#I got beat up and had my room torn apart nearly every day last year this may actually be too good to be true

[fandommusings]

I met 5 out of the 6 students on my Kindergarten self contained autistic support class and I gotta say I think I legitimately have been blessed with the best, sweetest, and MOSE ENTHUSIASTIC class ever!

[1kook]

commercial break ; EIGHT

this is part of my netflix & chill series! takes place a little after part 7 :)

SUMMARY You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same.  WARNINGS unprotected sex, nipple clamps, overstimulation, pretty pet names for jk, oc is so fckin horNEE, both have a high sex drive, oc is obsessed with the koobies MISC flashbacks to jk’s ex gf yes you read right!, there’s backstory yuck, taehyung the bestie, jk is just so happy where he is now <3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.9k

NOTES finally after six months..... we get a glimpse of jk’s life pre-netflix n chill 🥶 also i just rlly wanted to write jk wearing the nipple clamps hehe 

Taehyung had warned him about this. 

“As hard as it is to believe,” he had said one night during their first year of university, haphazardly parked outside of a Wendy’s at three in the morning. Jungkook was trying to finish an assignment— early, always early —when he had been abruptly hauled to fulfill Taehyung’s spicy chicken sandwich craving. “Girls are hornier than guys.”

Jungkook remembers it so clearly. 

He had chuckled, had harbored this feeling of contentment, of belonging, with his best friend beside him, talking about the most mundane things. “No way,” he had said. He had only broken up with Haerim last month; his first girlfriend, his first heartbreak, all in his first year of college. So he wasn’t particularly bothered with women at the moment, and he probably wouldn’t be for a long time. He quite liked this life of solitude, the peaceful waves brought upon by the comfort of being alone, the occasional break in the water when Taehyung or Namjoon checked in on him. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, had always been concerned with women. A furious nod, huge eyes. “Dude, I swear,” he had exclaimed, and then had launched into a full feature recapture of how horny his then-girlfriend always was. Jungkook had simply listened— it’s what he does best —and nodded along when Taehyung continued his silly ramblings. 

He can still remember his thought process. 

Of course girls are horny. But Jungkook doubts they’re as horny as him or any of the guys he knew. Speaking for himself, Jungkook knows his sex drive is too high; too high for someone who’s only lost his virginity earlier that year. 

Haerim had once told him he asked for too much. And Jungkook understood, really; she was his first, and maybe he got a little too excited in his conquest to try everything, a conquest she wasn’t too keen on joining. “Do you even like me?” she had asked the night they broke up. “Or do you just want to have sex?”

Both, he remembers thinking, but that thought had felt like the wrong answer to give her. Her words had made him squirm, had made him feel so small. Was he asking her for too much? Was Jungkook too much— a handful for her to deal with? Jungkook’s love language had always been physical touch. He thought she understood that. 

They parted ways in the most mature way possible. A simple break-up, no hard feelings. Jungkook felt terrible. He had pushed her too far, had asked for too much. They aren’t as horny as guys, he remembers thinking. Or at least, not as horny as Jungkook. 

In the end, Jungkook remembers politely disagreeing with Taehyung on the matter. 

Until now, nearly four years later, with your hands circling his bare waist. 

He’d just finished nailing you into the mattress not even ten minutes ago, had fucked his cock into you until you were screaming so loud your neighbor had banged on your shared wall. Your lips are soft against his shoulder, the prettiest little giggle slipping past them. It’s pitch black outside, your room enveloped in shadows, but the warmth you press against his back is akin to that of the sun’s; Jungkook can’t think of a more fitting comparison. “I was thinking,” you purr, voice like warm honey down his throat. It makes him melt, has his eyes fluttering shut as your hands trace feathery lines against the waistband of his boxers. 

“That’s not good,” he manages to murmur, trapping your hand over his belly button. You make this sound, something between a satisfied hum and a moan; Jungkook wants nothing more than to spread your legs far apart and lick you down the middle. You shuffle closer behind him. He can feel your tits against his back, the hardened nub of your nipples. 

But it appears Jungkook isn’t the only one interested in nipples tonight. 

“The clamps,” you whisper, voice nearly lost under the thrum of the air conditioning, the steady beat of his heart in his chest. 

And in that moment, Jungkook truly understands what Taehyung had meant that night. 

They sting, terribly so, make him feel like someone is going to rip his nipples out of his chest at any moment. But at the same time, they make his toes curl, make Jungkook grind his teeth together in a feeble attempt to dismiss the pleasure. 

On top of that, the look on your face when Jungkook leans over you, the thin metal chain of the nipple clamps touching your chin, is enough to fuel his solo sessions for years to come. “Oh,” you gasp, trembling hand reaching up for the glittering chain. 

Jungkook hisses at the tug, accidentally bucks forward into the warm cradle between your legs. It makes you whimper, hand on his shoulder, the other holding onto the cruel device on his chest. “Fuck,” he bites, brows furrowed together as he glares down at you. 

“S- So pretty,” you slur, delirious. Jungkook’s not even inside of you, just has his cock resting on your hip. He thinks there might be a droplet of drool clinging to your lips. “Jungkook,” you breathe, finally lifting the other hand to his chest, thumb caressing the pretty gold clamp that is squeezing the life out of his nipple. It feels so good, and Jungkook is so embarrassed. 

You let him in soon enough, eyes trained on his flushed chest as he sinks into you. You’re still so loose, so wet and tender from the fucking he gave you earlier, from the two orgasms from before. He can’t comprehend how you’re still asking for more, capable of more, after he had spit in your mouth, bent you like a pretzel, and all but consumed your entire being in his earlier lust. 

He reaches the hilt and you tug at Jungkook’s clamps, make his chest jerk forward in surprise. “Fuck!” he chokes, hand on the back of your thigh around him. “Don’t f- fucking do that,” he begs, but it feels so good and you’re so entranced, he hardly thinks you hear him. 

It’s like you’re stuck in a daze, tiny mouth opening to release the sweetest little moans, eyes scarily trained on his chest. It’s like you don’t see him, don’t see Jungkook right before you, and for some reason… he adores the feeling. “Look at me,” he whispers, testing the waters. 

You spare him a glance, a supportive smile, and then it’s back to staring at his nipples. 

It makes Jungkook awfully hard. 

In a weird, roundabout sort of way, it’s like he’s being used. Like he’s nothing but a pawn in your lustful schemes, just a visual stimulus to help get you off; in short, it’s a teensy bit degrading. Dismissive. Whatever you want to call it. 

His dick twitches at the thought. 

And, like always, you’re in perfect step with him. Another tug at the chain, another moan torn from his lips. “So pretty for me,” you croon. It’s his line, you know it’s always been his line. Jungkook pushes deeper into you, but aside from a sinful cry, it doesn’t deter you. A wicked grin crosses your features, hand crawling around his neck to tangle in his locks again. “Tits all pink,” you shiver, tapping the pad of a finger against his nipple. Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head, bucks forward suddenly. 

“N- Not pretty,” he growls, pushing you down deeper against the sheets, like maybe they’ll swallow you up and he’ll be saved from your lewd ways. “You’re pretty.”

You chuckle, and then contradict the sweet tone of your voice with a harsh tug against his clamps. Jungkook all but howls, pistons into you until he feels your cervix kiss his tip, call him forward, practically beg for him to fill you whole. “Prettiest boy,” you whimper, tracing his swollen nipple with your finger as if it’ll soothe the prickling sensations that shoot down his spine, makes him rut deeper into you. 

Jungkook wants to cum so badly, wants to spill his seed down your insides until it paints every wall, kisses every inch, until it’s physically impossible for you to not be pregnant. 

But the worst thing is, Jungkook is so terribly spent from the early events of that night, that the mere thought of coming again sounds like it would be painful. Of course, Jungkook immediately realizes the hypocrisy in his statement— he frequently makes you come various times in one night, sometimes in the span of a few minutes —but he never thought he’d be on the receiving end of this— this— overstimulation. 

Your walls squeeze around him, your fingers playfully tugging at the chain in intervals until Jungkook’s back arches forward, hips grinding against your quivering opening. “Cum inside,” you pant, curling one finger around the wretched contraption that seems intent on killing him slowly. He groans, hips snapping at your offer. He wants to so badly, but his toes curl, stomach tightens almost ominously. “Maybe if you do it a second time I’ll get p—“

“Shut up,” he begs, gasping for breath. You manage to laugh through a moan, harshly yanking your fist towards you in a motion that nearly has him crashing down on top of you. “I can’t—“ he shudders, forearms trembling. 

“You can,” you encourage, ankles locking together at the base of his spine. His every being feels overwhelmed, head like TV static. His dick throbs, practically begs for another orgasm that Jungkook fears will tear him apart, leave him a boneless pile of limbs for days. And his chest— “look, Jungkook,” you purr, pinching the already tortured nub between your fingers, “look at your fucking tits” —feels like heaven. 

It only takes a few more rushed thrusts, your stuttering moans like music to his ears, and a particularly brutal pull of the clamps on his chest, before Jungkook is bursting. And it’s painful, just as he thought, makes him release the most airy, fluttery whine. It’s so embarrassing, and frankly surprising, how high his voice can get, but it makes you beam beneath him. “Oh, such a good boy,” you coo, catching him in your arms when he slumps forward, chest against yours. 

He’s as boneless as he predicted, jaw twitching as he tries to gather himself into an acceptable state again. “Fuck you,” he groans, hips jerking with the after shocks of such a stimulated orgasm. 

You laugh, carding your hands through his hair. “You were made to wear cute things like that,” you mumble, lips pressed against his temple. 

Before he can speak (not that he knows what he’d say), you’re tugging him back by his hair, looking like you’ll eat him alive. He wants you to. “The cuffs,” you murmur, nose knocking against his. “Let’s try those on you next.” 

You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. 

But Jungkook is the same. You match him so well, fill the gaps when he’s too shy, lay yourself out when he needs more. 

(“You ask for too much,” Haerim had confessed, staring him down from the doorway of his dormitory. The room had always felt small, but today it feels miniature. Like the walls are closing in on him; he can’t breathe. “I don’t think anyone in this world can keep you satisfied, Jeon Jungkook.”)

Your heel knocks against the back of his thigh, and he is suddenly made aware of the trembling lips of your cunt around his cock, still so wet— still so horny. “Again?” you ask so sweetly, fingers dancing across his back. 

Jungkook shivers. “Again.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[kpopinesss]

[ateez] S A N ➱ baby daddy au

YOU HAVE TO RAISE HIS SON AFTER HE LEAVES. MAFIA SAN.

warnings: teen pregnancy

a/n: sorry ya’ll I accidentally posted this on my main lol - @atinybitofau

• raising a son on your own was hard.

• raising a son whose genes were on par to his notorious father was even harder—

• a hooligan. a mischievous troublemaker.

• an eyesore in morality.

• and yes, your son was just like him.

• cold. ruthless. blood thirsty.

• but unlike San, your son loved you enough never to leave you.

• appreciated the things you did for him enough to stay.

• “Eomma..”

• you turn on your side when your son interrupts your slumber,

• injuries blatant on his tethered arm.

• raising a child who’s now 13 since you were 16 never easy.

• “Where were you, Ari?”

• he sits at the edge of your bed and leans for the warmth only a mother could give. “I was trying to get your medicine.. but I ended up causing a scene and the store owner kicked me out.”

• you sigh letting him lay down beside you. “It’s just a little cold. You don’t need to go and risk your life to save mine.”

• he wants to ask you.

• he’s old enough..

• why hasn’t his father came back to be the one the take care of you?

• to take care of him.

• why do you have to suffer alone?

• “Ari, just do me a favor and take care of yourself the way you do for me.” you cuddle into your sons warmth too. “That’s all I need.”

• but you’re lying.

• you’re getting sicker.

• and he can’t take it anymore.

• he goes to lower than the low to find something to save you, his mother.

• eventually ending up tied up in San’s gang house.

• brutally beat for intervening a drug heist—

• “Alright you little shit,” San holds your son up by the collar, blood running down his face mixed with his tears. “I don’t care that you’re 13 years old. Hell you could’ve been 10 and I’ll still beat the living crap out of you. No one just comes barging into a drug heist for no reason. That’s not just a coincidence.”

• it is.

• it really is.

• and maybe god was just giving him a sign.

• because you were on the verge of dying—

• and his own son being dealt his life and in the hands of his own father,

• yet San still didn’t know what was going on.

• what sign god was trying to give him.

• “I have to admit.” San runs a finger down his son’s chiseled jaw and smirks. “You’ve got a nice face. But in a couple minutes, you might not even be able to recognize it anymore.”

• “I-I-I was just trying to get medicine for my mom! I swear.”

• San really needed to get a clue.

• not all drugs were recreational.

• and some—

• some can actually save lives not just make dirty money.

• “You think I’ll believe that sissy crap?”

• Ari shudders looking to his torn up jeans. “H-her pictures in my wallet. I swear, she’s the only thing I’ll do anything illegal for. I promise I wasn’t trying to fuck anything up. She’d kill me if I got involved. Kill herself if I pushed myself too far.”

• he’s convinced at the desperation in the poor kid’s voice.

• normally not as merciful but he digs through the kid’s pocket for the picture anyway.

• and he should be glad he did because shit—

• the picture of you made him go from 100 to 0 real quick.

• “Y/n?”

• “T-that’s her! That’s my mom.”

• San glances up at the beat up kid, horrified.

• horrified at the sight.

• that he was basically beating to death a walking replica of himself.

• an age far enough that fit the time he left you.

• “You’re telling me my high school sweetheart..” San’s bloody fingers curl around your picture. “The woman you’ve been trying to steal medication for is your mom? The woman in this picture.”

• he’s at first in denial.

• that the kid he almost beat to death was your son.

• but denial hits him even harder the chances he could also be the father.

• “M-my mom is everything to me.” Ari bawls his last tears out begging for his own father to spare his life. or anything to save yours. “She’s only got me. I’ve only got her. S-sir please. At least save her. If you wanna kill me sir, please save my mom first.”

• his jaw clenches,

• still knealt down on one knee propped in front of his pleading son.

• studying every feature of his face.

• how on par everything was to his own.

• San was beating up his son, he realized.

• holy shit he was about to kill his own son.

• “Why didn’t she tell me?”

• “W-what?” his son chokes. “What do you mean?”

• “Fucking hell— kid, I think I’m your dad.”

• the five days that your son was held captive was long enough for your body to grow cold and weaker.

• laying in a hospital bed nearly blacked out.

• your son cries over your body as you sleep.

• hoping he’s not too late.

• not too late to give you the one thing that might be able to keep you alive.

• a husband?

• finally a father to your child.

• “You’re the husband?” the doctor finds San watching from the doorway awkwardly glancing at the black dressed men who towered behind him. “You’ve got quite the entourage there, sir. But not even an army of soldiers would be able to save your wife right now. She’s hanging on a thin line. Barely holding on. That woman needs a miracle if she wants to live the next good years of her life.”

• San watches as his son that he never knew about cries over you.

• wishes you would’ve told him..

• he would’ve stayed.

• would’ve loved you.

• why were you always so selfish? always wanting to do things that pushed you too far even if there were another option available.

• “Eomma.”

• you hear everything.

• your son.

• San.

• “Ma, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get the medicine. I got into trouble again, ma. I’m sorry.” Ari folds his hand over your limp one’s. “B-but I have something even better. Someone who could help you and me. He can take care of us, ma.”

• it hurts.

• you want to wake up for your son because he deserves the world.

• he deserves a fight for the both of you but the option you chose came short.

• in the past, the option of never telling San in the first place of his own son.

• “Ma.. he’s gonna talk to you okay? I’m gonna let him talk to you.” Ari sniffles and suddenly your hand gets replaced with a different warmth. “He’s gonna tell you it’s gonna be okay. I love you, eomma. I love you. We’re gonna be okay.”

• it’s almost enough.

• your heart beats a little faster.

• burns a little more so you could breathe on your own.

• it’s definitely working.

• “You shoulda told me, bubba.”

• the nickname San had given you years ago,

• a nickname you thought you’d never hear again, rings in your ear and that light so far away,

• it gets further.

• “You shoulda told me about him. About you.” he lifts your hand against his trembling lips. “13 years? 13 years after I tell you to take care of yourself and now you’re almost dying. Come on now. My girl was a fighter. Pushed herself harder than she wanted to.”

• his voice is like a mantra—

• a dream that gives you a little bit more of life you we’re starting to lose.

• “Bubba, you were the love of my life. And I didn’t tell you enough how much I appreciated you. I know it may be too late and if god forbid I do lose you, I will make sure our baby stays safe okay?”

• you think if you were awake right now you’d be crying.

• as if a weight lifted off your shoulders.

• cause the one person who could save you right now—you and your son,

• was right here.

• ready to go merciless to keep you two safe.

• “I left loving you. And I’ll come back loving you. 13 years only kept us apart. But let me tell you, y/n, it never stopped me from loving you.”

• he’s unsure when he lets go of your hand.

• usually gets what he wants with one word—

• cause he’s a notorious mobster.

• but let’s just say you were the one thing he wanted he could’ve never gotten even with two words.

• 3?

• “I love you.” he continues. “And if I’m gonna have to love our son the way I should’ve loved you then so be it.”

• but life’s not like movies where you wake up right during a miracle.

• this miracle takes time.

• and after an EXPENSIVE deal of money and medicine to keep you alive,

• a year it takes for you to finally open your eyes.

• to a nice hospital bed room.

• filled with flowers and the reminiscent scent of old spice and San.

• your hair’s a bit longer.

• the sun’s definitely brighter.

• but not as bright as the smile you see once you turn to the side.

• “Good morning beautiful.” San reaches his forehead against yours. “How were your dreams?”

• you choke on a decent reply. “S-San?”

• “The one and only.”

• “Where’s— Where’s Ari? Where’s my—“

• “Our?” San chuckles softly. “You mean our son.”

• you kind of remember.

• it takes a while to remember the voices and the dreams in your head.

• how waking up to find them real was surreal on its own.

• “He’s at school, bubba.” San cradles your face in the palm of his hand staring at you like he was hypnotized. “I’ll have someone pick him up. Tell him mommy’s awake.”

• “San..” you shake your head in his hand. “How is this real?”

• “Our son might be a miracle worker. Brought us together the way we made him. Brought me so I could keep you alive.”

• cheesy as you remember.

• although this handsome and older version of your old flame you aren’t too sure.

• “So you just show up while I’m in a coma and play daddy while I sleep?” you hoarsely chuckle while he smiles against your lips. “Even after 13 years, you won’t grudge against me for not telling you?”

• “I can’t blame you for trying to save yourselves.” he admits with his lips still on yours. “I wasn’t good enough for you. I know still I’m not. But I’m gonna try this time. Even if I have to pretend I’m not who I am sometimes.”

• you two are interrupted by a crying teenager.

• one you remembered resembled San.

• but now them standing right next to each other,

• looking like two carbon copies and a surreal dream in your head.

• maybe you are dead...

• “Ma!” he shoves his father away abruptly. “Look ma! I brought dad! He helped pay your debt, pays for my school. Even finished the hospital bills.”

• you glare at your always boisterous ex boyfriend and long lost father to your son.

• “You did what?”

• “Did I mention this was my way of getting back at you for not telling me about my 14 year old son?”

• “San how the hell am I gonna pay you back?”

• you just woke up.

• and the doctor runs in ready to sedate to keep you stable for at least more than 24 hours.

• but the way San looks at you is enough.

• him being there like your life long medication itself.

• holding your hand while your son holds your other one proposing,

• “Marry me. And we can call it even.”

@atinybitofau

[michiieewrites]

Dabi - So big, so small, so tearfuly

A/N: This fic is inspired by an ask that @league-of-villians-headcanons received a week or so ago. THIS IS THE ASK I REFER TO. Anyways, after looking up that song, I cried like a little baby and thus, this story was born. But holy damn! I did NOT expect for this fic to reach over 3.1k+ words. Enjoy, my loves!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it happened. Waiting in the waiting room with his quirk-cancelling handcuffs. Sitting on Dabi’s left side is Mr. Compress, also with those special ‘bracelets’ made for villains. Even here at the police station the tall showman is still wearing his mask and top hat. They’re both a little torn up, though. Just like all of them, to be honest.

Who knows how that crusty trash rat they call a leader is looking now. Maybe he’s just as banged up as Spinner. The scaly man was currently in the interrogation room with two officers. Most of their members were dragged away by different officers. Toga is still waiting with them. For multiple safety precautions they had restrained her like Hannibal Lector, including the muzzle. Still, that didn’t stop the girl from trying to break free from them.

Didn’t matter, though. Dabi knows that the gig is up. The heroes had all whooped their asses in this last fight. Showing the world that the ‘good guys’ would always win in the end. ‘Cause that’s what always happens, right? The bad guys lose and the good guys win. Because they’re the good guys. And Dabi was one of the bad guys.

He had to lose. That’s what bad guys do, they lose the fight. Good guys like his dad, they win. Good guys like his dad give people hope. Good guys like his dad were there to help control the chaos. Good guys like his dad are praised by the public for protecting them from bad guys like himself. Good guys like his dad always strife for perfection. Good guys like his dad would destroy their own families to save the public people. Good guys like his dad would do anything to keep the public people safe. Good guys, just like his dad.

So that’s what Dabi’s dad did. He protected the public from harm. He strived for protection, he destroyed his own family. Even if it meant nearly killing his eldest son for a second time. All because his dad is a good guy, right?

‘Should’ve burned that shitbag alive when I had the chance,’ Dabi thought to himself. ‘Instead of burning my own damn self. Just burn that fucker to a crisp.’

But no amount of ‘should have’s’ were gonna change the current situation.

Dabi tried to go up against his old man, the great flame hero Endeavor and got burned. Not that it would matter anyway. He himself did a pretty good job of that in the past. By letting his emotions get the better of him. Trying to impress Enji so he would leave his youngest brother alone. So his little brother would have a chance of a somewhat normal childhood. So that maybe, his father would be proud of him for once.

But Dabi couldn’t have been more wrong. Because of his mother’s genes his body wasn’t able to keep up his flames for a long period of time. Not long enough for Enji to matter, anyway.

The moment he pushed young Touya aside, right into the wall was the moment Touya died. His anger and hurt no longer kept under a lid.

Dabi doesn’t remember much from that moment of his past life. He knows the sky of their garden became engulfed by his blue flames. The heat unbearable and scorching away his skin, inch by inch. He looked as his father tried to reach him, only to be pushed back by the sea of blue. There are nights where Dabi can still hear his mother scream for him to stop before he could hurt himself. Echoes of her pleading for her child’s safety.

And yet here he sits, incarcerated and forgotten by his family. Well, not entirely. He had waited for the perfect moment to reveal himself to his past family again, this time as Dabi. He had to wait for years before the timing was right. But the pure look of terror on his old man’s face was worth every single day he had waited.

‘And by then you already had my chest beneath your boot, just like poor little Shouto once was,’ he snickered to himself.

Luckily for him, Shouto was only a couple of feet away from them. For it was to save Shouto that Enji had attacked Dabi. Fighting together, the two Todoroki heroes went up against the flame quirked villain. With his years of experience it was Endeavor who overpowered Dabi. And as he contained him, Dabi had looked up at him and said:

“What a way to welcome back your dead son, father.”

He had seen the way everything clicked in Endeavor’s head. Every little piece of the puzzle fell into it’s place. The weight of his sins intensifying by the second. He knew Shouto was putting the pieces together for himself too. The boy may look dense, but he certainly isn’t stupid.

But before either of them could come to their senses and ask any questions, the fight was over and Dabi was taken away. Only to be kept waiting here in this shithole of a waiting room, guarded by others, heroes and-

“Ma’am, I have to ask you to-“

“No, get out of my way, now!”

Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the door to Dabi’s right. He turned his head, interested in hearing more of the commotion. Multiple hurried footsteps are coming closer.

“Todoroki-san, you are not allowed-“ the officer outside says.

“I don’t care, I need to see him.”

Todoroki-san? He clearly hears, what he assumes is an officer refer to a female voice. But what business would a female Todoroki have at the station?

The door bursts open and a group of five people come flooding in the waiting room. The guards standing around the remaining League of Villains-members put their attention on the newly entered people. All the heads turn in their direction. His fellow villains are also startled by the commotion. Dabi’s world freezes.

He knows these people. Well, four of them, at least. Or used to know, to be precise. They were the ghosts of his past. The people he tried to desperately to forget. The people who once loved him. But why the fuck are they here? Why the fuck would they be here to look at his sorry ass?

A woman, the oldest of the two females, pushes the officer that tries to stop her out of her way. Her pewter grey eyes are overflowing with tears as she rushes over to Dabi’s recoiling form. She throws her arms around him and pulls him tightly against herself. She sinks to her knees and pulls him along down with her. Her chin rests on his shoulder as her cries grow louder by the second.

“It’s you! It’s really you, Touya. Oh my boy, it’s really you!”

Touya. She called him ‘Touya’. His old name rings in his ears. Too shocked to look at the other worried faces of his siblings, his cerulean blue eyes slowly glance over the woman holding him. The woman who has held him so many times before in his past. The woman who carried him for nine whole months with her every second of the day. The woman who blew all his scary nightmares away with a kiss on his head at night when he was a child.. The woman who had mourned for years after her husband told her their first born son had passed away.

His mother Rei is finally holding her son after all these years.

“Wh-what are you do-doing here?” he manages to get out. His breathing becoming rapid and shallow. Hyperventilation setting in as Rei refuses to let go of him.

“Shouto told me, he told me how you fought with him,” she cries, “He told me how you-… how your… he told me you were alive!”

Her tears are slowly wetting his entire shoulder. Her hands tremble as they desperately hold onto his soot covered coat. Her entire body shocking with her sobbing.

Then he finally looks back at the others. The guards are trying to hold back a tall, young man with the same show white hair and pewter grey eyes as their mother. The young man doesn’t budge a single step, a furious look on his face. Behind him a young woman, no younger than a year or two than Dabi himself. Her hair white like melting icebergs with some lava colored tips and her charcoal grey eyes. Scared, but determined she tells the officers that they all have the right to see their brother. He knows they are Fuyumi and Natsuo, the younger sister and brother Enji never bothered to care for.

A familiar mop of half white-half read hair is a little farther behind them. Shouto looks down at the floor and Dabi can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry, or hurt, or ashamed. Hell, it could be all three.

But none of the other people in the room mattered. He tunes out the questions of his comrades, the arguing of his family and the guards, the fast and heavy beating of his own heart. All he can hear now are the strangled cries of his mother.

Softly, so softly only Rei can hear, he asks: “How did he figure it out?”

Sniffing through her words, Rei says: “After they took you away, Shouto confronted your father. He demanded to tell him the truth. Eventually he told him everything; how the fire department didn’t find your body in the ashes of the fire. How he lied to all of us, saying you were too badly burned to see. How he always wondered if your ashes were among those of the garden or if you got away.”

Her grip loosened slightly. She leaned back and took a good look at him. His terrified eyes looking back into her own. He’s terrified that this is all just another nightmare. That the warmth of his mother’s embrace will be ripped away again any second.

Her hand comes up to his face. Gently wiping away one his falling tears. Tears? He doesn’t even realize they are rolling down his cheeks. Despite both their quirks, the feeling of her fingers tracing over his scarred skin are hotter than any of his flames ever felt. He can almost feel the love and sorrow in her touch. A love only a mother can give to her son.

Never in all these years he spent apart from his family would he ever dare dream of seeing her again. Because he knew what happened after his supposed ‘death’. He knew that Rei finally broke over all the neglect and abuse their family had to endure at Enji’s hands. Their family was ripped apart, torn to shreds. Even if they did stitch all those pieces back together, he had accepted the fact that he would never be a part of the Todoroki-family again.

But here they were; the members of his past family he used to love so much. They were standing here in front of him. Demanding they get to see him, Dabi or Touya, that didn’t matter. They were standing up against all these guards and officers just to see him.

His hands try to reach out and hold his mother the way she is holding him. To feel her presence in his hands again. But he’s reminded of the cuffs around his wrists. He tugs at them, trying to break out of them. But these wretched things are keeping his hands locked together. His struggles become more desperate. He just wants to hold Rei.

He whips his head to one of the guards and yells at them. “Get these fucking cuffs off of me!”

“No way, villain,” the guard curtly replies.

“JUST LET ME HOLD MY MOTHER, DAMMNIT!”

Hands cover his own and he looks back at Rei. “Ssh, ssh… It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” she gently coos at him.

Slowly, she lifts his hands over her head, so that he can hold her now. His body stiffens once again. This really had to be a dream, right? There was no way in Hell he’s able to hold his mother again. It couldn’t be. As far they all knew, he was dead. Todoroki Touya was dead. Dabi was just another villain. And no one would ever know the secrets he keeps locked in his heart. He knows that giving in now would mean that dream would come to an abrupt end. He didn’t want it to end.

But the look in Rei’s eyes is real and so is the rest of her. Realizing this, he immediately clings onto her. A little clumsy, but he’ll take it for now. Even if it’s just for this moment, all he wants to do is to close his eyes and his mother embracing him back. And so she does.

