#I’m gonna catch up I think i stopped watching halfway through season 2

[gaypeoplemusic]

I was going to watch HBO Succession 1x02 “Shit Show At The Fuck Factory” but then typed Abbott Elementary into solarmovie instead #mentalhealth #pridemonth #warriormentality

[karuvapatta]

I’m only halfway through season 2 but is it going to stop me from writing self-indulgent Jon/Elias fanfiction? No. No it isn’t.

(Okay, the Jon/Elias is only implied, but whatcha gonna do. And it’s a pre-series 1 office christmas party, because the idea of the Magnus Institute throwing an office party is simply delightful)

(also on ao3)

As soon as he sinks behind his desk, Jon breathes a sigh of relief. It hasn’t been his desk for long of course, and it’s a bit presumptuous to already feel like he belongs here; but the Archives are blessedly quiet and calm, away from the noise and too-bright lights. The pressure behind his eyes lessens somewhat. He will have to go back to the party eventually; he is not foolish enough to believe that his absence can go unnoticed for long. Networking is, after all, as important in academia as it is anywhere else. Unfortunately. But he just needs a few moments to collect himself.

And, since he’s already here, he might as well get some work done.

A sharp knock on the door snaps him back to reality. It has been—no, it couldn’t have been that long. He looks down at the cluster of papers before him, and the half-empty glass of wine he had snatched from the party before heading downstairs. The ancient cassette recorder is right there, humming, waiting. He doesn’t remember turning it on.

Another knock. Jon flinches.

“Come in!” he calls out.

It’s—fuck. It’s Elias. Looking distinctly out of place in his crisp, perfectly tailored three-piece suit, next to the overflowing shelves, dusty boxes and the overall clutter.

“Jon,” Elias says. His tone is mild, but the disapproval no less obvious for it. “You do realize what “mandatory” means, do you?”

“Yes, of course—”

“And that “hiding in the corner for five minutes before running away” isn’t the same as “attending a party”?”

“It was more than five minutes,” Jon says, stupidly, and then sighs. “I—I apologize. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Ah,” Elias says. “Could it be because you’re working too much, do you think?”

Jon looks down at his desk, the half-finished statement, and the tape recorder. Belatedly, he presses a button and turns it off. The sudden absence of its sound is strange and wrong, somehow.

“Uh. I’m.”

It’s the stress. It must be. He is – not entirely unqualified for the job, but most certainly inexperienced. And everyone can see it. His own assistants can see it. Even Martin can see it.

There’s a sudden pressure on his shoulder. He freezes, breath catching in his chest, his heartbeat drumming loud—but the weight is still there. Not dragging him down, exactly, but grounding him in place. Warm. Almost—pleasant.

He looks up. Elias is much closer than he was before, staring down at Jon with an inscrutable expression on his face. His hand stays where it is, fingers curled ever so slightly inwards, pressing into the muscles of Jon’s shoulder through the cheap jacket and even cheaper shirt.

“Are you alright?” Elias asks.

He is way too close, half-sitting on Jon’s desk. Jon cannot really move without dislodging his arm, and with every shallow breath, he gets a lungful of Elias’s expensive cologne. It’s all a bit—well.

“Yes,” Jon says. “Perfectly fine.”

It’s disconcerting, is what it is, to be a subject of this level of scrutiny. He can’t remember if Elias used to watch him just as closely during the job interview and the scarce few conversations they have shared since. Or maybe it’s just his own mind playing tricks on him, and he really has been working too much, or drunk too much, and now he’s seeing what isn’t really there.

Which doesn’t bode well for his career at the Institute, at any rate.

“The new position is—something of an adjustment,” Jon says, and then hurries to add: “I’m grateful, of course, for the opportunity, but. It’s a bit daunting nonetheless.” Oh no, now Elias may think he is terrified and incapable and lacking—“I think I just need a while to adjust. But I can handle it. I’m sure of that.”

Elias, bless him, doesn’t point out the obvious lie. He just continues to watch.

“Admittedly, social gatherings aren’t my forte,” Jon says – wondering, belatedly, if discussing his shortcomings with his boss is the smartest possible move. But Elias knew that about him, didn’t he? He must have. Jon was never very good at hiding his anti-social tendencies. Honestly, he seldom ever tries.

Elias smiles. “Yes, that much is apparent,” he says. “I would still appreciate it if you came back upstairs.”

“Of course,” Jon says. “I was—I was just about to go.”

Another lie that Elias either misses, or chooses to ignore. His hold on Jon’s shoulder loosens, and Jon takes in a deeper breath – only for it to catch in his throat, in a startled gasp, when he feels a brush of fingers against his cheek, his forehead, pushing away a stray strand of hair that’s fallen onto his glasses.

Is this normal? His mind races, trying to come up with a possible explanation, possible excuse. It’s slightly inappropriate, maybe, the featherlight brush of skin, Elias’s watchful gaze, the way he sits there, perfectly composed, in between Jon and the way out. He should perhaps be worried, except—there really is nothing to be worried about. What is he going to do, file a complaint with HR? Tell them—what? That Elias was doing—what?

He isn’t even touching Jon anymore. Jon drops his gaze, inconveniently caught at the hollow of the man’s throat, just above the crisp collar of his shirt. He tries to think, but is coming up short. And—damn it all, he just wants to see what Elias does next. Maybe it will shine some light on his motivations. Maybe Jon is just too curious for his own good, and should have said or done something by now. Except it’s unfamiliar, it’s all achingly strange and unfamiliar, and Elias seems to always know what he’s doing, and Jon will admit that there’s a certain appeal to that.

So he looks up, and waits. For a touch, or cold dismissal, for a question or a statement or for Elias to leave without another word – he just—he wants to know what Elias does next. He doesn’t know, and he thinks he’d quite like to find out…

“Um, Jon? Are you—whoa!”

Martin stumbles into the room. Because of course he does, nearly falling on his face as he does so.

“Jesus, Martin!” Jon says, irritably. “Can’t you knock?”

“Sorry,” Martin says. He straightens, somewhat sheepish, and adjusts his glasses. “I, um. I didn’t mean to interrupt?”

It’s a perfectly innocent statement. Probably. There’s absolutely no reason for Jon to flush, or push himself back in his chair, putting more distance between himself and Elias. Not that—not that he needs to do that, of course. They were just talking.

Elias raises to his feet, perfectly smooth and unruffled, and smiles politely at them both.

“That’s all right, Martin,” he says. He’s not looking at Jon anymore, which is a good thing. It is. Jon can breathe a little easier without the weight of his gaze. “I came down here to fetch our wayward Archivist. Has something happened upstairs?”

“No! No. The party is—it’s a great party,” Martin stammers out. “I just—Jon disappeared, and I wanted to find him. Make sure he’s okay, I mean.”

“I’m fine, Martin,” Jon says, through gritted teeth. His nice, quiet office is getting way too crowded, and it’s stupidly hard to think when he can still smell Elias’s cologne. “You can go back now.”

“Right,” Martin says. He makes no move to leave – his eyes are still darting between Jon and Elias, as if he had caught them doing something untoward. Which he hasn’t. And that makes this behaviour even more ridiculous.

“We all should,” Elias says. “After you, Jon.”

He rests his hand on Jon’s shoulder; it takes conscious effort to suppress a full-body shiver at the simple, casual touch. It means nothing, and what does it say about Jon that even this is enough to throw him off-kilter?

“Right,” he says. The rasp of his voice sounds strange to his own ears; his mouth has gone dry all of a sudden, and he picks up his glass and drinks the rest of the wine before he can think any better of it. Before he remembers that both Martin and Elias are staring at him now, Martin with his usual flustered expression, Elias with wry amusement. “Let’s go, then.”

Elias engages Martin in polite small talk on their way back, but Jon can’t bring himself to participate. He still can’t really make sense of what happened, if he should be scared or upset, or if he’s reading too much into a perfectly ordinary conversation between a boss and his employee. During a mandatory office not-Christmas party. With everyone already slightly tipsy, and louder, and more tactile than usual. Which would explain Elias’s earlier behaviour.

Besides – and Jon smiles grimly at his own thoughts – even if he went to HR, it’s not like anyone would believe him, right? Elias is. Well. Well-dressed, sociable, polite, and rather annoyingly attractive. Jon is none of these things. Even if Elias were to compromise his own well-earned position by fraternizing with an employee, Jon would be the last one on that list. Hell, even Martin might be a more likely candidate – stammering and forgetfulness aside, he does have a nice, warm smile, pretty blue eyes and a rather fetching scattering of freckles across his cheeks—

“Jon!” Sasha and Tim grab him by the arms as soon as he enters the crowded conference room.

“Hey—” he yelps, as they drag him away, towards the buffet. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping an eye on you,” Sasha says, and flicks his nose with her fingers, as if he were a misbehaving child, and not her boss. He is tempted to yell at her, but her expression softens, the playful tone of her voice giving way to genuine concern. “We were worried about you.”

“Mostly Martin,” Tim says, with a wide smile and a suggestive wink in Sasha’s direction. Jon isn’t even going to try and understand that gesture.

It is still too loud and too crowded. And Elias disappears, of course, whisked away by the Head of Research. Jon would love nothing more than to listen in – it’s always a pleasure to listen to Elias, whose knowledge of the paranormal is unparalleled – but it seems to be a boring discussion about funding. And also it’d be a bit pathetic and, well, creepy.

“Still with us, Jon?” Sasha asks.

“Yes,” Jon says. “Yes, I am.”

It is loud, and crowded, and he can’t help but think of his cold, empty flat… and, yeah. Maybe it’s not so bad here, with Sasha and Tim and even Martin. Maybe he can have another drink, and a casual chat with his assistants, and pretend, for one evening at least, that he is exactly where he needs to be.

[lovetorn]

all for the game [dream]

Exy player!Dream x Reader

summary: dream runs into trouble when the florida falcons play the edgar allan ravens.

w/c: 3.4k+ :D

warnings: violence, blood, swearing, ha typical exy shit

a/n: an au based on my favourite book trilogy, all for the game. idea by 🍀 anon <3 i wrote this for my own enjoyment AHHAHAAH. if u don’t understand the rules etc of exy, it’s basically hockey, soccer and lacrosse meshed together, but if u have any questions, send me an ask!

—

Exy is a bastard sport, an evolved sort of lacrosse with the violence of ice hockey. Dream loves every aspect of it. It is vastly different from the usual college football, and it certainly gives you more bruises. Maybe a little too many more bruises. Played in a stadium, on a soccer-sized basketball court with plexiglass to protect the crowd, it brings Dream immense joy.

Scooping the ball into the net of his racket, Dream looks at the wall before he uses his body to launch the ball towards it. The ball is quick to bounce back and plop into Dream’s net. He adjusts his grip on the stick and tilts his head, deciding where his next shot should be.

“Dream?” The dirty blonde turns around and sees you push through the plexiglass door that leads onto the court. “Hey!”

Dream smiles from under his helmet. “Hi, Y/n!” You don't play Exy, choosing to watch your best friend from the sidelines instead. He grips the grate of his helmet and slides his head out of it, his hair sticking up in every direction. “What are you doing here?”

You throw your arms up. “Coming to see you practice the great sport that is Exy,” You laugh before spinning around and looking up at the highest seats of the stadium. “Haven’t broken a bone yet, I assume?” This made Dream laugh.

“No, not yet. Saving that for the game against the Ravens.”

Dream’s determination for Exy scared you a little bit—it was almost like he wanted to get hurt. “Easy, tiger. We all know what happened last time we played them. Never again, please,” You shake your head, walking closer to him. The last time the Florida Falcons played the West Virginia Edgar Allan Ravens, Dream got a concussion so bad he couldn’t walk for a few days. You had sworn they would pay for their damage, but Dream went against you.

Dream rolls his eyes, lightheartedly. “That’s the way the game goes, Y/n. No way you can stop it,” he said that back then, too. You throw him a glare before taking the racket out of his hand to gain his full attention.

“Just, please be careful.” You practically beg. Dream’s eyebrows raise slightly, surprised. He didn’t see that coming.

“Yeah, always,” He follows your eyes as they trace the scar that runs from his temple to the middle of his forehead. You sigh and pass his racket back to him.

—

The dark purple Edgar Allan Ravens bus pulls into the Falcon’s home stadium car park that Friday night. Fans from all over the state and West Virginia crowd the entrances and surprisingly, there are a lot more supporters in purple and black than green and white.

Dream looks down at his forest green Exy uniform and smooths out his jersey. He rolls his neck in a circle to release the building tension. A hand clamps down on his shoulder as Dream slips his hands into his green and white gloves.

“You’re gonna be fine, dude. We all are,” Sapnap says, although Dream can hear the waver in his voice. Dream shakes his head and Sapnap inhales sharply.

“Nah, we won’t be.”

Sapnap slides his hand off of Dream’s shoulder and turns around, probably going to the bathroom to calm his crippling trepidation. The locker room is silent as the team moves around, changing and preparing themselves for the game ahead. Dream tries not to think about the team on the other side of the stadium, who are most likely already warming up despite the game starting in an hour.

Dream opens his locker and fumbles around for his phone. He needs to know that you’re here. Opening his messages, he’s frozen from the notifications coming through.

I hope your little friend prayed for you last night.

You got lucky with that concussion. Take this as a warning.

Dream’s fingertips trail up to hover above the scar on his forehead. He clenches his fist and throws his phone back into the locker, not flinching when the dark green metal dents. Dream leans his head against his forearm that rests on the locker.

“Dream! Dude, calm down,” A voice calls from across the room. Footsteps come up behind him and Dream has to stop the tears collecting on his waterline. “It’ll be fine, Coach said he might put you on for one half.”

George’s comments do nothing to soothe Dream’s anxiety. Dream has told nobody about the threats he’s been getting for a few days leading up to this game. If he told you, he wouldn’t even be here. You.

Dream ducks down to find his phone. George furrows his eyebrows as he watches. “Wha—?”

Grasping his phone, Dream then stalks out of the locker room. He walks down the hallway towards the inner court, presses your phone number on his now-smashed phone, and brings it to his ear. Pick up, pick up. “Dream?”

The sound of your voice makes Dream exhale deeply. “Where are you?” He asks desperately.

Dream can hear the crowd chattering through the phone as he scans over the stadium trying to find you.

“Uh, section 4, row 38, where I am every home game. Why? Is everything okay?” The worry in your voice is evident and it fails to calm Dream down like he thought it would. And when he sees waves of purple instead of green, his anxiety grows.

“I—Y/n. I need to see you, I don’t—I can’t,” Dream screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe through his nose slowly.

“Dream, I’m coming. I can see you in the inner court. Stay there.”

Y/n hangs up after that and Dream looks at his phone.

Scared? A text says from an unknown number.

Dream presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek and blinks a few times. A knock on the plexiglass behind him startles Dream. He turns and sees you smiling. He lifts his hand in a small wave and you do the same, laughing at him. At least he has a way to take his mind off of the shit with the Ravens.

A bell signals the start of the line-up announcements and Dream throws his thumb over his shoulder. You nod, understandingly, and blow him a kiss. Dream smiles shyly, his cheeks growing pink before he turns to leave.

You make your way back up to your seat, your legs bouncing in anticipation as the Ravens walk on the court one by one while the announcer calls the line-up. Once the Ravens are in a line on the halfway line, the Falcons are announced.

Since teams are co-ed, the variances in heights differ greatly. The Ravens are much taller than a majority of the Falcons, which gives them an advantage, to an extent. Dream had told you that being shorter allows you to move around the court with more agility, but being 6’2’’, Dream chose to be a striker instead of a dealer or a backliner.

“Number 2, Dream Tucker.”

At the sound of your best friend’s name, you stand and cheer, earning a few dirty looks from Ravens fans. As the remainder of the team is announced, you grow more nervous than you thought possible. A warning buzzer sounds and both teams go back to their benches.

“Alright, guys, this is our biggest game of the season, again. The last game against these idiots wasn’t ideal, but don’t let that deter you from doing your best tonight. That goes for you too, Dream," Coach looks towards Dream and he nods. Dream draws his bottom lip between his teeth from under his helmet and looks down at the ground. Sapnap’s hand slaps Dream's back in support and then the rest of the team is in agreement.

At his teammates’ words, Dream huffs. He can do this. The starting team goes onto the court, the doors closing behind them with a thump and then the scrape of a lock.

Dream sits on the bench next to Punz and Liliana. They hear the buzzer go off again and then watch as Sapnap flicks the ball into the air and slams it with his racket. There’s a distinctive crack as both teams race off their lines to find their preferred place on the court along with the players they need to mark. Three bodies crash into each other and the ball pops out on the other side, rolling silently.

At the sight of violence, the stadium roars. A Ravens backliner throws the ball and it hits the plexiglass in front of Dream who jumps in surprise. The ball is picked up off the floor by another Ravens player. He throws it to a girl who is running across the court and it lands perfectly into her net. Dream sees Tegan bodyslam the girl into the wall, the glass shuddering under their weight and Sapnap throws his hand up in a thumbs-up at Tegan, who smiles under her helmet.

The ball sails high in the air and players push and shove each other under it. As it comes down, George gets pushed to the floor, skidding to a stop a few feet away. The Ravens striker looks George dead in the eye and smirks as he catches the ball. He then tosses it powerfully towards the home court goal and the Falcons' goalie, Gabby, hits it up the court and away from herself. Dream, Punz and Liliana cheer from their spots on the subs bench.

“Nice one, Gabs! Falcons down the court!” Coach yells through the plexiglass.

Dream wears a smile when he turns back to look at you. You grin back, give him a thumbs-up, and nod. That’s when Dream knows he’s ready.

But, ten minutes into the game, the Ravens break the Falcons defensive line. The ball slips through the gap between Gabby’s torso and racket and lands in the back of the net, the siren above the goal going red and blaring a high-pitched sound. The Ravens don’t hug or cheer and return to their places on the court. Their fans, however, throw insults and middle fingers up at the Falcons while screaming and hollering.

“Fuck’s sake,” Dream mumbles. Punz slaps his pair of gloves against the bench and Liliana shakes her head.

The game went on like this for the rest of the half—the Ravens scoring 6 more goals, the Falcons scoring none. At half-time, Sapnap throws his helmet on the floor of the locker room.

“I fucking hate these guys,” He curses, pacing around the room. Coach sits on a chair, his elbows on his knees.

“We all do, but complaining about it isn’t going to help us win,’ Dream says. “Coach put me on.”

Coach looks at Dream for a moment. The tension in the room is thick and Dream knows he’s pushing his luck by asking. Nonetheless, Coach sighs before nodding stiffly.

“Dream goes on for Peter, Punz on for Drew, Liliana on for Tegan.”

And so it’s decided. Dream’s thumbs fly across his screen as he texts you. You pull your phone out of your pocket at the sound of your text tone and see the message. I’m on.

You smirk softly at it and message him back before you tuck your phone back into your pocket. The warning buzzer sounds and then both teams are back on the court: the Ravens with a whole new line-up and the Falcons with their three new subs.

Dream’s heart pounds in his chest, sending shuddery heat through every inch of his body. He holds his breath in anticipation for the serve, and then it starts. The Ravens are clearly a lot more experienced than the Falcons, but that doesn’t stop the team in green from giving everything they’ve got.

The ball hits the far wall and comes soaring back, thanks to the Ravens goalie. Dream jumps to catch it before it can fly over his head and it lands safely in the soft net of his striker racket. He looks around for opponents and takes 7 steps of his allowed 10, and passes it to George who is open further down the court. George catches the ball, then twists and passes the ball across to Punz. His mark collides with him a moment later and George goes sliding, his arm out with his racket to help him balance. Punz runs down the court, stops, then throws the ball to Liliana. His mark slams his racket down violently on Punz’s in retaliation. The backliner shakes his head in annoyance and continues running.

Dream is already near the goal by the time it gets to him again. He gets the ball and only has two steps to aim and shoot before a Ravens player crashes into him. Dream hits the ground so hard, he rolls. But, the crowd holds their breath as they watch the ball sail past the goalie and into the back of the net. The siren glows red and all Dream can hear is his ears ringing. Sapnap runs up to Dream and helps him up, congratulating him in the process. Dream looks around confused before realising he scored a goal. The entire team rushes towards him, cheering and laughing.

“Good job, Dream! Let’s do that again!” Coach yells. Dream’s surprised he can hear him over the crowd.

The game starts again with Falcons serve. The Falcons’ are fired up and back in the game, even if it is 6-1. And as soon as George throws Dream the ball, he dodges his mark and flies up the court, unguarded and ready to score again. The Ravens’ goalie isn’t prepared for Dream’s throw and misses the ball as it’s thrown at him, making the score 6-2. The crowd gets impossibly louder and Dream looks up into the sea of people to spot you. The smile on your face gives Dream newfound confidence and then everybody is back at their starting positions.

The Ravens are angry, there’s no doubt about that. Sapnap gives the striker a boyish smirk and a snide comment, which Dream can’t hear. He guesses it pisses them off because the second the ball is thrown from the Ravens dealer, the striker goes straight for Sapnap. The younger boy is thrown against the wall of the court and continues to spit insults at the Ravens player, despite his situation.

“Sapnap! Get out of there, bro!” Punz yells, collecting the ball from the ground and throwing it back to Gabby to hit up the court. Sapnap laughs and shakes his head, his lips still moving. Dream sees, out of the corner of his eye, the Ravens player drawing his fist back before punching Sapnap in the nose. The Falcons fans in the crowd start booing at the unnecessary violence and the referees unlock the doors to intervene. Dream meets Sapnap’s eye and raises his eyebrows when he sees Sapnap laughing, blood dripping into his mouth and coating his teeth. The referees pull the Ravens striker off of Sapnap and give him a red card for throwing the first punch. The Ravens fans boo and start swearing at the referees, but their cries are drowned out by the sound of the home crowd.

Due to the incident, the teams are to go back to their positions to start the serve again. Now that the Ravens are down a player, Dream knows the ways to get around them, especially when Sapnap is unguarded.

“Dream!” Sapnap calls when Dream catches the ball. He spins around a little too quickly, loses his balance slightly but throws the ball anyway. As he watches it fly across the court, Dream feels his entire body get crushed against the wall of the court. His head rebounds off the wall from the impact. There’s a heavy weight that pushes him into it more and he can’t breathe. Dream flails his arms, drops his racket, and attempts to push the Ravens player off of him. There’s no doubt that Dream hit his head again. He knows he did. A helmet can only do so much.

Dream can only hear ringing in his ears as he feels the Raven get pulled off—and it isn't the same ringing he heard when he scored the Falcons first goal. He tries to scramble to his feet before he crumples to the ground. Dream blinks a few times, disorientated, but still fails to gain a conscious mind. His eyes start to close when he feels his helmet being tugged off and then someone’s slapping his cheeks. “Stay awake, Dream.”

Dream can barely hear the sound of someone slamming their fists against the plexiglass behind him and then the person in front of him nods. He thinks it’s Sapnap. “Come on, bro, it’s only a few steps and then you can lie down.”

Dream’s head lols to the side, eyes half-open and a lazy grin on his mouth. “Sappy,” he slurs. Sapnap lets out a laugh for the first time since his best friend got knocked out and smiles at him.

“Yeah, dude, it’s me. We’re gonna get you fixed up, okay?” Dream nods before he closes his eyes. “No, no, Coach!” The world fades out around him and Dream falls unconscious.

—

The light is so bright above him. Dream closes his eyes again after he opens them and groans softly. The sound is almost too quiet for you to hear, but you do. And when you do, you lift your head from where you were resting on the edge of his bed. The chair you are sitting in is uncomfortable, so when you stand up, your muscles ache. “Hey, baby, how do you feel?”

If Dream was fully conscious, he would have blushed immensely at the sound of the pet name, but for the moment, he feels like he’s in a dream. His mouth is dry and he struggles to keep his eyes open for longer than 3 seconds. “You don’t have to talk, it’s okay.”

Dream feels pressure on his hand and moves his head slightly to see that your fingers are wrapped around his. You hear him murmur something, and lean down.

“Hi,” He whispers. You furrow your eyebrows at his greeting and look him in the eyes.

“That’s all I get? Hi?” You let out a breathy laugh and use your other hand to brush his hair away from his forehead. But, Dream can’t feel you on his skin. He hesitantly lifts his other hand to touch his forehead and feels a bandage.

“Surprise! Another scar,” You joke. Although, Dream can hear the edge to your words. Your smile disappears from your lips and then you sigh. Your eyes scan over Dream’s face, noting the dull green of his eyes and the pale of his skin. “Oh, Dream. I was so worried about you.”

Dream opens his eyes from when they had fallen closed again and sees the silent tears dripping down your cheeks. “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m fine,” His voice is scratchy and the sound of the word ‘fine’ does not sound fine. You smile sadly at him, then huff, wiping at your face.

“I almost forgot…” You trail off, rounding the bed to the other side to pick up a bowl and a cotton ball. You sit on the edge of the bed and dip the cotton into the antiseptic. You turn Dream’s head slowly to get a better look at the cut on his cheek. You drag the medicine over the gash and watch as Dream doesn’t flinch.

Once you are done, you place both of the things on the side table of the medical bay in the Falcons home stadium and look at Dream. He gives you a lazy smile and his fingers twitch against yours. “Thank you.”

You nod, eyes wide. “Of course, you know I’ll always be here to clean you up.”

Dream can feel his skin heating up. You get a concerned look on your face when you see the rise in pink on his cheeks. “Oh my god, are you heating up? Do you have a fever?”

He wants to laugh so badly. “Y/n, I’m okay. It’s not a fever. I’m blushing,” Dream says bashfully.

You realise why and then grow embarrassed. “Oh.”

The air isn’t tense, but there’s something there and you want to stick around to find out what it is.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

[maddiwrites]

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Pogues x reader, eventually JJ x reader.

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister. 

Note: Hey guys! Thank you so much for the support of my last couple of fics. All your messages have been so kind and so sweet! I’ve made a rewrite of the show with a new character that eventually falls in love with her best friend. I’m gonna be posting a new chapter three times a week. Let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: None

Chapter 2 

"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?" John B tip toes across the middle of the roof as he sips out of the can of beer in his hand.

I lean to my right, pressing against JJ's shoulder as we sit on a construction slack used to hold construction workers as they work on the siding of the home. Scaffolding, I think it's called. I narrow my eyes at my brother, counting down the seconds until he falls.

"I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival," Pope jokes from the deck below us.

John B shrugs. He licks his finger and holds it up in the air as if he's feeling which way the wind is blowing. "Hm. Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump." Pope holds up a power drill and points it at John B like it's a gun. "I'll shoot you on the way down."

"You'll shoot me?"

"Yep." Pope closes one eye and pretends to shoot it. "Pow!"

I roll my eyes and look forward again, letting the beer slip down my throat like a refreshing glass of water. The warm North Carolina air presses soothingly against my freshly tan skin and I bask in the sunlight. Its days like these that I like the most. Days where none of my best friends have work, we're drinking causally, and joking with one another. Even if it's on a construction site in the middle of Figure Eight. But the idea of getting caught just gives me an adrenaline rush.

"They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," Kie says as she walks out of the unfinished house.

"Of course. Why wouldn't they?" JJ says next to me with a shrug like it's not the craziest thing that a Kook would own.

"This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtles, I guess."

"I can't have cold towels."

Kie looks up at John B, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. "Can you please not kill yourself?"

"Don't spill the beer. I'm not giving you another one," JJ says.

As if on cue, John B's foot slips. Luckily he catches himself, but his beer, however, drops to it's death on the deck below. As John B steadies himself I release the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I take another greedy gulp of my warm beer to steady the nerves in my chest.

"Whoa! Oh, shit," John B curses.

"Of course you did," JJ rolls his eyes playfully. "Smooth."

"A plus, really." I glare up at my brother, feeling his mischievous smirk right back at me.

"Dumbass," Kie mutters under her breath. She looks up at me as if waiting for me to say something, but I only giggle to myself. John B can be clumsy but he's not going to accidentally kill himself.

"Hey!" I hear another voice shout behind us towards the street and front of the house. A voice that doesn't belong to any of my friends or my brother.

"Hey, uh, security's here," Pope says.

Immediately knowing what that means, I jump to my feet with the help of JJ right after he slugs the rest of his beer. A delirious grin dances along my lips as I hop down to the main deck.

"Let's wrap it up!"

"Boys are early today."

"Humpty Dumpty, let's roll!"

My legs take off after my friends through the house. Adrenaline rushes through my veins and straight to my head like a power high. I can't even feel my legs as they jump over wooden slacks and construction tools. The high from running from the police is better than any drug JJ can get his hands on, even the good stuff.

"Gary is that you?" JJ plays along before accidentally running into him, making him slip on his feet before running the other way. I grab his wrist and pull him closer to me to catch up. "Gary, good to see you man!"

I laugh as my feet land on the freshly cut grass in the front yard. "You're asking for it."

"JJ!" The obese cop chases after us, recognizing my best friend's face instantly. I'm not surprised, not even a little bit. JJ had his fair share of run-ins with the law.

"They're going out front!" I hear another cop shout. I can barley hear through the wind rushing through my ears.

We run into a tall white painted fence that blocks us from our car, better known as the Twinkie. Hopping fences is something I've learned to become better at after doing it so many times. However, I can't say the same about Pope. He's always struggled.

I swing my legs over the fence and land with a small 'oomf.' I look over my shoulder for my slow-poke friend and see him falling over the fence, landing on his side. I laugh as I pick him up by the shoulders.

JJ is waiting for us, clapping his hands like a coach on the sidelines at a football game because his players aren't running fast enough. But there's a smile on his face. "Get up, Pope, fatso's coming!"

"Hey!" The guard shouts behind me. He's halfway up the other side of the fence, but he doesn't have the strength to pull himself over completely. "Come here you little pricks!"

I hear the familiar honk coming from the van John B and I learned to drive in. My brother and Kie are waiting for us in the front seats of the Volkswagen van that would look better in the 70s than the 2020's but I love it. It fits our friend group perfectly. Plus I'd choose this car over any fancy Mercedes Tourons usually drive. The only time I've ever been in one of them is when I snuck off with a golf player from Georgia after a boneyard party. It was luxurious of course, but nothing like the Twinkie.

"Bus is leaving!" John B says as we get closer.

"Come on!" Kie yells at us from the passenger seat, banging the flat of her palm against the door.

