#Holy shit he had 6 fingers I just realized he has 6 finger six fingers I gave him six fingers

[dobbsdobbsdobbs]

hank !

[marmorafarms]

Kent x Cis Female Reader

Hey everyone! I'm back with a new smutty fic inspired by the amazing @sdvnpc who has a bunch of amazing works that you should go read.

18+ ONLY

Summary: Kent pays the local farmer a visit, intending just to introduce himself to the woman his son has feelings for. But when he realizes he and his son have similar tastes, Kent decides to think with his other head. And it's just his luck that the farmer is more than willing to have some fun.

Warnings/content: cheating, affair, safe sex, age gap, cis female reader, sassy reader

Word count: 2,358 words

Enjoy!

"Bye Sammy!" You giggle, waggling your fingers at the flustered blonde standing in front of you. Sam had insisted on helping you with the farm work that day, claiming that you seemed stressed and probably needed a hand.

You knew better.

This boy had it bad for you, and it was confirmed when you suggested he shower at your place when the farm work was finished. His face had bypassed pink and went straight to fire engine red when you told him that hot and sweaty was a great look on him, but he should probably get cleaned up.

"Haley got me some fancy soaps and hair products," you said. "You can use anything in there. You'll smell so good after."

Sam had made a slight choking sound, and you gave him a wicked grin as he looked away.

"I um…a shower sounds good," he said. "But my dad is coming home tonight and I gotta help my mom fix dinner."

You blinked, flirtatious banter suddenly shoved to the side. "Wait really?" you said, shocked. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I've been so nervous about it," Sam said honestly. "Talking about it just makes my anxiety worse. I'm worried that things will be different. Bad different."

"Hey," you said softly. "It's going to be fine. No matter what happens, it's going to be fine. You have Sebastian, Abigail, and me all looking out for you, okay?"

Sam smiled shyly and nodded. In a moment of boldness, you swooped down and kissed his cheek before bidding him farewell. Hopefully things would go well. And hopefully Sam would be up for taking a shower at your place later.

The next morning, you found yourself waking up to not only your alarm, but to someone knocking on your door. Your alarm was ringing so it was 6 am. Who the hell was wanting to visit you this early?

You climbed out of bed and padded over to the door, still in your pajamas. Typically you didn't let anyone see you in just a tank top and ass shorts, but whoever was there would just have to deal with it.

There was another knock. "I'm coming!" You shouted, annoyed. You flung open the door, ready to interrogate whoever had interrupted your morning routine, but stopped short. There was a man standing on your doorstep. A man you had never seen before in your life.

He looked kind of familiar, but you couldn't place why. The stranger had an intense gaze, steely gray eyes looking you over. Really looking you over.

Wait, was he checking you out?

He looked old enough to be your dad, but was still kind of hot. Scratch that, he was super hot. Chisled jaw, broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He could beat the shit out of you and you'd say thank you.

The silence that hung in the air was awkward, and this weirdo hadn't introduced himself or even attempted to say why he had knocked on your door at the crack of dawn.

"...Can I help you?" You asked cautiously.

"Holy hell, no wonder Sam wants a piece of you," the man said in a gravelly voice. "You're the hottest woman I've ever seen!"

"I…um…excuse me, what?" You stuttered out, mind going blank. If you hadn't just woken up, you definitely would've had some choice words to toss his way before slamming the door in his face.

"Oh god," he said, face paling. "I am so goddamn sorry. I uh, my name is Kent. I'm Jodi's husband? Sam and Vince's dad. My wife had mentioned you last night. Said something about Sam being into you, and I wanted to meet you."

"At six in the morning?" You said incredulously.

"Oh uh. Sorry," Kent said, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a gesture that reminded you forcibly of Sam.

"It's fine," you said with a sigh. "I usually get up around this time anyway." You fixed him with another look, and noticed that his eyes were wandering.

"I didn't realize a plain black tank top could be so interesting," you said, raising your eyebrows. Kent's face turned a dusty pink, and he looked away.

"Sorry," he said again. "You're just…wow."

"You're not too bad yourself," you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. Instant regret washed over you. You had just flirted with a married man, the father of the guy you're interested in. You needed to go back into your farm house and put yourself in time out.

Kent smirked at you, and took a step closer. "Oh yeah?" he said in a dark voice, each word dripping with honey.

You should tell him to go. You should put an end to this. You should–

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," you said, allowing him further into your space.

"I haven't had my coffee today," he murmured. "Would you mind making me a cup?"

You wanted to make fun of his line, but unfortunately said line was working on you. You opted for rolling your eyes and walking back in, swaying your hips a little more than necessary.

"This isn't a drive through coffee shop," you said, noticing he hadn't come in. "I'm not bringing your cup over. If you want coffee, you better come in."

Kent didn't need to be told twice. He kicked off his boots and slammed the door shut. It wasn't long before you were both in the kitchen, Kent watching you measure out the coffee grounds.

"I've got an hour," Kent said bluntly. "I'll be missed if I'm gone longer than that."

You paused, and set the container of water you were about to pour into the machine to the side. You turned to face him, leaning back against the stove.

"Well I guess coffee will have to wait," you said with a small smile. "We wouldn't want you to get in trouble." You walked over to him, and boldly put your hands on his chest. He found your hips easily, large hands settling nicely on them.

"You fuck married men often?" he asked. "You don't seem bothered by this."

"You cheat on your wife often?" you fired back. "Because you don't seem bothered by this either."

Kent's eyes went wide, and your lips curled into a devilish smile. "You mind your business, I'll mind mine." He nodded dumbly, and allowed himself to be led to your bedroom.

You began to strip, slowly raising the hem of your shirt, taking your time before it was tossed to the floor. Kent gazed at you hungrily as each piece fell away, and soon you were naked before him. Gracefully falling onto your bed, you turned to face him. You let your legs fall open, and gently spread your pussy with your fingers. His eyes zeroed in on your actions, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Slowly, you began to rub your clit, moaning softly as you did so. Kent was frozen to the spot, and you chuckled lightly.

"You just gonna watch me put on a show? You can't fuck me while you're over there with all your clothes on."

Kent sprung into action, practically tearing his clothes off as he made his way over. You helped yourself to a view of the goods, and bit your lower lip as you drank him in.

His cock was fairly average in length, but holy fuck was it thick. You could feel your pussy getting wetter as you imagined how it would probably sting slightly as his girth stretched you open.

Boot camp had clearly done its job, giving him defined abs and pecs that you just wanted to squeeze. If you had more time you would've shoved him onto his back and worshipped his gorgeous form. But time was of the essence, and you didn't have time to pepper his body with kisses or drag your tongue over his abs like you so desperately wanted to.

You made a move to get on the bed properly, back against the headboard instead of sitting near the edge of your bed. But Kent was faster. Quicker than you thought humanly possible, he was down on his knees, strong arms hooked around your thighs and pulling you closer.

With Sam being his son, you expected Kent to be more of a talker. Sam had never shut up a day in his life, but it seemed his dad was more reserved. Even more so than Sebastian, which was a shock. He didn't say a single word before latching onto your thighs, biting and sucking dark marks into your flesh. He kissed the marks he left, ignoring your pleas for him to lick you, touch you, do something to bring you close. He seemed perfectly content teasing you.

And damn that was doing it for you.

You sighed out in a mixture of pleasure and relief when his tongue finally licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. He lapped at your clit, sliding a finger inside of you. Kent began to add fingers as you squirmed. Vaguely, you realized he was stretching you so his cock would fit inside. Looking down, you let out a pornographic moan. His face was absolutely coated in your slick. Good head was always messy, and you were glad he wasn't afraid to shy away.

You were nearing your edge, so close so close so–

And then it stopped. You made a sound of protest, watching Kent get on the bed. He manhandled you into position before rubbing his tip at your entrance.

"Wait!" You said in a strangled voice, getting a look of confusion in response.

"Condom," you said simply, fumbling with your bedside drawer to pull one out.

"I'm clean," Kent said, sounding defensive. "Are you not?"

"I am," you said, throwing a bottle of lube and a condom his way. "But my body can still make babies, and I'm assuming you aren't sterile."

Kent grunted in reply, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him. In all honesty, it probably hadn't. He rolled on the condom as fast as he could, and lubed up. Your slick would probably be more than enough, but you were glad to see he was prioritizing your comfort.

Kent lined up once more, and slowly began to press in. And shit, you had been right on the money with your assumption that he would stretch you wide. At this rate he was going to split you in half! Not that you were complaining.

Kent finally bottomed out, and gave you a moment to adjust. His eyes were closed, breathing heavy. He was clearly restraining himself from pounding into you right away. And that was certainly thoughtful of him, but you needed him to cut that shit out now.

"Move," you whined. "Come on, give it to me!"

Kent nodded, and started thrusting, setting a steady pace. But it wasn't enough.

"Stop holding back!" You said, frustrated. "You can do better than that! Come on!"

Something snapped in Kent's brain, and suddenly he was ruthlessly slamming into you, hauling your hips up with a grip so tight you knew it would leave bruises.

"Fuck! Yes! Just like that!" You wailed. He was silent as ever, but let out small groans, letting you know he was enjoying himself.

"Amazing," he finally panted out. "You feel so good around me…like you were made just for my cock."

You nodded frantically. "Made…made for your cock," you moaned out, not really caring what you were saying. You were close again, and you needed to cum.

"K-Kent, I'm…I'm…"

"Cum for me," Kent said, hips snapping against you, the sound of skin on skin filling the air. "Come on girl, you can do it, cum for me!"

Your back arched as you reached your peak, cumming around his thick cock. It was a good thing you didn't have neighbors because they would've definitely heard the scream ripped from your throat.

That sent Kent over the edge, slamming into you roughly one last time as he spilled into the condom. His eyes were closed, and sweat coated his body. Kent pulled out, tied off the condom and tossed it out before pulling his clothes on.

"Enjoy yourself?" he finally asked as you were pulling your shorts back on.

"8 out of 10," you said simply, and giggled at the annoyed look on his face.

"You screamed," he grumbled. "I think I was more than an 8."

"Oh you would've been a perfect 10," you said, leading him to the front door. "But you lost points for not letting me finish before sticking it in. A true gentleman makes sure his lady is 100% taken care of before chasing his own pleasure."

"Well maybe I'm not a gentleman," Kent said, putting his boots back on.

"Hmmm…true. But I bet Sam is," you said, pleased with how Kent's entire body froze up at these words. "I bet he would make sure that I came before putting his dick in me. He's so sweet and attentive to me…he'd probably give me more than one orgasm too. Maybe what just happened should be a one and done type of thing. I'll get with Sam and let him treat me right. Since he's a perfect gentleman."

Kent turned the doorknob, but stopped before exiting. "Or maybe I can come back another day and I can show you just how much of a gentleman I can be."

"I'll hold you to that," you said as he made his way down the steps. "See you later."

He nodded, a small smile on his face as he walked down the path leading to town. You went back into your house to get cleaned up and ready for the day. You were going to have to go into town today. Pierre finally had a new backpack in stock, and you desperately needed a new one. Jodi would be in the town square talking to Caroline, and you knew you'd have to smile and wave as though you hadn't been fucked into next week by her husband.

But honestly? You didn't care.

[kzuhadovey]

the times you both fell in love

character: choi soobin x f!reader

type: fluffy fluff!!

warnings: death of a loved one

song recommendations: night changes - one direction

so i was just sleeping- and this just popped up in my mind?? so i decided to write it so ~enjoy~ also i did not proof read i’m sorry

It was a quiet, peaceful day for Choi Soobin. Flowers dropped from the tall trees and a slight breeze caressed Soobin’s face. Soobin hummed quietly as he glanced beside him, being met with… you. You were carrying a large backpack and a baby in your arms. “Psst. Y/N.” Soobin whispered, not wanting to wake the baby. “What?” You glanced at him quickly. “I love you.” The way your cheeks turned red and you giggled a little. He has said that to you over 500 times and yet when he said it, he felt like falling in love with you over and over again. 

 ➵ one  Y/N Y/L/N sat in the car, a barbie backpack on her back and a frown on her face. "Come on Y/N, cheer up." Her father said, poking her cheek. Y/N looked away in annoyance. "Soobin's gonna be just fine dear." He said, laughing. Y/N at the age of 6 was extremely attached to her neighbor and best friend, Choi Soobin. They always went to school together and when one-day Soobin fell ill, Y/N was in a completely sour mood. "I'm not going if Binnie's not going!" You had said all day. Eventually, your father had dragged you and your lunch to the car. You faced the window, looking for your mother when you caught sight of Soobin, head outside the window, trying to catch your attention. You rolled down the windows and waved at Soobin, a bright smile on your face. "Y/N!!!! I'M SICK SO I CAN'T COME TO SCHOOL TODAY!" Soobin screams with all his power. "I KNOWW MY MOM TOLD ME!" You shout back. "GET SOME REST OKAY MY MOM SAID IF YOU REST YOU WON'T GET SICK EASILY!" Soobin nodded. "OKAY Y/N!! HAVE FUN AT SCHOOL!!" He shouted, and you smiled. You waved goodbye, and that was the first time you fell in love. 

 ➵ two  Y/N stood in the middle of the room, leaning against a table. It was a pretty crowded party that Soobin had dragged her to, she always resisted but Soobin would always force her anyways. Soobin carried 2 drinks to Y/N, smiling widely. "Y/N! It's a fun one, isn't it?" Soobin asks, already chugging down one drink. "No, it isn't actually. But lemme take a drink." She says, taking a cup and drinking it. It was salty and burned her throat, she enjoyed it. "Hey Soobin and girlfriend of Soobin, come, we're playing games in the living room." A boy said, approaching the duo. "Yeonjun. She isn't my girlfriend." Soobin says, frowning. Soobin takes your head under his armpit and pats your head. "Bin- stop it-" You say, giggling. "This little shit is my best friend," Soobin says, nodding. You eventually pout and ignore him. "Ah, well, Best friend and Soobin, let's play games, hm?" The boy, Yeonjun, asks. Soobin glances at you, asking for your opinion. You let out a simple shrug and he nods. "She's tired. We're going home." Soobin says, taking your waist and carrying you. Soobin knew you too well, he knew your mannerisms and everything else. "CHOI SOOBIN- LET ME DOWN THIS INSTANT-" You shout, kicking and flailing around. Yeonjun looks at both of you in an awkward way before walking away. Soobin laughs and starts carrying you out the door, making you pout and flail around. "You're lucky I saved you there, Princess Y/N," Soobin says, putting her down. She flips her hair and laughs. "Let's go. Before your parents slander me." Soobin says, offering his hand. She accepts giddily and they both walk home together, hand in hand. 

 ➵ three Y/N stared at the hospital bed tears running down her eyes as the hospital staff started cleaning up the bed. Y/N couldn't feel anything, her face was numb from the tears and her fingers felt as if they weren't even there. Her mother was away, not even knowing that her father had died. Y/N had no one, and Y/N hated that feeling. As more tears started spouting, Soobin's comforting hand wrapped around her shoulder. Yeah, Soobin was there. As soon as he had heard the news of Y/N's father's accident, he had rushed to Y/N's side. Her father had already treated Soobin like his very own child, so Soobin was sad aswell. Soobin had a few tears as well but seeing Y/N broken was the thing he hated the most. Y/N started crying into his chest again, and Soobin could only stroke her head, trying to soothe her. "I'm so sorry, Y/N," Soobin whispered, kissing your head as you cried. He would eventually be there for every stage of sadness Y/N had. 

 ➵ four Soobin was nervously waiting outside of the university building, tapping his hand. Today Y/N would present her start-up business to over 500 investors in part of a start-up competition. Y/N's been preparing all month, with sleepless nights and hungry days. Soobin had been accompanying Y/N every day, helping her with food, helping her present, and most importantly, having fun. Y/N came out of the building, a laptop bag in her hand and a frown on her face. Soobin was about to cheer but then realized that she wasn't that happy. Soobin approached Y/N in a frenzy, anger on his face. "WHO WAS IT?? I'LL GO BEAT THEM UP-" Soobin shouted, ready to storm in the building. Y/N awkwardly tried to hold him back, giggling and shouting. "SOOBIN LISTEN- I GOT IN-" Y/N shouted, and Soobin paused. "You- you what?-" Soobin stuttered, looking at her, eyes panicked. "I got in. They liked my idea, Bin." Y/N said, laughing. Soobin sighed in relief, throwing his head back. "THEN WHY'D YOU COME OUT ALL TEARY-EYED DUMBASS?!" Soobin shouted, causing some people to stare. Y/N laughed, trying to shush Soobin. "I wanted to see your reaction, of course," Y/N said, giggling. "You dumb bitch!" Soobin said before wrapping you in a hug. A nice, warm hug. He pulled away before kissing you. You panicked for a second, before finally leaning into the kiss. He finally pulled away, his cheeks red. "Uhm-" He muttered before actually running away. Y/N's mouth was gaping open. "CHOI SOOBIN GET BACK HERE-" You shouted, running after him. 

 ➵ five  You woke up in Soobin's dorm room, disheveled. You were only in your underwear and bra, and it was very, very cold. "Holy fuck." You said as you covered your body. Soobin was in a band with his friends- so that was going well. You enjoyed Beomgyu was a babbler definitely so that was a minus. Other than that, it was nice resting with the boys. You just didn't expect to be waking up naked. Soobin must have taken your clothes off when you were asleep. You stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket around yourself. You definitely didn't wanna pass Taehyun, he was literally sleeping with his eyes open. You picked up a hoodie from the floor and recognized it as Soobin's. You put it on yourself quickly before heading out the door. The hoodie was extremely oversized so it reached your knees. You peek around, looking for Soobin. "Binnie!!" You shout, looking for him. Suddenly, a 'boo!' noise came from behind you. You yelp and jump, turning around. Of course it was Soobin. You rolled your eyes. "Hey, baby." Soobin said, laughing. You walk around, looking for the bathroom. "Give me my clothes then I'll head out of here. I know you have practice soon." You say, finally spotting the mirror. Soobin nods as he follows you around like a lost cat. Soobin put his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you as you begin to brush your teeth. "Look how far we've come." Soobin mutters, looking at the mirror. You giggle and you just ignore him. 

 ➵ six You were dressed in a small and comfortable onesie, watching your favorite show. "COME ON DELILAH JUST MARRY HIM ALREADY." You shouted in frustration. "Hello dear." Soobin's light voice called out. You waved shortly at your boyfriend before focusing back on the TV. Soobin was back home from another performance and he was itching for cuddles. "What you watching baby?" Soobin asks as he kisses your cheek from behind. "Y'know what I'm watching," You said. "I have an idea, baby." Soobin randomly says as he sits next to you. "What if we get married?" Soobin whispers into your ear. It took a while for you to process this, but you paused the tv show. "Us? Married?-" Your cheeks went red. "Bin, I mean- that would be nice- but are you sure? It's permanent, you'll be stuck to me for life." You said, chuckling. Soobin chuckles and he sits on the floor on one knee. "I don't mind. Will you marry me?" Soobin asks, taking out a ring from his pocket. Your breath hitches. "Holy fuck."

➵ seven Soobin stood from across the room nervously. The other boys were staring at Soobin in awe, giggling and laughing a bit. Soon, a figure came from the other side of the room. It was her. She was in a white gown that hugged her curves perfectly, and there were a heap of flowers in her hands. Everyone stood up, and Soobin was just in awe. "You look perfect." Soobin mouths and Y/N let out a tiny snort. "Shut the fuck up Choi Soobin." She mouths back and Soobin smiles.

➵ eight Soobin smiled at the presence of his god-daughter, Emily in his office. "HEYYY ITS EMILYY!" Soobin shouts, reaching for the blonde toddler. "Ah, I'm sorry Soobin! She just went in here and ran away from me!" You said, your hair a mess and vomit all over your clothes. "Aish, how are we gonna have a baby if you can't even take care of a toddler," Soobin said, laughing. "BITCH YOU CAN'T EVEN TAKE CARE OF MY DOG!" You said, slapping his head. "AIYA-" Soobin frowned. "Hey, look at that." Soobin noticed a picture, a small photo album on the back of the photo frame. "Hm?" You asks, busy talking to Emily. "It's a photo album we made when we got married." Soobin says, reaching for it. He opened it and his mouth dropped open. You looped her arms around Soobin's neck, also watching. "Look. Here's us when we were 6." Soobin pointed to a photo of you hugging Soobin. "Ooh, is that the party at Yeonjun's place?" You asked, pointing to one where they were drinking. "Hey, isn't that me when I finally launched my business?" You pointed to a photo of her wearing a suit. "And there's me hanging out with the boys." Y/N pointed to a photo of them at a pool. "When we got married. Ooh, and when we got Emily." You giggled. You were now enveloped in a heap of memories, and you ended up cuddling. "I love you so much. We've come so far, hm?" Soobin whispered. "I love you so much, Binnie." You replied.

[the-littlefangirl]

TFATWS episode 1 rewatch commentary

The first scene was so beautiful. I loved that we didn't start directly with the fight sequence. It feels way closer to the quiet beginning of CATWS and I love it so much.

The title is also SO NEAT, music's on point too but hey it’s Henry Jackman the one thing I’m sure it’s going to be great overall is the score.

The choreography is AMAZING, really well shot. Sam shielding himself with only one wing was MA-JES-TIC.

“WHAT'S UP” EXACTLY SAM EXACTLY

I did feel so uncomfortable in regards to the military aspect of it. Not that I was expecting anything else, but both here and in Captain Marvel the military we're good guys < 3 propaganda is so blatant and ugh:/ At least there wasn’t a literal recruitment spot like with CM. 

The yellow filter in the Tunisia scene BYE please stop with the yellow filters 2k21

"I've been working with the Air Force for six months now" So, did Sam even catch a break at all after Endgame? Or did he just throw himself to work like SOMEONE did after being iced for 70 years. Hmmm? Sam????

"Essentially, these people, they want a world that's unified without borders" OH NO! HOW AWFUL, how evil of these bad guys smh

Joaquin: SO about Steve

Sam: :)))))) nope

"Moon stuff" SAAAM

#1 cry with Sam's speech, full on chills.. Fuck. Me. His voice about to break before saying thank you bYE.

Shady politician: "It was the right decision" (FUCKKKKK YOUUU)

Rhodey: *press any key to doubt *

I need someone to analyze the different curation of the two exhibits pretty please

NOT THE PHOTO POST-AZZANO JFC. That photo is my weakness, Bucky sweetie (also I find hilarious that usually when there are articles about Stucky and/or #givecaptainamericaaboyfriend they aaaalways use that photo LMAO)

In case someone wants to read the transcription of the texts about Bucky: "In 1944, while on a mission to thwart a Hydra weapon transport in the Alps, Barnes was thrown from a train and believed to have been killed in action. It wasn't until 2014, over seventy years later, that it was revealed that Barnes was alive, having been found by Hydra operatives. Captain America himself (i can't read) the effort to bring Barnes in only to later aid in a escape from custody having been convinced of his innocence. Steve's loyalty to his old friend, coupled with his refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords, led to the dissolution of the Avengers and drove the Captain into hiding with other like-minded Avengers including Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Sam Wilson. The current whereabouts of Barnes remains unknown, habing been labeled a fugitive following his escape from custody."

"current wherabout unknown" but not the government, interesting. Also, pretty good summary of CACW from the public's perspective, although one of the things I always wanted to see explored was the public's reaction of the fallout of them going into hiding after Civil War (which I'm hoping we'll get to see a little bit of in Black Widow).

Interesting point about the 70 years without having Captain America. Clearly the sacrifice play wasn't enough this time to fuel the nationalism so they went with a squeaky clean John Walker instead.

Sam saying the shield belongs to Steve I'm going to cry now excuse me. Sam. Sam sweetie.

The No. 1 Captain America comic in the display ugH fuck yes

See this is how you do a cameo that has actual meaning. Thank god for Malcolm Spellman being a competent writer. That scene was so well written.

HAVE YOU PRAISED ANTHONY MACKIE'S PERFORMANCE TODAY?? Holy shit that last shot fucked me up.

I'm loving the use of the wide shots, especially in the flashback. The camera movements are in synch with The Soldier's state of mind and mission focus, so good.

EVERYONE STAND UP FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM aka The Winter Soldier theme composed by Henry Jackman.

Without a doubt the most brutal TWS fight scene there has been, People involved in Punisher and John Wick are involved in this and it SHOWS. 

For the record, still stands that the only time we've seen him chocking someone with his right hand instead of the metal arm remains the Maria Stark assasination. I know it's probably because of blocking and the way the shot was composed but the implications are still bone chilling. God.

Uhhmmmm I'm very ambivalent about the "Hail Hydra". On one hand, it was 100% fanservice and the internet is probably going to go insane over it, and the dead way Sebastian Stan delivered the line. Good shit. Buuut what I love about CATWS is the way Bucky never, ever ever, mouths Hydra rethoric, and even when Pierce tries to gaslight him with it, it's just an empty effort. The Winter Soldier isn't doing anything because of ideological loyalty to Hydra, even if it's product of brainwashing, it's just sheer dehumanization. They don’t need him to say the words because he’s just An Asset. There are people who have put it more eloquently but yeah, I rather go with the fanon interpretation of that aspect.

The music growing louder with the shot of the keys. GOD.

I'm fine this is fine.

#2 cry with the therapy scene of fucking course.

The government monitoring Bucky is noooot going to end well lmao.

"We need to know that you're not gonna * slowmo stabbing motions *

Bucky: * nodding along slowly * 

I laughed out loud.

"It's passive agressive" I love him.

The way this scene just sucker punched me in the face, made me weep and then had me cracking up. Amazing.

Therapist: You can't do anything illegal

Bucky: yup yup check checkity check. What IS considered illegal tho?

*aggresive tablet finger pressing *

"Then why isn't it rule number one?" Bucky your Steve is showing.

I love the close up shot. I'll keep saying it. It's so good.

"I'm James Bucky Barnes" yeah you are🥺

That smile is nightmare fuel LMFAO I love it.

Uhm the way I'm kinning Bucky it's not funny anymore damn

That whole “are you lashing out at me” rambling is really reminiscent of the bar scene in CATFA and how he lashed out at Steve after Peggy left. Uhm yeah fuck.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" "Peace"

"That is UTTER BULLSHIT" "You're a terrible shrink"

yeah ugly crying to ugly laughing speedrun for me

"You're free" "To do what?" jesus. That entire scene. #3 and #4 and #5 cries for moi.

Ugh that Brooklyn shot. Someone needs to do a gifset compairing it to the one in CATFA asap.

"It's like Monique but it's got a "U" in there for uniqueness" "That's absurd" LMAO

"You can't keep fighting with your neighbors" uHM * redacted redacted i'm shifting into 1940s mode abort abort *

"Nobody passed 90" "So young. Such a shame" FGADHGA

🥺🥺 yes flex those flirting skills good for you

"It's a dance to this things. You can't… you gotta warm up and I haven't danced since 1943. Feels like." #6 cry I completely broke down into tears with that.

This Yori storyline is going to punch me in the face with a metal fist. Great!

The TWS theme when he looks at Yori fuuuuuck.