The air is getting hotter. Heavy footsteps are coming closer. Natsuo’s voice calling out: “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

Both Rei and Dabi are looking to see who Natsuo was talking to. The feeling of a sweet reunion quickly slips away and is replaced by a building rage. But before Dabi can make a move towards Endeavor, who’s stepping into the room, he’s held back. Back by the arms of his mother.

The tension is cold. Rei’s staring daggers at the father of her children. Natsuo moves in front of his younger siblings, also held back by Fuyumi. Shouto stands in front of Enji to block his path. Endeavor, with all his power, dares to give Rei a sympathetic look. He tries to speak before one of the guards cut him off.

“All right, that’s enough! All of you people! Out!” They move closer to the stand off between Enji and Shouto.

“Rei, listen to the guards,” Enji calmly says, “this is out of our hands. They need to handle this from now on. There is nothing we can do-“

“HOW DARE YOU! HE’S OUR SON!” Rei yells back.

Her words hit a nerve. Enji extends his hand towards his wife.

SMACK!

She smacks his hand away. A sharp intake of breath from Fuyumi follows. The scene before her eyes; her mother holding their older brother, shielding him from their father. The fury rising in Rei’s eyes hold a force so strong it scares her. Not even Enji made her feel this scared before.

“Don’t you dare touch our children again!” Rei screams out. “Keep your hands off of Touya! Haven’t you hurt us enough?! Our family is torn to shreds by your hands, Enji! MY CHILDREN TAKEN FROM ME BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID TO ME!”

Shouto carefully tries to calm his mother down. “Mom, please. Try to calm down.”

“No! For too long I’ve let him destroy our family, let him hurt you! He-…. Because of him…. HE MADE US BELIEVE TOUYA WAS DEAD! DEAD! HE TOLD ME WE HAD LOST OUR CHILD!”

She can’t stop. Not anymore. After all these years Rei couldn’t hold back all the pain Enji had caused her. The pain he inflicted on their children. The way his behavior broke her. It had made her hurt her youngest son too. The neglect by his hands had made it impossible for her to see her children properly grow up.

Calmer now, she continues: “Of all the things you have done to us, I don’t know which one is the worst. But I do know one thing. And that’s that you can’t keep me from my children any longer. You will no longer stand in the way of my children’s future.”

The hate she directs to Enji… It was clear to him that she didn’t want him around any of them. Maybe just for now. Maybe forever. In trying to face his past, he accepts this outcome.

His shoulders sag and he turns around to walk out of the door.

“Everyone, you need to get out-“

“I will not leave my son,” Rei interrupts the guard.

They look at her and the young man she’s holding close. They sigh and tell her that only she is allowed to stay here. All the others still need to leave the waiting room. Toga and Mr. Compress will be taken to their interrogation rooms. One guard will stand outside of the door. For now, they respect her wish to be alone with Dabi.

When the door is shut close, they both look at each other. Unsure of what to say next. The loving look Rei gives Dabi makes him feel all different kinds of emotions.

Ashamed, for becoming a villain. Vulnerable, ‘cause he feels like she can see right into his soul. Angry at himself, for not coming to visit her in the mental hospital sooner. Relieved, for only a mother can see past all the shit he’s done in his life and still love him.

“I’m sorry, I guess… For not showing up these past years,” he says as he looks down to the ground.

“Don’t be. I understand,” she says.

Her hands cup his face and pull him up to look at her face. A sad smile decorates her lips. Fresh tears forming in her eyes.

“All that matters right now is that you’re back. I missed you so much, my sweet boy. So much, you can’t even imagine.”

But he could. In his dreams he would see her, with all his siblings. Even Enji would be there, only in Dabi’s dreams he was the loving and kind father every child wants and needs. In his dreams they were a happy family. He has longed for that family for as long as he can remember. He still does. Somewhere deep inside of him there’s a part that wants nothing more than to erase all that has happened and just start all over.

He missed Rei just as much as she missed him.

Throwing his face in the crook of her neck, he lets out a forceful and loud cry. “I-I missed you t-too, mom! I missed all of you! I’m so sorry for everything, mom! Please, believe me!”

Her hands comes up to softly pet his hair. Making reassuring sounds to calm down her crying child. His body now completely on the floor with hers. Gently rocking him back and forth.

“I believe you, I do.”

“Please don’t hate me! Please, I’m so sorry! Mom… please don’t leave…”

“I’m not going anywhere. You may be all grown up now, a handsome and strong man. But you’ll always be my sweet little boy, Touya. I’ll never leave you again.”

Her words are a binding promise. A vow to Dabi, a vow for him to regain the name Todoroki Touya. Filled with love and protection. Never would she hurt her children again, any of them. Rei will fight for her family. Starting with the crying man in her arms.

They stay right there. In this world that felt too big for them, they felt so small. A small space for a mother and son to hold each other close.

She’ll always be there for her family.

Tagged: @reinawritesbnha / @mrsreina @thots4daze / @kzombi3 @aizawascumslut @hipster-merchant-of-death @strawbirb @ravenfeet222

[simonsrosebud]

maybe 3, 16, or 18 on the angst ones??? im in a mood

NOT CANON IN THE KALTON AU

it’s may when dalton breaks up with kevin.

it’s right before their practice of the year when kevin catches dalton’s call.  he stops in the hall on the way to the lounge to answer it.  “hey, what’s up?  i’m about to go change out, but want me to come around after?”

“um, i think, maybe, it’s better if you don’t, kevin.”

and he frowns.  “why, what’s wrong?  are you okay?”

“i just, i’m going through some things right now, and i just think it’s better if i were to do it alone.”

“oh... well, you know i’m always here.  just call me later?”

“kevin...”

kevin’s heart starts beating faster.  “yeah?”

“i don’t just mean alone for a day.”

kevin leans back against the wall.  “what... what do you mean?”  he whispers.

“i mean alone as in, um... without a boyfriend.”

no.  “dalton, whatever it is, i-i’ll do better, i promise.”

dan is the only other person at the stadium yet, and stops in the doorway to the girls locker room when she hears the conversation.  she doesn’t want to pry, but if she’s right, and what’s about to happen really happens then she doesn’t want to leave kevin here alone.

“i’m sorry, kevin-“

“no, hey, please-“

“i-i gotta go.”

“dalton, please!”  but the line is already dead, and kevin doesn’t mean to, but he drops his phone in the process of turning and pressing his forehead against the wall.

he tries holding everything in, but he can feel himself starting to panic, and when dan turns him around with a gentle “it’s okay” he nearly crumples because it’s not okay.  he doesn’t know what’s going on.

dan drives him over to dalton’s apartment, and thank god kevin has a key, but when he gets inside it’s still and quiet.  and the coffee maker is gone and the closet is open and near empty.  the chargers next to the bed are gone and that’s when kevin drops to his knees and presses his hands to the floor because dalton up and left for the summer without warning.

he’s gone, and kevin can’t do anything about it. 

he lets out a sob, followed by heavy breathing and a weight so deep in his chest that he can’t get up.  his hands are shaking over his mouth, and his vision is blurry before he squeezes his eyes shut.

he takes a deep breath, but his exhale is a sob, and he leans forward with his arms around his stomach.

he can’t breathe.

dan comes to find him a few minutes later, and when she tries putting her arms around him he sounds like he’s in pain.  she pulls him upright to lean on her instead.  he clings like his life depends on it, hands clenched in the back of her t-shirt.

when she gets him up enough to get him back to the suite, she makes him promise he’ll be okay before making it to the stadium.  she’s a little bit late for practice, and by the time she gets onto the court neil already started.  it’s supposed to be a captains practice, so she gives him credit for taking over as vice captain.

“where’s kevin?”

“last minute appointment with betsy.”

neil nods.  he knows better than to want to ask.

dan checks the time every ten minutes it feels.  she needs this to be over.

meanwhile, kevin’s lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.  a weight back in his chest and tears silently crawling from his eyes.

he just wants to feel numb.

he looks to the kitchen.

kevin drinks.  he drinks so much that he throws up.

he wants to be numb, but it’s not working.  which is why he drinks some more.

wymack comes by at the end of practice and calls dan over after watching everyone shuffle out.  “kevin?”

she hesitates.  “um, dalton broke up with him right before practice, and up and left for the summer before we could get to his place.  he-he was a mess, coach, he could barely function.  probably on the verge of a panic attack.”

and that peeks his attention in a different way that the first thing did, because he curses under his breath and turns.  “you left him alone?  at the tower?”  she nods, and he curses again.  “come on, fast, danielle!”  she doesn’t usually see coach running for no reason, which makes her high tail it to his car.

wymaca rambles a bit on the way there.  “every time i’ve seen that kid have a meltdown without dalton to rely on it was before they were together, and it always ended with alcohol.”  his fingers tapped on the wheel.  “i don’t fucking care if he breaks sobriety so long as he’s not dying of fucking alcohol poisoning right now.  i know him.  i know how much he loves that fucking kid.  he can not be alone right now.”

and dan can’t tell if he’s seething or worried out of his mind, or both.  but either way, she hasn’t seen him like this since neil went missing and kevin told them it probably wasn’t an accident.

womack has keys to all of their suite’s for emergencies, but kevin’s door is open.  andrew and neil were straight on their way to columbia from practice, so he’s the only one there.

wymack bursts in, and kevin’s drunk out of his mind sitting on the floor against the cabinets.  he shakes his head when he sees his father, and stands.  dan doesn’t think he could make it across the room if he tried.

“m’fine, m’fine!” he leans back against the counter.  “s’probably my fault, anyway.”

he reaches for a bottle of vodka on the counter, and when wymack beats him to it he tries grabbing it.  “come on.”

“no-“

“please!  dan, i-“

“no, kevin!”  wymack is holding him back, a hand on his chest and the other around him to try and keep him still as he pushes against wymack.

“just don’t wanna feel!”  kevin cries out.  he goes limp against wymack and starts to crumble.  “hurts so bad, i just- i just wanna be numb from it all.”  his voice is weak, and he sinks to the ground.  he covers an arm around his face.  “please just take it away.”  he begs.  “please, please, help.  i-i can’t, i can’t,” he sobs.  dan drops beside him and pulls his head to her shoulder.  “i love him so much,” he whispers.  “i dunno what to do.”

she casts a pleading look to wymack, because all she knows to do is rub his back and try to shush him to calm down.

“hey, look at me.”  wymack takes kevin’s chin, gently.  dan backs off.  “this is going to suck.  but you’re going to get up tomorrow, and you’re going to call him up and demand an explanation.  i don’t care if you have to fly to his house, dammit, you’ll do it.  because after your mother left there wasn’t a day i didn’t regret not going after her, okay?  cause look what she left me, kevin.”  he raises an eyebrow.  “you.”  he sticks a finger to kevin’s chest.

kevin nods.  “i want him so bad.”

“then you’ll go after him.  whether it works out or not.”

kevin sleeps on wymack’s sofa that night.

and in the morning, he’s woken up by knocking on the door.

kevin’s head is pounding, but he already threw up everything he could last night.

he trudges to the door, but the person behind it makes him take a step back.  he wants to jump forward and hug him, but it hurts him too much to actually want to go through with it.

“what are you doing here,” he whispers.  he crosses his arms.  he probably smells like alcohol and vomit.

dalton looks desperate, and he falters on what he wants to say, so kevin jumps in again.  “can i just… can you just tell me what i did wrong?”  he bites the inside of his cheek.  he knows it’ll be easy getting him emotional what with just waking up.  “i know i’ve got baggage, but just-just tell me why.  cause i just woke up and i’m all torn up and hungover, so i-i just need to know.  please.”

dalton frowns.  “i… you promised you’d stop drinking-“

“and you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”  kevin’s voice cracks.  “any other lies left to tell me?”  and he takes a deep breath.  “please, dalton, i just need to know why you’d fucking do this to me!”  he messily wipes his eye with the cuff of his sleeve.

“you left without explanation, and-and i… i feel like i’m always going through something, but you’re the reason i’ve come out just fine!  i just wanna be that for you, but instead you thought breaking up would be the better option?  how-how do you think that makes me feel?  to think that my boyfriend doesn’t think i can comfort him?  that he’d rather be a-alone?”  he’s starting to get worked up, and wipes his eyes again.  he takes a deep breathe.

dalton has tears in his eyes.  “i’m sorry,” he whispers.  “i’m so, so, sorry.  that wasn’t… i didn’t mean that.  that’s not what i think, i didn’t mean to leave you thinking that.  and,” he looks away for a second.  “can i just explain?  from the beginning?  i-i want you, i don’t wanna ruin this, and i hope i haven’t already.”

you haven’t.  i just want you.

but kevin lets him in.  he doesn’t sit, but he at least lets him inside and closes the door.  he’s sure his father is hiding out in his office or bedroom.  he’s a light sleeper, and they weren’t exactly being quiet.

dalton starts.  “um, my grandmother died yesterday morning, and my grandfather was admitted to the hospital almost right after, and-and my family doesn’t know why,” he says.  “and i was a mess, but i knew you had practice- i would’ve gone home right away regardless, but i-i didn’t wanna put all my family problems on you, cause you’ve already got enough.  but, i, um, i was almost to maryland and i wanted- i knew i had to turn around, cause i was a fucking asshole, but it was already late and i probably would’ve fallen asleep at the wheel, so i stopped home to sleep for a few hours and now…”  he meets kevin’s eyes again.

“i just can’t lose you, and i was stupid and a dick, and you don’t deserve to be treated like this.  kevin please, i’m… i’m so sorry.”  kevin notices how dalton holds back on reaching out to him.  “is there any way i can fix it?”

kevin looks to the side, arms crossed.  “you’ve probably dealt with so much fucked shit with me and my family,” my foxes, “family problems don’t scare me, d. i love you so much that i sat on my knees in your apartment having a panic attack… i… i don’t wanna do the whole thing where i take a few days away from you,” he says.  “i can be there for you like you’ve done for me, i swear, but you just, like, you have to talk to me. cause i can’t do that again.  so many things went through my head that i can’t go through again.  i-i can’t be left so broken that it makes me wanna be numb enough to drink.”

this time, he lets dalton wipe a tear under his eye.  he speaks quiet.  “i’m humiliated by that.  i never want to break my sobriety again.”

dalton nods.  “i’m so sorry i broke my promise.”

“mine too.”

“no.”  he shakes his head.  “that’s different.  and i should’ve talked to you, told you why i did what i did, even if it was stupid.”

kevin nods.  “can you hold me?” he whispers.

dalton doesn’t waste time, and wraps his arms around kevin, who sinks into his embrace.  “i’ll make you a new promise.  one i can keep.”  dalton speaks into kevin’s hair.  “i promise to communicate better and talk to you, no matter what.”

kevin slides his arms around dalton’s neck.  “i promise i’ll call someone if i ever get the urge to drink alone again.”  and then, “i’m sorry about your grandmother.”  he knows which one it is, too, because his grandmother on his mother’s side passed when dalton was a child.  this one kevin met a few months back, even.

he pulls back, and cups dalton’s face.  “i’m here for you, okay?”

dalton nods, and he tilts his head into kevin’s hand.  “i don’t think it’ll hit me for a while.  the funeral is in three days.”  he pauses.  “you don’t have to, but-“

“i’ll be there with you.”

dalton cups his hand around kevin’s on his face and brings his knuckles to his lips.  “i’ll make all of this up to you.”  kevin kisses his forehead.  “i love you,” dalton whispers.

i’m now realizing i forgot to include angst #16 aka “you’ve changed” but it’s probably better for my own sanity that i didn't bc that one just makes me think of “they break up and run into each other months/years later” which i can NOT do to my boys LOL

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Always By Your Side

Read here on AO3!

Summary: 

The kid looks horrible, full offense. Tim is wearing one of Dick’s old Hudson University sweatshirts which just about swallows him, hanging a full inch over where his fingertips end. His hair is tied up in the messiest bun Jason has ever seen, and there’s a purple welt on his chin big enough that a helicopter could use it for a landing pad. His lip is swollen, blood still crusted over where Tim’s teeth must have torn it open on impact. Big yikes.

“If you’re here to raid my fridge, then you already know it’s bad pickings. I haven’t been shopping in weeks.”

“That’s not why I’m here, actually.” Not the only reason, at least. Multitasking is key when you’re a semi-contract killer who needs Sundays free for tea time with Alfred.

(Disclaimer: THIS IS THE ONLY BAD PARENT!BRUCE FIC I WILL EVER WRITE OKAY I SWEAR I ALWAYS AVOID THOSE KINDS OF FICS BUT I’M SALTY THAT THEY NEVER ADDRESSED BRUCE PUNCHING TIM IN COMICS SO I HAD TO DO IT MYSELF.)

It doesn’t take long to break into Tim’s apartment. Record time, actually. In less than ten minutes Jason is sliding up the window to Tim’s kitchen and climbing over the sill, easy peasy. He should really talk to the replacement about his lack of security against fellow batkids. “Timbo?” he calls, closing the window and re-locking it. “You here?” He’d better have the right place. It’s so hard keeping track of everyone’s safehouses these days, and Jason is not eager for a repeat of what happened the last time he got it wrong. That old lady looked scared to death when Jason crawled in through the air duct, covered in blood that was only thirty percent his own. (The lady was super understanding when he explained the situation. She even fixed up his stab wound with her sewing kit and made him some freshly squeezed lemonade. Jason drops by every couple of weeks to check in on her and her cats.) But Tim is the priority now. “Come out, come out, you little shit.” Jason crosses the kitchen toward the living room, then stops and backtracks. He opens the fridge for a beer, momentarily forgetting that the kid is a hopeless health nut. Jason resigns himself to a package of deli ham only two days past the expiration date. It smells fine, so it must be safe to eat, right? Of all Tim’s apartments, this one is by and far the nicest, barring the expired deli meats and un-Jason-proof security system. The living room is pristine with white sofas and a glass coffee table, making the whole setup vibe more like a hotel suite than an actual home. Definitely not Jason-proof. He sits right in the middle of the fancy sofa, kicking off his boots. “If you get mud on my carpet, you’re cleaning it up.”

Jason looks up at Tim in the doorway and grins. “Don’t I always?” The kid looks horrible, full offense. Tim is wearing one of Dick’s old Hudson University sweatshirts which just about swallows him, hanging a full inch over where his fingertips end. His hair is tied up in the messiest bun Jason has ever seen, and there’s a purple welt on his chin big enough that a helicopter could use it for a landing pad. His lip is swollen, blood still crusted over where Tim’s teeth must have torn it open on impact. Big yikes. “If you’re here to raid my fridge, then you already know it’s bad pickings. I haven’t been shopping in weeks.” “That’s not why I’m here, actually.” Not the only reason, at least. Multitasking is key when you’re a contract killer who needs Sundays free for tea time with Alfred. “Just leave whatever data you have here and I’ll look it over in the morning.” “Again, not why I’m here.” “Then can you just tell me whatever it is so I can go back to bed?” It’s five in the afternoon. “Well, jeez, kid. You don’t have to rush me out the door.” Tim’s eyes flit to the ground and stay there, giving the impression of a puppy put in his place. “Sorry.” Jason eyes Tim carefully. He takes in the timid stance, the way Tim wrings and twists the sleeve of his sweatshirt until it’s stretched beyond saving. He clearly hasn’t showered or even bothered tending to his face, like keeping the wound fresh is his way of punishing himself. “You doing okay?” “Fine, why?” “Because you look like shit, that’s why.” “It’s been a hectic few days. I’ve been meaning to crash for hours.” “How about that bruise you got there? Looks nasty.” Tim touches the bruise as if he forgot it was there, biting back a wince. “It’s fine. I got it on patrol and haven’t gotten around to icing it yet.” “Must have been a big guy to do that kind of damage.” Tim’s eyes narrow. Jason eats his ham, a picture of innocence. “If you’re trying to get me to circle around and ask you about your problems, then I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood to play therapist tonight. You can stay here as long as you want, but I’m going to bed.” He turns and starts toward his bedroom. “You’re really not going to tell me who gave you that bruise?” Tim stops, a shudder running down his spine. He doesn’t turn, not yet. “Did Barbara tell you?” “I can’t believe you didn’t. What, did you think this would all go away if you just kept quiet about it?” “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.” “My ass nothing happened. Bruce hit you last night. He hit you over nothing.” Tim whirls around, fists clenched. “So? I get hit all the time. Am I supposed to have a breakdown every time someone punches me?” “Getting hit by a criminal and getting hit by your dad are not the same thing, and you know it.” “I’m a big boy, Jason. I can handle it.” Jason leans forward, forgetting all about his rancid ham. “You realize how fucked up this is, right?” “Oh, give me a break—” “Hey. The adult is talking now. Our father nearly shattered your jaw a few hours ago and here you are, hiding from him like it was your fault.” Not that Jason blames him for not wanting to be near the manor after what happened; he wouldn’t either if he were in Tim’s place. Hell, he was in Tim’s place. “You weren’t there, Jay. You have no idea what happened.” “Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, then. What gives that asshole the right to put his hands on you?” “The fact that I shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place! Bruce was dealing with enough as it was without me making it worse.” “Only if you call trying to help someone ‘making things worse.’ From what Babs told me, you didn’t do Jack shit to deserve what he did.” “I don’t care what Barbara told you. I was there, I know what I did wrong, and I’ve accepted that.” “Except you did nothing wrong.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tim’s voice is raised, his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t see how upset Bruce was. He wasn’t himself. I should have seen that and backed off, but I didn’t. He was hurting and angry, and...I provoked him. It was my own fault.” “Do you have any idea how insane you sound? You tried to help him, and he punched you in the face for it. I know you’ve dealt with this exact situation a million times, you know the protocol.” Tim rolls his eyes. “This is completely different.” “Why? Because you’re not a minor? Because Bruce isn’t your father? Or maybe because you threw the first punch? Oh, wait. None of those are fucking true.” “What do you want from me? Do you want me to start crying, call up child services and tell them that my adoptive father gave me a little bruise because I was being insubordinate while we were all dressed as vigilantes? Will that magically ease your conscience?” “I want you to stop fucking covering for him,” Jason says. “You know that there’s no excuse for a parent hurting their child.” “I’m not a child!” “Sorry to break it to you, pal, but you fucking are! And Bruce? He’s your father. It doesn’t matter if you’re twelve or seventeen or thirty—his job is to be a fucking parent to you. And instead he punched you so hard Babs said you were unconscious for a good thirty seconds.” Tim crosses his arms and leans on the wall. He doesn’t try to come closer or sit on any of the furniture, keeping his distance from Jason. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Maybe those rules apply to normal people, but we’re different. Violence and anger, that’s how this family communicates. Hell, Bruce and I spar all the time and you’ve never lectured me about it being abuse until now.” Jason runs a hand over his face, thoroughly done with this shit. “I can’t believe you’re still trying to rationalize this.” “Because it’s a rational thing!” “Is it?” “Yes.” “Would you ever hit him?” “It wouldn’t be the first time.” “No, I’m not talking sparring or some stupid teenage angst-fueled outburst. I’m asking if you, Tim Drake, would ever intentionally hurt Bruce in a way that would do damage. Even if he did something shitty to deserve it. Would you hurt him?” Tim hesitates. He bites his swollen lip. “I might. If I were really angry.” “We both know that’s bullshit. The guy’s got a hundred pounds on you and your hand would probably shatter if you tried to sock him in the face, but you still wouldn’t hurt him.” “So?” “So, he knows you’re a twig and he beat the shit out of you anyway. That’s not fucking okay.” “It wasn’t on purpose,” Tim says, but he’s losing momentum by the second. He looks years too tired for this conversation as it is. “It was...instinct. A spur-of-the-moment reaction. It’s not—I mean, he’s Bruce. He would never hurt us intentionally.” “He already did.” “And I’m perfectly fine. It’s not like he punched Damian or Cass, just me. He knew I could take it, and he was right. I’m fine. This bruise will heal up in a couple days, and then we can all forget it ever happened.” “I won’t.” “Why not? Why are you being so goddamn uptight about this? It has nothing to do with you, anyway.” Jason can feel his eyes smolder Lazarus green as he surges forward and hisses, “It has everything to do with me.” Tim flinches. It’s not major, barely even counts as a real flinch, but it happens. Tim flinches away from Jason, and the anger dissipates as quickly as it came. Jesus, what did Bruce do to this kid? Jason sits back, takes a breath, tries to make his voice gentler. “Bruce hurt me too, okay?” Tim’s expression doesn’t change but for a twinge of his eyebrows. “It was a misunderstanding, but...he hurt me. Badly. I was out of commission for two fucking months. Probably would have died if it hadn’t been for Roy.” That gets a reaction. Tim’s mouth drops open and he flounders for a moment, like he can’t put the two things together. Bruce attacking Jason? No results. Does not compute. “What—why would he do that?” “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that, as irritating as you are, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” Like he has any right to be saying this. Tim still has the scar on his neck from when Jason’s brains were made of gruel. “Not by a parent. Not by someone you’re supposed to trust. So this is me looking out for you, alright?” Jason reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a crumpled paper. “I know you’ve got your own setup for when you need time away from the manor, but these are all of my addresses and phone numbers. If something like this happens again, I want you to call me.” Tim takes the paper but protests, “It’s okay, really. I don’t need—” “Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to be coddled. I get it. But keep it anyway. And if you start feeling unsafe at the manor, you call me and I’ll take care of it. I already gave Damian, Cass, and Duke copies too. Just...look out for yourself, alright? All of you. Look out for each other.” Tim folds up the paper and slips it into his back pocket. “What about you?” “The old man and I are…” That’s a whole other can of worms Jason really isn’t in the mood to unpack right now. “It’s still rocky between us. I’m keeping my distance. But for you guys, I don’t care. If one of you needs help, I’ll be there. Got it?” Tim blinks, and lucky for him, Jason is courteous enough not to make fun of the tears he is clearly holding back. “Thanks, Jay.”

[gotemsayingw0w]

Kyoru Week Day 5

Prompt: Precious @kyoruweekofficial

It had been bothering him all day. A nagging, itchy feeling on his left shoulder. Innocuous enough that it wasn’t debilitating, but annoying enough that it was starting to really piss him off. So much so, that the second he got home from work, he ripped the top of his karategi off, searching for the culprit of his discomfort. 

Kyo Sohma considered himself a simple man. He never really cared for fashion, instead choosing loose, comfortable clothing that was easy to move around in. It was why he could pack every single item of clothing he owned in a single duffel bag if he really wanted to. It was why he could go for a several mile run in every single item of clothing he owned if he really needed to. It was why, despite teasing from his cousins, friends, and his girlfriend, he kept around clothes that others deemed “hideous.” They were comfortable, dammit. 

He hated tight clothes. He hated accessories. When he first began living with Shishou, he hated wearing his gi with his belt. He hated any type of rough, scratchy fabric. As he began running his fingers over the black fabric of his gi, searching for a loose thread or piece of lint that was irritating him, he got even more pissed off because this gi was perfectly worn in. If it was irreparably ruined he’d have to buy a new one and those took months to get to the loose, flexible uniform that Kyo deemed acceptable for work.

His fingers brushed over a small, raised bump and he grinned, triumphant that he wasn’t wrong, there was something off. There, among the stiff black cotton, was a series of tiny stitches, appearing to be in the shape of a heart.

“What the hell…” he whispered, bringing the cloth directly under the light of the flashlight on his phone. Sure enough, covering a small hole he didn’t remember having in this gi, there was an embroidered heart. He pinched the fabric between his fingers to confirm that this tiny patch was what had been bothering him all day.

He was certain it was the work of Tohru, his girlfriend. He couldn’t possibly think of another person besides the two of them who handled their dirty laundry and he definitely was not going to be the one to sew a heart over the hole let alone even notice it. 

He walked into the single bedroom in their apartment, still holding the gi in his hand, running through his mind the various articles of clothing he had that had gathered small holes over the years. He never minded tiny little punctures in the sleeves or collars of his shirts or the weathered fabric in the knees of his pants. If something became too ratty, he’d always just thrown it away. But for some reason, the tiny patch on his gi connected something in his mind. He’d never held onto clothes this long before he knew Tohru. 

Sure enough, he pulled item after item out of their shared wardrobe that had small little patches sewing up holes in his clothes. Most of them were simple, almost inscrutable. Places where seams had torn and been re-stitched with care and precision, but certainly not the factory-made stitches that came with the clothes. On other pieces of his clothing, however, there were the same tiny patches. 

A pair of jeans with a tiny hole on the thigh had a tiny square sewn around it, the thread the same color as the denim. One of his favorite red hoodies that had garnered a small hole in the sleeve, had an embroidered triangle. His yellow v-neck that hardly fit anymore, but stayed in his wardrobe out of protest (he really didn’t think it was that ugly) had a tiny sun stitched around a hole in the hem. A pair of his most comfortable boxers had a tiny, orange cat sewn in the seat.

Quickly, a pile of mended clothes ended up at his feet until all that was left in his wardrobe were four white undershirts, a dearth of rarely-worn pants, and some of his less-preferred socks and underwear. Scattered around the floor were all of his most favorite, most comfortable clothing, somehow altered in an attempt to preserve their life.

