#I’m having a great time can’t you tell

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k] 

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall 

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic. 

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand. 

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.” 

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?” 

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls. 

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work. 

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could. 

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily. 

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be. 

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds. 

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet. 

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip. 

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly. 

“Sure.” 

“I signed us up for that club.” 

“Epigenetics?” 

“Molecular medicine,” he says. 

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder. 

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says. 

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.” 

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that. 

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption. 

“When is it?” you ask, smiling. 

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going. 

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either. 

—

“Good morning,” you say. 

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back. 

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers. 

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“When was the last time you wore a suit?” 

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.” 

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.” 

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?” 

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?” 

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him. 

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears. 

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you. 

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.” 

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would. 

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less. 

“I’m fine, why?” 

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?” 

“I have too much to do.” 

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?” 

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.” 

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse. 

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me. 

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks. 

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away. 

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival. 

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot. 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” 

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible. 

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks. 

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?” 

“I can show you the webs?” 

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.” 

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine. 

“Can I walk you now?” he asks. 

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react. 

“Nothing more important than you.” 

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.” 

“Yellowstone Boulevard?” 

“That’s the one…” 

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.” 

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.” 

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match. 

“I like walking,” you say. 

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.” 

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.” 

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.” 

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says. 

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.” 

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away. 

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back. 

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies? 

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood. 

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise. 

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says. 

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida. 

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says. 

“Did you cook?” you ask. 

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove. 

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries. 

“It’s for you,” he says casually. 

“It’s not my birthday.” 

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?” 

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?” 

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?” 

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.” 

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.” 

“It must’ve taken hours.” 

“May helped.” 

“That makes much more sense.” 

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time. 

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.” 

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back. 

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth. 

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.” 

“I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.” 

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.” 

“Better than Harry?” 

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.” 

“Eat your own.” 

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder. 

“Have something to tell you.” 

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw. 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.” 

“Okay, so tell me.” 

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.” 

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.” 

“She is?” 

“Oxford.” 

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.” 

“But?” 

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on. 

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you. 

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks. 

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“ 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.” 

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch. 

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.” 

“I know. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.” 

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.” 

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home. 

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips. 

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned. 

— 

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby. 

“Spider-Man,” you say. 

“What’s that about?” 

“What?” 

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it. 

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.” 

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm. 

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.” 

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.” 

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.” 

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.” 

“No? Do I have to earn it?” 

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.” 

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask. 

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you. 

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.” 

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised. 

“A secret. That’s fair.” 

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.” 

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car. 

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?” 

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.” 

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on. 

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.” 

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy. 

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?” 

“It just hurts people.” 

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road. 

“Tell me another one,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me one.” 

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.” 

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street. 

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.) 

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Oh, nowhere.” 

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?” 

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask. 

“Sure, for that secret.” 

You laugh as Peter takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it. 

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.” 

“Why not?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed. 

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.” 

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t. 

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be. 

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind. 

“Just an hour.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.” 

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks. 

“I get to choose?” 

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.” 

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.” 

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts. 

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do. 

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.” 

“So tell me another one,” he says. 

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other. 

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard. 

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person. 

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you. 

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy. 

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.” 

“I’d hope so.” 

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!” 

“I like to walk,” you say. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!” 

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.” 

“What’s wrong with staying at home?” 

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.” 

“I don’t do this every night.” 

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?” 

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.” 

“Want me to do one?” 

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.” 

“So where are you heading today?” he asks. 

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.” 

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.” 

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.” 

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says. 

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?” 

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.” 

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.” 

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.” 

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask. 

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man.” 

“Hi.” 

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?” 

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.” 

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“Yeah, you could.” 

He sounds sure. 

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.” 

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?” 

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks. 

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” 

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof. 

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.  

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet. 

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.” 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.” 

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?” 

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?” 

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.” 

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you. 

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle. 

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand. 

—

Winter 

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company. 

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!” 

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you. 

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?” 

You blink as fat rain lands on your face. 

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!” 

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!” 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building. 

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly. 

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?” 

“No.” 

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring. 

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.” 

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs. 

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in. 

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says. 

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.” 

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.” 

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say. 

“About?” 

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke. 

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited. 

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you. 

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man. 

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?” 

“So you didn’t need me,” he says. 

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.” 

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.” 

“Not that much.” 

“Not for me, no.” 

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. 

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back. 

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” 

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.” 

Peter… What is he doing? 

You let yourself relax against him. 

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.” 

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?” 

You can say it out loud. You could. 

“Peter, you’re…” 

“I’m what?” he asks. 

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again. 

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep. 

He’s Spider-Man. 

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete. 

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him. 

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now. 

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter. 

“I was thinking about you,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.” 

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain. 

“Yeah, please.” 

His thumb strokes your cheek. 

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears. 

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks. 

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears. 

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition. 

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. 

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all. 

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording. 

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?” 

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts. 

“I’m fine up here!” 

“Are you really Spider-Man?” 

“Sure am.” 

“Are you single?” 

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.  

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button. 

“Hello?” Peter asks. 

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hi, are you busy?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.” 

“Is Aunt May okay with that?” 

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?” 

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?” 

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?” 

“I have to shower first.” 

“Twenty five?” 

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?” 

“It’s a date,” he says. 

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.” 

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.” 

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.” 

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says. 

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?” 

“Pete, it’s fine.” 

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.” 

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.” 

“You said it wasn’t cold!” 

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments. 

“I don’t like it,” you lie. 

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Apparently, nothing is.” 

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands. 

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him. 

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks. 

“May!” Peter says, startled. 

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says. 

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.” 

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?” 

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes. 

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man. 

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles. 

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather. 

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.” 

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.” 

“Concerned friend.” 

“Handsy loser.” 

”Shut up,” he mumbles. 

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed. 

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy. 

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says. 

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.” 

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.” 

“I don’t want ice cream.” 

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.” 

“Because I’m adorable?” 

“Persistent.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands. 

“Peter…?” you murmur. 

“What?” he murmurs back. 

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This– You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”  

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?” 

“‘Cos I missed you?” 

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.” 

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.” 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.” 

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” 

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.” 

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask. 

Peter stares at you. 

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.” 

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall. 

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept. 

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for being weird.” 

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly. 

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up. 

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I think so,” you say, quiet again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.” 

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.” 

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead. 

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs. 

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely. 

“Is it something else?” 

You don’t move. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.” 

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh. 

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.” 

“I like thinking.” 

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Would you? For me?” 

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.” 

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms. 

“Door open,” she says. 

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.” 

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.” 

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.” 

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?” 

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.” 

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?” 

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs. 

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.” 

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Peter Parker.” 

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.” 

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.  

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it. 

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it. 

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!! 

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway. 

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing. 

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters. 

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.” 

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?” 

“You just dropped down twenty feet!” 

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?” 

“Who said you’re a superhero?” 

“Nice. What are you doing down here?” 

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.” 

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently. 

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.” 

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.” 

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.” 

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.” 

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot. 

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.” 

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.” 

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.” 

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life. 

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks. 

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.” 

“It’s definitely for dorks.” 

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.” 

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely. 

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?” 

“I love it…” 

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter. 

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him. 

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?” 

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.” 

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely. 

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.” 

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.” 

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.” 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?” 

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto. 

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.” 

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.” 

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.” 

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.” 

“Peter,” you say, squirming. 

He steps back. 

“I have to go,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises. 

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen. 

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before. 

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time. 

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose. 

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest. 

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you. 

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.  

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung. 

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives. 

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes. 

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly. 

His voice is gentle, but hoarse. 

You tense. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.” 

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur. 

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.” 

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?” 

“Ten minutes,” you lie. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating. 

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.” 

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored. 

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.” 

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing. 

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck. 

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.” 

“Was that disappointing?” 

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?” 

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.” 

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.” 

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.” 

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“I haven’t, either.” 

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.” 

“You’re hard to say no to.” 

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely. 

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.” 

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke. 

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says. 

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly. 

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?” 

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly. 

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…” 

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?” 

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours. 

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest. 

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.” 

“I can keep you warm.” 

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown. 

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask. 

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow. 

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.” 

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly. 

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that. 

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.” 

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?” 

“Harry doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.” 

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.” 

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?” 

“Peter!” 

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips. 

“Alright,” you warn. 

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.” 

“It’s an hour.” 

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8. 

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday. 

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8. 

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you. 

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop. 

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping. 

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets. 

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today. 

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?” 

“Already?” 

“Tonight’s the June equinox.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.” 

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.” 

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.” 

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?” 

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.” 

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain. 

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.” 

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed. 

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes. 

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs. 

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge. 

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks. 

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers. 

“I’m trying to prepare myself.” 

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’ll have to move.” 

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold. 

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways. 

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says. 

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck. 

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.” 

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.” 

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.” 

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River. 

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?” 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.” 

“You’re decent enough, Parker.” 

“Maybe now.” 

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say. 

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface. 

He shakes himself off like a dog. 

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes. 

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes. 

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back. 

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?” 

“A real one,” you insist. 

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.” 

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.” 

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose. 

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.” 

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin. 

The sun warms your back for a time. 

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist. 

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests. 

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye. 

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face. 

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands. 

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.” 

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed. 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

[ellecdc]

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends. 

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?” 

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on. 

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.” 

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue. 

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.” 

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?” 

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.” 

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.” 

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself. 

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else. 

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it. 

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly. 

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden. 

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again. 

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat. 

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes. 

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding. 

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?” 

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face. 

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes. 

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.” 

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly. 

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently. 

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him? 

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property. 

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant. 

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either. 

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too. 

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could. 

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. 

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew. 

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war. 

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed. 

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way? 

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war. 

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames. 

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this? 

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?” 

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney. 

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.” 

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.” 

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly. 

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you. 

“I love Killarney!” 

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway. 

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!” 

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you. 

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.” 

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers. 

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason. 

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by. 

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson. 

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan. 

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.” 

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room. 

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well. 

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance. 

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then. 

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?” 

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you. 

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you. 

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew. 

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.” 

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?” 

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.” 

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.” 

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.” 

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house. 

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds. 

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?” 

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended. 

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence. 

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.” 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him. 

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.” 

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror. 

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.” 

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.” 

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?” 

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump. 

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.” 

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him. 

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him. 

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically. 

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before. 

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy. 

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.” 

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.” 

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet. 

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.” 

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.” 

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you. 

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not. 

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months. 

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

[slashbitch2]

The Proposal AU! (part one)

Summary: when your boss Agatha faces the threat of deportation, she convinces you to marry her in return for a promotion- and things only get more complicated with a trip to Salem, an eccentric tarot-card-reading aunt, and a homophobic mother to convince.

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

TW: deportation (which I admit I know very little about I'm not American lol) suggestive themes, sort of arranged marriage

W.C: 1.3k words

PART TWO (coming soon)

Agatha Harkness was a terrible boss. In the five years you had been working as her assistant, you had her schedule memorised, you constantly tried to anticipate her needs, and yet, she could barely remember your name. And that wasn’t the only flaw, oh no. There was the erratic behaviour, her quickness to anger, the fact that she always teetering the line between serious and sarcastic, so you could never quite tell whether she meant what she had said. Which would be your excuse if she attempted to criticise your response time to her latest question.

It's just… there was no way she was being serious… Right?

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that last part, please?” You asked slowly, steadily lowering the file in your hands to pay full attention to Agatha. She was sat at her desk, looking up at you as though you were an idiot. So, like usual.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to get down on one knee.” Agatha scoffed, and when you didn’t respond, quirked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“I’m just having a hard time comprehending what you’re asking of me.” You spluttered out.

She exhaled, clearly irritated. Then leant forwards over the desk and demanded, “Marry me,” punctuating each word with the intensity of her glare.

Under her scrutiny, you could feel your cheeks flushing. She never usually paid this much attention to you unless she needed something, which was rare. But this was too far. It had to be some kind of test surely. Of what, you weren’t sure. Loyalty? Dedication? Insanity?

After a beat of silence, you finally remembered to respond. “You’re insane.”  You folded your arms across your chest, still in disbelief that she would ever ask such a thing. You knew Agatha was unpredictable, dramatic, terrifying even, but never could you have imagined her saying such a thing on this unassuming Thursday afternoon. She never brought her personal life into work, and so why she would want to bring her work (aka you) into her home, her bed, well- it was a mystery.

Your cheeks grew redder at the image your mind conjured up. You and the boss, in bed, together.

The silence continued, and you summoned the resolve to look back at Agatha. She was staring up at you expectantly, and you realised that, despite your aghast reaction, she was still awaiting a response.

“No!” You exclaimed, mouth agape.

At this, her red lips stretched back into a malicious grin. “I wasn’t asking, dear.”

Something about her teasing smile and her mildly threatening words flustered you. “Well… you can’t make me.” You responded futilely. You knew she could. This was Agatha Harkness, after all. She could make anyone do anything.

And yet… “No, I can’t.” Agatha conceded with a simple shrug.

This caught you off guard. You frowned down at her, wondering if this was some form of reverse psychology.

“But what I can do is offer something in return.” Agatha winked, and if you weren’t flustered enough before, you certainly were now.

You took a moment to breathe. To calm the way your heart raced in your chest. You recognised the innuendo to her words, but knew the connotations likely lay in more entrepreneurial benefits. A promotion. A raise perhaps. The possibilities were endless, and all of them would help you to pay the rent. Now that, you couldn’t pass up on so easily.

“But why?” You asked, quieter, reluctant to admit to yourself that you were settling into the idea. “Why do you need to marry me?”

“Oh pfft,” Agatha waved a hand dismissively. “Not specifically you. This is nothing personal.”

“Oh great. That makes me feel so much better, thank you.” You snarked.

“Come on, you’re a clever girl.” Agatha narrowed her gaze, that teasing edge so easily returning to her tone. “You can figure it out.”

You paused to think, running through everything you knew about your boss. She lived alone, quite happily so, which ruled out any kind of breakdown. She was about ten years older than you, which meant this probably wasn’t a midlife crisis. But in terms of personal information, that was about all you knew. Agatha was a married to the job kind of woman, constantly in and out of meetings, often the last to leave the office. You had tried to outlast her one evening, but upon seeing the delivery guy arrive with enough food to survive the night, you had given up and headed home.

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, eyes briefly flickering about the office when an idea struck you.

“Earlier today…” You began, speaking cautiously slow. “You had a meeting scheduled with your immigration lawyer.”

���Atta girl.” Agatha leant back in her chair, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“You’ve been putting off that meeting for weeks,” you continued.

“It didn’t seem important!”

“Well, I’m guessing your visa expired. And you panicked, because being deported would suck, so you lied and said you were engaged.”

“Bingo!” Agatha clapped her hands, as though this were some fun guessing game and not a huge life issue that would turn both your lives upside down. “Being deported would suck, as you so eloquently put it. I would lose my job, so god knows what would happen to you.” She pulled a face of mock concern, pointing a sharp finger in your direction. “And now all I need is some all-American idiot to get me that green card. Simple. Beneficial for us both, really.”

“No. Not simple. Not beneficial for us both.” You shook your head, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. “For one, with you gone I might actually get a normal boss.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” She quipped. “Plus, me being gone would certainly halt your progression up the ranks- and where would you ever find a better recommendation than from your boss turned wife, huh toots?”

Agatha was talking with such rationality that it was giving you a migraine. You pinched the bridge of your nose in an attempt to soothe it. “Please take a moment to think about this. I mean is it even allowed? The whole employer, employee relationship?”

“Oh, stop with your worrying. I wasn’t the one who hired you.”

“And you really can’t think of anyone else to do this?” You implored, though you were afraid you already knew the answer.

“I admit I didn’t give it much thought, but what’s the problem? You’re not dating anyone, your family are abroad so they won’t get involved in any of it-”

“How do you know all this?” You interrupted, frowning. Clearly your prior assumption that she didn’t give you the time of day was incorrect.

“I’m observant.” She deadpanned. “So, it’s settled, we’ll get married, live apart for a year, then when the immigration office determines I’m not a threat to the country, we’ll get an uncontested divorce with two of the finest lawyers’ money can buy. Breeze it through the law courts and never speak of it again. You get your promotion; I don’t have my whole life uprooted.”

You hummed noncommittally, finding yourself at a loss for words.

“Great, I’m taking that as a yes!” Agatha stood up abruptly, striding past you to grab her coat. “Let’s hit the road!”

“What? Both of us?”

“Of course. You’re my besotted fiancée and we’ve got a immigration officer to chat with!” Agatha nudged open the office door, storming through the building without another word. You simply stood and watched her go, her long navy coat flapping behind her, swishing back and forth with every step. You momentarily entertained the thought that it was a cloak- that she was secretly an evil witch in disguise as your boss.

It was the only reasonable conclusion from what you had just been roped into.

Groaning, you reluctantly followed your soon-to-be wife, trying desperately to ignore the churning anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

NEXT PART

Notes: ok I need to fess up I don't have much of a plan for this fic and uni work is kicking my ass so my time is v limited. But I've always wanted to write something following the vague plot of The Proposal- the film this is based off in case you can't tell.... so, hope you enjoyed :)

[luvergirl-866]

something like love

part - 3

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 3.3k

c/w - language, slight homophobia

a/n - hi, i’m back! i wrote the majority of this part while high and she’s mostly unedited so if you see mistakes, no you don’t. i’m so happy with how y’all are receiving this story and i’m having so much fun writing it! i’d like to reiterate that i’m sure paige’s mom and step-dad are amazing parents and this is all fictional! as always, i hope you enjoy, and lmk what you think!

Finals go about as well as Azzi expected. With the way she and Paige locked in three days before, she’s not too surprised. They didn’t even go to the gym the entire time, instead staying shut up in Paige’s bedroom with highlighters and textbooks and laptops. Although, Paige did get pretty stir-crazy on day two and started doing push-ups on the floor. Azzi had gotten a weird vibe that she was showing off.

What did make studying a little harder, though, was the fact that Paige seems to be having trouble separating their acting from their actual friendship, and has thus taken to calling Azzi ‘ma’ and brushing her thigh even while they’re alone. Azzi doesn’t know how to tell her to stop, or if she even really wants to.

It’s now the day after finals and only two days before they leave for Montana, where the real challenge will begin. Needing some space from Paige, which is a rarity with them practically living together these days, Azzi has retired to own room to pack her bags. It’s not going well.

Usually, she’s an amazing packer. She enjoys it, even, finds it soothing to create a checklist, pick her outfits, and pack her belongings just so so that they all fit.

Today, it’s a little different. Because today, she doesn’t know what to plan for, and she doesn’t know her to make all her shit fit into this suitcase, and she can’t decide what outfits to bring because all she can think about with each article of clothing is whether or not Paige would like it. Would Paige like these leggings, the way they hug her ass? Would she like this tight top with the plunging neckline? Would she compliment these shoes, ogle this little skirt?

Being in love with Paige is nothing new. But this, this feels foreign to Azzi, feels like when they were teenagers and she was just beginning to realize that her feelings for Paige were more than platonic. It feels nervous and jittery and insecure, and over the years Paige has become safe. She is secure and strong and rooted deeply in Azzi’s very being. Azzi wants more out of her, sure, but that fact hasn’t made her this afraid in years.

Groaning, Azzi fists up the sweatshirt she’s holding and then buries her face in it to scream. She’s about halfway through her little tantrum when a knock on her door startles her out of it. She doesn’t bother to lift her head out of the sweatshirt to mumble, “Fuck off.”

The door opens anyway, of course, and then there’s Carol’s voice, cautiously asking, “What’s going on in here?”

Azzi finally lifts her head to stare at her best friend. “Trying to pack for Montana.”

“Yeah?” Carol asks, still speaking softly as if she were trying to soothe a rabid animal. “And, uh, how’s that goin’ for you?”

Azzi groans again. “Really great, yeah. It’s awesome.”

“Mm.” Carol hums, then perches herself on the edge of Azzi’s bed, looking down at her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says automatically, because she can’t tell her best friend what’s actually going on, or else she’d give away she and Paige’s secret. But Carol looks at her suspiciously, like she might start interrogating her at any second, and so Azzi quickly decides to tell a half-truth. “Ok, I just, I’m nervous to see Paige’s family in Montana.”

Carol furrows her brow. “But haven’t you met them before?”

“I have,” Azzi nods. “But only the times they came up to visit Paige, and those were far and few between.” Azzi can’t help the bitter tone that seeps into the last part.

“Yeah,” Carol says. “From what I’ve heard it doesn’t seem like they’re super involved with her. Not like her dad and step-mom.”

“They’re not, and they never have been,” Azzi says, clutching the sweater a little tighter as if she were choking it. “Paige’s mom left when Paige was like three and she didn’t come back to visit until an entire year later. Paige didn’t even remember her by then. She says she hugged her dad’s leg and cried the first time she visited,” Azzi seethes, remembering how Paige had laughed quietly when she first told Azzi the story, her eyes sad. “And now they’re homophobic and totally shut Paige out when she told them she was a lesbian and they’re going to hate me, it’s going to be so hostile and awful and—“ Azzi cuts herself off with another scream into the sweatshirt. Vaguely, she realizes it’s an old one of Paige’s, something she stole way back in high school. Fitting.

