that itâs just dumb luck. But, still, he canât 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 fishinâ, Joel.
He removes his socks, begrudgingly.
But, of courseâJoel had the spades you asked for.
Fine. Queens, then?
He can see the smirk on your face before you answer and he doesnât 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 youâve made a minor mistakeâyour triumph quickly fading as youâre forced to stare at Joelâs 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 youâd 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.
âGo fishinâ.â 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 wasnât the first time Joelâs seen this much skin on you, it feels different under these terms.
If Joel was bothered, he didnât show it.
âShit,â You laugh at that thick piece of gauze still taped to your stomach, âI forgot all about that.â
âYou can probably take it off now,â Joel suggests, âif it ainât stinginâ anymore.â
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.
âNo peeking.â You order. âIâm serious.â
âŚJoel canât 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.Â
And Joel doesnât lay in immediately, throws you off with his first guess that ends with him shedding his pants, down to nothing but his underwearâhe doesnât think youâll take it further, but there were often times when he couldnât read you at all.
You try to hide your expression behind your cards, the carnal longing of a strangerâall man and nothing else, the strange pulse of heat between your thighs startling you to a near cardiac arrestâand 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 wasnât going to end well. But, you were already too deep.
You sigh slightly, biting at your bottom lip in concentration.
âOkay, got any 3s?â 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.
âNo, fuck thatââ You retort, âYou fucking looked, didnât you?â
Joel looks taken aback, ââCourse not.â
He was a good liar, but not that great.
Youâre 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 isnât 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 lapâand youâre 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?
âJoel,â You speak softly, âdid you look?â
And if Joel had any sense, heâd run now.
Instead, he doubles down in the heat of the moment and thatâs what snaps the cord.
Joel grins, an enticing sight that even you werenât immune to.
âNo, Iââ
You knock over an empty beer bottle in the process, stepping over the table and falling into Joelâs 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 Joelâs 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.
âYou looked.â You tell him decisively.Â
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.
âI said no peeking.â
Joel licks his lips, a decisive move that has your eyes tracking the motion.
âCouldnât help myself, darlinâ.â
You nod slowly, like you might understand. But, Joel knows itâs all for show.
âWell, we should do somethinâ about that.â You suggest, a few ideas on the horizon.
Luckily, Joel doesnât 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.
Itâs a little dramatic, but you canât 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 donât even have it in you to feel embarrassed about how much you needed Joelâs 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 Joelâs 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 exploreâŚand explore, he does.Â
Youâve never been kissed so surely, expertise beyond your own that manages to pull noises from you that you werenât sure existed, dull fingertips pressing into the back of your skull and keeping you there, stilling you until youâre pliant to him, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases, apple the pressure heâs seeking, and you feel breathless.
It doesnât help that your hands feel empty, unsure where they should goâbut 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 heâs barely touched you and youâre 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 Joelâs 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 heâs practically hissing in pleasureâthough, the same canât 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 youâve made after the thought.
âJoel.â Itâs 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?
âJoel,â It sounds different now, eerie, âIâm sorry, I shouldnât haveââ
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 couldâve shut things down long agoâbut here he was, dragging you along like there was a possibility of something. Anything.
âI think Iâll take the couch tonight,â Joel offers after a long, drawn out silence, âalright?â
No, not alright.Â
âDid Iâdid I do something wrong?â You ask hesitantly, âBecause if I did, Iâm sorââ
Again, apologizing. It strikes a cord in Joel that he doesnât 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.Â
It was his fault. Him. Repeating it in his head like a mantra.
Your arm crosses your body hesitantly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
âUmâŚokay,â 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, âjustâŚdonât think you have to sleep on the couch or anything.â
Joel doesnât answer, lost in his own thoughts.
And you werenât mad, not even upset. MaybeâŚdisappointed? You werenât expecting anything from Joel, but given his track record, pulling away from you during a moment of vulnerability made sense.Â
You could give him space, let him sleep it off, then work things out in the morning.
Things would be fineâthey had to be.
-
Neither of you get the sleep you need.
Joel knew that sleeping on the couch wouldnât help, because his mind was still racing, despite his desire to sleep. Heâs 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 heâs done, trying to treat this as a lesson for himself.
You toss and turn most of the night, strangely missing his warmth beside youâhoping youâll 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.Â
A few hours pass, well into the darkness of night, and you eventually find yourself wandering to the kitchenâmouth dry and needing something to quench that thirst.
Though, part of you is curious. You just want to check on him, wondering if hadnât 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 wasnât asleep. Heâs probably been up just as long as you.
âSorry,â You find yourself apologizing again, âI was thirsty.â
Joel doesnât respond, rather turns on his side and faces the fireplaces, the flame low and crackling in the silence. He didnât hear you approach, only notices you when youâre 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.
âYou can sleep in the bed, Joel.â You assure him, not chancing a glance his way in fear that he wouldnât look back, you couldnât handle the vehement rejection, not right now. âThings donât have to be weird.â
Joel doesnât answer, still trapped in his own mind.
Stop it. Stop lookinâ at her like that. Sheâs half your age, full life ahead of herâwho are you to taint something so perfect?Â
Joel fears the attachment, despite there being no pretenses or obligationsâand not that you would become attached, but he.Â
Heâs a victim to his vices and he knows the second he allows himself a taste of the sweet sin that you carryâheâs done for.
You chew at your bottom lip thoughtfully, finger trailing at the glass now half-empty before you decide that this isnât worth itâthe 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.
Itâs gotta be a signâa warning, even.
That desire, that need that settled in his gut wouldnât 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 didnât divulge into this fantasy when he goes home.
But here, nowâhe 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.
âWhat? Joelââ
âStop sayinâ my name like that.â 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.
âYou used my shower again.â 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 werenât for his sudden change in behavior, feeling like mental whiplash as his lips press against the junction in your shoulder where your neck begins.
âJoel, whatâs going on?â You feel forced to ask, âA few hours ago you couldnât even stand touching me.â
âI donât understand it,â Joel admits, âwhy I need this so bad.â
Why he needs you.
âKeep tellinâ myself I donât need this,â 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 werenât for the couple layers of clothing you mightâve given in right then, no preamble or argument, âbut you donât quit.â
And he doesnât think he can quit you.Â
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.Â
He looks wrecked. Pleading. Desperate.
âTake what you want, Joel.âÂ
Thereâs no other way to say it, offering yourself over with no argument.
âThatâs a big offer, darlinâ.â 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. âDonât just go around sayinâ things you donât mean when you donât know what youâre agreeing to.â
âLook at it this way,â You rub your thumb against Joelâs temple, feeling him lean into your touch, âweâll never see each other after thisâand frankly, I fucking need this.â
Joel doesnât 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.
âNo limits, no feelings,â You offer, âWe meet each other halfway, alright?â
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 didnât like to waste time.Â
âKiss me.â 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 theyâre soaked, a feeble piece of clothing that stood no chance against your arousal and if it werenât for the barrier and Joelâs own worries, he wouldâve 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 youâand 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 orâ
âIâI have condoms,â You force out, voice only wavering slightly, âI can go grab one.â
Joel feels like it couldâve 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 heâs having.
âTo be clear, I always carry some with me,â You admit, âI donât appreciate the excuse ofâoh well, I donât have oneâplus, you can never be to safe, right?â
Joel grins at your nervous ramble and softly swats your thigh, sending you offâwatching your giddiness transfer into the way you quickly run away, leaving Joel a moment to breathe and focus.
And as soon as he fears heâs been in his head too long, youâre 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 itâwhichâŚis 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.Â
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 slowlyâlick his way through your pussy to figure out what makes you tick, what makes you feel like you just might ascend into another realmâbut youâŚare also far too impatient.
âJust do it,â You assure him, beyond the point of giving a shit, ânot nowâlater.â
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 heâs 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 heâs 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 fabricâit is a sight that Joel would never will himself to forget.
âYou with me?â 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 werenât letting go.Â
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 youâve been begging for.
He doesnât hold back and you love that.
Thereâs 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.Â
âJust had to play thatâstupid fuckinâ game,â He pauses breifly in his speech, slightly out of breath, âdidnât you?â
His grip on your face tightens minutely, but you feel it.
You want more. More pressure, more power.Â
You wantâneed him to assert it.
You feel your eyes rolling back at the angle heâs hitting, the hand on your thigh angling your legs up at a nearly impossible angle, folded in the small space within Joelâs arms, and thereâs an outpouring of adoration you feel toward him despite his passive touching, giving you exactly what you asked for.
âNo more apologizing,â Joel reprimands, pulling your face mere centimeters from his own, bottom lip brushing against the tip of your nose, ânot unless you mean it.â
âI doâIdoIdoIdo,â 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, âfuck, itâsâitâs right there.â
And you feel like it may actually happenâcoming 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.
âGot you,â He murmurs, âââm right here.â
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, âKeep on squeezinâ me like that, sweetheart. Pussy feels fuckinâ amazingââ
It isnât the vulgarness of his words that startle you, rather how forceful your orgasm hits you with no warning, an intensity you havenât been privy to experience like this, used to feeling empty as your cunt clenched around nothing but your fingers, instead itâs Joelâmore specifically Joelâs 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 youâre nearly delirious before heâs pulling out, condom snapping as he rips it away, grasping his dick in his hands with a rushed, âWheâwhere? Where can I?â
Oh. This was different.
The asking, at least. Youâve never been asked.
You clasp your own hand over his, guiding him a little further under the burn near your navel, âHere, right here.â 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 wasnât 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 funnilyâand Joel canât help but find it adorable, âThink these are kinda ruined, least not without a wash first.â
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 theyâre 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.Â
âLookâwe donât need to have a deep talk about this,â You assure him, âtwo weeks from now we wonât exist to each other, butâŚright now, I just want to enjoyâŚwhatever this is.â
The pauses are palpable, oozing with a silent tension neither of you acknowledge.
It shouldnât stringâthe idea of leaving here and going back to your normal lives. But, it does.Â
âWasnât gonna try it.â Joel agrees, quickly deflecting.
You nod in agreement, standing on unsteady feet, wobbling as you gain your footing andâWoah, that is different.Â
Your muscles feel like theyâre not your own, coming quickly to the realization that youâve never been so thouroughly fucked like that before, laughing at your own naivety.Â
Joel responded with a soft chiding grin, âWhat's funny?â
âI think you fucked my equilibrium out of me.â
It wasâŚdefinitely something.
âDonât boost my ego like that, darlin.â Joel warns, âYouâll come to regret it.â
Excuse youâthe hell does that mean?
Youâre 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 doesnât 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 isâknowing he would eventually slip from your grip, but you were bound to savor every moment while you could.
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#the last of us#tlou#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller fanfiction#my writing#MMITW#pedro pascal characters#pedrostories
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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 youâre 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 sheâd 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.
âLex?â
âHmm?â she turned her head in slow motion to see Harry looking at her with a raised brow.
âYou sure youâre okay with this?â
Lexie nodded, giving a hesitant grin. ââs fine. No worries.â
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.
âI canât believe they only had one room,â he grumbled as she passed.
âHarry, donât worry about it,â Lexie assured him. âWe save money this way anyhow.â
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.
âJesus, itâs cold though,â 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.
âNot too bad,â she appraised, sitting on the bed and kicking off her wet shoes.
âIâll go get the bags,â offered Harry.
âOh shit, I forgot!â exclaimed Lexie. âLet me put my sneakers back on.â
âNo, no, youâre fine,â Harry waved his hand. âSit, relax, get warm. Iâll just be a second.â
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 heâd called it a boot when theyâd 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 didnât mind. Harry had proven to be a great travel companion, entertaining her jokes and chipping in some doozies of his own. When theyâd gotten a flat tire, sheâd helped him change it and then bought him breakfast. When Shelby had called her cell unexpectedly, and sheâd panicked, Harry had covered for her, saying she was driving and couldnât stop to talk.
âSafety first,â heâd 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.
âSorry about the one bed,â he sighed, unsure how Lexie felt about having to share it. âIâll take the floor.â
âDonât be silly, Harry, itâs a King! And should you really be offering that with your terrible back? I wonât have you complain for the rest of the trip.â
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.
âMind if I shower?â he asked, pointing to the bathroom. âUnless you wereâŚâ
âNo, itâs fine,â replied Lexie, grabbing the remote. âYou go. Iâll watch some TV and see how this stormâs doing.â
âNo calling Shelby, right?â Harry raised a brow.
Lexie scoffed. âNo! We talked about this.â
âAlright. Just making sure. I mean, I canât tell you what to do, but if it were meâŚâ
âHarry!â exclaimed Lexie. âGo! Iâm fine, I swear. Iâm not calling her.â
âOr texting.â
âOr texting!â
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.
âNo shit,â she muttered under her breath.
She was bummed she wouldnât be at her sisterâs tomorrow afternoon, but she wasnât really in a huge hurry either. It was Harry she was more concerned about. He was supposed to be at his friendâs 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 couldnât help staring at him, though she didnât 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.
âSo howâs it looking?â he asked as he climbed onto the bed next to her.
âHuh?â Lexie half-gasped.
Harry chuckled. âThe weather. Howâs it look for us the rest of the night?â
âOh. Um...possible flooding they said. Hurricane conditions.â
âBugger,â Harry muttered as he settled himself against the pillow. âHopefully weâll be able to get back on the road in the morning.â
âFingers crossed,â 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 couldnât 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 theyâd met. Theyâd 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 sheâd met Harry at that party. Theyâd become fast friends which she was fine with, but she couldnât 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.
âAre you gonna go?â Harry inquired.
âHuh?â
âThe shower, love,â he explained. âThought you were gonna go next.â
âOh,â Lexie blushed. âOf course.â
Rising from the bed, she grabbed her phone before it slid off. Harry, however, was quick too and reached for it.
âNope. Not bringing that with you.â
âFine,â Lexie rolled her eyes. âWasnât gonna look at it anyway.â
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 hadnât realized sheâd been so tense, but she blamed it on the weather and Shelbyâs texts. Her ex wanted to get back together, it was obvious, though she hadnât said it directly. But Lexie knew it was over. It had been over long before theyâd actually broken up. Still, she couldnât 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 youâve run out of road.
âYouâve just reached a dead end,â heâd said. âAnd thatâs when you know itâs time to say goodbye, let it go and travel down a new path.â
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.
âDamn,â she muttered under her breath before crossing the room to her suitcase.
âWhatâs wrong?â Harry inquired, his eyes following her. He watched her pull out a small pouch from her bag and return to the vanity.
âNothing,â she lied, taking out her toothbrush. âThat thunder just...doesnât sound good.â
âYeah, I think itâs getting closer than further away,â 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.
âThose are cute,â he said, not meaning to. It just slipped.
âWhaâ?â she sounded, her mouth full of toothpaste. Spitting into the sink, she eyed him in the mirror. âWhatâd you say?â
âSorry,â Harry mumbled. âI just...I like those pajamas. Theyâre cute.â
âOh,â Lexie blushed. âTheyâre old. But thanks.â
She couldnât think of any other reply. He liked her old, worn out flannel pajamas? Sheâd 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 Harryâs eyes on her as she climbed in beside him again, pulling her knees up to her chest.
âWanna watch a movie or something?â she asked, her gaze on the TV.
âYeah, I was gonna ask you that,â Harry replied. âUnless youâre too tired.â
âIâm not really ready for sleep yet. What is there to watch?â
âActually, not much. Most anything I found worthwhile is halfway over and has commercials. And I donât reckon we wanna pay for something, especially if we end up losing power.â
Just as he said the last sentence, another crack of thunder sounded and made Lexie jump.
âUmâŚâ she muttered with a grimace, âmaybe we should just pick whateverâs on and hope for the best.â
With an easy grin, Harry rose from the bed.
âWhile you decide, Iâm gonna go get some ice and a few things from the machines, if there is any. What would you like?â
âI'd like you to stay here with me,â she blurted without thinking.
Harryâs smile grew wider as he slipped back into his jacket. Lexie bit her lip as she felt herself blush for the second time.
âI wonât be gone long,â Harry offered.
âBut I just brushed my teeth.â
Harry chuckled. âThen brush âem again. You know you want snacks, I can see the look in your eyes.â
âYeah,â muttered Lexie. âI guess I do.â
âPlus if we end up stranded, youâre not eating my leg.â
Lexie burst out laughing. âGood thinking. Iâll take some potato chips and any kind of cookies theyâve got.â
âSoda?â
âJuice if they have it. If not, something without caffeine. Do you need money?â
âNah, I got it,â Harry said, grabbing the ice bucket. âBe back in a second.â
Lexie sat back on the bed and flipped through the channels before landing on a Spiderman movie. Sheâd forgotten if sheâd seen that one before or not, but it didnât 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.
âWere the vending machines not covered?â Lexie asked, grabbing one of the Sprite bottles Harry had brought.
âThey were, but the water was dripping between the slats right above them, so I got a bit wet. No worries, though.â
âHarry, why is nothing a big worry to you?â 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.
âPick my battles,â he explained. âWe got food, drinks and ice. Mission accomplished. A little rain didnât stop me.â
âA little rain?â Lexie scoffed. âSometimes youâre just a little too Mary Sunshine.â
Harry looked at her as he sat next to her on the bed. âWould 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?â
Lexie smiled. âYeah. Kinda.â
Reaching for a bag of Layâs, she could feel his eyes on her. Finally when she bit into a chip, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
âYouâre one to talk.â
âWhat?â Lexie raised a brow.
âMary Sunshine.â
âExcuse me, I am not Mary Sunshine.â
âYeah, you are,â said Harry. âYou 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 youâd really wanted. Honestly, youâve barely even said one negative thing the entire time. Except maybe regarding Shelby, and even that you seem to be taking in stride.â
Lexie considered his words for a moment before giving a shrug. âMaybe I pick my battles, too.â
âFair enough.â
Taking another swig from her Sprite bottle, she looked down at her lap. âIt might have something to do with present company, too,â she said softly.
Harry turned his head and looked at her, his eyes seeming to study her face, hoping sheâd expand on her admission.
âYouâre easy to be with,â she added. âYou donât judge me and youâre considerate and nice and...I dunno, I just like that about you. Rubs off on me, I suppose.â
Harry continued to look at her as she ate her potato chips, her eyes on the television.
âOh,â he finally managed to voice. âThatâs...really lovely, Lex. Thank you.â
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.
âI like that about you, too, you know?â
âWhat?â she raised a brow.
âI like that youâre easy to be with. Fun, actually. You donât complain a lot, and you almost always have a smile on your face.â
Lexie tried to hide her current smile but failed.
âIâm not sure that last part is true,â she commented.
âOh, it definitely is,â said Harry. âI just noticed it earlier. I know youâre...still getting over...um...someone...but you still seem happy.â
âThatâs a facade,â Lexie confessed. âInside Iâm a mess.â
âReally? Couldâve fooled me.â
Lexie eyed Harry with a smirk. âI guess I just did.â
Softening his expression, Harry nodded. ââm sorry. You wanna talk about it?â
âNot really.â
Harry studied Lexieâs face for a moment, wondering if she would change her mind. But when she didnât, he knew not to push her. âOkay.â
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.
âI think we just grew apart,â she finally muttered.
âWhat?â Harry turned his head to look at her.
âShelby and me,â she explained. âWe just...got too comfortable, I guess? If that makes sense. It became boring. And when I get bored, I start to get restless.â
âI think that makes sense,â Harry commented. âYou can only spread yourself so far.â
âExactly!â Lexie nodded. She rolled onto her side, facing Harry. He blinked at her nearness, her wide-eyed expression.