The sound of a key turning in the door caught his attention and he listened as she called out in a sing-song tone, “I’m home!” The sound of rustling grocery bags, cabinets opening and closing, and water running from the sink brought him back down to Earth and, as Tohru’s footsteps neared their bedroom, he felt a blush creep to his cheeks. 

“I didn’t realize you would beat me home!” She said as she walked down the hallway towards the door. “Did you have...an early…” her voice trailed off as she entered the room. She scanned the floor and the bed, no doubt trying to process exactly what he was doing. 

“Hi,” Kyo said, holding an unscathed white undershirt in his hand as if he’d been caught committing a crime. 

“Hi,” Tohru breathed in response. She didn’t ask a question, but the curiosity in her eyes indicated she would like to know the answer.

“My gi had a hole in it,” Kyo answered.

She frowned. “Another one?” She carefully stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor to grab the top off of the bed. Holding the garment up to inspect it, she asked “Where?”

Kyo shook his head. “Had,” he emphasized.

Tohru nodded. “The one in the shoulder? Yeah, I noticed it a few nights ago. Is it holding up okay?”

“Did you fix it?”

“Of course!”

“When?”

“Last night when I couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

“Did you fix all of these?”

Tohru blinked, confused by the line of questioning. She nodded. Of course she had mended them. Who else would have? “Are you upset that I fixed them?” She asked. Her face remained neutral, but the slight wavering in her voice displayed her nerves.

Kyo’s initial response was automatic. “N-no, I’m not…” he lowered the white undershirt back into the dresser. “I just didn’t…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

Was he upset that she fixed them? No. Actually, he was rather touched by the gesture. She knew how much he valued comfort and how well-loved his clothes were that she went out her way to preserve them. It was, at its core, the most kind gesture. The purest display of love that could possibly exist. Of course he wasn’t upset that she fixed them, no. The emotion was much more complicated than that.

It was the same feeling he had when she’d confessed to him two years prior, albeit on a much smaller scale. It was such a clear, irrefutable declaration of love that he was not expecting. He had spent so much of his life feeling not only undeserving of love, but turned off to the idea completely. He wasn’t the kind of person who could be loved. He didn’t deserve it. He was a terrible person, a monster. Whenever someone close to him tried to offer him love, he immediately became defensive.

That feeling, the feeling of being undeserving, had gotten better since he had met Tohru and especially since they had moved away together nearly a year ago. But it crept in occasionally. He was still plagued by negative thoughts sometimes. That small voice inside his head piped up every so often to tell him he didn’t deserve any of this. However, in her actions and with her words, she reminded him every day you do deserve this. She didn’t have to say it verbatim; it was evident in all that she did for him.

He wasn’t upset, he was disarmed. There he had been, minding his own business, when the reminder of just how much she loved him and cared for him slapped him across the face. He needn’t ask the question why, especially because he knew the answer. But knowing the answer didn’t make the display any less surprising. 

Tohru carefully side-stepped the piles of clothes, moving lightly on her tiptoes towards him, and wrapped her arms around his middle. He, in turn, wrapped his around her shoulders and brushed her hair with his lips. He couldn’t help it, he asked the question anyway.

“Why did you fix my gi?”

She pressed her chin against his chest, looking up at him with her wide, earnest eyes. “Because it’s your favorite one.” She answered simply, as if it had been obvious the whole time.

“I never said that,” he responded and she smiled at him.

“It was pretty obvious,” she mused. He raised his eyebrows waiting for her to continue. “You always reach for that one first,” she explained. “It’s certainly the softest and most broken in. Plus, it was a gift from Kunimitsu-san before our move. It’s special to you.”

And there it was. She was right, it was his favorite. It was the most comfortable. He didn’t attribute much to the fact that it was a gift, but her logic was sound.  He was disarmed because, without saying a word, she told him ‘I get it. You love this. And because you love it and I love you, it’s precious to me. I’ll preserve it for you.’

She’d never have to speak the words ‘I love you’ if she didn’t want to. She said it to him in her gestures alone. She saw who he was at his core, appreciated it, and nurtured it so that it wouldn’t change. And as she did so, she reminded him you deserve this.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking a hand under her chin and tilting her head to meet her lips softly with his own. She beamed at him.

She returned her head to his chest, pressing her cheek against him until she could hear his heartbeat. “It’s a mess in here.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I had to come in here and see what other girly patches you put all over my stuff.” 

She pinched his back. “They’re not girly,” she insisted. “Besides, if you really never noticed until today that I’ve been fixing your clothes for four years, then you should be a little embarrassed,” she teased back.

“Lucky for you, your careful craftsmanship has made it so I never noticed.” He stepped back, retrieving the gi top from the bed and held it out for her. “But you’ve gotten sloppy. Damn heart was bothering me all day.”

She pinched the heart between her fingers, confirming that it was a bit more pronounced than some of her other patches. “You’re right,” she nodded, her face taking on a grave (although clearly exaggerated) expression. “Certainly a manly patch would not be so itchy.”

“Exactly,” he confirmed. He reached down and gathered the pile of clothes in his arms, sitting on the bed with them so he could refold them and put them away. 

She planted a kiss on the top of his head before she turned to leave. “I’ll go make a very manly dinner to make up for it,” she said, grinning, and he rolled his eyes. 

*  *  *

The following morning, he left for work, his bag already packed with his other favorite karategi and lunch he’d prepared the night before. He changed at the dojo, and, when met with the sound of snickers, quirked his eyebrows at the teen class before him.

“Nice heart, shihan,” one of the girls said, her palm covering her mouth.

Kyo craned his neck to look at his shoulder in the mirror and, sure enough, he was wearing the gi from yesterday, no doubt slipped into his bag by Tohru when he wasn’t looking. There, on his shoulder, was the hole with a new patch covering it. A small, pink heart in contrast with the black cotton. 

He shook his head, the smile on his face betraying the annoyance he was trying to convey. “God dammit.”

[captainjimothycarter]

Steve & Peggy are close childhood friends that reunite in college incidentally. They briefly recognize each other when they happen to walk by each other on the way to class, but can’t stop to catch up, and they have to find each other later.

Steve & Peggy are close childhood friends that reunite in college incidentally. They briefly recognize each other when they happen to walk by each other on the way to class, but can’t stop to catch up, and they have to find each other later.

 Oh, this is just so soft. I am so sorry, it’s so long.

--

“Are you an idiot or something?”

The posh, British tone makes steve look up from where he’s doing a pretty good impression of an Ostrich, his face coated in red dirt and blood. She could see tracks in his skin from where his tears had ran.

“No,” he grumbled, pushing himself to sit up and spitting blood out of his mouth. “Dunno why you’re asking me that. Who are you?”

“Someone that just kicked their butts.” Her thumb jerks over to Steve’s neighborhood bullies stumbling out of the abandoned lot. Even with his bad vision, he could see how Percy was limping and the welt rising on the back of Jeffory’s neck.

“I didn’t ask for you to save me, I had it handled!”

“Clearly.” Her tone and eye roll said otherwise. “You had them by the ends of their britches if you ask me. They were gonna kill you or worst. You’re lucky I spotted them.” Her hand held out and without asking for permission, jerking him to his feet. She’s taller than him, not by much, just two inches. He’s a small thing that looks like he’s gotten accustomed to his face meeting the ground a few times. He defiantly doesn’t know how to defend himself given how he was curled up when those three boys were surrounding him.

Typical brutes.

Steve frowned as he found his way to his feet, ruffling the dirt out of his hair. He was still watching her, confused. She wasn’t from around here, he’s never heard her voice before. He’d remember her accent. It was pretty, like Miss Ramous’. She wore posh clothes too, a pretty pink dress that was now stained with dirt and blood – his blood. Her white knee-high socks were just as stained. The only thing old on her was her tennis shoes.

“Steve Rogers,” he finally muttered, holding his hand out to her. “Thank you.”

“Margaret Carter.” She said her name with pride, showing her white teeth as she smiled and they shook hands. “I just moved here with my mum and brother. I think we’re next-door neighbors in the apartments? I’ve seen you around the complex. You helped Michael.” She paused and started to fuss over his torn shirt. “Do those boys do that often?”

“Do what? Gang up on me?” His one-shoulder shrugged, she noted it was too painful for him to lift the other one. “Sometimes. Normally. Yeah. I fight back but they always gang up on me. I don’t like bullies and if I don’t stand up to them, no one will. They were hurting a cat! That cat didn’t do anything.”

Peggy’s eyes landed on a burlap sack, now empty. She’d seen a streak of orange when she pulled up on her bicycle, having heard Steve’s yelps echoing down the alleyway.

“You’re pretty brave. Stupid, but brave. I’ll teach you how to fight.” She paused, waited for him to scoff like all the other boys did for being a girl, and knowing how to fight. When it didn’t come, her face pinched slightly. “You’re not gonna laugh?”

“Why would I laugh? You said you were gonna teach me how to fight. What? Cause you’re a girl.” Steve shrugged again and his face pinched. “My ma is a girl and she’s the bravest person I know.”

“You know…” Peggy sighed, picking up Steve’s good arm and throwing it over her shoulder to support most of his weight out of the alleyway, “You’re not so much of an idiot after all. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

--

“ Margaret Carter!”

Even Steve had to flinch from the shrill of a woman who looked like Peggy’s voice. She had Peggy’s pretty eyes and curls but her features looked almost sour as she dragged her daughter away from him and left someone with sandy blonde hair and limbered limbs to catch him.

“Mum, stop, I’m fine!” Peggy complained, trying to tug out of her arm. “I was helping, Stevie! He’s our neighbor and the boys in the neighborhood were hurting him!”

“You did what?!” She turned to round on Steve, who was just as confused as anyone. “How dare you involve my precious daughter in these ridiculous tomfoolery games of yours! You’ve ruined her dress and God knows what else!”

“Mother.” The guy holding Steve up looked older than Peggy but had the same kind eyes. Only Peggy’s mother had them but crueler. “Stop it. Peggy was helping a kid in trouble. I’ve seen those boys around the neighborhood. They’re no good and were hurting some poor innocent animal.”

At least someone was defending him because it seems he had lost his voice.

“I don’t care, Michael. Look at what they did to her dress! She has an interview in an hour and-“

“Mother, stop!” Peggy shrieked, stomping her foot and jerking away from her mom. She went back to Steve’s side and helped him stand back up. “Michael, let him go. I got him. Stop being mean. Steven needed my help and I helped him. It’s what dad would’ve done. You would let Micheal help him. I don’t even want to go to this boring, private school with uniforms and stuck up teachers.”

“No daughter of mine is going to some disgusting public school with filth like that!” She glared at Steve like he was a piece of dog turd that he’d thrown in Percy’s face earlier. “And of course I would’ve, no girl should be fighting. It’s unladylike. Now come on.” She went to jerk her again but Steve slapped her hand away.

“Will you stop it?” He snapped at her. “You’ve been nothing but mean to me since I’ve gotten here. You let the front door close in my face when I was helping my ma carry groceries, you locked me out of the laundry room, you turned off all the lights in the lobby when I was using them to read, and now you’re getting mad at me for what? Your daughter’s actions? I didn’t ask for her help. I’m grateful, but she helped me on her own. You should be proud of her! She stopped up to bullies.”

The woman’s face twisted as if she’d been forced to lick a lemon. The sound of the slap echoed through the small hall, leaving Steve to blink away tears.

“You will never touch me again, filth. Do you hear me? This is why I didn’t want to come to America, but your father insisted. Too much filth. Do you hear the language he uses? ‘Ma’. No proper English.” She jerked Peggy away with no warning, shoving her inside of the apartment and slamming the door in Steve and Michael’s face.

Michael was quiet, holding Steve’s shoulder a bit too tightly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a beat of silence. “She won’t hurt, Marge. She’s cruel but not in terms of…man handling. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Steve couldn’t say no as he was brought inside his own apartment, his ma at work. He was silent as the elder Carter cleaned him up, not even flinching when the alcohol stung the wounds. Michael spoke, he didn’t like silence it seemed. He told him about how their father owned a publishing company and was moving some of the branches to America to expand and how they were going to live here for some time now. And how their mum didn’t like it but Peggy was excited about the adventure.

He spoke lots about his little sister, said how scrappy she was. How she was born small and always fighting, just like how he was. How she was smart and knew two languages now. She was only a year younger than Steve but already reading at a college grade level like he was. He had taught Peggy to fight and their ma had gotten mad at her, not him for teaching her. Made Peggy promise some ridiculous thing about how she was never to be so unladylike.

Peggy, of course never kept that promise.

“Am I not allowed to be friends with her?” Steve asked, around a mouthful of grilled cheese that the elder brother had made for them. “I-I wanna be her friend. She’s nice to me.”

“If you ask my mother she’d say otherwise,” Michael scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But I’ll make it happen. She deserves friends her age and…like you. You’re the first person to make her smile in days.”

--

Someone cursed behind him when Steve stopped in the middle of a crowded hall to do a double-take, his hand clenching the coffee cup a little bit harder than before. No, this wasn’t right. There was no way this was right. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the lack of sleep because there was no way Peggy Carter could be back in America and most of all, in his very college.

His best friend, his childhood friend. Someone he loved and held dear and close to his heart, someone, who through the years of high school they’d lost contact with one another after Peggy’s father died and her mother became more overbearing especially when Michael took over the family company. Their last conversation sometimes still played in his head.

If that was her, now that he was doubting it, did she think about him as much as he thought about her? It was nearly five years ago they’d last talked and he still thought about her every other day. There were some friendships you didn’t let go of.

“Hey, Stevie?”

The blonde blinked and looked to Bucky, his new roommate, an arm thrown over his shoulder. “Sorry, I was…lost in thought.”

“What with that pretty girl? With the killer heels? She’s in my French class.”

“Yeah, swear I know her from somewhere.” He rubbed at his jawline as Bucky forced him to move, dragging him down the hallway. “You get her name?”

“Nah, I was late for the last couple of times. I can introduce you two though, just meet me after class tonight.”

--

She was so sure of every last decision she’s made in the five years.

Sure about leaving her abusive mother, sure about joining Michael to live in a cheap flat and continue her schoolwork until she graduated early, sure about taking over the company once she got her degree because Michael was not happy about this type of work while Peggy was. Sure about going back to college in America to run the company from there, because it’s the only time she’s felt happy.

She was sure about everything but one thing.

On if that was truly him.

Could it be? Sure, she was back in Brooklyn but there was no telling if Steve Rogers still lived here, if he even existed.

He’d once mentioned about traveling the world after high school, silly pipe dreams she encouraged because it made him so happy.

He looked so different – if it was him. Broader, muscular, fuller hair, and brighter eyes. Last she saw he was scrawny and lanky like he hasn’t grown into himself. He certainly has now – if this was him.

She should turn back, run back to him, ask, and risk herself the embarrassment but the crowd of people was already dragging her away and she couldn’t risk being late to class her first week.

Maybe she could attempt to see him again, stake out the halls.

God, she was being ridiculous. Angie would flip if she knew she was thinking about a boy.

--

“Peggy Carter?”

The voice droned on names so fast that Peggy almost missed hers, her hand shooting up to alert the teacher she was here before dropping her head back down to doodle in the corner of her book.

French. She was fluent in French, so she figured it was an easy A, if anything, but she didn’t expect the class to be so damn boring. The teacher taught everything wrong that if Peggy wasn’t fluent, she’d have to spend time unteaching herself, just to relearn again.

“Pst. Pst.”

Peggy glares in the direction of a brunette guy with silver eyes poking at her with the end of his pen. “And what do you want? I am not keen on having Miss Cat-Lady yell at us for talking.”

The guy laughs and rolls his eyes, throwing a look to the dubbed Cat-Lady whose having a difficult time doing something on her computer. “She treats us like we’re still freshmen in highschool. Anyway, it’s Peggy, right? I got someone who wants to meet you, stay here after class.”

Before Peggy could even ask who, the lights are dimmed and her attention is drawn to the PowerPoint on the board.

--

“Alright,” Peggy sighed when the brunette-James, she learned- stepped back inside the empty classroom, waving his hand at someone to stay still. “What’s all this about? I don’t like surprises much.”

“Oh, you’ll love this one.” He was all grins, he had a very boyish face and attitude that reminded her so much of her brother.

The very last Peggy ever thought to see was the blonde from before, coming through the door with a paint-stained sweater, blue paint drying on the tip of his nose, charcoal on his hands, and nervously holding a cup of coffee.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a few desks between them, unsure of how to get her legs to move. How to move from her spot to his.

This close, she knew in her heart it was him. She could see the kindness in those eyes. The soft scar along his jawline from where he fell off his bike. That boyish grin as the coffee cup dropped to the table and tables pushed out of the way as he scooped her up.

She should be furious that he’s ruining her clothes again, charcoal stains of handprints on white silk but she can’t be. She’s laughing as he spins her around, and they both pretend the other isn’t crying.

“Is it really you?” Peggy whispers, holding Steve’s face in her hands.

“Y-yes, Peggy, yes. I…” He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he acted on an impulse that he should’ve done in the first place.

He kissed her and Peggy sunk into him as she was placed on her feet, arms around his neck until they parted.

She laughed as they did so, her dress officially ruined. “You think I’d learn my lesson the first time we met.”

Steve cringed as he looked down at the front of her dress and at his now cleanish hands. “Your ma isn’t here to yell at me, is she?”

“Good Lord, no, Steven, no, but I am.” The smile on her face said otherwise as she took hold of his face again to kiss him. “I think it looks beautiful with the new handprints.”

A scoffing noise caused them both to look up, Steve’s face flushing as they both realized Bucky was still there. “You two,” he grumbled, downing the coffee and making a face, “are sickeningly cute. Steve, what the fuck is this coffee?”

Steve snorted into the arm of his sweater. “It’s not, Buck. It’s paint water I’m using for a project.”

[ravens-words]

Tell me how all this (and love, too) will ruin us

For @bamfalexmanes ❤ Elle, I hope you like it

The one in which Michael and Alex have a talk, some truths are revealed and a new hope is born.

This is a sequel of a sort to we burned down our paper house.

Happy Reading!!

.

"Are you okay?"

Michael looked up quickly, too quickly if the way his vision blurred for a second was an indication, and found Alex looking down at him with a frown of concern.

Michael hated it. He also wanted to put his lips to those three lines that resided in between his brows and kiss it away. 

"I'm fine," he mumbled pathetically, looking away before his thoughts became too hard to conceal and showed up on his face. Neither of them would be ready for that.

Alex crouched beside him and Michael's eyes flickered up to meet his. He smiled, and Michael's treacherous heart beat a hard rhythm against his chest. "You're not fine," he told him casually.

Michael laughed bitterly. Of course he wasn't alright. There was an ancient, psychotic alien who looked like his brother's twin living in his bunker. Max wasn't getting any better, seemed to be even more manic now that that they'd found Jones. And Michael had to live everyday with a regret that threatened to choke him alive every single time he saw Alex and Forrest together. When he'd walked away in the middle of Alex's song, he hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd been so sure that it wasn't their time, that they would have time later, that they weren't ready in that moment. He'd known, in his bones, that he and Alex were meant for each other. They'd loved each other through the worst of times, and still do after almost twelve years. Whatever thing he had with Forrest wouldn't last, Michael had convinced himself, but- Alex needed it. Alex needed something light and good and happy and fleeting, just like what he'd had with Maria. 

After he had tried with Maria, Michael's belief that Alex was the only one for him had been cemented. Selfleshly, he'd wanted the same to happen for Alex. Michael had desperately needed that reassurance. 

It had backfired on him, because of all the things he'd accounted for in the minute it took to make the decision to walk away, he hadn't accounted for the most important one; having to watch the love of his life be with someone else. Having to watch him kiss someone else, laugh with someone else and wishing that it was him. 

Jealousy wasn't a new thing to Michael. He'd spent his whole life, it felt like, being jealous. Jealous of Max and Isobel for getting the family while he got bounced around from home to home. Jealous of Max and Isobel when they literally killed people, and yet his life turne out to be the worst out of the three of them. Jealous of Isobel for getting married to the person she loved and building herself a home (before Noah turned out to be a serial killer). And now, jealous of Forrest Long, of all people, for getting to be with Alex in a way Michael had not been in all the years they'd been in love. 

"This is about me and Forrest, isn't it?" Even though it was phrased as one, Michael knew it wasn't a question. 

He didn't answer. Ashamed and guilty and relieved that Alex got it without him having to say it. 

Alex sighed. "I watched you be with Maria for a lot longer, you know," he told him mildly, tone almost teasing. 

Michael found himself silent again, because yeah, Alex had watched him be with Maria for nearly a year and had been gracious about it. He had been supportive, even, according to Maria. Michael wanted to do the same, had been trying for a little less than a month with varying degrees of success. 

He didn't know how Alex could stand it. 

"It's not about you and Forrest." One last ditch effort to be the friend and not the helpless fool in love. 

It didn't work. Of course it didn't work. 

Alex raised his eyebrows.  "Did you really think that would work?"

Michael shrugged. "Figured I had to try."

Alex shifted from his crouch to sit beside Michael, and their shoulders brushed. The touch sent shivers down his spine and he had to fight the instinct to lean closer. Damn, but he missed the closeness, the comfort of it. "Well, now that you have, are you ready to tell me why you're here on your own instead of being inside with all of us?"

"Is it me?" He found himself asking. He sounded like a small child and found himself looking down to avoid looking at Alex. 

He felt Alex stiffen beside him And immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't, though. After a few seconds of silence, Alex relaxed and let out a slow breath. "Something that you never managed to understand, Michael, was that at no point in the past eleven years was I ever ashamed of you. It was never about you. It was my father, it was the military, it was me. But it was never you. That is, until you chose to do something illegal on our first date."

Michael looked up at the sky and shook his head as they both laughed softly. He marveled at how far they had come, that they could laugh about something that had torn them apart two years ago. 

Once their laughter died down, Alex spoke again. "You have to understand that my father made me live in fear for a really, really long time. He- I was thirteen when I figured out I was gay, and twelve when he did. From that moment on, I lived in constant fear of being myself. The only time I wasn't aftlraid was with you. And we both know how that turned out."

It hurt to hear, because Alex didn't deserve any of it, but knowing that he had somehow helped, that Alex wasn't ashamed of him, was a balm on a gaping wound that had been bleeding for a long time. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alex smiled, reassuring. "Now get up, suck it up and come inside." Though outwardly his demeanor was light, Michael could tell this was a test. He'd never failed a test in his life and he was damned if he was going to start now. 

He got up, followed Alex inside and sucked it up.

.................

"Guerin!" 

Michael grinned automatically and spun around to greet Alex. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. The man with him was just a little shorter, but was built like a tank. Alex clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hi."

Alex gestured at the man. "This is Bradley Williams, a buddy of mine."

"Hey, man," Michael took over the introduction. "Michael Guerin. Nice-" he trailed off as the man's eyes widened and his head spun around to look at Alex with a speed that had him wondering how his head was still attached. "-to meet you?" He looked between the two men. The man was grinning ear to ear now, while Alex was glaring daggers at him. "Am I missing something here?"

"Yes," Bradley said.

"No," Alex countered, in a way that left no room for argument.

Michael was surprised to see the man back off immediately and wondered exactly how the two had met. It must have been the air force, but it wouldn't explain the evident closeness. The two seemed like brothers.

"Listen, his car is a mess. But h's stubborn and won't admit he can't fix it. Can you take a look at it and tell him he needs to have a professional fix it?" The last part, though addressed to him, was said pointedly in Bradley's direction. 

"Sure thing."

The car was a mess. Alex took too much pleasure in being right and processed to give Bradley shit the second Michael confirmed it. Seeing Alex like this, happy and carefree, never failed to make Michael's heart swell with fondness for him. It was seriously a problem.

About fifteen minutes later, Alex got a call and stepped away from them. "You know, this is gonna take a while, so you can just go and I'll give you or Alex a call when it's ready."

"Nah," he said with forced casualness. "I'm good here. Plus, he's probably gonna go back to the base- yup, there's that look." When Bradley pointed the bottle in Alex's direction, Michael's eyes followed and noticed the serious look on his face.

"I gotta go back to the base," he told them, putting the phone in his back pocket. "Let me drive you to the house?"

Bradley leaned back in his chair. "I'm good here, cap; you go ahead."

They locked eyes and after a few seconds, Alex nodded, giving him a wry smile. Michael felt like an outsider as they seemed to have an entire conversation without saying a thing.

Once Alex was gone, the other man turned to him. "Forgive my bluntness, but why the hell aren't you two together?"

Michael's head whipped around and he stared at the man, pissed off and in awe in equal measures. Had he managed to figure out Michael was in love with Alex from spending twenty minutes with them? "What?" He spluttered.

Bradley shook his head. "He told me about you. The way-"

Michael's whole world did a somersault around its axis. "He- he talked about me?"

The older man's forehead crinkled in a frown, but then his features softened and he let out a huff of a breath that could have been a laugh. "Yes, he talked about you. Not much, mind you. He kept a lot of things close to the vest back then, still does, but- everyone in our unit kinda knew there was someone special for him back home, way before he told me." 

Someone special. At a time where he'd thought of himself as an afterthought, a dirty secret, in Alex's life, the people closest to him at the time had thought he was someone special. 

"Every time he talked to you on the phone, he'd be settled, more- alive, I guess- for the next couple of days. Sometimes, I'd even catch him on the phone with you and he'd have this look on his face and I just knew."

"Knew what?" Michael managed to say, heart in his throat. 

"That he loved you. And from what I've seen, that hasn't changed, has it?" 

A part of Michael wanted to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business. Another part wanted to get down on his knees and beg him to tell him more. 

"What did he say about me?" He found himself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

"That you're smart. Kind. That he- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he could talk about was you." Bradley sucked in a harsh breath, and Michael envied his ability to do that, because couldn't draw a single breath. "He was dying, and all he wanted was for you to know; practically begged me to be the one to tell you."

"That he loved me?" Michael's voice cracked, but he ignored it, eyes on the other man. 

"That he'd died, Michael. He didn't want you to keep guessing, I think." Bradley looked him straight in the eye and Michael saw the tears that had gathered there. It made Michael feel better about the tears in his own eyes. 

"If something does happen to you, half the town will know before I do and that's because no one would even think to tell me." He remembered saying on the last phone call they'd had, nearly four years ago. 

He'd been angry when he'd said that; angry and afraid. The idea that his words had stayed with Alex, that he'd been thinking about him when he'd been bleeding, dying, broke his heart and mended it in the same breath. Not for the first time, he ached for him, for them, for everything they could have been and everything they could have had. 

Michael stopped working on the car and sat down heavily in the chair next to him, and Bradley kindly offered him the rest of his beer, eyes forward, probably to give Michael the opportunity to breakdown in peace. But Michael didn't fall apart, he just drank the beer and then stood up to finish the work, not saying a word even when Bradley stood up and walked closer. 

"I met Forrest yesterday. Between you and me? I'm rooting for you," he told him with a smirk, patting his shoulder twice before he left, leaving a stunned Michael in his wake.

......

It took two days for Michael to gather up the courage to talk to Alex. When he reached his house, he found him on a lawn chair, headphones in and his head bopping to the beat of a song only he knew. Michael stopped to stare at him, and really, it was ridiculous how far he was gone for the man that he was staring at the back of his head like a lovesick fool. 

He took a few steps closer, until he was beside him and when Alex looked up and smiled at him, Michael smiled back automatically. "Writing another song about me?" He asked, teasing.

"No," Alex told him with a laugh. "I think that was a one time thing."

His disappointment must have showed on his face because Alex shook his head. "Not many people have a song written about them, you know, you shouldn't get greedy," he chided and stood up. 

He didn't know what made him do it; maybe it was Bradley's words ringing in his ears- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he cared about was you. He wanted you to know; that he'd died.- but the second he was on his feet, Michael pulled him into his arms. When Alex didn't push him away; when he pulled him in tighter instead, Michael buried his nose in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder and took in a lungful of air. 

"Are you okay?"

Michael nodded against his neck and Alex's arms tightened around him. He tried desperately to think of something to say, tried to pull away, but found that he couldn't. 

"Is this about your talk with Bradley?"

Michael nodded again and buried himself further in Alex's arms.

Alex didn't seem to mind.

They stood like that for longer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to want to let go, so they didn't. Until, eventually, they had to. 

"Want to come inside for a beer?" He asked him gently.

Michael wanted more than that. Michael Wanted to hold him until the image of him, bleeding out in Bradley's arms while Michael was blissfully unaware, stopped haunting him in his dreams. He wanted to ask him to sing him the song again, just to hear the rest of it, to be able to appreciate it, to have a reminder that Alex hadn't forgotten about him. Michael wanted to talk to him about the mistakes they'd made and the future they could still have together. But, like he had a month ago, he knew it still wasn't their time.

So he settled for accepting the beer. And being Alex's friend. He owed it to the both of them to try. And he owed it to Alex to back off and let him be happy with someone else since that was what he wanted.

"Yeah." He smiled. "Yeah, I'd love a beer."

