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pythonees · 4 months ago

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✦┊ CARDBOARD DREAMING — ethan landry

WARNINGS: 18+, f!soft-bodied!reader, virgin!sub!ethan, drinking, grinding, semi-public, so much plot before the p0rn y'all I'm sorry, this is actually cute af tho

A/N: i am down bad for this doe eyed ghostface you have no idea. ignore the fact that i am once again late to a fandom and just enjoy the fact that i've posted two things so far this year, okay?

also it's so much harder for me to write now, so i can't really tell if i like this or not. oh well.

Loud music thumped around you and into your bones, making your head rattle with the booming, house shaking bass.

In the middle of the makeshift dance floor of a random fraternity, you sway along with your best friend to the beat of the music. It's easy to ignore everyone around you, lost in the shitty party lights. After the busy weeks of classes at the start of the semester, you had gone all out, grabbing the most poofy, princess-like dress you could find at the thrift store, one that was just barely long enough to cover your ass but still tastefully cute.

The long, white wig your friend had forced you to wear (one that sadly did complete the look, not that you would ever admit that to her) was sticking to your bright pink lip gloss every time you moved your head too fast. You've long since tried to keep your hair behind your shoulders, the silky fake texture making it too slippery to stay in place.

Taking a sip of the heavily spiked drink in your hand, you pull your friend closer as she turns her back to you, letting her grind up against you. The fake leather of her cat woman suit sticks to your dewy legs, the body glitter you had slathered on at the start of the night smearing onto the dark fabric.

"I take it cute guy is looking at you?" You say, letting your free arm wrap around her waist when she nods. The cute guy in question is a tall Rugby player from the UK, his curly hair only a few shades darker than his skin and wanted by half the population of the entire University. He had seemed wholly uninterested in every person that flung themselves at him, while still somehow being ridiculously polite about it.

Your friend is nothing if not persistent, and had decided after watching so many people try and fail to win his affections to try a different approach. She instead decided to play the long game, one that seems to be working.

"'m gonna make my move," your friend says, spinning around to face you with a wide grin, "wish me luck!"

You watch as she walks away, holding eye contact with him as she goes past him and towards the back of the house where one of the bathrooms are. You see him stare after her, quickly chugging the rest of his drink before he shoves the empty cup into one of his friends hands, following after her. There are envious looks following after the pair, and you giggle at a girl that actually stomps her foot in anger.

Thankful that you're now sitting down, you adjust the fluffy skirt of your dress as feeling starts to slowly come back to your feet. There are people dancing all around you, a couple curled up on the hopefully drink covered couch and making out. It's honestly kinda gross, her muddy green lipstick for whatever her costume was supposed to be is smeared all over her girlfriends face, mixing horribly with her orange face paint.

Looking away from the green mess, you cast your gaze around the room. Your friend is dancing with Rugby guy, tucked away in a corner so that no one can see that his hand is definitely lower than it should be in public. As you continue to scan the room, you find your gaze meeting with a cute looking knight across the room.

He's standing next to Chad, who's in your calc class and likes to bug you for notes whenever he falls asleep. Which is almost every class. Frankly, it pisses you off, considering he's one of the top students without really even trying. You'd kill him if he wasn't the sole reason you're even passing.

Anyway, the guy next to him, who you think is cute but you can't really tell because you're tipsy and not wearing your glasses, quickly looks away from you and toward Chad. He's clutching the shot glass to his chest, shaking his head as Chad looks away from him and to you. A wide grin takes over his face, and then he's grabbing mystery boy by the arm and dragging him over to the kitchen.

They're gone from your view for only a minute before Chad is directing him out and towards you. The cardboard knight has ditched the shot glass and instead has two red solo cups in his hands, staring down at them like they hold the secrets to the universe.

You try to keep the amused grin off your face as Chad weaves the two of them through the crowd. The open face of his cardboard knight's helmet does nothing to hide the bright flush of his cheeks, spreading along his nose and lighting up his brown eyes. Yeah, he's cute, dangerously so.

“Hello there princess,” Chad says, giving you an obnoxious bow while tipping his hat at you. You lean back in your arm chair, crossing your legs while you take a long sip of your drink.

“Well howdy there partner,” you say, using your free hand to lift the side of your dress in a mock curtsy while still in your seat. You down the last of the sickly sweet drink, licking your lips as you set the plastic cup on a cluttered side table, “and who might this be?”

“This,” Chad says, pulling his friend forward so that he was standing in front of him, the toe of his sneakers bumping against the cheap heels you had bedazzled the night before. He quickly pulls his foot back, mumbling out an apology while keeping his gaze away from yours, “is my friend Ethan, who thinks you look really pretty. Treat my boy well, yeah?”

With that Chad saunters off, probably looking for Tara, leaving you alone with Ethan. Ethan, who looks like Chad has betrayed him in the worst way possible by leaving him there with you.

"Hi, Ethan," you say, giving him a smile and then your name, "you enjoying the party?"

"Oh! It's, uh... it's great!" He says, a cute smile on his face, though you can tell he doesn't really mean what he's saying.

You snort, shifting over in the arm chair to try and make some room for him. It's not much, but you really don't mind the thought of being pressed up next to him, "You don't have to lie, it's not my party or anything. Come sit with me?"

He eyes the spot you made next to you with wide eyes, nodding absently as he squishes into the newly made space. It's a tight fit, just like you thought, so you carefully turn to face him, legs going over his and hanging over the armrest. You hear him suck in a deep breath, the flush on his face somehow going darker.

"Mmm, yeah, parties aren't really my thing. Chad wanted me to come, don't know how he convinced me though..." He says, mumbling down at the cups in his hands. One of which you know is for you.

You giggle, letting your fingers trail over the back of the hand holding the drink closest to you, "Well, I'm glad you came."

"You are? Why?" Ethan's gaze follows your hand, unconsciously pushing into the contact.

"Because every thrift store princess needs their cardboard knight!" You can't help the smug grin on your face when he ducks his head, moving your hand away from his to instead tuck a stray curl back inside his helmet, "Shame you've got this on though, hiding those beautiful curls."

"Oh, uhm. Thank you. Your hair is pretty too. You know, under the wig..." he presses his lips together, eyes flicking up to the wig before they fall to your face. You're happy to find that he's able to hold your gaze, even though he starts to get squirmy when you shift just a bit against him. It takes you a moment to realize that he knows what you look like outside of this party, and you feel jittery excitement knowing you've had his attention before tonight.

"You gonna drink both of those, or are one of them for me?" You tease, giggling when he starts to stutter out a response. Putting him out of his misery, you take the drink when he confirms through his rambling that yes, one of them is for you, "you're so sweet, thank you."

Taking a sip you throw your left arm along the back of the arm chair, letting your long nails dance along his exposed bicep, marveling at the shiver that wracks through him. He takes a drink himself, nose scrunching up cutely when the taste hits his mouth.

"Too strong for you?" You ask, voice muffled by the cup you bring up to take another drink from. He looks embarrassed when he nods his head, but instead of teasing him, you take a hold of his free hand, lacing your fingers together as you get up off the armchair, dragging him along with you.

"Where're we going?" He follows you along without complaint, hand a little clammy as they tighten around yours. You bring him into the kitchen, which is surprisingly empty, and head to the fridge. Bending over a little more than necessary, you fish through the various cans of sodas until you find one that's just a carbonated lemonade, making a show of straightening up slowly to give Ethan ample time to stare before you turn to face him.

Despite how slow you were, you're still able catch his gaze as it snaps back up to your eyes, but you pretend not to have noticed as you hand him your drink so you can open the can.

Taking a light hold of his wrist, you guide his hand down so that you can see into his cup, one that was filled significantly less than yours was. You pour in the fizzy drink right up to the top, pouring the little bit that's left into your own cup when you take it from him.

"There, that should taste a bit better," you say, smiling up at him as you step into his space. He nods jerkily, taking another go at the spiked punch. His face doesn't scrunch up, and he looks pleasantly surprised as he takes another drink.

"So?" Even without his response you know it's better, but he's got a nice voice, one you want to keep hearing. It's even better when he's flustered and stuttering, so you slide up to his side, staring up at him with his arm brushing your breasts.

He's only able to nod, eyes now locked onto where you're pressed against him, no doubt getting an eye full of your cleavage. You let him have his fill, keeping your smile innocent when he looks back at your face.

"Good," you say, taking his hand again and leading him to the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor, "I'm glad."

He follows behind obediently, and you make sure to add more of a swing to your hips for him to appreciate. You see Chad as you guide Ethan to the darkened corner, pretending you didn't see the wink and thumbs up he gives Ethan as you pass.

There's a little area in the corner of the room that isn't overly crowded, so you guide him over there before someone else can settle into the space. Smiling up at him through lowered lids, glossy bottom lip between your teeth, you sway to the music. The blush that had been slowly fading from Ethan's face is back in full force, eyes unable to stay in one place as they flick to and away from you.

You loop your arms around his shoulders, cup held loosely in your hand behind his head as you press right up against him. The cardboard scrapes against your exposed upper thighs as you move, though you ignore the discomfort when Ethan starts to hesitantly follow your movements. They're jerky and uncoordinated, but he looks adorable, concentrating hard on being able to follow your movements.

You keep it simple, not wanting to overwhelm him too fast. So you're pleasantly surprised when you feel the hesitant touch of his free hand as it settles on your waist, just barely resting there but touching you all the same.

There's cheering from the other room, loud and obnoxious and the perfect distraction you need. You tug at Ethan's neck, a pleasant thrill going through you when he dips his head down without hesitation. You don't even have to push up onto your toes, your heels making you tall enough that you can comfortably whisper into Ethan's ear, "I really want to kiss you right now."

"You- me?" He sputters around his words, cheeks flaming hot when he pulls back to look at you. You wait patiently, though you've been desperate to get your mouth on this doe eyed boy for so long you feel like you're about to explode, "Really?"

"Yes, really," you coo, shuffling close enough to press yourself firmly against his cardboard covered body, smiling when the hand that was still gently resting on your waist moves to press at your back.

"Yeah. Yes, yes please," he nods along with his words, cringing at the tinge of desperation that coats them. You don't mind though, more than happy to know that someone as pretty as him is this desperate for just a kiss.

Wanting to see how far it could go, you start at his chin, glossy lips smoothing along his clean shaven skin. The next is pressed to the corner of his mouth, and you struggle to contain your smile when you hear the small whine he lets out at the touch.

Meeting his gaze, you find his half lidded, bottom lip bright pink from being gnawed on between his teeth.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," you sing, quickly shoving your drink at a random passerby before you tuck your hands under the sides of his helmet, cupping his cheeks as you guide his lips to yours. They're soft and plush against yours, tangy from the lemon flavoured soda mixed into his drink.

Gently taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you revel in the moan he lets out when you pull back, giving him a flirty grin before going back in. Behind you, you can hear his cup drop to the ground, ignoring the feeling of the cold liquid splashing up the back of your legs. You run your tongue along his lip, soothing where you bit him. It has Ethan gasping, mouth open just enough for you lick into his.

After that it's a mess of teeth and tongues, uncaring of the people moving around you, lost in the heat radiating off of him. All you want is to run your hands all over Ethan. His homemade costume keeps you from feeling his chest against yours, and you groan in annoyance.

Gently pulling your hands out from under his helmet, you tug it up and off, holding it in one hand as you tuck your head into is neck.

The gasp he lets out when your lips graze along his skin has your thighs pressing together, makes you wonder just what other sounds you can get out of him. You run your hand through his curly hair, long nails gently scraping against his scalp, pulling a long moan that he has to muffle against your neck so that anyone close to you can't hear him.

His hot breath dances along your skin, tiny whines escaping as you bite at his neck, sucking a mark that will be too high up to hide on his pale skin. You can't wait for everyone to see it tomorrow morning.

"Hey," you whisper, pulling back a little to look at him. His eyes are half lidded and unfocused as he stares back at you, pink dusting along his cheeks and nose, "it's a little hot in here. Wanna go outside? Get some air?"

You don't know if he's really even hearing the words that come out of your mouth, gaze fixed to your lips void of the lip gloss that has been smeared onto his neck and face. He nods though, and that's all you need. Thankfully you were already near the backyard, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the open sliding door and past the few people loitering around.

It's cool out, a shiver running down your spine when a breeze dances over your flushed skin. Keeping a tight grip on Ethan's hand, you guide him to the back corner of the yard and to what used to be a storage shed. You know from being to a few parties here that it has been transformed into a bit of a lounge, if you could even call it that. There's a table and futon in there, with a mix of different garage sale armchairs and bean bags squeezed in.

Thankfully, it's empty when you open it, and the lingering smell of weed from the last hot boxing isn't as bad as you expected it to be. The futon isn't turned out, but you don't really care, gesturing for Ethan to sit while you close and latch the door behind you.

When you turn back Ethan's staring down at the ground while he's got a hand in his hair, musing up his beautiful curls. You gently place his cardboard helmet on the coffee table, moving to kneel next to him on the couch, facing him.

"There, this is much better," you whisper, shuffling forward so that your knees brush against his thigh. You can hear his gulp, failing to fight down your smile at the sound. Before he has the time to possibly get embarrassed over it, you cup his face in both of yours, kissing him again.

Now alone, without the possibility of people watching and potentially spooking Ethan, you're able to be a bit more... aggressive with your affections. Thumbing over the already blooming bruise you left on his neck, you lick into his mouth when he lets out a sweet moan. He's a little sloppy as he kisses you back, hesitant as his tongue slides along yours.

It's cute, the way he tries to copy your movements, has you humming happily into the kiss at every moan you're able to pull from him. You can hear the creek of the old metal frame beneath you as you push up on your knees, swinging your leg over his to settle on his lap.

It hikes up your already short skirt, ass exposed to the cool air of the shed. His erection presses into your core as you push your body into his, rolling your hips in the process. Ethan pulls away from you with a gasp, face bright red and his hand firmly planted on your hips to keep you from moving again.

“Shit, I- I'm so sorry. Fuck. I, uhm…” Ethan looks mortified, and when you smile at him, amused at his stuttering, he looks like he would have run out there if it weren't for you sitting on his lap.

The quick kiss you place on his lips quickly shuts him up, though it isn't much of one with the way you're still smiling.

“I'd be a little offended if you had no reaction to me,” you mumble, trailing kisses down along his jaw to bite at his neck. It has his breath shaking, lips firmly pressed together to try and muffle his moans, “especially with what I have planned for you.”

He looks confused when you pull away from his neck, so you just take one of his hands that were fisted in his pants, guiding it to the zipper on your side. Ethan's fingers are unsteady as he grasps the metal between his fingers, slowly pulling it down until it stops right at the swell of your hips. You pull the dress down over your breasts, letting him get his fill as you work at pulling apart the surprisingly intricate cardboard costume.

Ethan doesn't move to help you, too busy staring down at your chest, nipples pebbled in the cool night air. It's only when you start tugging the cardboard up that he seems to come back to himself, looking away from you as he lifts his arms. When his arms come back down to his sides you play with the collar of his polo, making sure your arms are tight against the sides of your breasts to perk them up a bit.

“Can I take this off too?” You whisper, letting your fingers dip underneath to graze along Ethan's flushed collarbone.

Ethan nods, a hoarse little ‘yeah’ escaping his lips as he again lifts his arms for you to tug the shirt up and off. Once it's out of the way you press your chest right up against his, smiling when his breath seems to get caught in his throat.

“You can touch me if you want,” you say, smoothing your hands across his shoulders and down his surprisingly defined biceps. Though you suppose with a roommate like Chad, it's likely he got dragged into quite a few gym trips after they became friends.

You bring your lips back to his, hands roaming between your body's to trail over his chest and stomach before going back up. Ethan's hesitant as he kisses you back, hands still on your hips before they slowly smooth up your sides. His thumbs come to sit right under your breasts, and you press yourself harder against him to try and encourage him to move that last little bit and touch you.

It's the tiny plea that escapes your lips as you take a quick gulp of air that makes Ethan more confident, mouth working against yours with more intent as his hands finally palm at your breasts. The happy hum you let out causes Ethan to smile against your lips, warm fingers moving to tweak your nipple.

Each moan and sigh you let out has Ethan moving with more and more confidence, touch firmer and kisses rougher. When you pull back to get much needed air, Ethan dips down to mouth at your neck, his ragged breaths cooling the spit on your skin as he moves further down.

You sit up on your knees to bring your chest level with his face, and Ethan moans at the sight. He presses a quick kiss right above your left breast, no doubt feeling the erratic beating of your heart, then moves down to take your nipple into his mouth. His tongue laves over the soft flesh, a soft moan vibrating against you as you push him firmly into your chest with a hand on the back of his head.

He suckles and runs his teeth over you until your skin is tingly, then swaps to the other nipple. You drop down into his lap before he can get lost in your flesh, settling back onto his erection with a satisfied moan. As you connect your mouth to his neck, teeth working at the skin to ensure he's bruised when you're done with him, you roll your hips against his.

Ethan's hips jerk up into yours, the seam of his jeans pressing right up against you perfectly. He tucks his face into your neck, breathing deeply as he wraps his arms around your waist. You're pulled flush against him, so you aren't able to really move, but Ethan doesn't seem to mind.

“Fuck, you feel so good against me,” You moan when you pull away from his neck, admiring the red splotches and teeth marks left behind, “Feel even better if you took these jeans off.”

“Yeah?” He breathes, looking at you in wonder. You can't help the giggle that escapes you, shifting back so you can get at his jeans. You undo the belt and unbutton the jeans, sliding off his lap to stand in front of him so he can take them off. As you stand, gravity pulls at your dress, and you tug at it just enough so that it can get over the swell of your hips and pool into a sparkly mess on the ground.

You're left in just your panties. And while you weren't expecting your night to go quite like this, you're very glad you decided to wear the cute, lacy pastel ones instead of something ugly and comfortable. Having Ethan gawk at you is a confidence boost like no other, letting him have his fill for a few seconds before you slide back into his lap.

With only your underwear in the way, the friction between you when you roll your hips into his is mind numbingly delicious. The wet spot in your panties makes it so they're basically non-existent, the glide smooth.

Ethan's mouth hangs open on a moan, gaze locked onto where your hips bring together. His hands fly up to grip your hips, but they just hold you, letting you set the pace as you continue to roll your hips against his. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, using them for leverage as you grind down into him.

You can't help the sounds falling from your lips, whines and gasps as you desperately rut yourself against his thickness. Every guy you've slept with before has never made you this desperate before, but being in this dingy shack with Ethan has you falling apart with him even being inside of you.

It takes more effort than you'd like to admit to slow your hips to a stop. You nearly start back again at the desperate whine Ethan lets out, his hips rolling up into you and forcing a gasp from your lips.

“As good as that feels, I really wanna get you inside of me,” you drop your gaze to your lap, hands trailing down his shoulders and along his chest before you let your fingers run along the band of his boxers, “Bet you'd fill me up so good.”

And you're not even lying. Even when he still had his jeans on you could tell he was thick, but now you can feel and see the outline of him in its entirety, and you can't wait for the full acke that will surely come with him stretching you out.

“Please,” Ethan whines, his hands sliding back to grab handfuls of your ass to push your hips down against his. Your eyes flutter shut, losing yourself in the feeling as you let him guide you, head dropping to his shoulder. Toes curling in your shoes, you lift up off of his lap to stop the orgasm you can feel building.

The whine Ethan lets out in protest is short lived as you yank at his boxers. His hands leave your ass to push them down far enough to free his erection, and you damn near salivate at the sight of him.

He's thicker than you've ever had, veiny and with a flushed head that's dripping precum.

It takes some very unsexy maneuvering to get your panties off without getting off his lap, but you're reluctant to lose his touch for even a moment. He helps guide them off, hands running over your thighs when your panties are out of reach. You let them hang off of your foot, too lazy to take it off or let it fall onto the dirty ground.

Slowly, you settle back onto his lap, making sure that his cock is nestled right between your soaking lips. It has the desired effect, a shaky moan escaping him and his head drops to your neck. You cradle the back of his head with one hand, the other gripping the back of the futon as you slowly roll your hips.

“A-ah, fuck,” Ethan whines, his hands bruising as they tighten on your hips, pulling you down into him. You aren't able to move, but the angle he has you at while he ruts up into you is enough to have you moaning along with him.

Grabbing a fistful of hair, you pull his face from your neck, smiling at the flushed, blissed out look on his face. “Sit tight, okay? Gonna see if there's any condoms in here.”

There are two side tables here. The first is full of rolling paper and random bits of weed that have fallen out of the grinders. You hit the jackpot with the second, quickly checking to make sure it's not off date before you pull a packet out and rip it open.

When you turn back Ethan has a tight grip around the base of his cock, eyes half lidded as he watches you move around the small room. When you move to put the condom on him he quickly shakes his head, holding his hand out to take it from you.

“Can’t. If you touch me I'll- I don't wanna, not yet.” You hum, letting him have it as you climb back onto his lap. His hands are unsteady, but he's able to slide the condom on in one go.

You don't give him any time to relax, shuffling forward to press yourself against him, your dominate hand gripping the futon once more. The kiss you press to his lips is a distraction, wanting to settle the racing of his heart that you can feel against your chest. Once his hands are steady as they roam across your skin, you reach back, grabbing a hold of him to line him up with your entrance.

The second you touch him he reacts, hands that were feeling up your thighs seize up, fingers digging into your skin. You make sure to go slow, for both of your benefits. Despite how bad you wanna find out if taking him all at once would make him cum on the spot, you don't think you would recover from his girth, even with how wet you are.

With every bit of him you take, it feels like the air in your lungs is being forced up out of you.

“Fuck. I'm not - I don't think I'm gonna last,” Ethan whines, head ducked so he can watch where he disappears inside of you.

As you fully settle into his lap, you have to take a moment for the both of you to get accustomed to the feeling. You've never felt a burn like this since you had lost your virginity, the tingles of pain seeming to heighten your pleasure.

You keep up the slow pace, rocking back and forth on his lap. Ethan's biting his lip so hard he'll surely draw blood, still watching where you're connected. Pulling his bottom lip out with your thumb, you give him a quick kiss, before you plant your hands firmly on his shoulders.