“Hey, hey,” Carol says, sliding onto the floor next to Azzi and patting her knee, “you gotta chill out, okay? You know Paige won’t let them say a word to you. That girl would protect you with her life,” she says earnestly, and it makes Azzi’s heart skip.

“Yeah?” Azzi asks, just because she wants to hear it from someone else.

“She loves you a lot, Az. And I think we all realized it a lot sooner than you did, because y’all were too fucking stupid to notice how different you are around each other.”

Azzi furrows her brow. “Different?”

“Yeah,” Carol nods, patting Azzi’s leg. “Ever since we got to UConn, the two of you are always in your own world. You listen to her for hours if she wants you to and she’s always touching on you, being all protective and shit. And don’t even get me started on the way she looks at you when she thinks you won’t notice. I mean, you two are dating now and she still does that shit.” She shakes her head affectionately, then laughs. “And y’all were like that long before we got here, too.”

Azzi isn’t really listening anymore, too stuck up on thinking, Paige looks at me?

It might seem like a silly thought because Azzi is stealing secret glances at Paige all the time, and she has done for years. But that makes sense, because Azzi is hopelessly in love with her. Paige has absolutely no reason to be staring at Azzi when she thinks nobody’s watching.

Carol must be saying all this to make her feel better. She always knows the right thing to say.

“Yeah,” Azzi says, instead of saying what she’s really thinking—There’s absolutely no chance Paige looks at me in secret—and when Carol leans in to hug her, she returns it, letting her head rest on her best friend’s shoulder. “Thanks, Carol. You’re right.”

“I know, girl,” Carol responds. Azzi takes a deep breath, trying her best to chill out, and just as they’re separating, her door cracks open. Of course, speak of the devil, in pops Paige Bueckers, blond hair flowing loose around her shoulders. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nah,” Carol says, waving Paige in. “Just chatting.”

“Gossip?” Paige asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Don’t worry, we’d never gossip without you.”

Paige laughs and then looks down at Azzi, who is quite busy doing the very important job of picking at a scab on her knee. “Hey, babe. Everything good?”

Azzi looks between her two best friends, and Carol’s giving her a soft, encouraging smile which Paige clocks immediately—the three of them have gotten good at reading each other over the years—and she walks over to them, sitting down across from Azzi. “Okay, what’s up?”

Surprisingly, Azzi’s eyes begin to sting and a hard lump forms in her throat, emotion overtaking her more strongly than it usually does, and she only has to wonder why for just a moment before she remembers, her period should be starting any day now. Stubbornly, she swallows down the tears, refusing to embarrass herself by crying in front of them. “Nothing’s up. I’m just—“

“She was having a hard time packing,” Carol says quickly, pushing herself up off the ground. “How about you help her, Paige? Sit on her suitcase so she can zip it or something.” There’s a warning in her tone and Paige gets it immediately, based off the way she nods and scoots closer to Azzi.

As soon as Carol’s gone, Paige is reaching out to rest her arms on Azzi’s knees. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, but Paige doesn’t buy it one bit. “Really, it’s fine. It’s dumb.”

“Not dumb, ma,” Paige says softly. Her thumb rubs against Azzi’s knees, and this is something Paige only does when they’re pretending. Azzi wonders again if she should warn Paige about the fact that their dating habits are seeping into their normal friendship, even when they’re alone. That could become dangerous.

But right now, the comforting warmth of it is welcome.

“Seriously, just tell me,” Paige urges, impatience evident in her tone. “You’re makin’ me all nervous.”

“Don’t, it’s actually not a big deal at all.” Azzi figures she should say something before Paige builds this up in her head too much. “I just, I’m worried about seeing your mom. I know she’s not gonna like me because of…” she gestures between them, “this. But I know she’s not my favorite person either and I’m just kinda scared that everything’s gonna clash and you’re gonna end up getting hurt.”

Paige stares at her for a second, then nods and sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She looks down at her hands in Azzi’s lap, then back up at her. “But, like, if anything bad happens, it’s not gonna be on you. It’ll be on my parents for being shitty. You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

Suddenly, Azzi feels guilty. Here she is having a mental breakdown over a situation that ultimately won’t affect her nearly as much as it’ll affect Paige. And here Paige is, sitting across from her, comforting her. The hands on Azzi’s knees start to feel too hot.

“You must be nervous, too,” Azzi says. “You don’t know how they’re gonna react when you show up with me rather than some guy.”

Paige shrugs it off, but her throat bobs. “Nah, it’s alright.”

Paige looks chill as can be, shoulders slumped, face relaxed. But Azzi knows her too well, notices the way her fingers are twitching and her eyes are looking everywhere but her.

“You don’t have to act in front of me,” Azzi says, hoping it doesn’t sound too corny.

“I know,” Paige says immediately. She finally meets Azzi’s eyes. “Listen, I might be a little nervous. But it’s whatever. And you don’t gotta be nervous, either. Whatever happens, we’ll be there together, yeah?”

Azzi nods, lifting Paige’s hands off her knees to take them in her own. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I got you,” Paige says softly, and it flusters Azzi but she’s more focused on the way Paige is looking at her, this little crease between her brows like she’s trying to figure something out. Just like after their kiss. But Azzi clears her throat and Paige snaps out of it, pulling her hands away from Azzi’s to brush herself off. “And you got me. Just like always, yeah?” She stands up, then looks around awkwardly, suddenly all jittery and weird. “So, uh, do you actually need help packing? I’m basically a master packer, I could get it done in prolly five minutes, flat.”

Azzi knows Paige is trying to deflect from whatever that was, and it seems like, once again, they’re not going to talk about it. Amazing.

“You’re the worst packer I’ve met in my life, P,” Azzi teases, going with it. “I usually need to help you.”

“I’on need no help,” Paige waves her off. Then she looks down at Azzi’s suitcase and scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. “But, uh, if you wanted to come up to my place to help with some fits I wouldn’t be mad.”

Azzi shakes her head, deciding to leave her packing for later. “Come on, stupid head. Let’s go.”

“Yo,” Paige says, following her out of the room. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“Sorry you’re right,” Azzi says. “Shit-for-brains is way more fitting.”

“Yo!”

—————————————

Before leaving for the airport, their teammates act like they’re going off to war. They all hug them extra-long and talk forlornly about what they’re gonna do without ‘mom and dad’ around.

Now that Azzi and Paige are ‘dating’, the two of them get called mom and dad more often than they get called their actual names. It’s kind of cute, actually, even if it is annoying sometimes.

“You kids be good,” Paige says sternly, playing into the act, and Azzi ruffles KK’s hair and says, “don’t bother your brothers.”

“Yeah, don’t bother us, Camera,” Ice says, and KK tackles her. Paige and Azzi take the opportunity to sneak out.

They’re at the airport now, waiting in the lounge where they only get approached by two polite fans asking for pictures. Paige is just dozing off when their flight is called, and Azzi manages to drag her through the gate into the plane before she’s slouching in her seat, falling asleep as soon as she sits down.

She wakes thirty minutes later, and she rests her head on Azzi’s shoulder when they start up a movie to watch. When she does, instinct takes over and Azzi doesn’t really realize what she’s doing until she kisses Paige on the head, nuzzling into her blonde hair, and she’s mid-nuzzle when she remembers that they have no reason to be all up on each other like this. Paige is stiff on her shoulder now, and Azzi laughs awkwardly, lifting her head to stare blankly at the movie. “My bad. Habit.”

“You’re good,” Paige says. She softens on Azzi’s shoulder, and then she mumbles something completely incoherent.

“Sorry, what?” Azzi asks, popping an earbud out to hear better.

“Huh?” Paige says.

“You said something.”

“Nah, you’re hearin’ stuff.”

“Paige.”

“Shh, I’m missing the movie.”

“Paige, seriously, what’d you just say? You tryna talk crap?”

“No,” Paige says emphatically. She shrugs, then leans her head a little further into Azzi’s neck and mutters, “I just said I didn’t mind.”

“Didn’t mind what?” Azzi asks, scrunching her nose.

“Are you dumb?” Paige says.

“Rude,” Azzi responds, and then she says, “Wait. You didn’t mind when I kissed you?”

“Didn’t mind when you kissed my head,” Paige corrects.

It’s Azzi’s turn to mumble, “Well, I know you didn’t mind when we kissed for real, either,” and Paige hears it and lifts her head up, shoving Azzi away. “Hey, chill with allat. I said that to you in a moment of weakness.”

Azzi shoves her right back, hoping to hide the feelings she’s sure are written all across her face, because Paige has admitted that she wants to kiss Azzi again and now they’re bringing that up, and what does it even mean?

“Aw,” Azzi says, trying for casual, “you big ol’ softy.”

“I ain’t soft,” Paige says gruffly, looking out the window and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I think you are,” Azzi sing-songs, then she leans over into Paige’s space. Paige doesn’t turn to her, but her breath hitches when Azzi whispers close to her ear, “I think you’re soft as hell for me.”

Paige stares stubbornly out the window. “No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Mm,” Azzi hums, and then she rests her chin on her shoulder, gazing out the window as well, even though her mind is elsewhere. “I think you like doing this with me, P.” Feeling bold, she sneaks her hand onto Paige’s thigh, clad in those basketball shorts that always do something to Azzi’s head. “I think you’re surprised by how much you like it. Having an excuse to be all over me whenever you want. Acting like I’m all yours when we’re around people.”

Paige gasps when Azzi presses her lips to her neck, not kissing her but just resting there, and she turns back to look at her when Azzi lifts her head.

They’re inches apart.

Paige looks at her lips. She’s been doing that a lot ever since their conversation in the bathroom. Azzi is a soldier for the amount of restraint she usually has, because when Paige looks at her like this—this new, unfamiliar look on her face while she stares at her lips—every bone in her body wants to close the gap between them.

Today, her restraint feels frayed. And so she leans forward, slowly, and kisses just the edge of Paige’s mouth. Not a real kiss. But not friendly, either.

Paige gasps.

Azzi breathes out shakily, and then she shoves Paige’s face away playfully. “Watch our movie, dumbass.”

Azzi is shaking for the entirety of the movie, but at least she’s pretending to watch it. The entire time, she can feel Paige’s eyes burning into her skin.

Azzi gets the sinking feeling that something unexpected is going to happen on this trip.

—————————————

They get off the plane at 7pm. By the time they get their bags, it’s 7:30. And by the time Paige’s parents pull up to get them, it is 7:45. Paige clutches Azzi’s to her side with one hand, her suitcase held tight in the other. Her mom and step-dad look at them strangely and whisper to each other before getting out of the car.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean is the first to speak. “How was the flight?”

Paige releases Azzi so he can pull her into an awkward hug while her mom stands back. “Yeah, uh, it was good.”

“Good, good,” Dean nods. “That’s good.” He glances back at his wife, who is looking between Paige and Azzi with this expression on her face that Azzi doesn’t like at all. “Here, um, let me get you ladies’ bags.”

He takes a suitcase in each hand and pops the trunk to start loading up their stuff. He murmurs something to Amy when he passes, by, and she nods stiffly before taking a measly step forward. “Hi, baby. Your…hair looks nice.”

Azzi almost squeezes her eyes shut at how awkward this is. But at the same time she can’t, watching mother and daughter like she’s watching a train wreck.

“Thanks, Mom.” Paige is the first to reach out, and even though Amy holds her stiffly, Paige falls into her mother’s arms, something she has never been able to do often. Azzi can tell Paige thinks it may be the last time and is trying to savor it.

“Paige,” Amy says, pulling away from her daughter after a few moments and glancing pointedly at Azzi, “I see you brought your friend.”

Paige looks back at Azzi, who, despite her own nervousness, gives Paige her most encouraging smile.

“That’s alright, we have a pullout,” Amy says after neither of them responds. “Would’ve been nice to know that I needed to shop for an extra person, though.”

Azzi winces. What a rude thing to say.

“So, where’s Ryan?” she goes on, and Azzi’s stomach churns. This is it. “Your father and I have been dying to meet him.”

“Not my father,” Paige murmurs quietly enough that Dean won’t be able to hear from where he’s still lingering behind the car, taking great care in loading up their bags.

“Don’t be like that, Paige, you know what I meant,” Amy sighs, then runs a hand down her face. “Ryan isn’t here, is he?”

At this, Dean perks up, closing the trunk door.

Paige backs up a few steps, back to Azzi, and takes her hand to pull her forward. “No, he’s not.”

“Uh,” Azzi says, speaking for the first time when everyone looks at her expectantly. “Nice to see you guys again.”

“Good to see you too, Azzi,” Dean says jovially, even though they’ve only met a few times.

Amy looks at Paige. “Why is she here with you?”

She looks as if she knows the answer and is dreading it.

Paige, always so brave, strives on anyway.

“Mom, Dean,” Paige says. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, I know it seems last-minute. But…” she looks over at Azzi, who squeezes her hand a little.

She smiles softly down at her, and doesn’t even bother to look at her parents when she says, “Azzi’s my girlfriend.”

Amy places a hand to her chest and Dean walks forward to rub her back soothingly. Azzi inches a little closer to Paige. Here they go.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334

[kinardsevan]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

i don't know that i'm satisfied with how this ends, but the stills got me thinking more about the idea of Maddie being the one who tells Buck that he needs to call Tommy, and then I was already working on a coffee date recreation, so have this:

-

Maddie looks at the loaves of bread spread out on the counter and then back up at her brother, tilting her head to the side. 

“Evan. I thought you said you were doing okay,” she states, leaning up at against the counter next to her husband. 

“I am,” he insists. 

“So why are there four loaves of bread on the counter,” Chimney asks, confused. “That seems like you’re overloading your schedule to occupy your time.” 

“I’m not,” Evan counters, looking back and forth between them. They both stare back at him skeptically. 

“Dude, come on,” Chimney insists. “I know that sweater you had on the other night was one of Tommy’s. Between that, the lack of shaving, and now the abundance of food-..”

“I’m dealing,” Evan insists. Maddie sighs, looking over at her husband. He raises his hands and picks up his wine glass before glancing between them. 

“I’m gonna go see what’s on the sports channel,” he states before walking out of the room and into the living room. Maddie moves closer to Evan, rounding the counter. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats, but when Maddie looks up at him with that face—the one that tells him she isn’t buying the shit he’s selling—he sighs and shakes is head. “I mean I should be, shouldn’t I? It’s not like we were together that long.” 

“Six months,” Maddie states. 

Evan nods. “Yeah, and? I mean I was with Taylor for longer. She actually moved in here.” 

Maddie stares at him for a moment and then furrows her brow at him. “Wait, what is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” Evan insists. “It doesn’t mean anything when Tommy doesn’t think I’d stay with him anyway.” 

“No, no, it clearly means something,” Maddie counters. “I’m not letting you drop it that easily. Talk to me. Tell me what actually happened.” 

Evan huffs, leaning against the counter. 

“We were talking about Abby, and I was telling him how that relationship had been transformative for me, at least until I met him, a-and then I told him that I wanted him to move in with me.” 

“Okay,” Maddie replies, processing his words. “And you told him you love him, right?” 

Evan stares at her as though she’s gone Blue Screen on him and she bobs her head forward, gaping at him slightly. 

“Evan.” She comments. “You told him how you feel, right?” 

“I- I thought- I mean we-..” 

“Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t fake that I’m not paying attention this long,” Chimney states as he crosses back into the kitchen. “You asked Tommy to move in with you without telling him how you feel about him?” 

“I told him I admire him,” Evan argues. 

Maddie inhales a deep breath and shakes her head, trying to remain composed as she returns to Chimney’s side. “What exactly did you say to him?” 

Evan gulps, but then proceeds to explain to both Maddie and Chimney was he said, trying his best not to paraphrase. By the time he’s finished, Maddie and Chimney are looking at each other, both of their jaws slack. 

After a moment, Chimney turns back toward his glass of wine and picks it up and takes a long sip from it. 

“Yeah, I think I might’ve broken up with you too,” Chimney states when he sets the glass back down. 

“What the hell,” Evan counters, waving a hand out at him. 

“Look, Buck, you ran over him like the proverbial steam roller. And I’m sorry, but from the way it sounds, it comes across as being told that you want to live with him because he’s great at being gay and that makes you feel good,” Maddie explains. 

“Not to mention the Brandon of it all,” Chimney mutters, lifting his drink to take another sip. He raises an eyebrow when both Buckley siblings turn toward him. 

“The who?” “Huh?” 

Chimney takes a deep breath, mouthing an ‘oh’ before setting his glass back down. “This is why I’m not allowed to know things,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “Brandon was this kid Tommy dated around the time he was leaving the 118.” 

“I thought he wasn’t out yet,” Evan interjects. 

“He wasn’t,” Chimney answers with a nod. “But Brandon was this kid out of another house, one of the ones Tommy had looked at transferring to, I think. Anyway, you could tell after Gerrard and Sal were gone that he was loosening up and becoming more comfortable with himself, and even though he wasn’t quite there yet, he was getting there.” 

“So?” Evan asks. 

“So, three months into it, he tells me over beers that the guy wants to move in together, make all these plans for the future, is talking about buying a house. The whole nine yards. But Brandon was just coming out of a divorce, with a woman. Sold Tommy the moon, and T went for it. Gave up the place he was in, moved in with this guy into his apartment that he also was sharing with his two kids part-time.” 

Evan gulps, because he can see the writing on the wall. 

“See, Brandon hadn’t been with other men before. And they lasted about three months longer before Tommy found out that he was seeing other people. He alternated between mine and Sal’s couch for a month after that until he got the place he’s in now.” 

“He was in love with him,” Evan surmises in a rasp. 

“He thought he’d found the person he was supposed to be with,” Chimney says with a nod. “And when I tell you it took him years to get over that-..” 

“Fuck,” Evan mutters under his breath, leaning more against the island. 

Maddie waits a moment, glancing back and forth between her brother and her husband before she finally speaks up again. 

“So to be clear, I understand why Tommy panicked and took off, but why would you skip over actually telling him how you feel,” she asks. “I mean you have to get that that’s important. It probably would’ve made a massive difference in the conversation.” 

Evan inhales a deep breath and shakes his head, looking down at the counter. 

“Oh,” Maddie states. “You’re scared too.” 

He looks back up at her, his expression somber. “I mean people leave me. A-and that’s exactly what he did.” 

“Buck,” she coaxes, rounding the counter again. She runs her hand up his back as her other hand curls around the inside of his bicep. “You can’t be mad at him for being scared if you can’t also be honest about how you’re feeling.” 

He glances up at her, and his eyes are so sad that it makes her want to go into her mothering role and order him to call Tommy. 

“What if he won’t listen to me,” he rasps. She leans against his shoulder and gives him a sympathetic look. 

“I mean, I’ve never heard you even mention wanting to marry someone else,” she replies softly. “That’s gotta be worth something, right?” 

Evan stares down at the counter again. 

“You should call him,” Chimney interjects, when they look back up at him, he’s taking another sip of his wine. Maddie just chuckles at him before squeezing Evan’s arm and nodding. She leans up and kisses his cheek. 

“Call him.” 

. . . 

Evan pulls his jacket tighter around his body as he settles into the cafe chair. He’s not entirely sure Tommy will show, even though the other man had texted he would. He can’t help but feel the weight that’s been making it’s home in his chest just a little heavier right now. A week ago, they were celebrating six months from that first kiss, and somehow he’s finding himself sitting at a different café, but still, six months from the day that he’d asked Tommy to be his date to his sister’s wedding. 

So much is different now, though. He didn’t have to guess Tommy’s coffee order because he knows it by heart. There’s a box in his car filled with belongings that he really doesn’t want to give back, but if this discussion doesn’t go in the right direction, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. 

Still, he can’t stop thinking about the guy on the crane from the day before, and how after they’d gotten him off to the hospital, all Evan could think about was how his people had banded around him in the aftermath. His team had kept him alive, and then they’d remained vigilant at his side while he healed. He’d had people show up in his corner every step of the way. It’s not lost on him now that Tommy has faced a life primarily without that same feeling, and that unlike him, Tommy didn’t find a forged family at work. Plus, then there’s the information he learned about the ex-boyfriend, and all of it has him seeing Tommy in an entirely different lens. 

“Hey.” Tommy’s voice is raspier, sadder than the last time he heard it as he comes around the corner of the building. Evan still perks up at the sight of him, although he’s more subdued than the last time they met up like this. 

“Hey,” he replies softly, gesturing toward the chair across from him. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.” 

Tommy nods, and there’s a rush of pain in Evan’s chest at the lack of of course. 

“I got you a coffee,” he adds, gesturing towards it on the table. Tommy pulls his chair out and sits down. 

“Thanks,” he says, though there’s no mirth in his tone like there was that first time.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Evan states nervously as Tommy takes a sip of the drink. There’s the slightest twitch around his mouth—one the younger man has come to recognize as Tommy thinking that it tastes right. He’s very particular on his flavor and cream-to-sugar ratio, so knowing he’s still getting right gives Evan a flush of pride. “The last time we met like this, I said there was a lot of that we didn’t know about each other.” 

