#We never see Loop sleep and they give a flash of their old self in act 6.

[pearl-crystals]

A treat for meeeeee hahaha

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part II) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist || Part One

Summary: Part two, read part one if you haven’t already! Sam & Bucky put reader in charge of looking after Zemo....again. Series loosely inspired by this song.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, mentions of sex, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: Wow! I was so shocked on the feedback I got on the first part of this story. It has nearly 800 notes. I’m not used to my writing getting that kind of attention so I really appreciate the love. I decided to make this into at least a 3-4 part series and there will be eventual smut, but I feel like there’s something sweet between these two that goes beyond an obvious physical attraction, so I do want to build that a bit before we get there. This weekend I rewatched TFATWS & Civil War because I’m officially obsessed with Zemo lol. Please let me know what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist. :) 

-----

“Keep an eye on him.”

Y/N watched Bucky and Sam split off again. That was now at least the third time she’d heard that phrase since she arrived in Riga. Little did they know, she was probably the worst person to be put in charge of Zemo. Truthfully, it was starting to be a little insulting.

It was unclear why she’d been brought along on this mission, when half the time Sam and Bucky were talking in hushed tones just out of her earshot. There was always more to the story than they told her, but this time, it felt like she was more out of the loop than ever.

She adjusted the neckline of the sweater she wore out of an abundance of caution, checking subconsciously to make sure it hadn’t exposed the mark Zemo had left on her from the day before. It was a discovery she’d made that morning, and persisted despite her efforts to cover it up with makeup.

“According to those two, I must be the best at babysitting you,” she muttered under her breath. It was petty, so she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to hear. But he did.

“Babysitting?” Zemo lifted an eyebrow. 

“You know, a nanny, a governess….whatever a Baron’s equivalent is,” she said, looking him in the eye for the first time that day, which was a mistake. He looked so handsome in that long, fur-lined coat, tall and refined, hair styled perfectly. There had to be warrants out for his arrest since escaping prison, and in his current getup, he was hard to miss. 

It wasn’t easy to ignore the stifling tension between them. The Baron hadn’t left her thoughts since she’d closed the door on him the evening before. Now they were alone again. She couldn’t decide if that was thrilling or terrifying, so she decided on both.

“It’s nice of them to give us some alone time,” Zemo stepped close to her, one gloved hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Despite the cool temperature outside, it was the first thing today that had her shivering. 

“Walk with me,” he commanded sternly. She saw no opportunity to refuse as they started in the direction opposite of where Bucky and Sam had disappeared. 

“Zemo-”

“Helmut,” he corrected her. “But go on…”

“We have to focus on figuring out where Donya’s funeral will be,” she said, feeling his hand slide down to settle on the small of her back, trying to inch away, but he just pulled her closer. “We can’t waste time.”

“I know Riga inside and out, that won’t be as difficult as you and your friends think,” he murmured. His proximity was already suffocating. Or maybe comforting. It was hard to tell. “Tell me, what is your business with them? You aren’t an Avenger. This was my first time hearing your name.”

She snorted, finally finding the strength to pull away, and he dropped his hand. That was one thing that had confounded her. He was confident, took liberties with what others would allow, but knew when to stop pushing. There was something alluring to his nature. 

“I’m not,” she responded, wondering how much she was willing to share. When she stole a glance out of the corner of her eyes, his head was lowered, leaning in, listening intently for her response. She wondered if he really cared, or if he was good at pretending. It was easy to believe that he did.

“Bucky and I aren’t that different,” she continued. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m not a super soldier, but I was taught how to fight, how to kill. I followed orders for too long without questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. And at least now, I think I am.”

“You think,” he repeated, and corrected her again like he had the day before. As much as she wanted some kind of clever or quick quip back, she wore her heart on her sleeve for the moment and shrugged. There was nothing to defend when she still wasn’t sure what responsibilities she had in this world. 

Zemo halted, and she paused too, turning back to look at him. “So you were an assassin,” he murmured, reaching out. Nodding slightly, she lowered her eyes when his gloved thumb brushed across her face. The buttery, overpowering smell of leather took her over as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I would’ve never guessed. Du bist so süß.”

Her knowledge of German was limited, but she could see a flash of what looked like affection in his eyes. He couldn’t be lying, could he? She wondered. She wanted to trust that he wasn’t, wanted to identify every good part of him she could, so she could justify the overwhelming attraction she felt towards him. Something in her just kept pulling forward against her will, like a magnet.

“You’d be surprised,” she answered, but didn’t pull away. The intensity of his gaze made her feel weak, but there was something strangely reassuring in his eyes. It was just the two of them, standing on a crowded sidewalk.

She rose her hand to clasp around his, frowning when she felt the hard loop of a ring on one of his gloved fingers. It had gone unnoticed by her, until now. He still wore a wedding band. 

It would have been easy to vocalize the observation, gauge his reaction, try to regain some upper hand and remind him who exactly he was dealing with. But, it would’ve been pointlessly cruel, as she knew what that felt like to answer that question. Those days were behind her, now. 

As if the universe was scolding her, a loud car horn broke through the perceived silence. His hand dropped from her face, and they began to walk again. 

“I had lots of time to think in prison,” he said after a heady pause in conversation. “About the things I’d done. Whatever intentions you have, to someone, you’re always the enemy. What I thought was important, trying to serve the greater good, it isn’t always worth the trouble. I was trying to protect what I had already lost, the places and people I’d taken for granted.”

Deciphering his words, she took a moment before responding. “That’s actually...very insightful,” she said, partly surprised by what he’d shared, appreciating that he felt her vulnerability, and matched it in his response.

“I know you’re stunned I’m not a brute,” he answered, increasing his pace to a determined strut rather than a lazy stroll. She was forced to keep up with him. “You’ve been told what to think about me by Sam and Bucky.”

She scoffed. “Not just them. The entire world. All the people you’ve hur-”

He halted and turned to face her so quickly, she collided with his chest and her breath caught in her throat. 

“I’m not that man anymore,” his voice was nearly a growl, disgust laced in his features as he looked down at her. 

But as soon as she recognized it, he became expressionless again, backing away. Falling back into step beside him, they continued to walk, a bit faster than they had been before. She followed him, at this point convinced that she might get lost without his guidance, but a little startled by his sudden change in behavior.

“What do you think of Riga?” he asked her as they cut through an alleyway. His voice held none of the venom that it had a few moments ago, so she wondered if she’d just hit a sore nerve.

“It’s beautiful,” she answered, admiring the old brick buildings and fine architecture. “But I think I haven’t had much of a chance to appreciate it.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

They ducked under an alcove, and she realized he’d carefully led her off the crowded streets. It was much quieter here. She suddenly didn’t feel as protected as she had been with him in the open. The temperature in the shaded space was much lower than expected. And he was standing over her, waiting for some response she didn’t know if she could give. 

“I haven’t forgotten about last night, liebling,” he continued. 

Of course she had been thinking of him. Nearly nonstop. What they’d shared, what it meant. She hadn’t been able to sleep until she relieved herself, fingers rubbing her clit and delving into her warmth, whimpering his name when she finally came. Still, it had done little to quell the ache inside her. 

It was a horrible thing, she’d decided. Objectively horrible, and unprofessional. There was the consideration of accessibility. What did he see in her beyond a means to an end? Was she really going to throw everything she’d worked for away to a man who was going to use her to scratch an itch?

Too much was at stake, Sam and Bucky’s trust, her reputation, her job, and she couldn’t allow it to go on. 

But oh, how much she wanted it to. 