The fake dollar store rhinestones on your heels dig into the fat of your ass as you start to bounce on his lap. Ethan's head is thrown back, neck littered in your bites as he moans and whines in tandem to your movements. Your fingernails are surely leaving marks on his skin, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he gets louder every time you drag pink lines across his skin.

You aren't any better. Gasping and cursing each time he bottoms out, you feel like you're being split in two. Each time you lift off of him you can feel the sticky trails of your arousal that connect you two together. Tomorrow you'll feel bad for whatever poor soul discovers the mess you two are sure to leave behind.

Ethan's hands have migrated to your ass, helping you move along his length. He's babbling now, words all jumbled together. Slowly, he's just cursing over and over, hissing a desperate “shit shit SHIT” before his hands press flat against your back, holding you to him as he cum la into the condom.

You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, clenching around him at the feeling. He whines, mouthing at your neck to try and muffle the sound.

You cup his face, guiding him to look at you. The red that's taken over his face is adorable, and you tell him as much before kissing him. When you pull back he's pouting at you, a hand moving from your ass to trail between you.

“You didn't cum,” he says, thumb slipping down to nudge at your clit. The slight touch after being denied an orgasm has you gasping, clenching around his surprisingly still hard cock.

With a hum you roll your hips into his touch, watching him with a small smile, “Nights still young, I think you can figure something out.”

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

#ethan landry #Ꮺ. smut warning #Ꮺ. my work #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #scream vi #scream #best viewed in light mode #female reader

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sleepy-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

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DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

✦

(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

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imaginespazzi · 11 months ago

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Part 6: To Trying Again

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

I don't wanna mess this thing up (I don't wanna push too far)

(In which an "evil" writer might surprise you guys just a little bit with this part)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff and Angst

Words: 5.6K

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies! This is sort of a filler-ish short chapter though I do think it's important to both plot and character development. I'd like to preface this by saying I've never been to Minsk or Park Pieramohi so I'm very much going off of pictures. Editing and I remain on very, very bad terms so pretty please let me know of typos so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

July 2018

“You’re being too loud,” Azzi whisper-screams at the blonde girl in front of her as she closes the door to her room behind her with a little too much force.

Paige turns her head back every-so-slightly with a pronounced eye roll, “will you please relax.”

“I would if you’d just be a little more careful,” Azzi glares, taking cautious steps as if the sound of her sneakers across the carpeted floor could potentially wake up any of the coaches.

“Azzi,” Paige says exasperatedly, “the coaches are all the way on the other end of the hallway. Besides, they're probably all sleeping.”

And despite her stubbornness, Azzi can concede that Paige has a point there. It’s nearly midnight and the game against Spain earlier in the day might have had a final score that made it seem like the USA U17 women's basketball team had won handily, but the game itself had been draining to say the least. The post-victory dinner had featured a bunch of worn out teenagers gobbling their food without much conversation and a cohort of coaches who seemed like they needed an hour of drinking followed by good night’s sleep. But even the exhaustion of the day hadn’t been enough to prevent Paige Bueckers and her diabolical mind from coming up with the idea to sneak out into the city of Minsk.

“No,” Azzi had said immediately even before the words had been spoken, that shimmering glint in Paige’s eyes a dead giveaway as she sidled up to Azzi at the salad bar.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Paige had pouted.

“You never say anything good.”

“That’s crazy. You’re so mean to me.”

“So mean,” Azzi had nodded in agreement, “so how about you go and bother someone else.”

“Azzi please. We haven’t had just Paige and Azzi time in ages. Don’t want someone else. Just want you.”

And after that well, there wasn’t really any chance of saying no. Azzi’s only fifteen and she doesn’t know that much about love, but sometimes when Paige looks at her with those earnest blue eyes and a smile that promises i’ll always be here, she thinks the way her heart starts to flutter erratically to a beat of and i wouldn’t want anyone else to stay, might just be the start of her finding out.

“See,” Paige grins triumphantly as the two girls find their way out of their hotel and onto the street, “told you we wouldn’t get caught. Shit’s just too damn easy.”

Azzi rolls her eyes at the attitude, “don’t tempt fate.”

“Fate’s got nothing in front of Paige Bueckers. I make my own fate,” Paige winks as she links her arms through Azzi.

It’s a mundane amount of contact, absolutely nothing special to it, but Azzi feels herself shiver in spite of the humidity that’s circling around them. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. One moment she was staring across the court, judging the skinny blonde practicing free throws and coming to the conclusion that she’d be no threat; the next moment said girl was next to her on the plane back from Argentina and Azzi, a self-admitted introvert, found herself rattling off about everything and nothing with this girl who seemed to have discovered the keys to all of Azzi’s locks. Hours of talking had bled into days and days had bled into months and despite the fact that facetime had taken the place of in-person conversations, the word friendship had seemed too cavalier a word to describe the relationship Paige and Azzi were building.

Paige had whittled away all of Azzi’s carefully constructed armor until she was buried deep underneath her skin and Azzi’s sure there’s no knife in the world sharp enough to carve the blonde out from where she lives underneath Azzi’s ribcage. Azzi doesn’t want anyone to try and dig her out. She thinks she might bleed out if they do.

“Az,” Paige whines, waving her free hand in the younger girl’s face, “are you even paying attention to me?”

“That depends,” Azzi hums, “are you saying anything interesting?”

“I’m always saying something interesting.”

“You’re always saying something. The interesting is subjective,” Azzi teases, laughing when Paige pouts.

“I sneak you out to give you an adventure and this is how you repay me? With insults?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her heart.

“Walking boring streets is not an adventure. Virginia has streets too.”

“It’s not about the streets, it’s about where the streets lead to,” Paige says with grave seriousness.

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “are you entering your philosopher Paige era?”

“I’d make a good philosopher,” Paige waggles her own eyebrows as they two girls find themselves entering park Pieramohi.

“Virginia has parks too, you know Paige?” Azzi says skeptically.

Paige lets out a dramatic sigh, “will you just keep walking, woman. Sometimes I wonder if you even like me?”

It’s said like a joke but there’s a hint of insecurity beaded into it that buzzes in Azzi’s ears as she wraps a careful hand around Paige’s wrist, stopping the two of them where they are.

“Hey,” she whispers softly, nudging the older girl, “you don’t ever have to wonder with me. I’m always gonna like you Paige. Even if you’re a pain in my ass half the time.”

“Had to ruin it with the last part, didn't you?” Paige complains but her eyes twinkle at the reassurance, ��Just so you know I’m gonna be a pain in your ass forever.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Azzi promises as they continue strolling through the park.

The silence is peaceful and the breeze that flows around them is like a comforting hug. And Azzi thinks that she’d be okay if there wasn’t a destination for them to get to, as long as the journey came with Paige by her side.

“We’re almost there,” Paige says slowly, a slightly nervous edge to her voice.

“You sure you’re not just getting us lost-” the teasing quip dies on Azzi’s tongue as she stares at the scenery in front of her. They’re standing on the edge of a bridge overlooking a lake and it looks like something out of a disney fairytale; the picturesque image of green trees silhouetted against a magically starry night is captured perfectly on the still surface of the water that’s flowing beneath. As Azzi peers across the railing, Paige right next to her, she feels her breath hitch at the reflection that peers up at her. Because the view in front of them is beautiful but Paige’s eyes are on Azzi and she’s staring at her as if the view is nothing in comparison.

“C’mon,” the blonde says softly, lacing her fingers through Azzi’s as she tugs her along, “I have a plan.”

“There’s more?” Azzi asks in awe as Paige guides her to the gazebo in the middle of the bridge.

“Just a little bit,” Paige says and oh- that shy smile is different. Azzi doesn’t think she’s seen that one yet and she makes a mental note to herself, to memorize it and store it along with all of Paige’s other smiles that make Azzi’s insides swoop like a rollercoaster.

She watches intently as Paige begins to peruse through the purple rucksack she’d been carrying. The first thing out of it is a picnic blanket and then a horde of different snacks, all of Azzi’s favorites. Two plastic champagne glasses are next and then a sheepish grin as Paige pulls out a bottle of soda.

“Couldn’t quite risk trying to get alcohol,” Paige scratches at her neck.

“Next time maybe,” Azzi shrugs as she helps Paige set up the arrangement and she feels herself fluttering at the thought of doing this again and again and again.

“How’d you even find this place?” she asks as Paige begins to pour out the soda.

“You ever heard of googling?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at Paige’s teasing smirk, “how’d you even have time to do this?”

Paige is quiet for a second as she passes Azzi her glass, “wanted to do something special for us,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes intently on what she’s doing as she pours out a drink for herself, “wasn’t hard to find time for you.”

“You could be a poet, Paige Bueckers,” Azzi whispers and she knows it’s unfair of her but she thinks it anyway. As long as all your poems are about me.

“The poets are lucky I chose a ball instead of a pen. They’d be out of a job otherwise,” Paige says, trying to ease back into the more familiar arrogance.

“Always so humble,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes as she holds up her glass, “alright what are toasting to?”

“I came up with this whole thing. You can come up with a toast,” Paige scrunches her nose and Azzi shakes her head at it.

She thinks for a second before smiling brightly at the girl in front of her, “let’s just keep it simple and toast to us.”

“How original,” Paige teases but she clinks her glass against Azzi’s anyways, “here’s to us.”

“Here’s to us,” Azzi repeats as they both take sips of soda.

They melt into a comfortable silence, relishing in this rare moment where there isn’t a screen separating them from each other. Facetimes is a wonderful creation but a blurry screen, Azzi decides, doesn’t nearly do justice to just how damn pretty Paige is. Her hair is golden as it basks in the glow of the moon and Azzi wonders if the stars are jealous of how brilliantly the blonde’s blue eyes twinkle.

It’s Paige who speaks first, her voice hesitant, “you uh- you never asked me how my date went a couple of weeks ago.”

Azzi feels her whole body go rigid. She’d almost forgotten about Paige’s wretched date. The blonde had told her about it a couple of days before the actual event and Azzi had played the dutiful role of a best friend, teasing Paige with a light-heartedness she didn’t feel and congratulating her with an excitement that came from anywhere but from the heart. She’d purposely avoided Paige’s calls the day of the date and then two days after, coming up with some sorry excuse she no longer remembers. On the third day, when the hollow ache of i miss her voice in her chest had become too hard to ignore, Azzi had finally picked up the phone and diverted the conversation straight to a different topic. She hadn’t thought of the date since.

“Guess it slipped my mind,” she says airily, fingers gripping the edge of the picnic blanket.

“I could tell you about it now,” Paige says slowly.

I’d rather you didn’t, Azzi thinks but that’s a thought that veers a little too out of the sphere of best-friend-isms and so she simply nods her head, “y-yeah tell me about it. How was it?”

“It was nice,” Paige begins and there’s something hidden in her tone that Azzi can't quite place but she’s a little too busy sulking at the idea of Paige with anybody else to try and decipher it, “dinner was good. Took her to a movie after. That was good too.”

“That’s cool P. I’m glad- I’m glad you had fun,” Azzi says nonchalantly, gripping the glass in her hands just a little too tight.

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t really have that much fun,” Paige clarifies and Azzi gawks at her in confusion as the older girl fidgets with the frayed edges of the picnic blankets, “just didn’t- didn’t feel right. Don’t think she had much fun either. She never texted me after.”

“What a bitch,” Azzi bites out, suddenly irrationally angry at a girl she’d never met because how could anyone possibly not have fun with Paige, “I’m sorry P. You deserve-”

“I didn’t care that she didn’t text back-”

“Still. It’s just the decent thing to do,” Azzi rants.

“Maybe,” Paige shrugs, “but I didn’t have time to care about that. I had other things on my mind. Like the fact that you weren’t talking to me.”

Azzi flinches at the accusation, rushing out her previous defense, “I was busy.”

“Bullshit,” Paige sneers.

“Paige-”

“But I get it,” the older girl says softly as she reaches for Azzi’s hand, tugging the brunette closer to her and Azzi feels something inside her erupt at how close their faces are, “I probably wouldn’t have talked to you for two days either if you went on a date with someone else.”

“Oh,” Azzi breathes out and there’s probably something more eloquent she should say but there’s this realization of maybe you feel it too that’s beginning to creep up her spine, rendering her speechless as Paige continues to stare at her like she’s mapping out all the tiniest details of Azzi’s face.

“The whole date, I kept thinking how you wouldn’t order what she ordered off the menu or that you would probably hit my hand if I tried to steal something off your plate but then give it to me anyway. And that the movie would never have been so quiet with you and we’d probably get yelled at for giggling too much and I-” Paige pauses, dragging in a deep breath, “I definitely would’ve kissed you at the end.”

A sigh of relief escapes Azzi’s lips, “you didn’t kiss her.”

“No,” Paige confirms as she drops her forehead against Azzi’s, “but I-,” the blonde gulps nervously and Azzi can’t help the way her hand reaches up to caress the blush forming on Paige’s cheeks.

“Ask me,” she whispers.

“I really want to kiss you,” Paige confesses, voice shaking slightly, “can I kiss you?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, choosing to reply instead by pressing her lips softly against Paige’s. They move slowly at first, testing each other’s boundaries and savoring their first taste of each other. Azzi pulls the older girl onto her lap, hands firmly on Paige’s hips as the other girl clasps her own hands around Azzi’s neck. It’s a little messy and uncoordinated and Azzi thinks they might need to practice a little more to really get it right but still, it’s everything.

And Azzi just knows

She knows it then just the way she knew Tim was meant to be her dad. The way she knew Jon and José were meant to be her brothers. The way she knew she was meant to play basketball. Azzi knows that she’s meant to fall hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers.

March 2033

There are three things Azzi should do.

Push Paige away

Tell her this a bad idea

Run the fuck away

She does none of the above.

Instead Azzi kisses Paige back.

And it’s still everything. Like the sun and moon are colliding and creating something so insanely powerful; something that feels so eternal.

There’s nothing soft or slow about it as Paige presses every inch of herself into Azzi until she can feel Paige’s heartbeat as strongly as she can feel her own. It might be impossible but she swears their hearts are talking to each other, tapping out rhythms against each other’s chests that confess all the things their owners are too scared to say. And Azzi wants nothing more than to lose herself completely in the moment because Paige’s lips feel like a drug and Azzi thinks she might just be an addict in relapse.

Except to relapse, you need to have recovered. And Azzi doesn’t think she ever fully recovered from Paige.

It isn’t until she feels her back hit the edge of a desk and the sound of something crashing onto the floor infiltrates her ears, that Azzi finally comes to her senses. She tears her lips away from Paige as the older woman groans in protest, arms tightening their hold on Azzi’s waist so she can still have some semblance of control over the situation. And really Azzi knows she’s strong enough to escape Paige’s grip, could easily fight it if she wanted to. But well, she doesn’t want to. And Azzi’s tired of doing things she doesn’t want to do.

“Paige-”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘we can’t do this’, Azzi I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Paige threatens, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s.

Azzi laughs softly and she can feel Paige’s whole body relax at the sound of it and like clockwork, she feels the tension beginning to release from her own muscles, “if you kill me then we definitely can’t do this.”

“I’ll revive you after or something,” Paige says with a half-smirk.

“Or something,” Azzi rolls her eyes, “but we can’t-”

“Azzi,” Paige groans.

“We can’t do this right now and definitely not here,” Azzi amends, alluding to the fact that they’re still in Steph’s office.

Paige raises an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly, “but we can do this later? Somewhere else?”

The question lingers between them as Azzi bites her lip. She knows what this is, knows that it’s Paige putting the ball in her court. A ‘no’ would likely be the end of things and that scares her more than she’s willing to admit but she’s not quite ready to commit to a ‘yes’ yet, even if that flame of desire inside of her, the one that can only be lit by Paige, is blazing hot through her veins.

“I don’t know,” Azzi says carefully, shivering at the way Paige’s thumb is rubbing circles against her waist, the flimsy material of her shirt doing nothing to prevent the goosebumps forming on her skin, “TBD.”

“That’s not a no,” Paige says carefully, hope blossoming freely on her face.

“That’s not a yes either,” Azzi warns half-heartedly.

“But it’s not a no,” Paige presses.

“No,” Azzi admits, playing with the neckline of Paige’s shirt, “it’s not a no.”

And Azzi’s so scared of the future, scared that if she lets herself burn, she’ll incinerate everyone around her but there’s something in the way Paige smiles at her words. Something that feels a lot like a promise of i’ll be the rain that washes out the fire before you can turn us to ashes.

“I can work with that,” Paige says softly, tilting Azzi’s chin up.

“So desperate to get back into my pants Bueckers,” Azzi teases and she expects a witty remark in return but instead she’s met with nothing but sincerity.

“So desperate to get back into your life,” Paige whispers, voice cracking on the last two words.

Tears prickle against Azzi’s waterline as she stares in awe at the girl in front of her. Sometimes she thinks Paige doesn’t even know that there’s a halo of goodness sitting above her head, doesn't even know just how beautiful her soul is. Paige is stunning on the outside; it’s something no one can deny. But it’s nothing compared to how gorgeous she is on the inside, nothing compared to how kind, how humble, how forgiving Paige is.

“Why?” Azzi asks, her tone rife with heaviness.

“Why what?”

“After everything, after all this time, why would you still want to be in my life?” the tears fall harder as Azzi struggles to breathe, “I- I broke your heart. I broke us. How could you possibly want that again. How could you possibly want me again?”

Paige's eyes soften as she cups Azzi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away at the drops of water running down them, “because you’re Azzi. My Azzi. And I get it- I get that you’re not ready to be all in on this with me yet and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not completely ready either. But we can work on it right? Take it slow and see where it goes and maybe we’ll- maybe we’ll be even better this time.”

“You think so?”

“I believe so.”

Azzi presses her lips delicately against Paige’s, reveling in the way it makes Paige’s breath hitch. She pulls away faster than she would like herself and Paige chases her lips, eyes still closed.

“What was that for,” the blonde asks, slightly dazed.

“For being my Paige.”

***

Azzi taps her foot impatiently against her wooden patio as she glances at her phone clock for the umpteenth time. Paige is almost twenty minutes late to pick her and Stephie up to go to dinner at her parent’s house. The invites had technically been separate but Paige had insisted that they needed to go together because Paige didn’t want to walk into the house alone. Azzi’s not sure why Paige is nervous to see her dad and brothers again, not when she’s pretty sure they’re bursting with excitement to see the blonde whose pictures still have a permanent place on the family photo wall, but if Paige wants Azzi by her side, well she’s not going to say no. Not anymore.

It’s been a week since they’d agreed to take things slow and Azzi’s still not quite sure what exactly that means, but she thinks she likes it. She likes being able to call Paige and not having to come up with a lame excuse for why. She likes that she and Paige can take Stephie out for ice cream after Curry Camp and they don’t have to pretend they’re only tolerating each other’s presence for the little girl’s sake. She likes that they can brush their pinkies while walking and instead of jolting away, they simply just link them together. There’s boundaries of course. No sleepovers at either of their houses. No doing anything more than kissing. No kissing in front of anyone else and definitely no kissing in front of Stephie. No doing anything in front of Stephie really. And there’s still so much mountain left to climb but as long as they’re pushing up it together, Azzi doesn’t think there’s any incline steep enough to stop her from continuing up this path.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals as Paige’s car rounds the corner into Azzi’s driveway.

Paige steps out of the car, arms wide open and ready to catch Stephie as the little girl goes tumbling down the front porch, aiming straight for the blonde. Azzi’s not an artist by any means but if she was, she thinks she could paint a thousand pictures of Stephie and her Miss Buecks. It terrifies Azzi a little bit, just how perfectly Stephie fits into Paige’s side but it calms her too because there’s a part of her that’s in love with how much they love each other.

“You’re late Bueckers,” Azzi chides as she follows her daughter’s path down the patio stairs.

Paige grins, shifting Stephie on her lap as she opens the side door to her car to pull out two bouquets of flowers

“Will these make up for it?” she asks slyly as she hands the larger one, an assortment of pink flowers, to Azzi and a slightly smaller bouquet of purple hydrangeas to Stephie.

“These are so pretty Miss Buecks,” Stephie gushes before pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek left cheek and Paige beams at the compliment, “thank you Miss Buecks.”

“You took that long to get flowers?” Azzi asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, “you’re supposed to thank someone when they give you a gift.”

“Yeah Azzi,” Paige’s eyes glimmer with mirth, “thank me like Stephie thanked me. Don’t you think Mama owes me a kiss on the cheek Steph?”

Azzi narrows her eyes at the scheming pair in front of her as Stephie nods animatedly at Paige’s question, “yeah Mama you owe Miss Buecks a kiss on the cheek.”

Shaking her head, Azzi walks over to Paige taking deliberately steady steps. Slowly Azzi leans in, puckering her lips. Paige closes her eyes and Azzi winks at Stephie who’s eyes widen.

“I’m waiting,” Paige sing-songs, a self-satisfied smirk taking over her features.

And instead of the promised kiss, Azzi licks a sloppy strip down Paige’s cheek and the blonde shrieks as both Azzi and Stephie burst into laughter.

“EW AZZI GROSS,” Paige whines, hurriedly rubbing her shirt against her cheek, “is this what you’re teaching your daughter?”

“I’m teaching my daughter not to let anyone manipulate her,” Azzi says, giving Paige a careful look, “now why were you late?”

Paige grins sheepishly as she opens the door to the backseat of the door. A lavender car seat is placed on the left side of the car and Azzi feels her heart lurch with no one’s ever cared like this.

“It’s pu-ple,” Stephie claps excitedly, “is it for me?”

“Of course it is,” Paige confirms, booping Stephie’s nose before looking at Azzi, “it’s just- we uh- we always have to take your car cause it has the car seat and moving it between cars is such a hassle. So I just thought- you know- I just thought it’d be cool- useful- practical- if I had one too? And this way if you ever need me to take Stephie off you then I uh- then you don’t have to worry about me driving. I don’t- I don’t really knows much about car seats but I looked it up online before and the person at the store agreed that this is definitely the best one- like I swear it’s safe-”

She’s cut off by the feel of Azzi’s lips pressed to her cheeks.

“Thank you Paige.”

***

Just as Azzi expected, Paige merges herself back into the Fudd family with the same ease she’d first had when she’d carved out a place for herself almost a decade and a half ago. It’s a little emotional at first when Tim opens the door, a smile almost as big as him decorating his face as he pulls Paige into a hug even before she can say a word.