GREAT LET'S GO TO LOUISIANA THAT WAS GETTING HEAVY.

Those shots of Sam in the car. Immaculate. Showstoping. Yes.

Marvel, what if instead of promoting the military industrial complex you put a lot of publicity about cars?

"Uncle Sam!" LMAO subtle.

Everyone trying to have the wings lmao same.

I've only had Sarah for a day but etc. Brooklyn 99 meme

Good mirroring about Steve and Sam family's legacy. Good shit. Goooood shit.

Sam is trying so hard ouch my heart. I can't imagine how painful the scene with them reuniting must have been. He 100% still feels a lot of guilt about being gone for those 5 years (and even longer before that).

"Maybe it is time for us to move on" uuuuuuuuuuh

"To the rescue" "Always" 🥺🥺 i love them so much already

That shot outside the restaurant is so beautiful. Can't wait to see the night scenes in Madripoor tbh.

"I tried the whole online dating thing. It's pretty crazy". Uhm well that is something that Bucky Barnes has now said. In canon. Damn.

"It's a lot" "You sound like my dad" LMAO

Every Bucky fanfic trope speedrun with this scene

"Wow you really can drink" OH you have no idea

Just realized we don't even know her name, well.

"You have any siblings?" "I have a sister" THE WAY I SCREECHED. We're definitely getting Becca

Well that escalated quickly. The important thing is to try?

I can't deal with this BUCKY SWEETIE #8 cry right there fuck

The wardrobe department is KILLING IT, there's such a difference between the outfits of the shows vs how ugly and generic it usually is.

"ThEre is NO such thiNg as on time. You're either EARLY or LATE . picK One" lmao the way he delivered that line

At first I thought the flag smashers had thrown two cars out of a window LMAO

"I don't know how jurisdiction works here, but I'mma have to place you under arrest" uhm yikes. The way they changed Joaquín Torres backstory to just random army nice guy #1 is not sitting well with me, what can I say.

Sam's wings motions I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR

Fuuuuck this guy.

"Funny how thing's always thighten around us" "Look, I'm on your side. After all, he's a hero". This script is C R I S P as hell, great fucking job.

"I don't care, I'm not gonna quit" "What are you trying to prove? And who you trying to prove it to" SHIT HSIT SHIT!!! UGH amazing. Look it's not necessary to say the show's questions out loud but how they flow between the conversations is still very satisfactory without feeling in your face about it. Inner conflicts have been set up fucking perfectly everyone * claps *

Ugh here we fucking go.  I knew this was how the episode was going to end but my stomach still dropped like a rollercoster. God.

The score is on point. Damn. Damn.

God, Sam.🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

The captain america franchise's visuals in the credits are always so amazing.

Also, does anybody know why Mackie isn't first in the billing?  Uhm what's that about?

ANYWAY CONCLUSION THAT EPISODE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD LIKE HOLY SHIT. I love them so much. The balance between the personal conflicts and the political aspect (although the military aspect is still very much yikes) was on point and it was overall a joy to watch.

[wangxianfics]

Hiiiiiii!!!!!!! We all know that wwx is an oblivious gremlin when it comes to his feelings so have you ever come across any fics where he is aware of his feelings early on and isn’t as oblivious? It doesn’t matter what era or au or whatever! Thank you💙💙💙💙💙

Hi nonny!

Here goes our recs for “Not So Oblivious!WWX” :

This is a Love Song by brooklinegirl (20K, Explicit)

(Canon Divergence, Gusu School Days, Early!Wangxian, First Kiss, Feelings Realization, From the Beginning Onwards, Epic Romance)

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan, from beginning to end.

❤️ vinegar jug by dandelion_san (5K, General)

(Time Travel, LWJ meets LWJ, Older!LWJ, Jealous!LWJ, Smitten!WWX, Humor)

Wei Wuxian gains a taste of first love for the future Lan Wangji, following him like an adoring puppy. The present Lan Wangji chugs vinegar and tries his best not to kill his future self, or Jiang Cheng.

@dandelion-san

❤️ Pigtail Pulling by protos_metazu_izon (3+K, General)

(Gusu School Days, Teen Wangxian, Fluff, Humor, Beautiful!WWX, POV LWJ)

“Tell me I’m beautiful, Lan er-gege!”

“You are well aware you are beautiful,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian trips over Jiang Wanyin and sends both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and bruises.

@stopaskingme 

❤️ Romeo, oh! Romeo. Whyfore art thou-WEI WUXIAN?!?! by mondengel (1K, General)

(Gusu School Days, Teen!Wangxian, PDA, Humor)

WangXian happens a lot sooner and Lan Qiren is suffering.

@mondengel​

Spark and Kindling by longleggedgit (7K, Mature)

(Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Wangxian Evolution, Angst With a Happy Ending)

When they reached the water, Lan Wangji turned to face him, saying nothing.

“Oh, fine.” Wei Wuxian gave him an exasperated look—as if Lan Wangji were the unreasonable one—and kept walking, toward a stretch of boulders along a bend in the riverbank. “Will your delicate sensibilities remain unassaulted if I bathe over here?”

Lan Wangji merely waited. With a final eyeroll, Wei Wuxian disappeared around the bend, already untying his belt as he went.

“The Lan Clan is so prudish,” he said.

---

Moments in between that brought Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian together.

feed the fire in my soul by ShootMeDead (3+K, Mature)

(Canon Divergence, Gusu School Days, Secret Relationship, Secret Marriage)

Maybe, Wei Wuxian muses, he shouldn't have brought up Lan ancestors and traditions as references.

But Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian learns, flushes so prettily when he was annoyed, his voice trembles just the teeniest amount when he was passionate, his hands curls into fists as he exercised his vaunted self-control when Wei Wuxian was being particularly obnoxious. And Wei Wuxian wants.

~

Aka, the one where wangxian gets together in Cloud Recesses, and this changes everything.

@burningsoprettily​

Free Falling Forever by ShootMeDead (4+K, Teen)

(Canon Divergence, Humor, Protective Siblings, Gusu School Days, Teen!Wangxian, JYL Ships It)

Lan Wangji is infamous in the cultivation world. Wei Wuxian is a fan of the Twin Jades of Lan.

They meet for the first time in Cloud Recesses.

Or, pigtail pulling + mooning = wangxian.

[EXCERPT]

A sound closely resembling a squeak comes from Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji glances at him. A disciple at the back snorts quietly.

@burningsoprettily

Marital Prospects by Vamillepudding (19K, General)

(Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings)

Jin Ling's birth is the happiest occasion of Jin Zixuan's life. But every gold spoon has some rust: Wei Wuxian has taken up residence too. However, Jin Zixuan has a fool-proof plan to get Wei Wuxian out of his life for good: he's going to find him a spouse. And he's got the perfect person in mind: Nie Mingjue.

Lan Wangji has resigned himself to losing the love of his life without saying a word.

@vamillepudding

to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (35K, Mature)

(Soulmates, Hanahaki Disease, Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Feelings Realization, LWJ says Fuck)

"Lan WangJi is not sure he can bear meeting with a matchmaker yet again, but at the same time, if he wasn’t going to care deeply about the person he was going to marry, he could just as well have settled for Wei Wuxian six years ago ." or, Lan WangJi goes to a Discussion Conference and his soulmate is there. His soulmate, whom he doesn't love.

I am lonely for you by protos_metazu_ison (11K, Teen)

(POV LWJ, Curses)

For as long as Lan Wangji has been alive, he has been ruled by the family curse. He knows he will doom the one he gives his heart to. It is the reason the only life he’s known is within the four walls of the Jingshi.

That is, until a stranger slings one leg over the wall; two jars of liquor dangling from his hand and calling out a tentative hello.

Modern AU

puzzle pieces by yuisaki (6+K, Teen)

(Modern AU, College AU, Roommates, Friends to Lovers, Seduction, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Getting Together, POV LWJ)

“Sorry, I, uh. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ Wei Ying blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that he wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks.

Wei Ying keeps borrowing Lan Zhan’s clothes. It is only mildly driving him insane.

@yuisakii

felt this was by crowing (10K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, College AU, Friends With Benefits, Praise Kink, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together)

The dim light in the corridor isn't much better, Wei Ying can't see Lan Zhan's face at all. He forces himself to laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Lan Zhan! You can not misunderstand. I did have a teeny, tiny crush on you but that was just in the beginning."

Lan Zhan's voice is small, barely audible. "In the beginning?"

And then, louder, "Wei Ying…...had a crush on me? I thought - your brother often says things to rile people up."

Wei Ying wants to sink into the floor at his own foolish oversight. Of course, Lan - Gossip is forbidden - Zhan wouldn't take a drunk person, let alone Jiang Cheng at his word.

With a sigh, he readies to lie in the grave of his own making. "Aiya, Lan Zhan, have you even looked at yourself? You were mean and hot. Of course, I was into that."

[Lan Zhan and Wei Ying stumble their way into a relationship]

My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit (30K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, Best Friends, Pining, Friends To Lovers)

Wei Wuxian gets expelled from college and sent abroad in shame after getting caught up in a scandal. Lan Zhan follows him.

❤️ Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (108K, Explicit) 

(Modern AU, High School AU, Persuasion AU, Teen!Wangxian, Separation, Depression, Miscommunication, Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Angst With a Happy Ending)

Tempo Rubato: Italian; Stolen Time; The musical practice of diverging from the unrelenting and gradual rhythm for a short period of time in a piece, allowing for solo freedom.

Lan Wangji starts high school in perfect step with the rhythm of his uncle's expectations and his duty to his family.

He doesn't quite stay that way.

@spodumene  

❤️  Only Fools Rush In by mrsronweasley (28K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, Woke Up Married, Drunken Confessions, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, What Happens in Vegas etc etc, Smut With Feelings)

Lan Zhan watches as Wei Ying's eyes track down his body until… "Lan Zhan," he says quietly. "What is that on your finger?"

Lan Zhan frowns and looks down. "That," he says, then stops. Something cold trickles down the back of his neck. "That is a ring." His eyes automatically go to Wei Ying's left hand, where… "Wei Ying."

Wei Ying, being the brilliant man that he is, is already ahead of him. "Holy shit."

Lan Zhan clears his throat.

They are in Las Vegas. And now they have rings on their fingers.

There is only one explanation for this. One simple, idiotic, ridiculous explanation.

"We got fucking married?!"

also, check out our early!wangxian and notsooblivious!wwx tags for plenty other similar fics that didn’t make it to the list! 

[doc-pickles]

what are you doing new year’s eve?

So this final fic of 2020 is dedicated to @odd-birds-and-booksellers for multiple reasons. Firstly she’s been my first friend in the Jolex fandom and one of the reasons the group chat exists. Despite how much we make fun of each other she’s truly become one of my favorite people (she knew I was pregnant approximately 15 seconds after I peed on a stick and hours before anyone else) and I wouldn’t have stuck around here without her.

Secondly it’s dedicated to her because my final fic for the year is an ode to the reason I’m in this fandom in the first place and the series she keeps begging me to write for. That’s right y’all, I’m posting a piece for my “It’s Nothing Funny Just to Talk/Little Pieces of You” universe! (she thought I was gonna kill someone... hehehe)

I hope y’all enjoy this cute and fluffy one shot! Thank you all for reading, commenting, and encouraging me to write this year!

also one million anons asked me for a birth fic... well here it kinda is

xoxo Nina

Maybe it's much too early in the game

Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same

What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?

Jo was fine, really she was. She blamed being two weeks from her due date for the state of discomfort she found herself in. She’d been experiencing Braxton Hicks for almost a month already (something Alex loved to point out that he could always see as it happened, much to Jo’s annoyance) so the tightening of her abdomen wasn’t a new feeling. What was new was the aching in her back and hips that had prompted her to take a long steamy shower in an attempt to ease a bit of the pain and discomfort she felt.

The water had helped a bit, but all Jo really wanted was for Alex to rub her back and hold her while she napped. He had asked before he left for work if she was alright, but Jo had assured him she was fine. New Year’s Eve was always a long night for him at work with an influx of teenagers hurt by firework accidents or drunken mishaps. She has reminded him that she wasn’t due for two weeks and she would make it through one night without him there. Now though, Jo was regretting her decision as she struggled to get comfortable on their couch, her back aching as she shifted back and forth. 

“Hoooooly shit,” Jo gripped the armrest of the couch tightly as she attempted to sit up, a roaring pain ripping through her stomach as she desperately tried to get air into her lungs. The feeling passed after a moment, letting her take a deep breath as she settled one hand onto her stomach. “I need you to calm down in there, please and thank you.” Her phone chose that moment to ding loudly, a text from Alex popping up as she reached for her phone.

Thursday 4:39 PM

How are my girls doing?

Thursday 4:41 PM

all good over here :)

Deciding not to mention her pain, Jo set her phone aside and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Whenever her Braxton Hicks got bad Alex would always tell her it was because she was dehydrated. He was usually right, though she’d never admit it, but the water usually calmed down the sensations flowing through her body. 

Slowly making her way to the kitchen, Jo grabbed a glass and sipped on the water as she tried to even her breathing. Her mind was already racing, heart pounding as she tried to keep her composure. She’d only had one bad spout of pain, it could be a fluke or a pulled muscle for all she knew. 

The searing pain she’d felt only minutes before returned again, the glass in her hands slipping from her fingers as a pained groan left her. Watching the water and glass splatter across the counter top, Jo realized how serious her pain was. Her eyes flitted to the clock, noting it was just hitting 5 PM. Alex would be home at 11, she would hold out as long as she could until then. 

-

Thursday 6:32 PM

Want me to grab a late dinner for us? Figure you’ll still be up anyways. 

Alex stared down at the text he’d sent almost 20 minutes earlier as if his staring would prompt a response from his wife. Logically he knew she was probably sleeping, but he’d been worried about her all day. She’d barely slept the night before and her back had been hurting for almost two days now. He wasn’t stupid he’d done enough rounds on OB to know that Jo was probably getting close to going into labor, a thought that both excited and terrified him. Erring on the side of caution, he dialed Jo’s number and waited for her to answer. 

“Hi you’ve reached Josephine Karev! I’m probably teaching right now so leave a message after the beep!”

“Hey babe, call me back whenever you can. Love you.”

Hanging up the phone and grumbling to himself, Alex begrudgingly turned back to his patient files. He had a lot of work to do, but his mind was currently occupied worrying about his wife and their unborn daughter. 

-

“Oh shit… oh shit no no no,” Jo’s panicked cries echoed across the empty loft as another contraction made its way through her stomach, her body curling in on itself as she struggled to lean against the couch. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told her it was only 7:19 meaning Alex wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. 

She knew she couldn’t last that long, her contractions were steadily growing closer together and more painful. Reaching for her phone, Jo sent off a quick text before focusing her attention on breathing through the steady flow of contractions now racking her body. 

Thursday 7:21 PM

in labor, moving fast. need drugs and husband. 

-

It was nearing 8 PM and Alex still hadn’t heard from Jo for the last three hours. He’d called twice to no answer and his texts were sent but not read. He was ready to jump in the car and rush home to check on her when someone called out his name. 

“Alex!”

Jackson Avery was jogging towards him, dressed in a button up and slacks with a six month old Harriet on his hip. He’d been talking about his mom’s New Year’s Eve party all week, so Alex was shocked to see him there. 

“Hey man, you skipping out on the party,” Alex searched Jackson’s serious expression for a moment, reading his best friend's face easily and letting a sigh out. “Where is she?” 

“April took her up to L&D while I came to find you. She was screaming at me the whole drive here,” Jackson smirked at Alex as they walked down the halls. “I’m sure you’re in for a fun night.”

Thanking Jackson, Alex headed towards the maternity ward with a sense of urgency. He knew if Jo had been worried enough to call April that she was probably pretty far along in her labor. Spotting the red head down the hall, he picked up his pace and stopped in front of her. 

“They’re just checking her out now, her contractions have been coming every three and half minutes but I think they’re speeding up,” April gave Alex a small smile as she made to leave. “She’s been asking for you the whole time.”

“Thanks April.”

“It’s the least I could do. When I was in labor she sat with me while Jackson was in surgery despite the fact that she was throwing up every twenty minutes from her morning sickness,” April shrugged. “Besides if I didn’t go she probably would’ve given birth on your couch.”

Alex chuckled, his hand rubbing his neck nervously, “I’ll text you guys when she’s here, thanks again.”

April left then, Alex taking a breath before entering the room that April had just left. Jo was laid in bed, eyes closed and curled in on herself as she struggled through a contraction. Surging forward Alex placed one hand on Jo’s back as the other moved to run through her hair. She instantly relaxed at his touch, eyes popping open to meet his. 

“I was wondering why you weren’t answering my texts,” Alex leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. “You need anything? Water, ice chips, hard drugs?” 

Jo shook her head, breathing through the end of her contraction before speaking again, “No they said I’m too far along for an epidural. I just have to suffer until she gets here. My water broke as soon as I walked into the hospital, I think she knew you were waiting.”

Eyeing the monitor tracking her contractions, Alex realized that she was nearing the end of her labor, “You should’ve called me, I could’ve come to get you.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m here now,” Jo leaned against Alex’s hand as she struggled to pull a breath in. “Ow ow ow ow, holy shit mother-”

Jo’s next words were silenced as she pressed her face against Alex’s chest, fists clenched against the bed rail as her body tensed once more. Keeping his eyes on her monitor, Alex kept his fingers running through Jo’s hair in an attempt to comfort her, “Breathe baby, it’s okay just breathe.”

Once she finally took a deep breath Jo relaxed in Alex’s hold, her voice alarmingly calm as she spoke, “I really need to push. Like right now.”

“Let me get the doctor, just hold on a minute babe,” Alex couldn’t help the wide grin he sported as he left Jo’s side to call down the hallway for her doctor. In just a little while they were going to be parents… 

-

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Happy New Year!”

The TV played softly in the background as fireworks lit up the dim hospital room but Alex and Jo weren’t paying attention to the celebration of the new year. Both had their eyes firmly locked on the sleeping bundle in Jo’s arms, light curls peeking out of the pink hat on her head as her lips pursed in her sleep. 

“You do that when you’re sleeping,” Alex pointed out as he ran his finger down his daughter’s cheek. “You look like a fish, it’s kinda funny that she’s already doing it.” “She’s not even three hours old and you’re comparing her to a fish,” Jo chuckled as she looked from her daughter to her husband. “She needs a name still.”

“How about Goldie,” Alex’s suggestion earned him a slap on the arm from Jo, a laugh escaping him as she did so. “I was kidding! What about the one you really liked?” Eyeing her daughter as if testing out the name she’d brought up so many months ago, a grin settled on Jo’s face, “I like it. Annabeth Brooke Karev.”

“Glad we finally decided on that, I thought you were never going to choose,” Alex pressed a kiss to Jo’s lips, then another to the top of Annie’s head. “Happy New Year Annie.”

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight

When it's exactly 12 o'clock, midnight

Welcoming in the New Year, New Year's Eve

[sondepoch]

Chapter 5

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

MASTERLIST

It's not Lucifer's fault.

Your lips are addictive, soft as a pillow but so very expressive at the same time, spilling emotion and hunger and desire into Lucifer's mouth every time your tongues touch. And given that neither of you have pulled away for the past five minutes, your tongues never really stop touching. So Lucifer can barely think about anything else when he's so preoccupied with the sensation of your lips on his, and your delicate fingers as they clench around the fabric of his shirt.

The demon can practically feel the moment he melts into your hand, his body suddenly no longer his own but devoted to serving you instead, every single one of his senses lit afire with your body: your touch, your taste, your sound. He could kiss you for centuries. If you let him, he probably would.

So, truly, it's not Lucifer's fault that his ears, so focused on taking in every rustle of clothing and every breathless moan you release, don't notice the front door opening.

He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, when the sound of disbelieving footsteps approaches, because he genuinely can't hear them—all he knows right now is you.

But that doesn't stop him from blaming himself when Satan finally coughs.

"Lucifer?"

The demon stiffens, feeling your body go rigid in turn.

Abruptly, the two of you pull away from each other and turn to the source of the sound. Lucifer can only curse inwardly, momentarily stunned into silence when he sees each of his six brothers gawking at him in silence.

Ah, shit.

That's all it takes for every single one of his younger siblings to begin cheering and laughing in varying whoops of approval.

"About damn time!" Calls Mammon, already pulling his phone out to snap a picture.

"I always knew you had it in you, Lucifer!" Asmo squeals, clutching a hand to his chest. "I've been waiting millennia for this moment!"

The firstborn demon groans, shifting back into his human form while you do the same. As his brothers continue to cheer and laugh, he can't pinpoint whether he's frustrated at himself for not noticing their arrival or at them for disrupting the moment.

He was enjoying those kisses, after all.

"On the floor, really?" Satan mutters, the only one of his brothers to look away in embarrassment. The intimacy of the moment wasn't lost on the fourth-born, and Lucifer is somewhat relieved for it.

"It was, um," You shuffle awkwardly, detangling your limbs from Lucifer's as you stand up and stare at the ground. "Not supposed to…"

"It was precious!" Coos Asmo, jumping up and down as he takes your hand. "Oh, MC, you must tell me everything! How long has this been going on? Has our dear older brother been treating you properly? Have you two slept together yet?"

"Asmo!" Lucifer hears you exclaim, mortified as you cover your face in embarrassment.

An amused smile crosses the firstborn's face at that, remembering your oh so tempting words from just a few minutes ago. What were they again? Ah yes: I'm okay with being corrupted, as long as it's you. Lucifer chuckles. Where has all that boldness gone?

Still, he steps in for your sake, pulling you to his side protectively. "Enough. I apologize that you all came home to see that. It was not my intention, so cease your bantering."

Cue another round of protests.

"Come on, Lucifer!" Mammon exclaims, arms crossed. "Ya can't just kiss MC like that and expect the rest of us not to ask you some questions!" Next to him, Beel nods vigorously, the orange-haired boy so shocked that he hasn't even run to the kitchen yet, despite having been out of the house for so long. Mammon turns to you. "He didn't force himself on ya, did he? C'mere MC, let me know if he scared ya."

"He didn't…" You mutter shyly, still embarrassed over being caught. "If anything, I...was the one who...started all this..."

"Ehhh?" Asmo exclaims, while Belphie tuts disapprovingly. Even Satan turns to Lucifer with eyebrows raised, all of their facial expressions echoing the same sentiment as Asmo's words: "Lucifer, you made MC make the first move?!"

"Quiet," He seethes at all of them, gripping your wrist as he marches out of the room. He hears their protests in the background alongside Levi's LOLOLing, but in the end, it's your questioning mumble that stops him.

"Where are we going?" You ask, cheeks only a little flushed from earlier.

"Purgatory Hall," Lucifer mumbles. "The sun is setting, and Simeon will be expecting you home for dinner very soon."

"Hey!" You protest, crossing your arms as a pout comes to your face. "You're going to kiss me and kick me out? Geez, Luci. And here I thought you were a gentleman."

The demon's ears redden at your words, feeling flustered by them even though he knows you're just teasing. "I am not kicking you out!" He tries to clarify. "I will be walking you home, and it is exclusively to ensure your safety that you—"

"Oh, come on!" You slip your D.D.D. out of your pocket, dangling it in front of Lucifer with pleading eyes. "Call Simeon for me and ask if I can stay for dinner?" You ask, fingers crossed.

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because he can say no to me!"

"He can say no to me too."

"But he won't," You wink. You raise your eyebrows, looking up at Lucifer mischievously. Deep down, you already know you've won—Lucifer has never been able to resist those puppy dog eyes of yours. Still, when he finally sighs and takes the phone from your hand, pulling dialing in Simeon's number, you squeal in excitement, jumping up and landing a kiss on Lucifer's cheek before running off.

"Guess who's staying for dinner!" He hears you call out to his brothers, prompting another round of cheers. Lucifer winces, listening to what can only be the sound of them tackling you onto the ground and asking hushed questions about what they just walked in on, each of them throwing ten different comments and inquiries your way. The demon contemplates going after you, but in the end, he just sighs and presses the call button, knowing that he's already wrapped tightly around your finger.

"Little lamb?" He hears the familiar angel's voice ring out from the other line. "Where are you? I was just about to call, actually."

"Ah, it's me," Lucifer responds, realizing that he probably should have called from his own D.D.D.

"Oh, Lucifer! I suppose MC is with you, then. Would you mind walking her home? She tends to lose track of time, and I doubt she'll remember on her own."

"About that, she actually wanted me to ask you if she could stay here at the House of Lamentation for dinner."

"Of course she did," Simeon says, laughing lightly. "And she asked you to call me instead of doing it herself so that I wouldn't be able to say no?"

A smile tugs at Lucifer's lips.

"You guessed it."

More laughter, but this time it comes from both of them.

"Hey, she pulled the same tricks with me when I was her guardian angel," Lucifer recalls, remembering how it bothered him to no end when he would get random calls from Simeon or his siblings late at night from your cell. You were always getting your friends to ask Lucifer for just two more hours until it was miraculously nightfall and suddenly too dark to even fly home. "Before, it would be you convincing me to let her stay."

"Fair enough," Simeon chuckles. "You never were easy to convince." There's a thoughtful pause on the end as the angel considers raising a protest, but eventually, he decides to give in. "Just have her home by a decent time so that she can get a full night's rest for school tomorrow."

"Of course," Lucifer says, nodding. The demon would make sure of that regardless; he's still the vice-president of the student council—it wouldn't be fitting of him to encourage unhealthy habits among the exchange students.

"And Lucifer?"

"Hm?"

"Be good to her."

Lucifer pauses, eyes widening as his mind takes in the angel's words. Did Simeon know that the two of you had kissed? What else could he be referring to? But it had happened so recently, so how could Simeon possibly know?

Lucifer hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether to question the angel's words or not. But in the only a quiet promise slips from his lip: "I will."

And then the line is cut, and Lucifer is left wondering what he just agreed to—but no matter, he would be good to you in every way possible. Kissing you changed none of the protective feelings he's harbored for you since the day you were born, and he would allow no harm to come your way.

The demon locks the D.D.D., slipping it into his pocket while turning his head in the direction of the dining room.

Now, to deal with his brothers.

***

Devildom cuisine is interesting, to say the least.

You'd noticed it earlier, when you and your roommates from Purgatory Hall all went out to go shopping for ingredients together—that the only food really available all seemed to be strange animal parts or traditionally poisonous plants. Somehow, the four of you had managed to find seemingly a handful of ordinary ingredients, and you've been using those in all meals.

But the brothers have embraced their demonic nature, and the dinner they give you is...strange, to say the least.

"I'm not sure I should have eaten that," You murmur softly to Lucifer, holding your stomach as the two of you walk back to Purgatory Hall. The dinner had been snake eyes garnished with hemlock, apparently rich in protein but also extremely unsettling to your stomach.

"It'll be fine," Lucifer responds, a twinkle in his eye as he regards you with amusement. He casts a look around, glancing behind his shoulder. Normally, the nighttime fields and walkways of R.A.D. are filled with demons coming to and from late-night outings, even during the school year. But with the first day starting tomorrow, even the rebellious students are indoors, the only figures under the moonlight being you and Lucifer.