[wlntrsldler]

Shawarmas (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

The first time Bucky saw Y/N was at the Shawarma place that Tony loved so much. He sat sandwiched between Thor and Steve, laughing carelessly at the jokes that Sam told. The team took over the small restaurant, barely having enough space to walk around without bumping shoulders. 

You were working the register, your hair restrained under your hairnet and that God-awful yellow visor that they made you wear as your company uniform. Bucky had a full view of you, smiling to yourself once you overheard the conversations the team was having. You chuckled to yourself softly, not wanting to be seen eavesdropping on the team, but Bucky noticed. 

He wanted nothing else but to introduce himself and talk to you but he had forgotten how to talk to women, being frozen for over 70 years and all.

Next time, he thought to himself. He knew there was bound to be one. Tony loved this place, after all. 

-

Bucky was starting to raise suspicion from the team. Every time someone mentioned wanting to go get something to eat, Bucky would perk up and suggest the Shawarma place. It worked the first two times, for the most part, and he was so excited to see you again.

The first time was a Monday night. Steve, Nat and himself had finished a day-long training to make sure they weren’t getting rusty, a comment that Nat took to offense and brutally took apart the electronic dummy that Tony sent off to train them. Needless to say, Tony didn’t appreciate it and vowed to never suggest that Nat was getting rusty ever again. 

Bucky was the first one in the car and the first one out once Steve put the car in park at the shop’s parking lot. He smiled at the familiar neon sign outside of the restaurant, not wanting to wait another second to see you again. Once he entered, his smile faded when he realized you weren’t working that night. The man behind the register was not nearly as beautiful as you with his greasy hair, patchy beard, and what seemed like a toupee clipped on the company visor. 

“Geez, Bucky.” Steve laughed once he entered the establishment. “Didn’t know you liked Shawarma this much.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky mumbled, trying not to show his disappointment as he fell in line behind the last customer. Bucky, Nat and Steve got their food to-go, Bucky’s request, and ate on the way back home.

The second time was after a successful mission. The whole team was bruised, tired, and most of all, hungry. Tony suggested that they just get food instead of trying to cook. The team agreed, wanting nothing else but to fill their stomachs with food that didn’t come from the pre-packaged meals in the ship. 

“How does Shawarma sound?” Bucky asked, apprehensively. 

The first person to be suspicious was Steve. He looked at Bucky with a cocked eyebrow, knowing that they just got Shawarma with Nat, who was assigned to a different mission and therefore was not with the group, two days ago. Bucky flashed him a shy smile, shrugging shoulders, as if saying, “What? I just like Shawarma.” Steve let it go and chimed in, “I’m okay with that.”

Tony patted Bucky’s back, “Good call, Old guy.”

“So, should we start heading out?” Bucky jumped up, his body suddenly feeling a burst of energy. “Which cars should we ta-”

“No need,” Tony yelled from across the room. “They deliver.”

Everyone else was too tired to notice Bucky’s sigh of disappointment, except for Steve. 

-

Bucky realized that if he mentioned the Shawarma place you worked at one more time, the team would personally chip in and buy him his own DIY-at-home Shawarma maker just to get him to finally shut up about Shawarma. Even Tony, the original lover of Shawarma, was getting tired of Bucky mentioning it. 

He decided that he would go in the shop, alone, to save himself the embarrassment of confessing his little crush on the cashier. Bucky took a deep breath and readjusted the cap he was wearing over his freshly cut hair before he entered the shop. He wasn’t used to having hair so short. It reminded him of his hair back in the 40′s. 

His heart stopped when he saw you, smiling graciously at the middle-aged woman who was reciting her order. Even under the shade of the visor, you seemed to glow. You hair was down, no hairnet in sight. He saw just how long it was, going past your elbows. He saw that you had two ear piercings on one ear and only one on the other. Bucky also saw that you had a tattoo above your ear, right before where your hair grew. He was so enchanted by your presence that he didn’t even notice that he was the next person. 

“Hey, dude,” the man behind him tapped his shoulder. Bucky turned around, a bit irritated that he would interrupt the trance that he was in. “She’s been calling you for like three minutes now.”

Bucky’s cheeks reddened, mumbling an incoherent, “Sorry.” He walked up to the register to be greeted by your smiling face.

“What can I get you today?”

Bucky had never been that close to you and his heart started beating a million times a minute because of it. He stumbled over his words when ordering his usual, mentally scolding himself for being so nervous. He thought he made an absolute fool of himself in front of you. If he couldn’t even tell you his order, how was he supposed to strike a conversation with you that went beyond wanting a large Dr. Pepper with his order?

-

Bucky felt like he blew his only chance with you. Because who would really want to give a chance to the blubbering man who couldn’t even say his order properly? 

He stopped bringing up the Shawarma place to the team, not wanting to go back and embarrass himself in front of you for the second time. It had been a week since that last encounter but it was still fresh in his mind. 

Tony was throwing a birthday party for Bucky that night, despite Bucky’s protests that everyone he knew was either dead or about to be dead, with the exception of Steve. Tony dismissed his concerns and reassured Bucky that his party will be grand. Knowing that no amount of complaints will ever stop a Stark party, Bucky just put on his best suit and the “Birthday Boy” sash that Tony insisted he wore. 

“So as everyone knows,” Tony spoke into the microphone, catching everyone’s attention. “Today is Mr. Bucky Barnes’s birthday and to celebrate that, I decided to get our favorite place to cater tonight’s event. Shawarmas for everyone!”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he saw the Shawarmas being wheeled into the compound. He was torn; He wanted to see you but at the same time he wished that you weren’t working his party, especially because he was turning a hundred-something years old. And if his moment of foolishness and absolute awkwardness wasn’t enough to turn you off, he was certain his age would be the last straw. 

“She’s here, you know.” 

Bucky jumped at the sound of Steve’s voice. He blushed, “What are you talking about?”

Steve chuckled, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Pal, you know I’m not stupid, right?”

He groaned, realizing that Steve caught on to his little crush on you. “I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Bucky that I know.” Steve stated. “Bucky, take a deep breath and just talk to her. She won’t bite.”

Bucky nodded, knowing that Steve was right and started making his way over to you. I can do this, he repeated to himself. 

“Hi.”

You looked up from your station to see a nervous Bucky, fidgeting with his fingers and giving dry laughs to fill the silence between you two. “Hi, what can I get you?”

“My name is Bucky.” He blurted out. That wasn’t the answer she was looking for, dumbass, the voice in his head hissed. “What’s yours?”

“Y/N.” You smiled. “Nice sash, birthday boy.”

Bucky had completely forgotten the embarrassing sash he sported, complete with goofy pictures of the Avengers and himself surrounding the words “Birthday Boy.” He wanted to kill Tony for that. “Thanks.”

“You like Shawarmas a lot, don’t you?” You laughed, starting to create his usual order. 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he watched you prepare the order he always gets, “You remember my order.”

“You’re a bit hard to forget.”

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words but then realized he had a metal arm. Of course he would be hard to forget. 

“Yeah,” He continued. “The arm is hard not to notice.”

“Not talking about the arm but you have a point.” You responded, sliding the plate towards him.

“What were you talking about?”

You blushed, debating if you should flirt with him. What’s the worse that can happen? “You have the nicest eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to forget that.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to blush. Had it been 1940 all over again, he would’ve maintained his composure and swept you off your feet with a subtle, yet corny, response. But his mind went blank. All he could do was utter a broken, “Thank you.”

-

By the end of the night, you had accepted that you misread Bucky’s signs. He was indeed interested in the Shawarma and not you. After you complimented his eyes, he walked away after muttering a “thank you” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. You kept your head down, too embarrassed to look up, in fear that he would be looking right at you, laughing at your attempt to flirt with him.

Bucky was cursing himself for not making his move. He had the perfect window to. He watched the guests leave the party and slowly but surely, the Shawarmas were being finished. 

By 11PM, you and your co-workers started packing up, getting ready to leave. Bucky watched as you started to take apart the equipment, panicking because he knew this was the last chance he could have. He knew he couldn’t face you outside of the party, not after two failed attempts. 

He took the last sip of his drink and made his way over to you. “Y/N!”

You looked back and saw Bucky, reaching out for you. You turned to your co-workers, “I gotta take care of something. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

Bucky stopped in front of you. This is it, Barnes, make it count. “Would you like to go out and get some food with me?”

It took you by surprise. You didn’t expect him to ask you out, especially after he walked away from your attempt to flirt. You watched his eyes shift from your face to his feet, worried glances, thinking that you would reject him. You couldn’t help but get lost in the blue of his eyes. You meant it when you said he had the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

It took you all your might to not melt when he was staring at you at your job a week ago. His small smile as he stared at you, lips slightly parted, chest rising up and down, slowly, and his metal fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt. He was a sight to see.

“Y-you don’t have to say yes.”

You didn’t realize how long you were enchanted by his eyes until he spoke up again. “What? Huh?”

“I said you don’t have to say yes, YN.” He sounded defeated.

“No, no.” You shook your head and watched his face drop with even more discouragement. Your eyes grew wide once you realized what you said. “No! I mean, yes, I would love to go out to get food with you.”

You saw him sigh in relief, “Oh thank God.”

You reached for the pen in your pocket and grabbed his human arm, scribbling down your phone number. “Call me, yeah?”

Bucky gave you a small nod and watched you wave goodbye before you joined the rest of your co-workers.

Fuck, Bucky thought. Where the hell am I supposed to take her if the only place I go to is the one she works at?  

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 37 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Things looked up for Violet as she finally settled into the new normal of working in design.

This Chapter: One of New York’s most illustrious editors-in-chief turns 40--in style.

***

Shit.

It had been an absolute hell week, Courtney being run ragged all day, everyday. She’d missed more meals than not, barely slept, had gotten used to only using the bathroom when Fame was occupied.

It was really the first time that she and Miss Fame had to interact directly for more than a few words, and if Courtney thought she was high-maintenance before, she had no idea how weird it would get.

On Tuesday, Courtney had been torn a new one for ringing the doorbell when she had dropped off a package at Fame’s house, Fame looking at her like she was absolute vermin.

How was Courtney supposed to have known that it was a deathsin not to just let herself into her boss’ house, Fame explaining to her like she was a retarded toddler that she valued her family life and private time too much to be interrupted, not at all catching the irony of the fact that she was imposing on Courtney’s private time by forcing her to come to her house at 10 pm.

And now, a casual text from Adore that she’d be there around 7:30 reminded her about Bianca’s party and she was absolutely panicking. She had less than an hour to make herself presentable with literally nothing to wear.

She’d meant to ask Ivy about a dress, days ago, and then again yesterday when she was arranging the delivery of Miss Fame’s present to the Marie Claire offices, but it had slipped her mind amongst all the other things she had to remember.  

She jumped up and raced into Raja’s suite, a cramp in her side, relieved to find the redhead still at her desk.

“Courtney? Are you okay?” Ivy rose from her seat, a concerned look on her face, ever the empath.

“I just...I forgot…” Courtney tried to catch her breath.

“Okay, take a breath. Whatever it is, it’s fixable. I promise.”

Courtney gulped. “I forgot that I’m supposed to go to this party tonight at the Guggenheim and it’s super fancy and my ride will be here in 40 minutes and I don’t have anything to wear and I don’t even know what the dress code means and I was just wondering if I could borrow something and I promise I’ll have it cleaned and returned by Monday but-”

“Courtney, breathe. Okay?” Ivy took her hand, inhaling deeply and then blowing out dramatically.

Had this job really killed so many of her brain cells that she needed assistance breathing now? Regardless, Courtney followed Ivy’s lead, taking a few deep breaths to slow her racing heart.

“Now,” Ivy began. “What does the dress code say?”

“Creative black tie?”

“Ah. Okay. Follow me.”

Courtney nearly cried with gratitude as Ivy led her into the wardrobe closet.

“Luckily, you’re a sample size, so this shouldn’t be too much of a challenge,” Ivy said. “It’s Bianca Del Rio’s party, right?”

“Yeah,” Courtney said, watching her paw expertly through the racks.

“Are you going for anything in particular?”

“I guess I wanna look…” Courtney racked her brain, unsure of what to say, when the word, “older” slipped from her lips.

Ivy paused, clearly not expecting that answer, and gave Courtney a curious look before nodding.

“I can work with that. Now, Bianca likes bold colors and dramatic silhouettes with clean lines, so I think something like this…” Ivy pulled a stunning, beaded blue cocktail dress out off the rack. “This will look good on you.”

Ivy was truly a gift from god. Not only did they find a dress that fit perfectly (they settled on a short, fire-engine red silk number with a plunging neckline), along with shoes, accessories, and a glamorous faux-fur wrap, but she even stayed to help Courtney with her hair and makeup, giving her a chic updo and dramatic winged liner.

“Ivy, honestly, if you ever need anything. Someone to cover your desk...a kidney...whatever...you know who to ask.”

“Good to know.” Ivy laughed, checking her makeup one more time, adding a little more glimmering highlighter to her cheekbones, and then proclaiming, “Alright, I think you’re done.”

“Thank you so much,” Courtney said again, pulling out her phone. She hadn’t heard from Adore in awhile, and wondered if she was stuck in traffic or something. She seriously hoped that she hadn’t rushed like crazy, inconveniencing Ivy and nearly giving herself an ulcer worrying, just to sit around waiting for an hour.

COURTNEY: ETA?

ADORE: Soon, I think. I’m on my way to Pearl’s, then we’ll pick you up. Do you want a gyro?

COURTNEY: I’M A VEGAN

ADORE: Oh yeah. Gross. I’ll text you when we’re close.

***

“Bianca! Darling!” Fame reached out her arms to pull Bianca in for a tight embrace.  “Happy Birthday!”

She and Patrick had just arrived at the stunning event space a few minutes earlier, and were immediately whisked off to a VIP area with a private bar, where Raja and Raven were already relaxing on sofas, Sutan and Violet standing at the bar chatting with Detox and Jujubee.

It was perfect, removed enough from the chaos of the dance floor, but with a perfect view over the railing. And the speed with which Bianca had arrived to greet her told her that she’s given special instructions for the staff to alert her to Fame’s presence--exactly the kind of preferential treatment that Fame expected.

“Thanks, blondie,” Bianca grinned, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Fame smiled widely, fluttering her lashes. “So do you. I love this dress!”

“Yeah, your tits look great!” Raja chimed in.

Bianca was wearing a sinfully tight black bandage dress, the neckline showing off her breasts and glowing skin, the hem just above her knees, her legs one of Bianca’s best assets.

“You can barely see that you’re turning 40.” Fame grinned, which earned her a pinch from Bianca, the other still keeping her in her arms.

“Shush.”

“Please,” Fame squeezed Bianca’s forearm, “So, tell me the truth, do you like the ring?”

Bianca held up her hand, where it glittered on her index finger.

Yesterday, Fame had had Bianca’s birthday present delivered to her office at the exact time of her birth, 3:57 pm. Fame knew Bianca liked her statement pieces, so she had custom ordered a cocktail ring, but not just any cocktail ring. Instead of the usual single band, a stone in the middle, Fame had gone for a three part twist in gold, sparkling garnets adorning it.

“It’s perfect, I love it,” Bianca said.

“Wonderful!” Fame clasped her hands together. “You’re impossible to shop for.”

“No I’m not! I love stuff,” Bianca countered. “Plus, you know...I’ll never say no to a present that’s unavailable in stores…”

She grinned wickedly, dimples deep, hand drifting down to Fame’s ass. Fame swatted it away with a scolding look.

“Really, Bianca.”

“What, it’s my birthday!” Bianca said. “You gotta give me something.”

“Fine, a tiny something,” Fame laughed, leaning in and giving her a sweet kiss on the lips, then following up with a light smack to her cheek.

“That’s not where I like being spanked,” Bianca said.

“Oh my god, you’re impossible!” Fame exclaimed, breaking away and stepping over to the bar while Bianca laughed gleefully behind her. “Now come on, tell me about your presents.”

***

“And a drink for the lady.” Sutan smiled as he handed Violet a glass, his date taking it with a sweet smile and a thank you, Sutan putting his arm back around her waist as they walked around.

He had picked Violet up at her apartment, his heart almost skipping a beat as she had pushed the double doors open and walked down the steps, her dress of the night absolutely stunning, the back open and taunting with it’s promise of bare impossibly soft skin.

“So,” Sutan rubbed his thumb up and down, gently caressing Violet’s back, “are you having fun?”

Sutan was happy that she was there, enjoyed spending time with her, but as he got to know her more and more, he slowly realized how little she actually enjoyed big crowds.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Sutan bit his lip, hiding a smile at Violet’s quick but short reply.

***

Alaska giggled delightedly, letting Jinkx twirl her on the dance floor. If you’d told Alaska a few years ago that she’d have a friend who she could have this much fun with sober, she’d have laughed in your face. But, even though Jinkx didn’t mind it, Alaska really didn’t enjoy drinking around her. So when they were together, Alaska felt like it was the least she could do to hold off on the booze. What she did enjoy was being with her, sober or not, looking into her sparkling brown eyes as they tripped all over their feet.

“For a Broadway star, you’re really uncoordinated,” Alaska laughed, and Jinkx pretended to be offended, then giggled.

“It’s hard to be mad when you call me a Broadway star.”

“Well, you are!” Alaska said, wrapping her arms around Jinkx’s neck and gazing at her happily. She loved these moments, just the two of them having the time of their lives, dancing and laughing and ignoring every other person in the room. They always had fun, but tonight, Jinkx seemed to have an extra bounce in her step, radiating a kind of joy, and it made Alaska feel so grateful to be around her.

“Thanks Lasky...you’re the best.”

They whirled and stumbled around the dance floor some more, until they were both breathless and needed a break.

“What are we feeling like tonight? Ginger ale? Cranberry and soda?” Alaska asked.

“You choose,” Jinkx said, clinging to her arm.

Alaska ordered a couple of drinks for them and then turned back to Jinkx, who was looking at her with the cutest little dreamy half-smile. She couldn’t help the tingling rush that went down her spine as she lowered her eyes and asked, “So...what’s going on with you tonight?”

“What do you mean?” Jinkx asked, eyes widening innocently.

“I mean...you’re just very...I don’t know...” A smile tugged at Alaska’s lips. “...twinkly tonight.”

“Well...I wasn’t gonna say anything because...it’s kind of silly, but,” she lowered her voice, eyes shining. “I ran into her again. Ivy.”

Alaska felt her whole chest deflate, forcing a smile as Jinkx continued.

“At Zabar’s! It’s like the universe is just conspiring to help us get together, you know?” Jinkx giggled happily.

A lump rose in Alaska’s throat and she nodded, using all her willpower to keep the smile painted across her face. “Oh, wow. That’s...that’s cool. Did you talk?”

“Yes. You’d be so proud of me, I even got her number!”

“Wow. Awesome!” Alaska felt like she was going to throw up, shifting her gaze to the bartender, grateful for the distraction as he slid two ginger ales across the bar. She couldn’t help wishing that half the glass was Jack Daniels. She handed one of them to Jinkx and took her own. It tasted just dust.

“Yeah, but she was still a bit formal, you know? I think I need to see her in a more relaxed setting. Do you think she likes opera? Maybe I can ask her to Madame Butterfly?” Jinkx chattered, away, oblivious to Alaska’s shift in mood.

“You really think the Met is a relaxed setting?”

Jinkx threw back her head and laughed, squeezing Alaska’s arm. “Omigod, you’re right. I’m such a dingbat. What would I do without you, Lasky?”

“I don’t know…” Alaska stirred her drink.

“What do you think she likes?”

“Uh, I’m really not sure,” Alaska said. And it was true. She knew that Ivy was sweet, and professional, and did her job with a kind of calm efficiency. But she didn’t know her very well on a personal level, their professional paths rarely crossing directly.

“Hmm, maybe you can ask around? If that wouldn’t be too weird?” Jinkx looked so hopeful and earnest that Alaska couldn’t help but smile for real in spite of herself, immediately agreeing to help her on this quest to capture Ivy’s heart.

“Of course. I’ll ask around.”

Jinkx sighed happily, leaning on Alaska’s shoulder, eyes falling closed for a moment. “You really are my favorite person, Lask.”

“Back atcha, Jinxky.”

***

Adore walked into Bianca’s party, feeling like a million bucks. Everyone that was anyone and even some who were nothing were there, and Adore knew she looked better than all of them with her purple hair, her pouty red lips, her short black leather dress, fishnets, and best of all… Pearl, the sexiest fucking goddess she’d ever seen in her life at her side.

She hung on Pearl’s arm, enjoying the jealous looks she got; knowing that everyone at the party wanted to be in her place. She even got a nasty look from some models, who were clearly all in love with her girl, but Adore didn’t care.

Pearl was here with her and only her. Pearl glanced at her every few seconds with a smug grin on her face, like the cat that just ate the canary. Well, if the canary was Adore’s pussy. Which would mean the cat was… Well whatever, Adore wasn’t an English scholar. She was in love.

The only thing that sucked was that Courtney looked so fucking miserable. They’d been a little late picking her up, due to getting, well, sidetracked for a while at Pearl’s, and then stopping for food. She thought that Courtney would be a bit more understanding, but she’d barely spoken two words in the car, even Pearl picking up on her obvious anger.

And now, even though she was at the coolest party in Manhattan, she didn’t look happy at all. Adore caught her eye, offering a hopeful smile, but received only a resigned nod in return. She reached out to touch her hand.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look?” Adore asked, hoping that a compliment and a charming grin would be enough to lighten her mood.

“You think?” Courtney asked, adjusting one of her straps nervously. “I don’t look out of place?”

“Bitch, you put all these other girls to shame,” Adore promised, and was rewarded, finally, with a pleased smile from Courtney.

“Thanks.”

“Pearl!”

Adore looked over at the group of giggling socialites who were approaching them, only slightly annoyed when they swept her girlfriend up. She pouted as Pearl dropped her hand, but smiled again when she doubled back to whisper into her ear, “I’m gonna try and squeeze some gossip out of these hoes, and then I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Okay, but don’t be too long!” Adore pulled her in, branding her cheek with a dark red kiss before taking Courtney’s arm and sauntering away, pleased with herself. She scanned the party, looking for her sister and finally spotting her holding court near the bar. She cupped her hands over her mouth to shout through the crowd. “Bianca! Happy birthday, you ancient whore!”

*

Bianca turned towards her sister’s voice, barking out, “You’re late!”

“Whaddaya mean, we’re right on time for a grand entrance!” Adore countered, laughing.

“Well-” Bianca stopped, completely losing her train of thought when her eyes landed on Courtney. She was wearing a short red dress, the first time Bianca has seen her in a color other than pastels, and she looked absolutely fucking stunning--legs a mile long, one blonde curl falling into her eyes. Damn.

“You look cute, B. Very boobalicious,” Adore said, giving her a hug. “Not bad for an old lady.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Bianca said, eyes still locked on Courtney. “Hi, Courtney.”

“Hi. Happy birthday,” Courtney said, giving her a sweet smile. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Bianca told her. “But here, uh...this’ll help you catch up.”

She took a couple of the signature drinks from a passing tray and handed them over. Adore immediately began to suck hers down, but Courtney hesitated.

“Um, what’s in this?”

“Courtney’s afraid of tequila. It makes her messy, right bae?” Adore bumped her hip.

“Something like that.”

“It’s called a Madras. Vodka, orange juice and cranberry. No tequila, but it will fuck you up. Be warned,” Bianca said with a wink.

“Well...cheers,” Courtney said, giving an adorable little laugh.

“Cheers.” Bianca took a sip of her own drink, then leaned in closer. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah?” Courtney’s eyes shone, her fingers twirling that stray lock of hair.

“Yeah.” Bianca tried unsuccessfully to wipe the stupid grin off her face, and instead broke the tension with, “I’m shocked that someone who’s friends with my sister has such good taste.”

“Hey!” Adore exclaimed.

“Don’t be too impressed. It’s a loaner,” Courtney replied drily, causing Bianca to throw back her head and laugh.

“Fair enough.” She downed the rest of her drink, waving off a couple of acquaintances who were trying to get her attention.

“Be right back,” Adore said, scampering away towards Pearl, of course jumping the second the blonde so much as crooked a little finger.

Courtney reached out for her, but she was already gone. She sighed slightly, looking a little bit dejected, and Bianca cleared her throat.

“So listen, I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking for a way to avoid your, uh, Galactica employers while you’re here?”

Courtney looked up, startled. She seemed shocked that Bianca was still talking to her, and she stammered uncomfortably. “Oh. Yeah, no, I just-”

“Listen, it’s understandable, you wanna have a good time. Can’t do that while your boss is breathing down your neck, right?” Bianca flashed her dimples.

“Well...yeah,” Courtney admitted, laughing a little.

Bianca stepped closer, slipping an arm around her shoulders and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Fame and Raja are well contained, don’t worry. I made a VIP section since those two need a velvet rope to feel like they’re having a good time.”

Courtney giggled. “Like a rich person playpen?”

“It’s a prison of their own making,” Bianca affirmed,  giving her a wink. “Trust me, they’re looking down on everyone the way they prefer, and they ain’t leaving.”

“Well...thank you.” Courtney bit her lip. It was hard to tell in this light, but it looked like a slight blush had crept into her cheeks, and Bianca found herself even more enamored.

“Anytime.”

A second later, she felt someone tap on her arm: one of the Marie-Claire board members, who she sadly couldn’t ignore.

“Sorry, I have go...do hostess shit,” Bianca said, regret flooding her chest, and Courtney nodded.

“Of course.”

She turned towards the middle-aged man and his young wife, saying her cursory hellos and giving air kisses, making small talk with them both. As soon as she could manage, though, she spared a glance back at Courtney.

The plan, from the moment Adore told her that Courtney was coming, had been to seduce this smoking hot friend of her sister’s. And she figured that the “rough break-up” that Adore’d reported would make it a sure thing. An easy and fun little fling--a birthday present to herself.

But now, something about the wistful, faraway expression on her delicate face as she smoothed down her skirt made her look vulnerable, in a way that gave Bianca pause. As stunning as she was--and fuck, she was an absolute knock-out--it didn’t make Bianca want to seduce her. Instead, it made her want to protect her. Ugh, why did her fucking conscience have rear its ugly head tonight, on her birthday of all nights?

“Thank you so much. Be sure to check out the raw bar!” she said, finally escaping and ready to head back to Courtney--but Adore beat her to it.

She watched as her sister came bounding up, Pearl in tow, and grabbed Courtney’s hands to pull her onto the dance floor.

Well, good. She should have a good time. Lord knows, anyone who worked for Fame deserved to blow off some steam. Bianca snatched another drink from a passing tray, trying to redirect her attention to the Welsh model who’d been giving her bedroom eyes all night.

***

Violet was having a surprisingly good time, taking small sips of her champagne. She had hurried home from work, almost ready when Sutan had texted that he was downstairs, the smile on Sutan’s face when he had seen her dress almost, almost, almost worth it’s price tag.

She had never been to an event of this size without having to worry if catering ran out of ice, or if she’d need to get taxis for whoever got way too drunk. It was nice to just stand by Sutan’s side, nice to be allowed to just be, without having to entertain or constantly think about everything that could go wrong.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Sutan smiled, his thumb rubbing up and down the small of Violet’s back. He was talking to one of the models from Elite, Violet vaguely recognizing her from some of the headshots she had presented to Fame for the fall collection. “I’ll be sure to tell Marcel about that.”

“Excuse me,” Violet turned, her eyes falling on a man with a camera, the card around his neck instantly telling her that he was from OK! magazine. “I was wondering if I could take a few pictures?”

“Oh,” Violet didn’t know what to do, her stomach instantly tightening.

“Sure,” Sutan grinned, turning towards the camera. “Right girls?”

“I-” Violet didn’t want to be in the picture, didn’t want someone she didn’t know documenting where she was, didn’t want to risk it ending up online. “I don’t-”

“Oh of course,” Sutan took her glass, handing it off to someone. “There we go.”

“Sutan”

“Come here,” Sutan put an arm around the model, posing both of them.

“Please-” Violet could feel Sutan’s hand on her hip, holding her tight, keeping her trapped, her throat closing up.

“Should we smile?”

“No,” The photographer looked out from behind his camera, “just be natural.”

Violet pushed away, forcing Sutan to let her go as the camera went off. She didn’t hear Sutan say her name, a quick flicker of a question on his face, didn’t see him smile apologetically to the photographer and pose with the model, didn’t notice any of it as she made her way outside, escaping the only thing she could think of.

***

Juju strolled through the crowd with Raven. She appreciated the whole VIP setup as much as anyone, but this was a massive party, and they’d decided to come spend a little time where the action was, maybe dance a bit -at least as much as her poor pregnant body would allow. They were stopped by a group of models, Raven proudly showing off her engagement ring and letting the other girls fawn all over her.

Juju put up with the schmoozing for a couple of minutes--after all, those girls were potential clients, until she spotted Bianca nearby and politely excused herself from the group, knowing that Raven would be perfectly content with her little fan club.