âLike Iâm willing to give myself to somebody, everything I have. When I love someone, theyâre my world. But after a while it felt kind of one-sided.â
âIâm sorry,â Harry said again. âHow did Shelby feel about it?â
Lexie shrugged. âWe would just end up arguing when I brought it up. She said she wasnât 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.â
âAnd maybe more?â Harry asked.
âWhat do you mean?â
This time, Harry turned onto his side, so he was face to face with Lexie. âMaybe sometimes you needed her to make the full effort like you were doing, so you didnât have to meet her in the middle at all.â
Harry watched Lexieâs eyelashes flutter rapidly until a tiny drop fell down her cheek. Without thinking, he lifted his hand to brush it away with his thumb.
âI didnât mean to make you cry,â he whispered.
Lexie shook her head, then reached her hand up and grasped Harryâs wrist. âNo. Youâre absolutely right. How did you know?â
Harry shrugged. ââs not hard to figure out, Lex. Youâve worn yourself thin.â
âDoesnât mean I didnât try,â she choked.
âI know.â
âI loved her.â
âCourse you did. Maybe you still do?â Harry lowered his hand, releasing it from her grip.
Lexie pursed her lips. âI dunno. I guess Iâll always love her in some way. But I think the real love was gone a long time ago.â
âYou think she feels the same?â Harry asked.
âWell...she was angry when we broke up. But now she says she wants to get back together.â
âWhat do you want?â
Lexie sighed, running a hand through her hair as her eyes darted around the room. âI guess...I dunno I just donât think she can change. Sheâs just...sheâs probably gonna keep calling meâŚâ
Harry stopped her by taking her hand, making her look at him again. âThatâs not what I asked, Lex. What do you want?â
Lexie opened her mouth to speak but shut it quickly. Then biting her lip, she really considered Harryâs question.
âI just want to move on, to be honest,â she finally admitted.
âThen move on.â
A loud boom of thunder sounded then, once again timely as though it punctuated Harryâs 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 Lexieâs stomach as she stared at Harry, his green eyes seeming to say unspoken words. Though she wasnât 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 Harryâs lips pressed against them.
They were so soft. That was the first thought that crossed her mind. The second was that she hoped he didnât stop any time soon.
Thunder cracked once again as Harry released Lexieâs 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 couldnât get enough. Lexieâs hands found the back of Harryâs 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.
âHa-harryâŚâ she sounded. Swallowing hard, she blinked to get her bearings. âHarry.â
Lifting his head, he looked at her face, her eyes reading uncertainty.
âSorry,â he breathed. âJesus, Lex, Iâm sorry. I didnât-â
âNo,â Lexie interrupted. âDonât. Donât be sorry.â She shook her head. âAbout anything.â
âReally? Then whyâŚâ
âItâs justâŚâ she licked her lips. âIâve never...been with a guy...beforeâŚâ
Harryâs eyes widened as he tried to sit up, but Lexie pulled him back.
âI mean...not like this. Iâve dated men. Well...boys really,â she chuckled nervously. âBut itâs been a while.â
âBut have youâŚâ
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 hadnât 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.
âI donât wanna make you do something youâll regret, Lex,â he said. âBut you should know, I didnât tell you to move on in hopes that youâll sleep with me.â
Lexie giggled. âBut I am sleeping with you.â
Harry rolled his eyes and smirked. âYou know what I mean.â
âI do,â Lexie said softly. âI also know I like you.â
Harryâs smile grew as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. âYou do?â
âMhmm,â Lexie nodded. âThe truth?â
Harry raised a brow as Lex grazed her fingertips across his back. âYouâre the first guy Iâve ever had these kinds of feelings about.â
âWhat kind of feelings?â he whispered.
âYou knowâŚâ Lexie hesitated. âFeelings like...I think youâre incredible and sweet. And I want to touch you. And I want you to touch me.â
Lexie felt Harry shift again, his thigh nearly pressing exactly where she wanted it to.
âYeah?â he asked, his eyes studying her face intently.
With the flutter of her eyelids, she nodded again. âPlease.â
âLexieâŚâ
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 wasnât as bad as it had been during the night. The thunder and lightning had stopped, and the parking lot wasnât 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.
âWeâre all checked out,â he announced. âSo...whenever youâre readyâŚâ
âOkay,â 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. âAll set.â
âHere, Iâll take that,â Harry declared with a nod as he reached for Lexieâs bag.
Sucking in her lips, Lexie decided not to argue, accepting Harryâs 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 driverâs seat, the engine running while she heard Harry slam the trunk and rush to his side.
âRainâs not so bad now,â he commented, rubbing his hands together, âbut the temperatureâs dropped.â
âYeah, itâs cold,â 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 didnât begin to describe the thick air between them.
âBreakfast?â Lexie managed to ask when she shifted the car into reverse.
âYeah, sure,â Harry said as he buckled his seatbelt. âDonât reckon those potato chips and sodas lasted long afterâŚâ
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 Harryâs 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 wasnât quite sure why. She didnât like it that Harry suddenly made her nervous either, because he never had before. He was her friend. But now he wasâŚ
Harry.
Her mind wandered to the night before, his soft kisses, his hands on her hips as his own pressed against her. He hadnât 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 sheâd been broken up from Shelby, her long-term girlfriend and the only person whoâd even seen her naked in two years.
Sheâd let him touch her. When his hand had slipped inside her pajama bottoms, she hadnât stopped him, though his eyes questioned her. Sheâd 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 wasnât sure. It was a possibility it had gotten lost behind the sound of the thunder. She did remember, however, the tender kiss heâd given her when sheâd come down, his hands cradling her face as though she was a china doll.
âLex?â
âHuh?â Lexie blinked. She blushed again, realizing her focus was not on the road.
âLooks like thereâs a diner up there,â Harry pointed. âUnless you just wanted to find a McDonaldâs.â
âOh! No...yeah...that sounds great, actually.â
âI know I could go for some pancakes,â Harry commented, patting his belly.
Lexie smiled at him. âYeah. Me too.â
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 wasnât 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 wasnât very hungry.
âUmâŚâ he hesitated, reaching for his silverware. âEverything okay?â
âWhat? OhâŚâ Lexie shook her head and rolled her eyes. âYeah, itâs 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 Iâll text her again once Iâve dropped you off.â
Harry sucked in his lips and nodded, though he felt his insides release the tension theyâd been holding.
âIâm sorry I had to tag along,â he muttered.
âDonât be silly, Harry,â Lexie waved him off before dropping a straw into her orange juice and taking a sip.
âWell, if you didnât have to take me to Brianâs, you could get to your sisterâs sooner. You have to go out of the way.â
âHarry, itâs not out of the way. In fact, itâs exactly on the way. Itâs fine.â
Harry watched Lexieâs 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. Heâd never been this awkward around anyone before, the morning after. But this wasnât just anyone.
âBesides,â Lexie added, sitting back in her seat, âit was you that needed the ride. It just so happened that I could visit my sister at the same time.â
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.
âSo, are you excited about the wedding?â Lexie asked, breaking the silence.
Harry shrugged. âI like weddings. But Iâm not sure excited would be the right word.â
Lex giggled, making Harry look up from his breakfast. Heâd come to notice that he really liked her laugh.
âWhy not?â
âWellâŚâ he began, swallowing the bite in his mouth, âBrianâs an old friend of mine. And Iâm happy for him. His familyâs always been great to me. Looks like heâs found a great girl. Itâs justâŚâ
Lexie looked at him, tilting her head. âJust what? Youâre not jealous, are you Harry?â
âNo,â he shook his head. âNot jealous. I just...heâs got a big family, lots of cousins and friends. Iâll be the only person there alone.â
âOh,â Lexie mouthed. She wasnât sure what else to say.
âLast time I visited them,â he added, surprising Lex, âI was seeing someone.â
âOh,â she whispered again.
With another shrug, Harry dismissed his own thoughts, diving back into his pancakes. âDoesnât matter, I know. Itâs my mateâs wedding. Itâs not about me.â
âThatâs true,â Lexie nodded. âYouâre just there to show support.â
âExactly,â 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 theyâd 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.
âSo, umâŚâ Harry hesitated a moment before deciding to just admit what he was thinking. âI enjoyed last night.â
âWhat?â 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.
âI was wondering how long it would take either of us to mention it, but itâs been hours now and...well, I reckoned Iâd have to be the one to address the elephant in the room...or, um...car.â
Sucking in her lips, Lexie felt herself blush as she gripped the steering wheel.
âSorry,â she finally muttered, stealing a glance at Harry. âGuess Iâm not very good at this.â
âNothing to be sorry for,â said Harry. He paused before adding his question. âDid you enjoy it?â
Lexie felt her lips curl up as she kept her eyes on the road. Then tapping her thumbs on the wheel, she nodded. âYes. Very much.â
âGood.â Harry sat back in his seat then, trying his best not to seem cocky. But sheâd said sheâd liked it. And that made him happy.
âI um...just want you to knowâŚâ he added, âit doesnât have to be...weird between us now.â
âOh, yeah, I know,â Lexie agreed hastily.
âItâs just...um...Iâd really like to do it again, but if you feel-â
âIf I feel what?â 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 didnât want to push it.
âJust...if you donât want to, Iâll understand.â
âHarry, I umâŚâ Lexie shifted in her seat, gripping the wheel. âSomething else you should know about me. Iâm not a one and done type of girl. I donât...sleep around.â
Harryâs lips widened, his dimples deeper. âI know that, Lex.â
âBut by the same token,â she continued, âI donât rush into things either. I mean, I just broke up with-â
She stopped when she felt Harryâs hand on her elbow.
âSay no more,â he murmured. âI understand.â
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 driverâs side. It wasnât until he got closer that he realized she was talking on her cell.
âI just canât do it anymore, Shel,â he heard her say. âI just...I think itâs time we both moved on.â
Afraid he was intruding, Harry started to turn back to the market, pretending heâd forgotten something.
âHarry!â
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 nightâŚ
âWhatâd you get me?â 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. âAll my favorites.â
âWell, you didnât get your juice last night so-â
Lexie planted a haste kiss on his cheek. âYouâre sweet. Iâm going to the ladiesâ. Be right back.â
âHey, would you like me to drive for a while?â Harry inquired.
âIf you like,â she smiled, handing him the keys.
Harry watched her practically prance into the market. He didnât want to jinx it, but it certainly seemed like sheâd 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.
âGood timing, I guess,â remarked Lex as she climbed into the passenger seat. âI saw the dark clouds forming a few miles back.â
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.
âCheers,â she said with a sly grin.
Harry mimicked her, tapping his bottle against hers. âThanks.â
âSo, tell me more about this Brian guy,â said Lex as she pulled out the bag of potato chips and opened them.
Harry looked at her and then back at the road. âYou sure are in a good mood.â
âAm I not supposed to be?â
âI dunno. I just thoughtâŚâ
âThat Iâd be sad or still hung up on Shelby?â she asked.
Harry shrugged. âI couldnât help overhearing.â
Lexie was quiet for a moment as she stared at the chip in her hand.
âItâs over,â she admitted softly. Then turning, she captured Harryâs gaze. âI ended it. Officially.â
Swallowing, Harry set his juice in the cup holder and nodded. âHow do you feel about that?â
With a grin slowly spreading across her face, Lexie popped the chip into her mouth.
âI feel good about it,â she announced. âGreat, actually. Is that awful?â
Harry shook his head. âNot at all. Iâm glad you got the closure you needed.â
âMe too,â 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.
âThank you.â
Harry wasnât exactly sure what heâd done, but the look on her face and the touch of her skin was enough reason.
âYouâre welcome,â he said. âNow hand me some of those cookies.â
âHurry 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. Theyâd finally made it to his friend Brianâs house, or rather, his motherâs, 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 heâd grabbed her bag, but with the woman shouting and the rain pouring down, she decided not to argue.
âVirginia!â he shouted. âNice to see you.â
âHarry Styles, get in this house this instant!â
Practically shooing him over the threshold, the woman wasnât slow to notice the girl following behind.
âHello, dear!â she greeted. âWelcome.â
Lexie barely got a thank you out before Virginia addressed Harry again. âWho did you bring, handsome?â
âThis is Lexie, Virginia,â Harry answered as he dropped the bags in the foyer. âWe drove here in her car.â
âOh, I see,â Virginia beamed. âLovely to meet you...Lexie, you said?â
âWell, itâs Alexis actually, butâŚâ
âOh, come here, give me a hug,â the older woman insisted. âIâm so happy for you.â
Lexie wasnât 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 Harryâs 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.
âStyles, you made it!â
Lexie looked up to see a man around Harryâs height and build saunter down the stairs. Meeting Harry, he caught him in a tight embrace, murmuring thank yous and missed yous.
âLex, meet one of my oldest, dearest mates, Brian Ramsey.â
âNice to meet you,â Lexie nodded, extending her hand.
âPleasureâs all mine.â
âAnd you already met his mother, Mrs. Ramsey, AKA Virginia, AKA the best cook aside from my mum.â
âAKA the one you never come to see anymore,â Mrs. Ramsey swatted at Harry with her dishcloth.
âIâm sorry love, Iâve been busy,â Harry smirked.
âMhmm, I see,â she nodded, eyeing Lexie and then giving a wink.
âWell, câmon, Harry, letâs go have a drink,â Brian gestured down the hall to where Lexie only assumed was the kitchen. âPretty sure Pops, Jenny and Serena are back here.â
Eager to join him, Harry looked back at Lexie with a smile.
âOh,â she mouthed. âActually, I should probably get going.â
âWhat?â Virginia asked incredulously.
âYeah, um...I was actually just dropping Harry off. I have to get to my sisterâs.â
âOh, honey, you canât go out in this weather!â Virginia insisted. âItâs supposed to be raining all night, possible flooding. Maybe even a tornado.â
âOh.â
âAnd the roads around here usually flood pretty quickly, so they close them off. You probably wonât be able to get out until tomorrow morning, at the earliest.â
âOh,â she whispered again.
âDonât worry about it, Lex,â Harry offered. âIâm sure Mrs. Ramsey wonât mind you staying over.â
âOf course not, dear!â she exclaimed. âTrust me, youâre not going anywhere in this.â
âI donât want to put you out,â Lex started to argue.
âNonsense! I have enough rooms, blankets, towels and food for an army!â
âUgh, the army line again,â scoffed Brian.
âHush, you!â 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.
âI thought a heard a raucous out there!â announced the man sitting in the leather recliner. Rising from it, he quickly held his hand out. âHarry, good to see you, son.â
âHey, Pops,â said Harry, giving him a big hug. âHowâs life treating you?â
âCanât complain.â
With a grin, Harry stepped back and placed his hand on the small of Lexieâs back. âPops, this is Lexie.â
âHello, Lexie,â the older man greeted with a handshake. Then placing his other hand on top, he leaned in and whispered in her ear. âJust so you know, heâs one of the good ones.â
âWhat are you telling her, Pops?â asked a young woman whoâd just walked into the room.
âNone of your business.â
âLies.â
Lex eyed Harry who let out a burst of giggles.
âHi, Iâm Jenny,â said the woman. âBrianâs older but wiser sister.â
âNice to meet you.â
âAnd that one over there,â she pointed to the brunette in the kitchen, âis Brianâs fiancĂŠe, Serena.â
âNot for much longer,â 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. âHi, so nice to meet you, Lexie.â
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 Serenaâs 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.
âDifferent pajamas,â she remarked.
âI can see that,â Harry smirked. âI like those, too.â
Blushing, she bit her lip, then ran a hand through her hair. âUm, did you need the restroom?â
âOh...yeah.â
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 heâd told her heâd enjoyed the night before.
Suddenly, a knock sounded behind her, and she looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway.
âHey. Can I come in?â
âOf course,â 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.
âThe Ramseys are really nice,â Lexie remarked, taking a seat on the bed as she watched Harry.
âYeah,â Harry nodded. âTheyâre like...my second family.â
âI can tell. Theyâre definitely fond of you.â
âYes.â
âAnd it was very kind of them to let me stay. Even though it was mostly Virginiaâs idea,â Lexie laughed. âI donât think she was about to let me set foot outside again.â
Harry chuckled nervously in agreement. âSheâs a tough one, that Virginia. What she says goes.â
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.
âUm...hey I know itâs kind of last minute, and you need to get to your sisterâs and allâŚâ he paused, biting his bottom lip before finally lifting his eyes to Lexie, âbut I was wondering...and you totally donât have to...if youâd like to stay...a little longer tomorrow...and be my date. For the wedding.â
Lexieâs eyes widened. She hadnât expected him to ask her that.
âOh!â she breathed. âOh, well...IâŚâ
Harry shook his head. âItâs alright. It was a dumb thing to ask.â
âNo!â Lexie exclaimed. âI mean...no, it wasnât a dumb thing to ask. I mean...actuallyâŚâ
The corners of Harryâs 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.
âWhat?â she asked.
âYouâre as nervous as I am,â 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.
âIâd love to be your date,â she beamed.
Lexie stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. While she wouldnât 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.
âI think itâs perfect,â declared Brianâs sister. âYou look so pretty.â
âI do?â asked Lexie bashfully, her cheeks blushing a light pink.
âDefinitely. Looks better on you than it ever did on me. Lucky weâre the same size.â
Biting her lip, Lexie ran her hands across her waist. She silently wondered what Harry would think.
âWhat about your hair?â asked Jenny. âWere you planning on wearing it up or down?â
Lex grinned nervously. âI actually hadnât thought about it. This whole thing wasnât planned at all.â
âOf course,â Jenny smiled.
âI usually wear my hair down though,â Lexie added, winding a strand around her finger. âWhat do you think?â
Jennyâs smile widened. âI have a great idea.â
Turning to her dresser, she opened the top drawer and pulled out a headband, bringing it to Lexie.
âWhat do you think of this?â she asked. The headband was simple, adorned with dainty flowers and leaves in gold metal.
âI love it!â exclaimed Lex.
With gentle ease, Jenny placed the headband on the center of Lexieâs head, allowing her soft, delicate hair to fall around it.
âYes,â beamed Jenny. âAbsolutely perfect.â
A knock sounded on the door then, and Jenny walked across the room to open it.
âHarry, you canât see us yet,â Lex heard Jenny say. âItâs bad luck.â
âI thought that was just the bride and groom,â Harry chuckled from the doorway.
âEven so,â Jenny whispered. âI wasnât quite finished.â
âWith what?â
It was then that Harry spotted Lexie across the room, her reflection in the mirror as she looked down at her hands.
âOh!â he sounded, his eyes wide.
With a sigh, Jenny stepped back and allowed Harry to enter the room.
âWow, Lex, you look amazing!â he announced.
âThanks,â she muttered, turning around to face him. Grabbing the sides of the dress, she felt herself blush again. âJenny let me borrow it.â
âItâs lovely on you.â
Lexie and Harry seemed to stare at each other for a few moments until the silence was broken by Jennyâs voice.
âShoes!â she squealed, nearly making Lexie jump. âWhat size shoes do you wear?â
âUmâŚâ Lexie swallowed, âeight.â
âAw crap,â Jenny scowled, snapping her hands on her waist. âIâm a nine. Theyâd be too big.â
âItâs okay.â
âI bet Serenaâs your size,â she added. âIâm not sure if she brought any other shoes with her, but I could ask.â
âReally, itâs okay,â Lex chuckled. âYouâve done enough for me. Besides after the weather last night, I might be glad Iâm in my sneakers.â
âOh, that reminds me why I came up,â said Harry. âYour mum needs you downstairs. Something about a broken table and angry caterers.â
âUgh,â Jenny rolled her eyes.
âOh no, I hope everythingâs okay,â said Lexie. âMaybe I should help.â
âNo need,â Jenny held up a hand as she headed for the door. âWhen Virginia Ramseyâs involved, there is a way.â
âSend out an S.O.S. if you need us,â called Harry.