“Practically everything,” Tommy parrots so softly, it barely has any vocal tone in it. Evan nods. 

“Except, I do know things about you now,” Evan counters. “I know- I know that you don’t like to be awake before seven AM if you’re not on shift. I know that you think the perfect setting for the thermostat is always sixty-six, no matter what time of year it is. I know that you take three creamers and the tiniest dash of cinnamon in your coffee.” 

“Buck-..” 

“Let me finish,” Evan counters, cringing at the way that name sounds coming out of Tommy’s mouth. He takes a deep breath and looks around them before continuing. “I know your mom died when you were six, and your dad blamed you for it. I know you spent the next eleven years trying to do anything you could to keep him appeased and a target off your back, including stuffing down who you are so far down that it took you over a decade to crawl back out of that toxic mindset. And I know that all of that left you with scars, even though you don’t talk about them. I know-…I know that you would rather run because it’s easier to protect yourself than sign up for the possibility of getting hurt again.” Evan pauses and gulps as Tommy stares at him, looking very uncomfortable. 

“So I need to apologize,” he says with a breath. 

Tommy furrows his brow at him, baffled by the statement. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“Yes, Tommy, I do,” Evan counters, this time more insistent than he had been on that first coffee date.“I  threw a lot at you that night. I- I know that I told you I wanted to move in together, and that I was talking about a future without any practicality behind it because I just lept with both feet like I always do.” 

“I didn’t call things off because of your impulsivity,” Tommy counters. “I did it because-..” 

“Because you’ve been down that road before,” Evan finishes for him. “And it ended badly. I know that about you, too. And, the way I sounded that night…it wasn’t what I should’ve said.” 

“Okay?” Tommy acquiesces. 

Evan takes another breath and leans forward in his seat, gesturing at the space between them. “You said that when I asked you to move in with me, that I was still figuring myself out, and that everything was still new and exciting for me. And the thing is, you’re right, and you’re wrong. You’re right that things are new and exciting, but not because they’re with a man; it’s because they’re with you. And six months ago when I told you that I didn’t know what I was ready for, that was true, but now I do. It’s not about being ready for something different, Tommy, it’s about being ready for something different with you. S-so when I say I lept with both feet the other night without thinking, I missed a step in there.” 

Tommy stares at him apprehensively, giving him the space to continue. Evan sits up a little straighter. 

“I got so caught up in the process of commenting on the ways things have changed and all that you’ve done to get yourself to where you are now that I never stopped to consider how it would sound coming out of my mouth. A-and part of that was because I thought if I just convinced you to stay with me, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad if you decided that I was too much.” 

Tommy leans back in his seat, eyes widening slightly at Evan’s words. 

“I um, I know about Brandon,” he states. “And on the subject of exes, I never told you about Taylor, or how Lucy played into of how things ended with her.” He inhales a breath and then proceeds to explain Lucy’s time at the 118, their shared kiss, and how he’d been living with Taylor at the time. “And the thing is, when I moved in with her and told her I loved her, it was from a selfish place, o-of wanting to keep her around because people just kept leaving, and I couldn’t stand to lose anyone else.” 

Tommy lets out a soft sigh and leans forward. “Evan.” 

Evan shakes his head. “No. Don’t- it’s not- I’m not saying all of that because I’m chasing after you to keep you from leaving. I- I mean I am, but not like that. I mean to say that, I trapped Taylor, however unintentionally, with the idea that if she was with me, that I could make it work. Eventually, it got to the point where I couldn’t keep trying to make the pieces fit, and we split up.” 

Tommy nods. 

“But this isn’t that,” Evan continues. “This has never been that. I asked you to move in with me because I want to be with you day and night. B-because I see a future with you, and because nothing has ever felt as right as this has felt. And I understand that maybe- no, it was moving too fast. And that I skipped right over the part where I should’ve told you that I want to be with you not because it feels good or because I think you being gay makes me better at being bisexual, or anything like that. I want to be with you because I’m in love with you.” 

Tommy takes a deep breath at his statement. 

“I don’t expect you to say it back if you’re not there, a-and I don’t expect you to move in with me. That was an impulsive decision. But I’m not in a place where I’m ready to give up on this,” he states. “I love you enough that I’m willing to go at your pace this time.” 

Tommy stares at him for a beat, quiet and contemplative. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Am I sure that I love you?” Evan counters. “That I’m pretty positive on.” 

The response forces a small smile onto Tommy’s face. After a breath, he gives a small nod. 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?” Evan asks him. 

Tommy gulps and nods. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Because I love you, too.” 

Evan grins at him, at this time, it’s Tommy who reaches across the table and grabs his hand, squeezing it. 

[jockwrites]

selfish - p.b

part: 1

summary: the beginning of “friendship” between you & paige.

warnings: cursing

a/n: hellooooo welcome back to another series, i’m sure this will be fun to write and im excited for you guys to see where this goes!

my eyes drifted across the lecture hall, landing on a familiar face—paige bueckers. obviously, i’d heard so much about the star basketball player, but seeing her in person was different. she was leaning over a textbook, her blonde hair falling forward as she focused intently.

i felt my heart flutter slightly as i took her in. there was something about her demeanor, her strong jawline, and the way her muscles filled out her shirt. i quickly looked away, chiding myself. i kind of forgot i have a boyfriend and what not.

as the lecture began, i found myself sneaking glances at paige every so often. each time, i felt that familiar flutter in my chest. i tried to brush it off as mere admiration for her athletic prowess, but a small voice in the back of my mind whispered that it was more than that. but it can’t be, i have a boyfriend.

after class, i gathered my courage and approached paige as she was packing up her bag. my heart raced as i got closer. “hi, i'm madison. i just wanted tell you i really admire your skills, you know, on the court.”

the voice in the back of my mind was telling me i sounded so very stupid. introducing myself to the paige bueckers? absolutely ridiculous, but worth a shot.

paige looked up and flashed me a warm smile, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners, “hey, thanks! i've seen you around campus. you're in my psych class, right?”

i nodded, feeling a little flustered under her gaze. “yeah, i am,” she stood up and stretched, her arms reaching overhead and making her shirt ride up slightly. i caught a glimpse of her toned stomach and felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch it.

but i can’t be feeling like this. over a girl? no way, i have a boyfriend.

paige's smile lingered as she tucked her book bag over her shoulder. “it's nice to meet you, madison,”she said, her voice low and smooth. “maybe we can study together sometime? psych can be tough.”

i swallowed hard, nodding eagerly. “yeah, that'd be great,” i managed to say. as paige walked away, i watched her retreat, admiring the way she looked with each step. i shook my head, trying to clear it.

what was i doing?

i met up with my boyfriend, jason, later that day. he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close and kissing me deeply. usually, his kisses made my heart race, but today, all i could think about was paige. guilt washed all over me.

no girl has ever made me feel this way, ever. i’ve always considered myself straight, maybe bisexual. but the only reason i’d ever consider myself bi is because i’ll think a girl is cute every now and then.

sure, i’ve kissed a few girls, but i never felt anything. i’ve never felt that kind of connection with girls, ever. well—atleast not the feeling i feel with jason. i love jason, he’s my everything, but i can’t help but shake the feeling of how im lowkey simping for a girl.

—

one weekend, paige and i had spent the day together. no studying, just hanging out. we'd gone to the park, lay on the grass, talking and laughing. i'd felt so at ease with her, so comfortable. too comfortable, maybe.

at one point, she'd leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. i'd stiffened at first, surprised. then i'd relaxed, enjoying the warmth of her body against mine. i'd even slipped my arm around her, pulling her closer.

it had felt... nice. too nice. i’ve started to love looking at her mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. i'd quickly pushed the thought away, guilt washing over me. i have a boyfriend, i reminded myself sternly. i can't be thinking about kissing paige.

but i couldn't stop thinking about it. days turned into a week, and the memory of that moment in the park lingered. i always remember myself staring at paige's mouth during our study sessions, blushing when she'd catch me looking. i was so confused. it felt so wrong, but so good.

—

weeks passed and i’d continued to steal glances at paige in psych class, my heart fluttering each time. for the past few weeks we’ve hung out, nothing special but it was great. we would go for ice cream, maybe get my favorite—zaxbys, and it would all be good. but genuinely, it’s horrible being around her.

im in a relationship with someone, yet im falling for another person. that person being a girl. i sound fucking stupid.

our professor announced a big project, assigning partners randomly. my heart pounded as the list was read aloud. “madison cooper and paige bueckers,” she called out.

i froze. there is no way she assigned me with the girl call myself liking. paige and i exchanged a surprised look. a slow smile spread across her face, and i felt my knees go weak. as we gathered our things after class, paige approached me. “looks like we're partners, madison.”

“looks like it,” i breathed, my voice barely audible. her nearness made my pulse quicken. we decided to meet at the library that weekend to start on our project. as i left the lecture hall, i felt a mix of excitement and dread.

i have a boyfriend.

—

that weekend, i sat across from paige at a worn wooden table in the library. she was leaning over her laptop, her brow furrowed as she typed. i couldn't help but stare at her strong hands, her broad shoulders, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders.

paige looked up, catching me staring. she smirked slightly. “you okay, madi? you seem a lil… distracted.” i blushed, averting my eyes. “i'm fine, just... thinking about the project.” even to my own ears, the excuse sounded weak.

but that nickname, madi.

i mean—everyone calls me madi. but from paige, her saying it, it sounds heavenly. i don’t want anyone else to ever call me that nickname again now that it’s left paige’s mouth.

—

i notice madison staring at me—a lot, and it makes me feel a strange warmth in my chest. as we worked on our project, i found myself stealing glances at her too, admiring the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her lips parted slightly as she reads.

i start wondering… wondering what it would be like to kiss those parted lips, to run my fingers through her silky brunette hair. i shook my head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought. madison isn’t my type, i don’t think. i know she’s straight, but i could definitely turn her.

then again, she has a boyfriend.

she’s only mentioned him a few times, talking about their dates, future plans and what not. but honestly, he sounds lame. she mentioned he got her flowers & candy for her birthday, what a loser. like seriously? a girl like her? if it was me, i’d go all out.

as the day went on, i became more aware of the subtle signs madison was giving me. the way her eyes lingered on me, the slight flush of her cheeks, the way she bit her lower lip.

i decided to test the waters. as she passed me a printout, i let my fingers brush against hers. i saw her intake a sharp breath, her eyes darting to mine. her skin is soft, smooth like butter. despite the subtle, small action, i could feel how soft and fragile her skin felt.

“sorry,” i murmured, not pulling away from her touch. her fingers curled around mine, squeezing gently. “it's okay,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. i felt a jolt of electricity at her touch, her response. i was onto something.

—

paige's fingers brushing against mine sent shivers down my spine. i looked into her eyes, and for a moment, everything else faded away. i felt a strong urge to lean in, to close the distance between us. but then reality hit me like a cold shower.

i have a boyfriend.

i gently pulled my hand away, trying to compose myself. “we should probably focus on the project,” i said, trying to sound normal. i turned back to my laptop, my mind racing. i can't let myself fall for paige, i have to stay loyal to jason or whatever.

but i still don’t understand how im falling so hard for a girl. a girl i just met at that, it sounds alien to me. if you told me 2 months ago i’d be head over heels for this woman, i’d look at you like you needed a straitjacket.

we continued working across from each other, the air thick with tension. i made sure to keep a safe distance, to not let our hands touch again. but being near her was torture. her scent, her presence, the way her voice deepened slightly when she was concentrating... everything about her drew me in.

as the hours passed, i found myself zoning out, my mind wandering to forbidden thoughts. paige's strong arms around me, her lips on mine, her hands exploring my body. i quickly rolled my eyes, trying to clear the images. no, i can't think like this.

i have a boyfriend.

i feel like i’m going insane, there is no way in hell im actually thinking like this. thinking like this about a girl, am i crazy? i think so. but it just sounds so right. i don’t think i’ve ever imagined times like this with jason though.

i mean, we did have sex a few times. but when i met him, i didn’t think like that— it was more of an emotional connection. i wasn’t immediately thinking about what his lips would feel like on mine.

paige seemed to pick up on the change though. she didn't bring up the touch again, didn't act the way she was acting earlier. we worked in near silence, the tension between us palpable but unspoken. as we finished up for the day, i felt a mix of relief and despair.

“not gon’ lie, i didn’t expect you to be this smart,” paige remarked, laughing softly as we packed up. “yeah, i try my best in academics,” i agreed softly. she smiled at me, and i felt my heart ache. why does it have to be her? why do i have to be taken?

“same time next weekend?” she asked. i hesitated for a moment. being around her was torture, but it was a torture i craved. “yeah,” i heard myself say. “same time next week.”

as i walked home, my mind was in turmoil. i knew i should end things with jason, that my heart wasn't in it anymore. but the thought of hurting him, of disappointing my family, held me back. i buried my face in my hands, a frustrated groan escaping my lips.

and no, im not trying to end things because of paige, thats silly—this thought weighed heavy on my mind for months. i mean, very good guy, but things just haven’t been the same. paige, she’s just the cherry on top.

i found myself in an impossible situation. i was falling for paige, but i was committed to someone else. i couldn't keep stringing jason along, not when my heart barely belonged to him.

here’s the situation: me and my boyfriend are falling apart, i’m falling for a girl, and my life is in shambles. sounds crazy right? yeah, i know.

i spent the rest of the week distracted, snapping at jason when he'd try to talk to me, zoning out during family dinners. but can you blame me? my situation is shit. i feel horrible, horrible for doing this to my boyfriend, horrible for falling for this girl.

my mom noticed, pulling me aside one evening. “madison, talk to me,” she said softly. “something's on your mind.” i hesitated. i wanted to confide in her, to tell her about paige, about my conflicted feelings. but i was scared. scared of her reaction, scared of what would happen next. so i chickened out. “it's nothing, mom.”

she searched my face, concern etched on her own. “madison, you can talk to me, you know. whatever it is, we'll figure it out together.” her voice was gentle, encouraging. but i just shook my head, pushing past her to retreat to my room.

alone in my room, i curled up on my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. all my thoughts weighed down on me like a brick as i realized the mess i was in. i was torn between duty and desire, between what was right and what felt right. and i had no idea how to fix it.

this is the reality of being a girl i guess— or being a girl liking another girl. i’m a mess. i barely know her, it’s only been about a month or two, and they’ve been great, i can say that. but i just don’t get what’s wrong with me. what kind of phase am i going through?

i guess time will tell sooner or later.

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shen yuan, dragon god of cang qiong mountain sect, has a new mission.

[Mission {Master of Masters} at 2% progress. Subquest {Master of One} begins now! USER_002 must obtain protagonist [Luo Binghe] as a personal disciple! Continue to work hard!]

there are steps between, of course. shen yuan comes back down the mountain once he’s calmed down—just to check on binghe, not to make a scene! but yue qingyuan was alerted that their sect’s god had descended his peak, and a meeting of all cang qiong’s lords was called. every peak lord is called back to cang qiong. it’ll take a week for everyone to arrive—liu qingge is off on a night hunt, and shang qinghua is accompanying his head disciple to negotiate contracts for fabrics and dyes (and, shen yuan thinks resentfully, probably off doing traitor-to-the-sect business. fuck that guy).

while they’re waiting, shen yuan is invited to stay on qiong ding—as if he doesn’t have a perfectly good mountain he can ascend again until the peak assembles. but yue qingyuan seems anxious to have him, and shen yuan is kind of internally geeking out over getting to properly meet this sect leader. so he agrees, and he’s arranged in a manor fit for a visiting sect leader, which is kind of insane. rich, dark woods; silks in qiong ding’s deep blues and grays; night pearls illuminating every room. is this how people live in this world???

yue qingyuan…hovers a fair bit. surely he should be busy with sect-leader-y things, but apparently having shen yuan come down is a huge deal that requires yue qingyuan’s constant attention. bringing tea and snacks, accompanying him to meals on each peak with all the lords in residence (except shen qingqiu), escorting him to and from qing jing every day when he goes to check on binghe.

that always seems a little uncomfortable for yue qingyuan. shen yuan is still rightfully pissed about binghe’s treatment, but he hasn’t gotten that horrible feeling that his territory is under threat again, so he assumes binghe is alright. the first time he tells yue qingyuan that he’s going to qing jing to check on ‘that young disciple your shidi thought it right to whip,’ yqy gets this constipated look on his face before—before fucking defending sqq.

saying sqq isn’t a cruel man, really—or, he is, but not without reason. all of cang qiong’s disciples are disciplined when it’s appropriate, he says. shen shidi has had problems with that disciple before, and lord canglong shouldn’t judge him too harshly before he hears the full story.

the furious energy crackling around shen yuan is enough to cut yue qingyuan’s entreaty for leniency off. yue qingyuan always seemed like the kindly big-brother type in the novel, if a bit too indulgent of sqq. and shen yuan always wondered why he would turn a blind eye to sqq’s abuse of lbh when he knew it was going on. now he’s seen it with his own eyes, and yue qingyuan still has the audacity to try to cover for sqq, and it kind of makes shen yuan sick.

he’s been doing his best to play the part of the great immortal now that the upset of his initial descent from the mountain has passed. but when yqy defends sqq like this, shen yuan can’t help but drop all pretense of formality and glare, eyes blazing, at this sect leader. ‘do you think i’m fucking stupid?’ he spits. and yqy pales, horror in his eyes, trembling more as shen yuan lays into him.

to discipline a child is to teach them the way they should go. what does whipping a thirteen-year-old boy teach him? shen yuan knows what luo binghe has learned from his shizun’s instruction. that he is stupid, incapable, unworthy of his martial family’s care. that the sect who took him in—the sect shen yuan himself established centuries ago—only took him so it would have something to beat.

shen yuan is pissed. he doesn’t wait for yqy’s escort to qing jing; he takes his sword there himself, finds luo binghe, and brings him back to the guest manor yqy set him up in. binghe is confused, of course, to be faced with his savior’s fury, but when lord canglong makes a request of him, he’s all to happy to comply. and if he buries his face against lord canglong’s robes as they fly back to qiong ding, it’s only to protect his face from the wind.

there’s warmth in his chest whenever he walks near lord canglong, and as he’s led by a hand on his shoulder into lord canglong’s guest quarters, binghe feels like he might combust (in one part, from the overwhelming, humbling joy he feels at being the subject of his sect’s god’s attention; in the other part, because lord canglong’s grip is imbued with so much spiritual power it makes binghe’s skin tingle all the way down to his toes).

binghe follows lord canglong into the main room and, when it’s clear they’re done walking, he sinks to his knees in gratitude.

‘enough of that, luo binghe,’ shen yuan splutters, reaching to pull binghe up from his kowtow. honestly, he’s going to be the emperor! none of this prostration; it’ll only be a debt on his head later on! ‘get up. i won’t see you humble yourself to this—uh’ shit! System, help! What do gods like this call themselves?!!

[Answering USER_002, his title is {Lord Canglong, Shen Yuan, Grand Master of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.} ‘This Grandmaster’ would be expected and appropriate.]

god, that feels so pretentious. shen yuan swallows his millennial sensibilities and does his best to thicken his face a little. ‘—to this grandmaster whose sect has treated him so poorly.’

binghe looks up with stars in his night-dark eyes, and it takes every shred of shen yuan’s self control not to soften at the awe in this child’s face. how come no one told him little lord luo would be so cute?! of course he’s adorable; he’s the protagonist.

‘this—this lowly disciple wouldn’t dare—that is, he wouldn’t presume to, um—lord canglong is—”

poor thing! too cute, too cute!

‘luo binghe is not lowly,’ shen yuan says first, because that feels like the most important part to address. no humbling yourself in front of this old dragon, ah! no debts to this sect! ‘didn’t this grandmaster say in front of everyone that luo binghe is uniquely gifted?’

‘this disciple thought…’ luo binghe’s eyes are already trained on the ground, but he shrinks into himself at this. in this grand room, luo binghe looks so small, so unlike the menacing demon lord shen yuan knows he’ll become. ‘this disciple thought that perhaps, in his anger, lord canglong…exaggerated… to make a point to shizun.’

‘if i have anything to say about it,’ shen yuan mutters, ‘he won’t be your shizun much longer.’

at that, luo binghe’s gaze snaps up, his shoulders tight. ‘this stupid disciple doesn’t understand.’

‘not stupid,’ shen yuan says immediately. ‘what this grandmaster means to say is just that. luo binghe will not be a qing jing peak disciple for much longer. this grandmaster does not trust qing jing peak’s lord to raise luo binghe well, so he will do it himself.’

[nightxcreature]

Hot-Blooded

Summary: Reader gets into a potion unknowingly that causes her deepest desires to rise to the surface.

A/N: @jacklesversebingo entry for the prompt "Love Potion", I took this in the direction of Love😏Potion so I hope you enjoy! This is the longest fic I've written since being back, over 1700 words!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Spicy language, Drinking, Ingesting a love potion without prior knowledge, smutty insinuation, cursing

18+ ONLY

Music blasts from the small speaker on the counter as I whiz around the kitchen, spoon in one hand and drink the other, on a mission to finish dinner before the boys make it home. They had left on a hunt with Rowena earlier in the day, what should’ve been an easy salt and burn turned into something bigger and, while they would’ve rather enlisted the help of literally anyone else, the only person with a solution was the red-haired mother of the king of hell. I jump at the sound of the bunkers door slamming open and stick my head around the corner, the sound of heavy boots thudding against the stairs telling me that they’re right on time.