He places a hand on your back, glancing forward while his thumb rubs soothing circles into the spot—and you forget about your earlier complaint almost instantly.

Feeling bold, you sneak your hand behind your back and slide your palm into Lucifer's, looking up at him curiously while you interlace your fingers. Again, he glances around to see if there's anyone in the distance, hesitant about the display of public affection. But even when he doesn't find anything, he pulls away.

"It's too risky," He murmurs softly. "Anyone who looks out their windows can see us."

"Then…" A mischievous smirk blooms on your lips, and you look up at Lucifer. It takes a single second for him to catch the glint in your eye.

"Don't—" He starts, raising his hand in protest to whatever you're about to do.

But it's already too late.

"Catch me if you can!" You call out behind your shoulder, already sprinting away at top speed as you dart off in the direction of the shopping district. You can sense Lucifer's disbelief as he stares at your retreating form before he calls after you in exasperation, his longer strides easily powering him forward as he catches up with you, but all it takes to regain your advantage is to release just a bit of your magical energy, and then the Celestial energy is bouncing your feet further, stronger, and faster along as you run away from Lucifer.

"Get back!" He shouts, and you can hear that he's close behind despite all your efforts, but you continue your journey forward, eyes widening in delight when you see the familiar sight of the downtown Devildom district. Even now, it's still buzzing with activity. "MC, get back here!"

All Lucifer's protests are in vain, though, and you waste no time in slipping through the streets, darting into the dark alley between two stores. You run to the end before pausing in your sprint, your grin widening when you see Lucifer's figure approach, not even hesitating as he corners you in the dark passageway.

"You're cornered," He says cautiously, crossing his arms as he maintains his distance in case you try to dart around him. "You won't be able to escape me now, MC."

A light giggle spills from your lips as you skip forward, resting your hands on Lucifer's chest comfortably while looking innocently up at him.

"Who said I was trying to escape you?"

You stand on your toes and press your lips against Lucifer's, ignoring his muffled sound of surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck. A warm smile blooms on your face when you see his pink cheeks as he gazes down at you, arms already settled on your waist.

"If it's too risky out in the field, then maybe won't mind kissing me here?" You say, batting your eyelashes while Lucifer simply groans at the realization of what you just did.

"If you wanted to kiss me so badly, you could have just asked," He mutters in exasperation, chest still heaving lightly at having to chase you. While his strength definitely overpowers yours, angels are naturally inclined towards long-distance running and such, whereas demon powers tend to be more explosive, better for combat and battle. His hair is disheveled and his breathing is accelerated just the slightest, the normally composed demon uncharacteristically affected by your stunt.

You know you must look just as enticing, your own hair mussed by the wind and your cheeks flushed from the exercise.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" You ask, a light laugh slipping from your lips. "For us to be in private, where no demons can see us?"

Your smile never fades, not even when Lucifer tilts your chin up, allowing you to see the darker glint in his beautiful, red eyes.

"Surely you know what demons do in private places like this, MC?" His smirk is amused, as if he expects you to back down any second. But your confidence from before has returned, and you're not taking anything back. "Regretting your decision to lure me into this alley now?

"Aw, and miss seeing you so exhausted from chasing me?" You tease, running a hand through Lucifer's hair to smooth it back into place. "I wouldn't exchange this for the world, Luci."

The demon lets out a low growl, pushing your back to the alley wall as he hovers over you, irritation present in the furrow of his brow—though there's something else to his expression, too. Something passionate. Something lustful. "I am not exhausted."

"Oh? So you'll be fine with chasing me for another ten minutes?" You ask, already motioning to begin your run again, but Lucifer's arms cage you in before you can leave.

"You're bold," He mutters, lifting you so that your legs can't carry you away from him again, pressing you against the wall so that you're even taller than him. "Did Asmo tell you to do this?"

"He might have given me the idea," You giggle, playing with Lucifer's hair. "Though this is even better than what I thought it would be like. I think I like being taller than you. Almost like I'm on top of you."

"Oh, angel," Lucifer coos mockingly, pressing your head back as he collides his lips with yours. "You are definitely not on top."

Before you can protest at the claim—your angelic mind still too pure to understand the concept of tops and bottoms—the demon's hands are roaming your body, keeping one hand on your waist and the other on the back of your thigh.

"Lucifer," You mumble breathlessly when he leaves a trail of butterfly kisses, lips ghosting over your neck as he presses against them chastely. "What are you doing?"

"What did you think would happen when you lured me here, MC?" He chuckles deeply, drawing back as he angles your chin down to look at him, thumb still pressing against your lower lip. "Don't you know that it's dangerous to be caught alone with a demon?" He leans back briefly, eyes locking with yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

You hesitate for a moment, knowing that Lucifer will honor whatever you say. A part of you wants to say yes, to stay loyal to your holy roots and to pull him back out of the alley and back into the open streets, where you're safe from temptation. But then you have the small part of you that wants more of Lucifer, more of this moment, and more of him. You cup his cheek, not missing the way he instinctively leans into your touch.

You trust him.

"Keep going."

Words desert you when Lucifer drags his tongue along the bottom of your ear, the motion strange enough to pull a surprised gasp from your ears but sensual enough to make it sound like a moan, and then the demon's restraint truly has vanished and he's smirking, now devoted seeing all the other sounds he can pull from your lips.

He leans forward, leaving a long lick over your neck, trailing from your jaw to your collarbone, smirking when it acts as a virtual blueprint to your most sensitive spots. He hovers over them, blowing cold air wherever you react to it, savoring the way your legs wrap around him on instinct, a desperate attempt to pull him closer.

Nothing he does is meant to leave a mark.

No, Lucifer knows he's already tainted your purity enough with the darkness of his light, painting your wings black and your halo dark with his energy alone. He can't risk anyone looking upon your skin and being able to tell that he was there.

But in no way does he allow that to stop himself from claiming you.

Your head rests against the cold stone wall behind you while Lucifer holds your body in place, cautiously running his tongue over your skin and then dragging his teeth along the spot to see your reaction, the tantalizing shiver that runs down your spine with his every movement. He grips your hips firmly, his hold never wavering even when he lifts you higher and begins peppering your stomach with kisses. For once, the demon seems to appreciate the revealing nature of your clothes, his tongue trailing over every inch of exposed skin on your abdomen, lips dancing over the two holes in the side of your top like it's the only thing he knows how to do.

It's hardly long before he's trailed even lower to your thighs, and then he's placed a cautious kiss to the most sensitive place on your entire body.

A shudder runs through your body.

Your eyes flutter close on instinct, but then they're opened wide as you realize what's about to happen. "L-Lucifer, wait," You stutter out. He looks up at you curiously. "Not—not here—" You manage to murmur in the brief moment of clarity you get when his lips leave your body.

The edges of his lips curve upward at your words, nodding subtly. And then he's pressing them against your skin again, but this time he's trailing higher and higher and before you know it his lips are back on yours, his hands gently setting you back down on the floor while he holds your chin.

"Now, are you finally ready for me to take you back to Purgatory Hall?" You glance up at his amused smile, and he seems all too pleased with the flush of your cheeks.

"Fine…" You manage to murmur without stuttering in embarrassment, grabbing Lucifer's hand as you pull him out of the alley. The air feels hot where he kissed you so fervently, and it almost feels like the wind has changed by the time the two of you are in the public street once more, cooler now as if it knows of the sins you committed with Lucifer. But the thought is gone from your mind as soon as it appears, replaced by the realization that Lucifer isn't pulling his hand away as he walks you back in the direction of the R.A.D. campus.

You're not sure when the pink of your cheeks finally fades, or when you regain enough of your composure to talk to Lucifer, but it must have happened somewhere along the way because by the time the two of you are in front of your dorm, you're locked in a pleasant conversation once more, arms swinging back and forth just the slightest as you venture up the steps.

"I suppose this is where we part," Lucifer finally says after a moment of silence. "Are you ready for school to begin tomorrow?"

"Yeah," You respond. "I'll see you in the courtyard before homeroom?"

Lucifer nods, muttering a quiet farewell before he begins to descend the steps.

"Wait!" You call, grabbing his wrist before he can get too far. He stops instantly at your call. "I, um…" You fiddle with the edges of your clothes, suddenly embarrassed once more.

This is so stupid, you can't help but think. Lucifer just spent almost half an hour kissing every inch of your body in an alley. Earlier, the two of you made out on the floor. There's absolutely no reason to be flustered.

But you are.

"Close your eyes," You order, somewhat halfheartedly. If Lucifer notices, though, he doesn't comment and simply opts to obey. With the way he angles his body toward you, you're certain he already knows what you're going to do.

But you don't back out.

The kiss ends faster than it began, nothing more than a brief peck you lay on Lucifer's cheek—and then you're calling "Bye!" out to the demon and slamming the door of Purgatory Hall in his face before he can tease you any more than he already has.

You hear him chuckle lightly as he walks away, and slowly the beating of your heart fades.

Normal, you think. This is the new normal, for us.

The very thought plants a smile on your face.

***

For the first time, sleep comes easily to you when you finally get in bed after talking to Simeon, bathing, and setting up your binder.

Mind unweighted by concerns over your wings turning black, you finally feel free as you drift off to dreamland. Your year has yet even to begin—and you're already in a relationship with Lucifer, unofficial as it may be.

When the morningtime comes, Simeon doesn't need to wake you, the angel surprised to find you bouncing out of bed long before you have to. You feel like you're in heaven once more: what is not to love? At last, everything in your life seems perfect. You have Lucifer by your side, two angels to keep you company, a (very) interesting human to keep you on your toes, and you actually get to go to school for the first time in thousands of years.

Life is perfect.

"You have everything you need?" Simeon confirms for the umpteenth time as he clasps your Celestial cloak around your shoulders, hesitant to finish the task. He knows all too well that you'll be off the moment he's done. "Are you positive you don't want to wait for the rest of us, little lamb?"

You nod, trying to give Simeon the most reassuring smile you can.

"I'll be fine."

And for the present, the words are true.

You'll be fine today, and tomorrow, and the day after, and for weeks past that point. In fact, it'll be a very long time until you're not fine, because there are suddenly so many good things going on in your life.

But a long time is not forever.

Because the clock is ticking, and while you've both forgotten it, you and Lucifer don't have eternity to spend with each other. No matter what Diavolo does, or what else the High Seraphs allow you to do, this exchange program is temporary.

But you'll allow yourself to forget that fact for a bit longer, for the sake of enjoying this newfound bliss.

It would be a sin not to.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

Word count: 4.1k

Notes: Short chapter, but the next one is LONG - we've finally crossed the halfway point in this story, and things are going to pick up from here on out :D aka, shit sort of hits the fan at the end of the next chapter lolol

Notes 2.0: OH MY GOD I CANT BELIEVE I NEVER POSTED THIS I HAD IT WRITTTEN AND EVERYTHING BUT ME AND MY DUMB SELF JUST NEVER POSTED GAAAH -- i noticed that i wasnt getting any comments or likes but i just thought that no one liked the chapter and i was like :( but now that i realize i made such a stupid blunder im ACTUALLY really :(

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/6/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[dinoyoongi]

Confirm or Deny (6) - Final

SYNOPSIS: You’re a member of the rising group FRNZEE. You’ve been dating Namjoon for years when Dispatch releases an article exposing your relationship. Your company confirms the relationship. Big Hit denies it.

PARTS: ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX - FINAL

PAIRING: Namjoon x Reader

GENRE: Romance, Angst

WARNINGS: Language, brief mentions of sexual situations

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHORS NOTE: The ending is here! Thank you so much to everyone who has loved and supported this story! I’m sorry that it took so long to get the ending written but I hope it’s as satisfying for you to read as it was to write! I know a few might be disappointed with it - that’s understandable - I did rewrite this chapter several times and cut out a lot that I had originally planned but ultimately I think I wrote an ending fit for me, Joonie and Sweets. <3

__________________________________

“Y/N?”  Your chin snaps up at the sound of your name, eyes wide at the polite, smiling face of the young receptionist at the desk in front of the room.  “The director will be ready shortly. He apologizes for the delay and appreciates your patience.”

Exhaling in relief, you bow in understanding, returning her courteous grin quickly before turning your eyes down to the screen in your lap. On your phone, Tom Hanks strides to the stage to the applause of the audience, the camera panning to different nominees in this final, ultimate category. The quick shot of BTS – of Namjoon's nervous but elated grin – makes your heart knock against your chest hard. Tom Hanks prattles for a few seconds about the achievements of the nominees before he's handed a golden envelope.

“And the Grammy for record of the year goes to … BTS!”

You don't realize you're holding your breath until you're on your feet and screaming, lightheaded and breathless from the lack of oxygen. Hand slapping over your mouth to silence your hysteria, you ignore the concerned calls from the receptionist and shakily lower yourself back onto your seat. Though seconds have passed, the group hasn't found their way onto the stage. Instead, they remain in the audience, huddled in the tightest of hug. Not a single one of them has a dry face.

You included.

They did it. Holy shit. They won a Grammy – the biggest Grammy of the night. This would make it their second after picking up the award for best group earlier in the morning. But record of the year … it's the award.  And they did it. Namjoon did it.

There's a gentle tapping on your shoulder. When you glance up, you can barely make out the blurred silhouette of the receptionist through the haze of your tears.

“Are you okay? Do I need to call anyone for you?”

“N-no, I'm fine, I-I just-” you stop yourself, eyes falling down to the phone screen. She follows your gaze, mouth opening in understanding when she sees the seven of them on the stage. Her shock is quickly replaced with a warm smile. “I'll be quieter. Sorry.”

She giggles. “Don't worry about it. If you need tissues or anything, come see me at my desk, okay?”

Unable to suppress the elation, you grin as you nod, pushing the pods further into your ear and jamming the volume up button on your phone as loud as it would allow. Namjoon is already speaking and the sound of his voice immediately conjures the waterworks again. He stutters over a few pronunciations and has to pause every so often to wipe his tears, but his speech is beautiful and poignant. The words are straight from his heart, straying from any kind of notes or script that the group might have drafted on the chance that they'd actually win.  

“Of course, we love and appreciate our fans – our ARMY – dearly. But we also want to thank everyone behind the scenes – our loved ones who we might have neglected and hurt in our path to get where we are. We hope that you're proud of us and that you'll stay … sweetly … by our side.”

The sobs come easily. Instantly.

Sweetly. He's talking directly to you – his Sweets.

You watch with loud sniffles until their speech is done, until they're carrying themselves off of the stage, until the last musical guest that you honestly couldn't name begins to perform. Your finger pushes at the power button on the side of your phone and when the screen fades to black, the reflection that stares back at you is a haggard mess. Grabbing a few tissues from the nice receptionist and cleaning yourself up before the most important meeting of your life is probably the best idea. But you can't seem to move.

Walking into this building a few minutes ago, you were sure of what you wanted – a fresh start, a new path, all slates wiped clean. Joining P NATION would do that for you. And this was everything that you wanted. It's everything that you've worked for.

But maybe … maybe you want Namjoon just a little bit more. You don't even know if a future with him is something that's feasible, or if it's something that he still wants. What if Big Hit refuses to let the two of you be together? What if P NATION refuses to let you date at all?

Once again you're faced with the possibility that you might have to choose the two things you want most in your entire life – your idol career or Namjoon.

You finally pry your hard stare from the phone. Looking up, there are two doors on either side of the room. One door – the door that you entered in – leads to the lobby, to the exit. The other door leads to the conference room where you'll be meeting with the directors of P NATION.

Your stomach twists, your throat suddenly tightening with the urge to vomit.

“Here,” the receptionist's voice cuts through your anxiety. She pushes a wad of tissues in your direction. When you don't move to accept them, she clicks her tongue in amusement and plops down into the chair next to yours. You're startled when she reaches out with the tissue to dab at your face gently, using the slightest pressure as to not totally destroy your makeup. “You look conflicted. It's not usually something I see from potential trainees … or in your case, idol, I guess? Most if not all of them are excited and confident and anxious to sign a contract. You … you look like you're going to toss your cookies all over the carpet. No offense.”

Despite your inner turmoil, you feel yourself cracking a smile. “None taken.”

“What your company did to you was disgusting,” she says casually, leaning over your lap to toss the tissue in a garbage bin. You blink at her in surprise. Not many people are bold enough to bring the incident – or incidents, because there were quite a few – with Hot Star to your face. “I grew up in the states so the extreme response to a dating report here just baffles me. Seriously. In the west, we want our favorite celebrities to date and be happy and healthy. We actually ship celebrities together. I remember growing up being totally in love with Freddie Prinze Jr – you don't know who that is, do you? She's All That? Scooby-Doo? None of this rings a bell? Okay, it doesn't matter, anyway – he started dating a co-star from one of his movies and I was their biggest cheerleader because I could see how happy he was. And you know what? Those two actors are still married to this day and I'm still rooting for them.”

Her rant is punctuated with a triumphant crossing of her arms as she leans back into her seat. You're confused as you gape at her. What is it that she's trying to tell you? If Hot Star and Big Hit hadn't intervened and the fans hadn't been so crazy, you and Namjoon would have a successful marriage?

She chuckles when she sees your confused expression. “Sorry, I know I'm a bit extra sometimes. My point that I have failed to get to is that … Hot Star has serious karma coming their way. I think you have the potential to do amazing things with your career. And I know from the look on your face that you're two seconds away from bolting but why don't you stick around and at least hear what they have to say?”

Her palm rises to your line of vision, a compact mirror and lip tint sat on top in a peace offering. It only takes you a few long seconds to reach out, hesitantly accepting the items with a gracious bow of your head. You're given one last encouraging grin before she stands up, bows and retreats back to the desk at the front of the room. Lowering the cosmetics into your lap, you exhale a shaky breath and pick up your phone. Though you had deleted his contact from your phone, there was no way that you didn't remember the number by heart.

You let the words flow into your fingertips, jerking your thumb to the send button before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Y/N,” the receptionist calls for you. Her eyes meet yours. “They're ready for you.”

__________________________________

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Jungkook is chanting breathlessly to himself as he grasps Namjoon's arm for support, the group shuffling quickly into the backstage area. The leader wobbles, his legs feeling as if they're made of jelly; all of his limbs feel as if they're suddenly jelly. The only part of him with substantial weight is the shiny, gold gramophone statue clutched tightly in his right hand. There's chaos as they step into the dressing room – managers, stylists and various staff shouting victoriously, some of their faces drenched with happy tears.

After all this time … they did it. The Grammys were something that all k-pop stars only fantasized about and BTS  - Namjoon and his brothers – now hold two of them.

It's a feeling that Namjoon can't comprehend. It's a feeling that's too overwhelming for his body. He wants to do everything; wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to hug every single person in the room, he wants to tell everybody he knows. He wants …

Oh. His chest dives when your face appears in the back of his mind. This is usually when you're calling him to congratulate him, to tell him how proud you are, to remind him how hard he worked for it, to promise him a more intimate celebration when you get to spend more time together.

From the wild thumping of his heart, it's easy to decide what he wants to do the most.

Ignoring the craziness of the room, Namjoon drops onto the couch. The award is yanked out of his grasp but he lets it go, reaching instead into the pile of cellular devices left on the coffee table to collect his own phone. Booting it up, he's not surprised to see his inbox already flooded with congratulatory messages and voicemails.

However, it's your message that sits right at the very top – two minutes ago – that surprises him the most.

Congratulations, Joonie. I am so proud of you. And when you want me, I'll always be by your side.

He reads the words again. And again. And again. Over and over until the dark font transforms into a blurred silhouette from his tears. One of the members – he can't distinguish who at this point – yanks his limp body into a hug, assuming that their leader is emotional from the fact that they just made history.

That's what he should be emotional about.

But all he can think about is you.

You, who had been with him since he joined Big Hit, who trained with him and grew with him. You, who supported him more than any person on this planet. You, who swore with your entire life that BTS would win Grammys. You knew it was going to happen and he wanted to prove you right.

How can he feel victorious when you're not with him?

Rising to his feet abruptly, Namjoon seeks out his manager. Upon seeing the fierce determination in his gaze, the main wrangler of the seven idols feels his cheerful grin drop. Jerking his head into the direction of the hallway, Namjoon has made up his mind.

The company will be furious; they'll fight it as much as they can. The fans will be devastated and betrayed, some might even boycott. The boys – though they'll support him no matter what – will be understandably concerned. This is a decision that effects everybody and the only person Namjoon cares about, the only person who can make the decision … is you.

__________________________________

“How does everything look?” Mr. Park, also known as freaking Psy, asks politely, leaning in your direction from across the table. Your eyes quickly skim the first few pages of the document again. You're not familiar with a lot of the legal terms and you'd be lying if you didn't admit that there were parts of the contract that sounded slightly confusing. But for the most part – from your experience with your past contracts and your knowledge of the industry – the agreement is great. Way better than anything you ever imagined prior to walking into the building today. “Is there anything you'd like to edit? Any clauses you'd like to negotiate?”

You clear your throat, wishing your nerves would give you a break. “It all looks great, honestly. I'm really thankful for this opportunity.”

Psy frowns. “I sense a but coming.”

“No, no” you assure him with a shaky chuckle. “I'm definitely signing. I'd be crazy not to. This is such a great contract, more than someone like me could have ever hoped for after … you know, all things considered. I just … I do want to request one clause be added.”

Every pair of shoulders at the table straightens up, pens being pressed to paper and fingers set atop of their laptop keyboards at the ready.

“This might sound silly coming from me and it might be a rookie mistake to request this at the contract signing but … I want to be able to date. I want to be given the chance to have a normal, healthy relationship whether it be private or public – and I want to be the one that chooses which. When there's news about me dating, I want you to ask me first and I want you to have my back, to publish what I say and not what you think will get more attention with the media. And you can refuse, you can even add a clause that says I'm not allowed to date but to be honest, even if you tell me no, I'm still going to do it. You can rip up the papers right now if that's what you want to do. I just want to be transparent with you. I've given up so much and I don't want to give up anything more. That's the decision I made for myself before I came through these doors.”

The speech is long and you're winded when you finish, leaning back against the chair with what you hope is a quiet exhale. At the end of the table, there's a light giggling. Before you sat down, you were fully under the impression that you'd be meeting with Hyuna because it was her name on the business card that was handed to you. You knew there would be other people involved but you didn't expect it to be Psy and his entire legal team. For the majority of the meeting, Hyuna stayed silent at her end of the table, only nodding or laughing or frowning when appropriate. She offered you nothing except for polite smiles when your gazes accidentally crossed paths. Admittedly, you were confused about her role in your signing but just having her there – someone who was in your exact shoes but had the guts to actually stand up for her relationship – made a world of difference in how comfortable and confident you were speaking right now.

“I told you,” Hyuna chuckles, pursing her lips cockily and throwing a sly head tilt to Psy. Your nerves intensify as you snap your neck to the man who nods in agreement. “I told you that you should have just added that clause to save some time.”

And just like that, your mic drop moment is gone. You feel yourself trembling as you lower your eyes to the table. They knew you were going to ask for it. They were going to add a clause so that you wouldn't ask for it.

“When you say that you want to be in a relationship, do you mean that you want to be in a relationship with Kim Namjoon of BTS?” Hyuna asks curiously, fingers twirling a pen as if this this meeting wasn't about to be the cause of your impending heart-attack. Namjoon's name being spoken only adds to your panic.

“Does it make a difference if I say yes?” you stutter, your voice small.

“You said you want to be transparent with us. Don't back down now,” she warns. The sound of her pen dropping to the table is like an foghorn directly into your ear canal.

“Okay, yes. I want to be in a relationship with Namjoon,” you admit. Maybe you're just searching for any sign of discomfort in the room but you swear that you hear the hiss of someone taking in a breath. You continue anyway. “I'm not saying concretely that I will be. It's … complicated between us. But I love him more than anything else and if the chance to be with him again presents itself then … yes, I'm going to take it.”

“Okay then,” Psy says, his eyes flitting to a few of the men sat next to him at the table. “Get to work. She can date whoever she wants, whenever she wants and we must consult with her about her personal matters before submitting any statements to the press. Y/N, anything else to add?”

Wait, what?

“Y-you're still signing me? You're … adding the clause?” you ask in disbelief.

Psy's grin is wide as he smiles. “Of course we are. We're signing you because we want your talent, not your freedom.”

“I didn't even have to convince him,” Hyuna chirps. Your eyes are wide and watery as you gape at her with awe. “He was on board the second that I mentioned your name. What has happened to you in your career is … disgraceful. Being kicked out of Big Hit simply for being a woman, being kicked out of Hot Star because your company choose to capitalize on your relationship instead of supporting you. I know you probably think that he's just scooping up jaded k-pop stars but we're not interested in you because we pity your unfortunate background. We're interested because we're in awe of how you keep going. You were at the top of the food chain of trainees at Big Hit and when you were transferred, you had to start all over again and you did it. You debuted. And when this industry kicked you back down to square one, instead of giving up on being an idol like most others would, you took my card and called us to willingly – once again – be the lowest totem on the pole. You've got the whole package – talent, looks and perseverance. You're going places farther than any of those girls in FRNZEE could even fathom and we want to be the ones that help you get there.”

You don't realize that you're out of your seat, that you're stumbling your way in Hyuna's direction until she's in front of you and you're swinging your arms around her neck. She's startled, emitting a soft oomph as she fumbles backward but instead of pushing you away, she pats your shoulder comfortingly.

“Thank you,” you sob into chest. “Thank you so much. You have no idea. I-I just … I don't-”

Gently, she pushes you away, her hand firm on your shoulders as she bends down to meet your eyes directly. With her other hand, she uses her thumb to wipe away what you know are disgustingly hideous mascara tracks. Her smile is blinding as she grins at you encouragingly.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N,” she says warmly. Those words send a trill of warmth down your spine. “Even though it was my suggestion, who you really need to be thanking is our CEO. I have a big mouth and I use it often but he's the one who ultimately makes the decisions.”

You nod, turning to approach Psy. Unlike with Hyuna, you reign in your raging emotions, opting to bow respectfully instead of launching yourself at him. “Thank you, sir. I promise that I'm not going to let you down.”

Rounding back to your side of the table, there's no hesitance when you pick up the pen to sign your name and stamp your seal. The group waits until your pen has been placed back onto the table before they're on their feet and cheering. Their applause for simply signing with you is more encouraging than all of your positive interactions you've ever had with the Hot Star CEO combined. Psy has the super sweet receptionist – who winks in congratulations before she leaves the room – bring in a bottle of champagne and Hyuna insists on snapping a photograph of you with your contract for your future trophy case in their talent room.

You've been in this room for an hour. One hour and it feels as if you've been handed this entire new world wrapped with a shiny promise of a great future.

There's only one thing missing.

__________________________________

ONE MONTH LATER

BREAKING: Y/N officially signs with P NATION!

Months after leaving FRNZEE and Hot Star Entertainment following the dating scandal that led to her being verbally and physically attacked by BTS fans, P NATION – the entertainment company that was founded by former YG artist Psy in 2019 – has announced on social media today that they've officially signed with Y/N! Y/N was ostracized in the k-pop industry after rumors of her dating BTS leader RM were confirmed by Hot Star but denied by Big Hit. Due to backlash, Y/N was ultimately pulled from the group's comeback. The controversy also saw BTS fans attacking the then-FRNZEE vocalist in the KBS parking lot during a Music Bank recording.