“Yesterday was nice,” she straightened up, holding her own. “I won’t lie to you.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly in a self-satisfied smirk. 

“But I’m not foolish,” she continued. “Coming on to the first woman you see after you get out of jail? Seems pretty convenient.”

At first, the Baron tilted his head to the side, his brows pulled together at her words. But after a moment, the smile returned, and he chuckled. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Don’t insult me, Helmut,” she said sternly, trying her best not to feel embarrassed. She was only being honest.

“Are you always so severe to yourself?” he asked, tutting lightly. 

It would have been better to say nothing. Why give him anything at all? 

She didn’t answer his question, just backed away from him and began walking in no particular direction, wanting only to increase the space between them and regain her common sense. That was impossible however, as she was jolted backwards before she even knew what was happening, a firm hand on her upper arm, and she was chest to chest with Zemo once more. 

“We were in Madripoor together. I could’ve had my way with many women there if I wanted. But I didn’t.”

“Please-” she rolled her eyes.

“If all I wanted to do was fuck someone, I could have done it by now,” he stalked forward, the air pressure around them dropping, weighed by the tension hanging thick between them. “But that’s not what I want. I want you.”

His words, spoken in a soft, low purr rattled away every bit of resolve she had left in her. Some last ditch effort found her stepping backwards, but her body met the brick wall behind them and she realized he had her cornered. 

In more ways than one, she thought.

Taking in a shaky breath, she looked up at his eyes, clouded with lust. “I know you want me,” he said, not a shred of doubt in his voice. But why should there have been? He was right. 

Her eyes darted around, like someone or something around them was going to jump out and save her from herself. It didn’t go unnoticed. “There’s no need to be scared, liebling. I feel it, too.”

With that, he closed the gap between their lips. He tasted sweet, like the candies he’d been eating back at his flat. Turkish delight. She was drowning in him again, his scent, his touch, everything about him enveloped and beguiled her. Her shirt had bunched up slightly somewhere along their walk and his gloved hands explored the exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

She surrendered, letting him tease open her mouth and claim her wholly. It was still bad, she knew. But there wasn’t any last bit of self-control left in her. 

The layers of clothing between them didn’t allow for the same proximity she’d had to him the evening before. Groaning in delight and frustration, she reached up to tangle and rake her fingers through his hair, as his fingers curled around the top of her sweater, revealing the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Don’t hide this,” his lips left hers as his eyes focused on the stamp of affection he’d left behind the day before. “Let them see.”

“You know I can’t,” she responded, sheepishly pulling it back into place. Studying her with amiable consideration, his hand rose to brush tenderly across her cheekbone. 

“I thought you’d come to me last night,” she confessed, drawing away slightly, shocked by her own admission. But right now, she didn’t feel the need to put up as much of a facade. He looked positively virile; panting, his cheeks flushed and hair mussed, pupils blown out as he focused on her. To know she was the cause of his current state of disarray gave her an immense amount of satisfaction. A buried, salacious part of her wondered what else she could do to make him look even more unkempt.

“I considered it,” he said, sounding almost timid. “But I want to do this right.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “In private, so no one can disturb us,” he continued, lips moving down her neck. “We can take our time, you can be as loud as you’d like.”

The mental image he was currently painting for her was doing very little to strengthen her convictions, whatever those had been. The thought of her legs wrapped around his torso, naked bodies pressed together sent a bolt of electricity through the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards. She wanted his lips on every inch of her skin. Aching at the possibility, the present tease of his teeth nibbling on her collarbone wasn’t helping.

“You know we can’t,” she didn’t try to stop the thought as it came out of her mouth.

“What is there to lose?”

Everything, she thought, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t really, as his gloved hand was trailing slowly under her jacket and sweater, against her bare skin, and cupping her breast through her bra. Whimpering, she couldn’t control the way her body arched against his.

Hooking her knee on his hip, she let him press forward, feeling the warmth of his excitement through his trousers and her jeans. He ground against her once, teasingly, and she moaned softly into his mouth. 

He was the one to pull away, and she was thankful he did. “Think about it, liebling,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. “Du hast die Kontrolle.”

“We can’t,” she answered again, but even she didn’t believe herself. Raking her hands through her hair and adjusting her rumpled sweater, she straightened up. “We have a job to do.”

Brushing past him out of the alcove, each step she took away from him gave her the self control she desperately needed. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reluctantly trudging behind. At this point, she wasn’t foolish. There were only two ways this could end.

----

Part III

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[heliads]

Deserve You

Based on this request: “Bucky imagine where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good at all for him even though he loves you more than anything. one time he comes from a mission to you waiting in his room, doubting again but he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then? :)”

masterlist

You open your eyes gradually, the last remnants of sleep being dragged away by the brightness of dawn. You allow yourself one final moment of lingering silence before sitting up with a yawn. A brief spurt of panic flashes across you when you realize that you’re alone in your bed, but then you hear a quiet noise from the kitchen and your pulse begins to settle once more. Bucky must have already gotten up, there’s no need to worry.

You keep having moments like this, where you turn to find yourself alone and keep thinking that this is it, that he’s finally left you. Then you mentally chide yourself for thinking that way- every single one of the Avengers that you’ve met on your trips to the old Stark Tower keeps talking about how Bucky’s head over heels for you, so why would he ghost you out of nowhere? You always smile for a second, thinking about your boyfriend, and then the doubt creeps back in and you glance around to find him. Every single time, without fail, those lurking remnants of doubt always worm back into your mind, and sometimes it feels like there’s nothing you can do to get rid of them.

The only available option is to find Bucky and put your mind at ease by knowing that he’s still here. So, you slide your legs out of the still-warm blankets, grimacing at the shock of the cold air, and pad over to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bucky is holding a mug of some hot beverage, maybe coffee or tea, and staring out the window at the city below him. He does this, sometimes, just watches the city like he could do it for hours. You have a feeling that he’s studying the city for any last lingering resemblance to the New York he’d grown up in, when the most pressing news was World War II and he didn’t see himself in Siberia for anything more than a ski trip, if he could put together enough pennies to afford it. However, life has a way of throwing you for a loop, and all of Bucky’s plans for the future evaporated as soon as he plummeted from the train all those years ago.

Bucky turns when he hears you approach. “Good morning.” You smile, joining him by the window. “Good morning yourself. Are you up early for an assignment or because of a nightmare?” Bucky frowns. “The latter. Did I wake you? I thought I was quiet.” You shake your head. “No, I was asleep the whole time. I just knew because you have that same look on your face after you have your nightmares.” Bucky laughs quietly. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the spy who knew everything. Sure you don’t want a job at S.H.I.E.L.D.?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not sure that paying attention to my boyfriend really qualifies me for FBI: Avengers Edition, but I’ll keep it in mind.” You head over to the fridge, starting to pull out some items for breakfast. Bucky leaves within a few minutes, mumbling something about an early morning meeting, and you head to work yourself soon after. Your own workplace is no Avengers Tower, just a typical office building, and you slide into your seat just in time to start the day.

The morning itself is fairly uneventful, and you’re just starting to think that it’s going to be another boring day as usual when you head off to your lunch break. As you’re waiting in line to use the microwave, you hear a pair of women talking at a table near you. You had no intention of eavesdropping, but although their voices are fairly loud your attention was hooked from the beginning when you realize they’re talking about Bucky. More specifically, they’re talking about Bucky’s girlfriend, or lack thereof.