                “Good timing!” I yell as I hear them nearing the entrance to the kitchen, “I’m almost done!”

                “Good, I’m pretty sure my stomach ate itself 60 miles ago.” Dean grumbles as he turns the corner into the room, his deep voice pulls my attention from the pot in front of me. My breath hitches as we make eye contact. I almost drop the spoon from my hand at the want that fills my body. He always looks good, but today…he looks really good. His green eyes are somehow greener, the freckles scattered across his face more prominent, and his hair is tousled just enough to bring the filthiest of thoughts to my mind. He raises a brow at my staring and smirks a little, “You alright, Sweetheart?”

                I quickly clear my throat and nod, turning back to the stove to take a couple deep breaths, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I shake my head and turn down the stove eye as Sam and Rowena make their way into the room.

                “Smells great. Thanks for this.” Sam says as he reaches for the bowls in the cabinet above me, “We’re all starving.”

                I smile and nod, “No problem. I knew you’d all be hungry, it’s the least I could do.” I slide out of his way and head toward the table. My eyes immediately find Dean again as I make my way across the room. He’s removing the flannel covering his T-shirt and I can’t help the way my gaze rakes over his body. The way his broad shoulders look in that shirt should be illegal, the fabric stretching across his chest as if its very fibers were made specifically for him. He throws the flannel across the back of his chair and turns to grab a bowl from Sam, allowing my gaze to fall to his hips. Thoughts of my head between his legs and his hand in my hair cross my mind in graphic detail and I have to force myself to look at anything else. I’m practically drooling when Rowena catches my eye and raises her eyebrows in question as a blush rushes my cheeks. I fix my eyes on the table and grab a seat near the door in case I need to make a quick escape.

                Rowena takes the seat beside me and smiles sweetly, “You look a little flushed, Dear.”

                “I’ve been drinking.” I mumble back and pray she’ll drop it; embarrassment rises in my chest at being caught ogling one of my best friends. Of course, I’ve noticed that Dean’s attractive before, what woman wouldn’t? But I’ve never thirsted after him like a pre-teen seeing boobs for the first time, and I would rather not be called out on it in front of him.

                Rowena nods, pursing her lips and smiling in thanks as Sam places a bowl in front her, “I see.” She whispers, “And what, pray tell, have you been drinking?”

                I look at her quizzically, a frown forming on my face, “Uh, my usual stuff. Tito’s and Sprite, why?”

                She hums, taking a slow sip of the soup on her spoon before smiling sweetly again, “I may decide I need a drink soon, too.”

                “Uh, okay.” I reply, grabbing my own spoon and digging in.

                The chatter around the table is minimal as we eat, and, in my boredom, I catch myself staring at Dean again. His thick fingers are wrapped around the spoon loosely, his lips slurping the soup off the utensil lazily. My mind rushes to picturing his hands wrapped around my hips as his lips lazily move across my skin, his name a whisper on my own. I can practically see it happening in my mind’s eye, the wetness pooling below me becoming more apparent to me the longer I stare. My gaze slowly travels from his lips to his eyes, which are already schooled on me curiously and I can’t decide if the blush heating my cheeks is from being caught again or from the filthy thoughts running rampant through me.

                “Darlin’, seriously, are you okay?” He asks again, dropping the spoon into his empty bowl, “You’ve been staring at me since I walked in.”

                “Uh, yeah. I-I’m fine, I think.” I stutter out, shifting my gaze from his face to the food before me, “Just, uh, just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

                Rowena lets out a chuckle at that causing the three of us to glance at her again, “Tell me, Dear, did you happen to pay attention when I was telling you about leaving some…supplies in your freezer?”

                I nod, “Yeah, you said you left them on the top shelf by my bottle and not to touch them.”

                She smiles again, “And did you happen to see what my supplies were stored in?”

                I shake my head, furrowing my brows and nodding toward my drink, “I wasn’t worried about what witchy-woo you brought in here. I was worried about getting buzzed while I cooked dinner.”

                She laughs again, louder this time, and stands to slink over to the freezer. My mouth drops when she pulls out two identical bottles of Tito’s, a mischievous smile on her face, “Can you tell me which is yours?”

                “Are you kidding me?”  I blurt out, "Why would you put your supplies in a bottle of Tito's? What the hell did I drink?”

                "It's inconspicuous," The smile remains on her face as she speaks, “Are you feeling a little overwhelmed, Dear?”

                A huff leaves me before Dean butts in, “Stop toying with her, Rowena. What’s in that bottle?”

                She turns her mischievous smile to him and winks, “It’s not me that’s toying with her, Mr. Winchester.”

                “Yeah, if you weren’t so damn pretty, I wouldn’t be in this mess! You should stop toying with me.” I grumbled, immediately snapping my mouth shut and staring wide-eyed at him.

                He jars back and glances between Rowena and I. Raising a hand, he points in my direction and then back to himself before smiling at the embarrassed look on my face. I fix my stare at the floor, feeling as if the blush on my cheeks is a permanent fixture there.

                Sam lets out a little laugh, “A love potion, right? Why were you keeping that in our freezer?”

                Rowena scowls and raises her bottle a bit, “Well, yes and no. It’s a love potion." She makes a pointed look toward me, "It brings primal urges to the surface for the one you truly care for. And, not that it’s any business of yours, Samuel, this was supposed to be shared with the Archangel…if he chose to make an appearance while I’m here.”

                I grimace and glance up at her, “That shit was for Gabriel?”

                She smiles softly and gazes at the bottle longingly, “Just to spice things up.”

                “Okay…” Sam mumbles, “And how long until this stuff wears off?” He asks quickly, giving me a worried look.

I’m trying my hardest to keep my gaze from Dean but losing the battle. His furrowed brows and hard jaw leave my wandering thoughts to conjure up plenty of other reasons he could be making that face, reasons that I could provide if he’d give me the chance. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and sigh, the thought of his body on mine overtaking whatever willpower I thought I had left. The heat between my legs is almost unbearable as I rub my thighs together under the table. What the hell did she put in that bottle?

Dean pulls his eyes from Rowena’s at the sound of my sigh, and glances between Sam and me, chuckling awkwardly, “Not that I don’t enjoy the ‘fuck me’ eye’s you’re giving me, Darlin’, I’ll have to agree with Sammy. We need to know how to fix you.”

“I can think of a few ways to fix me…” I mumble, looking up at him through my lashes and quirking an eyebrow, “It’s actually all I’ve been thinking about since you walked in.”

He chokes up a little on the beer he’s sipping and glances at Rowena, “What the hell is in that bottle?”

“Enough to keep Gabriel and I going for days, so if she wants to get over this she’ll need to sleep it off,” She states before giving Dean a small smile, “Unless you’d like to help with her little predicament…I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

A blush rises in his cheeks as she speaks and he turns to face me, “Listen, uh, don’t get me wrong here, I’ve thought about this before. A lot actually…” He gruffly whispers across the table, sending Sam an apologetic glance, “But, uh, I’d really rather do this when you’re of…uh, sound mind?”

“You’ve thought about this before?” I mutter, raising my eyebrows and smirking, “How often? Wait, don’t answer that…that’s the potion talking…I think.”

“Stop talking.” Sam groans, running a hand down his face, “Please stop talking.”

Dean glances nervously around, a blush across his cheeks again, “We can talk about it later.”

Rowena chuckles again and pats his shoulder, “Someone should tuck her in before she say’s something she’ll regret.”

I nod quickly, and turn to Sam, “I’m very sorry, but could you walk me to my room before I fuck your brothers brains out on this table.”

He grimaces and stands, turning to Rowena and pointing toward the bottle, “Keep that in your own freezer next time.”

“Or leave it here…” Dean mumbles, smirking at me as Sam pushes me out the door, “Sleep tight, Darlin’. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it.” He winks and I outwardly groan, my bottom lip jutting out as Sam continues to drag me down the hallway.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: I have an idea for a smutty part two, if you'd be interested? Please comment and let me know!

Taglist: @lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @enigmalynne @envysarchive @k-slla

If you'd like to be added to my taglist please let me know!

[rawbin-hsr]

Hi! Could i request Feixiao, Boothill, and Argenti with a s/o who has panic disorder (or panic attacks in general). Just generally how they react and such :)

@dragon-anon

A/N: Surprisingly I found this a little difficult IUESJhief I have a lot of experience with. having anxiety when I was younger. I think I was even diagnosed with it at some point ? Which is weird because I’m not diagnosed any longer and I no longer really get anxiety attacks so idk what the fuck that was erm. Anyways that’s beside the point. I really struggled to make Feixiao and Argenti different because I think they would handle it similarly (hence why Argenti’s part ended up so much shorter than the other two, cause I didn’t want to just. Repeat Feixiao’s whole part.) and I’m a little worried Boothill is ooc because I haven’t done the new quest and it seems like it showed a lot of his backstory so forgive me if I’m not up to date on that. Sorry about rambling I’ll get on with it now help

Reader has an anxiety disorder

Characters: Feixiao, Boothill, Argenti

Cw: anxiety/panic attacks (descriptions kept brief, not very detailed), slight mention of self-harm inflicting behaviours in Argenti's part (only reader unintentionally scratching themself, not necessarily done out of a desire to harm oneself).

Lmk if there's anything else I should add !

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

╭──────────.★..─╮ Feixiao ╰─..★.──────────╯

Oh she’s great 

Amazing at picking up your signals, amazing at assessing what course of action would help you most, amazing at following through with it

She can tell what sets you off, even without you telling her, and she has a lot of firsthand experience with handling other people’s anxiety (both from more intimate relationships and from soldiers she doesn’t exactly know on any personal level). It’s not hard for her to figure out what calms you down most quickly. 

Your episodes have never been shorter than they are with her around 🙏🙏

I’m not sure exactly how I imagine her handling it, because I think it switches a lot depending on what she knows about you. If she knows you find physical touch comforting, she’ll hold you and gently talk you down. If you’re the type who doesn’t need much reassurance, she’ll firmly remind you of where you are, that she’s with you, that you’re safe, etc, etc. She’ll find whatever solution works best for you. 

Apart from being great with damage control if you do have a panic attack, she’s also pretty good at preventing them from happening in the first place. 

If she recognises you’re stepping into an environment you’re likely to have an attack in, she’ll either steer you out of it if she can or she’ll make sure you’re in there for as little time as possible. Like, for example, if you’re bad with large crowds, she’ll usually just find a less packed road to take around the mass of people.

Obviously it’s unavoidable sometimes, and she won’t always be able to adhere to you completely because she does have a very important job that she can’t really put on hold for your sake, but like I said, she’s great at handling it then too. 

If something needs to be done but you can’t do it, she’ll do it for you (after gently trying to encourage you to face your fears and do it yourself — but she does quickly relent if she notices you really, really don’t want to)

10/10 would recommend she’s amazing

╭──────────.★..─╮ Boothill ╰─..★.──────────╯

I feel like Boothill would be absolutely dogwater at preventing any anxiety attacks from happening, but he’d be great at stopping them once they do happen

Like obviously he won’t trigger you on purpose but he won’t tiptoe around the things that put you off either. Both because he doesn’t usually have much choice in the matter considering his line of work, and because he believes in exposure therapy. And because he maybe sort of kind of forgets. 😭

But he’d be great while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack ! So that counts for something !!!!

He always manages to snap you out of it pretty quickly. Takes you out of the situation once he recognises the signs that the attack is coming, then gets you present in the current moment again. How ? That’s very simple. He confuses the fuck out of you

You know that tip about making someone having an anxiety attack bite into a lemon ? Yeah

(If you haven’t heard about it: a way to snap someone out of a panic/anxiety attack can be to make them lick a really sour lemon without any warning. The sensory input is really overwhelming and the person having the episode might be so shocked by it they kind of just snap out of it because who the fuck makes you taste a lemon when you’re at your lowest like that ???)

You’re curled up in a ball, hyperventilating because there are too many people, too many sounds, too many what-have-you ? Not anymore, now you’re too busy being confused and lowkey angry at him for shoving an ice cube down your throat. Like wtf are you doing my guy

Usually his little stunts do the trick to get you out of that headspace, and then he can just verbally talk you down so you’re nice and calm again. Will let you cool off while he solves whatever issue it was that led to your anxiety attack. Don’t worry about it anymore, he’s got this. 

If he can’t confuse you out of it, though, he’ll just do whatever you’ve instructed him to do while lucid. If it’s hugging you and talking gently until you’re calm, he can do that. If it’s to just take you into a quiet space and let you ride it out, no problem. If it’s to just continue on and let you just stand next to him, sure. 

Only thing he won’t do is to avoid your triggers altogether. He can give you a heads-up when possible, he can let you sit it out if you really need to, but he won’t (in his words) “baby you”. In his opinion, you’ll never get over it if you just avoid it forever. 

He says it in a kind of harsh way, but there’s genuine care in his tone and his expression, so you know he doesn’t mean it like that. 

All in all I think Boothill is really great if you’re the resilient type and you have the kind of anxiety that can actually get better through treatment, but if you’re sensitive and need someone who actively helps you avoid your triggers I definitely wouldn’t recommend him 😭

╭──────────.★..─╮ Argenti ╰─..★.──────────╯

Obviously amazing at handling it is there anything he’s not good at ? 🙄 (/j)

He immediately becomes very serious when he realises your control is slipping, falls silent and looks at you worriedly. He recognises surprisingly quickly what’s happening, and steps into your field of view and crouches down, makes sure you can see his face. Takes both of your hands in his, wishes he didn’t have armour so he could let you feel his heartbeat.

He calmly talks you out of it. He sounds so sure of everything he does, to a point where you’ll question afterwards if he has firsthand experience with this. 

(He does. He used to experience a lot of anxiety and panic attacks as a child, it is only natural when you grow up surrounded by war; you’d never guess just looking at him now, though.)

He’ll obviously switch how he handles your panic attacks if you ask him to, but his default is to hold your hands (both to prevent you from accidentally scratching yourself, and to remind you he’s there) and to softly reassure you

I think he becomes sort of hyper aware of what triggers you, and does as much as he can to avoid it. Lowkey starts to baby you a little, but just a little, and even if it’s annoying it’s done with love, done out of a desire for you to be happy. It does put him in some tough spots though, considering it means he sometimes tells you to sit an adventure out, but the plan was for it to have the both of you and it’s harder to handle a lot of things alone 😭

Overall super good though I love him <3

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[m-neuvillette]

Rumor

Boothill x reader

Word count: 16,145

I recommend listening to Rumor by Lee Brice because that's the song Boothill sings in this

Notes: fem reader, described to be shorter, long hair, body size is not described, jealousy, angst, fluff, one drunk guy, protective Boothill, slightly suggestive at one part, foul language. I think that's it

Authors note: Well I spent so much time writing this and I'm really proud of it. So if you hate it please don't tell me, I'll lose all motivation to write. But there was so much more I wanted to write with this so maybe I'll write mini spin offs. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy!! Feel free to like, comment, and follow!!

You hear the ping of your phone alerting you that you just got a new message. You dig your phone out of your pocket to see who it is.

Uncle Welt: I am outside the terminal to pick you up. I’m in a gray pickup truck. See you soon kiddo.

You smile to yourself thinking about how happy and excited you are to be moving in with your uncle after leaving your city life behind. You look for your suitcase at baggage claim, once you have it you make your way to the terminal. You walk outside to see a line of trucks and the third car in line is the one you’re looking for. Once you start making your way over to the car you see your uncle get out of the car. You run over to him once he’s in your view to give him a big hug. 

“Hey kiddo, it’s great to see you. I’ve missed you. How was your flight?” 

“Hi Uncle Welt” you bury your head into his chest unable to control your happiness. “I’m so happy to see you again, I’ve missed you more than you can imagine. My flight was good, but long. So, I’m happy to be on solid ground”. 

He chuckles and pats your head. You guys separate and he goes to grab your luggage to put into the trailer bed. You both hop into the truck and start heading towards his ranch. Once you started getting out of the main part of the town you stared out at all the beautiful scenery you never got to see in the city. You guys sat in a comfortable silence until Welt spoke, “hey we have to make a pit stop on the way back. I promised the boys I’d get a pizza for dinner tonight to celebrate you coming here.” 

“Oh yeah, I forgot you adopted those two little boys. What are their names again?” 

“Their names are Dan Heng and Caelus. They are really good kids and haven’t stopped talking about you coming. Those crazies can’t wait to meet you.” 

You giggle while saying “They sound adorable.  I can’t wait to meet them too.” 

Welt smiles while turning into a small parking lot that has a tiny pizza shop in the middle. He parks and turns to you, “You can stay in the car. I had Boothill make the order so I can pick it up on the way back.” You nod and give a small smile. Welt gets out of the car and head into the small building. As you think more about what he said, he brought up a name you’ve never heard of. You’ll have to ask him when he comes back. 

After a couple minutes you see him walk out, you open your car door so he can hand you the pizza boxes to hold. Once you have the boxes in your hand your mouth starts watering at the smell of the pizza. You hear your door shut as Welt walks around back to the driver side to hop back in. After he buckles and pulls out of the parking lot you decide to ask him about that person he brought up. “Hey, Uncle Welt. You brought up someone named Boothill. Who is that?”

“Oh yeah, he’s my farm hand. He basically takes care of the farm since I’m busy with the business side of the farm and the boys. The boys try to help him out as much as they can to impress him, but they are only 11. So, they can only do so much. But back to Boothill, he’s around your age, he’s 24.”

“Oh, that’s really cool. I didn’t know you had a farm hand. He sounds really nice.” 

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. He does a lot for me, and I’m super thankful to have his help.” 

You smile and say “I’m happy you have someone that has helped you with the farm. I can’t imagine that being easy.”

Welt chuckles and gives you a smile. After driving for another 15 minutes, you hear gravel crunch under the wheels as you pull up to his house. Welt tells you to leave your stuff in the car, he’ll come back out to get it after you guys eat. He gets out and walks around to open your door and to take the pizzas. You hop down from the truck and follow him inside. Before you guys get to the door, you see the door fly open and see a kid with gray hair standing there huffing and puffing. You see another kid with black hair come to stand behind him and starts to scold him. “Caelus why did you do that? You don’t want to scare her before you even meet her.”

Caelus snaps his head back looking at Dan Heng, “WAIT I SCARED HER!?  I DIDN’T MEAN TOO!!” He turns to you, “I’M SO SORRY MA’AM, I DIDN’T MEAN TO SCARE YOU!! I’ve just been so excited to meet you and wanted to greet you.” 

You smile as you get to the door and pat his head “It’s okay, you didn’t scare me. It makes me happy you came to greet me. We got some pizza, let’s go eat dinner, okay?” 

“YAY MR YANG GOT PIZZA!!! Let’s go!!” His little hand grabbed yours and dragged you with him to the dining room. Dan Heng and Welt follow behind you two. Welt sets the pizza boxes on the table and turns to Dan Heng to ask him to get some plates. He then turns to face Caelus and asks, “Where is Boothill?” Caelus replies “Oh, the fence in the back corner broke again so he was fixing it last time we saw him. But he said he would be done before dinner.”

Welt goes to reply but you hear the back sliding door open and close accompanied by a grunt. You turn to see what is causing the commotion and you freeze in place. A tall man with white long hair with black tips on the ends. He’s wearing a white t shirt and blue jeans that show off his muscular figure. Then a black cowboy hat on top of his head. You think to yourself that he is the most breathtaking man you have ever seen in your life. 

Boothill senses eyes on him and he looks up to see everyone looking at him but sees someone he’s not familiar with. He looks at you and takes you in. You’re on the tinier side with nice long hair. You’re wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white sweater. He thinks to himself that you are the most breathtaking woman he has ever seen. 

“Darn it. Y’all made it back before I finished. Let me wash my hands really quick.” 

Boothill leaves the room, but you are still daydreaming until a little hand still connected to yours tugs on it to get your attention. You snap out of your daydream to look down at the little boy staring up at you, he asks if you can sit by him during dinner. You smile and tell him yes as he leads you to your seat. You all sit down and wait for Boothill to join you guys again to start eating. 

You hear a creak in the floor indicating Boothill is coming back. He pulls out a chair across from you and gives you a nice smile once he sits down. “Well, I guess I’m the last one to meet the new pretty lady. I’m Boothill, I’m Mr. Yang’s farm hand.” He reaches out his hand to you for a handshake, you reach out while introducing yourself. His hand is so big and warm compared to yours, you can’t help but stare how his hand engulfs yours. Boothill obviously realizes what you’re doing so he slightly squeezes your hand. Your eyes snap to his and he gives you a little smirk. You instantly blush and gently let go of his hand. 