âWill do!â
Harryâs shoulders shook with laughter as his best friendâs sister left the room, leaving him alone with Lexie.
âLook at you,â said Lex, making Harry turn and raise a brow. âYou clean up nice, Styles.â
Harry looked down at his suit, his hands on the jacket lapels.
âWhaâ this olâ thing?â 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.
âI take it youâre not a tie kind of guy,â she remarked.
âNot particularly,â Harry grinned at her. âWhy, do you think I should wear one?â
Lexie shook her head. âI didnât say that.â
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.
âYou look really pretty, Lex,â he said softly.
âThanks. So do you.â
The corners of Harryâs mouth twitched before he leaned forward, his lips so close to hers she could feel his breath on them.
âIs it okay if I kiss you now?â he asked.
âI was beginning to wonder why you hadnât already.â
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.
âKinda magical, innit?â asked Harry, catching Lexieâs eye. She smiled and nodded.
âCâmere you two!â someone called from the yard and Lexie turned to see Mrs. Ramsey beckoning them. âI could use your help.â
Taking her hand, Harry lead Lexie down the steps and between the rows of white chairs to where Virginia stood.
âAt your service,â offered Harry with a grin. âWhat do you need us to do?â
âOh honey, donât you look lovely!â exclaimed Virginia when she finally got a good look at Harryâs date up close.
âThank you,â 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 Virginiaâs eyes when she smiled at Harry.
âIf you wouldnât mind, my dears,â said Mrs. Ramsey, âcould you kindly stand outside the gate to greet the guests as they come in? Brianâs cousins are ushers, but Iâd just like to have someone out there to make sure theyâre entering on the right side, and no one steps in a mud puddle or anything.â
 âNo problem,â 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 Ramseyâs backyard. Then unlocking the gate, he released her hand only to push it open.
âSo, we just stand out here?â inquired Lexie.
âYep. Guests should be arriving soon.â
Twirling around, Lexie inspected the view of the backyard through the gate, getting an idea of what guests might see when they walk through.
âThis is really a great place for a wedding,â she commented.
âIt is,â agreed Harry with a nod.
âAnd convenient, too. They probably saved a ton of money.â
âYou better believe it,â Harry chuckled. âAnd not just because itâs the Ramseyâs house. Virginia will find the best deal anywhere. Sheâs kind of famous for it.â
âReally?â Lexie smiled, intrigued.
âYeah, 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 wonât let them take advantage of her. She always gets her way.â
Lexie laughed. âSheâs a pretty cool lady.â
The corners of Harryâs mouth twitched as he stepped closer.
âYouâre a pretty cool lady, too,â he declared.
âStop,â Lexie playfully swatted at him as he tried to put his arms around her.
âToo cheesy?â
âHmm, maybe a littleâŚâ she bit her lip.
âSorry,â said Harry as he managed to pull her closer. âIâll cut back on the cheese.â
âNo, itâs...itâs cute.â
âI really like you, Lex. And Iâm glad youâre here.â
A big smile spread across her face as she slid her hands up his arms. âMe too.â
Harry was just about to ask which statement she was agreeing with when an older couple approached them from the front yard.
âDonât tell me the weddingâs started already,â the man chided.
âNo, sir,â Lexie began before she noticed the twinkle in his eye.
âHarry,â he added, holding out his hand. âGood to see you, young man.â
âMr. McRay, a pleasure,â Harry greeted.
âHowâs that beautiful mother of yours?â
âSheâs just fine, sir, thanks for asking.â Harry reached for Lexie then, placing his hand on her back. âLex, this is Mr. and Mrs. McRay, the Ramseyâs neighbors.â
âHow do you do,â Lexie smiled.
âI do wonderful, pretty lady,â Mr. McRay said, giving her a wink and earning himself a poke from his wife.
âCharles is a big flirt,â she scoffed. âDonât mind him.â
Lexie felt herself blush as Harryâs fingertips dug into her waist as he gently pulled her closer to his side.
âYou two look lovely,â Mrs. McRay added. âI trust Virginiaâs inside, running herself ragged?â
âJust a wee bit,â said Harry, making Lexie giggle.
âI better see if she needs my help. Hope to see you two later.â
âEnjoy the wedding,â 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. Harryâs hand had remained on her back the entire time. Perhaps it was a silent reassurance that even though she wasnât a member of the wedding party or even an originally invited guest, she was still very much a part of the dayâs activities because she was Harryâs date.
His date. Lexie let the word roll around her brain for a moment while she watched him chat with someone else heâd known nearly all his life. She liked the word. It was simple, not too formal or labeling. Heâd introduced her as his date a couple of times already, a big, dimpled smile on his face as heâd said it.
âThis is my date, Lexie,â heâd beamed, his hand giving her another light squeeze.
She liked that he hadnât said âfriendâ. 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 theyâd been dating for months, and it would rub her wrong to put it mildly. It wasnât that she thought she and Harry had crossed the line into more than just friends after just one night together, butâŚ
âLex?â Harry asked, making her blink.
âYeah, sorry,â she swallowed. âWhat did you say?â
âI was just telling Jackson about our little adventure on the road to get here.â
âOh!â Lexieâs eyes widened.
Harry let out a gleeful chuckle and leaned into her. âNot the motel part, love.â
Lexie couldnât help but laugh in spite of herself, and when she found she couldnât stop, she rolled her head into Harryâs chest.
âSeems sheâs gotten a fit of the giggles,â Harry explained to Jackson whoâd joined in on the humor of an obvious inside joke.
âIâm so sorry!â Lexie shouted, muffled from Harryâs shirt.
âIâll meet you inside,â laughed Jackson. âGood to meet you, Lexie.â
âYou too!â
Harryâs chest continued to shake with laughter as he gently rubbed Lexieâs back. Once Jackson was out of earshot, she slowly lifted her head.
âIâm so embarrassed,â she whined.
âWhy?â Harry asked, an enormous grin on his face.
âItâs not that I thought youâd told him...itâs just...itâs the first thing that came to mind, and...oh, God.â
Grabbing the lapels of his jacket and burying her face in his neck, Lexie got a good whiff of Harryâs cologne and suddenly felt her legs go weak.
âYou are so fucking cute, Lex,â she heard him say.
âI am?â she asked, breathing him in. His skin was so close to her lips, she wanted to touch it.
âYeah. I kind of always thought of you as very confident and self-assured.â Harryâs free hand found the back of her head and began to lightly brush his fingers through her hair. âAnd you are, I find it very sexy. But thisâŚâ
âHmm?â Lexie sounded when he paused.
âThis is a different side of you,â Harry explained. âI dunno if itâs because of me, but...itâs like you have your guard down a little bit. And I think itâs very sexy, too.â
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.
âLexâŚâ he whispered.
Lifting her head, she saw a deep green in his eyes sheâd 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.
âHarry, son, theyâre getting the wedding party ready,â announced Mr. Ramsey.
âOh yes, of course,â Harry cleared his throat. âBe right there.â
Lexie gave another look of embarrassment that only earned her a grin from Harry. Then taking her hand, he kissed the back of it.
âCâmon, Iâll take you to your seat.â
âYou know, I knew you were the Best Man, but I guess I wasnât thinking about the fact that you wouldnât be sitting with me. Makes me kinda sad.â
ââm sorry, love,â Harry frowned.
âItâs okay. Iâm being dramatic,â Lexie teased. âAt least I get to watch you.â
Harry chuckled low as they reached the end of a row of chairs where Lexie took a seat.
âWho says I wonât be watching you?â
âPlease, itâs a wedding, Harry. Nobodyâs even looking at anything but the bride and groom.â
âHmm...thatâs what you think.â
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. Serenaâs 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 fatherâs. Lexie immediately felt the heaviness in her chest as Serena walked down the aisle, her face all aglow as her eyes met Brianâs. Then turning in her seat, Lexie caught the look on Brianâs 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, Lexieâs 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 Harryâs 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 Lexieâs shoulder. As if the looks heâd given her during the ceremony werenât enough, her entire skin was now on fire.
Moments later, as the reception began, Lexie had just finished chatting with a friend of Serenaâs that sheâd met earlier when she felt the familiar hand on her waist.
âDid you enjoy that?â he whispered in her ear.
âDid you enjoy mocking me?â she teased.
âMocking you?â
âYeah, what was with the huge grin while I was clearly in tears over the vows?â
âThat was not mocking,â argued Harry. âI was happy.â
âHappy I was crying?â
âWell...kinda, yeah,â Harry shrugged.
âMeanie!â
âNo,â he chuckled, shaking his head. âI mean I was happy that it moved you that much.â
âOh.â
âI told you I was gonna watch you,â Harry added.
âGlad to be your entertainment.â Lexie folded her arms and looked down at her sneakers.
âHeyyy,â he said, lifting her chin with his finger. âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing, it was...it was a beautiful wedding.â
âIt was. But itâs not over yet. We have a party.â Harry spread his arms out.
âYeah...I canât stay that long though.â
âOh,â Harry dropped his arms and frowned. âWhy not?â
âI just...I have to get to my sisterâs.â
âI thought you had that all worked out.â
âYeah, but I feel bad. I was supposed to be there a long time ago, and now Iâll only get like a day and a half with her as it is.â
âIâm sorry,â Harry muttered.
âNot your fault,â Lexie waved her hand. âI 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.â
As she turned toward the back porch, Harry grabbed her hand.
âBut waitâŚâ he pleaded. âWe...we havenât had our dance yet.â
âDance?â
As if on cue, a slow love song began to play, and a few couples took to the dance floor.
âPlease?â Harry held out his hand.
With a sigh, Lexie took it and followed him. They began to sway in each otherâs arms, the music leading them.
âThanks for coming with me, Lex,â Harry said low. âAnd for being my date.â
âYouâre welcome.â
âI wish we...had more time.â
Lexie stared at Harryâs lips for a long while before shifting her gaze to his eyes which seemed to burn into hers.
âMe too,â she finally admitted.
âYeah?â
Shutting her eyes, Lexie leaned forward.
âHarryâŚâ she whispered. âI donât wanna go.â
âWhat?â
âI mean...I still wanna see my sister, but...I donât wanna leave you.â
âLexieâŚâ Harry breathed, lifting his hand to her cheek.
âIs that awful?â she asked when she opened her eyes.
âNo.â
Harryâs face looked so serene and beautiful, Lexie couldnât help but feel a sudden calmness, even though her heart was beating a mile a minute.
âIâve had the best time with you,â she confessed. âIâm not ready to say goodbye yet.â
âMe neither.â
âWould it be...completely awkward or inappropriate if I asked you to come with me?â
âTo your sisterâs?â Harry asked.
âYeahâŚâ Lexieâs expression faltered. âNever mind, forget it. Itâs ridiculous.â
âNo, itâs not,â 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 sheâd 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.
 âIâd love to,â he said.
Hope you enjoyed!
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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 âbest in show,â 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 fawnâs 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.Â
Such players only emerge once (or, for them, twice) in a generation; a âgenerational talent.â 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 âGreat One,â 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. Letâs 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 âGTA,â 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.Â
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 âdumb jock.â 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.Â
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 donât 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 seasonâs end, and you donât 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, heâs a GTA boy, and a young Leafs fan. Unlike Connor, heâs 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. Heâs a real student of the game, too, a stats obsessive and a calm, steadfast personality.Â
Remember how we said the draft is a crapshoot? Thatâs 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 -- thereâs 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 -- heâll be somewhere between three and five. In 2014-15, heâs the OHL scoring leader, and takes the Erie Ottersâ single-season record.
He and Connor are also best friends. Connorâs 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. Thereâs 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 otherâs sides as you can be while obeying the harness safety rules. In hockey terms, while a little young for it, theyâre 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.Â
Of course, thatâs the most of what any of it is, isnât 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. Heâs a late birthday -- born in November of 1996 instead of the first eight and a half months of 1997 -- so heâs, 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, youâd 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.
Itâs unfortunate that that wouldnât 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. Iâm sure you already know this, but Edmonton was Gretzkyâs 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 OâReilly, Sam Reinhart. They havenât 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 Bettmanâs 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, itâs 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. Thereâs a common phrase now, when any hockey news is mentioned -- but how does this affect the Leafs? Itâs 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. Heâs 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 itâs simple stage fright; others say itâs personal distaste for the Oilers -- remember, Toronto boy, Toronto heart. I choose to believe itâs 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. Heâs impressed by Connorâs 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 wasnât 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.
Letâs 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 canât shut up about hockey and youâve asked me to talk as long as I like. If youâre still reading, I want you to know that a) I am ever thankful for your time and b) weâre, like, just getting started here.
The Leafsâ 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 Leafsâ 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 Schennâs partner, one Morgan Rielly. The two would be perfect partners, but we wonât know this for eleven years. Luke was traded twelve hours after Riellyâs 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 Leafsâ 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. Dylanâs reasons are unknown to me, but Mitch is sent down because, again, Babcock does not want him. Heâs naturally undersized and does not have a frame that builds muscle; Babcock is not under the impression that young men in Mitchâs 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 canât 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. Theyâll get their own section later -- we have to work our way up, not up and down and up and down. Iâve got to be somewhat cohesive, you know? So, weâll stay, for now, in the world of junior hockey.
The Otters and the London Knights, Mitchâs 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 theyâve shown each other at the draft, hates Mitch Marner.
And why wouldnât you? Heâs the one Dylan fought with all last season for the OHL scoring title; heâs fast on his feet and can shoot from impossible angles; he makes plays youâve never even considered, much less considered possible. He dangles through the Otters and scores the easiest impossible goal youâve ever seen and laughs as light as air about the whole thing. And heâs 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 Canadaâs roster. Dylan Strome and Mitch Marner both are. Suddenly and thankfully, the mediaâs focus shifts from one, false rivalry in McEichel to a very very real one.
I donât 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 donât 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.
Dylanâs 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 doesnât 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. Heâs 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 youâre shy and builds up your confidence. Heâs 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.
Dylanâs not the only one Mitch Marner befriends at Worlds, though. Somewhere between matches, Mitch takes an elevator at the complex theyâre 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
Thereâs 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. Isnât our boy great.
The team does not improve. The Sabres hadnât made the playoffs for three years when they drafted Eichel; they still havenât made the playoffs today. I wasnât around to look, but the team was bad. Eichel did his best, but he was young and inexperienced and did not -- never did -- have captainâs blood in him; Ryan OâReilly lost his love for the game.
The whispers of character issues start to come out. Jack Eichel is a âlocker room cancer;â heâs selfish, stuck-up, quick-tempered. Heâs 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 didnât 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. Youâre good in your field, great, even. Youâre doing well enough to earn yourself a superstar contract, youâre 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 donât 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 Mitchâs rookie year, by a not insignificant margin, well ahead of Laine. He was a coachâs 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 itâs 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 âgains muscle mass easilyâ category and decides when to stop. Most hockey players actually arenât very far up the muscle-gaining spectrum, especially when compared to American football or baseball players -- mass is strength, yes, but itâs 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.
Whatâs 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.
Itâs easy enough to dismiss out of hand when your uncle from Belleville does it, because what does he know. Itâs different when itâs 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 havenât missed it since, but he was awful, horribly mean to the boys under him, and especially, especially Mitch.Â
We should skip ahead a little bit. Itâs 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. Theyâre young, and they have plenty of time left.Â
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 Leafsâ 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, donât 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. Theyâre on a road trip, with only their fathers, isolated from their home.
(A brief aside to talk about Mitchâs 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 Babcockâs 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.Â
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 âlazy shitâ 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 Babcockâs head on the spot. Mitch was in tears. I wouldnât 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 Iâd thought that I would have to deal with him for that long, I wouldnât 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 theyâd left, and they kept losing. Normally, a team on a road trip doesnât 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. Mitchâs 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.Â
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 Connorâs 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.Â
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.Â
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 Dylanâs 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 Dylanâs job is done.
The Leafs lose in the first round again. The Leafs have made the playoffs since Auston and Mitchâs 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.Â
If youâve 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.Â
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 Perryâs 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 wonât move.Â
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 Tavaresâ 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. Heâs 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. Heâs soft, they say. As they have said since he was picked, because he doesnât look like a hockey player should, because he doesnât act like a hockey player should, because he doesnât play hockey like a hockey player should. He makes too much and he disappears when it matters.
Thoughts on the Leafsâ playoff successes suddenly switch from the core is young, even if this is frustrating to they need to win before itâs 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 Presidentâs 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.Â
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 theyâre at the very, very start of gathering momentum, theyâre 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 âclutch geneâ 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. Presidentâs 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 Leafsâ most valuable player, and this is a team with Auston Matthews on it, but Iâm serious. He was the Leafsâ leading playoff scorer in 2023, heâs one of the best penalty-killers in the league, heâs adored by everyone whoâs 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 momentâs 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 Mitchâs fault.
Jack Eichel has a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Neck Injury
It is 2021, and the Sabres arenât 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.Â
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 heâll only be out a week and a half.Â
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 youâre 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 theyâll 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 mediaâs 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 canât 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 heâd 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 itâs impressive heâs 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.Â
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.
Jackâs 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 Jackâs injury was handled, and going through with this surgery was Jackâs 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 Eichelâs neck will also be fused, and he doesnât want that. Because the team has final control over a playerâs 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 captainâs 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 organizationâs wishes, he was hated. In Buffalo, he is still hated. If you ask, theyâll 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 âclutchâ gene, or rather doesnât 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 doesnât affect him (or maybe, even better, he feeds on it.) He has the right kind of mentality -- that fuck-you, Iâm here and you canât change that, you tried to control me and I wouldnât 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 doesnât lose his cool, not once. He has earned his right to be here, and he knows it more than anyone else. Iâm 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, letâs not talk about the Oilers. Letâs 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, Connorâs 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 itâs 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 theyâll usually try to rush the net (if there are no defenders in the way). This is a move that McDavid has patented; heâll use it, just as many of the others will, but heâll probably be the one that scores. The depth all skate like him, really, fast and in wide arcs, trying to generate a rush chance.Â
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 boyâs got wheels. Sometimes itâs hard to tell which NHLers are fast and which are slow, but Connorâs 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. Heâs 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 -- heâs never been a good smiler, smirks with one corner of his mouth and thatâs mostly it -- give him a resting expression of something like concern, or maybe despair. When he laughs, he doesnât really âlaugh,â 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 donât believe those; thereâs a difference between not wanting to stay and wanting to go. I donât think he hates it. He has been given a responsibility, the captainâs 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 donât believe heâs stupid. Naive, perhaps; not stupid. There is no way out for him, even if he was sure he wanted to leave; heâs 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 wonât let himself go to a team that isnât 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 wouldnât 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 Nurseâs cousin. Sarahâs 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 Iâm 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 heâs 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.Â
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 heâs 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.
Thereâs 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. Heâs 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.Â
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 didnât look each other in the eye in the handshake line when Dylan won their series. Connor didnât 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 Coyotesâ 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 deadlineâs 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 Ovechkinâs 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 centreâs 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 didnât want him, and Arizona didnât either. It takes barely until November before he is, once again, the necessary shadow of greatness.Â
Ovechkin, the teamâs captain and centrepoint, clearly likes what he sees, and the management does, as well. The Capitals offer Strome a five-year extension.
Maybe itâs because heâs 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. Mitchâs life is up in the air.
Right as Iâm writing this, the general manager of the Leafs has been unceremoniously kicked out. His tenure will end the day before Mitchâs no-move contract kicks in, but it is not known if Mitchâs 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.Â
But letâs wrap up with this: Mitch will get married this summer. Because heâs Mitch, the darling of the league, everyoneâs 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 Dylanâs wedding.
The stories, as they do, go on.