Ever since you started dating Bucky, he had been careful to keep you out of the public eye. When you work as an Avenger for long enough, you learn to keep everyone important to you out of focus, out of danger. If a HYDRA agent got word of the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend, you’d be on a train to Siberia with handcuffs and a blindfold within the hour, a ransom request already placed on your head. That’s if they were patient- if not, they would just shoot you to send a message. By making sure nobody heard about you, Bucky could keep you safe.

The downside of this is times like now, when you have to listen to two of your coworkers discussing how strange it is that a man as attractive as James Barnes would still be single. Obviously, you can’t say anything, and you’re not sure that they’d believe you if you tried, but it’s still slightly uncomfortable to hear the conversation swirling around you even as you have to stay silent. 

One of the women clicks her tongue in confusion. “I mean, isn’t it weird, though? He’s a friend of Tony Stark, there’s no doubt he’d have a shortage of girls who’d be willing to go out to a bar or something on a weekend.” The other woman laughs. “I bet that surplus of girls includes you, right?” The first woman grins cheekily. “I wouldn’t say no if he asked, but even I don’t have a chance. I mean, he’s an Avenger, and one of the hottest ones there. No one here could hold a candle to him. He saves lives on a daily basis and what do we do, sit around all the time? The only woman I could see him with is an agent or maybe Black Widow. At least then he’d be dating someone who’s his equal.”

The words feel like shards of ice threading through your heart, and you turn to go back to your desk, hunger suddenly forgotten. As you stare at your work, though, you find you can’t concentrate. You keep hearing what the women had said, that no one in this miserable office could be worthy of dating the famous Avenger Bucky Barnes. They’re right, aren’t they? Bucky was saving lives all the time while you complained and acted so needy. You sigh to yourself, feeling your spirits dampen by the second. Why did Bucky see in you anyway?

Bucky’s shoulders feel like they’ve been carved from stone. He’s been tense for so long that he’s certain he’ll never be able to move again. Today is the day that he has to begin reviewing case files from his time as a Winter Soldier. He’ll have to come face to face with photo and video evidence of all the wrongs he’s done, of all the killings and blood shed by his own damaged hands. He’s been trying to avoid it for a while, but S.H.I.E.L.D. needs his input on all of the past Winter Soldier missions in order to proceed with the ongoing investigations into the last HYDRA strongholds. Bucky has no choice but to confront his past, he knows that, but it doesn’t make his job any easier.

It’s not like he’s alone, though. Natasha is here, because her experience with the Red Room could prove useful with putting together some pieces of the HYDRA-Siberia-Soviet puzzle that’s been plaguing them for some time now. Steve is also here, one door down, looking at his old medical files that detail exactly how some brilliant scientists turned a scrawny kid with a death wish when it came to standing up to bullies into the strongest man of the century. 

Bucky clenches his jaw, and turns back to the manila file folder in his hand. He flips it open, taking out the diagrams and security camera stills and laying them out onto the table before him as he reads. He’s flipping through the rest of the contents of the folder when he pauses, staring at the images awaiting his acknowledgement. Natasha sees him freeze slightly and glances over to see what’s troubling him. Her brow dips in understanding.

Lying before him are photo after photo of death and destruction. Bucky remembers this day now, after it was buried so long under HYDRA mind wipes and his own crippling want to forget. The bodies of the dead line a small street, buildings reduced to rubble. He can see the dead, so many of them. There aren’t just the few military commanders he was sent to exterminate- no, HYDRA wants no witnesses and so Bucky had killed everyone in sight. There are children in pools of blood, their mothers reaching over them as if to shield them from the inevitable bullets coming their way. He tells himself that their deaths were quick, efficient, maybe even painless, but it is not enough. There is no way to justify this amount of bloodshed.

Natasha puts her hand on his shoulder. The gesture, meant to bring comfort, startles him and it takes all of Bucky’s self-control to not flinch. Bucky swallows hard. “I did all of this. I killed every one of them.” Natasha’s voice is low and quiet. “It wasn’t you. You had no choice in any of this.” Bucky laughs, thought it is heavy with horror and breaks in upon itself. “It’s easier to say that, but it was still my hand pulling the trigger.” He leans back against the wall, trying to steady himself.

“How were you and Steve able to convince anyone to trust me? Why did you even want to save me in the first place?” Natasha stares at the photos, taking in the broken bodies of the dead. “Steve knew the real you, the one who’s standing here right now and would never attempt this sort of carnage. I knew what it was like to lose all control and feel like your hands would always be stained with blood. Second chances are more powerful than you might think.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “I don’t deserve that chance. I don’t deserve any of this.” He closes his eyes for just a second as if by blocking out the world he can block out the memory of the methodical shudder of the rifle in his hands, the recoil as he fired again and again. “I don’t deserve Y/N. She-” Natasha cuts him off smoothly. “Y/N knows what you’ve been through, and she knows that you are not that same man. I’ve spoken with her before, and she knows the full extent of what you did.”

Bucky’s eyes cut back to the photographs. “Then why does she stay?” Natasha’s gaze feels like a leaden weight, unflinching and unyielding. “She stays because she loves you. She stays because she knows that the real Bucky Barnes is a hero, someone who is willing and able to move on from their past. Y/N is one of the most important parts of your life, not because she’s a good kisser but because she’s one of the only people who can see straight through you and know that you’re a good man.” 

Bucky nods. “I don’t need you to tell me twice.” Natasha’s right, though, and even the barest mention of Y/N brings back a wave of good memories to fight against the bad. She’s like an anchor, someone holding him in place even when all of the darkness he’s had to endure threatens to pull him under. It astonishes him sometimes that he still wakes up beside her every morning. She’s so perfect, so wonderful. What does Y/N see in him anyway that would make him so lucky to have her with him?

You’re in a despondent mood for the rest of the day. You slump home, not even bothering to turn on the lights but discarding your coat and bag in the dark of the room. The faint light still shining through the windows is all you’ll need. You stare unthinkingly at the apartment for a while, then head to your bedroom. As you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you stop with a sigh, leaning your hands against the dresser underneath.

You stare at yourself, at the dark circles under your eyes. Who are you, anyway? Who are you to think that you would ever be good enough for an Avenger? At this point, it’s only a matter of days before he breaks up with you. No wonder he keeps waking up before you- he’s trying to leave without seeing you that often, as a way to lessen the blow of the eventual goodbye.

The problem about gloomy thoughts is that they tend to wrap around you, pulling you away from everything else. You’re so distracted that you don’t hear the front door open, and you don’t notice Bucky enter the apartment until he knocks softly on the wall of your bedroom as he stands in the open door. You turn around with a flash, plastering on a smile, but your reaction is too late and his brow furrows. “Are you alright?”

You try for a smile, reaching out to kiss him in greeting. “Of course I am. How was your day?” Bucky is not to be deterred. “I saw your face, Y/N. You looked really upset. Is everything okay?” Maybe it’s that velvet tone of his, or the concern laced in his eyes, but your few fragile defenses break down. You turn to him, fighting back tears. “Why are you still with me?” Bucky frowns. “What?” You hold your hands up uselessly. “You’re an Avenger and you’re out there saving lives all the time. Why would you ever be interested in some girl from the city? I’m not half the person you are.”

Bucky stares at you for a second, then wraps his arms around you, drawing you close. “Y/N, love, why would you ever think that?” You look away. “Because it’s true. You should be dating some other superhero of a woman who could be your equal.” Bucky’s frown tinges slightly with anger. “Did you hear about this on some news show? I told that one news outlet that if they said a single thing about me I’d shut them down, and I’ll do it-” You cut him off. “It’s not like that. It’s just- You’re an Avenger, Bucky, and you deserve someone equally as brave as you are.”