We can't wait to see what kind of music Y/N will be releasing under this new label. Stay tuned for more updates!

You roll your eyes, clicking off of the article and back to the influx of incoming messages. It was too much to hope for a quick “congratulations!” article, wasn't it? Scrolling through the messages, you feel slightly overwhelmed but in a good way.

Ji-na: I feel cool because I already knew but still CONGRATS AGAIN BABE! Happy for you!!

You're giggling as you type back a response to her and a few other people before clicking the phone off and setting it down to charge. Your eyes take a long moment to adjust to the dimness of the room compared to the bright lights of your phone screen. Today has been a whirlwind of messages and phone calls and more messages and more phone calls. You just need a break from all devices.

“Y/N?” a voice from the kitchen calls. You heave yourself onto your feet, padding a few steps over to the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. Per your contract with P NATION, instead of sticking you in a dorm, you're now living in an apartment building owned by somebody who works for the company. Your building neighbors include Hyuna and Hyojong who actually live on your floor and Jessi who lives a few up. It wasn't super spacious but it was cozy and private and yours. You sigh in exhaustion as you slump onto one of the stools. “Do you want mozzarella on your pasta?”

Elbows resting on the table, your chin propped onto your palms, you nod sleepily, letting your eyes flutter closed. “A lot of it, please.”

You giggle when you feel something press against your lips. Opening your eyes, you're not surprised to see Namjoon mirroring your posture, his lips on yours. He kisses you sweetly for another few seconds before pulling away. “You've had a long day. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Happy. Content. Hungry,” you say pointedly, grinning when his dimples dip from his laughter. “I'm so glad that you're here with me right now.”

“Me too, Sweets,” he says softly, sliding his hand across the table. You remove one from under your chin and meet him halfway, interlocking your fingers immediately. Like always, your heart pummels against your ribcage. It appears that Namjoon is always going to fluster you and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Considering the scale of dramatic that was yours and Namjoon's breakup, you would've thought there would have been some epic reunion consisting of hours of conversation and arguments and agreements that would lead to the reigniting of your relationship but … there wasn't. When he got off of the plane after returning from America, the first place that he went to was yours. In Daejeon. You had been in Seoul for meetings the entire day and because of what happened, your mother wouldn't let him in the house. He waited hours on the porch for you to return – after he had just gotten off a thirteen hour flight – and when you finally walked up that sidewalk to see him dozing on the uncomfortable, rickety wicker chair …. you just knew.

There didn't have to be a spectacular speech or declaration of love – you already knew you loved him and that you wanted to be with him again.

So here you were. Together.

Together – the word makes your chest clench in relief.

You eat your pasta takeout at the kitchen counter, taking turns feeding the different noodles to each other between catch-up conversation. You tell Namjoon about the concept meeting that you had earlier in the day, the meeting that would decide in what direction you want your sound to go. He tells you about the amount of celebrities – specifically ones that have stuck their noses up at the boys in the past – that are flooding Big Hit with collaboration requests following the Grammys. And when you finish up with dinner, you both retire onto the sofa. Namjoon loads Netflix and turns on a random documentary although you both know damn well that you'll only watch it for maybe twenty minutes before your restless hands and yearning lips find another way to keep each other occupied.

Tonight, though, you're surprised when he whips his phone out in front of your face. “We don't have any recent pictures together. Let's take a selfie.”

Your hair is in a messy bun and your face is bare but who are you to deny him anything?

Leaning in, Namjoon presses his lips against your cheek. You smile bashfully, assuming the picture will turn out incredibly sweet, until he uses his free hand to squeeze your cheeks together. Before you can protest, the blinding flash of the camera captures the moment. You massage the skin that was pinched when he releases you, muttering grumpily as he coos over how adorable he thinks the picture is.

“This one will be perfect,” he mumbles to himself before his fingers start moving across the screen keyboard.

You squint in confusion. “Perfect for what?”

He pretends to not hear you but you get your answer only two minutes later. The pings and beeps and notifications on your phone begin to chime rampantly again.

Ji-na: OMG NAMJOON IS TOO CUTE. YOU GUYS ARE TOO CUTE.

Your eyes narrow suspiciously at your boyfriend who lounges next to you, phone in one hand while the other kneads a spot on your ankle where it rests on his lap. “Why does Ji-na think you're too cute? What did you do?”

Namjoon chuckles incredulously. “Wow, that didn't take long at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he presents you with his phone that's loaded to his Weverse account. There's one post from Namjoon, added two minutes ago. The goofy selfie of the two of you with the caption: I've been an idiot – she has always been my Sweets. Congrats, babe.

“Namjoon!” you shriek in alarm, shooting up into a sitting position. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

You gawk at the man as he chuckles calmly, pulling himself off of the sofa as well. Why would he do that? And how can he be so calm? Doesn't he realize that he posted it? Doesn't he realize what he just did?

“I … Joonie, I don't understand. Help me understand. Why did you do that?”

He takes your hand in his, pushing the pad of his fingers into your skin soothingly. “I told myself that if I was lucky enough to be with you again, things would be different. I wasn't going to make the same mistakes I did last time. I don't want us to hide. I don't want us to be a secret. I know that there's going to be backlash from this – especially because of my reaction last time – but I just want to be with you, okay? Is that okay?”

Is it hot in here? You feel like you're melting.

“Joonie, of course it's okay. There aren't going to be any label issues on my end and of course I want nothing more than to be public with you – it's what I've always wanted – but … have you cleared this with Big Hit? With the boys? What's going to happen now?”

He gives you his wide, closed-mouth smile, the one that makes his dimples deep. “What's going to happen is that we're going to be happy. Together. I'm going to own up to my mistakes and take responsibility for not fighting for us the first time around. I'm going to endure the backlash with the boys at my side and … we're going to be Joonie and Sweets no matter what anyone has to say about it. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip to stop the sudden onslaught of tears. Joonie and Sweets. It's all you've ever wanted.

He sighs. “I know this is going to get us both in a bit of hot water but I'm done hiding.”

Crawling closer to him, you snuggle into his side, sighing in contentedness when his arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“I'm okay, Joonie. I can take whatever is thrown at us but I just have to confirm one thing for whenever my manager eventually calls,” you tell him. His eyebrow lifts questioningly. “We're both in the relationship this time, right?”

He rolls his eyes once before lunging at you, fingers digging into your sides in merciless tickles.

 - T H E   E N D - 

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 6

Catch up on Chapter 5 here

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

or

Van is there for you on arguably one of the worst nights of your life.

A/N: Content warning for a very in-depth description of a car accident (only minor physical injuries), psychological shock, and an anxiety attack.

Word count: ~6.1k

Chapter Six May 2019

The Catfish show is the last hurrah of sunny L.A. weather before clouds roll in. By Wednesday, it’s been raining consistently for days.

Technically, you know you should be grateful. Rain can be sparse sometimes, causing some serious droughts and an increase in wildfires. But while you’re happy those are being prevented, you’re not happy with having to constantly drive in the spattering rain and be kept awake at night with roaring thunder. And without any gaps in the showers for the Earth to soak everything up, the ground has become one giant swampy mud puddle everywhere you go.

You come home from work that night worn thin. The daily grind is mundane enough without the lack of sunshine, but after consecutive days without any time outdoors you feel extra irritable. 

You check the weather forecast as you plop down on the couch without even bothering to change clothes yet. There’s still more rain being predicted. You tip your head back against the couch in annoyance. 

One thing was for sure, you couldn’t stand another routine night of cooking dinner and then heading off to bed early simply from boredom. Something had to give. 

Your fingers are poised over your phone screen as you consider. Should you text Mary? See if Van’s still in town? Have a night to yourself? It was a weeknight, after all. Everyone was probably busy with regular life. 

But a night to yourself didn’t sound so bad, as long as you deviated from the usual. Maybe tonight was a good night to get some takeout and do something special in the name of self care. Now that you think about it, it’s been a long time since you’ve had IHOP. That’s always a nice treat.

Once you’ve had the idea, something about it just seems right. A big stack of your favorite pancakes, the rain pounding against the windows while you enjoy them. You could catch up with some TV or maybe grab one of the brand new books on your bookshelf you’d bought and never touched again. Or you could run a bath. All of those possibilities sounded perfect for tonight.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you’ve pulled up the IHOP menu. You really only look for fun. Your favorite order is always the cupcake pancakes, and this time is no exception. You place the order through an app and shuffle around getting dressed to head out in the rain.

Outside, the weather is disgusting. You tug your windbreaker around you tighter, carefully trying to avoid stepping in the murky puddles overflowing your yard as you head for the car. Even your gate seems sad at the weather, so waterlogged it doesn’t give its usual enthusiastic creak as you pass through. 

Everyone else seems to have taken the night-in approach, too. There’s not too many other cars out, and you make it to the restaurant in record time, collecting your still-hot styrofoam container of pancakes. You’ve got the heat going in the car, your favorite Spotify playlist running through the aux, and as you pull away from IHOP you can feel yourself bubbling with excitement at the little night you’ve carved out for yourself.

You’re having an internal debate between Netflix shows when you see it. Actually, you hear it first: the noise of another car near you, even though you weren’t aware someone was so close in the lane next to you.

But they’re not in the lane next to you. You’re passing under the green light of an intersection when you realize you’re hearing a car that’s still driving on the opposite road. Headlights soak your vision as you realize they’re still moving directly towards your car. Your first instinct is to hit the brake, but immediately you can tell there’s no avoiding him. In a sickening jolt your mind processes that he’s going to nail the front passenger door and your adrenaline makes your foot press on the gas. You don’t hear any brakes squealing. He’s going to run you into the middle of this intersection and kill you. 

“SHIT!” You scream as the sickening sound of metal crunching fills the car, the rubber of your tires wailing as the car is pushed sideways. You don’t know why you scream when you’re the only one present. You try to check your mirrors, hoping you don’t hit someone else as you’re pushed a whole lane over. Headlights beam you in the eyes again as the car slightly behind you in the lane next to you comes to a screeching stop.

As fast as the chaos had begun, it was over. You’re directly under the traffic light you’d been trying to pass under, and it beams red into the windshield of your car. You jerk your neck looking around, hoping someone doesn’t absentmindedly accelerate. You can’t see too much through the rain but tons of yellow headlights spotlighting you. 

Someone tries your car door handle. You scream, startled. When they realize it’s locked they slap their hand against the window. You have to fumble before you manage to unlock the door.

“Are you okay?” Someone shouts at you. You stare up at them, trying to process the words.

“He ran right into you!” They continue, gesturing to the passenger side of your car. “Are you hurt?”

Honestly, you don’t feel anything. All of your limbs feel like solid ice. “I don’t think so,” You tell them, looking around for blood. Everything seems intact.

The rain is pelting through the open door, soaking the interior of your car. In the beam of headlights you see another silhouette approaching you from across the road. “Is everyone okay?”

“Get in my car,” The person talking to you commands. “You’ve got to get out of the middle of the road.”

You try to unbuckle your seatbelt with your icy fingers. You grasp for your phone on the passenger seat, coming up empty.

“My phone!” You cry out, groping around in the dark. “Where’s my phone?”

“Is this it?” The person asks, kneeling down by the side of your seat before pressing the solid weight of your phone into your palm. It’s splattered with raindrops. You attempt to wipe it off with the sleeve of your jacket, realizing too late that it’s also wet, smearing more water across your screen. The thought of your phone being broken only pumps more icy panic through your veins.

“Let’s get in my car,” The stranger says again, “So I can pull us to the side of the road.” 

You do as you’re told, stumbling through the puddles of rainwater to his car. Your fingers ache as you ease them under the door handle, sliding into the front seat. 

It’s only then you can see the scene of the accident fully. Your car is in the middle of the intersection, melted around the front of the other car, who’d hit you square in the middle of the passenger side. The whole right side of your car is crinkled and caved in. Black tire marks streak the pavement around you. Other good samaritans are attending to the other person. It looks like they’re struggling to get the driver’s door open. 

“Are they dead?” You panic, leaning forward in your seat for a chance at a better look. The car starts up, the man who’s helped you immediately turning the music down as he slowly inches around the scene, pulling halfway onto the sidewalk in an attempt to be out of the way. 

“I dunno,” He says glancing around in his mirrors as he cuts the ignition. “I’m gonna go help. Stay here.” 

You don’t know how long you sit in the silence, shivering, before you look at your phone again. You manage to dry it off by wiping it against the seat you’re sitting in. It lights up when you hit the home button, illuminating a jagged crack that runs across the center of the screen. Your thumbs act of their own accord.

“Van?” You gasp down the line the second you hear the ringing stop. “Van!”

“What’s going on?” Van says immediately. You can hardly process what he’s saying. Your teeth chatter.

“Are you in L.A.?” You ask, still gasping for air.

“I am, why?”

When you can’t answer through the chattering of your teeth you hear him down the line again: “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I was in an accident,” You choke out. And with your announcement the real gravity of the situation hits you. You start crying. “I just got hit by a car.”

“Holy fuck. Where? Are you hurt? Is help on the way?”

You’re not able to properly process anything he’s said. “I got hit by a car,” You sob again. “He just- He just ran into me!” You choke around a wail. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Where? Fuck, you gotta give me something else to go on! Where are you?”

“I dunno why I didn’t call Mary,” You blubber, more tears running hot down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, alright,” Van tries to shush you. “Where are you? C’mon.”

“I was at IHOP.” Van’s shushing had worked for a brief moment, but as the memory floods back you return to full on sobbing. 

“On Sunset?” Van presses, before his voice cuts out as he jostles around on his end. 

“No, no,” You cry, wiping at your nose. It only rubs icy rainwater all over your face. “Not Sunset. The other one. The other big road. I can’t remember the name, fuck. I’m drawing a blank on everything, I dunno.”

“Santa Monica?” 

You perk up at his words. “Yeah, that one, that one.” 

“Are you hurt?”

“I can’t feel anything,” You sniffle. “I’m so fucking cold. I don’t think so. I’m not bleeding. I don’t think. I hope I’m not bleeding all over this guy’s car.”

“What guy’s car?”

“This guy. He almost hit me, too. The car pushed me over into his lane. But he stopped.” You are cut off by your own involuntary gasp for air. “I got in his car. He drove up on the sidewalk.” You glance out the side mirror, watching the crowd of people still fussing over the other person’s car.

“He’s trying to help the other person,” You tell him tearfully. “They can’t get the car door open. I think they’re dead, Van.” At that you sob again. “I think they’re dead.”

Van starts to speak, but a noise from your phone interrupts him. You pull it away from your ear in confusion. The screen doesn’t light up. You hit the home button. The empty battery indicator beams up at you. 

You stuff your phone into your jacket pocket, a small sob of frustration escaping your throat.

You sit alone in your numb haze. There are car horns honking in impatience at the hold up. You wipe your eyes, laughing bitterly to yourself. If only you were one of them, caught in the minor inconvenience of traffic while someone else suffered your fate.

In an unknown amount of time the emergency responders are finally on the scene. You watch as the police start posting up yellow emergency tape and other officers attempt to direct the jam around the giant mess. The sirens of a firetruck and an ambulance rip through your consciousness as they drive up on the muddy grass around you.

A paramedic retrieves you from the car. You’re not sure who even told them where you were. She leads you through the rain to the back of the ambulance. 

There are lots of questions as she gets you seated on a stretcher, starts working on paperwork. They’re hard to answer. You don’t remember your own phone number. You don’t have your purse with your license with you. You left it in your car, you tell her. She checks you for a concussion, whiplash. Makes sure your reflexes aren’t impared. 

You stay in the ambulance while two police officers take the paramedic’s place. Telling the story makes you feel slightly calmer. You start to put the pieces together in your mind, slowly grasping how you went from excited for your food to the back of an ambulance. You’re not sure if your details make sense, but the officers seem pleased with what you’re able to tell them.

“Are they dead?” You ask when your part is finished. You can’t see any of the scene from where you’re sitting, only the officers conducting traffic outside in the rain. You’ve heard the commotion though, the ripping of metal while the firefighters dismantled the car. 

“She’s alive,” One of them tells you, and your body is flooded with relief. “Injured, but alive.”

They’re packing up their things, carefully depositing their notebooks back into their uniform pockets and starting to shuffle away when you hear the bleep of one of their walkie-talkies.

Yeah, looks like it was distracted, the voice crackles over the speaker. Phone should be submitted into evidence.

The officer unclicks the radio from his pocket. “Headed over there now,” He says, and they leave you to handle that accidental information on your own.

The first one steps down into the grass before you hear him say, stern, “Can I help you, sir?”

You immediately jump up from the stretcher, clamoring over to the edge. The officer that hasn’t stepped out yet looks at you in confusion. 

“Van!” You gasp, stumbling out of the ambulance. At the sound of you moving around the other officer is distracted, Van easily shuffling past him to get to you. 

One of your feet slips in the mud. You almost fall backwards but Van’s there to steady you. 

As instantly as you’ve caught your balance Van roughly pulls you forward into his chest, his arms wrapping tight around you. 

“Are you her ride home?” You hear one of the officers ask Van from where you’ve got your face pressed into his chest. 

“I am,” Van tells them. “Is she going to the hospital?”

“The paramedic examined her, but she can choose to go if she thinks she needs to. She’s in shock, though. Can’t drive.”

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital, ma’am?” Someone asks from behind you.

It takes all your strength to pull yourself away from where you’re pressed against Van. 

“I think I’m okay,” You tell them. “I don’t have any pain right now. Just wanna go home, really.” As soon as you’re done speaking you’ve pressed yourself back against Van. Having something familiar to cling to has instantaneous calming effects on you. Your teeth start chattering again.

You break away from him eventually to speak to the paramedic, who hands you some paperwork that’s getting damp from the rain.

“If anything feels off, come to the emergency room immediately,” She tells you, holding eye contact so you take her seriously. You nod.

She turns to Van. “It’s very important she comes in if she’s showing any of the symptoms listed.”

Van thanks her, before gently tugging the paperwork out between your fingers, folding it into his own pocket.

You get a slip from the officers so you can get the police report later for your insurance company. Then you’re free to go. 

The scene has quieted down significantly. The helpful pedestrians are gone now, having been replaced by the responders. The car honking has stopped now that traffic was being directed, and a tow truck company was supposed to be arriving any minute now. 

“I didn’t even get to thank that guy,” You mumble when you realize that the car you’d been sitting in is no longer on the curb. 

“Hm?”

“That guy,” You say louder, looking around again. “I never got to thank him.”

Van rubs his hand over your back. “It’s okay. He knows you were distracted.”

You nod, hoping he’s right. “Where’s your car?”

Van gestures down the road. “At the IHOP. Are you able to make it?”

“IHOP? You walked all that way?”

It’s only then you realize that Van’s soaked from the downpour, same as you. For some reason your brain had been tricked into believing he’d escaped the misery of being this cold. 

“Well, yeah,” Van laughs, “I didn’t have a choice! Traffic was blocked. I had to get to you!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” You huff.

“Will you fucking stop?” Van insists, starting the journey down the sidewalk towards his car. He keeps a hand on your back as you move with him. “Look at you. Your car is a ball of tin foil in the middle of an intersection and you’re tryin’ to tell me not to come check on you. Save it, love.”

Your brain is too tired to bicker with him. You let your body move on autopilot. When you reach the crosswalk of the intersection you’d been hit at Van’s hand suddenly drops to grab yours, breaking into a light jog to get you two across during a red light. 

Even once you’ve crossed the road he doesn’t let go. He holds your hand the entire walk down the block to IHOP, where his range rover is crookedly parked across two spaces. He only lets go to help you into the car.

“I assume you didn’t eat dinner?” He asks softly once he’s pulled onto the street.

“I had takeout in my car,” You say sadly. 

“Wanna run back in to IHOP?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well I am,” Van says, “And you gotta eat something. McDonald’s it is, then. At least get some chips.”

As glaringly obvious as his britishness is, it still catches you off guard. You crinkle your nose at his choice of words. Chips. 

He pulls up to a drive-thru a few minutes later, easily rattling off what you assume is his usual order. Then he turns to you expectantly.

“Um, whatever you got,” You tell him, unable to remember your usual order. Van nods, turning back to the speaker.

“So you get vanilla, too?” He asks when he pulls the car forward, in line for the window to pay. 

“Vanilla what?”

“A vanilla milkshake,” Van says slowly. “That’s what I ordered.”

“Oh.” You watch the windshield wipers move in an arc across the glass. “I honestly have no idea what you ordered. I just couldn’t remember the menu.”

The weirdness of feeling so cloudy makes your eyes water. You desperately just want to feel normal. 

“This is so weird,” You tell Van, your voice tight from your tears. “Something’s wrong with me.”

As Van pulls up to the window, you reach out suddenly, hand on his arm. “I don’t have my purse,” You realize. “I don’t have any money on me.”

Van only gives you a confused smile before he fishes his wallet out, handing his card over to the cashier when the window opens. You heave a sigh of relief.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” He says when it’s time to pull forward again. “Your head is fucked up. You’ll calm down.”

You wipe away the stray tear that’s started its journey down your face, hoping he’s right. “I guess it feels so stupid, getting McDonald’s after that. I almost died.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you ever been in an accident?”

Van hands over the paper bag of food and then a wobbling drink tray before pulling away. “I’ve had a fender bender or two when I was younger. Nothing like yours. And I don’t drive much, to be fair. Only when I’m here or in London. On tour I don’t have a car.”

“I never thought of that. How do you get around then?”

“Walk. Take an Uber.”

As the scent of hot french fries fills the car your body remembers how hungry it really is. It rips through your stomach with a growl.

“I take it back, I am hungry.” You pick through the paper bag. “What’d you get us?”

“Quarter pounder with cheese, Coke and a milkshake.”

“Holy shit. Is that what you usually get?”

“Sure. Sometimes I like some nuggets with it. But usually this is it.”

You blink at his silhouette while he looks ahead at the road. He glances over at you. “What?” 

“That’s a lot of food for one sitting!” You laugh in disbelief. 

Van shrugs. “I dunno! Maccies is good! What do you want me to say?”

“Maccies?”

Van rolls his eyes. “Aw, Christ. McDonald’s.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Sometimes!”

Having a normal conversation helps you calm down. By the time Van pulls up to your house, you feel slightly closer to being back on Earth as you help carry the food inside. 

But being back in your living room and remembering the night you’d originally intended to have still brings tears to your eyes. Van notices right away.

“Go take a hot shower, yeah?” He suggests, coming over to you as soon as he’s set the bag of food and a lump of his things he’d thrown in his car down on the coffee table. He takes the cardboard drink tray from your shaking hands, setting it down before helping you ease off your soaked jacket.

“I don’t want to,” You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. The idea of becoming even more waterlogged sounds miserable. And you just want to sit down.

“It’ll warm you up,” Van continues. He gives your lower back a rub before resting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a closer look. “Your lips are blue. You definitely need it.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but Van doesn’t allow it.

“I’ll get the water running,” He says, making a beeline for the bathroom before you can decline. 

You find him fussing with the faucet when you finally follow. You take off your clothes right there, the icy layers of fabric slapping against the tile. 

He doesn’t even give your naked body a glance when he stands upright. “Do you want something hot to drink when you’re done?”

“Do you know how to work a Keurig?” 

Van nods.

“Yeah, coffee. But use one of the blue cups. The other ones are nasty.”

With another nod Van shuffles past you and out of the bathroom, leaving you to it.

Your skin is so cold even the lukewarm water Van had turned on burns. You stay in there, easing the water hotter and hotter until you’re no longer cringing away from the spray and the shower is filled with steam. Then you decide you’re warmed up enough and rejoin Van.

He’s changed into the dry clothes he’d brought with him, a black t-shirt and the worn flannel pajama bottoms you’d borrowed once. His hair is starting to dry, fluffy and unruly. He’s on his phone but looks up as soon as you return from getting dressed in your bedroom. 

He smiles sheepishly. “I realized too late I have no idea what you put in your coffee. So I ran the cup and left it for you to finish.”

You head to the kitchen and finish adding milk and sugar into the steaming mug before you come back to the sectional.

The paper that the paramedic had given you is resting on the table. You nod to it. “Reading up on me?”

“Oh, yeah. Wanted to make sure I knew what we were looking for. You’re still okay, right? Nothing hurting?”

You roll your neck. “I’m starting to feel a little stiff, but I mean, that’s probably expected.” You tug your sweatpants down to your knees, showing Van a cut on your outer thigh. “I think a piece of the shattered window hit me.”

He grazes his fingertips against you gingerly, careful not to touch the cut. It only looks like a long cat scratch, but there had been enough crusted blood around it when you’d undressed that you knew something sharp had caused it.

“But I’m okay.” You shrug, pulling your pants back up.

Van eyes you for a long moment. “Are you doing better in your head?”

You manage a weak smile. “Yeah. It still doesn’t feel real. But the shower helped.”

Van seems satisfied with that answer, nodding to your food set aside on the table. You notice he’s waited to eat until you were ready, the milkshakes starting to melt. With both of you present now you dig into your meals. In the silence your mind wanders.

“I don’t think I can explain this to everyone tonight,” You groan around a mouthful of burger. “I don’t even remember the story as it is.”

“Wait ‘till morning,” Van says, uncapping his shake in order to dip his fries in. “You don’t need to worry about anything else tonight.” 

“I wish it was that easy,” You sigh. “But I’ve got to call off work tomorrow. Gotta text my boss.”

“So just do that. Nothin’ else.”

You feel a headache blooming at everything that has to be done. You try to push your thoughts away, focusing back on your food. You abandon your coffee while you eat, the hot drink not going as well with your menu as the Coke, but once you’re done eating you pick the mug back up just for something to keep you distracted.

When Van’s done he taps away at his phone, and you remember that yours is dead.

“Fuck, gotta charge my phone,” You huff, going to get up from the couch. But Van points to the kitchen table, where your phone is charging. 

“I got it going for ya. Is the crack from the accident?”

“Yes,” You sigh.

You make your way to the kitchen table, checking out any notifications. Everything is achingly normal. There’s a meme from your mom, a text inviting you out to drinks from some of the girls at work, and Mary complaining about something Theo’s done. You try to keep the details as minimal as possible as you text your boss, and you ignore everything else.

There’s so many people who will want to know what happened: Mary and Theo, your mom and dad. Your boss. Some of your coworkers you’re close with will wonder why you were out. You could cover a lot of your bases with your family and close friends with a Facebook post, but inevitably people will only reach out to you wanting more details. Then the insurance company will need all the details for the claim. And who knows how much everything will cost, and who’s responsible for it. You had no idea what towing company had even taken your car.

“Are you alright?”

You feel like you’ve been asked that question a million times tonight. You only realize you’re short of breath when Van’s question pulls you from your thoughts.

“Whoa,” Van murmurs. He sets his phone on the coffee table, instantly repositioning so that he’s sitting in front of you. “What’s going on?”