You all dig into the pizza and listen to Caelus and Dan Heng talk about their day at school. Then they start talking about their friends next door and how once you’re settled in, they are going to bring them over to meet you. After everyone has their full you stand up and start grabbing the used dishes to bring them over to the sink. Boothill goes to stop you because he thinks the new resident should not do the dishes on the day of their arrival. But is cut off by Welt asking him about the fence. The two of them walk to the back door to go look at the fence Boothill has fixed, but before leaving Welt turns around to tell the younger boys to wash up and get ready for bed. 

Once you wash the dishes and dry them you set them on the counter not sure where they go. You decide you’ll just ask Dan Heng or Caelus where they go. Just as you’re about to leave the kitchen, the two boys walk in all washed up and in their pajamas. You look at them and tell them “Ah perfect timing boys! I was just about to go look for you. I just finished the dishes but don’t exactly know where they go.” 

Dan Heng softly smiles and walks to grab the plates and walks to the cabinet where they belong. You thank him and then ask another question “I know it’s Thursday night so it’s a school night, but I have a quick question. What time do all you guys get up? I want to make you guys breakfast, so you all are fueled for your day on the farm or at school.” 

Caelus and Dan Heng look at one another before Dan Heng speaks up, “Mr. Yang wakes up around 6 then we wake up around 7. But we don’t know when Mr. Boothill wakes up. He’s always up and working before any of us so we don’t know. But you can ask him or Mr. Yang.” 

“Thank you so much. I’ll ask my uncle first to see if he knows and if he doesn’t know, I’ll ask Boothill.” 

Caelus speaks up next, “Um… I have a question now.”

You look at him a little worried because he never sounded so quiet and unsure of himself in the little time you’ve known him. You give him a smile and tell him to go ahead and ask. 

“Could you tuck me and Dan Heng into bed?” 

You stare at the little boys; they both look a little nervous and aren’t making eye contact with you. But little do they know your heart is soaring with joy. You excitedly answer, “Of course! Lead the way.” 

Caelus and Dan Heng turn to look at you with the biggest smiles and both reach out to grab your hands to pull you along with them. Once you guys walk up the stairs and get to the first room Caelus pushes the door open and walks inside to the lit-up room. Once you’re all inside the boys drop your hands and hop into their beds. You first walk to Caelus and make sure he’s all tucked in and wish him a goodnight. Then you go over to Dan Heng and make sure he’s all tucked in then wish him a goodnight. As you walk to the door you turn to them and say you’re happy to have met them. They return the sentiment and say they’ll see you in the morning. You bid them one last goodnight and walk out of their room and shut the door.

As you walk out you run into someone and look up to see Welt. He looks down and smiles at you. “It seems like the boys really like you. Thank you for putting them to bed.” 

“I hope they like me. They are really sweet, and I already adore them. Oh, by the way the boys told me what time they wake up as well as when you do. But they don’t know when Boothill does. Do you know what time he wakes up?” 

Welt looks at you a little confused and tells you “I’m not sure what time he wakes up. Why do you ask?” 

You quickly respond, “I swear it isn’t for any weird reason. I just want to make you all breakfast, so you all are fueled for your days. And before you tell me no, I’m not going to back down from this. You’re letting me live here when you already have three other people living here with you and you’re not making me work at all. I want to be able to help, so I’ll taking up the household chores so all you boys can focus on what you all need to do.” 

Welt sighs and relents “Okay, okay. I’ll agree to that. But you’ll have to ask Boothill. I’m not sure where he is right now but I had him bring your luggage in. So, he’s probably putting it in your room or he’s in the bathroom washing up before bed.” 

“YAY! I’ll go find him right now. But again, thank you so much for letting me live here now Uncle Welt. It means a lot.” You give him another bone crushing hug after he says he’d do anything for you. You guys separate and bid each other a goodnight. Welt walks into the next room right by the younger boys. As you watch him shut the door, you realize you forgot to ask which room was yours. But you’re saved by the man you’re looking for walking out of the bathroom. 

Once he’s fully in the hallway you call out to him. He turns around and gives you another small smile. He starts the conversation by saying “I brought your stuff in. Your room is the second to last one on the right.”

“Thank you for your help! I also have a question for you.”

“Go ahead darlin’.”

“What time do you wake up? I swear it’s not for anything weird. I just want to make you guys breakfast, so you all are properly fueled for your days.”

Boothill laughs and proceeds to tell you, “You don’t hafta do that for me darlin’. Just make sure you get some proper sleep, especially since ya just got here.” 

You practically beg him, “Pleaseeee. I’m going to do all the housework and cooking is a part of it. I want to feed everyone, and I certainly don’t want anyone with empty bellies.” 

Boothill looks away and lets out a big sigh. He then looks back at you, “Fine. I wake up at 5. But if you’re ever not willing to wake up that early, please don’t push yourself.”

You jump up and down after finally getting your answer. You get closer to him to grab his hands, “I promise you won’t regret this. I’ll be up tomorrow to make you something!”

“I’m looking forward to it darlin’.” He brings up one of your knuckles to his lips and presses a small kiss on the back. “Goodnight pretty girl, see you in the morning.” He lets go of your hand and turns around to walk to his room. 

You stand there frozen in place with your face bright red. You snap out of your frozen stance and stumble out a goodnight. You then realize that his room is right next to yours. 

You walk into your room and realize your uncle must have given you the next biggest room because attached to this room has a bathroom. You are too tired to unpack everything tonight, so you just grab your toiletries and a pair of pajamas to change into. Once you’re in your pajamas you go into the bathroom to brush your teeth, wash your face and brush your hair. 

When you’re all done with your night routine you walk back into your bedroom and grab your phone and its charger from your purse. You plug your charger into the wall then plug your phone in. You set an alarm for 4:45 and set it on the nightstand. Then you hop into bed with sleep coming easy since of the long travel day you had. But also, because you realized you’ll get some alone time with Boothill tomorrow morning.

You hear the soft ring of your alarm indicating it is time to get up. You pop out of bed rushing to the bathroom to quickly do your morning routine. You decide to leave your pajamas on because you’ll shower after you make everyone breakfast. 

You quickly leave your room and walk downstairs to the kitchen. You see a coffee maker in the far corner by the fridge and decide to start a pot. You decide to look above to coffee maker to see if that is where the coffee bags and mugs are. Luckily you guessed right and pull down the opened pack of coffee and three mugs. You pour a good amount of ground coffee into the top not knowing how much Boothill and Welt drink. 

While the coffee is brewing, you decide to go look in the pantry to see what you can make. You see baking ingredients and chocolate chips and you deiced to make chocolate chip pancakes. You get all the ingredients out and set them on the counter. You then walk to the fridge and see what you can add to breakfast. You decide to make scrambled eggs and add some of the cut-up berries already in there. 

Just as you get everything on the counter you hear steps coming down the stairs. Boothill turns the corner into the kitchen and sees all the ingredients. “Good mornin’ darlin’. How did you sleep?”

You turn to him to answer, “Good morning Boothill. I slept really good, the room is great. How did you sleep?”

“Glad to hear that. I slept good too. But it looks like you’re gonna have a good spread for us.”

“Haha yeah, I’m going to make chocolate chip pancakes with some scrambled eggs along with some berries. Oh, I also made coffee, go ahead and help yourself. I didn’t know how you liked yours, so I left it for you to make because I didn’t want to mess it up.” 

Boothill comes further into the kitchen and passes you to get to the coffee maker. He gives a small thank you as he starts pouring his coffee into one of the three mugs you had gotten out. 

You start looking for a bowl to start making the pancake batter. Boothill can quickly tell what you’re doing and proceeds to grab a bowl for you. He also then tells and shows you where everything is, so you don’t have to always ask. You thank him and then ask “How many pancakes would you like? I’ll make some for you now and make some later for the others.”

He quickly replies as he sits at the counter in one of the barstools, “I’ll just take two and some fruit please.”

“Coming right up!” You go to grab a pan then put it on the stove. You turn on the stovetop and let it heat up and you finish mixing up the batter in the meantime. Once the pan is warmed up you put a little bit of butter on the pan to make sure the pancakes don’t stick. You pour the batter in once the butter is melted. While you wait for the one side to cook, you go to the pantry to grab the syrup. 

You walk back to the stove after placing the syrup on the counter. You flip the pancakes then move to put some fruit on Boothill’s plate. You two wait silently for the pancakes to finish but internally you are freaking out because all you want to do is create a conversation so you can get to know him better. You take a deep breathe then go to pose a question to start the conversation.

“Sooo Boothill, how long have you been working on the ranch?”

Boothill responds, “I think since I was sixteen and I’m twenty-four now so 8 years. Mr. Yang found me behind the school all alone and took me in. Since then, I’ve done nothing but repay him for his kindness.”

You instantly feel bad for making him bring up and talking about a bad memory, and he senses that you’re about to apologize. Before you get the chance to apologize, he goes to cut you off, “Ain’t none of that sweetheart. There’s no need to feel bad or apologize, it’s just the truth. Nothin’ to be ashamed of or that’s my point of view.” 

You give him a nod and smile, “Well I’m glad Uncle Welt helped you and gave you a place you enjoy like being at.” You turn your focus really quick to take the pancakes out of the pan and onto his plate. You drizzle some syrup on his pancakes then go to hand the plate and some silverware to him. “But I am super happy I got the chance to meet you and get to know you better. I hope you enjoy breakfast.” 

Boothill reaches for the plate and silverware giving you a big smile showing off his beautiful smile, “The pleasure is all mine darlin’.” Boothill digs right into his pancakes and as soon as he takes a bite, he lets out a deep groan. “Man, these are incredible. You sure are one hell of a cook darlin’.”

You blush instantly feeling your whole body get hot from his compliment, “Oh no no. It’s nothing, I’m not that good.”  Boothill gives you a glare and before he can respond Welt comes into the kitchen. 

“I thought I heard some noise down here. Good morning you two.” 

“Good morning, Uncle Welt. I made some coffee, help yourself. Do you want me to wait to make you breakfast so you can eat with the boys or are you hungry now? I can make you some pancakes and eggs if you’re hungry.” 

Welt shakes his head, “No go ahead and wait. The boys like eating with more people around. Thank you for the coffee. I’ll go ahead and make the boys’ school lunches. Before you ask, no I can make them don’t worry. Make yourself some food and eat with Boothill.”

You start to make your own pancakes because now that Welt brought up eating, you realize you are quite hungry. You quickly repeat the process of making the pancakes. Once you’re done you realize Boothill barely touched his pancakes since his first bite. It made you think he didn’t end up liking them. He realizes your inner turmoil and quickly tells you “I want to eat with you. Trust me I love these pancakes. Speakin’ of these, Mr. Yang once you eat these tell her how great they are. She don’t believe me.” 

Welt looks over his shoulder as he is finishing packing the boys’ lunches, “She has always been a great cook. I bet they are great, now I’m looking forward to it.”

“HA, I win darlin’. Accept defeat and take the compliments.” Giving you a sly smirk as you sit by him. A nice silence falls between the three of you as you eat. Boothill finishes before you and heads over to the sink to wash his dishes, you stop by calling out to him. “Boothill, just leave it in there. I’ll do all the dishes once everyone has eaten. Plus, I bet you have work to attend to, don’t worry about a little thing like that.” “You’re a real nice one darlin’.” He walks to the backdoor to slip on some brown cowboy boots that are caked in mud. He goes to open the door and gets halfway out to it before he calls to you, “Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious, haven’t had a nice breakfast like that in a long time.” 

Before you could respond he’s fully outside shutting the door. You turn around to your uncle to ask exactly what he means. Welt takes a deep sigh before responding, “I took him in when he was sixteen, he was homeless and in great pain. I won’t tell you why he was like that, it’s his story to tell. But he is always up much earlier than everyone else no matter the day, so he’s never sat down and had breakfast with us. He really only eats dinner with us. That damn boy always skips out on lunch too no matter how much I scold him about it.”

The more you hear about Boothill’s life the more you want to cry and give him a hug and tell him everything is going to be okay from now on. “Uncle Welt, from now on I’ll make sure he eats every meal with someone.” 

Welt let’s out a softer sigh while breaking into a little smile, “Thank you. If anyone can do it, it’ll be you.” 

You feel an immense warmth in your body towards what Welt said but it also fills you with a great determination. You check the time and see it getting closer to when the boys said they wake up. So, you quickly finish eating and get to work on making the boys’ breakfast. 

You start crack some eggs into a bowl and mix them while the next wave of pancakes are cooking. You start to warm up another pan to make scrambled eggs. Once the pan is warmed up you start making the scrambled eggs. You continue to multitask with the two pans until everything is done.

Once you’re done you start making plates for Welt, Dan Heng and Caelus. Just as you’re finishing up you hear the boys come downstairs. They walk into the dining room to see plates full of eggs, chocolate chip pancakes and fruit. 

“OH MY GOSH. DAN HENG LOOK!!! PANCAKES, I LOVE PANCAKES!! THEY ARE MY FAVORITE!!” He runs to his seat and tries to start eating until Welt stops him and tells both boys to wash their hands before they eat. Caelus deflates but ultimately listens to Welt. 

Once they have washed their hands, they return to the dining room to start eating. You ask them what they would like to have to drink, and they both respond with water. You go and get them two glasses of water. You return and give them their water and they thank you as they keep eating. 

You’re about to leave the dining room to go do the dishes until Welt calls out to you. “Boothill was right. These pancakes are very delicious.” Before you can thank him, Caelus speaks up “MR. YANG IS RIGHT. THEY ARE INCREDIBLE!! I LOVE THEM, MY NEW FAVORITE PANCAKES!! RIGHT DAN HENG?” 

You all turn to Dan Heng as he finishes his food, “Yes, they are amazing. I really love them. Thank you for making breakfast.” 

Caelus and Welt also thank you for making breakfast. You give them a smile and say you’ll always make breakfast for them. You grab all their dishes to add to the dishes in the sink you have to wash. 

The boys go upstairs to change for school while Welt comes back into the kitchen to grab their lunches so he can finish packing their backpacks. He walks back out of the kitchen calling for the boys to hurry up so he can drive them to school.

You focus on the dishes and as you’re about to start you see a spider coming down from the ceiling you let out a loud scream and back up. But you ran into something solid, then an arm comes around your waist to stabilize you. 

“Hey, what’s wrong darlin’?” BOOTHILL! Your saving grace. You quickly release yourself from his hold and run behind him. You grab onto the back of his shirt and hide behind him. “Boothill, I don’t know where you came from but PLEASE HELP ME.” 

“Well, I came back in to say bye to the boys but heard you scream so I came back here. But I’ll ask you again, what’s wrong darlin’?”

“I was trying to do the dishes and then out of NOWHERE a big spider came down in front of me. Can you please kill it for me? I am so afraid of spiders.”

“I’ll kill it don’t worry. Just stay right here.” He goes to grab a paper towel and sees the spider now crawling on the counter and goes to smash it. He takes the paper towel and crumples it up to throw it in the trash can. 

He turns around to face you and you jump into him giving him a big hug. You bury your head into his chest and quietly mumble out “Thank you Boothill.” He quickly wraps an arm around your waist and another holding the back of your head to keep you close to him. 

“Of course. I’ll kill any bug for ya.” You pull back a little and smile up at him. You don’t want to let go but you know he has work he has to get back to. So, you sadly let go of him and he relents to letting go of you too. You both don’t move but you look back up and tell him, “I’ll make us some lunch around noon, and I’ll bring it out to you. And no, you cannot refuse.”

“Wasn’t goin’ to sweetheart. I’ll see you at noon.” He then takes his leave back out the backdoor to continue with his workload. You get all giddy thinking about having lunch with Boothill but then you’re snapped back into reality when you see the sink full of dishes. 

After you finished the dishes, you went back up to your room to get ready for the day and unpack. While doing all of that, the morning seemed to blow by super fast. Once it started getting closer to noon you head into the kitchen to figure out what to make for lunch. You look around the pantry and fridge to see that you are quite low on ingredients. You make a mental note to tell Welt so you can go and get more food for the house. 

You decide on just making some sandwiches with cucumbers, carrots, and chips on the side. You quickly make the sandwiches, cut the vegetables, and pack some chips in a container. You remember Boothill showed you that there was a picnic basket in one of the lower cabinets, so you go to grab that to pack all the food in.

You remember that you have extra throw blankets in your room, so you run quickly up to your room to grab a couple so you guys could sit on them. You head back downstairs and start to pack the picnic basket with the blankets and food. You then go to the fridge and grab a few water bottles because you haven’t heard Boothill come back in, so he definitely hasn’t drank anything since his coffee. 

You finish packing the picnic basket and go to throw on your sneakers. You come back into the kitchen and grab the picnic basket. Once you pull it off the counter you end up realizing how heavy the basket really is. You just tell yourself to deal with it because it’s important for you to do this. 

You head to the backdoor and begin your journey of walking around trying to find Boothill because you don’t have his number to text and ask where he is. You decide just to head to the big barn you see in the distance. 

You never realized how much land your uncle had until you had to walk it. It is beautiful but quite stressful to find your way when you’ve never been out here before. As you keep walking to find Boothill, you hear your named getting called. You look around to see Boothill jogging over to you from one of the smaller buildings they had. 

He finally reaches you and gives you a light smile. He looks down and sees you holding the heavy looking picnic basket and immediately takes it from you to carry it for you. The warmth of his hand touching yours make you blush and quickly look away from him. He realized you were blushing he didn’t bring it up which makes you thankful. 

Boothill speaks up, “I know a cute place I can show you. We can eat there.” 

You turn back to face him and give him a smile, “Go ahead and lead the way cowboy.” 

Boothill lets out a little chuckle and holds his elbow out for you. You link your arm with his and set out to the place he wants to show you. He leads you towards the smaller building he was just and takes you around to back of the building to show you a small pond with a wooden little dock. Which has a nice view of other parts of the land you haven’t seen.

“Boothill, this is absolutely breathtaking.” 

“Haha yeah, I know. I always hang out here and so do the boys. We’ll fish, eat, or just goof around here. But it makes me happy you like it too.” He leads you to the dock and sets the picnic basket down a little bit further from the edge of the dock. 

You sit down to start unpacking the picnic basket laying down the blankets and putting the food and waters on top. Boothill sits by you after you finish “Wow darlin’, you’re really spoilin’ me, aren’t ya?” 

You giggle, “I just want to make sure you actually eat and drink something. And getting to spend time with you is a big bonus.” 

“Well thank you in advance darlin’. I’ll admit I did hurry with my tasks this morning to make sure I’d actually be able to sit down with ya and eat.” 

“Boothill, you didn’t have to do that. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You ain’t distrubin’ anyone pretty girl. It makes me happy you wanna spend time with me.” 

“Of course I want to spend time with you! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I am nothin’ but a stranger to ya.”  “You might be but that’s why I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you Boothill.” 

Boothill freezes and just stares at you and takes you all in. No one has been that interested in knowing him since Welt took him in. He looks from you to the sky and just stares. You think you upset him. You go to apologize until he turns to you and in a nice soft voice he says, “Well that’s good because all I wanna do is know you too.” 

You blush a fierce red but give him a big smile. He then proceeds to grab a sandwich and tells you to dig in. You both ate in silence again eating all the food quite fast since you both were quite hungry. You wash down your food with some water then get up and walk to the edge of the dock.

You hear Boothill come up behind you stays right behind you. You can feel his warmth bleed into your back. You turn around to face him, “Next time you bring the boys, can I come with?”

He looks down at you, “You don’t even hafta ask, you were already on the invite list.” 

You go to jump up and down but forget you are near the edge of the dock. You start to fall backwards. Once you realize what’s going on you go to reach out to grab Boothill. You don’t fall too far backwards because Boothill pulled you into him holding you tight. You are breathing heavy and shaking. You start to feel bad, so you bury your head into his chest. 

“I’m sorry Boothill.” 

“Hey,” he releases one arm around you to tip your head up to have you look at him “there’s nothin to be sorry for. I’m glad I caught you. Are you okay?” 

You nod your head, “Yeah, I’m okay. Boothill, do you know that you give the best hugs?”

“I have been told that. The boys and their friends tell me that. Any time they got a scrape or got sad they’d come to me for a hug. They say I’m the best doctor.” 

You giggle “That’s cute. I am glad they have you.” “There’s that pretty smile and laugh. But it’s me that is glad to have them. They are like my little siblings.” “I love that for all of you.” 

You two just sit there holding each other until Boothill’s phone starts ringing. You start to pull away so he can answer but he stops you by keeping one arm around your waist. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees who is calling him. He mouths to you “Mr. Yang.”

“Hey, what’s up?” He listens for a bit and says “Yeah, I can do that no worries. The only thing I have to do now is feed the animals dinner, but I obviously can’t do that for a couple more hours. Will you be back for dinner?” He listens a bit more “Okay got it. See you when you get back.” 

Boothill ends the call and puts the phone back into his pockets. “Mr. Yang is held up with meetings and they are going to run much later than everyone expected so he won’t be home till late tonight so it’s us and the boys. Speakin of the boys I gotta pick them up from school. Wanna come with? We can stop at a little bakery they love for a little treat for after dinner.”

“I would love to! I am really excited to see them and go to that bakery!”

“I’m glad. I hate to break our picnic up, but the boy’s get out of school in 30 minutes, and we live about 20 minutes away.” Giving a small chuckle.