“Welcome home kid,” he whispers into her blonde hair and Azzi doesn’t have to see Paige’s face to know that her best friend is blinking away tears.

Guilt surges in Azzi’s stomach and she tries to swallow away the lump of i took this from her that’s blocking her throat. It had been so simple at 15 to give Paige a part of her world; Azzi hadn’t thought twice about it. And then with the snap of her fingers, she’d taken that world away. She knows her parents had never cut Paige out; hell they’d been at her wedding to some other woman -and Azzi had pushed them to go knowing Paige would need it- but it was a far cry from what they’d been. A far cry from when Paige’s schedule was a key factor while planning Fudd family summers.

“Hey,” Stephie pouts, tiny hands crossed over her small body “I thought you always gave me the first hug Pops.”

“We’ll make an exception today,” Tim says with a wink before letting Paige walk into Katie’s arms and spinning his granddaughter around, “but you’re always gonna be my favorite.”

“I better be,” Stephie threatens and the adults around her laugh.

And finally it’s Azzi's turn to be pulled into one of her dad’s patent bear hugs. She goes willingly, always at her most warmest in the arms of the man whose blood might not run through her veins, but whose love had always protected her from the cruelties of the world.

“You look really happy today sweetheart,” Tim says softly.

Azzi’s eyes flitter over her father’s shoulder to where Jon and José are embroiling Paige in a group hug with Stephie in the middle of it, screaming about finally having their “white sister” back, as Katie and José’s fiancé Tallulah roll their eyes at the group of them, and she can’t help but smile into her dad’s shirt, “I feel pretty happy today.”

***

“You cheated,” Jon yells.

“Miss Buecks does not cheat,” Stephie yells back loyally.

“Don’t get into this Stephie. You don’t know her like we do,” José glares at Paige who narrows her eyes at him, “she’s been stealing from the bank.”

“Miss Buecks does not steal,” Stephie defends again, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck from behind as the blonde presses a quick kiss against Stephie’s temple.

“It’s okay Stephie,” Paige reassures, gently swinging the little girl into her lap, “some people are just sore losers.”

“Can’t be a sore loser because I didn’t lose-” José coughs and Jon corrects himself immediately, “because we didn’t lose.”

“Y’all let it go,” Tallulah groans, leaning her head back against the sofa, “it’s literally just monopoly. Please, I'm so tired.”

“Just monopoly? JUST MONOPOLY?” José guffaws dramatically, “I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who doesn’t understand that it isn’t just monopoly Tallulah. It’s about liars and cheats and honor-”

“Miss Buecks has plenty of honor,” Stephie says stubbornly, leaning her head back against Paige’s chest.

Jon rounds on Azzi, who’s been silently watching the situation, “did you help her cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Azzi asks, glaring at her brother from where she’s been comfortable reclining on the sofa. She’d opted to be the banker instead of playing, content just handing out money to the rest of them while watching the game unfold. But really she hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone else but her daughter and Paige. Stephie didn’t quite understand the rules yet and so she was always on someone’s team. It had been a given tonight, that of course she would be with Paige. And Azzi had watched, trying not to be too obvious, with a foolish grin on her face, as her two favorite people whispered to each other, Paige listening intently to all of Stephie’s ideas whether they were good or bad.

“Oh good point,” José turns to look at Azzi too, “you’re the banker, did you help Paige cheat?”

“Mama would never cheat,” Stephie argues defiantly as Azzi pushes herself up from the sofa to send a menacing look to both of her brothers.

“I’m not going to dignify that accusation with a justification,” Azzi says, standing so she’s towering over her two brothers who are still sitting on the floor, “now clean up the game. It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime.”

They might be well into their twenties and José might be taller than her now, but they’re still not quite immune to Azzi’s wrath. Tallulah and Paige snicker as the two men, sulking at each other, obey their older sister's command without another word.

“You’ve gotta teach me how you do that,” Tallulah says, hi-fiving Azzi who smirks in response.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, “what does dig-ni-fy mean?”

“Mean she’s not gonna entertain your uncles being dumba-”

“Paige!”

“Being dumbapples,” Paige corrects and both Azzi and Stephie give her an odd look at her ridiculous attempt at saving the bad word from leaving her lips.

“Alright Stephie-bean,” Azzi says, pulling her daughter off of Paige’s lap, “it’s late enough. Off to brush your teeth you go.”

Stephie looks hesitantly between the staircase leading up to the guest bedroom -where she and Azzi normally stayed- and Paige.

“Can Miss Buecks stay with us tonight?” she asks softly, one hand bunching in Paige’s shirt as she stares up at her mother with large doe eyes, “please Mama.”

“Stephie I don’t think-” Paige begins, ready to stick to the boundaries they’d laid out for themselves and really Azzi should let her; should follow her lead really.

Except the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, “yeah she can- she can stay.”

“YAYY,” Stephie squeals, jumping into Azzi’s arms as Paige stares up at her in surprise, “thank you, thank you, thank you Mama. I’m so happy,” she swings from Azzi to Tallulah, “aunty Tully did you hear? Miss Buecks is gonna stay with us and you can make her your famous pancakes in the morning.”

“I can, can I?” Tallulah asks with a raised eyebrow as she lets Stephie and her excited chatter lead her towards the bathroom. With Jon and José both having already started towards their own rooms and Azzi’s parents fast asleep, it leaves just Paige and Azzi in the living room.

“You’re okay with me staying?” Paige asks softly, finally lifting herself from the floor and onto her feet.

Azzi scratches the back of her neck, “if- if you want to. You don’t have to. I can- I’ll explain to Stephie-”

“I want to,” Paige says, taking a cautious step towards Azzi, “but the rules?”

“This doesn’t count,” Azzi justifies and Paige smirks, taking another step towards the brunette.

“It doesn’t?”

“We said no sleeping over at each other’s places. This is my parent’s house. So technically it doesn’t count,” Azzi shrugs, trying to keep her face from breaking into a grin as Paige moves one more step closer.

“And where exactly am I sleeping?” Paige asks with a knowing grin as she loops an arm around Azzi’s waist, briefly checking to make sure no one’s around.

Azzi tilts her head, letting the grin break through, “I think Stephie would like it if you slept with us.”

“Ah well if that’s what Stephie would like,” Paige says, nodding commiseratingly.

“For Stephie’s sake,” Azzi repeats as she wraps her arm around Paige’s neck, pressing her forehead against the older girl’s and letting herself just breathe in the peace that comes with being all consumed by Paige.

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is laced with uncharacteristic vulnerability as she speaks again, “you won’t- you won’t run away again tomorrow morning will you?”

“No,” Azzi promises, gently brushing her lips against Paige’s, “I won’t run away again.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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dreamingofaizawa · 3 months ago

Text

Violent Tendencies

Sheriff! John Price x Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~

Warnings: Violence, blood, descriptions of injuries, reader is a litle unhinged, mentions of juvenile hall, mentions of mental illnesses, one suggestive line, hints at a blood kink? I think?

Word Count: 7.4k

Author's Note: Is this smut? No. Is this fluff? Also no. Is this hurt/comfort? ALSO NO. WTF IS THIS? I HAVE NO IDEA! I have no fucking clue what I've been on lately, my brain has just been tunneling while writing idk man. This got weird, idk, I've got some pent-up shit I guess. Currently self-indulging in this reader ngl. She's just like me fr. This got a way from me.

Series Masterlist

Part Two Here

Enjoy?

***

It’s a bad fucking day, you decide.

It wasn’t terrible, up until this very moment, but this is going to ruin your whole goddamn week. If you had any more energy, you might scream. Or cry. Or punch your asshole boss in his ugly mug. Your fingers twitch at your sides, knuckles itching with the urge to feel the sting of his face splitting your skin. Images flicker through your mind, blood spattered and a skull caved on the pavement, the sound of a gurgling death rattle soaked in crimson rings in your ears. In another life, you got more than three hours of sleep. In another life, the effort it would take to land a solid, satisfying punch is readily available to you.

But you don’t. Have the energy, that is. You’re drained after a long, grueling thirteen hour overnight shift at the little 24-hour diner you spend most of your time at. You’d stopped listening altogether after the first thirty seconds or so, your mind going straight to violent daydreams because anything else takes too much effort you aren’t willing to exert. It’s cold this early in the morning, not having bothered grabbing your jacket on your way in last night. Sun’s just barely coming up over the horizon, but your breath still fogs in the air. So does his. He should stop breathing.

The boss caught you as you were leaving, yanking you around to the back door where he’d begun spitting obscenities at you. Something about a broken door from a few nights ago, when an angry customer shoved it hard enough on the way out he actually busted the hinge and dented the metal handle bar. There wasn’t much you could do, outside of reporting the incident over email to the owner, then your boss, then calling the sheriff’s office. Nothing else to do, in a town as small as this one. One of the three deputies came in to look at it, did an incident report, and took a description. You knew the man, always angry, always one step from pummeling the next person on the wrong end of his warpath. Everyone knew him, really. Especially the tiny four-man police force.

If you weren’t constantly exhausted, you might be in the same boat. Maybe worse. Maybe in a padded room somewhere. Maybe on death row.

If you could focus on anything, you’d have heard the Sheriff’s pickup pull into the parking lot. If you could hear anything outside the buzzing in your head, you’d hear the crunch of gravel under thick-soled boots, heavy where they step up behind you. If you had any awareness about you, you’d watch your boss’s face drop at the sight of the town’s lawman, fixing his posture and plastering a too-wide smile onto his face.

“Sheriff Price! What brings you all the way out here this fine morning?” The words barely flicker across your consciousness. You’re still out of it. Until your boss reaches a hand out and slaps it down on your shoulder, making your entire body flinch hard, hard enough to have you stumbling backward into a brick wall of a man.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Blearily, you tilt your head back to look up at him, still unfocused but slowly coming back. After a good, long look at you, his attention returns to your boss.

“Laswell is gonna have your ass, Graves. If there’s one thing she doesn’t tolerate, it’s a damn bully.” The two have some back and forth, you can’t be bothered to pay attention when your body is starting to feel the cold seeping into your bones, limbs shaking uncontrollably. Warmth surrounds you suddenly, and you can’t help but soak in the heat as a weight settles on your shoulders. Still, between the exhaustion, stress, and the cold, you’re not feeling great. A door slams somewhere, and your vision is blocked with a different man. A bigger man, wider and sturdier. Big hands grip your shoulders as he leans down into your line of sight, blue eyes and thick mutton chop beard filling your vision.

A memory flickers, blurry and clipped, of a younger boy with those eyes. Piercing cerulean gaze cutting through the red like a hot knife through butter. He was strong then, too, all those years ago. You were reckless, back then. Your knuckles are still scarred from teeth and bone, an ache in your wrists returning every so often to remind you of the past. The good old days. Teenage years littered with blood and violence and the walls of the nearest juvenile hall. That’s where you met him the first time, the two of you locked into that fortress miles away. The two of you learned to hit the same punching bag, holding it steady while the other ripped into the canvas, to avoid punching each other. There’s a dull throb in your shoulders, that punching bag flooding your memory, the patchwork repairs it had to go through after the two of you nearly tore it in half.

You both seemed to have mellowed out, since then. You haven’t talked to him directly since you both got out of juvie a decade ago.

“You look like you’ve been better, sweetheart.” Now that the threat is gone, you’re able to think past the vermillion fog.

“Sheriff Price? What are you doing here?” He hums, tugging the thick fabric of his jacket tighter around your shoulders. Ah, that’s what’s warm. And it smells like old worn leather and tobacco, probably from the cigars he smokes. You find comfort in it.

“It’s Saturday. I’m pickin up breakfast for the boys at the station. What are you doing here, huh? I don’t usually see you working Saturdays.” Great question. What are you still doing here? Oh yes that’s right, getting cursed out by your boss. Wishing you had a hammer to smash his face in with.

“Had a long shift. Got off a half hour ago.” He flicks his wrist up, glances at the old watch with a concerned expression.

“You worked the graveyard shift?” You nod.

“Every day.” It’s not insanely fun, but it’s work you get paid well enough for, especially when the hours between 10pm and 3am are an extra five bucks an hour and nobody tends to walk in besides the odd drunk. Nights are when you’re most active, anyways. Your mother used to call you a nocturnal creature, when she was alive.

“Kate’s gonna be hearin about this.”

“You don’t need to tell her. I don’t hate it, and nobody else will do the work.” He huffs, then guides you to his truck, holding the passenger door open.

“Get in. I’ll be right back.” Usually you walk home, but right now you don’t really have it in you to decline, especially when he starts the engine and cranks the heat on. He disappears into the diner, leaving you to your devices. You can feel your body shutting down, feel your eyes falling shut. Maybe you can rest your eyes, just for a minute.

That minute turns into twenty, and you’re jolted awake when Sheriff Price shakes you by the shoulder. A glance outside shows the Sheriff’s Station. Damn, you knocked out. You didn’t even hear him open the door, let alone feel the drive.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart. You need to stop anywhere?”

“No, thank you.” You rattle off the address, though you’re sure he probably knows where every soul in this town lives by heart. Even you, who he rarely ever sees or interacts with. He walks you to your door, making sure you’re alright as you step over the welcome mat and into the house your parents left to you. The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

“You should start locking your door, sweetheart.” You shrug.

“Small town. Few visitors. Not a whole lot to feel threatened about, if I’m being honest.” Not a lot to worry about, yes. There’s the tiniest sliver of you that waits for the day someone tries something. You’ve got baseball bats and heavy mallets stashed around the house, easily accessible and collecting dust. You shuck his jacket from your shoulders, briefly mourning the loss of heat, ignoring the pang of longing that strikes through you like a thunderbolt when you lose his scent.

“Thank you for taking me home, Sheriff.”

“Just John is fine, darlin. Get some rest. You work tonight, don’t you?” Head heavy, you nod.

“7pm tonight.” That’s your usual shift. Start at 7pm, sometimes 8pm. Last night you just covered for someone, going in at 4pm instead of your normal. He nods, then he’s off. Briefly, you wonder if he ever reminisces about those days, back in juvie. The two of you like two sides of the same coin, fire on fire, unstoppable force and immovable object. They aren’t the fondest memories, but sometimes you can feel yourself flitting back to the impulses, beyond what you let your mind imagine.

Tonight when you go in, you hear the news that your boss, Phil, has been fired. No more Phil means no more screaming and swearing. No more being backed into a corner. No more dissociation when you’re on the bad end of his ire. Kate comes in, too, along with the Sheriff. Neither of which have ever been seen around the diner this time of night.

“You alone tonight?” You nod.

“I’m alone every night, Mrs. Laswell. Once I relieve the night shift, it’s just me until I tag in the morning crew at 4 in the morning.” Her whistle is low over her cherry pie slice.

“Damn. Shoulda known Graves was pulling shit like this.” You shrug from behind the counter.

“I don’t mind. I’m a night owl anyways. ‘Sides, it’s not like there’s a whole lot for me to be worried about around these parts.” John clears his throat then, grabbing your attention.

“That’s actually why we’re here, darlin. A few of your coworkers were here when Graves was let go, and he wasn’t happy. According to them, he was especially cross with you. Figured you should know about it, and we’re going to stick around for the night to make sure nothing happens.” Christ.

“Phil’s got anger management problems, sure, but I really don’t see a world where he’d actually do anything except cry wolf. He’s like a chihuahua, all bark and no bite.” Kate coughs through her laugh, John is less amused.

“Sometimes people do crazy things when they’re angry and drunk, and Graves is a regular at the bar a few blocks down. The man just lost his job and associates it with you. I’d rather not take that chance.” That’s a fair point. Not like you couldn’t just shoot him, though.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know how to use that.” You hook your thumb over your shoulder, pointing at the double–barreled shotgun mounted on the wall. There’s a box of buckshot in a locked drawer, and the keys are on you at all times, passed between the leads throughout the day. John grunts, nods roughly.

“It does. Still, we’ll be around tonight.” That’s just fine by you. They’ll probably leave in a few hours.

They don’t leave in a few hours. Both of them stick around and make conversation with you while you clean through your entire shift. Phil doesn’t show up, but you hadn’t expected him to. Coward. John drives you home again, telling you to lock your door. You don’t.

That’s how the next week or so develops. Every night you greet either the Sheriff or one of the Deputies, get them a plate or a pie and clean through your shift. Johnny’s a chatterbox, really keeps the conversation going with his quick wit and endless babbling. Gaz, whose real name is actually Kyle, is less bubbly but still keeps light conversation. Simon’s like a damn ghost. He doesn’t speak, hell you aren’t even sure if he breathes under that black bandana he keeps over his face and the black cowboy hat he never takes off. You could mistake him for an outlaw in an old western if you thought about it hard enough. They all drive you home at the end of your shift, choosing to ignore your protests with the same answer: Sheriff’s orders. Your sigh goes ignored, too, and you generally lack the energy to do anything but accept.

John comes in every other night, too. Most times he’s alone, keeping you company when you’re alone. Being alone together isn’t terrible.

“This is what you do every night? Wait around and clean?” You nod from your spot on the floor where you scrub the baseboards you’d missed yesterday.

“Nobody else does this kind of work throughout the day. Last time I skipped over a task it got bad. Sometimes I wonder if the whole place would go down in flames if I weren’t here.” You know it’s not the best situation. If the shop falls apart when one person doesn’t do something, then the place was doomed from the beginning. But it keeps you busy, keeps the itch down.

“I find it hard to believe they can’t do this shit.”

“Won’t,” you correct, “They won’t. It’s not that they can’t, the whole lot is fully capable. I love most of my coworkers like family, even if I don’t see them very often, but most of them just won’t get down and dirty to scrub the grease from the grout.” His eyebrow lifts, and you ignore the strange glint in his eyes in favor of returning to your task, scrubbing the corners where wall meets floor with a brush and grout-safe cleaner.

He’s always asking you things, when he comes in. How often you actually cook this late at night, if at all. The menu reduces once you’re alone, all simple things you don’t need to make in big batches. Burgers, fries, pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, lunch sandwiches. The pasta dishes get shut down, just because the sauce morning crew preps tends to run out just after 6pm. Sometimes you’ll have leftover pies from earlier in the day, but all the pastries are delivered from the bakery down the street. He asks what you do on your breaks. You usually whip up a small meal for yourself, and eat at the counter to be able to watch the diner. It’s pretty rare you get anyone coming in during your allotted hour of mealtime.

“You look tired tonight, darlin.” It’s good to know you look how you feel. He’s at the counter, elbow leaning over his mug of coffee. Two raw sugars, no cream. You’ve found a lull in your cleaning frenzy, just having finished a task and looking for the next, leaning directly across from him while he asks his questions.

“I’m always tired, John.” Insomnia is a bitch, truly. Sleep is a battle every day, some days more than others.

“Why’s that?” Shrugging seems to be your default.

“Insomnia. Most days I’m lucky if I get more than six hours.” Worry flickers across his face, but only briefly.

“That’s not good, love.” Again, you shrug.

“That’s life for me. Medication only does so much. Being here every day helps, keeps me on a schedule I can’t deviate from. I didn’t have the energy to work days, dealing with customers had me drained, so I took nights. It works for me.” His nod is heavy, letting the weight of his head tug it down. He’s got that look, the one that says he’s seen it before. You don’t doubt he has. You don’t tell him how dealing with some people makes your blood boil. You don’t mention that, if given the chance, you’d pummel anyone stupid enough to grate on your nerves. Part of you thinks he already knows, and you wouldn’t need to tell him anyway. The voice of a therapist from long ago says you have anger issues. It’s a voice you choose to ignore.

“You didn’t have insomnia back in juvie.” Your spine prickles. He remembers you, there.

“It came after. After I learned to curb the aggressive tendencies.” After you learned to bottle it all up and shove it away, trapped in your head and never expressed. You think, without an outlet, all that leftover energy made you restless. That’s not what the therapist says, though. She says it’s something to do with the depression. You can’t be arsed to remember the intricacies of it all.

“I liked the violent streak you had.” It almost makes you laugh. There’s a small flame in your chest at the notion he'd find your volatile nature amusing.

“The first time we met, I broke your nose for stealing my punching bag.” His smile is lazy, fond.

“Yeah you did. Gave me a shiner, too.” You remember that vividly. The way he’d shoved you out of his path, taking the bag for himself with a ‘get lost’ thrown over his shoulder. He’d been there a month longer than you, and had laid claim on the damn thing apparently. You hit him, then, square in the nose, and when he fell on his ass you got on top of him and didn’t stop throwing punches until he grabbed your wrists and shoved you off. The pummeling match went on for a full, glorious minute, blood flying and fists colliding. It’s a miracle you both dodged and blocked each other enough to avoid losing a tooth, but you came out of it with a black eye, a split lip, and a fractured collarbone. You think you fell in love with him, when you both were yanked apart by officers and got a good, long look at each other. Blood pouring down his neck and shirt, eye starting to swell shut, nose crooked, knuckles bleeding and torn. But those eyes never lost their shine, never faded into dissociation, always sharp and gleaming

“It’s a miracle we ever learned to share the bag.”

“No miracle, sweetheart. 17-year-old John Price got a hard-on holding that bag while you ripped it to shreds.” The revelation has you frozen solid. You can’t pry your eyes from his gaze, locked onto the tension holding the two of you so still your breathing stops. Blood rushes in your ears, and that itch is back tenfold, your arms throbbing, wrists tense, back coiled. Your muscles aren’t what they used to be, having kept yourself under wraps for so long, not even daring to go to the tiny gym in town to hit the bag there since you’d left the hall. Still, they remember.

The bell on the diner door chimes, jolting you from your trance. John smiles to himself.

The next time he’s in, it’s like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t admit to finding you hot back in juvie, like he hadn’t just turned your head inside out. He ignores it. So you do, too. It’s what you’re good at, ignoring the urges. Indulgence only ever in your mind.

“Are you going to be alright, Sheriff?” Confusion etches across his features, head tilting just so.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you never used to be around this late. Most places are closed, and I’ve never seen you in here until recently. As far as I know, you’re a daytime person. And judging by your fourth cup of coffee in two hours, I’d say you’re running on fumes.” It’s only midnight, there’s still four hours left in your shift. He doesn’t show the exhaustion, though, eyes alert and bright, those cerulean blues striking as always. This close you can see the flecks of deep sapphire.