Bucky guides you gently over to the bed, and the two of you sit down on the edge. He pulls you into his arms. “I don’t want some superhero. I want you. Y/N, I love you because you’re the only one here who sees me for who I really am, not just some soulless Avenger but a faulty person. Honestly, if anything I’m surprised that you’d still stay with me.” Your tears dry up as you stare at him. “What?” A quiet smile spreads across Bucky’s lips. “Every single day, I come home and you make a difficult day a thousand times better. You know me better than I know myself, and even despite everything I’ve done and the monster I’ve been, you still make me feel like a good man again. You’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Y/N, and you deserve someone equally as good as you are.”

You shake your head slowly. “That’s not the same. Anyone can be nice.” Bucky cups your cheek in his hand. “Nobody else knows that I always get up in the mornings and pace around because of the nightmares. Nobody else knows that I always stare down the alleyways on the walk home because I keep thinking I’ll see Steve in there getting beat up, or help me pick out jackets based on how easy it will be to remove the left sleeve. You’re the only one for me, doll, and I wouldn’t trade you for a heartbeat.”

He reaches into a pocket. “Here, I’ll prove it.” He takes out something silvery, like stamped metal. With a jolt, you realize they’re his dog tags, the ones he had from fighting in World War II all those years ago. He gestures for you to turn around and you do, feeling the weight of the metal around your throat as he fastens them. When you look back at him, he’s smiling. “See? You can’t get rid of me, love. Not in a million years.” 

You smile, running your fingers over the faded lettering. “Won’t you want them? You know, as a memory of your old life?” Bucky shakes his head, a content expression lingering in his eyes. “I don’t need them to remember. I’ve got you, and you’re the only home I’ll ever need.” When he kisses you again, you can feel the dog tags right over your heart, like a promise that he’ll always be with you, no matter what.

[cleololax]

Lotto | A | Chapter One

MafiaBoss! UndergroundCriminal! Yoongi x Strugglingwaitress! Y/N

Word Count - 3,210

Yoongles has his silver hair in this one 👌🏼. Smut will be in future chapters. Enjoy !

The smell of grease and bacon has your brain pounding in your skull. A normally pleasant smell can get old after an 8-hour work shift, 5 days a week. Dave rings the bell once again and you zig-zag between the tables trying to get there, refilling empty coffee mugs and fetching missing condiments on the way. Another day, another measly dollar.

By noon, your feet need a rest and you need a break. The sneakers squeeze your feet so much it feels like they might bring you down a size permanently. Marla comes from the back, chewing that cheap gum that’s bought wholesale. You hand over the paper tab and fill her in before heading into the back room. Lunch is spent eating a stale sandwich with stale lettuce and softening tomatoes that can leave an unpleasant aftertaste. Mentally, there’s a reminder set to see what they have at the food pantry this week.

Hopefully, your brother ate his lunch. It’s not like he likes it anyways and you can't blame him for it. Anxious thoughts are interrupted when Mina opens the door in all of her cheerfulness.

“Y/N, someone is asking for you.” She must see your furrow brows cause she continues.

“Says he needs to see you, it’s been a while. Is he a bad ex? Should I get rid of him?” Her worry makes you inwardly smile and you head to the sink. “No, it’s ok. I’ll be right there.” She leaves with a nod. The smile drops the minute she does. What could he possibly want now? Something uneasy stirs in your stomach. It could be the food just devoured, but there is something more pressing at the moment. The dim hallway is empty and you carefully walk out, counting the black and white tiles. With your head held high, you walk towards the booths.

The blue hair peeks out from the top of the divider. He always sits in the left corner of the room, drinking a lemonade. Always at the same time. Always on time. You walk towards the table and sit down. Taehyung offers a small nod of his head in acknowledgment. Or at least that’s what he says his name is. The first time he had waltzed in, he turned heads. A beautiful man in a crisp Armani suit isn’t exactly discreet. You came out to greet him and asked if you knew each other when he uttered one word. Your father's name. From then on you knew whatever came of this interaction, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. That bastard had ruined your family and still, it's not enough. He continues to cause destruction, long after he’s been gone.

Taehyung's tan skin and blue hair are a striking match. Chocolate eyes study the way you clench your hands together on the table, steadying shaky fingers. Pretending to hold it all together.

“Hello, Y/N.” He asked for your name the first time and you refused to give it. Years of watching sketchy people walk in and out of your apartment teach you to be wary. By the next meeting, he had it on his tongue in greeting. Perhaps a show of how much they really knew and were able to find out what they wanted.

“I have a note for you from Mr. Min. It’s appropriate to now set up a formal meeting. Tonight.” The previous suspicion is proved correct. This elusive Min wants to meet and it has your heart sinking.

“I have my brother to pick up from school.” Demons may thrive and bath in the night, but the rest of us don’t have that luxury to choose.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to make arrangements. We could send one of our men to do it... if you want.” Absolutely fucking not. You may be bad at surviving, but stupid is not in your nature.

“I’ll work it out.” It's the first time you keep eye contact with him since he arrived. While he notices the sudden determination, you notice the prominent mole on his nose. He’s handsome in a catalog type of way. they must have to be, to make the jobs easier. His tan skin glows, even in the gloomy shadow that the grey skies cast into the room.

“There will be a car parked outside your residence to pick you up.” Being in a car with these people doesn’t seem like such a good idea, either. The next words are painful to say.

“It’s ok, I’ll walk.” He quirks a brow and looks sideways at the droplets sliding down the window.

“It’s going to be raining heavy tonight, though.” His deep voice fills you with dread. Especially because there is an underlying tone of sympathy in it. On cue, lightning roars from somewhere above the popcorn ceiling. Hopefully, it’s enough to distract him from the fidgeting.

He gets up to leave but not before looking down at your slumped form, trying to ignore how tired and pitiful you look. Deliver and leave. That’s the job as a messenger. All of the five times he has come here have made him wonder who you are. What put you in the sights of a man like his employer. You are young, but there is so much sadness already. Ironically, he knows how you must feel. Against his better judgment, he fixes his collar and is gone as quickly as he came. Don’t ask, don’t get involved with the debtors. It’s easier that way. All you can do is place your head on the table and zone out for a little. It’s the go-to self-care these days. Just to pretend that you don’t exist in this form in time, that you can blend in with the background and disappear. Not for the first time, you curse your luck, family ties. What have I been roped into?

When the sun sets, your legs are already carrying you down the street before Lina can change her mind. Thankfully, it isn’t pouring down yet. Closing the diner is normally your job and it is a dreaded task. Anything can happen in that timespan and it keeps the adrenaline constantly flowing. A girl alone in a diner with a cash register is a golden opportunity. It’s hard to feel like beyond the windows there aren’t eyes, waiting in dark street corners. After a couple of blocks, the old orange apartment building comes into view. At one time it must have been nicer and that's hard to picture. Mr. Shihan is playing cards with another older man on the sidewalk when you come up to the gate. Their concentration is fully on the game and he doesn’t give his normal greeting. He’s a sweet man with a terrible habit. The courtyard is empty. There are barks and kitchen sinks running, loud televisions that have no consideration. Unfortunately, there are no stairs and after long days, it’s hard not to just want to sit down on the dirty, concrete floor and fall asleep. Before you reach the 5th floor, you wait at the entrance to the hall on the 4th. It’s taken time for you to stop caring what others think of your situation, the disapproving comments, and glances from the teachers at your brother's school and almost anywhere you go. Too young, give him up to the state. Can’t take care of him, look how skinny he is, look how tired. People who look from the outside and have the luxury to judge. You are old enough to take care of him and he belongs with you. You’re the only family you two have left.