I dive through the back first, landing on my elbows and rolling over. Pope and JJ follow less than a second later.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Gary calls after us as John B steps on the gas.

JJ leans out of the sliding side door that's still wide open. I lay on my back watching him as I try to catch my breath. His smile is contagious. For a boy who's been through hell and back, he smiles a lot, and I love every second of it.

He holds out his beer can as if he's offering it to the cop who's still trying to catch us...if he can catch up to it. "Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise. Come on, Gary!"

"Wait. Slow down. Hey! You little pricks! Hey!"

"You're gonna give him a heart attack!" Kie tries to scold him but she can't fight the smile on her lips either as she watches from the side rearview mirror.

"You're so close! You can do it. There you go. They don't pay you enough bro."

"JJ, stop. Stop!" Kie says through her laughter.

I love Kie. She always tries to keep the peace between her friends and the world itself. Always the girl who raises money for charities that protect this Earth and save animals and solve world hunger. She's going to change the world someday. Her and Pope. Maybe if they can tolerate each other, they'll do it side by side.

JJ slumps back into the van with a toothy grin. He sits next to me and pulls me up so I'm sitting up straight. He dangles his arm around my shoulder and I lean further into his side. If I could choose one position to be in for the rest of my life it would be this one.

But I'd never admit that.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," JJ says.

I hum in response and lean back into the seat behind me and stare out the window. A view of passing vibrant green leaves takes over the window as John B drives. The scene comforts me. Summer is my favorite season. No school. Just work and friends and the Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth, some may call it.

It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. We're currently driving through Figure Eight, the rich side of the island. Home of the Kooks. So, guess where we don't live.

As John B drives further South, the houses get smaller and smaller, feeling more like home. This is the South side. Or as we like to call it, the Cut. Home of the working class who make a living bussing tables, washing yachts, running charters. The natural habitat of...drumroll, please...the Pogues. That's us. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish. Lowest members of the food chain.

I know... a little harsh, don't you think?

So, the downside of the Pogue life is we're ignored and neglected. But the upside of the Pogue life? We're ignored and neglected, which means we do whatever we want, whenever we want.

The second John B parks the car, the boys are gathering all their fishing gear and we set off to our next destination. The marina.

"Nice haul, dude. Look at that!" JJ teases my brother when he reels in what I think is the smallest fish I've ever seen. If it was orange, I would have thought it was my old pet goldfish from when I was six. "Been all bait for, like, three weeks."

John B pulls the fish off his hook and tosses it in JJ's direction. JJ flinches back, knocking into me and almost throwing me into the water below. That was probably my fault, though. I shouldn't be sitting on an open ledge, dangling my legs twenty feet above the water.

"Watch it, idiot!" I smack JJ upside the head after letting go of the death grip I had on his bicep when I was about to fall to my death. Well...I'd probably survive, but it would hurt like hell.

"It's not my fault you chose the most dangerous seat!" JJ retaliates.

Yeah, that's JJ. John B's best friend since the third grade, which subsequently makes him my best friend since the third grade too. He's about as local as they come. Latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water. Second best surfer I know. First being me of course. Mild kleptomaniac and a future tax cheat.

"Yeah, Mar, you should really get down from there," Kie says, walking over to me to help me down. I decide not to put up a fight. If I'm going to break my leg, I'm gonna do it in a surfing accident or something cool, not by falling off the dock.

Kiara. Or Kie as we call her. When not saving turtles or listening to Bob Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs out with us. I'm not really sure why though. She's a rich kid, actually. Her family owns the Wreck, this Outer Banks institution. Total cash down with the tourists and my current job. You know, I'm not really sure how her parents feel about us. But they like me enough to bring them money towards their restaurant. I bring in a lot of regulars. Advertising is kind of my thing. I'm pretty sure all my friends, even my brother, have a thing for her.

Kie hands me a water bottle and lays her legs across my lap. She lies down on the wooden bench and bathes in the sunlight the day still has to offer. Kie is my best friend. Best secret holder known to man, for the most part.

"I think she needs a leash," Pope adds, making me pass him a glare.

"The only thing useful about a leash is how I can strangle you with it," I say.

"Kinky," JJ says and winks at me. "That's my girl."

John B slaps JJ upside the back of his head.

I'm lucky my sunburnt skin is hiding the blush that creeps along my cheeks.

Pope glares at both JJ and I which only makes my growing smirk widen.

Pope...the brains of the operation...finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person I know. Little bit of a weirdo. His father's this legendary character, Heyward. Anything you wanted on the island, Heyward could get for you. Now, I'm not sure Heyward knew what to make of his oddball son, but it didn't matter. He was a Pogue, just like the rest of us.

"Trust me, if a leash was that easy, I would have tried a long time ago," John B mutters with a hint of a smile.

John Booker Routledge. My insufferable twin brother. Pain in my ass. Number one partner in crime. I hate him but I love him. Pretty much like any sibling relationship. We live in an old fish shack on the marsh. The Chateau as my dad use to call it. My dad disappeared at sea nine months ago looking for a shipwreck. I mean seriously, who disappears at sea these days? I miss him a lot. He may have been a little neglectful, but he took care of us the best that he could. My mom, however? She split when I was three. Last I heard she was in Colorado. At least I think it was Colorado. Honestly who knows and who cares.

Since my dad vanished, my Uncle T is supposedly my legal guardian. At the moment, he's in Mississippi, building houses which means it's just me right now, on my own, hangin' out with my brother and my friends.

Three months after my dad went missing, he was officially presumed dead. John B is more of an optimist than I am. He refuses to sign the paper and until he sees a dead body, he's not giving up. I back John B's decision, but I'm more realistic about what happened to my dad. The ocean, although my favorite place to be, is also one of the scariest.

My dad is probably dead and I will never get the closure that I want. So I'm dealing with it the best way I can, although I'm pretty sure everyone is a little worried about me, especially Kie now that John B is starting to follow in my footsteps by exhibiting reckless behavior.

But I'm getting better now. Day by Day. At least I wasn't acting like I did when my dad first left us.

                                                     ~ ~ ~

I woke up with a slap to my ankle and my head buried deep into my pillow. I groan from the abrupt living alarm clock that's now pacing my room and throwing clothes from my closet at me. It only makes me squeeze my eyes tighter in hopes for at least five more minutes of sleep.

"Seriously, Mar, we need to go. We're late." John B rips my blanket off my body, leaving me exposed in just my pajama boxer shorts and a tank top. The sudden chill sends goosebumps up my arms and legs.

"Go without me." I push myself up on my elbows and grab the clothes he threw at me. I knew meeting the social worker alone wasn't an option. Even if one of us goes to this stupid meeting, it will prove to the social worker that we're not being responsible enough to keep DCS off our backs. As far as they know, Uncle T is still living with us and keeping us safe.

"You have five minutes." John B ignores me and leaves my room, slamming my door shut.

I roll my eyes and tumble out of my soft bed. I slip on my jeans shorts and a white t shirt that I tie in a knot to make it a crop top. Underneath it I have on my plain black bikini, knowing that I will be surfing the second we get home. The News has been reporting a storm for weeks that's suppose to hit tonight. Vicious waves and crazy winds sends a thrill through my body.

We arrive to the social worker's office only two minutes late. I thought that was a sign of responsibility, but the social worker only looks at us with distaste as we sit in the two chairs in front of her desk.

"John, Marleigh, it's come to our attention that you two are unemancipated minors living on your own." Her hair is pulled back into a tight low bun and her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose. Her suit looks way too tight for comfort, like it's squeezing the life out of her.

John B scoffs and leans back into his seat as if we have nothing to worry about, but I know his heart is beating just as wildly as mine. "No....no." The social worker raises one brow in suspicion and glances in my direction to either confirm or deny what John B is saying. John B sees this and answers for me. "No."

I just shrug as a response, which only makes the social worker more weary. She leans into her desk and folds her hands on top of our folders that are piled in the middle. "I need honesty to help you. That's what we want, right?"

"Yeah. I'm being honest."

"Okay, then when is the last time you spoke to your uncle?"

John B looks down at his watch and purses his lips. "Uh...thirty-four minutes ago."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Two hours and...forty-three minutes ago?"

I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. It's clear on the social worker's face that she's not buying into any of John B's lies.

She sighs and turns to look at me. "We're gonna come out there tomorrow to talk to your uncle. If he's not there, we're gonna move forward with foster care." Foster care. The words make me dig my nails into the wood of the arms of the chair I'm in. The last place I ever wanna be is in foster care. I want to stay here on the island with my brother and our friends. Not with some random family who couldn't care less about us in a place I'm not familiar with. "I want to assure you, we're gonna find you a safe and loving home."

She says it like she's offering us a better life, one that we would want, one that sounds like the better option but it isn't. I ignore the worried look John B sends my way and watch the seconds go by on the clock above the door. We basically have twenty-four hours to find Uncle T or someone to be pretend to be him.

                                                  ~ ~ ~

The winds begin picking up early in the afternoon, the rain hitting by 5. On my way home from working at the Wreck, I watch people board up the windows of their stores and homes. All John B and I can do is hope that our little shack won't blow away by morning.

Unfortunately for Pope, he's at our house when John B catches me leaving the house with my board. When he tells me to stop, I'm prepared to put up a fight. I've been looking forward to surfing in this storm all day - something I can use to push the DCS lady out of my head and the promise she made that sounded more like a threat.

"You think you were gonna go out without me?" John B smirks and leads the way to the beach.

Pope follows behind us like a lost puppy, basically talking to himself as he tries to convince us that this is a bad idea. We stop at the edge of the beach. It's almost impossible to see the ocean through the wind and the rain.

"Those aren't surfable waves, bro," Pope says, squinting through the rain that splatters our faces wet.

"Says who?" I say, passing him a devious smirk and make a run for it towards the ocean.

I paddle past the choppy waves, letting the water knock me around like a feather in the wind. When I see a decent looking wave to ride, I prop myself up on my feet and stand. I lean into my board. The warmth that's taken over my body outruns the cold water I fall into when the waves crash over me. My body tumbles under the water and my board bumps against me. I try to swim back up to the surface but the current is strong. I don't know where I am and I can't see under the water. My nose burns when water rushes up my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes tight and just swim upwards in hope of reaching air. Maybe this was a bad idea, but the thrill is still keeping me excited.

I finally reach the surface after what feels like years. John B and Pope's screams are dull against the whistling wind. I hop back on my board and give the two guys a thumbs up and a wicked smile. Pope looks like he's about ready to have a heart attack and John B breathes out a sigh of relief as he paddles closer to me.

"You alright?" He asks me.

"Fine," I yell against the wind.

John B nods. He looks like he's about to say something else, but something over my shoulder catches his attention. I turn myself around, intrigued at what's he's seeing other than the water, clouds, and a bunch of rain. Then I see it. A boat that barely looks afloat, so far out that it looks like a speck against the rain.

"We should probably go," I say. I don't want John B's mind to run to what might have happened to Dad out there. Maybe he was caught by a storm like this, maybe his boat went overboard and his body is out there floating with the fishes. I don't know. The last thing I need him to do right now is speculate. Even if the same thoughts are running through my head, John B thinks he's still alive. These thoughts will keep him up all night. He doesn't move, however. "John B let's go."

                                                  ~ ~ ~

JJ is already laying on the pull out bed in my living room when I get out of the shower. JJ crashes here most days of the week. He'd much rather be here than with his drunk abusive dad. Our friends don't know the extent of how shitty his relationship really is with his dad. But I do. I found out when I was thirteen. JJ snuck through my bedroom window after a tough night with his dad. His face and torso were covered in bruises. It took everything in me not to burst out in tears right then and there. But for some reason, he trusted me of all people with his biggest secret. I cleaned him up and let him sleep in my bed with me. Every once in a while we repeat the process. Sometimes he's not even hurt, he just shows up. And I let him in because I like having him there.

I fall onto the mattress next to him and prop my head up on my hand, leaning on my elbow. I run my fingers through his hair, feeling satisfied and bubbly when he moans in response.

"When did you get here?" I ask him.

"You were in the shower. Don't worry I didn't peak, but I was tempted," He says into his pillow.

I use the same hand I had woven in his hair and punch his shoulder playfully, making him fall on his back. His lips turn up in a grin.

I lay there for a second, looking up at the ceiling. My eyes feel heavy, the events of the day officially taking over my body. I peek an eye over at JJ who's watching me carefully as if I might break under his fingertips.

"What?" I grin to myself, thankful for the darkness so he couldn't see the blush on my cheeks. Again.

"You all right?" He asks, pushing my hair out of my face so he can look straight into my eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

JJ hesitates, like he's trying to pick the right words to say. I watch him closely, studying every mark and crevice on his face. Beautiful and clear like always. Even when it's covered in bruises and blemishes, he's handsome. I could look at him all day.

"You hate storms," He says.

"I can sleep through anything," I tell him. "And I don't hate storms. They make for...eventful surfing days."

His face drops to a more serious one. "You know what I mean."

I do. Storms have never really frightened me. Not really. But ever since my dad disappeared nine months ago, I worried that he would get caught in a storm like this, that by morning there would be a knock on my door from an officer who would tell me that a dead body has washed up on shore and they ID'd him as my father. The image leaves me with nightmares on nights like tonight.

JJ's the only one who knows this.

I don't like talking about it. Like JJ, we have this in common. So instead of telling him I'm fine and him not believing me, I pull the blanket at the edge of the mattress over our bodies and tuck myself into his side, laying my head on his shoulder. A position so intimate for just us "friends." I hope he can't feel my heart pounding beneath my skin, against his side. I let my body soften against his, feeling sleep take over me. I fall into a dreamless sleep next to JJ, hoping that the storm will be gone by the time we wake up.

[eelistolvanen]

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny Finale

A/N: HERE IT IS!! Finally got around to finish off the last parts. This chapter is a bit longer but hopefully you like it. Thanks to everyone who read this series, I honestly never thought I would be able to publish a nearly 20k long fic. So thank you for reading, liking, reblogging or sommenting on it. <3

Words: 5k

Warnings: Angst, no proofread (as usual), don’t know what else

Links to the previous parts:

Part 1       Part 2         Part 3       Part 4     

_____________________________________________________

“Have you looked at the teams that could draft you?” Your voice was quiet, soft. You weren’t entirely sure if this was crossing the line or not, since you knew that he didn’t want to think about the draft to much. But you couldn’t stop yourself.

“No, Y/N. It’s not in my hands anyway.“

“Well I did. And I think-��� “ Don’t Y/N. I could literally go to any team.”

“But some are more likely and some seem nicer than others…” You could hear him let out a deep sigh, letting you know that he gave in. “ Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean Ottawa would be perfect. You already play here and I’ve almost gotten used to this city. Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg are around there as well. There not as close as Ottawa but still Canada. Maybe there’s some other smaller cities…”

“Y/N, there are no real small cities. And you can barely tolerate Ottawa and it’s one of the smaller ones… Detroit’s close and-“

“But it’s so industrial and dark and… I don’t know, Travis. I just… What if it’s somewhere far away?”

“You’ll come with me… I’m not leaving you behind and I know you don’t like cities and would rather live here on the farm but I can’t change it.”

You let out a deep breath. “Travis, I just.. I want to come with you, I do. But I’m not made for a big city. I love my friends, my family, everything we’ve got here. And dragging me into some big city far away, feels a lot like locking me up in a cage. And you know how much I value freedom.”

“But you’ll make new friends, and you’ll warm up to living in a city, just like you did with Ottawa. WE can do this, we’re going to be just fine, okay?”

When you looked into his eyes you could see how sure he was of this, so you slowly exhaled.

“Okay. But promise me that you’re not gonna do this to me. If it’s someplace too big or to constricting for me, you won’t keep me locked in a cage. Promise me you won’t clip my wings.”

He gave you a soft smile and slowly caressed your face before his expression turned serious.

“I promise I won’t do this to you.”

 You were struggling to breath, trying to gasp for air.

“No, no no no. This is not…” You didn’t really know where you were going with this. Your heart was aching more than it had in a while. The things was he was right. You could almost hear 17 year old Travis saying it. He had promised you. He had promised you to not constrict you, promised you to not take you into some big dark city. How you hated cities. Or at least used to hate them.

He meant to do the right thing, at the wrong time. And how wrong he had been…

“I didn’t want you to have this life, you deserved someone better. Someone who is there for you all the time. Someone who doesn’t spent most of his time on the road while you are left behind in some apartment, some city that you hate. Before I was drafted I promised you I would never do this to you. Lock you in a cage, clip your wings as you said. You hated the city, you hated the thought of being away from your family and friends. You loved being outside, being in nature. Port Stanley, the lake, the farm. This life here is everything you hate. And I would not put you through this, no matter how much I loved you.”

This felt like a dagger straight through your heart. You really couldn’t imagine yourself living that life back then.

“I moved here for you, Travis. Because I loved you. And…” He took the words straight out of your mouth.

“That’s what I mean, Y/N. I didn’t want you to give up your dream life just for me. Can’t you see that?

“Hah…” your laugh sounded bitter, almost cruel. “How couldn’t you see how happy I was? I wanted that life Travis! You didn’t do this to me. I choose to come to Philly Travis! I made the final decisions. Because I loved you. Because it was worth it to me. But do you know what you really did? You left me! On our wedding day. And I tried to come after you but you already left. And I waited and waited and waited in our house. The house we were supposed to grown old together. Spend our time in the off season. Raise our kids.”

You paused trying to get some air in, now you felt like you were being constricted. Travis’ hand moved towards you, he tried to reach out to you but you pulled back. Took a step back, trying to get some more space between the two of you. You took a deep breath.

“But then Nolan told me where you were and that you wouldn’t come back. You never came back! So when Nolan left I burned the letter and started packing everything up. By midnight of that day I was gone.”  

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Don’t! Sorry just doesn’t cut it.”

There were many moments were you felt broken, shattered in the last few years. But were have you felt this low. And little. And humiliated. You felt like the invisible hand around your neck had tightened. You needed to get out of here.

“I..  can’t do this, Trav. I need… time.” You barely got those words over your lips. You could see that Travis wanted to say something, reach out to you in any way. But he didn’t. He knew better than that. So he watched you get in your car and drive off into the distance. Probably trying to put as much space as possible in between the two of you.  

---------------

You threw yourself into work after that. Week after week. Occasionally meeting up with the girls or some of the guys on the team. You knew better this time than to push Nolan out of your life. You started to help Maddie with the wedding planning, even if you felt a little tug in your heart everytime you did. You felt like you were starting to get your life back a bit. Piece by piece.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late March when you felt a sudden urge to clean your apartment. You went through the kitchen, the living room and were just about starting in your room when your eyes fell onto a drawer in your room. And suddenly you felt like you knew exactly what you had to do. You felt pretty erratic and your mind was racing.

Within 20 minutes you were sitting your car in front of a building halfway through town. And for the next 10 minutes you contemplated whether this was actually the right thing to do. Was this really what you wanted? Should you really go through with it? But you were already here, so you exited the car.

Only when you walked through the lobby you realised that you weren’t sue how to get to his apartment. He wasn’t living in the same building anymore, then you used to live in. The receptionist probably wouldn’t just let you in and you didn’t really felt like explaining your situation to the receptionist.

So instead you exited the building and made your way back to the car. You needed to talk to him, now. Before you run again.

You didn’t have his number either so you texted Nolan to text Travis to come outside. You felt pretty weird, almost like some stalker waiting in front of a building until the person left the building or so. Thankfully, it didn’t take Nolan very long to respond and telling you that he texted Travis. He also mentioned that Travis hadn’t read the text yet.

You were still staring at you phone waiting for Nolan to update you when he exited the building and walked towards you. His steps were cautious and he seemed pretty tired. When he finally was a few steps away you felt your mind catch up.

“Uhh, I was just in the neighbourhood…” What a dumb thing to say, Y/N; you thought. He knew this was a lie. You were never in this area of town. But Travis seemed more confused than anything.

“Ah, yeah okay… What’s going on?” He seemed more nervous than usual. His confidence seemed non existent at this moment. He looked like a deer in the headlights. Well, you came to him so you might as well say what you came here for.

“I thought a lot about us after that conversation, Travis.” He looked guilty at the mention of your last conversation.

“You know, the reason why I burned that letter that day was because I thought that no matter what the reason was, it wouldn’t matter. Because in the end you left me. Yes, I wanted to know the reason why you did it. But it doesn’t change anything. No reason truly justifies what you did to me. Or makes up for all the pain. It just gives me clearance. You know even with that good intention, I just don’t understand why you didn’t ever talk to me about it. We were 17 when we made that promise and I don’t think we ever brought it up again.”

Travis was shaking his head desperately, you were pretty sure he knew where this was going.

“Please don’t, Y/N. Please…” But he knew he was losing this game.

“We’re not the Y/N and Travis that we once were. Not anymore. And we never will be, Travis. Believe me I want nothing more than to go back to that time. To that couple that we used to be. But this is never going to happen Travis and we both have to accept that.”

“You don’t know that, I mean you can’t just give up. I can’t do this without you.”

“You gave up on us a long time ago. And yes, you can. You’ve done it before. Just this time, I’m going to be the one who walks away.”

“Y/N…”

You stepped towards and took his hands in yours as you leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheeks. As you pulled away you placed something into his palms.

“Goodbye, Travis”

You stepped back towards your car as he looked down at his hands.

The little velvet box with your engagement ring.

And he knew that this was it.

Game over.

 ------------------------------------

The rest of the school year passed quickly and soon summer came around. You had been so busy teaching and helping Maddie with the wedding, time had flown by quickly. You hadn’t seen Travis again and you felt yourself heal again. You knew that there would always be a piece of you that would never be over him. A little piece of your heart would belong to him. But slowly you came to terms with the fact the the rest of your heart wouldn’t.

It was mid July now and Maddie’s wedding was finally here. You had been busy all weekend and you finally felt yourself able to relax as you were sitting in a chair getting your make up done.

“He’s gonna be here. He’s invited.” Maddie glanced over her shoulder towards you as her hairstylist send her a glare for moving around.

“I know Maddie, I’ll be fine.” You weren’t sure if that was actually true but at least you could try to make yourself believe that. Maddie didn’t comment on that but you were sure that she wasn’t really believing you.

The ceremony was drawing closer as you helped with Maddie’s dress and later slipped into your dress as well.

Eventually there was a knock on the door from Kevin, who was picking you up to walk you downstairs to the ceremony. He offered to be your date. He was one of the only single guys that you knew and you were sure that I wouldn’t hurt to have him by your side.

“Ahh, of you’re you look absolutely beautiful.” He gave you a beaming smile as he escorted you to the down the stairs and outside.

“You look sharp too, Kev. A real suit guy.” You winked at him as his booming laugh shook his body.

“Okay, calm down with that roasting.” He wasn’t really serious though, he loved when you chirped him.

“When your big day coming anyway? Ever gonna settle down?” Your eyes glinted, you knew how much he wanted to get married and have kids.

He just scoffed before replying,

“Yeah, yeah. One day I will find the right girl, you just wait.”

You started to mix with other guest as more people were drawing in, since the ceremony was coming closer. You spoke to some of the guys, found Nolan and Kelsey before going of to the side the catch some air.

You overlooked the seats and the aisle leading towards a little podium and you felt that heartache again. You just couldn’t quiet shake that wedding sadness. You were lost in thought when you felt someone approaching.  

You knew it was him behind you before you even turned around. The two of you had seemingly always had that. That special connection. That buzzing feeling you would get if he was close to you. The way you would always find each other in a crowded room. Like two magnets pulling towards each other.

And knowing that you would never get that with anyone else, ever, made your heart feel heavy. Travis had always been the one for you and no matter how hard you tried nobody could ever take his spot. You could love someone, yes. You could even see yourself spend your life with someone. But this person could never be him. They would never be able to make you feel what he did. You could never get that special connection, that buzzing feeling with anyone else, ever.

“I’m sure you’ve already been told but… You look stunning, Y/N!” He stepped beside you while you turned to face him. He was dressed in your favourite navy suit and a crisp white dress shirt. He wasn’t wearing a tie, the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned instead. He gave you a shy smile. One that told you that he wasn’t entirely sure whether he just stepped over a line or not.

“Thank you. You don’t look to bad yourself, Travis.” An you meant it. He did look good. Better than he had in months. The bags under his eyes had disappeared, he looked younger now. More like his actual age. And there was a glint in his eyes. The sparkle that you used to love so much.

He stayed silent for a bit. You could see he was deep in thought, somewhere else even though physically he was beside you.  Just when you got used to the silence between you two, he spoke up again.

“You were right. We’re not the same people we once were. And we never will be. We will never be the Y/N and Travis we once were. And we will never be the couple we were then. People change and people grow. You’re not the same person at 20 than you were at 17. And you’re not the same person now than what you were at 20. And I just know that the person that I am now loves you just as much as the person I was at 20. Or the boy I was at 17. And I know that I will still love you when I’m 40. Or 70. I will never stop loving you, Y/N.”

He took a deep breath, trying to sort the words that were swirling around in his head into a sentence. His little speech left you breathless. You were sure he had been thinking about this for weeks. And he was right, people do change and people grow. But that doesn’t always mean that people grow in the same direction.

“I’ve always wanted this, you know?” He was gesturing around him. “Since I met you I knew that you were the one for me. That you were the one I was going to marry one day. You were the person I wanted to have kids with. I wanted this life for us so bad, I lost sight of us. I lost myself and the person I used to be. And when I realised that I felt like I had already pushed you into it. So I did the only thing I knew. I ran.”

Your heart felt heavy and looking at him wasn’t helping. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were trained on the ground but you could see the glazing over his eyes. He was close to tears and this truly hit home to you.

He had told you so many times that he didn’t intent to hurt you but you never believed him, how could you? But now you understood that he truly thought it was the only way. That he had already pushed you too far into the cage to retrack what he had done. That the only way to keep you from losing your freedom was to let you go. To leave the cage open and walk away.

He got it all wrong though. Because you didn’t feel like he was putting you in a cage or clipping your wings.

“I wanted to marry you, Travis. You weren’t pressuring me into it.” He had to know that, the last thing you wanted was for him to carry that guilt around.

He finally turned his gaze towards you and looked you in the eyes. His lips were pressed into a pained line.

“I know. I know that now.” His eyes searched for yours before he slowly took a step towards you.

He brushed a hair out of your face before giving you a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Enjoy the wedding. I might see you later.”  

The gesture was so sweet, so intimate. It felt so domestic, like something he would do everyday. A painful thought crossed your brain then. It felt so domestic because he used to do it everyday.

“You ruined weddings for me.” You didn’t mean to say those words out loud, you weren’t even consciously thinking them and to be honest you thought he was out of earshot already. But he stopped in his track and turned back to you. You didn’t dare to fully turn around, only just looking over your shoulder.

“I’ve ruined a lot of things for you, Y/N. I wish I could undo it.” And with that he vanished into the crowd.

You endured the ceremony. Well maybe that’s a bit harsh. You were happy for Maddie and Provy and the ceremony was incredibly beautiful. But you couldn’t help the bitter taste in your mouth. This should have been Travis and you, 3 years ago.

You let the wedding pass over you, you enjoyed hanging out with the team, catching up with the girls, you even let Kevin drag you to the dance floor.

You tiredly let yourself fall into a chair besides Kevin. You followed his gaze to another table. Travis was sitting there, seemingly without much company. You didn’t know whether he had  a date or not but by the looks of it was he here by himself. Kevin must have noticed that you were looking at Travis.

“If you’re ever going to forgive him and give him another chance, might as well do it now. I know he will wait for you for as long as you want but… you never know how long someone is going to stay in your life. Take it from someone who had both parents go through cancer and nearly lost a leg, okay? Life won’t wait around for you. Don’t let it pass you by.”

With that he rose from his chair beside you. You wanted to make some funny remark about him being all poetic and shit but he had already made his way towards the bar. You followed his advice non the less and made your way towards Travis.

“This seat taken?” He nearly fell off his chair once he realised who asked the question.

“Of course! Uh, I mean, no it’s not taken.” You chuckled at him stumbling over those words. You sat down.

“You seem lonely, no date?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Was this to much? Did you step over a line? Travis seemed to relax himself and smiled.

“Ah haha, yeah no date. You came with Kevin?” It was nonchalant but you knew the deeper meaning behind his question.

“Yeah, always better to come with a friend than alone, you know.”

He nodded agreeingly before an uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you.

The songs were a slower than before which meant they weren’t as tiring as before. And before you could stop yourself your suggestion had already crossed your lips.

“Do you wanna dance?”  

An immediate smile spread across Travis’ face. “Yeah, of course. I mean if that’s what you want.”

You laughed quietly and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that. Just don’t step on my feet.”

“I try my best.”

For a bit the two of you swayed quietly to the music. It was already rather late so there weren’t to may people on the dance floor. The song changed and you let out a dry laugh as you realised what song had come on. Travis must have notice your reaction too.

“What?” He looked confused. “What’s funny.”

“Nothing, just the song.” He stilled and listened to the music. It was a Lewis Capaldi song. And it hit closer to home than you liked.

I've been holding on to hope That you'll come back when you can find some peace 'Cause every word that I've heard spoken Since you left feels like an hollow street

 The song perfectly seemed to portray you and Travis. You felt your emotion dwelling up, as you heard the next verse.

I've been told, I've been told to get you off my mind But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind Oh my lord, oh my lord, I need you by my side

 You let out a choked laugh. “I wish I could get you off my mind, but I can’t. Part of me will always be yours, Trav.” You gave him small smile before singing that verse again as it was repeated.

“I've been told, I've been told to get you off my mind, but I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind. Oh my lord, oh my lord, I need you by my side.”

Travis seemed to understand your involvement with the lyrics as he gave you a sad smile.

“I was such a coward. I’m sorry Y/N.” He brushed a tear away that had started to roll down your cheek. “I should have fought for us, instead I gave up on us. I thought that the only way to give you the freedom I promised you, was to let go of you, to leave you. I was too much of a coward to let you fly free, because I thought you’d slip away and then I lost you anyway. I know you wanted to get married too but I should have never put that much pressure on it. I’m truly sorry.”

You leaned you forehead against his as you still slowly moved with the music. The song had changed now.

“I know Trav. I know. Do you think that one day we can be Y/N and Travis again? I mean not the same as we used to but a grown version. Do you think it could work again?”