Bianca was chatting up some sweet young thing (typical), and Juju couldn’t resist messing with her a little. She wrapped her arms around Bianca’s waist from behind, asking in a low, husky voice, “Tell me I’m your favorite, Daddy.”

It was a joke between the two of them, something that had started years ago when Juju and Detox were first dating. They’d shown up at brunch one morning in the middle of a heated argument about whether it was appropriate for her to call him “Daddy” during sex--ironically, only a few months before she got preganant with their first child. It wasn’t a kink thing, exactly, it was just that she thought it was funny, and especially so when she saw his freaked out reaction. The group agreed that right or wrong, if it bothered him then she probably shouldn’t say it. But Bianca, ever the good sport, had pulled the smaller woman into her lap and declared that if she really needed to call someone Daddy, she was ‘willing to take one for the team.’

Juju accompanied her breathy greeting by biting gently on Bianca’s ear, adding, “Pwease?”

Bianca burst out laughing, pulling her close and introducing her to a very confused looking girl. “Tayce, you must know my friend Juju Sanderson. The brilliant hairstylist who owns Jujubee’s downtown?”

“Oh, yeah! It’s an honor!” Tayce said, her brown eyes lighting up as a dazzling smile spread across her face. “I’ve been trying to get an appointment with you, but you’re booked up for months!”

Juju had to bite back her laugh when she heard Tayce speak--Bianca always was a sucker for an accent.

“Well, play your luck with Daddy here, and you might jump the queue,” Juju said with a wink.

“Among other benefits,” Bianca cackled. “You know you’re the only one who I’d let get away with that Daddy shit, right?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re a lot more fun than my husband.”

“In so many ways,” Bianca said, turning to Tayce and giving her a playful smirk.

***

Violet took a deep breath, letting it out through her teeth as she could finally feel her heart slow down, though the knot in her stomach wasn’t going away.

She knew she couldn’t help it, but it was impossible not to feel an inkling of shame travel up her spine, the feeling that she was being ridiculous impossible to push down.

Sutan hadn’t meant anything by it, taking photos a part of his life, being in the public eye something that simply came natural for him.

Violet took a last breath, pushing away from the wall she had been leaning against to go back to the party, hoping that Sutan hadn’t noticed how strange she was acting.

It wasn’t that Violet liked acting this way, that she wanted to feel the panic rising in her body whenever she saw a camera in a stranger's hand, but she couldn’t help it.

She was an adult now, she had her own life, her own money and even her own job and her own apartment, but it was hard not to hide, impossible not to react to the instinctive fear that welled up in her at the risk of being found.

Violet walked back inside, the noise and the amount of people feeling so much more overwhelming when she wasn’t at Sutan’s side. She made her way through the crowd, easily spotting both Fame and Pearl, avoiding both of them.

She was starting to think Sutan had left, Raja nowhere to be found either, when she saw him sitting at a table, surrounded by models. He was laughing loudly, his arm around one of the girls, several of the models’ phones taking pictures of everything that was happening.

Violet’s stomach did a flip, the panic from earlier rushing through her body. She couldn’t go over there, couldn’t be a part of that part of Sutan’s world, so instead, Violet did what she always did.

Turned around, and walked away.

***

[Raja?] Sutan put a hand on Raja’s hip, turning her around. Sutan had been sitting with a group of models, doing shots and having fun right up until one of them had touched his legs under the table, and he had abandoned ship instantly.

[Have you seen Violet?]

He hadn’t seen her in over an hour, and while Sutan was more than sure that Violet could take care of herself, he had started to worry.

[Sutan!] Raja grinned, stepping into his space, looping her arms around his neck. [Hello brother dear.]

[Hello.] Sutan smiled, once again reminded of how much he truly loved Raja. She was tipsy, her eyes swimming slightly, which was probably why she hadn’t responded to his question. [Have you seen Violet?]

[Violet?] Raja tilted her head, her hand fiddling with the hairs at the nape of his neck. [No?]

[Shit.] Sutan bit his lip, his hands resting on Raja’s hips.

[Maybe she just left?] Raja smiled, running her fingers through his hair. [There’s no need to worry.]

[Maybe...]

[She can handle herself.]

[Mmmh.] Sutan knew that Raja was probably right, but it still felt weird that VIolet hadn’t said goodbye, and if he was honest, he was disappointed that they wouldn’t be going home together at the end of the night. [I’ll send her a text.]

Sutan was just about to reach into his pocket, was just about to get his phone out, when he saw a photographer to his left, just outside the VIP section. The paparazzi always loved to get photos of him and Raja together, and while he was sure Raja hadn’t noticed, he made sure to twist her slightly to the left, getting her good side as he smiled at the camera.

***

“Every guy here is drooling over you, bae,” Adore giggled, spinning Courtney on the dance floor before accepting another drink from Pearl.

“Not just the guys,” Pearl added with a wink.

Courtney laughed. In spite of her hesitation in tagging along, she’d been having a pretty good time. The attention was fun, of course, but Courtney’d barely noticed the alleged guys drooling over her. She couldn’t help thinking about the way she’d felt when Bianca put that arm around her, the way her brown eyes had sparkled in the dim light. The way goosebumps prickled her skin as Bianca’s fingers grazed her shoulder.

Her gaze kept being pulled in Bianca’s direction. Eyes drifting over her enticing curves in that tight dress. And occasionally, to her absolute thrill, Bianca would be looking back at her. Every time their eyes met, her stomach flipped around like crazy.

It was silly, she knew that. She knew that Bianca was only being nice to her because she was Adore’s friend. A nice kid. That it didn’t mean anything deep. This was, after all, a woman who dated supermodels and Oscar winners. Like the gorgeous girl by her side most of the evening, who had a face that Courtney instantly recognized from last month’s British Vogue cover.

Still.

The reality of the situation didn’t stop her from pretending, even just to herself, even just for the night, that maybe there was something there, that warranted all these confusing feelings swirling around inside her like a tornado.

And later, when they were saying goodbye, she allowed herself to enjoy the way Bianca’s palm pressed to the small of her back. She even let her lips linger for a few moments on Bianca’s warm cheek, kissing her goodnight.

***

SUTAN: Did you leave?

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: The party is still going.

SUTAN: Did you get home safe?

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: I can’t find you.

[MISSED CALL]

SUTAN: Violet??

VIOLET: I’m fine.

[lyssismagical]

anything for another run with you, i would do anything to be with you

Parkner Week Day Nine: “I’ll keep all my emotions right here, and then one day, I’ll die” / hanahaki / pining

Based on Anything by dodie, and on S4-S6 of Glee’s Klaine, specifically It’s Too Late in S6 ep1 

  There was a time in Harley’s life where he thought they were forever, where he believed nothing could tear them apart, where he was certain that they were going to make it forever.

Peter had always been so bright, so infinite in Harley’s mind. A beacon of hope for a future together, a family, something they’d never really had in permanence before.

There had never really been a doubt in his head that they’d last forever, that they’d get engaged and then married, live together, grow old together. Whenever he’d think about a future, he always imagined it with Peter at his side.

The reality, though, is far from what he’d imagined when he was young and naïve.

Relationships don’t always last forever.

Harley pushes open the apartment door, taking in the quiet and the emptiness. It’s been months since Peter moved out, nearly half a year, and Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way the apartment feels like a black hole, dark and empty and sucking life out of him.

He drops his bag by the front door, hesitating because Peter used to hate it when he did that, but Peter isn’t here anymore.

It’s hard for him to let go of what had once been his entire life, his past, his present, and his future. The pictures of them are overturned, covered, flipped, but still out, still visible if he wants to see what once was. The things that Peter left behind like an old Midtown sweater, an older quilt, a few pairs of socks that were left in the laundry, are still there. Untouched, in plain sight, a painful reminder.

What was once Peter’s side of the bed is left properly made and unslept in, pillow still smelling like his cinnamon-scented shampoo. Harley’s side is a mess of rumpled sheets, unwashed because he doesn’t have the energy to do laundry most days anymore, and one of Peter’s old hoodies are under the pillow.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks, Harley!” Peter had shouted, throwing his hoodie at Harley in frustration. “I can’t keep doing this!”

New York’s a big place, fast-paced, filled to the brim with people, but New York was always Peter’s city. Peter is engrained into every piece of the city, no matter how far Harley tries to go, no matter how fast he moves. It’s impossible not to see Peter in everything.

The coffeeshops Peter used to study at, he went to nearly every single one in the area to try to find the best of the best. The parks, the tourist traps, the restaurants all remind Harley of their dates, of their excursions when they got too trapped in routine. The quiet alleys where Harley can remember them tumbling into, tipsy and giggling endlessly, mouths pressing against whatever surface they could reach, young and naïve and foolishly in love. The skyscrapers Peter used to swing him onto late at night, laughing and filled to the brim with adrenaline and warmth, kissing under the stars.

“What do you want me to do?” Harley shouted, just as angry after all the pent-up frustrations they couldn’t let out after all the time they’ve spent dancing around each other. “Between work and classes and extra-curriculars and you being gone every night superheroing. When do you expect us to have the time to talk?”

Harley sighs harshly, glaring at the ring that sits so harmlessly on his nightstand. He’d been thinking about proposing eventually, he’d bought the ring and everything, but things had started going bad and he hid the ring away. Now, it sits on his nightstand, box open and ring shining.

There’s a knock on his apartment door and he already knows who it is.

Out of the breakup, Peter got most of their friends because they were his before they were ever Harley’s. MJ, though, she refused to pick a side. She’s still friends with both of them.

When she gets into the apartment, she rolls her eyes dramatically at least six times at the state of his place before he can get a word in.

“This is just sad, Harley.”

“Fuck off.”

MJ rolls her eyes again. “Wow. I seriously thought you’d stop being an asshole to everybody after six months, but I want to remind you that I don’t have to be here. I don’t have to go out of my way and spend a few hours here every week, just for you. So if you wanna be a jerk, I’m going home.”

Harley slumps into one of the dining room chairs, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pin this on everything else!” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t pretend this is just scheduling conflicts. This is on us! We’re not putting in the effort we used to. When was our last date night? We missed our five year anniversary a few weeks ago. We’ve been skipping our Friday Night Movies. When did we stop caring? When did we stop putting effort into our relationship?”

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk. You stopped caring when Flash happened. You started pinning everything on me like I had owed you more than I could ever possibly give you. You stopped putting effort in when you felt like I had to put in all the effort to make up for what happened. I stopped caring when I realized I’d never be able to make it up to you, so there was no point in bothering.”

MJ sits down across from him, offering a sad smile. She reaches across the table to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “He still cares about you, you know.”

He shrugs, trying to pass off as nonchalant. It’s been six months, he shouldn’t hang onto every piece of news he hears about Peter. He hates that he never goes a day without thinking about Peter. One hundred and seventy-three days and Harley hasn’t gone one of those without thinking about his ex.

They’re not together anymore, Harley’s seen Peter exactly once after they called it off and it was when Peter cleared out his things from the apartment. Harley had cried that day, helped Peter carry some boxes down to his car, nearly falling down the stairs when his vision blurred. Peter cried too, tried not to make it obvious, keeping his head ducked and rubbing his eyes whenever he thought Harley wasn’t looking. But they’d been together for five years, Harley knew Peter better than he knew himself.

“You cheated on me last year!” Peter had cried, tears filling his eyes. “With Flash of all people! And you’re mad at me for being upset with you?”

Harley rolled his eyes, guilt still washing over him like it had been since it had happened the year before. “It’s been a year. I’ve done everything I could to make up for what happened, I’ve said I’m sorry, I’ve given you everything you’ve asked for. You said we could move past it but you’re still holding it over me.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing her phone and opening the photos. She shows him the most recent photo on her phone which is one of Peter. He’s standing on the balcony of his new apartment in the city, laughing at something somebody had said. He’s wearing a hoodie that Harley knows doesn’t belong to him, a college hoodie. He looks happy and well-rested and full of life.

“Who’s hoodie is that?” Harley sounds almost accusatory.

She hesitates. “Harley-”

“Is he seeing somebody?”

“Harley-”

MJ sighs, shutting off her phone. She stands and moves into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge and pouring it into two of his wine glasses. (Wine glasses he bought with Peter.)

He accepts the glass and takes a nice swig before waiting for an answer.

“Yes, he’s seeing somebody,” MJ admits. “I dragged him to a party with Ned and he met this nice guy there. He goes to NYU, double majoring in business and engineering. He’s a good guy and Peter really likes him. They’ve been on a handful of dates so far.”

Harley nods. He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t really have a choice but to find it in him to be okay with it. Him and Peter aren’t together anymore. That’s just the way it is.

“This is going to sound downright pathetic, but do you think I’d ever have another chance with him?” Harley asks, voice soft and quiet, scared of what the answer might be.

MJ shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. Peter still loves you, I think he always will. It’s impossible to throw a five-year relationship down the drain without a second thought, but I also know that Peter’s happy where he is now.”

“And he wasn’t happy with me,” Harley finishes.

“If you can’t let this go, then I don’t know how we’re supposed to keep going!” Harley shouted, heartbroken and angry and confused, but mostly scared of what he’s implying. “I can’t keep spending all my time apologizing for one mistake, and you can’t keep hating me for it. Either we find a way to work this out or we’re going to have to call quits. I hate doing this. Pretending things are fine when they’re not. I don’t want to continue on like this when neither of us are happy.”

Peter, crying and just as angry and scared, nodded. “Fine then. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t think we can.”

Cheating on Peter with Flash had been a mistake, he knew that the moment it happened, despite it not getting further than kissing. He’d been drunk and they’d been fighting, and he wanted to get back at Peter.

He spent a year apologizing, buying things for Peter, doing anything he was asked to do, slaving over their relationship because he’d made a mistake.

“I know this sucks for you, Harley, I know how torn up you’ve been about all of this for months, but Peter’s moved on,” MJ says, not unkindly. “He’s found a new guy and I think they’re planning on making it serious. You’re still living in guilt and beating yourself up over it. You’re living like Peter’s just going to show up again one day and things will go back to the way you once were.”

“They’re making it serious?”

MJ scoffs, draining her glass of wine. “That wasn’t the point. The point is that you’re miserable and you’re beating yourself up for something that was only half on you.”

“But they’re making it serious?” Harley repeats.

“Fuck, I don’t know! Yes, I think they’re going to make it official, boyfriends and all, very soon. They really like each other.”

Harley lets out a harsh sigh, head falling into his heads. “I’m not beating myself up, I just- I still love him. I love him. I don’t know how to move on from him when he was the only thing that ever mattered to me, when I thought we were going to be forever. I want him back, I want us again. I don’t know how to move on from something that felt like everything to me.”

But the truth is that he doesn’t want to move on. He loves Peter, and he wants what they had back again. He doesn’t want to try to date somebody new or move away or try to restart on his own. He doesn’t want that, not when he knows where his happily ever after lies.

“I think you should call him and get closure. I think that would help you start moving on without him. Either way, I should get going. I have an early start in the morning.”

They say their goodbyes and pleasantries.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Harley scrambles for his phone.

“Hello?”

“Peter,” Harley breathes, just hearing his exes voice makes the guilt in his chest wash away. “It’s, uh, it’s me.”

There’s a moment of silence, filled with tension and confusion and obvious worry. “It’s been six months of radio silence on your end… Is everything okay?”

“MJ said you were seeing somebody,” Harley blurts, voice shaking and blinking back tears. “I just- I don’t know. I know I screwed up, I know I made so many mistakes, I just- I always thought we were-”

“It wasn’t all your fault. I don’t want you feeling guilty over what happened forever. It was my fault we fought that night, it was my fault you never felt like you could be forgiven for kissing Flash. If I was holding that much resentment against you, I should’ve called it quits a long time before we did. Maybe then we could’ve worked things out a lot sooner.”

Harley sniffles, feeling awfully pathetic in an apartment that used to be theirs but is now only his, talking to Peter again. He wants Peter back so badly it hurts, it makes his chest tighten and his hands shake and his head ache. He wants everything they had back. “I know you’re seeing someone but I still love you, Peter. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I still love you. And I still want you back.”

“Me and Harry are happy,” Peter murmurs. “I do love you and I really think we can make being friends work, but… I don’t think I can handle that kind of heartbreak again. I think we both need time apart before we even consider coming back to this.”

“Tell me about him. About Harry.”

Peter hesitates. “You really want to know?”

“I’m still your best friend, Peter. I know things have been awful between us for the past year, but I think it’s worse being apart. I wanna know about Harry.”

Peter rambles about his new relationship, one Harry Osborn who’s nearly finished at NYU, who’s smart and funny and sarcastic and pretty, who makes Peter happy, who has money and takes Peter on expensive, extravagant dates.

“I want to meet him,” Harley says, as confidently as he can for somebody who’s crumbling under the knowingness that he’s lost the love of his life. “We should all have dinner together. Maybe MJ and Ned can come too. We’ll make it a thing. I wanna be in your life, Peter, even if it’s not the way I want to be.”

“Good. Because I want you there too.”

When they finish talking, saying quiet, scared goodbyes because their relationship is brittle and broken, and they never know what would be the wrong thing to say, and Harley nearly says I love you before he says goodbye, Harley makes himself useful. He finally takes down all the memorabilia of a relationship that’s over, he puts Peter’s hoodies in the back of his closet, he throws out the bottle of half-used cologne that’s been sitting untouched on their desk for six months.

He stops when he picks up the ring on his nightstand.

There’s a part of him that thinks he should get rid of it, sell it, maybe, or send it to Abbie for whatever use she might have for it, but there’s a part of him, a bigger part, that’s too attached. Even if he never gets the chance to propose to Peter, he’s still hopeful he’ll find his happily ever after one day. Even if it means pining from a distance over a boy he lost his chances with, even if it means watching him be happy with another man, even if it means playing the part of the best friend. He’ll be okay.

(Two years later, after long conversations and careful trepidation when things were finally piecing back together in a way that made more sense than it ever had, Harley buys a second ring and proposes to his two boyfriends. Harry and Peter both say yes.)

 Taglist:  @littlemissagrafina  @spidey-reids-2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 23

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 23: Ella makes a decision to return to Alfie. 

         The ocean made Ella think about Margate and her confrontation with Alfie on the beach. It was a strange paradox because it felt like a lifetime ago but it was still so fresh in her memory. She sighed deeply and submerged her hands into the damp, cool sand. The coarse texture grounding her. It was as Isabel had taught her. To use nature to her advantage. It was uncanny how the prickly feeling of a piece of bark, a smooth stone, or the unbearable cold of a river would startle Ella back to her senses. To remind her that she didn’t want to be numb, she wanted to be alive.

           She had come out to the beach, about half a mile walk from where they’d camped, to make her decision. The Youngs had arrived the day before and offered to take Ella north with them if she so chose. Even Isabel offered to accompany her if she did decide to go north.

           Ella’s heart longed for Alfie but she didn’t want to make the choice based on their separation. There were plenty of times that she wanted to go home simply because she missed him so much it hurt. But she wasn’t there to escape him. She was there for a purpose, to find herself. The decision had to be based on whether she had truly come to terms with her losses.

           Mind still whirring, she stood up from the sand and walked to the shore’s edge. She waded through the water up to her shins, gathering her long skirt to her thighs to keep the fabric dry. The Atlantic was relentlessly chilly and the sharp stings of cold cleared her head within moments. She let her toes sink into the sand. The salty air whipped up around her, stirring up her hair and loose blouse.

           She didn’t see Lilac in her dreams anymore. She hadn’t dreamed of the foals either. They had moved beyond the fog, out of sight, to a different place. They were at peace. And so was she.  

~~~~~~~~~~~`

           “Ella Shelby!”

           On her return to camp from the beach, a man on a horse approached. Once he got close enough, she recognized the face from her past. Isaac was one of the Young boys. They ran into each other quite often at fairs. His brothers often tempted her brothers into boxing but Ella couldn’t recall who won the most.

           Isaac appeared to have grown into his awkward, gangly height. No doubt from being on the road his entire life.

           “How are you, Isaac?” Ella greeted politely.

           “Good,” The man pulled his horse up to walk beside Ella. “Heard you’ve been traveling with the Lees, finally leave Birmingham behind? Going back to your roots, aye?” He wondered.

           “I’ll be returning to London very soon.” She informed him firmly. Even though she'd only just made the decision to go back home, it felt concrete. It was a good indicator that she'd made the right choice already.

           “Thought you were gonna come up north with us.” He looked a tad disappointed at the news.

           “I’ve decided to return home.” The two approached the camp where Isabel was out with Roddy. “I’ve a husband to return to. It’s been a long time we’ve been apart.”

           “Married?” He snorted. “To think Ella Shelby actually got married. I never woulda believed it. Lashav, to think you were holding out for me all these years.” He pressed a hand to his heart and dismounted his horse.

           Ella rolled her eyes. “You’d be so lucky.”

           Isabel walked over, giving the Young man a look. “So keres?” She confronted him.

           “Nothing, Izzy, just greeting Ella,” Isaac replied. “Didn’t know she married a gadje.”

           “Va, I’ve seen him and he could probably eat you alive.” Isabel retorted and linked arms with her friend.

           Isaac only chuckled and shook his head before heading into camp with his horse in tow.

           “Idiot,” Isabel muttered. “How was your walk?”

           “Good.” Ella nodded and followed her back to the vardo. “Got to clear me head a little.”

           “And did you decide?”

           Ella glanced over her shoulder to where Isaac was. “Well, I’m sure as not hell traveling anywhere with him.” She laughed and sighed. “Besides, I miss Alfie too much to go any further. I’d like to go back.”      

           Isabel smiled warmly and squeezed her friend’s arm. “I’m so proud of you. Let’s get a letter out to him as soon as possible.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Nine months after she left with the Lees, Ella sent a letter to Alfie saying she would be returning to London. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he read those words. He’d been waiting every day for that letter to finally arrive. Reading it through felt like a dream. His Ella was finally returning to him.

           Alfie drove out with Polly and Tommy to greet Ella and welcome her back home. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the vardos and smoke rising from the fires. He got out of the car with energy in his step.

           “Alfie!”

           The sight of her struck him like a bolt of lightning. There was a glow about her that Alfie hadn’t seen in so long. He thought that side of her had been torn away from him for good. But there she was. Ella had gained back the weight she lost in the hospital and the sparkle was back in her blue eyes.

           Alfie couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when he saw her running over. Her hair had grown out and the Lee girls had intricately braided wildflowers into her dark hair. An alluring nymph of the British countryside. She moved across the long grass with such grace and weightlessness that was otherworldly.

           “There’s my wild gypsy girl.” He laughed and swept her off her feet, spinning her around. “Fucking missed you like hell.” He groaned and buried his face in her hair.

           “I missed you more.” She replied with all the charm and wit that had been covered with anger and sorrow. “Oh! I helped a mare foal!” She exclaimed joyfully. “We named her Lilac, she’s an Irish Cob. Oh, there’s so much I need to tell you.”

           Alfie chuckled at her enthusiasm. It was so relieving to see her so happy. It truly made the wait worth it. “Well, you’ve got plenty of time to tell me everything, love.”

           Ella was overwhelmed with the distance that had been put between them. Spurred on by the reunion, she kissed him. Both were a little too caught up in the moment to remember where they were. Alfie let her back down on her feet but continued to kiss her, gently parting her lips and pressing a hand to the small of her back.

           Tommy rolled his eyes and cleared his throat to break the two apart. “Are you going to say hello to us too?”

           Ella and Alfie drew away, both looking a little sheepish. He let her go so she could greet her brother and aunt.

           “Where’s this foal then, chavi?” Tommy asked.

           “She’ll be with her mother now; Isabel is out with them I think.” She said and waved her brother along to follow her to the pastures they were camped.

           Alfie and Polly followed a bit farther behind them. “She looks much better.” Ella’s aunt noted. “You did the right thing.”

           He shrugged. “I would wait years for her if it meant she’d come back better.” He watched Ella and Tommy go out to see the mare and foal and the sun felt a little brighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Ella was afraid that Cyril and Anthea were going to have a heart attack when she walked into the room. The two tackled her, tails wagging and licking her cheeks.

           “Hi, hi!” She giggled, dropping to the floor and trying to hug them both close. “I know, I missed you too! Oh, Thea, look how big you’ve gotten.”

           “Yeah, she’s taken up to chewing on the fucking baseboards,” Alfie grumbled and hung up his and Ella’s coat.

           “Oh, naughty girl.” Ella cooed. “Were you giving papa a hard time while I was gone?”

           Alfie chuckled. “They were alright, missed you like hell though. Everyone did. Can’t tell you how many times your brothers asked if I’d heard anything from you.”

           Ella stood up and walked over to him. “I missed you all too. Missed you the most though.” She touched his cheek.

           “I won’t tell anyone you said that.” He winked at her and rested his hands on her hips. “Let me get a look at ya.” He murmured, his eyes grazing over her. Studying her face. The features that he had memorized. Seeing those blue eyes again was like a dream. He lifted his hand to trace the braids woven in her hair. “Grown it out again, have you?”

           “Your hair’s longer too.” She remarked once she saw him without his hat on.

           “Yeah well…” He cleared his throat. “’Member when I told you ‘bout Jewish mourning?”

           It was quite fuzzy. Alfie had told her only moments before it got out that she was pregnant. “Yeah, I think so.”

           “Parents are s’posed to mourn for a year. Now I know that I weren’t…” He blinked a few times and shook his head. “Never mind.”

           “Alfie.” She lightly scratched her nails over his cheek and drew his eyes to her. “It’s okay.”

           “I should’ve taken that fucking bullet.” He mumbled and touched his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”  

           “But we can’t go back. All we can do is go forward. So that’s what we’ll do. I’ve learned not to apologize for things that were beyond my control.”

           The two held each other close in the hallway. Reuniting and syncing their hearts to beat as one again.

~~~~~~~~~~

October 23, 1929

Camden Town, London

           “El, can you please do some gypsy magic to get this baby out of me?” Minnie bemoaned from her spot on the couch. The woman was heavily pregnant and trying to reach her stockings to fix them. After a few attempts to stretch over her massive stomach, she gave up with a disgruntled noise and flopped back against the throw pillow.

           Ella laughed as she came in from the kitchen. When Minnie’s husband was working, she’d taken up to helping her friend around the house. It was a good way to spend the time now that she didn’t work at the law office anymore. Instead, she was back on the Shelby payroll so long as she fostered good communication between her husband and brothers.

           “I’d have to ask my aunt she might have some tricks.” She set down the tray of tea and lunch for her best friend. “Here.” She offered to help adjust her stockings.

           “Just take ‘em off,” Minnie grumbled. “Not like I can go anywhere looking like a beached whale.” She folded her hands over her stomach with a pout.

           Ella smiled and shook her head, tugging off the stockings and placing them over the arm of the couch. “Anything else you need?”

           “Oh, El, you’re such a gift.” Minnie sat up and touched her friend’s cheek affectionately.

           “Well, as long as I’m the top choice for babysitting.” She teased. In the years that had passed since her miscarriage, Ella’s life had been very steady. It was something she enjoyed very much. The consistent routine was a joy to her and there was very little she would change. Her relationship with Alfie was strong and she was learning to trust her family again. It was comforting to know she could balance the two and that her love life and family life didn’t have to be at constant odds. Even though Arthur gave Alfie deadly looks and Tommy did his best to come out on top in negotiations, they were becoming accustomed to having him around.

           “I’ve got to get my nails done before Thursday.” Ella frowned at the chipped polish on her nails. "They look a mess."

           “What’s the occasion?”

           “Oh, Alfie and I are going to Paris for his birthday. His birthday's on the first but he’s got a meeting that weekend so we decided to go early. We figured the longer we waited the worse the weather would be."

           Minnie smiled coyly. “How romantic.”

           Ella rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the silly smile on her face. “He’s calling it the honeymoon we never took.” She admitted. "I think he's just being silly is all."

           Her friend squealed. “Oh, bless you both. Still so in love after all these years.”

           “We haven't been together that long.” She winced playfully. “I’d hate to grow tired of him after four years.”

           “Well for your fifth anniversary he’ll have to take you somewhere else if you’re going to Paris this week. Now I’ve heard Venice is just gorgeous.” Minnie gushed. “Or somewhere on the Mediterranean. Warm weather, beautiful beaches. The water's actually warm and clear instead of the shit we've got here.”

           Ella just laughed. “I think I’d be quite content celebrating our anniversary in London. Sometimes it’s nice just staying at home.” She hoped that by their anniversary next year, things would still be peaceful and unnoteworthy.

October 28th 1929

Paris, France

           “Alfie, love, will you do up my dress?”

           He came out of the hotel suite’s bathroom, fixing his cuff links. It was fairly rare those days that Alfie got so dressed up. He and Ella frequented some of the Shelby events but he certainly wasn’t going to imitate Tommy with his immaculate tuxedos and expensive trappings. But for a dinner with his wife, he’d dress to the nines.

           “Fucking hell.” He quipped from the doorway. “Ella Solomons, how many times have I told you to warn me ‘fore you put on a number like that?” He put a hand to his heart as if the sight of his wife had nearly knocked him right off his feet.

           She giggled. “Oh, stop it.”