“WHAT?!?!” You break out of Boothill’s grip and quickly clean up the picnic once you’re done Boothill grabs the basket and you two quickly walk back to the house. Once you guys are inside, he places the basket on the counter and go to grab his key from a small woven basket on a table in the dining room. While he does that you go grab your purse.

He leads you to his car and you realize it is like Welt’s pick up but a little higher. You walk to the passenger door and open the door. You try to figure out how to get up, but you feel two hands on your waist. “Jump darlin’. I’ll help ya.” You jump up a little and he lifts you up to be able to get in the car. Once you are in and sitting down, he shuts the door and runs to his side and jumps in. 

He starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. You think he is trying to kill you because he does the whole arm behind the seat head to look bad. You immediately start blushing again and this time he calls you out. “It seems like I got a knack for makin’ you blush.”

“Shut up… but yeah you do.” He gives out a deep chuckle. Once he’s out of driveway he turns on the radio. You guys sit in a comfortable silence until one of Boothill’s favorite songs play. He starts to sing along and tap on the wheel. You just stare at him and smile. 

Once he’s done singing you start clapping. He turns to you and laughs “No need for an applause sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it! You are really good at singing. Do you do it a lot?” 

“I like to do it in my free time. I’ll play guitar or a harmonica along with it.”

“REALLY?! You’ll have to play for me sometime.”  “I will, I promise.” You smile and you pull up to the school and park in a spot. You see the boys waiting by a group of girls. The boys see Boothill’s car and walk up to it with the girls in tow. Boothill hops out and talks to the group. You see Boothill shake his head and pull out his phone. It looks like he is sending a message. 

He comes back to the car, “Hey we have to take the girls home. These are the girls the boys and I have talked about. They are our next-door neighbors.” 

“Okay sounds good but how are we all going to fit?” 

“The middle cup holder can pull up for a middle seat. We will have Dan Heng sit up here since he is the most responsible. Then the girls and Caelus will sit back there. They are tiny so they can fit in the three seat back there. But don’t worry I’ll make sure Pom Pom and March are buckled up together.” 

You nod your head and let him get the kids in the car. He first does the group in the back and makes sure they all are buckled. Then he comes over to your door and gets Dan Heng in. Dan Heng climbs over you to get into the middle seat. Boothill then hops back into the driver side. He checks his phone really quick and smiles. 

“Hey girls. So, we planned to take the boys to the bakery for a treat. Miss Himeko said it was okay to bring you girls along. Would you like to go?” The girls all screech out a yes making everyone go deaf for a couple seconds. 

Boothill starts to drive away and then the girl with light pink hair asks “Mr. Boothill, who is this girl.” 

Boothill says your name, “She is Mr. Yang’s niece. Remember the girl we all were talking about coming to live with us from now on? Well, this is her.” 

“Ohhhh yeah, I remember.” The girl repeats your name, so you turn to look at her. “It’s nice to meet you. I am March” she points at the girl next to her with black hair “This is Pom Pom” then points to the other girl with pink hair “This is Rappa.”

“It’s nice to meet you girls. I have already heard a lot about you.” The girls give a giggle and then proceed to talk amongst themselves. You turn to Dan Heng and ask how his day was. He looks up to you and says “It was boring. I knew everything already.”

Boothill laughs, “You say that everyday kid. I know you’re the smartest in your class but is there not one thing that was exciting?”

“Lunch was fun with everyone, but the actual school part was uneventful.” 

You laugh remembering that’s how school was for you, and you tell Dan Heng that. You and Dan Heng keep talking until you get to the bakery. Boothill helps the kids in the back first then comes to your side. You help Dan Heng first and then it’s your turn. He grabs a hold of your waist and pulls you out of your seat holding you tightly. Once you’re out of the car he sets you down on the ground. You turn to shut the door then all of you walk in.

Once you get in everyone greets the older lady behind the register. You stay a little bit behind Boothill not knowing how to respond in this situation and the older lady sees you hiding behind him. “Boothill, who is this? A girlfriend?” 

You hide even more into his back, but he lets out another deep laugh that you love. “It’s not like that Granny Mae. This is Mr. Yang’s niece. I’m not sure if it told ya, but she is living with us now.” 

You step out from behind him and give her a little wave. You introduce yourself, “It is nice to meet you. All your baked goods look amazing.”  “Thank you, sugar. I am Granny Mae. My husband and I have owned this bakery since we were 20. I am 67 now. Hahah.” 

“That’s incredible! I can’t wait to try your treats!” 

She gives you a smile and turns to the kids. The kids already have picked their treat a range from cupcakes, cookies, and brownies. You turn to Boothill, “What are you going to get?” 

“Get two of whatever you want. I’ve had everything here, but I want you to figure out what you like and want.” You give him a nod and walk over to the glass to look at the treats more in depth. You look and see slices of a strawberry tart and you know that is what you need. You go to tell Granny Mae what you want. 

She puts all the goods into the register, you go to pull out your card. But you feel and arm around your waist. Boothill leans down to whisper, “Now what do you think you’re doing?”

“I was about to pay.” 

“Not on my watch.” He then hands his card to Granny Mae who is looking at Boothill. She raised her eyebrow at him and he just smiles at her. She ends up deciding to grab all the treats first and put them in a box for you all. She hands you the box and you turn to Boothill. “I’ll go get the kids in the car so you can finish here.” 

You and the kids head out to the car. You get them all loaded up into the car and then have to jump and pull yourself into the car. You are glad you had Dan Heng hold onto the treat box. 

In the bakery Boothill finishes up paying, “You have somethin’ to say don’t ya Granny.” “Smart boy. Now what was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re not dating but how she hid behind you, blushed when you talked about paying, and how you held her that is not just friends. I may be an old lady but don’t give me that shit.”

“Heh. A mind reader as always Granny. I mean we just met each other but jeez she is so amazing. She is so caring, funny, nice, and absolutely beautiful. I don’t want to scare her away by being too forward. So, I am going to go slow, I cannot mess this up. I am already nervous about opening up to her and showing her my past.”

“Boothill my boy, what happened to you was not in your control. No one had any idea that what happened would happen. It was a sad tragedy. She won’t be scared, how she seems it’s only going to make her want to be around you more. So go for it kiddo, I believe in you. You deserve to be happy.”

Boothill stands there stunned but clears his throat, “Thank you Granny. I’ll go for it, but I am still going to wait for the both of us.”

“That’s fine. But I better have a seat at the wedding.” 

“If I get to marry her, you’ll be sitting front row closest to me.”

She smiles and clears the register. Boothill catches what she is doing but drops a wad of cash and walks out. “Have a good one Granny.” He gets into the car and starts heading back to the house. Once you get back you see a car in the driveway and a lady sitting on the front porch. March screams “MOM!” Everyone one goes deaf again. 

Boothill pulls up and parks by the new car on the driveway and once again helps everyone out. The lady has also come down from the porch to meet everyone. The girls run up to her and hug her. Boothill and the boys walk up to her, and you follow them. You hear March talking about you and once you’re near the lady looks up from March. 

The lady says your name, “You must be Welt’s niece. I am Himeko, his childhood friend and neighbor. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Hi Miss Himeko, it is very nice to meet you. My uncle told me a lot about you when we would call and catch up.” “Awe, that’s sweet. Well, I don’t want to keep you guys up plus I have food in the slow cooker at home, so I am going to take these girls home.” “Wait! We got them treats, let me go put them into containers! Girls what did you get?” The girls say a chocolate cupcake, a brownie and a sugar cookie. You quickly run inside and grab containers to put the treats in. Once you have them all packed you walk back outside and had each girl their treat. 

“Thank you for getting them a treat Boothill. Let me repay you.”

“Enough of that Miss Himeko. No need to repay me, after all you’ve done too, you’ll never hafta repay me.”

She gives him a smile and says goodbye to all of you. You and the boys turn around and walk inside. You and the boys take off your shoes, the boys put their backpacks up in their cubbies in the front entrance. Boothill puts his keys in the woven basket and turns to you guys “I gotta feed the animals. I’ll be back before dinner. Boys go get washed up then help her with anything she needs, got it?”

In unison the boys say, “Got it” and head upstairs. You and Boothill walk together but you head to the kitchen, and he heads back outside. You put the treat box in the fridge and then figure out what you want to make for dinner. You’re not sure what everyone likes so you wait for the boys to come back down with their input. 

You hear them come back down and you turn to them and ask, “Hey is there something you boys would like?”

Caelus and Dan Heng look at each other and shake their head, must be a code sign. Caelus speaks up “Can we have pasta?”

“Yeah of course if we have the stuff!” You go look in the pantry and see pasta. You then go to the fridge and see chicken, cheese, garlic and cream and you are instantly hit with an idea. “How does chicken alfredo sound boys?” 

They both nod their head, and you get to work. You season and cook the chicken while the pasta is cooking. Then you start on the alfredo sauce. You timed everything perfectly, so everything ended around the same time. You go to plate four plates and ask the boys to help you bring them to the table. You have the boys sit down while you go get drink for them. They both requested some soda so you get a can and pour it into a cup for them then get yourself a glass of water. 

Just as you were finishing up Boothill comes back in and takes off his boots and hat letting his beautiful long hair show. You turn to ask him what he’d like to drink, and he says a beer. You turn and grab a beer for him and go to grab the other drinks, but he reaches for the beer and water and proceeds to walk to the dining room. Leaving you to grab the sodas and follow him. 

You give the boys their drinks and sit down to begin eating. You and the boys dig in but after a while you see Boothill is just sitting there looking at the pasta. “Hey Boothill, can you not have chicken alfredo? I can make you something else.” “No it’s not that. It’s just the last time I had chicken alfredo, my mom made it. That was before the accident.”

“Oh my gosh Boothill, I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I am so so sorry. I should have asked you too when I asked the boys. You don’t have to eat it.” While you and Boothill were talking you didn’t realize the boys took their drinks and food to go eat in the kitchen to leave you two alone. 

Boothill turns to you, “Darlin’ what did I say about apologizin’? This just makes me happy; I want to savor it.” He lets out a deep sigh and then turns back to facing the plate. So much for telling Granny Mae he was going to go slow. 

“My family died in a house fire. My house basically exploded; my parents and unborn sister were in the house when it happened, and they died instantly. I got pulled out of school that day and went to the police station where they told me what happened. They asked me if I had a place to go and I said yeah but I really didn’t. I didn’t want to burden anyone or feel pitied. So, I stopped going to school and just wandered around. Then the night Mr. Yang found me there was an awful storm. He was out of town when it happened and didn’t hear about it till he got back. That was about a week of me leaving school and walking around. As soon as he got back, he looked for me. The only place that had cover was the school so I sat in the courtyard that had a gazebo to keep me somewhat dry. He got lucky because that’s where he checked first. He put his big coat on my body then walked me to the car under his umbrella. That night I cried about what happened. I sobbed and sobbed into his shoulder, not being able to stop until I basically passed out. He carried me to my room and has spoiled me ever since.”

He turns to you, “I know we’ve only known each other for a day but it’s a hard secret to keep when everyone knows. I just want you to know I’m not upset with the meal; I am blessed. So, thank you pretty girl.”

You start to tear up before you can wipe your tears Boothill is doing it for you. His voice softens “It’s okay. Let’s enjoy this meal together than we’ll eat those strawberry tarts together.” You put your hand on his that is wiping your tears, and you give his palm a small kiss. He gives you a smile then you both separate to eat your dinner. 

After you guys finish, Boothill raves about how great it is and is excited for you to make it again. You guys walk into the kitchen to see the boys hanging out after finishing. You place your dishes into the sink and walk to the fridge to get the treats. Boothill grabs more plates and silverware for all you guys.

You decide to stay in the kitchen to eat the treats, so you give everyone their treats. Dan Heng picked a slice of cookies and cream cake while Caelus picked out a mix of a cookie and brownie. You all eat together talking about how great the sweets are. You see Dan Heng and Caelus only eat half of their treats before you can question it Boothill is talking. 

“Shit. I forgot to get Mr. Yang something, boys if you want all your treats go ahead. I can go back and get him something.”  “It’s okay Mr. Boothill, we aren’t that hungry because we ate like two more plates of pasta after our first one. Hahaha” Dan Heng explained to him.

“I see. But still, you boys are great kids.” He goes to put the treats back in the fridge while you start the dishes. All the boys join to help you, so it goes quicker. Once you all are done everyone is tired and calls it a night. 

Over the next month and a half, a routine follows of you making breakfast for the boys while still having your alone time with Boothill. Then the other part of the morning is filled with doing some housework and still having lunch with Boothill when he doesn’t have tasks to do. Which is every day except for Monday’s, but you aren’t upset because you know he values his work. Then sometimes in the afternoon you go pick up the boys or you’ll do more housework or go shopping. 

You did finally get Boothill’s phone number so finding him for lunch is easier. One day while you’re having lunch with Boothill he asks you if you would like to go to the bar with him and his friends. You obviously said yes because its more time with Boothill outside of the ranch but then you also can make new friends since you haven’t made many since you got here. 

“So how many are going to be there?”

“Hmmm. Not sure, not everyone has responded if they are going or not. But right now, there’s, Argenti, Aventurine, Jing Yuan, Jiaoqiu, Feixiao, Moze, Sunday, Robin, Acheron, Swan, Ratio.” 

“Whoa you have a big friend group. I never had that big of one even when I was in college.”

“There’s more but ya know everyone has their own life.” 

“I am really excited now; I can’t wait for tonight. What time do we have to leave?” “Probably around 7. Don’t worry I’ll let you know at dinner.”

“Okay sounds good. Well, I’ll let you get back to work so you don’t have to cram anything.” Boothill still walks you back holding the picnic basket, so you don’t have to carry it. “See you later darlin’.” He gives your forehead a little kiss before walking away. It has become a routine for you for the past two week.

One time you were walking back into the house you hit your head on the door because you didn’t realize how off centered you were. Boothill heard it and turned around and gave you a kiss to make it feel better now he always just gives you a forehead kiss when he leaves to go back to work.

You finished all the housework so you would have time to get ready and figure out what to wear. Your main goal is to impress Boothill tonight. You lay out a couple dresses, but you ultimately decide on the black cocktail dress that shows off your curves perfectly. Then pick out a nice pair of red heels to finish the look. You then start of your makeup deciding to go light but still give a cute look. You mainly focus on your eye makeup with doing small black wing then throw on your trusty lengthening mascara. 

You just chill in your room until you have to make dinner. Before you go down you spray some perfume on you. You go down to see Welt standing in the kitchen. Welt looks at you and tells you, “You look nice. But Boothill said you guys are leaving earlier so it’s me and the boys you don’t have to worry about making dinner.” 

“Thank you. If I knew we were leaving earlier, then I would have made dinner earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry.” “It’s okay. I haven’t gotten to cook in a while, so I am happy. No offense to you, as you know cooking is calming.”

“Oh, I completely get it. If you ever want to cook let me know and I’ll let you do it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You give him a smile then you hear steps coming down the stairs and Boothill comes into the kitchen. You pause and look at each other. Boothill looks very handsome. He is wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, a white t shirt, a black leather jacket and some cowboy boots that are not covered in mud. You want to tell him how handsome he is, but it is kind of weird doing that in front of your uncle. You relent and it looks like Boothill is in the same predicament. 

“Ah perfect. I was lookin’ for you. Sorry I forgot to tell you about leaving earlier I got busy with the horses and didn’t have a chance to text ya.” “It’s okay, we can leave if you’re ready.” “Let’s be off then.” You follow him and grab your purse on the way to the front door. Boothill leads you out and to his car. Before he helps you into his truck he turns to you, “Finally I can say this. You look absolutely incredible, you’re like a shooting star. So bright, radiant, and I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”  You instantly blush and smile “Thank you Boothill that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. But you look incredibly handsome, I can’t keep my eyes off of you.” 

“Thank you, darlin’. Let’s head out. We are going to be the last ones there… whoops haha.”

Boothill goes to help you up into the car then walks over to the driver side to get in. He pulls out and drives to the bar. The bar is only about 10 minutes away. You guys pull up and park and see that the bar is packed. But that’s what you expected since it is a Friday night. 

Boothill helps you down but doesn’t let you go far as he keeps an arm firmly around your waist. You walk in and see Boothill look around to see his friends. He finds his big group in one of the big corner booths so you two walk over there. 

Everyone cheers when they see Boothill and someone with long red hair says, “Oh look who finally decided to join us after two months.” 

Boothill stiffens a bit, so you turn to him “Boothill what does he mean?” The guy with the red hair answers for him, “Boothill has turned down our weekly meetings for the past two months.” 

You are still facing Boothill when you ask, “Wait have you been saying no because you wanted to stay at home with us?”

“Yes exactly. Guys I know I told you this last time I came, but I guess I hafta repeat myself.” Boothill introduces you, “This is Mr. Yang’s niece. She is the one that moved in with us, so I’ve stayed to hang out with her and everyone else so we can get into a routine and to help her feel more comfortable.” 

The red head instantly pales, “OH MY GOD. HOW COULD I HAVE FORGOTTEN!!! Boothill I am so sorry. This beautiful lady deserved your time more than we did. Let’s enjoy the night and make her feel even more comfortable.” 

Boothill sighs and turns to face you, let me introduce you to everyone. He starts with the red head and goes in a circle. So, if you have it right it’s; Argenti, Aventurine, Jing Yuan, Jiaoqiu, Feixiao, Moze, Sunday, Robin, Acheron, Swan, and Ratio. Robin makes room so you both can sit. You sit by Robin and Boothill to your left. 

Argenti feels bad for judging Boothill so he declared that he would buy your guys’ first drinks. You decide to go simple and get a glass of wine since you don’t really like beer. Then Boothill asked for a beer. 

The booth is a bit stiff, so Boothill switched from having his arm wrapped around you to putting his hand on your thigh while rubbing his thumb back and forth. You listen to conversations until Robin turns to you to talk to you. “Hi. Let’s talk, I feel bad not talking to you. So, you’re from the city? Why did you move out here if you don’t mind asking.”

You hear Boothill stiffen because he doesn’t even know the answer. “No, I don’t mind. I just didn’t really have a support system out there. My parents passed when I was still young, so I moved into the city to live with my grandma, but she also died a couple years after, so I was supporting myself since I was eighteen till now until I moved here. It was too much to do on my own so my uncle said I could come out here. I don’t work though; I feel bad though for taking advantage of everyone.” 

Before Robin could reply Boothill grabbed your thigh to have you face him and countered, “You are not takin’ advantage of anyone. We are glad you are here. I am happy you are here. I am sorry you had to go through that, but I am here now so are the others at home. You will never be alone again.” 

You smile and put your hand on his, “Thank you Boothill. The same goes for you.” Argenti comes back with your drinks then conversations flow between everyone. Boothill finishes his beer and wants another one. He gets up to go get another one, but he sees you haven’t finished yours, so he tells you that he is going to get another drink. 

You turn to Robin to chat with her more, “Oh shoot, I forgot to ask Boothill about the Fall Festival. I’ll have to ask him when he gets back.” 

“Robin, what is the Fall Festival?”

“Oh, it’s an annual big festival the town hosts! It is actually in two weeks. We always go as a group and Boothill always performs. He has done it since the incident because music became his therapy. Sunday and I went to high school with him, and he knew I sang, and Sunday played many instruments. So Boothill asked Sunday to teach him how to play guitar and asked me to teach him how to sing. We taught him and he has performed a song ever since.”

“That sounds so fun! But I didn’t know that there was a festival coming up no one at home has talked about it.” “Maybe he’s keeping it a secret to impress you. He seems into you.” “I sure hope so because I really like him.” 

A voice cuts you both off, “Well if he was maybe he wouldn’t be talking to all those girls at the bar.” You see the guy with purple hair say that and you think that’s Ratio. You and Robin turn your heads to see a bunch of girls all over Boothill touching him and getting all in his personal space. You must have physically shown your heart break because Robin tries to cheer you up. 

“Don’t worry about it that happens all the time, but he always rejects them. Right Ratio?” As she gives the man a dirty glare. 

“I guess so but if he was so into her, he would have pushed them all away.”  Robin looks like she is about to kill him, but you respond, “I guess you’re right Ratio.” You look at both of them almost in tears. Did Boothill not mean what he said earlier? Were you reading too much into everything. All you want to do is go home and curl up in your bed and cry. You reach out and down the rest of the wine you had. 

Robin can tell you’re about to cry so she calls your name and asks, “Do you like to dance?” 

“Oh yeah, I do.” “Perfect!” She stands up and tells you to stand up. Once you do you get out of the booth with her following then she grabs your hand and drags you to the dance floor. You two face each other and just let out all the energy you guys have while singing along with the songs. 

Boothill gets back to the booth and gets a little worried that you’re not there, but he sees Robin is gone so maybe you two went to the bathroom. He is annoyed though because those girls at the bar wouldn’t leave him alone no matter what he did. Your presence really calms him, so he settles with just waiting till you came back. 

“So Romeo, how was the bar?” Boothill turns to Ratio to see him deadpanned.  “Shut up, I don’t want to talk about it. Plus, I don’t want any of them.”  “That’s not what your little girlfriend thinks.”