#asks#mitch marner#jack eichel#connor mcdavid#dylan strome#hope this helps and/or gives you brain poisoning#narrativeposting
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11k celebration: top 50 m/f friendships (as voted by my followers) #42. jesus adams foster and mariana adams foster - the fosters
#jesus x mariana#thefostersedit#abcfamilyedit#jesus adams foster#mariana adams foster#the fosters#**#11kcelebration#mine: the fosters#mine: jesus and mariana#the fosters1x03#the fosters 3x16#good trouble 1x08#the fosters 2x11#the fosters 5x22#the fosters 4x02#the fosters 5x19#the fosters 1x09
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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 -
𩵠forever is in your eyes by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed
(M, 125k, fantasy) âJesus Christ.â He whispers, shaking his head and resisting the urge to brush the back of his hand against his lips, erase evidence that isnât even visible to the naked eye. Harry stands there, as though nothingâs changed, and of course he does, because heâs a statue. A statue that Louis has just kissed.
𩵠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.
𩵠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
𩵠Into the Weeds by kair0sclerosis / @night-is-a-feeling
(M, 87k, character study) With the help of the captivating bartender, Louis, who he canât 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.
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
𩵠Too Young To Know by @2tiedships2
(M, 35k, omegaverse) the one where Harry doesnât present as an alpha⌠until he does.
𩵠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.
𩵠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 heâs back, visiting with his new boyfriend.
𩵠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.
𩵠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...
𩵠Why Donât 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
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
𩵠skinny dip (in water under the bridge) by hazzahtomlinson / @itsnotreal
(G, 880 words, exes) Itâs a Wednesday and nostalgia might just get the best of Louis.
- Rare Pairs -
𩵠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.
𩵠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.
#weekly fic recs#ficrec#hljournal#1dficvillage#hlcreators#trackinghome#trackinghappily#ficsfor4am#cristalreads#1dsource#hlsource
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READ ME A VERSE - COD
âKate Laswell x afab!Reader - explicit - MDNI - 11k words âAU 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;
âLast 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.â Verse, by Emily Jeffri
âtags: 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.
âSummary: You had been considered âsickâ for years, sent away from your hometown and family to get better, isolated and forced to repent. But years later, when you are âhealedâ and granted permission to return, there is a woman in church that you donât know. You want to be a good Christian woman, even if you donât 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 couldnât help but wonder, if this sin, this evil, the crime, was merely that in their eyes. In the communityâs 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 wasnât 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 arenât supposed to fall in love with other women, they said, youâre 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 fatherâs 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 couldnât be married off when considered âsickâ. 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 werenât allowed to speak to but other than that, you didnât 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 didnât 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 werenât 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 wouldnât cure you, one year hadnât even done much. You understood it was wrong, sure, but you couldnât stop it. You refused to be on the farm till you turned 21.Â
The town wouldnât 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.Â
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.Â
âA sheep led back to the fold by the Lord,â your mother whispered to you in the car, holding your hand, but you felt no relief as you returned to the town.
ââââââââââââââââ
You had thought you could wait a little longer - thought they wouldnât 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, wouldnât he?Â
Let you suffer, just like Christ had, make them pull you back to the farm. Â
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.Â
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.Â
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 hadnât 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 wouldnât suffer so much.Â
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.
âShe is Mr. Shepherd's new wife, Kate Laswell,â 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, âAn outsider, mind you.â
âAlice,â your mother warned from the front seat, the tone sharp, âShe isnât 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.â
Your sister just waved her hand at her, as if to say âdetails details, motherâ, while she continued, âHe 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 miscarriaââ
âAlice!â Your mother turned around in the seat, sending your sister a sharp look, clearly displeased, just as the car pulled into the little driveway, âItâs improper to talk about such things.â
âSorry, mom,â Alice said, even as she didnât 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.
âMr. Shepherd is a good man,â 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.
âHe is,â your mother confirmed, âHe is happier after he met her, too - now come on, we have things to do.â
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.Â
ââââââââââââââââ
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 parentsâ 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 itâŚ
To one Mr. Graves Jr.
âMy my,â 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 âHavenât you grown.â
âMr. Graves,â 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.Â
âNah, just call me Phillip, darling. You will soon anyway.â 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.Â
âMarriage?â You repeated, watching your motherâs excited face as she nodded, your father proudly smoking behind her, standing in the door frame, clearly pleased too, âWith⌠Mr. Gravesâ son?â
âYes dear â oh Phillip is a kind man, bless his heart,â you didnât like her tone, âEven with everything that has happened, he still wants to marry you!â
âHe is a good man,â Your father added from the door frame, eyes watching you, clearly waiting for a reaction, âWanted to marry you before you were sick - waited for you.â
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 wouldnât be able to escape your fate, however.Â
âI donât know if Iââ you barely knew what apology to spew out, what lies to tell them.
âDonât worry - I know this is sudden, dear,â you mom said, taking your hands in hers, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, âbut God is really looking out for you.â
âItâs a miracle that the Graves family would even consider her,â your father muttered, thrown at you like a stone, but you barely felt the impact, even as your mother hissed his name.
âOh, Iâll have to call my sister - you will have the grandest wedding, my baby girl.â
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 hadnât happened.Â
âYouâre not going to cause a scene, are you?â 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.
âNo,â you answered, giving him a smile that barely seemed real, âof course not.â
ââââââââââââââââ
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 wouldnât get a say, not truly.
The mere fact that Graves Senior hadnât 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.
âYouâre getting married,â a gentle voice said behind you; it wasnât a question, more of a statement - just like it had been for you.Â
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.
âMr. Shepherd,â you greeted, giving her what you hoped was a polite smile, âI am, yes - in two months.â
She nodded, turning to look at the bulletin board. You dared to think that the smile on her face truly looked a little sad.
âWere you given a choice?â 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.
âHis offer of proposal is a blessing,â you felt like it was your motherâs words that escaped you, not your own, âgiven my time of⌠sickness⌠itâs very kind of the Graves family to have even considered me.â
As your eyes met, you recognised the look. Sad, resigned in a way, as if she recognised that it wasnât 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 hadnât 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.Â
âIt is not a sickness.â
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 hadnât even said.
âDonât say shit like that,â you hissed, anger that was forced down your throat for years escaping you, as you looked back at the board, whispering out a âit is.â
âNo, itâs not.â
âYou donât know what youâre talking about,â it was like needles escaped your mouth, forcing words of others, âitâs because youâre from the outside.â
âWhat ifââ
âI must go,â you said, fearing you had stood there on the main street, close to her for too long, âHave a good day.â
ââââââââââââââââ
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.Â
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 wouldnât admit to you why he made you this way, even as you submitted to him.Â
You wanted Kate despite barely having talked to her, certain in your bones that something connected you. Whatever it was.
ââââââââââââââââ
You didnât have a lot of opinions when it came to planning the wedding - it didnât 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 wasnât a sickness.
Because if it wasnât, truly wasnât, 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 didnât 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 wasnât a sickness, that it wasnât wrong.
Because⌠it was⌠wasnât it?
ââââââââââââââââ
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.
ââââââââââââââââ
âGraves,â 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.
âThatâs my father, darling,â the older man pointed out, stepping closer, breathing a little heavy as he looked at you, confident smile on his lips as always, âI told you to call me Phillip, didnât I?â
You let out a little huff, smiling at him the best you could, âyeah, sorry - Philip, then.â
âYou look beautiful,â 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, âlove your dress.â
He stepped closer, your heart quickening, yet not from excitement.Â
âT-thank you,â you managed, face heating up, eyes flickering towards the house, but you didnât see any sign of your parents being home - had he just wandered into the garden, knowing you were home alone, âI uhm - why are you here, Phillip?âÂ
He laughed, reaching out to take one of the apples out of your basket, big hand almost swallowing up the fresh fruit.
âWhat? Canât I go lookinâ for my wife?â 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.
âWeâre not married yet,â you pointed out before you could help yourself, âyou really shouldnât be here, if our parentsââ
âWhat? Think they will be upset about me being here?â 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, âIâm a man, darling - not a woman.â
You swallowed.
âDirty thing,â he crooned, âIâm gonna heal you, yeah? Make you a good anâ proper woman.â
âI-Iâm not dirty,â you whispered, barely believing your own words, âI was healed at the farm.âÂ
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, âNot properly cured until you marry a man, hon.â
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, âIâll see yaâ soon, wifey.âÂ
As he left the garden of Eden, the crisp sound of his bite of the fruit almost echoing, you couldnât help but hope there was a worm in the apple.
ââââââââââââââââ
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.Â
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 humanityâs sins?
Would Saint Peter truly turn you away, push you from the loving home of heaven, to the dark, demonic â
âHi.â
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 otherâs arrival.Â
Finally, your eyes met Kateâs, flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach as she smiled gently at you.
âHi,â 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 hadnât moved one bit since you last looked at him, eyes still on the ground in front of him.
âIâm sorry I upset you.â
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.
âItâs okay,â you answered, voice not as loud, âI - uhm⌠Was mean too.â 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. âI donât want to marry him.â
The words made you feel small, but you continued, though you looked up at Christ once again, keeping your voice low, âbut I donât have a choice, do I?â
She was quiet for a moment, as if to agree with you silently. It was as Philip Graves had said, wasnât it? A dirty thing who can only become pure again by marriage with a man.
âYou do,â she whispered, âbut itâs not an easy one.â
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.
âLeave,â she whispered, the word sounding so simple, yet it was filled to the brim with danger, immorality⌠the unknown.
âI canât,â it escaped like an instinct, âMy home is here.â
âIs it a home if you cannot be yourself?â Her hand squeezed yours, âdonât let them convince you to marry, donât make the same mistake as me. Please.â
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.
Donât let them convince you to marry, donât 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 Kateâs but you didnât react and neither did she. It was like playing with fire - you were sure your parents wouldnât find her company too agreeable.Â
ââââââââââââââââ
âHe is your fiance,â your mother pointed out as you stared at the apples you were cutting up, trying to keep the scowl from your face,âI think a walk together near the lake would be a good idea. So you can get to know each other some more.â
âWhat ifâŚâ you didnât know how to not express your already growing disdain for your future husband, âWhat if he wants to do something improper? Like, I donât know, kiss?â
Your mother laughed, your father huffing from behind the local newspaper.
âPhilip is a good man,â your mother said, patting your shoulder as she passed.
âI kissed your mother before marriage,â your fatherâs comment, calmly but with a hint of mischievousness, made your mother shriek.
âEdward! Donât tell her that!â
âWhat? We did.â
The knife in your hand parted the piece of apple into two.
âThatâs not proper,â 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.Â
âItâs no sin,â your dad pointed out, ânothing wrong with a kiss or two.â
âDonât kiss him if you donât want to, darling girl,â your mother assured you, âbesides, Philip would hardly ask you to do something like that.â
ââââââââââââââââ
âKiss me?â Oh how you wished you still had the knife that you used to cut the apples, in the palm of your hand.
âUhm, we really shouldnât,â you pointed out, stepping back as he stepped forward, trying to keep some distance in between the two of you.
âCâmon baby, donât be like that,â 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 wouldnât 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 werenât 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. ânonononno, please -â âshut up-â âPhillip I can get pregnant-â He laughed, turning you so quickly you almost fell, pushing you against the tree, âDonât worry baby, Iâm not putting it in, just fucking your thighsââ
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.Â
You felt dirty afterwards, unsure of what really had happened but there was cum on your thighs as he pushed down the skirt.
âDonât tell anyone, no? You tempted me, after all,â he pointed out as he fixed his shirt a second time, grinning as you sniffled.
You shook your head.Â
âKnew you were a smart girl, baby girl,â the words made you want to throw up and your eyes didnât meet his, âLemme get yaâ home.â
You didnât 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.
ââââââââââââââââ
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 werenât 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 didnât admit to your sins, why you didnât truly repent. Because, if they sent you away once more or locked you away inside a home, you wouldnât 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 didnât 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 Lordâs 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.Â
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.Â
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.
ââââââââââââââââ
It wouldnât last forever, that you knew, yet you had hoped it could.Â
âWhat were you doing in the church with Mrs. Shepherd?â 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.
âPraying,â you lied, the words feeling so familiar by now, despite the ashy taste, âWe donât talk together. We just pray.â
Your father was staring at you, eyes cold, anger possibly boiling just beneath his skin.
âWilson said he never saw you two.â You could strangle the bloody church servant and his snoring body.
âLies,â you merely answered, âMr. Wilson sleeps every day in the back of the church. His snoring echoes, disturbing my prayers.â
He didnât 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.Â
âYou 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.â
Somehow, the fact that you were willing to take him along - not really, but you wouldnât mind proving your point, just to be able to continue your time with Kate - seemed good enough.
âBloody always asleep, that man,â your father finally grumbled.
ââââââââââââââââ
There was a week until your wedding, the days having disappeared in between your fingers. You hadnât 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.Â
ââââââââââââââââ
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.
âYou look beautiful,â 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.
âItâs tight,â you muttered, the seamstress removing a pin or two but not enough. Perhaps it wasnât the size but merely the fact you didnât 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 couldnât 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 werenât 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 wasnât 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.
ââââââââââââââââ
âTheyâre saying she is becoming mad,â 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.
âShe was mad even before he got her,â one of the neighbors whispered, âtold Shepherd didnât I? Why would he take an outsider?â
âI heard Stacy say it was a favor for her parents ââ
âShe is probably going to the farm.â
You felt your mind spiral, almost dropping the basket of laundry, before you recognised your mother saying your name.
â- donât want her to know. She is cured and healthy, but I donât want her to think there is anybody sick in this town.â
âMight infect her again,â another neighbor pointed out, making you feel like you could barely breathe.
âGod forbid,â your mother mumbled, âshe is finally getting married. A baby or two will do her well.â
You abandoned the laundry basket in the hallway to find your phone.Â
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 arenât 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, youâre 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.
>Theyâre going to send you to the farm
You waited for a reply, but it didnât come immediately like you had hoped.Â
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 didnât. 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 wasnât an easy one.
You knew she had been right then - and you knew she was right now.
ââââââââââââââââ
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 werenât 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 didnât 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 werenât many words on the letter, you didnât want to leave much behind, you didnât 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 didnât care. You wouldnât 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 Shepherdâs house. Further than that you hadnât planned but you couldnât 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 shouldnât come as a surprise, but it wasnât 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 hadnât 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 shouldnât 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.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here?â 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.
âBloody roach,â he hissed, venom spitting from his mouth, âthey should have abandoned you at the farm, let you stay mad and broken out thereâ
âFuck you.â 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.
âShooting you will beââ You hadnât 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 shouldnât 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 otherâs.
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 otherâs hair, face shoulders. As if to make sure it wasnât a dream or hallucination, that you were actually both standing there in the room.
âYou ok?â You whispered and her eyes flickered to the man on the floor before she answered, voice strong and steady, âyeah, better than Iâve been for years.â
You finally dared to look down at Sherpherd.
âIs he dead?â 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 wasâ 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 â
âNo - he will wake in a couple of hours with a headache,â Kate confirmed, hand then grabbing yours, âwe canât stay here, sweetheart.â
Sweetheart. You liked that nickname.
âI know, I mean, Iâm here to get you out-â 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 wasnât 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.Â
âMy hero,â she whispered, touching your cheek, her blue eyes watering just a little, even as she clearly tried keeping them back, continuing,âand I know where the car keys are.â
ââââââââââââââââ
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 werenât prayers, that werenât 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.Â
ââââââââââââââââ
The two of you didnât 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, Kateâs 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.
âPrice,â you heard a gruff voice say.
âJohn,â 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 couldnât escape.Â
âKate?â 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, âIs that really you?â
âIt is - I, John â fuck - we need you and the boysâ help. If your offer still stands.â
âAlways Kate,â the certainty in his voice made you want to cry, âno matter where you are.â
â--
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 otherâs air. Kissing each other, watching the otherâs 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
ââââââââââââââââ
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 Kateâs, just like you wanted your ribs to be. You werenât 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 hadnât seen before, an oddly shaped beard too â a military uniform of some sort, they all did.Â
âKate,â 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 shouldnât 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.
âIâm John Price,â he said as he gently shook your hand, âAn old military friend of Kate.â
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.
âIâmâŚâ
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.
âMy girlfriend,â Kate said, âShe is my girlfriend.â
Warmth enveloped your entire body and Price didnât 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 didnât 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 Kateâs 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 didnât 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.
âWhat the âell happened, Kate?â 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 didnât look at Kate, werenât sure how she would even explain this. You werenât even sure how to explain it. It had been your entire life after all.
âItâs a long story,â Kate said, giving your shoulder a squeeze, âIâll tell you later. When weâre safe somewhere.â
ââââââââââââââââ
The UK was gray most of the time, but you didnât really care, had grown accustomed to it as time passed.
Kate was still the light of your life. She was often busy, but you didnât 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 Kateâs friends, who helped you assimilate to the world, to Britain, their partners' close friends too by now. You liked looking after Johnâs and Kyleâs son, Johnnyâs, Simonâs and their girlfriendâs 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 wasnât anything like what was planned up to the wedding you were supposed to have had with Phillip. A marriage that apparently wouldnât even be official and recognised by the government, since the town wouldnât tell anyone about it. Kateâs marriage wasnât 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 Kateâs 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.
#fanfiction#boolger#my writing#cod fanfic#call of duty#call of duty kate laswell#kate laswell x reader#kate laswell#reader cod#call of duty fanfic#call of duty x reader#lesbian fanfic#read the tags
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(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 22
⌠Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you werenât 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]
Thereâs a physical weight settling into Steveâs 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.Â
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:
âStark - â
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.
âQuinjet people, letâs move it.â
âStark!â 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.
âOh, thatâs just great. JARVIS, talk to me here - â
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.
âNot the eyes, Jesus, man - â 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.Â
But he doesnât have to look long because there you are, already at his side, eyes searching his face.Â
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 couldnât be that bad.
âOkay, JARVIS is down,â Tony announces a moment later, tangible frustration lacing his words as he rubs his free hand over his face.
âWhich means the quinjet is out of commission until reboot,â Nat supplies.
âBingo.â
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 itâs foolish how reluctant his heart is to fully let it escape his reach. Priorities, he tries to convince himself.
âAt least three drones escaped. If theyâre rogue or their AI is corrupted, theyâre considered a risk.â
Steve watches as your eyes briefly land on him before your attention returns to the billionaire.
âWe need to go after them, now.â
Rhodey slaps Tonyâs arm, âLetâs suit up, man.â
âOut of the question.â
Steve turns, eyes landing on Maria whoâs sat on the edge of a workbench, seemingly pulling shards of glass from the sole of her foot.
âSheâs right,â Tony nods, reluctantly. âSuits could be equally corrupted and unstable.â
âWe need fliers then,â 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.
Someoneâs phone light illuminates your body then, still dressed in your elegant white dress. But behind you, a table is finally put into view.
âStark. Where is the scepter?â
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, âSam. Do you have your wings?â
âCourse I do,â he huffs.
âTake the stairs, hurry,â you implore.
With a nod and slightly confused eyes, Sam takes off for the nearest emergency exit door - his phoneâs light guiding the way.Â
With that set in motion, Steve watches as you move toward the shattered windows. Heâs 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.
âHey, buddy,â Steve greets.
The owl immediately leans toward him and Steve canât help but brush his index finger over the birdâs head.
âYou seriously have an animal sidekick?â
Clint, who has pulled away from Nat and Bruce immediately rounds on you - voice filled with genuine disbelief.
âSomething like that,â you reply, brushing your finger over your companionâs plumage.Â
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 godâs fury.
Your voice cuts through their building argument with clear precision, âThor, you need to follow their trail - now.â
Steve returns to the conversation, staring down the other god as Thorâs 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.