           “Honestly, love, you look a dream.” He continued and began buttoning up the back of her royal blue dress. Alfie adored the color on her as it always managed to make her eyes appear even more bright than they already were. When he finished, he took her hand and led her into a little spin so he could see all angles.

           Ella blushed and spun around teasingly. The deep blue gown cinched at the waist but had a loose bodice with stunning silver beads. The skirt grazed the ground but had a slit that reached just to her knee, giving Alfie a sinful glance at her silver-colored heels.

           “Swear you make everything look good, El.” He remarked.

           She smiled and drew him in for a deep kiss. “I think it’ll look better on the floor.” She purred against his lips.

           Alfie groaned. “You wanna make us miss our dinner, love?” He growled playfully, pulling her flush to him.

           “No, I’m starving. Just wanted to give you a little preview for tonight.” She pecked his lips and slipped away from his grip.

           He chuckled. “Cheeky girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           After a few filling dinner courses, Alfie and Ella decided to take a walk around Paris before returning for the rest of the night’s activities.

           “I have something for you.” He said as they walked hand in hand through the lively streets.

           “Me? It’s your birthday coming up, not mine.” She replied and poked his side. She'd already given his birthday gifts before they left, that way she wouldn't have to travel with them and risk losing the presents. Alfie was chuffed to open the finely made matching leather collar and leash for Cyril and Anthea, a beautiful fountain pen with the date of their wedding engraved in the silver, and a scarf since he'd been complaining audibly about the turning weather.

           “I know but I don’t need an occasion to spoil you, now do I?” He stopped and pulled a box out of his pocket.

           “Alfie…” She took the jewelry box with a look of hesitation.

           “Go on, open it. I ain’t waiting for Hanukah to give it to you.” He smiled encouragingly.

           Ella sighed and opened the box. Embedded in plush was a gorgeous necklace, the chain embedded with tiny diamonds, all linked together ending with a teardrop-shaped blue-gray Alexandrite stone.

           “Alfie…” She stammered in disbelief. “It’s gorgeous.”

           He smiled. “You like it?”

           There were tears in her eyes as she nodded. “You didn’t have to…”

           “None of that, now.” He carefully took the necklace out of the box and helped put it on. “Had them add the diamonds to give it a bit more. Looked sorta plain without them. Took me forever to find the gem though, clearest one I could find.”

           She laughed. Her husband was such a jewel critic. He’d refuse anything that wasn’t absolutely perfect. “I don’t know what to say.”

           Alfie rested his hands on her shoulders and turned her back around after he did the clasp. “Don’t hafta say anything, love. You deserve everything, no questions asked.”

           Ella kissed him softly. “I love you.” Her fingers began to work at his bowtie, slowly undoing the silky black fabric.

           “What’re you doing?” He murmured, a little too occupied with kissing her.

           “I want you to take me back to the room,” She left kisses over his cheek, moving to whisper in his ear. “Take this dress off me but leave the necklace on. Take this,” She placed the undone tie in his hand. “And use it to tie me to the bed.” She nibbled on his ear lobe. “And fuck me however you like.”

           Alfie was afraid his knees were going to give in right then and there. “Fucking hell, woman, you tryna do me in?” He groaned helplessly. "Ain't even me birthday yet and you've already treated me like a king."

           Ella pulled away and gave him an innocent look. “Not sure what you’re talking about Mr. Solomons.” She batted her eyelashes and reached a hand out to him. “But will you escort me back to the hotel?”

           “You minx.” He shook his head and gladly led her back to the suite.

October 29th 1929

Paris, France

           Alfie and Ella slept through most of the morning. After the eventful night together, they were more than happy to sleep in. With no engagements to attend, they could stay in bed the rest of the day if they so pleased. But the phone began to ring in the early afternoon interrupting their piece of heaven on Earth. Alfie groaned and threw a pillow over his face to try and block out the noise.

           Ella stirred and cuddled close to her husband. “Alfie, who’s that calling?” She mumbled absent-mindedly.

           “Dunno, love. Not important though.” He wrapped his arms around her bare body.

           She smiled sleepily and pressed her cheek into his chest, content to ignore the ringing, just waiting for it to stop.  

           It did, for a moment. Alfie kissed her forehead and ran his fingers over her hips and thighs. “How are you?” He asked.

           “Good.” She threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. “I don’t think this has to end though.” She murmured and kissed his neck. "I think we're well rested enough to continue last night's activities."

           “You’re relentless.” Despite that statement, he began to wake up more and captured her lips.

           Then the phone began to ring again. The loud, obnoxious chiming along with the vibrations of the receiver rattling. They parted and Ella moved to get up. Alfie wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her in bed. “Ignore it.” He coaxed again and rolled them over so he was hovering over her. The ringing continued for a bit as he kissed down her entire body, grazing each little mark he’d left the night before.

           Ella soon forgot about the phone and giggled, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck as he lavished her with love. "Oh, Alfie." She sighed adoringly, gratefully indulging in her husband's affection.

           But the phone went off again.

           “Fucking hell,” Alfie grumbled, the third calling really beginning to turn the mood sour.

           “It’s gotta be important.” Ella bit her lip. “You should get it.”

           Alfie ceded and reluctantly left his wife in bed, getting up to answer the phone. “This better be fucking good.” He barked into the phone.

           “I’m guessing you haven’t read the news,” Tommy replied.

           “No, mate, I’m on holiday with me wife, I haven’t had the chance to read the fucking news.” He retorted, grumpy that his brother-in-law had interrupted their morning. Nothing like Tommy Shelby's voice to completely turn his mood upside down.

           “Well, I suggest you do. The world’s burning.”

           “Tommy, I ain’t in the mood for your gypsy mystique.” Alfie turned around to his wife. “Ella, love, will you go get the paper?” He requested.

           She looked a bit confused but got out of bed. After putting on a robe, she stepped outside and picked up the newspaper that had been left at the hotel door. She read the headline as she walked back into the room. “It’s in French, I can’t understand it.”

           Alfie took the paper and tried to pick out any words he recognized. But his French was very limited. “Tommy, for fuck's sake, just tell me what happened. Neither of us read French.”

           “The stock market’s crashed.” He finally answered. The words were still difficult to get out. It was as if saying them made it true and he desperately did not want that to be the fact.

           “Well, that’s what you get for investing in America, mate. I never trusted them.” Alfie shrugged.

           “The whole world’s fucked, Alfie, this affects you just as much as it affects my company.” Tommy retorted with a bite in his voice. He wasn't in the mood for Alfie's superiority complex over him.

           Ella perched on the edge of the bed and watched her husband discuss the matter with her brother. Although she was listening, she wasn’t too sure what was going on. But the longer Alfie spoke with Tommy, the more worried he looked.

           “Didn’t think you wanted me at family meetings, Tom,” Alfie said after Tommy said he and Ella needed to return to England to attend the family meeting the next day.

           “Things have changed,” Tommy replied in a clipped tone. “Noon tomorrow.”

           Alfie was going to say something else but his brother-in-law promptly hung up the phone. “Don’t think we’ll be able to make noon tomorrow.” He muttered and scratched his beard.

           “What’s happened?” Ella asked.

           “Stock market’s crashed. Things aren’t looking good. Your cousin’s gonna get thrown in the cut once he gets home. Your brother’s right pissed at him.”

           “Things are looking good…so what does that mean?” She shook her head. The news was a bit of a shock. According to Michael, the New York Stock Exchange was going to make the company a fortune. There was no ceiling, in fact, it would only keep going up.

           “It means the world’s in for quite a shock.” Alfie sighed and ruffled his hair as he thought through what Tommy had told him. “I’ve got to make arrangements to get us back home.”

           She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve got tickets for Thursday to return home.” They had, after all, planned to be in Paris all week before Alfie’s birthday.

           “I know, love.” He walked over and kiss her hair. “But Tommy wants to address the family.” The two embraced, a little stunned by the news. “I suppose that includes me now too.” He grumbled into Ella’s hair.

Romani:

Lashav: Shame So keres: What are you doing? Gadje: Non-gypsy Va: yes

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii​ @enrapturedbythemoon​ @vampgirl1997​

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @octaviareina​ @mylovelykelsifer​ @doubletriplepowerbomb​ @ramblingbaby​ @fuseburner​ @kaetastic​

Masterlist

PB Masterpost

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 15 (NSFW)

Read on AO3

Read chapter fourteen (NSFW)

Title: Come to Me

Words: 8300 (I... apologize greatly)

Summary: Yeah, maybe that wasn't the best decision after all...

Warnings: Bloodplay-ish, verbal abuse, humiliation, violence, light bondage.

ST Rambles: Well, well, well. With twelve minutes to midnight, I did get it up. I've been writing this thing all day (given I'd been avoiding writing it all week, buuut), and I think it works. I apologize for the length omg. Literally the longest thing I've ever written.

I didn't expect last week's response to be so... grand? I loved last week's chapter and I'm so happy y'all did too. Now, to work on next week's!

[Masterlist]

The bruising was nearly imperceptible after a week, even so you concentrated on your reflection, trying to rest Mason’s shirt over the ghosted mark splayed over your larynx. Mason’s apartment was never well lit anyway, acting as an additional cover for what had once required a skilled hand at concealer and powder. Pulling back on the shoulders of the borrowed shirt, you mussed with it until an exasperated sigh dropped your hands to your sides, a flat face staring back at you as you reluctantly surrendered after five wasted minutes of meticulous staging. Mason was always over-observant, a skill necessary for every physician, but only currently serving as a foundation to your overthinking.

“Hey, I threw your uniform in the washer while you were showering,” Mason called beyond the bathroom door. “It just finished drying. I’m gonna put it on the coffee table. Is that okay?”

Mason had always been a genuine person, always showing his affection in addition to saying it. After months of chaos, his little act of kindness warmed through your heart, a sense of home you had only ever felt when he was around. It had been so long since you’d got to spend quality time with him – gosh, it had to have been before graduation, before careers and superiors came into your lives – and it was nice having him near, feeling safe for the first time since returning to Starkiller.

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you called back. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. How’re those clothes working for you?” His voice carried closer to the door. “I made sure they were from my pre-jacked years.”

A laugh snuck something that resembled a smile into the mirror. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Tough Guy. I’m sure your gigantic arms would shred this shirt to pieces by now.”

“Oh, so you think I have gigantic arms, huh? Why don’t you come out here and I’ll give you a ticket to the gun show?”

You shook your head in the mirror, rolling your eyes and smiling. “You are ridiculous, Mason McCarty. Sometimes I can’t remember why I’m friends with you.”

“Oh, yeah right. You know you love me.”

With one last primp at your collar, and a tug at the tied drawstrings hanging at your hips, you pulled the door open and leaned onto the threshold. Mason was doing the same, only mirrored, looking down to you, crossing his arms across his chest. He was wearing a rendition of what he’d given you, only less worn. He wasn’t wrong, though, his arms were impressive. He’d gotten bigger since you’d met with him before the Finalizer.

“I tolerate you,” you teased. “Don’t get it twisted.”

He tilted his head, his face falling into an exaggerated pout. “Is that how you speak to someone who got your favorite for dinner?”

The question made you aware of the familiar aroma that filled the room. You looked behind him, spotting the take-out bag atop the coffee table, your uniform neatly folded next to it. This was all so nice, like a sleepover, though you suspected this arrangement would last at least a week, long enough to scout out your apartment and get the locks changed.

“Fine,” you shrugged, “maybe I do love you. But only for your food.”

The two of you bumped each other’s sides and laughed your way to the couch. Mason unpacked the bag, handing you a utensil and a handful of napkins before opening the take-out containers. You curled up into the corner of the couch, resting your food between your chest and legs, facing him as he dug in with you.

“So, now that I’ve provided you with food, water, and shelter, are you ready to tell me what the hell is going on?” He took a bite, looking over at you beyond your knees.

Life had looked so different since you’d last seen him; between Kylo Ren and your career, you were nearly an entirely new person. Though, instead of wisdom you had obtained an overwhelming amount of complications in your time away from Mason. Service between Starkiller and the Finalizer was only approved on official First Order equipment; your cell reception disallowing communication through space, keeping you from seeking Mason for gossip or encouragement when you needed it most.

Chewing the last of your bite, you quickly swallowed and rested your arms. “How long have you got?”

“All night, if that’s what you need. I’m worried about you,” your name was genuine on his tongue, true concern edging his tone.

“Jeez,” you sighed. “Where do I even start?”

The confessional acted as a refresher, a reminder of just how bizarre life had gotten while away. Mason had slowed his bites after you told him about your living situation, stopping completely after you walked him through the patient seizing and bleeding out. As you described the egregious scene, you subconsciously traced your hand over your throat, as if mentioning the events that had led to your bruising would make it obvious to him. When you told him about Talia, he seemed to have a peace come over him, like knowing you had a friend away from him had been a concern in your absence. He shared in your disgust over Hux, obviously angered at how much of a show he’d made of parading you through the communal area to his office.

“You called him Armitage? To his face?” He was stunned, at this point his food was getting colder, his hunger sated by your words instead of his meal.

“I will admit that it wasn’t the best choice. But, Mason, let me tell you… it felt so good.”

His brow creased. “And he just let you off the hook? No suspension?”

Your stomach curdled, the sight of food making you sick. Setting your meal back on the counter, you took a breath. “Well, not for now, but… at some point.”

He followed suit, putting his food down and leaning in. He sat crisscross before you, his elbows resting on his knees as he listened to your explanation of the circumstances surrounding your career. His face fell as yours had when you brought up the Board of Physicians, realizing just how deep the hole you had dug yourself had become. He said nothing, only listening as you recounted last night in more detail, still shivering at the memory of the damaged door, the faded pain at your back reappearing when you mentioned the winter that was the assessment room.

“And right after you hung up, he appeared out of nowhere, like some ghost.” Robbie’s voice vividly replayed as your recounted your run-in from earlier.

“But… I thought you said he’d been demoted. Why – how was he there?” He was expressive now, angry with Robbie as you were scared.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. He left his station because he knew the Command Shuttle had returned.” Absentmindedly, you rang your hand around your wrist, the shadow of his clutch reappearing, the violation he’d wrought overwhelming even in the dim light of Mason’s apartment.

“And where is your – what was it – your master in all of this? You’d think he’d care more about the wellbeing of the care provider he picked himself.”

Though Kylo Ren was the root cause of everything you’d just shared with Mason, you had purposely left out any detail that mentioned him; you knew it was necessary to stay with Mason, understanding that any video evidence of you coming or going to your superior’s quarters at this hour would only expedite the Board’s judgement, but you still felt unease over disregarding the commands of your master. In an effort to put him off your trail, you’d left your watch in the assessment room, hiding it in his spare uniforms and hoping he hadn’t also pulled Mason’s file. Here was where you were safe from everything – Robbie, the Board of Physicians, and the manipulation of Kylo Ren – and you kept repeating that thought, trying to drown out the blaring reminders of just how unsafe you truly were.

Mason’s inquisitions had successfully torn down your efforts not to breakdown. His face twisted into shock before yours fell into your hands, tears that had been welling up since this morning falling without will, spilling over your cupped fingers and down your wrists. Mason scooted over to you, pulling you from the couch and into his arms, your wet eyes pressed against his warm shoulder. He ran his hands up and down your heaving back, your breath shattered as sobs hiccupped through you. It was a release that your body hadn’t felt safe enough to let out, only breaking when it knew someone would be around to hold you together as the torrent decimated your outward façade of apathy.

He shushed you, one of his hands smoothing strands of hair behind your ear. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Mason, it’s not. It’s never going to be okay again.” The words left in broken spurts of muffled sobs. “I can’t fix this. I – I did this. All of this is my fault.”

He lulled your name, pulling you closer into him, seemingly keeping your chest from shattering. “You saved him, shh. If you believe that in your heart, you have to know that you did the right thing. And the Board will see that. I promise.”

He held you, his arms an anchor, keeping you from drowning in sorrow. Time was foreign, never considering its presence as your heaving lungs fell into gasps, and then into stillness. Eventually the only sound that you were aware of was how his heart thumped in his chest, strong and even – seventy-eight beats per minute, you regarded, mindlessly counting them out of habit. When you grew tired of his pulse, you focused in on his breathing, the clear sounds of his lungs matching the tide of his chest, leading your head with him. He’d rested his chin atop the crown of your head, his index finger continuing its tracing over your ear’s helix, the gentle touch the basis for your return from crisis.

Letting the security of his touch sink in for one last moment, you sighed and pulled back, his arms permitting your journey back to self-support. He kept a hand on your hair, his thumb tracing over your temple, his fingers splaying towards the base of your skull, an additional support as your puffy eyes sought his through hazed vision. Before recently, Mason had been the only person to see you cry; he never made you feel wrong about it, always riding out the storm and sticking around to help you rebuild. And nothing had changed, his presence right now only proving just how permanent a fixture he was in your life.

“How can you promise something you have no say in?” Your words were quiet, cracking at the ends.

“We were taught to never make promises we can’t keep,” he said, the dim light casting a heavenly contour over his cheekbones. “I know that you’re going to come out of this stronger than before. You know why?”

You sniffled and swallowed, looking between his eyes. “Why, Mason?”

“You won’t have to convince the Board of your character. They’ll know. Just like I do.”

“You know me.” The words were so simple, yet they swelled in your chest as you stared back at him, your eyes falling down to his lips for the smallest fragment of a second.

“I know you.” He followed in your glance, nearly imperceptible in its speed.

In the warm light, your heart seemed to glow at this exchange. Mason did know you. And you knew him just the same. He had been your safety for so long, a physical embodiment of protection whenever you needed or wanted it. Here he was before you, an incandescent reminder of the boy you’d yearned for, but knew was too unavailable to build anything with. Now, though, there was nothing stopping you from reaching out and taking hold of the energy surging between you; there was nothing to stop you from manifesting all that you’d pined after for all those years before settling on companionship.

You brought your hand up to his, matching your fingers over his and wrapping them across his palm. There was an influx of fluttering between both of your glances, a silent inquiry of are you sure shared in the proximity. Another hand came up to grasp the other side of your face, landing with the intent of stability; his lips parted, yours following suit, and he brought your lips towards his. It felt foreign as you followed into his hands’ slow path, chin quivering as your felt the warmth of his breath brush over your mouth. With a final glance of consent, he closed his eyes.

With a swallow, you steeled yourself and let your lids fall, breath stalling as you waited for the feel of his undiscovered lips; when his forehead met yours, you searched for the intensity you’d once known for him so long ago, regarding the salient lack of want even in his nearness. This was the farthest thing from how you’d always imagined this moment before; in school, you had dreamt so often of being with Mason McCarty, imagining how it would feel to be chosen by him, to be the golden girl he’d end up with among all the others you’d witnessed leaving his dorm at all hours of the night. Something felt empty in his hold, though, like you’d grown to want more than the boy next door.

His nose pressed into your face, his lips only millimeters from yours, completely unaware of the inward turmoil consuming you as he drew ever closer. Before you could shove it all down and give in to what you had sworn you’d always wanted, the door to Mason’s residence hissed open, the sound ricocheting through the silence. For a fragment of a second, you were relieved, accepting the interruption as a way to delay confronting the lackluster of Mason’s touch. That was it, though, the fragmented moment of peace shattering when Mason’s hands tore away from your face, the rest of his body following as he flew away from you, crashing against the back wall, the collision’s volume suggesting his frame was now permanently indented behind him.

Kylo Ren stood at the threshold, masked, gloved, and fuming. One hand was held out, compressing Mason’s body and keeping him suspended; the other hand was balled at his side, gloved fingers coiled around a band of loose-hanging metal. In the fractioned second you spent analyzing him, you looked closer, noticing a red glow emanating between his fingers. It was your watch; you could hardly believe how small his hand made it appear, nearly imperceptible in the distance. It was a doomed and pointless effort to begin with, purposely leaving the tracker behind, though you’d hoped – however fruitlessly – that maybe it would have deterred him from hunting you down.

Mason struggled against the wall as you stumbled from the couch and onto the floor, your elbow slamming against the coffee table on your way down. Kylo marched forward, hand still extended, grip twisting into a fist. You heard the struggles of your friend, eyes squidged shut in pain while you rubbed your arm, listening as he fell victim to a suffocation you knew all too well. It was unclear in the chaos if the trembling you felt was your own or if Kylo Ren’s modulated growls were reverberating through the room. The footsteps drew nearer, opening your eyes and finding two black boots pointed parallel to your knees.

“It’s up to you how much he suffers.” Behind you, Mason stopped fighting for air, his lungs sucking in just enough to fuel the thrashing cries of pain that followed.

Jumpstarted by the blood-curdling shrieking, you bolted up, hopping over the couch like it was the natural thing to do, wanting to reach him as quickly as possible. His cries faltered, dying into quick pants as his body fought to find equilibrium. Unfathomable rage enraptured you, twisting your face into a snarl when you met the chrome visor behind you.

“Let him down! Stop this!” The words shredded against your throat, your face burning with new vehemence.

There was no response, at least not from your Commander; the next sound to escape Mason was inhuman, like glass getting compacted and magma getting cooled. You turned again to him, looking up to his face, finding it twisted to match the noise which shuddered your spine; his arms and legs were splayed out, sweat collecting at his collar as he suffered through a torture you were sure you’d never known.

“Why – stop! I can- please! He can’t take this! He doesn’t deserve this!”

“No, he doesn’t. I agree,” he barked, the words drowned in feigned sympathy. “This should be you.” His hand turned over, Mason screaming out with new volume behind you.

“Then stop! Please, just leave him be, whatever you want, just stop!” The only reaction your body had left was to spark seething tears, one falling over your cheek as you begged for mercy.

“Your word means nothing. This”—he waved your watch into sight— “solidified that fact.”

The endless cries ripping through the room were fraying your nerves, evaporating your wrath and replacing it with a deep, burning sense of desperation. A choked whine left you, air leaving in staccato and urgent gasps. “God,” you screamed, “please just stop. I promise! Just please, please stop this!”

“Promise,” he spit the word, it’s existence a mangled sound of putridity. “Your virtue has even less value than your word.”

The howls of pain rang on, your patience for Kylo Ren’s torment wearing thinner with every new octave of his cries. Your back was cresting with each full breath, your head spinning in mayhem as you tromped over to him and gripped onto the arm twisting into Mason. Kylo’s visor bent down to you, the reflection of your heated expression a hyphenated portrayal as you caught view of your wet cheeks, the tears frenzied instead of solemn.

“Kylo,” you whispered, “just tell me what you want and you can have it. Just, please, let him go.” The words were buried, barely audible over the injury leaving Mason’s lungs.

He considered you, staring down at your pleading expression. You squeezed his arm, your face breaking into a desperate grimace beneath his stare. He’d taken your absence as a personal attack, completely disregarding the target on your back, like you hadn’t learned not to defy him at this point. And in groveling for Mason’s relief, you accepted that no matter if you deserved to be punished for disregarding his instruction or not, this was the only way you could ensure that Mason wouldn’t end up as collateral damage.

“Please.” Your lip quivered, a tear streaking to the corner of your mouth as you shook beneath his glare.

His arm flexed beneath your fingers, a final surge of terror ripping through Mason before he collapsed to the floor. Without thinking, you clambered down towards him, brushing his hair from his face, your fingers slipping over the sweat that had amounted. “Mason, Mason?” His name escaped in breathy gulps, your heart racing harder when his eyes weren’t opening. “What did you do to him?” you roared, fingers pressing into his carotids.

“Collect your things. We’re leaving.” Kylo’s voice was apathetic, unbothered by Mason’s limp body in your hold.

His pulse was there but weak, nowhere near the high seventies like earlier. His breathing was even and equal, coming slowly. The sweat that had gathered on his back acted to shift his posture, his weight taking you with him as you rushed to protect his head from the floor on his way down. His arm fell to the side, his lips parting and his jaw falling limp with exhaustion. Your fingers were smeared in his sweat, twisted into his nape as you smoothed over his features, hoping your touch would act as a salve while he laid beneath you.

“I can’t just leave him like this,” you sniffled, a tear landing on his chin.

“You will, or he won’t leave here again.” There was no hint of threat in the statement, only truth; a promise in the harsh modulation.

You blinked, two tears falling with the movement. “I’m sorry.” His brow was sweat-laden, too, your thumb gently brushing the moisture away as your eyes blurred, so ashamed of roping him into this. With a sweep of his hair from his forehead, you pulled his arm across his chest and stood at his side to face your master.

“After you, officer,” he said, the hand holding onto your watch motioning towards the door.

Sucking your teeth, you slipped your shoes on without breaking contact with his masked glare. Even as you meandered towards the coffee table to collect your uniform, you stayed locked into him, quaking with anger with each charged step. The animosity which laid within both of you was suffocating, only breeding more hostility as you walked past him with anger-twitching eyes. Kylo placed a hand on your shoulder, his grasp eliciting a short wince as it bit a bruise beneath Mason’s charity of clothing. Before the door hissed shut, one last shriek came from the room as Kylo popped the indented metal into its original unmarked condition, your shoulders shuddering at the echoed cries of the durasteel.

“How can you treat people like they’re expendable? Like they don’t matter?” He began leading you down the hall, his boot cutting into the back of your ankle when you weren’t keeping up with his stride.

Kylo didn’t respond, only digging into your shoulder to indicate a turn. With the length of his legs, you were half-jogging to keep him from running into your feet. You didn’t know whether to keep your head down or to keep a lookout for any cameras, feeling an unease being seen like this – baggy pajamas, work shoes, damp hair – with the Commander of the First Order attached at your back.

“I didn’t disregard your request to spite you, okay? If I came to you and I got caught and it was even suggested to the Board that I was sleeping with my boss? With my Commander? That would be it. That would kill me,” you explained, cataloguing the halls he led you through.

Still no reply, only an increased pace with every new sentence, more pressure dipping into your clavicle. His grip was nearing a fracture, sweat collecting at your nape as you fought to silence the pain. In your periphery you spied the red indicator of a camera, flying out of sight as he propelled you down new halls, wider and taller as his quarters grew closer.

After one final turn, a door appeared at the end of an expansive corridor, completely alone in its existence. His fingers bit down further, the doors sliding apart at the gesture while you winced inwardly. Before you could step past the threshold, his hand unhinged and you flew past the door frame, landing with your hands braced and your knees skidding across the glossed floor.

“It seems you’ve forgotten who you work for, officer,” he said, the doors latching shut behind him. “I can have whatever I want without your offering. The only reason your friend is still breathing is so I can use him as leverage, as it appears the only way to get you to listen is to threaten what you value most.”

In your crash, your chin had collided with the floor, your teeth gnashing into the back of your tongue. As you gathered yourself off of your hands, a drop of the iron that flooded your mouth fell between your bent knees. The colloid pooled under your tongue, slithering down your throat as you sat back on your heels.

“What is so hard to understand about me not coming here?” He stepped closer as you continued to regather yourself, steps calculated and quiet.

“I understand you’re being watched. I know that your life is on the line, and for half a second I believed that you valued it”—he tore your chin up to his visor— “but that can’t be true.”

His grip led you to your feet as he stared down at you. “If you truly held any stock in your life, you would do as you’re told without question. Without doubt.”

Blood dripped over your lip and onto your chin as he anchored your jaw open, his thumb bending over your bottom teeth, depressing the tip of your tongue. “Tonight’s lesson was centered around this incorrigible mouth, but I think you need to learn the true consequences of your actions. Nothing less.”

Below, he kicked your fallen uniform to the side, walking you back so your knees gave way to the arm of the couch, your hands reaching back to support you along the black leather. A low hum left his helmet, his visor tracking over your laid-out body. “Now, to turn these into what they really are”— both of his hands took hold of your shirt collar— “rags.”

The thin fabric of Mason’s old shirt gave way to Kylo’s will like the threads had never been bound together, splitting apart down the center of your chest, past your naval, and through the bottom hem. The shredded article hung open over your abdomen, your chest tiding quickly as you watched his shoulders drag along as coarse breaths left his helmet. His knee anchored itself between your legs, his visor pointed at your face. He kept your eyes in his while his thumbs tore the tattered garment down your arms, leaving raised red trails in their forceful paths; with the fabric bunched over your wrists, the only covering left over your torso being your bra, he yanked it past your hands.

At the motion, your support gave out and your head fell against the stiff cushions. In his hectic maneuvering, once the shirt moved past your waist, his fingers gripped into the waistband of Mason’s sweatpants, their warmth leaving you with begrudging ease even as the drawstring was double knotted above your hips. The thick fabric skated past your toes, every hair on your body stick-straight as the frozen air punctuated your skin’s search for warmth. Staring down at you, the leather sticking to your shoulders, he let the shirt fall, keeping hold of your pants, turning them over as his visor pinned you in place.

“These, though, seem to possess an asset of my benefit.” Out of your view, you heard more ripping, only much shorter of a sound. Before you had time to question what his intentions were, he began wrapping the drawstring from the elastic around his gloved hand, pulling it until the opposite aglet met his palm. “Sit up.”

