#I have short hair and I’m in my old townhouse that I miss so so so much

[rosicheeks]

Throwback to when I used to put makeup on and take smoking videos and cute pics for my snap babes 😭

❣️

[rainbowdolphinrealm]

Last But Not Least Part 4

A/N:  Thank you for all the likes and kudos on the first three parts of this story.  I promise you can leave comments. I don’t bite, and it gives me an idea of what you all like reading and what you’re more meh about.  I know, I know, I’m supposed to write for me, but still.

Final question: Do you all want a spicy final chapter where Lucien and Elain consummate the bond or is that unnecessary?

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Lucien winnowed to the front steps of the River House and practically winnowed on top of Elain.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, clearly startled.

Lucien laughed as he dodged to miss her.  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be waiting out front.”

Elain blushed a little.  “I’ve been a little anxious for your return,” she confessed.

“Please tell me you let yourself sleep,” he replied as he took her hand, pulled her closer and kissed her cheek.

“A little.”  She was wearing a flowing, Marigold dress with short, flowing sleeves to match the skirt’s movement.  She looked like a perfect transition from summer to fall.  Or maybe she was going for the golden sunshine of the Day Court.  Either way, she looked beautiful and her hair swept gently up on one side, pinned with a lapis lazuli comb, matched by her earrings and necklace made the whole look complete.  She turned and led him back into the house by the hand. “Are you hungry?”

Lucien smiled at how eager and comfortable she seemed with him now. “I saved my appetite to have breakfast with you.”

Elain looked back over her shoulder and smiled at him.  “Feyre, Rhys, Nyx, and Mor are eating too.  It won’t be a private breakfast.”

“That’s alright,” Lucien agreed with a shrug.  “Does Mor usually come for breakfast?”  He wasn’t entirely sure if she lived in the River House or maintained the old townhouse as her residence.

“Usually,” Elain replied.  “And sometimes Azriel comes for breakfast, but he usually eats with Cassian and Nesta at the House of Winds.”

“Hmm. . .” Lucien mused on that bit of information.

Elain quirked an eyebrow at him.  “What?”

Lucien shrugged again.  “Just wondering if Azriel will be breakfasting with Eris in Autumn now that Beron’s gone.”

Elain stopped short as they entered the dining room.  “Oh.  I suppose that might change things.”

“I’m still not sure if I’m going to need a new Spymaster,” Rhys said from the table, bouncing Nyx on one knee.

“I’m sure Az will find a way to serve both courts,” Feyre said confidently as she ate a piece of crispy bacon.

Lucien wasn’t so sure of that.  He knew from personal experience that it was hard to serve two masters.  Tamlin had made it easy to choose, though.  For the longest time Lucien thought Tamlin was like a true brother.  Time away, however, opened Lucien’s eyes and he was able to see how Tamlin was just as bad as his more contentious brothers had been, his abuse was just more subtle. He conditioned Lucien to think it was normal and acceptable to be treated with that level of disrespect. Lucien wondered if Tamiln would have treated him similarly if he’d known Lucien was Helion’s sole offspring instead of a mere seventh son.

“So you two are off to Day this morning?” Rhys asked as Lucien and Elain took their seats.

Lucien nodded.  “Mother would want me to deliver the news of her passing in person,” he said, the ache of her loss weighing on him.

“Are you going to tell him what he is to you?” Rhys continued.  “Or save that for another visit.”

Lucien sighed as he selected a pastry from the tray Elain passed him.  “I keep going back and forth on that,” he admitted.  “On one hand, I think I’d want to know if I had a son-”

“Agreed,” Rhys interjected, shifting Nyx a little bit on his lap..

“-but is that too much information all at once?” Lucien finished. He’d been having this debate with himself all night.  To be honest, he was a little afraid of telling Helion he was the male’s son.  What if Helion was disappointed that Lucien wasn’t a more impressive male - like Tamlin or Rhys or Tarquin.  Lucien didn’t think he exactly screamed heir of a High Lord.

“He’d want to know everything,” Mor said confidently before taking a swig from her juice glass.  “Trust me.”

Lucien knew that Helion and Mor were reasonably close - close enough that Mor probably knew what she was talking about.

“I think Mor’s right,” Elain said slowly, an unusual lilt to her voice.

Feyre raised an eyebrow.  “Have you seen something about it?” she asked.

Elain shook her head.  “No . . .but it’s a feeling.  A strong feeling.”

“Seeing isn’t always a vision,” Mor put in.  “Sometimes it’s just special knowledge or unexplainable intuition.”

Lucien looked at his mate and gave her a hopeful expression.  “You’re still willing to go with me?”

Elain smiled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.  “Yes,” she said simply.  “You’re mine and I’m yours.  We share our trials from here on out.  I’m happy to go to the Day Court with you.”

“Does this mean you ate the roast chicken last night?” Rhys asked Lucien slowly, an eyebrow raised in query.

Lucien grinned at Elain before turning back to Rhys and nodded.  “It was fantastic.”

Feyre’s grin was luminous.  “Oh I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed.  “For both of you!”  Nyx squealed happily, echoing his mother’s enthusiasm.

“Are you excited to get an Uncle Lucien?” Rhys asked him, bouncing the baby a little more emphatically.

Lucien was caught off guard by that for a moment.  It was true.  Feyre was Elain’s sister.  Elain was already an aunt.  That meant he would be Nyx’s uncle when they got married.  He wondered if they could take the little guy out on occasion, let Lucien practice a bit before diving into parenthood himself.  He was so nervous about the prospect that it made his stomach twist into anxious knots.

“I don’t know if Uncle Lucien is ready,” Mor observed, gently chiding him with a grin.

Lucien chuckled at himself.  “Hey, uncles get to be playmates, right?  I think I can handle that.”

Elain beamed at him.  Apparently that had been an acceptable answer.

Rhys used the rest of breakfast to get an update on the Hewn City from Mor.  Lucien was grateful he didn’t need to go to that city as part of the Night Court.  Even though he knew now that the inner court’s nightmarish reputation was a facad, he still didn’t particularly like witnessing it.  It was too reminiscent of Amarantha’s court.  

He managed to supress his nerves about the Day Court enough to eat a couple of pastries, some fruit, and a hard-boiled egg.  

As they all began to adjourn for their days, Feyre hurried around the table and gave Lucien a tight hug. “I really am excited for you,” she said and then pulled Elain in for a tight embrace as well.  She turned back to Lucien.  “Do you want to keep your apartment in the city?  There’s plenty of space in the residential wing for you to have a room here.”

Lucien wasn’t entirely sure.  On one hand he was accustomed to living in the High Lord’s residence.  Living with his High Lord and High Lady seemed natural.  It would also let him be close to Elain.  On the other hand, maybe Elain wasn’t ready for that level of closeness yet.  She was excited about this level of courtship, but sleeping a few yards away from each other might be a little much.  “Let me consider it?” he asked his friend.

“Of course,” she promised with an affectionate smile.  “Take your time.”

“Feyre, I have a meeting with the palace governors,” Rhys said, bringing Nyx over to her.  “Do you have him?”

Feyre took Nyx slowly from Rhys, lookingstartled as if she just realized something. “I’m teaching a class this morning,” she said slowly as she turned to Elain.

“Oh dear,” Elain replied.  “I’m sorry, Feyre, I didn’t think.”

Feyre shook her head confidently.  “It’s fine,” she assured them all.  “I’ll put him in a sling and take him with me.  He likes to splash in the finger paints anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Elain asked, looking a little nervous, shifting her gaze from Feyre to Lucien.  “Maybe we could go this afternoon?” she suggested hopefully.

Lucien nodded.  “If that would make things easier,” he agreed.

“What would be easier is if my darling mate would let us get a caregiver for Nyx for occasions like this,” Rhys said as he made to leave the dining room.

“We’ve had this argument,” Feyre countered with a scowl.  “I’m not handing my baby off to a nanny.”

Rhys sauntered through the doorway with a parting shot.  “And we’ll keep having this debate until you give in or Nyx is old enough to look after himself.”

Elain grimaced a bit as Feyre stared daggers at the back of Rhys’s retreating head.  He laughed, clearly amused by whatever she’d said down their bond.  Lucien felt as awkward as Elain looked.

Mor strode forward and took Nyx out of Feyre’s arms.  “Don’t worry, Elain.  I’m free this morning.  I’ll watch him while Feyre goes to teach.”  She gently tossed him in the air, just above her head and he shrieked with laughter, his little wings flapping wildly, clearly trying to keep himself aloft.

“Is he ready to fly already?” Lucien asked in surprise.

“No,” Feyre replied with a grin at her son.  “Thank The Cauldron.  But Rhys says it’s instinctual for him to try if he’s free-falling like that.”

Lucien silently thanked The Mother than he and Elain might have to worry about their children winnowing all over Prythian, but they would never be toddlers learning to fly as well as learning to walk.  Elain gave him an expression that suggested she might be having a similar sentiment.

“Are you ready to go, then?” Lucien asked, holding out a hand to Elain.

Elain smiled and nodded, placing her hand in his.  “I’ve never been to the Day Court.  This will be exciting!”

Lucien chuckled.  “It’s certainly a beautiful court,” he assured her.

“Good luck you two,” Feyre said as they all made their way to the foyer.  “Should we expect you for dinner?”

Lucien had no idea how long the visit with Helion would take.  It could feasibly run overnight depending on how Helion took the news.  He exchanged a glance with Elain and then shook his head.  “Probably not,” he said.  “If we get back in time for dinner, I’ll take her out somewhere in the city.”

Feyre nodded as she pulled on a sweater at the front door.  “At the very least we’ll see you in Autumn for the celebration of your mother.”

“Yes,” Lucien agreed tightly.  The joy he felt at having Elain accept their bond was generally serving to override the crushing sorrow of losing his mother.  Every time it came up, though, it was like the wound was fresh and new again.

Elain squeezed his hand, and he also felt her extend herself down the mating bond to him.  It was like being hugged from the inside.

Feyre nodded and smiled sympathetically at him before turning her attention to Nyx, squirming in Mor’s arms.  “Be good for Auntie Mor,” she crooned to him with a smile and a wave.

Mor made Nyx wave back before Lucien, Elain, and Feyre headed out onto the front steps.

“Thanks for breakfast, Feyre,” Lucien said, thinking it was only polite since he’d sort of crashed their usual routine.

She laughed.  “Don’t think twice about it.  You’re family, Lucien.  Always have been.  You’re welcome to breakfast anytime.”

With that she gave them a wave and then winnowed away, presumably to her shop where she taught art classes a couple of times a week.

Elain smiled up at him.  “You ready?”

He nodded.  “Here we go.”  He took a deep breath and winnowed them both through the world to the outside of Helion’s palace in the Day Court.

As soon as they stepped onto the grounds, one of the Day Court guards came hustling towards them.  “Lord Lucien,” he said.  “We were not expecting you.”

Lucien nodded.  “I apologize for the surprise visit, but something’s happened Helion should know about as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” the guard agreed with a nod.  “I’ll send word ahead that you and . . .”

“Elain Archeron,” Lucien supplied.

The name was, of course, familiar to the guard, but he clearly didn’t have a face to put to the name.  His eyes widened a bit in awe and surprise.  “That you are both here,” he finished.

“Thank you,” Lucien said with a nod of thanks to the guard.  With that, he offered Elain his arm and he began to lead her up the front stairs into Helion’s palace.

“This is much more a palace, than I’ve seen in Prythian,” Elain whispered as they climbed the 100 or so steps to the main entrance of the palace.

Lucien smiled.  “Just like the Moonstone Palace gives amazing views of the night sky in the Night Court, the Day Court palace is built high above the surrounding area to provide unhinedered views all day long.

Elain smiled.  “How far can you see from one of those balconies?” she asked, nodding towards one of the balconies that overcooked the approach to the palace.

“Several miles,” Lucien explained.  “Especially on a clear day.”

Elain frowned.  “If this is the Day Court then are all days clear and perfect?”

Lucien smiled.  “You would think so,” he admitted, “but no.  They still need rain on occasion for their crops to grow.  Otherwise it would be a desert.  But on days when it does rain, it’s brief, and the day shines almost brighter after it’s through.”

“I’d like to see that,” Elain said wistfully.

“Lucien!  Elain! What brings you here so early?” Helion’s voice boomed down to them from the top of the steps.  Lucien knew Helion well enough to hear the tinge of worry in the High Lord’s voice.  Afterall, it wasn’t normal for Lucien to pay a diplomatic visit so early or without sending word ahead of his visit.  Helion was clad in his usual Day Court attire, trimmed with gold fabric, but he seemed to have forgone the High Lord’s crown.

“Good morning, Helion,” Lucien said as they reached the top.  “I come with sad news.”

Helion’s expression turned dark.  “Sad?  What has happened?”

Lucien took a nervous breath in.  “Maybe we should discuss this in private,” and his eyes flicked to the guards on either side of the palace entrance.

Helion clearly understood Lucien’s meaning and nodded.  “Come,” he encouraged, and motioned for them to follow.  “We’ll go to my living quarters.”

“Are you doing anything special for the Equinox?” Lucien asked casually as they made their way to the back of the palace where Helion’s private residence was located.  Lucien had dined in the informal dining room with Helion on occasion while serving as an Emissary for Tamlin and knew the more intimate setting was a better place to break the news about his mother to Helion.

“We’ll have a feast,” Helion replied and then turned to Elain.  “It may be Autumn’s special holiday, but we have the better gourds to serve.”

Lucien chuckled.  “It’s true,” he admitted to Elain behind him.  “You need a good summer to grow the best gourds and Autumn just doesn’t have that.”

Elain smiled.  “We had gourds south of the wall sometimes,” she recalled.  “But I’m sure they are so much better here.”

Helion smiled appreciatviely at her as he opened a set of double doors and led them into a large sitting room.  Lucien strode to the center of the seating area, gripping Elain firmly.  He realized it might have been too tight and released her just a little.  She squeezed his hand, though, reassuring him that she was there for him.  He had no idea how he would have done things without her.

“What’s the trouble, Lucien,” Helion asked in his more natural, less theatric tone. He strode to a small wetbar near the room’s big picture window and held up a container of what was probably bourbon.

Lucien considered the offer.  “Not . . .not at the moment,” he stuttered a little.

Helion put the glass container back down and frowned at Lucien.  “I’ve never seen you so . . .unhinged.  Tell me what’s happened.”

Lucien looked down at Elain for reassurance again.  She gave him a soft smile and nodded.  He took a deep breath and turned back to his father.  “My mother,” he said slowly.  “Beron killed her yesterday.”

Rage filled Helion’s eyes.  “He what?”  His voice was deathly calm, but Lucien had no doubt his blood was boiling and his power straining to be let loose.

“He finally beat her so bad it couldn’t be healed,” Lucien explained, trying in vain to will his voice to be steady.  “My brothers and I avenged her yesterday afternoon.  Eris is now the High Lord.”

Elain clasped her other hand around Lucien’s as well.

Helion was silent for a long moment.  “Why did you feel the need to come and tell me?” he finally asked.

“Because . . .” Lucien started and then shut his eyes in a frustrated grimmace.  “Because of what my mother told me before she died.”

Helion raised a single eyebrow in query.

Lucien sighed and continued.  “She said that you and her were in love, that’d you’d been able to see each other occasionally while she was married to Beron.”

“That’s true,” Helion replied slowly with an equally slow nod.

“She wanted me to know because she wanted me to tell you that she loved you and that . . .”  He stole another glance at Elain.  Her steadfast strength was keeping him going.  “That she bore you a son.  She couldn’t tell you out of fear, but she couldn’t take the secret with her to the next life.”

Helion blinked once then stared intensely at Lucien.  Then he blinked several times rapidly as if realization was dawning on him.  “You . . .”

Lucien nodded.  “I am your offspring,” he confirmed and for the first time, Lucien took a good look at Helion compared to himself.  It was true that Lucien had always been darker than his brothers in skintone and now that he had something to compare it to, he realized he was of Helion’s coloring.  There were definitely similarities in their faces as well.

“I . . .” Helion started, but he seemed to be just as lost for words as Lucien had been the previous day.  He stepped to one of the couches and collapsed.  “I beg your patience, Lucien,” he said.  “But in the last 30 seconds you’ve told me that the woman I’ve loved for five centuries was killed by a male I’ve been tempted to have assissinated more times than I can count and that I am a father.  That I am your father.”

“Take all the time you need,” Lucien assured him, taking a seat on the sofa opposite him.

“Would you like me to pour you a drink?” Elain offered.

Helion looked up at her and smiled gratefully.  “You are the kindest . . yes, please.”

“Lucien?” she asked as she made her way over to the wet bar.

Lucien took a deep breath and nodded.  “Maybe I’d better.”  He realized that aside from their wine at dinner the night before, he’d gone through all these revelations without a single drink to dull the shock.

She nodded and started pouring them both a measure into high-ball glasses.  She brought them over and handed one to each of them.

“Thank you, my love,” Lucien said automatically as he took it from her.  He didn’t even think if she was okay with the affectionate reference.  He didn’t stop to think how that might have broken Helion’s heart even further.

Elain smiled at him and nodded before resuming her seat next to him.

Helion seemed to be staring off into space, looking between the two of them instead of at either of them.  After a long while he finally spoke.  “I take it you two have accepted the mating bond?” he asked.

Lucien took Elain’s hand, squeezed it, and nodded to Helion.  “She made me a roast chicken last night.”

“Roast chicken?” Helion asked with surprise in his voice.  “Deceptively simple.”

“Well Feyre gave Rhys soup,” Elain said, blushing a little.  “I didn’t want to do something similar like stew, and Feyre did tell me that Lucien always ate hearty when roast chicken was on the menu.”

Helion smiled at that and let silence fall again.

Lucien took a slow swig of his drink, nervous about what Helion might say next.  Should they leave and let him grieve in peace?

“Will there be a Celebration of her life?” Helion finally asked.

“Yes,” Lucien replied.  “I’m sure that as a High Lord you would be justified in attending.  Eris certainly won’t mind.”

“The two of you are getting along better these days?”

Lucien chuckled.  “Yes.  He actually helped me get to Spring all those years ago.  Without putting himself or our mother in additional danger, he did right by me.  I support him as High Lord of Autumn.”

Helion nodded slowly.  “So will you be returning to the Autumn Court as one of your brother’s advisors?”

Lucien resisted the urge to frown in disappointment.  Until that moment, he hadn’t realized he was hoping for an invitation to call the Day Court home.  He wasn’t sure what Helion was thinking, though, and he didn’t want to give away too much of his own feelings, so he put on his emissary mask before answering. “No,” he said.  “That honestly hadn’t occurred to me. Eris has Azriel and Gerod and other loyal advisors.  He doesn’t need me in his court.”

“Prefer to stay in the Night Court?” Helion guessed.  “Especially with your mate the sister of the High Lady . . .”

“As the High Lady, and a new mother, my sister’s time is generally spoken for,” Elain said before Lucien could answer.  “She, Nesta, and I are all off onto the next chapters of our individual lives, wherever that might take us.  My life will be wherever Lucien’s is.”

Helion smirked at her.  “You’ve got yourself a savvy mate, Lucien.  Of course you make a great match.”

Lucien used every ounce of training and control not to look surprised or confused.  “She is something,” he agreed vaguely and amicably.

Helion laughed.  “Stop worrying,” he said.  “You, of course, are welcome to make the Day Court your home.  In fact, I would be honored to acknowledge you as my son and heir as soon as you’re ready.”

“You would?” Lucien asked, unable to hide his surprise any longer.

Helion put his drink down as he got up from his couch and strode over to them.  He offered a hand out to Lucien.  Lucien handed his drink to Elain and then took Helion’s hand.  The male pulled him up and enveloped Lucien in a tight embrace.  “Of course I would,” he asserted.  “You’re smart, battle-tested, a courtier’s courtier, kind and compassionate  . . .” Helion looked around Lucien to Elain.  “Have I missed anything?”

Lucien turned to see Elain smiling as she got to her feet.  “I think you hit the high points,” she agreed.

“My only regret, Lucien, is that I’ve found out you’re my son now, when you’re a grown adult, without much need for a father.  I take that back, I have another regret, that you were so mistreated by Beron as a boy and a young male.  You deserved better than that.”  Helion’s frown was deep and sincere.

Lucien had never been wanted by Beron, but Helion, who’d only known Lucien was his son for a handful of minutes not only wanted him, was upset that he missed Lucien’s youth, and was ready to make him his heir.  This sudden change of circumstance threw Lucien for a loop.  “I . . .I don’t know what to say,” he finally stammered, dropping the mask since it was clearly not needed.

Helion shook his head.  “Don’t say anything right this second.  Stay here for a few days.  See the Day Court through different eyes, not as an emissary, but as one who stands to inherit what you see.  Show Elain around,” and he turned to her directly.  “I hear you are a connoisseur of gardens?  You will love the garden in the back of the palace, I guarantee it.”

Elain grinned and gave Lucien an encouraging nod.

“We didn’t bring any change . . .” Lucien started.

“Not to worry,” Helion assured him.  “The nice thing about Day Court fashion is that is almost once size fits all for the men.  I’m sure we can get you some lovely things very quickly,” he added to Elain.

Lucien looked from his mate to his father and back again.  “If it’s really alright, I think I would like to stay for a little while,” he admitted.

Helion pulled him into another hug.  “Son, you’re home as far as I’m concerned.  Tomorrow we’ll go to the Autumn Court and we’ll grieve your mother together, but tonight we should celebrate this new family we’ve become! Your mother would haved wanted that.”

Lucien, despite himself, felt himself breaking into relieved laughter.  “I agree.”

So Helion began calling in servants, a valet for Lucien and a maid for Elain.  He ordered that rooms be prepared for them and that their every wish satisfied.  In the meantime, Helion would call his advisors together to tell them the good news.  They could stop trying to push him into a marriage just to produce an heir because he already had one.

As Lucien watched Elain’s maid herd her into her bedroom to be measured for clothes, he could see that she was smiling just as widely as he was.  Maybe this was going to be perfect for both of them.  After all, here she wasn’t Feyre’s sister.  She could be a woman of influence in her own right.  Yes, he had to agree with his father, he was tempted to say that he was finally home.

[scuttle-buttle]

What's One More?

WC: 3204

Rated: M

Tags: brief mentions of crime/mental illness/child abuse and neglect/substance addiction/theft, fluff, family dynamics, mentions of aging, mentions of difficult pregnancy, softness, anxiety attack

🧠

The harsh vibrating of a phone on the nightstand breaks your slumber. Still half asleep you toss your arm back to thump against your sleeping husband's side. With a groan he answers. You try to settle back into your pillow and the warmth of the blanket. Whoever has the balls to call at this hour has another thing coming - but later because your priority is going back to sleep.

He can't have been on the call more than fifteen seconds before he sits up in bed suddenly, turning on the bedside lamp; his movements grab your attention. You roll over. The light blinds you and you rub at your eyes to adjust. You can't make out what's being said. Looking at the clock to see that it's barely 4 am you know something bad has happened. Quietly you slip out from the covers.

Making your way down the hall you peek into your daughter's room, grateful that she's still fast asleep. Her soft snores punctuate the calm. Your nerves abate knowing she’s safe. By the time you get back to the bedroom Laszlo is up and getting dressed. "What's going on?"

He doesn't answer at first. You wait until he's finished buttoning his shirt to ask again. "Sara was called to consult on a triple homicide case - she's asked for me to come down to the police station. I don't know much yet, but it's something involving a young boy and she wants me to speak with him."

“Did he…?”

“No. He was not directly involved, that much we know.”

You nod, leaning against the door frame. This wasn't the first time that Laszlo had been called in by law enforcement and social services to assist with children and teens that needed psychological help. He had become more active around the time you graduated with your doctorate. After Sophia was born Laszlo helped fund an after school program for kids that focused on support for mental health and behavioral issues. He was so passionate about being able to help these kids. But it was never at this ungodly hour. "You'll call or something when you know what's up?" you ask through a yawn.

"Of course, Bärchen." He gives you a chaste peck. Gently he guides you back towards your bed and sits you down. "Go back to sleep, there's no need to worry. I love you." With that he left.

Your sleep is fitful with him gone. You worry over things that you aren't even aware of, over who is hurt, over how severe a situation it could be to have been called in the middle of the night, over the poor boy that needs Laszlo’s help. When your daughter tiptoes into the room around 6 you welcome her into the bed with open arms.

"Why are you up, baby bug?"

"Where's Papa?" She climbs up on his side of the bed and rubs his cold pillow. On her face is a deep frown.

"He had to go help some very important people early this morning. He'll be back to see you soon, I promise."

"I miss him. He always helps me with my shoes."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face. "I know, baby. But it's still early so let's take a nap before we have to get ready, hmm?" The two of you snuggle under the covers. With her curled into your side you do find rest, even for the short time before your alarm chimes.

The day moves sluggish as you wait for word from your husband. Little work was to be done today at the museum, so there wasn't much to keep your mind off the wondering. You considered calling. You considered texting. But you knew that when the time was right he would let you know. No news is good news, you think.

Finally the day came to a close. You picked up Sophia and stopped by the store on the way home to grab supplies for dinner. She insisted that she carry one of the bags inside - little miss independent that she was. “Careful not to drop it, okay? Use those muscles of yours to hold the bag tight.”

“Mama I know, I help Papa carry all the time,” she explains matter-of-factly.

The townhouse is quiet as you begin to unpack. You do a quick glance into the dining room and parlor to no avail. "Laz, honey? You home?" A few seconds later you hear movement from the stairs.

Your husband rounds the corner into the kitchen, swooping down to scoop your daughter into his left arm, peppering her face in exaggerated smooches. Her giggles light up the room from the dim atmosphere. He perches her on his hip. “How was your day my little dove?”

“So good Papa - I practiced my counting today at school. I can get the biggest in the class! Mommy said I must be the most smartest," she prattles on.

“Wunderbar!” he praises her before turning to you. “I didn't hear you come in." Laszlo kisses you.

Pinning him with a look you say "you also didn't call me today? You said you would and I've been worried all day."

Sophia crosses her arms and harrumphs from her father's hip; "me too Papa." He quirks an eyebrow at her before speaking.

"Yes… there is something I wished to speak with you on but didn't think it was suitable for the phone." You raise your own brows but continue to put away groceries. "I do not wish to discuss certain aspects of the case in present company-" he nods towards Sophia minutely "-but we do have a houseguest for the foreseeable future."

"Oh?" Your brows dip in confusion. This is not what you were expecting.

Laszlo peeks around the doorway and calls out "Stevie, would you come join us in the kitchen please."

Stevie? You don't know a Stevie...

A moment later a lanky boy with scruffy dark blond hair shuffles into the room. He can't be anymore than 15. His clothes are too big on him and his shoes are worn beyond belief; nevertheless he gives you a slight smile. “This is Stevie Taggert, he’s going to be staying here with us in the guest room for now.”

“Good evening Mrs. Kreizler,” the boy says nervously, his voice cracking.

You spare a look at your husband before turning to the teenager with a smile. “Ah, no need for that, kid. You can just call me by my name instead. And welcome to our home. You like spaghetti?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Awesome! And I’m certainly not old enough to be a ma’am,” you give him a wink. You set up a pot to boil the water for the pasta. Laszlo excused himself to spend some time with Sophia, leaving you and Stevie in the kitchen.

He clears his throat behind you. “Would um… is there anything I can do to help?”

"I would love that, thank you."

The two of you get to work on making dinner. Stevie doesn’t say too much, but he is very polite and does his best to be useful. Once the food is nearly finished your family has returned ready to eat. You send Stevie and Sophia to set the table.

“Should I be worried?” you ask Laszlo quietly, watching the doorway the two left through.

“I don’t think so. I just felt that I would rather he have a familiar face to adjust with instead of being placed in a group home like many end up.”

You study his face. “You’ve taken a liking to him haven’t you?”

“Well…" his face reddens at your question. "He reminds me a bit of myself when I was his age.” The conversation is cut short by the kids returning.

The rest of dinner and the evening goes smoothly. You make it a point to not bring up any questions that could trigger the teenager, especially before you’ve spoken with Laszlo about the situation at hand. When Stevie nearly eats his weight in pasta you say nothing, wondering how long it's been since he's had a good home cooked meal. He insists on helping clean up the dishes afterwards. Without even knowing what the boy has gone through your heart aches for him.

You set him up in the small renovated basement downstairs while Laszlo puts Sophia to bed. Handing him one of your husband’s old Harvard t-shirts to sleep in you tell him “I’m sorry you’ll be down here by yourself, but if you need us for anything don’t be afraid to come get us - no matter what time it is, okay? And if you get cold there’s an extra blanket right here for you. I know it's July but….” you shrug. “Tomorrow after I get home from work we can go to the store and get you some stuff to use, some more clothes, that kinda thing.”

“Yes ma’am.” At the teasing look you give him his ears burn red with his mumbled “right sorry.”

“Alright Stevie. We’ll see you in the morning, sleep well.”

Laszlo is in bed reading when you enter the room. Nothing is said as you ready yourself for bed. Slipping under the covers you face him. He sighs and closes his book.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I became caught up in the day and only arrived home with Stevie maybe half an hour before you did.” He sighs a second time. “Most of the case I cannot talk about, but what I can say is he was living with his mentally ill father, whom was also an addict. He missed the last few weeks of the school year and has been regularly stealing food to get by. He has no other family. I just… it didn’t feel right to let him process his experiences away from someone properly trained to deal with these sorts of things, in addition to how traumatic entering foster care at his age can be. I spoke with those in social services and was granted temporary custody until we find another more permanent solution.”

“Of course.”

He takes hold of your hand. “You aren’t upset with me?”

“I mean it would’ve been nice to have a bit more warning… but I get it. He can stay as long as he needs to. He’s a sweet kid,” you reassure him. “I told him that I would take him shopping after work tomorrow, so if you could pick up Soph from preschool that would be great.”

“Perhaps instead we can all go? I was thinking that I would bring him to the university with me so that he’s not alone all day. You could get her and then we could meet somewhere, get dinner afterwards?”

You lean closer to him to curl around his arm and rest your head on his shoulder. He always thought so much about others, especially children. Laszlo had such a heart of gold and it honestly left you in awe of just how much he was willing to give so that others could find peace and happiness. Like the older he got the more he had to give. The thought warms you. “How are you literally the best person I know? And to think you used to be so worried about being able to be a good father and now you’re the best of all of us.” He huffs a little as you nuzzle into his chest.

“I have you to thank for that, Bärchen.” He drops a kiss to your head. “But it’s getting late and I’ve been up all day. We should get some sleep.”

Soon after you're both dreaming.

___

Stevie had been with you for three weeks. It only took him a few days to start to settle in, and you discovered that he was quick with his wit and far smarter than he let on. He was a little bit of a sarcastic smart-ass at times, but all in good nature. He was endlessly entertaining. Laszlo sat down with him almost everyday to talk about what he was feeling, the things he experienced, and ways to deal with the loss of his family. Already you both saw improvement.

Even Sophia got on well with him. Most teenage boys wanted nothing to do with little kids, let alone a 4 year old that loved playing 'spaceship barbie'. But not Stevie. On his fifth day you'd found him sat on the floor playing with her and going along with her childlike imagination. When she insisted he play the barbie that needed saving he went along with it, high pitched voice and everything. He even encouraged her to pick up her toys before bed - a feat you and your husband struggled with at times. It struck you how much Stevie became a big brother of sorts to her.

Laszlo grew even more fond of the boy. He wasn't really one for TV, but every evening he sat and watched some show on Netflix about racing with the teen and didn't complain once. Laszlo had tried to explain the role of adrenaline in racing drivers as a psychological function, but Stevie just brushed it off and said it was the driving so fast that made it "cool".

The two did bond over an unlikely subject - punk rock. When you got home from work two weeks into his stay and heard the music blasting in the parlor you worried someone had broken in. Whipping into the room you saw Laszlo in his chair tapping his foot to the intense guitar and singing; Stevie nodded along to the music as he held an old album cover. It didn't take long for Sophia to start jumping along to the music too.

"What is this?" You yelled out over the bass - you couldn't recognize it and it clearly wasn't English.

"Die Toten Hosen, a band I listened to growing up in Germany. Stevie found the record and asked to listen."

"Listen? I think you mean blow out your eardrums!" Even with needing to shout to be heard you had to laugh at the situation. How your husband had a secret love for German punk you'll never know; yet you would never let him live it down.

And when Stevie came and woke you both up in tears three nights ago you made him hot chocolate while Laszlo sat down with him. He confessed that he had never been treated or cared for like he was in your home. How he wished he could stay because he felt wanted. Your heart broke for the boy. To be so young and so lost, craving someone to simply be there for him.

Yet everyday he grew more open. He broke out of his shell. He had goals and ambitions; he wanted to amount to something bigger than he had thought he ever could. It almost shocked you at how much fire was within him.

At how much he fit in with your little family.

At how it was like he was meant to be there.

___

Laszlo was oddly quiet when you got home. Sophia had run off to find Stevie, and you tracked your husband down to his office. He listened as you talked about your day for a good ten minutes; he said almost nothing the whole conversation.

You move closer to him. Placing the back of your hand to his forehead you check to see if he's feverish or sick. He didn't feel warm. "Laz, are you feeling okay?"

He gently pulls your hand down and leaves a kiss on your palm. "The department of social services called this morning to inquire about what we want to do with Stevie. This would be the third time they have asked."

He hadn't mentioned it to you at all that they were calling already. "Okay. What do you think we should do?" You pause for him to continue.

"I told them I would need to speak with you before any further decisions were made regarding him…" His fingers tap against the wood of his desk. "I'm not sure I have an answer for them. Nor for you." He swallows. "I'm afraid of what might become of him should he go into the system. Or that he will not get the support he needs given his past. Any option involving allowing him to stay for a bit longer is a commitment I won't make without your full support, of course. I could never ask that of you." As he speaks you can hear the frustration pouring from him, feel the irritation radiating through the room. "I refuse to give up on him- I- I just don't have the answers on what to do without them hounding me and he deserves better than this, dammit."

"He does… Do you remember on your 50th birthday, what you told me?" Laszlo looks up at you confused. "You said that you had wished you were ten years younger so you had the energy and time to do all of it again. That if you were younger we would've had a whole gaggle of kids - brothers and sisters for Sophia."

"Wishing I was younger doesn't make a difference in helping Stevie-"

"Laszlo - let's adopt him." Your words stop him in his tracks. You had decided not to have any more after your daughter was born. Laszlo was nearing 50 and the pregnancy had been hard on you. But regardless you knew that you both had the means and the love to give another child, probably five or ten more children if you really wanted to. So why not start with one that's already wormed his way in to the family? "I've seen how fond you are of him already. You've taken him under your wing as if he was your own. And how good he is with Sophia? Hell I couldn't ask for a better older sibling for her - and she loves him already. And honestly, Laz, I do too."

"You think we should adopt Stevie?"

"I think we should ask, yeah. He deserves a good home and a strong father figure that's going to put him first. He looks at you like you hung the stars, Laszlo. He needs us, and truthfully I think we need him. So yeah - what's one more added to this little shindig we've got going for us?"

"Have you-"

"-thought it through? Yes. Completely."

You can see the smile he fights to hold back. "We should call tomorrow and see what the protocol is for stating our intent to adopt and getting the paperwork."

"Um…" You shuffle your feet. Nose scrunched, you confess "I may have already called them. On the way from work I asked about what would need to be done if we wanted to pursue that route, but since they already know who we are from you working with them for years it can be fast tracked." You pull him out of his chair to stand before you. "All we have to do is say 'go'."

He has no hesitation.

"Go."

Laszlo doesn't hold back his smile or his laughter as he spins you around his office floor. You're certain your children downstairs can hear your giggles.

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fade in, fade out - part two

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***

The Backstory

September 2006

In Nora Priestley’s fourteen years of life, she’s never lived this far away from the ocean before. It’s always been just right outside her window, a quick ten-minute trek from Thames Street until she reached the rolling dunes of Rejects Beach. Smelling the salt in her hair and feeling her skin grow sticky from the feeling of the ocean air was practically second-nature to her, but ever since she moved to the middle of nowhere Connecticut for boarding school, she’s never felt more disconnected from normality in her life.

Nora’s never really been a big fan of embracing change. She’d like to blame that on the fact that she’s never really had any monumental shifts to her tectonic plates so far in her short life, and she’s not quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s always been just her and her mom. A dynamic duo. A tag team of epic proportions. 

Growing up in Newport, Rhode Island could be worse, Nora thinks. She was lucky enough to grow up in a small coastal town where everybody accepted her in one way or another. Even though she was much different than the other kids her age, considering she spent most of her time alone while her mother worked, she never felt unhappy. Life was simple. Life was easy.