âAs I was trying to say - â Tony begins.
âAh!â Your fingers snap in the direction of his mouth - effectively silencing the billionaire as he forces his lips back together, âNot now, Anthony.â
âNoted.â
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.
âWe have no jet. You can fly and we both know your vision is superior to just about everyone here. Now, go. Iâll send Pallas on as well.â
âA bird?â
âAn owl who tracks foes across dimensions and worlds, with eyes better than anyone else in this room - even you, God of Thunder.â
He bristles back, eyes hardening.
Sam comes bounding in just a moment later, chest heaving, his hands gripping his wingpack.
âGot it.â
âAnother set of eyes, particularly at night, canât hurt. Without access to the quinjet yet and Starkâs legion, we need someone to follow their trail.â
Steve nods, picking up on the plan immediately without a single word shared between the two of you.
âThere 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 theyâre taking it.â
âNow, the three of you - go!â
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 Samâs wings, he canât 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.
âYou okay?â
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.
âHey, look at that,â 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.
âOkay,â you start, returning to the group. âWe need to know everything that happened in this lab tonight. Can you pull up JARVIS?â
Tony looks up with slightly widened eyes before he glances back down at his phone in dismay.
âThatâs gonna be a no-go, Wonder Woman.â
Steve takes a step forward, curiosity mixing with his already heightened frustration, âAnd whyâs that?â
With a flick of his wrist, a hologram shoots out from the billionaireâs 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.
Itâs Bruce who takes a step forward then, pulling his glasses on as he stares into the depths of the image, âThis is insane.â
With a shake of his head, Steve says what everyone else was also likely thinking, âJarvis was the first line of defense.â
âBut this doesnât make sense,â Bruce responds, looking to Steve, then Tony. âUltron could have assimilated Jarvis into its system. Theyâre different AIs, but this⌠this isnât strategy.â
âIt looks like the hole Thor would have left in Tonyâs head if he had the chance,â Clint adds with nearly no amusement.
You nod in agreement, âItâs rage.â
âLucky he didnât kill you tonight then,â Rhodey clips.
Tony actually rolls his eyes at that, pushing away from the table and pulling the hologram with him.Â
âThat was never going to happen.â
âOh, yeah? Whyâs that then? The system was too bonded to you, its creator?â
âSomething like that,â you add.
A few curious eyes meet your gaze - Steveâs included - and Tony gives a little nod in return.
With a sigh, you elaborate, âThe three laws of robotics. Number One: a robot can not harm or injure a human, or, through inaction, allow a human to be harmed.â
At that, Rhodey pushes up, anger flaring across his usually composed features.
âOh, was that what that was? Cause I thought that thing was dangling him by the goddamn neck sixty stories above the street? Or maybe Iâm just blind. What exactly would you call that?â
Tony puts a hand on his friendâs shoulder just as Steve moves to stand beside you.
âThatâs enough.â
The billionaire rolls his eyes, turning instead to address Rhodes.
âHe couldnât do anything more than that. I wasnât being choked and I was never going to be dropped. Itâs exactly what it was; a threat. And⌠a promise, from the sounds of it.â
âA promise to do what?â Clint questions, hands on his hips and brows raised in clear confusion.
âIf I had to take a guess,â Maria speaks up from behind you and Steve. âIâd say your drone thinks he can do a better job of keeping the peace than he thinks you guys can.â
Tony points his phone at him, âRight on the money.â
âAnd now we have a rogue robot running around with a scepter that allowed Loki to bring an alien army to Manhattan. Imagine the possibilities,â Natasha intones with a shake of her red curls.
âUhm⌠guys?â
Steve, and the rest of the team, are pulled by the sound of Helen Choâs voice.Â
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.
âWhat the hell?â Clint murmurs with a hand over his jaw.
âSo⌠this is bad,â Bruce adds, eyes wide as he glances from Tony to you to the window once again.
As Steveâs 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:Â
âThe drones disabled the arc reactor that supplies the tower⌠and the local grid.â
Right. In the years following the dismantling of his suits, Tony had focused his efforts on expanding the arc reactorâs reach. Moving from just supplying the Tower, eventually, the entire city was switched over to the âclean energyâ 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, âWhy?â
You shake your head, hands clutching your crossed arms, âDistraction maybe - keep us from following after right away. The whole tower was shut down, meaning the jet was too. Iâm not sure. Only he could answer that, honestly.â
Pointing your chin in the direction of Stark, he follows your gaze.
âI donât have a read on the system,â you continue. âBut vengeance isnât typically embedded into a robotâs coding.â
âBut these arenât usual circumstances,â Steve concludes.
You nod in return.
âAnd with ours back on and working, the city goes into blackout, and chaos reins,â Nat smirks.
âYeah, and the Terminator gets to fly off and do hell knows what while weâre stuck here,â Clint finishes his statement with a swift kick to a cabinet.
Tony pushes away from the workbench, pocketing his phone, âWell, fun as this is. I need to go secure the rest of these fuckers before we have a mass break-out. Banner?â
Bruceâs head pops up at the call of his name, âYeah? Yup, coming.â
The archer watches them go, holding out a hand in clear incredulousness.
âAnd we just⌠what, exactly?â
Your eyes find Steveâs 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 couldnât access his standby suit which Pepper definitely didnât know about. And he was about 99% sure that Rhodes' suit would be fine as it operated on a different system.
âWhat about the other 1%?â he had questioned.
âIâll be with you the entire time,â Tony had promised.
From what Maria was able to tell you, with her access to both SHIELDâs 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.
âOuch.â
You glance up from your position on the floor, Mariaâs foot in your hand as you carefully remove the last few pieces of glass with the medical tweezers.
âSorry, I promise itâs almost all out.â
âNo,â she shakes her head, turning her tablet around for you to see. âI was referring to this coverage.â
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
âOh, thatâs reassuring,â you bite, shaking your head as you return to the task at hand.
âYeah, public opinion, thatâs all we need to help the situation right now.â
âNo mention of the rogue drones though, right? Just Tony and his excessive electric bill?â
âOf course,â 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 Steveâs 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 supersoldierâs musky cologne.
âHi,â she greets, darting a quick look in your direction as you come to a stop.
âHow are you doing? Anything need tending to?â
âWha- oh, no. No, Iâm fine.â
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 wasnât nearly comparable. Apples and oranges, someone might say. But the rage and destruction that had occurred tonight⌠you couldnât 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 canât 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 Reactorâs 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.
âNYPD is spread thin, but nothing truly alarming yet. Break-ins and looting for the most part. No mention of killer bots, thankfully,â she reports with a long sigh.
âHow much longer until weâre at an escalation level though?â You ponder pushing away from her command station to pace the length of the lab.
âWell, itâs just after midnight on a weekend,â she shrugs. âI give it another hour.â
âHonestly, last of my worries right now.â
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.
âWhat is it?â you question, rising to your full height as the billionaire draws near.
âHe cleared out. Dumped everything I had. Basically used the internet as an escape hatch before he flew the coop. Everything downstairs is worthless.â
You shake your head, disbelief rattling through your body, âOne giant distraction to get what he really wanted.â
âHad his fingers in everything,â Tony continues, perching on the edge of one of his labâs tables. âFiles, surveillance, pretty much everything that got dropped by Agent Carter after the whole SHIELD / HYDRA mess courtesy of Cap.â
Even though you shoot him a look then, he plows forward.
âBig question Iâm wondering here though is⌠whatâs his endgame? Access to everything we go now, whatâs step two?â
Maria scoffs, barely looking up from her computer, âHeâs got our files, but letâs say heâs feeling even more bold. Nuclear codes or something like that.â
âNukes?â
Your eyes meet Helenâs 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.
âIâm gonna make some more calls. While we still can.â
The four of you watch as she makes a hasty exit, already speaking to someone before sheâs 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.
âIt said it wanted us dead.â
Tony shakes his head, âNot us as in the whole human race, mind you. Just⌠us.â
âNo,â you retort, dropping down into the chair Maria had previously occupied. âNot dead⌠extinct.â
âPo-ta-toe, po-ta-toh,â Stark waves dismissively.
Your brows arch, but you remain silent as your eyes fall upon the sudden clap of thunder outside the tower.
Thorâs 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 Tonyâs neck and successfully lifts him from the ground.
âCome on, use your words, buddy.â
âOdinson,â you warn, moving to step between the two.
âI have more than enough words to describe you, Stark,â he bites.
âThor. The drone?â
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.
âI followed it across the ocean, one hundred miles out, before it lost its head.â
Bruce steps into view, âDid it⌠did it have the scepter?â
âNay.â
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 towerâs entrance - shouting inaudibly as the anchors covered the strange power outage.
It wasnât anything that required your assistance yet. And, honestly, you hoped it wouldnât. 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.
âWe tried,â he explains, yet again. âNothing was coming up on our systems though.â
You offer him a small smile, looking away from the computer, âIt makes sense that they would shoot off in three different directions. Ultron had to be expecting to be followed.â
Sam had even sent Redwing out after Pallas, but the drone had returned with nothing of use.
Steveâs tired eyes meet yours as he stares up at you from his seated position.
âWill he beâŚ?â
You understand his line of questioning and immediately shake your head, âHeâll be more than fine. Trust me. The fool wonât try and engage a robot, I assure you. Heâll just return to my side when heâs sure of a location. He knows how to keep his distance.â
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. Steveâs eyes meet yours once again.
âI - this is why I donât do parties,â you settle on.
His brows raise, but a curious smile tugs at his lips.
âIs that right?â
âMhmm, and let me tell, you that is quite a feat to accomplish back on Olympus.â
âI imagine so.â
âBetween Dion and Apollo, you could barely sleep at night,â 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 Steveâs 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.
âYou know,â he starts, eyes dipping down for just a second. âIf we canât locate the scepter right away, weâll need to go back to raid missions.â
âYeah.â
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 Furyâs side. But the prospect of working alongside a team to hunt down the remnants of HYDRA certainly sounded more favorable now.
âAnd itâd probably be easier having you here at the tower than trying to track you across Europe.â
âIs that right?â you smile in return.
He shrugs, âJust a thought.â
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.
âHey, Stark says the reactorâs back on.â
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 heâs met with silence, and immediately grins.
âI wasnât interrupting something, was I?â
Your face scrunches in confusion, looking from him to the supersoldier and back again.
âNo? Steve was just saying that I should remain here if we need to go on more raids.â
âDid he?â 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, âYeah. Iâm just gonnaâŚâ
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.
âWell,â you brush the draping of your dress that rests below your knees. âUntil Pallas returns, it looks like youâre stuck with me, Rogers.â
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.
âThatâs not so bad,â 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 wasnât on the agenda for tonight.
As you make your way down the stairs, toward the elevator to the residence floor, Steveâs hand comes to rest on your lower back as you side-step a large pile of broken glass.
âI donât think I mentioned earlier,â he starts, gazing down at your face as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor.
âWhat?â
He takes a breath, darkened eyes focused on your own, âYou look beautiful tonight.â
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.
Natashaâs 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.
âGood run?â
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.
âShould have kept it to the gym.â
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.
âRogers. What happened?â
He gives a small shake of his head, hardly believing the events of the morning himself.
âPeople on the street werenât in the best of moods today.â
âWow. New York on a Sunday, who would have guessed?â she laughs, returning to her coffee.
âItâs notâŚâ he sighs, rubbing his hand over his sweatpants. âNot people being people. I mean, they were shouting at me. Things about last night and where my priorities lie. There was genuine hate there.â
She deposits her drink back down on the counter.
âAre they honestly still mad about that? The power was restored in less than five hours.â
âYeah, well,â he shrugs, pushing off from the fridge. âApparently thereâs some distaste in their mouths after the news was all over the party last night.â
Nat gives a nod of understanding.
âTony, extravagance, using up the entire grid for his party, of course.â
âWhatâs the point in public servants if thatâs what weâre doing in our free time?â Steve says, recalling the words of a young woman who had crossed his path near the coffee shop by Grand Central.
âWell, Iâm sure youâre all too used to that at this point. Wasnât WHiH claiming you were hellbent on destroying D.C. because you were⌠what was it?â
âDemanding a pay increase,â he snaps, cooly remembering the headlines that graced the media two years prior.
She snorts, taking a sip of her beverage once again.
âLook, when youâre in this business long enough, with a public image, youâre 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, donât you think?â
Steve sighs, holding the bottle against his cheek for a moment as his emotions rattle their way through his system.
âI guess.â
She gives him a pointed look then.
âAnyway, Tonyâs prepping to give an address at ten. Calm general worry and all that jazz.â
âGood.â
Steve was not a stranger in the realm of negative press. The days of wearing blue-knit tights and holding a wooden shield hadnât 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.
âSo⌠how were things last night?â
He rolls his eyes, âCome on.â
âNo, Iâm genuinely asking. Barton was all doe-eyed when he reenacted it to us. Something about walking in before a big declaration of love?â
âIâll see you later, Nat,â 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 Steveâs 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 hadnât 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 Pallasâ situation, Steve could still see the hint of worry in your eyes.
Maybe thatâs why Steve isnât 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.
âHey,â you greet, voice soft but strained with a lingering sense of tiredness. âGet any sleep?â
He snorts, âNot a wink.â
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.
âItâs the worst, feeling stationary, isnât it?â
That makes your gaze pull up, curiosity piqued.
âNever was very good at waiting around while things went on around me that felt⌠out of my control.â
âYou were never a proper soldier,â you smirk.
He can feel his smile grow.
âDo you want to spar?âÂ
When your eyes meet his, he feels the need to elaborate. âI have all this tension from last night and I think Iâve wrecked just about every one of Starkâs punching bags at this point.â
âOh, am I the replacement for your usual punching bag? Is that it?â
Though itâs 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, âNever.â
Steveâs head slams onto the mat as all of the breath is pushed from his lungs. Youâre securely sat on top of him, holding his wrists together in one of your hands as you lean down - your chests pressed together.
âYouâre getting better at this, honestly.â
He huffs out a sound of laughter as you gently release him and pull back, resting on your haunches.
âIt doesnât feel like it,â he grunts with just a hint of playfulness behind his ocean-blue eyes.
You give him a little shrug.
âWhat, like itâs easy to take down a god? Honestly, Rogers.â
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.Â
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.
âSte-Eve! Cronusss, mercy! Mercy!â
It lasts a minute more before Steve stops his attack, chuckling at your exposed position. While it wasnât 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.
Thereâs a glint of a smile on his lips as he leans forward, gaze moving from your eyes down to your lips.
âFirst time for everything,â you whisper.
Thereâs 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 itâs far away, drifting toward you through muddied waters.
And while you lose sight of the gym, of Steveâs 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 youâre 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 -
âDaughter of Zeus. Return to me. Athena. My Lady, Athena. Return to me.â
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.
âHer eyes,â someone says. âThey were silver, like she had film over them or - â
âA vision,â 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.
âWhere is it?â
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:
 âNetherlands.â
You can feel Steveâs 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.
âI have a link to Pallas when necessary,â you explain to the team. âWhen he was sure of Ultronâs location, he connected with me. Sorry, by the way - â 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.
âGreat. Whereâs the bastard?â Clint claps his hands together.
Giving yourself a moment to breathe, you answer at last, âThe Hague Penitentiary.â
Tonyâs head snaps up, pointing a finger as if he wants to say something before he grabs his phone instead.
âA prison?â Sam questions.
âNot just a prison,â Natasha continues for you.
From across the room, the billionaire pulls up a hologram of the location, alongside a map and a 3D globe.
âItâs the main detention unit for NATO.â
Clint blinks, âSeriously?â
âAnd wouldnât you know it, there was a breakout less than an hour ago,â 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.
âStrucker.â
Someoneâs hand slams onto a table behind you, but you can barely hear it over the sound of anger pulsing through your own ears.
âThat fucker,â 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.
âWhy?â
When you feel the gaze of the team fall upon you, you reiterate, âWhy him?â
âStrucker was working with the scepter before this; days before literally,â Tony suggests.
Steve shakes his head, âAccess to everything online - HYDRA included, why would Ultron need him?â
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.
âPersonally, I care not for the why.â
âSame, actually,â Clint cracks his knuckles. âWe put him away once, maybe we should make it permanent.â
Nat places a silent hand on his forearm.
âYeah,â Tony nods, pocketing his phone. âLetâs get the bastard.â
Thatâs 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.
âSee, this is whatâs pissing me off.â
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 Tonyâs voice comes over the speakers.
âThink I can get footage of these two? No. Think I can find any functioning camera in a fifty-mile radius of this place? No. Iâm serious, Cap. Iâm off the robotics market after this. I canât have my projects trying to outsmart me.â
âWeâll do it the old-fashioned way then,â Steve sighs, trying to placate the situation.
Thereâs a beat of crackling static before Tony responds.
âYeah. Let me know how that works out.â
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.
âTheyâre in the wind, arenât they?â
He nods.
Itâs 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 hadnât rearranged Tonyâs 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.
âDamn.â
You look up from your spot behind Steve, craning your neck to see out the windshield.
At Samâs exclamation, you finally see the large coverage of agents outside the penitentiary, followed by camera crews and vans held behind barriers on the streets. Thereâs 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.
âWhatâs the hold-up?â Natasha questions, the smirk on her face falling by a fraction as she joins the three of you at the front of the jet.
Clintâs a step behind her, âWhat the hell?â
âAre they denying us permission to land?â
Steve flips a switch, static ringing out for a moment, before he speaks, âTony. Weâre not cleared to land.â
Thereâs a long sigh that follows across the comm.
âYeah, okay. Let me make a call.â
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.
âAny sign?â Steve intones, leaning into your side.
You shake your head, âNot yet. But heâs out there.â
The blonde takes a moment to scan the ground below, but also seems to come up empty.
âOkay. Fantastic news,â Tony announces. âTheyâre denying you entry and want you to vacate the area, immediately.â
âThatâs⌠thatâs not good news,â Clint states.
Nat gives the archer a little shove, moving closer to the speaker.
âDid they give you a reason why?â
You can imagine Tony rolling his eyes, shrugging, and fiddling with a screwdriver all at once when he replies.
âSomething 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.â
âYouâre kidding me,â 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.
âYou know,â you start, turning toward the microphone. âTechnically speaking, international law only really applies to⌠well, humans.â
A deep chuckle reaches your ears.
âAlways the clever one, my dear Lady.â
âPardon! Je kunt hier niet zijn - â
Thor pushes the agent out of the way by simply pressing his hammer into the manâs chest.
âThis wonât take long,â 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 Pallasâ head.
âWell done. Now, donât scare me like that again.â
The tawny owl gives you a light nip on your finger in apology.
âHey, love the energy,â someone says, trying to cross your path. âBut this is a secure area, and Iâm afraid, Mr. Odison and MissâŚâ
âParthenos,â you supply.
âMiss Parthenos,â the man nods, looking from your face to Pallas and back again. âIâm afraid youâre currently in violation of local ordinances and I have strict orders to have you escorted from the premises.â
Thor genuinely chortles at that, staring up at the quinjet still hovering overhead.
âThatâs unfortunate,â you say, drawing closer to the man. âFor we do not work within the bounds of human law. Now, I believe you have something we require.â
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.
âPathetic,â Thor snorts, staring down at the armed guards as you pass unburdened.
You tilt your head toward the left hall, âTony said it should be down here.â
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.
âHey! You canât be here!â
Your head tilts to the side, Pallas ruffles his feathers, and Thor crosses his arms as someone, at last, notices your presence.
âIâll have you arrested! No Avengers! No superheroes, no meddling, thank you! Good day!â
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.