“I’m stressed out,” You admit. Your eyes have watered so many times tonight that you’re sick of the sensation, wiping at them furiously. That only irritates the already tender skin.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” Van tries to tell you, hands on your shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“But it’s not!” You sob into your hands, before digging your fingers into your hair. “It’s not okay! I almost fucking died! I almost died, Van! Would you have even missed me?” 

Van’s face immediately contorts into anger. “Why would you even fucking ask that?”

Because we’re just a fling. There’s others. Why would you care? You don’t scream the words that run through your head. 

“I’m freaking out!” You yell instead. “I’m freaking the fuck out! I can’t ever drive a car again after that! I almost died! I don’t even have a car to drive! I have no way to get to work! And I’m not made of money, I don’t have the kinda cash to Uber everywhere! I don’t have money for car repairs. And I mean, you saw my car! C’mon, it’s fucking totaled! I don’t have money for an Uber, let alone a new car!” 

You reach for a stiff McDonald’s napkin in order to wipe your running nose. “How do I tell that story to everyone, Van? How? I literally could not explain it if I tried. A car literally ran into me. Straight into me. They had a red light. A red light! And it was distracted driving. Did I tell you that? I heard it over the walkie-talkie. Fucking texting and driving. How do I explain the fact I don’t even have whiplash? Or a broken arm? None of it makes sense!”

Van’s anger has faded from his expression by the time you’ve stopped yelling, but his jaw is set. He looks like he’s thinking.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” He agrees. “I saw it with my own two eyes and I don’t know how you walked away. I don’t have an answer for you there.” 

He takes a deep breath. “But you can borrow the Rover as long as you need it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He snatches the keys off of the table and holds them out to you. “It’s yours while you figure all this shit out.”

You jerk away as if he’s offered you a grenade. “There’s no way. Nuh-uh.”

“You’re right. Everything is fucked. But it’s gonna be okay. And if I can help it be okay in some way, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

You’re still leaned away from him. “You’ve helped enough already. I don’t want your fucking car. What if I crash that one, too?”

“You didn’t crash anything. An asshole hit you. And it has full coverage, so I don’t care.” 

“I’m not taking your car, Van!” 

“Yes, you are! Fuck!” Van tosses the keys in your lap lightly. You flinch as if they’ll burn you. “Stop giving me shit every time I’m trying to be nice to you! I’m going to be back in London soon anyway, so use my car! I won’t be around to!”

You toss the keys back at Van. “Take these back.”

Van stands up. “I’m not taking these back, they’re yours for now.” He walks over to where your coat is hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping water onto the floor, and tucks his keys into your jacket pocket. 

“And just so you know,” He starts angrily as he returns, “I meet people all the fucking time that I can tell don’t give a shit about me. We were at a party full of them. When you have money and even the smallest amount of influence, people want to be mates so bad. Especially in the music industry.”

He plops down in his seat, gesturing at the front door behind him. “If you think I’m racing out of my house in the middle of a storm to make sure they’re okay you’ve got it all wrong. And if you think I’m offering everyone my car keys you’re crazy. We’re friends. Don’t ever ask me some stupid shit about you dying like that again. The keys are yours. End of.”

You stare at him through your tears, clenching your teeth. When he’s around nothing ever makes sense. It’s like you’re best friends yet you feel like you know nothing about him. You two act like you’re dating in private and then go weeks without speaking. He’s so fucking nice to you all the time and you don’t understand where it comes from, why he feels compelled to do things like hand over his car keys without a second thought. You don’t have an issue with a friends-with-benefits arrangement. But Van has a way of blurring the line between the benefits and the friendship. And you have nothing for him in return. No exclusive access to things, no guest lists, connections. Certainly no cars to lend.

You want to cry from how overwhelmed you are by his kindness this entire night. And you want to scream at how much it confuses you. You settle for reaching forward and grabbing his shirt collar and pressing your lips against his, hard. 

Van’s not one to startle. When you kiss him he’s usually all in, easily following your lead. But this time you notice his surprise, how he’s frozen in shock for a moment before he’s kissing you back. 

He’s gentle, carefully cupping the back of your head as he tries to slow the pace. You’re not having it. You pull him closer by his shirt, pressing his mouth open with yours to force the kiss deeper. 

He’s sitting slightly too far away from you to the point where you can tell it’s hard for him to lean forward enough to kiss you. You press him back by his shoulders, nudging him to rest against the back of the couch as you scramble up to straddle him, resting yourself over his thighs. You pant into his mouth as you slip your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, pressing it upward in an attempt to slip it off of him. 

Suddenly his hands are resting over the back of yours.

“Hey, hey,” He murmurs. He holds your hands gently, guiding them away from their task of undressing him. You still cling to the fabric for dear life. He has to press into your flesh with his fingertips in order for you to finally let go.

“There’s no need for that,” Van tells you softly. You accept he wants to keep his shirt on and go for the waistband of his pants instead, trying to ease the elastic down. He tightens his fingers around your wrist, gently wrestling you away again.

You give a frustrated sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Your head’s not in the right place,” Van replies. “You’ve had a long night.”

“I know I’ve have a long night,” You plead, “That’s why I need this. To chill out.”

“I’ll roll us a joint. That’ll chill you out.”

“I don’t want to smoke weed. I want to give something back for how nice you’ve been tonight.”

“Oh, quit it. You’re keeping me company. I was sitting around bored out of my mind.”

“No, you’re keeping me company,” You argue, wriggling around in his lap. It’s easy to feel his semi through his flannel bottoms. “Lemme make you dealing with me crying all night worth it.”

Van grabs your upper arms firmly, nudging you off of his lap before standing up. “I’ll grab the weed.”

You watch him rifle through his things as you come to terms with the fact you’ve officially been rejected.

The sting of Van’s rejection is only eased after passing the joint he’s rolled back and forth a few times. He doesn’t acknowledge how silent and broody you’ve become as he rolls it, but he’s too smart not to know. The fact he’s as cheerful as ever as he makes you take the first hit only boils your blood more. 

But as you two burn the joint down to a pitiful nub you start to simmer down. Your bad mood becomes less about Van and more about how awful your night has gone as a whole. The fact you weren’t going to get a quickie with Van out of tonight was only the cherry on top. 

“Should I roll another?” Van asks after you two have given the first one some time to settle. It’s calmed you down, but not enough to sleep. Given the way Van’s socked toes are tapping at your knee you get the feeling he’s not ready to sleep, either.

He brings the second one to the bedroom, waiting to light it until you two are settled in. This one tastes a little stronger, burns your throat more. After three hits you’re snuggled up against him as he lights his nighttime cigarette. 

“I have a question,” You say slowly, keeping your eyes closed. You don’t want to lose the way your head is floating, so much lighter now that you’ve been able to let go of your worries. Besides the one that keeps nagging your brain every time you breathe in the scent of Van’s fabric softener. 

“Shoot.”

“Are you seeing someone in London?”

“Loads of people. Me mum ‘n dad. My cousins. Mates from back home.”

You giggle, poking his thigh. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ve got a question for you,” Van declares, poking you on the arm. 

You press your forehead against his outer thigh, slinging your arm across his lap. It’s the ultimate comfortable position, your body sinking into it happily. “Hm?”

“I wanna know who’s been treating you so lousy that you’re so shocked when someone cares for you.”

Maybe you could’ve answered him if you hadn’t drifted off to sleep. 

\\

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Blood Sister | Feeding Habits Update #5

Hey People of Earth!

Are we back for another Feeding Habits update? Today let’s chat chapter six!

Blood Sister is the first chapter in Harrison’s POV and also the longest chapter in the book (a little over 8k words). It took me about a month to write!

Scene A:

Harrison gets back to the NYC apartment he shares with his mother after running errands to ward off either the spirit that haunts their walls or to rescue whatever is stuck in them. His mother preps for a dinner as Harrison has invited his old pal Reeve over.

Scene B:

Harrison removes a litter of kittens from behind the drywall. One of the kittens is dead. Strangely, a German Shepherd puppy is also in the litter.

Scene C:

Reeve appears in a glamorous blur and makes an interesting first impression on Suz who seems slightly stunned and endeared by her.

Scene D:

At dinner Reeve confronts Harrison about his “straight-edge” lifestyle since moving to NYC and he realizes her judgements about his life being monotonous are very true--he lacks purpose.

Scene E:

Harrison and his mother clear the dishes and Suzanna confronts him on the fact that he hasn’t told her that Reeve is in fact Lonan’s sister. Suz knows the boys’ relationship is complicated, and plays Devil’s advocate by outright asking Reeve how her brother is. Reeve, who hasn’t seen Lonan longer than Harrison, has assumed Lonan lives with them or is close by, and feels semi-betrayed that Harrison has kept his whereabouts a secret.

Scene F:

Reeve and Harrison drive to a garden and he’s reminded of the event that lead to him and his mother’s return to the east coast.

Harrison meets Winona outside a convenience store, the same woman Lonan meets in ch.6 of Moth Work. She takes him to her mansion where she’s hosting a party and introduces him to her husband. Harrison makes multiple bad decisions which you can probably figure out for yourself!

Scene G:

Harrison wakes up in Winona’s house and is confused to see her and her husband standing over his leather jacket. If we remember what happened in ch. 6 of Moth Work, Lonan gets beat up by Winona’s husband and has Harrison’s jacket & angel chain stolen. We can assume from this scene that Winona has a) recognized the jacket and b) chosen him to come back to her house for the purpose of also beating him up (which happens).

Scene H:

Reeve and Harrison jump a fence into a garden to give the dead kitten an unorthodox “water burial” in the garden’s fountain. Reeve confronts him on why no one has seemed to care about her whereabouts for the last year, and also suggests the only reason he wanted to see her now is because he misses Lonan. Harrison miserably drinks too much wine.

Scene I:

Harrison wakes up in the cold, very drunk, and Reeve is gone. A security guard looms over him. Harrison asks the confused man if he thinks he was separated at birth. Harrison isn’t referring to feeling like he’s been removed from a sibling bond, like the kittens, but a deeper, “indissoluble bond” formed between two people (like the kittens and the puppy). This connects to the title “Blood Sister” as Reeve suggests she and Suzanna may be connected in this way, to the kittens, and to Lonan and Harrison.

This idea of “indissoluble bonds” was reinforced when I listened to Stephanie Harlowe’s coverage on the Parker-Hulme case, and this was the title of her video! This idea of an immutable connection between two people who are forever separated, like the dead kitten despite its death, still being connected to its siblings, was very relevant to how Harrison feels about Lonan.

Excerpts:

Here’s the entire first scene <3

Something has died in the drywall. Suz insists there must also be a ghost—she hears cries when she sleeps—so when Harrison returns to their apartment with both a handsaw and a bottle of holy water, she’s more than pleased.

Today, it snows in New York City, and no amount of brushing off his hair and jacket rids him of the snowflakes he tracks in. His face stings with the bitter early March air, and he’s resettled easily into the east coast grit; he likes the taste of instant coffee and the smell of gasoline.

Harrison shoulders off his jacket, the leather rigid with frost, and undoes the loop of his scarf one-handed. The apartment smells overwhelmingly of cloves and apple peel, and he is unsurprised when his mother rushes over to him, flushed from the kitchen heat, her #1 Dad apron bunching at her hips, and pushes a highball glass into his palm in exchange for his findings.

“It’s a secret recipe,” she says, twiddling through his errands. Suzanna lifts the bottle of holy water to eye level, unscrews its cap, and daps two soaked fingers to her lips just as he dips his fingers into the glass, around its rim, and then into his mouth. The hot mull of liquid bursts against his taste buds, citrusy. “Wish I believed in this shit as much as I believe nutmeg is my new holy saviour.”

Harrison downs the rest of the glass’s contents, the cider’s spice grafting down his throat. Its heat clings to the roof of his mouth, a subtle burn that numbs his tongue, but he likes it, its sweetened acid like a rucking back to life.

“Is that the secret?” He runs his pinky along the base of the glass so the last drops of liquid climb up his fingernail.

“The Lord?”

Harrison laughs and accepts the holy water she hands him, rescrews its cap in place. “Nutmeg.”

Suzanna takes his empty glass and whisks toward the kitchen. On the stove burbles two saucepans and one Dutch oven, the fan whirring like the pleats of an accordion.

“Maybe it’s both,” she says.

You asked for the entire second scene? Here Harrison finds the litter of kittens:

The first thing Harrison removes when he saws through the drywall lining the two-prong outlet is a dead kitten. Its body shifts onto his hand with damp weight, like an overripe pear, its silver hair glass-like under the beam of his flashlight. Though it sits comfortably in the pit of his palm, though he knows he cannot kill or revive it, his first instinct is to lay it on the beach towel Suzanna laid out because he fears he’ll crush it with just one pulse of his thumb.

Its eyes are the size of his pinkie nail, gently shuttered like it’s drifted to a lawless sleep. The animal will remain in this state—only death, but as he looks at it, braying its hairs back with his forefinger, he considers alternative options. Harrison knows little of necromancy, but considers anointing it with the holy water, lighting a red-cased candle in front of it, chanting a verse from Revelations.

With the flashlight secured between his molars, Harrison pulls out four more kittens, all that mew as they cling to his fingers, their noses twitching against his skin like it’s feed. They burrow into the beach towel, trampling over one another with blind fervency, all shimmery silver. In comparison to their deceased sibling, they wriggle, pink-nosed, and don’t settle against the grain of the towel, always wagging, like earthworms.

Harrison believes he’s done—removed the dead animal and rescued four more. Good work which he’ll take to a farm just outside the city—Suzanna has a friend. He’s nearly clicked off the flashlight when he sees it, just a subtle glint of something else—an animal that isn’t silver, but a dry brown.

At first, he thinks it’s a rat that’s raked through the walls to where it is now, but the longer he shines the flashlight, the more he sees it is not a rat, or even a kitten. What sits, jittering behind the outlet, is a pup.

Like the kittens, its nose twitches back and forth, its eyes small enough to be the ovular black beads on Suzanna’s rosary which hangs, decorative, above the front entrance. “It’s a cleanse for the spirit,” Suz said when he questioned her reasoning for bringing religious memorabilia into a house of two atheists. “Dianne from church told me.” Dianne is a beer-bellied schoolteacher, proud pothead and mother of four who frequently volunteers at the church’s weekend functions with his mother. “She’s into that kind of thing. Seances. Jesus Christ. I think she mentioned they had something spicy going on in college.”

“Something spicy?”

“Spicy. Like hot wings. Habaneros. One-night stands. I don’t know Harry, it sounded illicit.”

They both grinned.

Harrison does not know when him and Suz began getting along. There was no one date or time, no anniversary to look forward to for their official reunion. One moment he struggled not comparing her face to the one he knew in his early teens, and the next, they crouched over a salad bowl of burnt popcorn, taking turns painting each other’s fingernails with the same shade of red nail polish—Crazy for Carmine

The dog can’t yet focus its eyes on anything, but Harrison swears it stares at him. It fidgets from its position crouched on the outlet, so when he extends his hand, an offering, he’s surprised when it crouches onto the tip of his finger, shimmying into his palm. It’s even smaller when he holds it, plum-sized, and velveteen. Its eyelids flicker like the apartment’s bad TV signal, and when it opens its mouth to cry, its teeth, no larger than the tip of a toothpick, prick up.

“You’re not a tabby,” he says, drags his fingers through the suede-like gloss of its fur. The pup curls against his knuckles, murmurs languidly until Harrison pets its head again.

“Did you say something, Harry?”           

Harrison stands from his crouch when his mother materializes from her bedroom, the animal still pared delicately in his palm. When he glances at her, he’s surprised to see she’s changed out of her usual loungewear, a tank top and bell-bottoms, and into a patterned shirtdress that sways to her knees. The Matisse-like design, organic shapes, all the colour of a celery stalk, drapes to her knees, flounces when she twirls for him.           

“I thought we agreed on business casual,” he says, but smiles wider the longer he looks at her. Tulle gathers in a funnel down her waist, pluming her so she looks less like his mother and more like a fairy.          

“I’m taking the business side, and you’ll take the casual.”          

“She’s just a friend, Mom. She’s not expecting anything.”           

“She’s got an English last name,” Suz says. Her eyelids glitter with gold pigment, her lips tacky with rouge. “Of course she’s classy.”           

Harrison thumbs the back of the pup’s head and shifts closer to Suzanna when she cocks her head toward it.

“I think Reeve is more than classy,” he says. “Maybe stylish. Exclusive. Superior. Glamorous.”           

Suzanna shifts the pup from Harrison’s hands to her own, neatly patting its head with her pinkie until its murmurs soften. When she holds the animal, it’s like he no longer stands behind her. It’s just her in her Matisse dress and the dog, comfortably blinking in her hand. “You found a puppy in a litter of kittens?” she says, less of a question, and more of a declaration of wonderment. She lifts the animal to eye level. Its nose wrinkles, like the skin of a fig. “Looks like mama picked up a stray. A beautiful stray. You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Reeve making only iconic appearances:

Reeve appears in their doorway wearing cat-eye sunglasses, a bottle of pinot noir slatted between her arm and chest. Though it’s been storming since early morning and there has been no sun in the city since the week previous, her appearance is so believable—cheekbones subtly tanned like she’s mastered the timing for a perfect sunlike glow, the sunglasses teetering neatly on the tip of her nose and staying there, like they’re a dog she’s taught to sit and stay—that Harrison’s almost convinced she commissions the sun to come out twice daily for a private show, just for her.

“We booked an appointment,” she says, letting herself into the apartment in a faux-fur blur.

Harrison swivels as she unzips, tooth by tooth, the red skin-slick vinyl of her gogo boots. Her hair falls in an untamed fringe around her forehead, the front sections pinned back by an array of rainbow-coloured butterfly clips. It mimics the fray of her jacket, fluffed around the hood’s perimeter.

Reeve dusts snow off her corduroy culottes, readjusts the collar of her black turtleneck. “When I moved to the city, I forgot how gruelling the winters can become.” She taps the heels of her boots onto the welcome mat so slush flakes onto the rubber before slipping her feet out elegantly, like Cinderella. “I almost believed New York City existed in a fictional bubble where everything remained dry and hot, like in Egypt, or the Mojave. When I asked for a hellish climate, I was hoping for sun and the occasional forest fire. Not ice and more ice.”

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” Suz speaks where Harrison’s words shrivel. She steps from the kitchen to the entrance, her dress flouncing when she extends a hand toward Reeve. “William Shakespeare.”

Reeve looks up. The cold has pinched her cheeks pink, drooled water to her eyes so when she blinks, tears sprout to her jawline. “Suzanna,” Reeve says, and embraces his mother with willful ease, like they’ve been girlfriends for a decade, like they purchase pavlova from the same patisserie at the same time on Thursdays, like they help each other whip perfectly fatty meringues at the same baking class so they can master the same pavlova and never buy it again. “I’ve heard nothing about you and yet I feel we’ve known each other for years. What do they call that? Blood sisters.”

So here’s the whole third scene lol:

At dinner, Reeve pops the cork of a bottle of pinot noir with her teeth before Suz tells her she and Harrison don’t drink. She’s in the middle of saying she’s a prophet, the bringer of wine, her lips parted around the cork, traces of her lip gloss gumming around its circumference.

“No alcohol?” Reeve says, spitting the cork into her palm so a glob of red transfers onto her skin.

Suz stirs a serving dish of clams with an olive wood spoon, their shells phosphorescent in the artificial light. “Harry and I have taken a break from spirits. Except for the holiest one of course.” She points to the roof as if signaling to the man upstairs and dishes a spoonful of clams onto Reeve’s plates, the shells chiming against the ceramic.

“That’s so reverent.” Reeve pricks the edge of a clam with a toothpick and swallows its frill into her mouth. “So virginal.”

Harrison accepts a spoonful of clams from his mother and adjusts a sprig of rosemary so it lies perpendicular to the plate’s edge. Olive oil gums under his fingernails and soaks into the fibres of a slice of bread he rips at the crust.

“I always assumed you’d be a partier if you ever moved back to the city,” Reeve says, and it takes Harrison a moment to realize she’s speaking to him. “Disco. Karaoke. Cocktails. Men who buy you cocktails.”

“Has that been your life in New York, Reeve?” Harrison sucks a lobe of clam between his lips. Its brine coats his tongue in a burst of salt and cilantro.

Reeve tips the bottle of wine to her mouth, its red gift bow shifting, silverish with light. “You could say that. I just expected more. Not that your life now is boring. But I assumed there would be more glamour.”

Harrison sops up a dribble of oil onto a shear of bread, and says something like, “I thought so too,” before swallowing.

“We have glamour,” Suz says as Harrison absently eats more clams. She points to the chandelier the two found at the bottom of a New Jersey dumpster, yet to be installed, sitting in its crystal glory on the floor. She explains the story of how it came to be as Harrison eats and listens for the mewing of the kittens, thinks about their one dead sibling that now lies curled inside a shoebox, separated in eternal rest.

Reeve is not wrong. Life in New York City has been far from glamorous. He shares this apartment with his mother who pays for all of the rent—it’s been months since Harrison could hold down a steady job. He tries with odds and ends—repairing a neighbour’s bathroom sink, tacking sconces up outside the apartment for a hundred bucks. His room is a décor-less box that smells like wallpaper even though it’s sanded smooth and painted with two coats of an eggshell-finished oatmeal white. There is no dancing, no music, no colour, no partying, no alcohol or men with alcohol. Not anymore, at least. Her statement should not sting—this is the utter truth. The apartment is repetitive shades of indistinctive creams, furniture he and his mother pick up off the curbs of wealthy homeowners, incomplete, yet his home, nonetheless. No matter the story Suz tries to spin—look at the exposed brick, look at the counter space, look at the custom-moulded baseboards the previous renters installed—he knows what Reeve has said is true. Life in the city is comfortable but monotonous—an unrelenting kind of normal.

“We found kittens,” Harrison says, promptly interrupting the women’s conversation that has quickly moved away from the apartment to their favourite places to eat gelato. Suz’s clam drifts off her toothpick; Reeve almost chokes on a gulp of wine. Harrison swipes a chunk of bread through olive oil and chews. “That’s glamorous.”

Reeve sets the wine bottle back onto the dinner table and folds her hands over the other. Her manicure is chipped, just the remnants of a tortoiseshell marble. “What kind? Calico?”

“They’re just kittens. And a dog.”

“You found a dog in a litter of kittens?”

Harrison eats one last clam and finishes his portion of bread. “Glamorous,” he says, his mouth half-full.

The beginning of scene 4:

While Suz and Reeve discuss room décor and clear the plates, Harrison checks on the kittens. Dishes clank rhythmically as they’re soaped, rinsed, dried, the ceramic whimpering in time with the kittens. He hasn’t named any but understands their differences. Though the quadruplets share the same silver coat, one has a slightly larger nose than the rest, one has a fleck of gold in its blue eye, one has pinstripes scrolled across its forehead like a branch of lightning—small details like this differentiate them.

In his palm, the one with the golden eye crawls, its underbelly sateen. Tomorrow, he’ll make the drive just outside Brooklyn where he’ll drop the kittens off at an old farmhouse. Suz’s friend from rehab is selling it, some Theodore Harvey, but his wife fosters animals, and was delighted to have the new additions. Though he hasn’t spoken to his mother about this arrangement, he also knows tomorrow he will keep the dog. Juniper, he’s named her—June with the eyes like a solstice.

When his mother pokes him, he jumps, and the kitten shimmies off his palm.

The sounds of dishes clinking morphs into the filmy mutter of a talkshow Reeve watches, sipping absently at her gifted bottle of red wine.

She nudges a pastry into his hand, where the kitten once sat, the skin of the pasteis de nata oiling his hand. He crunches into it as she watches patiently, as if waiting for a review, and its caramel flavour ruminates on his tongue.

“This is good,” he says around a mouthful of pastry.

“$4.99.” Suz smiles and takes a nibble herself. “For six.”

Together they stand over the kittens, passing the tart back and forth until Harrison gives the final piece to his mother. The apartment whirs with the calculated singe of automated laughter and the purr of the kittens. He knows one sits dead in a shoebox on his bedroom dresser. The ground too hard to dig, a burial still necessary.

Suz licks a crumb from her thumb and wipes her palms along the skirt of her dress. Their focus shifts to Reeve who lies sprawled against the two-seater, yelling something at a contestant on the show who’s gotten an answer wrong—tulip, not two lips. That’s fabulous. You are fabulously a failure.

“You didn’t tell me she was Lonan’s sister.”

Harrison pokes at a flake of pastry and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. Reeve’s bangles clatter in a cyan jangle as she applauds at the same contestant she previously ridiculed. There are so many things he could say to his mother—he knew Reeve first, Reeve isn’t just Lonan’s sister to him, more like his own, but when he adjusts himself, swallowing and tidying the hem of his shirt, all that comes out is, “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I would’ve like to,” Suz says. “Does she know? That you don’t know where he is?”

Harrison’s fingernail catches on a loose thread, and he yanks it out so even Reeve glances back at its upholstered plink. “I know where he is, Suzanna.”

Reeve and Suz being icons (direct continuation from the above):

Harrison turns back to the kittens who plow over one another like ants. Heat flushes his throat, prickles his cheeks and ears and suctions like a vacuum. Though Suzanna eventually leaves, joining Reeve on the couch, propping her feet on the same coffee table so their polished feet touch, toes pink like raw cherry tomatoes, though he knows they’re both right in knowing and not knowing where Lonan is, though he knows it should no longer matter to him, he finds himself leaning against the table where the kittens encase each other in a plastic shoe bin, ticking his fingers at his side.

He does not know what the reality television show is about. From the blots he hears from the TV’s can-like speaker, he concludes it’s something about botany, love, vengeance, fertilizer. No one theme—it does not even know what it is itself. Suz has materialized with another tart, and she and Reeve nibble at it with fervency, so close, their tongues almost touch as they dart across the custard. The sight is almost viper-like, their teeth notched forward, and it should be venomous, or at its worst—friendly, but all Harrison sees is girlish, maternal intimacy.

Suz and Reeve laugh at a contestant who wears a tartan printed jumpsuit and mismatching earrings—one the shape of a pineapple, the other an urn-like bead she claims holds the ashes of her great aunt. They outline her figure with their pinkies. They clutch each other’s hands. They flush like beets and wipe crumbs from each other’s mouths.

Reeve’s momentary lapse into delicacy:

Harrison turns his back and pretends to tend to the kittens. They all know he does nothing but thumb the backs of their heads, let them suckle against his fingertips—they all know, and yet, he continues doing it. Silence cuts through the apartment like hot glass.

If Reeve and Suzanna still touch toes, it’s because neither want to loosen the other’s pride. The only sound in the room belongs to the television which has moved away from dishwashing to a watering hose—four for four, as if this is a discount, as if anyone will truly need that many watering hoses.

“I haven’t seen your brother since late August,” Harrison says once the commercials simmer back to the gaudy laughter of the reality television show. At first, he doesn’t look at Reeve. He knows what he’ll see—some form of betrayal. She didn’t come here looking for Lonan. She hasn’t even asked for him, but he knows what he’ll see when he looks at her. Best friends do not keep secrets.