Nora and her mother, Shannon, lived in a small apartment in a renovated old colonial townhouse at the bottom of Thames Street. It was a third-floor walk-up, and in the heat of the summer when the humidity made the wallpaper begin to curl at the edges of her tiny paisley-coated bedroom, Nora had to sleep with her creaky window open with nothing but a thin sheet to cover her sweat-soaked body, the soft sounds of the rolling waves crashing against the shore lulling her to sleep.

Shannon Priestley was the ultimate leading lady in Nora’s life. She referred to Nora as her perfect mistake, because having a baby the summer she turned eighteen with a boy she thought would be her forever was the very definition of that phrase. But she handled it like she did everything else in her life—with grace and dignity, and nothing but a big gleaming grin on her face that always made Nora and everyone else lucky enough to be around her sunbeam feel that everything would be okay. 

With a one-year-old baby on her hip and a bright and shiny high school diploma under her belt, Shannon found a job listing to be a nanny for the Clemonte’s. Without a second’s deliberation, she packed up her things and moved to the tip of the state to Newport. 

The Clemonte’s were one of the wealthiest families in Newport, hailing from an impressive lineage of old money with an expansive estate of fourteen acres overlooking Ochre Point and the Atlantic Ocean. They were one of those families that named their properties, and when Shannon Priestley first stepped foot inside The Breakers mansion, she knew right then and there that her new bosses had very high expectations for her.

Shannon became the singular nanny to Warren and Jane Clemonte’s baby son, William. He was born three months after Nora, and even though Shannon felt slighted that she had to spend most of her days with another family’s child while her own was being watched by their downstairs neighbor, she promised to split her time evenly. And even though twenty-four hours in a day was never enough for Shannon, she made sure to spend most of it with Nora.

And Nora was always grateful for that. 

The second Nora was old enough to take care of herself, she started going to The Breakers after school so that her mom could walk her home. It was at that very moment when she had her first taste of ostentatious luxury, and from then on it never failed to amaze her. The other half certainly did live differently than Nora and her mother, and stepping foot inside the Clemonte’s mansion made that realization startlingly clear. 

This was when she first met William Clemonte. Nora always knew he existed, considering her mother would sprinkle in small anecdotes about him while doing other mundane tasks. “Willy was very quiet today,” Shannon would tell Nora on their walk home from Ochre Point to Lower Thames. “Mr. and Mrs. Clemonte want Willy to take piano lessons and learn Latin. How on earth is a seven-year-old supposed to handle that?”

To Nora, Willy was somewhat of a fictional character living behind the towering walls of The Breakers. She imagined him being a smaller boy, blonde with blue eyes and wearing some sort of matching ensemble sitting inside the thick walls of his mansion, overlooking the deep cobalt ocean through a grand wall of windows. But when she meets him one afternoon after her first day of second grade, she could not be any more wrong.

Sure, Willy Clemonte was a small boy, but he was by no means shy or scared of her. He took her on a tour through the grand halls of The Breakers, showed her all of the secret passageways built inside the walls from when the mansion was first erected back in the early twentieth century, and shared his brand new toys with her. 

But most importantly, he listened to her. He asked her a million questions about public school, about the world outside of his tall fortress, about the television shows Shannon let Nora watch after dinner, and the different kinds of popular music other kids their age were listening to.

“Wait, so *NSYNC isn’t just Justin Timberlake?” Willy would ask whenever Nora would show him what was inside her portable CD player (which was almost exclusively No Strings Attached until she reached the fourth grade). 

“Oh my god, Willy! *NSYNC is a boyband! Justin is just the best one,” Nora would scold right back, shoving the plastic headphones over his blonde head of hair so that the felt cushions would press against his ear, the vibrating thumps of “Bye Bye Bye” playing through the electronic equipment.

Whenever he would ask her about school, Willy was always shocked to hear how different her experience was from his own. Nora would tell him about the yellow school buses that picked up and dropped off her friends, she would show up to his house afterward wearing jeans and a pink Gap sweatshirt and he was always surprised to learn that kids could wear whatever they wanted during the day, and when she would come over on Fridays and tell him that her mother gave her a dollar for pizza day at lunchtime, Willy wished more and more that he could go to public school with her, too.

While Willy was nothing but sunshine and kindness, Warren Clemonte was the complete opposite. A cold and distant man, stern and grumpy with a perpetual frown on his face, he sent a terrifying chill all the way down to Nora’s bones until they rattled together like a hollow instrument. And one Thursday afternoon when Shannon was busy packing Willy’s bags for the Clemonte’s annual Christmas trip to Aspen, Warren caught his son running around the main hall searching through every nook and cranny for Nora’s impressive hiding spot. It was only once she heard the bellowing yells when she emerged from behind an old armoire in the library, peeking her head around the corner to watch Warren yell at Willy in the echoing hallway.

“What do you think you’re doing, running around when you’ve left your Latin workbook unfinished?” Warren demanded, his low voice bouncing off the thick walls.

“I’m sorry, dad. I was just—”

“—Just what? Playing around and avoiding your responsibilities? How are you supposed to learn anything if you spend all of your time dilly-dallying with that girl, William?”

Willy began to cry then, and before Nora could interfere, her mother was already ten steps ahead of her, entering the main hall and apologizing profusely while her daughter stayed hidden behind the old armoire, watching everything with regretful eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemonte. I was just packing for Willy, I didn’t realize he had run off. I’ll make sure it never happens again, sir,” Shannon said, placing a comforting arm around Willy’s shaking shoulders while his father stood barely five feet away, watching his wailing son with lifeless eyes. 

“Please do, Miss Priestley. William does not need any more distractions.” His voice held a clipped finality to it, and when he walked away and Nora appeared from behind the wall to approach Willy who was clutching her mother for dear life, she never understood how his father could just leave his son to fall apart in front of him like that.

That was the last afternoon Nora ever spent at The Breakers. 

Up until four months ago, Nora was almost certain that the entire Clemonte family had forgotten that she existed, and that treacherous afternoon with Willy nearly seven years ago was just a sad memory that could be tarnished for the rest of eternity. But when her mother comes home with a thick black and red folder, the words Townbridge Academy in capital letters splayed against the front page above a golden crest, Nora’s never been more confused in her life.

When she asked her mother what she was doing with a boarding school acceptance letter in her hand that Nora had never heard of before, the answer she received was definitely not what she had expected. Apparently, Mrs. Clemonte found out that Nora was planning on attending the public high school on Broadway Street, and apparently, she believed that she could offer Shannon a lending hand. Nora would like to blame it all on Jane Clemonte’s philanthropic tendencies, but a few phone calls and a faxed copy of Nora’s stellar transcripts later, Nora was appointed a lofty scholarship to attend Townbridge Academy in the fall. 

All things considered, Nora did not want to go. She liked her middle school friends, she liked being her own person, she liked knowing that her mom was only a twenty-minute walk away, and most importantly, she liked not having to be associated with a family like the Clemonte’s. She didn’t want to be seen as a charity case, and accepting the scholarship on Mrs. Clemonte’s behalf to attend a prestigious boarding school like Townbridge Academy was exactly that.

But when her mother sat her down and told her how amazing this opportunity was, and how much Nora could accomplish with a diploma from one of the best schools in the country, Nora couldn’t bring herself to say no. Especially when her mother held her close and whispered in her ear, “God, Nora, you can do all of the things I never could have done,” Nora knew that there was no way she could break her mother’s heart.

Because now, standing in her new dorm room with deep oak walls, a creaky polished hardwood floor, a red ornamental rug that smelled a bit like Warren Clemonte’s cologne, and a small twin bed nestled in the corner underneath a window overlooking the bleak green hills of Connecticut—Nora Priestley wishes she had told her mother no.

Before she can even wallow in her own self-imposed misery, the front door opens revealing an older man carrying a trolley holding a matching six-piece set of luggage. Nora looks down to the singular old leather suitcase she purchased at a surplus store on Spruce Street resting on the floor, comparing it to the monogrammed navy blue set with the gold letters ARW spanning across each piece.

The man begins placing each suitcase onto the floor without uttering a word to a very confused Nora, and suddenly the door opens wider, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair floating into the room. She’s wearing a white tennis skirt that rests a few inches above her kneecap, with a powder blue collared shirt cuffed at the wrists. For a brief moment, Nora wonders if her mother purchased the wrong uniform set for her, but when the girl lifts her eyes from her Blackberry and looks over at Nora, she notices a sailor’s crest embroidered on the right side above her chest with more initials, and she begins to breathe a little. 

“Hi! You must be my roommate, I’m Nor—”

“—Where are the rest of your bags?” the girl interrupts, eyeing the old leather suitcase disdainfully. Nora’s fingers immediately fly up to her scalp and begin raking through her blonde hair, a nervous habit she’s tried her hardest to get rid of.

“I have a duffle on the desk chair, too,” Nora explains quietly, removing her hand from her hair so that she can point towards the old wooden desk that holds her mother’s duffle bag.

Nora watches as the girl’s piercing gaze shifts from her two flimsy bags to her outfit. And when Nora watches beady hazel eyes take in her old white tank top, her mom’s grey knit cardigan, thrifted bootcut jeans, and sandals from two summers ago, Nora’s never wanted to disappear more in her life. 

Before she can find the words to speak, Nora hears a shrill “Alyssa!” echo through the hallway, until a matching set of girls wearing nautical-inspired clothing and thick headbands are hugging the strawberry blonde-haired girl who just so obviously judged Nora a few moments ago.

“Who’s this?” one of the girls asks Alyssa, breaking away from their hug and looking over at Nora with interest.

Just as Nora reaches a hand out to introduce herself, Alyssa says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go, girls,” and the three girls spin around without even uttering a goodbye. 

Nora watches as they walk down the hallway, giggling the entire way as if they hadn’t singlehandedly just ruined her first official day away from home.

***

October 2006

The first month at boarding school is just a series of Nora playing catch up. While she thought going to public school and hanging out with normal people would be enough to prepare her for high school, three weeks in she’s never felt more lost in her entire life.

She’s one of the only students who doesn’t own a cellphone, she wears second-hand Sperry’s instead of fancy loafers with gold links on the front, her backpack is a maroon Jansport while most students opted for leather messenger bags, and when people ask her how she spent her summer, she’s gotten used to the wide-eyed look they give her when she explains that she scooped ice cream near the beach for tips.

Nora’s not naive. She knows that she’s referred to as The Scholarship Girl behind her back, she knows that Alyssa complains to her elitist friends about how dreadful it is to be forced to room with a girl who wears hand-me-down clothing, and she knows that adjusting to life at Townbridge was going to be the very definition of arduous. 

But she remembers what her mother told her—how Nora’s skin is thicker than she thinks, and no matter how different she is to everybody else, she’s still just as deserving of a top-notch education. 

Even though Nora was at the top of her class for most of her life, she still felt far behind the rest of her classmates at Townbridge. She spends the first few weeks getting very acquainted with the walls of the library, making the nearly twenty-minute trek from her dorm in Emerson Hall to Millikan Library across campus. Classes have only just begun, but Nora can’t afford to fall any more behind than she already has. So instead of making friends and signing up for various clubs and sports teams, Nora’s allowed her backside to practically mold into the stiff wooden chairs inside the empty library.

Nora would have completely forgotten about the First Year Mixer being held that evening if not for Alyssa and her friends getting ready in her dorm room. When she walks in still wearing her uniform well after classes have ended for the day, the three girls look at her as if she were crazy.

“Did you forget about the mixer tonight, Nora?” Grace, one of the twins, asks with a shocked expression decorating her pretty face. All three girls are wearing colorful Lilly Pulitzer dresses, passing along mascara and eyeshadow amongst themselves in preparation for tonight.

“Uh, no I was just—”

“—Making friends with the books again?” Alyssa sneers, earning a giggle from the girls.

Nora chooses not to respond. It’s just easier that way.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Nora sorts through her limited selection of clothing to find something appropriate to wear for tonight. She didn’t even want to be in attendance, but she’s figured that she’s probably spent enough time on her own, and that maybe, in the off chance that Townbridge has some normal students, she can make a friend or two.

The only two dresses she brought with her were a simple long-sleeved cream sweater dress that fell just above her knees, and a thin summer dress her mother bought her two years ago that was tighter and fell around mid-thigh. She goes with the sweater dress, deeming it the best outfit she has to just simply blend in. Once it’s over her head, she reaches for her thigh-high socks and brown boots she got as a graduation gift, slipping them on quickly. October has left a brisk chill in the nighttime air, and considering her jackets consisted of a worn-in winter parka and an oversized flannel she scored at Goodwill, Nora thinks this combination will be more than fine.

She reaches for the comb on her desk and begins to rake it through her knotted hair, smoothing out the kinks and leaving the strands to fall in their messy, wavy natural state. Just as she’s digging through her backpack to try and find her lip balm and mascara, she can’t help but overhear Alyssa gossiping to Grace and Erin loudly from across the room.

“Harry’s plane landed a few hours ago,” Alyssa gushes, plucking the blush from Grace’s hands and beginning to apply it to the apples of her cheeks.

“Oh my God, no way! You must be so excited, Lyss!” Erin squeaks, reaching for the lipgloss that Alyssa just used. Before she can even remove the lid, Alyssa swats at her wrists and tells her to pick another color.

“Have you been texting all summer?” Grace asks from behind the vanity.

Alyssa nods, readjusting her freshly curled hair. “Ever since he left the Hamptons in July, yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth. He told me he can’t wait to see me tonight.”

“That’s so romantic, Lyss!” Erin says, and Nora tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. “I can’t believe they let him miss the first three weeks of school.”

“He’s Harry Styles, Erin,” Grace chides, turning to face her sister with slanted eyes. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Nora twists the mascara wand back into the tube before backing away from her desk, double-checking her outfit to make sure that it was suitable enough. Just as she gives her hair one last fluff, she hears Alyssa ask, “Are you really not going to do anything with your hair?”

Nora turns towards her with a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t own any styling tools so…” she lets the words fall from her mouth, watching the three girls in front of her look at her as if she had a second head growing out of her neck.

“You’ve never straightened your hair?! I’m sure Alyssa will let you borrow—”

“—Erin! Enough. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” Alyssa scolds, ending the conversation abruptly. Before Nora can even shoot a smile in Erin’s direction, the three girls are already out the door, leaving Nora to walk to the Great Hall by herself. 

The problem with spending all of her time walking from her dorm to the lecture halls on East Campus to Millikan Library is that she seemingly forgot where every other building was. Trying to locate the Great Hall in daylight was already difficult for Nora, but now with the sun practically set behind the horizon and her sense of direction completely shit, she starts panicking when she’s walked by the dining hall for the third time.

An upperclassman saves Nora before she can have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the quad, and with two minutes to spare, Nora finds a row with a few empty seats towards the back of the room. 

Nobody seems to have noticed her, save for the girls in the row in front of her who turn around when Nora’s boots jostle their chairs. She offers them a muffled apology, and just as quickly as they turned around to look at her, they swivel their necks to face the front again.

Nora sighs to herself, before lifting her head to hear the Headmaster begin his speech. After listening to him drawl about the mission statement and his expectations for the first-year students, Nora immediately wishes she never left her dorm room. She can feel her eyes begin to droop, and before her body can slump further down into her chair, the sound of a heavy oak door closing echoes throughout the Great Hall, and Nora feels her body springing upwards.

Headmaster Clayton pauses in his monotonous ramblings, and before the entire collection of students in front of Nora can turn around to see what the interruption was, a long body falls into the chair next to hers, and the Headmaster resumes his speech as if nothing ever happened. 

“Did I miss anything?” an impossibly British voice whispers in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit surprised by the low timbre of it. She looks over at him and finds herself staring into green pools with a golden shimmer surrounding his irises. Nora’s never been captivated by a boy before—but the one sitting next to her with fluffy chocolate curls falling over his forehead, surrounding his ears, and ending at the nape of his neck might possibly be the first. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of an expensive-looking black trench coat, and his upper body is leaning towards hers as he awaits her response. When Nora notices his pink lips forming into a small smirk, she’s almost positive that she’s been caught staring at this boy for far too long.

“Uh, no. Not really,” she whispers back, scrutinizing the way her voice squeaked at the beginning of her sentence.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and Nora can feel her cheeks begin to burn. “Hm, sounds like somebody wasn’t paying attention in the first place.”

Before Nora can retort, the boy near her chuckles softly at her nervous expression. “Can’t say I blame you, love. Clayton’s a fucking fossil.”

Nora giggles, causing the girls in front of her to turn around again with a murderous expression on their faces. She stops abruptly, and after they’ve snapped their heads forward for the second time, she looks over to the boy on her left and finds him trying his hardest to stifle another chuckle.

He shifts his body so he’s no longer leaning in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit saddened by the sudden distance between them both. 

Nora replays the interaction in her inexperienced, fourteen-year-old mind, wondering if the boy near her was just flirting with her. There’s no denying that she thinks he’s cute, considering she finds herself sneaking looks at him every few minutes during the duration of Headmaster Clayton’s speech just to get another glimpse of his soft hair and sunken dimples. And on more than one occasion, he catches her in his periphery, shooting her that charming smirk that never fails to make her cheeks blush. 

The moment Headmaster Clayton wraps up his speech and the rest of the students begin to stand, Nora turns towards the boy and finds that he’s already looking at her. Now that they’ve exited their row, Nora notices how tall he is, taking in his long legs clad in black denim, his even longer torso in a similar black shirt. The all-dark ensemble somehow makes him look older. Makes him look mysterious. Makes him look even more handsome—and suddenly Nora’s grown a bit nervous.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He hesitates, looking between her face and her outstretched hand with a smile on his face, finding it incredibly cute that a girl his age would greet him so formally. 

Just before his hand can fall into hers, another hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s forced to look at the intrusion, his own arm falling back to his side. “Harry, my man! How was the flight?”

When Nora looks over his shoulder, she notices two boys greeting him warmly. She hasn’t really met anybody at Townbridge aside from Alyssa, Grace, and Erin, so she’s not surprised when she doesn’t recognize the two other boys infiltrating their small bubble.

But upon further inspection, Nora realizes that she does, in fact, recognize one of them.

Standing directly in her line of vision is none other than Willy Clemonte. Although it’s been seven years since Nora last saw him, there’s no denying that the sandy-haired, blue-eyed teenager in front of her is him. He’s practically almost the same height as his father now, towering over Nora in his khaki pants and a white cable-knit sweater. His hair still tangles in his eyelashes and his cheeks are still dusted with freckles, and Nora’s stunned at the sudden rush of memories that flood her insides.

He seems to have made the same startling realization as Nora did, because his eyes begin to widen almost comically, and a strained expression falls over his features. Before they can give away that they’ve been staring at each other, the boy from before, now known to Nora as Harry, spins around on his heels and gives her a small smile.

“Nora, right?” he asks, and she nods hesitantly. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newport,” Nora answers.

“Oh, wicked! So you must know Will, then?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension radiating from the two of them. 

Before she can respond, Will clears his throat and takes a step forward. With one last panicked look at Nora, he tells Harry, “Yeah, man. Her mom was one of our maids.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, confusion written all over his face. Nora’s surprised that she can hear it over the sound of her breath leaving her lungs from Willy’s comment. Sure, she knew that the last time they saw each other he was crying into her mother’s arms over a remark his father said, and sure, she didn’t expect them to resume their friendship as if nothing had happened.

But to blatantly lie about Nora’s mother, a woman who took care of him for years? Nora never thought that he would grow up to be so cruel. 

To twist the knife lodged into her chest even further, Alyssa and the twins approach the group with annoyed looks, all aimed in Nora’s direction. They seem to have overheard Willy’s previous comment, and before Nora can even defend herself, Alyssa reaches out and wraps her hand around Harry’s forearm as if she were claiming him in front of everybody.

“Yeah, apparently Townbridge is letting just about anybody in this year. Just ignore her, Harry, we all have been,” she says, her tone nothing but dismissive. 

Nora watches as Harry shifts his gaze from Alyssa to her. His green eyes fall down her body, and for the first time, he notices the loose thread at the hemline of her dress from overwear, the tear in her socks behind the knee, her brown boots that lack the distinction of a designer label. With one last look at her, he takes a step back, and Nora knows right then and there that she’s been condemned as an outsider. 

“C’mon Harry, tell us all about the rest of your summer in France! I want to hear all about it,” Alyssa enthuses, and without a second look, the group turns around and leaves Nora staring after them.

No matter how attractive she finds Harry, there’s no denying that his personality is undeniably ugly. And as she watches him wrap an arm around Alyssa’s shoulder, Nora thinks it’s quite fitting that they’ve both found each other.  

***

November 2007

Summer has always been Nora’s favorite season (living permanently near the ocean sort of makes that inevitable), but that summer after her first year, Nora’s never been more excited to be home. She missed her mom, she missed the beach, and she missed her normal friends who didn’t care that she wore sandals that were falling apart and shorts that were fraying at the edges.

When Nora came back from school, she begged her mother not to send her back to Townbridge for her second year. She told her how she couldn’t make friends, how everybody made her feel like a social pariah, and how she was absolutely miserable being so far away from her. 

“Oh, Nora baby,” her mother said, holding her close. “You know exactly who you are. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent—and you’re so much better than those kids who make you feel like you aren’t.”

“You don’t understand, mom,” Nora said through hiccups, wet tears soaking her cheeks, “They hate me. All of them. They never even gave me a chance.”

“Everybody?” her mother asked. And when Nora just stared at her with her lower lip trembling, Shannon combed her fingers through Nora’s blonde hair comfortingly. “I’m sure there are people at Townbridge who are just like you. I just don’t think you’ve tried to find them yet.”

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Nora knew that her mother was right. So after another summer filled with scooping ice cream for tips and spending every second of her days off at the beach reading romance novel after romance novel, Nora packed up her things for the second time—this time with another suitcase—and set off for Connecticut with higher hopes for her second year.

Things seemed to be turning around for her when she discovered that her roommate was no longer Alyssa Whalen. Instead, it was a girl named Lydia who lived a few towns over in Madison by the beach, just like Nora. They bonded instantly over their shared love of having sea-knotted hair and the feeling of having sand squished between your toes and letting your fingers wrinkle from wading through the briny water for too long. And when Lydia encourages Nora to sign up for the swim team with her, Nora’s grateful that she’s finally found a friend in this hellhole. 

Her second year is leagues better than her first, considering in the first three months, she barely had to cross paths with Alyssa and Harry. On the rare instances that they do run into each other, they simply ignore the other’s existence, and Nora doesn’t mind it one bit. It’s just easier that way, she supposes.

Halfway through Nora’s swim season, she turns sixteen and discovers that everybody around her is getting their license. Lydia’s parents bought her a used 2005 Honda Civic when she passed her driver’s test, and when she told Nora that she could use it whenever she needed, Nora felt bad lying to her new friend. Because once again she was playing catch up, getting her learner’s permit over the summer when everybody was already scheduling their exam, and with the way things were going, Nora wouldn’t be able to get her license until she was home again for summer break.

She also didn’t want to admit to Lydia that she couldn’t afford a car, and that her mother would never allow Nora to take her 1997 Toyota Corolla to campus. 

After swim practice one November afternoon, Nora leaves the Athletic Center with wet hair to head back to her dorm in Donahue Hall completely across campus. Normally, Nora walks with Lydia, but since it’s Friday and students who live in-state with a license are allowed to leave campus for the weekend, Nora’s forced to make the twenty-minute journey alone. 

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Nora begins to walk through the parking lot to head towards the footpath that will bring her through campus. The sky is awfully dark for four in the afternoon, and when she looks up and notices the menacing grey clouds, she kicks herself for not packing her umbrella before she left her room this morning.

Just as she’s almost in the clear, she hears a familiar giggle that makes her skin crawl. Living with Alyssa for one excruciating year has allowed Nora to recognize that sound almost immediately, and sheepishly she tucks her chin deeper into the neckline of her jacket, praying that her face is hidden as she walks past the group. 

When Nora reaches inside her half-zipped gym bag for her water bottle, she swears to herself when the strap detaches from the siding and the nylon bag falls to the cement. Making sure everything is strapped appropriately, she heaves the bag over her shoulder once it’s zipped up. As she swings her elbow to place the bag comfortably around her body, she doesn’t take into account her proximity to a particularly shiny black SUV—and just before she can escape the parking lot undetected, her bag smashes against the hood of the car, causing the headlights to flicker on and off and the alarm to blare piercingly through the space. 

“Hey!” Nora hears from behind her. When she turns she sees Harry jogging towards her, his brown hair dripping from the shower he just took. He’s wearing joggers and a Townbridge Academy Soccer sweatshirt, and when he reaches inside his pocket and reveals a shiny key fob, Nora swears for the second time knowing that the fancy car she just accidentally hit belonged to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice is booming through the parking lot and it’s enough to make Nora feel incredibly small. When he finally presses the alarm button on his key and the blaring stops, she can hear his exasperated breaths in its place, and she’s not quite sure what’s worse.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—I saw the whole thing, Harry!” Alyssa calls over from her spot across the cement, walking towards the pair of them with an accusatory finger extended in Nora’s direction. “She slammed her gym bag against your car.”

“It was an accident!” Nora screeches, feeling her face turning red. “My bag strap fell off and when I went to put it back on my shoulder, I bumped your car. Not, er, intentionally.”

Harry looks between the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face. “Just be more careful, yeah? It’s brand new.”

When Nora looks at the behemoth of a vehicle to her left, observing the shiny black exterior with the words Range Rover written across the front in chrome lettering, she can only imagine the outrageous price tag it has. Which is why she nods, apologizing one last time.

“Won’t happen again.” Nora begins to turn around on her heel, just as the air begins to get cooler and the slightest smell of rain can be detected in the distance.

“You’re walking all the way to Donahue in the rain?” Harry asks suddenly, and Nora begins to wonder how he even knows she lives in that building. She pauses, thinking if he or Alyssa or any one of their stupid friends lives in Donahue, and when she comes up with nothing, she turns around with a confused expression on her face.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a car.” Before she can feel the first drop of rain hit her skin, laughter erupts from the small group surrounding Harry and his car. Nora hides her face, wishing the ground would swallow her up. 

With one last gulp, Nora turns around and begins walking towards the footpath, shoving the hood of her flimsy rain jacket over her head. 

“Well, at least your hair is already wet!” Nora hears Alyssa call out from behind her, with more laughter following until Nora’s a safe distance away from where she can no longer be scrutinized by Harry and his rude friends.

As Nora reaches Donahue Hall with her tracksuit bottoms sticking to her legs like a second skin and her jacket completely drenched, all she can think about is how she’d rather walk another ten miles before ever having another conversation with Alyssa Whalen and Harry Styles if her life fucking depended on it.

***

A/N: Here’s chapter two! We’ve finally met Harry and Alyssa (yikes), so feel free to share with me your thoughts and predictions for the next part! High school is a funny time period to write about, and I’m excited to share the next part with you all. Look out for it on Friday, February 19th, which will be the normal update schedule. Until then, stay safe! x

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[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me: Chapter Five

Thanks for your continued support for these sweet artsy bairns! Here’s the next installment! I read all of your kind comments and they mean the absolute world to me.

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Louisburg Square, Beacon Hill, Boston

Claire was just walking up to the picturesque green of Louisburg Square, where her townhouse sat facing the gardens, when her phone began an incessant buzzing. She had her hands full after stopping at the market for dinner staples (otherwise known as a box of Velveeta Shells & Cheese). She was fumbling with her purse and muttering a not-so-quiet “Shit,” when she dropped her keys on the porch. When she stooped lower to get the keys, more toiletries from the market spilled onto the ground and rolled down the steps while her phone continued to buzz. “Oh fuck it all to hell… Oh hello, Mr. Grant!” Claire’s next door neighbor was a kind man, but always appeared perplexed -- whether by her uncontrollable hair, clothes splattered with dirt from the shop, or simply by wondering how she came to be the owner of one of the most coveted real estate properties in New England, Claire would never know.

“Hello dear. Are you alright over there?” His brow was knit as Claire shoved her scattered belongings back into their various bags all while muttering under her breath as to not offend the old man’s sensibilities. She stood, and realized he had most definitely already heard her vocabulary choices.

“Oh, I’m fine, just one of those days!” One of those days where you fall head over heels for the strange guy you met last night and then all your shit falls on the sidewalk because your brain is short-circuiting.

“Well as always, if you need anything, I’m just here and happy to help.”

“Thank you! One day I’ll absolutely take you up on it -- I’m usually less of a mess!” She tried to joke it off, but it sounded a little too much like she was trying to justify herself to neighbor, and herself.

Mr. Grant smiled. “Of course, dear. Ah, you seem to be very popular today!”

Claire’s phone went off for at least the fifth time. She tried to reign in her annoyance, said her goodbyes to the man, and using her foot to kick a back of groceries inside the doorway finally made it inside. She dug around her bag for the phone ready to lash out at whatever telemarketer couldn’t take a hint, but stopped.

Two missed phone calls, four missed texts. The caller left a voicemail for each call. She pressed play on the earlier one.

“Hi Sassenach, uh, Claire, I guess I should call ye Claire since that’s yer name, huh? Shit. Hold on… Okay, let me start over. Hello Claire, this is Jamie. James. James Fraser? From the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken? Of course she kens, ye damn eedjit… Me! Not you! Oh god this is literally the worst call I’ve ever made in my life. Fuck it, I’m just going to try again.” The voicemail abruptly ended. Claire was in stitches at his earnest attempt to just talk to her. At least he wasn’t lying when she heard him say she wouldn’t have to wait long at all for message from him. She pressed play on the second voicemail.

“Hello Claire, I hope this message finds ye well. It was verra nice to see ye today at my shop. It may be the cool, relaxed thing tae do would be to not call ye right away, but ye make me feel anything but cool and relaxed and under control. Ye make me feel… like there’s something different between us, mo nighean donn. As I told ye in the shop, I dinna think I can wait another week to see ye. If you would do me the honor of saying yes, I would verra much like to take ye out for dinner and drinks. Or anything ye wanted to do, really. Dinner and drinks was just my idea… okay I think I’m getting flustered again so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Okay thanks, talk to you soon hopefully, bye. Oh, and this is Jamie Fraser.”

Her laughter had died out the moment he said how she made him feel. Is that really how he felt about her? Did he mean it? Claire had a feeling that Jamie Fraser from the bookshop and the karaoke, ye ken didn’t ever say things he didn’t mean. She fell into the couch facing the big bay window, and breathed. Her breath came in heavy, her heartbeats fast. Her thoughts were swirling and her mind racing and everything felt light around here. A little breathlessly, she opened her text app to a number she didn’t recognize.

[+16178256192]: Hello Claire, this is James Fraser from Fraser Literature and from karaoke last night at The 21st Amendment.

Claire actually laughed out loud now. As if she could forget who he was! He had turned her world upside down at the bar, she sang in his shop, she gave him her phone number less than an hour ago! She added his number to her contacts before reading his following texts.

[Jamie]: Okay that was weirdly formal, sorry

[Jamie]: Could ye do me a favor and just delete the first voicemail?

[Jamie]: I was hoping we could maybe set up a time for the date I mentioned earlier at the shop? I would really like to see ye again before next week.

[Jamie]: And maybe before we have to hang out with the Spanish Inquisition. ;)

Claire laughed through her nose at that last one; apparently, Jamie had been grilled about their relationship? Interaction? by Rupert and Angus like Claire had been by Joe and Geillis. She reread all the messages he’d sent her before responding.

[Claire]: Hello James Fraser, owner of Fraser Literature and karaoke. I do indeed remember and even if I didn’t, you’ve reminded me several times in your many incessant texts/voicemails. ;)

Three dots immediately popped up, disappeared, popped up, and a next text appeared.

[Jamie]: I told ye to delete the first voicemail! You weren’t supposed to hear my rambling!

[Claire]: Uh huh, seems likely. ;) Maybe I have a super power that renders you useless around me?

[Jamie]: Well lass you're not far off.

[Jamie]: How’s about that date? What are you doing tonight?

[Claire]: Lol, you’re not tired of seeing my face yet?

[Jamie]: Not yet, not ever.

[Jamie]: Sooooooooo, dinner? ;)

Eventually, they decided on a little Italian place close to Claire’s place. Claire paced around the upstairs bedroom, trying out an outfit only to rip it off and throw it in a pile on the floor. She’d walk to the bathroom, evaluate her look, give a deep breath out her nose, and was now at the point of yelling about how she had no clothes. But, she remembered. In a garment bag at the back of her closet hung a blood-orange dress. A square neckline gave way to a triangle dip in the middle, the hem came just to the middle of her thigh with a cinched waistline.. She smiled, sadly. The last time she wore the dress, she was still in med school. Frank had asked her out to “a dinner with a few medical friends” and promised she could make a few connections to help her down the road. Claire ended up discarded at the door until Frank needed to show her off to a classmate or professor or colleague. She learned he hadn’t told anyone she was also studying medicine, telling her he “wanted to let you stand on your own, darling.” The last time she had worn that dress, she realized she wouldn’t resign herself to a life of being second-best to her partner, to a group of strangers, or to anyone. Tonight was the perfect time to remind herself she was taking things into her own hands yet again -- with Jamie at her side. Her smile turned genuine, and she pulled it off the hanger.

-- -- --

Jamie knew this was unusual. Claire wasn’t the first girl he’d ever been interested in, but if he had any choice in the matter, she would be the last one. Rationally, he should’ve been talking himself out of planning a future with the girl from the bar, but he couldn’t help himself. When he was in high school in Scotland, he kissed a girl who smelled like hairspray and spun sugar and he didn’t like that at all. He kissed a few lasses before rugby games and they’d tell him it was all for good luck. He enjoyed them (didn’t every red-blooded teenage boy enjoy kisses before sports games?), but enjoyment was the extent of it. In college, he had met Annalise. She was smart and kind and lovely, and so bonny. She’d loved his family, loved him. And he had loved her, too. Their relationship started after their first year at school when they became close friends and confidants. She was truly one of the best friends he’d ever had, outside of the lads. When he said he was leaving Scotland to pursue his dreams in the states, she said she was being “abandoned”. Jamie considered asking her to come with him to build a life, but reconsidered. After many long conversations, many tears, many honest words… they had decided their relationship was based in comfort. They loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They loved each other because of their close friendship, their proximity to each other at school, their families’ friendship that developed because of their own. When Jamie confronted Annalise about his realization that he would forever be grateful for her, but didn’t see a romantic future together, she had cried and told him she was so happy -- she felt the same. They split amicably and continued to call and text when they could. Friendships like theirs didn’t just dissipate.

With Claire, things felt… different. Emotional, raw, honest, profound. It felt like something he couldn’t quite place. Something he didn’t have words for. The mere thought of her made his pulse quicken, made his breath catch in his chest. Their connection last night at the bar, their physical connection at the bookshop (god, how it felt to be touched by her…) , their easy banter over text, and then when she gave him her address… he had to sit down. He knew her address exactly. He’d passed it every time he went home, or went to work, or went anywhere at all. She lived in Louisburg Square, across the garden and just to the right of a place he knew intimately. She lived across the garden and just to the right, of his place. They were neighbors. He never knew. He thought back to telling her how they must have just been missing each other for years, but god, he never knew how close they really were.

Jamie finished tying up his leather boots and took a look in the mirror. Hair brushed back, curls falling at his neck, a light blue button-up, a leather jacket. Not too bad. Still not good enough for her, though. He tugged at the neck of his shirt, and left his townhouse. He made his way up his side of the square, and stopped not ten feet up the sidewalk. He saw her. From the second floor, Claire was illuminated by soft light in the window, gauzy curtains framing her. He could only watch in awe as her head tilted to the side to fit an earring to her ear. She reached for a brush and started to comb out a curl. Jamie sighed contentedly when he noticed her hair was still down, curled around her face, wild as ever. Claire gave up with the brush and settled herself to smoothing down creases in her wee dress with delicate hands. Hands that had touched him, healed him, had literally written her name over his heart. She was... ethereal. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he managed to send her a message:

[Jamie]: On my way there Sassenach

[Claire]: No worries, take your time. See you soon!

Jamie rounded the center garden and up to her steps. The light from the window was still glowing, but he could no longer see her. One more text:

[Jamie]: Just outside

He walked up the steps, raised his knuckles to the brass knocker, and paused. First step to forever… His phone buzzed.

[Claire]: I thought I said to take your time? ;) seriously, how’d you get here so fast? Just a sec and I’ll be down!

He did knock then, answered her text to say there was no rush, he wasn’t going anywhere. Behind the door he heard a literal run down the stairs and he stifled a chuckle. There was a jingle of keys, a fairly loud, “Shit!” as the keys hit the floor, a scuttle of shoes around the entry, and the door opened.

Here we go, lad.

[anthony-kate]

***Magnus and Alec are husbands. Yes, this needed to be said because CAN YOU BELIEVE? :’) But also, yes, it’s really been that long since the latest Malec fic rec. I’m sorry. It’s... yeah. Although if you also miss Malec every second of every day, reading fanfics at least helps a little. 