You could hear Travis holding his breath as he patiently listened to you. His eyes were trained on yours, searching for meaning behind your words.

“Yeah, I think so. If you give me another chance I will prove it to you. Okay?”

You felt your heart speeding up at his words. Take a chance, you thought, before life passes you by. But instead of answering you leaned in and slowly connected your lips with his. The kiss was slow almost shy at first before Travis started to deepen it. Once you broke apart Travis slowly stroked your cheek before murmuring,

“You’re my always, you know that right?”

 Epilogue:

The two of you took it slow afterwards. Both of you needed to get to know each other again, ease into each other again. But it felt right. Being with Travis had always felt right. Once your lease was up you move in with him and you were thankful that he wasn’t living in your old house anymore. As much as you loved your old place that you had together and all the memories that came with it, you needed something else. After all you weren’t the people that you used to be then. And that was a good thing.

He never asked you to marry him. One day a little box with an new engagement ring had just been placed onto your nightstand. Travis only comment to this was that he had already proposed to you and that this time you were calling the shots when you felt ready to marry him. And whenever you felt ready the ring would be there. He let the old engagement ring be made into a pendant since it was to meaningful to your relationship to give it away and to pretty to just let it sit in a box. And now you were wearing one around your finger and one around your neck, close to your heart as Travis liked to say.

And then the day was here. You knew you were ready but that didn’t mean that you weren’t feeling a tiny bit anxious about your wedding day.

Maddie looked over your shoulder and soothingly rubbed your back.

“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.” She gave you one of her bright smiles.

You quietly laughed. “As if Maddie. You looked like some top model or something at your wedding. But I’ll gladly take second.”

Maddie erupted in laughter while you gave her a sly smile. Her expression turned serious again as she eyed the object in your hands.

“You’re gonna have to tell him eventually, Y/N.”

She was right, of course. And you knew you had to tell him sooner or later. You couldn’t keep it from him forever.

“I’ll go and get you something to drink, some water or something.” Maddie gave you a soft smile before making her way to the door. Just before she closed the door behind her you heard her say:

“What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here now…”

You felt like your heart stopped beating for a moment. An unwanted flashback crossed your brain.

The mental picture of Nolan making his way towards you with that cautious expression on his face.

“He’s not coming, Y/N.”  Those words would probably haunt you forever.

Just as you felt yourself starting to panic Travis appeared in the doorway and quickly closed the door behind him.

“Travis?!” You probably looked like you just saw the lochness monster or something. What was he even doing here?

He approached you with a sly smile on his face.

“Hey, babe.” “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony..” Your words lacked any kind of force or enthusiasm. And before you knew your soon to be husband had engulfed you in a hug.

“What? Who said that?” His voice was light, almost joking.

“It brings bad luck or misfortune if the groom sees the bride before the ceremony.” Your explanation sounded lame and you were actually happy to see him even if your initial surprise might let him believe otherwise.

He chuckled before giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “Ahh, that sounds pretty stupid. And you can’t blame me for wanting to say good morning to my wife.”

His eyes searched for yours while he gave you his brightest smile. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics. Then you remembered the object you’d held in your hands just a few moments before and you got serious again. Now was as good of a moment than ever.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” You felt yourself grow nervous, you knew there was no reason for it but you couldn’t help it.

“Don’t tell me you want to run away this time.” He was joking, a smirk plastered all over his face.

“Travis I’m serious!” At that his smile dropped. Uncertainty crossed his features.

You grabbed the little square paper you had put down moments ago.

“I’m pregnant.” You breathed out while handing him the ultrasound. His eyes nearly popped out of his head while he stared at the picture.

“I.. I … You..” He seemed lost for words and you were almost starting to get worried when he lifted him head up and looked into your eyes. He seemed to explode with happiness.

“I’m going to be a dad? This is not a joke right? We’re having a baby?” You could just nod as he picked you up and spun you around.

“Oh my god, this is the best day of my life.” He nearly knocked his head with yours as he dove in to give you a deep kiss. Once you pulled apart and you found your breath you spoke up.

“Promise me something, Travis. Promise me you won’t run again. Promise me that you’ll fight for us no matter what we face. Don’t ever let me go again, Trav.”

“Never! I promise.”

~ the end ~  

[reynie-muldoons]

'The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery' Liveblog!

Sorry this is a few days late!! I moved across the country this weekend, we drove like 13 hours within 2 days and we did a lot of heavy lifting. I'm exhausted, but the boxes are slowly emptying and I've been wanting to watch this episode so gd bad, so LESGO

Over halfway through the season!!!! That's absolutely surreal

1:11 oooh they're getting their royal fitting

1:22 LMAOO WTF 😂😂 Princess Diaries vibes

1:42 ✨CONFIDENCE✨

1:52 Alfonse is a perfect name for that guy HAHA

2:05 Nathaniel, my guy, you've made some points

2:11 "do you feel your power?" POWER RANGERS, GO

2:24 no no hesitation just prolly thinkin bout how he was caught cheatin

2:39 "can you not allow yourselves luxury?" okay fr I feel that I get Nice Things Guilt(tm) too easily

2:52 dayummmm let's talk about Sticky being a hat stall between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, mans is brave as fuck under extreme pressure and loyal to the point of putting himself on the line

3:15 bro Sticky getting some recognition. Love to see it, he deserves it

3:19 "is that a coincidence? Or written in the stars?" IS DR. CURTAIN CATCHING ON THAT THEY KNEW EACH OTHER BEFORE OR LIKEEEE

3:49 WHAT WORD AROUND CAMPUS 😭😭😭 MY BOYS ARE NOT A MISTAKE HOW DARE YOU

4:09 why doess the action of Dr. Curtain putting the sash on them seem so nefarious

4:36 I dont really understand the whole pastel yellow, blue, and pink palette of the school but the boys both look pretty okay in their vest-sash getup

4:42 THE OPENINGGGGG. This shit slaps.

5:41 Kate and Constance look so fucking cute in that shot, dont ask me why but hnnggggg

5:54 sash rope 😂😭 kate, honey, that's a reach

6:09 it might feel buttery, but, my guy, it also looks buttery. It's literally the color of butter. Get yourself some crisco

6:24 I find it kinda interesting that they made up new riddles for the show, I'm almost positive that that one wasn't in the book. Correct me if I'm wrong though

7:03 "I'm not gonna apologize for knowing things" the sass. the ✨confidence✨. living for it

7:03 If they build on that it sets Sticky up really nicely for the arc in the second book where he starts to show off a little

7:15 tiny Constance who is constantly dressed in pink with cute little braids is the perfect medium for the most morbid comments 😂😂

7:55 Martina's hot in her uniform. Can't prove me wrong.

8:15 why does that make me sad 🥺 eat with your friendssss. iirc they only talked about eating at the Messenger table in the books

8:26 dipshits forgot their lunches. Seems Constance is holding the communal braincell atm

8:50 anyone have Guiness on speed dial? Reynie and Sticky have a submission for them

9:25 oh hello this was alluded to in the preview!!! Morse code is compromised, rip

10:05 so are Jackson and Jillson stuck with night guard duty all the time?? They've been outside at night a lot

10:18 ahhhhhh the little blinkie light, stopppp

10:25 MILLIGANNNNN!!!

10:25 so is this the point where he starts staying on the island with them????

10:39 so are they just like "fuck it we'll do it right before sundown" ???? Like Jackson and Jillson are still gonna be on the lookout, they aren't gonna chill just because it's not fully dark

10:50 did the kids.....just not tell them that Mr. Bloom was on the island 😂 nice oversight guys

11:05 MADGE TIME MADGE TIME

11:05 remind me to tell you guys a story about Madge, I may or may not have done something irl a few years ago that would make y'all proud 😂😂😂

11:16 idk why but it makes me so happy that they kept Madge as a peregrine falcon

11:37 Rhonda, my love, you have my heart in your hands

11:46 roll credits

12:05 THE HEAD SHAKE HAHAHAH

12:06 Awww man, I was so excited for Milligan to be on the island .-. He must have been scoping out the inlet

12:07 "they're quite regal" A. I read the subtitles as "legal" the first time and that's somehow really in character for him, and B. IS MILLIGAN GOING TO NAME HER???!? HER MAJESTY???? PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THAT SO MUCH

12:15 his grimace KILLS ME

12:17 the hard cut from Nicholas in a brown setting and brown suit to Nathaniel in a blue setting and blue suit was lowkey striking

12:36 are they looking up Morse code 😳 can you imagine if they wrote down the message and are now decoding it

12:41 omfg all that for a HAT 🙃 I feel stupid

12:51 two things: 1. Those walls are atrocious, and 2. Yeah, talk about Morse code in a louder voice Connie girl, you're just in a public hallway

13:03 I'm sorry but those orange pillar things are not the vibe

13:03 the golden gate bridge called, they want their arches back

13:10 please let Kate climb the tower before the end of season 1. please.

13:22 y'all are about to be flying something else 😎

13:33 cleansing breaths

13:47 OH HELLO MESSENGER DUTY ALREADY??

14:06 what the heck is that teal pole for 😭😭

14:12 blindfold timeeee

I'm so sorry but I'm exhausted, it's 11:30 pm on Sunday night right now, I'll finish this episode tomorrow morning after I get some sleepies

~~

Good morningggg lesgetatit

14:50 "vomit of metal" ashhdjdjd

15:16 a wild Martina appears!

15:36 and if you folks look to your left, you'll see a wild Constance being the voice of reason once again

15:57 "lose the bucket" "I'm not gonna do that" HELL YEAH KATE

16:07 I get not having the bucket on the court lolol, I thought Martina was telling Kate to lose the bucket in general. Like, yeah, good luck convincing her to so that

16:35 show!Kate is much angrier than book!Kate and I'm still deciding how I feel about that. The Kate we've known from the books is a sunshine baby with looots of repressed trauma.

17:03 ......what is that. why is that.

17:11 WAIT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE REYNIE AHEHDJDJD

17:15 HI MADGE

17:41 the grand swell in the music makes me think it's going to go comically wrong

17:51 she's majestic because she's a queen 🥺

18:03 LMAO CALLED IT

18:14 Rhonda and Number Two getting at each other is such a sisterly thing to do 😂😂😂

18:37 ohhhhh? Someone's approaching? Miss Perumal perhaps????

18:45 YEAHHHHH BABY

18:50 PROTECTIVE MOM COMIN IN HOT!!!

19:22 THEYRE SO PRECIOUS 😭😭😭😭 I feel like I've been subconsciously starved for her and Mr. Benedict's interactions

19:36 died at that line in the one trailer

20:00 so Miss Perumal pulled a Sherlock Holmes. Love that for her

20:20 Cheri Tupintown??? Of all the aliases they could pick, Cheri Tupintown???

20:33 "Power in Truth Inc" that HAS to be something Rhonda came up with

21:01 you can literally watch Mr. Benedict realize that this is a woman not to be fucked with and he is CORRECT

21:23 "he's fine. Perfectly fine." At this, Mr. Benedict's pants caught aflame.

21:52 something about Constance sitting in on practice!!! It scratches an itch!!!!

22:19 "incorporate the helix. Live in the helix." Lord Helix is pleased with this offering.

22:26 so what I'm hearing is Kate is going to blow up on Constance for messing with the bucket

23:13 unrelated but Jillson'a shoes are cute

23:29 why does this room give off Johnny Depp's willy wonka vibes

24:13 that looks like a chair from a doctor's office waiting room 😭

25:29 they do be egg heads tho

26:02 baby girl, I have no idea why you're crying at weird art but let me dry your tears 🥺🥺

26:50 SHE FOUND ITTTT

27:27 okay Indiana Jones, go off

27:46 why did that kinda sound like Miss Perumal

28:43 the return of everyone's favorite, "enjoyable"

29:05 not that I'm not loving the ice breaker questions and the one-sided conversation, but I'm not loving it

29:22 oh so we're getting right into it aren't we

29:54 his eyes being open again makes this infinitely creepier

30:36 "where's your proof?" Miss Perumal doesnt fuck around!!!

31:29 you're telling me Constance has been there all day?? And Kate went to find her???? 🥺

31:58 oh so we're getting right to it then?? Kate addressing her independence and trust issues arc????

33:29 NEWS!!!!

33:49 CONSTANCE RIDING PIGGYBACK!!!!!!

34:04 okay, so they opened the murder hole, what are they gonna do now

34:59 Italian? 🤨 m'sir that is so fancy

34:59 fun story I learned Italian diction in college, so I know a little bit

35:16 "take your time" the whisperer says, immediately repeating the prompt to get the answer sooner

35:31 theeeeere it is

35:46 SOMETHING ABOUT THE WHISPERER SAYING "YOU ARE HOME" 😭😭😭 the show really played up the cult shit!!

36:02 Kate being protective of Constance 🥺

36:20 ohhh shit is it time for Connie girl to have double Reynie? Double Sticky?

36:36 STICKY

36:52 "what kind of nonsense?" HAVE THEY NOT ASKED THAT BEFORE THIS?????

37:14 "and your tiny brain can somehow pick it up!!" KATE STOP 😂😂😂

37:16 "I knew you had to be special in some way." WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

37:51 she's right, this is disregard for their safety. The show made Mr. Benedict and his team a lot more back-alley and dishonest, and Miss Perumal has every reason to be pissed

38:30 oh good they finally remembered he has narcolepsy

39:38 and the best mom award goes to:

40:38 I was gonna say that this hallway is how I imagined the KEEP in riddle of ages but then I remembered that (spoilers) the Institute is the KEEP

40:46 oh, hello propoganda

41:10 that's the other person Rhonda couldn't contact, along with Mr. Bloom. This has to be the brainsweeping process

41:22 yeppppp

41:44 this dark doctor's office theme gives me horror movie vibes

42:22 ohhhh, so that's how they replaced that scene where the four of them jump in a crate to hide and Sticky drops his glasses in the open

42:47 and so we've come to the part of the story where Sticky and Reynie become infinitely more conflicted

42:47 and since we've reached that point..... can we have the white knight scene? Pretty please? Please Disney I'm begging you-

43:12 so Reynie just figured that out without Constance? :/

44:03 love the manipulation

44:31 I'm sorry, the farm?

44:35 farm and forest????

45:16 "the Emergency has served its purpose" 😳 well okay then murder man

45:39 "one thought, one purpose" the hive mind rises once more

45:48 LOVE THE MANIPULATION

46:07 "what have you done to earn anyone's trust?" VALID

46:26 "please do!" WHY AM I EMOTIONAL

47:06 "we still have the falcon" that you do 😂

47:19 AYYY HERE WE GO!!! Time for Milligan to stay on the island??

47:49 ohhhh Constance, casual telepath strikes again

48:16 "stop it, Kate!" OOOOHHHHH

48:53 that line ("it would be nice to be unburdened") would be funny as shit if not for the fact that Constance is a telepath unbeknownst to herself and can both subconsciously perceive people's thoughts and hear the subliminal messages

49:20 HI MRS. PERUMAL!!!

49:25 wow, she's really going through with it 😳 not that I doubted her, but still, that's dedication

49:39 OH SHIT

50:17 oh, so he's an asshole to SQ too. Got it. Torches and pitchforks? Ready to kick his ass?

50:40 "for the moment, anyway" FUCKIN WHAT

This episode was really good!!! They covered a LOT. I hope Miss Perumal comes back to the group and talks about her findings, I hope Milligan goes to get the kids and they tell him no, and I hope they get that classic 4-person Society brainstorming and binding time that hits that sweet spot

[joey-burrow]

Bad Game

Aaron Judge x Reader

Requested: yes

Warnings: smut, cursing, soft,

•

You’re always happy when it’s baseball season. You love watching your man do what he loves at his job and baseball has always been your favorite sport. It’s halfway through the season and it’s the week before the All-Stars. They had a series of home games before they were off for the All-Star week. The last game they had before they’re off, the Yankees played the Indians. During the game, Aaron’s first 2 at bats, he struck out and you can tell he’s getting frustrated. You knew he has atleast 1 or 2 more at bats so you figured it would be better. His next at bat, he struck out again and his last at bat he grounded out. The Yankees had won the game but Aaron didn’t play as good as you thought. You met Aaron out at the car and you drove you guys home. It was a silent drive home and he stared out the window. You knew he was thinking about how he played and that he wasn’t happy with how he played. You guys got home and put your stuff away. He sat on the couch and turned on the tv while you went out to the kitchen to get you guys a drink. You set the drinks down and walked up behind him and ran your hands over his chest and whispered in his ear that you thought he played great. He didn’t respond. You knew he was frustrated. You started to kiss his neck and leave hickies. He moans and moves his head to the side to give you more room and have you continue what you’re doing. You stop and walk around the couch and straddle his lap and kiss him. You guys make out for a few minutes and you can feel him grow hard through his sweats against your pussy. You bite your lip and you guys take your clothes off. He grabs a condom and slips it on. “Ride me princess.” He whispers in your ear as you get back into his lap. You smile and line his cock up with your entrance. You slowly slide down on him so you can adjust to his size. You both let out a loud moan. You use his broad shoulders as leverage as you slowly start riding him. “Oh fuck baby. Your thick cock feels so damn good inside me baby.” You moan. He couldn’t take it any longer, so he pulled you off of him and laid you on your back on the couch and slid back into you. “Oh baby, your pussy is so tight I love it. Feels so good wrapped around me. FUCK BABE.” He moans. He continues to fuck into you hard and sticks his hand down between you guys and rubs your clit. “Oh baby. Oohhhh baby that feels so good.” You moan while scratching down his back. “Oh baby I’m gonna cum. Oohhhh baby.” You moan. “Me too princess. Cum with me.” He says. You both cum at the same time and letting out loud moans. He stays inside you for a second to catch his breath. He pulls out of you and removes the condom and throws it away. He comes back and lays on top of you while you run your hand through his hair. You both grab your clothes and go upstairs and head to bed. You guys get in bed and lay in each other’s arms. “I’m sorry for being frustrated today babe. I was so hard on myself because of the way I played and it’s also the week before All-Stars and I wanted to make a good impression right before we were off for it.” He says. “It’s fine honey. Everyone has a bad game every once in a while. It happens so you have nothing to worry about. You’ll be amazing at the All Star game.” You say reassuring him. “Promise?” He asks. “I promise baby.” You say. “Thank you honey. I appreciate it. I’m happy to have you by my side supporting me.” He says as you guys fall asleep for the night.

[thamepo]

Venji has always been endgame: Benji’s attraction to Victor

the first thing I really need people to understand is that Benji is not watching the show, he’s not seeing things through Victor’s point of view, and for the most part of the season he has no idea Victor is struggling with his sexuality. from Benji’s point of view, Victor is straight and into Mia. that’s how I’m going to be analyzing his thoughts and actions (well, guessing mostly because he does lack screen time and insight moments. hopefully we’ll get more of him in season two!!)

btw I’m gonna break it down episode by episode because I’m insane (and I also feel strangely connected to Benji so don’t @ me)

Episode 1 - Welcome to Creekwood

as I’ve mentioned before, you can interpret Benji’s “nice shoes!” line as interest. but even if you’re not willing to do that, I still think it’s valid to consider that he might’ve felt some kind of immediate connection to Victor (if episodes 2 and 3 are any indication of that. and the Call Me Maybe lyrics).

Episode 2 - Stoplight Party

the “Benji attempts to teach Victor how to make a espresso” scene is very much about Victor’s attraction to Benji so I don’t wanna look too much into it. also Benji comes off as (at least for me!) a very attentive and loving person, so his dedication to teaching Victor felt very genuine. but still like...... he did get lost in Victor’s eyes for a moment before the milk spilled akdjksdjjs

then at the end of the episode Benji calls Victor late at night (he even apologizes for that) when he could’ve called Victor at any other time or could’ve just told him at school. and well, (I may be reaching here but headcanons are always good!!) I like to believe Benji couldn’t stop thinking about Victor, which is why he decided to call. for some unknown reason he already feels connected to Victor and wanted to hear his voice and—

let me stop here before I write a whole fanfic because that’s not the purpose of this post.

Episode 3 - Battle of the Bands

oh boy, I’m gonna try to unpack this episode, hopefully I’ll make some sense. I’m very sorry if I fail!

so, Victor and Benji have the Call Me Maybe (cutest) moment, in which Victor tells Benji that he’s going on a date with Mia the next day.

Now. I need you to remember that Victor explicitly told Benji that he and Mia wouldn’t go to the Battle of the Bands and that Benji had already performed when Victor got there and only performed again because his band won the battle (so I’m pretty sure Victor wasn’t supposed to hear the Call Me Maybe cover). therefore this wasn’t Benji confessing his feelings to Victor. if anything, I believe it was his way of dealing with the intense and ever-growing feelings that he has for Victor through his biggest passion (music), pretty much like making a reference to something that you know no one else will understand (since for everyone else it’s just a Carly Rae Jepsen bop).

but then Victor eventually shows up and hears Benji singing Call Me Maybe and for him it’s definitely not just a Carly Rae Jepsen bop anymore. it’s their song

after the performance, it looks like Benji is going to talk to him about it, maybe to try and make it seem like it’s no big deal (since he thinks Victor is into Mia, and he himself is in a long term relationship) but Derek appears and we’re all left heartbroken (Simon & his friends included).

what I’m trying to say is: they are two halves of the same idiot. while Victor is in denial of his sexuality and attraction to Benji, Benji is in denial of his growing feelings for Victor. we love this denial duo

Episode 4 - The Truth Hurts

not much to say about this one BUT. at the beginning of the episode you can see how Victor and Benji are working totally in sync, to the point where they barely need words like the freaking soulmates that they are. honestly, I’m done pretending they aren’t soulmates because this show just kept shoving that into our faces over and over and if you failed to see it then it’s not my problem (or maybe it is since I’m literally spending my time trying to explain exactly that. but I just care too much about these two and I want people to understand why).

then Derek calls and Benji picks up lovingly because he’s a loving person and a caring boyfriend and even though he might be struggling with his feelings for Victor, he’s not about to neglect his boyfriend (shame we can’t say the same thing about Derek) (no I will not stop throwing shade at him).

Episode 5 - Sweet Sixteen

I could try and say several things about this one but for real, BENJI DREW VICTOR AND GAVE HIM THE DRAWING AS A BIRTHDAY GIFT. like! this stupidly artistic boy!!!!!!!!! this stupidly caring boy!!!!!!!!! he could’ve bought Victor literally anything or not even bothered to think of a gift At All, but he took the time to DRAW VICTOR LIKE ONE OF HIS FRENCH BOYS!!!!! what am I supposed to do with this knowledge!!!!

now I’m imagining Benji observing Victor. the way the light hits his face, how his shoulders move, the shape of his hands....... all the while telling himself it’s just to draw Victor!!!!! but that’s still beautiful and frankly thirsty nonetheless.

p.s I was robbed of a scene like that.

Episode 6 - Creekwood Nights

not much to say about this one except the show blatantly telling us that Derek can be real shitty sometimes. also, I wanna talk about Venji’s dynamics throughout the show so bad but it deserves a post of its own so I’m gonna hold my tongue.

Episode 7 - What Happens In Willacoochee

(stays in Willacoochee or maybe it will haunt your gay ass all the way to New York).

oh boy, this is where shit starts going down for real.

so Victor kisses Benji. I’m not going to defend Victor because what he did was reckless and dumb and frankly disrespectful. but I need to say that it was going to happen sooner or later because when you repress something too hard and for too long, it’s bound to come back with full force and explode in your face. I really wish it was in a different circumstance, of course, but also life isn’t always made of perfect situations and shit happens. (and nope, that does not excuse Victor’s actions).

now think about Benji. he’s been struggling with his feelings for Victor, who as far as he knows is straight and in a relationship, and then suddenly Victor kisses him. my best guess (due to his reaction to Victor’s speech in episode 10) is that he thinks Victor isn’t being serious about it, that in no moment that kiss meant anything but curiosity and recklessness, when they both have people to lose (again, he doesn’t know that Victor struggles with his sexuality, much less that Victor has feelings for him).

so yeah, I believe Benji was upset, not only with Victor though, but with himself.

(I’ll come back to this in a second)

no Benji in episode 8 so.......

Episode 9 - Who The Hell Is B

Benji decides to leave the coffee shop. Victor tells him that the kiss wasn’t his fault and Benji says that being around Victor makes him feel guilty, now why is that?

firstly because he’s not a psychopath and the fact that he cheated on Derek makes him feel guilty. but I do believe that that’s not the only thing that makes him feel guilty. deep down he liked kissing Victor. he likes Victor, he’s been doing his best to keep that buried but Victor had to go and complicate things, so now the only way to avoid making a bigger mess is staying as far away as possible from each other. so he runs back to the safety of his relationship with Derek.

(listen, I know the show makes it seem like Benji is super angry and wants nothing to do with Victor but I don’t believe that’s the case. he’s upset and feeling guilty for liking someone else, denial does make you act very hostile sometimes).

Episode 10 - Spring Fling

Benji’s denial continues but (thankfully) it won’t last much longer.

he goes to the bathroom and tells Victor that he’s read his letter and that he does forgive him for kissing him but that that doesn’t change anything, that it’s best for them to stay away from each other.

that’s until he hears Victor’s speech to Derek (which was more to Benji than Derek so). that’s the moment he realizes that Victor actually likes him, that the kiss as cursed as it was had meant something, that they both feel exactly the same thing. that’s what gives him courage to finally accept that he can’t be with Derek anymore because his heart belongs to someone else. (has belonged to Victor from the moment they met) akdjskdjsj someone please tell me to shut up

which leads us to the bench kiss(es) scene. now, these boys are a whole mess because Victor was still technically dating Mia (he did try to come out to her before, couldn’t do it so he decided to come out after the Spring Fling) (good intention, poor execution).

But I also believe this was just lazy writing and they wanted to have a scene where Mia catches Victor and Benji together. it could’ve been done better, they could’ve been just touching foreheads or something but they wanted the full drama so the kiss(es) happened. I’m taking 50 points away from the writers for this. (also does not excuse Victor or Benji since they literally met halfway. these idiots are so in love wtf!)

(I still love them though, and hope they do better in the future, for themselves and for each other).

anyway, I think that’s it! if you read up until this point: thank you so much!!!! I tried my best to understand and explain Benji since the show said fuck Benji stans. hope this helps!

— love, MJ

[transsergio]

Emotions That I Simply Do Not Have (Read on AO3)

Chapter 3 - His And Hers, For Better Or Worse Chapter 2 - I'm Not Gonna Repeat Myself Chapter 1 - More Like A Relapse

Penemily + Hotchreid / Mature / 2011 words in this chapter

Emily and Penelope put their plan into motion; Spencer arrives. (This is the final chapter of this fic! thank you to everyone who kept up with it this week!)

Hotch’s advances stop. Or, become marginally less obvious.

In his third text this week, Hotch asks, “Do you need anything from break room?” It is only Tuesday. Emily knows that if she lifts her head, she will see his beady black eyes through the glass. He’ll be staring at her, hoping to see her fingers working over her tiny keys, telling him that yes, she’d appreciate a bottle of water or any other menial task that will bring him out to the bullpen. She’d rather text Penelope to peek through the security cameras, to see exactly how far their one-night stand has gotten her. Yes, sleeping with the boss comes with great advantages, like your office becoming a cage.

Emily does her paperwork in silence. She’s hellbent on leaving at four forty-five, no matter what Hotch might throw at her to keep her in his line of sight. At four thirty, Emily turns off her cell’s ringer. She is escaping to her salvation, a night of face masks and a season rerun of the Bachelor with her girlfriend. As she closes down her computer and organizes her files, she glances about. Derek is long gone, citing a date with his television, couch, and dog. Reid finished his work hours ago, but plays chess against himself until Emily’s ready to head out together. And JJ is on a phone call, likely with Will, likely about to tell their son she’ll be home a little late again. Emily doesn’t see Rossi, but at his age, you never know how many bathroom breaks he’ll need.

As Emily rises with her back to Hotch’s door, Reid follows. They head to the elevators. She’s excited to dish about her later plans, as Spencer is her only known ally outside of Penelope. In return, Spencer tells her about his last date.

“You’re saying he forced you to make eye contact?” Emily asks as the elevator encapsulates them.

“Yeah. It was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve had yet. Every time I was looking elsewhere while I spoke, he’d say, ‘Eyes on me.’ I don’t think we’ll be going out again,” Spencer adds with a chuckle.

Emily raises her eyebrows. “No kidding. Maybe we could get him on some kind of watchlist for bad first impressions.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I did block his number before the night was over.”

Emily laughs and bumps Spencer with her elbow. “I don’t blame you.”

The elevator dings and releases them on the parking level. Emily makes for her car and Spencer for the subway, despite Emily’s repeat offer to drop Spencer off herself. A part of her is glad, though. She wants to get home fast and not leave a second empty.

By home, of course, she means Penelope’s apartment in all its purple and glitter. They’re settled in her living room by five-thirty, television hooked up and face masks elegantly adorned, a blanket solidifying them as one happy mass. They plow through three episodes before they remember the masks could’ve come off halfway through the first, and that they haven’t ordered dinner.

“Pizza sound good?” Emily emerges from their cocoon, stretches, and finds Penelope’s stash of takeout menus in the kitchen.

Penelope joins her at the counter. “Hm. Maybe Thai? Wait, what’s with the face?”

“Nothing.” Emily tries to mask her shudder. “Just… Hotch, he mentioned something about Thai in one of his messages.”

“What, did it give him diarrhea?” Penelope teases. She looks for Emily’s little smile and the crease between her eyebrows, the sign that Penelope was funny even if Emily won’t admit it. It doesn’t come. Penelope recalibrates. “No worries. We'll get something else then.”

“I’m sick of it, Pen,” Emily says. She slaps the menus down. “If he’s making my job harder and me less effective, why should I stay in the department? Our communication is horrible, I’m agitated in the field, and I can’t get him to stop. I’m running out of options.”

“Okay, slow down.” Penelope rubs Emily’s back in light, soothing circles. “You’re hungry and fed up, and you have every right to be, but let’s have some food before making big decisions like leaving the job that lets me call you every hour. I’ll pick. You get comfy. Go, shoo.” And she scoots Emily into the living room with a pat on the ass.

“Fine,” Emily raises her hands in surrender, “fine, I’m going.”

When dinner arrives (gyros from the Mediterranean place a couple blocks over), Emily devours hers. It’s gone before Penelope can pry the foil from her own meal, and Emily’s head is where her plate used to be.