There was no life in his command, frozen as the atmosphere. With a swallow, noting the blood didn’t replenish itself when you did, you sat up straight, looking up to him with seething defiance. His boots echoed as he paced towards you, stopping before he passed behind. The string-wrapped hand dragged two fingers along your sternum, stopping as they tugged down on the bridge of your bra. “Take this off.”

“And if I don’t?” Your brow raised in challenge.

The hand over your chest quickly shifted its attention to your tongue, pinching it between two tight fingers, a pitiful whine leaving when it did. “This has never been a negotiation. Do as I say and maybe you’ll have use of this—” he pulled your tongue forward, scraping the undersurface with his gloved nail “—after tonight. Do we have an understanding?”

Denying your want to roll your eyes, you nodded. Though, he wasn’t pleased with this response, pinching down harder. “Use your words.”

Flames bit under your cheeks, furious with his intent to embarrass you. A heated breath fled from your nostrils. “Yeth, Commanther.”

“Hm, now do as you’re told.”

You reached behind your back, never leaving his stare as he kept hold of your tongue. The hooks popped behind you, the flat sound too loud in the silent room; the straps hung loose over your shoulders before you hunched forward to remove the rest of the garment, letting it fall between your parted knees. The leather left your tongue as he knelt down, his hands ripping your arms behind you and gathering your wrists at the base of your spine.

“Not that I can’t do this myself,” he said, voice tinged with sly, “but it’s more poetic if you’re bound by your own defiance.”

“For the hundredth time, I didn’t do it to defy you.”

He worked masterfully behind you, the string unwinding from his palm and wrapping around and between your wrists in that same pattern. “Keep talking, it’s making me eager to shut you up; making me hard with anticipation.”

The thin string grew tighter as he wound it to its end, finishing the restraint with a tight pull and a final knot. He stood again once he’d completed the task, taking grasp of your binding and pulling you up to your knees. His hand came to the back of your neck and pushed you forward, your face falling into the firm cushion as your hands struggled to protect you from the collision, finding no give in the ties. The position – face to the side, hips high, shoulders bearing your weight – offered no view of your master, only allowing you to hear his intentions.

The couch shifted behind you, your body swaying to the side as his weight shifted the cushions beneath your knees. The texture of his gloves came between the bend of your hips, your skin emblazoning at the contact. He hummed, following the low sound with a breathy, barely vocal laugh. “I could light you on fire and you’d still be dripping wet for me, wouldn’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question, one you didn’t want to answer even if it hadn’t been. A pressure came over your entrance, the friction of taut leather revealing the erection residing behind it. The sensation caught your breath, your resolve stifling a moan before he could revel in your pleasure. “Really? Nothing to say?” His hips left you, followed by the removal of one of his hands.

“Maybe this’ll make you speak up.” A cold, unyielding object stung at your entrance, your hips bucking away from it only after your core throbbed in remembrance of the weapon.

A pathetic whimper came unbidden from your throat, your face burning in embarrassment that every part of him, even those not physically attached, could draw a reaction from your body. “Did this make an impact?” The metal pushed against you, your walls simultaneously screaming for more yet clenching away from it. “Mm, it did.”

The unforgiving solidity of the weapon made you wail as Kylo pushed it into you, using his hips to nudge it forward while gripping your thigh and pulling you back along its unbroken width. Your core fluttered around the injurious girth, every muscle below your abdomen flexing in response, your breath nonexistent as your body internalized the pleasure-pain its presence incited. While he pushed it further into your center, he twisted the hilt, your walls buzzing around the scraping ridges which resided along the handle. Though you could barely register it, when his flexed knuckles met the skin of your ass, you finally breathed, taking a moment of peace before he pulled it from you.

But he didn’t, standing from behind you as your walls achingly thrummed along the stagnant object. He walked out of view, passing your head and walking further into the room. “Come to me,” he said, modulation cold once more.

A laugh of disbelief left you. “Yeah, okay. Just let me situate myself.” He was insane to think you could move like this.

“My patience is wearing thin, officer. I suggest you don’t test it more than you already have.”

This was his way at asserting his power over you, making you complete various tasks of humiliation. He knew just as well as you did that you were in no shape to move, let alone cross over to him. It was dehumanizing, and all you wanted to do was scream, to throw a Kylo Ren-sized tantrum. But by the new shadows in his voice, and how he was obvious in proving his point, you knew to release the retched sound burning over your axons would never work to your advantage.

Thinking it over for a minute, you decided to try and slide your leg down, thinking you could easily lift yourself from the sofa. As you attempted to execute the maneuver, though, you grimaced, the weapon biting into your cunt with new pain as it indented into the tissue it bludgeoned. Containing a whine, you bit your lip, face growing slick with sweat against the leather. Away from you, you heard the familiar sound of his strokes, ensuing more rage as he drew pleasure from this sight of you.

In a second attempt, you used your shoulders, rocking into the back of the couch for leverage and support. With one too-ambitious shove, you catapulted onto the floor, landing on your back, your hands aching below your weight in their awkward placement, the crossbars of the lightsaber biting into the backs of your thighs. The fall knocked the wind out of you, the frozen floor stealing your breath for ten seconds before the facilities for oxygen returned.

Behind you Kylo grunted, the sound of his gloved hand sliding over his shaft quickening. “I never knew my whore could be so graceful.”

A week ago he’d stained your body with blood, but the wrath you’d felt then couldn’t be compared to the ardent resentment he was eliciting with his blatant enjoyment of your suffering. Using them to your benefit, you pushed off of your bound hands and sat up, your back to him, taking a moment of rest before shoving against the couch and getting to your feet. The weapon shuttered your breath, your legs barely permitting movement in the presence of the intruding object. A sharp set of yelps came as you took your first step towards him, your face twisting in pain as the stride caused friction against your walls.

He'd positioned himself against the wall opposite of you, making the journey to him long and strewn out, allowing him to watch your hobbled venture as long as he wanted. You’d matched the sound correctly, watching him drag his thumb from his head and down his shaft, his back resting against the wall with infuriating nonchalance, like this was any other day for him.

“That’s it,” he said, modulation thick with need, “one step at a time, officer.”

To keep from tripping forward, you stayed close to the furniture as long as you could, legs flexing when your balance faltered. Eventually, though, there was nothing to steady yourself with, your strides shrinking in their reach as you walked in the vacant distance.

“Is this what you enjoy, huh?” you gasped, his lightsaber cutting into you as you stumbled forward. “The Commander of the First Order, so big and strong as he fucks his hand to the sight of his own nurse? Seems a bit fucked up to me.”

“Fuck, I’m going to enjoy this.” He thrust into his hand as you tripped forward once more.

“I didn’t defy you, Kylo. I was safe with Mason,” you said, closing all but a pace of distance between him and you, your legs trembling with exhaustion.

He slowed his strokes, staring into you past his visor, his breath audible through the helmet. After a long pause, his chest came down in a heavy sigh. “Kneel.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

His hand came up and twisted, the weapon shifting between your legs and causing the crossbars to shred over the sensitive tissue. Your weakened stance couldn’t tolerate the electric pain, your knees buckling beneath you, cracking against the glass-plated floor. Before any pain could leave your lungs, he rammed every thickened, throbbing inch of his cock past your teeth and down your throat; you gagged against him, a mechanical seethe leaving his mask at the hiccupped pressure.

“Finally, some peace and fucking quiet.” His hands framed the crown of your head, fingers stretching to the base of your skull and guiding you into his thrusts.

Tears sprung at your eyes, the sudden pressure shocking your sinus tracts into defense. “I get to decide when you’re defying me,” he tilted your head further back. “I decide what you deserve. And yes,” he growled, “seeing you like this, broken for me, by me, pathetic and pitiful as you obey my every command – not because you want to, but because you have to – I obsess over it, your resentful compliance to everything I say; it’s what makes your defiance so maddening.”

Your arms began to strain, the pain trickling from your shoulders down to your tailbone, his weapon shifting with every thrust, making you wince onto his cock. “Shit. This is exactly what sluts like you deserve,” he roared, voice frenzying. “Leaving me to go fuck some physician who can offer you nothing, let alone safety? Yes, you deserve this completely.” He was yelling now, the modulation garbling his words.

A hand left your head, the other gripping into your hair as drool poured down your chin and collected in the earlier dried blood. A loud crash came from behind you, the noise forcing a flinch, your core clenching around the metal, another whine leaving you, your hands throbbing as your blood attempted to bypass the cutting ties which constricted its flow. He thought you’d been with Mason. In the chaos that had entailed since, you forgot how he’d first seen you at the residence, face pressed against Mason’s, your lips so close they may as well have been touching. This was barely about your compliance and wholly about what he’d perceived as your infidelity. And even then, was it even cheating if there had been no set rules? Not that he’d ever seemed to be conscious of his double standards, but it was ridiculous for him to assume you knew this was a monogamous arrangement. The only thing he’d ever ensured you were aware of was the fact that he could have you whenever and however he wanted, never that there was any agreement of mutual exclusivity to be respected.

“And to have you – a nurse, a nobody – continually disregard everything I ask,” his voice was natural now, raw and aching without the heavy modulation , “it drives me insane; the knowledge that you truly believed he could protect you is infuriating.”

His breath was heightening, your jaw straining as he kept fast, unrelenting thrusts into your throat. The strokes were erratic, losing pattern as he began to lose himself. “Even when it’s for your benefit you still choose to defy me, fucking – fuck – fucking whore.”

He pulled out from your throat, forcing you back on your heels, the weapon tearing deeper into you at the pressure. “Never tell me you what you think you deserve,” his hand was chaotic over his shaft, nearly colliding with your face in its ferocity. His breath stalled, and he growled, teeth clenched as a spray of spit veiled over your face, hot ropes of cum to join it, collecting onto your eyelashes and debilitating your sense of sight. “This is what you fucking deserve.”

He stroked himself through his release, breath coming in fast pants, dying into slow and separated sighs. A gust of air blew your hair over your ears, and the sudden feel of gloved thumbs swiping over your face permitted your sight once more, meeting the red face of your master, but also introducing you to the shocking sight of light, glinting over the rivulets of tears which streaked over his cheeks. It was disturbing at first, processing that his red eyes were for you, realizing that your decision had actually affected him and enraged him to this extent.

He shoved his thumbs into your mouth, not registering the taste as the expression which resided over his face haunted you with its familiarity. Once more he thought you’d abandoned him. Like those months ago when you’d come home late on the Finalizer, his eyes were ignited with that same sense of desertion. He was not justified in his actions, not that he ever needed to be, but you could acknowledge that this reaction wasn’t one foreign in its nature, but the only way he knew to reassert himself.

His hands left your mouth and reached behind your back, his eyes never leaving yours as he blindly unbound you. When you fell forward, your face pressed into his chest, his hands lifted you below your thighs, your breath seething as the movements caused the jagged weapon to shift within you; he placed you on your knees, one hand unmoving to stabilize you, the other clasping over the crossbars, gearing up to rip his weapon from your core.

The hand at your thigh gripped into you as he dragged the hilt out, your breath wheezing into his chest as it left, every inch leaving an immediate emptiness in its wake. A pain-sodden tear fell from your face to his skin, a gasp leaving as he pulled out the last of it.

“Kylo,” you said into his chest.

“That’s not how you should address me,” his voice wasn’t empty, instead guarded and rasped with the ghosts of his earlier rage.

You licked your lips and placed your hands on either of his shoulders, pulling away from him as his other hand came back to support you. “Kylo,” you repeated, watching his face, aching as he looked at you with so much betrayal.

It was an impossible thing to choose how to express your sorrow while also preserving your earlier explanation of why you didn’t come to him. Though it felt unfair, you couldn’t help but feel a piece of your heart break as you looked into the shattered face of the person who had given you a purpose. Words continued to evade you, the only thoughts processing being this is your fault, this could’ve been helped, what kind of nurse abandons her patient? They burgeoned in your head, capitalizing your indecision in how to say the right words without betraying your own beliefs.

“I didn’t – I’m… I can’t,” you grunted, your thoughts clamoring your words into stuttered nonsense. “I will never abandon you.”

It seemed like the best way to get to your point, maybe not encompassing everything you needed to say, but emphasizing on the highlights. His lips parted, breath falling out before you. His eyes twitched, no response coming to him as you analyzed every tiny change, watching as the wetness which plagued his cheeks dried as time passed.

“I didn’t kiss him,” you said, realizing what else may be haunting him. Every feature on his face stopped. Bingo. “I was going to… I thought I’d want to, but…”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze drifting between your eyes and down over your lips. “But what?” It was a whispered, raspy sound, so new and surprising.

“Something’s changed. Different.” Your looked between his eyes, over his freckles, and down to his lips.

“Something’s changed.” He repeated.

And as your energy charged into his, you found yourself completely yearning for his lips to be on yours, for his hands to be in your hair, or on your face, or his touch anywhere on your body at all. That was it. It wasn’t something that had changed. It was someone. And though you knew you had felt something for him before, accepting that you’d lost the last piece of whatever it was when you left the stars that night, you never knew how focused that feeling had become until you were forced to recognize that you no longer felt that way for anyone else other than the man before you.

His hands ghosted over your curves, trickling electricity in their trails until they buzzed in place over your cheeks. He brought your face to his, his lips enrapturing yours in the kiss you didn’t know you’d been seeking. It was powerful, how his mouth moved in rhythm with yours like he knew your every thought. He began to stand; as his legs straightened, he kept his spine bent, his hands unmoving from your face. You threw your hands up to his neck, teasing the coil of hair at his nape as your thumbs traced along his jawline.

He moaned into your mouth, his tongue gliding over yours as his hands moved down your curves before he bent down and took you from the floor, prompting your legs to wrap around his waist while he walked you through his quarters. You collected the remaining tears from his cheeks, either with your thumbs or dragging them along your own face as you kissed down to him, your hands brushing through his thick hair, reveling in the closeness which flourished between you both.

Distantly, a door hissed open and shut, and before you had opened your eyes, your back was against an expansive mattress. Kylo pulled away, your neck following him as long as it could before he was too far. He kept his honey eyes focused on yours, his hands working hard to remove his outer robes and padding. Even in this small distance, your body ached for his, the seconds burning beneath your skin as your core pleaded to be filled by him. Only him.

He threw his shirt off and loosened the fasteners of his pants, letting them fall and kicking them off before he climbed back on top of you, trailing kisses up your sternum, into your breasts, and up your artery as he made his way back to your face. He whispered your name into your mouth, legs positioning himself so the head of his erection slid between your folds, a moan leaving you as the sensation sung through every vein in your body.

“Kylo,” you whispered back, legs locking over his back, fingers treading through his locks, binding him to you in their hunger.

He took your hands from his hair, pinning them above your head beneath his own. He gazed down to you, his fingers winding between yours, his eyebrows raising as a means of readying you. In response, clasping your fingers into his, lifting your face and pulling his lips down to yours. He thrust into you, sating the void his weapon had incited. A cry left your mouth, the first one that wasn’t inspired by pain, but instead by need. By want. By completeness.

The grip on your hands tightened as he pulled his hips back, a groan leaving him, the vibration of his chest buzzing through your own. The friction of his body over yours was other-worldly, feeling simultaneously familiar and new. He rocked into you, his lips falling down to your jawline, sucking new bruises in their path, feeling heavenly when his teeth would scrape against your skin with urgent want. Without saying anything, as he knew everything you felt, the Force engulfed your aching clit, never having felt as powerful as it did now, your back arching into his chest as you cried out against his hair.

Everything combined to create a sense of celestial wholeness – the smell of his sweat-damp hair, the taste of your dried blood washing from his tongue to yours, his skin igniting atop your own, the way his cock made your walls chorus with sublimity. His thrusts came faster, the Force quickening and increasing in its pressure, his hands tightening further; he had constructed your release in minutes, sending you soaring into a limitless reality only he knew how to create.

“Oh, Kylo. Kylo. Kylo, Ky…” His lips pressed against yours just as he fell in line with his own release, moans ricocheting through his mouth and yours.

The hands which strangled yours loosened, staying in place as his pulse jostled into yours, his head falling just below your chin. He stayed there, his weight bearing over you, his breath brushing over your forearm as his bare chest tided with yours. Though it seemed misplaced as only minutes ago he’d tormented you, with him now, here in his sated state, you felt a protection you’d never expected. None of this was ever planned, and even if he didn’t feel a fraction of what you felt right now, you knew you’d never willingly trade it for anything, basking in every part of himself that he offered.

Kylo took a final breath before rolling off of you, keeping one of his hands with yours momentarily as the other peeled the blankets from above his head. His arms gripped over your shoulder and pulled you against him, the sheets gliding beneath and eventually encapsulating your body to his. The breaths that fell from his parted lips blew over your hair, tickling the stray pieces which framed your face before you nuzzled into him and placed your hand on top of his chest.

“The Board doesn’t have any say over what happens to you,” he said, voice tired and absent. “I do.”

Not quite believing he even thought that was true, considering he might be using your technique of saying something in order to make it true, you didn’t feel like ruining this quintessential moment. “Okay.”

And as you lied with him, listening to his heart – sixty-one beats per minute, strong and steady – you felt your own working to heal itself, coming back together as you promised yourself – inwardly, and however hopelessly – that this wouldn’t be temporary; that this had even the slightest chance at surviving the incoming monsoon life promised. And as you kept repeating that thought, you realized that your earlier dream – the one of falling asleep in Kylo Ren’s arms – was no longer a dream at all, the reality of his strength coiled around you being what lulled you into unconsciousness.

[emybain]

Almost

im a sucker for the au where nova’s family lives,,,so here’s another fic that I wrote with no shame. I definitely plan on writing more fics where she’s younger, and I might have to make a masterpost for this au (I also need to update my current masterpost of all my fics bc,,,yikes I haven't updated that in forever.) anyway, here’s a little drabble where adrian’s family comes over for dinner and the two families haven't seen one another in FOREVER and nova hasn't talked to Adrian in a couple months soooo :)) I may have gotten a little angsty but that's not my problem. also yes I definitely played into the stereotypical teenage romance trope and I dont care

.     “I’m home,” Nova called out as she closed the front door behind her. The smell of onions and ginger hung in the air. Nova checked the time on the clock in the living room, setting her bag down beside Papà’s favorite armchair. It was only late afternoon, so she wasn’t hallucinating; her mom was making dinner early. Nova’s family tended to eat much later than the average family, usually in the late evening. According to Papà, that’s how he grew up, so it’s how Nova and her siblings would grow up. Maybe her mom was just cooking now so she wouldn’t have to later; she had done that a few times in the past. Nova shrugged it off. 

    From the kitchen, her mom called out to her in Tagalog, her first language. Another thing that made Nova frown; she rarely spoke in her first language unless it was for a specific reason. After all, English was the only language all five of the Artinos had in common. Nevertheless, Nova answered back in Tagalog to appease her mother, telling her how her day went. When her mom asked about her therapist appointment, though, Nova switched back to English so that her dad, who was probably in the kitchen as well, could understand. 

“Dr. Sterling says hi and that she-”

    Nova had just plopped her car keys down on a side table in the kitchen when she noticed that they had guests over. She faltered, biting back her usual report she would give to her parents following her therapist appointment. So that’s why Mom was speaking in her first language. 

    “No one told me we were having people over tonight.” Nova raised an awkward hand toward the Everhart-Westwood trio, not quite sure if she were speaking to her parents or their guests. Smoothing down her oversized tee shirt, Nova ignored the way her cheeks lit up at her appearance. An old shirt of her dad’s, workout shorts she had been in since her run that morning, and torn up tennis shoes with holes beginning to peak out in the toes. “I would’ve dressed nicer.”

    Hugh was the first to break the awkward silence, chuckling and beckoning Nova forward. She gave him and Simon a one-armed hug. 

    “It was sort of last minute,” Simon explained, looking Nova up and down. “After all, it’s been so long since we’ve all gotten together.” A smile lit up his face. “While I can’t say you’ve grown, you’ve definitely changed, Nova. Every time we see you, you look more and more like your mother.” He was right; it had been a while since the two families had spent time together. Nova hadn’t seen Adrian’s dads in months other than the occasional wave from across a room at headquarters. When she was younger, it seemed as if the two families had more time for one another. It was odd, when she considered it, how close her family was to the Everhart-Westwoods, all because of a series of events that occurred when Nova was no older than six. Her father had gone to the Renegades for protection from Nova’s uncle, and they promised to protect him and his family. After a failed attempt by Nova’s uncle to kill her entire family, they were sent to a temporary home where they would be much safer. Then after Ace Anarchy was defeated, Nova’s father went to work for the Renegades with a vision of making the world a better place. Now, he sat comfortably as head of the weapons department, something Nova knew he wasn’t necessarily proud of, but it brought in a decent amount of money for his family. And besides, the weapons were currently being used for good. At least, that was what her dad said to reassure himself and his family. 

    “Too bad I also got her height,” Nova retorted.

    “Nak, you’re perfect just the way you are,” Mom chided from the stove where she was stirring a pot of what looked like a soup or stew. Nova rolled her eyes, used to her mother lecturing her on her negative view of her appearance. 

    She turned to Adrian to hug him next, as it was expected, despite the sudden skip in her chest. It had been a few months since she had seen much of him or talked to him, both of them being held down by responsibilities and Renegade duties. Ever since they got their own teams a couple years ago, she had noticed how they began drifting apart. It was upsetting because they had been so close when they were young, but what could they do about it? Nova barely had enough time these days for her studies, something her parents were strict on her having. She supposed it was a good thing, seeing as she had developed confusing and distracting feelings for her childhood friend that went beyond friendship. And as her mom liked to say, people would enter and leave her life when she needed them, that they were there or not there for a reason. 

    It was hard not to breathe in or let her eyes fall shot when Nova wrapped both of her arms around Adrian’s shoulders, lifting up on the tips of her toes. She tried not to shiver as he bent down to meet her, arms encircling her waist. Then it was over too soon, and Nova hopped up on the kitchen counter beside where he stood. 

    “Get down from there,” Nova’s dad passed by her with a handful of bowls, swatting at her lightly once he set them down. Sharing a look with Adrian, who bit his lip to hold back his smile, she slid back down. 

    “So, what’s for dinner?” Nova leaned against the counter. 

    Papà opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Nova’s siblings came running through the kitchen, Thomas chasing after Evie with a red face and tears running down his cheeks. 

    “Give it back!” Thomas screeched. He managed to wrap a fist around Evie’s shirt before she ripped it from his grasp, dancing away. “Papà, tell Evie to give my action figure back!”

    Nova saw her father’s face age about ten years as he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Evie, give your brother his toy back, please.”

    “He wouldn’t leave me alone!” Evie stuck her tongue out at Thomas. “He kept opening my door and running away laughing, so now his stupid toy is mine.” 

    Nova shifted toward Adrian, who leaned down to listen as she mumbled, “She just got herself into huge trouble, watch.”

    Papà narrowed his eyes at Evie. “Evie Grace Artino, what have we said about closed doors in this house?” 

    Nova elbowed Adrian softly. 

    Evie faltered, her hand that was held over her head to keep the toy away from Thomas falling. “Did I say my bedroom door? I..I-I um...I meant-”

    “Give the toy back, and I’ll consider lightening your punishment for breaking the rules.”

    Evie groaned loudly and shoved the toy at Thomas, whose skin and hair, Nova noticed, was a soft shade of red. At this point, Nova was used to her brother’s recent discovery that he was a prodigy like her. It wasn’t much, seemingly, because he only changed colors depending on his mood. But Nova had a feeling that there was much more to it, and that he would learn more about himself in the coming years. 

    “It’s not fair! Nova’s allowed to have her door shut!” 

    Nova began to speak, retorting that she had earned that right, but Mom beat her to it.

    “Nova is five years older than you, Evie.” She brought the stirring pot over to the island where she set it on a hot pad. “And much more mature. She’s a leader in the Renegades and has nearly perfect grades in her studies and she does her chores and work without being asked. She’s earned that right, and you will too, once we see you trying in school and emptying the dishwasher on time and not after we’ve asked ten times.”

    “Explains why you’re always grounded every other week,” Evie grumbled, shoving past Nova. 

    “Anyway,” Mom took her apron off. “Dinner’s ready. And to answer your question, Nova, it’s Sinigang.”

    Nova smiled. Her favorite. 

______

    “No boys in bedrooms!” Mom called up the stairs as Nova led Adrian up. 

    “Oh darn, there goes my plan to seduce my best friend.” She shrugged at Adrian. “Sorry, maybe next time.” She pretended not to notice how he averted her gaze, cheeks red. 

    “I mean it, Nova Jean!” 

    “We’re just going to watch a movie or something, calm down!” 

    Even as she said it, she led Adrian to the back of the upstairs where her bedroom was. 

    “Didn’t your mom just say-”

    Nova reached for his hand, pulling him inside. “We’re not going to be in my room.” She nodded to her window. “The roof?”

    A smile crept onto Adrian’s face, understanding filling his eyes. He let Nova pull him to the window. She lifted it up and stepped out onto the sill, then pushed herself up onto the roof, an easy feat as the roof was slanted right beside her bedroom window. When they were little, she and Adrian would climb up there and talk for hours until Papà would have to go out in the backyard and yell up at them to come down because it was time for Adrian to go home. 

    The wind picked up slightly, and Nova peered back over her shoulder. “Grab a blanket from my bed.”

    She crawled to the center, their spot, and waited for Adrian. When he poked his head up, she grinned and caught the blanket thrown at her. She wrapped it around herself as he joined her. 

    “How’s your team doing?” She scooted closer to him, telling herself it was because she was cold and he radiated heat. “I saw Ruby the other day in the training hall. We ran a few laps together before she had to go.”

    “Good, I suppose.” He rested back on his elbows. “Danna misses you, by the way. She won’t shut up about how you two need to grab coffee or breakfast.”

    Nova chuckled. “I know! We’ve been texting, but our schedules just haven’t lined up in a while. I haven’t been able to relax much the past few months with this new schedule I’m on.” She let out a sigh, resting her chin on her knees. “Especially since I-” she stopped herself, shoulders tensing up. Adrian didn’t know about her therapist. In fact, no one knew that she had started going to therapy, not even Adèle or Ramona or Benton, some of the people she spent most of her time around. She didn’t need people thinking she was weak.

    “Since you what?” Even though she her back was to him, Nova could hear the frown in his voice. 

    “Nothing.” Nova chewed the inside of her cheek. “Forget I said anything.”

    Adrian sat up. “No, what?” When she didn’t give him an immediate answer, avoiding his piercing gaze, he nudged her gently. “Come on, Nova. We’ve been friends for almost ten years. You know you can tell me anything.”

    She picked at a hole in her leggings. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed or anything. It’s a completely normal thing people do. It’s just...not everyone would agree with me, and you know that I’m not the most liked person in Gatlon.” It wasn’t something she acknowledged often because it always left her in a sour mood; it always lingered at the bottom of her conscience, like how Evie would overstay her welcome in Nova’s room sometimes. Because of her uncle, because of what he did before his death, the Artino’s had to tread lightly in the city. Her parents, maybe not so much, since so many sympathized with them choosing to do the right thing and nearly losing their lives over it. And Evie presented no danger because she wasn’t a prodigy, and she was too young to even remember her uncle. Thomas was still a young child, despite being a prodigy, and didn’t even know how to divide numbers bigger than twenty without help. Nova, on the other hand, was kept under supervision by just about all of Gatlon. There were people who didn’t like the fact that she was a Renegade, much less a team leader for one of the best teams in the city. They didn’t like that she was friends with Adrian Everhart, son of the late Lady Indomitable and adopted son of the Dread Warden and Captain Chromium, all three being members on the Renegades Council. Rumors had been spread in the past of her true intentions with the Everhart boy, and how much she trained, and how intelligent she was. After all, she had known Ace Anarchy; he was her Uncle Alec. She had loved him and the gifts he brought her family. That was all before she knew who he truly was, of course. 

But even then, in recent years, she had been contacted by the living Anarchists, confronted by them in person sometimes. The Council didn’t know, and it was a secret Nova planned on taking to her grave, despite never acting on their kind words and suggestions to join them, that the Renegades were flawed and corrupt. She knew they only wanted her because of her bloodline. Their words were lies.

Nova couldn’t afford to make mistakes in this world with so many eyes on her. 

Adrian shifted closer, the movement almost subtle. He placed a hand on her back, and Nova tried to hide her shiver. “They can all go to Hell. No one knows you like I do, Nova. The media...the media will always find a way to twist good into bad, no matter how hard you try.” He traced a small pattern on her back. “If you don’t want to tell me, I get it, and I won’t press anymore, but you can trust me. I promise not to tell anyone.”

Nova allowed herself to sink into his touch, just a little. After a moment, she said quietly, “I started going to therapy. You know how I don’t need to sleep? How whenever I try, I’m taken back to that night?” Adrian nodded. She had told him the story years ago. “Well, I’ve been going for that, partly.” She cleared her throat. “I learned from my therapist that I have a decent amount of anxiety, and I’m pretty fucking depressed, so I’m going for that as well.”

His hand paused on her back, then shifted to take her hand. She didn’t even realize it had started shaking. “That’s good you’re seeing someone. You’ve never been good at opening up.” She had to let out a soft laugh at that. 