I tried to collect a nice mix again so I hope you will enjoy this 9th (!!!) edition of my Malec fanfic rec posts. As usual, I enjoy making them and rec’ing you fics but these posts take a looooot of time so please, please, please reblog, like and spread the word so that I see you enjoy these and these posts are helpful. It motivates to do a new one in the future if y’all are interested. Thank you

And now, have fun discovering, reading, and loving those Malec fics. And leave a kudo and comment for those authors while you’re on it. We all love appreciation and need validation. :)***

previous Malec fic recs:             1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

---

42 NORTH 71 WEST by @lecrit​ [ M | AU | 62.1k | complete ]

Alec sometimes wonders why he ever decided to pursue a career in politics. Magnus sometimes questions whether pursuing his dream of becoming an actor was worth it.

Those two facts are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 21.3k | complete ]

Alec pulls up to the gold intercom positioned at the enormous front gates. Like everything owned by the obscenely wealthy, they’re proportioned for both for giants and giant egos.

He’d hoped this would be easier, less gut-churning work than protecting diplomats and foreign dignitaries, some guilty of truly terrible things, but being a bodyguard for a coddled popstar who can’t even be bothered with basic safety isn’t his idea of a good time.

---

Magnus is a popstar and Alec is his reluctant bodyguard. The bodyguard au in epistolary form. Image-heavy.

HIGHER THAN THE BIG TREES by @carmenlire​​ [ E | AU | 242k | complete ]

Alec loves his job. He’s been touring since he was sixteen. He’s stayed in dozens of countries over the years, learned enough of their languages to get a beer in his hand and a man in his bed. The road is as much his home as the townhouse on the Upper West Side. He’s as comfortable in cheap hotel rooms with scratchy linens and glaring lights as he is in his penthouse that overlooks Central Park with its silk sheets and the constant hum of the city that never sleeps. Alec works hard and that hard work has paid off. He just finished his latest sold-out world tour and by all rights, he should be on top of the world. But the mental pressure of celebrity is getting to Alec and he doesn't trust his footing. He's stuck where most people would kill to be and he just wants to know what his next move should be. Enter Magnus Bane. A history professor at Columbia University, Magnus is content with his friends, his classes, and the occasional warm body in his bed. But he's been feeling stagnant, looking for the next chapter in his life to begin. If only he knew what Alec would bring his way.

THE SECRET OF THE SECRET SANTA by @notcrypticbutcoy​​ [ T | AU | 12.7k | complete ]

As busy doctors with busy schedules, Magnus and Alec have danced around their feelings for each other for years, much to the chagrin of their friends. This Christmas, Simon decides it’s time for an intervention-in the form of a shamelessly rigged secret santa.

Or: In which Simon rigs the secret santa, Magnus and Alec flirt over nerdy doctor things, and are both a little bit oblivious.

RUMOR HAS IT by @lecrit​​ [ M | AU | 12.9k | complete ]

Magnus widens his eyes at him, silently asking him to just give him this one. Alec simply curves one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows in response, a simple gesture that carries the weight of a call for challenge. “Looks like you’re gonna have to postpone your wedding for now,” Maia giggles next to him. Magnus huffs, flexing his jaw. “Oh, it’s on, Lightwood,” he mouths at him.

.

Or the one where Alec and Magnus are both after the same guy, but end up falling for each other instead.

CIGARETTE by j__writes [ T | AU | 3.1k | complete ]

His relationship with Magnus Bane had been nothing short of frustrating.

Frustrating in the worst of ways. Frustrating in the best of ways.

ABSOLUTELY ABYSMAL by @aemiliafawn​ [ E | 4.8k | complete ]

The first time Alec sees Magnus wearing lipstick he wants to do filthy things to him. Magnus isn't exactly opposed to this.

A ROYAL AFFAIR by j__writes [ M | AU | 38.8k | complete ]

Prince meets professor and it's love at first sight. Lucky (or maybe unlucky) for him, the beautiful professor doesn't know his boyfriend's a prince.

HEAVEN IS A TASTE ON EARTH by @alittlebriton​ [ T | AU | 20.7k | complete ]

Making a birthday cake for the renowned chef Magnus Bane is a hard enough task – made harder still by the fact his girlfriend doesn’t seem to know Magnus’ likes or dislikes at all. Alec Lightwood, maker of some of the finest cakes in Brooklyn, is up to the challenge, even if he can’t take his eyes off the birthday boy. But as Alec and Magnus grow closer, could it be that the missing ingredient is true love?

LOVE & OTHER DRUGS by @la-muerta​ [ E | AU | 2k | complete | Semi-Charmed Kind Of Life #1 ]

Rising rockstar Magnus Bane’s life is all about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll - it's an old cliché, but sometimes the clichés are true. And Alec Lightwood, a bassist from another band, is a drug Magnus can't get enough of - even if he knows that like any drug, he's sinking deeper with every hit he takes, and that this is killing him slowly and painfully.

Because this is just about sex, and Alexander doesn't love him back.

OUR LOVE IS A HARSH CHORD by @la-muerta​​ [ E | AU | 21.9k | complete | Semi-Charmed Kind Of Life #2 ]

Magnus lives in two worlds: one of blinding stage lights and the thunder of the adoring crowd stomping its feet to the rhythm of his music; and one of the darkness offstage, a blur of lonely hotel rooms, one-night stands, drugs, and the sting of whiskey.

Magnus lives in two worlds, both of them stark, bleak, empty - until Alec Lightwood comes along, and everything falls apart.

MELTING MOLTEN by @raininginadelaide​​ [ E | 4k | complete ]

The training scene in the show was their second attempt. The first time, Alec showed even less restraint.

SUPPORT SYSTEM by @bytheangell​​ [ T | AU | 122.8k | complete | Support System #1 ]

When Alec's favorite show gets cancelled and he takes to messaging customer service repeatedly to show his support, he doesn't expect to connect so well with the support representative he keeps getting paired off with.

PAGING DR. LIGHTWOOD-BANE by @carmenlire​​ [ not rated | AU | 4.4k | complete ]

Alec scowls. “I’m not on rotation this weekend-- I’m not even on call-- and we decided to make the most out of it.”

“We,” Maia asks, brows inching towards her hair line. “Who’s we?”

“My husband and I,” he mutters and he rolls his eyes as it's like a bomb’s been detonated in the middle of the table.

Simon screeches, “What,” and even Jace and Isabelle are looking at him with wide eyes.

“You’re married?”

Or, the one where everybody finds out

TRUTH OR DARE? by @atowncalledmalec​​ [ E | AU | 4.5k | complete ]

Two small-town cops, partners, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane, have somehow pulled desk duty on the graveyard shift. Bored out of their minds and finding a lie detector machine, the chance of winning a $50 bet and being able to ask the questions they've always wanted to ask is too good of an opportunity to pass up. Alec gets a little more than he bargained for though when the machine betrays him at every turn. And so does Magnus.

EVERYTHING I DIDN’T KNOW I WANTED FOR CHRISTMAS by @la-muerta​​ [ T | AU | 4.5k | complete ]

Alec got his Christmas shopping done months ago - but he should have known that Jace would mess it all up for him. Now he's out braving the crowds on Christmas Eve trying to find a toy that's sold out everywhere for his son, and as it turns out, he's not the only desperate single father out there who will stop at nothing to get his hands on that last toy in the shops.

CERTAIN PERKS by quill_and_ink [ E | 5.5k | complete ]

"You never have to prove yourself to me."

Shadowhunters are being murdered and mutilated. The Clave is getting desperate to find the culprit, but Alec has to believe there's another way. He won't let this end his relationship with Magnus - he refuses to accept that, and he'll do whatever he can to protect them.

Based on the dialogue and actions from "Shadowhunters" Episode 2x13: "Those of Demon Blood"

THE TRUTH UNTOLD by @carmenlire​ [ not rated | 4.4k | complete ]

Magnus closes his eyes and leans into the feelings that wrap around him. They’re two of the most powerful men in the New York shadow world. It makes his chest ache sometimes, the knowledge that they may never be able to take their relationship public, that he won’t ever be able to kiss Alec on a sunny day in the city, that they can’t hold hands as they walk through Central Park, that whenever they do see each other in public it’s always in an official capacity and they’re relegated to formal greetings while their eyes try to say everything they can’t.

He’d still take this over not having Alec, though. That Magnus knows without a doubt.

ANYTHING YOU SAY by @milominderbindered​​ [ M | AU | 117k | complete ]

Detective Alec Lightwood likes his job. He likes the order of it, likes helping people, likes that he gets to work with Jace and that Izzy is always right downstairs in the morgue too. He's wanted to be a cop ever since he was a kid, just like his parents before him, and now he's living that dream. His life should be perfect.

There's just one problem. Their precinct has just gotten a new forensic expert -- Magnus Bane.

And honestly, he's so cute that Alec's kind of losing his mind.

EMISSARY OF SIN by @insiemes​​ [ M | AU | 97.6k | complete ]

Alec Lightwood, the Clave's top protection agent, is called upon to guard the life of his mortal enemy - one of the world's most notorious hitmen, Magnus Bane.

SHOOT TO KISS by @dantes-wombat​​ [ M | 5k | complete ]

As far as dates go, this one's a bit more weapons-centered than Magnus expected - but also a lot sexier.

IF YOU’VE GOT THE MONEY, I’VE GOT THE TIME by j__writes [ T | AU | 73.4k | complete ]

Alec has made plenty of questionable choices, as Izzy likes to so kindly remind him. Asking Magnus to be his fake boyfriend and then offering to pay him? That, right there, he doesn’t know what the fuck he was thinking. And he wasn’t. But Magnus is really nice and really fucking hot, and if Alec gets to pretend to be his boyfriend then… win - win, right?

ANONYMOROUS by @superficialpeasant​​ [ E | AU | 10.6k | complete ]

When one of Clary’s art exhibition performers drops out last minute, Alec steps in to help. Unfortunately that also means he’ll be having sex with a stranger in public.

DATE NIGHT by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ G | 562 | complete ]

“Look, it’s no big deal,” Alec says. “The angles in pool are just like archery. I have a natural advantage.”

“Pretty sure I beat you the first time we played,” Magnus says, taking a sip of his martini. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed, so at home in a relationship.

That is, until Alec started winning.

HARDER THAN THE LIQUOR I POUR by @carmenlire​​ [ not rated | AU | 6.5k | complete ]

The bartender considers him for a moment before holding out the hand that was over his just a second before. “I’m Magnus, bartender extraordinaire. While I certainly wouldn’t mind calling you pretty boy for the rest of the evening, I think it only fair that you share your name, too. Don’t you?”

Slowly, Alec reaches out and grasps Magnus’s hand in a poor imitation of a handshake. He meets Magnus’s eyes and knows they both know that this is a mere prelude for what’s to come.

“Alec,” he says slowly and watches as Magnus’s smile deepens.

“Well, Alec, my shift ends in an hour. Wait for me?”

CREAM by @ohfreckle​​ [ E | 3.4k | complete ]

Sometimes Magnus likes to wear panties.

“Are you kidding? You look amazing!” Alec wishes he were more eloquent, that he could miraculously find the words and praise to express how fucking hot Magnus is with his little panties on.

SAY IT by @ilovealeclightwood​​ [ E | 4k | complete ]

“I want you,” Magnus pressed his lips to Alec’s neck, the sensation of his lips against the deflect rune making Alec shudder again.

“To admit,” Magnus continued, pausing to run his tongue over the length of the rune, sending sparks of pleasure through Alec and making him try to jerk his hips up again.

“That I was right.” Magnus pulled away from his neck to look down at him and it took a second for what he meant to click with Alec.

---

Or, Magnus and Alec solve petty arguments in a sensable, responsible manner

ALL NIGHT (OR A HUNDRED YEARS) by @hourglassmermaid​​ [ T | 4.3k | complete ]

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Raphael,” Magnus chastises. “You know I take care of my friends.”

Friends. The word stings more than kuri venom; it lingers far longer than any demon attack ever could. It lingers in Alec’s mind when he’s tossing and turning at night imagining what they could have been if Alec hadn’t been such a coward all those years ago. It lingers in his heart whenever they’re alone, and Alec swears he sees a glimmer of those feelings Magnus must have buried long ago. And it lingers in his soul whenever they work together as allies, as leaders, as partners, because they really are compatible in all the ways that count.

But none of that matters, because they’re just friends.

---

Alec and Magnus are colleagues — maybe even friends. Definitely allies. Alec's content, with his life, his career, and even his (lack of) relationships, but sometimes when Magnus sits beside him, Alec may or may not cease to function. It's okay; he's okay.

I SAW PAPA KISSING SANTA CLAUS by j__writes [ G | AU | 3.3k | complete ]

“I heard a noise and so I snuck out. He didn’t see me but I saw him. I saw Santa and then I saw Papa and he kissed Santa, Raf.”

LIKE NOBODY ELSE by @carmenlire​​ [ not rated | AU | 3.7k | complete ]

Simon’s been Alec’s assistant for the past three years. Alec was a hard ass, no doubt about it. He had exacting standards, a perpetually sardonic expression, and Simon had literally never seen the man smile.

Lightwood had exploded onto the scene ten years ago and in that time, he’s made a name for himself that no one else could rival. He might not be well liked but everyone-- even his enemies-- respected Lightwood.

Or, Simon is Alec's secretary and doesn't realize just how little he knows about his boss until he solves a mystery.

SEXY SNAPSHOTS by @tobythewise​​​ [ E | AU | 2.8k | complete ]

“Anything interesting on there?” Alec asks, a teasing note in his voice as he nods at the camera. “Anything sexy?" “Not at the moment.” Magnus raises his brow. “Wanna change that?” OR The one where Magnus and Alec explore what it's like to have sexy times while snapping sexy pictures of each other.

PUNDAMENTALS OF OFFICE RIVALRY by @bytheangell​​ [ T | AU | 3.8k | complete ]

When Magnus and Alexander get off on the wrong foot at the start of their internship, Magnus takes it upon himself to annoy Alec at every turn.

WORSE THINGS THAN BEING IN LOVE by @aemiliafawn​​ [ E | 4.6k | complete ]

Their wedding was everything they had ever dared to dream of. But perhaps their wedding night was just as special.

CRYPTIDS OF BROOKLYN by @alexanderlightweight​​ [ M | AU | 2.3k | complete ]

For all the rather redundant and overused jokes made about lawyers and sharks, never was such a comparison or joke made concerning Alec Lightwood, as there was one glaring difference between the two ruthless predators.

Sharks smiled, Alec Lightwood didn’t.

ZERO COMPLAINTS by @aemiliafawn​ [ E | 3.3k | complete ]

Usually when someone wakes Magnus up before sunrise they'd have to face his wrath – however since Alec decides to make it actually worthwhile for the exhausted warlock, Magnus finds he doesn't mind making an exception just once.

HAHA JUST KIDDING... UNLESS? by @carmenlire​​ [ not rated | AU | 2.5k | complete ]

"You know Magnus wouldn’t joke about boning his best friend just to do it. You mean too much to him and we all know how gone you’ve been over Magnus since, like, eighth grade.”

Alec sighs and it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “I can’t get my hopes up, Jace. I’ve been in love with him for years but he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Groaning like they’ve gone around the block about this a thousand times-- because they have-- Jace facepalms. “How many times do I have to tell you-- Magnus feels what you feel but you’re both too stupid to get past your own hang-ups to talk about it.”

TAKE IT EASY by @la-muerta​ [ E | AU | 18.2k | complete ]

Alec signs up for a session with a professional male dominant, just a one-time thing to satisfy his curiosity. It most definitely doesn't end up being just a one-time thing.

THE LONELY HEARTS HOTLINE by @unrestrainedlyexcessive [ E | AU | 40.6k | complete ]

“Hey there,” Alec says in the lowest, sexiest voice he can manage. It sounds vaguely disinterested but some people get off on that.

“Hi,” the voice says.

“Ready to have some fun?”

The voice makes a small, sad noise.

“Or not?” Alec tries hastily. He gets paid regardless of what they're talking about. “We can just chat for a while.”

“What’s your name,” the voice says finally.

“Uh, Chad,” Alec says. He was drunk when he picked his name, just as he was drunk when he answered the job wanted ad. He should have picked something sexy like Tristan, but he’s forever Chad now, the douchiest phone sex operator in history. He balances his bowl of macaroni carefully on his stomach and sneaks a quick bite.

“You don’t sound like a Chad,” the voice says doubtfully.

“Why the hell not?” Alec says before he can stop himself, mouth full of pasta.

“--are you eating?”

“No,” Alec lies and swallows.

---

Alec is a bored phone sex operator. Bafflingly, Magnus just wants to talk about music.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, SMALL TOWN by @lecrit​​ [ E | AU | 104.3k | complete | To Build A Home #1 ]

When Magnus gets to Nashville, Indiana to handle his late mother's will, he doesn't expect to be forced to stay there for six months. Six months away from New York and lost in the wildness of the countryside.

It quickly appears that he is going to go through six months of living hell.

The fact that he hates the local veterinarian on sight isn't helping.

BRIGHT LIGHTS, SMALL TOWN: EXTRAS by @lecrit​​​ [ E | AU | 12.6k | complete | To Build A Home #2 ]

A combination of extras for Bright Lights, Small Town.

EARTH’S MIGHTIEST HEROES by @lecrit​​​ [ M | AU | 141.9k | complete | Avengers Assemble #3 ]

The thing is… Their plans have a history of not going accordingly so when they finally do, maybe they build a confidence a bit too quickly. Breaking Magnus out turns out to be indeed a formality. Selling the ruby, too. So what could possibly go wrong now?

In which our team of misfits has to deal with the consequences of messing with a dangerous man and again, everything goes according to plan. Or not.

COLOR ME BLUE by @carmenlire​​ [ not rated | AU | 18.8k | complete ]

Christmas is his favorite time of the year but Alec has barely had time to buy presents let alone enjoy the holiday season. December seems to have lasted the blink of an eye and Alec's shoulders hunch as he realizes morosely that most of this year is a blur of emergencies and rounds and consultations.

His gaze snags on a bakery display as he walks past. The window is dressed with multicolored lights and garland wrapping around the edges. The display case is full and Alec’s mouth waters just at the sight.

Without conscious thought, Alec is reaching for the door to Bane's Bakery, eager to see if the interior is just as whimsical and welcoming as the outside.

[batterycityghoul]

There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise (Ben Hanscom/Reader) (2/3)

Summary:  You're Richie's twin sister and a member of the Losers' Club. When the other members all pack up and leave town, you elect to stay behind with Mike to wait for It to come back. After 27 years pass and Pennywise returns, will you and the other Losers be able to finally defeat him?

Pairing:  Ben Hanscom/Reader; Richie Tozier & Reader; Background Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 5.9k

Author’s Note:  This is finished at 16k. I decided to split it up into three parts to make it easier. If you enjoy this, then letting me know would make my day! If you’ve seen It: Chapter Two, then you know what you’re in store for regarding warnings...but with the added fun of some canon divergence!

Masterlist / Read on AO3 / Part One 

When you got to the Townhouse, you were unsurprised to see that Eddie was practically ready to run out the door and Richie wasn't far behind him. But both seemed to have been brought up short by whatever was going on with Beverly and Ben in the Townhouse's lounge.  

You stopped just in the doorway, trading an uncertain look with Richie, before you focused on what they were talking about.  

When you realized that Beverly had somehow known the details of Stan's death, you started to wonder what else you were missing.  

It wasn't until Bill and Mike arrived and it was revealed that Beverly had seen all of your deaths thanks to her time caught in the deadlights in ‘89 that everyone started to realize there was no fleeing Derry this time. Either you all stayed and killed Pennywise once and for all or none of you would even make it another twenty-seven years to try again.  

You were all cursed and doomed to die horrible deaths if Pennywise lived. It seemed your only options were to stay and fight or flee and die.  

"Well," you started as you glanced at Mike. "I've waited twenty-seven years in this shitty little town for this moment. I'm in," you told the group with a resolve you mostly felt out of a need for revenge. Revenge for Stan and revenge for the lost years of your life you would never get back. Revenge for the nightmares and incessant fear that had haunted you since you were a child and revenge for all of the children who had lost their lives to Pennywise. Revenge for Georgie and revenge for the grief countless families had endured in Derry because of It.  

You met Bill's eyes for a brief moment and noticed he looked just as determined as you felt to finally finish It once and for all.  

Once everyone else had agreed to stick around and try to finish the fight, Mike mentioned a ritual he discovered that would be able to kill It. You couldn't help the frown you aimed at him as he explained the Ritual of Chüd. In all the years you had stuck by Mike's side, he had never once mentioned the ritual to you. From the way he was carefully not meeting your eyes, you knew that it was something he had purposefully done. When Bill seemed to support Mike's words, you were helpless to stop the brief moment of jealousy you felt that Mike would trust Bill with that information but not you.  

As you trailed at the end of the group on the trek across town, you couldn't help wonder if the ritual would work. There was something that didn't quite add up about the bigger picture, but you weren't sure what it was yet. You needed more details and the only person who could fill those in was Mike.  

Going back to the clubhouse was a trip down memory lane you hadn't been aware you needed. You usually avoided the woods, for good reason, but being with the group provided you with the courage you sometimes lacked when you were on your own.  

You enjoyed watching the other members uncover old memories until Richie scared you all with his own impression of Pennywise.  

"Are you going to be like this the whole time we're home?" Eddie wondered as he glared up at Richie.  

Richie rolled his eyes before glancing away. "I was just trying to bring some levity to this shit," he grumbled before he sighed. "Alright, guess I'll go fuck myself, then," he muttered before he ducked under a beam and started rifling through a crate that held a few old comic books and other odds and ends.  

"What are we doing here, Mike?" Bill asked as he glanced up from a shelf full of old trinkets that used to belong to the group.

"Yeah, not that I'm not loving the nostalgia of all this, but what's the point?" Richie added with a frown.  

"I brought you here because I need you all to remember. If we're going to complete the ritual, then you all need an item. An artifact. Something that's connected to the past and to that summer." Mike explained as he considered everyone in the group.  

"Why?" You couldn't help but wonder as you looked around the clubhouse. "What kind of artifact should we be looking for?"

"It's different for all of us, but it has to be something personal. The Ritual of Chüd requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice will be your artifact. I brought us all here, because I thought this might be where we find Stan’s artifact.”

When Eddie pointed out that Bill had already found Stan’s artifact, a shower cap that had been left behind in 1989, you all shared a brief moment of silence as you remembered the thoughtful boy who had insisted wearing the caps would be the only way to prevent spiders from getting in your hair.

Once you all left the clubhouse, Eddie turned to look at Mike. “So, where should we find our artifacts or tokens or whatever?”

“It’s different for all of us, which is why we're going to need to split up."

"Hey, no, fuck that," Richie denied with a quick shake of his head. "Every horror movie ever explains why that's a bad idea."

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere by myself if I can help it," Eddie was quick to jump in.  

"No, it has to be alone," Mike insisted as he glanced from Richie to Eddie. "There are memories that you have to uncover on your own."

"What's left?" Richie asked as he squinted at Mike. "We remember everything from that summer already. We joined forces and fought It and suffered through some shit that years of therapy probably won't help. What else is there?"

"We weren't always together," Mike pointed out as he met your eyes. "There was a point during that summer when we were separated."

"After Eddie broke his arm," you remembered with a frown.  

"After the fight," Beverly added with a nod.  

"Well, fuck," Richie seethed with a scowl.  

From the way Eddie scoffed, you had a feeling he agreed with the sentiment.  

“You all need to unlock those memories, because that’s how you’re going find your artifacts. Tokens,” Mike amended with a quick look at Eddie. “And once you have them, we’ll all meet up at the library. We can figure out how to proceed from there.”

Before the group split up, you managed to grab Richie's jacket sleeve to grab his attention. He slowed down until you were walking side-by-side at the edge of the group.  

"You alright?" You couldn't help but wonder as you considered your brother. You hated to admit it, but he seemed like the biggest flight risk at the moment. You knew your brother was brave and reckless, but he also didn't seem completely on board with the plan to defeat Pennywise.  

"Peachy," he assured you with a grin that was a bit too wide and forced to be anything but fake.  

"Richie," you admonished with a tone you hadn't used for years, but clearly told him you weren't going to take any of his bullshit.  

"I just..." he trailed off with a frown. "I didn't ask for this. I was fine. I was touring and famous and making so much fucking money." He huffed out a helpless laugh before he raked his fingers through his hair. "But it was lonely and now I know why. But we're already down one man and any one of us might fucking be next. Why the fuck would I want to stick around for that? Why should any of us?"

You considered your brother for a few moments before you spoke. "You could leave," you conceded with a nod. "But you'd never forgive yourself if you weren't here and something went horribly wrong. Besides, if we don't defeat Pennywise this time, then we're all dead."

"Gee, you really know how to console a guy. I can't even imagine why you're still single," Richie muttered before wincing when you reached out to shove him.  

"Fuck off," you grumbled. Your eyes met his and it wasn't long before you were both laughing, falling back into the familiar comradery you had enjoyed all those years ago.  

"Fuck," Richie sighed before he threw an arm around your shoulders. "You know what your token is yet?"

"Don't laugh," you warned as you bumped into him. You knew exactly what your token would be and while it would hurt to depart with it, you knew that if it meant getting rid of Pennywise, then you would sacrifice just about anything to ensure the safety of the others. You wouldn't lose anyone else. Not after you had already lost Stan.  

You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled free the red bit of sponge you usually kept there before placing it on your nose.  

"Holy shit," Richie got out on an incredulous laugh. "You still have that? Why the fuck are you just carrying it around like that?"

You felt a grin tug at your lips before you pulled off the clown nose Richie had gifted to you during the summer of '89. "It might have been the worst gift idea ever, but it meant a lot to me."

You weren't even sure why you were stumbling around the woods near the barrens all by yourself. If anything had become clear since Pennywise appeared in your life, it was that you really shouldn't go anywhere alone. 

You were just so tired of being afraid all the time. Now, with the group split up, you had begun to worry that the search for Georgie had fallen by the wayside. You knew, deep down, that Bill's little brother was probably dead, but you didn't want to give up until Bill gave up. 

So, when you couldn't stand to be inside your house any longer and Richie had ignored your request for his company, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You didn't even really think you would be able to find Georgie, but you couldn't help but hold out a tiny bit of hope that you would still find the kid lost out in the woods.  

You weren't really looking where you were going when you stumbled over a root that had twisted up out of the ground. You flung an arm out, barely catching yourself on the trunk of the tree next to you, before you kicked uselessly at the root.  

When you glanced up, you noticed you were no longer alone.  

"Oh, poor little Y/N, all alone in the woods," Pennywise crooned with a malevolent grin that sent a chill down your spine. "No one wanted to play with you, Y/N?"

"Fuck off," you struggled to say as you willed yourself to move. Your feet stayed planted, though. You wanted to turn and run away, but your body wouldn't let you. You were frozen with fear.  

"I'll play with you, Y/N," Pennywise promised as he took one step closer to you. "You'll never be alone as long as your old pal Pennywise is around."

All you could think about was Georgie and Betty Ripsom and Eddie Corcoran. Was this the last face they saw before meeting a cruel fate? Did they all fall into their gruesome demise just after seeing that wide, menacing grin and those glowing, yellow eyes?

"Time to float," Pennywise said in a deep, guttural voice that seemed to be the catalyst for your feet to finally unstick themselves from the forest floor.  

You turned and made a run for it. You could hear Pennywise's laugh following you as you attempted to flee. Something sharp caught on the back of your shirt and you tripped over another root, sprawling on the ground. You hissed when your palm scraped over tree bark on the way down, but you didn't care. You scrambled to find purchase again with your feet, nearly slipping in your quest to keep running as far and as fast as you could manage.  

"You'll float too," you heard Pennywise promise from just behind you. You could just imagine that he was right on your heels now, his hands always outreached and ready to grab you. "You'll all float," he continued in that same dangerous and lilting tone that never failed to freak you out.  

You were so sure that Pennywise would catch up to you. You thought that you would be a goner. You were sure your body would be found chewed up and bloody or that you would never be found again. But then you saw a glimpse of the road through the trees blocking your path and you hurried towards it, feeling like your chest was going to cave in with every harsh breath you forced past your lips.  

You felt relief when you finally made it out to the road. You weren't sure how you had managed to get so turned around out in the woods, but when you realized that you were even farther out than you normally cared to venture, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with fear at what almost happened to you.  

You didn't allow yourself to stop running until you were home. Your palms were bleeding and while you were trying to cut across a back yard to make your trip shorter, you had managed to skin your knee when you tripped over a kid's tricycle.  

You were exhausted and bleeding and terrified as you finally crashed through the front door of your house. Your parents weren't home, which wasn't much of a surprise, but Richie was sitting on the couch in the living room.  

"What the fuck happened to you?" He asked as he jumped up from the couch and moved towards you.  

You flinched away from him before waving him off and heading for the hallway. "Stupid fuckin' clown," you muttered as you stormed into your room. You grabbed a clean t-shirt and shorts, ignoring Richie calling your name as you locked yourself in the bathroom.  

You were barely aware of the fact that your hands were shaking as you moved to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. All you could see when you closed your eyes was Pennywise and his stupid grin and those fingers that could just as easily turn into claws. You met your eyes in your reflection and forced yourself to take deep breaths.  

You couldn't be scared, you told yourself, because then Pennywise would have won.  

When you finally got yourself to calm down, you stepped into the shower, intent on getting clean and trying to erase every trace of dirt and blood off of you. It felt like if you could just wash it all away, then you could make yourself forget about what happened in the woods. Even though you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t as simple as that.  

By the time you made it back to your room, you had cleaned and bandaged the worst of the cuts you suffered. Now, all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep away the exhaustion you felt.  

Your plans were derailed when you got to your bedroom to see Richie sitting on the edge of your bed and waiting for you.  

"I'm not in the mood," you growled as you brushed past him.  

"Hey, come on," Richie coaxed as he reached out to grab your arm. "What the fuck is going on?"

You bit your lip, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes, before you managed to finally look at Richie. "I saw Pennywise," you admitted with a grimace. "He chased me out near the barrens."

"Fuck," Richie hissed before he tugged you down to sit next to him. "But you're okay?"

"For the most part," you told him before you showed him the scrapes on your palm. "He just scared me more than anything."

Richie frowned down at your hand before he glanced back up at you. "We've got to kill that stupid clown," he muttered with a sigh. "Before it gets one of us for good."

You knew without him having to say anything that he was thinking of the way that Eddie had broken his arm at Neibolt. He was thinking of his own one-on-one encounter with Pennywise and the Paul Bunyan statue that had suddenly come to life and terrorized him not long ago. You remembered the way Richie's hands wouldn't stop shaking and the way he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he thought Pennywise or the statue would come back to finish the job.  

"He'll be okay," you found yourself telling Richie. "We all will," you quickly amended when you noticed Richie's face grow pale as he looked up at you with wide eyes.  

Richie scoffed before he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. "I got you a present," he told you before he turned away and placed something on his nose. When he turned back around, you saw an imitation red clown nose fixed onto his. "What do you say, Y/N? Do I look the part?" He asked as he batted his eyelashes at you.  

You couldn't help but snort at your ridiculous brother. "Really? Why the hell would you buy that with everything going on? I thought you hated clowns."

Richie shrugged his shoulders before he pulled the fake clown nose off. "I thought it was funny at the time. Wanted to see if you'd get a kick out of it. I thought it might make you laugh." He reached out and placed the red spongey ball on your nose, a pleased smirk on his face. "And I do really fucking hate clowns, but you're my sister, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I'll even kick Bill's ass if he breaks your heart."

"So, what? Am I supposed to kick Eddie's?"

You noticed Richie wince before he ducked his head. He looked so uncertain in that moment that you couldn't help but feel guilty for making him think that he had to be that way around you. That he thought he had to hide who he really was around you.  

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled before he started picking at a loose thread on your comforter.  

"Richie," you whispered before reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. "I know." It didn't take much for you to figure it out. After one night when you were both bored and had decided to play truth or dare, Richie had admitted to having a crush on a friend. It wasn't long before you connected the dots and saw the bigger picture. "I know," you repeated with what you hoped was a reassuring tone.  

Richie was silent for a few worrying moments before he finally met your eyes. "Do you hate me?"

"Never," you immediately told him. "You're my brother. My twin. We're in this together, right?"

Richie watched you for a moment, as if he thought you were trying to pull one over on him, before a smile slowly stretched across his face. "Right," he agreed with a nod. He reached out and squeezed the clown nose still resting atop yours. "Guess we're both just a couple of clowns, huh?"

"God, I still can't believe you have that piece of shit," Richie mused as he reached out to take it from you. "It held up really well. I guess the fifteen cents was worth it."  

You rolled your eyes before taking it back from him. "Do you know what you're looking for?" You asked him as you started trailing after the others.  

Richie frowned before you noticed a distant look in his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered with a displeased look on his face. "I've got a good idea about where I need to go."

It wasn't long before everyone went off in search of their tokens. You managed to stall Mike, needing to have a few words with him before he left to go to the library.  

"What the fuck, Mike?" You hissed when you had him alone. "All these years and you never once mentioned the ritual or tokens or anything."

"Look, Y/N, I'm sorry," Mike started, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder. "I was worried. There are things that have to come together in order for this to work and I didn't want you to leave me if you knew what it required."

You studied Mike carefully for a moment, knowing that there was something he was hiding. "What else aren't you telling me? What have you left out?"  

Mike sighed before he glanced away from you. "We just have to do this ritual and then Pennywise will be gone forever. Then we'll be free, Y/N," he said as he met your gaze again. "No more waiting and no more Derry. We can leave and no one else has to die because of It. Not in twenty-seven years or ever again."

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him. Why did he trust Bill over you? Why was this ritual your only hope? Was it dangerous? Would it kill any of you? If you had to sacrifice a piece of your past, then would you have to sacrifice anything else?  

None of those questions ended up making it out of your mouth, though. "I guess that's something worth fighting for," you admitted with a sigh.  

"It is," he readily agreed before he offered you a tentative smile, as if silently asking if you forgave him for keeping the ritual from you. "Are you coming with me to the library?"

"No," you answered. "Knowing my brother, he might try to bolt again. I'll wait for him at the Townhouse."

"Good idea," Mike conceded with a helpless laugh before he nodded at you. "See you later, Y/N."

You decided to take the more scenic route through town on the walk back to the Townhouse. You weren't really all that eager to get back and deal with everything you didn't really want to face, so you figured you were owed at least a few minutes to yourself.  

You didn't really count on literally running right into Ben just outside the high school.  

"Fuck," you blurted as you bumped into someone and then struggled to regain your footing.  

"Shit. I'm so sorry," you heard someone say as hands wrapped around your waist to steady you.  

You glanced up to see Ben standing close to you, a sheepish smile on his face. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," you admitted with a grimace. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Ben quickly assured you. “I wasn’t really looking either.”

It took you a moment to realize that you were still standing on the sidewalk, remarkably close to Ben, with his hands on your waist. You could feel the heat of his palms through the fabric of your shirt and couldn't help the blush that stained your cheeks. When you glanced up at Ben, you noticed he was blushing too once he finally realized he was still holding onto you.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Ben got out as he took a few faltering steps away from you.  

"It's okay," you told him with what you hoped was an easy smile. You didn't want to admit that you had forgotten for one moment why you were so scared and ill with worry. You didn't want to admit that maybe your childhood crush on Bill had been traded for something that felt a bit more real with Ben. "Are you okay?" You made yourself ask in an attempt to change the course of the conversation. "You seemed to be in a rush," you pointed out with a raised eyebrow.  

"Oh, yeah," Ben said with a nod. "I was just doing what Mike wanted us to do," he added with a wince. "It didn't exactly bring up the greatest memory."

"Want to talk about it?" You couldn't help but offer, remembering the days when you and Ben would both bond over your hopeless crushes on other members of the Losers' Club. You remembered the way he pined for Beverly, hoping that she would one day return the affection he felt for her. Unfortunately, your crush and Ben's crush seemed to have a crush on each other. You had spent many moments during your childhood assuring Ben that he deserved the love and attention he so desperately sought from Beverly.  

"Not right now. What about you? Did you find what you needed?"

"Oh, yeah. I already had it on me," you confessed with a relieved laugh. "Something had to be easy for once, right?"

"Right," Ben agreed with a grin. "You heading back to the Townhouse?" He asked with a nod down the sidewalk, silently prompting you to start walking in the direction of the inn.  

"Yeah. I don't trust that Richie won't still make a run for it, so I'm willing to go so far as slashing his tires if that's the case."

Ben let out a surprised laugh before he bumped his arm companionably into yours as you walked. "I bet you missed him, huh? God, I can't even imagine. You and Mike sacrificed so many years of your lives just to make sure we didn't forget to come back."