“I��ll be alright, sweetheart. I’m here to watch over you.” He’s still hanging onto that, huh? You’re sure he knows you can take care of yourself.

“Honestly John, it’s been over two weeks. He’s probably moved on with his life. As pathetic as he is, I doubt he still poses any kind of threat.” It’s a shame, really, you just wanted one reason to beat him senseless. It’s his turn to shrug, eyeing you with something serious in his eyes.

“Can’t be too careful. Some people will wait years to settle a score, no matter how shallow it’s been carved in the pavement.” He says it like he’s seen the work of someone like that, been on the brunt end of it and come out the other side a different man. A headline from a few years back flashes in your mind, the local news covering something big you never looked into, and the name John Price was in that same article. That was before he became sheriff, when he was out in a different town doing who knows what. Maybe he’s a little paranoid.

You’ll let him stay, let his deputies all keep a close eye on you for as long as he needs to assuage his anxieties.

Simon’s here tonight, silent, haunting, as he always is. He doesn’t watch you, intent on studying the intricacies of the diner, committing it to memory. He’s been in here enough he should already have the entire floor plan memorized. In an attempt to keep him from dying of boredom, you offer to make him something to eat. His voice is rough, deep, carries a little too loudly across the empty diner but you don’t pay it any mind.

“What do you have?” You rattle off your list, burgers and fries and most breakfast foods. You didn’t pin him as a french toast guy.

“Eggs? Bacon?”

“Sunny side. Extra crispy.” It’s easy enough. Two thick slices of french toast sat on a platter, two large eggs, sunny-side-up, and a few of the thicker slices of bacon you can find, fried extra crispy, a little char on the edges. You call out to him from your station at the stove.

“You want powdered sugar on the french toast?”

“No, thanks.” That’s a damn shame. His loss, you suppose. You take the plate out to him with a glass bottle of maple syrup. You nearly jump out of your skin when he tugs the bandana off his face, choosing to turn away like he’d need privacy. It’s weird, his face being exposed. He groans at the first bite, and satisfaction rips through you. It’s always nice knowing people enjoy the food you make, even if people are few and far between. People you can tolerate, that is.

“Nobody makes bacon like this. Even the mornings Price brings food from here, it’s not this good. What the hell kind of crack cocaine did you put in the bacon?” A laugh claws from your throat, a bursting thing you can’t help but let out. When he’s not brooding, Simon’s a comic.

“No cocaine, swear it. I leave the grease over it extra long, it almost deep-fries. Then sear it with high heat for the char.” He eats the plate like he’s never eaten before and will never eat again. Damn. You suppose, being as big as he is, he must burn through calories like there’s no tomorrow. After the meal he opens up a lot, much more than he ever had in the last two weeks. He’s funny as all hell when he wants to be, puns and clever phrases always on the tip of his tongue. It’s always delivered dry, like he doesn’t find it funny at all, but you can’t help but notice the little smirk on his face when you snort out another laugh from where you scrub the tile.

Part of you hates that you hadn’t found this side of Simon sooner. Maybe then he’d be less grumpy.

Another thing you don’t find out until tonight, is that Phillip Graves is more of a threat than you’d bargained for.

He waits until Simon pulls off down the road to make his move. If it weren’t for the old bones of the house, constantly moving and creaking, you’d have been a goner. Floorboards creak from behind you as you shut the front door, and all the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. Knuckles itch, wrists throb, back coils tight.. This is it. The bat under the lamp stand fits well in your hands, and you don’t even wait to see who’s dared to intrude, just turn and swing. The blow is blocked with an arm, a shout and wince echoing from your former boss. He reorients, and you swing again. And again. And again, until he can’t keep up and block anymore. Red colored glasses tint your vision. Something shatters, but you don’t pay it any mind, not when the fog crawls over your head, not when you’ve got something to pulverize. When he finds an opening, he tries to grab the bat, but you yank it and jab it right into his stomach. You need to get out of here. He's still moving. You’re exhausted, you aren’t hitting hard enough.

He keels over, thrown off balance enough for you to sprint up to your bedroom and barricade the door. You’re smart enough to know he can overpower you, especially considering not a single one of your blows managed to topple him. You can hear him shouting obscenities, calling you every colorful name in the book, and he’s at the door trying to knock it down. Thank fuck your dad was the town’s carpenter. Even in a house as old as this one, it’s sturdier than most of the newer construction. Still, you don’t have all the time in the world here.

Your heart is in your ears as you scramble around the room, punching in the code for the safe where you keep your dad’s old revolver and the box of bullets. It’s loaded as Graves shouts and kicks the door, and you stand in the furthest corner facing the door, gun in hand. Surprisingly, you hadn’t bothered to take anything off in the scuffle, so your bag and your phone are still on you. You call the station.

“Sheriff’s station, what can I do for ya?” That’s John’s voice. An especially hard hit on the door has it rattling and you let out a squeak.

“Hello? What’s happening?” His tone has grown serious, and it snaps you into gear. Shakily, you find the energy to speak, find your voice in the fading rage and rising fear. You’re an animal, backed into a corner.

“J-john he’s here. Graves he’s,” the door frame starts to creak and splinter, and you yelp, “he’s in the house!” There’s a curse and a couple shouts on the other end.

“Stay there, we’re on our way. Get somewhere safe.” Then he’s gone, and you’re alone. Graves shouts from the door, banging a fist as if knocking was going to let him in.

“Come on, missy. You’ve got some nerve, gettin me fired then gettin all buddy-buddy with the Sheriff.” His words are slurred, he’s definitely drunk. But no less of a threat.

“I didn’t even do anything! You got fired cause you’re a dick!” The anger rears its head through the fear and adrenaline. It’s making you steady yourself, your heart erratic in your chest.

“Fuckin cunt. Shoulda fired you a long time ago. Laswell’s a bitch that doesn’t know what she’s lost gettin rid of me. Shoulda got rid of you.” What a fucking nut case. When you don’t answer this time, he throws his weight against the door.

“Let me in, little missy.” You have half a mind to fire a warning shot through the door, or five, regardless of whether it’ll hit or not, but you’d be giving yourself away. He doesn’t know you’ve got a gun, and he clearly doesn’t have one or he’d have used it by now. There’s every chance you fire a shot, miss, and he takes off. An involuntary scream crawls up your throat when one of the door panels breaks through, a fist coming through and reaching around to the handle. It’s clumsy, the way he flails around for it, but he manages to unlock it. Not that he can get though now, not with the dresser lodged up against the door, tucked against the uneven floorboards to anchor it.

“Fuck, you little bitch! I’m coming in sooner or later! You got nowhere to go!” He’s right. The adrenaline alone isn’t enough to keep you alive, throwing weak punches never helped anyone. But all you need to do is hold out until John gets here. He’s furiously trying to widen the hole he made in the door, chipping away at it until he’s got his whole shoulder through in an attempt to move the dresser. In his drunken state, he seems to be ignoring the splinters shredding his skin through the thin flannel he’s wearing. Suddenly you hear a siren, the telltale noise of the Sheriff’s truck barreling down the street, and Graves stills with a curse, his shoulder still embedded in the door, his entire arm on your side of the wood. In some insane stroke of luck, he tries to pull out and gets stuck on an especially thick scrap, digging sharp into his shoulder, drawing blood when he tries again.

This is the one shot you’ve got.

You’re on him in a split second, grabbing his hand while he’s distracted and twisting his wrist painfully enough to have him screeching out expletives. But he’s strong, and you don’t think you can hold him long enough for John to get up here. The sirens are still a few houses down at least. If you’re not careful, Graves is gonna grab you and he won’t care how he shreds his arm if he can get to you. The only other thing you have is the revolver, and you can’t know what you’ll hit on the other side. But you know what you’ll hit on this side. With little other choice, you yank his arm as hard as you can and press the barrel right up against his forearm. His arm goes limp, and you hold fast as he stops tugging.

“You move at all, damn it all to the fiery pits of hell I’ll blow your goddamn arm off your body Phil.” You can hear his breathing pick up, the little twinge of fear in his voice. It sends a thrill down your spine.

“You wouldn’t dare. You ain’t got the nerve.” You pull the hammer back, rest the length of the barrel over his arm to point the business end at the wall and pull the trigger. He jumps, screams just a little, before he realizes he hasn’t been shot. Yet.

“That was the only warning shot you’re getting.” He’s still, then, when you reorient the end to pin his arm. He flinches, but that’s all he dares to move. You hear it, then, the front door slamming open and shouting through the house. Heavy boots stomp their way through the house, more than one pair, and John’s voice comes through, rage carrying it enough you can feel the baritone through your chest.

“Graves!”

“Here! Upstairs, he’s stuck in the door!” You yell through the house, and you can hear them coming up like a stampede, stopping on the other side of the door. With Graves stuck as he is, John’s attention is quickly on you, calling through the door.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Are you shot?”

“No, I’m fine. It was a warning shot, I’ve got a revolver.” There’s a small curse on the other side, and you decide it’s best you put the gun away. It’s unloaded, the chamber cleared, and locked away in its proper place in the safe while John and whoever else he’d brought, probably Simon, works to get him unstuck. He’s towed off somewhere, and between your own fading adrenaline and climbing exhaustion, you manage to move the dresser enough to yank open the splintering door. John is there, two big hands on your shoulders and leaning down to look you in the eyes. His own baby blues flutter over your form, checking you over for anything amiss.

“You alright, darlin?” With everything catching up to you, you’re a bit fried, and you’re trembling where you stand. He yanks you in, wrapping his arms tight around you and all you have the energy to do is shake and weep. Rage and fear and exhaustion, all pouring out. Rough fingers dig into your scalp, a big hand rubs across your back, grounding you while you sob until your body is slumping into his.

“Alright, there you are. You alright to come down to the station?” Not really, but you know you have to go and give a statement, especially now while everything’s fresh. Besides, you don’t know if you can actually sleep despite the exhaustion. So you nod, and let John herd you into his pickup. All the deputies are already there when you arrive, and Graves is in one of the two cells, bandages and stitches covering his arms and face. He’s got a swollen eye, cheekbone already purpling, and his left arm is in a full cast. At least you did some damage.

Part of you feels for the guy, but that gets overlooked when he sticks his head in the spaces between the bars and sneers at you.

“This ain’t over.” Simon reaches through the bars and grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward to whack his head on the bars. It’s jarring, and John tells him to cool it, but you nearly laugh at the state Graves is in.

“Somethin funny, darlin?” John asks, stepping behind his desk to get the paperwork started. You find some of your courage, you think, or maybe the exhaustion has doused all your common sense and fired your nerves, but you step toward the cage. When Graves lunges for you, you stay just out of his reach. Simon steps forward first, Kyle and Johnny not far behind, but you hold a hand out to keep them back. He’s mine.

“It’s fine, he can’t touch me. He’s trying to be threatening but…I’m out here. And he’s in there.” You look him in the eyes when you say it, even though you’re talking like he isn’t even in the room. You can see the anger take over, a vein bulging so far out in his neck it might just burst. Now here, in the light, you can actually see the damage you’d done. There’s a cut stitched through his eyebrow, the swelling tugging at the sutures. He couldn’t block everything with his hand, that’s for damn sure. There’s blood seeping through the bandages on his right arm, and his wrist is wrapped tight. Pride swells in you, you must have sprained it with how badly you twisted it.

“You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done, little bitch.” At that, you really laugh, out loud, in his face.

“See, here’s the thing, Phillip. I haven’t done jack shit and you know it. But you? You’ve been nothing but a self-serving, hypocritical, micro-managing, bullshit-spewing, no-good, rotten piece of horse shit who only cares about intimidating the women that work under him for some sort of power grab to compensate for the shrimp you’ve got between your legs.” You can hear blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline coming back as you finally let out the years of pent-up rage you’ve got toward this guy.

“Not a single human being on this damn planet would touch you romantically or sexually with a ten-foot pole even if their lives depended on it, and instead of trying to be a decent human being you’ve decided to make that everyone’s problem.” You’ve leaned in, just a little, and he reaches for you again through the bars. But this time you’re ready, your vision sharp and your reaction time quick. It’s his bandaged wrist he reaches for you with, but it doesn’t really matter, not when you force his palm down in a 90-degree angle and push his arm so the bar digs into the divot behind his shoulder socket, his chest and face squished against the bars of his rat cage.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the Sheriff stand slowly from his desk, and the three deputies step just a smidge closer to you. Whether for your safety, or Graves’, it doesn’t matter, but you need to make this quick.

“It wouldn’t even be hard, Graves. Just a little push and your shoulder is coming right out of the socket.” He’s trembling, you can feel it, with the exertion he’s using to attempt to get out. He’s right where you want him though, no amount of significant movement will result in anything less than excruciating pain and a dislocated something. When you lean just a little, he’s crying out.

“Fuck! You’re a crazy bitch! Let me go!” The interaction has made your vision go so sharp you can’t really see anything outside of Graves’ body, his arm bent at an awkward angle where you hold it hostage, his face screwed up from the pain and a few small tears falling down to his neck. If you focus hard enough, you can feel yourself shaking, vibrating, with the adrenaline rush. For a split second, you consider dislocating his shoulder for the hell of it, consider pushing until you feel it pop right out for all the torment he’s given you. John’s large, warm hands come to your shoulders, thick fingers digging gently into the muscles you’re only now realizing are coiled tight like a cobra. You can smell him, cigar smoke and leather, men’s deodorant and the crisp morning air. His voice is rough in your ear, breath hot on your neck when he leans down.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” One of his hands drops to your stomach, right below your ribcage, and he pushes down to cage you against his body. The action pushes the breath from you, and when he lets up you breathe it right back in.

“There you go. Relax. Let him go now, don’t waste your energy.” His other hand comes up and grabs your wrist gently, pressing a rough thumb into the tendons in your wrist, and the moment you let your grip lax, Graves yanks his hand from you and stumbles back into the furthest corner of the cell.

“Good girl.” If you were a little less rattled, if your mind were a little less frayed, you wouldn’t preen at the praise. And if you had any mind left you’d pull away from the kiss pressed into your temple, not melt into it.

With Graves gone silent, the paperwork gets done in about twenty minutes. You relay the events of the day; when you got home, when he’d attacked, what you’d done to defend yourself. Your nerves are shot, your head is pounding, and the sun shining in through the window is making the space between your eyes hurt. But it’s done, and John drives you home after calling Kate and explaining the situation. Whatever happens with the diner, it’s not your business or your problem for the next four days, seeing as she’s ordered you to take time off and recover.

Stepping into your house is jarring, to say the least. The entryway is covered in shards of ceramic, the lamp atop it having shattered in the scuffle. The carpet is rumpled from where Graves stumbled over it. The lamp’s cord had been ripped from the wall, and the outlet cover had come with it, the old plastic brittle and fragile. You’ve gotta clean this up. John comes up behind you, pressing his chest into your back.

“Get to bed, darlin. You can clean it later.” You shake your head.

“I won’t be able to sleep yet. Might as well get this out the way.” He huffs, but you know he’s not going to force you into bed. Instead, he helps you clean. The carpet is picked up and dusted off outside while you sweep around the table the lamp used to sit on, clearing most of the debris with the broom. There’s probably a few miniscule shards around, so you take a vacuum over the hardwood then a damp microfiber cloth to really make sure you get it all. John says he can help replace the outlet cover, but you know how to do it. You’ll just have to go buy a new one later.

The bedroom is another story completely. The door is ruined, a hole splintering near the handle. When you try to swing it, you find it’s only hanging by one hinge. You’ll have to replace the whole door, but thankfully the hinges themselves only popped free and didn’t tear from the frame. John makes quick work of the door, popping the last hinge and taking the whole thing out to his pickup. Somewhere in your brain, you note that he’s still damn strong. He helps return the dresser to its original place, and you clean up the splintered wood from the floor and carpet. By the time everything’s done and dusted, you can feel the exhaustion tugging your body down.

“Get some sleep now, sweetheart. After a day like today you need the rest.” You hum, nod, but you don’t move toward the bed. Paranoia crawls over your skin like mites, as you glare at the empty doorway. No door, no barrier. Your skin begins to itch. John steps toward you and rests his hand on your shoulder, dragging his rough palm up to hold your neck and jaw.

“He can’t get you. You saw him down at the station, he’s not getting past the boys.” Deep breaths, you remind yourself. Breathe. Still, your fingers twitch. John doesn’t stop you when you take off down the stairs, only to watch you lock and deadbolt the front door, then yank on it as hard as you can. You do the same for the kitchen door, and without a deadbolt you wedge the step stool beneath the handle. The windows are next. Locking and jiggling them to make sure they don’t shimmy open. John only watches you as you bounce around the house, securing the perimeter like you’re in some kind of a fortress. When you’re done, he drags you up to your bedroom again.

“Better?” When you nod, your eyes droop and threaten to close on you for good. You can feel yourself sway on your feet, and John catches you before you can stumble and fall, gently pushing you back onto the bed.

“Now sleep.” You almost nod off, but then realize something.

“Wait, I have to let you out. I just locked you in here.” He shushes you, planting a hand on your chest and holding you down when you try to get up.

“None of that. I’m staying here.”

“You are?” Why would he do that?

“Graves is locked up tight, but you clearly don’t feel safe in your own home. I’m staying for your peace of mind. And mine, knowing you’ve gone to bed.” Huh. You suppose that’s reason enough. You don’t dwell on it, can’t dwell on it, when your body feels so heavy. Sleep pulls you under the moment you curl up on the sheets.

Back in the station, the three deputies share a knowing look. Graves is still in his corner, brooding. The tension from your little outburst lingers in the air, the anger having dissipated but the memory fresh. Johnny speaks first.

“She’s just fuckin’ like ‘im, eh?” Simon snorts.

“I’ll say. You think he’d have let her dislocate his shoulder?” It’s a rhetorical question. Kyle chuckles from his perch against the wall.

“I think he wanted her to do it. I think if he weren’t trying to keep her from dealing with the legalities of it, he’d have let her do that and more, and he’d have helped.” The three nod in agreement, a rare sight. Simon’s laughing to himself again.

“Two angry peas in a violent little pod, they are. Both of ‘em ready to strike on a hairpin trigger. John won’t be able to stay the bigger man for long.” Kyle shakes his head.

“In another life, those two rule a damn kingdom with iron fists and velvet gloves. If he has any say in the matter, she’ll be learning how to fight proper soon. When do you think he’ll finally get off his ass and ask her on a date?” Johnny cackles, full-chested.

“Date? John Price doesn’t ask women on dates. He’s gonna swindle his way into her life and one day she’ll look at the ring on her finger and not know when he’d slipped it on ‘er.”

#john price #john price x reader #john price fanfiction #captain price #john price cod #captain john price

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paracosm-draw · 2 months ago

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omg PLEASE do "a surprise kiss during laughter, when one just can’t help it anymore and finally caves", i need silly fluff in my life

I'm back from my 48h of hell (night shifts at the hospital) and I finally slept enough to be able to answer all the asks !

I've got two asks for this prompt, so here we go nonnies ☀️ It starts with a little bit of angst but don't worry it has a very happy ending 😌 Hope you'll like it 💕

---

The weeks after the death of the Duchess Kryze had been the longest ones Anakin had had to endure in a while. Time seemed to stretch on and on until he was feeling worn out even though he wasn't the one in mourning. In the short time he had met Satine, he had appreciated her for her sense of duty, her wit rivaling Obi-Wan’s and the fact that she wasn’t afraid to take controversial but necessary decisions in order to act for her people instead of getting bogged down in endless, pointless debates. He appreciated her but he didn't know her. Not like Obi-Wan did.

Anakin knew that he was grieving. In his own way and at his own pace. He wouldn't admit it and he wouldn’t talk about it - not that Anakin knew how to approach the delicate subject - but he was grieving. He was grieving a long-time friend and a confidant in the eyes of the majority of people. For Anakin, he was also grieving a more secret, more intimate thing he kept carefully locked inside of his heart, a thing Anakin could only guess from rare and meager clues, since he didn’t have the key to said heart.

At first, he had tried to deal with the situation like he had when he had lost his mother. Mourning was an universal experience, after all. People probably grieved all the same, he thought. He remembered how angry he’d been at the time. How it had led to one of the worst decisions of his life. How the anger hadn’t subsided after that, but seeped deeper inside of his bones, left to rot, dormant but never gone. He had thought then, that Obi-Wan might be angry too.

It turned out Obi-Wan wasn't angry. He was sad and nostalgic, which was worse. Worse because Anakin had no clue about how to deal with that, with something other than anger, with something that didn’t push him to action but rather kept him still. He had no idea about what Obi-Wan needed. Was it comfort ? Was it loneliness ? Was it something else ? Someone else ? Someone who knew exactly what words to say, what level of physical touch to use, when to take him out and when to leave him in peace ? Someone who knew how to bring back to life the beloved spark that had quietly died down in Obi-Wan's eyes ?

Someone who was not Anakin. Anakin who didn’t know what to say and how to comfort and when to let go. Anakin who was too much or never enough, and who wanted nothing more than to take his pain away and to make it his own, to curl up around Obi-Wan like a loyal tooka and stay there until his heart unbroke on its own.

So that's what he decided to do. He stayed there, by his side. Awkwardly, most of the time. Refusing mission after mission to keep an eye on him and inventing excuses after excuses when Obi-Wan asked him about it. He stayed and watched, willing to continue doing so until Obi-Wan got annoyed and sent him off. It hadn’t happened yet so Anakin kept watching. Maybe a little too much-

“Anakin, be caref-”

Obi-Wan's exclamation got lost in the impact that rattled through Anakin’s skull as he walked straight into a pole, in the middle of Coruscant’s crowded streets. The shock sent him down on his butt as an acute wave of pain traveled from his forehead to the back of his neck, making his vision blur and his ears ring for a second.

“Oh dear, are you alright ?!”

Obi-Wan had crouched next to him, a supporting hand on his shoulder. Anakin blinked and turned his head to him, his forehead pounding unpleasantly.

“Uh…”

He didn't know what was the most humiliating, to be honest. The fact that he didn’t see that pole because he was - once again - too busy staring at Obi-Wan, the obvious bump slowly starting to grow on his forehead or the fact that Obi-Wan was… laughing ? Or trying not to, at least. But the way his eyes crinkled on the corners and the effort he put on biting his lips betrayed him. Not the reaction Anakin expected. He tilted his head on the side, confused and clearly dumbstruck, and that exact thing was what seemed to be the last straw for Obi-Wan Kenobi, poised and respectable Master Jedi in mourning.