“Yeah.” She looked down at their joined hands, thought of how they would look better laced together. “But I mean, it’s helped a lot. She’s helping me work through the trauma and pain I deal with on a daily basis. And she’s patient, too, so if she makes a suggestion and it takes me weeks to act upon it, she’s not upset. She’s always happy to hear me try something new.”

“Like?” Adrian looked down at her. 

She hummed. “Well, at first it was little things, like making my team train during the day instead of at four in the morning.” When Adrian frowned, she continued. “I’ve always done that because I was insecure about people watching me, about what they would say. And then it kind of just became routine, so I didn’t bother changing it until she suggested I do.”

“There were a few times I remember seeing you train during the day,” Adrian said. “They weren’t often, and I always assumed it was because something changed in your schedule.”

Nova nodded. “I hated those days. Usually, I would just try to tune everyone out but myself and my team.” She bit her lip. “Now, it’s still a little weird, but I’m getting used to it every day.” A snort escaped her mouth. “And now people can stop saying I have something to hide because I train so early.” 

    “Stop worrying about what other people think.” He squeezed her hand gently, that stupid soft smile returning to his lips.

    “Gee,” Nova deadpanned, “I wish I would’ve thought of that. Thank you. I’m cured.” 

    “You know what I mean.”

    Nova tore her hand out of his, despite liking the way it felt, to push him gently. He was laughing at her now, so she pushed him again, this time a bit harder. It seemed to have no effect on him. Why was he so infuriating? Even from going months without seeing one another, even from drifting apart in recent years, he still had the audacity to be so comfortable around her while she was an awkward mess. She guessed that may also play a part in the reason why her pulse tended to quicken in his presence the past six or more months. She also guessed that was why she enjoyed her friendship with him as much as she did, and that he was debatably the closest person to her. They could always pick up right where they left off no matter how long they were apart, as if they had talked just the other day. 

    Adrian nudged her back with his arm playfully. They went back and forth like this, playing the game for another minute or so, the two of them erupting into quite giggles, before he grabbed both of her arms as they pushed against his chest. She tried to pull away, grinning widely, but her laughter died in her throat when she looked up to meet his eyes. They stared into hers with an intensity that brought color to her cheeks. Her smile faded. 

    “Nova, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now,” he breathed. Minutes ago, he had sounded so calm, so confident, and now she could hear the trembling in his voice, the uncertainty. She could’ve sworn she saw his eyelashes dip, eyes glancing at her gaping mouth. Instead of telling her, he inched his face closer to hers. 

    Inhaling sharply, Nova almost scrambled away. Was he...great skies. She remained still, though, and surprised herself by letting her eyes flutter shut, tilting in. After all, wasn’t this what she had been wanting for so long? Many nights had been spent tossing and turning in her bed, trying to make herself get at least a few minutes of sleep despite not needing it, wondering if he thought of her the way she thought of him. They weren’t kids anymore. Things had changed. 

    But they were still friends. Best friends. What if...whatever this was...would send them down a dangerous path? It could open up something new for both of them, or it could completely ruin a decade long friendship. And with her schedule, she didn’t have time for it, even though she really, really, truly wanted it. Wanted him. This was the first time they had actually hung out in months, and while they could pick up where they left off as friends, would it be the same in a relationship?

    Too many questions raced through her mind as Adrian’s lips brushed against hers, sending electricity down her spine. She had kissed Adrian before, nearly three years ago at a party where they played spin the bottle. Back then, it was an innocent kiss, an awkward and amateur exchange between two friends who had both just recently had the talk with their parents. She remembered their friends teasing them about it for months, and Nova and Adrian had mutually agreed that it held little meaning and that nothing would change in their friendship. 

    Body trembling, Nova swiveled her head to face the backyard before Adrian’s lips could press against hers and she would be lost in him. She concentrated her eyes on the old playset in the yard. 

    “Do you want to play I Spy?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Adrian blink at her, confused and deflated at her sudden rejection. She dared to peek back at him when he didn’t answer. “It was your favorite game once upon a time, right?”

    Adrian gulped, staring at her for what seemed like an eternity, before he nodded, almost as if he understood what she was trying to silently convey through her eyes. She was scared, terrified even, of a kiss and what it could mean. Their friendship was one of the only things tethering her to sanity some days, at least it seemed that way. 

Please, please, please don’t hate me. I need normal right now. 

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 25

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, anxiety, depression, panic attacks, alcoholism, drug addiction (pain medication)

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

Kyle arrives shortly before eleven; shirt untucked and wrinkled, carrying his shoes in his hands as he takes the beach back instead of the street.  

From where he stands at the kitchen table braiding Millie’s hair, Tyler can see him as he stands by the side of the pool; cheerfully greeting the twins and Ovi –with Declan in his arms- as they splash around. It’s trouble waiting to happen; whatever is going on between Kyle and the neighbor. As angry and annoyed as he is at Nik for years of drama and issues she’s tried to cause in his own relationship, she doesn't deserve to be treated like that. No woman does. Why cheat when you can just cut ties and do things the right way? There are no kids involved, no worrying about visitation schedules or child support or the long-lasting effects of a broken home. Whatever is going on, it won’t help well for anyone involved. Nik will be hurt and jilted, and she’ll end up on his doorstep. And that’s the last damn thing he wants OR needs.

“Where have you been?” Millie inquires, as Kyle wanders into the house. “And why do you look like shit?”

“Amelia...” Tyler frowns. “...what was the one rule for today?”

She sighs dramatically. “No bad words. But it’s true. He does look like shit.”

“Busy night?” Tyler asks his brother in law; hands working at twining and twisting his daughter’s thick hair together.

It’s a far cry from what his hands used to do, when they were primarily used for inflicting pain and punishment on others. When his knuckles would be torn apart; broken, bleeding, swollen. And as he gently drags the brush through Millie’s hair, he finds himself horrified that he’s even thinking about the job.  That his brain is playing the ‘then versus now’ game while his own flesh and blood sits in front of him; his ‘rainbow baby’ as Esme calls her. The very life that he’d help created while on the job. That had kept him going on the darkest and most trying of days.

He tries to fight it. That urge to get back into things. That powerful craving for something more. The intensity and the exhilaration.  Even the danger.

“Ow!” Millie cries, and tilts her head back to look up at him, fixing him with a furious glare. “That hurt! Why’d you pull my hair so hard?!

Fuck. He’s losing it. Or at least he feels like he is. First Ovi with his ‘wanting to try his hand at the job’ bullshit and then the reappearance of Nik in his life and the fucking nightmares and the incessant and desperate cravings for the Oxy and the booze. Now THIS. The reminiscing and the longing for his former life. This is not what he wanted. This is FAR from what he’d wanted. When he’d had his mental breakdown and walked away from New Zealand, he’d been determined to leave it all behind, the blood, the violence, the danger, the death. Content to be ‘normal’. More than happy to finally settle down and enjoy his role as a husband and a father. He wants to be the man they need. The man they want him to be. The man they deserve to have.

Now he’s slipping. All of his control, all of his willpower, all of his strength and his confidence. All abandoning him. Threatening to turn him back int the old Tyler; the one that couldn’t function without the booze and the pills. The one that willingly put his life on the line and took on whatever suicide mission he could; praying one day he’d catch a bullet and his miserable existence would be over.  

And he knows if he goes there...if he follows that path...this one will be lost to him forever.

“That hurt!” Millie pouts. “Why’d you do that?!”

“I didn’t mean to,” he attempts a lame apology. “I didn’t realize I was holding it that hard. I’m sorry,” he presses a kiss to the top of her head; right on the spot that she’s been gently rubbing.  He turns his attention back to the task at home, but finds his hands are now trembling; shaking with an intensity that both surprises and terrifies him, and he lets the brush fall to the table with a loud clatter. “Why don’t you go and get your mom to finish up,” he suggests, nervously wringing his hands together, tightly squeezing one, then the other; anxious for the tremors to stop. “She does a better job than I do.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Millie scoffs. “And she’s busy. With Addie.”

“I’m sure she’s got some time to finish your hair.”  Tyler sees the way Kyle is watching him; the way his head is cocked to the side and his are both curious and concerned. And he quickly shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Go ask.”

“I don’t want to,” his daughter argues. “I want you to do it. I want...”

“Amelia!” he snaps, harsher than he’d intended. “I said go and ask your mom!”

She blinks, then her mouth settles into a firm, grim line and tears glisten in her eyes. The guilt hits him immediately. She shouldn’t be the one paying the price for his issues; she doesn’t deserve to face the consequences of his burdens and his demons. She’s just a kid. A baby still. Innocent and pure. And none of this bullshit is her fault.

“Millie...I’m sorry...” he attempts to make amends as she shoves her chair backwards and springs to her feet.  “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I didn’t mean to...”

“Leave me alone!” she bellows, then stomps out of the room, both her angry, pounding footsteps and her sobs seeming to thunder through the house.

“Fuck me...” Tyler mutters, and rakes his hands through his hair and runs a palm down his face. The cravings are back; that crippling need for alcohol. Or the meds. Maybe even both.

“What the hell, man?” Kyle scowls. “That’s your fucking kid. Why talk to her like that?”

Tyler fixes him with a cold, harsh stare. “You need to mind your own fucking business.”

“That’s my niece. My sister is her mother. That makes Millie my business.”

“You don’t even have kids. Until you do, keep your mouth shut about mine. You don’t know what it’s like. This life. Being a dad.”

“I know that wasn’t you. That you’re not that kind of dad. The one that snaps on his kids. You’re usually the calm one. Patience of a saint. So what the fuck?”

Tyler sighs, hands on his hips as he briefly closes his eyes. There’s going to be hell to pay: a pissed off wife and a hurt, angry little girl. Kyle’s right. He IS usually the calm and patient one; he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s lost it on the kids. But his nerves are shot; the last remaining shred of sanity feeling as if it’s barely hanging on.

“You okay?” Kyle asks. “What was that with your hands? The shaking.”

“It’s the meds,” Tyler lies. “One of the side effects.”  

His hands used to twitch and move in his sleep; to the point it would wake Esme up.  She’d said it was like he was back on the battlefields in the Middle East or still on the job; hands and fingers going through the motions of handling a handgun or a rifle, loading magazines, pulling the trigger.  There are times it STILL happens. He can be completely relaxed while lying in bed or sitting on the couch or lounging on the beach and his right index finger moves on its own accord.  And he actually has to focus and concentrate on making it stop.  

“Haven’t you been on those for years?” his brother in law inquires. “If you’re still having side effects after this long, I’d get your ass to a doctor."

Tyler’s annoyed. On edge. And it causes him to immediately lash out. “Shouldn’t you still be out fucking the neighbor?”

Kyle smirks. “So now you’re going take your shit out on me? I may not be able to take you, but it won’t stop me from trying to kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Tyler retorts. “Why are you even here?”

“Esme called me. Asked if I’d help Ovi with the kids while you guys went out for a while.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean why are you HERE? In Australia.”

“I’m here to see my sister. And my nieces and nephews. I don’t get to do that very much since you decided to just pack them up and move them to the other side of the goddamn world.”

Tyler scoffs. “Don’t start that shit with me. I didn’t force your sister to come here. I didn’t put a gun to her head or give her some kind of ultimatum. We decided this together. She was the one who suggested it.”

“Same way she suggested it the first time?”

He frowns. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m talking about when she decided to give up her entire life to stay here. For some guy she’d just met.”

“She gave up a life?” Tyler gives a dry laugh. “What life? A mother that’s treated her like shit for nearly her entire life? Who stayed friends with an ex-husband that that used to beat her and force himself on her? You mean THAT life? She had no fucking life.”

“And you gave her one?” Kyle challenges. “Some guy that saw her as nothing more than an easy fuck and spent five days taking advantage of that in some shit hole motel in Bangladesh. Who probably wasn’t even going to bother with her once he got out of there?”

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. You have no idea what went down between me and Esme. Just what you want to believe. Or what mommy dearest put into your goddamn head.  I had every intention of continuing things with her. We had all kinds of plans; for what we were going to do after Dhaka. But we never got that chance, did we.”

“Yeah, how convenient,” Kyle snorts. “Things go completely to hell, she ends up staying here to play nursemaid to some guy she barely knew, finds out she’s knocked up...”

“Don’t talk about my wife or my kid like that,” Tyler interjects. “Don’t EVER talk about them like that.”

“And then you decide to do the right thing,” his brother in law continues. “The honorable thing. I’ll give you that much; you stepped up at least. You didn’t leave her alone and pregnant and make her a single mom.”

“Is that what you think I did? That I ‘stepped up’ and married her because of Millie? I married her because I loved her. And I stick around because I still love her. Because I’ll always love her.”

“Or because you’re too far in it now. Five kids make it pretty damn hard to walk away. Or is it your way of keeping HER from walking away? I mean, what better way to keep her around? Keep putting kids in her, keep her barefoot and pregnant...”

Tyler takes a step towards him; nostrils flaring, fists clenched at his sides. “You’re way out of fucking line, mate. Neither of us are stuck here. Either of us could walk away if we wanted to.”

“What mother is going to leave her kids? Tell me on mother who would do that. I’ll wait.”

“You think she sticks around because she feels like she has no other choice? Are you listening to yourself right now? You have no fucking clue what things are like between me and Esme. I stay because I love her. Because I want to spend the rest of my life with her. And I know...beyond the shadow of a fucking doubt...that she stays for the same reason. So fuck off with your bullshit. This is my house. You’re a guest here. So don’t walk in here like you own the place and start shit talking me. Or my wife. Or my kids. Because I will put you on your ass.”

“You threaten her like that, too? Is that how you keep her here? Scare her into being a perfect little submissive housewife? Does it make you feel like a big man picking on a little thing like her?”

Tyler’s nostrils flare once more; fists tightening so hard that the wounds on his knuckles -that he’s gained while working the heavy bag in the gym so hard- actually crack and begin to bleed. He feels how tense his shoulders are, how tight his jaw is clenched. And he knows Kyle is one more word...one more breath...away from getting himself into a situation he can’t possibly handle.

****

“That’s enough!”  Esme snaps from the doorway; holding a despondent Millie on her hip. The soon to be six-year-old is long and lanky; legs dangling well past her mother’s knees, toes almost touching her shins. “Kyle...what the hell...?”

“We were just having a discussion,” her brother says. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Bullshit. I was in the hallway. I heard almost all of your little discussion. How fucking dare you.”

“Mommy...” Millie mutters into her neck.  “...bad language.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Esme lays a hand on her daughter’s head and presses a kiss to her brow. “Do you think you could go outside for a little bit? Just for a few minutes. Mommy has some things to say and she doesn’t think you should hear them. Can you do that for me? Please?”

Millie nods.  

“Just for a few minutes,” her mother assures her, as she places her on the ground and then holds her face in her hands, pecking her lips. “And say out of the sand. You don’t want mess your dress up before grandpa gets to see it, okay?”

“Okay,” Millie agrees, and then sidestep her father’s hand when he reaches out for her. “No daddy. I’m still mad. I love you, but I don’t like you very much right now.”

“Wow...” Kyle comments, as his niece stomps from the room and throws the patio door open –and slams it closed- with enough force to rattle the glass pane. “Six-ish going on sixteen-ish. Wonder where she gets THAT attitude from.”

“First off, fuck you Kyle,” Esme snaps. “Fuck you and your self-righteous, mom like bullshit. Coming here and thinking you can say the shit I heard come out of your mouth.”

“What I said? You know what he said?” he gestures towards Tyler. “To his own kid?! How he made her cry?”

“Oh, she told me all about that. And believe me, Tyler is going to catch shit for it, and he knows it. When we’re alone and we don’t have nosey, judgmental assholes all up in our shit. It’s none of your goddamn business what goes on around here.”

“You’re my sister,” Kyle argue. “That makes it my business.”

“Like hell it does! I’m a grown ass woman. With children. So treat me like one. And second of all, fuck you again. For talking about me like you were. Never mind that, for talking to my husband like you were. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Did you hear anything he said? Or just me?”

“He was defending me. Defending US. Don’t try throwing Tyler under the bus when I heard nearly every goddamn word.  An easy fuck? That's how you see your own sister?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that...”

“Tyler didn’t take advantage of me. Not in the slightest. We were two consenting adult and we wanted to fuck each other so we did. What we did during those five days has no bearing on you. None whatsoever. You have no clue what went on. The things we talked about. The plans we made. And we had them. Plans. To get to know one another the right way. To travel and to spend time learning about one another. But we never got that chance.”

“Esme...I....”

“You weren’t in Dhaka,” she continues, and wanders over to the sink; dampening the dish cloth and offering it to Tyler; so he can clean the open wounds on his knuckles.  And he accepts it with a small, grateful smile and leans back against the island. “We were. You weren’t on that bridge You have no idea how bad things were and how bad things got and how worse they could have been. So keep your goddamn mouth shut about Dhaka.”

“All I was trying to say was...”

“I’m talking now, Kyle. It’s my turn. You’re in my house. And you will not disrespect me and you sure as hell will not disrespect the father of my kids. I stayed here after Dhaka because I wanted to. Because I wanted to be with Tyler. Because he needed someone to be there for him. Because busted his ass to get me out that god awful shitty mess and the least I could do was stick around and make sure he didn’t die alone. Because he almost did. Not just on that bridge, either. I stayed because I wanted to. Simple as that.”

“Fine,” Kyle throws his hands up in exasperation, and moves towards the patio door. “You did what YOU wanted. You didn’t care about the people you left behind. You were immature and selfish and...”

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Esme steps in front of him. “You got yourself into this mess, you’re going stick with it until the bitter end. You come in here and talk shit? Well now you’re going to get it right back. I had a shitty ex-husband who liked to rape and beat on women and a narcissistic bitch of a mother and older brothers with their heads so far up her ass....”

“Baby...”  Tyler steps forward, using his shoulder to shove Kyle out of the way so he can stand in front of her; hand settling on her hip. “...settle down, okay? Just stay calm. I know you’re pissed...”

She ignores him. “I made a life for myself in Australia,” she informs her brother. “I became a wife and a mother and I’m sorry if you think that’s selfish of me for choosing that over my shitty existence in Colorado. And selfish? Because I did what I wanted for a change instead of what everyone else expected of me? That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re just upset I’m not under your thumb anymore. That’s all you’re pissed about. You and mom.”

“You’re going to resort to shit talking her? She’s practically on her death bed and you’re going to stoop that low?”

“I don’t give a shit about her. The second she wished death on my husband...the father of her grandchildren...it was over between us. She’s not my mother, Kyle. She hasn’t been my mother in years. Maybe she never was. And I don’t care that she’s dying. Maybe it’s karma. Maybe she finally is getting what she deserves.”

“Okay...that’s enough...” Tyler gently orders. “...let’s not say shit you know you’re going to regret.”

“It’s too late for that,” she says. “The second my brother opened his goddamn mouth when it comes to things he has no clue about. I’m not trapped here, Kyle. He's not some fucking predator like Mark was. What do you think Tyler’s doing? Hiding my birth control or poking holes in condoms just so he can get me pregnant? That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit in the past thirty-five years.”

“Baby....stop...this has gone too far...” Tyler’s hands are on the side of her face, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t even realized she was shedding. “...stop, okay? You’ve said enough.”

“He has no clue! Absolutely no clue!”

“I know. And you getting this upset is not going to change that. Just let it go. It’s not worth it; getting this riled up.”

“He has no idea. What we’ve been through. What went down in Dhaka and on that bridge.”

“We don’t need to talk about that. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what happened. And he doesn’t need to know. It was almost seven years ago. Let’s not talk about Dhaka.”

“You almost died,” her words manage to come out through choked, angry sobs. “On a dirty fucking sidewalk with my fingers shoved in your neck trying to stop you from bleeding out. You almost died right in front of me.”  

“But I didn’t,” he firmly reminds her. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“And you almost died in the hospital. During surgery. Twice. And he has the goddamn nerve to act like it was no big deal? That is so fucking disrespectful to you and what you went through and what you still go through.”

“Esme....” Kyle attempts to step around his brother in law but meets resistance. “I’m sorry.  I....”

“Don’t touch her,” Tyler calmly orders. “Don’t even talk to her. You have no clue what’s going on right now.  Stay out of it. I’ve got it under control.”

“You do? Because it doesn’t fucking look like it.”

“Would you just shut the fuck up and go and do something else while I deal with this? You have no clue what she’s talking about or why she’s talking about it.  So back off.”

“She’s my sister! If there’s something I can do for her...”

“Leave her alone. That’s the best thing you can do for her. Leave her alone and let me deal with it. It’s PTSD, you fucking idiot. You can’t just jump in and fix shit. Fuck. Just let me deal with it.”

  This hasn’t happened in months; where the mere mention of Dhaka triggers such a powerful reaction. The last time had been at the therapist’s office, when Esme was asked about her most painful memory of the last ten years. That had led to a full out meltdown complete with hyperventilating and vomiting. After that the therapist had helped them come up with ‘plan of attack’; highlighting the warning signs and how he could either help talk her down before things escalated, or calm things once they got out of control.

“I just want him to leave,” she struggles to draw breath. “Make him leave. Please.”

“He’s just worried about you,” Tyler attempts to reason. “He’s your brother and he loves you and he’s worried about you. Don’t even pay attention to him. Pretend he’s not even here. Pretend it’s just us in the room and no one else.”

“I can see him though,” panic is starting to set in. “I know he’s here.”

“Close your eyes, then,” Tyler cradles her face in his hands and tilts her head up towards him. “Just close your eyes and listen to my voice, okay?”

She nods, her hands coming up to tightly grip his forearms as she allows her eyes to flutter closed. And he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose and rests his forehead against hers.

“It’s okay, baby...” his voice is quiet, keeping the volume low and the tone steady and soothing. “We’re not in Dhaka anymore. It’s over. It’s all behind us now. We don’t ever have to go back there. We made it out. Both of us. We’re both here. And that’s all that matters. We both made it.”

*****

Within minutes she’s settling; her body ceasing to tremble, her tears stopping, her breathing returning to normal.  And when the crisis has passed, sweat is glistening on her forehead and her skin is a pale, deathly gray.  

He kisses her forehead once more, followed by her lips.  “You okay now? You gonna be alright?”

Nodding, she manages a small smile.

“Go outside and get some air. You’ll feel better. I’ll get you some water and your meds, okay?”

“Okay,” she feebly agrees, and he places his lips against cheek and runs a hand over her hair.  

“Leave her,” he snarls at Kyle, when he attempts to step into her path. “For fuck sake, just leave her alone.”

Kyle backs off, holding his hands up in surrender. Then waits for his sister to step and is out of earshot before speaking again. “What the hell was that?” he asks, as he follows Tyler into further into the kitchen. “Like what the fuck?”

“It happens every so often when she’s stressed about something. Usually it has to do with Dhaka. When some fucking shit for brains brings it up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle mutters. “Was it really that bad?”

Tyler scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know, mate. She had to stick her fingers in my neck so she could pinch a vein off to stop me from bleeding out all over her. What do you think?”

“I guess I didn’t. Think.”

“Yeah no shit. You have no idea what went down over there. Everything she went through. Everything she saw. Especially on that bridge. So do me a favor and don’t bring it up. Ever.”

“I never realized it was THAT bad, I guess.”

“How could you not have realized it? You know I almost fucking died. That she was the one that saved me. She’s your sister. How could you not realize that would have fucked her right up?”  He yanks the fridge open, snagging a bottle of water before shutting the door with his hip, then grabs a prescription bottle from a cupboard near the stove.  “She was dealing with it just fine until all this shit with Ovi started. And let’s not even get into what happened when Nik decided to pop back up.”

“You know she says you guys were fucking, right? Within the last six and a half years. Since you and Esme got married. She told me. That you her and have been hooking up.  Least a dozen times. If not more.”

“She’s full of shit. I haven’t fucking touched her since I met your sister. I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater.”

“I’m not saying I believe her. Not in the slightest. I don’t think you would. Fuck around on Esme. I mean you’ve done some shitty things, but I don’t think you’d do THAT.”

“I wouldn’t. Ever. Not even in the six months when we were separated did I even think about cheating on her, let alone actually do it. I’m not crazy. I know what I have. I’m not losing it.”

Kyle nods slowly as he considers Tyler’s words. “I just thought you should know. In case she calls her or shows up trying to cause shit.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck have you done?”

“What I should have done that night after Esme called Nik out at dinner. I told her it was over That it just wasn’t going to work. That we’re just too different and her career doesn’t exactly leave room for a marriage, let alone a successful one.”

“So it’s done? Totally? You and her?”

“It never should have started in the first place. It was a bitch move. Getting mixed up with someone who tried to ruin my sister’s life.”

Tyler smirks. “You think?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad she didn’t. Screw things up with you and Esme. I mean, you can be a real dick, but I know you love her. And I know she’s happy here. That she’s happy with her life. As a wife and a mother.”

“I like to think she is. Happy. And she’s amazing at both. I’m lucky. Even if that’s something I don’t say often enough.”

“It’s all I want for her, you know. To be happy. Especially after all that shit with Mark.”

“We try not to talk about that around here either. And look, no offence, but when I tell you I’m dealing with something...when I say I’ve got things under control...fucking listen to me the next time. Because I live with her. I’ve been living with her for almost seven years now. I’ve been the one with her through all the bullshit and all the hard times. All the nightmares and the panic attacks and the freak outs. I’ve been the one dealing with all of that. You just made shit worse. I would have had her talked down a lot sooner but you just kept escalating shit. When I tell you to back off, just do it.”

“Fair enough,” Kyle agrees.

“You and the neighbor, huh? Is that the real reason you broke things off with Nik?”

Kyle follows him through the kitchen, out into the living room and towards the patio door. “There’s nothing between Salena and I. Nothing serious, anyway. We’re just having a good time.”

Tyler smirks. “You mean your dick’s having a good time.”

Kyle gives a sly grin.

“Mine had a good time last time last night too, so...”

“Jesus Christ,” his brother in law scowls. “That’s my sister.”

“I’ve made five kids with your sister. I think it’s obvious we have sex.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to hear about it. Or think about it.”

“Look...” Tyler pauses, fingers curling around the handle of patio door.  “I don’t know what’s going on with you and the neighbor and I honestly don’t give a shit, but I’m going to be pissed if Nik shows up to cause problems. I don’t need that crap. Esme especially doesn’t need it. We’ve got enough going on without having to put up with her.”

“I told her not to bother you guys. To leave you both out of it.”

“Yeah? And when does Nik ever do what she’s told? You trying to tell her what to do probably just pissed her off even more. I just don’t want that shit here. Around my wife and my kids.”

“Think she’ll call Esme? Tell her the same thing you told me? That you guys were hooking up.”

“She better hope she doesn’t. And you better not say anything to your sister, either. Because it’s not true. I’ve never cheated on her. I never will. So if you don’t keep your mouth shut....”

“Won’t say a word,” Kyle promises. “I don’t understand how it even got this far. Nik wanting on your dick for this long.”

“Well if you saw my dick, you’d understand. I mean, it’s kept your sister around, right?”

Kyle smirks. “So did she catch the feels or something? Nik?”

“Guess so.”

“But you never did.”

“I never saw her as anything more than a boss or a friend. We used to fuck. That’s it. Nothing serious. I never wanted it to be. She never got like this until after Esme and I got together. It pissed her off that we were fucking on the job. And then it pissed her off even more when things went further than that. Guess she thought I’d never settle down.”

“Or if you did, you’d settle down with her.”

“Who knows. Doesn’t matter anyway. I never saw her that way. I never saw anyone that way until your sister came along. I’d already done the marriage thing. Once was enough. I pretty much avoid forming any kind of connection with someone. No one needed to get mixed up in that kind of mess.  Never met a woman that could put with it; the job and everything that came with it. It needed to be someone pretty fucking strong. No one I ever met fit that bill.”

“Weak women need not apply, huh?”

“Pretty much. Then your sister came along and...”  he shrugs. “...I don’t know...here we are.”

“Almost seven years and five kids later,” Kyle concludes. “Think there might be a six?”

“Why are you so hung up on us having another kid? Addie's only three weeks. Still new.”

“Make it a nice even number,” Kyle reasons. “Half a dozen. You haven’t thought about it?”

“A couple times, maybe.”

That’s a lie; over the past three days he’s thought about it at least a few dozen times. But he’s not sure if he actually wants a sixth one, or that the idea of getting dragged back into the unpredictability and the danger of the job makes him feel as if he NEEDS to have another. A way of ‘cementing his legacy’.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to talk your sister into it,” Tyler says. “She already gave in the last two times I changed my mind.”

“This thing that happened...” Kyle gazes out the window, nodding towards where his sister sits at the top of the patio stairs, arms wrapped around her slender form. “...the PTSD or whatever. She’ll be okay, right?”

“She usually is. Takes about a half hour, hour, before she’s back to normal.”

“Will it ever go away? Or is just something she’ll have to learn to live with?”

“It’s pretty damn permanent,” Tyler reluctantly admits.

And he both blames and hates himself for it.