"I did miss him, yeah, but I missed all of you. You all became my family that summer. But it wasn't so bad, because I had Mike. He kept me here every time I thought I might want to run as far and as fast as I could to get away from this place."

"It couldn't have been easy," Ben said as you drew to a stop just outside the Townhouse. "I know the others might not say it, but thanks."

"For what?" You couldn't help but wonder.

"For staying. If we do this, kill It, then we won't all die horrible deaths later on. We have you and Mike to thank for that."

"We still got Stanley killed," you couldn't help but point out. "If Mike had never called him, then maybe he would still be alive."

"Mike said it only works if we're all together," Ben argued with a shake of his head. "I'd give anything to have Stan here with us, but what happened to him is not your fault and it's not Mike's. You couldn’t have known."

You weren't really sure how to respond. The guilt that still sat heavily on your shoulders had you convinced that it very much was your fault. You gestured towards the Townhouse with a wry grin. "Want to go see who else has made it back?"

"Sure," Ben agreed, allowing you to dodge the subject.  

When you got inside, it was to see that Beverly was the only one to have returned. You caught the brief look of longing on Ben's face when he saw her and decided to give him a break. You pretended like you had to check on something upstairs and retreated to an empty room as you tried to ignore the brief flare of jealousy you felt at seeing Ben look at Beverly like that. You told yourself that you had to stop having crushes on other Losers as you set about remaking the bed in an attempt to keep busy.  

You weren't really sure how long you were supposed to stay upstairs, but when you heard a door slam down the hall, you left the room to make sure everything was okay. You found Ben rushing up towards the second floor, a determined look on his face.  

"What's going on?"

"Richie," Ben explained as he nodded towards the closed door of Richie's room.  

"Shit," you hissed before you moved over towards Richie's room. You knocked on the door before opening it and barging into the room.  

"For fuck's sake, Y/N," Richie groaned as he continued to hastily pack his bag. "I could have been naked."

"You can't leave, Richie," you insisted as you took a step closer to him. "I know it's what you want to do, but you have to stay."

"I don't have to fucking do anything," he argued as he kept packing. "I'm getting the fuck out of here and if you were smart, you'd come with me."

"You can't just leave us, Richie," Ben cut in, his brows furrowed. "We need you. Y/N needs you," Ben tried with a grimace, as if he knew he was playing dirty and couldn't really help it.  

Richie shot Ben a glare over his shoulder before his eyes landed on you. He considered you for a moment before he rolled his eyes. "Fuck. Fine." He took a deep breath before he scowled down at his half-packed bag. "Could you two leave? I just need a moment."

You narrowed your eyes at Richie, sure that he was still intent on leaving, but you felt Ben tug on your arm. "We'll be right downstairs if you need us," he promised with a nod of his head.  

You let Ben lead you out of the room and towards the staircase. "I'm still not convinced he's staying," you muttered to him.  

"We've done what we can for now," Ben reasoned as he took the first few steps down towards the first floor.  

You almost bumped into him when he suddenly froze on the stairs, his breath hitching in surprise. When you chanced a glance over his shoulder, you were shocked to see Bill and Beverly kissing.  

You expected to feel a little jealous that your childhood crush was obviously still not into you, but you realized you didn't feel much of anything except for concern for Ben. You reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him back up the stairs and into the empty room you had escaped to earlier.  

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you told Ben with a grimace.  

"It's okay," Ben sighed as he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "I should have seen it coming."

"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," you tried to console him as you sat down next to him.  

Ben let out a tiny, rueful laugh and shook his head. "You know, I always knew it was a lost cause, but I never wanted to let myself see it. I guess I look pretty foolish, huh?"

"No," you told him with a firm shake of your head. "You never have."

Ben's lips quirked up in a self-deprecating grin before his shoulders slumped in what looked a lot like defeat. "The more time I spend here, the more I'm starting to realize that I need to let things go. Not just my childhood fears, but maybe my childhood crush as well. Maybe it’s been holding me back all this time."

You winced at the thought of Bill kissing Beverly and how that would have absolutely devastated you when you were younger. "Yeah, I'm starting to come to that realization for myself as well."

Ben glanced to you, confusion clear in his expression, before he seemed to recall your crush on Bill. "Shit, Y/N, I'm sorry. I guess we're both in the same boat."

"A little," you agreed with a laugh. "But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I've left those feelings in the past. Maybe there was a tiny glimmer of hope when Bill mentioned he was fresh from a divorce, but it was never going to be me. And I'm okay with that. Really," you assured Ben when he shot you a dubious look. “I’m more worried about you right now than myself,” you admitted as you reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

"You were always there for me, you know," he said with a small, sincere smile on his face. “I remember that now. Remember when I was so upset when Beverly left town? You came to my house and we danced to New Kids until we wanted to puke.” His smile turned fond as he seemed to be thinking about all of the time you spent together as kids.  

You felt a little thrill when you realized he was feeling fond because of you. It was followed swiftly with the sinking feeling in your gut at the acknowledgement that Ben still had feelings for Beverly. It seemed like you were destined to always chase the members of the Losers' Club who had crushes on Beverly.  

"Even when I wasn't always there for you," he continued with a frown. "I don't think I would have made it through that summer without you to help get me through it."

"You would have been fine," you reassured him with a careful grin as you bumped your shoulder into his. "You're Ben Handsome. You can do anything."

He gifted you with another smile, but you weren't quite sure what this one meant. It was one you weren't used to seeing directed at you and before you could try to figure it out, you were startled by the sound of Eddie yelling and Beverly screaming.  

You jumped up from the bed and rushed from the room to see Eddie fall to his knees just outside his room. He was bleeding from a gash in his cheek, a look of shock on his face when he looked at you and Ben. "Bowers is in my room," he said before he managed to practically collapse down onto the floor.  

Beverly was already kneeling in front of him, taking stock of his wound, while Ben quickly brushed past you and into Eddie's room.  

"Is it bad?" You heard Eddie ask as you followed after Ben, not wanting him to face Henry Bowers alone, especially if Henry was armed.  

You couldn't believe that with everything else going on, you had managed to forget about the childhood bully who had been locked up for the past twenty-seven years. You remembered the whispers around town after it was discovered that Henry had killed his father. He had babbled on and on about a clown and red balloons and you knew that Pennywise was partly to blame. You couldn't help but wonder if Pennywise had freed Henry Bowers from the institution as another way of messing with the Losers' Club. After all, Pennywise and Henry did seem to have a common enemy.  

"He's gone," Ben told you when he realized you had followed him. "Must've jumped out the window."

"Fuck," you groaned, knowing that Henry was likely going to go after someone else now. None of you were really safe as long as he was wandering around town and armed. "We've got to help Eddie and then we should get to the library. I don’t think that’s the last we’ve seen of Henry."

When you got back out into the hallway, it was to see Beverly trying to help Eddie stand.  

"Sorry about the blood, Y/N," Eddie said as he let Beverly lead him back into his room. "That's going to be a bitch to get out."

"It's fine, Eds," you assured him before you moved to leave the room. "I'll be right back," you called before you quickly hurried downstairs in search of a first aid kit.  

It wasn't until after Ben had done his best to patch Eddie up that you realized there was something wrong. Someone was missing from the group.  

"Where's Bill?" You asked with a frown as you glanced to Beverly. "I thought he was here."

"He left," she admitted with a wince. "He thinks that kid from the restaurant is in trouble. The one who knew your brother? He left before I could stop him."

When Beverly mentioned your brother, you realized what else was wrong.  

"Oh shit," you groaned. "Where the fuck is Richie?"

[thejudgingtrash]

hello mel i Love You

HELLO DIL I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE!!!

You had me SCREAMING! Criminal genius/Detective Annabeth is my new hyper fixation, I fucking swear T_T

My brain went OVERBOARD with this! It’s super long! Please enjoy!!

(I’ve withheld this story due to the current political climate and I still feel sorta a way. But if reading about the p*lice triggers you or makes you feel uncomfortable, I wholeheartedly understand if you want to skip this one. Also... the story has some... a little bit of heat in it. Not much, it’s SFW. But it’s there <.<)

And: law enforcement, medical and science side of the pjo fandom, I doubt that this will make any sense :D

Also thanks again Torie @percyheartsannabeth for being an amazing beta!!

The Golden Age (WC: 9,5k)

i.

“Absolutely not,” Detective Annabeth Chase crossed her arms and shook violently her head. The blonde curls nearly escaped her bun. Her partner Detective Luke Castellan was surprised. He had never seen Annabeth reject a direct command.

“We need his statement, Chase,” said Sergeant Charles Beckendorf. “It’s his M.O. The drugs, the paintings. Either he’s operating from prison again or someone’s copying him. We need to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all!”

“Even so, we’re busy with the robberies in Chelsea.” Annabeth didn’t want to pick this case up again. The case that made her famous, the case that changed her life forever. For the worse.

“Stoll will take over that with his younger brother. Chase, you don’t have a choice. You will talk to Perseus Jackson. That’s an order,” Captain Dougenis commanded. He had the final say. Luke nodded, Annabeth did nothing.

“Don’t you think we haven’t tried to get him to cooperate earlier? He said he only wants to talk to you. The person that put him behind bars,” Beckendorf explained.

Fuck Annabeth thought. She did not want to face Perseus Jackson again. She wanted to forget him and move on. The looks from her two superiors said that they would deny her wish. Jackson was a cunning manipulator. She knew how he worked and what he was. A criminal. A thief. A criminal.

“When will I speak with him?” she sighed. A battle that was lost quickly.

“In two days. Should give you enough time to study the case files,” Dougenis said.

Off to a great start. The sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway muffled as the prisoner was placed into the interview room two days later. He sat down and the cuffs fell from his hands. He rubbed his wrists. A little bit of freedom regained. Orange was a hideous color, but he actually managed to make it look good on him.

He and Annabeth were separated by the thin layer of the one-way-mirror. His sea green eyes scanned the plain fake wall in front of him. They tried to find her as he knew he was being watched. The piercing stare actually caught her eye directly. Annabeth sighed. He couldn’t hear her, but a smirk found its way onto his lips regardless. He knew her.

“You’ll be fine in there?” asked Luke who would stay outside of the interview room. He had been a part in arresting that monster. The condition that Jackson gave them was that he wanted to speak with Annabeth – alone. Annabeth nodded. Then she stepped into the small room. Tension laid in the air.

Four years had passed since he had been locked up. Perseus looked good. His hair was grayer, the beard had been trimmed recently. He looked like he exercised on a regular basis. Annabeth’s eyes spent two seconds engraving the picture of his brown biceps into her memory.

“Perseus Jackson, 38, born in New York City, arrested due to art theft and extortion. Twelve years. You’ve managed roughly a third so far.” Despite her marvelous work, they never were able to charge him for drug trafficking directly. The witnesses had remained silent. Annabeth took a seat in front of him.

“Annabeth, you know me,” Perseus pouted. A contrast to his deep voice. “Call me Percy,” he winked.

Her neck felt hot. “It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. Amusement sparked through his eyes.

“Okay, Detective Chase.” How was he able to make her name sound so… dirty? So profligate?

“The woman that I have to thank for my new cozy home needs my help now all of a sudden. The tables have turned. I like that.” And Annabeth did not like one bit how his mocking tone sent shivers down her spine. The way his tongue flicked. The urge of standing up and fleeing the room was prominent, but she was a professional and had a job to do:

Make Perseus Jackson sing.

“I need information.” Annabeth’s mouth was pressed to a thin line.

“Straight to the point, Detective, huh?” The attractive man leaned forward. “And what information do I supposedly have?”

“Your family never stopped your business,” Annabeth spat. Perseus shrugged and his fingers tapped on the desk. An annoying habit.

“Someone is operating with the same methods as you. Art gets stolen and drugs follow the leads. Either you’re behind it or someone else has been recruited to fill your place. We need to find that someone.” She opened the case files and showed him pictures of missing paintings and locations as well as new collecting points for drugs on a map.

“Oh?” Jackson made and tilted his head. He faked interest and glanced lazily over the pictures.

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the time in my precious little cell to run all of the things that you’ve been accusing me of. Everything comes at a price, Detective,” he then smiled.

Sea green met light gray. Annabeth swallowed. Memories came back.

ii.

Two years. Annabeth had spent two years on that fucking case and barely made any progress. The smuggling of paintings to cover up or be used as payment for drug operations just didn’t make any sense. Her partner Luke got undercover into the business as a small middle man, but the rules were different for women. Sexism ruled yet once again. Detective work had narrowed the window down and came to one person: Perseus Jackson. He was invisible. He was a phantom. He had been swallowed by mother earth, never to be seen again.

He was part of the Greek syndicate that ruled with an iron fist over the East Coast. Not even the Italians, Chinese, Egyptians or Russians had that much power. Chrýseon Genos. The Golden Age. A fitting name for a bunch of pieces of shit that found joy in ruining people’s lives and making New York unsafe each and every single day. Everything was coded and followed the basic principles of Greek mythology. After Konstantinos Olympianidikis, otherwise known as Kronos, died in the 1970s due to a raging war with his own brothers, his three sons split the legacy and entire empire into three sections:

Adrian Olympianidikis. Hades. Racketeering and money laundering.

Petros Olympianidikis. Poseidon. Theft and drug trafficking.

Zacharias Olympianidikis. Zeus. Prostitution and human trafficking.

All these crimes were tied to the Golden Age and the police forces couldn’t do anything. Witnesses vanished or remained silent. The little evidence they had left was either compromised or disappeared. Everyone in the Golden Age had their little specialty. Everyone passed missions and power onto the next family member in the hierarchy. So did Petros aka Poseidon do the same thing with his sons. One of those sons was Paris. His youngest. The only pieces of information that Annabeth had of him were a 17-year-old picture that showed Paris shoplifting with some of his cousins and a diploma that showed that he had studied art history. A picture of him as a boy and proof that he had a college degree. Wow. Compelling evidence.

Annabeth took one final look of the teenage boy. The picture had been taken in the year 2000 hence the quality of the security camera of Macy’s being complete shit. Despite seeing a long mop on his head and awfully baggy clothes there was next to nothing that was useful for Annabeth in the year 2017. Hell. Who knew what Jackson looked like now as a grown man? The probability of him running around like in the early 2000s was next to none.

“And?” Annabeth asked Luke as he returned from a meeting in the syndicate.

“Poseidon is willing to speak to you,” her blond colleague nodded. The scar under his eye had proved his loyalty. A near fight for life and death. The other person had remained in the hospital for a while but was fine and dandy by now according to Luke.

“Okay.”

“Only you. Not anyone else. I’ll drive you.” Annabeth nodded.

The townhouse in the Meatpacking District did not look much like most of the houses in the area. The real luxury laid within. The house was filled with two kinds of people: security guards and young models. Annabeth felt uncomfortable and underdressed as she was following a young girl’s lead. Barely a woman. Not only did Poseidon enjoy his life at the fullest, no, he was also rich as fuck. Young women served drinks and cooked in the kitchen. Bikinis, shorts and cocktail dresses so short that they nearly gave Annabeth whiplash. A young thing named Lacy brought Annabeth to the garden where a mini pool party was going on at its fullest.

Despite being in his 80s, Poseidon looked good. He looked young and was full of life. He looked like he was in his solid early 50s. The hair and the bushy beard were so white that it seemed to have been dyed. The tanned skin was healthy. A friendly face. The only indication of his age were the neck and his hands. Had Annabeth been into older men, she had to admit that she wouldn’t have said no to Poseidon from the visuals alone.

Poseidon enjoyed his book and the giggling girls in the background as Lacy caught his attention with the new arrival. “Ah!” he said, and his eyes twinkled as he put the sunglasses away. Girls were swimming in the pool or playing volleyball, music was blasting, and food was served.

“Detective Chase!” Poseidon stood up and shook her hand. A firm grip. He spoke with a soft Greek accent.

“What can I do for you?” he asked friendly.

“More like how can you help me speak to one of your sons?” Annabeth smiled.

Poseidon laughed. “Which one? I have many.”

Yes, you do you horny bastard the blonde thought. Poseidon had twelve sons in total. Or twelve sons that he publicly claimed. All by different mothers of course. All of them had joined the family business and most have paid the price with their lives.

Proteus. Triton. Khrysomallos. Pegasus. Arion. Polyphemus. Bellerophon. Theseus. Orion. Sciron. Chrysaor. Paris. More than half of them were dead, less than half of them were alive. Tryfon aka Triton, the son Poseidon had when he was 19, had been killed by his cousin Iraklis also known as Hercules in 1974. Orion had been twelve when he had been shot in the street by Antonios and Phoebe aka the twins Apollon and Artemis in 1986. Assassinated by his own cousins. The trend of getting killed by your own family members was fairly present in the Golden Age.

“The youngest,” Annabeth answered which made Poseidon laugh.

“Ah, my boy Paris. What did he do?” Curiosity swung in the words of the old man that referred to his son in his codename.

“Sorry, confidential,” Annabeth deflected and pouted.

“Of course, of course. Ah the police. Friend and helper. As you can see-” Poseidon pointed to the precious gardens. “My son isn’t here.”

Annabeth nodded. “Well, if you happen to see him, tell him to give me a call.”

She gave him her card. Poseidon studied it. “Of course, I will Miss Chase.” Another friendly smile.

The blonde nodded and then left. The smile of the old man vanished for a split second only to appear as one of his young helpers gave him one of the many burner phones of the house.

“Thank you, Drew!” he said before pressing a number into the small device.

“Yes?” asked the tired voice of a man on the other side.

“Can you explain to me why a certain Detective Chase from the NYPD came to my home to talk about you?” The old man sounded cold and amused at the same time.

“What?” Now he was wide awake.

“I thought the woman would introduce herself as your fiancé! Something that would actually make me proud,” complained the old man and nodded to another young thing that handed him a drink.

“I will take care of it.”

“Yes, you will.”

The line was dead.

And Annabeth continued to work for another two weeks without any other results. Her shift came to an end but at least the desk was clean. She didn’t drown in mountains of paperwork like Castellan did.

“See you tomorrow!” said Connor Stoll as she crossed ways with him in the hallway.

“See you!” Her mood had reached its lowest so far. It was time to visit her best friend since childhood and his bar The Grove. As soon as Annabeth stepped out of the police department, it started to rain.

“Great.” Her steps got faster.

Fortunately for her, The Grove was within walking distance. The pouring sky distracted Annabeth so much that she didn’t realize neither a black Lexus parking around the corner nor the footsteps that had been following her. The leather jacket and the blonde curls were wet but nothing that would worry bartender and owner Grover Underwood all too much. He had seen her in fairly worse states.

“What can I do for you, Annabeth? An Old Fashioned like usual?” His friend nodded.

“Have you eaten something?” The dark-skinned man knew Annabeth and her habits. Overworking herself and forgetting to eat lunch were her favorite deadly combinations.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind something to snack on,” she confessed.

Grover only shook his head but gave her a glass full of pretzel sticks. A delicious Old Fashioned stood on the counter a few moments later. The door behind her opened and closed.

“What can I do for you, sir?” asked Grover and looked to the door.

“Whiskey. Double.” A rich baritone. Pleasant to the ears.

Annabeth heard the squeaking of the barstool next to her. She turned her head to the right and nearly fell to the ground. A man sat next to her that was a younger copy of Poseidon. Paris Olympianikidis also known as Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon. The man she had been searching for since forever randomly decided to appear. Her talk with Poseidon must have sparked something and Annabeth hated the stupid rule about women not being in the family business unless they had been born into it even more. Precious time that could have been used for undercover operations had been wasted.

Perseus looked… good. Good didn’t even describe it. His salt and pepper hair had the same streaks in the beard. He had a chiseled face with a straight nose. Wrinkles around the eyes showed that he loved to laugh and smile. He seemed to enjoy his regular exercise; the way his shirt shifted whenever he moved a muscle made it seem like it was about to tear apart. His skin was of a rich brown, and his lips were curled into a devilish smirk. The sea green eyes were a direct copy of his father’s. He had won the genetic lottery. He had nothing in common with the shoplifting boy from the year 2000.

“A little bird told me you were looking for me,” he winked.

Why did her chest feel so heavy? Why weren’t her lungs functioning normally?

Percy had to admit. His father had been right. Annabeth Chase was his type. Her body had a beautiful shape from what he had observed in the past few days. A firm ass that did Pilates on a regular basis in a class not far from her shithole of an apartment. A heart shaped face and a slight tooth gap that made her look only more adorable. Blonde princess curls that seemed to be fairly taken care of with expensive products. But her eyes… an interesting gray that told him one thing: she had a flaming spirit that was blessed with intelligence. Or was it cursed by its burden?

“Your father,” she commented.

The whiskey was served, and Percy took a swig. He was pleased.

“Do you mind?” the handsome man asked as he grabbed a smoke. Annabeth turned to Grover who ignored the antics of the new customer. The bartender placed an ashtray in front of him instead. What in the fuck is going on?

“I usually don’t smoke,” he confessed and lit the cigarette regardless. Annabeth pulled a face. Where was the logic in that?

“And you do now because…?” The interest was honest.

“I only smoke when I’m having a good drink-” He raised the glass to Grover who nodded and appreciated the compliment. “And am sitting next to a beautiful woman,” Perseus winked.

Annabeth didn’t know whether she wanted to blush or strangle him. She was 29 and acted like an insecure school girl for fucks sake! She nearly laughed.

“So, I have the honor of finally meeting you, Annabeth.” The way he said her name. So smoky and dark. He belonged in prison for that.

“It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. The criminal next to her only raised an eyebrow.

“Bossy. Kinky. I like it,” he smirked and enjoyed the redness of her face as he pulled from the cigarette and blew the smoke.

Grover in the corner tried to hide his laughter with a cough. Annabeth turned to her best friend with a murderous rage. “Annabeth and kinky. Yeah right.”

“Grover, shut up!” she commanded. Jackson next to her was more than just amused.

“Now I’m interested.” He tapped some of the ashes off.

“You really want to know the details of her love life?” Grover asked.

“Oh, I definitely bite,” Percy smiled. Yes please. Annabeth wanted to smack herself.

“Could we come to the more pressing matters?” the woman groaned.

“Sure,” Jackson shrugged.

He lifted his drink, she lifted hers. They met in the middle and both felt a spark immediately.

“I need information.” Chase cutting the chase.

Percy smiled. “Everything comes at a price.”

The fact that Annabeth had spent another hour next to him and had let him pay for all of her drinks made her stomach churn in hindsight. He even insisted on paying for the Uber that picked her up.

As Annabeth returned to her apartment, she started searching through it high and low in her semi drunken state. The stupid Greek syndicate had to have bugged her. Her already chaotic apartment was even more disheveled. At least she would be forced to properly clean up once the weekend hit. The worst part was that she found absolutely nothing.

What’s worse? Being wrong or being crazy?

iii.

“I’m pretty sure you got the wrong person,” Percy said and grabbed the glass of water in front of him. The interview room looked sad. “I know nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve got the right person,” Annabeth retorted and leaned forward. Her hand grabbed the edge table so tightly that the vessels nearly popped. He had to give her something.

“You’re the key. You were the blueprint and now someone’s running off with your legacy. And you’re more than okay with that?!”

“Mmhh,” Percy made. As if he had seen the most delicious thing in his life. The fact that he didn’t lick his lips was a wonder. Annabeth’s eyes followed his gaze right into her cleavage. Two buttons of her blouse that had been left open. Boys will be boys.

“Are you fucking serious, Jackson?” she spat.

The prisoner leaned backwards into his chair with a grin that quickly vanished. “It stinks in here,” he sighed.

Annabeth halted her movement. Her eyes widened in shock.

“No,” she whispered.

His beautiful sea green eyes told her one thing. Yes.

iv.

“Is this really necessary?” Annabeth questioned Beckendorf’s decision behind his back.

A visit to an art gallery. Perseus Jackson decided to become visible to the public eye all of a sudden and started to work as an art collector and conservator. He had meetings with clients, he had visitors in his studio and seemed to actually use his degree for something. Whether it was for the good or not was a matter of perspective. The criminal went to the gym daily; he even bought his own fucking groceries. Observing him had been nerve wrecking. Especially since probably he knew that he was being watched and therefore enjoyed every second of Annabeth’s annoyance. The detective felt like a true voyeur. He hadn’t done anything suspicious unless being a little piece of shit counted. Jackson didn’t separate his waste for an instance. Prick.

When Luke told her that Jackson had planned the opening of a gallery and proposed that they should go, the blonde almost laughed. A public event where no invitation was needed. A ballsy move. It seemed like Jackson really gave no fucks. Unfortunately, Beckendorf caught wind of it and now she was forced to go.

“I’m afraid so,” Luke said as he rubbed his temples. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight with Annabeth. She was an opponent that just maimed you with arguments.

“What’s going on, Annabeth?” her colleague asked. “You wanted to find Jackson the entire time. You’ve worked for years on this and now you’re basically backpedaling. This is so not you.”

For better or for worse, Annabeth didn’t talk about Luke with her meeting with Jackson at The Grove. Something told her that she should hold onto the information.

“I don’t know. Just a bad feeling I guess,” she confessed. Annabeth didn’t know what would happen once Jackson was aware of her presence. And he would definitely see her.

“You’re not alone.” Luke patted her shoulder. “Grace, Beauregard and hell even that di Angelo informant guy said they would be present. Jackson must have pulled a big gig if even the Italians are interested in his shitty joint. Nothing will happen to you.”

I’m not so sure about that, Annabeth thought, but the only thing she did was nod.

A month had passed, and the day of the gallery opening was finally there. Annabeth stood in front of the building where soft string music could be heard from the outside and guests flooded in. Annabeth saw how undercover cop Jason Grace entered. He quickly glanced in her direction but turned around. Annabeth understood; he was a valuable asset who could not let his cover get blown over.

The blue dress that she wore hugged her curves tightly and the high heels that she chose made the detective regret every life decision that led up to that exact moment. Her soles would be burning the next day and it wasn’t like in the movies. An attempt to run in those things would be a one-way ticket to the ER. The wire in the dress didn’t make the discomfort any better.

“Chase, everything's fine?” asked Beckendorf in her ear. Of course, she had been bugged.

“Yes, everything is good. I’m moving,” she said.

Annabeth mingled with the crowd and entered. The blonde actually stood in awe and registered all the modern pieces. Pop art, minimal art, abstract expressionism, all sorts of different post-modern works that fought for space but harmonized wonderfully together in the rooms. How the fuck was that criminal scum be able to display works from Andy Warhol, Helen Frankenthaler or Jackson Pollock?

They had to be either stolen, bought for a large sum, rented, which was not the style of the Greek syndicate or, something that was Jackson’s supposed specialty, be forged. A waiter offered her champagne which she politely declined. As much as Annabeth would love to cloud her mind, she could not afford it on that evening. She had to look out for Jackson. The blonde made her first round at a slow speed.

“Can you see him yet?”

“No, not yet. Oh, there he is! With Chiara Benvenuti!” A known mafia bride. Chiara was surrounded by her bodyguards like always as she pointed towards a picture.

“Good,” Beckendorf breathed into her ear. “Perhaps we can finally raid this place.”

The painting was an abstract piece with lots of red elements. Blood that was spilled on the dance floor. Something fitting for a coldhearted villain.

“Of course, painting it was a task, but I thoroughly enjoyed it,” Annabeth heard Jackson say. The way Benvenuti laughed made her rage. Jackson joining her, didn’t make it any better. The fact that Benvenuti stared at his tanned chest as he had left some of the buttons of his shirt open, pissed the detective even more off.

Jackson’s sea green eyes shifted to the right and caught her staring at him. A pleased expression rested on his face and the smile could almost be considered to be honest. Embarrassed, Annabeth turned around and immediately left the corner. Fuck that mission. Fuck everything. Fuck that man in particular and the uneasy feeling that rested inside her heart. She saw Luke mingling with two people in black suits, they looked like they would fit the description of some of the Golden Age’s lackeys. Luke was irritated but there was no time for explanation. Annabeth needed alcohol, she needed it badly.

“Chase, what’s going on dammit?” hissed Beckendorf as he heard her frantic steps. She was glad he was unable to see her in that pathetic state.

“Nothing,” Annabeth lied. “Don’t want to blow cover.”

Fortunately, another waitress was making her rounds and Annabeth grabbed a glass which she nearly inhaled. She was wandering through the gallery and tried to figure out her next steps. Too little, too late.

“You left me waiting. Good evening, Detective.”

Annabeth almost let the glass fall as she heard his deep voice behind her and felt his large hand around her waist. A scent of musk and fresh sea breeze crawled into her nose. The grip wasn’t extremely tight, but it was clear that Perseus Jackson had no intention of letting her go.

“Fuck!” hissed Beckendorf into her ear. It was too early to storm the place. They had nothing in their hands against Jackson.

“You have quite the collection,” Annabeth complimented him.

“Thank you, love.” She punished him with a sour look that made his grin only widen.

“Interested in buying?”

“If it’s real perhaps.”

“Oh, my dear Annabeth, everything is real.” The warmth of his hand spread throughout her entire body. Her glass was empty, and he gave it to one of the lackeys.

“Mister Olympianidikis,” the boy nodded and ran off with it immediately. Oh, the power of someone in the higher hierarchical position of a crime syndicate.

Jackson accompanied her through the gallery and showed her his favorite pieces.

Annabeth could picture Beckendorf walking up and down in the small van, nearly losing his shit at the man babbling about oil colors or frameworks that he or other painters used. Jackson was hindering them on purpose. Something was going on.

“There’s something I want to show you. Follow me.” He took her hand and walked to a hidden niche. Jason Grace who stood in the corner and spoke to a woman eyed them with suspicion.

A white door was there with the words Emergency Exit engraved on it. A cold and naked hallway was in front of them. Lights were off and the moon was the only orb that illuminated the place. They were alone.

“And what are you supposed to show-” Jackson cut her off. With a brutal kiss.

A spark that set the entire place in flames. Annabeth did the one thing she was not supposed to: not use her intelligence. Her arms automatically wrapped themselves around his neck as she fiercely kissed him back. Their lips fought a battle against their lungs, and they dived into each other again and again. Taste. That was all they thought.

Percy pulled away from Annabeth. She was beautiful. Her citric smell was divine. The delicate updo was no more. The lipstick was smeared. Her lips trembled and there was something else written in her eyes. Lust. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. A wild look was on his face. He kissed her again. He held her close to his body and pressed her against the wall.

Annabeth felt how one of his hands slid underneath the dress. Did Annabeth exchange the boy shorts for a thong in the last minute? Yes, she did. Did she regret that decision? No, she did not. But his hands had a different goal in mind. The yanking made her shriek into his mouth. A solid welcome for his tongue. The wire underneath her dress was no more. Only then did he place his tight grip on her ass.

Oh, two can play this game Annabeth thought and grabbed the wire that stuck out of his collar.

“Guess that no one’s listening in on us anymore,” Percy commentated.

“It seems like it,” Annabeth agreed. A calm before the storm. A storm that broke loose as they kissed each other again. Percy’s lips wandered.

“Who told you to waltz in this place with this fucking dress?” He claimed her neck with kisses. His beard tickled her. “You look perfect!”

Annabeth wished she could retaliate the compliment. Percy looked fairly handsome in the beige suit, but her brain was short circuiting and only focused on not moaning too loudly and enjoying the feeling of being pressed against him. The probability of her colleagues rushing in that compromising situation was way too high.

Percy broke the kiss off for good. He made a move towards the staircase. A foot was set to the lower step. “Come with me!” His hands reached out for her.

Annabeth was panting. Heart or sanity who would win? Annabeth made one decision that would seal her fate forever. She took his hand and the unlikely pair fled out of the building.

As soon as they opened the backdoor, Annabeth heard a frantic scream for her name. There was no turning back now. A black car was waiting for them in the hidden alley. It looked like Castellan didn’t do his homework properly and had received the wrong plans of the building to study.

Percy held the door open for her and she slipped into the limousine. Percy followed. “Leo!” he barked. The vehicle moved with screeching tires and drove through a garage which led to a tunnel that Annabeth had never seen. She stopped paying attention to it as Percy claimed her lips yet again.

The car ride was a blurry memory. They entered another garage which was when the car stopped. “We’ve arrived,” announced the chauffeur.

Percy nodded to the front and then exited the car. He reached out for Annabeth and helped her out of the car. “Where are we?” she asked as they entered an elevator.

Percy pressed a key card against the board. “My home.”

There was no time left for sightseeing. They immediately entered the bedroom. His jacket was tossed aside, her dress slid to the floor. Both of them fell to the bed. Both of them never wanted to leave the bed.

Annabeth woke up to the wonderful smell of coffee. Her eyes fluttered and the memories hit her. The wonderful night she had shared with a wanted criminal. Her naked body was wrapped in satin sheets. The blonde sat up. Her pale body was sore and ached but in the best way. She didn’t remember the last time she had sex with anyone; work had been way too busy. She didn’t want to remember. What Perseus Jackson did to her would be fairly impossible to top.

Said Perseus Jackson entered the bedroom in nothing but sweatpants and two mugs. Oh yes, he did enjoy his daily workouts. “Morning,” he smiled.

“Morning,” she replied and thanked him for the cup. A delicious aroma took over the room. Annabeth took a sip.

“Mmhh,” she delightfully sighed. Two pumps of hazelnut and heavy cream, just the way she liked it.

“Yes, I did do my homework,” he laughed and drank his tea. “You aren’t the only people that study others. Was seeing me work out at least fun?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Annabeth blushed. He laughed.

The cop finished her cup and Percy put it on a nightstand. “And what do you want to do now?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s coming to my mind.” His light eyes darkened, and he cupped her face. Annabeth pushed the blanket aside, revealing her perfect self.

“That insatiable?” she laughed but didn’t receive an answer as she felt his lips on hers again. Her hand went on to grasp his black curls.

“Very,” he said as his hands roamed over her very naked body.

Putting the blue dress on again felt wrong. Percy wouldn’t have minded for Annabeth to stay the entire day at his apartment, but he knew she had a point when she said that her colleagues would searchthe entire city for her. Turning brick by brick if they must.

“I honestly can’t come up with a good excuse for my boss. You didn’t think this through.” Annabeth wandered through the modern apartment. It was bathed in light and had window fronts that showed her the entirety of Manhattan and the green of the Central Park. A dream apartment. The Golden Age had money, no doubt in that.

“Well… I actually have an idea,” Percy started. Annabeth turned to him with one cocked eyebrow and her hands on her hips.

“That sounds like I won’t like it,” she predicted.

He opened a cabinet and showed her the bottle.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Well as you’ve said. I didn’t think it through,” he shrugged with a goofy grin. It made him look adorable. Stop Annabeth. No time for that. Percy grabbed a cloth as well.

“Let’s just say that I never had the honor of being treated that way,” Annabeth muttered. But she agreed with him. It would make the lies that were about to come out of her mouth easier.

Percy kissed Annabeth one last time and brushed a lock out of her beautiful face. “Sweet dreams, Annabeth,” he wished her.

Then he pressed the drenched cloth over her nose and mouth. Her eyes rolled back, and she was embraced by darkness. Annabeth slumped down but Percy caught her.

Four hours later, Luke Castellan and Jason Grace made their way to Annabeth’s apartment, looking for possible clues. Both of them were fucking pissed. At Jackson, at Annabeth, at the entire fucking operation. The police force was frantically looking  for her. They got Paris Olympianidikis for kidnapping at least. If they would catch him.

Luke had a key to Annabeth’s apartment because they were  close friends. Annabeth had actually defied orders, nearly ruined a mission and drove him to the hospital as his wife gave birth three years ago. He had to find her. Not to make it even, but to know that his friend was safe.

“Look for anything useful,” Luke commanded. Jason nodded.

Luke entered the living room and Jason worked through the bathroom which was followed by the bedroom. He nearly slipped to the floor.

And there she was, sleeping like a princess.

“Annabeth?! Annabeth! Luke, she’s here!”

The next thing Annabeth remembered was waking up in the hospital. She knew that everyone was pissed at her. But Castellan had defended her for the stupid act of following a criminal to nowhere. Jason had seen where they left, and Annabeth thought the Sergeant could hear important information. Who would have guessed that the wiring would be cut off?

Examinations. DNA samples were taken to get a hold of Jackson. Questions. So many questions. A knock. Yet another person that wanted to annoy her. “Yes?” Annabeth sighed.

“Annabeth,” Beckendorf entered the hospital room. Annabeth felt patronized but of course her hands were tied. She refused to speak with her boss about a certain criminal. She covered up the truth and enjoyed living her life in lies. The young detective had no family who anyone could call. That made Beckendorf extremely worried about her.

The tall man took a seat next to her bed. “I’m not here to tear you apart, pretty sure Captain Dougenis had the pleasure.” Yes, he had. “I want to hear from you what happened.”

The blonde retold her vision of events. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “It was a trap. I can’t remember how I ended up in my apartment.” Annabeth spoke a little truth in her web of lies.