It’s only when you need help that it kills you to see Mrs. Litska. She’s an old woman who was able to babysit your brother while you are at work. With one knock, the door opens and you are met with a frown on her crinkled face. You don’t have time to say much, you just give her the envelope of this month’s pay and step inside. Your brother is asleep on the brightly foiled couch in the dim living room that smells of baked bread. The sound of Vivaldi comes through the ancient radio on the side table. His little fingers hold tightly onto the Spider-Man plushie picked out at the thrift store a while ago. It’s seen better days, but they are insuperable. Placing the stuffed item to the side, one arm loops around his shoulders to him up to place his head on your shoulder. The kid could sleep through anything.

The both of you head upstairs into your own living quarters. The lights don’t turn on when the flip is switched and you sigh as you try your best to remain close to the wall.it proves to be hard with your body ready to give out, but you ultimately make it to the room and place your brother into the squeaky bed. The candles are pulled from the drawer and each one settles into every corner of the space nicely.

Finally, you take off your partially wet clothes and put them into a pile by the tub. At least the water is warm as your body slowly leans down into it. Suddenly, the room is quiet and it’s hard to let yourself float away. It’s eerie and not comforting at all. It never is. There is no next destination besides a dreaded one, no way to work yourself towards, hanging on through the blissfully hard distractions that take up your life. They allow you to not stop, to not think about where you could be. Staying busy saves you from reaching into yourself too much.

Minutes tick by, a full half-hour before your skin is soggy and the water is cold. Still, it's better to be here than think that in another hour you could be trafficked and the little boy in the other room sleeping peacefully would have no one left. Mother dead, father gone, sister missing. It brings a chill to the room and it’s suffocating. Once you’re dressed casually, you check in on your brother who is still tucked in, his breathing mellowed out. Here’s to hoping he stays asleep and doesn’t wander through the place at three in the morning to an empty apartment. You kiss his forehead and bring his plushies within reach. They crowd the space around him, cocooning him in.

With one last safety check and blowing out the candles, you lock the door from the outside and move along the hallway down to the stairs.

Your neighborhood is wet and dark at this hour. Thankfully, you are prepared with a switchblade and pepper spray bought last week. It’s three blocks to the main streets where more people walk with umbrellas. Men in suits getting home and families hurrying to their cars. The shop lights flash, shop windows showcasing fried chicken and ice cream. Your stomach automatically grumbles.

Your umbrella holds up for the most part until the lights start to separate and the streets once again turn dim and dirty. The sudden gusts of wind fold it in and it snaps. Soda cans and bags of junk food litter the edges of cement. Shops on this side are all closed, bars and steel curtains drawn. Every little sound has the back of your neck standing up. A tabby cat pops up from under a beat-up truck and it has your heart momentarily stop. Hopefully, it’s around the corner. Your hands shakily open the worn piece of paper to try and locate the street. Luckily, it’s one street down. Once you turn the corner, you head right into a narrow alley. The pepper spray is held onto tightly with clammy hands.

The situation is starting to look sketchier as you go on. Once you reach the dead end, something to the left catches your peripheral vision. Off to the side is another narrow path, much shorter than the one you just went through. It leads directly to a steel door with a neon sign right above. The letters that read Welcome bathe the entrance in blue and red. When you come closer, you notice a little plant to the side. As if it can hide the strangeness of it all when all it does is highlight. Still, the harshness of the surroundings doesn't reach this corner. For a while, you stand there as the rain continues to patter. The sign buzzes and flickers. Your clothes get more soaked but you refuse to move forward. I’m a bad bitch, I’m a bad bitch. I got this. There is vibration coming from the floor beneath your feet. The door opens and a big muscular man gestures for you to come in. This is how it starts. A cliche buff bouncer opening the rope to the gates of hell. He stares and steps aside, gesturing again. Maybe you could have made a run for it before he appeared. Not now. It would be useless. They will come looking. These people always collect. You’ve seen it before. Ultimately, the decision has been made by someone else. There's more to lose if you don't and with a tug of your bag, you trudge forward.

What you had been imagining this past week was apparently absurd compared to the vision that lay in front of you now. There was no blood, no people begging for you to help them escape. No blindfold, just plenty of men and women holding down handles at the slot machines that showed them all the wrong symbols. You walked through the desperation into another area of green felt tables and cards being dealt. The air is stuffy and it smells of smoke and alcohol. Apparently, no one else is bothered. Ahead of you, a tall man is pressing on something in his ear with a meaty hand. Darting your eyes around, you take in more. Before confusion settles in on where to go you find the answer. From the second floor, Taehyung holds onto the railing, looking around. Your eyes meet and it’s strangely intimate. Too intimate. It must not be hard to be found when your clothes are wetting the floor beneath you.

He walks towards you with a small smile. His cobalt blue suit stands out and there’s a dangly earring hanging from one ear. His appearance is much flashier than it was the last time you saw him. With one look behind you, he leads you both up the stairs. On the way, you internally chide yourself for wearing what you are now. The wet clothes make you feel like a little sewer rat. You feel like ratatouille and the confidence that brought you here is dwindling. Instead of a shoddy warehouse that was expected, you are venturing deeper into a maze of halls with red carpeting and gold-rimmed mirrors. Eyes remain forward, but your mind tries to remember every sharp turn, every step that takes you further away from an exit. It is not hard to conjure up terrible, gruesome images and they flash a mile a second. There is only silence and you do not expect anything else. Finally, Taehyung comes to a halt and you almost bump into his back. The door is red and for some reason, it hits you know what big of a mistake you have made. You feel like you’ve been personally delivered to hell’s gates. No one knows where you went tonight. They could get rid of your body and no one would look. It would be easy. Just a poor, young person who could have been tossed or thrown into the river. Another cold case, another victim. He knocks on the door in a pattern of sound and pauses. Must be a code of some sort. Loud noises and laughter get closer until the door opens abruptly and an older gentleman with peppered gray hair greets the man next to you.

“Tae, my boy. Yoongi was about to cheat again.” Tae? Yoongi? This stranger’s excitement has you even more on edge. Your palms are now sore from clenching and cutting at them with overgrown nails. Taehyung moves forward and he smiles as an arm is put around his shoulder. There’s conversation but you don’t hear any of it. Somehow you get yourself inside the room and the door shuts right after. There’s even more smoke and laughter and a champagne bottle being popped somewhere. It all whizzes by. On the outside, your face must seem neutral but the inside is ringing with alarms and warnings. It feels like there’s a hole in the pit of your stomach. Somewhere along the way, the older gentleman named Lee went off to talk to some people on a chase couch against the wall.

There is a long gambling table at the end of this well-sized room and it seems to be the destination. When you get closer, there are about eight people around it. Mostly men with frowns. It must be the small number of chips in front of them. That doesn’t matter a second later though. Not when you catch the sight of the man sitting at the head of it. There’s a force that seems to be pulling everything in space to him, everybody. Bluish Silver hair catches the lighting of the small chandelier above as he gets up with a flute in between pale hands. His fingers grab a couple of chips from his pile which is no doubt the biggest of them all. They twirl in his ring-clad fingers. The veins line them and it’s hard to not stare. The robe that hangs off his lean figure looks decadent and expensive, so much so that it would stop the question of why he is wearing it entirely. There’s so much to take in. His face is gorgeous. His gummy smile numbs the feeling of panic that set in before. He gets closer, or perhaps you do. The two of you walk up to him. Realization dawns in then. Fuck My life.

“Mr.Min, this is miss Y/N.”