“What?”

“Ugh Ratio can you not stir up trouble. Boothill, she saw everything and looked like she was about to cry. She got really sad and thinks you’re not into her. But it’s thanks to this guy because he twisted her thoughts.” Aventurine said. 

“Ratio, what the fuck did you do to her?”

“I just told her ‘If he was so interested in you, he wouldn’t be entertaining those girls at the bar.’”

Boothill saw red, “You’re fucking dead.” Sunday saw all of this unfold but he goes to hold Boothill back while Aventurine scolds Ratio. 

“Boothill stop. There’s something wrong.”

Boothill snaps his head back to look at Sunday, “What do you mean?”

“Her and Robin went to the dance floor because Robin wanted to cheer her up. I have been watching them to make sure they were okay, especially Robin. But this guy keeps bugging her and won’t leave her alone. So go make up for this misunderstanding and help her.” Sunday lets go of Boothill once he realizes Boothill is more focused on finding you now. 

Boothill looks around and sees the big guy trying to get close to you and he sees red again. He walks swiftly over there to help you. 

You and Robin are having a great time dancing and singing. It is really helping you calm down from this whole Boothill situation. You’ll definitely have to get Robin’s number after of this so you can thank her and ask if she would like to be friends. 

As it gets later the music get dirtier and more people come to the dance floor. You and Robin get a little closer to one another, so you don’t separate because she looks a little worried about losing you in the crowd. But you feel the same since you don’t know anyone here and haven’t seen Boothill since that whole bar situation. 

You and Robin keep dancing then this guy comes up behind you and grab your waist. You know it’s not the hands you love so deeply so you instantly wiggle out of the grasp of the guy. You turn around and tell him you’re not interested. But he leans close to you and all you can smell is the beer oozing off of him, and it makes you want to gag. 

“Come on darlin’, dance with me. You wouldn’t have worn that dress if you didn’t want some attention.” 

“I didn’t dress for attention, and I am not dancing with you. Please leave me alone.” You try to turn around, but the man grabs your shoulder. 

“You whore don’t turn away from me. You’re dancing with me right now.” 

All you want to do is cry again. You feel so powerless. Then you feel a warm and familiar arm wrap around your waist. 

“Call her a whore again and you’re dead. Now let go of my girl before I beat the living shit out of you.” His voice was so much deeper than you have ever heard. 

The man instantly lets go and stumbles out of the bar. You turn around quickly and bury yourself into Boothill and he holds you tightly to him. You guys just stay there for a little bit until Boothill starts to sway you two to help your shaking. You start to calm down and hear the music again. You hear the songs are still as dirty as they were before. You then have an idea.

“Boothill, do you like to dance.”

“Not really, but if it’s with you, I’ll do it.” You turn around in his arms and he instantly moves his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him. Your butt is pressed against him and you two start moving in tune with the song. 

Boothill leans down to whisper in your ear, “Darlin’ just so you know, you’re the only girl I have my eye on. I tried pushing those girls away earlier using my words because I am never going to lay my hands on a woman. I know what it looked like wasn’t the best but luckily, I was saved by the bartender kicking them out. Like I said earlier, you are captivating. I cannot keep my eyes off of you. You are breathtaking.”

You turn around again to wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead against his. “I’m sorry I overreacted; it’s just Ratio did not help the situation. But I am glad I am the only one in your eyes, because you are the only one in mine.” You guys smile at each other and sway more until you realize something, Robin! You loosen your grip on Boothill and start looking around and Boothill gets worried. 

“Boothill where is Robin?! She was with me, and I didn’t want to separate from her because I didn’t want her to deal with a creep too!!” You keep frantically looking around. But Boothill grabs your chin lightly, “She’s back at the table. Sunday was with me, and he grabbed Robin while I came to help you. She’s fine and safe. Why don’t we head back to the table?”  You quickly agree and Boothill goes to wrap his arm around your wrist to keep you by him. You guys arrive back at the table, and you see Robin and call out to her, she turns her head while you give her a hug. You apologize to her about the whole thing, but she quickly assures you there is nothing to apologize for. You and Boothill sit back down with his hand going to your thigh again. 

You all start chatting again, you and Robin also exchanged numbers. Robin turns to Boothill and asks, “Are you performing at the Fall Festival?”

“Oh yeah I am.”  You turn to him, “Really?! What song?! Can I hear it before you perform it?!”

“Sorry darlin’ but no. It’s your first Fall Festival, I can’t spoil one of the biggest parts.”  “That makes sense. I am really looking forward to it.” 

“Me too.” The conversation keeps flowing but you find yourself getting more tired, so you start leaning on Boothill. He turns his head once he feels the weight of your body on his, “Tired pretty girl?” You nod your head. “Okay we’ll head out then.” You get off of him so he can stand up. Once he’s up he reaches for your hand and helps you up. 

He turns to everyone announcing your departure, so everyone bids you two a farewell. Boothill leads you through the bar and once you are outside you instantly get cold. As if Boothill sensed it he took off his jacket and put it on you. You slide your arms through the sleeves and snuggle into the collar because it smells like his cologne. 

You also didn’t realize how far you two parked until he points to the car in the distance, “Ugh that’s so far and my feet hurt.” Boothill didn’t respond but he walked in front of you and bent down so he can give you piggyback ride. Once you get onto his back he sets off. You set your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. 

You almost fell asleep on the walk to the car but once he opens the door you are awake again “Sorry I didn’t mean to wake ya.”  You shake your head in response. He helps you up into the car and runs over to his side. He pulls up the middle like he did when Dan Heng sat up here and pulled you closer to him. “Go ahead and sleep again.” You go ahead and lean on him while he drives.

You don’t even know you arrived back at the house until you hear Boothill lock the front door. You call out, “Boothill?” 

“Shhh. We are home, I’ll carry you up to your room.” You snuggle more into him enjoying his warmth. He walks up the stairs to your room making sure not to bump you against anything. He opens your door after asking if he can, still being the gentleman he always is. You tell him yes and he sets you down on your bed. He goes into your bathroom and grabs some makeup remover and a small towel to take your makeup off. Then goes and grabs you some pajamas from the drawer you told them they were in. He sets them gently on your bed and walks over to where you are sitting. 

“Thank you for a fun night darlin’. Seeing you dressed like that and getting to dance with you was amazing.” “You’re welcome Boothill. I also had a great night. You were so handsome and dancing with you made me really happy. The happiest I have been in a while.” 

“Now that makes me happy. Goodnight baby.” He presses a kiss to your forehead then separates from you and walks to your door. You quickly stand up and call out to him. He turns around and you walk to him. You stand on your tippy toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight Boothill.” You both separate and smile at one another. 

He gives you a little nod then leaves your room while you go and change into your pajamas. You then go to wash your face and brush your teeth really quick. Once you’re finished you hop into bed and see Boothill’s leather jacket at the end of your bed. You forgot to give it back to him, so you’ll just have to do it in the morning. 

You reach down for the jacket and pull it under the blanket with you so you can cuddle with it since you can’t cuddle with its owner right now. You get all giddy thinking about Boothill. You then think that you are in love with Boothill. 

No, you don’t think you’re in love with Boothill, you know you are in love with Boothill. 

Since you were so tired last night you did not set an alarm for the morning, you realize this once you wake up and see that your bed side clock is showing it is 9:30 am. You jump out of bed and rush out of your room to run into something again. 

“Whoa darlin’, what’s with the rush?”

You really have to stop ramming into Boothill, you definitely have given him many bruises because of this habit. “Boothill! I am so sorry. I ran into you again and I forgot to set an alarm, so I didn’t get to make breakfast for everyone.” 

“No worries baby. Welt and I took the boys to the bakery to pick out doughnuts to surprise you with. Plus, the boys found out your favorite fruit are strawberries, so they are down there cutting them up for you. You deserve a break every once in a while.” He goes to cradle your face in his hands, “You do so much for us, now let us do something for you.” He lightly pulls your head toward him to give you a little peck on your forehead.

You pull apart from him and give him a big smile. “There’s your pretty smile. Let’s head on downstairs.” He goes to grab your hand, but you release it. He turns to ask what is wrong, but you tell him to stay right there and run back into your room. You go to grab his leather jacket and come back out to hand it to him.

“Nah, keep it. I have bunch of them, plus you look better in it than I do.”

“Are you sure? It’s nice, I feel bad keeping it.”

“Ain’t no problem with keeping it darlin’. I want you to have it.” Giving you a small smile and giving you a pat on the head. You go back to put his jacket in your room then come back out searching for his hand. 

You two walk downstairs and see Caelus and Dan Heng jumping out yelling “Surprise!” You giggle and let go of Boothill’s hand to give both boys a big hug and thank them. You sit down and see Welt come into the dining room with cups of coffee for the adults and chocolate milk for the boys. 

You all eat and talk occasionally, until Dan Heng brings up the Fall Festival. “Mr. Boothill since you are performing at the Fall Festival, you’re going to be a lot busier, aren’t you?”

Boothill lets out a sigh, “Yeah, you’re right there kiddo. Most of my free time will be practicing or spending time with Robin and Sunday for their help with my performance.” 

“I see, I can’t wait to see your performance again. Can you make sure we are in the front row again? We can’t see you if we aren’t. Also tell Miss Robin and Mr. Sunday I say hi.”  “Trust me, all you guys are in the front row. I’ll let you get access to it before everyone else can enter the performance area. And I’ll tell them you say hello.” 

You smile at the interaction, but it all clicks in your head now. You won’t be seeing much of the guy you’ve grown to love for the next two weeks. Your guys’ relationship has changed since last night but now you guys won’t have time to really talk about it. You get upset at the thought, so you remain quiet the rest of breakfast. 

Boothill instantly sees the change in your mood and all he wants to do is hug you. He wants to walk over and tell you everything is completely fine between the two of you. He knows there’s a shift between you two and all he wants to do is capitalize upon it. Damn it all, he wants is just to kiss you senseless and hold you so close, so you don’t have to doubt anything. 

Boothill knows he’s in love with you. Which is why he needs to make sure this performance is perfect. 

The next couple weeks passed by so slow to you. You barely saw Boothill, and it breaks your heart. Your pillow has seen a lot of tears about this and just as it feels like the universe was out to get you, his jacket doesn’t even smell like him anymore. 

You have texted Robin a bit because she was telling you some drama. Apparently, a big rumor is going around about Boothill finally settling down and having a girlfriend. She explains this started the night after the bar when you guys were dancing. Then people apparently also saw him carrying you to his car in his jacket.

Great, in a new town you’re already in the drama circle. Just, great. 

At least the festival is tonight so his free time will get spent with you again. You are excited to see him perform though. You don’t know what he is performing because any time you get close to him while he practices, he stops playing. But you heard from him that Robin and Sunday are going to be on the stage with him while he performs.

You decide to stop moping around and get ready tonight so then you can also help the boys get ready. You decide to go with a brown jean dress with a black turtleneck under it. You throw on some tights to help keep your legs warm since it is getting colder out. You then put on a light brown scarf to top off your look.

You decide on doing the same makeup you did for the bar, and you quickly put it on. You decide to curl your hair as well. That ends up taking more time than you like so you put on some perfume then go to find the boys. 

They are sitting on the couch playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch. “Hey boys, let’s get you guys ready so we can leave once Boothill is done working.” 

They finish their race then turn off the consol then the T.V. You all walk upstairs into their room. “Okay you guys can pick what you want to wear, but if I think you need more layers, I’ll have you pick out more to wear.” They nod and go to pick out their outfits. 

They both picked flannels and blue jeans. You have them wear an undershirt to make sure they stay warm. You leave their room and walk back downstairs to put on your boots that match the color of your scarf. 

You walk into the kitchen to see Boothill drinking some water. He sees you come into the room and looks you up and down giving a soft smile. “You look as beautiful as ever baby.”

“Thank you Boothill. You look handsome as always.” 

“Darlin’, I am just wearing what I normally wear. Just my nicer flannel options.”

“No matter what you are wearing you always look so good.”

You give each other a smile. You walk over to him and give him a hug, “I missed you Boothill.”

He returns the hug and kisses your forehead, “Trust me baby, I missed you more than anything.” 

You hear footsteps coming into the kitchen, so you guys separate but don’t go too far from one another. You see the boys walk into the kitchen with the added accessories of cowboy hats and boots. Like this they look similar to Boothill. 

You giggle look at them, they both look so proud and confident in their outfits. “Now what is this?” Boothill looks at both boys, “It looks, like you guys are my copies. You both look so good.” While pushing both of their hats down. They both complain at the action but laugh at Boothill. “Well let’s head out gang. Mr. Yang went to pick up the girls so Miss Himeko wouldn’t have to worry about driving, so you lot are with me.” 

The boys walk out first, and you follow behind. You go to grab your purse until you feel a hand on yours, “Now darlin’, no need for that. It’s on me tonight.” 

“But- “

“Ah, no buts. Now let’s go.” He grabs his keys and leads you out the door. You all get to Boothill’s car, and he helps everyone gets in. Boothill hops in and states, “I am lowering this damn truck.” He huffs and shakes his head. You and the boys just giggle at his inner turmoil. 

You guys set off and head to the festival. It’s a short drive, and parking is easy because Boothill is performing. You all get out of the car and head into the festival. You see so many things; festival games, many food stalls, and people selling little trinkets. 

Boothill speaks up “Where do you guys wanna start? You guys hungry?”

You all realize that you guys are hungry and decide to start with the food. Boothill sees there is a soup stand and decides to have you all eat there. Boothill tells you guys to go find a table while he orders. You guys find a table to sit at close to the entrance of the stall. 

After about 10 minutes of you and the boys talking about all the games they want to play, Boothill comes back with four bowls of soup and water. He got you all homemade chicken noodle soup. You all dig in and realize that the soup is helping you warm up a little bit. 

It doesn’t take you all long to finish eating. Once everyone is done Boothill cleans up and leads you guys to the games. Boothill pays for an unlimited game pass for the boys. You and Boothill watch while you also take photos of them. Then end up winning most of the games they play and now have arms full to prizes. 

Once they get to the ring toss, they turn to Boothill and say its his turn. They go on to explain to you that Boothill never loses at this game. You see Boothill walk right on up to the stand and gets 3 rings. He gets in a little stance then throws each ring back-to-back each getting each one on the bottles. You and the boys cheer for him. The worker of the stand asks him to pick him prize. He turns to you and beckon you to come over. “Pick whatever one you want darlin’.”

You look at the prizes and see a teddy bear that is white with black accents, and it instantly reminds you of the man standing right by you. You tell the worker which one you want, and he goes to grab it for you. Boothill speaks up “Hey that one looks a lot like me.” “Yeah. That’s why I picked it silly.” He snaps his neck to look at you. He is speechless but ends up letting out a deep bark of laughter. The worker returns and hands you the teddy bear while wishing you guys to have a good rest of your night. 

The boys had their fill of games and are now getting hungry again. They ask you and Boothill if you guys can get funnel cake. You and Boothill agree and go to find the funnel cake stand. Once you guys find it, Boothill goes to order a big funnel cake. You and the boys wait at a standing table for him. 

After a couple minutes Boothill comes back with a big funnel cake and napkins. You watch the boys excitedly rip into the funnel cake while you and Boothill calmly eat it. Once the funnel cake is finished Boothill cleans up once again. 

You guys walk out of the eating area you were in and end up running into Welt and the girls who are also with Robin and Sunday. Caelus calls out to them, and they all turn their head. Robin and Sunday rush to Boothill, “There you are! We have been looking for you everywhere, we have to get ready.”  “Oh shit. I am sorry. I’ll catch up with you guys.” He turns to you, “Hey can I talk to you really quick.” You give him a nod and he grab your hand and drags you to behind the stalls.

You realize he is shaking, “Hey Boothill.” You grab his other hand, “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?” 

“Eh yeah, you can say that. I just can’t fuck this up.” “Fuck what up?” “Everything. Listen, this song it’s for you. I am nervous as hell for this. So please just focus during the song, okay?”

“Boothill, please take a deep breath. You aren’t going to fuck anything up I promise. I also promise I’ll focus during the song.” You go on your tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Once you’re back on your feet he pulls you into a big and tight hug. 

“Thank you, darlin’.” His gives you a kiss on your forehead then separates from you. “I got to go now; I’ll see you after the performance.” He walks away and you go back to find the boys and girls. 

You guys walk around a little more until you feel your phone go off. 

Boothill: Hey, bring everyone to the performance area. I can bring you guys in now. I’ll wait out front for y’all.

You tell Welt and Himeko; they make sure they have all the kids. Then set off to the stage. As you walk you start to get a little nervous. You never saw Boothill so nervous before and now this song is supposed to be for you? It’s too much to think about so you distract yourself with trying to listen to the conversations going on within the group. 

The group gets to the area Boothill told you to bring them too, and he brings you guys in. He doesn’t stay long though. The kids give him high fives while the adults wish him luck. He turns to you and gives you a smile then goes backstage again. 

It is about another twenty minutes until everyone starts coming in to fill up the rest of the area. It gets crowded really fast. This is not helping your nerves, but you steel yourself because this is important to Boothill. 

After another ten minutes pass then Boothill, Robin and Sunday come out on stage. They all take their places having Boothill being front and center. He grabs a hold of the mic and taps it before speaking. 

“Hello everyone. Thank you for coming out once again. The song I am about to sing is for someone special, so I hope you enjoy.” You then see everyone in your group turn to you smiling. Then it clicks, “YOU GUYS KNEW!?” Everyone nods and smiles, great now you know you’re really in for something. 

Boothill takes a deep breath then begins. 

Girl, you know I’ve known you forever

How many nights we hung out together

Same little crowd, little bar, little town

‘Round this old dance floor

My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder 

Makin a motion like, “Could y’all get any closer?”

They wanna know what’s up why I’m still holding ya

Even when the song is over 

Is he talking about the night at the bar? When you guys danced together? Oh god you don’t know if you can take this. 

There’s a rumor going ‘round about me and you 

Stirring up our little town the last week or two

So tell me, why we even trying to deny this feeling

I feel it, don’t you feel it too?

No way he is talking about the rumor Robin brought up. Well now you really don’t have any doubts this song isn’t about you. But yes Boothill, you feel it too. You want him so bad it hurts. 

Well, I can shut ‘em down, tell ‘em all their crazy

No Boothill, please don’t. You want the rumor to be true. 

I can do whatever you want me to do, baby 

Boothill, I want you to be mine. You look at him and as if he sensed your answer, he looked down at you and gave you a little wink.

Lay one right on me right now 

We can really give them something to talk about 

Boothill, I have wanted to kiss you since the pond. Please. 

He sings another verse, and you are so captivated by him. This is nothing like the nervous Boothill you saw before. He looks like he is having fun. He looks so happy. So ethereal. He is nothing like any other guy. He is the standard, because what guy sings a song like this to the girl he is interested in?

He looks right down at you to sing the next verse.

Oh, be honest girl now

Do you wanna do this or not?

You eagerly shake your head and mouth “yes” to him. He gets all happy but continues to sing. 

Should we keep ‘em talking girl 

Or should we just make them stop?

You shake your head no because you want everyone to know you are his. 

Boothill starts singing the next verse but he’s jumping off the stage? The stage is a good distance from the crowd, so he does have a good distance to walk. 

There’s a rumor going ‘round, about me and you

Stirring up our little town the last week or two

Oh, tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling 

I feel if and you feel it too

He is now right in front of you smiling down at you 

What d’you say we make it true, yeah? 

You hear the crowd roaring but you two are only focused on each other.  The crowd can’t even hear your answer back to him because of how loud they are cheering. 

“Boothill, I want nothing more than you. I want you and I will always choose you.”

“Darlin’, I want nothing more than you. I want you and I will always choose you.”

Come on over here

Let’s really give ‘em something to talk about, baby 

Boothill drops the mic and grabs your face with both of his hands and pulls you into a deep mind-numbing kiss. Your hands go to rest on his chest. The kiss feels like it lasts forever. The cheers only got louder once he kissed you. 

You two separate and he smiles down at you, “I love you baby.” 

“I love you too Boothill.” He pulls you into a tight hug and the only thought you have is that you are finally Boothill’s girl.  

tags:

@jassy-ine

[honeyjars-sims]

3.37 Soulmates

Today I’m spending some time with Pops. While I was camping, he found out that the LGBT center where he’s been working forever will be closing in just a couple weeks and he’ll be out of a job. It wasn’t unexpected–they’ve been having funding issues for a while–but it still sucks. Unfortunately, Dad is in San My for a gig this weekend, so I figure Pops could use some company.

“I’m really sorry about your job,” I tell him as he finishes washing the dishes. “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“We have a good amount in savings, and I’ve already been in contact with someone at the LGBT center in Del Sol. They’ve all but offered me a position there that pays more and has more flexibility.”

“Wow, that’s great! So I guess you won’t have much of a reason to stay in Evergreen Harbor, then.”

“Not really. We could probably find a smaller place closer to the LGBT center.”

I know what that means. There’s no reason my parents should have to pay for another 3 bedroom house when their kids are grown. “I guess it’s time for me to find a place, too.”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but I think you’re ready for it.”

“Yeah, I am. I really appreciate you guys taking me in for as long as you did.”