“The way our connection cut off as soon as you left the exhibition… I thought it was static. Then you were gone.” Oh no, he heard us making out Annabeth thought. She tried to suppress the panic that was bubbling up in her and was glad that Percy had discarded the wires. The technicians at the police department would have immediately figured out that there had been no static. She remembered almost everything. The staircases. The car. The apartment. The way he felt between her legs. The way she straddled him. The way he grabbed her throat. The pleasures and the cries.

Beckendorf looked deeply into her eyes. He knew that she had something to hide but was wise enough not to ask. The old man was one of the few people that blindly trusted her instincts in the department.

“Okay,” was all that he said. “I’m trusting your judgement.” She nodded. He was a kind soul.

“Take the next week off. You need the rest.” Beckendorf stood up.

v.

Percy saw how her delicate fingers grabbed the folder and closed it. The shiny object fell into his vision.

“I like your ring.” His sea green eyes shot up to her face. He saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she nearly whispered and played with the small white band.

“Someone very important gave it to me a long time ago. Someone dear to my heart.”

He blinked twice. She blinked twice.

A devilish smirk rested on his face.

vi.

Their affair lasted an entire year. The fact that it came to an end was saddening. But it was predictable. Star-crossed lovers from two entirely different universes that weren’t meant to be. Otherwise the balance of both of their worlds would crash, burn, and fall.

Annabeth had insight into the police work and Percy had insight into the Golden Age. That was the sole reason they barely saw each other in a work related context. They actually managed to live a fairly happy life outside of the working hours. They went on secret dates, they visited museums after they had been closed and reopened only for the powerful son of Poseidon, they watched movies together, they even flew out to visit his Hawaiian mother Sally who adored Annabeth. And the sex was amazing. A welcoming bonus. Both felt happiness for the very first time. Both felt love for the very first time.

The secret studio in his art gallery was one of the few places where they could be free.

“And here’s the Mona Lisa,” Percy grabbed the painting out of the box. He showed Annabeth some of his latest pieces that were part of his collection or creations. Real paintings and forged ones.

“Wow, that looks so real. An incredible copy.” Annabeth had visited France in her college days.

“The thing that’s hanging in the Louvre?” he winked.

“Tell me you’re joking.” The corners of his lips pointing up was all she got.

Annabeth laid next to him a week later. They were inside of her shitty apartment. Percy had surprised her because of course he could cook as well. To the question “Is there something you can’t do?” Percy only answered, “Change a tire and board planes because I hate heights.”

He might have been joking, he might have been serious. Annabeth did not care. She had returned from yet another demanding shift. This time her task force had hunted down one of Zeus’ kids. Aristidis also known as Ares. Despite being in his late 40s he was an annoying little piece of shit. The fat fuck tried to sell child slaves on the dark web and barely managed to escape them.

As Annabeth had entered her apartment, she was greeted by the delicious smell of parmesan that melted over fresh pasta. Seeing houseman Percy cook was not only a picture for the gods but something she could get used to. Annabeth placed her bag on the sofa and ran to the kitchen to greet Percy with a kiss. A passionate kiss.

“Aren’t-” kiss. “You-” kiss. “Hungry?” he asked between their kisses.

“Well, I think we can eat later.”

“Grover is right, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to food,” he joked. The Grove was another spot for them together. Once the customers left, the three would sit together and joke. Mostly at Annabeth’s expense.

Annabeth pouted and then kissed him again. The only thing that broke her silence was her stomach grumbling.

Percy broke off from her with a roaring laughter. “Eat first. Then we can come to the more fun activities.”

Annabeth pouted but Percy unfortunately had a point.

Now she was fighting against falling asleep as she laid on his chest and he played with her hair. He inhaled her smell. Raindrops were racing on the window as gravity pulled them down. The shower on the outside calmed them. “There’s a good reason why you never found me. Why no one found me,” Percy started.

Her tiredness was gone. Curiosity won. “The fact that my father uses me as his master forger is abundantly clear, right?”

Annabeth nodded. They didn’t talk much about his business ventures in the Golden Age, but she had pieced large chunks of the puzzle together.

“I want to leave my family,” he confessed.

“What?” That came as a surprise to Annabeth. Percy seemed fairly content with his life in the family business. He joked about it and enjoyed the high standards of life that came with the fruits. Then again, Annabeth had seen the dark shadows that followed the Golden Age everywhere they went. Blood, bodies, chaos, destruction.

“A rule that my father engraved into my brain was to be invisible. Live like there’s no tomorrow, but don’t forget to clean the remains of yesterday. The day me and my cousin Ethan were caught shoplifting seventeen years ago changed me. It changed us all. We were so naive, and felt so invincible. For normal parents that would have been a tirade and grounding. Our parents think differently. For Ethan, whose idea it was to begin with, it cost him his eye.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. The cruelty of parents. The fact that the Golden Age had no problem with hunting their own down was still sickening to her.

“It didn’t matter. Four months in and he had been shot by the Russians, the Bratva. Nearly started an entire fucking war,” he sighed.

“Percy, that’s horrible.” Annabeth tried to see if there was any emotion left in his eyes. There was none. His eyes were dull from the wars he had seen. Percy was blind and used to the cruelty of the survival of the fittest.

“Annabeth, I’ve witnessed my first murder as a thirteen-year-old. At least I haven’t pulled the trigger myself yet. Not in a deadly way.” He stared at the white ceiling.

Her heart broke for the boy that lost his honest smile. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.” Percy hugged her tightly. “I want to be free. Die as a free man. Live in the sunlight and not in the shadows. Not in fear of getting gunned down by a crazy family member. My father spoke with my uncles. They gave me an impossible task. Once I solve it, I’m a free man.”

“Who are you? John Wick?” she joked. She wasn’t in the mood for cracking stupid jokes, but she had to uplift the situation or else the mental image of Percy losing his innocence as a child would forever haunt her.

“That guy is amazing; I’m not going to lie.” Percy managed to crack a crooked smile.

“And the task?”

Percy sighed. He wouldn’t have minded a smoke. “It stinks in here, the three of them had said. ”He turned to Annabeth. “There’s a rat.”

A rat? she thought. “Someone that betrays my family. They mix up our business and create chaos from within as if they want us to implode. I have to find and either obtain or eliminate them.”

Someone that betrayed the Golden Age? Whoever they were, they were crazy and suicidal.

“And what do you want to do once you’re free?”

“Move to Hawaii. Be reunited with my mother again. Find a woman,” he looked at her and grinned. “Marry her, pop out a kid or three. Be an artist.”

Silence. Annabeth was speechless. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that and being a part of that,” she whispered.

Percy only kissed her.

Another month later. The fact that Percy disappeared around her birthday upset her, but that was life. He had been in Los Angeles for a gig. Which gig exactly she did not ask. Was it a legal gig? Highly debatable. It had something to do with the rat. That was all that he told her.

A small package got sent to her and she was curious to see what it was. No sender. Carefully she opened it. A small ring box was in there. Tiffany’s & Co.

A card was attached to the box. Happy Birthday, Princess – P.

“Oh no…” Annabeth opened the little box. The ring had a small silver band that was covered in small diamonds. Her jaw dropped. The ring was beautiful. And it was meant to be for her?

Annabeth put it on. It sat perfectly on her ring finger. Annabeth looked at the box again. It had a code on it. The detective grabbed her phone and searched for the ring.

“WHAT THE-”

Perseus had spent fifteen thousand dollars for that little piece of jewelry.

“No…” she cried. How could he have spent so much money on her?

Annabeth ran into her bathroom and shoved a loose tile aside. She used that little space to hide something. That something was the burner phone that Percy had given her so that they could always stay in contact. Annabeth called him.

“And?” he asked.

“PERSEUS JACKSON!” she yelled.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

“Why? Don’t you like the ring?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I love it. We have to talk about the price.” Her left hand already played with the beautiful ring.

“Why? Do you want a more expensive one? Let me know which one, I’ll buy it,” he stated.

“What?! No! You’ve spent way too much on that ring! I can’t accept this!”

Percy laughed. “You can and you will. It is my gift for you. Happy birthday, Annabeth.”

Annabeth wanted to scream. Denying his gift felt so wrong, but it was the right choice she made.

“Once you’re here we’re going to have a talk. We have to return this!”

Annabeth could practically hear how he shook his head. “You’re going to like the ring and you’re going to keep it.”

“Fine,” she huffed. Annabeth accepted her fate and waited until the days of solitude would be over. Until she was reunited with her Percy again.

The year had passed. Then it happened. The day Paris Olympianidikis would fall.

vii.

“Cooperate with me, Jackson,” Annabeth sounded soft. He merely raised an eyebrow.

“Cooperate and we can make a deal. Better conditions in prison, a reduced sentence perhaps and-”

“I want out,” he boldly stated.

Annabeth stared at him blankly. “Pardon me?”

“You said cooperate and we can make a deal. That’s my end of the line.” Jackson leaned back into his chair again.

Annabeth was speechless. He had beaten her with her own game. She closed her eyes for a second before focusing on him again. Don’t let him get the best out of you.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smirked as he loved to hear that answer. Then she remembered what he had said.

“You said it stinks in here?” she repeated. Annabeth eyed him suspiciously.

“Yes, Detective,” he truthfully answered.

“What does it smell like?”

“Colors, Detective.”

“Why?”

“You should be able to see it for yourself.” He scratched his temples.

viii.

They got him. They didn’t get him with drugs or anything else that would give him a long sentence. But they got him with one of his forges. The good old Al Capone method. If you don’t get him with the big guns, try to stick to the petty crimes. Criminals get sloppy. Especially criminals that do way too much in too many places. The meeting was over, and everyone cheered. Everyone but Annabeth.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Hell, Annabeth. You’ve spent more than three years on this case.” asked Travis Stoll.

“It’s just…unbelievable. The fact that everything comes to an end. Goal completed and all,” she smiled sadly.

Annabeth dreaded her seeing Percy again. He was waiting in her apartment and probably preparing food for them. The sight of her apartment complex made her heart sink. Where once was joy, ruled depression.

“Annabeth, what happened?” Percy ran to the door as he saw her in her desolate state. The door closed and she told him what would happen in the next sixteen hours.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. Percy just held her and hugged her tightly as the tears blinded her. He fought his own tears that threatened to rise. Their future, destroyed.

“It was bound to end like this,” he said. Sadness rested in his voice. But also, tranquility.

“No.” Annabeth shook her head and buried her face into his strong chest.

“Whatever happens. I’ll be fine. Most of the prisons and the judges are smeared.” He kissed her head.

“Of course, they are,” she laughed darkly. Knowing that he wouldn’t be subjected to fights in prison didn’t do much to calm her down. She’d rather have him next to her.

“Annabeth. I want you to arrest me.”

“No. Never.” She violently shook her head again and slapped his shoulder.

“I mean I’m already used to your cuffs, now’s the chance to make it official,” he grinned.

“Percy! Now is not the time to joke about our sex life.” They shared a laugh anyway.

“I have another wish. Move on, Annabeth. Live life to the fullest,” he whispered.

“Everything but that.” She refused to move on. How could she?

“Find an idiot, marry him, have kids and live happily with him. Do that for me. Please,” he continued.

“I want you to be that idiot,” she pressed and looked deep into his eyes. “I don’t care how long it’ll take. I’ll wait for you.”

He kissed her. Don’t do this Annabeth. Don’t give me hope he thought.

The unlikely couple hugged each other tightly as they went to bed. One last time. It didn’t come to Annabeth as a surprise to find his side of the bed cold and empty. His side. His side was no more, it was only her side.

Perseus spent the night and morning hours in the art gallery. He had one final piece to finish. He drank and smoked and cursed. The bottle of cheap whiskey nearly fell to the ground, but he managed to catch it.

The oil painting was a self-portrait. An anchor to the last few moments of his life as a free man that hid in the shadows.

The task force broke into his gallery. He had a cigarette in his mouth and put the paintbrush down as his lover approached him. He had a sarcastic smile on his lips which vanished as he registered the pain in her eyes.

“Perseus Jackson, you are under arrest,” spoke Annabeth with a commanding tone.

She put him into cuffs and read him his rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court... A glance at the painting he had been working on ever since he left the apartment.

Annabeth knew immediately that it was them. Percy in the painting hugged her but their faces had been cut off. She saw the birthmarks on her back and the accuracy of how he portrayed his hands on her hip. Percy’s final act of love to her for all of them to see. Unfortunately, all of them were blind to it. All of them but Annabeth.

The moment she was at home she ran to the bathroom and emptied her stomach. Gush after gush came out of her. Her mouth felt sour and dry, the teeth hurt and had an ugly yellow color, the tears that blinded her ran towards her nose. “What have I done?” she cried and looked at her pathetic self in the bathroom mirror.

Judgement day came eight painful months later. The judge slammed the hammer and sealed his fate.

Twelve years. Twelve years was the sentence. Perseus lost his coolness for one second. Annabeth’s heart broke in two. Poseidon who sat on the other side of the room looked like he wanted to shoot the judge right then and here and Annabeth would have gladly joined him.

They were robbed of twelve years together. Percy was put into handcuffs. His sea green eyes searched through the ranks until they found her gray ones. He blinked twice. I love you. She blinked twice. I love you too. The police officers around her almost cheered.

They complimented her for the worst decision of her life. An act that had destroyed her life. Her lover was gone. And a free rat was still out there.

The trail of memories stopped. Annabeth knew that Luke was restless behind the one-way-mirror. The talk had stretched into eternity and gave little information to the hidden detective, but so much to Annabeth. Percy had been right. He was roaming freely in prison. He was able to talk with his family day in and day out. And most importantly. He knew of operations. And he knew of his own operations the best.

Finally. There was movement in the gallery. Whoever was decided to continue the work of Percy Jackson was stupid enough to revisit the place where it all began. The rat would be caught in a trap.

“NYPD PUT YOUR - no.” Annabeth had the gun pointed at him. But she couldn’t believe it. The rat. The rat that had cost her four years of their life.

“I’m sorry, Annabeth,” he sadly smiled. Then he pointed his gun at her.

A shot.

Annabeth had closed her eyes. The bullet didn’t hit her. It had hit him as Luke Castellan had fired a warning shot into the abdomen. The detectives moved to him.

“Call an ambulance!” yelled Annabeth to the cops that flooded the place. He laughed on the floor as he bled.

Jason Grace. Secret son of Zacharias Olympianidikis also known as Zeus. He not only wanted to act in revenge as Percy’s brother Sciron had killed his older sister Thalia. He wanted to spite him and take over his businesses as well. The money and the gold. The cars and fame. In his twisted mind he was able to run the syndicate and destroy it at the same time. It was over.

Annabeth saw as the ambulance drove off. Percy scratching his temples as an indication for the glasses and his talk about colors to point to the gallery would be his ticket to freedom. Hopefully.

ix.

It was the first time that Percy had seen the sun as a free man again. He left prison with the clothes he entered. The deal with the district attorney went smoothly although the old man would have rather wrung the half-Greek’s neck.

A black car drove up to the prison. Two people exited the car.

“Mom? Dad?”

Sally and Poseidon hugged their free son tightly.

“You are stupid!” cried Sally. “Both of you!”

Father and son winced. That was Sally Jackson for them.

x.

Quitting her job had been freeing. She had made the decision about half a year ago. Annabeth wanted to see something new. Experience something new. She was on the way to the small airport. The day was sunny and warm. A new day to start a new chapter in her life.

Annabeth arrived. “You can stop hiding, we aren’t being followed,” she laughed.

Percy yawned in the backseat. “I was sleeping,” he excused himself.

“Of course, you were.” She rolled her eyes and smiled into his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Her colleagues were upset, especially Luke, but it had to be. She had to quit for her own sanity. Beckendorf would check up on her and then see who she was with and connect the dots. But he would be wise enough not to contact her, not to rat her out. He would be happy about the fact that she had found love.

They would live with Sally and her little family for a while before they would buy their own house. The private jet that Zeus had given them would bring them to Hawaii undetected. A small sorry as the son of Zeus had caused a lot of trouble in the family. At least Jason was still alive.

Annabeth stopped the car and turned to Percy.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she grinned. A delicate kiss was shared.

A golden age was truly upon them.

The End

Ummm... I... I think this might be a poppin feature fic? I have still many ideas and many things could be fleshed out...? Help?

BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE SUGGESTION DIL OMFG ILY!

All Cookout Fics

Cute/Cursed Cookout Writing Prompts

[rosesnink]

The Viscountess, Chapter 3: Top of The Noble Game

Author’s Notes: 

*English is not my first language, so please pardon any typos/ grammar mistakes 

*All the characters minus my three OCs, Nicole, Anne and Isabelle, belong to Pixelberry studios. 

*If this is the first time you stumble upon the series and are intrigued about this AU, feel free to check out the fic’s masterlist and my general masterlist 

Summary: Nicole receives a call that determines a new change on hers and Anne’s life, and her comeback to a privileged life. 

Rating: PG-13 

It was early in Monday when Nicole’s phone rang, making her wake up from her morning routine of preparing Anne for school. 

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Anne said “I can adjust the skirt by myself. It looks important.” 

She ruffled her hair before getting the phone “Yes?” 

“Ah, Nicole, darling, so glad to hear from you!” 

“Dad!” She whispered to Anne who was the caller and she beamed “something happened at Edgewater?” 

“No, but it might,” he said, a teasing tone on his lips “remember the Fair Season for aspiring heiresses when you were young?” 

“I do, though they weren’t my favorite events, if I may confess.” 

He chuckled “Neither they were mine. You’re wondering why I bring this up, don’t you?” 

She realized it before he could finish the sentence and hushed “Isn’t she too young for a debut? I made mine at 11 and she’s eight, Father. Eight!” 

“I know, but we’re a bit tight right now and debuts means charities, which leads to money. I presume you have chosen her other five names?” 

“I wanted to do so when she was born, but my husband died before I could even think about it.” She spitted, now her cheeks growing red. She could feel her father wince. He knew she was right. It was too soon and these nobles weren’t dumb. “It’s too much and I haven’t prepared her! You know it takes years to prepare her!” 

“I know, and I am sorry, but we’re short of time. You’re intelligent, Nic, you’ll figure it out.” 

“How much do I have?” 

“…Five weeks.” 

During those five weeks, Nicole kind of drifted apart from what seemed her new life, preparing her daughter for her debut. She taught her history, English, French, math, and religion. She called her brothers to stay over to teach her biology and other subjects she wasn’t good as them. After the lessons, she’d teach her the antics of the First Debut: How to walk, the basics of ballet, to the sing-a thing that Anne exceeded due to sing in the shower- to have a polite conversation and to maintain her balance. They also went shopping, though they needed company for London was now different, so Hamid stooped in gladly. They walked now over the streets as Hamid tried to talk to her without flirting with her in front of Anne, for it’d be uncomfortable to her. Though some glances and smiles were stolen. He dared not mention yet the other night. It wasn’t the time, Nicole had too much on her plate to think of what to make of a one-night-stand. 

“So, what else should buy?” 

“Her debutante dress. Though I adore my Summer Queen’s dress, I do not think Anne appreciates the 90s fashion.” 

“Hm, I much prefer the 80s, indeed.” He teased, both chuckling. 

“I do not want a dress, Mama!” Anne complained. 

“No? But everyone will be wearing a dress. What is wrong with dresses?” She asked, genuinely curious. Of course, she’d respect her decision and support her, but it’d cause quite a stir on the debut “Would you like perhaps a skirt?” 

“No. I mean, they are pretty and I like them, but they’re not made for me. I don’t have your marvelous legs.” She pouted “I have chicken’s legs!”

Hamid knelt “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Anne! Your legs are great, chicken’s shape or not. I, too, had chicken legs, until I grew up, and look at me now!” He posed, making Anne giggle “Absolutely flawless. Besides, dresses are for everybody, not just girls.” 

“Really?” She asked, curious. 

“Indeed! In my culture, some men wear a kind of dress and they’re just as manly as the ones in a suit. We call them kaftans.” 

“How cool!” She beamed “But I still don’t want a dress. Grandpa wants me to look perfect and I want to make Grandpa happy. He always looks so distant and sad…” 

Nicole looked at Hamid, who winked at her and she smiled “Well, it is your debut… and your body, so… what do you want to wear?” 

They snooped over shops until she heard Anne gasp with delight. She looked at a Victorian model of a suit, with the seal of the crown carefully sewed and made of navy blue and bits of red and a Russian winter hat. Nicole looked for her size and the price, but when she saw it… she frowned. 

Hamid, who wasn’t trailing too far behind her, looked at her and asked “Something wrong?” 

She showed him the price and he did seem surprised, but not as her “It’ll break her heart when I tell her that—.” 

“No need to, I will take it and you can pay me later.” 

Her eyes went wide at him and gasped “I could never ask that of you…” 

“I’m offering. Anything to make her smile…” he whispered at her ear, really low “and to please you, perhaps win you. But especially to make that beautiful girl smile.” 

She chuckled with surprise before giving in, insisting that she’d pay him back. He beamed before buying it. When Anne started talking and talking, without barely noticing them, he kissed her knuckles and smiled at her. 

“Are you trying to win me over for a second date? Because it’s working.” 

He smiled “Good.” 

After more shopping –Anne’s first make-up tools (just some mascara and lipstick for little girls and a small nude palette—they went back to Nicole’s house. 

“You go in, kid, I have to talk to Hamid.” 

She nodded, too happy to pay attention to her mother’s gaze and she turned to Hamid. 

“So… how about if we hang out after the debut and you stay over for dinner at my secret flat back in the village?” 

“You have a secret flat?” 

“To invite over guys like you without calling too much attention, especially in the night.” She whispered a mischievous tone in her voice, making Hamid lean and smirk. 

“Oooh, your special flat for rendezvous. I like it.” 

“You see, being a single, widowed mum can be difficult. Especially when your grandmother wants you to remarry so your daughter doesn’t miss out ‘a father’s love’.” 

“…What time do you want us to meet?” 

“Let’s say 02 am when even the maids are asleep? Those crones are easy to lull to sleep, especially when my sister-in-law Theresa starts talking and talking and talking…” 

They both chuckled before they said goodbye. 

The night before the debut, at Ernest Sinclaire’s townhouse. 

“I think she should wear pink. I wore pink at my debut!” Roselyn mused as Isabelle tried not to roll her eyes. Ernest was aware that Isabelle wasn’t at all fond of these events, but she was his only child and everyone was pressuring him, even his ex, to get her out of society—he had neglected her for too long now, and Richards’s snide remarks weren’t helping. 

“Roselyn, while I appreciate the idea, all of the girls will be wearing their house’s color. It is only fair she wears sapphire blue, red, and gold. It’s what the tradition says, remember?”

“She could wear all of them in different accessories! I can picture it now: red dress, golden earrings, blue make-up…” 

“Dad, can you neglect my debut, like, when I’m eighteen?” 

“Tempting, but no,” He lowered his voice as Roselyn kept musing and wondering “besides, I wouldn’t let you out in society until you were at least thirty.” 

She whispered back “Make it sixty when I’m all old and grey.” 

He chuckled “I highly doubt I’ll be alive by then but that can be arranged.” 

“I hope you both aren’t trying to escape yet again for the debut!” Roselyn said, her voice raised and rather annoyed. 

They both cleared their throat and Ernest said “We were not! I was telling her that she should wear a blue dress, red earrings, and golden heels.” 

“Dad, please!” She begged with her puppy eyes dog, but Roselyn kicked him out of the room before he could even breathe. 

“That’s it, I’m planning it on my own!” 

“But—.” 

Too late, for his ex-wife slammed the door shut in front of his face.

At Edgewater, that night. 

“Look, Grandpa!” Anne beamed. 

Vincent looked up with his attentive eyes to widen when he saw his granddaughter in her attire. 

“Sweetheart, you look positively regal, but—.”

“No buts, I like it and that’s what I’m wearing!” 

Dominique stormed into the room carrying too many dresses to drop them out of surprise. Anne smiled and twirled around “Look, Granny!” 

“My goodness, what do you have on?” She asked, horrified. 

“The debut’s attire!” She beamed. 

“I…I…I… NICOLE MARIANNE EMMA ELIZABETH FOREDALE, COME HERE!” She called, now clearly angry. 

“Yes, Grandmother?” 

“What the hell is my great-granddaughter wearing?!” 

“A suit.” She said, unbothered. 

“Says who?” She crossed her arms. 

“Let me see… Ah, yes, Armani’s British Royalty collection.” 

“Don’t you sass me now, young woman! This is serious! It’s her debut and she—.”

“…Is comfortable and looking glamorous, that with the fact that the one who should have the last saying in my daughter, who I gave birth to eight years ago, is wearing. That and Dad approves and it’s all approbation I need and seek.” 

“But…but…” 

“You can help me choose the dress for the debut as long as you leave my daughter alone.” 

“…Very well. Seems like I won’t change anyone’s mind about it, will I? Thank goodness we have hope next year with Harry and Theresa’s boy, Laurence, not to mention in two years with Edmund’s girl.” 

At the debut 

“May I present Lady Anne Elizabeth Matilda Florence Foredale, Lady and heiress of Edgewater and her mother, Nicole Marianne Emma Elizabeth Foredale, escorted by our esteemed Earl of Edgewater, Vincent Fitzwilliam Edward Rupert Foredale and the Dowager Countess, Dominique Mary Elizabeth Katerina Foredale?” Arthur announced as everyone clapped. 

Nicole heard too many gasps at Anne’s attire, not paying attention at her off-shoulder and teasing low-cut burgundy dress she wore. She could see Annabelle, Sinclaire, Hamid, and Luke clapping, beaming at Anne and with pride in their eyes. 

She finally saw Ernest’s girl, with a beautiful blue sapphire dress, beautiful and rather expensive red earrings, and golden heels that seemed to be killing her feet. Ah, to be her age again…  

She greeted every single family and each member “Mr. Sinclaire, Mrs. Richards, Miss Sinclaire.” 

They all shook hands “So you’re the famous Nicole Donovan!” Mrs. Richards “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Roselyn, Isabelle’s mother.” 

They greeted each other before her attention drew to Isabelle, who she smiled “My, you look just like your father.” 

She smiled “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

Ernest smiled, looking proud of his girl, rubbing her shoulders “We are proud of the woman she is becoming, indeed.” He said. 

“Aren’t you overwhelmed by being surrounded by so many women?” Nicole teased and he chuckled. 

“Not at all. My darling girl is a blessing.” 

“Besides,” Roselyn said “I do not live with them anymore. I live in London with my husband Tristan and our son, Percival.” 

“Oh! How old is he?” 

As Roselyn showed off her rather old husband –he wasn’t older than her father—Ernest and Isabelle both looked uncomfortable as Nicole gawked at how adorable that baby boy was. She congratulated her on such a beautiful boy and wished her all the best in her marriage, ever the polite and proper woman. 

“By the way, I trust Isabelle will be dancing The Nutcracker with my Anne?” Nicole asked. 

“Yep!” Isabelle replied “I’m so excited! I’ve talked some times with Anne and she looks just like you and she is very kind to me.” 

“Then I’m looking forward to a good friendship between our houses.” 

Ernest didn’t seem to complain “Our families go way back, and from what I’ve seen, your girl sounds like a delightful kid.” 

She smiled widely “Thank you, sir. I do my best for her to reach her potential in everything.” 

He looked at her, now with genuine interest and was about to say something when a piece of waltz music started playing and Roselyn excused herself to go find her husband and Isabelle promised her nephew Laurence a dance and she was about to do the same when she caught the sight of Anne and her father dancing, giggling and enjoying themselves. 

“May I have this dance, Mrs. Donovan?” Ernest asked. 

She spun around abruptly, shocked by his request. 

“Of course.” She took his hand and they both went to the center where his steps were graceful and elegant like he has done this a thousand times before. 

His touch was warm, almost welcoming as they spun and moved around the dancefloor, his piercing blue eyes on her dark brown, unwavering, and almost intense. She gulped, suddenly nervous and a bit sweaty, feeling his warmth and his rather big hands moving her with superb elegance around the floor, his eyes never wavering from her. At the end of the song, he dipped her low, his eyes now on her collarbone and her eyes closed. She swore she heard him inhale sharply. 

Everyone clapped and she took that as a hint to say goodbye. He nodded her goodbye before disappearing into the rather big ballroom. 

“May I have the honor of having this dance?” She spun around again to find the familiar bright smile of Hamid. 

She smiled back and nodded, both starting to dance the famous Russian waltz. Though Hamid’s movements were graceful and with impressive flourishing, it wasn’t just the same. She took that thought off her head and enjoyed the waltz anyways. 

“…and then, just like that, the Marquess just threw his bourbon to his face, just because he made a wee comment about the shape of the dress’s cleavage! Everyone left afterward, simply scandalized by the jealous displays of the Marquess to the Marquis!” Theresa kept talking, much to Nicole’s chagrin. 

The children were already in bed and her father and grandmother retired to bed, their old age showing. Nicole faked a flawless yawn, one of her acquired accomplishments she got long ago. 

“I don’t know about you ladies, but with all the champagne and dancing, I’m just beat. See you tomorrow at tea, though?” 

They all nodded and between air kisses exchanged and goodbyes, she went to her bedroom and turned off the light and took off her party clothes… to then skilfully change into the same-color lingerie and tight pants and an elegant shirt that had a teasing low cleavage and took off the sleeping doll that she bought when she was just 18 to sneak off to spend some hours with Alaric to return half an hour before the staff woke up. Of course, Briar sometimes caught her sneaking off, but so did she so they kind of saved the other’s secret. 

It was past midnight and she opened the secret door that existed ever since the Renaissance and caught her way downstairs, to the backyard and caught her discreet, large black coat and her anti-paparazzi sunglasses that would put in question who was marching towards the village at this hour of the night. She walked as she did, not making any noise so she wouldn’t be noticed. 

She grabbed the keys behind the pot and opened the door to then lock it and awaited by the window to see Hamid, who she sneaked a discreet note of where they’d see each other. 

She waited for fifteen minutes before she heard three sharp knocks. She got up and asked, “Who’s calling?” 

“It’s me, Nic.” It was the code she asked him to use. 

She opened the door and hurried him in and he observed the small flat: rustic, with romantic flowers and aphrodisiac food, scented candles that were confirmed it could feelings and then, behind a closed door, there was a room only illuminated by an old-fashioned lamp, probably by the early 1900s. 

There was no signal of modern technology: it’s as if he traveled to a 19th-century small house. There was a small cabinet with curious diaries, old tomes no one could miss, and even a phonograph. All the desks were wooden and there was a small bathroom beside the bedroom. Nicole took care that everything would be unregistered and there was no trace of this whatsoever like they came here to disappear from a few hours. Like he traveled to another reality that she invented for them both. There were an ancient tea set and a small couch for two people only. 

“It’s beautiful here, Nicole.” 

His eyes widened with surprise when she grabbed the lapels of his shirt and kissed him while driving him to the bedroom to then throw him to the bed “If you want to frequent this, there are some rules: one, you do not speak of this room. Second, no photos or videos here. Third: no one leaves until both of us are satisfied. And fourth: you never leave this house after 10 am, for the staff is already awake and they could recognize any of us, is that clear?” 

He nodded, eager to have her all to himself in such a beautiful place. She kissed him and he let himself melt into the scene and the beautiful woman in his arms, enjoying himself for a few hours. 

The night after the debut, Nicole heard a sharp knock on the main parlor, where she was teaching Anne how to take her tea when she was older enough to interact with the Queen. They all looked up to see Roselyn and an eager Isabelle, who greeted Anne and made a polite bow to Nicole. 

“I’m not saying I’m not pleased, but what brings you here today?” Nicole asked. 

“We were wondering if we could stay to persuade you on one thing.” Roselyn smiled. 

“And what thing is that?” Anne asked, just as curious as to her mother or more. 

“For Anne to stay over our humble house in London next weekend!” Isabelle beamed. 

“We could be talked into it,” Anne said, trying to tame the talent to keep people on their toes. 

“Very well. Come in, make yourselves comfortable.” Nicole said. 

They chatted for a bit, laughing at their jokes and Isabelle played the piano as Anne sang, her melodic voice leaving Mrs. Richards in awe, her eyes wide, and a delighted smile on her face. This time, Nicole observed her better: she was really beautiful; deep light blue eyes, golden hair with rich locks, a nice body, and shiny skin, and her lips were quite small but tempting. She seemed petite, but beautiful nevertheless. She was indeed a beautiful woman. She couldn’t blame Ernest for falling for her long ago. 

“Bravo, ma chérie! Marvelous!” She turned her attention to Nicole “Your daughter is a prodigy, Nicole. You must be proud,” 

“I am. Every day of my life.” She smiled. 

“Maman, may I show Anne my collection on my iPad?” Isabelle asked politely to her mother. 

“Of course, mon trésor. Go ahead,” She smiled at her. Then, she turned around and smiled at her “You see, Ernest has been talking about you for some time and I just had to meet you! All he does is sing praises of you,” 

“Does he now?” 

“Not everyone intrigues my hus—my ex-husband that way and in short notice.” 

“I am… nothing out of this world.” 

“Are you quite sure? Beautiful widow of an even more beautiful daughter who drifted away from nobility and then coming back after the death of your husband? You can’t blame us for being intrigued.” 

Nicole felt her ears hot and cleared her throat “So, um, tell me more about you! I’m not the kind of woman who talks about herself all the time,” 

“Modest! I like it. Well, I am thirty years old, and my children are Isabelle and Percival, as you know. I married five years ago my dear husband Tristan Richards after realizing that… while my marriage with Ernest wasn’t unhappy, it didn’t just work, and then Richards appeared and he thankfully understood that we weren’t meant for each other. I am French but England has been my home for fifteen years now. I got married young, like you, though my wedding didn’t have much fuss as yours. It was cute while it lasted. And now my Percival just turned six! Already a big boy!” 

“An adorable one, I’m sure,” Nicole said, as polite and proper as always. 

“But why are we talking about this poor old woman’s romantic woes! We came here to persuade you to let our girls sleepover together!” 

Nicole mulled over the thought before she pulled Anne aside and asked her “Do you feel comfortable around Isabelle?” She nodded “And do you think you can trust her?” She nodded again “Do you feel ready for a sleepover with someone outside of the family?” She nodded for the third time “If you are… my darling girl, growing up so quickly. Your father would be proud of you and how brave you are pushing past horizons,” 

“You think so?” 

Nicole smiled at her daughter, kissing her head gently “I do. With all my heart.” She turned around the expectant women “Very well. We buy it. Give me your number and we will talk it over if you’d like.” 

Roselyn beamed as Isabelle smiled contentedly and said “This will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!” 

“I hope so.” 

[thekidultlife]

Afterglow | TROS Spinoff Part 3 | Yoon Jeonghan

Author’s Note: This is the third (and last) part of the Yoon Jeonghan spinoff. Honestly, I did not know that I would take the story to this third part, but my characters went this direction and I have to follow them to see how this would all end. If you want to read this story from the very beginning, please check out the links below! I highly recommend it. 

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut (All the emotions, I guess?) 

 Word Count: 5,792

Jeonghan’s eyes took in the sunny morning that greeted him in the kitchen. Contrasting with the golden rays of sunlight that gleamed at the polished countertops, the pale blue hues of the room calmed his racing mind and soothed his senses. His one hand ran across the huge dining table, and he smiled at the three plates that Jae Eun had set down on the side that wasn’t filled with unopened presents from the birthday party two nights ago. 

“Appa!” Jae Eun called out from the stove in a sing-song voice. She looked extremely happy. Her dark, wavy hair was still mussed up with sleep and her apron was tied in the cute, clumsy knot that adorable four-year-olds are famous for. “Please please please help me flip the pancakes!” 

It was just almost seven in the morning, but Jae Eun looked like she had been up for hours. Jeonghan chuckled and went over to his daughter, who was standing up on a stool again, holding a spatula, and looking very much like Jeonghan when he was her age. He smiled even more when he took note of the burning smell. “Okay. Appa will help you.” Jeonghan took the spatula from Jae Eun’s hands and held her close to him as he flipped the pancakes. “Who taught you how to make pancakes?”

“Eomma did. She said I’m bright so I can do it by myself.” The confidence in Jae Eun’s voice made Jeonghan kiss her on the cheek. 

“Of course you’re bright! Yoon Jae Eun, whose baby are you?” Jeonghan gently kissed the top of Jae Eun’s hair. Ah, mornings like these…

Jae Eun giggled and smiled at her dad, her eyes shining. She stood on tiptoes and whispered adoringly, “Yoon Jeonghan’s! Yoon Jeonghan, whose Appa are you?” 

Jeonghan almost felt like bursting with happiness when Jae Eun said her part of the ritual. It made his morning even more dreamlike and happy. He kissed her nose and said softly, “Yoon Jae Eun’s!”