When he concedes, he is right. Reeve looks at him from under a thick smear of kohl, her eyes focused, like slate beads. Her lips are pink from wine and she unhinges a fleck of opal nail polish from her thumb. Her mouth does not move, a straight line that cranks with her jaw.

“Where is he?” she asks, fluttering her lashes when Suz pats her arm. If Harrison is right, Reeve hasn’t see her brother since she peered in on him when the two shared the tent, pearled a few smoke rings from Harrison’s cigar, and left for the east coast. Before he left, Foster filled him in on the details of her eventual cross-country desertion, though there weren’t many. How he’d last seen her at the motel, a margarita wobbling in her palm, what she’d said to him, to stay special, that there weren’t many people like him left, and how she had vanished like vapour by the time they realized to check. While Reeve hiked across the country by herself, he and Lonan swam through nighttide and badly waltzed in a four-by-four bathroom. She made an anonymous life in New York City, hailing cabs with just her eyes, and learning the easiest ways to shoplift. Alone. Her last memory of Lonan one where he pretended to sleep so he didn’t have to say goodbye to her.

“Las Vegas the last time I saw him,” Harrison says. He feels the urge to apologize for something, to hug her, or cry. Though her expression unbends from severe back to her perfected mould of glitzy conviction, her momentary lapse into delicacy startles him. He looks back to the kittens who seem more interested in themselves than him.

Reeve tightens her grip around the neck of the wine bottle and tactfully sips, her pinkie erect, her lips pursed just the right amount. “What happened?” she asks and sets the bottle onto the coffee table. She lets a dribble of wine fall from her mouth so she can dab at it like a wounded animal.

Harrison and Reeve in the car:

Harrison brings the box with the dead kitten and Reeve brings the bottle of pinot noir. Together, they settle in her red Beetle convertible, a car she insists she pawned for a quarter its listing price, though he figures from the way she settles in it, carefully placing the wine bottle in the cup holder, wiping her hands on her thighs as if checking for grease, that it must belong to a roommate or boyfriend, if she has either. The car smells faintly of pineapple and vanilla, a scent not unfamiliar to him, the waft strengthening as the tree-shaped air-freshener swings closer to him with every turn.

Reeve asks vaguely of his time in the city, how life has been for him and his mother since they moved from Vegas in mid October. Her mouth flutters with speech, each word like the hull of a hard candy she specially tastes before sharing. Has it been marvellous, just as you thought? Don’t you ever wonder how a city could become so brilliant? Isn’t the weather maddening? Don’t you adore it? She asks about Foster, what living with him was like, what saying goodbye to him the week previous was like—was it tragic—and he could tell her his move in with him and his mother wasn’t much of a plan—not a last resort either, but a salvaging. A necessary resuscitation. Reeve’s lips as dubious as shadow puppets.

Here’s some of the flashback with Winona at the convenience store:

The woman stood under the hex of the convenience store’s light, spooling her in a feverish blue. The sun had been down for hours, but its residual heat clung to Harrison’s arms in tacky gusts that wound up his fingers. Like the woman, he reached for his cigarettes. Vehicles spun across the highway just beyond the gas station, and when he raised his head after lighting the cigarette, the woman was staring at him.

“Aren’t you too young to be out without a parent or guardian?” she asked. Her hair was the colour of his mother’s candlesticks, a waxy boxed red. Her rings waggled in the false light.

“Maybe,” he said, a curl of smoke looping out of his mouth. “Can’t remember which life I’m on. There are so many. I could be ninety-seven. Tomorrow might be my birthday.”

It was September in Las Vegas. White licks of car exhaust laced the black sky, and though it wasn’t cold, Harrison pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

Winona tries to figure out whether or not Harrison is a local by getting to know his eyes/face lol:

Harrison dropped the butt of his cigarette and stomped out its embers. When it was fully out, he fit his hands into his jacket pocket and approached the woman. Up close, her trench coat was pebbled with lint, a bead from her charm bracelet missing. She crushed her cigarette too, and when her hands were free, she stepped toward him with both palms out, and pressed them to his cheeks so he felt both the heat of her skin and the watery bite of her jewelry. She examined each plane of his face as if they were sides of a prism. Her perfume, a vinegary sort of citrus, stung his eyes the closer she got, the fur of her jacket’s trim brushing his chin when she pressed to her toes for a better look.

“You could be so many things,” she said, tilting his jaw at the same moment her pinkie slid from the jab of his nose bridge to his top lip. She pushed her face closer to his and inhaled, her plastic nail marking his skin with a pixel of glitter. “You’ve got the face of an angel. Which means you’re good. You’re sacred. You’re discreet.” When her finger poked into his mouth, her knuckle snagged on his canines. “Could also mean you’re a fraud. A criminal. You know, Lucifer wasn’t always the fallen angel.”

A bit of the party:

Winona’s front lawn was manicured, cropped neat at its soil scalp. Clusters of people huddled in different places—four gargling in the stone fountain just before the iron gate, two drinking from three martini glasses at once, a group of on their backs, arms wound like a wicker basket, shot glasses teetering between their teeth like human serving tables.

Winona parked opposite the house that pulsed with light. Harrison got out when she did, and with ease, she punched into the gate, leading him past her perfect lawn, her party guests, as if they were simply garden statues.

Inside, more people concentrated, all stopping Winona for a moment to say hello as she passed. She moved in a way only the owner of a house would, her strides easy, like she knew exactly where to take him and when.

“I know it’s busy,” Winona said, adjusting her volume for the holler of party guests. “I promise it’s always like that. Who is it that says we need partners for life? God or my therapist? This is that but every week. You meet so many people.”

Harrison listened to her haphazardly. Though he’d been in Las Vegas for a month, he hadn’t been out except for a few errands at the grocery store or for cigarettes, despite his mother’s insistence he quit. The party was overwhelming. Bass from the stereo caught him by the throat and held him there as he and Winona threaded through her house that seemed closer to a mansion. The interior smelled like cleaning bleach and fruit cocktails, and he could hardly walk without someone rearing into him. He should’ve left, known better, done better, but it thrilled him, every moment of the party’s chokehold.

When Winona pushed through her French doors and out to the back pool, Harrison tailed her closely, unsure he’d be able to keep pace if he lost sight of her, even for a moment. The backyard smelled artificially floral, like orchids, tuberose, the grassy melt of citronella candles.

Some of my fave Harrison dialogue:

“You should’ve told me you were into vintage. Cheap but chic. I like it, angel.” Her ring finger smushed into his jaw, and then against his hairline.

“What’s vintage about me?”

Winona laughed, though her eyes remained glass-like. “Your jacket, of course. You’re thrifty. Into second-hand.”

~~theme makes an appearance:

It was only later, when he stumbled, bloody knuckled, through their front door, stepping over partygoers and martini glasses, that he understood. He hadn’t come to the party thinking about Lonan but managed to attract the same people. He hadn’t drunk the magenta liquid thinking about him but managed to exit the house stumbling, as he did, his knees knotted like a newborn lamb. There was something inconceivably indissoluble about them—their bond mirror-like, one making one decision, and the other mimicking it with vigour, unknowingly inseparable.

God tier denial:

“What do you miss about him?”

Harrison blinks. He hasn’t expected her to speak to him again, in fact he’s pictured the night whittling into gauzy silence, them setting the box afloat in the fountain, and then leaving once more, wordless. Reeve drinks another sip of wine. Its scent stings, like earthy cranberries.

“I don’t,” he says, which is a lie, and they both know it. Harrison has never been a good liar, but especially a bad liar around Reeve who’s always managed to snuff out the truth. She looks at him in absolutes, like she sees his every answer scraped into his cheek and doesn’t need to check his work. Her eyes are feline and rimmed with kohl and aquamarine mica—she doesn’t need anyone to tell her the truth because she holds it in her fist. “He has a girlfriend. He’s happy.” Harrison rations more wine down his tongue, three times as much as he’s intended to drink.

“But what do you miss about him?”

Harrison misses nothing. He sleeps little and smokes too much because he misses nothing. He walks by himself, eats by himself, talks to himself because he misses nothing. He jumps from job to job, person to person, place to place because he misses nothing. He wakes up in dazes the colour of blackberries because he misses nothing. He blinks dreams from his eyelashes like they’re bad spells because he misses nothing. He holds himself, he drinks himself, he leaves no company for anyone because he misses nothing about Lonan. He misses absolutely nothing.

Harrison sits up and lifts the dead kitten’s box. He feels Reeve’s gaze when he lowers it into the fountain, the box giving into the slosh of water, and feels her gaze once more when he sits back and drinks more wine. The moon makes him miserable, its silver gloat like a reminder, of how easy it would be to look at it and see Lonan’s face appear in its dime. He doesn’t register how much he drinks, just that it feels better than not drinking. He doesn’t register that Reeve never takes the bottle, that it’s just him and its open gape of wine. As the kitten swirls around the fountain, he tries not to think of its siblings back at the apartment, all mottled over each other like burrs. An unbreakable bond, and what that means, even as one of them sits alone, gurgling along the current of a fountain.

If you didn’t ask for angst before, you sure did now:

He does not remember falling asleep, and so waking up feels illusory, shimmery, like a mirage. He focuses on dart of yellow light and a man wearing a security uniform telling him he can’t be here, here being the garden, past the fence, under the fountain. Snowflakes have clumped against his eyelashes and he blinks twice to dislodge them. The man must ask him if he’s intoxicated, never noticing the shoebox floating in the fountain, because Harrison says, “Who’s to say? I miss so many things,” and isn’t talking about the bottle of wine or Reeve that both seem to have vanished, as if they were never there. Harrison blinks again, searching for Reeve’s outline somewhere in the crisp bushel of dead foliage, but she never reappears—has he imagined the entire thing, or is she magical, effervescent, invisible? What was the last thing she said? Drink it all. It’s good for you. It’s like your own personal healing tonic.

“Do you think it’s possible I was separated at birth?” Harrison asks the security guard, who leads him by the elbow out past the iron gate and into the parking lot where he stumbles over a patch of glazy slush and onto his knees.

“Are you a twin?”

Harrison draws his index finger through the slush, doodling nonsense—letters of his name, an eyeball, a singular, faceless nose. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Your twin?”

Harrison shakes his head.

Snow and slush dredge his jeans and the hem of his jacket; a streetlamp filters him and the security guard in foamy yellow. His skin has numbed from sitting out in the cold too long, and in some places, prickles with heat, like the fritz of pine needles. Reeve has dissolved in the fresh spatter of snow that settles on the pavement, his fingers. The fur fringe of her hood gone, the slick of her boots. She will not be here tomorrow. He may never see her again, and yet this is not what makes him ache in the way he does.

His hands move for him. Dividing the snow in slopes, curves, lines—letters. When he’s finished, he rests his chin on his own shoulder and dries the slop of slush from his nail. The security guard leans over, bends down to get a better look, but Harrison doesn’t have to look to know what he’s written. Chiselled so the flurries fill its gaps, like cement. His name will be erased by dawn. Lonan.

So that’s it for this very, very long update! See you for chapter seven!

--Rachel

[oliviastan17]

Just a dream (6/7)

Warnings: this is really fluffy, I wouldn’t call it smut but it’s more than a mention of sex, pregnancy and childbirth (nothing graphic), language, 18+

Length: 3.7k

A/N: Part 7 is coming but I think it’s the last one because I haven’t had a dream continuing this series in a while. I’m working on writing out a one shot dream I had though so look for that. And I never know, that one shot could turn into another series. DO NOT POST ON ANY OTHER WEBSITE! Reblog and leave comments and all that good stuff!

———–

You were 35 weeks pregnant now. Your mom had called saying that she decided she wanted to throw you a baby shower. She was always doing things last minute and if she had called one week later you wouldn’t have been able to fly out there. You hadn’t seen a lot of your family in a while. Your brother had flown out once with his kids and your mom. You and Sebastian had gone back for Harper’s birthday. You were really looking forward to going home.

Your flight got in late so you and Sebastian went straight to the hotel. While you got in the shower he ordered room service so it was waiting for you when you got out.

“You are the best. Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?” you asked while climbing awkwardly onto the bed. It was getting difficult to move.

He just smiled and brought you a plate with a cover still on top as you leaned back on the headboard. You placed a pillow on your lap and the plate on top of it. He kissed you before turning back to grab another plate. You took the top off the one in your lap and you froze.

“Um…this isn’t what I was expecting,” you said darting your eyes to look at Sebastian who was walking back towards you.

He smiled as he kneeled by the side of the bed and reached for the ring box that was where you expected to see your dinner.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do this for a while but I wanted to wait until we’d be around your family. I know your mom was bummed when she couldn’t hug you and celebrate when we told her about the baby,” he said taking your hand. “Y/n, I love you with every ounce of my being. Nothing would make me happier than spending the rest of my life showing you how much I love you. Will you marry me?” he asked opening the box.

You were too busy staring in his eyes to even look at the ring.

“Oh, babe! Of course I will!” you said smiling and leaning in to grab his chin and pulled his lips up to yours.

After he put the ring on your finger you grabbed his face and brought it to yours to kiss him over and over. As he hugged you, you brought your hand up to look at the ring on your finger.

“Holy shit!”

He pulled away and saw you looking at the ring. It was a princess cut diamond (2 carats at least) with small diamonds around the band. It was beautiful.

“You did good!”

“I know,” he said smiling at you.

You were talking about the ring. He was talking about you.

“I love you so much,” you said as you held his face in your hands.

“I love you too,” he said and then you pulled him in for a kiss.

It was a passionate kiss. Neither of you could help it. There was too much love flowing through both of you.

Sex while you were this pregnant was a bit of a challenge but not impossible. You started off doggy style but the weight of your stomach hanging down was hurting your back. Missionary also put too much strain on your back. You tried laying on your sides facing each other but your stomach got in the way. Laying on your sides with your back to his front was working. You could still turn your head to kiss him and he would bring his arm around you to grab your breasts and then to rub your clit.

You didn’t feel the need to have the best sex ever. You just wanted to be close to the man you loved. He, however, refused to leave you unsatisfied so he worked his magic and you were soon clenching around him as you came.

The next day was the baby shower that quickly morphed into a baby shower/engagement party. Seeing as your dad was not in the picture Sebastian had called your mom and brother to let them know his plan before you had even left New York. He knew you felt the asking for permission thing was outdated. He needed your and only your permission to marry you and that was all. Your mom was thrilled, made all the party arrangements and made sure all your closest friends were there. Your friends and family got you so much stuff you were going to have to mail it all back to New York.

It was a short trip but it was a great trip. You were sitting in the first class lounge at the airport waiting for your plane and looking at the pictures you had posted on your private Instagram when you got a call from Chris.

“I had to find out you’re engaged from your Instagram?!”

“I thought Seb would have told you! You talk to him more.”

“Yeah, but I’ve known you longer. You’re like the sister I never wanted.”

“Don’t you have a sister?”

“Whatever. I am prepared to perform the ceremony whenever it is. How’s little baby Chris?”

“His name is not Chris.”

“What is it?”

“He doesn’t have one. Nothing goes with Stan.”

“I’ll think about it and text you some suggestions.”

“Please don’t. Even if I like it I wouldn’t choose a name you suggested just out of principle.”

Over the loud speaker you hear they are beginning boarding for your flight.

“I would love to continue this conversation but I’ve got to go. They’re boarding my flight.”

“Alright, I’m coming to NYC soon so I’ll see you soon. Maybe 3 weeks or so.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Chris got you thinking about how you didn’t have a name picked out so that’s what you did on the plane.

 “I think it has to be 3 syllables. That’s why Sebastian works.”

You pulled up a website that had 3 syllable boy names and went through the list.

“Found it. Blueberry.”

“That can’t be on the list,” he said in disbelief. Then you showed him your phone.

“I’m gonna say no,“ he said.

You spent the entire flight tossing around names but were not able to agree on one you both liked. You wanted to pull the ‘I’m carrying him so I get to name him’ card but you actually liked that he cared so much. He was very much involved during the pregnancy and read all the books he could. It was very sweet. You weren’t wrong. He was going to be a great dad.

 —————

One month later you were absolutely over the magic of it all. Your back was hurting, you were peeing every single hour and you could barely stand up from a sitting position.

“Please get out of me,” you said looking down and talking to your baby. “Does this make me a bad person?” you asked Sebastian.

“No, I’d probably be saying the same thing,” he said pulling you in for a hug. It was a side hug because your belly was too big.

“Will you please tell him to get out?”

“It’s only 1 more week. Hang in there for 1 more week.”

“Ugh, if I have to,” you said dramatically rolling your eyes and walking into your bedroom.

“I love you.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

When you went to bed that night you were sound asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Growing a human was no joke. A pain woke you up in the middle of the night and Sebastian woke up to see you sitting up and taking some deep breaths.

“Oh my god, is it time? Are you okay?”

You didn’t respond until the pain had passed.

“No, it’s just Braxton Hicks contractions. I’ve been having them since yesterday. They stop after a while. Go back to sleep.”

You both lay back down and he rested his hand on your stomach gently drawing imaginary shapes with his fingers. You felt the pain again 7 minutes later. And another 7 minutes after that. You gave up on sleep at that point and got up and went to the living room to watch some TV. You were flipping through the guide when Sebastian came in to join you.

“Ugh, really?” he asked when he saw what show you started to watch.

“It’s my guilty pleasure. Deal with it.”

He sat down on the couch pulled your feet onto his lap and massaged them as 90 Day Fiancé started. It was a show about Americans applying for a K-1 visa to bring their fiancé over from other countries who then had 90 days to marry or be sent back to their country. Some of the foreigners were only in it for the green card and some were in it for love and it was fun to guess which was which. The show fascinated you. But it had caused a small argument between you and Sebastian.

Flashback

“You’re telling me that if I still lived in Romania and we met there, you wouldn’t bring me here on a K-1 visa?”

“If I’m being honest, probably not.”

“That’s messed up.”

“If you lived here and I lived in Romania would you bring me here?”

“Yes! Without a question!”

“That’s insane! These people barely know each other and they have to get married. Most of them have only physically spent less than a month together.”

“How well would you have to know me to bring me here?”

“I don’t know. I feel like we would have to physically be together for at least 6 months before I would think about it.”

“Six months? I would have brought you over here after our first night together!”

“If I brought you over here I would be financially responsible for you and I would be fucked if you screwed me over.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“I know you wouldn’t. Why are you so upset? This is a hypothetical situation. We are together.”

“You’re too practical! Can’t it just be about the love?”

This went on for an hour.

“These two are never going to work,” you said talking about the couple on the TV.

You had a contraction again and noted the time telling Sebastian to write it down. Two hours later they were 5-6 minutes apart and not stopping when you started walking around the apartment. You realized these weren’t Braxton Hicks but it was still a little early to go to the hospital. You wanted to labor at home for as long as you could.

“Do you have your bag packed for when you are ready to go?” he asked.

“Shit, I was going to do that today but I was too tired,” you said walking into your bedroom.

You packed, taking a break with each contraction. Sebastian was helping you when you stopped and placed your hands on the bathroom counter, gripping it tight.

“Ah, fuck!” you said through your breathing as Sebastian rubbed your back. He felt absolutely helpless. There was nothing he could do to take the pain away but he desperately wanted to.

A few hours later the contractions were getting even stronger and were now 4 minutes apart.

“Okay, it’s time to go,” you said. He had wanted to go an hour ago but you were being your stubborn self so he didn’t push it because he knew he couldn’t change your mind.

You were walking into your room to change out of your pajamas while he was calling the hospital to let them know you were on your way. All of the sudden he heard you yell, “Mother fucker!”

He dropped his phone and ran into the bedroom to find you looking up at the ceiling in disbelief.

“What?”

You looked at him and pointed to the floor. He looked down and saw that your water had broken. Everywhere. Thank god they were wood floors.

“I was really hoping if my water broke it would be a slow leak and not a waterfall,” you said laughing and beginning to walk to your closet to change your clothes.

He just smiled, grabbed your arm so you turned around and held your face in his hands. “I love you.”

You pulled him for a hug and a kiss. “I really, really love you.”

After arriving at the hospital they confirmed that you were in labor and actually already 5 cm dilated. Once in a room and in a gown you were hooked up to the fetal monitor and checked out by the woman who was going to be your nurse.

“Do you need anything hun?”

“Drugs. I want all the drugs,” you replied.

“Absolutely!” she said laughing. “I think anesthesia is just down the hall so I’ll let them know you’re ready for an epidural. You need anything, Dad?”

Sebastian was slowly pacing around the room with his hands in his pockets entertaining weird thoughts in his head to help keep him calm and didn’t hear anything.

“I don’t think he’s answering to Dad just yet,” you smiled. “Seb!”

“Mmh?” he said turning around.

“If you need anything the nurse’s station is just out the door and to your left,” the nurse said.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he said while rubbing the whiskers on his chin.

She left and soon after the anesthesiologist came in and administered your epidural. Once it started to work you were able to take a nap thankfully. You had barely slept and been up since 2am. It was now 9am. You weren’t sure but Sebastian may have dozed off on the couch that was there for that exact purpose.

Your nurse came in to check your progress every hour or so. At 2pm she informed you that you were fully dilated and it was time to start pushing.

“Oh god,” you said as you realized this was it. You were about to see your son for the first time.

“You can do this. You are amazing and I love you so much,” Sebastian said encouraging you.

For the first 30 minutes it was just you, Sebastian, and your amazing nurse. Every time there was a contraction you pushed as hard as you could while the nurse counted to 10. You would take a breath and push again as long as the contraction lasted. You didn’t know how anyone did this without an epidural. Sebastian was holding your hand and holding one leg up while saying sweet and comforting things so you felt really bad about what came out of your mouth.

“Oh my god, Seb shut up. Seriously just shut the fuck up!” you said mid push.

Once that contraction and push were over you said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I just need you to not talk when I’m pushing. All I want to hear is the counting. I’m sorry! I love you.”

“It’s okay. Just tell me what you need,” he said so calmly while he brushed a piece of hair out of your face which made you feel even worse for the way you talked to him and then he kissed your temple.

Once you had made enough progress more nurses came in with your doctor and an infant warmer. It was really time.

“You ready to have a baby?” your doctor cheerfully asked.

“I guess it’s too late to change my mind.”

“I would say so!” she said laughing while putting on gloves and a gown, then sitting on a chair and getting a view that only Sebastian had ever seen.

After the first push and everyone in the room saying encouraging things you looked at Sebastian with an annoyed expression so he spoke up and said, “She only wants to hear the counting when she’s pushing.”

You mouthed ‘thank you’ to him.

After 5 minutes of pushing your doctor said, “Okay, you are doing great Y/n! I can see the head! Sebastian, do you want to see?”

As Sebastian looked he kept your hand in his and then looked back at you and said, “Oh my god, he has so much hair!”

“One more push Y/n and he’ll be out okay?” your doctor said.

You nodded and looked at Sebastian.

“Okay push! 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and here he is!” she said as she placed your baby on the blanket a nurse had placed on your chest while she wrapped the blanket around him and began to clean him off a little. The doctor instructed Sebastian on where to cut the umbilical cord and he did.

Then you heard his cry for the first time. He was here. Finally. He was beautiful. It was all worth it. The pain, the discomfort, the constant peeing, the lack of sleep. You would do it all again just to relive the moment of seeing him for the first time.

Sebastian brought his hand up to cradle his son’s head. He had no words. He just had tears falling down his face and a deep love filling his heart. He put his arm around you and brought his temple next to yours as you both looked at the precious baby you two had created together.

After a minute or two the baby nurse took your son over to the infant warmer to weigh him and get him cleaned up.

“Go with him,” you told Sebastian even though it was only 6 feet away from where you were. Sebastian only took about a 100 pictures. Once they had cleaned him and swaddled him up, Sebastian got to hold him for the first time. He thought his heart was going to explode. Between his love for you and for his son he was sure his heart wasn’t big enough to handle it.

When your doctor was done taking care of you Sebastian walked over to you and placed your son in your arms. You brought your hand up to pull Sebastian in for kiss and told him you loved him. You both stared at your son who was wiggling in your arms. He was the living proof of your and Sebastian’s love.

“Congratulations! You did great! Do you have a name for him yet?” your doctor asked you.

“Maverick,” Sebastian replied never once breaking his gaze from his baby.

“Are you a Maverick? Do you like that name? I hope you do cause we couldn’t think of anything else,” you laughed and your son responded with a smile in his sleep.

 ————

Once you were transferred to the postpartum unit the adrenaline of the day wore off and you were just exhausted. The epidural was wearing off so you were in pain as well. Your nurse gave you the pain medication your doctor had prescribed and that made you fall asleep fast. When you woke up Sebastian was sitting in the rocking chair in the room with his shirt off and was asleep holding Maverick against his chest with a blanket covering them. Your nurse had made a point to tell Sebastian that skin to skin contact is not just for mom and baby but that it’s important for him to do it too because it helps with bonding.  Your heart just about exploded with the love you felt looking at the boys in your life who completely owned your heart. You took a picture so you could remember this moment forever.

Maverick woke up and started crying so Sebastian placed him in your arms and you began breastfeeding him. It truly was a blessing that you had no problem breastfeeding. Maverick latched on perfectly.

You FaceTimed with your mom but you couldn’t be positive she could see anything through her tears so you sent her a ton of pictures and videos.

 Sebastian’s mom came to see her first grandchild. She was so happy and gave you about 7 hugs throughout her visit. On her way out she whispered something in Romanian to Sebastian that he later translated.

“She said I did good. That I picked a good woman and made a beautiful son. She’s proud of me.”

Chris came next.

“I come bearing gifts!” he said handing Sebastian a bag. “Where is he? What’d you name him? Can I hold him?”

“This is Maverick. You can hold him but support his head,” you said handing Maverick over to him.

“Hey little guy! I’m your Uncle Chris! Oh my god he is so cute! Middle name Chris?”

You shook your head no. He still didn’t have a middle name yet.

“Really?” Sebastian asked after opening Chris’s gift. He held up a onsie with a picture of Chris as Captain America and underneath it said “My uncle is the shit!”

“What? It’s the truth!” Chris said.

You just laughed. You actually really liked it. Chris stayed for an hour or so and left so you could breastfeed. You were officially done with visitors. Now you focused on bonding as a family of 3.

After one more day in the hospital you and Maverick were cleared to go home. It took you 10 minutes to teach Sebastian how to strap the car seat in the back of the cab you were taking home. The cab driver was so sweet and patient, never complaining and not even starting the meter as you made sure the car seat was secure.

Once home you were breastfeeding Maverick in your bed and Sebastian sat next to you. He loved watching you feed your son. When Maverick was done eating Sebastian changed his diaper and then placed him in the bassinet you had set up next to your bed. You both stood there just watching him sleep. Sebastian put his arms around you and kissed the top of your head you were resting against his chest.

He was an amazing father. There was no arguing over who got up in the middle of the night to feed or change Maverick’s diaper. He always got up, even if it was just to bring Maverick to you to breastfeed. You were also pumping your breast milk so that Sebastian would be able to feed Maverick which he wished he could do all the time.