“Oh, Angel,” Penelope sympathizes. “It’s going to be fine.”

Emily nods against the table. “Yeah, I think so. But I don’t want him fired. He’s a good leader, and he needs this job. His wife died, and before that they were in witness protection. That’s got to do something to a person, right? He risked everything and he lost it all.”

Penelope chews thoughtfully. “Maybe we don’t need to get Hotch fired, but we can play it like survival of the fittest – as long as you’re faster than somebody else, he won’t catch you.”

“What?”

“I was watching this thing on the Discovery channel about jungle cats hunting and how they go for the weakest of the pack. It was really sad because you don’t want the lions to starve and at the same time you don’t want the antelope to die, but that’s not the point. If we latch him onto someone else, he’ll forget all about you.” Penelope wipes her hands clean. “Like magic, you’re free!”

For a moment, Emily has hope. Of course they can hook him up with someone else. It’s what every classic sitcom Emily raised herself on has implemented. There’s only one problem. “We don’t know any single straight women.”

A wicked smile flashes across Penelope’s face. “Who said anything about a woman?”

*

“Are you sure you want to do this? A workplace relationship is exactly what I’m running from,” Emily says.

Spencer’s voice crackles over the line. “It’s honestly fine. According to the exit polls of the 2008 elections, about four percent of Americans were gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Roughly one-hundred and thirty-one point three million people voted. If every vote counted also answered that exit poll, that would be approximately five million, two-hundred and fifty-two thousand people identifying as such.”

“Yeah?”

“Hotch could be one of them, is all I’m saying.”

“Right. But I want to be sure you’re comfortable.”

“Emily, I promise. I wouldn’t be going if I couldn’t handle it. Besides, if he’s as straight as he looks, we’ll have awkward small talk and I’ll go home. It won’t kill me.”

“If you say so. Oh, I’ve got to go, Spence. Good luck,” Emily says. She snaps her phone shut and turns.

Penelope stands in her kitchen with two glasses of wine. She wears neon pink lingerie, a 1960’s inspired sheer robe with fur trim, layered over a matching slip.

“You’ve got to go?” Penelope sips her glass and leaves a pink lipstick print around the rim. “You’re going to leave me here all alone?”

Emily bites her lip. “Not a chance.”

*

An hour later, Emily and Penelope are curled around one another in Penelope’s lavender sheets. They’re sweaty, warm, and flushed.

“And you thought I couldn’t take your mind off it,” Penelope smirks. Her bragging is part bravado; she’s honestly glad Emily didn’t rip her robe to pieces.

“Eh,” Emily pants. “All part of my plan. I know how you love to be right.” And wow, did it ever feel so good to be wrong.

Penelope giggles and toys with Emily’s hair. She loves this part especially. When it’s just them, sleepy and well cared for, and Emily seems so defenseless. Her eyes are softer, her muscles lighter, and she lets Penelope put her loose strands into tiny braids. But this time, one of their ringers pops the bubble.

Emily hoists herself up and snatches her cell phone from the nightstand.

She turns to Penelope and mouths, “It’s Spence.”

Penelope hisses back, “Put him on speaker, dummy!”

So she does. The voices on the other end are muffled by fabric. It’s as if the phone is being rolled through a load of laundry. Penelope fumbles for the mute button and silences their side.

“It’s a butt-dial,” she says, her heart beating as rapidly as it was just minutes ago. “Oh my god, we really are secret agents.”

Emily tries not to encourage her. It’s thrilling, obviously, but her stomach twists. They’re invading Spencer’s privacy. “We should hang up.”

“Yeah, we really should,” Penelope agrees. Emily reaches for the red button that will disconnect them when they finally hear clearly.

“Um, is Jack home?” Spencer wonders.

“No, he’s with Jessica. If this is about a case, I don’t need to chance him hearing the details.”

“Actually,” Spencer coughs, “this is more of a… personal matter.”

“Oh? What’s up?” Hotch sounds genuine enough. He probably thinks of Spencer like a son. Emily wants to pull Spencer out and abort the plan. This is too far.

“I noticed you and Prentiss haven’t been cooperating well lately.” Spencer says, so naturally. “Emily’s my friend, and I was wondering if there’s anything I can do to help?”

A beat passes. “No, nothing that I’m aware of.” Hotch answers. “I respect you and your intentions, Spencer, but I don’t know—”

Spencer is curt. “I think you do.”

“I do, what?”

“You know. I think you might be the problem actually, sir.”

When Hotch doesn’t respond, Spencer continues. “I think you and Emily have a sexual history together. I think you’ve been trying to repeat that history, and she doesn’t want to. I think you’re looking for a way to forget Haley while you grieve her, and that you believe Emily is the solution. In reality, you’re looking for someone to dominate and let you feel in control while your life spirals out from under you, and for someone who will reject you so these wishes go unfulfilled and you aren’t at fault – the other party is. I think it stems from the guilt you feel regarding Haley’s death, both in that you blame yourself for making her a target, and that you couldn’t stop Foyet from killing her.”

Emily and Penelope exchange glances. Spencer has said everything the team considered privately, and tied it back to Prentiss in one neat, factual statement. All that was left was the aspect the team couldn’t predict; how Hotch would react.

“Do you want a drink, Reid?”

What?

“Uh, sure? What- what kind?”

“I have scotch, lemonade, and Juicy Juice.”

“Lemonade sounds good.”

“Good.”

Dishes clatter as Hotch pours for them. Emily and Penelope wait, hanging up completely disregarded.

A cushion wheezes nearby. Hotch’s voice is now much closer. They can feel his vibrato through the tinny speakers. He asks, “Are you confident in your profile?”

Spencer takes a gulp of his drink. “Fairly so, sir, yes.”

“And if I asked you to prove it?”

“Sir?”

“You’re positing that I want to dominate someone and simultaneously, am hoping to be rejected. If you’re right, I’ll make my move and be discouraged when you give me the go-ahead. Maybe I’ll even have a breakdown. Sobbing, psychosis, the works. Do you want to find out?”

“Okay,” Penelope throws up her hands. “This feels icky again. No. Uh-uh. I don’t wanna know.”

Emily shushes her sharply. They’ve just missed a piece of the conversation. “Hold on, hold on.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Hotch questions.

“I’m sick of everyone asking me that.” The other line rustles into white noise. Briefly, it clears. They hear two gasps and what has to be the fumble of bodies.

Hotch rasps, “Come upstairs.”

“And that’s enough!” Penelope slaps the cell phone shut. “I need some air.”

“No kidding.” Emily shakes her head. “Maybe I missed my shot.”

“You take that back.”

Emily leans into her girlfriend, grinning all the while. “Make me.”

[pynkhues]

C&C prompts!!!!! someone is sick?? preferably someone who is a horrific patient and it's early enough in that the whole little family unit is still trying to find their footing together and the whole thing's a mess???

Attempting this challenge has been a real reminder that I am no good at short things, haha, but look! 2k isn’t too bad for me????? 

(I hope you like it 😘)

Set in The Center & Circumference Universe.

(Early in the relationship, as requested ;-))

-

It goes like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

She sneezes and it ain’t some cute little ladylike nothin’ sneeze neither. It’s some loud, fucked-up-sinus, mucous-mouthed thing that echoes around the warehouse and makes everyone stop working, and shit, even Demon looks taken aback. Rio bites his tongue, gaze sliding from him back to Elizabeth, who suddenly stands up taller to meet his look, squares her shoulders, and he has the sudden, vivid memory of Jane doing this at the foot of their bed last week.

“What?”

And yeah, Jane had said that too.

Elizabeth though, she’s got this indignant edge to her voice that means she’s getting defensive, like her hair ain’t frizzing at her sweaty temples, like her skin ain’t flushed, peaked, her eyes ain’t starting to water, and he’d known it this morning before she’d left ahead of him for school run, but okay - - maybe he’d let himself believe her. Maybe he’d let her bat those baby blues at him, let her distract him by leaving the top couple of buttons undone on her ugly floral blouse so he could see the flushed curve of her breast, let her tell him - -

Rio works his jaw, huffs out a breath.

“You said you were good.”

“I am good,” she says right away, voice a little too loud, like he won’t hear the hoarseness that way and when Rio squints at her, she flails out a wobbly hand. “It’s allergies.”

He pops an eyebrow at that.

“In July?”

Behind him, Demon snorts on a laugh, and he sees Elizabeth’s focus snap to him, her own jaw rock, the flush at her cheeks deepening. She shifts her weight, side-to-side, and that ain’t good either, because she looks halfway to wobbling too far and topplin’ over, but still, she blinks.

Takes too long to blink.

Like her eyes close and she doesn’t entirely wanna reopen them.

She does though, just enough to glare.

“Not all allergies are seasonal,” she says, and her voice cracks a little at the end, and he can see it – how much she needs to sit down, and he’s of half a mind to get her arm over his shoulder and drag her over to a seat, but also is she really tryna play him like this?

It’s the latter thought that wins out, because - - whatever. He’ll catch her if she passes out.  

“So it ain’t got nothin’ to do with last week?” he asks, and shit, it’s like some game of chicken, because Elizabeth firms her look, wets her lips, tilts up her chin.  

“I’d tell you if it was.”

And this has pretty clearly proven she wouldn’t, but still, Rio rolls his shoulders back, and turns on his heel, starts walking again to the meeting room in the back where they’re supposed to be hearing a pitch from some new associate, because fine, if this is what they’re doing, it ain’t no skin off his nose. And okay, maybe they set up in the meeting and he spends most of the time watching her, because her skin’s less flushed now and more paper pale, and maybe she wobbles a little in her seat as she trains glazed eyes on the kid pitchin’ them the idea for smugglin’ hormone pills to Cleveland across Lake Erie, and maybe she tries to subtly swipe at her damp forehead as she curls her hair behind her ears and maybe he can hear her swallowing coughs, and maybe he should’ve taken her home before she passed out, but, y’know, he said he’d catch her, and he did, so he can’t really be faulted for that.

 *

 Last week went something like this:

Danny sneezed.

Danny sneezed then Jane sneezed then Emma, Marcus, Kenny, and Rio was vaguely reminded of sitting in front of the TV and watching A Christmas Carol as a kid himself, seeing the ghost of Christmas past, present, future in symptoms across the five of them while he and Elizabeth both wrangled tissue boxes and kiddie aspirin, cough syrup and glassy eyed tears over Frozen, Frozen 2, Wreck It Ralph, Frozen, Moana, Frozen, Zooptopia, Moana, Frozen.

(He might have thrown the bluray of that fuckin’ movie out before Annie came over with extra supplies and cooingly installed Disney+ on their TV, and shit, he’s had a lot of reasons to kill her before, but they all pale in comparison).

And okay, maybe it was a thing, because they were still pretty new to all of this and Rio didn’t need to be as good at math as he was to know that handlin’ five sick kids was gonna be worse than one, but still. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel as close to burnin’ a house down as he did tryna handle three sobbing, snuffling kids at once, and they’d gotten well and the handover had happened and he’d maybe never been happier to give a mostly-better Marcus back to Laura and see the rest of them (also mostly-better) off to Elizabeth’s dumbass ex, and piling into bed after.

Him and Elizabeth hadn’t even fucked, they’d just collapsed back onto the mattress and looked at each other.

“If you get sick, I’m leaving you.”

He can’t remember which one of them said it.

 *

 It goes something like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

Elizabeth sneezes and Rio throws a tissue box at her bedridden form as he works on his laptop in the reading chair in the corner, his own legs propped up on the ottoman he’s dragged up from the living room, as he works on the specs for the associate’s Cleveland pitch.

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that?” she asks him, nose so blocked at this point her voice comes out somehow both hoarse and reedy, and Rio glances up at her over the top of his laptop, biting back a grin.

Thing is, she really does look like hell. The bags beneath her eyes are so purple they almost look like bruises, her skin so pale it’s almost translucent. He’d managed to get her into her favourite, ugliest pyjamas when he’d hauled her back into the house, and she looks comfy, between them and the approximately 800 blankets she’d demanded he pull out to cover her.

She’d sweat the fever out pretty quick, and he’d made awkward but proficient work of takin’ care of her – wiping her brow, feedin’ her flu medicine, and making thin, tasteless soup he somehow hadn’t managed to completely fuck up (then again, the only ingredients had been stock, salt and slivered vegetables) – and hours had gone by and she’d slept and glowered and offered frail excuses, and now - -

Well.

“Ain’t what you said last night,” he hums, clicking through the spreadsheet, and he feels more than sees Elizabeth’s eyeroll in reply.

“I said bedside manner, not - - in-bed manner,” she sniffs, before pulling out a tissue and blowing her nose, and Rio glances up at her red cheeks and wet eyelashes and grins.

“Figured what we did counted more as bed-side.”

And maybe it was semantics, but whatever. It was fun in the moment of it, rememberin’ both their toes curled in this carpet, her body bent like an L atop their sheets, ass up towards him, and - -

“Bed-over,” Elizabeth corrects, and it surprises him enough that Rio barks on a laugh, glancing up at her again, grinning when he spots the subdued but still-a-little-playful look in her eye.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, huh?”

The look on her face is as close to affectionate as she ever gets, and he shifts a little in his seat, feels himself warm beneath it, as she flops back into their pillows, still snuffling. He can pretty much smell the sweat on them at this point, and he wonders vaguely if he can change the sheets before he slips in tonight, because shit, they are damp, and he’s spent enough time hovering over the kids’ feverishly moist beds over the last week to like the idea of somethin’ a little crisper, when Elizabeth suddenly says:

“You stayed though. So that’s - - you know. That’s some sort of bedside manner.”

His gaze darts up, takes in her pink, mottled cheeks, her crooked nose, her dimpled chin, and her voice was high. Light and airy in that way she ain’t, and there’s a knot between his shoulders when he shrugs.

“Well, we got a mortgage now,” he drawls, eyes skirting back down to the spreadsheet on his laptop screen but not taking any of the figures in.

“A big one,” Elizabeth agrees, like they don’t both know they’ve paid it outright, and Rio hums, willing her complicity in the moment of it, because fuck, if that ain’t just - -

Easier.

And he can’t really think about what that means, not really, but maybe he doesn’t have to, because suddenly Elizabeth says:

“I bet you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

Rio jerks his head up, eyebrows raised, and Elizabeth snuffles, closing her eyes briefly, shuffling back into their pillows. The air around her is thick, her body tired, slumped, but glowing with the sheen of her fevered sweat. He wets his lips, works his jaw, meets her eye.

“You’re probably like the - - the poster child for man flu,” she adds, which is a little rich comin’ from the woman who passed out halfway through a meeting. Rio arches an eyebrow back at her, and somewhere in the pocket of his jeans, his cell buzzes. Somewhere outside of here, he can hear afternoon traffic and a neighbour yell. He can hear a lot of things, but he can’t see anything that ain’t Elizabeth, awkward and beautiful and a straight up fuckin’ mess, sprawled out in their bed.

“You talk to every man who takes care of you that way, or just me, huh?”

And her head jerks at that, neck forcing at an odd angle, shoulder shoving up to suffocate the pillow against the bedhead.

“All of them,” she decides after a moment, and Rio snorts on a laugh, closing his laptop and putting it aside. The knot between his shoulders is settling, and he ain’t exactly taking in the specs anyway (he thinks the deal’s a no-go, but he figured lookin’ it over was the least he could do for the kid, given one of his potential bosses rolled out of her fuckin’ body halfway through his pitch), so he starts towards the bed, planning on folding in directly beside her, when Elizabeth shakes her head, pushing him gently away.

“No,” she says. “I’m not - - I - - ”

She’s fumbling for the words, and Rio looks at her, taking her in all over again, seeing the uncertainty not the set of her, and so he ignores her, returning her gentle shove with one of his own and lying down in their bed, and he can’t explain it. The feeling in his chest when she casts wide eyes at him.

“What?” he grunts, and she opens her mouth once, twice, says:

“I - - Dean - - ”

Her mouth clamps shut.

She stares at him, and Rio stares back, watching her mandible clench, her lips twitch, her bambi eyes blink. After a moment, she shakes her head, wriggles down in the bed.

“You’ll only have yourself to blame if you get sick.”

Rio snorts.

“Darlin’, we both know I probably already got it.”

She rolls her eyes then, but keeps wriggling down until they’re eye level again, and Rio leans over, just enough to hook a finger beneath her chin, flick it up over the dimple there, and he watches as her tired eyes glaze over or - - maybe not. Maybe they’re just overtaken somehow. By somethin’ that just makes her look at him in a way he still ain’t used to. Naked almost, open and tired and warm.

“Probably,” she agrees quietly, and she turns into him. Rio’s fingers lift from her chin to brush over her wet lips.

“’Sides,” he tells her. “Where else would I wanna sleep?”

Like they don’t have at least five other bedrooms in this house.

Like there ain’t the promise of something warmer, cleaner, fresher, safer somewhere in this house, but he don’t want it.

This is his bed.

She’s his - -

“Fine,” she says, pointedly closing her eyes, and Rio does the same, and maybe he pretends he doesn’t notice the way she shuffles – ever so slightly – closer before they both fall asleep.

 *

 It goes something like this:

Rio sneezes.

Rio sneezes and Elizabeth fuckin’ laughs.

[isis-astarte-diana]

Milk and Honey: Day 3

Day 1 ‖ Day 2 ‖ Day 3 (Fin)

Summary: “I think we need to talk about yesterday.” Inches are lost; miles are gained; things are said that can’t be unsaid.

Warnings: Tiny bit of non-sexual nudity and also, separately, a sexual reference. Dodgy dynamics (I tried to fix them!). Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 3880

NB: This chapter was such a struggle to figure out and I think it shows (!!) but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Also, yes, I did write another ‘Missy and reader watching a horror film’ scene, and no, I won’t apologise for it. (Maybe there should be a seasonal Hallowe’en film night fic?) I consider this the end of the story!

You think it’s the rain that’s woken you.

It’s deafening against the window, a downpour that floods the road outside so that the sound of each passing car is turned into a crashing wave. The room is black as pitch. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and make forms of the shadows.

“Go back to sleep.”

Missy’s voice close behind you makes you jump. You twist around awkwardly, tangling your legs in the duvet, and almost smack your face into her elbow. She’s reclining on top of the sheets beside you. In the inky gloom you can just make out the pillows propping her up against the headboard, the open book she holds in her lap.

What time is it? The first hazy thought shakes loose in your mind. Almost immediately afterwards, how long has she been awake?

What comes out is thick and groggy. “Too dark to read.”

“Hmm.” It’s not quite a chuckle. She turns the page, a slow, rasping sound near your ear. “Is it dark to you?”

There’s something low and melancholic in her voice that makes you frown. You try to sit up, propping yourself up with one arm, but the duvet pulls tight and stops you halfway. You’d hoped to see her face better by moving; the shadows give no such clarity. She’s featureless in the dark.

“Go back to sleep,” she says again, not waiting for an answer. “It’s early.”

“And you?” Your head falls back to the pillow of its own accord. Wakefulness is still out of reach, a tendril of smoke that you cannot grasp. “Will you sleep?”

No response.

Even as your eyes close and you slip back into unconsciousness, you can feel her gaze on your face, warm and ticklish. Or maybe it’s her hand.

+++++

Missy is brushing her hair.

Eyes half-closed, you pretend not to watch her. She stands in front of your mirror, purple housecoat flowing around her like something from a fairy tale, sweeping a wooden brush through the tangles. Four hairpins jut from her mouth.

I’m glad you changed your mind about the bed.

The swelling there is gone. A ragged line is all that remains, dark through her pale pink bottom lip. She sets the hairbrush down and drags a pin from between her teeth, running it across the scab. Her eye twitches.

I think we need to talk about yesterday.

Red splotches on her cheek mark the place where the graze had been, new skin that looks tight and itchy. Parts of the large cut are healed completely. It’s only by the faint purple scratches - one below her eye, one on her jaw - that you can even find where she was injured. She twirls a lock of hair around her finger and pins it at the back of her head.

I don’t know what to do.

Your throat feels tight. She finishes putting her hair up, skilful and unhurried, eyes never flitting from the mirror.

I wish you would look at me.

Slender fingers chart the healed cuts on her face.

I wish you would touch me.

She unbuttons the housecoat and drops it from her shoulders, revealing her chemise. She twists as if to look over her shoulder. It’s no significant state of undress but you clamp your eyes shut all the same.

A long moment of silence passes.

“Could you look at my back?”

Her voice is soft. When you open your eyes, she’s turned back to the mirror, having shrugged off the gown and hooked it over her arm. The white linen chemise ends just above her knees. Her pale calves are dappled with fine, dark hair.

“Please. I can’t quite see it in the mirror.”

You throw the duvet off and sit up, skin prickling with goosebumps as it meets the cool morning air. Outside the rain is torrential. “Of course.” Your voice is still groggy.

She tilts her head as you approach. A single strand of hair hangs loose at her neck. It stirs with your breath.

“Can I-?” Your fingers hover at the embroidered straps on her shoulders, not touching, not asking. Just waiting.

“Please,” she says again.

There is no right way to ease the top of the dress down her arms. You search for something to look at that won’t make your chest hurt but there’s only her bare shoulders, her bright eyes in the mirror. Closing your eyes would be insulting. So would turning your face away.

You can do nothing but watch her shoulder blades twitch as you guide the straps down past her elbows. The fabric droops, falling clear to her waist. She shivers but makes no effort to cover her chest. Your eyes drop to the small of her back.

“Well?”

There’s an indent, a quarter of an inch deep, maybe more. The new skin that lines it is a furious shade of pink. It’s sickle-shaped, with jagged edges, curving to the left of her spine. You catch your fingers drifting towards it and clench them into a fist at your side.

“It looks good.” You clear your throat. “It’s healing. No swelling or anything.”

“But not healed yet?” A strange sort of optimism tints the question.

“No, not- not properly. It still looks...” Painful. “Fresh.”

“Good.” She tugs her chemise back into place hastily. “That it’s healing. That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Still cold, you reach for your dressing gown and draw it around yourself. “I’m, uh - I’m gonna go for a shower, okay?”

“Of course.”

She fastens her housecoat with quick fingers. 

+++++

When you find Missy reading on the sofa, there are two steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of her.

She’s gotten changed.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before - the dark floral blouse, the wool skirt - but it feels uncanny. Somehow, seeing her in her chemise or in a pair of your pyjamas is less bizarre than this, her usual clothes with a softer silhouette, no corset, no boots. She has her legs tucked beneath her and her back angled away from the cushions in a way that’s startling unfamiliar. She looks relaxed. She looks comfortable.

“I made tea,” she says, and you realise that you’re staring.

“For me?” It sounds pathetically surprised.

“No. They’re both mine.” She glances up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, for you.” An arrogant, sarcastic sort of lopsided smirk; a faint flicker of her usual self. It makes your heart flutter.

“Thank you, Missy.”

She blinks. When was the last time somebody said that?

You take the cup and sit beside her. Her foot, stocking-pale and peeking out beneath the folds of her skirt, brushes your leg. You don’t flinch. Neither does she. To keep from reaching down and resting your palm on her ankle you wrap both hands around your mug. In times of desperation you can undress her, in darkness or in anger she can lay her hands on you to push you away or pull you close, but by the cold light of a rainy noontime you don’t know where you stand.

You don’t know the rules of this game.

As you drink your tea in silence - save for the occasional drag and rasp of a page turning - the words roll over and over behind your teeth, a tangle you try and fail to straighten out before speaking aloud. There’s too much to unravel. Too many thoughts, emotions, sensations are knotted together, and how do you ask if she feels what you feel when you don’t know what that is?

How do you ask if you can touch her?

How do you explain that you want to?

Missy watches you from the corner of her eye. It’s clear from the set of her jaw that she can sense something of the tumult in your skull. You wish she would put the book down and stop pretending to ignore you. You wish she would speak first.

You wish she would hold your hand.

“What are you reading?” You ask, and immediately wish that you hadn’t when she lifts her eyes from the page and sets them on you. They crinkle at the corners with her smile.

“Immensely dull,” she admits as she shows you the cover. It’s a nondescript black hardback titled in an unfamiliar language. “He’s been telling me to read it for centuries. I let it gather dust in the vault just to get under his skin.”

You can see where this is going. “And now he’s conveniently forgotten to bring you any other books?”

“Clever girl.” You hope she doesn’t see the way it makes your fingers twitch. Dropping her gaze back to the book in her lap, she shifts just enough that her foot rests against the outside of your thigh. She leaves it there.

“I think-”

The words come out before you can stop them and now it’s happening. You’ve lit the fuse. Missy looks at you again, properly this time, and you’d do anything for her to jump in and plug this gap with a derisive, do you? or, try not to strain yourself  but she doesn’t. She just waits. It hurts to meet her eyes.

You do it anyway. She deserves that much.

“I think we need to talk about yesterday.”

She nods, almost imperceptible. Something cracks behind her smile but it stays put, too wide, too false to be comfortable. “Do we?” It’s hollow. Not a question, not a snarl. Maybe a scoff.

Maybe a plea.

The doorbell rings.

+++++

In the doorway to your flat the Doctor proffers a damp plastic bag. The smell of hot oil and chip shop vinegar rises from it in a haze. It instantly makes you hungry.

In his other hand he carries a folded umbrella, wet from the rain.

"I brought food,” he says, and you realise that you’re staring.

“Is that-”

“Yes.” He taps the end of Missy’s sonic umbrella against the ground. “Can I come in?”

Uncertain. Like he thinks you might actually say no. He looks down at his full hands, the chips, the sonic; peace offerings. The closest to an apology you could ever expect, and one you aren’t quite ready to accept.

You don’t know when you got so angry with him.

“Did you do anything to it?”

“No,” he says, fire in his eyes, and it means I would never. You know his vehemence is supposed to be an olive branch, too, but it incenses you. He understands the notion that some things are sacred. He knows that there is a line and this is where he’s drawn it, too far on the wrong side of cruelty.

You stand to the side to let him through the door. When he’s close enough, you snatch the umbrella from his hand.

+++++

Missy is so different when he’s there.

She sits up straighter. Even when he takes your seat beside her, banishing you to sit cross-legged on the floor, she keeps her distance. Her feet are back on the ground. The book that she was reading is, you can see from your low vantage point, hidden beneath the sofa.

The umbrella is propped up against the coffee table in front of her. It doesn’t leave her sight for an instant.

“So,” he inspects a chip on the end of his fork. “You look better.”

“Than you?” A tilt of her eyebrow. “Always.”

He ignores it. “How’s recovery going?”

“Tiresome. Next time I get stabbed I’ll make sure that it kills me.”

Next time I get stabbed. Your stomach twists painfully and you put the remains of your meal aside. Their tight back-and-forth continues for almost half an hour.

When the Doctor gets up to leave, Missy sees him out, closing the living room door behind her. In a bid to ignore the low murmur of their voices in the hall, you tidy up as loudly as you can.

+++++

Four knocks against the doorframe, just audible over the rolling boil of the kettle.

You’ve never drunk this much tea in your life.

Even before she speaks your stomach is dropping. The kitchen feels smaller than it ever has before. Counters and cabinets press in on you, claustrophobic, like the room is shrinking around you in the silence.

“It’s time for me to go back.”

Squeezing your eyes tight, you fight not to make a sound until you’ve steadied yourself. Horror and sorrow and pain tug at your throat. When you finally manage to reply it’s terse, partly with anger, partly because your voice will break if you say any more. “Do you want to?”

“Does it matter?” She asks, and somehow it’s worse than yes. “The Doctor and I- agree, that I’ve recovered enough to travel again.”

“Did you show him your back?” There’s an ember of something too much like jealousy in the question.

“No.” I would never. A trace of disgust in her voice. Some things are sacred. “No, but we spoke.”

You scoff. “You mean, he said jump and you asked how high?”

She doesn’t even argue and god, you’d take being thrown against the bathroom sink over this, any day. “Yes. That’s how it has to be.”

“Does it?” For the first time you throw a glance over your shoulder at her. It’s a mistake. It makes your bottom lip quiver. “Why?”

Her brows draw together, a soft sort of torment on her face. “You know why.”

“I don’t.” Squaring your shoulders, you turn to face her, bracing your hands on the countertop behind you. You set your jaw against the plaintive whimper that races up your throat. “Tell me.”

“I’m not- ready. To be around people yet.” She waves a delicate hand in front of her face. “I thought I was, but obviously I was mistaken.”

“You look ready.” You gesture to her. “You’re standing here with me.”

“I’m not safe.”

“You haven’t killed me, have you?” You indicate your very-much-still-living body. “I’m still here.”

A quick hand wraps around your extended arm, just over your wrist, where she’d grabbed you yesterday. It’s not a tight grip but the joint is stiff and, despite your best efforts, your face twitches with discomfort. Spotting the movement, she loosens her hand until she’s just barely touching you.

“I hurt you.”

Your eyes flicker over her face, the pain written into it. It’s not a question, but you answer anyway. “Yes.”

Her gaze drops from you and she lets go of your wrist, but you catch her hand in yours and take a step towards her. She could pull away easily, you know that; but she doesn’t. Her fingers lace between yours.

“Do you want to go?” You ask again, making a conscious effort to keep your voice soft. She doesn’t look at you.

“I have to,” she murmurs to the floor.

“You don’t.” Closer still, letting your clasped hands swing between you. Less than a foot of distance from chest to chest. “And that’s not what I asked.”

Missy lifts her bright eyes to you and the desperation there makes your breath catch. She doesn’t speak.

“You can stay.” It comes out like a plea. “If you like.”

Her voice is a cracked whisper. “I can’t.”

“Why?” You reach for her other hand and she doesn’t flinch, letting you slot your fingers together with hers until you can feel her heartbeat through both palms. “Why can’t you, Missy?”

“Because-” with a steadying breath, she sets her jaw and twists her lips in contempt that you know isn’t directed at you. “Because I am not a good person.”

“Then be a good person!” 

You don’t mean for it to be so loud. Her eyes widen and you squeeze her hands, closing the distance until you’re almost touching. Your faces are inches apart.

“It’s not something you can learn. You’re not stupid, and you’re not helpless, and, whatever, the Doctor thinks, you are not his pet monster. If you lock yourself up with him until you feel like you’re good enough you’ll be there forever.”