Jae Eun beamed up at her dad, delight making her face look even more beautiful. Then she began to dictate instructions to Jeonghan as to how not to burn the pancakes which was already burned a little. Jeonghan laughed as she tried to flip the pancakes by herself, succeeding after a lot of cute tries. Then he set her down on her feet so she could put the syrup bottles on the dining table. Jeonghan deftly put the pancakes on a platter and placed it next to the syrup bottles. Then he carried Jae Eun to her chair so she could start eating, promising to be back after he called you over for breakfast. 

“Eomma’s shirt is nice on you, Appa,” Jae Eun innocently commented, her eyes wondering. “But did you lose your clothes?”

“Oh, no,” Jeonghan said quickly, trying not to blush in front of his own four-year-old daughter. He looked at the shirt he was wearing, which was actually his shirt back in the days of your short-lived marriage. He looked back at Jae Eun and smiled. “Actually, this is Appa’s. Your Eomma forgot to return it to me when she borrowed it. That’s why it’s nice on me.”

“And the pajamas? Are those yours, too?” Jae Eun asked curiously, a tiny hand about to reach for the syrup. 

Jeonghan’s face went really red this time, but he nodded playfully. “Yes. This pajama is also Appa’s.” 

“Wow, Eomma has a lot of your things, Appa!” Jae Eun placed a pancake on her plate and began eating. “Tell her to give it back to you! It’s not nice to keep things that aren’t yours.” 

Jeonghan grinned at Jae Eun and nodded again. “You’re right. I will definitely tell Eomma. Now let me go get her to eat breakfast with us.”

“Come back soon!!!” Jae Eun playfully sang out as she ate her share of the pancakes. 

Jeonghan chuckled to himself softly as he padded back to the hallway leading to your bedroom. He opened the door to find you still in bed, half-dressed, your hair a messy tangle, your face…radiant, glowing, beautiful. For the nth time that morning, Jeonghan pulled your face close and kissed your still-swollen lips. 

“Mmm,” you murmured, smiling between kisses, “miss me that much already?”

Jeonghan laughed again and kissed you over and over, tenderly. “Yes,” he said. “I missed you this much already.”

You pulled him close. “I missed you, too,” you said softly, “but first…” you pulled away from him and picked up your phone. You unlocked it and waved the dial screen at Jeonghan’s face. “What was Angelo telling me about you, Jeonghan?” You studied Jeonghan’s face carefully. “Did you really go to to XYZ Publishing yesterday?”

Jeonghan could almost swear that his morning felt a tad shade darker when he saw Angelo’s caller ID on your phone, but he just pulled your hand that was holding the phone down to his chest. “Do you love me?”

“You wouldn’t be sitting on my bed and kissing me if I don’t,” you said tartly. “But what was he saying sorry for?”

“Oh,” Jeonghan said calmly. Suddenly, his morning brightened up a notch from the darker shade that Angelo had clouded it with. “He must have assumed that I had told you how much of a bastard he was. But I left that part out for you to hear from him about personally.” When he saw that you looked worried, Jeonghan kissed you again. “Let him tell you. After all,” he pulled away playfully from your hands and inched away from you, “he’s your boyfriend, remember?”

“Stop it,” you hissed, seeing the sly look on Jeonghan’s face. “Listen to this.” You pressed the voice message and you simmered in mock anger as you saw Jeonghan’s slow smile spread on his mouth. “He broke up with me.” You grabbed his arm and Jeonghan was suddenly on top of you, smiling that smile that made you feel like you were five years younger and you were still living with him in that townhouse where you both loved. “I no longer have a boyfriend and I don’t know why the heck I feel so happy saying that.” It was absurd, really. However, when Jeonghan bent down to claim your lips again, and to skim his hands over your body, you are once more transported back in time. 

But Jeonghan soon broke the spell with a laugh as he nibbled your neck. “As much as I would want to make love to you right now, baby,” he whispered, his mouth on your throat, “I just want you to know that we are very late for breakfast.”

You gave out a yelp and playfully kicked Jeonghan out of your way, his laughter behind you as you went, bounding out the door and trying to straighten your hair. As you neared the kitchen, you struggled to compose yourself, smoothing your shirt and trying to walk straight without wincing. Ah, Yoon Jeonghan, your body sighed achingly especially down there, you just never disappoint.

“Eomma!” came the joyous squeal of delight from your daughter. You gave Jae Eun your sweetest, motherly smile as you saw her sitting on her chair, eating her share of breakfast.

“Good morning, baby girl,” you greeted Jae Eun sweetly with a kiss and proudly scanned the table, set with glasses of milk and plates heaped with pancakes laden with what looked like to be a very sweet syrup experiment. “Wow. Pancakes! And…lots of syrup! Good job, sweetheart!” 

Jae Eun smiled brightly. “It’s our first breakfast together with Appa!” She reached out with no small effort to put a pancake on your plate. “I made two pancakes the best. You and Appa can have it!” 

You felt a hand press gently on your shoulder and you arched at the sudden touch. “Good morning, Appa,” you greeted Jeonghan playfully. “Please sit!”

Jeonghan tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took the chair beside you. Then he smiled at Jae Eun. “You cook well, our Jae Eun!” 

Jae Eun beamed again. But as she was about to say thank you, her eyebrows furrowed. Wondering, Jeonghan asked her why, as they ate together, their first breakfast together as a family.

“Eomma, why are you wearing Appa’s shirt?”

“Yoon Jeonghan.” 

Jae Eun was in daycare, and you were in bed with Jeonghan again, arms around each other. Neither of you had been talking a long time. 

“Yes?”

You traced your fingers at his bare arm. “What do we do now?”

“We were stupid, weren’t we?” Jeonghan let out a soft, sad laugh. “We thought we’d be able to escape all the drama when we divorced. Look at us now.”

“Seriously.” Your fingertips grazed softly over his skin, and you felt him tighten all over at your touch. “What do we do next?”

At that, Jeonghan took your hand and placed it to his lips. His eyes, dark with an intensity and fire that you knew you had rekindled, were boring into yours, sending heat all over your body. “What do you want me to do?” 

Your other hand found his face. You traced his lips with your thumb, and you said, softly, “Come back to me.”

Jeonghan bent his head down to claim your lips in a sweet, slow kiss, and as you kissed him back, he whispered, “I don’t think I ever left.”

Yesterday | (a continuation of a scene from “Only Us”)

“Appa is just going outside for a moment. You be good here with Eomma, okay? I’ll be back at five to take you home.”

“You promise?” Jae Eun’s expectant eyes brightened up at your words. She had never had car rides with both of her parents with her. Jeonghan knew she would be happy if they all went home in one car.

“I promise.” Then he looked over at you once again before walking away and closing the door softly.

Jeonghan leaned against the door, sighing loudly. He had not slept well enough to function, and the emotional weight of everything that had happened—the show, the after-party, the accident—all of it took their toll on him. But he knew that he could not rest now. Not yet.

The thought of his most strenuous task for the day made him steel his resolve. He would go home first, shower and change clothes. Then he would proceed to where he must go for the day. He dutifully acknowledged the reporters who were waiting all around the hospital building with nods and small smiles and ignored the questions they shouted at him. It was a good thing that the hospital provided extra security for the floor where you were interred when he asked them for it.

He whipped up his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello. Yes, it’s me, Jeonghan. 1402. I’m heading out and I need you to be here to help with security. Yes. My wife and my daughter…Thank you very much.” My wife. He hung up immediately to answer another call. He was now at the parking lot.

“I’m waiting by your car,” came Seungcheol’s reassuring voice. “I’ll take you home.”

Jeonghan sighed in relief and waved at his friend just across the lot. “You are a lifesaver.”

“Hey, with all of us being such good boys, this is the only time I could get to fully exercise my role as a leader, taking care of my members.” Seungcheol hung up as he gave Jeonghan a brief hug before taking the keys from him. “Sleep. You’re gonna need it.”

“Yes, team leader,” Jeonghan said dryly, the sore muscles on his back relaxing as he seated himself on the plush car seat. He closed his eyes as Seungcheol started the car.

Minutes later, after stopping at a red light, Seungcheol spoke. “It’s only half past one. Plenty of time. Are you sure about what you’re going to do?”

“Yes.” Jeonghan was drifting off to sleep.

“Then I’ll come along, too. Maybe I can help persuade—”

“—I appreciate the gesture, but, no thanks. I need to do this by myself.” Jeonghan opened his eyes and glanced at his friend. “I’m the one who lost her. I��m the one who has to bring her back.”

Seungcheol nodded in understanding. “But I’ll come anyway. I’ll wait by your car and distract the reporters that might be crowding around.”

Jeonghan regarded his friend for a moment, before nodding. Seungcheol wasn’t asking. He was telling Jeonghan what he was going to do. “Okay.” Jeonghan turned away from Seungcheol then to sleep, but his mind was transported back to another time when Seungcheol simply did not sit by the sidelines and watch Jeonghan’s life come into a head.

He remembered the night of Jae Eun’s birth, the first month of his separation from you. He remembered how helpless he was, how broken he felt, until the Seungcheol and the members came to support him while he watched over you during those hours of labor. He remembered the tears spilling down from his eyes as he held Jae Eun for the first time. 

And he remembered how every ounce of him that fought to keep you by his side surrendered to the pressure of the divorce. Looking at Jae Eun’s tiny face, and at the worried looks of the members as they crowded around Jeonghan, he knew that he would have to do everything to keep his little girl safe.

No matter what it cost him. 

He remembered the car drive home, with you on the backseat, trying to sleep after the arduous childbirth. You had insisted on recuperating at home. He remembered your horrified, betrayed eyes when you stood at the threshold of a then-unfamiliar house, holding your baby. He remembered how weakly your knees struggled to keep you upright when he opened the door into a furnished parlor.

He remembered how you both just stood there, staring at each other.

“I won’t be far from here,” Jeonghan had said, his voice strained. “But I thought it was best if we move somewhere else.” His hands swayed on his sides. “Somewhere safer.”

Jae Eun had cried angrily in your arms as Jeonghan said these words. It was as if she knew what was happening between her parents. 

Jeonghan had walked slowly towards you, and as gently as he could, pulled you and Jae Eun close for an embrace. 

“Send me the papers tomorrow,” Jeonghan had said softly, his eyes unblinking as tears fell from them burrowing his face into your neck. “I will sign them.”

You didn’t say anything then, but when Jeonghan pulled away to look at you, all he could see was one emotion: you were tired.

And so was he. 

The private proceedings of the divorce went on for another year. And on Jae Eun’s first birthday, she was already given to your custody, with visitation privileges for Jeonghan, who had the much busier schedule. The agency at that time did a better job of silencing any reports about the divorce. As far as everyone was concerned, your romance with Jeonghan was just another one of those relationships who crashed too fast. If only they knew how much it had cost you both.

Back then, Jeonghan had honestly thought that being separated from you legally was the best way to keep you and Jae Eun safe from the harshness of public spotlight and scrutiny. But now, four years later, seeing that these attacks against his family’s privacy were still being mounted by hungry reporters and angry people, he knew he had made a mistake by relenting to the pressure five years ago. 

“What are you thinking about?” Seungcheol asked softly, eyeing Jeonghan carefully. 

“Nothing much.” Jeonghan rubbed an aching temple and closed his eyes. “Just that I think I should have done things differently before. I should have seen that the divorce was not the answer. I feel so stupid.” Jeonghan leaned on the window. 

“Whether it was a mistake or not, I still think what matters most is the reason why you did what you did.” Seungcheol tapped his fingers on the steering wheel lightly. “You wanted to protect your family. You wanted to solve the problems as best you could. But sometimes, you know, you solve the problems after a lot of trial-and-errors. The divorce was well-intentioned, but now that you see it did not work—don’t dwell on the fact that it might have been a mistake. Just try again.”

Jeonghan looked at Seungcheol and smiled at him. “Thanks, Cheol.”

Seungcheol grinned. “Anytime. You taught me how to do pep talks, remember?” Both boys laughed as they thought of younger days. “By the way, does the bastard know that you’re coming to his office? I think it would be better if he knows.”

Jeonghan’s lips curled into a small smile. “He’d better know, because he made my daughter very, very unhappy last night.”

Seungcheol first drove Jeonghan home so he could get a quick shower and a change of clothes. The cameras in Jeonghan’s unit were still in place, but Seungcheol had managed to convince The Return of Superman’s producers to reschedule the continuation of Jeonghan and Jae Eun’s day the next week at the earliest. Jeonghan murmured another ‘thank you’ in his head for Cheol, who had always been very dependable and was always reaching out to help and support friends.  

Thirty minutes later, they parked outside an impressive-looking edifice, an aesthetically designed one made with a mix of expensive wood, stone and marble. Jeonghan got out of the car, dressed in a semi-casual suit, holding a thin briefcase, hair rustling in the afternoon wind. He nodded at Seungcheol, who grinned at him and made a gesture with his hands that Jeonghan read as, “Call me.” Jeonghan nodded and walked towards the huge building. 

The interior of the building was as impressive as the exterior, but more homey. Some wood with warmer tones were used for the gigantic bookshelves that lined the walls. A staircase leading to the second floor (where more bookshelves were lined up and people were getting on and off ladders to reach for different kinds of tomes) caught Jeonghan’s eye. He saw a man in deep perusal of one of your books. 

The receptionist materialized from one of the doors behind the front desk, and her eyes widened when she saw Jeonghan. She immediately hurried over to take her place.

“What can I do for you, Sir?” she asked breathlessly. Jeonghan lazily took note of the blush in her cheeks. 

Jeonghan looked at his watch. “I have a 2 o’clock meeting with your one of your board directors, Mr. Angelo Kang.”

“Let me patch you in with his secretary.”

Minutes later, Jeonghan made his way to the third floor, where the administrative offices of the XYZ Publishing Corporation would be found. He passed by doors with nameplates that introduced who was currently holding office there: various editors, assistant editors and the publishing house’s homegrown authors. He smiled briefly when he saw your name on one of the oak doors. Y/N, it said: editor-in-chief.

Finally, at the farthest wing of the room, the double doors to Angelo Kang’s office door were ajar. Jeonghan stepped in and waited for Angelo to look up from his desk. And when he did, Angelo’s face tightened. 

“Mr. Yoon.” Angelo glanced at his laptop screen before turning guarded eyes to Jeonghan. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Your mistakes,” Jeonghan said slowly as he closed the door, “starting with hiring stalkers to follow my wife around.”

Present Day

“Why did you date him?” 

Clothes were strewn around the floor of Jeonghan’s bedroom. You had gone with him to his penthouse to pick up some clothes but ended up taking yours off when Jeonghan told you that he wanted to make love to you on his bed, right that moment.

You had never been inside his place before. Amazingly, though, as you stared at Jeonghan while covered in sheets that should have felt unfamiliar, you felt like you were still somewhere you had known for a long time.

You looked up at him, at his questioning eyes. 

“Would it make sense if I told you that when I went out with him, I was imagining that it was you with me?”

Jeonghan scoffed. “I’m way more handsome. Just look at our baby girl! Would we have beautiful Jae Eun if I looked the least bit like Angelo?”

“Stop being such a jealous guy.”

“Does he make love to you, too?” The jealous tone was back, and you slapped his chest. 

“Stop. We would never!”

“You dated him, love. Of course there would come a time when you would have.”

You sighed. “It wasn’t that serious.”

“He proposed.”

“I didn’t know he would! We only went out for a couple of drinks and...dinner? That was it. I didn’t know it was that serious in his head.”

“But why?” Jeonghan pulled away, and you felt your body ache as he pulled away. “Why did you date him?” 

You stared into Jeonghan’s eyes. “The calls never stopped coming through my phone.” You laughed an empty laugh. “I don’t know why they would always end up getting my number, no matter how many times I change it. Even the telephone...” You nestled onto Jeonghan’s chest and he took you in his arms, caressing your back as you continued. 

“Jae Eun answered a call one Saturday. I had been showering when the call came so she was the one who answered it. We were sleeping together in my bedroom whenever you were on tour that took up Saturdays and Sundays. We planned to go to a shopping mall that day, and I was getting her ready but she didn’t want to go. Turns out that she had answered some woman’s call and she was terrified of the woman’s words, which, in effect, said that I would die if I stepped out of the house. 

“I couldn’t get to work because Jae Eun wouldn’t let go of me or let me go outside the house for three days. Angelo was a new guy the board had recommended as director, and he had parents that ran a security company. I knew he liked me, so I steered clear from him. But when he offered to look into who kept calling and calling, I was so grateful. Especially when they found the culprits. I was really grateful. 

“When he asked me to go out with him for drinks, I couldn’t refuse. And when he begged me to try dating him, no promises, I couldn’t shake off the memory of Jae Eun’s fearful eyes, looking at me and begging me to not go out of the house. 

“I said yes because of that. But as two months passed and he was getting more and more anxious about our relationship, things started going south...he especially hated having you come around during Saturdays when you would pick up Jae Eun.”

“Maybe that was when he started having his men follow you around. He was anxious about me.” 

“I think the proposal was his last-ditch effort to see if I was serious about him. I don’t know anymore what to think. I’m just glad that it has ended. That everything is starting to get back into place.” You looked back at Jeonghan. “I made a bad decision and now I regret it, because I was dating him out of gratitude, not out of love.” You leaned onto Jeonghan again. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry for not being there for you and Jae Eun. If I had been there, this would never have happened. I didn’t know--”

“--stop.” You put a finger onto Jeonghan’s lips. “Let’s not get back into the past again. We both made really stupid decisions. But it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is us. Now.” You kissed him gently. “Here.” 

You smiled as he kissed you, a tear escaping your eye. “I love you,” you said as his kisses went downward. “I love you.”

The Days After

“...of course, life wouldn’t be a bed of roses,” the counselor said as she wrapped up talking with you and Jeonghan. “You have to understand that you divorced for very serious reasons, life-threatening ones, in fact. It’s not going to be an easy choice to get back together. But if you are sure of your decision, and if you have concrete plans as to how to get on with your lives together, I see no reason why you should not take the risk. A very beautiful risk.” 

You turned to look at Jeonghan, who was listening intently. It had been his idea that you get counseling the first few months. 

“Like I told you, you have to take things slow. You have to blend love with a sound rationale so you wouldn’t always be up in the clouds. Invest in things together. Spend time with your daughter together...but don’t rush. Take your time. Admit it or not, many things have changed since you have been together.”

It was very good advice. The both of you had to admit that during the four years you had been separated, many things have changed. Things you didn’t like before, you suddenly have started to like. Simple things like how to make the bed, how to cook up an egg, sleep cycles...these things contrasted sharply with who you both were before and who you were now. 

Jeonghan nodded slowly. He was holding his phone. You felt yours vibrate and as the marriage counselor kept on talking about taking things slow, you took a peek at the message. 

[💋]: I agree with our counselor. Do I have to tell her how you would cry now everytime I get so good with you in bed? 

Jeonghan smiled slyly when you suddenly coughed. The counselor looked over at you questioningly, but she continued. 

“By the way, have you talked with your ex-boyfriend, Angelo?” 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

“Did the conversation end on good terms?”

You nodded again. “Yes.” 

“Very good. You see, loose ends from a previous relationship could complicate a good marriage. I’m very glad that you ended things well with him.”

Your phone vibrated again. 

[💋]: 🤨😐😑🙄

You bit back a smile and typed in response, Still jealous, I see.

A swift reply came. 

[💋]: Am not. 🙃

You smiled. 

The counselor knew what was going on. “Well, our session ends here now.” You both stood up from your seats as the counslor shook hands. “Best of luck. And, by the way…”

You both turned back to Counselor Kim. 

“...you do know that it’s advisable to restart this relationship in the dating phase, right? Dinners, movies, quality time, but in separate houses and definitely no sex. Right? I think I’ve told you this many times.”

You loved Yoon Jeonghan in moments like this one. Especially when he replied, oh-so-innocently, “Of course, Counselor. Of course.”

“Thank you, Choi Seungcheol,” Jeonghan whispered as he watched a woman in a dark hoodie being ushered into a holding cell. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. This was long overdue.”

Shin Nara, a thirty-year-old vlogger who had been an extreme fan of SEVENTEEN, had finally been apprehended. Years ago, she had followed you inside a bathroom stall and had dashed your head against the wall. You were rendered unconscious and was hospitalized for a week. Nara had never been arrested because she was never found: CCTV footages were unavailable and the bathroom stall was empty of other women during the late hours of the night.

Amazingly, when The Return of Superman aired and your house was seen onscreen, she had managed to track you down again. She was one of the callers who would terrorize you until Jeonghan changed your residence after Jae Eun’s birth.

The security detail Jeonghan had hired to guard your house caught her lurking outside. She was taken into custody for stalking and the contents of her bag that were turned over to the police department confirmed through her journal and a saved photo of the bathroom stall incident five years ago that she was the one responsible for the crime.

As Jeonghan watched her being taken in, a bittersweet feeling took over him, stronger than anger, sadness and relief.

“Your family will be safe, Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, wrapping an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder. “You will be safe.”

Yoon Jeonghan was always sweet and warm, in bed. He kissed like he had honey on his tongue, and he would touch you like you were a goddess he was honored enough to hold.

“Counselor Kim would be so disappointed,” you gasped as Jeonghan’s mouth kissed you on your left shoulder, untying the last strap of your sundress with his teeth. The thin material shimmied down your bare body, joined by your lacy underwear and Jeonghan’s clothes. He laid you gently on the bed, his warm, wet mouth making marks on the sensitive flesh between your breasts. Your hands wove through his hair as he kissed you. Hands took hold of your aroused breasts, kneading them on his hands as he started to kiss you down there.

You laid back, your eyes closing as his tongue did wonders on your body. He was noisy and his eyes would open every now and then, commanding you to look at him as he unraveled you like this. 

There were times when you would pull him up and take him in your mouth, but this afternoon, he wanted you fast. He probably got triggered by the sex ban that Counselor Kim was trying to impose. You laughed and you arched back, opening your legs wide to welcome him as you felt him tease you, circling his rock-hard shaft around your entrance. 

For a moment, he just stood there like that, making you crazy until you whispered, “Please, love?” 

He smiled and slowly eased onto you, ripping you open, entering deeply that your eyes watered at the fullness. You clawed at the sheets as he eased in and out, slowly at first, and then faster, and faster, the gentleness replaced by slick, rough movements that made your hips arch up against each thrust, matching it with your own as he held you up to him, kissing you and kissing you, his rhythm going faster and faster. His mouth traveled from your lips to your breasts, until his gasps became labored and he held onto you.

As your walls tightened and tightened about him, you moaned, pulling him closer as his thrusts sped up. Your clawed at his back as he spilled his seed inside you, his mouth on yours, panting as you gave out a small cry when you came, tremors wracking your body at the experience. 

“Marry me,” he whispered in your ear, as he bit your earlobe. “Marry me again.”

You pulled him close to you and whispered back, roughly, “I thought I already said yes to that last night.”

A knock on the door made you both jump up restlessly.

“Eomma? Appa?”

A few seconds of silence, and then the knock persisted. 

“I’m hungry…”

Jeonghan laughed softly.

“We’ll talk later, love.” Jeonghan picked up his shirt. “We’re coming, Jae Eun-ah!” 

Hello. My name is Jae Eun. 

I am four years old, and I live in a pretty white house with large windows. I live with my eomma. My appa lives in another place, a tall building, taller than my house with Eomma. I feel happy sometimes that I could have two houses...but sometimes I feel sad, too. 

My friends all live in one house. Their eomma and appa live in one house. Their eomma and appa kiss them goodnight every night. Eomma kisses me, too, I have to wait for Saturday to come so my appa can kiss me. Sometimes I wish I could just be Eunha’s or Soyoung’s or Yeseung’s unnie/noona, so I could live in a house where both eomma and appa could give me goodnight kisses.

But today I am not sad. 

I am not sad because I saw Appa’s car when my teacher walked me outside. Eomma was there, too!!! We’ve never had car rides together before. It was always just me and Eomma, or just me and Appa. But today we are riding together!!!

I am wearing a blue dress Appa gave me and blue shoes that Eomma gave me. I don’t look over at Eunha anymore, who always went home with her Appa and Eomma. I don’t look at Seungjae anymore, who always makes his Appa and noona run after him--I no longer look at them. 

Because Appa will be here to pick me up with Eomma, too!

Appa comes to see me almost everyday now, except when he has work. Soon, I will no longer live in two houses. I will only live in one house, and Appa, Eomma and I all live there together, because Appa is staying with us now. Soon, I will no longer live in two houses. Appa promised me and Eomma that we will live together from now on!

They kiss me goodnight, and we eat breakfast, lunch and dinner together. We go to parks, we go to zoos, always together. Appa still leaves sometimes because of his work, but never for long. He promised to take me with him someday, so I can sing with my Cheollie-samchon and Seokmin-samchon and dance with Chan-samchon--I can’t wait to go! Appa is always handsome when he sings and dances. 

Eomma is always with me now. She wants to write at home with me. She says she’s writing something about our family! She doesn’t cry at night anymore. But she’s sillier. She sometimes wakes up with Appa’s shirt! I told her not to because she doesn’t return it to poor Appa. We make pancakes together every morning, and she makes me yummy sandwiches and rice and corn soup to take to school. 

Cameras still follow us around, but not that much anymore. Appa smiles a lot more, and we always laugh and play together, except when I am being too naughty. He still asks me whose baby I am and I still ask him whose appa he is, and the answer will always be the same! He promised me and it made me happy! 

Appa and Eomma will always be with me now. I know that because I saw them wear rings around their necks that are the same and they said it means forever. I wanted to have one because it looks like magic! I always make sure they wear it because it means forever and I want them to be together forever. 

Bye! Appa is waving at me now, and he wants me to run to him and give him a kiss. 

We are going home.

TROS EPISODES | Ep. 1| Ep. 2 | after-party | Ep. 3 | only us |  Ep. 4 | afterglow |  Ep. 5

- Admin Leanne

[silent-scythe]

True Winter

Hi y’all! Technically, I should be doing world history homework, but I’m not. No, I wrote angsty Cassian fanfiction. 

This is crossposted onto AO3. I also started writing this during class and it’s not really edited, so my apologies for all the tense changes and any grammatical or spelling errors. 

Anyways, I really hope y’all like it. This takes place when Cassian is little and dumped at Windhaven- he was like 5 for something? Idk, but I just wanted to write a short little something about it lmao. 

Warnings: very mild cursing 

༺༻

When people think of snow, they often think of wonderland. They imagine the tall, powerful pine trees with snow piled on top, little flecks of dark green representing the branches that peeked through. They imagine the icicles that dangle from the roofs of bungalows and townhouses. They imagine powdery snowflakes and snowball fights. They imagine a world turned to bliss, playful by day and serene at night. They imagine the coziness of winter, snuggled in their warm homes with warm drinks and warm clothes and warm hearts. 

But what happens when they don’t get that privilege? When they instead, have to live outside, cold, shuddering at the freezing temperatures, fingers frozen, stomachs twisting in hunger?

There is a little boy. 

He’s not a little boy now. No, he is a courageous, compassionate and loving male with a family and friends. But before that, he was just a bastard-born boy with hopes shattered like ice in the frigid grasp of death. 

And he tells the story of true winter. 

༺༻

Winter comes again, but it’s different.

It is harsh, the snow. 

Cassian doesn’t like it. Hates it, even. Past winters had been spent with his mother, in front of a crackling fire pit, not alone in a camp full of people who hate him. He flinches at that thought, remembering all too clearly the last insult hurled at his face. 

He hasn’t experienced an Illyrian winter yet, at least not one by himself, alone, tossed outside like a rag, left to become dust in the wind. 

He trudges through the snow that has already reached his calves, his worn leather boots near tattered. He can feel the cold seep through the fabric, settling deep into his bones. 

I need a new pair of shoes, he realizes. And food, water, maybe a blanket or warmer clothes. 

He is but a boy right now, short and somewhat clumsy, although still more lithe than the average Illyrian, having spent his entire life fighting to live. His hazel eyes are round, with the type of innocence that seems both naive and old beyond his years. His hair is wild, tangled, and already down to his shoulders- he can’t remember the last time he got a haircut. 

He doesn’t want to. Haircuts remind him of a different time. A time with warmth and cozy beds and delicious food and love. A time with his mother. 

Cassian banishes the thought away, instead focusing on his task. Food, shoes, and something warm. 

He shakes his wings, the light snow that dusted them falling off with the action. He clenches his small hands into fists, trying to keep warm, since he doesn’t have any gloves, either. 

Cassian walks into the main parts of Windhaven, and the bloodied, crimson and gold sun rises. 

A new day starts. 

༺༻

Night is falling by the time he reaches his tent, which is on the outskirts of the camp, close to the forest. Cassian had heard tales before, tales of the creatures who prowled and hunted at night. He shudders at the thought. 

He calls his home a tent, but it really isn’t. It is made with fabric- the material that the tents were made from- that he took from someone after beating them in a fight. He had found a tall pine tree to mark his home. Then, he had dragged bricks, mud, and rocks from around camp to his makeshift house, building a single wall besides the tree, then he had draped the tent-fabric diagonally from it, securing it to the ground with nails that he found. It is lopsided, falling apart, and beyond dirty, but it will have to make do, at least for now. 

It is small and Cassian doesn’t mind, for he doesn’t have much with him. He is a bastard after all, thrown here into the mud with nothing, the tears on his face not yet dried. He has a small storage of food in one corner that he saves for the worst blizzards, the one he hears about from the adult Illyrians, the ones he knows are coming soon, and a change of clothes in the other corner. A bed is in the center, although it really isn’t a bed- just furs that lined the cold, hard ground, giving him something to help keep him warm during the dead of night. 

Cassian sighs and wonders if he will ever be able to sleep in a real bed one day. “It’s unfair,” he yells into his shabby home. “It’s unfair that I’m just a little boy, yet I have to go through all of this shit!” 

He is answered only by the howling winds.

Shit is a new word he learned a few days ago. Cassian doesn’t know if he used it correctly, but he doesn’t care. 

In his left hand is a big piece of fur. He thinks it's fur from the deer that reside nearby, although he doesn’t know. He is lucky to get his hands on it- a female Illyrian had given it to him, her face softened in sorrow. In Cassian’s right hand is a makeshift bag, which is really a square cloth that he uses to hold the food he manages to get everyday. Today, he has a decently-sized piece of jerky and something that probably used to be bread. 

“It’s food,” he says firmly, to himself. “I don’t care what it looks like, it’s food.” 

He adds the fur to his bed and sits atop it. He puts the bread to one side and breaks the jerky, taking a smaller piece and putting the rest in his little pile of stocked-up food, saving it for later. Just in case. 

There is a bowl next to him, with water inside that he collects every morning from dew-ridden moss and any clean puddles he can find, and if he has time, he goes to the pond to collect fresh water there. He takes a gulp of it and starts eating. 

Cassian finishes the food far faster than he wants to. His stomach is still making knots, still unfilled, but he pretends not to notice. 

Instead, he shuffles to the side, towards the short wall he made a year ago, the wall of bricks and stone that would probably fall if you kicked it too hard. He finds the little nook in between two rocks, and he pulls out a small black box. 

In the box is a golden necklace with a ruby attached to it. It is probably the only clean thing he has in his possession. He dares not touch the jewel, for fear he might dirty it. 

Cassian holds it close to his chest. 

“Hi mom,” he whispers. 

“I miss you. The other boys will laugh at me if they knew I talked to a necklace, but you’re the only friend I have. It’s cold here, and I’m starving,” he complains. 

“I wish you would find me already. I know they held you back and they took me here, and I know it’s already been a year, but I believe in you. I know you’ll find me, and you’ll give me a warm hug and a kiss. 

“Please find me, please. I miss you so much, mama. I hope you miss me too. They don’t like me here. The boys spit on me and bully me, but I have to endure it, since I need to survive. Endure is a new word I learned today. Devlon told me to endure. Well actually, he told me to endure or else I would get killed.”

Cassian’s eyes are teary. 

“I miss you, mama. I love you.”

Then Cassian closes the box and he goes to sleep.

༺༻

Two weeks pass, and the brutality of true winter sets in. It’s worse than what Cassian imagined.

There are less and less boys he can fight with and take food from. His stockpile of food is down to nearly nothing, and the latest blizzard made it near impossible for him to get out of his tent, which has surprisingly managed to stay up despite the heavy snow. 

Cassian is shivering, and he hasn’t eaten in days, not willing to waste his food.

He doesn’t know if he can make it through winter, especially considering it has only just started. He tries to remember a face. He tries so hard to conjure a face with fiery hazel eyes, long, wavy black hair, and soft lips, but his mother’s face becomes blurrier every day. 

The boy is losing hope. 

༺༻

More days pass, and the boy grows thinner, eyes duller.

The boy lost any semblance of hope. 

He no longer talks to the box. 

༺༻

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your comments and opinions, they make my day. Also, if you want to be tagged when I write more fanfiction (about Nesta, Cassian, or Nessian), comment in the notes :0 

- Scythe 

[musedblues]

Born To Love You [Part: 6]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue.

a/n: Well, this one is a dozy. There's plenty of angst, a dash of sickeningly sweet fluff and vague mentions of sex, but blink and you'll miss it. (Just be mindful!) After this... is just the epilogue! I cross my heart to get that bit out soon. I'm sorry for leaving you lot on a cliffhanger for so long! But I'm so so grateful for all your sweet feedback and kind lovely words. I'll really be looking forward to everyone's thoughts on this second to last chapter! 💖

w/c: 9k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You couldn't wait to get home. You couldn't wait to toss your suitcase full of laundry in the wash room and face plant into your familiar bed. But when you got there, and your bags were stored away and your favorite sheets beckoned you to bed, you still felt like shit.

What's worse, was the quiet. James and Andy had gone off to tend to renovations in their new home, during the weekend you settled back into the flat you'd shared with the two for years and years. So you sat alone, adjusting to the new normal. Adjusting to the hollow void where your heart should be and the echoes of it's once fierce beat surging through your ears loud enough to keep you awake.

And when Gwilym rang to hold one-sided conversations with his daughter and ask how you were, you didn't even pretend to smile. He hated to see it. But a small part of Gwilym's soul settled slightly, to see you'd dropped the act of fake grins and scripted answers. And because he sort of figured you'd hang up on him if he brought it up, and you sat on the edge of your seat every time he rang, you never spoke about what happened. Not until James and Andy came home.

///

"My dear, it's been ages!" Andy beamed, tossing his bag to the sofa and taking giant strides to wrap his arms around you. His jubilant smile was a lovely sight to see, it was hardly rimmed with the question you knew must have been on the tip of his tongue. Because Andy in all his brilliant blonde wonder had remained almost entirely out of the loop. James only knew some of the bits of the story you'd stirred up over the past month. But you figured he must have told his better half what he did know. Because it was Andy who asked, after all, in the usual way any of your friends might have for a few years now.

"How was the big trip to see your lover, then?" Andy teased, just like everyone who knew you and Gwilym well enough always had, before. Only this time you had no witty come back. You had no sharp-edged jab to defend yourself. You only let your demeanor crack, at last, letting hot, humiliating tears slip down your cheeks.

His asking was the final straw, because even though you were home, nothing felt the same anymore.

"Oh way to go, Andrew." James scoffed on his hurry in the door, reaching out to grab your shoulders, pulling you in for some kind of protective hug. You heard Andy stutter out a disoriented apology.

"It's okay." You sniffled, halfway peeling yourself from James' embrace. It was your brilliant, fiery, quick witted best pal who made you pour everybody a drink and gather around the kitchen table to spew your guts; after they spent a good hour trading Olive back and forth for several dozen welcome home hugs.

Olive was fast asleep, and it was quite again, like it had been since your return. Only now instead of letting those same old thoughts echo through your head, you spewed them all, swallowing your pride with shots of whiskey. James and Andy listened all the while, taking quick drinks when you did, wincing over your pathetic, deadly details.

"Well... It's really just like that scene in My Best Friends Wedding.'" Andy mewled, trying to equate the pickle you found yourself in, to something that was fixed on a movie screen in the matter of one easy-going scene. You shook your head as James did too,

"This is clearly way more like While You Were Sleeping, except Gwil's been awake the whole time." James pointed out, getting up to reach for the bottle of alcohol on your counter.

"This is Anna Karenina." You whined gravely, letting your head drop to the table with a sorry thud. Andy gasped as James gently tugged your hair to get your attention as he said,

"Fuck that. You're getting that happy ending, love. Just give it time."

Your flatmates promised to see you through your latest greatest disaster; swearing that even after they moved away you'd still be welcome to crash in their guest room, swearing everything would be okay.

///

Halloween ended when Olive scraped her knees. She stumbled over an uprooted tree branch, scuffing up the socks you found to perfectly match her chicken costume.