Two days after you had gotten home, you had gotten out of the shower and walked into your bedroom to find Sebastian asleep with Maverick asleep on his chest. It was a precious sight. Your own father was in and out of your life when you were a kid and never showed any affection. Now you hadn’t seen him in over 10 years. You knew Maverick would never have to deal with that and that made you so grateful Sebastian was his father. You couldn’t decide who was luckier; you or your son. 

Next Chapter

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile​

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@allsortsofinterests​

@superhero-missouri​                   

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[thetenthdoctorscompanion]

Flesh and Blood - A 6 Underground Story

You don’t have to be a ghost here amongst the living. You are flesh and blood. You deserve to be loved, and you deserve what you are given.     -Florence Welch

Warnings: The film is rated R and so is this story. Blood, guts, cursing and adult content to come.

[ MEET ACE ] 

Prologue

“Oh my God, that’s—that’s a fucking eye. That is a fucking eyeball, I—I just had a fucking eyeball on my foot! Dude, that shit was on my—…!” 

“Six, for the love of God, just fucking drive!” 

“No! No, do not drive! I told you to pull the fuck over, okay? Pull the fuck over!” 

It was difficult to concentrate. There was so much screaming, and blood, and shooting, and blood. Six took a hard right down another alley and slammed everyone in the car against the door. 

The aforementioned eyeball swung dangerously in One’s hand. He had to choke down the bile in his throat. He just had to focus. He would not think about the several, certainly dead pedestrians they had hit with their car. He would not think about the blood that was saturating the carpet from Two’s still-gushing bullet wound. He would not think about the police and mafia and hitmen who were chasing them down with very big, very real guns. He just had to focus on pinching the insanely long optic nerve he was holding between his fingers. 

Oh God. He was pinching a fucking optic nerve between his fingers. Maybe he shouldn’t focus on that either. This is all so much easier in theory. 

The Alfa Romeo careened into another alleyway and came to a jerky stop. The eyeball swayed again, like a gruesome, bodily pendulum. One focused all of his energy on not vomiting. Adding another bodily fluid into the mix was not going to help matters. 

“Whose eye is that?” Six asked, as One repositioned the smart phone in his hand. 

“It’s—It’s the lawyer’s.” 

“D-Did you just scoop it out, or…?” 

“God, no!” One yelped, trying to steady the eye over the phone’s camera. “I didn’t scoop it out! Two did!” 

He jerked his head toward the blonde woman in the backseat, who was busy beating her head against the wall of the car. She was still bleeding heavily. The brunette next to her ducked low to assess the damage, trying to take advantage of the momentary stillness. 

Somewhere above them, a bird pooped. It splattered on the windshield. One’s suspicions had been correct. The new bodily fluid did nothing to help matters with his stomach. 

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, repositioning the eyeball in his fingers. “All of Rovach’s transmissions. This is gonna lead us straight to the four generals.” 

“I’m getting a little lightheaded,” Six admitted. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one holding it.” 

The eyeball continued to rotate, circling the target center of the camera. Why were biometric locks so fucking complicated? Why couldn’t he just get a really HD picture of the guy and print it? He could use a 3D printer for that, right? Someone had to be 3D printing organs already. Where were all the hackers of the world when you needed them to bypass a biometric lock? They were really just slacking, when you thought about it. Complete oversight in piracy—no pun intended—but criminals really should… 

“You got the generals?” Six prompted. “Can I go?” 

One was about to tell him exactly where he could go—straight to Hell without passing GO or collecting $200—when there was a screech behind them. Everyone glanced out the rear window at the same time. 

“Cop,” Five said breathlessly, as if the other three couldn’t see the white and blue car. She ducked down in the seat, wiping Two’s blood off of her face. “Cop!” 

“Don’t you move,” One ordered, before Six could ask again. “Don’t you move!” 

“There’s a cop looking right at us!” Five hissed from the back. 

“Yes, thank you! I’d gathered!” 

“Yo, just—just be cool,” Six said, his voice trembling in the most uncool way imaginable. “M-Maybe they won’t recognize us.” 

“Recognize us?” Five repeated incredulously. “You’re driving a lime green sports car with no side mirror, covered in scratches and blood from pedestrians! How the fuck are they not gonna recognize us?” 

At that exact moment, a flash of green caught One’s eye. It was gone by the time he looked up. They were parked in an empty alleyway with a handful of Vespas. No movement, no green. He might’ve thought he imagined it if he hadn’t heard the colossal crash on the next road over. 

The cop peeled away, leaving them behind. 

“What the fuck was that?” One demanded. 

 “W-Who cares?” Six laughed, sagging in his seat. “Ho—Holy shit! Holy shit! He’s gone!” 

“Why?” 

Two was twisted around in her seat, bullet wound forgotten as she stared out the rear window. Her voice was full of suspicion. But One had gone straight past suspicion and into rage. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spat, glowering at the uncooperative eyeball. His hands were starting to shake from the effort of making them not shake. “Five! Five, I need you to reach into my pocket and get my walkie talkie.” 

“Excuse me?” Five stuck her head up between the front seats. Her face was still covered in blood. “You realize I’m conducting surgery right now, yeah? Two is gonna fucking die! You get your stupid walkie talkie!” 

“I would except I won’t because I can’t because I’m holding onto a human fucking eyeball! I need my hands to crack the phone, Six needs his hands to drive, and Two needs her hands to shoot! So reach into my jacket pocket and get my fucking radio!” 

Five muttered some spectacularly colorful curse words in Spanish, but reached around to grab the walkie talkie. Her glove-covered hands smeared blood all over the fabric, and the radio nearly slipped out of her grip to nail him in the crotch, but she recovered at the last second. 

“Good, good. Now hold down the button, and hold it up to…” 

“I know how to use a fucking walkie talkie!” 

“Okay! Wow! Okay, just let me talk!” 

One turned his head toward the radio, keeping one eye on the eye. It was difficult to aim and talk at the same time. Much like a urinal. 

“Yeah, hi! This is One for Ace. Ace, you copy?” 

“Ace?” Six asked in surprise. “Why are you…?” 

“Silence, Bieber. Ace! Do you copy?” 

There were several tense seconds of silence, but no response. One nodded to Five, who pushed the button again. 

“I repeat, this is One for Ace. Do you copy?” 

There was no response. Several more police cars sped by, and they heard another crash a few streets away. People were screaming. Five pressed the button again. 

“Ha, ha. Okay, now, when I say ‘One for Ace,’ that means my name is One, and I’m looking to talk to Ace. That’s how radio language works. And everyone here should know that, because we went over that at the mission meeting. But maybe—maybe some of us weren’t paying attention at the mission meeting because they weren’t supposed to be coming on the motherfucking mission! Now I asked if you fucking copied!” 

A sound like a minor explosion echoed from behind them, and in the silence that followed, he got a one-word reply. 

“Busy!” 

“Oh ho, ho, you motherfucker,” One growled. “You stupid motherfucker.” 

“Can you fucking focus?” Two spat from the backseat. “Open the phone and let’s go!” 

“Oh, can you fucking focus?” One mimicked in a high pitch voice. “Open the phone, wah! I’m trying!” 

One of the women kicked the back of his seat. 

“That’s not helping!” 

He huffed out a deep breath and turned his attention back to the phone. The eyeball slowed, slowed, and finally, the iris came to a rest in the middle of the target. The phone trilled, and unlocked. 

“Go! Guys—g-go, go, go, go, go!” 

The engine roared, and the car shot out of its hiding place like a canon. They skidded onto the street, making another huddle of tourists scatter to avoid losing life and limb. Six clipped another Vespa, which lost control and veered into the opposite line. There was a remarkable crunch as metal and rubber and bone all went flying. 

“Okay, where am I going?” Six asked, ignoring the fleshy debris. 

“The meet point,” One said without hesitation. 

“What?” Five was leaning forward again, outraged. “What about Ace?” 

“Ace is just gonna have to take care of herself. She is not supposed to be here! Do even understand what kind of liability that is?” 

“This is a mission,” Two said, shaking her head. “No surprises.” 

“Yes! Thank you, Two! Finally, someone talking some sense!” 

“What is she even doing here?” Six asked. 

“Good fucking question.” One stowed the eyeball back in its organ case, wiping his hands on his jacket before he grabbed the radio back. “Hey there, Ace. Six would like to know what the fuck you’re doing here. I would like to know that as well, if you’re not too busy to answer.” 

“Driving!” 

“Oh yeah, I caught that. Very nice. Kinda looked like an—oh, I don’t know—bright green Alfa Romeo? Which is weird, cause that’s what we’re driving!” 

He waited several seconds before barking her codename again. Six screeched around a corner, shooting him a side glance. 

“Dude, if she’s driving, she can’t exactly answer you.” 

“Okay, when I want your opinion, Six, I will go ahead and shoot myself in the face—no, that—okay, that one was overkill. I’m sorry. Just—Just please keep driving.” 

Six opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by another bullet hitting the car. Sparks sprayed in all directions, and everyone screamed. The car swerved, nearly taking out a souvenir stand. 

“Who is shooting at us?” Six screeched. “I thought they were gone! Who the fuck is shooting at us?” 

“I don’t know! Two—Two, shoot back!” 

“I’m trying, you fucking idiot!” 

Two beat Five’s insistent hands away from her stomach, leaning out the window to shoot at the cars that were closing in. A whirring sound caught One’s attention, and he looked out over the water to find the source. Far above them, the police helicopter was still hovering. 

 “Police my fucking ass,” One grumbled to himself. “Everywhere you go! Everywhere there’s dirty fucking cops!” 

“You gotta lose that police chopper.” 

Four’s extremely unhelpful voice came through the radio in One’s hands. 

“Yes, thank you! We’re trying! It’s a little hard to lose the chopper when you’re being shot at! So take your valuable advice and shove it up your ass! Ace, where are you?” 

“Yeah, I think she’s got her hands full,” Four informed him. “She’s headed your way down the water, got five or six cars behind her. Unless that one’s you. In which case she’s headed your way with four guys on her arse.” 

“Well let’s hope it’s Ace with guys up her ass, cause I—I really couldn’t deal with that right now.” 

“I dunno. You’ve got Two, Five and Six. You could each take one.” 

“Fuck both of you.” 

“Oh, now she speaks!” One shouted. “Okay! Chopper, cars! Any ideas?” 

“Ha! Now you need me?” 

“Well unfortunately you’re already here! So! Ideas!” 

“One, but I need—oh fuck!” 

 The sound of gunshots cut her off, then disappeared when she cut the transmission. 

“Oh my God,” Six whined. “Fuck, is she—is Ace fucking dead?” 

“She’s not dead,” One assured him. “She’s too annoying to be dead.” 

His eyes were already scanning the road ahead for explosions, looking for any clue as to where Ace was driving. It was too crowded to see any bright green, and the screaming and scrambling pedestrians could be running away from either one of them. The whole street was fucking chaos. 

“Ace?” he called into the walkie. “Come on, you little shit. Where are you?” 

“Here!” 

“Here?” he repeated, still scouring the road. “Where the fuck is—HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!” 

The produce truck that had been in front of them swerved out of the way, leaving ten feet of rapidly decreasing space. On the other side was another bright green Alfa Romero, Ace behind the wheel. Five and Six both screamed. Two might’ve if she wasn’t still in fucking arcade mode with her gun. One was fairly certain he’d shit his pants. This was not the heroic way he’d imagined himself dying for real. 

This whole mission fucking sucked.

TAG LIST: Currently just @samwilsonns and @anotherunreadblog until I figure out what I’m doing with this lol.

[enniewritesathing]

The Proposal (Part 3)

⏮Previous

(It’s 6:55pm at Angelo’s. The place was hard to find seeing that it had only opened two months ago. It wasn’t that far of a drive since it was in Magnolia Promade and John was making good time until he hit rush hour/dinner traffic. Speaking of dinner, the restaurant was in the thick of dinner rush. 

John keeps his head on a swivel, even as he heads upstairs. He begins to text pull out his phone to text until he sees the outside area.)

Eli: “Nephew!”

(John turns his head to the left at the booming voice.)

John: “Yo, Uncle Eli!”

“Lookin’ like a mob boss sitting in the corner.”

“What’s up with the schmedium sweater?”

Eli: “What’s wrong with it? Look, boy, I had to dig this out of the closet. I’ve gained a little bit of weight.”

(John laughs as he sits down.) 

(John looks around.) “This place is nice. Really nice.”

Eli: “Expectin’ a hole in a wall?”

John: “Actually, yeah.”

Eli: “Since you wanted a ‘man to man’ talk, I thought it would be better to... y’know, be somewhere more relaxing. That and your aunt wanted me to check this place out; told her I’ll bring something back. May put it on the date list. By the way, food’s gonna be a minute.”

(John groans. Should have eaten an apple or something before he came over. Never mind that he went ahead and ordered for him, but knowing his uncle, it’s going to be a BIG meal.) “How is she, anyway?”

Eli: “She’s doing fine. Just got back from Del Sol from a photo shoot last night.”

(Eli’s look changes and John’s stomach drops.) “So, you needed to talk to me man to man. What’s bugging you, nephew?”

John gulps. The sudden change of his uncle’s demeanor catches him offguard and he doesn’t quite know what to say or even how to say it.)

John: “Well, I...”

(God, it’s like he’s 16 again, trying to summon the courage to come out. But this time, Brian isn’t here to back him up.)

(He toys with his fingers.) “I... need some help. I mean, I need help in...”

Eli: “What?”

John: “I need help to... ask Brian a very important question.”

Eli: “Ah. You plan on marrying him, huh?” (He grunts.) “I’m surprised you haven’t done it earlier.”

John: “That’s the thing. I want to, I’m going to, but... how?”

Eli: “Just tell him how you feel.” 

(John sighs.)

Eli: “Ah, don’t give me that sigh crap. Listen, that’s what I did with Bea. Why are you so nervous, John?”

John: “That’s the thing! I don’t know why. I don’t know what to say, o-or anything like that. Maybe... there’s some weird thought in the back of my head that he doesn’t feel the same way about me or he doesn’t want to change. I mean, we’re pretty stable. We just bought a house, he’s thinkin’ about going back to school, our cat has room to run around and kind of playin’ with the idea of adopting more cats... but getting married? That’s a BIG change, Uncle Eli and I’m not sure if he’s ready. Or I’m ready.”

Eli: “John.” (The way he says it, it’s almost fatherly.) “Not to state the obvious, but Brian is perfect for you and you, him. I don’t think you realize it, but he’s changed you for the wildly better. He loves you and you love him. Dare I say, to death. That shit’s beautiful. I saw that from the very beginning. I told Bea you two were going to end up together one day. That’s how strong your relationship is. I wasn’t going to deny both of you of that. Why would I?”

(John is shocked.) “Did you really say and think that?”

Eli: “Of course. I know I put on an act sometimes, but I know a good thing when I see it. Like I said, surprised you haven’t yet.”

John: “I’m nervous. But can I ask you this -- how did you propose to Aunt Bea?”

(Eli laughs.) “Simple really. I got her the biggest bouquet of roses I could afford after her performance of Swan Lake. She was thrilled. She didn’t believe I sat through the whole thing. I told her that I was trying to add a little more culture to my life. But that’s when I knew I was in deep. I was in love with Bea. She knew it too; I saw her eyes time to time to find me. It was like... a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.”

“She was... very beautiful that night. Extravagant. Rapturing. All those nice, big words, y’know? I had the ring on me too, and I could have dropped on one knee then and there and told everybody there. But, decided not to ruin her moment. Besides... she was very hungry.”

John: “Did you take her out to a fancy restaurant?”

Eli: “No. Couldn’t afford it, so we went to Mike’s. Got her the fattest bacon cheeseburger. I’ve never seen this woman eat so fast in my life. Was gonna take her to the nearby park to walk it off, but she was understandably tired. Crashed soon as we got home. I held on to the ring that whole night, but I said ‘fuck it’ and just slipped it on her hand and waited until morning.”

John: “You stayed up the whole night?”

Eli: “Yep. When she found out, she cried and all of that. I dropped down to one knee, told her how I felt; she told me yes, and that was that.”

John: “Wow.”

Eli: “Is that the ring?”

John: “Yeah. Just in case. Sometimes Brian has random urges to look through things.”

“I was practicing last night. I don’t know what to say. I could have done it last night, but I ended up chickening out. I like your idea, but, Brian’s a light sleeper. He’ll definitely know. You know I’m not the sneakiest person, Uncle Eli.”

Eli: “Yeah, you do suck at that sort of thing.”

John: “I was thinking about proposing at Worlds when I win the whole thing. Y’know, become Brian’s champion.”

Eli: “Hmm. Marriage contingent on you winning Worlds?” (Beat.) “That’s real dumb, boy. And presumptious. Don’t make Brian wait that long. Not that I have any faith in you.”

“You can always elope like Elle did.”

John: “Uncle, I’m serious about th--”

(He stops.) “Wait, what did you say?”

Eli: “Elope like your mom did.”

John: “Hang on. She eloped?! She never told me that part!”

Eli: “Oh? You don’t know?”

John: “She told me that she and Dad got married at the courthouse because they were broke and couldn’t afford to have the wedding they wanted. I mean, it’s not real eloping if you know about it. Or approve of the marriage in the first place.”

Eli: “That is true, but the complete truth is that she eloped. I didn’t know about it for six months.”

“Or the part where she hid you and Jake from all of us for almost two years...”

John: “Two years?! Holy shit.”

Eli: “You have no idea how much I wanted to strangle your father.”

John: “For keeping us secret?”

Eli: “No, for knocking your mom up, but at least... ah, well, anyway, I’m sure you can ask her for the details since you’re an adult. That was such a goddamn mess, finding out I was an uncle.”

(John covers his mouth. Here he was thinking his mom didn’t wild out in her younger days. He’s really tempted to ask what else did she do, but that’s not what he was here for.)

(Eli pauses.) “Speaking of... Brian’s not... y’know?”

John: “Not wh-- (a little too loudly) “No!” (He laughs, nervous.) “No, no, Brian’s not. Brian’s not a Seahorse. Otherwise... we would have had kids long ago.”

Eli: “John, calm down, it’s just a question. Do you two plan on it?”

(John clutches a hand over his heart to calm himself down.) “Well, I gotta make sure he’ll even marry me in the first place, Uncle Eli, let alone have kids. One step at a time.”

Eli: “Ah, good.”

(Eli jabs a finger at John.) “I know you came here for advice, but you said something interesting. Worlds. Being Brian’s champion.”

“You’re a drama king, you know that? Grandiose, but a good head on your shoulders. Are you saying that just to be saying that or do you actually mean it? Are you ready to go through everything that entails? Physically, emotionally, mentally? This will be different than Juniors.”

John: “I mean it.”

Eli: “You don’t look like it. Tell you what -- the deadline isn’t for another month. That’ll give you time to tell Brian. Maybe make your move early and tell him you want to be his World Champion.”

“My advice to you, from your uncle... tell him. Tell him everything. What’s on your mind. Tell him what’s in your heart. Tell him what you feel in your soul and all of that mushy shit. Don’t hold back.”

“You two have been together long enough to understand each other. Hell, you may not even need to go through all of that.”

“When you know it’s the right time, go for it.”

(John smiles.) “Alright. Deadline’s next month? That’s plenty of time.”

Eli: “The sooner, the better. That way I can get a head start on conditioning. I’m not gonna go easy on you, nephew.”

(John offers his fist and Eli meets it.)

Eli: “You ready?”

John: “Hell yeah.”

(Both slam their fists together with a mighty krrack!!)

//NEXT⏭

[itsanerdlife]

Everything You Want 2/18

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: Lies. Fuck ton of lies. So many lies. Lots of secrets. So many fucking secrets. Language. Violence. Slow Burn. Lots of fighting. Heartbreak. Death threats. Kidnapping. Murder.

Someone is coming for you and your son, Anthony. Too many secrets and too many enemies for you to count. You got out, for reasons. Secret reasons, only Clint Barton knows. Or so you think? Clint takes you back to the safest place there is, Avengers Tower. But how are you supposed to face Peter? Keep your secrets in check? Keep your feelings under wraps? It’s been almost two years, can you really keep it together? You just need to put an end to whoever wants you. Than walk away, like everything is the same, right? Or will you be the one surprised? Everything blows up, leaving you holding the shreds of your secrets and fear.

Tag List Is Open!!

“We’ll start a run down.” Tony nods, Anthony is now in Nat’s lap, cooing at her.

“Why would anyone want to hurt someone so chubby and cute?” She rubs her nose against Anthony’s making him burst with laughter.

“Well let’s get you set up and unpacked.” Buck smiles at you.

“We don’t have anything.” You swallow. Everyone looks up except for Clint.

“What do you mean?” Tony blinks at you.

“Those bags. The diaper bag, the go bag. That’s it.” You nod.

“Her building, they set it on fire.” Clint explains softly.

“Holy shit.” Peter blinks.

“I’ll get new stuff.” You nod. “I should get him diapers.” You wince, remembering you only had three left in the bag on when you’d changed him last on the jet.

“Stay put.” Buck points a finger at you. Steve scrambles grabbing a note pad and pen.

“Write it down. Sizes, brands.” He hands you the pen and paper.

“No. No.” You shake your head.

“Fine.” Nat nods, standing up with Anthony. “We’ll go with you.” She pins you with a look.

“I’ll get other things delivered.” Tony pulls his phone out.

“No. Ahh. Tony.” You fumble reaching for his phone.

“Aunt May.” Peter grins, his phone to his ear. “Hey, I have some baby questions for you.” He chuckles.

“Parker.” You jump up, trying to grab the phone. “Do not tell Aunt May!” You hurry after him as he scurries away.

“Text me a list will you?” He chuckles dodging your hands. He hangs up, grinning rather smug like at you.

“I’m too tired to beat you up right now.” You point a finger at him.

------------

“This doesn’t look secure.” Peter pokes at the baby carrier, you wore with Anthony strapped to your chest.

“Peter, stop poking the wrap.” You swat at his finger.

“I feel like he would be more secure if I webbed him to you.” He smirks.

“Interesting.” Tony nods. “Avenger style baby gear.” Tony taps his chin.

“I want to see Steve wear this.” Nat giggles.

“I’d pay to see that.” You smirk.

“Hand it over.” Steve grins down at you.

“Seriously?” Your head tips and you stop in the middle of the aisle.

“His reflexes are better than yours.” Clint points out, pushing the cart as he passes. You glance around, mauling that fact over.

“I don’t know if it’ll stretch over your shoulders.” You look down at the wrap.

“Bet it’ll fit me.” Peter shrugs. “Spidey senses make me quicker than you.” He adds.

“Well.” You swallow looking down at Anthony who was looking rather content and wide awake.

“Kid has a point. And you know you got that bruise trying to coordinate and hold him.” Clint adds with a shrug.

“Someone punched you while you were holding him?!” Peter gaps at you.

“Well, I sorta. I’m a little, out of shape.” You swallow.

“That’s it. Peter takes the baby.” Nat scoops Anthony out of the wrap, settling him on her hip. The wrap comes undone just as quickly. When you catch up you realize Nat is holding Anthony in place as Clint straps the wrap in place around Peter.

“How are you out of shape?” Buck looks a little disappointed in you.

“Well, I got out of the business. I had a baby. You know post baby body and struggles as a single mom.” You admit shrugging. The seven of you moving through the store again.

“Remind me to punch whatever dirt bag left you knocked up and alone.” Tony mutters annoyed. You suck in your cheek, chewing on it, avoiding looking at anyone.

“He doesn’t know.” You whisper. Everyone comes to a stop, except you and Clint.

“Excuse me?” Nat blinks.

“I never told him. It was an accident. The best accident of my life, but he has no idea about Anthony.” You shrug. Moving forward you slip down the baby aisle, tossing diapers and wipes into the cart. When you look over Tony and Nat are no longer with you.

“You need pineapple juice.” Clint drums his fingers on the cart handle, before he wanders away, leaving you and Peter. Who was listening to Anthony chat up a storm on his chest.

“Man he’s talkative.” He grins.

“He’s a really happy baby.” You nod, pushing the cart slowly down the aisle.

“Man, you didn’t call? No email even?” Peter looks over at you.

“I left. I was out. I figured it was mine to deal with.” You shrug.

“Look, Y/N.” He sighs coming to a stop looking at you. “We have to talk about what happened when you left.” He rubs a hand through his rumbled hair.

“Or we don’t have too. I mean it was what, two years ago.” You wave your hand.

“Y/N,” he sighs.

“Oh there you are.” Nat grins, she’s got baby clothes stacked in her arms, Tony with the same.

“Oh lord what did you two just do?” You sigh, secretly thankful for their interruption.

“He needs clothes.” Nat looks rather taken back.

“You just bought out the baby section didn’t you?” You blink at them.

“No.” Nat scuffs.

“Tony?” You glance at him.

“Just the baby boy section.” Tony smiles.

“We good?” Steve and Buck appear next. You look at the large boxes resting on their shoulders. 

“Is that a playpen?” You blink at Buck.

“Clint says you can’t co-sleep.” Buck looks surprised.

“Steven is that a stroller?” You rub a hand over your face.

“No.” He looks away.

“That’s going to need re-enforced tires.” Tony grins, dropping clothes into the cart. “I’ll order them.” He pulls his phone out. Clint turns the corner, this time he has his own cart.

“I did a thing. I regret nothing.” He nods.

“You people make me want to drink!” You groan, throwing your hands up.

“Dude, we need books.” Peter looks down at Anthony, before strolling off.

“Six more months. Six more months and wine will be my new best friend.” You whisper.

“Do you breast feed?” Nat lights up.

“Yes.” You sigh.

“She’ll need a pump.” Tony nods.

“I’ll be in the chocolate aisle.” You mutter walking away.