âWe have rights,â someone else decides to perk up. âOur country has laws, you know. Who can come in and mess about and those who canât.â
âLaws?â you question, voice pitched and brow raised. âLaws that keep assistance from reaching you, helping to stop an armed criminal from further terrorizing this world?â
âIt is under control.â
Thor huffs, âYour laws do not pertain to us.â
âPerhaps if you got in touch with Themis,â you joke, tone sharp and biting. âOr⌠who was it again?â
âForsetti,â Thor answers, tilting his head down toward you. âOccassionally Tyr if you get him in the right mood.â
âOf course.â
âIâm sorry,â a third man stands, hands held wide. âWhat is happening here?â
âApologies,â you schmooze. âYou have information on the man who was taken from this unit, do you not?â
He balks, mustache twitching as he looks away, âItâs being handled by the appropriate authorities.â
âNot fast enough.â
Thor leans over again, âThis is drawing too long.â
You give him an acknowledging nod, âIâm asking nicely only once. After that, I canât be held responsible for what he does.â
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.
âSo⌠what do you have for me?â
Steve canât 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.Â
The blonde god places his hand on your shoulder, leaning down to speak more words Steve canât hear into your ear. He has to physically look away before his emotions get the better of him. As if tensions werenât already high.
âOkay,â Tony claps his hands together, gathering the teamâs attention.
Theyâre centered in the lab again, standing in a sort of circle around the central hub.
âHereâs what we got to work with, people. Strucker,â the manâs image appears in holographic form in the middle of the lab. â - 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.â
âHis arm was chopped off,â you supply from behind him.
Steve whips his head around to look at you, but you merely shrug, as if it wasnât that big of a deal to you. Perhaps it wasnât. It was Strucker after all.
Tony grimaces, âYikes. Now, this thorn in my side has been sidestepping us whenever it comes to tracking them down. A little Bonnie and Clyde scenario.â
Bruce coughs, managing to redirect the billionaireâs train of thought.
âAnyway, good news is we might have a lock on Ultron in the next few hours. The systemâs⌠getting there. Not-so-great news⌠everything we had on Strucker has been erased. Bastard still has a backdoor into my stuff.â
âFantastic. And you want us to, what? Wait?â Clint clarifies. âWhile the T-800 pairs up with HYDRA?â
Stark rolls his eyes, âWhat do you take me for? Actually, donât answer that.â
The archer closes his mouth, holding back the insult he so clearly wanted to say.
âWhen technology fails you, go old school,â 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 billionaireâs eye, brow raising. Maria enters a beat later, a trolley cart stacked with even more boxes.
âAwesome,â Clint groans.
âWhat are we looking for exactly?â Sam questions.
âLook, thereâs something Strucker knows that Ultron needs. Weâre just gonna have to connect the dots in between.â
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.
Youâre 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.
âAnything?â he questions.
âKnown associates mostly,â you sigh, closing yet another folder and filing it back into the catalog box.
âHe have a lot of friends?â Steve canât help but snort.
You roll your eyes, âA few. One nameâs popped up a few times, but I canât for the life of me remember where I heard it from.â
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.
âThis name ring a bell?â he asks.
With an annoyed sigh from being interrupted, Stark grabs it with a slight flourish and squints at the name.
âSarkissian. Sarkissian. We know a Sarkissian, right?â he peers over at Bruce.
The Doctor blinks, âThat was⌠that was the other name, wasnât it?â
Tucking his hands onto his belt, Steve asks, âWhat name?â
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.
âThere were four other people in Struckerâs block that took a break for it when Ultron came knocking.â
He pulls out his phone, scrolling for a moment until he finds what heâs searching for. Steve looks over at Banner before he follows after Tony.
âA. 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.â
The billionaire shrugs, âMight be worth looking into.â
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 canât 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 didnât know how to approach it yet. Natâs 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.
âHey! I know that guy.â
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.
âFrom back in the day. He operates off the African coast, black market arms.â
Steve canât help the immediate look of distrust that crosses his face, choice words rising to his lips. But heâs quickly silenced by Tony who gives him a pointed expression.
âThere are conventions, all right? You meet people. I didnât sell him anything.â
Youâre 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.
âWhatâs this?â Thor questions, pointing at the manâs neck.
The billionaire shrugs, âA tattoo. I donât think he had it when we met.â
âNo,â Thor continues. âThose are tattoos, this is a brand.â
You pull the picture closer, also studying the image before holding it for Steve to examine as well.
âGreat, heâs branded, so what? We know heâs slimy if heâs working with anyone dealing with HYDRA,â Tony digs through the box where Banner had first found the file.
âNo, no. I know that dialect,â you clarify, pulling the photo away from the group as you move toward the windows into more direct sunlight.
âItâs similar to Swahili, but⌠no, thatâs not it.â
Steve watches you pace, eyes closed as you try to recall the exact language.
âBast! Of course,â you exclaim, striding over to the stationary map, swiping up a pin, and dropping it down into a tiny African country. âItâs Wakandan. Klaue received that brand in Wakanda, Iâm sure of it.â
He watches your bright expression seek him out as the others begin moving around you.
âIt means thief, essentially. But with some less friendly connotations,â you elaborate.
But thatâs not where his attention immediately falls. Instead, he looks toward Tony.
âIf this guy got out of Wakanda with some of their trade goods - â
Steve feels an eerie sensation traveling along his spine as the implications become more and more terrifying.
âI thought you said your father got the last of it.â
âIâm sorry,â Bruce clears his throat, looking at each of them for a moment. âIâm not following. What comes out of Wakanda?â
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, âThe strongest metal on Earth. Vibranium.â
âShit,â Clint groans.
Sam drags a hand over his jaw, âSo, Ultron breaks out Strucker, gets the intel he needs, and what? Goes after this guy?â
Nat moves beside Steve, peering over at the mess on the workbench, âItâs a lead.â
âI mean, realistically,â Tony intones. âThey 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 vibraniumâŚâ
He trails off, but the implications are fairly apparent.
âAnd where is this Klaue now?â Thor questions, tone sharp.
Thereâs an immediate flurry of papers as Tony begins yanking folders out of the box, flipping through pages of intel.
âRan out of the Congo, spotted in Kenya⌠yikes, Madagascar too. And⌠yeah.â
It takes a minute, but he blinks and steps toward the map, grabbing a final red pin and bullseying the coast of South Africa.
âBest guess, really,â he clarifies, stepping back to look at his handiwork.
âBetter be sure,â you quip, arms crossing as you look over at Stark.
Previous Chapter || Next Chapter
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seven sentence sunday
tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 đ
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) 𤣠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
___
âNo, I- I asked her to move in with me instead.â he admits, immediately feeling embarrassed, and Henâs eyebrows shoot up.
âYou what?â she almost yells, but catches herself in time, lowering her voice. âBuck, this is honestly, genuinely, the stupidest thing Iâve heard you do.â she shakes her head slowly, looking at Buck with wide eyes. âWhy?â
âI donât know, it just slipped out. I just- I wanted to give us a shot.â he mumbles, looking down at the table, not wanting to meet Henâs eyes. âI think I might fall for her eventually.â he adds quietly, and hears a deep, tired sigh.
âItâs too early for this shit, Jesus.â Out of the corner of his eye Buck sees Hen rubbing her forehead with a pained expression, then take a long sip of coffee. âA question to move in together, which is a huge step in a relationship, âjust slipped outâ? And you donât even love her?â
âI donât know, I wasnât thinking.â he shrugs, his face burning.
âWhen do you ever?â 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
#buddie cheating fic#seven sentence sunday#several sentence sunday#fic snippet#buddie#buddie fic#buddie wip#wikiangela writes#my writing#my wips#fic: got a girl at home (but I love the way you taste)#btw karen's gonna join the conversation soon i just need to find the right moment to fit her in lol#literally don't have anything else to share rn bc i've been feeling uninspired and so tired lately hah
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đş my favourite girl direction fics under the cut! đş
There is nothing else in this world that I love more than women. I grew up in a family built around the strongest women Iâll 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 Iâm 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 canât? No, I shouldnât? Whaaaat I just did! Please, babe HMU đŤś
AnywayssssâŚ
đş The changer and the changed by homosociallyyours || 60K âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸
Itâs the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows sheâs a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians. Louis Tomlinson works at a popular womenâs bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womonâs Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love. When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke whoâs moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician whoâs been ostracized by a vocal part of womenâs community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York Cityâs bustling lesbian scene. Itâs a time of growth for everyone involved.
đş Itâs all gonna roll your way by 1Diamondinthesun ( @1diamondinthesun ) || 53K
Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are editors at Nova, a historically progressive womenâs print magazine with plans to launch digital content at the end of the summer. Louis is a single mom and temporary worker with a knack for graphic design. When investors request sweeping reform in their content, Harry and her team have to decide which principles, if any, theyâre willing to compromise in order to survive as an online publication.
đş Bluer than velvet were her eyes (softer than satin were her thighs) by thebreadvan ( @thebreadvansstuff ) || 12K
Harry hums a melody absentmindedly as she works, bent over the sewing table, when the bell above the door chimes suddenly, announcing the arrival of a customer. Mid-stitch, Harry glances up.
âGood morning,â comes the womanâs feathery voice. Harry should probably welcome her, say something, anything, but sheâs captivated by her slow and powerful walk, the click of her leather knee-high boots. With the needle hovering above the fabric, Harry slides her eyes up thick thighs, the maroon blazer that ends just above them, and the black knit dress that engulfs the womanâs figure, stretching obscenely around her bust. Jesus Christ.
Or, Harry should probably stop obsessing over her customerâs boobs, but fate canât keep her away from Louis.
đş who run the world (girls!) by dolce_piccante || 11K
A femslash take on the beginning of Relief Next To Me, complete with girl!Direction, lots of tongue action, and lots of hints to the original work.
đş I feel it when my heart beats by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 10K
Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.
đş Ride the W.A.V.E by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 7K âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸
Petty officer Louis Tomlinson can't resist a good thing when it's right in front of her.
đş Under the R.A.D.A.R by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 6K âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸
Petty officer Louis Tomlinson has been assigned to the rear admiral's fiancĂŠe for the month the couple is aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. She can only hope that he won't catch on to what they're doing... after hours.
đş Gotta get (me) out of my head by parmahamlarrie ( @parmahamlarrie ) || 6K
Sometimes, Harry Styles cannot get out of her head. Her ADHD, coupled with working from home, sometimes makes it impossible for her to ever find peace. Luckily, she has Louis, her loving girlfriend and Daddy, to take care of her.
Or the one where Harry gets her first collar.
đş Pacify her by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 5K âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸
Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.
OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.
đş To sleep, perchance to ream by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 4K
Louis has never minded that Harry tends to go to sleep earlier than her. But the nights when Harry signals she'd like Louis to...wake her when she comes to bed are Louis' favorite.
đş The Christmas (to the one Iâve been missing) by Kikiberoski16 ( @larrysballetslippers ) || 3K
âThank you, Louis,â Miss cutie said with a light whine. Louis nodded and walked with her to the paper sheets' aisle. To hear the girl's soft footsteps behind her was more than satisfying. So polite and cute, the fact she remembered Louis name said- âWait, how do you know my name?â
or, Louis almost made it to the end of her shift before someone familiar stepped into the store. A long awaited Christmas tale.
đş Tear it off by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K
Harry and Louis are married and have a toddler. Their home life is a cuteness overload, and then grandma Anne comes by to pick up the kid for a day out. Harry and Louis are then alone, perfect timing for a little bedroom adventure. Including, you guessed it, harry's pink cowboy get-up from coachella.
đş little pink skirt by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸âď¸
Harry, Louis, Zayn and Liam are at a festival. It's the afternoon of the last day, and they're lounging on the grass before the action starts, still recovering from the night before. There's a bunch of sexual tension between H and L from where things left off in their drunken haze. When Louis tries to light a spliff, the wind makes it impossible to do so, for which Harry has an ingenious idea. And then one thing leads to another.
#lesbian fic rec#girl direction fic rec#if you have more please send my way#i read them all i truly do#girl direction
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Chapter 3, let's go!
Thank you to my cowriter @pixlokita for the art at the end đ
11k chapter below the cut
Jeremy felt cold as he sat anxiously in that waiting room. He knew he didnât need to stick around, knew he needed to go in and help with an incident report, but he couldnât 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 Ramonaâs number.
She fussed over him in the car ride, asking a bunch of questions he couldnât think of answers to as he stared out the window in silence.
âJer? Are you even listening to me?â Ramona asked when they finally arrived at her apartment.
The silence that followed made her sigh. âLetâs get you inside.â
Ramona kept a hand between Jeremyâs shoulders as she guided him up the stairs and into her apartment. Percy lifted his head from where heâd 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 Jeremyâs face.
He still didnât 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 heâd seen the injury, Jeremy had noticed that the skin was ripped back just above Michaelâs eyebrow spanning down his face to the edge of his mouth.
Jeremy hoped that heâd be fine, but he couldnât be completely sure. Not until he saw Michael back at work, glaring at him whenever he tried to make conversation.
âJeremy, you should change out of those clothes,â Ramona said quietly.
âIâŚâ Jeremy coughed, realizing heâd stopped breathing for a moment. âYeah, okay.â
âDo you need anything? Water maybe?â Ramona brushed back a strand of hair that had pulled free from Jeremyâs ponytail.
âWater sounds nice,â 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 didnât seem nearly as afraid of him anymore.
âWhat happened, Jerebear?â
âOne of the animatronicsâŚâ 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. âI wasâŚâ
Jeremy struggled to say something. Did he tell her that heâd 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.
âI was on patrol,â Jeremy settled with. âAnd I already told you that there are ghosts hanging around.â
âMhm,â Ramona nodded.
âWell, I guess we were wrong about just how many of those ghosts were fine with Michael being around, or maybe Mangle doesnât have a ghost inside them. I donât know. But while I was out, Mangle got in. AndâŚâ Jeremy swallowed. âWell, they took a bite out of Michaelâs face.â
Ramona winced. It seemed even her hatred and distrust of Michael hadnât completely made her heartless. âSo that was the blood all over you.â
âYeah. I didnât see it happen, but I heard Michaelâs scream.â Jeremy trembled. âI wasnât the only one.â
âNo, Iâd imagine not,â Ramona stood up, a hand slipping back to ruin her normally perfect hair. âJesus, Jeremy.â
âMangle was in the corner when I got there. I didnât fully know what to do, but Evan did. And then when the music box stopped, I didnât 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.â
Jeremy let out a dry chuckle. âI guess she knew Michael when she was alive, since she didnât try to go after me once she saw me trying to stop the bleeding. She and Evan just started arguing.â
âWow.â Ramonaâs eyes were wide as Jeremy drank more of his water. âNo wonder you couldnât hardly speak when I picked you up. That sounds like something out of a horror film or something.â
âYeah.â Jeremy shifted to pull his knees up onto the couch. âSorry to wake you up so much earlier.â
âHoney, Iâm awake at 5, youâre fine. 5:30? Thatâs nothing.â Ramona sat on the floor to lean on the couch armrest. âDo you need me to stick around? I can cancel my trip back-â
âNo, thatâs not necessary! Iâll be fine,â Jeremy interrupted, determined to reassure his sister. âBesides, you still want to go see Becky, and Iâm sure sheâd love to see you and Percy.â
âThe offer to come along still stands.â
âI know. But I need to catch up from those days I was gone, Mona.â
âAlrightâŚâ Ramona sighed. âI need to probably start getting ready for work, but you can rest here for as long as you want.â
âTheyâll expect me in sometime today to give a report, Iâd imagine,â Jeremy said wearily.
âThatâs okay. Just take some time for yourself, alright?â Ramona squeezed him in a quick hug. âYou need recovery time too. Just because you werenât physically harmed doesnât mean you werenât hurt by this.â She hesitated before saying softly. âAnd I know how hard you were trying to be friends with him before.â
Jeremy buried his face in Percyâs 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.
âMake sure you take care of yourself, Jeremy,â Ramona said, pulling the ponytail out of Jeremyâs hair. âI should be back around 1 oâclock, but if you need me at all, feel free to call the salon. I wonât mind.â
âOkay,â Jeremyâs words were muffled by Percyâs fur, and he was very grateful for his dog in that moment.
âDonât forget to walk Percy before you pass out,â Ramona warned, retrieving Jeremyâs water glass to bring to the kitchen. âHeâs an impatient dog when he wants his walk.â
âI know,â Jeremy pulled his face out of Percyâs fur to roll his eyes. âHeâs my dog, Ramona.â
âYeah, yeah.â Ramona waved her hand dismissively. âSee you later.â
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 Freddyâs to give his report. He told Lloyd much of what heâd told Ramona, leaving out the detail about the ghosts and the Puppetâs entrance, but everything else was exactly the same.
Lloyd frowned at the report he was working on for a moment. âI need to be honest with you kid.â
âWhat?â Jeremy asked wearily.
âLook, I donât 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 isnât Schmidt.â
âOkayâŚ?â Jeremy blinked, surprised that Lloyd knew that. Michael hadnât been pleased when Jeremy found out, so he probably wouldâve hated to know that Lloyd had figured him out.
âHe was upfront with me about it, but he didnât want the rest of the staff to know.â Lloyd fiddled with his pen. âBut 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 Michaelâs never been to the hospital in town before.â
âOh. So they had to request medical records from elsewhere?â
Lloyd sighed. âThey needed to know his emergency contacts. So I gave them his last name to figure that out.â
âAnd why are you telling me this?â Jeremy asked.
âBecause his father called.â Lloyd scowled. âWe have been wanting to get in contact with the old owners, but I really wish weâd had luck with the other one. William Afton isâŚâ Lloyd couldnât seem to find the phrasing he wanted. âWell, 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.â
âOh.â Jeremy felt his throat tighten. âAnd⌠why does he want to talk to me?â
âThey lost contact with each other a while back or something.â Lloyd shrugged. âNot that Iâd blame Mike if heâd cut contact on purpose, but thatâs none of my business. He wants to catch up on what his sonâs been up to.â
âMe and Michael arenât really friendsâŚâ
âYeah, 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 itâs something to do with the rain. Although he seems to be more willing to handle the weather here. Must be the familiarity.â
âIâm the closest thing to a friend that Michael has?â Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. âThat canât be right.â
âBut it is. I have a note here with Mr. Aftonâs phone number. I told him Iâd pass it on to you. If you donât want to contact him, thatâs fine. I donât blame you one bit.â
Jeremy took the piece of paper, holding it out like it was dangerous. âYeah, IâŚâ He cleared his throat. âI guess I can take care of this. Probably best to get past this as soon as we can, right?â
Lloyd brightened. âExactly! Iâll get you scheduled for some paid-time-off, and then youâll be set.â
âThanks.â Jeremy blinked, not expecting the offer of extra time. âIâll⌠Iâm-â
âNo, no, donât 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 heâs too happy about it.â Lloyd chuckled. âBut anyway. If we need extra people, I can always grab another shift, so donât stress it, alright?â
âOkay.â Jeremy shoved the note in his pocket. âI guess Iâll be back to clock-in in like, a week?â
âTwo weeks,â Lloyd corrected. âGives you a few days to adjust to the day, and then a few more days to get back on the night schedule.â
âOh, okay. Two weeks.â Jeremy blinked again, still processing everything that had happened. âI guess thatâs it then?â
âThatâs all I need from you. Go get some rest, Jeremy. You look like you need it.â
âYeah, okayâŚâ 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 didnât even know Michaelâs 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 Michaelâs father did try to kill him. Lloyd knew exactly what heâd been up to, and connecting those dots would not be hard. Especially after knowing how much Lloyd didnât like the man.