[insomniamamma]

“Surf City Goodness”: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: This is the same AU as “Ferris Wheels Are for Old People” and “Liminal” but you don’t have to read those to read this one. Ezra loses his arm in an automobile accident which kills his brother, Damon and orphans his niece, Cee. Reader lives across the street from Ezra and they’ve been friendly for sometime but now it’s something more. Set after  “Ferris Wheels Are For Old People” This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog​ and @clydesducktape​ ‘s Writer Wednesday.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of sex. Mentions of drug abuse.  Mentions of traumatic injury/surgical scars. Mentions of Reader’s ex.  Cee needs her own warning, but mostly this is just fluff. Ez and Cee and Reader enjoy a trip to the beach. I will include some songs from Cee’s playlist at the end.

          Iggy Pop's voice warbles out of the speakers. "I wanna go to the beach, I don't care if it's decadent, I don't know where my spirit went, but that's alright..."          "This seems a bit bleak, Birdie," says Ezra.          "Quit your griping, you'll get your surf city goodness soon enough," says Cee and grins. Part of the deal they've worked out is that Cee gets to pick the music for any road trip longer than two hours, otherwise it's NPR until the signal fades and then whatever classic rock they can pick up. The three of you are crammed in the cab of Ezra's battered Ford Ranger. Cee is the smallest so she sits in the middle. The truck's bed is full of gear, air mattresses and sleeping bags and towels, a cooler filled with food and another filled with beer. I don't know what conditions we'll find exactly, Ez told you, We haven't been back here in some time.          "If there's spiders I'm sleeping in the truck," you said and Ezra smiled, and pressed his remaining hand over his heart.          "Never fear, Sunshine, I will protect your from our arachnid friends."

         "Hey Sunshine!" Ezra calls from his front porch. You look up from your laptop to see Ezra and Cee laden with grocery bags.          "Hey, Ez, you need a hand?" He smirks. This is an old joke between the two of you. When Ezra first came home, with Cee and without his arm, they were unloading Cee and Damon's things, bags and boxes and you, without thought had asked if he needed a hand, it just came out and you'd clapped your hands to your mouth, and then spluttered, I'm so sorry I didn't mean--and Ezra laughed, of course I need a hand. I'm down to just the one.          "Always," he says. You loop the plastic bags over your arms, sweating packages laden with ground beef and bratwursts and chicken thighs.          "You all having a party?"          "We're going to the beach," says Cee. "You should come with us. It'll be fun."            "Jesus, Cee," he mutters and then collects himself and smiles, "I had meant to ask you before this one jumped the gun-"          "It's fine. Really."          "You still working remotely?" asks Ezra.          "For now. There's some talk about keeping my department remote."          "Good thing or bad thing?"          "Good thing," you say, "I like working in my pajamas."          "Good thing because you could come with us," says Ezra.          "Ez--"          "I'm dead serious," he says, "Cee's got a four day weekend. We've got decent internet. Damon saw to that before...well, before. Mind you, this will probably be something of a working vacation. Ma's house has stood empty sometime. Damon used to keep it up but..." Ezra trails off. It's a small town. Damon's drug problems were more or less public knowledge. You think of the files you still need to edit, but for once you're ahead of the game. None of that is due until midway through next week. You've got some wiggle room if things go south.          "Yeah? Yeah, fuck it. I'm coming with." Ezra smiles wide, revealing his dimples. And that's how you end up in the cab of Ezra's beat-to-shit truck listening to Cee's fun and somewhat baffling playlist.

         "Talk to me, baby,I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh, Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy, I-I-I-I-I keep on hopin' we'll eat cake by the ocean..."          "Is this a parody?" Asks Ezra, "Like a Weird Al Yankovic thing?"          "No," says Cee, "It's an actual song. One of the Jonas brothers did it."          "Someone greenlit and recorded this on purpose."          "Yep."          "A song. About eating cake on a beach." Cee gives you a sly look.          "It's a metaphor, Ez," she says, "They're eating something but it's not cake." You have to hold in a laugh, watching the gears in Ezra's brain grind, watching his eyes go big.          "Ohmygod! Cee!" Cee cackles and you snort laughter. "You are fifteen years old! You are a minor child! You should not be going there! You should not even know that there exists!" Ezra's cheeks go red. Cee is wheezing, eyes screwed shut with laughter, her own cheeks flaming, "You. Should see. Your face," she says.          "It's not funny!"          "Oh, it's funny," you say, "She got you good."          "Come on, Ez," says Cee, "You think I can't recognize a poorly veiled sexual reference when I hear one? It doesn't take a genius--"          "You are a terror," says Ezra, and Cee grins, proud of the title, "And you--" he arcs and eyebrow in your direction--"Are not helping matters." You give him your brightest smile.          "What can I say? I thought it was just a song about some goofballs eating cake by the ocean." He huffs, but you can see the smirk creeping up his cheek as he drives.

         The house at the end of the driveway is small, a cottage really, single storied and built up on stilts like the others around it, painted a faded robin's egg blue with white trim. The garage is underneath the house, room enough for one car and next to it is a room built to shelter the water heater and plumbing. A wooden staircase snakes up to a deck that wraps the entire structure. Sea grass sprouts in clumps from the sand. It's hot inside, a stale heat, and the first thing you do is open all the windows.          "I think there's a couple box fans in the storage space," says Ezra, "I'll go fetch them."          The back deck overlooks the ocean, pale expanse of sand and the gentle lap of blue-green sea, a wooden staircase reaches down to the sand below. The day is bright and hot and shot through with high cirrus clouds. You and Ezra have stripped the sheets from the beds and popped them in the washer, loaded the dishwasher, put fans in the windows.          "This is cleaner than I expected," says Ezra, "Maybe Damon cared more than I gave him credit for." Ezra's face clouds. You take his hand, squeeze his fingers in yours. You know little about Damon other than the town gossip and what Ezra himself has told you. You don't understand the convolutions of their relationship, you just know that Damon is a slow-healing wound, and that it does Ezra no good to pick at it. You tug at him.          "C'mon. Let's get changed. Cee's already got her suit on."