-------------------------

Everything Peaches 2/6/19: @xmtd5 @mo320 @all1e23 @courtmr @avxgers @eliza-kat @izzy--lee @irepeldirt @dumblani @crist1216 @a--1--1--3 @alyssaj23 @allyp1023 @joannie95 @nishanki1 @bugalouie @kolakube9 @rileyloves5 @sarahp879 @sea040561 @sexyvixen7 @pcterpvrker @pigwidgexn @doctoranon @tomhardy41 @abschaffer2 @justrae9903 @bookluver01 @teller258316 @callie-bear15 @nickimarie94 @wandressfox @amandab-ftw @carostar2020 @henrietteoaks @nea90sweetie @amberkay284 @circusofchaos @itsagalaxystar @bettercallsabs @miraclesoflove @lucifersnipnips @queenkrissy11 @this-is-mycrisis @sadyoungadult @destiel-artemis @xrosegoldwolfx @paintballkid711 @isabelcrichards @iwillbeinmynest @sweet-honey15 @chanelmadrid13 @mellxander1993 @killerbumblebee @spookygrantaire @geeksareunique @supernatural508 @sammysgirl1997 @itzmegaaaaaaan @booksbeforebois @optimistic-babes @childishhoebinoo @elizabethaellison @aspiringtranslator @mariekoukie6661 @pure-princess-97 @capsheadquaters @samanthasmileys @nerdypinupcrystal @atlas-of-the-world @youclickedthislink @futuremrsb-r-main @lovemarvelousfics @notyourtypicalrose @petersunderoos96 @loving-life-my-way @buckystolemyheart @booktvmoviefangirl @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @dumbbitchenergytm @abbypalmer14-blog @fanfictionjunkie1112 @meganlikesfandoms @awkwardfangirl2014 @supernaturaldean67 @xqueenofthecraziesx   @queenoftheunderdark @writingaworldofmyown @supernaturallover2002 @daughterofthenight117 @mustbeaweasleyginger @mcuwillbethedeathofme @sprinklesandsugarcubes @whothehellisbucky-1930 @verymuchclosetedfangirl @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @wonderlandfandomkingdom @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @stupendoussciencenaturepanda @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @supernatural-strangerthings-1980

Marvel Tag List 2/6/19: @lumelgy   @dottirose   @jcc04220 @rockagurl @mizzzpink   @jade-taillia @coley0823 @widowsfics @bookluver01 @thelostallycat @shield-agent78 @dtftheavengers   @ilovetvshowsblog @capsheadquaters   @iamwarrenspeace @thefridgeismybestie @whenallsaidanddone @deanwinchestersrifle @fandomsstolemylife00   @daughterofthenight117 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect  

Peter ‘Fuck Me I’m Weak’ Parker: @ml7010 @ariminiria @dkpink123 @boltsgirl919 @quokkatrash   @everthenerd @ms-rogers06 @crayonwriting @baebeepeach @bellamouse16 @honey-bee-holly @britkane-shsl-librarian @kiss-the-stars-goodbye

Everything You Want: @bellewithbooks @little-dr-cranberry @tom-hollands-blog @simply-sams-things @verymuchclosetedfangirl

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 4. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description:  You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N: I know that at this moment I've completely forgotten about MCU timeline - but... Just fuck it, bro. Let me dream my dream, ok.

Warnings: Peter crushing into "puberty". Hard.

Tagging: @missdictatorme @songforhema

Read the previous parts and have an idea of what is actually going on :) :  Part One  Part Two  Part three 

Series Masterlist: H E R E

You were eager to see Peter the other day. Steve wrote as he promised, but none of his formal texts:

Steve: Hello, Y/N. Hope that you'll have a good day at work. Don't overstress yourself, I want to know you better. What about 6 p.m.? We will have more time. I have no work or work out to do today. That means I'm all yours to answer your questions if you're up to it. ;)

You fangirled over that man once again. He was polite yet way more friendly than in the previous days. You wanted to thank Peter in the most sincere way possible - so you bought him big Oreo milkshake he loved so dearly and left in your office's fridge. If there wasn't for Peter, you wouldn't crack up Steve's personality so early. You would do it as the time would pass, but Peter just saved your ass.

You could tell Deena or May, but you felt like Peter should be the one who will know about the success of your teamwork first.

You didn't want to be too I eager about Steve, so you wrote:

Y/N: I will be careful, don't worry about that. And I will be looking forward to that as well, handsome.

You lived for calling him handsome. In your mind, he had to be handsome. And you didn't know that every time it made him smile.

Steve: That's what I like to hear. :)

But when Pete came, it was around three p.m., he was really pale and he looked paranoid as hell. He was sweaty and he shook hard, and that made you worried about that boy. What happened to him? Did Flash take it too far this time? Nonsense. Pete wasn't minding Flash as much.

Liz. Something must've happened to Liz.

"Hey," - you came up to him. You looked him up and down, catching Val's stare. She liked Peter as well. Every woman in this office was his adoptive mom. But you were just the biggest. - "Something with Liz? You look like a piece of trash, Pete."

He looked at you as if you scared the living soul out of his body. He was scared to death. He put a hand on your shoulder, prepared to tell you something, but then he tensed, looking at his hand.

"I, I think I'm in puberty, Y/N," - he gulped out loud, looking you dead in the eyes.

"Peter. You're fifteen." - You stated, smoothing his hand on your shoulder. It was... Sticky. In a gross sense. - "You're in puberty for a looong time."

Peter looked at his hand and tried to take it off your shoulder. But it felt like he was glued to your tee.

"Flash attacked your hand with a second glue or what? You're scaring the hell out of me." - You tried to shook him down, but it was an impossible task. That hand hadn't moved an inch.

"Oh shit." - he cursed under his breath, catching his forearm with his second palm. - "Let go, let go, let go..." - Then it finally let go... And holy shit, you just heard how the tee is tearing apart and you saw its remnants on glued his hand. What. The. Fuck?

Everyone centered their stare at you two, in the middle of the office. You were too shocked to even move and Peter was about to faint. He turned away immediately, trying not to look at you. He still tried too shook the tee off.

"Peter what the fuck is this about?!" - You heard an angry voice coming from the hall. May just came back with lunch for everybody. She threw the bags with China aside and looked at Peter like she's about to kill him. - "Would you mind to tell me why is Y/N naked in the middle of the day in our office and you have her t-shirt in your hand? Hm? Is this funny to you, young man? You're so grounded for the rest of the week." - She stated, looking him up and down. She looked straight like some demon crawling out of the deepest ends of hell, ready to give Peter the biggest moral lecture of his whole fucking life.

"May I think he's sick. He's burning and I think he'll faint any minute. Look at him." - You mumbled as you were putting your sweater on, defending that poor boy. You knew it wasn't done on purpose. But this wasn't a part of fucking puberty. You didn't have sticky hands. No one in history had them.

"Dear lord." - May immediately turned off that demon mode, turning the mother mode. She came close to him, but Peter insisted on her staying the hell out from where he was standing.

"You're really not looking good. But I can't leave office, I have a meeting with a worker sent by the Stark industries, I can't leave before seven p.m.. Would you take him to the hospital? There's no time for a pediatrician." - She asked you with such a concern in her voice, staying feet away from Pete, looking terrified.

"Yeah. I'll finish my work tomorrow, it's nothing too burning. It will wait a day or two." - You nodded automatically, worried about him. He was about to faint any minute now. You took your backpack, supporting Peter with your body and leading him out of the office. You didn't realize that your phone was left on your working desk.

The traffic was a real terror. Peter shook like hell on the co-drivers side, hyperventilating into a paper bag. His eyes were closed and you just prayed for him not to vomit all over your car.

"Have you eaten something bad? What did you eat during the day? Peter, did you do some drugs or shit like that? I need to know before we get there." - You drive off the main road, sure it will be faster to the hospital. You just needed Peter woken up by the time you'll reach the hall. Then he can pass out.

"No, no. I swear I didn't do drugs... I think something bit me." - He showed you his wrist with a huge red spot on it. It was swollen so much that his fingers were twice their normal size. Holy. Shit.

"You think?! I'm fucking sure of it!" - You yelled. Your windows were rolled down, so when you yelled, a lady suddenly turned at you in shock. But you couldn't care less. - "What the hell bit you? Nothing leaves a spot like this for fuck's sake."

"I don't really know..." - Peter mumbled. His voice was quiet and you could hear he's in huge pain. This truly was an emergency. - "We were on a school trip to some labs. I don't even know what it was or when it - ewgh." - You heard as he vomited into the paper bag. You wish you could take a part of his pain on yourself - he was in a delirious state.

"Hold on ten more minutes, Pete." - You patted his shoulder carefully as he kept on vomiting, looking into the road. You didn't even care if he vomits in your car. All you wished was to be in the fucking hospital.

They immediately took him in. The nurses didn't even care if you're his family member or not, but you told them you were only a close family friend. Peter sat on the bed, crying, sweating and mumbling, wishing to make it stop, then vomited for ten minutes straight into a bucket they have him. You were there, nursing him, playing with his hair and hugging his shoulder.

They checked his pulse, took some blood from him, measured his temperature and asked you what could've caused it. You told them about the spot on his hand, then it was time to wait for all the results. You had to sit in the hall, patiently waiting for them to tell you what's wrong with Pete. You tried to find your phone, but it wasn't in your backpack.

Great. Peter was dying in your car, almost vomited all over it and you left your phone in the office. You realized you will not be able to text Steve back at six p.m., it was impossible for you to accomplish that. And you left your lunch at the office as well. You were hungry as a wolf but you were too afraid to leave the hall - news about Pete could come any minute.

Poor boy.

The doctor came to you at five p.m.. The waiting felt like hell. You sighed in relief when she was smiling a bit at you light-heartedly. She was nice - a small, thin young woman with short curly hair and beautiful chocolate skin. You almost jumped at her with fear in your face

"Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. My name's Dr. Smith. Nice to meet you. You came here with Peter Parker, right?" - She smoothed your shoulder and made you sit down again. You turned your eyes to her with anticipation. Dr. Smith took it as a yes, still smoothing your arm slowly. She was calming you don't and you didn't mind at all. That was what you needed.

"Peter is now stabilized, he doesn't vomit anymore, which is good. He's a bit better now after we gave him some antibiotics. You told my colleague that he was bitten by something, is that right?" - She crossed her legs over each other, looking you in the eyes. You nodded, relieved that Peter is better now. Not much, but even that bit helped a lot.

"Okay. We did inspect his blood and the good news is that he hasn't any toxins or neurotoxins in his blood flow. As far as we tested his blood, he has the blood of a newborn baby. I've never seen blood as clean as his. It is more probable that he's just ill and he had a shock because something bit him. He connected two dots and made himself believe that the bit is where this is all coming from. This is pretty common, don't worry." - Dr. Smith talked with you in a sweet tone, giving you a document with his bio stats. It looked... Ok. The results were good.

"Only thing I don't like is his fever. He had almost 105.8°F (41°C). He has a strong symptom of his body trying to destroy some virus in him, don't panic now. You may take him home, we gave him painkillers and the antibiotics, as I said, so the fever is slowly fading out. But. Wake him every hour and make him drink something. If you don't do that, his body can dehydrate pretty fast and that is a thing we want to avoid at all costs. Peter's going through a lot now. He needs to have a diet now to calm his stomach, prepare him some black tea with a bit of sugar and if he'll be hungry, give him some whiskers or rolls without anything, ok? And if the fever rises up again, call the ambulance." - She stood up. So did you. - "He'll sleep through one or two days, but don't worry. His body will handle this perfectly. He's a young strong man." - Dr. Smith offered you her palm and you shook it.

"Thank you, doctor. It was really nice to meet you." - You smiled at her and she watched as you joined two huge men with Pete on a wheelchair. They told you that they're going with you two - Peter wasn't even able to stand up on his own feet at his current state.

But that boy was totally out. He was giggling and pointing around himself, saying beep! almost every five minutes. Oh God, you wished you could make a video out of that. He was totally out of his mind.

"Y/N!" - He yelled all over the hall with an honest smile. He sounded drunk as hell, his voice was overly calm and mumbly. You smiled at him and took a side by his wheelchair for him to stop yelling. A lot of people watched you at that moment, some were confused, some were having fun. - "Can you see it too? Man, that is just awesome. Beep!" - The tip of his finger reached your nose and he giggled again. Peter was so out.

"Of course." - You assured him when you stopped by the ambulance car. He was holding your hand in a tight, almost hurting grip. Which was weird. Peter should be numb after medicine. Shouldn't he?

"Of course what?" - Peter asked and opened his mouth in anticipation.

"I can see everything." - You winked at him, took the bag off his lap and waited until the men helped Peter into the back of the car.

When Peter laid into bed, he immediately fell asleep. He was snoring really, really loud. You carefully took the phone out of his backpack and tried to call May while brewing him a tea as Dr. Smith ordered him. When she didn't pick up, you left her a quick voicemail.

"Hey May. Don't worry about Pete, he's better now. Two men from the hospital helped us to get to your flat and laid Pete in his bed. He's sleeping, his body is ok, he has only a higher fever, nothing too dramatic. I'll tell you more when you'll get home. And take my phone with you, thanks. Bye, Y/N." - That was it. You were watching a movie with a phone clock ticking down an hour. You woke Peter up twice and he drank a whole cup and a half of tea. When his head touched his pillowy he was immediately asleep again, snoring lightly.

You just sat there for a few more minutes, smoothing his sweaty hair. Then, when you heard the flack door opening, you lightly kissed his forehead and nudged him into a blanket like a mermaid.

May was home. And she looked totally wrecked. She had a long day at the office, then the thing about Pete... She was really to go to sleep. But she knew that she'll have to stay up to take care of Pete.

"Hey." - She hugged you and sighed in relief. - "I have your phone and your China. Thank you for saving my ass. Otherwise, I would have to go and the meeting would be canceled for sure."

"Pete's one of my best friends. He's maybe a bit like a son to me. I couldn't let him suffer. And thank you for that phone. Pete fell asleep again just minute's ago, I just made him drink." - You started to pack your stuff, but May stopped you.

"You can sleep on the couch. Your car isn't here anyway, you must've left it by the hospital. You can borrow mine tomorrow, I'll stay at home with Pete at home." - She offered you and you hugged her again. You adored that woman so much. Every time you've visited their place, it just felt like home. And May took you as her daughter and bestie, which was so good it was almost dreamy.

"In that case take a shower and go to sleep. I'll take care of Peter until... What about one a.m.? It's seven p.m. so you'll sleep a little at least." - You put your things next to the couch, taking an old tee and some old worn-out sweats from May.

"That's a deal. Also... That Steve of yours. It looked like he's ready worried about you. You better answer him." - May winked at you playfully, but you could feel she wasn't feeling too easy. Pete was in such a state she just couldn't feel easy. You almost forgot about Steve.

And those six texts were speaking for themselves.

Steve: Hey! It's six p.m. and I'm ready to get to know you better.

Steve: Okay... Is everything alright, Y/N?

Steve: I took it too far, didn't I? I'm so sorry.

Steve: Just answer me, please. I'm really sorry.

Steve: Y/N, come on. Please tell me that you're alright.

Steve: I hope you're safe at least.

Y/N: Omg! Handsome, I am so so so sorry for being so dumb. I left my phone at the office. I was in a hurry, my friend's nephew was really sick and I needed to take him to the hospital. I got to read your text now, Steve. I am so sorry.

---

Steve was thinking about what he has done wrong. He took on that you're a person who is keen on having everything on time. There was nothing he could do wrong technically - but Steve was too pure to realize that.

He was really sad about that, wishing that you'll text him back.

Sam just came back after a long jog in the downtown, looking hella pumped. He was proud of his looks and his muscles were perfectly tensed up.

For Steve, Sam was the well of knowledge about today's women. She almost jumped at him and Sam just stood there, almost shitted in his pants.

"Calm down, tiger." - Sam giggled at Steve and went to drink a glass of water. - "I'm happy to see you too."

"I think I have fucked up." - Steve almost shout at him with panic. Sam tensed up and watched him down and up with death stare. - "YOU HAVE TO HELP ME."

"Calm down, you PMS girl. Don't you try to cry? You know that I'll not make me go gentle on you." - Sam drank the water, looking Steve into the face, being not too scared about what Steve has done. - "Now ya tell Mr. March maker what the hell happened."

So Steve talked about yesterday, getting to know you better and really liking it, eager to know even more about you and talked you down to another round of the game. But then you didn't write on time - and you always did. You texted him back every morning exactly at 8:05 a.m., you went to sleep exactly at 10 p.m. You wouldn't just don't text in without a reason.

"You are making so much unnecessary drama here, Iceberg. How many texts have you sent for that hour you've been alone here?" - Sam asked worriedly and almost spat out the water our when Steve mumbled 'six' in a quiet tone. - "Holy shit. Rogers, you look soooo obsesses about that girl. Calm the hell down dude, you will scare her off hella fast if you'll continue like that, boi." - Sam chuckled at his friend devilishly.

Steve and girl. A perfect story for a book or for a movie. He was totally clueless about how to act with the women of this age. He wasn't exactly a hit with the ladies at his time - and these time were just too harsh for a man like Steve.

It was nice to see Steve being so into someone but if he scared her off, there will be nothing to repair here. Which would be really hard for that sensitive old man.

And Steve almost melted when his phone rang, his eyes immediately glued to the display. It was a text. And it was from her. He felt like laughing.

"Man, you are one lucky guy, I tell you." - Sam winked on Steve and got up for his two hours lasting bathroom routine. He had a complex vitamin and skin routine. - "Go get her, tiger!" - Sam yelled loudly and laughed again.

"She is just a friend, Wilson!" - Steve yelled back when the bathroom door shut.

"I can't even count how many time I've heard that already!" - Sam ended the chat. He always had to have the last word. That was one of his many characteristics which could be really nerving from time to time. But it was a friend after all of it. And he could Steve feel easy and make him laugh, and that was the point of their friendship.

He sat at their table, frowning at the texts you were sending him, telling him all about your chaotic evening. 

That Peter, a nephew of your boss who was actually one of your best friends, tore a t-shirt off your body. You laughed about it now but you told Steve that you were freaking out when it happened. Then you described your evening in the hospital hall - and you told him that now you're watching after Pete.

Steve: Do I look like a creep now? Freaking out because you were late? I feel so uncomfortable now. 

Y/N: You and a creep? Oh please. I think it's sweet. :)

Y/N: It is my fault after all that I forgot my phone at home, isn't it? Don't be sorry about being worried. 

So you were completely fine with him freaking out. You even found him caring. That was so sweet in his eyes, you were overly so sweet.

And so you texted until one a.m. Well until the time you have woken up Pete for the last time.

You were really funny, texting him some of your stupid childhood stories, telling him how did you choose your job and why did you settle down in Queens. He told you more about himself - the stories of him trying to cook for the first time. He told you about his best friends - Bucky and James. And the dog in his profile pic, Fosco, was his friend's - her name was Sharon.

Time was running with the speed of light when you two could write, not having those formal barriers holding you down. You were such a playful person full of wonder and life. And Steve hadn't felt anything like that for a long time.

[walkerismychoice]

Stripped Bare - Chapter 5

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Charlie Hawkins)

Summary: Charlie and Bryce arrive at the resort and make preparations for the first wedding event.

Rating: 18+ - Nothing explicit but a bit NSFW-ish in parts

Word Count: 2138

The hotel shuttle pulls up in front of the luxurious Half Moon Resort in Montego Bay. The landscaping is well appointed with large palm trees, brilliant tropical florals, and lush foliage surrounding the pristine white building.

Bryce steps out of the vehicle and lets out a low whistle. "It's no Motel 6, but it will do."

Charlie chuckles. "I can see if there's one nearby if you want to crash there instead."

As they approach the desk, Charlie has a sudden realization. She had booked the room when she and Andrew were were still together and only needed one bed. "Excuse, me," she addresses the woman at the front desk. "I wanted to see if I could switch my room type. I had a single king, but could I get a two queens instead?”

“Let me see.” She checks the computer. “I’m sorry miss, but the block of rooms for the wedding is fully booked, and it looks like we are almost booked solid throughout the resort. This is a very busy week for us. We do have a Prestige Ocean Suite available for $1500 per night. It’s very private and spacious and has an pull-out sofa in addition to the king-size bed.”

“$1500 per night?” It’s almost five times what she’s paying for the standard room, but what’s an extra $8000 when this trip is already costing her close to $20,000 altogether already? She shakes her head in disbelief at the thought she would consider spending that much more so they could have their own beds, but at the same time, him sleeping in bed with her is not part of the deal. “That’s quite a bit more than I was expecting to spend. Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

Just then, Bryce crooks his finger at the clerk to urge her closer, and he leans over the counter to whisper in her ear. A huge grin appears on her face and then she clicks her mouse of few times and clacks on the keyboard. “Well then, it looks like I’ll be able to give you a free upgrade. Here are your keys and some information on the resort. I’ve circled the location of your suite right here. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if I can assist you further.”

“Thanks, Marica.” Bryce winks at her. “My wife and I really appreciate it. Don’t we, babe?”

Charlie is too stunned by the whole ordeal to to anything but say “thank you” and accept the keys. “What just happened there?” she asks once they are out of earshot. “Your wife?”

“Hey, I was thinking on my feet. I told her you were pregnant and this was our last big trip before the baby comes... I also told her you sometimes wet the bed due to your pregnancy hormones, so we can’t sleep together.

Charlie halts in her tracks. “Oh my god Bryce, you did not!”

Bryce smirks. “Nah, I didn’t have to go that far. I mean, who could say no to this face?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, but if there are people who out there who can resist Bryce’s charms, she’s definitely not one of them. “You are something else.”

“Hey, I’m just taking full advantage of what God gave me.” He puts his free arm around her shoulder. “Stick with me and you could learn a thing or two.”

They reach their room and Charlie takes a good look around. As promised there is a bedroom with a king bed, and a main living room area with the pullout couch, in addition to a dining area with a full dining room table. It’s much bigger than she expected, and has to be bigger square footage-wise than the apartment she and Sienna share. Charlie quietly takes it all in, while Bryce zips around, checking everything out.

“Holy shit!" Bryce exclaims from inside the bathroom. I think I could fit my entire apartment in here. And look!" He appears in the doorway holding two white robes. "His and hers bathrobes! We can sit on the balcony in the mornings sipping coffee in our matching robes."

Charlie chuckles. "I don't think we have to take the fake couple thing that far."

There's a knock on the door, and Charlie answers it to see the hotel porter with the rest of her and Bryce's luggage. She thanks him and slips him a tip, while Bryce helps her bring the bags and suitcases inside.

"Why don't you show me what you brought, so we can make sure we don't need to get you anything else," Charlie suggests.

"Don't worry, Charlie. I have an appropriate stripper outfit for every occasion," he jokes and Charlie just stands with her hands on her hips and an unenthused look on her face. "Okay, fine." Bryce starts to unzip the garment bags. "Does anyone ever say you can stand to lighten up a bit?"

All the time. "I just want to make sure, for both your sake and mine. After today we aren't going to have much free time." She inspects the outfits as Bryce brings lays them out, and is, much to her surprise, very impressed with his choices.

"Just because I spend a lot of time taking off my clothes, doesn't mean I can't figure out what to put on. I'm told I clean up very well."

"I'm sorry to have doubted you," Charlie replies sincerely. She'd foolishly assumed from outward appearances she had Bryce all figured out, but he keeps proving her wrong, in a good way, at every turn. "We have a couple hours now before we need to go for dinner if you want some time to yourself"

"I think I'm going to hit up the gym. I didn't get a chance to get my workout in this morning. Care to join me?" he asks, and she can't tell if he actually wants her to come or if he's just being polite.

“No, that’s okay. I think I’m just going to take a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and it’s been a long day.” 

Charlie waits until Bryce leaves, but when she gets in bed, she’s restless, and as much as she doesn’t want to, all she can think about is him. She closes her eyes and sees his handsome, smiling face and an unwelcome fuzzy feeling washes over her. She can still feel his little touches on her her hand, her arm, her shoulder, like they are burned into her skin. "Ugh, get a hold of yourself." She groans out loud. She feels like a twelve year old with a crush on a boy. She throws off the sheet and jumps out of bed. "Might as well shower and get ready if I'm not going to sleep."

Bryce hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the bathroom was huge. There’s a separate water closet for the toilet, a walk in shower stall, and a large open area with double sinks and a spacious whirlpool tub, all tiled from floor. On the countertop Charlie spots a towel sculpture in the shape of a swan with rose petals sprinkled on and around it. Charlie has stayed in a lot of nice places, but this is almost over the top. 

She closes her eyes as the hot water from the shower envelops her, and she washes the stench of travel away. Despite her best intentions, her thoughts drift to Bryce again, wondering what he’s doing in the gym. She imagines his muscles flexed and glistening with sweat - him coming back to the room and sneaking into the shower with her. She runs her hands down her body, lower and lower, pretending they aren’t her own. “God, Charlie. What the hell are you doing?” She abruptly turns the water to cold to cool herself down. What if he had come back and heard her moaning his name? She would have never lived that down. 

Charlie gets out and dries herself off. She foregoes the robe because it’s a short trip to her bedroom, and the late afternoon tropical breeze is hot. She wraps one towel around her body and another around her hair. Just as she walks through the door frame, she screams as she crashes hard into Bryce’s shirtless, firm body. In the commotion she forgets the that her hands are the only thing holding her towel up, her arms flailing to try and keep her balance and her towel dropping to the floor. Bryce grabs her bare waist just before she topples to the ground. They both stare at each other, momentarily in shock, until Charlie notices Bryce’s gaze sliding over her body, and she whips the town off the ground and wraps it around herself again. “Oh my god. Oh my god,” she repeats over again as all other words fail her, and she flushes hot with mortification.

“Charlie, it’s not a big deal,” Bryce tries to reassure her. “You’ve seen me without my clothes on before. Now we’re even.”

“Even?!” she practically screeches. “I don’t think me seeing you in skimpy underwear really compares.”

Bryce smirks. “I’m going to get in the shower now myself. You are welcome to sneak a peek.”

“Ew, no!...I mean, I’ll just see you at six when it’s time to leave. Fully clothed.” She puts her head down and scurries into her room without waiting for a response from Bryce. 

Charlie flops down on the bed and pulls a pillow over her face. She may have just experienced the single most embarrassing moment in her entire life. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Bryce saw her in all her glory, she actually said ‘ew’ to the prospect of seeing him naked too. Of all the responses she could have made, what would possess her brain to find that most appropriate?

The truth is she would very much like to see him naked, and when she hears the shower running through the door from her room to the bathroom, the desire grows even stronger. She turns on her blowdryer to dry her hair, hoping the noise will drown out her thoughts, but it doesn’t work. All she can thinking about is the water streaming down over the hard planes of his chest, his hands running over his slick, soapy body. She wonders if he's touching himself while he's thinking about her, but she quickly shakes of that thought because he can’t be as perverted as she is.

Charlie puts in her wireless earbuds and blasts her favorite playlist so she can focus on the task at hand. She takes extra time to do her hair and makeup, not because she’s really into that sort of thing, but because it’s better than the prospect of having to make small talk with Bryce right now. She puts on her deep green cocktail dress and it fits like a glove. She’s not even self conscious about the extra pounds she’s put on since starting medical school because it accentuates her curves in all the right ways, and she decides there really is something to buying expensive clothing. The v-neck keyhole cutout detail shows just enough skin, and the color brightens the green in her eyes. Although the thought had crossed her mind to completely blow off all of her cousin Katelyn’s outfit suggestions in protest, Charlie decided to go in the opposite direction go all in. If she was going to go to great lengths to make it look like she had the life together, she wasn’t going to do it halfway. She takes a spin in front of the full length mirror, pleased with her efforts, and steels herself to face Bryce again.

Bryce stands up from the couch and lets out a whistle as Charlie walk out into the living area. “Damn, Charlie. You look stunning!” 

Normally that type of compliment from him would get her all flustered, but she’s already too distracted by his appearance to form coherent thoughts. His hair is expertly mussed like always, and the blazer of his fitted navy suit hangs open revealing his pale blue dress shirt, the top couple buttons undone. The suit fits so perfectly it had to be tailored to him. The hemline of the pants just above the ankles, and she wonders if she belongs in Regency England because that small flash of skin is obscenely sexy. “....And you look....”

“I look fucking amazing. It’s okay, you can say it.”

Charlie laughs under her breath, thankful for the break in the tension. “Just when I think you can’t get any more arrogant...”

“Not arrogant, confident. Remember? You hired me to be your arm candy, and I’m taking my job very seriously. So come on, he urges as he offers her his elbow. Let’s go show me off to your family and friends.”