Her face crumples, tears shining glassy in the low light of the afternoon, and it looks like she wants to lunge and pull you close but she doesn’t. She parts her lips and takes a breath and lets you carry on. You can feel a mutinous sob building at the back of your throat.

“You don’t have to save the world. Most people never do. You don’t have to be kind all the time because nobody ever is but you have to choose, Missy. You just have to choose not to be cruel. Every day, you choose. That’s all you do. That’s all there is to it.”

She laughs, low and tearful, a strangled sort of noise. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“On a good day, it is.”

With a shaky breath like she’s drowning, Missy asks, “and on a bad day?”

“On a bad day, you do the best you can.” When a tear streaks down her face you can’t stop yourself dropping her hand, reaching up to cup her cheek. It’s cold. Her mouth falls open with a quivering gasp when you wipe away the moisture with your thumb. You feel your own eyes burning and offer her a watery smile. “And then you try again tomorrow.”

She covers your hand with her own and looks at you for a moment as if she’s waiting for permission; and then she holds it there and tilts her head to press a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist.

The tears you’ve been swallowing back escape with a choked whimper.

“Stay, Missy.” You crook your fingers and curl them lightly against her jaw. She shivers. “Please. I’m asking you. Stay here with me.”

Closing her eyes like she’s struck with pain, she moves your hand from her face and rests her forehead against yours. Slowly - so achingly slowly - her hands release yours and come to rest on your waist. It makes your breath hitch. You mirror her, just as tentatively, pressing your palms to the line where thin blouse and thick skirt meet.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, the breath of the words ghosting over your face. “For yesterday, I-”

“I know you are.” Her fingers tighten on the fabric of your clothes. “Don’t do it again.”

“Never.” She opens her eyes, so close that you can hear the moisture on her lashes. “I promise you. I would never.”

“I believe you.”

“I want to be good.”

You chuckle through your tears, breathless and high-pitched. “For what it’s worth, I think you already are.”

She makes a fractured sound in the back of her mouth and slides one hand into the small of your back. Lifting her head, she moves closer, pressing her chest to yours. Her fingers are cool and feather-light on your face.

“Everything,” she murmurs, brushing the tears from your cheek. “It’s worth everything.”

The kiss is damp, and salty, and it knocks you breathless.

For a second you worry about hurting her, feeling the rough line of the scab through her bottom lip drag against your mouth, but she has no such concerns. She kisses you like she’ll die if she doesn’t.

You know how she feels.

When, too soon, she pulls away, you can’t help whining and trying to chase her mouth with your own, but she steps back, just enough that you can’t reach. For a long moment you’re terrified that she’s changed her mind, that this has been some mad and frenzied mistake, but she presses her lips to your forehead and tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“You’re cold.”

It takes you a moment to even process the words. “Am I?”

Smiling, she reaches back to move your hand from her waist and show it to you by way of explanation. It’s trembling.

You hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Yeah, I s’pose I am.”

She kisses your knuckles, just once, just lightly, and you realise that you are, in fact, shivering.

“You go and sit down.” Gentle fingers brush the underside of your chin. “I’ll make tea.”

The touch has you ducking your head shyly and you tease, “twice in one day?”

“Only for you, poppet.”

+++++

“It’s obviously the little girl.”

“Is it?” You glance away from the gore on the screen and down to Missy. Her head rests in your lap, over the thick blanket that covers you, her eyes fixed on the horror film playing out on the television. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t recall telling you to stop.” She looks up at you with a quirk of her eyebrow, rolling her eyes to indicate her hairline. With a fond scoff you resume gently scratching her head. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Mistress is fine.” Judging by the sharp smile that flashes across her face, she doesn’t miss the choked noise you make. “It’s a revenge film. I mean, look,” she gestures to the screen, “everyone who was nasty to her is dying. It’s poetic justice.”

“Like Carrie?” You prompt helpfully, smoothing a frustrated line from her forehead.

“Exactly like Carrie.” She wrinkles her nose. “But with worse practical effects.”

“I s’pose they all look fairly bad to you.”

“Hmm. It’s like pornography.” Your fingers falter against her scalp and she chuckles. “Pales in comparison once you’ve done the real thing.”

You look back at the television, debating for a moment whether to speak, but curled on the sofa here with her it all feels so much simpler. With forced casualness, you ask, “do you miss it?”

“Pornography?” She snorts. “Sometimes. I had a lot of me time in the vault.”

“No!” Feeling heat rise into your cheeks, you swat the side of her head very gently with your palm. She laughs. “I mean-”

“I know what you mean.” She takes your other hand - the one resting on her shoulder - and brings it down to her lips, kissing your palm. It makes you melt. “Which answer do you want? The good one, or the bad one?”

“Just the real one, Missy.” You lace your fingers through hers. “I don’t mind what that is.”

With a soft exhale, she clutches your hand to her chest. You can feel her hearts beating. “Like I said. Sometimes.” She throws a sideways glance up at you and you smile.

“That makes sense.”

“Does it?” So much aching vulnerability in the question. You squeeze her hand.

“Yeah. Makes sense to me.”

She nods like she doesn’t quite agree, and the movement turns into a nuzzle against your thigh. Taking the hint, you set up the rhythm of light scratches through her hair once more. “We still have to talk, don’t we?”

“Yeah. I think so.” She presses your palm tighter into her blouse. Her eyes are still red and puffy. “But not right now. Unless you want to.”

“Not right now,” she echoes softly, and ducks her head to kiss your knuckles. Her head twists in your lap as she settles herself again.

“Are you sure you don’t want a pillow?”

“Positive.” Her lips tilt at the corners. “This is perfect.”

Yes, is all you can think, watching the red-and-blue light of the television flashing on her pale face. She hums contentedly when you scratch behind her ear.

This is perfect.

[buckleyirondad]

2. In The Hands Of The Enemy “Pick Who dies” 

Peter has to choose who to save, Morgan or MJ.

AO3 Link

It was dark.

Michelle couldn’t see a thing, even when she strained her eyes.

She tried not to concentrate on that, or the rapid speed of her heart, instead she curled her arms around Morgan, who was tucked up against her chest, fighting through hiccupped sobs.

The truck took yet another, sudden turn, and Michelle’s shoulder collided with the interior.

She bit down on her lip, hard, ignoring it.

Morgan cried, “Mimi...”

Michelle brushed a hand through her hair, shushing her, “Yeah?”

She sniffled, “Is Petey coming?”

“I think so.”

Morgan sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Michelle hushed, “But I’m here, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

It had been a normal day, up until they were snatched and tossed into the back of a truck.

Michelle picked Morgan up from Kindergarten, like every other Friday. She loved doing it, it was calm among the chaos that was her life - with most of her time devoted to exam season, that was hurling towards her, and the constant lingering worry, that came hand-in-hand, with loving a superhero – picking her boyfriend’s little sister up, was somewhat normal.

Then it took the worst possible turn.

They started their usual walk back to Peter’s apartment, hoping he’d be finished picking up groceries for May, by the time they got there, and they could head off together to the Ice Cream Parlour.

Michelle had felt uneasy, halfway through the journey. She’d mindlessly pulled Morgan closer and walked faster.

She didn’t have a sixth sense like Peter, but she did have something he didn’t, and that was common sense.

She’d noticed, in the corner of her eye, two men, on the side of the road – dressed, head-to-toe, in black individual suits. She didn’t want to be labeled as paranoid, but in the movies, that would be a red alarm, and it was.

The general public knew that Morgan existed, but her family never shared photos of her, and she didn’t appear at events.

Pepper dealt with the press, and people snapping the occasional picture. It would get harder when she started school, but for now, they had it under control; the staff, the parents, and even the kids, at her Kindergarten, were incredibly understanding.

Tony and Pepper believed she deserved anonymity, she was too young to understand the downfalls of being in the public eye, but she could decide, what she wanted to do when she was older.

Michelle respected that.

Still, even with all those precautions, Morgan was still a target.

Thinking on her feet, Michelle had diverted, down an alleyway, pulling Morgan along, while scrambling for her phone.

She wasn’t fast enough.

Before she could press her panic button, they were grabbed.

They never even saw the faces of their abductors, it happened, in a flash.

They took her phone.

There was only one thing she could do – protect Morgan.

The truck came to a halt, and voices followed, joined by the unmistakable sound of doors closing.

Morgan shifted, “What’s—” She sounded so young, she didn’t deserve this, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve stopped—”

The doors at the back were thrown open, with heavy hands, the hinges squeaked.

Michelle jerked, cradling Morgan’s head close to her shoulder, shielding her from potential harm, while trying to adjust the bright light beaming in.

A man barked, “Get out.”

Michelle swallowed the lump in her throat, and slowly, slid forward, climbing out onto the solid ground while holding onto Morgan, who intuitively locked her legs around Michelle’s middle.

Michelle looked ahead, trying to paint of picture of where they were.

They were surrounded by abandoned apartments, there were signs, explaining that they were ready for demolition.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Michelle turned, and as soon as she saw him, her heart leaped, into her throat.

It was Mac Gargan. Weapon smuggler turned murderer.

He was involved in Peter’s infamous ‘ferry mishap’ that Michelle had heard about, a few times.

Also, in the five years when the universe was half empty, he’d managed to escape jail, and he hadn’t been seen since. Tony was looking for him, considering he had an obvious distaste for Spider-Man.

He stood proud, with a smirk, “Hello, hello, hello…” He sang, “Nice to meet you.”

Michelle bit her tongue, staying silent.

She studied him.

Gargan had a long jagged scar that snaked around his eye, which was bloodshot. He laughed humourlessly, motioning to it, “Admiring the view, sweetheart?” He asked, “You’re never gonna guess who’s responsible for this?”

He prodded her forehead, with his finger.

“Your boyfriend.” He howled, “Peter Benjamin Parker.”

Her mouth dropped open, “You—”

He interrupted, “It wasn’t easy finding out.”

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip, “Toomes?”

“Bingo.” He applauded, “It took a while, a few…untraditional techniques, but he caved, in the end.”

He buried his hand, in his pocket, drawing out Michelle’s phone.

He barked an order, “Passcode, now.”

Michelle hesitated.

Gargan’s snapped his fingers and one of his goons stepped forward, a gun raised.

Gargan jerked his thumb in Morgan’s direction, “Passcode or her head?” He shrugged, “Guess you have a preference.”

“1-0-0-8.”

The gun was lowered, and Gargan sneered, “Thank you.” He stepped aside, “I’m gonna give your little boyfriend a call, then we’ll have a catch-up.” He pointed to his guards, “They’ll take you where you need to be.”

Michelle looked at them.

They were emotionless, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their mouths set in a determined line. Michelle’s eyes hadn’t properly adjusted, to the outside world, but the main difference, she could see, between the pair, was one of a few inches taller than the other.

One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her aside, “This way.”

The other chipped in, “Don’t try anything.”

They were led into one of the buildings and up the staircase. It was, at least, twenty stories high, but Michelle refused to put Morgan down, not for anything.

Her stomach twisted, churning violently, the closer they got to the roof. Stepping out onto it, sent a chill up her spine like she’d stepped over somebody’s grave.

The taller guard, watched them, like a hawk, not letting them out of his sight.

The other was a chatterbox and wouldn’t shut up about how hungry he was.

Gargan stepped through the door, after a while, wearing a valiant smile, “Peter’s on his way.”

Michelle stood straight as she slowed her breathing, “He’ll stop you.”

“Well, darling, he sounded scared shitless, so I doubt it,” Gargan cackled, he dropped her phone and cracked it, under his heel, “He won’t be long.”

He spun around, muttering to his chattering goon, “Take her.”

Michelle shuffled back, “What—”

The man sped over, manhandling Morgan, attempting to drag her out of Michelle’s reach.

“Mimi—” Morgan tripped to keep a grip on Michelle’s shoulders, “Mimi!” 

“No—” Michelle pleaded, “No, Morgan!” The taller man grabbed Michelle’s flailing arms, holding her back, “Let me go! Morgan!”

Morgan kicked and screamed, “Mimi—"

Michelle turned her attention to Gargan, “Look do whatever the fuck you want to me, Gargan!” She yelled, “Just don’t touch her.”

“You’re not making the decisions here, Missus.” He tutted, “I am. If you don’t want accidents to happen, then you’re going to have to listen to me, and so is she.”

Michelle erupted, “She’s five!”

“I don’t care.”

Michelle slowed her breathing, “Morgan—”

Morgan sobbed, “Mimi…”

“Look at me.” She hushed, “You’ve gotta stay still—”

“—I’m scared.”

Michelle stopped fighting the grip around her, “I know, but you’ve got to be super quiet.”

Morgan stilled, “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“See. That wasn’t too hard.” Gargan nodded, to his men, “You know what to do.”

Morgan was marched over, to the far left of the roof, near the edge.

Michelle was taken the same way, leaving a good, eight meters, between them.

A heavy thump cut through the silence, nearby.

Gargan ran to the edge, peering over, “Oooh...” He twisted, rubbing his palms together, “We’ve got company.”

Michelle bowed her head, “Oh, Peter.”

Peter leaped over, clearly jumping over from the building opposite, he landed, down on his knee.

Gargan brought his hands together, in a singular clap. “10 out of 10 for effort, but the landing was a solid 4 out of ten 10.”

Peter stepped up, with a look, in his eyes, that Michelle had never seen before.

The fury written across his face should have been enough to make Gargan falter, but he stood, strong.

Morgan cried out, “Petey!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Stop this…” He snarled, in Gargan’s direction.

“No.” Gargan held out a hand, “Backpack now.”  

Peter swung it off, tossing it over.

Gargan caught it, with ease, “And the rest.”

Peter shrugged, “I’ve got nothing else.” His poker face wasn’t half bad, but Michelle knew him too well.

Gargan raised his hand.

Morgan’s shriek tore through Michelle’s head, she turned, “Morgan!”

The guard was dangling Morgan, over the edge.

Unconsciously, Michelle stepped aside, but stopped, when something cold was pressed against her temple.

Peter’s face contorted, “Stop!”

Gargan took out his gun, pointing it in Peter’s direction, “The rest.”

“Okay…” Peter removed his web-shooters, throwing them aside, with shaking hands, “Okay.”

“Good boy.”

The gun, against Michelle’s head, was lowered, and in the corner of her eyes, she watched as Morgan was pulled back.

Morgan’s voice broke, “Petey!”

“It’s okay, M.,” Peter said gently, “I’m here now, everything’s gonna be alright.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her.” Gargan mocked, “That’s just mean. I’ve been waiting for this day.” He kept his gun raised, “I’ve wanted to kill you, for some time, but then, Thanos beat me to it. How envious I was. Now, you’re back, and I get to do it again! I could tear you apart, limb by limb, or perhaps, drown you, on the same route the ferry was that day.”

“I take full responsibility for what happened on the ferry.” Peter threw his hands out, “But this has nothing to do with them!”

“Oh, yes it does.” Gargan took a step closer, “Because, I’ve had time to study you, Peter Parker, and if I’m right, killing you, will never be enough.”

Michelle closed her eyes, she knew exactly where this was heading.

The guard’s arm tightened around her front, and she was dragged up, off the ground, her feet scraped across the surrounding wall.

She couldn’t help but look, at the drop that awaited her.

One firm push and she’d be gone.

Morgan was in the same position, and her panicked screams would haunt Michelle, no matter what happened next.

“No!” Peter shook his head frantically, “Stop this, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan let out a harsh whisper, “Choose.”

Michelle’s eyes were on Peter.

He was acting strong, but it was all a front, inside he was crumbling.

Peter’s voice wavered, “What?”

“Choose which one dies, or both of them will.” Gargan held a hand back, “Your mentor’s daughter or the girl of your dreams.”

“Kill me!” Peter cried, with zero hesitation, “Kill me and be done with it!” Peter’s chest, rose and fell, with rapid breaths, “Please…”

Michelle hated that Peter thought laying down his life was the ‘fix’ to the situation.

Gargan shook his head, “That’s not the decision I gave you.”

Peter thumped his fist off his chest, “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Gargan looked at his watch, “It’s their time you’re wasting.”

Peter lunged forward, pushing Gargan’s chest, “You can’t do this!”

It dawned on Michelle, later than it should have.

Peter wasn’t only fighting, he was stalling.

Michelle had spent months getting to know Peter’s family, and surprisingly, they’d become part of hers too, even Tony Stark.

Of course, they were coming.

A dark thought crossed her mind.

She knew they’d speed over, as fast as possible, but there was a chance, it wouldn’t be enough.

She was being held, off the edge of a roof, with Morgan.

They didn’t have time.

Gargan pushed Peter back, “Both of them?!”

Peter retched, a hand on his stomach, “No!”

“Then pick!”

“Please, please, I’m begging you.” Peter’s throat cracked, “Take me instead, kill me, torture me, I don’t care!”

“You’re keen.” Gargan chuckled, “They must really mean the world to you.”

A pause.

“Choose.”

“—Stop!”

“Choose!”

Michelle coaxed, ignoring the drop below, “Peter—”

Peter ignored her, “Please!”

She tried again, louder, “Peter!”

He darted his eyes over but looked down.

“Peter, look at me.” She begged, “Hey, loser! Look at me, please!”

Tears welled in his eyes, “MJ—"

She softened her voice, “Listen.”

He shook his head.

She calmed her voice, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not—"

“It is.” She nodded slowly, “It has to be.”

Peter tilted his head to his shoulder as a sob tore through him.

“I love you—” She stammered, “More than you know—”

“I—” Peter pressed a hand to his chest, “I love you, too.”

Gargan waved his gun around, “Ah, young love.”

Michelle’s breath caught, “No—"

“Shut up!” Peter clenched his fist, “This is—”

“Peter!” She cut in, “Stop, just—just look at me, nothing else—” She stammered, “Nothing else, just me.”

“MJ—"

“It’s not your fault, any of it.”

Peter’s shoulder slumped, he momentarily looked to the skies, for a miracle, but he looked back to her.

“Let me go—” She managed a weak smile, for him, “Please.”

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes locked onto her.

“So…” Gargan trailed off, “Who will it be?”

Peter muttered, with a cry, “MJ.”

Gargan tapped the back of his ear, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Peter gasped, “Michelle.”

Michelle’s feet raised, off the wall, and before she knew, she was falling – she didn’t expect it, to be so fast.

She never hit the ground.

Strong metallic arms looped around her, “What?” She looked, but there was nothing there, despite being able to feel it.

Tony’s familiar voice spoke up, “Need a lift?”

“Stark?”

The familiar red and gold flared into view, as Tony’s suit became visible, “The one and only.” He flew down, guiding her down onto the sidewalk, he retracted his mask, “You okay?” He asked, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I think so, how—” She studied, “How did you do that?”

“Retroreflective panels, Harley’s idea.” He said, “Pretty neat.”

“Yeah…”

“Still got a few bugs.” He shrugged, “It works better with planes.”

She stepped forward, throwing herself around him, in a hug.

“Oh!” He curled an arm, around her.

She stepped back, “Sorry—That was—"

“You were thrown off a roof.”

“I was—” She yelped, “Oh, My—They’re gonna—They’re gonna think I’m dead.”

“Not for very much longer.” He pointed, “Rhodey’s got a clear shot.”

Michelle whispered, “He made him choose.”

“What?”

She peered up, “It’s Gargan…”

Tony’s cheeks turned grey, “Oh…”

“He made Peter choose, between me…and—”

“Morgan?”

“I had—I had to convince him—” She blurted, “To—choose me.”

Tony sighed heavily.

“He was fighting against the whole thing—” She explained breathlessly, “But, but it had to me, Morgan is wor-“

“Let me stop you right there.” He cut in, “This isn’t about worth, MJ.”

“It had to be me.”

“No. It shouldn’t have been an option, in the first place.” Tony squeezed his hand around her arm, “If you hadn’t convinced Peter, to choose you – he would have fought against it until the inevitable happened. Do you realize how incredibly brave that was, of you?”

“I guess.”

“You saved Morgan, and you knew where that was going to lead you.”

“I had to—” She sniffled, “I love her, and Peter, he’s just..”

“You and Morgan, mean more than the world to him." 

“I know.” Michelle fumbled with her hands, “Can you take me up?” She asked, teary-eyed, “I—I need to see him.”

“Of course.” He stepped forward, locking his arms around her, “Hold on.” They flew up, fast. It wasn’t a fun experience, but it was less vomit-inducing than swinging with Peter.

Michelle could see Peter, knelt on the ground, cradling Morgan, in his arms.

Gargan’s goons were unconscious, laid face-first, with their arms sprayed behind them.

Rhodey was standing, his gauntlet raised in Gargan’s direction.

Gargan's smirk dropped, as soon as he set eyes on Michelle. 

Peter didn’t look up, his face was tucked against Morgan’s shoulder.

Tony touched down, carefully helping Michelle onto her feet.

Morgan lifted her chin, she hiccupped, “Mimi?”

Peter sat up straight, to see, his throat cracked, “I—” His lower lip trembled, and his words were lost.

Morgan leaped out of his arms, “Daddy!”

Tony retracted his armor, catching her mid-run and hoisting her up, into his arms, “Oh, Thank God.”

Michelle swayed forward, uneasy on her feet.

Peter gradually got up, into a standing position, he stared at her.

She sprinted forward and crashed into his chest, tangling her arms behind his back, cradling him close.

“You’re—” He nestled his face against her shoulder, “You’re not—"

“I’m here, I’m okay.” She ran her hands, up and down his back, “I’m alive, nothing happened—"

He sank, in her hold, “I’m so sorry—"

“You did the right thing.” She stood back, laying her hand on his cheek, “I promise, you did.” She nodded, “I love you, so much—"

“I love you.” He pulled her back in, “I never want—”

She shushed him, “We’re okay.”

[freddiesaysalright]

The Most Dramatic Season Ever - Week 4

Summary:  It’s your time now! You are ABC’s new Bachelorette and this is your journey! All these men (including our fav BoRhap boys and then some) are competing for your heart! Will you find love? Will you get engaged at the end? Or will you end up heartbroken? Find out, on the most dramatic season ever!

Word Count: 9.5k 

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @moon-stars-soul​, @danadeacon​, @deacyblues​, @thesundrop​, @cupidben​, @lostlittlenerd​, @delilahmay39​, @timmvrphy​, @queenmylovely​, @loveandbeloved29​, @free-pool-trash​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @local-troubled-writer​, @babyalienfairy​, @littlecarowrites​, @allthethingsicant​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @squishy-gay-astronaut​, @sherlollydramoine​, @butlegendsneverdie​, @dogmom2014​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Alright, we are halfway through the season! The drama continues this week on The Bachelorette! 

Warning(s): None

Night 1  Week 1  Week 2  Week 3

Week 4 here we go!!!

London was beautiful. You had never been before, so you were eager to explore somewhere new. Plus, you knew several of the guys would be familiar with it. This was an opportunity to see their world. And that was exactly what you planned to do.

The men settled into their hotel suite. It was a large, airy place, with a wide balcony overlooking the city. Then men all gathered on the balcony to take in the view.

“I’ve never seen Big Ben before,” said Mike. “Except in pictures.”

“What are you talking about?” Joe teased. “He’s right here.”

He pointed to Ben, who laughed. “That’s a much bigger Ben than I am.”

Joe then wrapped his arms around Ben in a bear hug. “Well, we’ve got the best Ben.”

“That, we do,” agreed Gwilym, who reached out and pinched Ben’s cheek. 

Ben laughed more and flushed. Then all the guys gathered in a group hug. 

Of course, Luke was not with them. He was inside, journaling by himself. After everything that happened, he avoided the other men, and they avoided him right back. So, he missed out on the bond that had formed between the rest of them. Despite all competing for the same woman, they had become solid friends.

When there was a knock on the door for the date card, Mike went to go get it. Everyone watched the hallway anxiously. Then, they all heard him release a delighted cry. They exchanged confused looks. Mike returned without a date card, but with something much better. You.

They all cheered when they saw you and engulfed you in a warm group hug. Then they all settled back onto the couches so you could catch your breath.

“Welcome to London, guys,” you said, scanning their faces. “I’m really, really happy with the group that’s still here, and I hope that we can just continue this crazy journey all together.”

“How are you enjoying it?” Taron asked.

“Well, I haven’t gotten to see much, but so far, I love London,” you said. “In fact, I came here today for someone to explore it with me.”

They all watched you, hoping you would say their own names.

“Gwilym,” you said, finding his eyes. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“I’d be honored,” he replied, getting to his feet.

You smiled and followed suit, holding out your hand to him. You could see the disappointment on some of the other men’s faces, but you were relieved that they also seemed genuinely happy for Gwilym. Maybe you really could leave all the drama behind. 

You and Gwilym waved goodbye and headed out the door. You went out on the streets of London hand in hand.

“I’m gonna let you take the lead here,” you told him. “You live here, right?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “I’m not originally from London, but I live here now.”

“Well, show me around, stud!” you urged.

He laughed again and you were off. Gwilym walked you around almost everywhere that was nearby. He was knowledgeable about the history of everything too. That was one of the most attractive things about Gwilym to you. He was so well-read and intelligent. But it never came off as condescending. He was still incredibly kind and humble as well.

You stopped inside a pub to eat and grab a drink after all the walking. You ordered fish and chips because that’s what you’d always heard in the movies. Gwilym laughed beside you and kissed you on the cheek.

You each had a beer as you waited for the food.

“So,” you said as you sipped. “How are you since we last talked?”

“Very well,” he answered. “I’m excited to be getting to know you better and see where we go from here.”

“I’m excited too,” you said. “Every time I think about our connection, I always feel hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” you said. “Since you told me your story, I feel like you’re the most hopeful person in the world. What you went through was...unbelievably sad. And yet, you’re still here, looking for love, pursuing it wholeheartedly. It makes me hopeful too.”

He smiled sadly at the glass in front of him.

“I’m flattered by your admiration,” he said. “Losing her - especially the way I did - was the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through. We actually moved to London together from our little town, so coming here with you really is like a fresh start. It’s making me feel like I’m re-discovering it.”

“Is that a good feeling or a bad one?” you asked.

“It’s bittersweet,” he said. “I feel like sometimes, I still miss her so much, and it still hurts like an open wound. And other times I feel like I’m fine.”

“That’s sort of how grief works,” you told him. “Moving on from something like that isn’t a linear projection until you’re over it. You have setbacks. You’re still allowed to be sad and confused sometimes.”

 “You’re right,” he agreed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is...despite all of what happened and all the hurt, you have made me hopeful. What I’m feeling for you is something so good that I fully believe that love can happen for me again.”

A smile spread slowly across your face as he spoke. You leaned over and kissed him sweetly, conveying your absolute adoration of that sentiment. Gwilym was so deserving of love, and you wanted to show him that.

Your food came, and you split the plate between you. It tasted amazing, and as you ate the fries, an idea came to you.

“How good is your eye-mouth coordination?” you asked.

He blinked. “My what?”

You giggled. “Like, if I toss you some fries, can you catch them in your mouth?”

“Depends on how well you throw them,” he retorted. “The real question should be how good is your aim?”

“Oh?” you returned, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said. “And since we are in the UK, they’re chips. Not fries.”

You snatched one off the plate and tossed it at him, hitting him square in the nose.

“Looks like my aim is pretty good there, chief,” you teased.

You threw another, and this time he caught it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

“Okay, we make a pretty good team,” he said through a laugh.

You threw a few more to him, and he caught most. However, when he threw them to you, your catching abilities were abysmal. You blamed it on Gwilym’s arm, and he let you. 

It felt really good to sit and laugh with him. You felt like many of your conversations with Gwil were so serious. So to be lighthearted and goof around with him showed you another side of him. A side you were glad existed.

After lunch, you continued to walk around a bit. Then Gwilym stopped at an intersection, tugging your hand to stop you from crossing the street. You shot him a quizzical look.

“Gwil?”

“If we turn right here,” he said. “We can get to my flat in five minutes. I’m not presuming anything by asking this, but would you like to come over and see it?”

You looked down so he wouldn’t see the deep blush creeping up in your cheeks. On any other date, this would have implied sex, but you two were on camera, being followed by a whole crew. You weren’t embarrassed by that. You were embarrassed that you were disappointed they were there. You were really attracted to Gwilym, and would not have turned down that invitation outside of this. 

Actually, you weren’t going to turn it down either way.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you said, looking back up at him.

“Great,” he replied with a grin.

God, he was handsome.

Gwilym’s place was humble and cozy. He opened the door and allowed you inside, and you felt like he had just done the same with his heart. Everything about this place screamed “Gwilym Lee.” You walked through the front and into the sitting room, which had aged leather furniture and warm lamplight. The kitchen was smaller than what you were used to in the US, with a vintage look. It was also strictly practical. 

Gwilym also had books everywhere. There was a half shelf in the sitting room beside the fireplace. A corner of the kitchen counter was dedicated to recipe books. They were also randomly on whatever surfaces he had set them down on while reading. You pictured him walking around, nose to the pages, glasses on, focused.

He had few decorations, but there were plenty of pictures. Some of his family and friends. But the majority appeared to be of him with his students. Gwilym was a literature professor, and he was clearly dedicated to his work.

“Would you like to see upstairs?” he offered. “There’s something really special up there I’d like to show you.”

“Please,” you said.

You followed him up the wooden staircase to the second floor. There were only a few rooms up here. Gwilym’s bedroom, a guest bedroom, a hallway bathroom, and one more door at the end of the hall. That was where he led you.

He opened the door, and you gasped at the side. Across each wall, floor to ceiling - bookshelves. Fully stocked, too. There were thick, leather bound reference books. Paperback novels. Limited edition classics. Everything you could imagine for a personal collection.

“This is my library,” he said, looking between the shelves and your face.

You wondered if you looked stupid with your mouth hanging open. Gwilym’s eyes shone as he gazed at you. How beautiful you were to him in this moment was beyond words.

“Gwil, this is incredible!” you cried. “Your very own library!”

He smiled. “Take a look around, see what you like!”

You went to the first shelf to your right and extracted a worn-looking book. The spine was damaged so you couldn’t read the title until you opened it.

“Anna Karenina,” you read.

“Ah, that’s quite a special one,” he said. “Very close to my heart. It’s my grandmother’s copy. If you look at the publication date, you’ll see why it’s so special.”

Your eyes scanned the page until you found it.

“1890?!” you gasped.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “She inherited it from her great-aunt. Because I collect so many books, she left it to me.”

“That’s amazing,” you said.