         "Turn around, Birdie, let me get your back." Cee rolls her eyes but does as she's asked. Ezra sprays sunscreen across her bony shoulders and rubs it in.          "I found a boogie board under the deck," says Cee, "And some toys from when I was real small. I found those floaty things you all used to put on my arms, remember those?"          "I do," says Ezra, "Damon chucked you into the surf without so much as a by-your-leave. It scared the hell out of Ma but you laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You're good to go, Little Bird."          "Thanks, Ez." And she's down the stairs, heading towards the surf.          "Your turn, Sunshine," he says and you turn your back to him. He presses a kiss against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, that one place that makes you squirm and shiver, right on the line between erogenous and ticklish.          "Menace--" you say and then squawk when the cold spray hits you, soothed by the passage of his calloused palm across your shoulders, gently gripping the nape of your neck, and you lean back against him briefly, relishing his solidity, his warmth, his hand rests lightly on your hip.          "Let me get your back," you say. Ezra turns his back to you and shucks out of his t-shirt. He's already ditched his prosthetic arm. Don't know how seaworthy it is, he'd said, as expensive as it was I don't care to find out. You shake the can of sunscreen and blast him with it.          "Christ! That's cold!"          "We gotta make sure Cee reapplies after a couple hours," you say, smoothing your hands over his broad back, relishing the slide of his tanned skin beneath your palms, "She'll burn to a crisp otherwise." You press your fingers into the tight muscles of his neck and he makes a contented sound like a purr in his chest.          "You're always so tense right here," you say and dig your fingers in, feeling the thrumming muscles loosen somewhat under your touch. Ezra leans back into you as you did to him moments ago, your arms snake around his shoulders, tuck your face against the side of his neck. This thing with you and Ezra is soft and languid and you're not sure how to define it. This is not the fevered, clawed territory of young lovers, the sort of push and pull you had with your ex, the idea that love had to keep proving itself somehow. With Ezra there is nothing to prove. He seems content to ride this gentle wave, to let things play out in their own time.          "Turn around," you murmur against his skin, "Not done with you yet."          "Now, I am perfectly capable of applying--" he starts, but you see his eyes drop, and know it for what it is. You've known Ezra for a while. The two of you were always friendly, since you moved in across the street from him. Ezra before was even more exuberant, had a swagger about him, confidence in his own skin that is only just now trying starting to return. Ezra before would preen under your gaze if he caught you looking at him while he repainted his deck or put down mulch in his garden, Ezra now shrinks from your eyes. You can see the self-doubt seep in. The worry about his scars, that the loss of his arm makes him less, somehow.          "I know," you say, "Maybe I just want an excuse to get handsy." He arcs an eyebrow at you, that brief flash of doubt replaced with his more familiar smug smirk.          "Well, have at it, by all means," he says. You spray him with the sunscreen and start rubbing it in, smoothing over his freckled shoulders, down his upper arms, mindful of the tender skin at the end of his stump, the dips of his clavicles, his broad chest, littered in angry pink scars that shout in contrast to the rest of his skin. Punched indentations along his ribs where they'd stuck in tubes to drain the air and blood out of his collapsed lungs. You work your way down along his soft belly and back up his sides, a hissed intake of breathe and you stop.          "Does that hurt?"          "Nah. Tickles."          "Mmm-hmmm. I'll have to remember that so I can use it to my advantage later."          "Oh and I'm the menace," he says, his arm curls low around your hip, pulling you nearly flush with him, and you complete the motion, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him tight against you, your chin notched over his shoulder. Cee is creeping up the stairs with a battered plastic bucket in her hands. She shoots you a grin and you know exactly what she has in mind. You back up a little, cup Ezra's stubbled cheeks in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose.          "Surprise," you say and take a big step back. There's just time enough for that little furrow to start between his brows and then Cee dowses him, a whole bucket of seawater poured directly over his head. He splutters. His eyes go big and round. Cee is doubled over laughing.          "Oh," he says, blinking salt water out of his eyes, "Oh that's it. Today's the day, Cee! I am going to drown you!"          "Gotta catch me first, old man!" says Cee and pelts down the beach. You run after them, their bright laughter peals through the warm summer air. Ezra grabs Cee and dunks her into an oncoming wave. She emerges splashing great fans into Ezra's face.          "It is only proper that I took my vengeance," says Ezra, holding his hands out to deflect the spray.          "I don't think the Geneva conventions apply here, you douche-canoe," says Cee.          "Oi! That language--" This is your opening. You grab Ezra around his waist and push off backward into the oncoming wave, pulling him down with you. The two of you come back up, coughing and laughing, arms slung around each other. There's no shadow in Ezra's eyes now, you press your lips to his, the waves roll over you, the tide dragging at your bodies while you and him remain still. Press of your lips to his, your tongue licks out and tastes salt on his lips and he opens for you, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you against him, his tongue stroking against yours, no battle for dominance, this, just the plush heat of his mouth, the heave of your chests when you finally break apart, waist deep in the ocean.          "I--" says Ezra and Cee's splash hits at face level.          "Gotcha!" she crows, and starts running.          "You miserable little rat!" He hollers, chasing her through the surf. You stand hip deep in the water and laugh. You're not sure what you and Ezra are to each other. Lovers? Friends? Family? Whatever it this is, it feels right and good. It feels like being home.

A/n: Here is a sampling of Cee’s beach trip playlist:

“I Want To Go To The Beach” by Iggy Pop

“Telstar” by The Tornados

“Cake By The Ocean” by DNCE

“Rockaway Beach” by The Ramones

“Misirlou” by Dick Dale and his Del-Tones

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 019

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey everyone!! I know it's been quieter around here, but enjoy the chapter I hope! Sort of sweet filler. Billy nurses a hungover Evie back to life as they reach a common ground with their relationship. Evie returns to school as the new Keg King. Chp title is after that Depeche Mode song. TW: Light light mention of a past r*pe/abuse & Pica. Smut!!

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 19: One Caress

   Death. Hot, swampy death. Somehow mixed with frigid chills. 

   Evie cracked her eyes to light and moaned. Loud enough to wake the body spread on his back next to her. Billy spied her. Curls spiraling endless directions. Knotted all over. 

   Face pressed into the pillows, Evie held her thudding brain. Figured it might be unspooling around a cracked skull. There was movement as Billy reached over her to pull the curtains further closed and block the early morning sun. 

   “You seriously woke up at seven with that bad a hangover. Figured you’d sleep in longer. Must be a pride thing.” Billy hummed and draped his arm over her. Casual as can be to tuck back in. He made this rumbling sound into her shoulder blade and sighed out.

   Evie realized finally she wasn’t alone and scrambled up, almost tumbling over the bottom edge of the bed if Billy hadn't snatched her wrist.

   “Easy!” Came the sharp hiss. “Take a moment to remember last night if you can.” Brown eyes squinted to blink at him. Blurring the gold honey of him together. Billy made a face. “Jesus, you’re looking at me like I’m taking a dump here, Evangeline.”

   “Oh, jeez,” Evie fisted her curls so he let go. Her eyes began to dart, finding the events and piecing them. Little by little. “Jesus Dolly Parton Christ.”

   “That’s some poetry I like.” Billy reclined, covered in a loose sheet looking his insufferable cupid self. One hand behind his head while he tapped a rhythm into his abs. Evie moaned again, curling up toward the curtains.

   “I did a keg stand…”

   “Oh, yeah, you did.” Blue eyes rolled. “Your highness.”

   “Did I puke on anyone?”

   “Just some sorry ass purple primroses.” He’d snarked with some amusement. “You almost got me, but I aimed you just fine.”

   “Shit. I’m-”

   “You’re gonna piss me off if you apologize again. That’s a stupid girl habit you need to shake.”

   “Stupid girl habit, pfffs. I’m Billy Hargrove. I'm perfect and glowy with the face of a damn cherub. Know-it-all.” Evie huffed and mumbled to mock him but Billy continued.

   “You just did to me what I did to Harrington. Figure I had it coming. I’m still Billy-The Shit-Hargrove. Smoke and mirrors as you think.” His chest rose and air blew out his mouth. “We didn’t do anything, I just helped you home as you poured your tasty heart out.”

   “Yeah, uh… It’s all coming back. Argh...” Evie rubbed her face and aimlessly waved for him to stop talking. She noticed Billy still had his jeans on, no shirt. Then, spied her own outfit under the robe. “The hell are we wearing?”

   “You were keen to flash me those Fenny wiles so I tied you into the drunk girl straitjacket. Took some wrangling, but I think I earned the gold,” he blinked, “and I didn’t wear anything under the denim. I figured jeans were better than you waking to my huge, raw morning wood...unless you’re into that.”

   He winked which earned him that scrunchy scowl he loved to see on her face.

   Evie collapsed back on her front. Cursing daylight. Lingering black makeup still smeared around her eyes.

   “Okay, well, I can die now. Officially. Thank you, Billy, for bearing witness.”