He burst out laughing. Not the polite and discrete laugh he gave politicians with his hand above his mouth, not the occasional chuckles he graced Anakin when he did or said something funny, but a true, bright laugh that came right from his chest, head thrown back and teeth in display. His whole body shook with the strength of it, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes before spilling along his cheeks, a blush spreading from the tip of his ears to the collar of his tabard. He laughed like he was unable to stop and Anakin stared, bewildered, all pain and humiliation forgotten in favor of absolute awe.

He didn’t remember when he’d seen Obi-Wan laugh like that for the last time. If he even had. But from now on it would be his number one priority. Obi-Wan looked… free, like that. Younger, unburdened, happy. Gorgeous. Something violent stirred in Anakin's chest, something he had spent years trying to tame and bury. To forget. Something which now ferociously clawed at the inside of his ribcage to get out, drawn by that laugh that sounded like a miracle.

"I'm- I'm sorry, A- Anakin. It's just-" Obi-Wan hiccupped, then doubled over with laughter, teeth flashing and tears spilling.

The beast in Anakin's chest roared. He leaned forward, his hands finding the strong lines of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and stole the marvelous sound directly from his source. He wasn’t thinking, not really, rather acting on instinct. Obi-Wan stopped laughing with a surprised gasp, which was the opposite of what Anakin was trying to achieve, really. He froze but didn’t try to push him away, so Anakin pressed his lips tighter against his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, heart beating wildly in his chest.

A lifetime might have passed, or probably just the blink of an eye, when Obi-Wan moved again, a gentle hand cupping Anakin’s jaw. His mouth moved against his own, not to kiss back but to pronounce a little word that meant everything for Anakin when it came from Obi-Wan. His name. Uncertain. Questioning.

“Anakin…”

The warmth of his breath tingled Anakin’s lips, who opened his mouth to let out his own, short and shaky. Their mouths brushed, soft and parted, and Anakin pushed forward to fit them together again. The fingers on his jaw strengthened, not to stop him but to pull him closer, he realized in wonder when lips pressed back against his own. The hand on his face traveled to the back of his neck, curling around the base of his hair and holding him tight. Anakin sighed softly against the touch, moving his own hand to cup the side of Obi-Wan’s face, fingers grazing against the edge of his beard as their mouths tentatively discovered each other.

It feels right, was the first thought crossing Anakin’s mind. The way they fitted together, the taste of his own spit on Obi-Wan’s lips, the gentle burn of his mustache against his mouth, the sweet noises they drew from each other. More than that, the way their dormant bond had ignited alive at the faintest brush of their lips, the way their Force signatures had curled up against each other, so tightly entangled they couldn't tell where Anakin’s was starting and where Obi-Wan's was ending. The synchronization of their pulse. The light trembling of their bodies. The fact that they stayed intertwined after breaking the kiss, breathing in each other’s space like it was the only source of oxygen.

Anakin slipped his fingers behind Obi-Wan’s ears, pressing his forehead against his as his thumb gently caressed his cheekbone.

“I want to hear you laugh like that again.” He murmured.

Obi-Wan let out a chopped breath which sounded suspiciously like a disbelieving chuckle.

“Even at the expense of your pretty head ?”

“I would gladly hit my head on every pole I see, if it’s what it takes.” Anakin answered fiercely, maybe a little too much, but he was rewarded with a laugh. Another. He preciously bottled it in a corner of his mind.

“Ridiculous boy.” Obi-Wan shook his head fondly and brushed the tip of his fingers around the bump ornating his forehead. “You didn’t have to go to such extremes, you know ? I’d rather you keep that lovely face of yours unharmed.”

Anakin shrugged, but before he got the chance to think about a clever answer, Obi-Wan leaned in and pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, making his mind go blank. Again.

“We should pay a visit to the Halls of Healing, just to make sure you don't have a concussion.” Obi-Wan decided.

“Uh- Yeah, sure.” Anakin answered dumbly, feeling strangely dizzy and rather hot all of the sudden.

“Great.” Obi-Wan grinned. He gently placed another kiss on his temple before grabbing his arm to help him get up. “Let’s go, before you realize.”

Realize what, Anakin didn’t really know. But he would gladly follow Obi-Wan to the depths of Hell if he kept kissing him like that.

#ehehe obi wan has discovered a very dangerous power #thanks for the ask!#obikin #obikin fic #kiss prompts #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #anakin x obi wan #obi wan x anakin #star wars fic #star wars

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myfeetrcolddd · 1 year ago

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Under the mistletoe

"And you're sure it'll only stop the two of them?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowed and skeptical of the curly haired Gryffindor.

"Yes, Malfoy, I'm sure." Hermione replied, annoyed at the Slytherin boys skeptics.

(✿◕‿◕✿)

Theodore Nott and Y/N L/N were completely oblivious and deep in denial. The amount of times the two gushed to their respective friends about something the other did was far too many.

It was obvious that they liked each other. Everyone knew, but them it seemed, and it was unbearable. Especially for their friends who couldn't take the constant talks about how much one liked the other but 'It would never happen because he's way out of my league.' or 'She deserves better than me.'

So Harry did the unspeakable, he went and talked to Draco. The two groups came up with a plan.

It was the holidays, Theo and Y/n were already practically a couple, doing things together that no normal friends would, all they weren't doing was kissing or shagging.

The two groups knew there was no way of really forcing them to confess, but if they could get the two to kiss then they'd have to confront the obvious attraction they felt for the other, and surely they wouldn't be able to deny the face that the other liked them.

It was nearly fool proof. The just had to find a way to execute it.

"Mistletoe!" Blaise shouted, grinning as he ran into the room of requirement, the official meeting place for operation Kiss, as Blaise suggested, though no one else wanted to call it that there was no other options.

"What're you on about." Ron said, frowning.

"Mistletoe!" Blaise repeated, still grinning like a madman as he held up the tiny bundle of mistletoe, showing it to everyone in the room.

"Yeah, we get it, mistletoe." Mattheo mocked, "What about it?"

"This," He waved the thing around in his friends face, "Is how we get them to kiss!"

"Mate..." Harry said slowly, "Hate to break it to you, but they've gone under mistletoe before, the completely ignore it. Like literally everyone else does."

"Yeah, I know that." Blaise says, annoyed by the lack of enthusiasm in the room, "But what if we found a way that forced them to not ignore it!" He waited for someone to interrupt him, to say it was a dumb idea, but when no one didn't he went on, "Hear me out, what if when they both walked under it it somehow kept them there! So that they wouldn't be able to leave that spot until they kissed!"

Everyone stared at him, confused but intrigued.

"And how would we do that?"

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Well I don't know." He sassed, "I came up with the idea, you all can figure out how to do it." He huffed as he dropped himself onto one of the many sofas in the room.

As if they were all thinking the same thing they all turned towards Hermione, who looked startled by the attention, "I don't know why you're all looking at me." She frowned.

"Well you're the smartest one here..." Enzo said and the girl pressed her lips into a thin line before she rolled her eyes.

"Well, there probably is a way it's possible, we'd have to modify a potion or maybe even a spell, especially since we don't want to trap others under the mistletoe, so we'd have to find a way to keep it person specific..." Hermione then rattled on about all the ways they could go about it and soon they had a plan.

It took a week for things to be ready.

(✿◕‿◕✿)

"Have your friends been acting weird lately?" Y/N asked Theo as they walked out of potions.

"More than usual actually." The boy replied and glanced down at the girl he was sure he wanted to marry.

"Same, and I swear I've seen Hermione talking with Draco so much this week."

"Maybe they're finally getting together." Theo smirked, "Salazar knows it's about time."

The girl laughed and shook her head, "Tell me about it. If they don't get together this year then I'm going to be out of ten galleons."

The pair went quiet for a moment and Y/N took the chance to look up at her best friend. He was beautiful, and quite possibly the love of her life. She had never planned on letting her feelings get this far.

It had only started as a small crush on a boy she was friendly with back in second year. But then they got closer, and the closer they got the harder she fell.

Now they're in their last year and she still hadn't confessed, she figured it was too late, and it was clear he didn't want anything other than friendship from her. He had had multiple girlfriends before, and none of them looked like her, they were quite the opposite actually.

Y/N was counting on losing feelings for him this year, it would be for the best.

As if he could feel her eyes on him Theo turned and looked at her, his green-blue eyes meeting hers. For a moment she felt her heart stop, she was lost in them and the swirling colors.

But then she shook her head and looked forward and started to rant about whatever came to mind. It was a good thing she always had at least one thing to rant about. Or she should say two, but it would be idiotic to rant to Theo about himself. It would also make her feelings for him obvious.

The two turned into a deserted hall and as they passed beneath an arch way they found that neither of them could take a step forward.

Their feet were stuck to the ground.

Y/N turned to Theo frantically, "What's going on?!"

"I dunno, I can't lift my feet off the ground."

"Neither can I..." She went silent and found that she could pivot. She looked around, and it wasn't until she looked up that she saw mistletoe hung from the high archway. But surely that had nothing to do with it, so she ignored it.

"Did the twins do this?" Theo started to ask but then remembered that the infamous pranksters had graduated. But that was all either of them could come up with, it was something the twins would do.

So maybe it was a Weasly.

The pair ended up staring at each other, the both of them ignoring the close proximity and the fact that their chests were touching.

After ten minutes Y/N had come up with an idea. It was a stupid one and she wasn't sure if it would even work. But Theo wouldn't stop staring at her and she was sure she looked like a tomato under the heat of his gaze.

"Theo." She said.

"Y/N."

The girl took a deep breath before blurting the words, "Kiss me."

"W-what?" Theo stuttered, his heart beating ten times faster now and a light blush coating his cheeks. His eyes flicked down to the lips he dreamt about kissing, the plump lips he fantasized about at night. He swallowed thickly and met her eyes once more. "I- Why?"

"I'm just-" She paused, "Testing out a theory." She wanted to kiss him, but she didn't at the same time. She didn't want to kiss him under these circumstances, if she was going to kiss him she wanted him to know it was because she liked him.

"Okay..." Theo said slowly and Y/N looked up at him with determination in her eyes.

She took a deep breath and brought her hands up to the boys face, instinctually his hands found her waist, "I really really like Theodore Nott!" She blurted quickly before smashing her lips onto his.

Theo stood still for a moment before he realized she was kissing him, and he wasn't kissing her back. So he did.

The kiss was sloppy, and rushed, and there was passion and hunger in it. Both of them seemed t have forgotten what was happening, losing themselves in the kiss of their lives.

It was only when she tugged on the hairs at the back of Theos head and he let out a groan did Y/N realize what she was doing.

Horrified she pushed him off, and when he stumbled back a step she saw that her theory was right and she bolted off. Running far far away from the boy and her feelings.

Meanwhile Theo stood there, dazed and confused and impossible flustered, and all he could think about was that he had just kissed her. And he knew he was going to marry her.

"She likes me too." He mumbled, smiling to himself as his fingers brushed across his lips.

No clue how to go on from this. Might make part two ;3

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theweepingangelofcas · 8 months ago

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Spa Day - The Moriarty Brothers

Soooooo funny story, I now work 50 hours a week as both a baker and at a spa so my schedule is PACKED. But I really missed writing. So here I am. Summary: The boys do their best to give you a well deserved spa day (I deserve one too but I don't have time to get one, so let's write about it!)

*************************

William Moriarty

He probably had to do the least research for it. Though I doubt he goes to spas himself, I imagine he understands the practices pretty well himself. After all, he's read a lot of books. At least one of them has to be on self care, right?

He is a homey type of person at heart. Though visiting new places and meeting new people is just part of the noble lifestyle, he prefers to just stay home and relax.

So, on his day off, you decided to pamper him with a little spa day.

"William?" You called. He had just woken up from a nap a few minutes ago, and you knew he had to be around the kitchen for tea, "Where are you, love?" "'I'm over here, dear." His voice was serene and calm, just how you wanted it to be. The tray in your hands rattled with the glass bottles and oils, giving away your plans. He looked up from his piping kettle of tea, cocking an eyebrow at the elixirs and concoctions in your hands, "What's this?" Your face lit up, "You're getting a facial! You deserve to relax more, Will." He stepped up, observing one of the creams on the tray, "I've never had one before. But, I do trust in your hands." He kissed your forehead, once, twice, three times. His favorite way to kiss you. Soon enough, he was laying on the living room's couch. The lights were dim, only a few candles around you two. Lavender and rosebuds could be smelt throughout the room. With each potion of beauty you layered on his skin, his love for you grew. "Are you having fun, Will?" Your elated voice, sweet like candy floss, was music to his ears. His smile could only grow, "Always, love. Always."

Louis Moriarty

Let's face it, has this man ever known a day of rest? He'd rather die.

In fact, as much as he appreciates that you booked a couples massage for you both, he's a little annoyed that he won't have a head start on dinner that night because of it.

The spa was beautiful, to say the least. Flower vines clung to pillars near the entrance, so that the spa smelled of jasmine and peonies. The staff were attentive, offering you both wine before settling you into the private room. Louis, despite his confident demeanor, was adorably shy while getting undressed. He flushed at the idea. But something about you excitedly hopping onto the massage table eased his nerves. He watched as you got comfy under the thin, lilac colored sheet, breathing in the scent of flowers around you. His heart calmed, releasing a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. Maybe this would be a lovely day after all. He loved it. The firm but targeted massage eased his sore back in a way he hadn't known possible. Plus, seeing you happy and content? That was worth everything to him. You weren't surprised when he shyly asked to go back there again for his birthday.

Albert Moriarty

I'm convinced this man has like, a monthly pampering day or something.

Y'know, some wine, a facial, a massage, maybe a nice dinner. A real 'treat yourself' kind of day.

Of course, once you become his darling beloved, he takes you along with him.

At the end of the month, every month, you two have a day out. It's not an average day out, though. It's a day full of relaxation, pampering, and overall, not stressing about absolutely anything. You'd been surprised at first, when he told you about his monthly happiness sesh. But it made sense the more you thought about it. He was a busy man. He deserved to unwind from time to time. A couples facial, couples massage, and then you'd get a manicure and pedicure. Only the best for his dear y/n. Sometimes, when it's been a particularly stressful month, he takes you to a lovely dinner, or even a walk through the nature park you love so much. No matter what you two do together, it can be guaranteed that it'll be the best day you have that month.

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukuko no moriarty #louis james moriarty x reader #albert moriarty #albert james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #william moriarty #louis moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x you #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #james moriarty x reader #moriarty imagine #moriarty x you #moriarty x reader #moriarty

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avatar-anna · 2 years ago

Text

Rumors

so...i've had this concept rattling around in my brain, but i had no idea how to write it, so i used pictures instead. i definitely want to do more, but tumnlr only allows 10 pictures a post, so here's to hoping i remember to come back to this in the future!

yourinstagram

liked by taylorswift and 67,530 others

yourinstagram: had a very cool dude over today to make even cooler music

yoursistersinstagram: you let someone in the bat cave?!

y/nfan5: possible collab on the new album?

yourinstagram: more like i was helping someone with theirs ;))

harrystyles: Thank you for having me. X.

harryfan3: HARRY???

harryfan7: omgomgomgomgomg

y/nfan1: pls god let us have a harry and y/n collab on his next album i NEED it

harrystyles

liked by gemmastyles, yourinstagram and 2,233,781 others

harrystyles: HS3. Coming soon.

harryfan8: NEW ALBUM ALERT

harryfan11: HARRY YOU CANT JUST DROP SOMETHING LIKE THAT WITHOUT A RELEASE DATE

harryfan4: this has to be what he was working on with y/n right?

y/nfan3: i need them both on a song together

yourinstagram: had fun late night talking with you xx

y/nfan9: i'm sorry wHAT

harryfan5: is this flirting this sounds like flirting

harryfan13: honestly...here for it

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan7 and 4,320 others

y/nupdates: Y/n in a video for Vogue recently!

"A lot of people ask me how Harry Styles ended up recording at my house when we'd virtually never crossed paths before. It was actually Taylor (Swift) who kind of set the whole thing up. They spoke at the Grammys last year and she apparently gave him my number so we could work together...He called and asked if I was available to help with his album at all. At the time I was on the road, then working on stuff for the band, and it just kind of went back and forth for a few months while we tried to line up our schedules. Then I was done touring, but I was kind of in a weird state in life where I didn't want to leave the house or hang out with anyone. And I remember making up excuses because I wasn't really up to making myself presentable to a whole team of people I'd never met before and having our first meeting be this huge thing. I'd basically built it all up in my head about how our ideas would clash and we wouldn't get along and I just kept telling him maybe some other time. Long story short, Harry showed up at my place a week later by himself with just a guitar, a notebook, and my favorite takeout order. We spent the whole day together working on a bunch of different stuff from themes to genres of music to sampling and mixing. And writing. Lots and lots of writing. And now he's a dear friend. He's so sweet and so talented. I wish him all the best with the new album."

y/nfan8: ok i'm glad it worked out and everything but imagine a virtual stranger showing up to your HOUSE?? like she said no and he basically forced her to write his album for her

y/nfan4: that's so real of her tbh to not want to leave her house

y/nfan2: y/n is notoriously introverted it makes sense

harryfan13: girl...

y/nfan7: i don't think it was that serious. and if she really didn't want him there she could've said no

harryfan13: and y/n literally called him a friend?? stop trying to start shit that doesn't exist

y/nfan7: of COURSE mother brought them together

harryfan17: i can't believe that's what harry and taylor were talking about in the video!

harryfan2: chill harry doesn't need to be in a relationship with every woman he's associated with

harryfan4: wait but wasn't y/n at that grammys too?

harryfan9: it was still covid it's possible their paths didn't cross

y/nfan19: wait what if he was too shy to go up to her??😭

harryfan4: i love that they're writing besties now but i think they'd be so cute together 🥹

hsupdates

liked by harryfan4 and 10,343 others

hsupdates: Harry about Y/n L/n for Rolling Stone:

"I've always admired (Y/n's) work. She and her band are incredibly talented, and are just so passionate about creating music. I wanted that same energy for my third album, the freedom to make whatever I want without any reservations, and I knew Y/n was the perfect addition to the team. It took some convincing, but once we kind of got started, we couldn't stop. As we've gotten to know each other these past few months, I not only respect her as a musician, but for the person she is as well. Her soul is one of a kind, and I feel like my album would be so different without her on it. So now not only do I have an album that I'm proud of and love, but I got an extraordinary friend out of it too."

harryfan9: so this is what people mean when they say platonic soulmates

y/nfan12: all we've gotten is crumbs and i'm already in love with their friendship. and the album of course

y/nfan2: i'm so interested to hear this album now. if y/n is on it it has to be good

harryfan3: "her soul is one of a kind?" if that's harry as a friend i don't think i can handle boyfriendrry😭

y/nfan7: i'm holding out hope for them honestly��🏼🤞🏼

liked by harrystyles and 23,724 others

yourinstagram

yourinstagram: you've fallen from the sky down to me, i see it in your face, i'm relief, i'm your summer girl

y/nfan17: shut up are those song lyrics??

yourbandinstagram: the tears behind your dark sunglasses, the fears inside your heart as deep as gashes🎶🎶

y/nfan17: HOLY SHIT those ARE lyrics!

y/nfan6: haven't even heard the song and i know the girls have done it again

harryfan4: could it...could it be about harry?

y/nfan8: you're grasping at straws

harryfan12: are they? they've been spotted together all over LA

harrystyles: ☀️☀️

y/nfan8: as friends. friends can hang out can't they?

harryfan3: new music from harry AND y/n? we're about to be fed y'all

harryfan10: THEY REALLY ARE BESTIES

y/nfan2: i bet they collaborated on this song together

Interviewer (I): What's one memory or experience you can share from making this album? Any trips to Japan or Jamaica?

Harry (H): We stayed in Los Angeles mostly for this one. But erm...in terms of a specific memory...I would say that while I was working with Y/n, one of the tracks was actually inspired by her cat.

I: Really?

H: Yeah. Whenever it did something to annoy Y/n, which was quite often, she'd call her a little freak. The song's obviously not about the cat, but the phrase was in my head and yeah. Things just kind of...snowballed from there.

I: The sound that Y/n's band has is more rock centric, a similar sound to your first album. Is that what we can expect for your third studio album?

I: You've become quite close to Y/n L/n it seems like.

H: Not necessarily. Y/n and I collaborated, but she also let me take the reins in terms of sound. She had opinions of course and we would bounce ideas off of each other...but she really just followed my lead and supported the vision I had. She is playing a majority of the instruments on the album, though.

H: It's hard not to.

I: How so?

I: It sounds like you could go on for quite some time about her.

H: She's just cool, you know? I was kind of intimidated when we met for the first time. She's quiet, but you never forget that she's in the room, you just want to go over and talk to her. Of course once you meet her she's incredibly kind and not at all intimidating, but still like chill and stuff. The first time we met we sat for an hour just talking about music we enjoyed and live shows we wanted to attend and things we learned while in lockdown. She's just effortlessly cool. An old soul, I guess. And somehow she translates that into her music. Her sisters, too. They're all just first-rate musicians.

H: Sorry. I kind of gushed for a minute there.