“Have you ever read it?” he asked.

“I have,” you said. “It’s a tragic story, but one of my favorite classics. This is a real treasure.”

“It is,” he agreed as you returned it to the shelf.

“You’re free to keep looking, if you like,” he offered.

You did. You perused the shelves and spotted another favorite.

“Oh, Summer of Katya!” you said. “I loved this book!”

“Another tragedy,” he said. 

“Yeah, but what a wild ride,” you replied. “That plot twist had me shook for days.”

“Me as well,” he said. “A great story.”

“So, how many of these books have you actually read?” you wondered as you set Summer of Katya back.

“All of them.”

Your mouth fell open again.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” he laughed. 

“That would take me the rest of my life!” you cried looking around again.

Gwilym watched you as you walked along the shelves, and you stopped to talk about a few more things. A small smile claimed his lips. You stopped talking and met his gaze.

“What?” you wondered. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just...you sort of seem to belong here in my home.”

You beamed. “I like feeling like I belong to the things you love, Gwilym.”

He held out his hand, which you took. With it, he pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. You sort of felt like you belonged there too. Maybe you could. And maybe spend much of your life in this room, picking out what to read next before crawling into bed beside your husband. That would be a rather heavenly way to live.

For the evening portion of your date, you and Gwil met at a bar right on the River Thames. Like usual, it was reserved for just the two of you to enjoy your date. You sat down together and you smiled at him before making a small toast.

After you each had a bit of your drinks, you took his hand.

“I really had a great time with you today,” you said. “I feel like, so balanced with you. We can be serious, we can laugh together, and we can have intellectual discussions too. I feel like I can be every part of myself around you.”

“I’m relieved,” he told you. “And I feel the same. I haven’t struggled in opening up to you, and that's really nice.”

“Can I admit something to you?” you asked.

“In the spirit of such honesty, I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” he teased.

You chuckled and glanced down at your lap before looking back at him.

“When you first told me you’re a professor, I was really intimidated by you,” you said.

“Intimidated by me?” he questioned.

“I was nervous that you were going to think that I’m dumb,” you said.

He pursed his mouth in confusion. “W...why would I think that?”

“Because I feel like…” you trailed off. “I dunno, I’m not the most well-read person in the world, and I enjoy things that in the academic world might seem frivolous or silly. I try to keep up with current events, but I get distracted, and I think that all of that put together I -”

“Hold on,” he cut across you. “Y/N, none of that amounts to intelligence. You don’t have to read every book in my library or know every detail of Brexit to convince me that you’re smart. You are smart. A lot smarter than me in many ways.”

“Thank you,” you said, blushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he wondered.

“Of course.”

“Who told you that you’re dumb?”

You blinked, unsure how to answer him.

“Hardly anybody thinks they’re dumb on their own,” he went on. “Which leads me to believe that somebody, somewhere convinced you of it.”

You blinked again, this time to get rid of the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I...I, uh, had an ex who said that to me a lot,” you answered at last. “Anytime I disagreed with him or tried to address something he’d done to upset me, he told me I was being stupid, or that I didn’t understand anything. So, I kind of just became convinced that I wasn’t very smart.”

“Let me tell you what I see,” he said. “In all my conversations with you, I’ve found you to be not only extremely clever, but also funny, kind, and giving. In fact, my admiration has grown so much that I can finally say…” he trailed off.

You had been forming a smile as he spoke, but when he hesitated, it faltered.

“Say what?” you pressed.

“Y/N, I’m falling in love with you,” he said. “It seems unbelievable that it should happen so fast. But you are exactly the kind of girl I’d like to be with for the rest of my life.”

You smiled so wide, you thought your face might crack. Then you leaned over and took his face in your hands to kiss him. 

“Gwilym, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” you told him when you parted. “I feel like we’re really progressing. And I don’t want to stop.” You reached across the table and picked up the rose that was waiting there. “So, Gwilym. Will you accept this rose?”

“You know I will,” he replied, kissing you again.

Gwilym was very much a gentleman when he kissed you. It was slightly reserved, but with enough passion for you to feel how much he wanted to do more. Each move was thoughtful and considerate, just like him.

Gwilym: I really am falling for Y/N. I hate that she’s been with such terrible men in the past. She deserves so much more. I’d like to give her that.

You pinned the rose to his jacket and then you grinned at each other.

“You ready to go?” you asked.

“Go where?” he wondered.

“One of the most iconic places in London,” you said.

You offered your hand. He took it and followed you out. You walked together down the street until you reached it. The London Eye.

“Oh, God,” he sighed. “We’re really doing this?”

“Yes!” you insisted.

You had a whole pod reserved for the two of you. You were excited as you went up, but the higher you got, you also grew nervous. You clutched Gwilym’s hand.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re frightened,” he teased. “You went bungee jumping in the mountains!”

“I was scared of that too!” you returned. 

“Come here, cariad,” he said gently, pulling you into his arms once again.

You leaned on him and looked out over the city. The sight was breathtaking. All the lights from the buildings looked like stars. The way they reflected off the river was stunning. You felt like you were looking down from outer space or something.

“This view is beautiful,” you said.

“I like mine better,” he replied.

You faced him and saw that his his eyes were fixed on you instead of London. 

“Smooth,” you giggled.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

You did. This kiss was different. It was deeper, more intentional, more open than your kisses before. Gwilym was fully giving himself to you and this process. To accent your joy perfectly, a fireworks show began over the river. You hardly noticed their colors or the sounds. Everything was just you and Gwilym.

Back at the house, the men were waiting for a date card. A few guys were bemoaning not being with you right now, but were holding out hope for a one on one. When there was a knock at the door, Richard went to fetch it. He returned with a card.

“It’s a group date,” he said. “Joe, Rami, Allen, Taron, Richard, Mike, and Kenny. Are you ready to meet Her Majesty? Ayyyy-yo! Y/N.”

“Ay-yo?” questioned Allen.

“What, like Freddie Mercury?” suggested Rami.

“What would Freddie Mercury have to do with a date, though?” Taron wondered.

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow,” said Mike. “With all of us on this date, that means…”

“Me and Luke are left,” Ben said with a heavy sigh. “It’s gonna be a two on one.”

A two on one meant a lot of risk because at least one of the people on it would be sent home on the date. It made Ben nervous because even though Luke’s behavior was atrocious, you kept him around, so there had to be a real connection there. Also, he was still angry at Luke for starting that stupid drama in the first place.

“I’m not worried,” Luke said. “Y/N and I have overcome a lot and I think that makes for a strong foundation.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Just don’t tell her any more sh*t you’ve made up about me.”

“I didn’t make anything up,” Luke returned. “I heard what I heard.”

“You didn’t hear anything because I. Never. Said. It.” Ben shot back.

“Neither did I,” Joe added. “But let’s leave this in the past, okay? All any of us can do is focus on our own relationships with her.”

Luke and Ben glowered at each other a moment longer before looking away.

The next day, everyone but Gwilym, Ben, and Luke, got on a bus and headed out from the hotel. Mike, Kenny, and Joe had never been to London before, so they were in awe of the city as they made their way to the unknown destination.

Taron: I feel terrible for Ben and what he’s going to face tomorrow, but I’m also really glad Luke isn’t here to ruin the group date again. Those of us here are actually decent blokes, so I think it’ll be a fun day.

“Is that Wembley Stadium?” Joe wondered, pointing in the direction the bus was heading.

“It is,” said Richard.

The group exchanged apprehensive looks as they were dropped off at the legendary arena and escorted into it.

Inside, on the field, was a stage setup. You stood center stage, smiling at the men. You were wearing all white - a white v-neck tank top, and white pants with a red and yellow racing stripe up the sides, belted at the waist. You also donned a yellow, military style leather jacket. 

“Hello, gentlemen!” you greeted as they climbed up the stairs to join you. “Welcome to Wembley Stadium! How many of y’all have been here before?”

Taron, Richard, Allen, and Rami raised their hands. Joe, Mike, and Kenny did not. They were also the ones still looking around, while the others stayed focused on you.

“Well, surely you all know about the legendary concert that took place here in 1985, Live Aid,” you said, and they nodded. “And I’m sure you know which act stole the show.”

“Queen,” said Rami.

“Yep!” you confirmed. “So we’re gonna have some fun today. You’re all going to be dressed like Freddie Mercury and give me your best Live Aid performance.”

Their eyes widened as they looked at you, and you bit back a laugh.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be lip-syncing,” you assured them. “There also won’t be an audience. The person who does the best job gets to talk to me first at the cocktail party tonight.”

“Will you be the judge?” Taron asked.

“Actually, I won’t, I’m just enjoying the show,” you said. “The judges are some very special people who are quite familiar with Freddie.”

“Oh my God…” Rami said under his breath.

You smirked. “Guys, please welcome Queen and Adam Lambert!”

The guys clapped as Brian May, Roger Taylor, and Adam Lambert emerged onto the stage. They first hugged you and then turned to face the men.

Richard: I can’t believe this...it’s f***ing Queen! We’re on a date with Queen! I mean - we’re on a date with Y/N - but Queen is there! I’m blown away right now!

“Hullo, guys,” said Brian with a gentle wave. “We just wanted to let you all know - don’t be nervous. This is meant to be something fun to show Y/N you can come out of your shell a bit.”

“Yes, have fun,” Roger agreed. “Don’t be afraid to make an arse out of yourself. Freddie certainly wasn’t.”

Everyone chuckled.

“So, you guys have fifteen minutes to change and decide on one song from the Live Aid set you want to do,” Adam explained. “You can watch the clip of your choice as much as you want in that fifteen minutes.”

“The costumes are backstage,” you said. “You guys ready?”

They nodded at you. 

“Okay, fifteen minutes starts now!”

While the guys got changed and prepared, you and the band went around and checked up on them. You went over to Mike first, who was watching the video of Live Aid and scrubbing through it quickly.

“How’s it going?” you asked.

“Okay,” he replied. “I don’t really know any Queen songs, so I’m listening for something that sounds familiar.”

“You know We Will Rock You?” you wondered.

“I know those words of it,” he laughed.

You giggled. “Well, I’d go for that one, then. It’s second to last.”

“Thank you,” he sighed.

You looked over and saw Rami chatting with Brian. Richard was talking to Roger, and Allen and Kenny were talking to Adam. Everyone was in the iconic white tank top and light wash jeans. They also had the studded armband and mustache. You went over to Taron next.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked. 

“I know what song I’ll do,” he told you. “Bohemian Rhapsody. That way I can sit behind a piano for most of it.”

“Nice,” you chuckled. “You play, right?”

“I do,” he said. “Although, as you learned on our Disney date, I’m much more of an Elton John man than Queen. Don’t get me wrong, I adore them, but Elton is more my style.”

“I’d love to hear you play some Elton for me sometime,” you said. “But honestly, now is the time to get out of your comfort zone and show me your edge, Taron.”

“I’ll do anything for you, love,” he replied with a grin.

Then you headed over to Rami.

“Hey, sweetie,” you said as he pulled you into a hug.

When you parted, you had to take a moment. Rami really looked like Freddie for a split second. With the mustache and the clothes...he had even styled his hair. He was getting really into this.

“Woah, you look great!” you said.

“Thanks,” he returned. “I’m really excited for this.”

“I know you’re an actor, so you’re not too worried,” you joked. “Which song did you pick?”

“Radio GaGa,” he told you. 

“Good choice,” you praised.

You chatted with Rami for another moment before moving on to Richard.

“Just be grateful we picked Live Aid and not one of our shows from the seventies,” Roger was saying as you approached. “You’d all be in leotards.”

“I dunno, I think I could make it work,” Richard returned with a chuckle.

“I definitely think you could make it work,” you agreed. “How’s it going over here?”

“Pretty good,” Richard said. “I know what I’m going to do.”

“Awesome!” you said. “You a big Queen fan?”

“Massive Queen fan,” he told you. “This is kind of a dream for me.”

“I think you’ve found your man, Y/N,” Roger teased. “This one’s clearly got the best taste.”

You laughed.

The fifteen minutes went by more quickly than you anticipated, but most of the guys seemed ready. There were a few nerves you could feel, but they weren’t too bad. Kenny was up first.

Kenny did “We Are the Champions” and he was pretty good. He clearly knew the words, but he was also nervous and shy. You found that surprising since he was a pro wrestler and part of his act was to put on a bit of a show. You cut him some slack, though. This was out of his element.

Taron was second, and he was better. His performance did come out more like Elton than like Freddie, but he was really feeling the music. You could tell he had wanted to play and sing himself, so he was holding back a little bit.

Mike was third. He did “We Will Rock You” and had a lot of energy, but it was more his own than like Freddie. You didn’t mind, since you liked Mike’s style, but it didn’t bode well for him as far as the competition went. 

Allen was fourth, and he did “Hammer to Fall.” So far, he came the closest to looking like Freddie up on stage. He was upbeat and had obviously studied the movements. The only problem was that it came off a little too rehearsed.

Richard went next. He had the same idea as Taron to do “Bohemian Rhapsody” so he wouldn’t have to move around so much. He was even more reserved than Taron. Evidently, he was not much of a performer at all, despite how much he loved the music.

Joe was sixth. He did “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” It was similar in idea to Taron and Richard, because he got to use an instrument. Joe could actually play guitar, so he mimed it well. Like Mike, he was more Joe than Freddie. Joe wasn’t a shy person at all, so he was still  entertaining.

Finally, it was Rami. From the first notes of “Radio GaGa,” you could tell there was something different about Rami’s performance. Every move, every step, every turn was intentional, but looked effortlessly Freddie. It took you off guard. Rami looked the most like Freddie, and with this performance, you were convinced he had a spiritual connection to the man. You looked over at Brian and Roger. Brian had tears in his eyes. Roger was closing his mouth just as you looked. They saw it too. Adam placed a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.

When Rami finished, the whole arena was deathly silent. All eyes were fixed on Rami, who stood breathless on stage, but looking proud. He also looked like...not Rami. That last note rang out, and for a moment, it was as if Freddie himself stood there.

Finally, Roger cleared his throat. 

“Well done,” he choked out. “We’ll just need a...a moment to uh, discuss.”

The band walked out of earshot for a moment and you approached Rami.

“I think you shook them up,” you said. “You certainly shook me up.”

He shot you a worried glance.

“In a good way,” you assured him. “Believe me, you were incredible.”

The band returned and appeared to have recovered from their shock.

“Everybody did a fine job,” Brian began. “Just remember to not be so shy. Show Y/N that you can open up and be yourself.”

“This really brought me back,” Roger added. “But one person in particular really captured Freddie’s spirit today.”

“And that person is Rami,” Adam announced. 

You let out a cheer and clapped for Rami, and the rest of the men joined you. You hugged him around the neck as you congratulated him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said bashfully.

“Congratulations, Rami,” Brian said. “Enjoy your time with Y/N first tonight, and remember to use it wisely.”

Everyone thanked the band for their part, and got autographs before they left. Then it was time for the evening portion of the date. It was still at Wembley, in a private box, which overlooked the field. The stage set up had been removed already, so it was returned to its sport ready look. It was still lit up in the darkness by the stadium lights.

You met the men in the box and gave a toast. Then, you took Rami by the hand and led him out. Also reserved for you was the next box over, so you could have private conversations. You and Rami went in there and sat down to chat.

“You were seriously amazing today,” you told him. “That was like, Oscar worthy.”

He chuckled. “I dunno about all that, but I definitely had fun. Freddie Mercury is pretty special to me.”

“Why’s that?” you wondered.

“Well, we sort have a lot in common,” he said. “We’re both kinda awkward brown boys from immigrant families, but with a lot of dreams.”

“I can see that,” you said. “You feel that strongly about acting?”

“I do,” he said. “I take it very seriously. I believe in myself, and I hope that someday I can be big enough to win an Oscar. I wanna be like Freddie, where kids who look like me can start believing that they can succeed too.”

You loved that idea and what it represented. The only thing for you was that actors were away a lot, and you wanted to raise a family. With a partner.

“How does that dream fall in with your desire to have a family?” you asked.

“Lots of actors have families,” he said. “I’m already settled in LA, where most of the jobs are, and that’s where I’d want to raise my family. And I’d work with my partner to make sure my schedule didn’t interfere with important things. I know it won’t be easy, but I am family oriented, and I know I can do both. But the last thing I wanna do is settle.”

“Settle?” you questioned.

“I mean, I don’t want to take some safe, nine-to-five job just because I want to get married and have a family,” he said. “I want to pursue my dreams so that my kids will have someone they can really be proud of. Someone who didn’t give up on his passion.”

You smiled. “I like that. You’re a very driven person, Rami, I hadn’t noticed that about you before.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re learning now,” he said. “I am driven and focused and there’s a lot I want out of life.”

You both paused to sip your drinks.

“What about you?” he said. “What are you passionate about?”

“I’m most passionate about family,” you said. “I didn’t really have those connections as a kid. My family isn’t very close. I want that unit, that strength that comes with being together.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“Like what?” you wondered.

“Like hobbies,” he said. “Y/N, don’t you have interests besides that?”

“I read a lot,” you told him. “And I like fashion and beauty, but those are just normal girl things.”

“Are you kidding?” he returned. “There’s a lot there to go with. Do you ever design your own stuff?”

You blushed. “I...well, I do sort of have this dream of starting my own clothing label.”

“That’s awesome!” he said excitedly. “Tell me more!”

“Well, I’d want to use all recycled materials so we’re not being wasteful,” you said. “That way it’s like thrifting, but you’ll still get the latest styles. Everything would just be re-designed and…” you trailed off. “Sorry. It’s kind of a silly idea.”

“Not at all!” he insisted. “I think it’s a great idea. Environmentally friendly and everything. That’s amazing, Y/N. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“You certainly help me believe in it,” you replied, all embarrassment fading away at his enthusiasm. 

“I want to help you believe in yourself,” he said. “It’s important to me.”

“It is?”

“Yes, Y/N,” he said. “I want to be there for you. I’m falling in love with you and I want to help you see yourself through my eyes.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You grinned. 

“You’re falling in love with me?”

“More and more every day,” he assured you.

With that, he kissed you. Rami’s kisses were always deeply passionate and romantic. It made you feel like you two were on the cover of a romance novel or something. You felt like you were in your own romance novel because you were falling for Rami too. He was just so special.

Rami: I really am falling in love with Y/N. I can just see a wonderful future with her as my wife. She’s everything you could ever want.

After Rami, Joe wanted to see you. Your time with Joe went as well as it usually did. You laughed together a lot and discussed the date. He reassured you that he was falling for you. You were tempted to say it back, but hesitated. You felt strongly for Joe, but there was still more to explore there.

Allen pulled you after Joe. You were still holding back with Allen, and you felt that he was too. He had told you more of his story on your one on one, but since then, you hadn’t had a serious conversation. You didn’t feel uncomfortable around him or anything, but there was something more you wanted. Like he was only giving himself partially to this. You wanted him to give everything.

Richard came next. Similar to Allen, he held back from you. He had divulged even less information about himself. Less than any of the other men there. Richard was fun and easygoing, but you wanted him to dig deeper. He just wasn’t going there. You needed to find out why.

Taron followed after Richard. Taron was not afraid of giving his heart to you, and you could feel it ever since that one on one. Every time you spoke to him, the relationship moved forward, in the right direction. You always looked forward to your time with him, and today was no different.

There was a piano in the private box, and Taron made good on his promise to play for you. He began with “Your Song” by Elton John, one of your favorites. His voice was swoon-worthy, and you loved listening. Each time he sang, you pictured him in your house together, singing your kids to sleep or just serenading you before bed. He felt like home to you.

“Life really is wonderful with you in the world, Y/N,” he said as he finished. “It’s becoming pretty difficult to imagine my life without you in it.”

“That’s sweet,” you said. “I’d have a hard time without you, too.”

“Really, Y/N,” he said. “I’m falling in love with you. Hard.”

You met his gaze, heart racing with joy.

“I’m so happy you told me,” you whispered. “You’re amazing, Taron.”

He kissed you. Short and sweet because neither of you could stop smiling.

Mike and Kenny also made things difficult on you because they both told you they were falling in love as well. You felt like all of them deserved roses tonight, but you knew who you wanted the rose to go to. As you all gathered back in the original box, you picked it up off the table.

“Thank you all for an incredible day,” you said. “We got a bit of a rock concert and I got to see you all just have a good time. But I wanna give this rose to someone who really proved himself today. Who showed me something new and moved our relationship forward.”

You found Rami’s eyes.

“Rami, will you accept this rose?”

“I will,” he assured you, getting to his feet.

You pinned it to his jacket as he kissed your cheek. Then, you bid them all goodnight. You were still riding the high of the day when you remembered that the following day, you had your two on one with Ben and Luke.

The date card arrived for Ben and Luke while the rest of the men were at the cocktail party with you. Gwilym retrieved it and read it out loud.

“Ben and Luke,” he said. “I want us to grow. Love, Y/N.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Ben groaned.

“What, eager to go home?” Luke taunted.

Ben rolled his eyes and went to his room for the night.

The next day, Ben and Luke each placed their luggage by the door. Whoever went home, the producers would come and take their luggage to the airport. The two men were driven by car to meet you in a lovely garden and park. Everything was blooming so it was the perfect time of year for a date like this. You just wished you weren’t dreading it so much. One of them was going home, but you felt like you needed time with both of them. Hopefully today would be enough.

“Hi, guys,” you greeted, trying to sound chipper as they hugged you one by one. “So today, we’re having a picnic in the park. It’s really beautiful here, so let’s have a good day, yeah?”

“O’course,” Ben agreed.

“Definitely,” Luke added.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You led them over the set up that was reserved for you. It was a small table with three chairs around it. You sat first - in between them - and then poured everyone a glass of champagne. The champagne was more for you, really. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and you needed to feel at ease. These two had such animosity between them.

“So, Luke, you wanna go talk?” you asked.

“Sure, yeah,” he agreed.

You walked around a hedge to another small table. You took a swig of your drink and then looked at him.

“So, I know you’re not over everything that happened in Asheville, and neither am I,” you said.

“No, I’m over it,” he protested. “Really, I’m not mad at you anymore. I wanna move on.”

“I wanna move on too,” you said. “But I feel like we have to talk about this because this is a disagreement on something fundamental, and I don’t think you understand that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Like, you were angry at me for taking off my clothes in front of Joe,” you said. “Because of your beliefs, you felt like it was disrespectful. I don’t know any other way to tell you that I don’t share those beliefs and you can’t force them on me.”

“I don’t want to force them on you,” he said. “But I think that you should be more aware of our feelings in this and behave - y’know - properly.”

That familiar anger stirred in the pit of your stomach.

“Okay, Luke, I behaved just fine -”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Getting naked in front of a guy on your first date with him is fine behavior?”

You could have screamed.

“Oh my God,” you sighed. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay? I can do whatever the hell I want. This is my journey, it’s my body, and whatever I decide to do with it is up to me and not subject to your approval.”

“Y/N, I’m just trying to help you,” he said gently. “I prayed about it, and I feel like my purpose here is to save you.”

“To save me?” you questioned.

“You’re being led astray by these other men,” he said. “But together, we can -”

“Okay, Luke, stop,” you said. “We’re not getting into theological arguments today. Clearly, it doesn’t matter to you that I don’t want to hear it. The other thing we need to address is why you lied about Joe and Ben.”

“I didn’t lie,” he insisted. “I know what I heard.”

“But none of the other guys heard it,” you reminded him. “And if they said it out loud, they said it to someone with ears, so they must have heard it. Just be honest and tell me why you did it.”

“I know I heard that conversation, Y/N,” he said firmly. “I’m not a liar.”

“So literally every other guy in that house is?” you challenged. 

“Y/N, please,” he begged. “I love you. I want this more than anything. And look at what we’ve overcome.”

“Luke, we haven’t overcome anything!” you cried. “We’re still working this out because you’re not being honest with me!”

“I’m telling you my truth!” he returned. 

A beat passed in uncomfortable silence.

“Do you believe me when I say that I love you?” he asked.

You held his gaze. Then you took a deep breath.

“No,” you said heavily.

He looked away, unable to form words.

Ben: I’m kind of nervous about today. She’s kept him around long enough for me to think there must really be something there that I’m not seeing. I just hope my connection with her is stronger.

You and Luke returned to where Ben was still waiting. Nothing else had been said. You grabbed Ben’s hand and led him away next, desperate for some relief. Luke made you feel like every step of this process was such a battle. Ben excited you, and you hoped he still did.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Okay,” you said. “I’m sorry to put you through this, I know it’s not easy.”

“No worries, love,” he said. “You’re worth all of this. Every part of this journey.”

You smiled, and you felt warmth returning to your body. You realized within seconds of talking to Ben that Luke made you feel cold and closed off. Ben made you feel warm and open. That was the feeling you were looking for.

“How are you?” you asked him.

“I’m perfect, now I’m with you,” he replied. “I’m not going to lie, watching the other guys going out with you throughout the week isn’t easy, but I’m here for the long haul. I’m ready to stick it out if it means you and me at the end.”

You leaned into his chest and hummed happily. He wrapped his arms around you. Then he pressed his lips to the top of your head. You felt cared for and respected.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I was that you believed me last week,” he said. “Knowing that you trust me, and you’re willing to hear from everyone, it makes me fall for you all the more. You’re fair and kind and patient. I dunno how you put up with the lot of us.”

You giggled and then looked up at him.

“Well, you’re all so handsome, it’s hard to stay mad at you,” you teased.

“I see,” he joked back. “You’re just in it for the eye candy.”

“Haven’t you heard?” you asked sarcastically. “I’m actually looking for a trophy husband.”

He chuckled. “It’s almost hard for me to joke about, since I actually like almost everyone.”

You smiled. “Really?”

“You’ve got a fantastic group here,” he said. “As heartbroken as I’d be if it’s not me and you, I know you’d be in good hands.”

“That’s so sweet, Ben,” you said. 

You felt such a soft affection for him in this moment. That comment made one thing abundantly clear to you: Ben wanted only what was best for you, whatever made you happiest, even if it wasn’t him. You wondered how he’d never been in love before, when he gave it so freely and selflessly. Your value to him did not hinge on your behavior with the other men.

You chatted with Ben a while longer, just trying to forget about what Luke had said. Plus, you liked Ben a lot and enjoyed talking to him. It was quickly becoming more than liking him, which scared you a little, but you knew he would be there to catch you once you fell. You were still teetering on the edge.

Your decision was made when you returned to where Luke waited. There was no need to give him any more chances. You didn’t trust him anymore, and you had such different beliefs, it never would work out. You sat down and picked up the rose.

“I’m gonna be perfectly honest and say that this was not a very difficult decision for me today,” you said. “So far, this has been the easiest decision I’ve made.”

You looked at Ben and decided to get right to it.

“Ben, will you accept this rose?”

You heard Luke suck in a soft breath as you and Ben stood up. You pinned the rose on him and hugged him tight. Then you looked at Luke.

“Can I walk you out?” you asked.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still dazed.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Ben.

You and Luke walked together toward the car that was waiting to take him to the airport. Ben heaved a relieved sigh and sat back down with a wide grin on his face.

Back at the house, Joe was closest to the door when he heard it open. The producer was there to take the luggage.

“Guys!” Joe yelled. “It’s happening!”

The rest of the men rushed to the door to find out who it was. They watched with bated breath as the producer’s hand stretched out and grabbed Luke’s luggage. They all roared with delight and began jumping and hugging each other as the door closed again. Luke was leaving at last!

“Hold on, let me get champagne!” Gwilym cried, jogging to the kitchen.

They all followed him, still laughing and congratulating each other. Gwilym handed out the glasses and Joe stood on the counter to make a toast.

“To Ben,” he said. “For getting that f***er out of here at last.”

“To Ben!” the others echoed before taking a drink.

“And to Y/N,” Rami said. “For making the right choice.”

“Y/N!” they cried, and they all downed their drinks.

Back on the date, you walked Luke to the black van waiting for him. You stood outside the door to let him say something. 

“I just…” he trailed off. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” you said. “We’re just too different. We have different beliefs, different values. And we couldn’t move past those things.”

“But I love you,” he said.

You shook your head. “I don’t think you do. I think you love the woman that you want me to be. The version of me that you created who does take part in your faith and share that with you. But that’s not who I am.”

“I…” he lost words again.

“I really am sorry,” you said. “I hope you find that person.”

“Thanks,” he said dully.

You opened the door for him. He slid into the seat. You closed the door and watched the car pull away. You were certain you had done the right thing. Luke was so wrong for you in so many ways. But you meant what you said. You were sure that girl was out there somewhere for him. But he was not for you.

You hurried back to Ben and leapt into his arms when you saw him. You kissed him as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby!” you cried. 

��Thank God!” he returned.

That night, you and Ben went to a fine restaurant and had a wonderful dinner. It was similar to your one on one, where the conversation flowed. You talked about serious things and lighthearted things. Neither of you brought up Luke again. Ben looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

After dinner, you walked around nearby and saw a street performer playing the cello. The melody was soaring and beautiful. Ben spun you into his arms and began to sway with you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood with him, heart full. He opened his eyes to meet yours.

“Y/N, I’m falling in love with you,” he said simply.

You saw how much he meant it in those beautiful green eyes of his. Tears welled up in yours. You were no longer teetering. You slipped right off the edge.

“I’m falling in love with you too,” you returned, without thinking.

You were not supposed to say “love” to anyone but the person you got engaged to, but you didn’t feel bad about breaking the rules for Ben. He had shown you today how much you meant to him. And he meant that much to you too. If you weren’t with him at the end of this, you wished only for him to have a happy and fulfilling life. You genuinely hoped he was at the end of this though because you weren’t ready to let him go. You weren’t sure you ever would be.

The following day, you once again decided to cancel the cocktail party. You knew where your heart was, and you didn’t want to drag out the whole night when your mind was made up. So when you arrived at the hotel, you were ready.

The hotel had a lovely ballroom on the first floor where you were having the rose ceremony. You walked in and forced a smile. This was going to be a pretty tough one. Two men would be leaving that you really liked.

“Sorry again for the cocktail party,” you said. “But I really am just trying to follow my heart.”

You waited a beat before picking up the first rose. There were only four.

“Joe,” you called.

He walked forward proudly.

“Joe, will you accept this rose?”

“I will.”

He returned to the group. You picked up the next rose.

“Taron,” you said.