You left James and Andy in their nondescript punk rock get ups and headed home with your unsettled babe for the night. You woke up early the next morning, around the same time your flat mates were creeping in from whatever party they got sucked into the whirlpool of. They told you goodnight as you totted Olive into the living room for the day. It was filling up with halfway packed moving boxes that served as reminders for you to get a move on. So while an old Julie Andrews film played, you scrolled through some listing as Olive clamored to the sofa at your side.

And right when you'd found the perfect neighborhood; A call you were anxious to answer interrupted your interest in a reasonably priced townhouse close to a quaint school district.

"You promised you'd facetime last night!" Lucy's delicate whine was music to your ears.

"I sent you a picture of Olive in her chicken costume! But we had to cut festivities short." You explained Olives tumble and apologized for missing out the chance to facetime your friend all dressed up, like you once promised through text.

"Not to mention you missed getting a glimpse of our killer halloween party, over here. I'd never seen Gwil so drunk." Lucy snorted. You chuckled too. "I wish you would have been there."

"I would have loved to see you, Luc, but I'm sure I wasn't missed by anyone else."

"I beg to differ. I wasn't the only one who was sad when you didn't call, last night. In fact, Joe said-"

"Lucy." You cautioned. Olive rested her head in your lap, and you ran your fingers through her curls in an automatic attempt to keep that familiar sickness from rising in your throat. Lucy stalled for a moment but spoke up again.

"Joe talked about you all night, actually." She seemed to realize. "To me, anyway. We sat while the others played some dumb game... and he asked about you. He had been drinking, though, and kept saying something about the aquarium?"

"I'm going to hang up if you keep-"

"Y/n..." Lucy bit for your undivided attention.

"Joe... well... you should talk to him. It would do you both some good."

"I don't think that's a good idea in the slightest. I'm not over-"

"Just... talk to him. For me?" Lucy begged, sweetly. You said okay, but not because you planned on phoning the guy, but because you were desperate for your friend to talk about anything besides Joe.

///

Gwilym came home for the holidays. You fetched him from the train station, settling into his familiar company right away. And for a week, you spent most of your time in his spacious home, baking sweets and taking naps on his big comfy sofa. You mixed drinks for the members of his massive family who stopped over, bearing gifts, and telling stories. All while Gwilym kept Olive on his hip, when she wasn't trailing behind his stride.

You spent Christmas morning the same way you had for years in a row. Only now was the last time you'd be joining James and Andy around the table for your traditional pancake breakfast. It was the last time you'd huddle around the moving box cramped living room, trading decorated parcels and reading new storybooks to Olive. You laughed the whole day, in place of crying, because you knew you would if you brought up the elephant in the room.

You couldn't tell them how much you'd miss them. How much you already did.

Your pending ex flatmates took a trip the week leading up to new years eve- filling both their cars with boxes and vowing to finish fixing up repairs to their almost home sweet home. Gwilym noted, over and over again, that you were welcome to stay with him till you found another place to settle.

You slept on the idea, in Gwilym's guest room over on New Year's Eve. The two of you were fast in bed long before the new year kicked off. You started the fresh new morning when Gwilym gently jarred you awake with a tender reminder of the promise you'd both made to Lucy.

///

James and Andy were more than happy to keep Olive for the weekend, as it was the last chance they'd get to spoil the kid for a while. They waved you off at the train station as Gwilym held out his hand for you while you climbed the narrow steps.

"I hope you know how much I really don't want to do this." You huffed, plopping into a seat facing Gwil. He grinned, peering to you past his glasses, past rays of the dull rising sun.

"I'm sorry." Gwilym nodded. You narrowed your eyes in wonder, silently prompting Gwilym to explain why he sighed so gravely.

"I'm sorry for the way I ruined things, for you. I know how much you came to care for everyone, and how you now feel like everything is destroyed. But I think you'll find your reputation isn't completely tarnished." Gwilym smiled, glancing at his feet as you bit your lip, considering his words.

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse." You let out a breathy laugh, watching the train slowly chug away from the platform. Wouldn't it be better to be excommunicated instead of tiptoeing on eggshells around people who used to consider you their unconditional friend?

"But thanks, Gwil." You quickly added, hoping he could tell you were moved by his attempt to ease your worry. You really couldn't imagine life without your unconventional friendship.

///

You tried to ignore how much more like home Gwilym's airbnb felt than your own beloved loft. You unearthed a change of clothes and left your bags in the back of his rented car. You'd be staying with Lucy this weekend, after her sister's gallery opening. You doted on your flatmate back home. And you put yourself through small hell for Gwilym. But there seemed to be a growing world of things you'd only ever dream of doing for the sake of Lucy's happiness.

You dressed for the night out, stuffing your phone and some money in the clutch Lucy gave you on the first night you met the girl. The small bag that's stitching was decorated fossilized gemstones was designed by Lucy's sister, whose gallery full of creations you were off to admire.

Gwilym filled your time with anxious chatter about what Lucy had told him to expect tonight. You couldn't tell if he was excited, or rambling to ease your clearly nervous state.

///

Lucy and Rami were waiting in the vestibule, donned respectively in black silk and pink chiffon. You didn't have time to second guess yourself before your well-dressed friends stormed your way- wrapping their arms around your shoulders and gently squealing in your ear.

"No way, I'm not even close to done yet." Rami squeezed his arms tight around you when you started to peel yourself from him. You let out a warm laugh, hugging him back all the same.

"If you must disappear for so long ever again, you've really got to do a better job of keeping in touch, you know?" Rami rang over your shoulder as you leaned into his surprisingly welcoming embrace.

Lucy yanked you from Rami's clutch and pulled you in her stride, rambing right off about how her sister had been anxious to meet you. The girls gallery was full of boldly decorated gowns, painted shoes, and upcycled handbags- true works of wearable art. Before you had time to admire any of it, Lucy pulled you straight to the back of the room, where a girl who looked very much like your friend was entertaining a group of guests sipping champagne.

Lucy introduced you to her sister, an equally elegant and bubbly girl who smiled at you with the same warmth your good friend had always shown. You proudly clutched the small purse Lucy had gifted you, flashing it out for all to see. You boasted about how you adored the thing, and how much you admired the girls creations you'd caught glimpses of on you breeze through, so far. Lucy stayed glued to your side, as if she'd never left it, bragging about her sister to the group who still listened on.

"Go one then, everyone. I'll fill more drinks while you enjoy all my hard work." The girl laughed, waving about the gallery full of eye catching instalments. Lucy took you around every corner, telling stories about the outfits you gazed upon. Some stragglers would listen on, while others shouldered past to find more drinks. One of the shoulders that brushed yours belonged to a familiar blonde. Ben turned to give a nod in your direction before scuttling off to the sound of his name being called.

You couldn't make out the look in his eye before his face turned away, and you couldn't be sure if he'd caught the look in yours. You couldn't tell if Lucy pulled you closer to distract you from it all, or if she really was as excited as she seemed to point out the display of umbrellas before you.

When Gwilym reappeared with a flute of champagne for you in clutch, you took it, and stayed near Lucy as she floated from one place to the next. Lingering too long near the father of your child felt more like a dare than ever, in such mixed company.

It was then, Joe showed up; before Lucy had floated too far. When you saw him, you pretended your breath didn't catch in a theatrical gasp. Rami pretended not to notice. And Ben swooped toward Joe, guiding him in the opposite direction with an over blown greeting, as you shooed Lucy to keep on walking.

///

Lucy set you up in her lavish guest room, made up of pastel walls, sheer curtains and cozy sheets. You dumped your bags in the corner and watched the girl primp her hair in the guest room en suite before the others arrived. Lucy was throwing some kind of after party in her sisters honor, where more trusted and true friends were meant to show up ready to mingle the night away.

"Since Sami is in town, too, Rami and I thought it was the perfect time for everyone we adore to dance the night away, together." Lucy mumbled past the bobby pins between her teeth.

Rami's brother seemed lovely, based on the short introductions you shared back at the gallery. Sami was one of the first guests to burst into Lucy's flat, balancing a few store bought desserts and asking for your help setting them across counter tops. Lucy was always looking for an excuse to gather everyone together huh? You smiled over the realization that everyone seemed to be just as eager for whatever overblown gathering the girl planned next.

Soon, the home was full of faces you'd come to recognize throughout the night. You chatted with Lucy's sister, while music kept changing genres with every new soul who was awarded control of the bluetooth.

But as drinks and hugs were passed around, you'd yet to see any of the people you'd come to know during the pantomime of a time you'd spent in London, last. Not until you floated toward the kitchen.

Ben was there, head tossed back as a swallow of whiskey disappeared down his throat. You crept in, assessing the drinks that linked the counter- more eager to extend your greetings to the blonde than you had been for whatever you'd come in here for in the first place.

"Hi Ben. You look well." You spoke, admiring his tousled hair and the fitted clothes he wore. The blonde twisted and looked right at you for the first time all night.

"Oh, thanks. I'm just so glad you're back round." He slurred in cold disdain. His tone was flat and his eyes were empty. As you registered his disposition, you recalled the look in Ben's eye every time he caught you playing house with Gwil. If anyone was fooled by your act it was Ben. He'd admired your picturesque family. You'd burned his rose-colored image to the ground.

"No, yeah I really wish you could have been round for Halloween. You could have gone as Bebe Buell. Gwil could have been Steven Tyler and Joe would have been Todd Rundgren. Hell, you wouldn't have even had to have dressed up for that role." Ben ended his tipsy address by slamming his empty glass on the counter, causing a crack to race up to the rim.  You stood there, heart shattering in place, too...

"I swear to God if you break Joe's heart I will-" Ben pointed, darkly.

"Ben, what the fuck?" Lucy cursed, spinning into the room like a hurricane. She ripped the broken glass from Ben's fist and gave him a disappointed glare.

"Apologize to her right now!" Lucy boomed. You stood stone still, watching in shock. You'd been prepared to deal with every blow Ben delt you, because that's what you deserved. You did nothing to merit Lucy's displays of friendship.

"Fuck that." Ben spat, looking right to you. "You're a fucking liar."

Rami appeared as if he was just breezing by, but grabbed Ben along the way, clasping his shoulder and dragging him out of the room. Lucy scurried over to you, while you started to apologize and plan your escape route.

"I knew I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry-"

"Yes, you told a lie. But you've apologized, and explained, and given it time. So has Gwil. It's over now. Dealt with. Ben had no excuse for losing his cool like that." The brilliant blonde petted your arm as you held fast to the anchor of regret that had found a residence in your belly.

"I hurt his feelings Luc. That's excuse enough."

"Well, I don't think so. He should apologize. He doesn't need to like what you did but you're not going anywhere. So, he'd better get used to it."

Lucy spoke decidedly, reaching for a martini glass. You smiled, and shrugged, and mouthed thank you as a few folks you didn't know pranced into the kitchen.

When you rounded the corner into the busy living room, you were halted on your mission to find a bit of quiet.

"Here, you're gonna want some of this before Gwil eats it all."

Joe was stood in front of you with a small purple plate of cake. You glanced from the buttercream and back up to the man with fossils for eyes. He was dressed in clothes you remembered him wearing before, a bit of stubble covered his jaw.

Your hand lifted to take the plate from his grasp as your eyes locked on his, too many words to choose from sticking in your throat. He started to turn back to wherever he came from, but then nodded his head for you to follow along.

"Are you kidding me? You're a shit friend." Gwilym cried from the sofa, as you approached. "After I asked you so nicely to fetch me another slice." Gwil's gaze turned from the dessert in your clutch, shaking his head in Joe’s direction.

"That was the last piece and you already had three." Joe pointed to the plate in your hand as he plopped next to Gwilym on the sofa. You eased across from the two, moving faster than you could think otherwise.

"He's always stealing Olives snacks, too." You laughed a little, hoping like mad that you didn't seem as nervous as you were. "I'll take this as pay back on her behalf." You grinned to Gwil, raising a bite of cake to your lips.

As Gwil started to defend himself, Sami breezed by, settling into the nook you'd found yourself among, it didn't take him long to learn you and Gwil were trading banter about the same little girl.

"Oh, you two are together?" Sami asked, trying to connect the dots, like so many others had before.  And in a flash, after shooting you a look, Gwilym answered.  He assured you weren't a pair. That you only stuck so close because of the kid you shared. As he rambled about Olive, you wondered why it couldn't have been that easy, every other time.

You picked sorrily at your cake, accepting the new normal. Accepting the same white noise that blasted through your ears while your throat closed around the apologies you felt you'd never say enough of. And while Gwil pulled up a few photos of your darling daughter to show Sami, you glanced up, noticing Joe turning his easy going expression toward you.

"Thanks," You decided no sooner than you started speaking. "Ya know... for not hating me."

Joe's delicate gaze turned. His brow furrowed and his smile twisted as his eyes studied your own for a bit. You turned back to your cake, eating as much as you could before the permanent sickness in your stomach was too all-consuming.

Then you got up to toss your rubbish away. You left the people you knew mixed among the strangers who didn't know enough of you to cast appropriate glares on your creep through the kitchen. As you lingered in the back of the room, Lucy's sister led a group of girls in from the cold. She warned you the fire burning on the patio was close to dying out as she guided her friends indoors. You  took it as a strange invitation to float out back to the empty ring of patio furniture. The head pounding music and bouts of laughter echoing from inside nearly became silent as you shut the door and drifted to sit on your own. This was the escape you'd been in search of earlier. But you weren't solo for long.

"You alright?" Joe's voice cut through the cold, after the storm door creaked shut behind him. You glanced up to the guy, who braced his arms at his chest, and waited to move closer until you gave the green light. You were afraid of what might happen when you answered.

"Yeah." You nodded smally, after a sigh. Joe floated toward the bench you'd sunken into, willing the cushions to swallow you whole.

"I don't know why you think I'd hate you." Joe stated, sending your mind to reel as if his daring to single you out wasn't enough of an emotional frenzy.

"You know why." You responded in an easier breath than you knew you had in you. Joe sat at your side on Lucy's posh patio furniture, while you turned your head, watching the fire die out.

"No, I don't. Even though it was all fucked up... I just... I guess I understood." Joe started, taking his time explaining things from his perspective. Explaining how he'd watched you and Gwilym fit together, and clash. How he heard some of the things you and Gwilym hissed at each other from other rooms. How you'd look at eachother with warnings. Joe said that when the truth came out, he was more relieved to know it, than offended. But you weren't totally convinced. You weren't relieved at all.

"I'm never not going to be sorry, Joe." You shrugged, casting your eyes toward him for a daring beat.

"What for?" Joe asked quietly, in a tone that suggested you didn't have a thing to be sorry for.  Your eyes turned to your lap, searching for the right way to say what you felt you needed too. After a pause that seemed like eternity, you said,

"I wanted things to be so different..."

And then Joe said,

"Yeah. Me too."

Damn it. If you'd only just done something, anything differently, back then. You'd tried taking it all back. You'd tried letting time pass. Like all the movies said to do. So why did it feel worse than ever? Why couldn't you help but to hang your head, catch your breath, and bite back tears? You prayed the moment would pass. You prayed Joe would get up and leave you to suffer, leave you to adjust to your new normal.

You wouldn't let yourself cry. Not even when you felt the weight of Joe's hand in your shoulder. You held it together still, when he gently spoke your name, a vague invitation for you to let go, but you wouldn't. Joe wrapped his arm behind you. And when he did, all your practices nearly rendered useless. But instead of crying, you sank into Joe's side and closed your eyes. He let you.

///

He walked behind as you decided to head back in. And he said goodbye soon after, leaving with a tipsy Gwilym in tow.

Rami stayed to help clean up. Then he left Lucy with a kiss goodbye, on his way to enjoy the last of his brothers company in London. The house was quiet, but still buzzing with new born memories of laughter and commotion. Lucy was tired, and so were you. It was easy to pretend that you just craved sleep, and not an entirely different set of realities. So you saved expressing your regret for the shower and vowed to enjoy the rest of the weekend with your friend; who'd been looking forward to having you over since she conceived these plans at the beginning of the end of last year.

You always figured it would be easier to ignore your feelings. To steer clear from Joe. But with the way all your mutual friends seemed to enjoy each other's company, your plans fell through. So if you had to wind up so near Joe, you figured you'd better enjoy the slightest bits of his company. Because he'd smiled so easily at you. He'd been so kind. You didn't deserve any amount of his attention, but hell, you'd take it.

///

The next day you wandered down a few streets in the surprisingly warm London air. Pepperings of snow had melted away and you could have been fooled into dressing for spring if the wind didn't pick up every now and again. But still, you strolled alongside Lucy until you reached a small bistro, where she insisted on buying your lunch. She also insisted on listening to you talk, even though you were much more anxious to hear the deadly details of her much more exciting life.

She listened to your stories about Olive and Christmas time with Gwilym. She listened to you tell how nervous you were to come back to London, ready for some reality television show level of drama to bog you down. Lucy laughed at the prospect and kept pulling her phone into view when you stopped to take sips of your drink.

You realized why she'd been so taken with texting when your date was crashed. Of course, Lucy didn't tell you she'd invited Joe along. And of course, as he joined your table, Lucy stood to leave.

"Right, I've got to meet Rami to see his brother off. I'll see you later, doll, don't have too much fun without me!" Lucy shrugged into her coat and spun around after leaving you with the gesture of a kiss.

You couldn't help but laugh as she disappeared around the corner. Joe grimaced when he discovered that you'd been left out of the loop, swearing he hadn't dreamed of catching you off guard. You decided it was the way of things, in London. Anyway the wind blows... right?

It only took you the usual dread filled second to get past your blush. To assess Joe's windblown hair and his familiar posture. And just like that, after he ordered some tea and you sent Lucy a message full of hot headed emojis to decode, you and Joe delved into one of those conversations you always had with ease. The kind where he'd tell you an exceptionally long winded story about the madness on set. One of his exaggerated quotes would remind you of something from a long past summer camp, and then you'd get to talking about growing up. One thing always led to another, until there was no topic left to turn. Until the conversation you were never sure might come to life was the only one left to have.

It was Joe, in fact, who'd brought up some stupid thing Gwilym said on one of their days off. How he'd misheard an expression and argued with Joe, and Google, slow to admit his misunderstanding.

"Sounds like Gwil." You laughed, but only a little. Only to suppress the scream in your throat. You glanced down to see if Lucy had responded to the message in your lap, but only to avoid Joe's fossilized gaze. She had. She told you she had no clue when she'd be back home and reminded you where her spare key was hidden in case you became stranded.

And when you looked back up, Joe hadn't shifted his intently watchful eye.

"You know, we really should talk."

He was right. This was always coming, somehow, someway. Even as the universe tried its darnst to prevent it, still. Lunch hour had ended, and the bistro was closing. But all the reasons you'd said no to Joe in the past didn't exist anymore. So you asked if he fancied to walk back to Lucy's, where he could leave you be after giving you an earful.

The whole way there was sprinkled with mindless chatter to fill the gaps. The calm before the storm, you decided. You found Lucy's spare key with your heart in your throat, and tried to remember all the good things you'd come to adore about Joe that might mean he'd let you down gently. But you really deserved a good talking too. A totally battering of the heart and soul.

You floated to the kitchen, rambling through the same speech you'd given Lucy hours ago, about how uncertain you'd been about showing up in London after everything. How you expected to have heard many more curses from everyone, by now. How Ben's scolding you last night was only surprising due to the fact that it was cut short.

Joe listened, shaking his head every now and again, settling into the chair nearest you as the setting sun turned the room a dark, sad blue.

"Ben will come around." Joe nodded, after you cringed at bringing up how he spoke to you in this very kitchen.

"Well I'll understand if he doesn't." You assured. You'd come here expecting to spend time with Lucy, and find some kind of closure with everyone else. Even though you didn't want to.

"He will. He cares about you, y/n. We all do. Things like that aren't so easily changed."

You couldn't help but grin as your eyes rolled. Then, with all the compassion Lucy had shown you, and all the assurance Gwil had always given, Joe spoke up. He rambled for a bit about how September seemed from his perspective. How he was more relieved, than upset, when things boiled up and over. Because then, at least he'd hoped, all the times he'd caught you and Gwilym hissing at each other from the other room, would have ended. Joe hoped, when he found out the truth, that it was as simple as it seemed.

You laughed, because his definition of simple boggled your mind a bit.

"All I'm saying is I'm glad you and Gwil cared enough about each other to pretend to care a little bit more." Joe chuckled. "It all could have been much worse, ya know?"

"You're impossibly optimistic. But I'm glad." You pursed your smile, settling deeper into your seat, feeling less like your heart might explode.

After another bout of expressing your regret, and Joe assuring you had nothing to be sorry for, everything sort of felt like it used too. Your conversation floated from one thing to the next, like it always did. You spent the entire sunset yammering with the guy you'd always been too nervous to stand just near.

"Just exactly how long are you staying?" Joe seemed to suddenly wonder, when you chatter started to dissolve.

"Only until the weekend is up. I promised Lucy..." You noted, wondering if this surprise set up was something she'd had in mind all along. You wouldn't have put it past her. "She's apparently got very big plans for us the next couple of days.""

"Right," Joe shifted, his lovely smirk deflating every so slightly. "Well then it looks like this is our only opportunity to talk like this, huh?"

You figured so, trying not to look so distraught over how badly you really didn't want to leave Joe's company. It always got better each time. It always took you by surprise and put you at ease in one go. And maybe that was because you dreaded the times he wasn't near worse than the times he was. And this was one of the last, without another to look forward too.

"So, then, can I just say something I was hoping to have much longer to think through before speaking?" He grinned, but his tone was serious- deadly. A lethal pause started to set in, Joe shifted his weight and sucked in a breath. You did too, then nodded, doing your best to brace yourself accordingly. Joe seemed to consider his thoughts for a beat longer, each silent nanosecond sending your pulse into overdrive.

"I meant what I said when we met." Joe gave one sure nod before locking his forest colored eyes onto yours. "I still do."

"You do?" You asked, not forgetting the words he chose careful after knocking into you; but not understanding that he might have held onto them all the same.

"And when I told you I wish we'd met differently... this is what I meant. This was the kind of chance I had my fingers crossed for." Joe gestured between the two of you in the dim kitchen as the light started fading below windows.

"What? To remind me of the things you said without the fear of Gwil overhearing?" You laughed a little, still too afraid there was some kind of catch. An inevitable "but" that would show up and spoil the sweetness.

"No." Joe smiled, shaking his head. "No, not just to remind you of those things." His eyes searched your face, and there was no time to save the way your stomach filled with waves that reached your heart.

"Do you realize what you're saying right now?" You asked in a nervous waver.

"Yes. Everything I never got to before... and worried I might never get too."

You kept your gaze locked on Joe as he swallowed and looked to you in a way he never had before.

"All I'm saying is that I can't imagine I'll ever feel this way about anyone else, ever. And I don't want you to leave, at least not like last time. Preferably, nothing like last time. I liked you before I even knew who you were. That minute before I knew about Gwil. And even after then, too. And just thinking about letting you get away a second time kind of makes me want to cry. I'll understand if you think I'm fucking insane from now on, but... I don't want you to go."

"Where would you rather I be?" You dared to ask in a hush. You could make out Joe's piercing hope filled expression in the dim kitchen, but you couldn't believe he was looking to you like he had all those times before, still.

"With me." Joe said.

"You can't be serious." After everything? Even now?

"I've quite literally never wanted anything more."

Then, you thought, If he let all those months go by with time enough to grow resentment toward you, he didn't. He had time to find someone much more worthy of his adoration, but he didn't. He said he wanted you, perhaps more fiercely than he had when you collided for the first time. But there had to be a catch.

"Gwil will always be around." You reasoned. He was your rock. He was every bit of parent you couldn't be on your own. You weren't about to let go of his helping hand.

"He's my best friend." Joe shrugged.

"And Olive-"

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Joe grinned. And for another while, as you pitched cons, Joe batted back pros. He reasoned with all of your outlandish what if's and put all of your thought up worries to rest.

"And what do you suppose we do now, then?" You asked, in one final attempt to find a fault in his desperation. A crack in the daydream that was seeping into real life.

"We can figure it out as we go. I waited this long without you, what's a little while longer with us finally on the same page?"

You went quiet, searching Joe's pretty, stubble covered face. You'd already made up your mind long ago, hadn't you?

"Okay. I have at least seven hundred more questions... but okay."

"Yeah?" Joe asked like he couldn't believe he'd talked you into it.

"Yeah." You sat up a little, feeling more at ease than you maybe ever had.

"Well now I really don't want you to go." Joe grinned, drawing his brows close as he realized just because you'd decided to work through things didn't mean they'd get easier in a flash.

"Then..." You decided, because you'd done more than enough procrastinating and debating, "Why don't you stay?"

Because this might be it for a while... but you were damned and determined to make it better than ever before. "I agree that we shouldn't just jump into things..." You explained, considering your mission to move house and Joe's pending trip back to the US. "But I think you'd better kiss me, now."

Joe must not have wanted to waste another second, either. He leaned in before you'd even finished speaking. But just like before, when he'd almost kissed you, he moved slow. And you felt his breath fan over your face. But instead of lunging away, Joe kept inching closer until your lips collided. And then he kissed you the way you always dreamed he would. You kissed him back with every bit of stored up feeling you could pull out in such a hurry. It was a sweet kiss. A long time coming. It was a moment you could have frozen and stayed in, content. But it grew and grew, like the unstoppable way forests take over old roads once there was nothing stopping their sprouting.

Joe reached out, his fingers disappearing into your hair as you kissed him like your life depended on it. You couldn't stop the way you were drawn to him, not anymore. It was impossible to tell who moved first; if Joe yanked you closer or if you'd flung yourself into his lap. All you knew was that's where you ended up, and where you longed to stay for the rest of time.

You were too entirely lost in the way his mouth opened against yours. All you could focus on was how he'd kept you so close when the pair of you moved from the kitchen to the guest bedroom. It was some kind of miracle your head was clear enough to lock the door after Joe kicked it shut and pushed you against it.

You'd wanted this for so long. You'd always wondered what Joe's lips might taste like every time he stretched a smile across the same room as you. You'd pushed away daydreams every time his eyes locked on yours and lingered long enough for you to get lost in.

Now you didn't have to wonder what he might whisper in your ear, or the way his fingers felt against your skin. You got to know what it was like to look in Joe's fossil eyes, before they rolled back while you settled into his lap. You got to run your fingers through his hair and take a deep breath, thinking back to all those little times you'd dared to wonder about a time like this before. You'd always been so certain and scared it wasn't in the cards. But in the span of an evening long conversation, you were sorted. How could it have been so easy? How could it be real?

"I've wanted to be with you for so long." You whispered, hoping Joe knew exactly what you meant. The way you spoke of so much in one statement. You ran a set of fingers through his copper hair, trying to ground yourself from getting lost in the worry you'd become so accustomed too.

"I'm all yours." He assured, speaking in the way he did, that used to make you wonder if his tone was just in your head. It couldn't have been the case, you realized. Not when he spoke low in your ear in the same way, now. Maybe there was lots more to figure out. But this was more than enough for now. It was enough to accept the way he wanted you. And Joe must have really wanted you by the way he'd grabbed hold of you and moved to prove it. You knew better than to take a nanosecond for granted. You knew to relish the way Joe glistened before you. You swore through your fluttering lashes you spotted a halo. Even if it was a ring of light cast from the bedside table- it fit Joe's crown well.

///

Lucy came home long after you'd fallen asleep. The beaming of her headlights through the curtains and the sound of her car door shutting and locking roused you from slumber, barely. All you registered was her homecoming, and Joe’s arms and legs tangled up with yours. The pace of his gentle breathing at your side sent you back to sleep just as peacefully.

When you woke up again, with this rising sun, Joe was still out cold. You could hear Lucy humming in the kitchen, knocking about pans like she had the morning before. So you decided to take the cue to greet the day. You scurried to the en suite, tamed your hair and waltzed out to find what your friend was cooking up.

You had half the mind to scold Lucy for abandoning you, last afternoon. But she always had a knack for gifting her friends exactly what they needed, even if they hadn't really asked, hadn't she?

"You're up early for someone who was out so late." You playfully jabbed, shuffling past Lucy whose pretty face lit up upon seeing you. She stood near the stove, fussing over pancake batter and a tin of blueberries.

You were already halfway through your mission to pour a cup of coffee from the fresh pot across the room, as Lucy greeted you warmly as ever. She rambled for a bit about taking Rami's brother to dinner when his flight got delayed. You turned from resting your piping hot mug on the table in time to notice Joe had awoken, and was leaning against the frame of the kitchen doorway.

"Pancakes? Nice." He stifled a yawn, dressed in the joggers he'd worn the day before. Lucy spun on her heels with a startled yelp at the sound of his voice over her shoulder. Her tin of blueberries went flying, and you managed to catch it before too many tumbled to the tile floor. Lucy let out a string of curses, and a few steady breaths, as Joe was quick to apologize for scaring her into making a mess, crouching to collect the few stray blueberries as you handed Lucy the tin with the smallest grin. She returned your smirk before shrugging back to the stove.

"Breakfast for three, then." She said, obviously trying to keep an excited squeal at bay.

You poured two more cups of coffee and settled in for the most important meal of the day. While you ate, Lucy sat back, demanding to know what was going on. You and Joe traded between turns explaining, telling how you'd talked through most everything last night. How you had lots left to talk about, and lots to decide. But that you'd agreed to figure it out as a pair along the way.

After you'd finished your story, and thanked her for making breakfast Lucy dramatically wiped a faux tear from her eye. She stood to collect your empty plates, and urged you to get ready. Apparently, she'd gone all out, booking a day out on the town for the two of you.

"Sorry Joseph, but I've called dibs on this cutie. You can hang around here if you'd like. I'm sure we'll be seeing lots of you this weekend either way." Lucy giggled, yanking you through the kitchen door and toward your guest room.

As you rushed to fix yourself up and finished your makeup in the spacious en suite, Joe slipped in to tell you goodbye. He collected his wallet from the bedside table while you asked what he was up to today, only a little gutted to part ways.

"I've actually got plans with Ben." Joe rose a brow, leaning against the sink as you tore your gaze from your reflection and uttered a worried "Oh."

"I'll talk to him, okay?" Joe nodded. He'd been so certain last night, that Ben would come around. You'd been accepting of the fact that might not be true, but now the same fact worried you worse than before.

"Okay." You agreed with caution, turning to evaluate your reflection once more. Then you glanced to Joe's image in the same mirror, already missing him. Already anxious about the next steps you'd decide to take together. Everything between you and Joe happened pretty quickly, after such a torturous build up. But now you were back to taking it slow. You knew that was for the best. You knew Joe was worth it.

"See ya later?" You gave a small shrug, unsure of the proper parting phrase, after the conclusions you'd come too.

"No doubt." Joe smiled, pressed a quick kiss to your hair, and spun out of the room, yelling for Lucy to come and tell him goodbye. You didn't have a reason to suppress the butterflies in your stomach as you perfected your lipstick. You simply enjoyed how light your feet felt as you glided into another bright day.

///

Lucy dragged you from shop windows, to expensive stores. She pulled you along to try free samples of sweets and insisted you try on a pair of shoes that couldn't fit her feet, or your plebeian budget.  You ordered tea and stopped in the middle of streets and markets to laugh until it hurt. When you'd wound up in the middle of a manicure with a glass of wine and a couple of nail techs who were eager to gossip with you; you had to stop from pinching yourself and messing up your fresh polish.

Lucy kept bringing up Joe, and all the times she'd caught him staring at you. All the times she thought she'd notice you stare back. She reckoned it was a good thing you'd finally found a way to go about giving each other a chance, no matter how strongly things came to be. She agreed fate was at hand. And so did you, because as you spoke so liberally of the lad, you seemed to summon a text message from him.

Joe: Ben wants you to meet up with us for dinner. He promises not to be mean anymore.

You read the message aloud to Lucy whose eyes grew wide. Your nails were dry by then, as you strolled about the city together. She insisted you skip her movie night plans, nudging you to agree and work things out with everyone's favorite stubborn blonde. You asked if she was really sure. Because you'd already missed one night of fun you could have had together. Lucy figured you could make up for it in the next night and a half you were still around, making loose plans to see each other in the near future all the same.

You admired Lucy's tenacious and tireless efforts at preserving your friendship, and agreed to see her later in the evening.

///

It was the same restaurant you'd come to that first night you met everyone. You couldn't be sure if the boys picked it on purpose, or if it was really the only nice joint open at such an hour. You glided through the doors with a keen chuckle. No matter how or why, everything seemed to come full circle. And with that you'd always be certain.

Ben and Joe were lingering near the back, at a table in the least bust section of the place. You noticed them notice you, and held your breath as your feet traveled closer. One thousand versions of the same sorry came to mind, as you felt Ben's eyes on you. The thing's he'd spat your way echoed in your head. You hated to think you hurt his feelings, broken his heart.

When you were close enough to open your mouth and say all the things Ben deserved to hear, you didn't get too. Because Ben stood up, and spoke first.

"I'm sorry." He croaked, reaching to pull you into a hug without question. You were stunned, for a second, but hugged him back tight. His jumper smelled like expensive cologne and his arms nearly squeezed your shoulders out of place. You tried to hug him back with matched intensity.

"Well, I'm still sorry too." You spoke, voice muffled by his jumper. "I did a stupid thing. One that could have been fixed a bunch of times."

You pulled away to look at the handsome guy you'd always been so humbled to call a friend.

"But you did it for Gwil." Ben nodded, giving your shoulders a final squeeze. He gestured for you to sit, and you followed his lead as Ben said something more.

"I'm not sorry for being angry. But I am sorry for how I acted and the things I said."

You shook your head, feeling the warm sting of tears press against the back of your eyes. "I deserved to hear those things. I needed someone to tell me how stupid I was being."

Ben commiserated and wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you leaned in for another hug. You'd missed his company so dearly, you missed how passionately Ben cared. He promised he'd always be around to knock some sense into your head.

"And anyway... all is well now, from what I hear?" Ben shrugged as you sniffled and cast a glare across the table to Joe, who was waggling his brow and sipping some fruity drink.

"I wish things were always this easy." You let out an airy laugh, reaching for the menu that listed the drinks.

"I'm just glad they finally are. Let's drink." Ben snatched the list from your grasp as you laughed, settling into your new reality. It wasn't much different from the one you'd known and loved, after all. After ordering, you dodged a couple of very embarrassing questions from Ben, and managed to talk Joe out of answering them. The three of you chatted most about the way things had been. Your favorite parts of the month you'd spent with Olive in tow. The boys claimed to miss her, but neither more than you.

Then Ben got a call from Rami. And through a short conversation you only heard one side of, you came to understand the leading man was coming to crash your dinner party. This was of course good news. You weren't sure you'd get the chance to see him again before the weekend was up, let alone spend with the cast you'd come to know and love all at once.

You weren't surprised to see Lucy had tagged along with her man. She cast him across the table next to Joe, so she could sit next to you and complain about the way she'd already chipped a very expensive nail.

"Somebody better call Gwil, he can't be the only one left out. Imagine the Instagram comment's he'd leave out of spite." Lucy piped up, glancing across the table full of your favorite people. Joe was first and fastest to volunteer, putting Gwil on speaker to overwhelm the guy with plea's  from across your table for him to come and join.

When he finally showed up, and your waiter took everyone's orders, everything finally felt normal again. You sat in the middle of your five favorite people,  arguing over each other, stealing chips, sharing laughs. And all the tension from before vanished. You hadn't realized how all captivating the stress from before had been, until you'd settled into peace. Until you felt Joe's knee knock against yours while he grinned as if to ensure he'd meant to catch your attention. You'd smiled back before taking a swing of your liquor for good luck, hoping a silent toast to the feelings that spread in your chest when you caught Joe staring you, would superstitiously keep those glances coming.

When you'd down a couple of drinks and Lucy had switched seats to take some ridiculous photo with Joe, you'd been instructed to use your phone to capture the moment. When you blindly reached into your bag, you pulled out something that wasn't at all what you'd been looking for.

It was Olive's beloved toy bat. The one she'd throw a fit over if it wasn't in view. The toy had been lost in your purse the whole time you'd been away from the girl. You locked wide eyes with Gwilym across the table and each of you let out an "oh shit" in unison.

He'd already been clutching his phone, giving you a look you knew meant he was checking in with the group chat that himself, James, and Andy made up three fourths of. Having been put ever so slightly at ease, you snapped the photos of Lucy and Joe toasting their drinks to each other- for good luck, you decided.

Before you could toss your phone away, it buzzed to life with a message from your flatmates. You checked in a hurry to make sure their world wasn't turned upside down by the baby they were sitting who was missing her prized possession.

The first message was a photo of your daughter, curled up at Andy's side, the stuffed penguin from the London Aquarium tucked under her other arm.

James: Think she's got a new favorite anyhow!

You smiled to yourself, tucking your phone away. Gwil would see, and be put at ease when he checked his end of the group chat later. For now, he was debating the best kinds of breakfast foods with Rami and Joe, each steadfast in their answers. The lot of you stayed there until Ben was slurring about Frankenstein, and Lucy had waited long enough for her one drink to wear off.