H: And the band. They're just so talented, you know?

harrystyles

liked by jeffazoff and 4,211,323 others

harrystyles: From start to finish, making this album has been such an incredible journey. It was so fun to try new things sonically while also making something that I'm one hundred percent proud of. I've never felt more myself while making music than I did while creating this album for all of you, and I have so many people to thank for that. Hopefully you know who you are. I love, love, love you.

harryfan16: 😭😭😭😭😭

harris_reed: little angel👼

harryfan3: WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU

yourinstagram: congratulations h. you deserve it.💐💐💐

harrystyles: I couldn't have done it without you💐

yourinstagram

liked by yourbandinstagram and 53,089 others

yourinstagram: for one night and one night only...but in all seriousness shout out to my friend and his incredible album. happy to have been a part of the magic :)))

harryfan13: HAPPY HARRY DAY!!!

harryfan4: is she in ny??

y/nfan7: yes! she was spotted with harry before the show today

harryfan9: they're literally so cute i love their friendship

harrystyles: You made the magic happen. Thank you for everything. X.

harryfan3: they're so...

y/nfan2: i genuinely think they like fucking with us bc i legitimately can't tell if they're dating or not

y/nfan7: at this point i don't even care i love whatever they're doing they both just seem so happy to be besties/lovers/collaborators and i love that for them

harryfan5: ^^

y/nupdates

liked by harryfan10 and 3,742 others

y/nupdates: Y/n performing Keep Driving onstage with Harry in NYC tonight at ONO!

y/nupdates: When he introduced her, he said: "Tonight is special in a lot of ways. I'm sharing my album with you for the first time, my family's here, my friends are here, and...a very good friend of mine is here to play a song with me tonight. This album wouldn't have been possible without her, so please give her as much love as you've given me. Y/n L/n, everybody!"

harryfan4: stop they're so close it hurts😭

y/nfan7: i was there they were staring at each other and smiling the whole time!

harryfan12: that's the one where he says choke her with a sea view!?

y/nfan7: YES AND I SWEAR HIS SMILE GOT BIGGER WHEN HE SANG THAT PART AND LOOKED AT HER LIKE HE FULLY HAD TO TURN AROUND TO LOOK AT HER BC SHE WAS PLAYING THE DRUMS

harryfan3: i'm choosing to believe they're in love idc what anyone else says

hs/ynupdates

hs/ynupdates: Harry, Y/n, and her sisters in New York after ONO tonight! Apparently Harry and Y/n were standing and walking very close to each other. Like arms wrapped around each other close.

harryfan2: that could literally mean anything tho. they're good friends why wouldn't they walk next to each other?

y/nfan14: i feel like they don't know if they're dating or not at this point😅

y/nfan8: her sisters are so unserious i love it

y/nfan5: i love that they all showed up for harry🥹

yourbandinstagram

liked by taylorswift, harrystyles and 710,225 others

yourbandinstagram: Thanks for having us, London!

y/nfan1: i can't believe i got to see harry and y/n perform in ONE NIGHT

harryfan3: sending my love and my tears to everyone who got to experience this historic night

harrystyles: Thank you for taking the time to share the stage with me. X.

yourbandfan2: how do y'all always look so good 😭

I: So you opened for Harry Styles a few weeks ago and performed a song with him in New York.

Y/n: My sisters and I did, yeah.

I: How did that come about? Did your team call his team? Or was it more casual than that?

Y/n: Oh, definitely more casual. I think we were just hanging out together one morning and he kind of just suggested it. No bells and whistles or anything like that.

I: So can we expect (Your band) to join Harry on his upcoming tour, then?

Y/n: I don't think so. We're working on putting out a record of our own at the moment, but we do want to get back out on the road soon, but I will definitely be attending more of his shows in the future.

I: And what can we expect from this upcoming record? Did Harry help you the way you helped him out?

Y/n: I've sent him a couple things to listen to, and I value his opinion a lot, both as a friend and as an artist. He also showed me a couple records recently which kind of influenced how I approached some of the songs sonically. He's got a huge vinyl collection at his house. I'm honestly kind of jealous.

I: There's been some rumors running around that you and Harry are in a romantic relationship. Would you like to put any of those rumors to rest?

Y/n: I could see where people might think that. Harry's very affectionate by nature, and over the last couple of months we've become very close. He's not just someone I admire in the music industry, but as a person in general. I feel incredibly lucky to call him a friend. And a close one, at that.

I: So just a friend then?

Y/n: Yeah. Yeah, just a friend.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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jackhues · 2 years ago

Text

karma - auston matthews

notes: this is based off of @matthewshisch's idea (karma is the guy on the leafs)! so s/o to her <3 also, reader is a singer :)) AND gif not mine !

likes are good, reblogs are better!

being a celebrity meant that no matter what, one thing would always be a fixed thing in your life. and that was the rumours.

one week you were dating a new guy. the next, you were engaged to some kid from your hometown. the next week, you were back with your ex.

no matter what, the dating rumours always flew around you. maybe the fact that you never made it public with anyone fuelled those even more. whatever the case, it was funny reading them.

especially when you thought about what you had planned for tonight.

a knock sounded on your door, followed by a familiar voice, "did someone order some flowers?"

you couldn't help the smile growing on your face as you made eye contact with auston in the mirror.

you were in your dressing room at the stadium, getting ready for the opening night of your multi-month tour. you'd worked hard to get to where you were now -- one of the most successful female artists in the world.

and right there by your side, supporting you for the past year, was none other than auston matthews, your boyfriend. you'd met at a leafs game years ago, but he'd only reached out to you just over a year before. ever since then, the two of you kept your relationship under wraps for the most part, doing your best to just enjoy your time together without the media's comments.

you'd talked about going public before, but for the most part, decided to let life take it's course. of course... tonight would be a pretty big surprise.

"hi, you made it," you got up from your chair, sinking into his arms for a hug.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," he responded, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "it's my girl's big day. first tour in almost three years. nothing's gonna stop me from being here."

you grinned stupidly to yourself, finding auston's words so comforting and sweet. even after a whole year, he managed to make you feel giddy.

"i'm really happy you're here," you whispered, pulling away. "oh! i've got a surprise for you, but i can't give it to you right now. i'll give it after, okay?"

"a surprise for me?" auston repeated. "it's your day."

"hush, i wanted to do it," you said.

another knock sounded on your door, and your assistant, jenny, poked her head in. "y/n, we've got to start in ten. let's go. auston, mark's got your seat saved. head over quick, or someone'll spot you."

"that's not a big deal," auston waved it off. "if someone spots me, they spot me. it's not the end of the world."

"well, fact remains, we need y/n right now," she said. "c'mon, you can have her back when she's done her show."

"i'll see you soon," you kissed auston, before following jenny out to your position.

you adjusted your earpiece, waiting for the lights to dim. as soon as they did, the platform you were standing on moved higher, allowing you to enter directly on stage.

the lights turned back on, and the crowd went wild.

"let the show begin," you whispered to yourself.

---

"'cause karma is the thunder," you sang, "rattling your ground. karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter. karma's gonna track you down."

the crowd waved their flashlights in the air, following you as you continued dancing to the beat of the song, singing along. getting closer and closer to the surprise you planned for auston.

"step by step from town to town," you continued. "sweet like justice, karma is a queen. karma takes all my friends to the summit..."

you paused for half a second, allowing production to ready themselves and for the crowd to pay attention to the small change.

"karma is the guy on the leafs, coming straight home to me!"

you stomped on the mark, blue sparklers going off on either side of the stage -- matching with the colour of your dress and the leafs' colours.

the crowd screamed as you continued your performance, losing their minds at the confirmation that you and auston were dating.

"cause karma is my boyfriend," you locked eyes with auston in the crowd, noticing him smiling widely to himself as people nearby recorded the interaction. winking at him, you continued your song, "karma is a god."

the crowd continued chanting throughout the song, no one truly getting over the lyric change you'd done.

you had a feeling there were gonna be rumours about this for a while.

---

tags : @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme , @svechnikovvv , @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots , @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila , @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy , @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily , @panarin10 , @equallyshaw , @power2myheart , @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya , @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 , @emsully2002 , @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 , @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj

join my main taglist!

#naqia writes!#auston matthews #auston matthews blurb #auston matthews x oc #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews x y/n #auston matthews imagines #auston matthews blurbs #toronto maple leafs x reader #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl #nhl one shot #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey one shot #hockey fic #hockey

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semperama · 8 months ago

Note

[knock knock knock] trick or treat !!

Hi, happy Halloween!! So...I've had this idea in my head for a while of a fic where Buck kind of has a moment of temporary insanity and forgets he and Eddie aren't actually together and absent-mindedly kisses him one day, but every time I've tried to start it, I haven't liked how it's turned out? I still want to write it someday, but for now, have the beginning of my last attempt, which will likely get scrapped and rewritten several more times lol.

----

One week after Christopher comes home from Texas, Buck briefly loses his mind.

It’s been a long summer—trying to hold Eddie together, trying to hold himself together. It fucking sucked, but he managed to grit his teeth and handle it. He got reacquainted with all the lumps and bumps in Eddie’s couch, kept his fridge stocked, added a dozen new recipes to his repertoire just to get Eddie to eat something. He learned how to respond to texts from Christopher with a straight face, learned how ignore the impulse to punch Gerrard, learned not to flinch at Eddie’s half-hearted attempts to get him to fight or flee, barbs that might have hit harder if they weren’t flung a little too wide.

So yeah, it’s no surprise that he goes a little crazy. What’s surprising is how it happens.

The last few days have been…perfect. Perfect in a way Buck never thought they’d have again. He has hugged Christopher a hundred times and Eddie almost as much. He has posted up in the Diaz living room and played hours of video games and gorged himself on pizza and takeout, the three of them relearning how to move together and be together and paint over all the bad shit that happened with new memories. Buck and Eddie have made it through two whole shifts where Buck didn’t feel like he had to stay in arm’s reach of Eddie the whole time to make sure he didn’t do something stupid. They went to the zoo. They went to Santa Monica. They had a homecoming party for Chris at Maddie and Chim’s.

All of it is like a dream. Or maybe it’s like finally being awake, rousing from a nightmare that felt like it would never end. Either way, Buck feels like he’s drunk on it, his mind playing the same refrain of, we did it, we made it, we’re okay, on loop.

Which is probably why it happens. Why he wakes up on Eddie’s couch one morning and stumbles into the kitchen, following the smell of coffee. Why he moves easily into Eddie’s space like he does it all the time, comes right up behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, tucking his nose into his neck.

Why he kisses Eddie’s neck. His jaw.

Why his lips are grazing the stubble at the corner of Eddie’s mouth before he stops, time stops.

Buck doesn’t know how long it takes him to move. It feels like minutes, long enough for him to register the way Eddie’s body feels pressed against his, the smell of his toothpaste, the softness of the skin on his cheek. The horror comes over him slowly, melting away all the warm contentment he woke up with. And Eddie is—not moving, not even breathing, so unnaturally still against him.

That stillness is what finally gets Buck moving, jerking backward and stumbling until the corner of the fridge catches him between the shoulder blades, making him hiss in pain. “Fuck, Eddie, I—”

“Buck,” Eddie says, a croak. He’s holding a mug in his hand, has been this whole time, but he sets it down now, the ceramic rattling against the counter. He looks—first at Buck’s mouth, then up to his eyes. “What—”

“I don’t know what I—” Buck wants to turn into mist, fade backward out of the room. “I swear, Eddie, I don’t—”

Eventually one of them is going to have to get a whole sentence out, but right now Buck barely has enough connection with his brain to keep his lungs working.

#buddie #911 show #my writing #trick or treat

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epersonae · 8 months ago

Text

Part of me wants to have simply written this and not ever say any more about it

Part of me wants to just post the "started making it/had a breakdown/bon appetit" image and a link

Like, I've never written actual goddamn RPF before, 90k+ of whatever the fuck for the benefit of all the broken hearts and its associated works are aside; it's still strange and uncomfortable to me to write fiction (porn even!) about real people

And also - some variant of this idea has been rattling around in my head since at least March 2023 (which is when I made a note in the paper notebook I keep in my living room), and probably longer than that, tbh; to steal an image from @chaotic-neutral-knitter:

And then, one day last week, I had this weird dream about reading an interview with David Jenkins, or maybe hearing about an interview? Either way, I remember nothing of the details of the dream interview, only waking up from the dream with the distinct thought "djenks in the cuck chair" and the first draft of the first two paragraphs of what became this:

apparatus theory (E, 5689 words, Rhys/Taika)

It is David POV, set just before the filming of season 2, it is about "practicing kissing", it is about identity and artistic craft, physicality and alienation from physicality. I have a lot of weird complicated feelings about it, but as often happens with writing like that, I think it's good writing anyhow.

my love and thanks to @veeagainsttheday, @emi--rose, and @mxmollusca for their vital services as I was writing; this would not be the same without you

#I'm a little sad I never managed to get in a space waltz mention #but connoisseurs of these guys' works will catch some other references #ofmd #rpf #my writing #my fic #I have a complicated theory about why david is like this vs how carlitaverse javid would be in the same scenario #something about the role of the author and the ways in which writing happens idk

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fratboykate · 4 months ago

Note

Ooooff papi the pain. Maybe I am a masochist. It’s so agonizing but I fucking can’t stop reading it. It’s like eating something painfully spicy, you know?

If you would, allow me to word vomit. I think it’s so sad for me is because a marriage falling apart can happen to anyone. Like somewhere in a kitchen a couple is probably having this exact fight or something similar to it. This is kind like a glimpse through a window of a someone’s marriage and we can see every little dirty, human detail. And it’s heartbreaking. It’s happened a million times before and it's going to happen a million time in the future. and you can do absolutely nothing about it. because people are gonna be people, you know?

I am a hardcore romantic at heart so reading your stuff is almost a traumatic experience. But also it’s good for the soul so 🤷🏻‍♀️. And also I love it

also have you watched Acrane? it has Hailee Steinfeld in it? Probably one of the greatest pieces of media I've ever watched?

You want it to get sadder? I got 10.4k words worth of sad for you lol. You don't HAVE to have read the whole of FBAU so far to enjoy this, but I think I counted at least five other chapters/things that have happened before somehow referenced/called back in here and it just makes it so much more painful if you have that framing. But again, its not required to have that knowledge to understand this. We also see basically every major player in the story so far for at least a little bit. It's a nice roundup.

This picks up about sixteen weeks after the last chapter. It gets...a little Real towards the end so just...1) be warned and 2) trust the process. We're going on a journey here. Y'all just need to let it play out before you start asking for my head on a spike.

---

Yelena never thought she'd use the phrase ‘single parent’ to describe herself. It still sounds wrong when it crosses her mind. Like an ill-fitting jacket someone forced onto her. Like something she borrowed for a night and forgot to return.

But it’s real. It’s her life now.

Her apartment is smaller than the home she shared with Kate, but it’s comfortable. Just big enough for the kids when they stay over, but small enough that she doesn’t feel like a ghost rattling around in an empty castle when they’re gone. She was lucky enough to find a place a few subway stops from Kate's building so the kids don’t feel like they’re ping-ponging between two disparate worlds. She insisted on that. She wanted their lives to feel as seamless as possible despite the disarray beneath it. The world had already shifted under their feet. She wasn’t going to make them deal with unnecessary aftershocks on top of it.

Fifty-fifty custody. Three days at each place, alternating Sundays. A logistical nightmare, but fair.

Fair.

Yelena has no idea what fair even means anymore. It’s a kid asking why she isn’t home all the time. It’s a name missing from the emergency contact list depending on who fills it out. It’s the way the house is always clean now, nothing left out of place, no toys underfoot, no basketball shorts left out of place, no mug left in the sink with Kate’s protein powder stuck on the rim.

It’s quiet.

Even when the kids aren’t there, she wakes up early. It’s not by choice. Just habit. For years, there was always something waking her up before she was ready. Her wife’s wandering hands, a tiny foot pushing into her ribs, the distant hum of Kate on a phone call with Asian clients in another room.

Now, she wakes up to nothing half the time. Nothing but absolute silence.

Yelena swings her legs over the edge, presses her feet into the hardwood, and rakes her fingers through golden locks.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

Yelena moves on autopilot, filling the machine, pressing the button, waiting for the drip. The smell fills the apartment. Familiar. She used to love this part of the morning. Now, she makes the coffee and barely drinks it.

Some mornings, she forces herself to sit at the kitchen table and pretend she enjoys the quiet. Other mornings, it presses against her skull like a vice.

She used to be the type to start working before her second sip of coffee. Now? Most days, she just loiters around the apartment. Thinking. Tinkering. Trudging. Doing nothing at all.

Before, she measured time in deadlines and breakthroughs. Now, she measures it in custody exchanges and school pickups.

Yelena Belova never used to cancel anything work related.

Now? If the kids are with her, she leaves work early. She rearranges meetings. She skips conferences. She bows out of professional trips. She should be enraged about that, about all she’s missing. About how much more she could be doing. And she is pissed. At Kate, at herself, at the situation she got shoved into. But likely not enough.

But the truth is, when she’s with the kids, she doesn’t mind. And she’s getting them back today. The thought tugs at something deep in her chest. A quiet, unspoken relief.

She glances at the clock. She has a few hours before pickup. Enough time to go into the lab, check in, pretend to work for a few hours.

A knock at the door interrupts her before she’s finished the mental list of things to do once she gets to the office. A brute, familiar bang-bang-bang against the wood.

She sighs. Alexei.

A beat of waiting after loudly announcing himself, Alexei uses his keys to get in. They'd learned the hard (and embarrassing) way that him waltzing into the apartment with no warning was a terrible idea that traumatized both of them. Now Alexei knocks and waits a respectable amount of time before entering. At least long enough to warn Yelena that she needs to throw on a robe.

This day that was not necessary. So Yelena simply leans on the counter and waits.

A few thundering footsteps later…there he is. Alexei walks up to the kitchen threshold, holding two paper bags and looking smug.

“I knock loud enough now?”

“You definitely did.”

“No ‘Hello, Daddy’ for me today? Not even when I bring these?” Alexei lifts a couple of pastry bags.

"It’s barely seven in the morning, dad.”

"Breakfast is important. And you forget to eat when you alone." He moves around the kitchen like he owns the place.

"I eat."

“Coffee does not count," he mutters, already unpacking food. "Sit."

Yelena rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. She drops into the chair across from him as he slides a breakfast sandwich her way.

Alexei squints at her like he’s evaluating a patient.

"You look better."

"I look the same."

"Better," he repeats, unwrapping his sandwich. "Less like roadkill."

High praise, coming from him.

Yelena takes a slow sip of her coffee.

"You should be sitting on a beach somewhere, not babysitting your grown daughter."

Alexei retired. Just…stopped. Unexpectedly. Said ‘Fuck it, I’ve worked enough’. The surprising decision came just days after Yelena told them about the divorce. After she cried for hours on their couch. Yelena still doesn’t know if he did it because he wanted to or because she needed him to.

And she sure did need him sometimes. Alexei watches Sonny on the days when Yelena can’t. Picks up Alexia and Maks from school if she’s stuck in a meeting. Stocks her fridge when she forgets.

He is, in his own words, Deda Supreme.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he mutters through a mouthful of food. "I am not just babysitter. I am also your mother’s house husband now. It is me and the kids or me and the pigs. Very important work I do.“

Yelena snorts.

"Bet mom and the pigs love that."

"Oh, she loves it. She gives me list. I ignore list. She yells at me. It is perfect system."

Yelena smirks, shaking her head.

The truth is, Alexei showing up like this is annoying. But also…the only thing keeping her from spiraling some days.

He leans back, watching her carefully.

"You are doing okay? Yes?”

It’s not ‘Are you okay?’ because they both know the answer to that. She nods, pushing a piece of egg around her plate with a fork.

"Yeah."

Alexei grunts like he doesn’t fully believe her, but he lets it go. For a while after that, they just eat in silence.

"You see Kate?" he asks. Throwing the question out there nonchalantly. More curious than he would want it to be.

Yelena keeps her voice even, but the question unsettles her more than it should. She knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time before he asked. But it still grates.

Alexei was Kate’s person for years. They shared the kind of love Kate never got from her own father. And Alexei? He treated Kate like she was his own. Kate was his unofficial second kid. His loudest, brashest, most stubborn child.

And then, just like that, she wasn’t. He chose his actual daughter in the divorce. Yelena knows it shouldn’t feel like a choice, but it does.

He doesn’t talk to Kate anymore. Not really. Not since the moment he found out how things had transpired. Alexei not saying anything is the better alternative to actually talking to Kate and verbalizing the things he would. Yelena has never really asked if they've talked, but she can infer. She knows because she can see how much Kate’s absence weighs on him. She can tell by the way Alexei doesn’t bring her up often. Or at all. Its been almost four months of this and this is the first time she even remembers him saying her name. He hasn't even tried to defend her. Yelena has had to mourn not just the lost of her marriage, but her father losing one of the most relationships in his life. She isn't quite sure which hurts more. And the way he looks at Yelena sometimes…like he wants to say something but swallows it down instead. That’s one of the worst parts of this whole mess.

She’s known Kate long enough to know that Alexei cutting ties is killing her too. Kate doesn’t lose people. She pushes them away. She burns them away. But she never truly loses them. Not until now. And Alexei? He lost her as well. Neither of them will ever talk about it. But Yelena can feel the ghost of it sitting between them.

“Only at drop-offs…Why?”

Alexei shrugs, stabbing at his eggs.

“Just wondering.”

Yelena doesn’t push. Neither does he.

Yelena shoves her chair back and stands.

"I need to go into the lab before I get the kids."

Alexei waves her off. "Go. I’ll clean."

"Don’t break anything," she calls over her shoulder.

She doesn’t hear his response, but she’s sure it’s something sarcastic.

///

When Yelena gets to the lab, she should work. Instead, she just…sits there. She stares at reports for twenty minutes without reading a word. Moves a petri dish from one side of the desk to the other. Rearranges the same stack of notes she’s already attempted to read five times. Her focus is gone.

Before the divorce, work was an escape. A thing she knew she was good at. A place where her decisions had immediate results.

Now, it just feels like…blergh. She doesn’t even realize she’s zoning out until her phone buzzes.

CALENDAR REMINDER: DR. O’GRADY @ 12PM.

“Damn it.”

Yelena sighs, grabs her bag, and gets up.

///

Therapy is therapy. Dr. O’Grady is direct. Unyielding in the way only an older Irish woman can be.

Yelena slouches on the couch, arms crossed.

"Before you say anything, yes, I’ve been sleeping. Yes, I’ve been eating. Yes, I’ve been functioning."

Dr. O’Grady quirks a brow.

"Functioning isn’t thriving, Yelena."

Yelena groans.

“You sound like my mother.”

Dr. O’Grady doesn’t react. Just waits. Yelena sighs, staring at the ceiling.

"I don’t know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me how you’re feeling instead of how you think you should feel."

Yelena doesn’t answer right away. She takes a slow breath.

"I feel…" She pauses. Licks her lips. "Different."

"Explain."

"I don’t know." She shifts, uncomfortable. "Kate backed me into this, and yeah, it’s messed up, and yeah, I was angry, but I’m here…And I’m figuring it out."

Dr. O’Grady nods.

"And what does figuring it out look like for you?"