The phone rang over and over, and Jeremy found himself listening to a voicemail box. âHello, this is William Afton. I am currently unavailable and unable to take your call. Please leave your message after the tone.â
So formal, damn, Jeremy found himself thinking.
âUh, hi. This is Jeremy Fitzgerald. I⌠I work the night shift at Freddyâs? I called the hospital about Michaelâs injury. My manager told me you wanted to talk to me? So uh, yeah.â Jeremy winced internally at his poor delivery of the message he was leaving. âIâm around for a few days if you still wanted to talk, but if not, just let me know. Thanks. Bye.â
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 didnât 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 heâd recovered sufficiently.
Ramona knew her brother was careless with his own health. How could she not? Sheâd 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. âYou really are a mess, Jeremy.â
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 heâd been distracted by something that he refused to tell her. Well, sheâd 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 Jeremyâs current situation.
âIs he in love?â Becky inquired.
âI havenât been able to confirm it with him, but I think he is.â
âWith this guy in the hospital?â
âYes. And it just so happens that Iâve been trying to warn Jeremy off of this guy for three weeks now. Now I just feel like a bitch.â
âYou are,â Becky replied cheerfully. âBut thatâs okay. We can worry about that a different day.â
âThanks,â Ramona sighed, rolling her eyes to avoid smiling. âDo you have any suggestions for cheering him up? He doesnât even want to talk about it, which rules out basically every strategy I have.
âWell, we both know food works wonders,â Becky replied. âEspecially the right kind of food.â
âI canât cook,â Ramona pointed out. âI think Iâd rather not burn down his kitchen on top of everything else.â
âOh, youâre in Jeremyâs kitchen,â Becky said thoughtfully. âHmm, doesnât he have a slow cooker?â
âYes.â Ramonaâs shoulders sank as she realized what Becky was planning. âNo, donât tell me you want me to cook. I just said-â
âI know, but this recipe is super easy. Promise! And itâll hit all the good vibes. Jeremy loves spicy food.â Becky sounded like she was moving around a bit. âCould you check and see if he has diced tomatoes, black beans, canned or frozen corn, chicken, tortilla chipsâŚâ
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 didnât 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 sheâd have to wait at least four hours before it would be ready but potentially more than that. Ramona hated waiting. Sheâd 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. âJeremyâs not available to come to the phone right now, but I can take a message.â
âAnd who are you?â The voice prickled at Ramonaâs memory, sounding far too much like Michael for her liking.
âHis sister,â Ramona quipped back. âCan I get a name from you?â
âWilliam. Afton. Heâs expecting a call from me to arrange a time to speak.â
Really? Ramona had a hard time believing that, but Jeremy could be so reckless sometimes. Her mouth twitched into a frown. âHe works nights. Heâs asleep right now.â
âHe told me he could be available sometime in the next few days,â William countered. âIt sounds like you didnât even know what was going on, so I think Iâll just call back when he can take my call. Good day.â
The phone clicked before Ramona could open her mouth to speak more. Rude. Then again, he was probably a child murderer. Canât 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?
Jeremyâs 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 hadnât 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.
âGood evening, sleepy head,â Ramona said, scratching his scalp. âDid you want some soup?â
Blearily, he realized that the slow cooker was out and the glass was foggy from being heated for a while. âYou cooked?â
âYeah, Beckyâs recipe. I tried it out, and it is fantastic, if I do say so myself.â
Jeremy snorted. âYou always say that when you make stuff. Remember when we were kids, and youâd burn the toast?â
âThat was not my fault!â Ramona protested before going to fill a bowl for Jeremy. âNo, Becky walked me through this one. I promise itâs good.â
âIf you say soâŚâ 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. âOh. Wow, this is actually amazing.â
âI told you.â Ramona scoffed at him. âI canât believe you doubted me for a moment. How dare you.â
âI have my reasons.â
âYou always have your reasons,â Ramona retorted, filling her own bowl again. âYou slept longer than you usually do. Are you feeling okay?â
âAsk me that once Michaelâs out of the hospital,â Jeremy answered before he could think better of it.
Ramona made a face. âYour entire wellbeing should not be based on a man who has barely said a nice word to you since you met.â
âHe just struggles to warm up to people! And you made it harder because of how rude you were.â
âI wanted to make sure my brother was safe! Is there really anything so wrong with that?â Ramona countered. âLetâs not fight about this today, okay? I get that youâre hurting and this whole thing has really been impacting you, but it seems like youâve been struggling for a while now. This didnât start with Michael, did it?â
âNo.â Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. âBut I have it handled.â
Ramonaâs mouth tightened, and she clearly didnât agree with what Jeremy was saying, but she didnât say that. Instead she went back to her food before saying, âWilliam Afton called.â
Jeremyâs veins turned to ice. He could feel her disapproval, knew that she didnât like the idea of befriending Michael, much less being on good terms with the guy they actually knew was a killer. âWhat did you say to him?â
âNot much. Just that you werenât able to take a call at the time. Heâs actually quite rude.â
âLloyd told me that.â
âAh. So you got his phone number from your boss.â
âWell-â Jeremy sputtered. âLloyd said he called the pizzeria to ask if he could talk to me.â
âThatâs not exactly reassuring, Jeremy.â
âI know. But if I get it out of the way, then maybe heâll leave me alone sooner rather than later.â
Ramona scowled. âThis is a dangerous play.â
âI know it is. But Iâm a grown man, and I can learn from my mistakes. Mona, I can handle this. I know I can.â
âYouâll call when itâs over? This meeting? I have a feeling he wouldnât want me there, based off our conversation.â
âOf course I will.â
Ramona shook her head. âI still donât like this. This is like, ten times worse than how I felt about you trying to become Michaelâs friend. Heâs gotta be a teddy bear compared to his father.â
âProbably explains why he was trying to distance himself from him.â Jeremy shrugged.
âThen why on earth would you help reconnect them?â
âIâm not! You honestly expect me to answer the guyâs questions accurately? I donât even know anything about Michael, much less the stuff heâd need to know in order to try to reconnect. I just know about his injury.â
Ramonaâs eyes narrowed. âDonât tell him about the ghosts.â
âI wasnât planning on it. Iâm not going to just ruin Cassidyâs element of surprise for the sake of this.â
âBetter to be on the ghostsâ good side,â Ramona agreed. âOkay. Since youâre so insistent I still go visit Becky, hereâs the deal. You are going to check in with Sebastian every so often to prove that youâre handling things. If not, he will come find you.â
âDoesnât sound much different from what youâve been doing lately,â Jeremy pointed out. âI can handle that.â
âGood. Because thereâs no room for debate on that.â Ramona seemed at least a bit pleased. âIâll handle cleanup tonight if you want to call Afton back.â
âYeah, okay.â Jeremyâs 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.
âAfton residence, this is William.â The same formal voice greeted Jeremy as last time. Except this call was real. Oh god, Jeremy thought to himself. âHello?â
âAh, sorry. This is Jeremy. I called earlier?â
âOh, yes. Youâre Michaelâs coworker on the night shift.â Williamâs tone seemed a bit less stiff now, relaxing into a weirdly soothing one. âIt mustâve been terrible to have to go through such an incident. I went in today to see him, and he hasnât woken up yet. Seems theyâve put him in some kind of medical coma.â
âReally?â Jeremyâs voice wavered. âThat, uh. Doesnât sound good.â
âHeâs better off than he could be, from what I understand. Hospital staff say that if it had been caught much later, he couldâve died from the blood loss.â Williamâs voice remained just as soothing and comforting as before.
For some reason it pulled Jeremyâs guard down, and it felt almost too easy to get emotional. âYeah.. yeah, there was a lot of, um, blood. I tried to stop it, but-â
âI would like to thank you for saving my sonâs life, first and foremost. I was a bit surprised to hear that youâd left the hospital without getting checked over. Typically if one employee is injured, the other is also.â
âOh, no, I was fine. Physically anyway,â Jeremy replied weakly.
âReally. Fascinating.â Williamâs voice took on a hint of curiosity at that. âBut itâs understandable that you wouldâve been taken in for shock or something similar, yes?â
âWell, I wasnât. My sister came to get me right away, so I just went home.â
William made an irritated noise before muttering, âBloody hospitals.â
A faint smile pulled at Jeremyâs mouth at that. He wasnât completely composed all the time.
âYou should still get checked over regardless. Just because you arenât feeling anything doesnât mean thereâs no injuries,â William pressed further.
âOh, I donât think thatâs necessary. I have a doctor I go to out of town anyway, so I might give her a call.â
âAlright then. Youâre a stubborn bloke, arenât you? Probably drive Michael mad during shifts.â
âAbsolutely,â Jeremy agreed, the smile growing a bit wider. âYeah, he hates the fact that I do patrols around the pizzeria during the shift. Thinks itâs unnecessarily dangerous.â
âThe office always was the most dangerous spot. Iâm guessing you were on one of your nighttime patrols when the bloody thing attacked then?â
âYeah. I ran back when I heard, but I wasnât able to do much more than pull Mangle off him. Theyâd already bitten down.â
âAh, well, you did your best. Thatâs better than some day guards can say. Four years ago they werenât as good as you are. This is my second son to have this happen, did you know that?â Williamâs tone changed again, somewhat angry.
Lie, Jeremy told himself. Donât make him suspicious. âOh, I uh. I didnât know that, actually.â
âMichaelâs younger brother got himself caught on the inside of an animatronicâs mouth. The thing malfunctioned and clamped down. Still, it wasnât actively hunting him, so at least thatâs something, eh?â
âI guess soâŚâ Jeremy was surprised that William hadnât brought Michaelâs name into it.
âCourse, that guard hadnât been paying good enough attention and ignored the screams he heard. Incompetent fool.â
ââŚâ Jeremy didnât know what to say to that.
âGlad you took action. Itâs good to have guards with initiative on the job. If there were more men like you working at Freddyâs, Iâd imagine that childrenâs incident never wouldâve happened either!â William chuckled darkly.
Jeremy shivered at the implications. This was surely not a threat against him, right? âMaybe itâs harder to notice during the day shift? Thereâs not as much going on at night sir.â
âI suppose thatâs true too. Still, good work.â
âThanksâŚâ Jeremy trailed off awkwardly as he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. Ramona was gone.
âI 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 Freddyâs, but the old recipe. The good recipe.â
âOh, thatâs not⌠I donât think thatâs necessary-â
âI insist. Let me show my gratitude,â William pushed back against Jeremyâs reluctance. âAnd maybe I can show you some of Michaelâs old photographs from when he was younger. Utterly foolish, that boy.â
Jeremy hesitated. Donât you dare let your curiosity overrule your safety, he scolded himself. âOh, I donât know-â
âNow now. I know you already admitted to being a stubborn man, but you sound pretty young. It seems odd to decline a free meal.â
But he couldnât let William be suspicious of him. âOh, alright.â
âSplendid! When are you available?â
Wearily, Jeremy gave him all the necessary details. He didnât want the man to know where he lived, so he offered to drive to his house. William hadnât had any problems with that and even said heâd reimburse the gas money.
Was everybody else wrong about him? Maybe theyâd been mistaken, or maybe they didnât remember correctly. Jeremy didnât 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.
âOkay, Fitzgerald. Something weird is going on with you.â 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 Jeremyâs floor.
âHow do you mean?â Jeremy asked.
âYouâre mopey. I have hardly seen a smile on your face since before Ramona left. Whatâs your deal, bud?â
âAh, just going through some stuff.â 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.
âYouâve got the hots for someone.â Sebastian blinked lazily at him. âAnd theyâre not feeling too well or something.â
âIâm guessing you talked to Ramona then,â Jeremy pointedly looked away.
âWhy donât you just go visit him or something? Since youâve apparently got enough time off to hang out at noon.â
âAh, well. Heâs in the hospital, and I donât think theyâre allowing visitors.â
âOh shit, dude.â Sebastianâs eyes widened. âNo wonder youâre a mess.â
âIâm not a mess,â Jeremy insisted.
âYou havenât been sleeping, based on those bags,â Sebastian replied. âAnd your hair doesnât usually get this bad either.â
âYou try having thick curly hair.â
âItâs down to your waist, dude. I bet it would be easier if you cut it, but Iâm not getting into that.â Sebastian shook his head. âHave you tried to visit him?â
âNoâŚâ Jeremy shifted uncomfortably.
âWhy not? You know you like him, and I bet it would take a weight off if you like, checked in on him or something.â
âI donât knowâŚâ
âFine, then let me take you bowling or something.â Sebastian stood up, straightening his shirt. âLater tonight. Iâm going to pick you up, and weâre going bowling. No outs.â
âSeb, you donât need to do that-â Jeremy tried to protest.
âNuh uh, no outs. Weâre bowling.â
âYou hate bowling.â
Sebastian rolled his eyes. âYeah, obviously. Which is why you should take this golden opportunity to whoop my ass.â
Jeremy smiled tentatively at that. âAlright.â
âThere he is,â Sebastian grinned, ruffling his hair and making it even more tangled. âEugh, but wash your hair first. Thatâs disgusting, dude.â
âI will, I will.â Jeremy shooed him away. âThatâs my problem, not yours.â
âYeah, whatever. And sometime this summer Iâm taking you golfing. None of that minigolf stuff either. 18 holes, play it as it lies.â
âThat sounds awful.â
âConsider it a favor you owe for this,â Sebastianâs eyes twinkled. âIâll be back around 5, alright?â
âOkay. See you then.â Jeremy couldnât 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 shouldnât he try to go in and see Michael? Who was really going to stop him? His father was able to visit, so why couldnât 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.
Heâd 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 Michaelâs bedside. âUh, hi.â
âHello,â William studied Jeremy for a moment. âIâm guessing you know my son somehow?â
âOh, yeah. We um. Iâm Jeremy.â
âAh.â William nodded. âWell, thereâs a second seat if youâd like to sit down for a minute.â
âThat sounds great, thanks.â Jeremy sat down awkwardly, his back very tense as he stared at his pale coworker.
Bandages wrapped the entire right side of Michaelâs face, covering his eye completely. Bruises spread across the rest of it, and Jeremy noticed that an IV was stuck into his arm.
âHe looks soâŚâ
âPeaceful? Michaelâs usually very tense,â William said quietly. He looked at Jeremy apologetically. âI shouldâve called again to follow up. You said next week was fine?â
âOh, to like, visit? Yeah, I guess so.â
William nodded, falling back into silence, reaching to cover Michaelâs still hand with his own. âApparently there were some complications with his eye.â
âWhat do you mean?â Jeremyâs fingers curled tightly into his palms.
âThe animatronic wasnât exactly clean, you know.â William blew out an angry breath. âWhole 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 donât even understand how it got into his eye in the first place, but evidently it must have somehow.â
âSo heâs got an infection?â
âThey removed his eye.â Williamâs jaw clenched. âA pain to deal with, but supposedly theyâve had a bunch of luck with patients recovering and learning to live with just the one.â He paused for a moment, composing himself. âUnfortunately, it doesnât qualify Michael for disability at all, even though he needs months to properly recover, but thatâs the healthcare system for you.â
William chuckled dryly. âOn the bright side, heâs nearly recovered enough to wake up. I suppose thatâs something.â
âYeahâŚâ Jeremyâs eyebrows creased at that. On one hand, it was Michaelâs right eye, so it wouldnât 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. âShit, I wish Iâd gotten there sooner.â
âJeremy, thereâs a high likelihood that you couldâve been hurt terribly had you been in the office at the time.â
âOr maybe, we wouldâve heard the sounds in the vent, and it wouldâve been fine,â Jeremy argued. His eyes were welling up with tears, but he couldnât help it.
âThereâs no way of knowing,â William said.
Jeremy wiped at his tears quickly, hoping to go unnoticed. âI guess. Sorry to, uh, put a damper on the conversation.â
âThereâs plenty of time to be frustrated about something like this.â William patted Jeremyâs knee. âEspecially when itâs someone you know and care about.â
âYeah.â Jeremy did not like how easily everybody was figuring him out. âI might come back later this week to see if heâs awake. But uh, I gotta go now.â
âIf he wakes up before you visit, Iâll call.â William smiled thinly. âHave a good afternoon, Jeremy.â
âYeah. Uh, you too.â 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 Evanâs 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.
âWhat have you guys found out so far?â Charlie asked. âAny news from your errand boy, Cassidy?â
âHeâs a full grown adult, Charlotte.â Cassidy rolled her eyes. âAnd no, I havenât. Heâs supposed to work this time of night, but I havenât seen him since the bite.â
âWhich couldâve been avoided if youâd let me out of the box,â Charlie said, pointedly glaring at Evan. âAnd now weâre down two more kids.â
âIt was so much easier when we could hear phone gossip,â Cassidy sighed mournfully. âWhyâd they have to fire that other guy?â
âToy Bonnie,â Evan answered.
âAh yes. Because Cassidy made a literal golden rabbit our informant on what the day shift does.â
âNothing happened while he was doing that anyway,â Cassidy countered. âAnd I didnât know it was him until you told me.â
Charlie shrugged, dragging her finger through the dust in the floor, not leaving a mark. âI guess. But what are we going to do with that information?â
âYou can reverse it, so does it really matter? Now that youâre out of the box, of course.â
Charlie scowled. âWhyâd you even let them do that in the first place?â
âIt wouldâve been too suspicious if you were hovering around Uncle Henry all the time,â Evan answered quietly. âAnd it wasnât exactly safe to have all that exposed electrical wiring in the pizzeria anyway.â
âYeah, well someday Iâm going to figure out what song puts you in a box, and then Iâm going to leave it that way. Since obviously you canât figure things out on your own,â Charlie shot back.
âGlad we worked things out,â Cassidy said sarcastically.
âThat threat applies to you too.â
âOh, Iâm sure. Not that Iâve been able to do much anyway, since my partner doesnât let me.â
âSo itâs two against one now?â Evan asked. âWow, way to make me feel like a member of the team.â
âYouâre too bossy to be the leader,â Cassidy answered. âMaybe itâs time Charlie took charge. After all, a foggy head isnât going to do us much good.â
âFoggy-â Evan scowled. âI lost half my brain to an animatronic!â
âYeah, and youâve been bossing us around ever since. Maybe itâs for the best that you stop doing that. Plus, you seem really stressed, buddy.â Cassidy kicked Spring Bonnieâs arm, taking satisfaction in the snap it made.
Charlie and Evan both winced at the noise. âThatâs going to cause a chain reaction-â Charlie started as another springlock snapped.
âWait, thatâs so cool.â Cassidy watched in fascination as the springlocks âsprungâ back to their places.
âThe idea is to not have another animatronic running around,â Evan said, clearly still annoyed as he pried the springlocks back into their compacted positions. âUnless you want to babysit.â
âOh, no thank you. I just think the noise is cool.â
âAnd deadly,â Charlie answered. âBut I see why you didnât volunteer yourself.â
âIdeally Jeremy or Michael would be in charge. But since we canât consistently rely on Jeremy to be here, or Michael to have a brain-â
âShut up, would you?â Evan glowered at her.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. âIdeally weâd have an adult.â
âWe would if they ever stuck around in the suits,â Charlie answered, sounding annoyed. âBut they got to rest in peace, and our bodies are stockpiled in the safe room.â
âThanks for that nasty image,â Cassidy remarked.
âAnytime.â Charlie curled up, bunching her arms around her knees. âDo we actually have a plan in place, though? You said Jeremyâs daily checks kept him from doing anything, but that must mean heâs not doing his checks anymore.â
âThe manâs probably terrified to come back into the pizzeria after you two terrorized him.â
âWe didnât terrorize him,â Charlie corrected. âWe asked him questions.â
âAbout being a giant bunny? Yeah, okay. Maybe heâs insecure about it.â
âHe said he never saw the thing. Except he is the bunny, so why didnât he mention that?â Evan pushed.