“You’ve come a long way, Johnny. You’ll be just fine.”

“What about you? You’ll be all alone when Dad is traveling.”

“That’s the good thing about this job. I’ll be able to work remotely some, so I can travel with Dad sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I know it’s not easy for you two to be away from each other.” I pause. There’s something that’s been on my mind since I came back from my camping trip, and Pops seems like the perfect person to help me figure it out. “Do you think you and Dad are soulmates?”

“Soulmates? Hmm.” He stops for a moment to consider. “No, I don’t think we are,” he finishes.

“Really? Why not?” I'm taken aback by his answer. What does he mean, they're not soulmates?

“Well, you remember how Dad and I met, right?”

“Yeah, you saw each other at a protest and sparks flew or something cheesy like that.”

“Mm-hmm. But I don’t think I’ve ever told you the full story of what happened that night. Before I ended up at the protest, I was at your mom’s apartment–she told me she needed to talk to me about something. Instead, I told her I was gay and couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore, and I left–without finding out that she was pregnant.”

“Oh. She was going to tell you that night?”

“Yes, until she decided that I wasn’t the kind of man that should raise children. If things had been different–if she had told me she was pregnant before I came out to her–I would have stayed.”

“You would’ve kept pretending to be straight?” I can't imagine what his life would have been like but it sounds pretty terrible. And to think he would have chosen that because of me and Chantal?

“For a while at least. And who knows, maybe eventually I would have found someone else to love and I’d still be happy. But I wouldn’t have met your dad that night.”

“Ok, but that didn’t happen. What does that have to do with being soulmates?”

“Because, Johnny, if I’d stayed with her a little longer then the things that happened to you and Chantal at your mom’s house wouldn’t have happened. I would have been there to keep you safe and well cared for. I just can’t believe that your Dad and I were meant to be together when the circumstances that led to us meeting were also the circumstances that led to my children being hurt and neglected.”

“Well, maybe it’s fate and you would’ve met a different way.” I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around what Pops is saying. A world where he and Dad aren't together just doesn't make sense.

“Maybe. But I don’t think any of these hypotheticals really matter. Like you said, that’s not what happened. What matters is that today, in the here and now, I can’t imagine my life without him. Any reason in particular why you’re thinking about soulmates?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

“I guess it’s more that I’m wondering how you know if someone is the right person for you, but it kind of sounds like it’s not that simple.”

“Well, a sign isn’t going to drop down from the heavens that says ‘This person is the one,’ but it doesn’t have to be complicated. Find the person you can’t imagine your life without. I don’t know if that’s what you were wanting to hear, but I hope it answers your question.”

Find the person you can’t live without. Maybe there aren’t signs falling from the sky, but those words are about as close as I’ll get. “It does," I tell him. "It may not be the answer I was expecting, but I think it cleared something up for me.”

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

Normally I would jump at the chance to get some input, but now I don't feel like I need it. I shake my head. “No, I think I can handle it from here.” The thought makes me nervous, but I can’t avoid this. I need to talk to Lacey.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[diangelodork]

DBDA (i can’t even call it nightly anymore) analysis #19!

tonight’s topic: how this whole show combats jenny’s E1 speech.

in E1, crystal goes to jenny in frustration after having had a shitty encounter with david and having been berated about it by edwin. she tells her how she’s struggling to see the need to have them as friends when they “only care about what’s important to them.”

jenny makes a great point after she says this when she tells crystal “everybody is only thinking about themselves, all the time.”

this makes sense, in lots of cases, and it’s great commentary on society as a whole, but that’s not quite how it really happens in this show.

let’s look first at payneland.

they care more about each other than they do themselves. they can and will put themselves in harms way time and time again to protect the other. they care about what’s important to “them,” being the collective charles AND edwin, but we know that individualistically, they care more about each other.

charles makes several sacrifices for edwin, from the beginning of the show to the very end. the first scene we see them in shows how he puts himself in physical harm’s way often to protect edwin. this happens time and time again in the show (taking care of the WW1 vet, pushing edwin through the mirror to buy him some more time, possessing esther, fighting tnn so she won’t get to him, going down to hell for him, being more preoccupied with his wellbeing despite being in pain himself, etc.).

we also see several instances of edwin caring more for charles’ wellbeing than his own (his panic when charles gets stuck in the devlin house loop, how he follows charles and tnn in concern for charles and tries to reach out to him after, essentially telling him that he shouldn’t have gone down to hell to look for him, etc.), even if this is less in quantity than the inverse.

we also see self-sacrifice in many other scenarios, like niko giving her life for crystal’s, crystal trying to go to hell to retrieve edwin, jenny following her to meet who she knows to be her abusive ex, crystal trying to offer herself as a vessel in exchange for niko’s safety (even if she used this as more of a tactic to get them out), and i’m sure there are many more instances i’m missing.

all this to say, while jenny’s point is fair in that this is often how people go about life, it isn’t always true and it isn’t true within this show. when you care about people, you begin seeing the importance of their wellbeing, sometimes even above your better judgement for your self protection.

[sporadicmoontimemachine]

Buddie realization earlier than expected? (Theory: looong)

Ok so what led me on this train of thought was bc I’ve been thinking about is the beginning of season 7 when Eddie is talking with Buck about Chris being a player. Eddie says “I don’t know where he gets it from, I married the first girl that I dated”. Fast forward to season 8 and bummy breakup and Turkish delight telling Buck that he’s his first and won’t be his last blah blah. Now let’s go to how Buck was ofc as usual ready to move in with Travel Agent and be serious. We’ve seen Buck from season 4 onward pushing to settle down and it was assumed that was bc of the Abby closure at the end of season 3 BUT…what if it’s not? What if it’s really a nod to Bucks need to be close to Eddie and in this sense I mean more mentally and theoretically.

Although Buck has seen Eddies relationships fall apart multiple times he has always tried to be like Eddie and establish “security” in a partner and eventually a family- something that he found in Eddie and Chris- but also really hasn’t bc Eddie has continually given up that spot that Buck unofficially holds as part of the Diaz family for years. However throughout the time Buck has known Eddie , the spot as Eddies best friend has been secured by him…until Trumpet. Once he was introduced Buck panicked(the first spot in Eddies life was already taken by Marisol and now there was competition for the other) so he did what he could to right the situation-remove Tourniquet from Eddies life himself. Buck found a willing substitute for Eddie while also ensuring that he would be Eddies secured first(bestie slash “platonic” life partner).

Back to the Eddie marrying his first and Torpedo saying that they can’t last BECAUSE he’s his first. I think at some point this is going to be brought up or referenced to, especially with the stills showing a depressed Buck. I think he has mentally seen Trombone being his first as something that relates to the validity of his relationship with Eddie. With him trying to emulate and fill the gap that not holding that “true” top spot in Eddies life and provide reason for why he should be okay being only Eddies bestfriend. Buck will at some point think well you married your first and overall it worked out great right(despite the divorce and her dying…)? You have your kid you got to experience the love etc. This is why despite multiple little(and not so little) references to Triste not being the one for him( the Evan Thing, “You wanted MY attention”, he’s good for you - how do you know that?, I gave you basketball tickets for our anniversary when you don’t like basketball, Do you love him?…, I led on the woman that changed your outlook on relationships and completely broke her heart), he still proceeds to ask Tommy to move in with him.

So then comes the question Why Buck? Why are you so heartbroken over this when you know deep down Trashcan was right? Because the whole thing was a product of his fear that he wont be important in eddies life forever. And from the articles Eddie is supposed to have a unique reaction to the breakup which I think is he is going to be completely care free about it in a “What can you do way”. This again will bring up Why do you care this much? Everyone else is moving on, you weren’t even this bad with Abby. I can totally see Buck having a meltdown about it. Another unique thing that hasn’t really happened before- Eddie is relatively free of emotional and mental weight atm while Buck is the complete opposite. Either both have been down bad or Buck was the free one and Eddie needed him. If Eddie reacts how I think in addition to everything else, this will be when Buck realizes what he truly wants from Eddie. Buck has always been there for him when the roles were reversed so Eddie not making it a priority will probably cause a I’m always there for him? Why is that and why am I so angry that he’s not as devastated as I am that our-I mean- me and Trampoline’s relationship didn’t work. This is all going to lead to Buck ending this episode or next episode with the realization that he has real romantic feelings for Eddie. BUTT I might just be way off and Eddie gets really protective and threatens Turnips life for not seeing how great Buck is and then asks Buck to marry him instead🙂.

Also this is probably hard to follow but it makes more sense in my head promise

[marimayscarlett]

'The Persistence of Memory' turns 3 years old today 💿🎶

On the 12th of November, 2021, Richard released his fourth Emigrate album with the title 'The Persistence of Memory'. (The release date was initially set for November 5 but was pushed back a week.)

This album is especially significant in Richard's career and for Emigrate as a whole. It emerged as a form of dynamic, active therapy for Richard, who fell into a deep depression after the 2019 stadium tour, which left him riddled with self-doubt. He questioned whether music was still for him or if he should walk away from it altogether.

"Inside me, various wars were raging, and I felt like I had to stop making music. I couldn’t see any purpose in it anymore. It was a really hard crash landing, unlike anything I’d experienced before. There was a real emptiness inside me. Even for us, this stadium tour was something new. And when everyone tells you how great and good you are, whether it’s true or not, you feel like you’re in withdrawal once it’s over. I had to find my way back to earth."

Even before the COVID pandemic began, Richard had already retreated into a form of isolation, unaware that the pandemic would intensify this feeling. To actively combat and process these emotions, Richard delved into his musical archive, taking a journey into the past. Through various demos, song parts, and ideas he’d accumulated since Emigrate's early days, he found his spirits lifting and regained inspiration.

"My present was unpleasant, and my future was empty. So I immersed myself in my past. It was the only thing I had. I stumbled upon all these old songs and ideas and took another close look at them. They helped me move back into the present and finally look forward to the future again—a time travel back to inspiration."

The album was recorded at Sky van Hoff studios and Richard’s own Studio Engine 55 Berlin. His creative process involved reworking old lyrics, re-arranging songs, re-recording parts, and generally polishing up existing tracks.

The oldest of these songs is 'Freeze My Mind' which is 20 years old at the time of the album's release and is also Richard’s oldest song for Emigrate. He had reportedly written it with his then-wife Caron Bernstein around 2001.

“I wrote ‘Freeze My Mind’ in New York City; it must have been around 9/11. I was living in New York at the time and saw the second plane hit the tower. Watching people fall from the tower deeply affected me.”

'Bloodstained Wedding' originated in 2007 and 2011 and was inspired by his time in New York, while 'Hypothetical' previously featured on the album 'Silent So Long', was now sung by Richard himself instead of Marilyn Manson. Richard transformed 'Always on My Mind' into an epic rendition of the classic Elvis song with Till Lindemann, and he reworked 'Come Over' at the encouragement of his son, Merlin, who was enthusiastic about the song.

'I’m Still Alive' had already existed since the first Emigrate album (originally titled 'Yeah Yeah Yeah'), and the music video fittingly combines old footage from 2007 with new clips from 2021.

Richard did not shy away from serious themes on this album. 'Rage' addresses the difficulty of reentering social life after the isolation of COVID, a struggle Richard personally experienced. 'You Can’t Run Away' was written in response to numerous messages from fans expressing suicidal thoughts and sharing how much his music had helped them.

Richard mentioned that he views this album as a kind of closure for this Emigrate era: “This album might be the end of an era, the close of a chapter before something new begins.” While working on this album, he collaborated with Andrea Marino on electronic remixes, although he did not release them, hinting instead at a future electro album to explore this genre more fully.

The album artwork, depicting Richard’s head in a galaxy-like nebula, was created by Arnaud Giroux. It symbolizes the album and the creative process itself - “It’s about creating worlds and looking at things from a different perspective” as Richard describes it. The title itself was inspired by the painting by Salvador Dali with the same name.

One of Richard's announcement of his new album on his IG Profil:

The Persistence of Memory was a process that started 14 years ago. After a rough period in my life, it became clear to me that now is the right time to put it out.

The process to get to a point always interested me more than the point itself, struggling to get somewhere and constantly pushing boundaries makes me feel alive.

I AM STILL ALIVE.

"THE PERSISTENCE OF MEMORY" out this Friday.

Credit: @tobias_ortmann

Some additional quotes by Richard from interviews he gave around the time of the release:

Would you let your Rammstein colleagues listen to an Emigrate album before its release?

"No, definitely not. (laughs) Though someone like Flake would probably be very open to it. We have a lot of respect for each other and regularly stay in touch. For instance, I often listen to his radio show—and then call him afterward to ask what kind of weird stuff he’s been talking about again. (laughs)"

"I just realized in an interview with another magazine that every time I make an album, there’s a very dark backstory to it. It’s never that I’m just cheerfully going through life, feeling fantastic, and then think, 'Now I’ll write a new EMIGRATE album.' It always coincides with a significant change in my life."

"The funny thing was that I got the inspiration for the cover because of the song 'Always On My Mind.' When I listened to the song, I had the idea that it wasn’t actually about a relationship with a person, but rather about our planet. That’s where the cover idea came from, with the face gazing at the Earth."

sources: rammwiki web.de Berliner Zeitung Chaoszine metal.de

[smallishzine]

very important official zine stuff for real this time guys please spread this around

we realized we haven’t asked you what you want this zine to be, so here is poll with some different options for things we could do, but this still won’t set things in stone cause we’re aware that we’re working with a relatively small albeit amazing awesome and extremely appreciated audience, but it’ll give us a good idea for what direction you want the zine to go in.

some examples of what we mean for added coherence, please read before voting unless you wanna be like that guy in the Simpsons movie:

an eras tour zine (yes this is a Taylor swift joke shut up if you’re judging us you’re wrong) would be like different pieces dedicated to each, for lack of a better word, “thing” that Joel has done. @/inthelittlezine is a great example of this concept, except the mod has far better organizational skills than we ever could hope to

tourism brochure would be like we pick a specific thing Joel, such as esmp 1 or 2, or x life, or one of his hardcore/survival worlds (I haven’t listed Hermitcraft season 10 cause that’s still in progress but if you guys really really wanna, that too), and make an in universe guide to it expanding upon the lore and characters and builds and stuff. @/scarland-artbook is an amazing example of this, though of course we would be a much smaller scale of a project.

do you wanna tell a story? Or ride our bikes around the halls? We can’t help with the second one, we’re not very sporty people, but this option is both the most difficult and dangerous to the success of the zine, and the one that intrigues me specifically the most. Like, guys, I know I’m polling this, but I’m secretly hoping that this one wins. Like all the hoping. Ever. But I’m not gonna just say yeah let’s do this because if like only three people also wanna this zine will never get made and I will be really, really sad. This option is basically do we wanna take something Joel has done and work together to create an original universe/story based off of it, each contributing a small part of the story in comic or writing form. Unless you’ve been living under a rock and/or this post broke containment sorry if it did I assure I’m usually mostly sane, you probably know where I’m shamelessly stealing taking inspiration from. We heart you @/hotguycomiczine. If we went with this we would obviously create our own universe and storyline, and we’d try to base it off of one of Joel’s characters if possible. Also, if we went with this, we’d start the mod and application process and stuff and once we knew everyone who was going to be in the zine then we’d all get together and start working on the story, and this is the part I’m worried about because if we’re all stumped then I guess the zine is out of luck and I’d be sad. Also even if we did do this, like preemptively temper your expectations I am no where near as good as the legends at hotguycomiczine at organization and promotion and story writing and all that good stuff. However, if you have an idea for a story and want to share, send us an ask cause we might just end up using it.

I think the last two are mostly self explanatory.

please reblog for reach.

[thievinghippo]

So I promised a postmortem and it’s finally time! Here’s the TL:DR. I loved it. I can already tell I’ll probably have more played hours in this game than Inquisition, and I fucking loved Inquisition! Good, bad, and ugly beneath the cut and there will be heavy spoilers for the entire game, so read at your own risk. (This is also long, because I have a lot to say!)

THE GOOD

Rook. Once I let go of my preconceived notion of how Rook was (mid-40s and serious but kind) and accepted Rook for the young, sarcastic character they are, I fell in love. Edda is going to be an A possibly even S tier OC for me

The dwarves. We were fed so well, y’all. So much lore and dialogue choices. There was even a Grey Warden dwarf specific dialogue choice. I love the confirmation of what we all suspected with the Titans. I just wish that a dwarf Rook had the opportunity to confront Solas. He apparently apologizes to Harding. But what about a dwarf Rook?

Exploration. I’m an idiot when it comes to figuring out in-game puzzles and such. I’ve read some complaints that everything was far too easy, but for one of the first times I remember, I could do a vast majority of puzzles and finding treasures without consulting a game guide. And I was actually proud when I figured things out. When I play Edda again, I’m going to 100% the world and I cannot wait

The Companions. Bonus points for Emmrich Volkarin. I ended up loving all of them. Even the ones I was very ‘meh’ on before playing the game. Like Bellara. She was on my list to romance second to last. And she has moved up to third, after Emmrich and Davrin. 

Emmrich Volkarin. Yes, he gets his own special mention. I love him so much that I created a second Rook to romance him. That way I have one Emmrich that is not a lich (Edda’s choices) and one Emmrich that is a lich (Sonnet’s choice). I love his compassion, his kindness, his reverence of the dead. I adore his romance and how clear it is that Rook has bewitched him, body and soul. The fact that they lean into the age gap and it becomes entwined with his own fears of death. He has my favorite personal quest. I loved the music, the atmosphere. How it pertains to his own journey, facing his mortality (plus Johanna Hezenkoss can get it). Plus it has the banger line of ‘Show them what a real necromancer can do!’ I even can’t wait not to romance him and see what the friendship is like and encourage him to hook up with Strife

The backgrounds. Granted, I’ve only played through the game 1.5 times, but there have been so many background mentions. Especially for the Grey Wardens. Mourn Watch has some great ones too. I mean, there was Grey Warden romance banter during a fight. In a side quest! I can’t wait to discover more

The character creator. I love how inclusive it is, especially when you compare it to previous Dragon Age games. The hair is beautiful (but where is my braid crown! my kingdom for a braid crown!) and I have overweight OCs, which make me very happy. Varric's shaving mirror is also amazing, and because I want EA to know that people are using these options, Sonnet is a trans woman who will save Thedas

THE BAD

Weird tonal switches. Emmrich and Harding are going to Ferelden so she can show him around but the South is being razed by darkspawn. Harding’s mom sends her back with pie and gives great hugs. How in the world are they getting to Ferelden? Rook was amazed to see the Inquisitor in the North so why would the members of the Veilguard be able to go to the South? Some of the codex entries are so dark and yet everyone is happy in the Lighthouse 

Give Rook a problem, please! I kept waiting for Rook’s LI to go up to her and ask if there’s anything distracting her. If there’s any problem they could solve together. But that never came and Rook is apparently the only person on the team that can’t be distracted by their own problems. How amazing would it have been if Rook had some sort of personal quest. Maybe based on lineage. Or background. Something that shows that she matters as much to her companions and they mean to her

The Act One Choice. Still mad about it. Are you telling me that two extra people would have saved Minrathous? That a city full of the most powerful mages in the known world couldn’t take down a fucking dragon? It didn’t feel earned and it did annoy me a great deal

Let. Rook. Mourn. While I appreciate that Rook was able to mourn Varric and Davrin (in my playthrough) privately, the fact that it immediately jumps to a sex scene sort of bothered me. Especially Emmrich’s taking them to the Necropolis so they can bang in a coffin. This was not the time to leave the Lighthouse, Emmrich! The rest of the team got to mourn Davrin and worry about Neve together. I wish Rook could have been a part of that too. 

Let’s talk Varric’s death. I didn’t see it coming. I actually ranted to a friend before I knew what happened that they should have killed him in the prologue if this was how they were going to use him. Oops. I hate how callous the truth about his death makes Rook look. I hate that Harding and Neve didn’t even really seem to mourn. Hate how the Inquisitor or Dorian or Isabela don’t mention him at all. I hate how obvious his death is in my second playthrough. I will have to fix this all in fanfic

THE UGLY

Assuming there is another DA game, where do we go from here? I really dislike the concept of the Executors in the secret ending. One thing I’m optimistic about is that by basically wiping the south off the map, we might be able to have more games there. Because everything will have been reset, so to speak. How does the South deal with the mages when they’ve all been fighting darkspawn for their lives? Put them back into Circles? I think not

I’m also not sure about what choices would move forward into a new DA game. Not talking companion choices, but choices that actually affect the world. No matter what we do, the Blight is over and the Veil is safe. If BioWare couldn’t be bothered to have the Well of Sorrows choice matter, I can’t imagine they’ll care how Solas was bound to the Veil, whether it be by choice, trickery, or force. Minrathous or Treviso is the only other non-companion choice I can think of that might possibly matter

But honestly, it doesn’t matter, because who knows if we’ll ever get another Dragon Age game? I know I would love one, but I have this sinking feeling there won’t be (please let me be wrong!)

So there you have it. I really love this game, good, bad, and ugly. And I found so much more to love than to dislike. I have a feeling I will be yelling about this game (and Emmrich!) for a long, long time