"It means I wake up, I take care of the kids and try to remember to take care of myself too. It means I go to work and try to get anything done. It means I don’t let this define me."

"Do you still check your phone, expecting a text from her?" Yelena stiffens. Dr. O’Grady’s voice is gentler when she speaks again. "You don’t have to win the breakup, Yelena."

Yelena clenches her jaw, staring at the floor. She doesn’t answer. Because she’s not sure she believes that.

///

The alarm goes off at five-thirty, but Yelena’s already awake. She doesn’t need it anymore. Not when Sonny’s internal clock is better than any piece of technology ever invented.

There’s always a few blissful seconds of quiet, the kind where she almost forgets she’s not waking up in the old apartment, in the life she used to have. Then, reality settles in. A tiny voice crackles over the baby monitor. Sonny babbling in that half-asleep, half-happy nonsense way she does first thing in the morning.

Yelena sighs, throws off the blanket, and swings her legs out of bed. Another day. No time to linger.

By the time she makes it to the nursery, Sonny’s sitting up in the crib, Kate’s coal black hair wild, cheeks flushed from sleep.

“Mamaaaaaaa.”

Yelena leans against the doorway. “You could at least aim for anything past six.”

Sonny giggles, reaching her arms up, demanding. “Mama up.”

Yelena lifts her effortlessly, pressing a kiss against her chubby cheek, breathing in the warm, milky scent of her skin. Sonny hums, content, resting her head against Yelena’s shoulder like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, Yelena lets herself just hold her, swaying slightly on instinct, soaking in the quiet before the chaos of the morning really kicks in.

Yelena walks to the wall and gently taps it twice, voice low but firm.

“I’m coming in to get you in five, so don’t act surprised.”

Inside, there’s a groan followed by a muttered “Too early.”

Yelena smirks.

“Cry about it. You’re still getting up.”

The next bedroom over is Alexia and Maks’ room. A compromise. A necessity. Three bedrooms were the absolute most she could swing in New York City on her single mom salary, and even that was stretching it. A brownstone was out of the question. A four-bedroom was a pipe dream. The kids would have to share.

Alexia hated it at first. Maks didn’t care. Yelena still remembers the first night in the new place…Alexia lying stiff as a board in her bed, refusing to speak, while Maks snored like a chainsaw two feet away.

Alexia made it three days before she finally caved and admitted she could live with it. Begrudgingly.

Still, Yelena doesn’t barge in during the mornings. They’re Kate’s kids, after all. They need a bit of winding up time or they're little cranky demons. She learned that lesson fast.

She hears Maks stirring, rolling over, the distinct sound of him smacking his lips dramatically like he’s waking from a coma instead of a normal night of sleep. Alexia sighs heavily, the universal sound of an older sibling’s deep frustration.

Yelena just leans against the wall, waiting. Five minutes of extra quiet for everyone. No more, no less. The truce they’d landed on. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. Others? She fought like hell.

Sonny clings to her like a koala as Yelena moves around the room. The toddler is warm, heavy, and a little floppy from sleep. It would be nice if they could stay like this. If the morning didn’t immediately have to shift into the barely controlled chaos it always does.

But then…right on cue…she hears it. The sound of Alexia and Maks butting heads in their bedroom.

“You’re so annoying!”

“Stop copying me!”

Someone groans in frustration. A door slams. Something crashes. Yelena takes a deep breath, shifts Sonny higher on her hip, and steels herself for war.

///

By seven, Alexia is at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed, snapping at Maks for ‘breathing too much’. Maks is hanging off the back of a chair, already talking at full volume about something he saw on YouTube. Sonny is smacking a spoon against her high chair like a tiny, chaotic drummer.

It’s a circus. It’s draining. It’s the best part of her week.

"Mama, Maks is making that sound with his throat again," Alexia grumbles, jabbing at her eggs like they personally offended her.

"I’m just clearing it!" Maks protests.

"You're doing it on purpose."

"No, I’m not!"

Alexia levels him with a look. Maks grins. Then deliberately clears his throat again.

“MOM!” Alexia complains.

Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Both of you. Eat.”

“MOM! SHE’S KICKING ME!”

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard Yelena swears she can hear it.

"Eat," Yelena warns. "No more talking."

It lasts a grand total of ten seconds.

“Do ducks know they’re birds?” Maks asks suddenly, looking genuinely concerned.

Kate used to answer these questions. Or, at the very least, deflect them better than Yelena can. But Kate’s not here, so Yelena tries. She tries.

Before she can come up with even a semblance of a coherent answer, Yelena hears the telltale jingle of a spare key in the lock and she knows her morning is about to get a hell of a lot worse.

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s trying to wrestle Sonny into her pants when the door swings open.

“Доброе утро!” [Good morning!] Alexei’s voice booms through the apartment like a goddamn foghorn. “I bring real breakfast.”

Maks is the first to react, immediately jumping out of his chair.

“Deda!”

Alexei barely makes it inside before Maks throws himself at his legs.

“Ah, мой мальчик!” [Ah, my boy!]

Alexei hoists Maks up, swinging him dramatically in the air. Maks shrieks in delight. Alexia, still slumped at the kitchen table, doesn’t even glance up from her plate.

“It’s too early…”

Yelena sighs, trying to keep Sonny from wriggling out of her grasp.

“Dad, if you brought soup again, I swear to God…”

“I bring strong, good, Russian soup. I do not want my babies to be weak.”

“Deda, we hate soup,” Maks reminds him.

Alexei clutches his chest like Maks just stabbed him.

“Deda up.” Sonny requests while lifting both arms.

Alexei scoops her up effortlessly.

“See? This one? Smart. She will respect our family traditions.”

“I just had to stop her from eating a piece of paper. I’d temper those smart expectations.” Yelena says in jest.

“Я тоже ем бумагу. Это нормально.” [“I eat paper too. It's okay.”]

Alexei grins, tossing Sonny in the air just enough to make her giggle. The front door closes again, much softer this time. Melina.

“Alexei, do not throw the baby.” Her voice cuts through the kitchen before she even walks in, immediately taking in the scene.

“She likes.” Alexei protests.

Sonny looks at her grandfather and signs ‘more’ repeatedly.

“See! She likes a lot.” Alexei throws the baby up in the air again.

Melina sighs, placing a massive binder on the counter. Yelena groans.

“If that’s another ‘updated version’ of your binder, I’m setting it on fire.”

Melina helps in a Melina way. Clinical, methodical, and ruthlessly efficient. She made Yelena a co-parenting binder. Thick enough to double as a weapon. Complete with color-coded custody schedules, "empirical resources" on child development post-divorce, a curated list of recommended therapists (vetted…of course), and a financial projection chart mapping out Yelena’s single-income future in excruciating detail. She sends links to peer-reviewed studies on shared custody benefits. She forwards articles titled "The Psychological Impact of Divorce on Children and How to Mitigate Harm." She asks if Yelena has had “productive” therapy sessions with the same tone she once used when quizzing her on chemical compounds. The whole thing is intense, overbearing, and borderline invasive. And while Yelena would rather chew glass than admit it, she appreciates it more than she can say.

Melina ignores her, flipping it open.

“Have you reviewed the meal plan I sent you?”

“The…what?”

“The meal plan. I designed for optimal childhood development. I included omega-rich foods for cognitive function and…”

Alexia groans, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“Too many words before school.”

“Speaking of school, have you confirmed with Kate about the parent-teacher conferences?”

“Mom…” Yelena interrupts, rubbing her temples. “I love you. I appreciate you, but if you say one more thing that makes me feel like I am doing this wrong, I’ll just stop telling you things.”

Alexei, who has been rummaging through the fridge, emerges.

“You are out of beer.”

Yelena glares at him.

“It’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

He shrugs.

“And? It is afternoon in Moscow.”

Maks, who has been quiet for a suspiciously long time, suddenly tugs on Alexei’s sleeve.

“Deda, do ducks know they’re birds?”

Silence. Alexei strokes his beard.

“Ah. A great question.”

Yelena groans.

“Don’t encourage him…”

“No, no, this is important,” Alexei insists. He turns to Maks, solemn. “Some ducks…yes. They know. They accept the bird life. Others?” He shakes his head. “They struggle. They fight it. They don’t like the expectations of bird society.”

Maks nods, taking this in.

Melina exhales sharply.

“This is exactly why they ask you the ridiculous questions and me the important ones.”

Melina declares as she begins to tidy up around the house. Before Yelena can respond, a spoon clatters to the floor. Everyone turns.

Sonny, looking incredibly pleased with herself, smacks her high chair tray and signs ‘More more more more’.

Alexei beams. “Да! Demand what you deserve, моя девочка!” [“Yes! Demand what you deserve, my girl!”]

“Deda, can you take us to school?” Maks queries.

“He’s gonna make us late.” Alexia argues.

“Me? Late?” Alexei scoffs, placing a hand over his heart. “Impossible.”

Yelena side-eyes him.

“You picked them up late last week.”

Alexei waves a hand.

“I had things to do.”

“You were watching a soccer game.”

“Exactly. Things I was doing. Now? Nothing to do but take these devils to school.”

Maks jumps up and down.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Yelena sighs, giving in. “Fine. You take them. I take the little one.”

Alexei claps his hands together.

“Alright, soldiers, let’s move out!”

He swoops one kid in each arm and heads for the door.

“Do NOT forget their bags this time.”

“I would never.”

“BYE BYEEEEEEE!” Sonny waves both arms wildly as her siblings disappear out the door, her little voice echoing down the hall.

The door shuts behind Alexei. And just like that, the apartment is plunged into a sudden, startling silence.

Yelena collapses into a chair. Her body still wired from the morning mayhem, muscles tense from the constant motion of keeping three kids fed, clothed, and moving in the right direction. It takes her a full minute before she realizes she doesn’t actually have to move anymore.

Melina reappears from the living room, arms full of scattered toys she’s gathered like some kind of overworked maid. A plastic dinosaur dangles precariously from her fingers, and she steps over a half-constructed Lego tower with the precision of someone who has spent far too many years dodging stray bricks.

“You let your father get away with too much,” she remarks, dropping a stuffed elephant onto the dining table with a huff.

Yelena snorts, stretching out in her chair.

“You say that like we’ve ever stopped him from doing anything.”

Melina sighs, flipping open the binder again. Yelena swears that thing balloons in size every week.

“I need you to confirm the holiday schedule with Kate. We need to know where they will be for each major holiday. I would prefer Christmas. She can have Thanksgiving.”

Yelena groans, tilting her head back against the chair.

“Can we survive one day without a schedule?”

“No,” Melina says flatly, barely glancing up.

“This is why Deda is the favorite,” Yelena mumbles, half joking.

“I know.” Melina smirks.

Yelena sighs, dragging herself to her feet.

“You want coffee?”

Melina hums, flipping a page in the binder. “You never said if you reviewed the meal plan. It has balanced dietary recommendations for all three.”

Yelena glares. Melina sighs.

“Fine. Yes, coffee. But if you do not ask Kate about holidays, I will call her… and I do not know how well that will go. For her.”

Yelena sighs heavily but pours her a cup anyway.

“Don’t call Kate, Mom.”

Melina lifts the mug with a satisfied little nod.

For all the chaos, all the headaches, all the everything, this…this…is what keeps her sane. The noise. The movement. The absolute certainty that she doesn’t have to do any of this alone.

Even if she wants to strangle half the people helping.

///

Therapy with three kids is a whole different ballgame. Yelena doesn’t mind her solo sessions with Dr. O’Grady, annoying as the woman is in her ability to see things Yelena isn’t ready to deal with. But therapy with the kids? That’s another beast entirely.

Dr. O’Grady sees all of them now. Yelena. The kids. Sometimes separately. Sometimes together. Right now, they’re all together. Yelena sits between Maks and Alexia on the couch. Sonny is on the floor, attempting to cram a toy into another toy that is very clearly too small.

Alexia is… watching. Not outright angry, not anymore, but cautious. Taking notes. Filing everything away for later. Yelena can feel it. She talks to her, but there’s a hesitance in her voice, like she’s waiting for the inevitable moment one of them fucks up. And she’s going to have some things to say when they do.

Maks doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he knows something changed. And he doesn’t quite like it. That’s why he keeps asking when Mommy is coming over for dinner.

Sonny, blissfully oblivious, just knows she has two beds, two toy baskets, and two completely different sets of rules depending on whose house she’s in.

And Kate? Kate is…Well. Kate’s Kate. And at the moment, Kate refuses to do therapy.

Dr. O’Grady shifts in her chair, studying the kids with that careful, quiet way she has. Then, finally, she looks at Alexia.

“Do you have any questions for your mom?”

Alexia is silent for a long moment. She kicks at a loose thread on the couch. Then, finally…

Yelena sees it coming. She tries to head it off.

“Your mom and I both love you,” she says before Alexia can even get the words out, trying not to fidget under Dr. O’Grady’s stare.

Alexia doesn’t answer right away. She looks at the floor.

“Then why don’t you live together anymore?”

Yelena hates that question. There’s no right way to answer it. She takes a slow breath.

“Because sometimes loving someone isn’t enough to make it work.”

Dr. O’Grady shifts slightly like she wants to step in, but she doesn’t. She lets Yelena sit with it. Eventually, Alexia crosses her arms, eyebrows pulling together.

“That’s stupid.”

Yelena exhales.

“Yeah,” she agrees, voice breaking. “It is.”

///

Maks can’t find his left shoe. Alexia forgot she needed a poster board for a project due today. Sonny still refuses to put pants on.

Yelena doesn’t remembers ever having to herd all three of them alone before this. Kate was always there. Or she was dealing with one or two of them somewhere else. Yelena is starting to think this could be considered an Olympic-level sport.

"Alexia, you’re getting way too old to be this disorganized…”

"You’re supposed to help me!"

"I am helping you by telling you to get your things together before the morning it’s due!"

"Mamaaaaa," Sonny whines, wiggling dramatically to push her pants down.

"Yes, I know, pants are oppression, but unfortunately, they are also necessary."

Maks is spinning in circles. "I forgot what I was looking for!"

"YOUR SHOE," Yelena yells, shoving Sonny’s leg into her pants while simultaneously digging through a pile of backpacks.

"OH RIGHT," Maks shouts, then immediately forgets again and starts talking about platypuses.

Somehow, by sheer force of will, Yelena gets them all out the door and into the car.

///

By the time she drops them off at school and daycare, she feels like she’s run a fucking marathon.

She grabs a second coffee, sits in her car for a full minute, then forces herself to drive to the lab, trying to scrape together whatever energy she has left.

The second she walks in, her assistant greets her with a loving grimace, “Were they up all night again?”

Yelena shoves her sunglasses onto her head. “No. They actually slept all night. I think this is just what my face looks like now.”

“Did YOU sleep?”

“Not really.”

He makes a noise of disapproval but hands her a file.

“Well that explains it…Review this before the briefing.”

“Remind me why I don’t just quit and become a full-time mom.”

“Because you’d lose your mind within a week.”

“…Right, yeah.”

He gives her a pointed look.

“Read the file. Let me know if you need me to make any changes”

Yelena sighs. "If I must."

She takes her coffee and heads to her office.

///

The bedtime routine is…organized chaos. Heavy on the chaos part. It’s, as always, a battlefield.

Getting them clean takes twice as long as it should because Maks keeps dunking his head underwater like he’s training for some kind of deep-sea survival mission and Sonny shrieks like she’s being waterboarded. Alexia refuses Yelena’s help with her shower because ‘she’s not a baby like the others’, but Yelena can still hear her struggling to detangle her hair in the bathroom down the hall. Meanwhile, Yelena, soaked to the elbows, tries and fails to contain the splashing, the wailing, and the general bedlam that is bath time.

By the time the kids are clean and wrapped in towels, Yelena is exhausted. And it’s not over.

Sonny fights sleep like it’s an act of war. Maks forgets how pajamas work every single night. Alexia acts like brushing her teeth is akin to brutal manual labor.

“Okay. Final warning. If you’re not in bed in five minutes, I’m making both of you sleep in the bathtub.”

Sonny, sitting on the floor, gnawing on a toy block, looks up with interest. “Bath?”

Maks gasps and speaks over his sister.

“You can’t do that!”

“I absolutely can.”

Alexia groans.

“Maks, she’s lying.”

“Am I?” Yelena raises an eyebrow, the tiniest smirk pulling at her lips.

Sonny drops the block. “Bath?”

Yelena scoops her up. “Oh, now you want a bath? Funny, because I remember you screaming bloody murder during your actual one.”

Sonny frowns like she’s been betrayed.

“You didn’t tell her she had to sleep in the bathtub.” Maks grumbles.

“She’s a baby. Babies don’t sleep in bathtubs.” Alexia clarifies.

“So she’s the favorite?”

“Absolutely.” Yelena ascertains.

When Yelena gets all three of them into pajamas and actually in bed, she’s wrecked. So much so that when they ask to sleep in her room, she doesn’t fight it. She secretly welcomes it. An empty bed is an awful thing.

///

Alexia sprawls out on Yelena’s bed, flipping through something on her iPad while Yelena wrestles Sonny into a clean diaper. Maks, fresh in his dinosaur pajamas, sits on the foot of the bed, dramatically flipping through a book like he’s deeply unimpressed.

“What are we reading?” Yelena asks, rubbing her tired eyes.

Maks huffs.

“I want to read the shark book, but I think we left it in Mommy’s car.”

“So pick something else.”

Maks flops onto his back.

“But I want the shark book.”

“Maksimilian.”

He groans, rolls onto his stomach, and flips a few pages.

“Fine. This one.”

Yelena takes the book from him, barely glancing at the title before he immediately shakes his head.

“No, wait. Not that one.”

Alexia doesn’t even look up. “Oh my God, pick a book.”

“You’re so bossy.” Maks scowls at her.

“I’m the oldest.”

Sonny, half-asleep on Yelena’s chest, perks up.

“Me book.”

“It’s not your turn!” Maks argues.

“Me book.” The toddler pushes back aggressively.

Alexia sighs heavily.

“Just let Sonny pick.”

Maks narrows his eyes, and the histrionics dialed to a twelve, he slides the pile of books toward Sonny. Sonny doesn’t even look at them. She just pats the top book with an incomprehensible babble. Maks sighs, defeated.

“Fine. We’re reading this one.”

Yelena shakes her head, flipping it open.

“Alright, it’s bedtime for real now.”

By page five, Sonny is completely knocked out, sprawled over Yelena’s chest like a tiny human heater. Alexia has shifted, eyes closed, curled up on her side. Maks fights it, blinking slower and slower, trying to keep himself awake. Come the end of the first chapter, he’s practically asleep, too. Yelena closes the book and carefully shifts Sonny. Then Maks mumbles something. Yelena glances down, brushing a stray strand of blonde off his face.

“Hmm?”

“Mommy doesn’t read anymore.” He barely opens his eyes.

The words hit low in her stomach, but Yelena continues to smooth a hand over his hair.

“Yeah? Since when?”

Maks shrugs sleepily, barely nodding before he fully drifts off. Yelena doesn’t move. Just sits there, staring down at him, at Sonny, at Alexia…listening to the slow, steady rhythm of their breathing.

Kate used to read to them. Every night. Even if she was exhausted. Even if she barely had time. She always made time. Yelena doesn’t know what it means that she stopped. And she doesn’t like that she doesn’t know.

When she moves to stand, she glances up and finds that her daughter is still awake. Alexia staring back at her. Watching her.

“You should be sleeping…Do you want me to read more?”

Alexia shifts under the blanket.

“You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I’m just…doing my best.”

Alexia doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then, finally, she shrugs then rolls onto her side, turning her back to Yelena. Yelena knows that’s as much of an answer as she’s going to get. She sighs, pressing a kiss to Sonny’s forehead before gently laying her down between Alexia and Maks. She tucks the blanket around them, smoothing it over Maks’s shoulders before slipping out of the room.

///

The apartment is finally quiet. Yelena leans against the doorframe for a second, exhaling.

There’s still a mess in the kitchen. Crumbs on the floor. A juice cup on the counter. One of Maks’s socks mysteriously on the bookshelf.

She should clean. She should read some reports. She should do literally anything productive. Instead, she drags herself to the couch and collapses, rubbing her temples.

Tomorrow, she has to take them back to Kate. And that, as always, is the part she dreads the most.

///

The morning is a blur of cereal bowls and half-packed backpacks and Maks losing his shoe. Again.

And then they’re in the car, and the drive feels like it always does. Soul annihilating. The car is mostly peaceful, filled only with the occasional hum of the radio and Maks mumbling half-formed stories in the backseat.

When she pulls into the garage, Kate is already waiting. Leaning on her car, parking spot next to her empty. This has become their routine. Yelena doesn’t know what she expects. Maybe another fight. Maybe some passive-aggressive remark about their scheduling. But when Kate steps forward, she doesn’t say anything at all.

She looks…off. Kate isn’t cold. Not exactly. She’s distant. Detached. It’s subtle. So subtle that if Yelena hadn’t known Kate for two decades, she probably wouldn’t have noticed. But she has. And she does.

Kate’s always been a controlled kind of chaotic. Loud but focused. A hurricane with a purpose. But now? Her energy is different. Unsettled. Her clothes are rumpled, like she just pulled them out of a pile on the floor. Her hair is messier than usual. And her eyes…fuck, her eyes…there’s something off about them. Even the shade of blue looks Not Right to Yelena. Like she’s too wired and too exhausted at the same time. But Yelena doesn’t say anything right away.

Kate helps Maks unbuckle his seatbelt. Alexia lingers, hesitating before stepping out. Sonny is half-asleep in the car seat, unaware. Yelena quietly works on unstrapping the toddler.

Alexia and Maks barrel past them into the elevator area, barely giving Kate a passing glance before heading inside. Kate doesn’t react to them, doesn’t make any move to pull them into a hug or ruffle their hair. That’s weird. Kate has always been the one who reached for them first. Always touched their heads, their shoulders, their backs. Subtle, barely-there things that had nothing to do with a greeting and everything to do with ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. But now? Zero. That’s not something her old Kate would do.

Kate takes Sonny from Yelena’s arms without a word, shifting her weight like she can’t stand still for too long. Her jaw is tight, her eyes unreadable, like she’s narrowly holding something together.

“You okay?” Yelena asks, watching her carefully.

Kate glances at her, startled.