Gwil left you with the promise he'd see you again in a couple of days to give you a lift to the train station. Rami and Ben took turns trading hugs with you and everyone else, before piling in to head home.

Lucy corralled you and Joe to her car, insisting to both of you that Ben and Rami couldn't hear your exaggerated ongoing goodbyes from inside the car they drove off in.

And when the three of you piled into her ride, Lucy made plans to keep on drinking, and watch a few bad movies together, while you still had the time. She invited Joe to join in, not because she was quite keen to spend all night hearing his drunken rambles, but because she knew you were. He worried that he didn't have proper movie night attire, and Lucy insisted she could loan him some of Rami's joggers. You were buzzed enough to lean a little closer to whisper something in Joe's ear about not needing to worry about wearing any clothes, later. The two of you subdued snickers like a couple of virgin teenagers.

But it still took Joe the whole ride to Lucy's to gain the courage to hold your hand. And when his fingers laced through yours, you dared not let go for the rest of the evening. You were determined to hold on for the rest of the weekend. For the rest of forever. You weren't about to let Joe slip away, no matter what happened next. You were in it together, now. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @beepbeephardy​ @slutforbritdick​ @joemazzmatazz​ @almightygwil​  @sadhwstudent​ @freakibanana @lelifesaver​ @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band​

[bethpeaches123]

Oh, it’s you.

So I had an idea rolling around in my brain for a little while, and then a real-life situation presented itself that was eerily similar to this, and instead of acting on it in real life, I’m acting on it in fanfiction form. Because it’s less risky, ha. Here’s some enemies to friends to luvers. I’ve also posted it on AO3 for your reading pleasure. :) Enjoy! I would love some feedback too!

“Thanks,” said Katniss Everdeen briskly to the Uber driver in the front seat of the red Corolla. He grunted his acknowledgement in response as her hand grasped the door handle and pushed the rear passenger-side door open, swinging her slender legs out onto the sidewalk. She leaned back into the car and grabbed the bottle of wine off the seat, then ducked out and straightened up, slamming the car door closed as it drove off.

Turning to face the towering brick townhouse belonging to her cousin Gale and her childhood best friend Madge, Katniss squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“You don’t have to stay all night. Just a couple of hours,” she muttered to herself. “That’s like…four half-hours. Or...six twenty-minute periods…or 12 ten-minute chunks…or…anyway, whatever. Just do it. It’s Madge’s birthday, she wants you to be here, just suck it up.”

The night wind suddenly swelled, a gust whooshing past her, stirring up a pile of dead brown leaves around her feet that had fallen from the maple tree on their tiny front lawn. She realized with a start that she probably looks a little crazy to any onlookers, standing on the sidewalk in front of a picturesque townhouse after dark, staring up at it and muttering irritatedly to herself.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta get out more, you’re losing it being alone in that apartment all the time,” she muttered again, before stopping and shaking her head. You’re doing it again; quit talking to yourself already and just go inside, she thought.

She adjusted the crossbody strap of her clutch (the bright gold colour was out of character for her, but it was a gift from her sister and the nicest purse she owned) and curled the loose strands of dark chocolate hair that had slipped free from her side braid behind her ears. Smoothing her forest green shirt dress down over her slim frame, she tweaked the braided brown leather belt around her waist and absently brushed a piece of lint from the right thigh of her black tights, glancing down at her camel-coloured heeled booties.

She wasn’t entirely sure of the dress code of the evening, but at twenty-five, they were still at that age of being grownups, but not totally grownups, if that made sense; they were old enough to legally drink the copious amounts of liquor they downed at one of Gale and Madge’s house parties, but they were still young enough to thankfully not feel the full force of a crippling hangover the next day.

Hopefully this looks okay, she thought. Who are you trying to impress anyway? Stop. Stalling, she grumbled internally.

Irritated was her mood of the night and the night was only just beginning.

Clutching the bottle of wine with the golden bow on the neck, she pulled open the wrought-iron gate and proceeded up the short staircase to the house.

Leaning over and pressing the doorbell off to the right of the heavy black door, she glanced up at the night sky over her left shoulder and her eyes flickered to the wind blowing in the trees again. It was a warm night for the end of October – so warm she’d left her jacket at home and opted for just the long-sleeved dress. It wasn’t like she was walking anywhere. She’d take an Uber home later.

Katniss could hear the sounds of an upbeat indie tune floating through the open living room bay window off to the left. Her eyes flicked back to the front just in time to hear a voice on the other side of the door, where it swung open to reveal the guest of honour for the evening.

“Katniss! Hey! God, I’m so glad you’re here – Gale was wondering when you were going to show. Now maybe he’ll finally shut up,” said Madge, her smile spreading across her face and reaching her arms out to hug her best friend.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Katniss sheepishly, squeezing her back. “Carl the Uber driver wasn’t as prompt as the app said he’d be. He won’t be getting five stars from me tonight.”

Madge’s grin grew. “No matter – you’re here now, that’s what counts,” replied the pretty blonde. Her eyes softened as she looked at her old friend, hesitating. “How are you doing? How’s…everything? After…everything last week?”

“I’m okay. Really. It’s getting better every day.” Katniss said, quietly. She really didn’t want to go into details right here, right now. Or ever. The evening was supposed to be a happy occasion, for Madge. Katniss didn’t want to get into the depressing details of the collapse of her relationship with her long-time boyfriend Darius a few weeks before and the messy division of their things when he moved out of their shared apartment.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that...listen, I know it’s not the time or place, so I won’t pry, but please, let’s go for coffee again this week. You can bitch all you want about how much of a douchebag he is, and I’ll happily reassure you how you’re so much better without him,” said the birthday girl wryly.

“Deal,” replied Katniss, a small smile on her lips. “Here – this is for you,” holding up the bottle of Nova 7 that she knew Madge loved. “I know technically I should’ve gotten you champagne for your champagne birthday, but I thought you’d like this more.”

“Oh my God you’re my favourite person, you know that, right?” squealed Madge. “I mean, besides Gale, but whatever – where did you get this?! I’ve been trying all the liquor stores around town and they said they haven’t gotten a shipment in ages!”

“I had it specially ordered from their website! I’m glad you’re happy – I love you, but I’m never going through that hassle again. Customs are a bitch,” grimaced Katniss. Getting the white wine shipped from Canada seemed a bit much, but 25 was a big birthday and Madge had been Katniss’s best friend ever since they’d been paired together in Mr. Heffernan’s English Lit class in sixth grade. She deserved to be on the receiving end of a splurge.

“Well, you and I are going to drink this together tonight – no one else gets a drop,” beamed Madge. “Come on, I’ll stick it in the back of the fridge so no one can get at it before we do.”

She stepped over the threshold into the front porch and started to toe off her booties when Madge glanced down and stopped her. “No, no, leave them on, they’re part of your whole outfit. You look really good tonight, by the way,” she said, appraisingly. “I mean, not that you don’t usually, but, y’know, dresses are kinda rare for you. I’m babbling. Ignore me. It’s the wine. Come get a glass or three and start drinking with me please,” pleaded Madge as she turned back towards the kitchen down the hall and spotted her new husband. “Gale! Gale, Katniss is here! Get her a glass of Riesling, ASAP!”

“Hey Catnip! Good to see you – finally,” smirked Gale as he strode down the front hall towards them, but Katniss could see gentle concern in his eyes. He didn’t think you’d show, she thought to herself. She mentally huffed at her cousin.

“Obviously I’m here, it’s not like I’d miss my best friend’s birthday,” she said, somewhat shortly.

“Oh – of course not, I know that, I j-just...anyway, I’m glad you’re here. There’s a taco dip with your name on it so I hope you came hungry,” her older cousin stammered, glancing at his wife for reinforcement.

Both he and Madge seemed a little on edge at her presence, like they were afraid anything they’d say would set her off in some way. She knew they were only worried about her since the breakup, but it still irritated her to think that their shared glances probably meant they’d been talking about her before she’d shown up. Katniss hated being the centre of anyone’s attention or gossip.

It’s not gossip; they’re concerned about you because they love you, Prim’s voice popped in her head. Her younger sister was always her voice of reason and regularly called her out when she got in her own head and complained about people being interested in her personal life. With Prim on the other side of the country in medical school at Stanford though, she wasn’t here in person to call her out. But Katniss knew her as well as she knew herself, and knew it was exactly what Prim would say in this situation.

Steeling herself and wiping the scowl off her face, Katniss offered Gale a small, embarrassed smile and said, “I was really hoping you’d make your famous taco dip. I skipped dinner specifically for it.”

A flicker of relief passed over his face and Gale turned and gestured for her to follow him towards the dining room down the hall as Madge returned to the living room filled with guests. “I even covered it in extra shredded old cheddar, your favourite,” he grinned.

“Mmmm, hell yes. Where are the chips? I’m digging in right away,” she said eagerly, following behind him.

As they bypassed the living room and entered the dining room, she glanced back towards the front of the house and scanned the crowd. There was already a decent number of people here, some faces she recognized like old college pals Rue, Thom and Thresh, but others she’d never seen before. Gale’s work friends, probably, she thought absently.

“Is Joanna coming?” Katniss asked, turning her attention back towards the spread of food. “I haven’t talked to her all week. I meant to text her earlier, but I forgot.”

“Yep, she said she’s coming by once she’s finished at the office. Some big case she’s working on or something,” Gale replied. “Let me get you that Riesling, I’ll be right back,” as he turned towards the kitchen, leaving her to focus on the food. Grabbing a plate from the stack off to the left, she started piling taco dip onto it, her mouth watering in anticipation.

“Yeesh, Everdeen – leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?” drawled a familiar voice.

Oh no. Not him, she groaned inwardly, the flush of annoyance rising up her neck and spreading across her face. She stiffened as she heard him chuckle softly and reluctantly turned to face the speaker.

“Oh, it’s you. Hello Peeta,” she said politely. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Why? Obviously I’d come to celebrate Madge. Besides, would you have stayed home and not graced us with your presence had you’d known?” Peeta smirked.

“Hmm, something like that,” she replied, pursing her lips before continuing reluctantly. “How are you? How are Delly and Connor? He must be, what, three now?” enquiring after his wife and son.

“…Yeah, he’s three now. Three and a half, actually, as he’ll tell you. Time flies when you’re having fun,” Peeta replied grimly, averting his eyes from her face. Confused at his response, Katniss was saved from having to reply by Gale appearing to their sides with her glass of wine.

“One Riesling for the lady. Hey Peeta, what can I get you? Beer? Liquor? Something to wipe that sour expression off your face?” asked Gale, wryly.

“Beer is fine, thanks Gale,” the wavy-haired blond replied. “I have to have something that’ll help wash down this taco dip, if Katniss doesn’t eat it all first.”

Katniss scowled at him. “Chill out, Mellark, there’s plenty there. I barely took any,” she retorted. Grabbing her plate and piling on a handful of nacho chips quickly, she turned and carried the plate and her glass of wine away from the irritating man before he could respond. Fuck, he’s such a dick, she stewed. Why does he have to be related to Madge?

Peeta Mellark and Madge Undersee-Hawthorne were indeed cousins, but he was also a former classmate of theirs from junior high and high school. It wasn’t like he and Katniss were friends though – they couldn’t have been further from that. Complete opposites throughout their early days, Peeta was a popular jock who seemed to get along with everyone. Everyone except quiet, kept-to-herself Katniss.

She had no idea why he never warmed to her – she’d sometimes catch him staring at her across the classroom or in the hallways, but he rarely spoke to her throughout their academic careers. She’d usually shoot him a puzzled look in return, because that’s exactly what he did to her – puzzled her.

Stupid Peeta Mellark. Why did he have to be here? And where was his wife, Delly? Katniss hadn’t laid eyes on the blonde bitch yet, but she was sure she’d know when she entered the room because the temperature would probably drop to below freezing, just like Delly’s chilly demeanour.

Katniss was never friends with Peeta, but she never understood what he saw in Delly. What was the title of that book she’d seen in Barnes & Noble one time? Why Men Marry Bitches? Maybe someone should’ve picked up a copy for Peeta Mellark because he could use some psychoanalysis as to why he married someone so horrible. Though, considering what she’d heard about the elder Mrs. Mellark while in school, maybe someone should pick up a book called Why Men Marry Their Mothers for him instead.

She moved through the crowd towards Rue and Thresh, when a flash of short brown hair caught her eye in the main hallway. “Jo! In here!” she waved to the petite brunette in a black pencil skirt and crisp white collared shirt. Johanna was her and Madge’s former college roommate-turned-other-best-friend who was currently kicking ass working at the hottest law firm in the city. She was fresh out of law school and had to article for a year before she could pass the bar and be a full lawyer, but the partners at her firm were already so impressed by her drive and her no-holds-barred attitude, they’d already offered her a position once she’d passed the bar in a few months’ time.

“Hey Kitty-cat, how goes it?” said Johanna, snaking her arm around Katniss’ shoulders in a side hug. “Ooh, gimmie that, I earned a big drink after the freakin’ day I’ve had,” pulling the glass of wine from her friend’s hand and taking a big gulp, then grimacing. “Ugh, never mind, I forgot you like girly drinks. I need something harder tonight.”

“Wine is sophisticated, thank you very much. Rough day?” Katniss asked sympathetically, taking the glass back and swallowing a mouthful of the cold, sweet liquid.

“Fuck me, it was brutal. This lawsuit is gonna be the death of me and I’m not even a lawyer yet,” Johanna groaned. “If I have to read through one more brief, I’m gonna stab my eyeballs out and shove them down the managing partner’s throat.”

“Graphic, but okay, sure,” winced Katniss. Jo was never one to hold back with her…colourful language. “Here comes Gale – give him your drink order, he’ll get you sorted.”

“Hey Jo, want a whiskey?” asked Gale as he approached, sizing up the brunette’s irritated expression.

“You read my mind, Hawthorne. Make it a triple? Or will we all judge me?” Jo drawled, glancing at her friends.

“Nah, the night is young. We’re celebrating!” Gale grinned. “ice, right?”

“Yep, thanks. So, Kitty, how are you? Finally feeling free of that douche canoe, Darius? Jesus, I’m so glad that’s finally over. You were way too good for him.”

“I can always count on you to not mince words. Jesus,” Katniss shot back. She knew Johanna hadn’t been Darius’s biggest fan, but now that they were broken up, she didn’t hold back on voicing her dislike of him.

“Well, at least you didn’t marry him. Divorces are messy. Though, you would’ve had me as your lawyer and I would’ve milked that fucker for everything he had, so maybe it’s a bit of a loss. I would’ve enjoyed that,” smirked Jo.

“God, you’re unbelievable,” sighed Katniss, but she said it with a small smile. Even though her bark was bad, Jo’s bite wasn’t. Katniss knew it was her friend’s way of showing concern and care for her.

“Whatever, you know you love me. Hey, is that Peeta? I saw his bitchy wife when I came in but didn’t see him,” Johanna said, gazing towards the dining room.

“Ugh, yes. What a tool. I was barely in the room when he started harassing me about taking too much taco dip. I’m pretty sure every one of our friends knows that taco dip was made with me in mind – Gale knows it’s my favourite.” Katniss grumbled.

“Well, maybe he needs a reminder. You can tell him yourself, because he’s headed this way.”

“Ugh, fuck me.” Katniss groaned, her eyes rolling back into her head.

“Sorry Everdeen, I’m a married man,” smirked Peeta, coming up behind her, a bottle of Stella Artois in his grasp.

Katniss flushed at his response, while Johanna smiled blandly at the young man. “I wonder for how much longer,” she muttered under her breath so that only Katniss could hear. Katniss’s brow furrowed at the comment, but brushed it off. Odd.

“Ah, Peeta. Everyone’s favourite prick,” smirked Johanna as she raised her voice, her eyes flicking between Katniss and the tall, brawny blond.

Katniss snorted. “What a lovely description, Jo. Very flattering.”

Peeta shot Katniss an irritated look before turning back to Johanna. “Nice to see you too, Jo. How’s life at your hot shot firm? Madge tells me your bosses love you.”

“Yeah, I think it’s more so that they’re afraid of me. Which I’m fine with. Men need intimidation a lot more than they realize.” Johanna replied, smugly.

“Well, you’ve got that covered then,” Katniss piped up.

“Speaking of intimidating women, Mellark, where’s your wife? Still got your balls in a vise or what?”

“Jo! Jesus.” Katniss blurted, her eyes wide and flickering to Peeta to gage his reaction. She didn’t like Peeta, but she also didn’t like awkward conversations about people’s relationships. Or any kind of conversation about relationships.

Peeta stiffened slightly at Joanna’s remark and drew his mouth in a thin line. “She’s over there talking to some co-worker of Gale’s. She’s fine.”

“Really? That’s not what Madge sa-,”

“Jo, I think Gale is waving at you – he’s got your whiskey,” Katniss interrupted. If there was one thing that could shut Johanna up, it was the promise of liquor.

“Finally, be right back,” Johanna threw over her shoulder as she strode towards Gale in the dining room.

Peeta glanced at Katniss, a slight frown on his face, which she ignored. She was eager to move away from the subject of his wife. “How’s Connor? How old did you say he was again?” she asked, nervously. She realized too late that by drawing Johanna’s attention to Gale and her drink, she was leaving herself alone with the person she despised the most at the party. Great. Just when I thought I’d escaped him, I land myself in another conversation with him. Good one, Everdeen.

“…Um…he’s three and a half…what was Johanna talking about? What did Madge say about Delly?”

Katniss pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, stalling. “Oh, nothing. She just…she said Delly seemed a little off lately, that’s all. I think she was concerned.”

Peeta snorted. “Concerned. Sure she was. You’re a terrible liar, Everdeen,” he said, bitterly.

Katniss glanced at him again, thinking awkwardly about the conversation she’d had with Madge the week before. Madge had made a passing comment to her and Jo about Delly being bitchier than usual and said Peeta seemed withdrawn and moody. It wasn’t really Delly she was concerned about; it was her cousin. Peeta wasn’t a bitter person. But ever since he and Delly married a few months before Connor’s birth, almost four years ago, they’d all seen a shift in him. He was friendly to everyone (except Katniss, of course) but there was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. It seemed to be getting more and more pronounced as time went on.

Why do you care if he’s out of sorts? She didn’t, really. She was just curious. Even though he wasn’t nice to her, he was generally nice to everyone else, so to see him so bitter confused Katniss. Not that she cared, though. Because she didn’t. Really.

“Yeah, well, ask her yourself then. Excuse me, I need a refill.” Katniss said shortly, turning and leaving him alone for the second time that night.

_________________________________

The night wore on, with Katniss managing to avoid Peeta for the most part, sticking to chatting with Johanna or Madge or one of their other college friends. When she noticed Madge’s wine glass empty at the same time as hers as they were both pleasantly buzzed, she said, smiling, “what do you think, Mrs. Hawthorne? Time to crack open the Nova?”

“Excellent idea, Ms. Everdeen. Would you do the honours?” beamed Madge, her eyes a little glassy by now. The two of them made their way to the kitchen, where a few other people were already gathered, chatting. Katniss pulled open the refrigerator door and poked her head in, searching for the bottle of imported wine, but didn’t see it.

“Where’d you put it, Madge? Did you forget to put it in?” she asked.

“No, it’s in there, I swear – you know I love it super cold.” Madge replied breezily.

“What are you looking for?” asked another voice.

“A bottle of wine I brought for Madge– ” started Katniss, turning around and stopping, her eyes on Peeta Mellark.

And the bottle of Nova 7.

The empty bottle of Nova 7.

“…what the fuck. Are you KIDDING me right now? Did you open and DRINK that?!” Katniss screeched. “Are you actually kidding me?? Fuck you, Mellark!! Do you know what I went through to get that for her?!” She could feel hot tears forming in her eyes, catching her off guard.

Peeta had started to smirk, but when he saw her face, he faltered and his mouth dropped open slightly. “I didn’t–I thought–Gale said there was white wine in–we didn’t–” he stammered, his eyes darting to his wife’s, then back to Katniss's. Katniss hadn’t noticed Delly off to the side, her hand clutching an almost empty wine glass.

“What’s the big deal, it’s just a bottle of wine, there’s plenty here,” said the blonde woman testily as she rolled her eyes. “Personally, I never saw the appeal of Canadian wines. There are so many better brands from Australia or Spain. Canada’s not even that foreign; they’re like, right next door.”

Madge groaned and launched into Delly and Peeta, shouting about the importance of the special birthday gift to the oblivious couple. Katniss tuned her out as she could feel the heat rising in her neck up through her face. She was already having a shitty day moping over Darius and didn’t even want to come to the party in the first place; she definitely didn’t want to have to deal with stupid Peeta Mellark and his stupid bitch wife; and the only thing she’d been looking forward to was sharing the bottle with her best friend.

And the two of them had ruined it.

She had to get out of there before the tears spilled over and she embarrassed herself in front of them. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Droplets of Lethe, Chapther 2

Well, it’s up late but it’s here - the second chapter of my @do-it-with-style-events mini-Bang fic, Droplet’s of Lethe!

(Though I’m now at over 11k and just getting started, so there’s nothing mini about this mini-fic!)

In this chapter, Crowley begins to look for answers, but must leave Aziraphale alone in the shop to do so...

-- (Excerpt) --

The Bentley roared across the Thames, squeezing down the space between lanes, bypassing cars and buses and the occasional pedestrian. Crowley missed them all, one miraculous escape after another. Nothing would dare get in his way today. He didn’t have time for that.

He held the ring in his fingers, clutching it as tightly as he could.

Already the black tarnish had brushed off, which was good. It meant it probably wasn’t actual Hellfire, which would have destroyed the ring entirely. But there were still many types of fire down in the pits, and a faint scent of sulfur and brimstone hung over the bright gold metal.

It had to be Hell. He didn’t know why they’d come for the angel, but who else could it be? The claw marks all over his wards spoke of multiple attacks, yet Aziraphale hadn’t said anything. Not a word. Any time Crowley had asked, he’d just smiled and said this shop is the safest place in all of London, my dear boy. Stop worrying about me.

He’d almost let himself start to believe it. And now...

Crowley hadn’t really been able to reset the elaborate protections, merely looped the two ends of the wards together. Hoped it would hold. But above that, he’d woven his own protections, and once they were in place, no mortal or supernatural being would be able to see the bookshop until he personally pointed it out.

That was the kind of protection he could count on. Aziraphale might be the Guardian, but Crowley was very good at hiding.

Certainly much better than the demon he was looking for.

South of the Thames and eastward, the winds started to pick up, clouds dotting the sky that hadn’t been visible from Soho. He paused the Bentley at an intersection, cranking down the window to take a deep sniff. Despite the signs of rain, there was a hint of desert in the air.

It had already taken over half an hour to get here - and another ten minutes of driving around that Crowley could not afford - before he finally saw his target, lurking outside a park on an otherwise unremarkable street lined with brownstone townhouses. Dark curls of hair tugged and twisted in the wind, and the playground equipment rattled. Three children who had been clamoring all over the jungle gym clutched for dear life, trying not to fall on their heads, while their mothers pulled sweets out of backpacks for afternoon snacks.

“Oi. Wanker,” Crowley called, jumping out of the Bentley. “Stop creeping around kids’ playgrounds, you get arrested for that these days.”

The other demon turned to him with a smile more like the baring of teeth, showing fangs wide and curved like a lion’s. “Ah, Crawly. Where have you been hiding?”

“Crowley,” he snapped, shoving the demon’s narrow frame back against the fence. For a second, the pointed face seemed to pass through an inky mist, emerging from the other side with different, softer features - straighter hair, rounded chin, wider shoulders. “What the Heaven have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” the demon dragged fingertips across Crowley’s arm. They looked like human fingernails, but he could feel the claws tugging at his sleeve. “Chaos. Destruction. Someone has been letting the humans feel content and safe for thousands of years. Time to bring back a little of the old ways, don’t you think?”

“That include attacking angels in their homes?”

“They are the enemy,” the shifter scoffed. “And we are at war.”

“No, we aren’t. There is no war, there was this whole big thing about that. In case you missed it.” Crowley shoved the demon again, causing the fence to rattle and creak under their combined weight. Again, the face dissolved into black shadow, and returned, this time with soft dark eyes and pouting lips. “And I specifically recall telling you lot that he and I are to be left alone.”

“Can’t blame an udug for trying, can you?” The demon slid out of his grasp as easily as water, and moved down the fence, swaying like the wind. “I thought he was supposed to be this big, scary unstoppable warrior. What’s he doing, sending you to make his threats?”

“Like you don’t know.” Crowley clenched his fists, trailing behind. “What did you do?”

“I? Not a thing.” The wind howled again, and the jungle gym rattled, shifted, until one bar broke, leaving a child suddenly dangling, screaming in true fear. “Just as I won’t do a thing to those children over there. Just the work of gravity. I won’t intervene until someone asks me to.”

Crowley watched the mothers rush over to pull the children free, clutching them close, herding them away from danger. “It won’t work, you know,” Crowley grumbled. “Maybe three thousand years ago you could convince them to sell their souls to keep their children safe, but these days? If that thing breaks they sue the company that made it. Write angry letters to the council. And the kid gets to walk around school with a cast for everyone to sign. They don’t need you to protect them.”

“You sound almost proud.” The demon turned again to face Crowley, passing through swirling blackness to emerge looking ten years older, short hair streaked with grey, stubble growing across a square jaw. “We will teach them to fear again.” A cold smile, showing just a hint of fang. “But to more immediate matters, no, I didn’t do anything to your angel, apart from rattle his defenses in the night. Sounds like someone else was more successful.”

“You’re Hell’s new agent in London,” Crowley pointed out, crossing his arms. “If it wasn’t you, you know who did it.”

“Perhaps.” The demon circled around Crowley and sauntered away, ignoring the mothers as they hauled their children back to the bench, checking for injuries. “If you tell me what happened, I’m sure I can...guess.”

“I didn’t come here to play games. Who was it? How did they get in? What did they do?”

(Find out the rest on AO3!)

[breakable-girls-and-boys]

Crooked Smile Chapter 1

a/n this fic is very angsty. it’ll end happy, I promise. but you have been warned.

~This empty end was never something of your choosing. You could have won but you were much too busy losing~

Holly’s flight docked at the Toronto Pearson International Airport gate at exactly 23:37. She grabbed her bag and her carry on and followed the rest of the passengers off of the plane. Holly trudged her way to baggage claim to meet her friends and collect her luggage. Most of her belongings were being shipped from San Fransisco this week, so all she had brought with her were enough clothes to get through the week and several of her favorite books. Turning the corner, she saw her friends Lisa and Rachel waiting for her at the baggage claim. Immediately, she picked up her pace and when she was within a reasonable distance, she dropped her belongings and jogged the rest of the way, enveloping her two friends in a tight hug.

“You are not allowed to leave. Ever again,” Rachel said, squeezing Holly back.

Holly released her friends and walked back to retrieve her abandoned belongings, and the three of them sauntered over to the baggage claim area to wait for Holly’s other bag.

“I still don’t know why you came back. I would have stayed in San Francisco,” Lisa said as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. “It’s too goddamn cold here.”

“It was great, but this is home. I missed you guys too much,” Holly replied just as she spotted her bag. Shouldering her way through bystanders, she hoisted her bag off the conveyer belt and hauled it back towards the other two women.

As the three friends began the walk to the car, Holly continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I loved every moment of my job and the opportunity it provided. But San Franciscans are weird and I missed the cold.”

“Well that’s great and all, but two years is just way too long. We need a good old fashioned girls’ night,” Rachel said.

“Yes!” Lisa exclaimed. “Ooo, there’s a new club I’ve been dying to check out!”

“We can absolutely have a girls’ night, but not tonight,” Holly said. Rachel pouted while Lisa began to whine something about how Holly ‘doesn’t really love us’.

“I’m tired,” Holly continued, “I just spent the last five hours on a plane. I’m jet-lagged. I’m going home, and I’m going right to bed.”

Rachel helped Holly load her luggage in the trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat. Holly joined her in the front passenger seat, while Lisa flopped into the back seat, still sulking and mumbling ���Holly the buzzkill’ under her breath.

The 20 minute car ride was spent mostly in silence. Holly was trying too hard to keep her eyes open to deal with Lisa’s broodiness, and Rachel was content to let them be. Rachel pulled into the driveway of Holly’s townhouse and popped the trunk. She helped Holly bring her bags into the foyer. Setting her suitcase down, Holly sleepily turned to her friend.

“Get some rest, girl,” Rachel said, smiling at Holly, who was too exhausted to stand straight. “We’ll figure out a time to get together.”

“Thank you for picking me up,” Holly mumbled, stumbling forward to pull her friend into a brief hug.

“Any time. We’re glad you’re back.” With that, Rachel turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Holly threw the lock and dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom, not even bothering with her bags. She fell on top of her bed fully clothed, asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

————

A week after Holly’s return, Lisa had finally gotten her wish: the three friends were on their way to a new club. Holly couldn’t remember the name of it at the moment, and she wasn’t overly thrilled about going out. She had wanted to stay home and read in a hot a bath, but Lisa had called her a recluse and reminded her that she had abandoned them for two whole years. So Holly had conceded and gotten dressed up. As the three of them approached the club, she remembered the other reason she wasn’t thrilled: the club was obnoxiously named Lush, which was obviously meant to convey that this was an upper class establishment. In Holly’s opinion, it was quite ironic. And judging by the group of scantily clad sorority girls in front of them, she knew exactly the kind of people who frequented this establishment, so it was no surprise Lisa had dragged them here.

Holly handed the bouncer her ID as he eyed her simple button up shirt and jeans with thinly veiled disapproval. She yanked her ID back and mumbled an insincere ‘thanks’ as he waved her through the door. Following Lisa and Rachel to the bar, she took in the crowd of people swarming it and grimaced. She’d have a hard time getting a drink tonight, what with all the bartenders drooling over the half-dressed women.

Rachel and Holly shared a look of misery. Lisa, completely oblivious, waved enthusiastically at a man by the bar and rushed over to greet him. Holly and Rachel remained where they stood, taking in their surroundings. The club had an upper level, with tables and balconies where patrons could look down on the dance floor. The main level had chairs and tables lining the walls, but most of the floor was devoted to the dance floor and DJ booth, where an overly passionate man moved rhythmically back and forth between spin tables.

Minutes later, Lisa and the man from the bar were walking back towards them, several drinks in hand. Lisa handed Rachel and Holly each a mixed drink.

“Guys, this is Ryan. He and I did our residency together,” Lisa introduced the man next to her.

Ryan smiled at the two of them as Holly took in his appearance. He was dressed in a sleek black suit, his dark hair was slicked back and beard short and precisely trimmed. Of course he was a plastic surgeon.

“My friends have a table over against the wall, if you ladies would like to sit down?” Ryan suggested, gesturing to the wall across the room.

“Sure,” Rachel said cheerfully.

Holly shot her friend a look of betrayal. Rachel laughed and bumped Holly with her hip.

“Come on, indulge your inner sorority girl,” she said as she and Holly trailed after Lisa and Ryan.

————

About an hour and a half later, Holly was working on her 6th drink. To say she was a little buzzed was an understatement. Ryan’s friends kept buying her and Rachel drinks, and she was not about to turn down the free alcohol. Rachel was sitting in the corner, being flirted with by one of Ryan’s friends. She thought he had said his name was Mike? It was thoroughly entertaining: Mike was trying very hard to get Rachel to dance with him, and Rachel was very politely shutting him down at every turn.

While Holly was distracted, one of the other men at the table made his way over to her.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked as he set his own drink on the table, situating himself directly in front of her.

Holly looked up at him and shook her head no.

“Thank you, though,” she said.

“You sure?” He said with a toothy smile, shifting forward a little. He was wearing a grey-blue shirt with a solid black tie and black slacks. His long blonde hair was tied back in a pretentious man-bun and his beard was short and neat. “I’m Chad.”

“Holly,” she replied.

“So Holly, what do you do?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist,” Holly answered and took a sip of her drink.

“So you’re like a doctor? Very hot,” Chad drawled, running his eyes over Holly’s body and reaching for his own drink.

Holly choked on her Caesar, but Chad didn’t seem to notice.

“Uh, sure,” Holly giggled, “if you’re a necrophiliac.”

A confused look crossed Chad’s face.

Holly laughed harder. “Never mind.”

Chad shrugged off the comment and smiled at her once again.

“So, do you wanna dance or maybe get out of here?” Chad asked as he took a step closer, looking over-eager.

“Look, Chad, you seem really…” Holly struggled to find the right word, “uh, nice. But I—”

Holly’s sentence was cut short as something flashed in the corner of her eye. Holly turned to see what it was that had distracted her. As the object came into focus, Holly froze. Her breath hitched and she dropped her drink.

“Shit!” Chad yelled. “My shoes! What the fuck is your problem?”

Rachel was there in a flash, shoving Chad away from Holly. She had turned at Chad’s outburst and immediately saw who Holly was looking at.

Gail Peck was standing by the bar, drink in hand. Next to her was Traci Nash and Gail’s brother, Steve. Her hair was longer than Holly remembered, down past her shoulders. Her hair had soft curls and was pulled back behind her ear on one side. She was wearing dark jeans and a fitted, red henley.

The three of them began moving towards the tables. Towards Holly. Rachel saw the exact moment that Gail registered Holly’s presence. Gail paused, turned to Traci and Steve, who had happened upon an empty table, and spoke to them before making her way towards Holly.

Holly had finally remembered how to breathe. Abruptly standing from the chair, she took a couple steps towards Gail.

“Holly, hey,” Gail said quietly. Holly could barely hear her above the roar of the music.

Holly gulped. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Gail repeated.

“You said that already.” Holly said, smiling.

“You know, it sounded familiar,” Gail quipped. She took another step towards Holly and continued, “How is San Fransisco?”

“It’s good. Too hot for my tastes. I actually just moved back to Toronto.”

Gail’s eyes widened briefly before her stoicism returned. She nodded once.

“How have you been, Gail?” Holly asked.

“Good, I’ve been good,” Gail answered. She was about to say something else but was interrupted by the approach of another woman, who put her arm around Gail’s waist.

“Hey babe,” the woman chirped, flashing Gail with a dazzling smile.

Gail looked at her and then back at Holly. Sadness flashed briefly across her features but was quickly replaced with a hard look.

“Holly, this is my fiancée, Sarah. Sarah, this is my old friend, Holly.” Gail’s voice was soft but flat as she introduced the two.

Holly felt her heart plummet. Nausea roiled in her stomach and her mouth went dry. Blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay, she extended her hand to the other woman. At that very moment, Rachel swooped in and grabbed Holly’s arm.

“Gail, hi! Lovely to see you. I’m so sorry, but I need to steal Holly away, it’s an emergency,” Rachel said pleasantly, taking Holly by the shoulder and physically turning her back towards Ryan’s group.

Holly turned to glance back at Gail, lifting a hand in a feeble goodbye. Gail nodded at Holly in return and led Sarah back towards Traci and Steve.

Holly stood like a stone while Rachel went about gathering their belongings and bundling Holly into her coat. It was then that Chad and Mike walked over.

“You guys are just gonna leave? The night has only just begun!” Mike exclaimed.

Chad grabbed Holly’s hand. “Come on, stay.”

Rachel moved between them.

“We’re leaving,” Rachel said flatly.

“You don’t speak for her,” Chad said, puffing out his chest.

“She’s gay, you nimrod,” Rachel sneered. With that she turned Holly toward the entrance and they walked out into the night.

————

Gail took a long drink as she watched Rachel yank Holly out of the club. Traci watched her watch Holly.

“You ok, Gail?” Traci asked a little too knowingly.

Gail swallowed hard and nodded once.

“So how do you know her?” Sarah asked innocently. The silence her question provoked was more than a little tense.

Gail cleared her throat. “Uh, we used to work together. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“She worked at the morgue,” Traci clarified.

“Oh, gotcha. She’s cute,” Sarah said nonchalantly and took a drink.

Traci and Steve both looked at Gail, whose cheeks were flushed bright red. For once Gail was thankful clubs were so dark.

————

Having managed to get Holly out of her clothes and into her pajamas, Rachel helped her friend into bed. Holly just let her, silent and unmoving, unless pushed.

“Did you know?” She asked at last, voice cracking.

“Did I know Gail was engaged?” Rachel clarified, tucking her in. Holly nodded. “No, I didn’t.”

Rachel sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so sorry, hun. I didn’t even think about running into her. But also, it’s been two years, I thought you said you were over her?”

“I thought I was,” Holly whispered, twisting the sheets between her fingers.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Rachel asked, resting a tender hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Holly nodded.

“Ok,” Rachel said. She kissed Holly’s forehead and went about changing into some of Holly’s spare pajamas. She shut off the light, crawled into bed, and held Holly as she cried herself to sleep.