Cassidy scoffed. âYou two donât 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?â
Charlie blinked. âI mean, he is the night guard. That would make sense.â
âWe didnât know that though!â Evan argued.
âYeah, 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 heâd have good reason to hide that from us if he thought we would hurt him for it.â
Evan crossed his arms sullenly. âThen why hasnât he come back to explain himself?â
âI think thatâs fairly obvious,â Cassidy snorted. âHeâs scared of us, duh.â
âI wish he would come back, though.â Charlie said thoughtfully. âI wanna know how heâs got that silvery stuff in his system.â
âYou mean the same stuff in our system?â Evan asked.
âThose weird silvery strands you had during the bite incident to hold back Jerebunny?â Cassidy asked.
âYou have a strange way with words, Cassidy.â Charlie shook her head. âBut yet youâve covered it. Thatâs in our systems as well. Itâs what keeps us in control of our animatronics.â
âBut we donât really have an animatronic anymore. We just have his form,â Evan argued.
âMost people donât share one either,â Charlie retorted. âBut Jeremyâs got it in his system somehow. And heâs alive.â
âThat is pretty weird,â Cassidy agreed. âDo you think he gets it from turning into a bunny, or do you think he turns into the bunny because of it?â
âI donât know. I really want to ask about it though.â
âMy father was looking into that stuff too, at one point. You guys remember, right?â
âYou mean when he killed Cassidy?â Charlie asked, considering. âIf thatâs true, we need to keep Jeremy away from Uncle Will.â
âThatâs the worst-case scenario,â Cassidy agreed. âI donât want to give him anything more than heâs already got.â
âNone of us do,â Evan whispered, shuddering. âIf he got ahold of Jeremy before we did, who knows what would happen.â
âYouâre doing terrible,â Sebastian observed as Jeremy threw his fourth gutter ball in a row.
âJust warming up. Getting the feel for it,â Jeremy replied, grinning at his friend. âNot that youâd understand.â
âDeliberately missing for the entire first half? No, Iâm not sure I do understand. The goal is to hit the pins.â Sebastianâs second ball rolled down the lane and hit pins 6 and 10. He let out a frustrated grumble.
âThe goal is to understand the lanes,â Jeremy retorted, his ball hitting the head pin perfectly to get a strike. âSee? Familiarity helps.â
âThatâs bullshit,â Sebastian shook his head before picking up his own ball again. âYou can deliberately miss and then shoot strikes to show me up.â
âWho me?â Jeremyâs grin widened as Sebastian hit the 7 pin.
âThis whole game is bullshit,â Sebastian muttered as Jeremy settled in to watch him throw his second ball. âIâm going to miss.â
âWith that attitude you are.â
âI am going to destroy you at golf in April.â
âWithout a doubt,â Jeremy agreed. âBut for now, you suffer.â
Sebastian scowled as the ball rolled down the lane, drifting into the gutter without much preamble.
âHow do you manage to be so bad at this? Seriously, weâve been bowling together for years.â
âShut up.â Sebastian grumbled as Jeremy picked up his ball again and got a second strike. âThis is stupid.â
âYou suggested it,â Jeremy pointed out.
âI forgot how insufferable you get when we bowl. God, dude.â Sebastian shook his head.
âNot worse than you get when we golf. Thatâs where the real suffering begins.â
âIs that the reason you asked Ryan out in high school? To make him go golfing with us?â Sebastian asked.
Jeremyâs eyes twinkled. âI donât kiss and tell.â
âYouâre a weirdo, dude.â Sebastian cursed under his breath as his ball yet again only hit one pin.
âSore loser.â Jeremy replied.
âThatâll be you come April.â
âThatâs right, soothe yourself with the thoughts of destroying me in golf.â
âI will. Try not to throw your back out this time, yeah?â
Jeremy scoffed. âThat was one time.â
âAnd it took you out for days! I still canât believe you took that exam before going to an appointment for it.â
âAw, shit dude. You know I hate doctor visits.â
âI couldâve gone with you to hold your hand.â Sebastian teased. âBig boy Jeremy canât handle the little doctor with her needle.â
âFuck off,â Jeremy snorted, still in good humor. âYou were terrified of the dentist. Oh no, thereâs fingers in poor Sebbyâs mouth. Whatever will he do?â
âThat shitâs terrifying.â Sebastian shuddered. âAnd Iâll be the victor when I still have all my teeth at 50.â
âOooh, Mister Bigshot over here.â Jeremy joked as Sebastian finished out his game with 22 points. âHey, itâs not golf, you know. Bigger scores are better.â
âScrew you.â Sebastian wacked his friend in the gut. âYouâre going to get fucking 240, arenât you? On a warmup.â
 âOh, so now itâs a warmup. I see.â Jeremyâs last ball hit the pins, yet again getting him a strike.
âI hate you so much.â
âYouâre jealous of my bowling skills.â Jeremy replied. âBowlingâs a more attractive sport than golf.â
âSeriously, you bring guys to the bowling alley on dates? Canât afford to take them out somewhere nicer?â Sebastian countered. âAt least my job pays well enough for that.â
âWha- Hey.â Jeremy rolled his eyes. âCome on, thatâs uncalled for.â
âI havenât had a boyfriend since we dated Jeremy. Youâre uncalled for.â
Jeremy stuck his tongue out at Sebastian in reply.
âThatâs not a reasonable defense,â Sebastian pointed out.
âYeah, well actions speak louder than words.â
âSo youâre saying youâre like five?â
âFucking hell dude.â Jeremy clapped a hand down on Sebastianâs shoulder. âWe gotta hang out more.â
âAnd you gotta go to the gym less. Oww.â Sebastian rubbed his shoulder in mock pain.
âI donât go anymore,â Jeremy replied, rolling his eyes.
âWhere the hell did you get that muscle from then, you liar?â
Jeremyâs mouth twitched toward a frown. He didnât want to answer that. âIâm just built different,â he told Sebastian.
âEvidently.â Sebastian shook his head. âYou always lifted more than me anyway. I just didnât think sitting in an office for six hours would keep your muscles bigger than mine.â
âIâm not sitting for the entire night.â
âNo, but you arenât lifting heavy equipment either!â
Jeremy shrugged. âIâm just happy I can still hold my bowling ball.â
âItâd kill you if you had to get a new ball,â Sebastian agreed. âAt least endurance is more manageable to build up than fucking muscle mass.â
âYou say that as if you donât have a routine that keeps you in shape for your weirdass sport,â Jeremy pointed out.
âHa ha. Clearly, you donât have a routine.â
âI donât take sports into my routine.â
âNo wonder I havenât seen you smile this much in forever. I thought something was actually wrong.â Sebastian yelped as Jeremy yanked him into a headlock.
âI can have fun in other ways,â Jeremy replied, dropping his voice two pitches.
âClearly youâve taken up harassment and assault then,â Sebastian replied sarcastically. âLet me up?â
âYeah sure.â
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 Freddyâs.
âWhatâs that about better pay?â Jeremy muttered under his breath after they sat down.
âOh, shut up. So this is where you work? Not seeing how this place could possibly cause you to be in shape.â
âSix hour shifts leave a lot of time to be awake,â Jeremy pointed out, his eyes automatically scanning the environment for things that were amiss.
âI see why you never eat here given the choice,â Sebastian noted, watching Jeremyâs eyes flit around the room. âDamn, dude. Do you ever stop working?â
âI, ah.â Jeremy blinked. âSorry. Habit.â
âI can see that,â Sebastian laughed.
âI didnât realize how gross everything looked under the light,â Jeremy observed.
âThis whole place is sticky,â Sebastian complained, putting a napkin on the table to prove his point.
It didnât 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.
âDo they even clean at all?â Sebastian asked.
âI have no idea, Seb. None at all.â Jeremy fiddled with his straw as they waited for their pizza.
âCan definitely see why this is a kidsâ restaurant though. Itâs so colorful.â
âA lot less so at night. The animatronics are allowed to wander around after closing.â Jeremy shrugged.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow before leaning in close. âDude, this place is fucking sketchy as hell.â
âI know that. But if I donât work here, then the night shift is also sketchy.â
âThatâs probably the safest time to be in the building, isnât it? Just being in the security office.â
Jeremy hesitated. âDepends. But itâs definitely cleaner.â
He hadnât 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 heâd been attacked, Michael started getting to a point where he asked Jeremy for mops and cleaning supplies, and heâd 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.
âThatâs horrifying to think about.â Sebastian made a face. âIs there anything, like, actually worth it here?â
âI donât think so? I mean, I wouldnât bring my kids here, thatâs for sure.â Jeremy shrugged.
âYouâre really not selling the place, Jer.â
âItâs not my job to.â
Sebastian snorted. âNo, I suppose not. At least itâs cheap, though, right?â
âYeah, thatâs something.â
They finally got their pizza, and it was cold. Cold, tacky, and flavorless.
âDear god, this place is awful,â Sebastian muttered under his breath.
Jeremy agreed, realizing now why William Aftonâs incentive had been a good pizza. Heâd about kill for a proper pizza after trying that garbage. âLetâs split, yeah?â
âAbsolutely.â
On the drive home, Jeremy finally started to relax. âHey, Seb? Thanks man.â
âFor what?â Sebastian asked innocently.
âFor this. For everything. I uh. I went and saw Michael at the hospital like you told me to. It did help, knowing heâs supposed to wake up later this week.â
âThatâs great!â Sebastian beamed. âHow much longer after that are you going to sit on your feelings?â
âWell, weâre not exactly friends, yet. More like coworkers?â
âDo not tell me you work with him. Those cannot be the words that come out of your mouth.â
âUh, well-â
âJeremy!â Sebastian yelped. âThat is not a good thing!â
âHe already hates me, how much worse can it get?â Jeremy shot back.
âOh my god. The more I hear, this worse this sounds. Youâre trying to get with a hospitalized coworker who hates you?â
âI never said I was trying to get with him. God, why does everybody think that?â Jeremy buried his face in his hands. âNo, I want to be friends with him. I donât want to like, date him. Not right now, anyway. I just want him to be nice to me.â
âOkay. But based on how youâre talking, you do find him attractive?â Sebastian checked, having somewhat calmed down.
âYeah. Heâs fucking hot as hell,â Jeremy muttered under his breath.
Sebastian caught it and laughed. âWhy do you always go for the hard sells?â
âI donât know! And what do you mean by that? Are you calling yourself a hard sell?â
Sebastian snorted. âYou didnât go for me. I went for you, remember?â
âRight, right. Silly me.â Jeremy smiled as well. âBut uh, yeah, Iâm not⌠Not looking for any sort of relationship like that right now.â
âOkay. And even if you were, thatâs totally fine,â Sebastian told him quickly. âItâs just worry that makes me say things like that.â
âOh, I know. I know. Just, uh. Just putting that out there too.â
âThatâs fine by me. And donât feel pressured to tell me if that ever changes, either. Thatâs completely your business man, and if youâre not comfortable sharing, then Iâm not comfortable hearing it.â
Jeremy smiled gingerly. âWhat did I do to earn a friend like you?â
Sebastian snorted. âYou joined the fucking golf team. I still cannot believe you did that, by the way. The audacity.â
âI didnât know what to expect! And I didnât want to do track or baseball,â Jeremy sputtered. âI wasnât even the worst one on the team, you know.â
âI do know. But I still think youâre an idiot for joining the golf team,â Sebastianâs 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 wouldnât be able to check in with him before coming over. And that was totally fine! He didnât 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.
âYouâre very punctual,â William observed as he opened the door. âMost people donât knock exactly when theyâre expected at the door. Usually people are early or late.â
âOh, uh. Thanks? I didnât even do that on purpose.â
âIt never happens,â William agreed. âPeople who try to be exactly on time almost never are.â
Jeremy didnât know what to say to that, but he followed William into the house. âItâs unfortunate that Michael hasnât woken up yet.â
âYes, he seems to need that rest. Has he seemed extra stressed about anything lately? Anything that wouldâve made him lose sleep?â
Aside from letters from you, I canât think of anything. âUh, not that I could tell. Maybe itâs just the trauma from the head injury?â
âHm, I suppose that could be it. It does seem odd though, doesnât 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?â
âI mean, he lost an eye and had a bunch of infections, so it doesnât really surprise me.â Jeremy shuffled uncomfortably.
âHave you ever been injured on the job, Jeremy?â
âOnce. It was basically nothing though. I cut my thumb, right here. See?â Jeremy held out his hand to show, and William traced the scar tissue with his finger.
âThatâs an odd injury shape,â William pointed out, releasing Jeremyâs wrist. âCircular. You wouldnât get that from most office equipment.â
âOh, I uh. I didnât? I mean, donât 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.â
âDid the cut get infected?â
âI mean, I cleaned it right away and wrapped it up, but it mightâve. It did hurt for a few days before it healed.â
âA few days?â William raised an eyebrow. âYou mean before it scabbed over.â
âNo, a few days before it looked like this. I think I cut it like two or three weeks ago.â
William stared at him. âThatâs very interesting, Jeremy. Tell me. Have you had other injuries heal so quickly before?â
âNot before this, no.â Jeremy rubbed at the scar tissue nervously. âCan we talk about something else?â
âOh, sure. Of course we can. I think I told you Iâd show you old photo albums of Michael when he was little, didnât I?â
âYou donât have to-â
âNo, itâs not any trouble. Especially if that conversation was a bit uncomfortable for you. Come see.â
Jeremy didnât know how long he spent sitting with Michaelâs father looking at pictures, but it was not helping him get over his feelings for the man. Heâd been in baseball, from Little League to high school. William also said heâd been in cross country and went to state for both sports several times.
He had ridiculous haircuts in high school, something Jeremy couldnât help laughing at. The fashion choices Michael had throughout hadnât helped his look either. âHow did anyone ever take him seriously?â Jeremy mused.
âI havenât the faintest idea. He and his friends were never very good at being taken seriously, of course. Not by their parents anyway.â Williamâs mouth twitched slightly at that. âBut 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.â
âYou have a daughter?â Jeremy asked.
âI do. Two sons and a daughter.â William nodded. âMichael, Elizabeth, and Evan. Of course, I havenât seen Evan or Michael for years, but sometimes Iâll stop in and say hello to Elizabeth.â
He must not visit the grave very often, Jeremy thought. âSo Michael hasnât been encouraging visits, I take it.â
âNot at all. He wonât even answer my letters! Absolute nonsense. Iâm 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 Iâve been trying to get ahold of him and send him Elizabethâs address.â
âThat makes senseâŚâ Jeremy considered. âWell, why havenât you tried in person?â
âMichael is very stubborn, and he would not have taken that very well. We didnât leave each other on very good terms.â William rose from his chair. âWell, I do believe the pizza should be done by now. Would you like to tyr some?â
âI mean, you said it was better than what they serve at Freddyâs right? I am so curious about what they used to serve now that I have to try it.â
William blinked at that response. âVery well then. Iâll pull it from the oven, and you can experience the proper recipe.â
Jeremy closed the photo album and placed it on the table before following William, asking more questions about Michaelâs life as he went.
âHe doesnât talk much to you, does he?â William mused as Jeremy took his first bite of the pizza, burning his mouth. âYou have more questions than I expected.â
âHeâs not a chatterbox, no.â Jeremy fanned at his mouth, and William poured him a glass of milk. âHe doesnât tend to talk much.â
âYou talk plenty for the both of you, Iâm sure.â
âWell, yeah. But most of that is asking questions.â
âMichael doesnât like being bombarded from what I can recall. So Iâm sure that contributed to his silence.â
âHeâs pretty private too. The only time he ever volunteers information freely is when he thinks itâll directly affect me or put me in any sort of danger.â
âHmm.â William watched Jeremyâs 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. âSo you do have Remnant in your system. Quite a lot of it, if this was any indication.â
William chuckled to himself as he dragged Jeremy across the floor. Heâd drugged the pizza, fully prepared to answer any questions about why he wasnât eating any, but he hadnât 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 didnât yet have a place to put Jeremy, opting to lock him in the basement with the expectation that heâd 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, Jeremyâs mind supplied, remembering Evanâs 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 theyâd help him get out of here.
âI wouldnât do that if I were you. Those restraints can give a hell of a kick if pulled too hard.â William Aftonâs voice echoed in the quiet basement.
He yelped and stopped pulling at the restraints, his memories from earlier suddenly flooding back. âYouâŚâ
âMe.â William sighed. âI do wish it didnât 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.â
Jeremy blinked, not expecting that response. âYou kidnapped me for information?â
âYes. I did. And if I could just ask about it, I would. But the interesting thing is that while I thought the issue couldâve 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.â
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.
âWhat is wrong with you?â Jeremy found himself saying, surprised by his own nerve.
âNothing answers canât fix.â William walked to the table beside Jeremy, ignoring the glare Jeremy shot him. âIâm sure this will be quick, but since I canât be sure youâll keep your mouth shut after all of this, you will of course, be staying here for a while.â
Jeremy tensed as William pressed the cold blade of the scalpel against his arm. He felt the pressure intensify, but he never felt pain. Williamâs brow furrowed as he pushed harder. âInteresting. No wonder the Mangle wasnât able to harm you when you pulled it off of Michael. It seems there is nothing that can harm you.â
William put aside the scalpel and picked up some kind of swab. âBlood is easier for me to work with, but I suppose any bodily fluid will do.â
His fingers dug into the sides of Jeremyâs face, but Jeremy was determined to keep his mouth shut. Scowling, William thudded a hand down between Jeremyâs legs, presumably expecting him to cry or shout or something. Jeremyâs jaw remained firmly clenched, feeling the motion jolt through his body but do nothing further.
I donât have the necessary parts for that to work, Jeremy thought smugly as Williamâs scowl deepened.
âThis would be easier if you would just cooperate,â William muttered. âDonât you want Michael to get better sooner?â
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 heâd 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 heâd 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 theyâd have to like him. Because only a monster could love another monster, right?
Except Michael isnât a monster, Jeremyâs mind protested. But Michael was a fan of all animals. And his easy affection for the giant bunny hadnât meant he liked all of Jeremy. Michaelâs feeling for him extended just as far as seeing him as a giant fluffy creature. He hadnât seen Jeremyâs truly monstrous side until heâd been attacked. So Jeremy didnât even know that Michael even still cared for the rabbit in him.
Jeremyâs eyes blurred with tears as he continued to hold out against Williamâs attempts to force him to open his mouth. Donât 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. âYou will break down, sooner or later.â 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. âSince you are so determined to make this harder on yourself, I have decided that more force would be useful.â
He hoisted a wrench in his hand, letting it hit the table with a heavy thunk.
Jeremy didnât 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.
âNo response, huh?â William frowned, slamming the wrench down on Jeremyâs shoulder, shooting pain through Jeremyâs 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. âI 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 Freddyâs, and itâll hurt plenty.â
Jeremy glared at him, hating that heâd helped figure out more things that would benefit William.
âI 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.â William set the wrench aside and wiggled a knife in front of Jeremyâs face. âOf course, since youâve been so uncooperative so far, I decided that I donât have to worry about how much this hurts you anymore.â
Williamâs grin widened, and he dragged a thick line down Jeremyâs torso, digging deep. Jeremy tried to curl in impulsively, and this time he couldnât 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 someoneâs body under the weight of his rabbit side. Wondered what it would be like to crunch through Williamâs 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, Jeremyâs restraint snapped, and fur sprouted rapidly from his body, his spine growing longer, his body morphing.
William dropped the knife as the size of Jeremyâs 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.
#cloud writes#cut right through me#jeremy fitzgerald#william afton#evan afton#cassidy fnaf#sebastian#ramona fitzgerald#charlie emily#tw blood#tw torture#werebunny au
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