“What?”

“You look…” Yelena hesitates, watching Kate more closely.

Kate’s expression falters for just a second before locking back into something unreadable.

“Just tired.”

It’s too fast. Too defensive. Yelena frowns.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Kate scoffs, shifting Sonny on her hip.

“Why do you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Yelena crosses her arms, softens.

Kate’s expression tightens.

“It’s not your job anymore.”

There’s a heat behind her words. Not full fire…just embers, waiting to catch.

“Kate.”

“I have to put Son down for her nap.”

The finality in her tone is clear. Yelena doesn’t push. Kate turns and walks into the elevator area without another word. Yelena watches her.

The kids move inside the elevator, dragging their bags with them. Maks waves at Yelena with a smile. Alexia glances back just once before disappearing through the door. Kate doesn’t linger. She steps inside. The door closes.

Yelena stays in the car for a moment, staring at the elevators. She doesn’t know what she just witnessed. But she knows Kate. And something isn’t right.

After a long pause, she pulls out her phone and dials. Susan picks up on the third ring.

“Hi! You still owe me that girls night by the way. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Yelena forces a laugh.

“We will. I promise….When’s the last time you talked to your sister?”

Susan goes silent, then sighs.

“What did she do now?”

“Nothing…That’s the problem.”

“Define ‘nothing’.”

“I don’t know. She feels off. The kids ran inside, and she barely looked at them…When did you last talked to her? Saw her?”

Yelena waits.

“Not for a while.”

“Why?”

Susan sighs. “Yelena…”

“I’m not starting anything,” Yelena says quickly. “I just…I know her. And I can feel it.”

“I love that loser, I do. But she’s a goddamn mess. And I can’t…be around her energy right now. She doesn’t listen. So why would I bother talking? I’m letting her sit in her shit for a while. She needs a time out.”

Yelena hesitates, debating how much to say. She doesn’t want to stir the pot if there’s nothing there. But she knows what she saw.

“She seems…I don’t know.” Yelena admits. “Something’s not right. I’m worried.”

Susan doesn’t argue. That silence says enough. Yelena’s stomach twists.

“You are too, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know either.”

“I don’t buy that.”

Susan groans.

“You two are so annoying. Always in each other’s business even when you’re divorcing.”

Yelena tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

“She’s technically still my wife…For a couple more weeks at least.”

Susan doesn’t say anything at first. Then…

“…I don’t think she’s okay, but that’s her own doing. If it makes you feel better, I’ll check on her.”

“It would make me feel better. Thank you…And, uh…let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

They hang up.

Yelena sits there for another beat, staring at her phone, waiting for something she can’t quite name. But nothing happens. So she starts the car. And drives away.

/// — \\\

Kate’s days without the kids are nearly unbearable. Time stretches in all the worst ways. Dragging. Bleeding into itself until she loses track of it completely. She hates them.

She never used to feel alone in her own house. Even before the split, even if she and Yelena weren’t speaking for whatever stupid reason, there was always noise. The kids. T he creaky floorboards. The way Yelena would sigh dramatically over some work thing as she sat at the kitchen table, tapping her pen against her laptop. Even if they weren’t talking, Yelena had been there. Had been there for years. And now she’s not. Now the apartment is dead quiet.

Kate wakes up early out of habit, but there’s no reason to. No Sonny babbling. No Maks breaking anything. No Alexia blasting cartoons way too damn early. No one to force her out of bed except herself.

Some mornings, Kate stays there for hours.

Other mornings, she gets up and makes too much coffee for one person. A habit. She drinks one cup and lets the rest sit on the counter until it goes cold. She doesn’t pour it out. Just leaves it there, staring at it like it might do something.

Without the kids, without anything to distract her, it all comes creeping in. The resentment. The regret. The rage. She’s so fucking angry. At Yelena. At herself. At this entire fucking situation.

She tells herself she doesn’t miss Yelena, because that would imply some kind of softness, and she’s not soft about this. The divorce was necessary. Yelena didn’t fight for them, so Kate had to do what she always does…fix the problem. Cut off the loose ends. Move the fuck on.

Except she hasn’t moved on. She can’t. She sees Yelena constantly. At custody exchanges. At the kids’ school. In Maks’s stubborness, in Alexia’s face, in Sonny’s little mannerisms.

Kate spends half her time trying not to think about Yelena, and the other half convincing herself she doesn’t care what Yelena does anymore. But she does. She does care. And that pisses her off more than anything.

Because Yelena is fine. She sees it. At drop-offs, at pick-ups. The way Yelena carries herself now. Like she’s lighter. More put-together. Like she’s thriving in a way that Kate isn’t. She looks good. Not just physically, but okay. Relaxed. Settled. Like this divorce didn’t fucking gut her the way it has Kate.

It makes Kate want to fucking scream. Because this isn’t how it was supposed to go. Yelena was supposed to hurt too. Yelena was supposed to fucking fall apart, and instead, she’s just…fine.

Kate should be happy about that, right? The mother of her kids is handling this well. She’s adjusting. She’s making it work. So why does it make Kate feel like she’s losing the divorce? Even if its not a game, she feels like she’s losing and that enrages her most days.

The days without the kids stretch into themselves. Her routine is shot to hell. Work doesn’t keep her occupied the way it used to. The company is fine…thriving, even…but she’s not focused the way she should be. She’ll sit in a meeting and barely process what’s being said, mind wandering to the clock, to the calendar, to how many more hours until she has nothing to do. Nothing to drown out the noise in her head.

She works late, not because she needs to, but because it keeps her occupied. The company has become less about her career and more about noise. She takes meetings she doesn’t have to. Stays long after everyone else has gone home.

She fills the silence with anything she can find.

When the kids aren’t with her, she goes out. Not with friends. Not with anyone who actually knows her. She’s pushed all those people away. So Kate finds noise. Bars. Places where she can be something else, someone else, even if it’s just for a few hours.

She drinks too much. She flirts with people she has no interest in. She lets herself get swept up in meaningless distractions, lets strangers talk at her, lets the bass of whatever music is playing drown out the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind.

It’s all so fucking empty. And the second she’s alone again, it crashes back down. The house. The quiet. The space Yelena used to take up. She doesn’t let herself sit in it for too long. Because that would mean acknowledging it. And Kate refuses to do that.

///

The days with the kids are different. With them, she has structure. Purpose. She wakes up early because she has to.

Sonny cries and Kate moves without thinking, scooping her up, pressing kisses to her hair as she soothes her. Maks is up within minutes, bouncing into her room with a thousand questions before Kate can even blink. Alexia takes longer to wake up. She’s always been like that. Slow in the mornings. Pensive. Observant.

The house is loud when they’re there. It’s never been clearer how much of her life is defined by them.

She moves through the morning on autopilot. Breakfast. Packing lunches. Chasing Maks down to make sure he *actually* has underwear on before they leave. Getting everyone out the door before they’re late for…whatever it is they're supposed to be doing that day.

It’s normal. It’s the only part of her life that still feels like hers. The only time she feels like herself is when they’re here.

But they’re only here half the time. And when they leave, it’s back to square one. Back to silence. Back to wondering why the fuck she let this happen.

///

Kate hears Susan before she sees her. It’s impossible not to.

She’s barely had time to get the kids settled in when the telltale shuffle of sneakers against hardwood floors and the exaggerated sigh of a six-months-pregnant woman reaches her ears.

“Jesus, Katherine. This place is depressing,” Susan mutters as she drops her bag on the entryway table, hand pressed to her lower back. “You know they make lamps that don’t give off ‘abandoned psychiatric ward’ vibes, right?”

“What are you doing here?”

Susan rolls her eyes, shrugging out of her coat.

“Came to see my favorite nieces and nephew.”

“They’re the only ones you have.”

“That’s why they're my favorite. Also…”She glances down at her stomach, patting it. “…the parasite inside me is demanding spaghetti and I know you have to make them dinner so…you might as well make me what I want for dinner too.”

“Does it look like I take requests?” Susan simply glares. Kate huffs a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “I’ll start some water.”

The kitchen is bright compared to the rest of the house. Not warm, necessarily, but it’s lived in…mostly because the kids exist in it. There are dishes in the sink, half-empty snack boxes on the counter, and an unclaimed sock near the fridge that Kate refuses to acknowledge.

Susan doesn’t hesitate before making herself at home. She drops into a chair at the dining table, stretching her legs out with a groan.

“Where are they?” she asks, rubbing a hand over her belly.

“Sonny’s napping. The other two are probably in their rooms,” Kate says, filling a pot with water. “Leo is still bouncing off the walls from whatever sugar Yelena let him have before drop-off, and Alex is acting like I personally ruined her life by asking her to unload the dishwasher.”

“That one’s your clone, you know.” Kate glares at her, setting the pot on the stove. “Just saying.”

The sound of small feet pounding down the corridor interrupts whatever insult Kate was about to throw back. A second later, Maks appears in the doorway, wide-eyed, slightly breathless.

“SUZU!”

Susan barely has time to react before Maks launches himself at her, arms wrapping around her in a bear hug. She grunts but laughs, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, bug. Miss me?”

“Yes,” Maks says, muffled against her shoulder. Then he pulls back suddenly, eyes dropping to her stomach. “Is the baby still in there?”

“Nope. I already had it, and I just like walking around with a fake belly for fun.”

Maks frowns, considering this. Alexia appears in the doorway a second later, arms crossed. She takes in the scene, then sighs heavily.

“You’re going to make her back hurt.” Alexia reprimands him.

“My back already hurts. Kid’s gonna come out with his arms crossed if the attitude I’m dealing with in utero is any indication.”

“It’s a boy?!” Alexia’s lips twitch in a half smile.

Susan shrugs.

“Dunno. Doctor won’t tell me.”

“Why?” Kate inquires, confused.

“Because we told them we don’t want to know.” Susan smirks at her sister.

“You don’t want to know?” Maks’ face scrunches in disbelief.

“Nope. Gonna be a surprise.”

Maks looks appalled. Kate watches them interact, something unsteady curling in her gut. It’s too normal. Too easy. Too much like how things used to be. She turns back to the stove, stirring the water just for something to do.

///

Later, after dinner, bedtime is a full-blown event.

Susan tries to help, but Kate stubbornly refuses the assistance. So Susan sits back and watches, arms resting over her stomach, amusement clear on her face.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she points out as Kate struggles to get Sonny settled in her crib.

“I don’t need your help.” Kate glares at her, jaw tight.

Susan raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Just waits.

Eventually, Maks and Sonny are both down, Alexia disappears into her room with her headphones in, and Kate trudges into the living room, exhausted.

“You can go now.”

“Yeah, no. We’re not gonna do that.”

“Do what?”

Susan gestures at her, at the house, at the entire situation.

“This thing where you pretend you’re fine when you’re very clearly not.”

“Suze…” Kate grits her teeth.

“You look like shit.”

“That’s not your problem. Not anyone’s problem.”

Kate begins to tidy up. Just to do something. Just to not have to look at her sister.

“You always do this.”

“Oh, great. Here we go.”

Susan doesn’t let Kate get away with it. She pushes off the couch and steps forward, voice steady. Aimed.

“You’re too old for this, you know?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Susan takes a step closer, eyes narrowing.

“It means you’re too grown to be acting like DJ.”

The room goes silent. Kate’s whole body locks up. There are certain things you don’t fucking say. Certain things you don’t bring up. Certain wounds that have been closed…or at least buried so deep they should be closed. Susan just cracked one wide open.

“You need to watch yourself.”

“Why? Did I hit a nerve?”

Kate flinches. Her fingers twitch at her sides, hands curving into fists. Susan doesn’t stop.

“You remember how Deej used to tell us he was fine? How he always had some excuse for why his life was going to shit?” Her voice is razor-sharp now, hitting Kate exactly where she doesn’t want to be hit. “How it was NEVER his fault? How it was everyone else who didn’t understand? How he could quit whenever he wanted, how it wasn’t THAT bad. You…”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Kate snaps.

Susan does not.

“YOU are doing the same fucking thing. You’re making the same excuses, telling the same fucking lies. And you want to know the real kicker? The thing that set DJ down that road was them. It was Mom and Dad. It was growing up in a house where love felt like a fucking death match where no one ever got out whole…Just like the house you’re making your kids live in now.”

Kate feels her vision blur with rage.

“You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Susan tilts her head, giving her this look…an almost pitying, disgusted look.

“You’re not even Mom. You turned into Dad, Kate.”

Kate sees red.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

Susan doesn’t even flinch. She just stands there. Watching her. Kate’s breathing is ragged. Her pulse is roaring. Susan doesn’t even look shaken. Just…resigned.

“You really think you’re better than him?” she asks, voice softer now. “You really think you’re doing something different?”

Kate’s throat burns. Susan stares at her for another long moment. Then, she shakes her head.

“You know what’s funny?” Susan tilts her head, voice deceptively casual. “I told you this would happen. I told you, years ago, the first time you tried to pull this divorce shit, that if you actually went through with it, Yelena was going to thrive, and you were going to be miserable. And, huh…Look at that.” She gestures at Kate. “I was fucking right.” Susan shakes her head. “I know this isn't even how bad it’s going to get because, how do you think its going to feel when she starts seeing someone else. I also told you that, remember? Your wife…”

“Ex-wife.” Kate corrects venomously.

"YOUR WIFE is one of the best people I've ever met. I don't even know how she's still single. But she won't be for long. So what happens to you when you have to see that? Hmmm? Her. With someone else. Your kids in another family. And you won't be able to say shit about it."

Kate wants to hit something. Wants to break something. Wants to scream 'You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about', but she can’t. Because deep, deep, deep down…a part of her knows Susan isn’t wrong.

“You don’t get to be mad at her for moving on when you did this..." Susan surveys her. Takes in her rigid stance, her baller up fists. She shakes her head. "Deej resented you for being okay. For being able to come out of it fine. To have a life after all that shit when he couldn't. You're doing that now. You're Deej. And you're dad. How sad, Kate."

“Fuck you.” Kate’s voice is raw when she finally speaks.

Susan’s mouth tightens, but she doesn’t look mad. Just… disappointed. Like she expected more. Like she’s done.

“Yeah,” Susan mutters, grabbing her coat. “Fuck me, I guess.”

Susan watches Kate for another long beat. Then, she heads for the door. She doesn’t even slam the door when she leaves.

The quiet is worse.

Kate stares at the spot Susan just vacated, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles are white.

She rushes to the living room bar cart and pours herself a drink. She drinks it too fast. It burns. She pours another.

The cacophony in her head doesn’t quiet.

Kate doesn’t even bother with a glass the third time. She reaches for the whiskey bottle and drinks straight from it. She barely registers the sting. She just takes another gulp. And then another.

She presses the back of her hand to her mouth and exhales hard through her nose, blinking rapidly, as if that’ll stop the fucking shaking in her hands.

She’s fine.

She just needs something to take the edge off. To drown out Susan’s fucking voice still bouncing around in her head.

You're Deej. And you're dad. How sad, Kate.

Kate tips the bottle again. She isn’t her father. She isn’t. She just…fuck. FUCK!

Kate grabs her phone, swiping through contacts she has no intention of calling. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want a conversation. She wants noise. She wants a distraction. She wants to drown in something. Anything. Whatever isn’t this feeling.

She closes her messages and opens a dating app instead.

The profile pictures blur together. Smiling faces, sultry smirks, bio after bio of meaningless bullshit. She barely reads them. Doesn’t care. She thumbs through them, swiping right on the ones that look like they won’t talk too much. She has her first match within seconds.

Hey.

What are you up to?

Nothing. You?

Nothing. Want company? Come over.

Kate exhales slowly. The resounding ‘yes’ in the response might be the best word Kate’s heard all day.

///

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Kate barely remembers which one she picked, but it doesn’t matter. She opens the door, and there’s a girl standing there. Brunette, short skirt, black boots, waaaaay younger than Kate should be fucking. This girl is the exact opposite of everything Yelena is. Was that intentional? Kate doesn’t know.

“Hey,” the girl purrs, leaning against the doorframe like she’s done this a thousand times before.

Kate could not care less.

“Yeah. Come in. You have to be quiet. My kids are sleeping.”

The girl steps inside without hesitation, glancing around like she’s sizing up the upscale apartment. Kate doesn’t offer her a drink. Doesn’t ask about her night. Doesn’t bother with the niceties. She doesn’t fucking want to know this girl’s name. She just grabs her by the wrist and drags her to the bedroom.

To her bed. The one she used to share with Yelena. The girl giggles.

“Someone’s impatient.”

Kate doesn’t answer. She just pushes her onto the bed and crawls on top of her.

It’s easy. Mindless. Lips on skin. Hands tugging at clothes. A body beneath her that doesn’t fight her. That doesn’t argue. That doesn’t demand anything from her. The girl moans and sighs and moves the way Kate wants, and for a little while, it’s quiet in Kate’s head.

///

An hour or so later, they lay in bed. Catching their breaths. The girl leans over to grab her purse, digs through it.

“You want a bump?”

Kate freezes. The girl is grinning at her, lazy, sated, pulling a little baggie from her purse.

“Or…nah?” the girl teases, shaking it between two fingers.

Kate stares at it. Her pulse kicks. She hasn’t done coke (or any drugs for that matter) since she was a dumbass college kid with no responsibilities and no consequences. Since before that night Yelena caught her getting high and ripped her a new one.

The smart thing would be to say no. The right thing would be to say no.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Kate’s never been known for being smart or right.

The girl grins wider and dumps a little onto the nightstand. Kate watches, detached, as she takes the first hit, then taps her finger against the surface.

“Go for it.”

Kate hesitates. For a second. Then, before she can talk herself out of it, she leans down and does the line.

Fuck.

She tips her head back. Blinks. It’s been a long time. The burn in her nose is familiar. The rush that follows is instant. She exhales hard, and it’s like everything loosens.

“That good, huh?” The girl laughs, pressing closer.

Kate grins. For the first time all fucking night, she grins. And then she rolls the girl onto her back and fucks her again.

She doesn’t think about the fact that this is the same bed Yelena used to fuck her in. She doesn’t think about the fact that she doesn’t even remember this girl’s fucking name.

She just chases the high, drowns herself in it. And when it wears off…Kate simply does another line.

///

Kate leans against the bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her pupils are blown, her skin flushed. She looks awake. Alert. More alive than she has in weeks.

She sniffs hard, then runs the back of her hand under her nose just to be sure. The girl…fuck, what was her name?…is still sprawled out in her bed, half-asleep, looking as wrecked as Kate should feel. But Kate doesn’t feel wrecked. She feels good. She feels…quiet.

It’s the first time in months that her head isn’t roaring with noise. The static is gone.

Kate steps out of the bathroom, grabbing her phone off the dresser as she moves. 4:58 AM. The kids could wake up any second. She shakes the girl’s shoulder.

“You gotta go.”

“Mmm, rude.” The girl groans, cracking one eye open.

“I’m serious. Put your clothes on.” Kate doesn’t humor it.

The girl groans louder, stretching like a satisfied cat, then finally starts pulling her clothes on.

“At least let me have coffee before you kick me out.”

Kate doesn’t answer. She’s busy checking the nightstand.

There’s still a little left in the bag. She rolls it between her fingers. The girl catches the movement and smirks.

“Want another?”

“Yeah.” Kate has zero hesitation this time.

She takes two more lines before walking the girl to the door. She doesn’t feel tired. She doesn’t feel drained. She feels ready.

By the time the kids wake up, Kate is on it. Breakfast is already going, lunches are packed, backpacks are lined up by the door.

Alexia steps into the kitchen, brow furrowed.

“You’re happy.”

Kate grins, flipping a pancake.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…smiling. It’s different.”

Kate tosses a pancake onto a plate and slides it in front of her.

“Mom just woke up in a good mood.”

Something pricks at Alexia…but she just nods and lets it go.

Maks, oblivious, scrambles up onto a chair and immediately launches into his morning monologue about some game he’s playing on the iPad. Sonny happily plays on her mat.

Kate moves through it all effortlessly. No headache. No irritation. No exhaustion pressing down on her ribs. It’s easy. They’re loud. But she’s quiet. The right kind of quiet.

///

Kate gets them to school on time. No scrambling, no forgotten homework, no yelling over missing shoes. She even remembers that today is Sonny’s picture day and gets her all dressed up.

It’s perfect.

And then…Kate looks down at her phone.

Seven missed calls.

Fifteen messages.

Her assistant’s name dominates the screen:

Where are you??

You have that Impact Co. meeting in ten.

KATE!…

The meeting started.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Kate blinks. The noise rushes back.

She was supposed to be at work an hour ago. She groans, forcing herself to think. She can still make it. She can just blame it on traffic, make a joke about how it’s been one of those mornings…

But her feet aren’t moving toward her car.

She looks up.

The bar is still there.

The same one she used to drag DJ out of. The one where she got her head bashed in for trying to fight with the dealers.

It’s still standing. Still open. Still servicing its…special clientele. The smart thing would be to keep walking. To go to work, fix her fuck-up, act like everything is normal…But Kate doesn’t feel smart right now. She doesn’t want to be.

She shoves her phone into her pocket and steps inside.

The smell is the same. Stale beer, sweat, something funkier underneath.

The bartender doesn’t even look up as she slides onto a stool. She orders whiskey. Downs it in two gulps. Then she looks for someone who can sell her what she really came here for.

It doesn’t take long.

///

Kate walks out of the bar with a bag of coke in her pocket and no intention of letting the noise get the better of her until she has to pick the kids up from school.

#bishova #bishlova #katelena #kate bishop #yelena belova #kate x yelena #THIS JUST FELT RIGHT WE LOVE SELF DESTRUCTIVE QUEENS IN THIS HOUSE #very CFAU!Lexa of FBAU!Kate lol #but im sure y'all are gonna scream at me its fine i can take it #its worth it for the shit thats about to happen (do i know what it is yet? no because y'all know i dont plan but im sure itll be good lolol #we're all collectively trusting the process...including me lol #like when i realized what route kate had to go down it all clicked yesterday i was like 'OH this is how all that shit is going to pay off'#i think this is the longest chapter ive ever written outside of CFAU???#its a beast so...you truly cant say im not making up for the drought ive given you over 20k since like...thursday and its saturday lol #also for arcane no i dont like cartoons lol :)#kyfbau #kyfbaup #anonymous #answers

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