He beamed at you and jogged up.

“Taron, will you accept this rose?” you asked with a smile, since his was contagious. 

“Of course.”

You pinned it on him and he walked back over. You saw Richard take a deep breath.

“Richard,” you said.

He exhaled before walking over.

“Richard, will you accept this rose?”

“Always.”

As Richard returned to the group, Chris Harrison walked out.

“Y/N, gentlemen,” he said. “This is the final rose tonight. When you’re ready, Y/N.”

You picked up the rose. You found the man you wanted to give it to.

“Allen,” you said.

You saw the relief wash over him as he approached you.

“Allen, will you accept this rose?”

“I certainly will,” he assured you.

He walked back over to the group. Mike and Kenny looked dejected, and you understood why. It was never easy.

“Kenny, Mike, I’m sorry,” Chris said. “Take a moment, say your goodbyes.”

They took a while to say goodbye to the guys, which did sort of make you feel good. You liked that the remaining men were friends.

Kenny came up to you first.

“I’m sorry,” you said, suddenly choking on the words. You weren’t sure when the tears started. “You deserve so much -”

“Don’t, Y/N,” he said gently. “It was a pleasure getting to know you.”

You nodded and he pulled you into a hug. 

“You’re gonna be amazing,” he whispered to you.

With that, he left and headed to the car waiting for him. Mike came up next. You actually sobbed. Mike was such a wonderful man, and you hated that you weren’t there with him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffled.

“It’s okay,” he assured you with a smile. “You’re beautiful and strong, okay? I know you’ll find your happiness.”

“You will too,” you replied softly.

He reached over to wipe away a tear with his thumb.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

He too, departed.

The remaining men moved forward to engulf you in a group hug. While you were sure of the decisions you had made, you hated to hurt people, and both Kenny and Mike had told you they were falling for you. But you couldn’t get there with them, and it was terrible. They were great guys. You just knew they weren’t right for you.

“So,” you said, fanning your face a bit. “Next, we’re going to -”

“Y/N!” someone bellowed from the lobby of the hotel.

Your brow furrowed. 

“Is that…” you trailed off, eyes going wide with horror.

Then he appeared in the doorway of the ballroom.

“Luke!” you cried. “What are you doing here?!”

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, marching toward you.

His body language looked dangerous. Joe was closest to you and you reached for him. He immediately caught on and wrapped his arms around you, placing himself between you and Luke.

The other men stood in front of the two of you, not allowing Luke any closer.

“She sent you home, Luke,” said Richard darkly. “You can’t be here.”

“I just wanna talk, Y/N,” Luke said, ignoring Richard and trying to look around him. “Y/N, please! I just wanna work this out!”

“Well, I don’t!” you returned. “Just go!”

“I know there’s something here!” he insisted. “There’s gotta be! Don’t give up!”

You peered at him around Joe’s arm.

“No, there isn’t!” you shouted. “You’re scaring me, Luke. Just leave.”

He moved forward, but Ben placed a hand on his chest.

“Not a step closer,” Ben warned.

“Just stay out of this,” Luke spat. 

“She asked you to leave, Luke,” Allen said. “So go.”

“No, I’m not giving up,” Luke said. 

“Oh, my God,” you whispered into Joe’s chest. “Oh, my God.”

Joe lowered his lips to your ear. “Don’t worry. We’re not gonna let him anywhere near you.”

“This is just crazy,” you went on. “He’s acting crazy.”

“Y/N, please!” Luke continued to plead.

Chris Harrison at last approached, accompanied by security guards. Chris went directly to you.

“What do you wanna do, Y/N?” he asked. “Do you wanna talk to him?”

“No!” you insisted. “I want him to leave!”

“Okay,” Chris said. He turned to Luke. “Luke, it’s time to go.”

The security guards stepped toward him, but he stepped away.

“Wait!” he pressed. “Wait, Y/N - just - please. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me here. That’s the only way I’ll believe it.”

You met his gaze with a scowl.

“I don’t want you here,” you said venomously. “Get out.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging. Then, he straightened up, turned on his heel, and stormed out. You hoped that was the last you ever saw of him.

“You alright?” Joe asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” You looked at Chris. “He did actually leave, right?”

He nodded. “We made sure of it.”

You took a deep breath.

“You wanna tell them where we’re going next?” he asked.

You let yourself smile, even though you were still a bit shaken.

“Yeah,” you said. You addressed the men. “Guys, we’re going to Killarney, Ireland!”

Allen whooped and pumped a fist in the air. You laughed. You knew he’d be excited to be back home in Ireland. But the rest of the guys seemed excited too. You gazed at them in awe. It was hard to believe that you had already narrowed it down to seven guys. Seven incredible guys. You couldn’t ask for more.

That night, as you packed in your hotel room, you heard a knock at the door. For a moment, you feared Luke had come to speak to you again, but you told production you didn’t want him near you. Still, you peeked through the peephole before answering. The man behind it took your breath away. You thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It couldn’t be! Could it?

You opened the door apprehensively.

“Jamie?”

To be continued…

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Hey, i binged the first 14 episodes of Supernatural just last week and enjoyed it so far. But have struggled to hype myself up to finish the series. I found out the last episodes are coming out in October and think it would be cool to catch up by then so i can watch the last ones as soon as they come out. Could you give a (as spoiler free as possible?) list of what about the show make it great to you overall? Things to look forward to, cool plot development, favorite characters, whichever...

hi, anon! 

i don’t know, anon, when i first heard i have these nightmares--and sometimes they come true in early s1 and as long as I’m there nothing bad’s gonna happen to you at the end of 1.14  back in the day, i was pretty hyped af to find out what happened next. but to be fair, 2006 was a different era altogether and some vaguely defined potential Special Ability that doesn’t even work unless Certain People are involved isn’t too exciting when every show these days with two pennies to scrape together for a VFX budget has its characters move things with their mind while shooting blue lightning out their ass.

sorry, i digress. i don’t really know how to sell this unwieldy chimera of a show to you--or if i even should--but let me give it the old college try:

1. for such a long-running show, spn has a tiny list of dramatis personae. on one hand, this means that it can feel intimate and its emotional beats deeply resonant, with long and complicated character arcs and interpersonal dynamics; but on the other hand, if you don’t find them interesting or they’re just, you know, actively annoying, you’re fucked, because there are only ever three or four main characters at any point on the show and two of them never. change. 

1.5. spn has also demonstrated--inadvertently perhaps--that having fewer characters to divide fannish devotion means more stans per character and more friction between these large groups of character stans. somewhere along the way the terms samgirl and deangirl have come to symbolise more than just a mere preference for one character over the other; it’s become a fandom shorthand for personality much in the way of astrological signs or MBTI types: utterly meaningless, but people insist on defining their identity that way anyway. 

(i say this not just as a card-carrying samgirl, but a bitter samgirl).

2. it’s also quite claustrophobic at times. sam and dean are ostensibly driving all around small-town america, but what we usually see is One Possibly Canadian Town indistinguishable from the other. as i mentioned before, the characters are few and spn rarely attempts to relate to current events or make any kind of subtle/meaningful social or political commentary (tho others may disagree with me on this). but this also means that the stories that it deals with have a timeless quality to them: family and trauma and existential angst and the Power of Love and the ways all of them can fuck you up. spn is at its absolute best when it’s dealing with stories on a deeply personal level, sometimes literally burrowing into their characters’ heads and having the entire universe mirror the dynamics of its central relationship. 

2.5. this can be a liiiitle hard to reconcile with how the show keeps raising its stakes with every season, but again, when spn is really on its game, it keeps finding new and creative ways to explore the personal with the universal, and when it’s not, you have supposedly cosmic entities reduced to the most boring metaphor imaginable for modern-day capitalist culture.

3. there’s something that spn does that i love which is turn really absurd premises into a thin veneer over a dark abyss of existential trauma which is something it doesn’t do nearly enough in the latter seasons, which is a great pity.

4. a quick rundown of the seasons:

1 - looks pretty and ends very strongly but also suffers from a case of early 00s uninspired-genre-television-itis

2 - Now This Is Where Things Get Interesting; sets up themes that are explored repeatedly for the next 13 years; please look out for ava wilson, an actual Queen

3 - a reminder that this show has been around long enough to actually have a season that was truncated by the 08 writers’ strike; plus, it contains my favourite episode of the whole show and possibly my favourite episode of television ever

4 - A MAGNIFICENT SEASON that gets better with every rewatch. the closest to flawless this show has ever gotten

5 - contains a number of the show’s best and most iconic episodes, but also sets up a lot of the show’s more... problematic motifs

6 - a HUGELY underrated season depicting some of the most delightfully creative explorations of the aftermath of deep and unusual trauma that i’ve seen, dark and thorny and uncomfortable but so goddamned sharp

7 - kind of gave up on itself halfway through; the last time this show ever took any risks/bold choices with respect to its world-building

8 - you know how these days even the most hotshot, rebellious, high-spirited, come-out-of-nowhere-with-nothing-but-heart-and-ill-advised-amounts-of-courage hero is revealed to have actually descended from some important Hero Bloodline and whoops did you think even fiction was going to indulge in the fantasy that just anybody could change the world? yeah.

9 - should’ve been this show’s turning point, except it turned a whole 360 degrees. still has some really iconic episodes, tho.

10 - eh. skippable after the first few episodes.

11 - the point where i stopped watching regularly. still horrifying but more bleak and despairing than jump-scare-and-gore

12 - this season is a black hole for me. for the life of me i can’t remember what happened in s12 - did it exist? or did spn just skip that number like some hotels skip a floor number entirely? huh.

13 + 14 - Listen It’s A Very Competitive Market And The Only Strong Thing Going For Us Is Our Large And Devoted Fandom So Let’s Obliterate The Fourth Wall Altogether And Go Full Meta, Who Gives A Shit? it’s spn back to being absurd to cover up a pit of howling, abyssal horror, and frankly it’s delightful.

5. the fandom, man. i’ve been spoiled rotten. there is nothing that can’t be found in spn fandom, no matter how brilliant or terrible or eye-searingly horrifying, and this is something i’ve chased in other fandoms with no success. 

In conclusion:  watch it if you like, it can be a cool show. But That’s Just My Opinion, Bro.

[thundercuntvirgin]

One Call Away From A Bad Decision

Read on AO3

Steve is hosting a sleepover for the kids but it comes with a catch-Billy Hargrove has to stay the night. However, the boys find themselves bonding over red wine and childhood disappointment. It may even lead them into a new relationship.

Trigger Warning: homophobia, internalized homophobia, referenced child abuse, karen having a ‘crush’ on billy

*post season 2*

So it turned out Hargrove wasn’t that bad when he didn’t act like an entitled asshole. The party was having a New Years sleepover at Steve’s house, and the whole night was lined up.

Steve had rented a few VHS tapes, gotten a few pints of ice cream, and washed the guest room sheets so they weren’t musty. Then the doorbell rang a half hour ahead of schedule. Steve moved around the kitchen, silent save for the sound of plates and silverware as he set them out on the counter when he heard the doorbell. A grin split Steve’s face. He figured Dustin must be early which meant Mrs. Henderson would stay for a while to ‘keep Steve company’ until the other kids showed up. Dustin would beg her to leave, but Steve just lived for all of her questions, ‘How’s school?’ ‘Have you been eating breakfast?’ ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come over for dinner sometime this week?’

But opening the door wiped the grin off his face. Billy Hargrove leaned against the door frame casually watching Max dig through the trunk of the Camaro, piling her arms with a comforter, pillow, and her stuffed backpack.

“Umn, hey, Max.” Steve said as she bolted up to door, pushing past him to dump her stuff on the dining table. “You really didn’t have to bring all that,”

“You stay there,” she said to Billy, “you come with me,” she said as she took Steve’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen. She looked around; making sure no one else was going to hear. “Mom said Billy had to come if I was gonna be able to stay over tonight, it’s a whole thing with you being and teen boy or something, but he has to stay.”

“Oh, well, why can’t he hang out with his friends?” Steve asked, trying to rationalize it all in his mind. Max huffed as if to say ‘I wish.’

“She’s gonna call and wanna talk to him, only problem is that I don’t know when so he can’t leave or else she’ll know we duped her. So are we cool?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess?” Steve said slowly. Max nodded, walking back towards the front door where Billy still stood.

“Am I cleared for entry?” Billy asked, stubbing out a cigarette with the toe of his boot. He seemed tame compared to the last time Steve had seen him outside of school related necessity. At least Steve wouldn’t have broken nose this time, unlike the night at the Byers’ house.

“Yes, but you don’t get to antagonize anyone.” Max bit back.

“There’s an ashtray out back if you wanna smoke some more,” Steve said, not really to Billy, mostly just out into the room since he figured it would go ignored. Billy nodded when Steve pointed a finger through the kitchen.

Steve barely had time to think before another car was pulling up the driveway. Mrs. Wheeler’s station wagon pulled up behind the Camaro, Mike and Will pouring out of the backseat.

“Dustin and Lucas here yet?” Will called as they swung their backpacks over a shoulder.

“Not yet, just Max.” Steve said just as Mrs. Wheeler spoke up.

“Behave, Michael!” she said.

“You never tell Will to behave!” Mike bit back. Steve could see Will softly laughing beside Mike.

“Because I know he will, Mike.” Mrs. Wheeler said, edged with frustration. Mike huffed, turning away from his mother, dragging a grinning Will into the living room. “Oh, Steve, is,” Mrs. Wheeler looked around suspiciously, feigning some sort of innocence. “Is Billy here tonight?”

“Umn, yeah, Max’s mom wanted him to stay.” Steve said. It was so strange how Mrs. Wheeler acted about it. Like she had some high school crush.

*~*

Steve knew Dustin had shown up when the door opened without a knock.

“What the fuck is Hargrove doing here, man?” Dustin said, flinging his bag to the side and dropping to sit on the floor between Steve and Lucas. Will shot him a look as he shuffled cards on the opposite side of the coffee table. “This was supposed to be Party only, we even got El in on it!”

“Yeah, well you’re late, so you don’t get a vote,” Steve shot back playfully.

“Also, of course this is ‘party only’ none of us have any other friends.” Max bit back. Dustin moved to flip her off but Steve smacked his hand down.

“Hey, how about dinner!” Steve said, getting a round of ‘yes’ from around the coffee table. Lucas and Will raced to the kitchen, everyone else following.

“Figured in honor of El’s first sleepover, we should have breakfast for dinner.” Steve said, pulling a few boxes of eggos from the freezer. El’s eyes lit up at the sight of the yellow boxes. “I’ll leave these up to the professional,” he said handing the boxes to El, “And for Will to be in charge of eggs. Everyone else set the table and do as they say!”

The kitchen became a flurry of action, more than it had ever seen before, with Lucas whisking eggs from Will to fry , El showing Mike and Max the perfect way to cook an eggo, and Lucas and Dustin sword fighting with dull butter knives.

*~*

Just as the kids finished eating Steve realized he’d forgotten to offer a plate to Hargrove. Steve searched his mind to see if he could even remember seeing Hargrove eat, even at school. As far as Steve knew Hargrove spent his lunch period outside smoking.

“Okay, you guys start dishes, I’m gonna take a plate out back.” Steve said, Dustin rolling his eyes. Getting another clean plate from the cabinet, Steve loaded the last of the eggs and two leftover eggos onto it, grabbing a fork. He heard them bickering over who had to wash the silverware as he slid open the door to the back patio.

Of all the things Steve expected, what he saw wasn’t one of them. Hargrove had his leather jacket zipped all the way up, a worn looking flannel peeking out the bottom, laid out sleeping on a lounge chair. He looked like he had been scrunched up but fell asleep, spread out like a napping child.

Steve realized he didn’t know how to wake Hargrove without risking death. Steve shifted the plate and fork to his other hand to knock on the side of the house. Hargrove sat up suddenly, head whipping around to stare at Steve. His eyes were big and round, the surprise making him seem less scary, more human.

“I’ve got dinner for you, if you want.” Steve felt a tiny bit more confidant from how off guard Hargrove seemed. He held out the plate and fork for the other boy to grab. Hargrove scrambled out of the chair, walking over to Steve without any swagger, his eyes still a little sleepy looking.

“Thanks,” he said, quietly accepting the plate.

“You can leave it in the sink when you’re done.” Steve said, turning to go back into the house.

*~*

The girls were upstairs getting into bed, the boys fighting over who got to sleep on which part of the couches. Steve wasn’t going to get involved in their scuffle until Lucas smacked Dustin with a pillow and an all-out war was about to start.

Steve could hear the girls laughing from their perch on the stair as he grabbed the pillows and declaring Will king over who got to sleep where. While they bribed Will to let them have a better spot, Steve wandered into the kitchen to wipe the counters down and finish any dishes. The only problem was there was no last plate in the sink to wash. Hargrove hadn’t fucking brought his plate in. If Steve thought about it the plate was probably at the bottom of the pool.

He rolled his eyes, turning to go back outside. When Steve barged outside Hargrove’s head whipped around. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, knees pulled up towards to chest, cigarette caught between his lips, the cherry red end nearly about to fall off. He was still perched on the lounge chair.

“Where’s the plate?” Steve asked sharply. “I need to wash it.” he added when Hargrove’s shoulders went rigid.

“I already washed your fucking plate and fork so you can stop shoving lemon slices up your ass or whatever you do that makes you a bitch.” Hargrove bit back, dragging his right hand out of his jacket to knock the ash off his cigarette. He ended up stubbing it out in the ashtray on the ground next to the chair.

Steve didn’t bother replying. He felt stupid even though there was no reason to think Hargrove would’ve washed the plate. He turned back inside, sliding the door closed behind him and headed for his dad’s office. The living room had gotten quiet, so Steve was done with the kids for the night.

His Dad always had hard, expensive liquor in his office, but his Mom made sure there was nice wine for guests. Steve grabbed a bottle of wine. It didn’t matter which one cause his Mom and Dad didn’t matter, not tonight.

Walking back through the kitchen, switching lights off as he went, Steve grabbed two mugs and a nutcracker to open the bottle with. On second thought, he went to the living room, quietly grabbing two fluffy blankets before heading outside.

Hargrove side eyes him suspiciously as he walks around him to sit in the lounge chair to the left. Steve passed over a blanket, half expecting it to be thrown in his face. Hargrove just wrapped it around his shoulders, hunching in on himself to cover his knees.

“I don’t know why anyone chooses to live in Mr. Snow Miser’s asshole,” Hargrove said moodily.

“If I give you wine will you shut up about how shitty Hawkins is?” Steve halfheartedly snapped back, pulling the cork out with the nutcracker.

“Maybe she’s born with it, maybe its misery,” Hargrove retorted reaching for a mug. He held it as Steve filled it halfway with dark red wine.

Steve filled his own, gently tapping it against Hargrove’s as a shitty toast. They both sat back watching the steam rise off the pool. They sat and drank in silence until Billy sat up, reaching for the bottle.

“You gonna have any more?” he asked, raising the bottle.

“Yeah, just top me off.” Steve said, holding up his mug as Hargrove more in. He was feeling warm, mind buzzing already with strong wine.

Hargrove regarded the three quarters empty bottle for a minute before softly saying “fuck it” and taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Do you ever just wish you could scream?” Hargrove said suddenly. “And it didn’t matter who heard you or saw you. You just got to scream.”

“You’re crazy, Hargrove, but yeah.” Steve said, laughing a little at the absurdity of it.

“Don’t call me Hargrove. If we drink we’re using first names,” he retorted, pulling from the bottle again.

“Yeah, sure man,” Steve brushed off.

“Steve,” Billy said. Steve’s head rolled over to glare at Hargrove. “If you can admit that you wanna scream, I think you can manage to say my name. I’ll even accept legal first names if that butters your fancy disposition,”

“Legal? What the fuck is the difference, man?” Billy side eyed him for a second before sitting up properly.

“What do you think my name is?” he asked.

“Billy, duh, I’m not stupid.” Steve bitched back, a little sleepy from the wine. Billy started laughing a little, then a lot, until he fell over onto Steve’s outstretched legs. Steve just pushed his face away as if it was no big deal to be hanging out with Billy Hargrove.

“My first name is William you asshole!” Billy cackled, taking another swig. Steve’s eyes got wide and he leaned forwards.

“No! You’re fucking with me! That’s not how that works, if your name is William then people would call you Will, that’s how it works!” Steve said, voice pitching upwards.

“William turns into Billy, how have you never heard that!” Billy laughed out, still lying on Steve’s legs.

“I’ gonna call you Billiam!” Steve cackled. Billy’s eyes went wide.

“No you do not! Fuck you!” Billy gasped. He smacked Steve’s thigh, falling off his lounge chair.

“So Billiam, what brings you here tonight?” Steve asked in a fake posh voice.

“Insurmountable toil and grief,” Billy said dramatically. “And you good sir?”

Steve sobered a bit, falling back on his chair. “All the shit I can’t talk about. The shit that makes me wanna scream.” he said softly. Billy turned his head to look at Steve, cheek resting on Steve knee.

“I fucking hate that shit.” Billy said sadly, eyes staring at someplace far away.

“Well since I can’t talk about my shit,” Steve started, downing the last of his mug. “You wanna talk about yours?”

“Sure, I’m feeling lucky” Billy climbed back up in his lounge chair. “My dad has to know every fucking thing I do and nothing is ever good enough for him. Perfect isn’t perfect enough.” He punctuation by taking another swig of wine.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed out, grabbing the bottle from Billy and drinking.

“Welcome to my shitshow of a life, Steve Harrington.” Billy said, flipping off the sky. “He’d lose his shit if he knew I was hanging out with you,”

Steve’s eyebrows pinched together. He glanced at Billy. “Why the hell would he go off about me?”

Everything was silent for a while, the night sounds seeming increasingly loud.

“Because I have the habit of making bad decisions with pretty boys,” Billy whispered.

“I can’t imagine what counts as a ‘bad decision’ for you,” Steve giggled out. He could feel Billy’s eyes boring into him. He turned his head, their eyes meeting, Billy looking stricken.

“Why don’t you tell me if this is a bad decision,” Billy whispered, moving closer to Steve, hand braced next to Steve’s hip. Steve felt slow and sleepy but Billy’s face moving in closer to his was a crystal clear image.

Steve was actually surprised by how soft Billy’s lips were. And how gently he kissed. And how… how delicately he kissed. Billy pulled back first, eyes wide and vulnerable. Immediately his face changed. His eyes shined in a way Steve had never seen before.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Billy whispered frantically. He pulled back, sitting in his chair again, chest heaving. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Steve wasn’t sure why but it scared him how honest and raw Billy seemed. Steve watched as Billy picked the wine bottle up and drained what was left, falling back when he finished.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Steve, I fucked up. I’m so sorry.” he said, rubbing his eyes like he could bring himself to look as Steve.

“Why are you sorry?” Steve asked quietly, not daring to move.

“I fucked up, I shouldn’t have done that.” Billy whispered back. His voice sounded clogged and thick. Like he could barely force the words out.

“What if I didn’t hate it?” Steve asked softly. “What if I maybe wanted to do it again?”

“Your drunk, and not thinking right.” Billy said, voice still wavering.

“I’m tipsy, not stupid. But I would be stupid to lie and say I hated it, to say that I hate you.” Steve sat up to really look at Billy. His eyes were watery and tiny tears were stuck in his lashes. He was biting his lip so hard it was turning white, hands shaking as he wiped at his face.

“No,” Billy whispered. “No, you’re going to regret everything you’re saying in the morning.” it was strange, but Steve couldn’t stand seeing Billy so frantic. He reached out, taking one of Billy’s hands, and leaned forwards. Pressing his lips to Billy’s.

He felt Billy’s breathe stutter, but despite it all he leaned into Steve. All of a sudden Billy surged forwards pushing one hand deep into Steve’s hair and the other clutching at Steve’s shirt. They drug each other closer, lips moving together. Somewhere in the back of his mind Steve knew this was strange—was beyond strange to be making out with the guy who beat your face in. But oddly enough Steve craved it. And it seemed like Billy did too.

They weren’t even doing much, just kissing like middle schooler in a movie theater. Billy’s hand gently tracing through Steve’s hair. The kiss was soft like before, but persistent like they both needed it.

Steve heard the echo of the phone ringing in the kitchen. Billy pulled back. He scrambled off the chair, franticly slid open the door, running inside to answer. Steve followed. He slid the door closed as Billy answered the phone.

“Susan?” Billy asked softly. The person on the phone said something that made Billy flinch a tiny bit. “Yes sir, Max and the other girl are upstairs asleep, all the boys are in the living room.” a long pause filled with Billy staring at the floor, eyes shining again. “Yes sir.” he says again.

The commotion must have woken Dustin up because he sleepily walks into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, glancing between Steve and Billy. Steve just makes a motion for Dustin to go back to bed.

“Of course, no I’m not-I wouldn’t lie-” Billy is cut off by the person on the phone again. Dustin shrugs and turns back towards the living room. “I-yeah, yes sir.”

Billy seems to stare at the floor for a long time after the call is finished. He’s still holding the phone to his ear, the dial tone buzzing loud enough for Steve to hear. Billy’s hands shake as he puts the phone back on the wall, wiping his face. That’s when Steve sees how red his eyes are, tears threatening to leak out.

“Was that you’re dad?” Steve asks, stepping closer.

“Can we just go back outside?” Billy whispers.

“Wanna go to the den? It’ll be warm,” Steve says. Billy softly nods, wiping his face again. Steve takes his hand gently and leads him through dining room and down the hall to the den.

They fall onto the overstuffed couch. Steve’s mother hated the couch but couldn’t be bothered to get rid of it. They sat next to each other just holding hands.

“Are you going to be okay when you and Max go home?” Steve asks quietly.

“It’ll be fine,” is all Billy says. Steve really wants hug him like he would Nancy, but it doesn’t feel like Billy wants that.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks, half expecting Billy to say he wants to drink or smoke.

“I wanna sit here and not be alone,” he says so quietly Steve thinks he miss heard him. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Steve grips his hand harder, Billy glancing up to look at Steve.

“I’m almost always alone,” he says like it’s a secret. “There’s always people, but I’m still alone. People want me but they don’t want me, they want this person that they’ve made in their mind.” Steve felt a strange type of comradery bloom in his chest at Billy’s statement

“I kinda get that.” Steve says quietly. They meet eyes. Billy grips his hand back just as hard, intertwining their fingers. Billy glanced away, swallowing thickly, adam’s apple bobbing. He seemed to steady himself before speaking.

“I promise not to be an ass to you, no matter where we are.” he said so softly that Steve thought he imagined it. “I haven’t been fair to you. I was,” he stopped himself to think. “I am angry and mean and I hurt people.”

“I used to be an asshole. It just takes the right incentive sometimes, like people you care about. And I think you care more than you’d like to admit.” Steve said gently. He gently pushed Billy over so he was laying down on the couch. Billy laughed a little. “Now get some sleep, Billiam.”

“Nooo!” Billy whined at the shitty nickname. Steve just fell back onto the arm of the couch, snickering softly.

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

Secret Admirer

Summary: For the first 14 days of February, Cyrus receives a small gift from his secret admirer. With the Valentine’s Day Dance coming up, will his secret admirer reveal himself and have the night of his dreams?

This is my Valentine’s Day Exchange Gift for @tyrus-endgayme-confirmed ! I hope you like it!

Word Count: 6851

Ships: Tyrus, Minor Ambi, Minor Muffy

Wednesday February 1st

TJ grabbed the towel from out of his bag, wiping off the sweat that had accumulated during practice. A few of his teammates clapped him on the back on their way out, and soon it was just him and Marty in the locker room.

“You played great today, man,” Marty said, taking a seat on the bench and unscrewing his water bottle, “we’re gonna crush the Raptors when we play them,”

“I hope so,” he mumbled, digging into his bag for a piece of paper; not just any piece of paper, but the piece of paper. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked, folding up the paper neatly.

“Hm, depends, what am I getting out of it?” Marty challenged, capping his bottle and stuffing it into his duffel bag.

“The satisfaction that you’re helping a friend of yours with a love related issue?”

Marty perked right up, hopping over and slapping TJ’s arm repeatedly. “Oooh, TJ’s got the hots for someone,” he crooned, smiling mischievously.

“Shut up,” he muttered, pushing him aside and handing him the piece of paper, “just tape this up on locker 143,”

“Wait, that’s Cyrus’ locker,” he sputtered, earning an unenthusiastic glare from TJ.

“Good catch, dude. Glad to know you’re not totally clueless,” he said, patting him on the shoulder, “just go pin it up. I’m picking him up from school today and I want him to see it before we leave,”

“TJ and Cyrus, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-”

“Finish that rhyme and I’ll bench you for the season!” he called, heading towards his locker. Marty pulled his lips into a small smile, sneaking out the back door of the locker room and  jogging down the hallway. It was mostly empty, save for a teacher or two, and the cleaning crew that came every night. He peered around, not wanting to be caught, and haphazardly stuck the note on Cyrus’ locker, ducking out of sight as quick as he could.

“I’m telling you, my answer was right,” Cyrus huffed, clutching his biology textbook to his chest, “she just didn’t want to go back and check because she didn’t want to admit that I was right,”

TJ chuckled, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine Ms. Wingood being that petty,” he replied, as the two of them stopped by Cyrus’ locker for him to drop off his stuff. Sure enough, there was a small scrap of notebook paper, folded in the shape of a heart on his locker.

“Must be the wrong locker,” Cyrus mumbled, ripping it off and opening it up to read it.

I think you’re one of the most beautiful people in the world, Cyrus.

Cyrus stared, dumbfounded. That was his name on the note. His name. This wasn’t a mistake. “What the. . .?” he trailed softly, running his fingers delicately along the writing.

“Someone’s clearly smitten with you,” TJ teased, trying to contain his amusement.

“Or it’s just some dumbass prank,” Cyrus corrected, exchanging his biology book for his english ones, and dropping them into his bag, “you’re driving me home, right?”

TJ nodded, starting towards the parking lot. “Just like I said I would, Underdog,” he commented, unlocking his car with the click of a button.

“I’ve got to tell Buffy about this,” he started, snapping a picture and quickly texting it to her.

And if TJ nearly hit a bush on the way out because he was too busy staring at Cyrus, nobody made a comment.

Thursday February 2

TJ had never been at school this early; the birds were hardly chirping, and most of the lights inside were off, or were just starting to warm up. He pushed through the entrance, dropping off his books at his own locker, when someone came up behind him.

“So what do you need me to do again?” the boy asked, looking up to TJ with tired eyes. Darren, one of the members of the basketball team, agreed to help TJ out with his ‘challenge’, but he didn’t imagine getting up this early.

“When you see Cyrus, give him these and tell him that his secret admirer made them for him,” TJ insisted, shoving a box of cookies towards the other boy, his eyes darting around the hallway for a certain boy.

“Here he comes,” he whispered, pushing Darren out of the way and dashing into the nearest classroom. Tentatively, he peered out of the window, trying to see what was going on without giving away his location.

“Cyrus, right?” Darren greeted, approaching the other boy, “these are for you. Your, uh, secret admirer told me to give them to you,”

Cyrus’ face scrunched up, carefully taking the box. He looked around at the other students; a few of them were watching him with a concentration that could only be described as endearingly creepy. “Who’s behind this? Are they recording this? Is this a prank?”

Dareen shrugged, tapping the box lightly. “Don’t shoot the messenger, dude. I was just told to give this to you this morning,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and pivoting away. Cyrus opened his locker, setting the box down lightly.

“Hey, Underdog!”

Cyrus whipped around, smiling tentatively when he saw TJ. “You will not believe what happened to me this morning,” he gushed, pulling out the box of cookies from inside his locker.

I have some idea. “What’s inside?” TJ asked, trying his best to conceal his smile.

“I’m not sure let me just,” he started, peeling back the sticker and opening up the box. Inside were around two dozen heart-shaped cookies, decorated with pink and red royal icing, “oh my gosh,”

TJ peered over his shoulder, biting back a smile. “Secret admirer?” he asked.

Cyrus nodded. “That’s what Darren said. It’s nice, I just-I really hope this isn’t some stupid prank,” he muttered, taking a cookie and handing one to TJ, “want one?”

TJ took it gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll see you after practice,”

As if on cue, Buffy ran up to Cyrus, poking his shoulder. “Did I just see TJ giving you a box of cookies that were heart shaped?”

Cyrus scowled, already halfway through a cookie; they were so good. “And now you don’t get one for being nosy,” he insisted, “no Darren gave me these. From my secret admirer,”

Buffy raised her brows, snatching the box and taking one for herself and one for Andi. “They went through all this work for you? That’s pretty sweet,”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Don’t make this a big deal,” he mumbled, walking off to class, cookies in hand.

Friday February 3

He was almost there; he could see Cyrus’ locker. Unfortunately, he could also see a certain pixie-haired girl standing near it. This couldn’t possibly go well. He tried to act casual as if he was walking in this direction for a good reason.

“Your locker is on the other side of the hallway,” she pointed out, “this is Cyrus’,”

Crap. “I know, I was just. . .getting help from a teacher,” he lied, walking into the nearest classroom and shutting the door. So much for that plan, he supposed. Luckily the room was empty, and he didn’t have to explain his actions.

“Hey, Cyrus!” Andi called, “ready for French?”

“Oui, oui, mon amie,” he puffed out, drawing out his French accent tremendously, “on y va,”

As soon as TJ saw that Cyrus and Andi were gone, he popped out of the classroom. Pulling out his phone, he pretended to look at it and stretch up, slapping another note on the boy’s locker. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least his anonymity was still in tact.

While he was doing homework later that day, TJ got a call from Cyrus. Putting it on speaker, he continued to try and do his work.

“Hey, Cy, what’s-”

“A poem, TJ!” he squealed, and TJ could practically hear his grin on the other side of the line.

“What are you talking about?”

“On my locker, there was a poem! Let me grab it so I can read it,” he said, and TJ heard the sound of papers shuffling on the other side of the line. He smiled to himself, and could feel a blush rising within him.

“Okay, here we go,” he started, clearing his throat, “Cyrus, you are the moon and the stars, the sun and every brilliant ray of light. With a smile so warm and inviting that it’s hard to picture any other expression on your face. You are the wildflower in a field of grass, the warm patch of grass on a cloudy day, and the gentle breeze on a summer’s day,”

TJ cringed internally; he didn’t like having his poetry read aloud, but he couldn’t really tell Cyrus this. He just listened to him, paying close attention to his inflection.

“Can you believe? That’s, like, the sweetest thing anyone has ever said about me!” he gushed, folding it back up, “do you have any idea who this person might be?”

TJ swallowed; he hated lying to Cyrus. “Not a clue,”

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to your work. See you tomorrow!” he hung up, and TJ shut his phone off. He couldn’t concentrate on his homework for the rest of the night.

Saturday February 4

TJ’s chest ached from running, his feet stinging. He could see the small, blue house close ahead, so he kept going, paper in hand. He knew Cyrus wouldn’t be home right now; he had dance rehearsal, which he hadn’t failed to point out in the daily. How dare they deprive him of his Saturday, he’d whined.

Hopping up the stairs, he taped the small piece of paper on the door, and scurried away. He felt a certain lightness to his step, smiling when he thought of the smile on Cyrus’ face.

Cyrus wobbled out of his dance class, feeling different. Luckily, Buffy was there to help him walk home. “How was class?”

He groaned, shooting her a look as he grabbed onto her arm. “I have a newfound respect for ballerinas,” he muttered, wincing with each step.

“Well, look on the bright side,” she offered, “at least when you go to the dance, you’ll be the best one on the floor,”

He snorted, rounding the corner. “Yeah, you say that as if I’m going to actually go to the dance,” he pointed out, shaking his head, “I’d just end up going alone,”

“Not alone,” she said softly, “you can go with me and Andi, like we always do,”

“You mean I tag along with you guys until Amber and Marty show up,” he corrected, sighing in relief when he saw his house in the distance.

Buffy hesitated, gnawing at her lip. “Well. . .what about your secret admirer?”

Cyrus shook his head. “That’s probably just a joke,” he shrugged it off, “and even if it wasn’t, I doubt they’d reveal themselves,”

Buffy offered a sympathetic smile, turning into his driveway. “I think the mail came,” she pointed to a small piece of paper, fluttering on the door. As they got closer, Cyrus realized that it wasn’t a piece of mail; no stamps, no address, no envelope, nothing. Peeling it off the door, he unfolded it and read it.

Valentine’s Day Dance. You and me?

It took everything in Buffy to not say ‘I told you so’, so instead she shook her friend lightly. “See? Look!”

Cyrus fought a smile off of his face, folding it back up and placing it into his pocket. “Whatever,” he mumbled, trying to keep his cool, but missing the mark by a long shot, “I’ll see you later,”

That night, while he was trying to finish some math problems, TJ got a text from Cyrus. It was a picture of the note on his door, followed by a text of random letters mashed together.

[scary captain: oooh? someone’s smitten for youuuu]

[underdog <33: i can’t even it’s so cute !! someone actually wants to go to the dance with me??]

[scary captain: what can i say, you’re quite the catch]

[underdog <33: someone sure seems to think so]

Sunday February 5

TJ sat around most of the day, not sure of what to do. He didn’t really feel like running to Cyrus’ house and placing another note on his door. Plus, he knew Cyrus was going to be home for probably the entire day, so that plan went out the window. He peeks outside through the curtains, and smiles upon seeing the flowers. It may be February, but at least some wildlife was alive. Suddenly, he has an idea, so he texts in the groupchat.

to: operation muffin

[scary captain: find as many flower petals as you can. meet me tmrw in front of my locker]

Monday February 6

“C’mon, I don’t want him to see us,” TJ groaned, brisk walking towards his locker. His friends came up to him and the box that he held, and they dumped all their petals in there. Pink, red, white, yellow, and every color in between spilled into the box. It looked like a rainbow threw up; how befitting.

They scattered, and feeling a bit more confident, he hurried towards Cyrus’ locker. All that confidence evaporated when he saw the lock. Crap. He didn’t know the code.

Luckily, Andi seemed to be passing by; maybe she would know? “Hey, Andi,” he called out, holding the box tight to his chest. Because if he dropped it, it would all be over.

“TJ, hi,” she greeted, a small smile on her face.

“Do you, uh, know Cyrus’ lock combination?” he asked, tapping his feet in his shoe. Andi’s happy expression morphed into one of confusion, knitting her brows together.

“Why?” she asked, crossing her arms, almost as a means of defense.

“Oh, uh. . .he, um, he stole one of my hoodies,” he lied, forcing a small smile, “yeah, and I. . .need it back,”

She looked him over once, twice. She was probably sure that he was lying, but she didn’t press it. She merely shrugged, tugging on her backpack straps. “Okay, um, it’s 2, then, 28, then 19,” she supplied, giving him one more look of confusion before walking off.

Sighing in relief, he turned the lock, using the numbers that Andi gave him, and sure enough, it opened. He peered around; not too many people were in the vicinity, and the ones that were around didn’t look like they were paying attention. Hurriedly, he dumped the petals in and slammed the locker shut, locking it.

“Okay, done,” he mumbled under his breath. He wanted to wait around for Cyrus and see his reaction, but he needed to meet up with his math teacher and touch base about the upcoming quiz. Oh well, Cyrus would probably tell him about it later.

Cyrus walked out of his biology class, tears glossing over his eyes. That was the worst test he’d ever taken; it might as well have been written in Chinese, he would have understood it all the same.

“Hey, Cyrus!”

A familiar figure came up behind him, slinging his arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. “How was class?”

Cyrus shook his head, looking up a little. He felt a little guilty for making TJ’s smile go away, but it was like he couldn’t help himself. “That was the hardest test I’ve ever taken. Failed it for sure,” he groaned, crossing his arms.

TJ frowned, pulling him in a little closer. “I’m sure you didn’t fail. You always say that, and then you do fine,” he noted.

Cyrus sighed. “Whatever, it’s over, I guess. History is next, can this day get any worse?” he grumbled, heading towards his locker. TJ wondered if Cyrus had seen what was inside.

He watched as Cyrus carefully turned his lock, like it was clockwork. The moment he tugged the locker open, all the petals spilled out, like a waterfall. A few of them spent considerable time in the air, before floating down and settling on the floor.

“What the-” Cyrus started, reaching into his locker and pulling out a large handful of petals, “do you think it’s from. . .?”

“Your secret admirer?” TJ supplied, a bit too quickly, “probably. I can’t imagine it being anyone else,” he added, squatting down to help Cyrus pick up the petals.

“I’m taking these home to press them in books,” Cyrus decided, a soft smile returning to his face.

“Feeling a little better?” TJ asked, handing him the rest of the petals.

Cyrus nodded, scooping all of the loose petals into a stray bag that he had floating around in his locker. “Yeah, thanks,” he smiled, “for, helping me pick these up, I mean,”

“Don’t mention it,”

Tuesday February 7

“And I keep getting all these little things, like in my locker and I just, I’m going to burst from happiness!”

Jonah smiled. “I’m really happy for you,” he noted, patting his shoulder, “whoever this is, they’re really cool for doing all these things,”

“Yeah, they are,” he mumbled, dreamily, leaning against the locker. Curse him for thinking of a certain blonde haired boy.

“Do you have any idea of who it might be?” Jonah asked, opening his locker and exchanging the books for his next class.

Cyrus shook his head. “I have an idea of who I want it to be,” he admitted, “but it would be stupid,”

Jonah smirked, shutting his locker with a gentle click. “TJ, right?”

Cyrus nearly fell, the ground feeling like it was crumbling underneath him. “What?” he squeaked, looking around.

Jonah chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, man. You think I can’t hear all the things you’re constantly mumbling under your breath about him? Or the way you look at him?”

Cyrus smacked his forehead. “Ah, silly,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he smiled, and Cyrus felt infinitely better.

Unfortunately, TJ did not. He saw a part of their exchange from afar, and all their laughter made him want to turn around and run the other direction. But that would be childish and silly. Two things TJ Kippen was most definitely not.

“Hey guys,” he says, with all the enthusiasm that he can muster. It’s lame, but it’s an attempt.

“Oh, hey TJ,” Jonah greets with a nod, “we were just talking about you,”

Cyrus elbows his side, feeling his cheeks heat up. He shot Jonah a look that read ‘I’ll kill you’, but before he could cause too much damage, there was more speaking.

“Really?” TJ questioned, and it almost looked like he was about to smile.

Jonah rubbed his arm, getting the message. “We, uh. . yeah, we were. . .talking about the upcoming basketball game,” he lied, with a bright grin on his face.

“Oh, okay,” he replied, glancing at Cyrus, “I’ll catch you later,” he says with a wave, walking off. Once he’s out of earshot, Cyrus gives Jonah a swift slap on his arm.

“Are you kidding me? Could you be any worse at this,” he groans, putting his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he didn’t notice,” Jonah supplied, walking off to his next class.

“Aaron, hey!” TJ whispers, kicking the desk beside him to get his attention, “can you give this to Cyrus when you see him?” He handed him a piece of paper, that had been folded up, and on the outside there was a small heart.

Aaron nodded, slipping it into his pocket for later.

It hardly felt like a Tuesday, according to Cyrus. The week had just started, and he was already looking forward to the weekend. Each class seemed to drag on and on. What was worse, in Cyrus’ opinion, was that whoever was this secret admirer of his didn’t give him anything today. He tried not to feel bad about it. Besides, it was probably just some joke anyways. Why was he so hung up on it?

“Uh, Cyrus, right?” someone called out, stumbling forward to try and get his attention.

“Yeah that’s me. . .Aaron, right?”

The boy nodded, fumbling with a piece of paper. “This is from T-” he bit his lip, shaking his head, “from, uh, from your secret admirer,” he corrected, handing him the piece of paper. Cyrus took it carefully, trying to suppress the building excitement that was blooming in his chest. Unfolding it, he found that it was a carefully sketched picture of him, concentrating on something. It was done in pencil, probably something done in a class, but it was beautiful.

“This is incredible,” he gawked, not even bothering to look up, “thanks for giving me this,”

“Oh, uh, I’m not. . .I’m not your secret admirer,” he flushed, rocking back on his heels.

Finally Cyrus looked up, folding the drawing again. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to imply that,” he laughed dryly, “I mean thanks for being the messenger,” he corrected, “I’ll see you around,”

Wednesday February 8

There’s less than a week until Valentine’s Day, and TJ feels like he’s going to explode. He’s kept this secret for so long and he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it for another week. Six days, actually.

He walked into school with flowers in his hand; forget-me-nots, along with a small note. Cyrus’ favorite. He always liked the name, because he talked about how he didn’t like being forgotten. And TJ never forgot that.

Unfortunately, neither did Buffy. When she spotted him, she made a beeline towards him, a determined look on her face.

“Flowers? You shouldn’t have,” she cooed, batting her lashes.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “As if, Driscoll,”

She shook her head. “Who are those actually for?”

TJ tried to brush it off; he wasn’t going to let Buffy Driscoll of all people get under his skin. “No one. They’re mine. Someone got them for me,”

She hummed, unconvinced, but surprisingly, she didn’t press any further. She gave him another look before walking away. Breathing out a sigh of relief, he started towards Cyrus’ locker, only to see him starting to walk in that same direction. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen TJ. In a moment of panic, he chucked the flowers towards the base of Cyrus’ locker and ducked into the nearest classroom.

“Breathe, TJ,” he told himself, placing a hand over his heart. He waited a few beats before peeking his head out of the room. And sure enough, Cyrus had the flowers in his hand. Casually, TJ waltzed out of the classroom and towards him.

“Wow, more gifts,” he chuckled, leaning against the lockers.

“And they’re my favorite flowers!” he beamed, opening his locker and neatly placing them in there, “they must have a spy on the inside to get this information,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later,”

“Later,”

Thursday February 9

“But you don’t get it, they’re my favorite flowers!” Cyrus cooed, walking side by side with Andi.

“I know that. You tell me all the time,” she pointed out, shaking her head.

He sighed, tugging on the straps of his backpack. With each day, he was getting more and more impatient with this secret admirer of his. He figured he’d find out who he was eventually, but he also knew he couldn’t wait much longer.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Andi muttered under her breath, plucking a note off of Cyrus’ locker and opening it up, “it says ‘I fall harder for you each day. Each day it gets a little harder to keep this a secret. But I promise you’ll know who I am by Valentine’s Day’”

Cyrus grabbed the note out of her hand, feeling mildly violated. “I did not approve you to read this,” he noted, but he was smiling, “and oh my gosh, that’s quite possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he murmured, “hey, you have history with TJ, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just,” he paused, “wondering if-”

“You wanted me to analyze his handwriting and compare it to the one on the note,” she deadpanned, offering a sympathetic smile.

He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She hit the nail on the head.

“You want it to be TJ,” she said softer, placing her hand on his arm.

Cyrus nodded, almost sadly. He wanted it to be TJ so badly, and a small flutter of hope existed, but he knew that deep down, it wouldn’t happen. Because he was Cyrus Goodman, and TJ was. . .TJ.

Friday February 10

Cyrus hadn’t seen TJ all morning, which usually he wasn’t too bummed about, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to show him the drawing he’d received. He’d pinned it up in his locker, holding it up with a few magnets to support it. It was beautiful.

“Cyrus, c’mon, we’re going to be late for class,” Buffy drawled, physically having to drag him away from where he was standing.

“But I didn’t get anything this morning, and I didn’t see TJ,” he whined, trudging along down the hallway.

Buffy shook her head, trying to piece two and two together. It made sense in retrospect; the flowers, the handwriting seemed pretty similar, and TJ wasn’t a bad artist. She smiled to herself. “I’m sure things will all fit into place,” she said, pushing him into the classroom.

By the end of the day, TJ had finally found himself a spare moment to rush by Cyrus’ locker. It was a bit of a messy job, but it was done. He didn’t want Cyrus to think that he’d forgotten about him.

“. . .and I’m telling you, it wasn’t the right answer,” Cyrus’ voice floated down the hallway, so TJ pretended to check his phone casually, staring at a black screen.

“TJ, hey! I haven’t seen you all day,” Cyrus beamed, bouncing right up to him.

He pocketed his phone immediately, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, so I missed the first two periods,”

Cyrus nodded, turning to face his locker. He swore he turned a shade of red one could only describe as unnatural. There on his locker was a cut out kiss, with a little thing of lip balm, with a small note that read “Pucker Up”.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled under his breath, quickly taking it down, “this is the flirtiest by far,”

“Something wrong with that?” he asked. He tried to make it sound casual, but it sounded worried and almost strained.

Cyrus giggles, placing the note in his locker and the lip balm in his pocket. “No, I just. . .wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, “I mean, I didn’t think anyone would want to kiss me of all people,”

“Are you insane? Who wouldn’t want to kiss you?” TJ blurted out, freezing up a little. He really just said whatever came to mind, didn’t he? “I mean, uh, you shouldn’t. . .shouldn’t say things like that about yourself,”

“Right,” Cyrus mumbled, the deep shade of red never fading from his face, “. . .any fun plans for the weekend?” he tried, filling the silence as they walked towards the exit.

“Nothing much, just. . .waiting for this Valentine’s Day dance,” he muttered.

“Oh, are you asking someone?” he asked nervously, toying with the hem of his shirt.

“. . .maybe,” he said with a smirk, carding a hand through his hair, “maybe, maybe not,”

“I hate when you say that, you know,” Cyrus chuckled, rounding the corner towards his house.

“I know,”

Saturday February 11

TJ wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t have plans. If Cyrus hadn’t have texted him asking if it was alright if he came over, he would be in his room staring at the wall.

“So,” TJ started, pausing the game of Mario Kart that they were currently on, “you ready for the dance?”

Cyrus shook his head like his life depended on it. “God, no,” he chuckled, leaning back against the couch cushions, “I’m just. . .nervous,” he admitted, “I mean, what if my secret admirer is a girl?”

TJ breathed out a laugh. “No offense, Cy, but it’s not exactly a secret to the school that you’re gay,” he pointed out.

“I know, I know,” he hesitated, fumbling with the controller, “but still, I just. . .I don’t know, I can’t help but feel like it’s some joke. Like someone has been doing this just to get a kick out of me,”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” TJ assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “plus, whoever he is, he’s really lucky,”

Cyrus tried to respond, but nothing came out. Because dammit, TJ Kippen was really beautiful up closer; the way his green eyes shined, all his little freckles that splayed across his face, the gentle smile that made all his worries melt away.

“I, uh, yeah. . .yeah,” he stammered out. It was a lame excuse of a response, but it was a string of words.

Sunday February 12

TJ tugged on his hoodie, pulling down the hood as far as it would go. It was a chilly Sunday, and he wished it wasn’t him doing this. He’d tried to ask one of his basketball teammates if they could, but apparently they all had other things to do. Either that or they were tired of being TJ’s messengers and listening to him gush about Cyrus.

Either way, that’s how TJ found himself walking to Cyrus’ house that day, note in hand and everything. It was basically deserted that morning, considering people were probably still at church, which he was grateful for. He really didn’t need someone catching him this late in the game.

“TJ?”

He froze, taking a step away from the door and swiftly turning around, making sure to keep his head low. Sure enough, he saw a familiar pair of sneakers and if he was being careless, he could see a head of curls.

“Buffy? What are you doing here?” he asked, scowling.

“Cyrus and I are supposed to hang out today, what are you doing here?” she challenged, a small smirk on her face, “taping a note to his door,” she tacked on.

He grumbled, the wind pushing back his hood a little. “Nothing,” he lied, “I’m, uh, I’m doing this for. . .someone,”

“Mhm,” she hummed, “I can read you like a book, TJ. You can’t lie to me. Well, you can but I’ll know,”

He groaned, crossing his arms. “What do you want?”

“I just wanna know,” she said simply, waiting a beat.

“. . .fine. It’s me, okay?” he gave in, defeated, “you can’t. . .you can’t tell him, okay?”

She clapped her hands together, walking up and plucking the note off of the door. “I won���t,” she promised, opening the door and stepping inside of the house. TJ shook his head. So much for secrecy.

“Cyrus!” Buffy called, pounding up the stairs with manic energy, “I have something for you!”

Cyrus was lying on his bed on his stomach, staring at the TV in front of him and watching whatever show was on the Food Network. “Unless it’s Alton Brown’s pie, I don’t want it,” he mumbled, holding onto the pillow.

“Oh,” she shrugged, “so I guess you don’t want this note from your secret admirer,” she sighed dramatically, holding it out.

He snapped out of his haze, sitting upright and snatching the note from her hand. He unfolded it, and it was a small doodle of a heart, with a small message inside that read ‘I hope you’re not disappointed when it’s me’.

Cyrus smiled, clutching it to his chest and flopping back down. “Do you know who it is?”

Buffy hesitated; she did promise TJ that she wouldn’t say anything about him. “I don’t not know who it is?”

He groaned, frowning. “Buffy, please, I’m dying here!”

“Alright, alright, calm down there, Shakespeare. You’ll find out in two days. You can wait till then,”

“I suppose,”

Monday February 13

How was it was it was already the day before Valentine’s Day? TJ felt like just yesterday it was the end of January, and now he was walking in with one of the last gifts. He handed it off to Blake, the alternate shooting guard for the team. TJ saw Cyrus at his locker, and instantly his day was better. Unfortunately, Buffy and Andi were off to the side making goo-goo eyes at him.

“What is the matter with you two?” he grumbled, approaching them.

“Aw, Kippen’s so smitten for Cyrus,” Buffy cooed, and Andi tried to swallow her laughter, “oh yeah, also I told Andi,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose; pick your battles, TJ. “Can’t keep a lid on it can you,” he muttered, shaking his head, “look just, keep it under wraps for one more day. Please,”

They both mimed zipping their lips and hurried along, bursting out in laughter as soon as they were out of sight of the captain. It didn’t take too long for a certain voice to travel down the hallway.

“TJ, you have to see this!” Cyrus squeaked, pushing the present into his hand, “this is the best one yet, look!” He started pulling out strips of paper, with some of his favorite quotes written down on them.

The things that make you strange are the things that make you powerful -- Ben Platt

You matter to me, simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody -- Waitress

Nothing is a beautiful as you, but these quotes can try -- Your Secret Admirer

“Oh my god,” Cyrus cooed, feeling his cheeks heat up, “this is the best gift ever,” he decided.

“Oh, uh, actually,” TJ mumbled, pulling something out of your bag, “your, uh, secret admirer told me to give you this,” he said, pushing a small trinket into Cyrus’ hand. It was a ceramic dinosaur that TJ had made in pottery class, with the help of the teacher and a photo reference. It was far from perfect, but it was an attempt.

Cyrus swore he was going to cry. “I-I love this,” he whispered, willing himself not to cry, “it’s. . .it’s so beautiful,”

TJ smiled, feeling a little prouder of his work. “Someone really cares about you,”

Cyrus nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah. . .they do,”

Tuesday February 14

The dreaded, or long awaited, day had arrived. Depends how you look at it. TJ had changed into seven different outfits within the span of ten minutes, and he ended up going with the first one anyways; a pink polo and nice jeans. He got up so early that morning, for fear of being late, that it was still dark outside when he was ready. Trying not to focus on that, he took the opportunity walking to school to try and rehearse what he was going to say, because he knew that he was going to fumble over his words.

On the way, he stopped by a flower shot to pick out a small bouquet of daffodils before continuing on his way. It was a relatively warm day for February, and TJ was grateful for that, considering he hadn’t worn a jacket.

When he arrived at school, he waited around his locker for a while, pacing back and forth so many times a teacher approached him to ask if he was alright. The hallways were littered with Valentine’s Day decorations and posters for the dance. He sighed; how was he supposed to tell him? No, this was going to be okay.

“TJ, hey!”

The moment he saw Cyrus, everything he’d rehearsed this morning went out the window. He barely even remembered where he was or what his name was. It was like he was transported to an alternate universe.

“Oh, uh, hi,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. Daffodils. Cyrus. Daffodils for Cyrus. Right. “These, uh, these are for you,” he added, pushing them into his hands, “from your secret admirer,”

Cyrus’ heart skipped a beat, he swore, and he all but stopped breathing. Was it. . .could it be? Was this actually happening?

“I’m on delivery duty,” he lied quickly, trying to cover his tracks for a little while longer. Yeah, this was going to be a lot harder than he previously thought.

Cyrus deflated; of course it wasn’t TJ. He was just making it out to be like that. “Oh,” he mumbled, dejected, fumbling with the flowers. At least they looked nice. “Thanks,”

TJ felt a pang of guilt rush through him. He couldn’t keep lying to himself and to Cyrus, it wasn’t fair. “Actually wait,” he hurried, “I. . .need to tell you something,”

Cyrus nodded, looking at him sincerely. “Go on,”

And of all the ways he thought he would feel at this moment, numb was not one of those options. All the anxiety and the fear and the excitement and adrenaline had all melted into nothingness, and left him feeling completely numb.

“It’s me,” he said quietly, shutting his eyes and bracing himself for rejection, “I’m your. . .secret admirer,”

Cyrus was speechless for a moment, before he broke out into a huge grin and started giggling. “Are you serious?” he breathed out, putting a hand on his forehead, “oh my god, I never would have thought,”

TJ opened his eyes slowly; even if he was facing rejection, it was nice to hear Cyrus laughing. “Are you. . .disappointed it’s me?”

Cyrus literally jaw-dropped at that. “Are you kidding? I’ve never been so happy in my life to hear something!”

Now it was TJ’s turn to be speechless. Did he hear that right? “Y-You are?”

Cyrus nodded, placing the flowers in his locker. “You’re seriously asking me that? I’ve had a crush on you since, like, the seventh grade,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly.

TJ smiled so wide his face hurt, but he didn’t care. “So. . .does this mean you’ll go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me?”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes,” Cyrus squealed, wrapping his arms around TJ.

Arriving at the dance was pure chaos. Kids were running down the ramp towards the gym, letting out squeals of delight. Cyrus had arrived with Andi and Buffy, but they had already made their way down the gym after they took pictures. Amber and Marty were waiting down there, so they said a quick goodbye to him and left him alone.

He walked around a little bit, taking note of the posters on the walls for this dance. Andi and the rest of the art club had really gone all out to make sure they were perfect. All the glitter really stood out, and the different styles of hearts and-

“Cyrus?”

A voice cut through the general silence that surrounded him. When he turned around, he thought he could melt right then and there. TJ wore a maroon blazer with a light pink shirt, and a black bowtie. In short, he looked stunning.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, taking a few steps forward and placing a hand on his arm, “you look. . .incredible,”

TJ swallowed, biting his lip. “Right back at you,” he murmured, slipping his hand into Cyrus’, “this okay?”

Cyrus nods, dragging him down the ramp, his feet hammering into the ground with each step. The music was blaring, and the gym was nearly packed with kids, all moving around and waving their hands in the air. And if Buffy and Andi came up to TJ and barraged him with questions while Cyrus grabbed them drinks, he didn’t mention it to Cyrus.

Most of the night was spent bouncing around groups of people, but TJ and Cyrus were basically inseparable. They really liked having each other for company.

“Alright, ladies and gents, it’s time to take it real slow,” the DJ drawled, switching over to a softer song with a gentle beat, “so find that special someone,”

TJ looked almost nervous when he asked Cyrus to dance. It was silly, really, since he already said yes to going to the dance with him. As if Cyrus could sense his nerves, he took TJ by the hand and led him towards the center of the dance floor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching up and wrapping his arms around TJ’s neck.

“Hi,” he replied, a small smile making its way on his smile as he gingerly placed his hands on Cyrus’ waist, “is this okay?”

Cyrus nodded, inching forward a little and resting his head on TJ’s chest. He could almost hear Andi shrieking from the other side of the gym, but he assumed it was Amber who kept her in check.

“What are you thinking about?” TJ asked quietly, swaying gently from side to side.

Cyrus chuckled, picking his head up. “How much I want to kiss you,” he admitted, feeling his cheeks flush at that.

“Oh, really?” TJ replied cheekily, smirking down at him, “what’s stopping you?”

Cyrus shrugged, smiling softly. “I mean. . .do you want to kiss me?”

“So badly,” TJ murmured, smiling.

Without much thinking, Cyrus leaned up and planted a short kiss on his lips. They burned at the sudden sensation, and he worried that it wasn’t good. “Sorry,” he murmured, “that was. . .awful,”

TJ gave him a sympathetic smile, hooking a finger under his chin. “It’ll get better,”

Cyrus smiled, placing his hand on TJ’s. “Yeah. . .yeah, it will,”