   “No, no, I’m nursing you back to health today. We both smell like party. Get up. Water. Pills. Shower. Gonna shower at my place and then I’m coming back for breakfast. I’ll make your birthday up to you if you’ll let me. Hope you let me, cause I’ll bug you another two months until you don’t.” Fingers tugged for messy curls until she grumbled.

   Evie poked those bright eyes up. 

   “There was talk of a couch day. I remember.”

   “You remember everything?” Thick lashes batted the vulnerability away. She softened.

   “Everything. Feel like death,” she said, “but waking up in your arms wasn’t so bad.” Billy brightened, liking that. Maybe too much because he looked smug. “So, the couch. You and me. Us. Can you manage that? Relaxing with casual stimulation.”

   “Oh, say stimulation again. Slower,” Billy uttered and Evie rolled her eyes. “Gonna let me come back over?”

   “Maybe.” She hitched and whined, ruffling her curls. “Knowing my mom, she’s gonna stay until closing. Around six or seven tonight, she might go party straight from the shop. She's made that a habit on weekends. I don’t know, as this year is going she’s just home less. City friends. Dating. And I feel bad cause it’s almost easier.”

   Billy didn’t comment.

   “My throat still hurts from last night and we do smell pretty ripe...gonna shower. Clean these sheets too.” 

   “We haven’t even made a proper mess of them.” Billy came up on his elbows with a suggestive look. They shared another beat before his tone changed. “I should have stayed.”

   “I wish you did. But, I also wish I didn’t run into Fredrick’s arms after that dance. It was stupid. We can both make idiot decisions. Still young, I guess.” Evie turned her eyes. “But, you’re here now and we’re not yelling at each other.”

   “It’s a whole new world. Keg King.”

   “I need to forget that.”

   “School won’t. None of the schools there will forget it. Betcha even Tannen knows.” Billy pushed up and Evie followed, stretching until something cracked delightfully. “Heard from him?”

   “Something with a DUI or two… I don’t know. He made his threats already.” She stopped to pet Blue, shifting the kitten off Billy’s coat while he snagged his shirt. “Tell Max I said hi if she’s around.”

   “Give me thirty.” Billy took his coat, gave her ass a pat, and waltzed out. Unworried. Evie dragged into the shower. Stood there under the warm spray with her head pressed against the cool tiles. Swallowed some aspirin down and slid her eyes to the container of cherry red pins.

   There wasn’t a melancholy welling inside her empty gut, but she found it odd. This craving to indulge. To swallow sharp objects and let them click around musically inside her. Make them part of her routine. Eat artificial things until she was made from them. A doll on the top shelf threatening to take a tumble.

   Wet curls hung over her shoulders and breasts. Evie closed the mirror and looked at her body there. Head tilting. Towels fell around her feet. She opened her palms, arms slighting lifting in a submissive motion. Evie thought to cover herself but didn’t. Imagined a shell opening so the world could look at her. Admire her. Pluck her free and decorate her with tiny diamonds and opals. Maybe seaweed and shells like a pretty siren.

   The mirror lights washed her flesh out as they would an old starlet. Flash. Romancing Evie as she blew kisses to an empty lens, hoping to be loved beyond it. She might die if they don't all love her. Want to screw her. Want to open her up and peek inside. Flash. Keep her at arm's reach if they don't like what they see. Flash. It doesn't matter because she's still a wondrous thing to covet.

   She imagined several hands piecing her parts together. Painting them with deft brushes. Evie could sit on a shelf still. She could also let them loop red strings around her broken limbs. Contorting fingers walking her upon a empty stage with the same washed-out lights. Evie would be anything for them. Give anything for eyes and lights and brushes that caress her.

   Hands pushed her curls back over her shoulders. Evie really looked at her body. No shame. No sex. No fear. No disgust. Just flesh and blood and muscle wrapped around bones with marrow made of that electric stardust. Flesh that offended the world, they had to fetishize her to stand her. Nothing really mattered if the lights washed her away though. The lights would tell them to love her regardless because she was the next great thing.

   Flash.

   Lips pushed into the mirror's reflection, breath ghosting to leave an imprint that faded as she leaned back. Her neon demon flitting out to curl and poison the world so she wouldn't have to choke it down alone.

   “I don’t want to be them,” Evie sneered there, “they’ll want to be me.”

   They’ll claw. And scrape. And scream. And die. Just to be a second rate version of Evangeline. Steam rose around her, placed adoring kisses upon her skin.

   A kiss and a promise wrapped in that vengeful neon demon she fed and hid from the world that had ruined her. Broke her parts to pick and choose the best. A demon she still kissed and tried to preen with kindness because Evangeline tried. She tried.

   Evie hadn’t been cruel. She told lies. She made messes. But, she tried and she had always hoped that would count for something. It didn’t with her father. Or Mona. Not even Fredrick, he liked her mutilated. But, Evie tried to hold onto that kind girl with fire and hopes to create music that rained to make flowers grow even bolder. She deserves something. Anything.

   She was already carved out by this life. Felt like she might hit bone if she dug any further. Piles and piles of ash spilling out longing veins. Organs delectable enough to feed on from souls that sapped her vitality away. What else was there to do but scream until someone heard her? Scream for the girl she lost. The people who would never care to understand that. Scream until they were forced to scream over her. Until they were all roses falling at her feet.

   As she looked at herself here, Evie wondered if that girl was even alive anymore. And if she’d already let her down. If she could be forgiven. If she could forget a specific howl of thunder that came after crackling lightning. Lips near her ear to preen so sweet.

   "My little mouse-"

   Flash.

   Hands shaking, she thrust the mirror open and pricked her finger on a cherry pin. Blood beading before she settled it upon her tongue to devour it. 

   It didn’t make sense. She was happier. Today, she was better. She was in control. But, this... It was built into her. Settling comfortable with everything else. A need. A hope. A cycle. An addiction. Girlhood was a horror story written by a true romantic. This, she knew well.

   Just once, Evie figured. She could wean off it. She could gather her parts and sew them back together without help. Carve the person she lost to the world in something stronger.

   It’s fine. This is fine.

   Flash.

   Unable to see whoever was in the mirror now, Evie shut the lights out and hurried away. She pulled a long sleeve tee on with a faded floral design. Decided leggings were a god-like invention and was stuffing socks on when Billy let himself back in.

   At the sound, she clenched her stomach as if he’d walk in and see the artificial fragments that made her up now. A softer breath puffed. Everything was neatly hidden inside. Soon to be a part of her shelf collection. Footsteps came to her while she bent over to toss her wet towels in the hamper.

   “Can’t knock-?” Evie was spun around into an oncoming hard kiss. Lips colliding before Billy hitched and pulled out. Fireworks burst.

   “Hey, I waited for that.” He winked and went into the kitchen. Owned the space. “You look like hell still, Evie. Couch. I’ll make you something greasy to eat.” 

   “Ugh, I won’t even fight you on this...and you’re well aware of that.” Evie fell onto the sofa. Sagged. Heard Billy clicking around. “You’re not gonna make a mess, are you?”

   “Quit worrying, let the master work.” He peered at the kitten eagerly eating from her dish.

   Evie heard something sizzle and flipped TV channels. Turned the brightness and volume a little lower while she draped over the sofa's arm. Tried to distract herself as the meds kicked in. Melting around her pricking pin. Billy padded back in with a paper plate. Something stacked high on it.

   “What did you…?” Evie blinked and sat up to make room for him so he put the plate down. Still warm and steamy, gooey cheese oozed from fresh bread. “Grilled cheese. Oh hell, that actually looks really good.”

   “I made a bunch. Stuff that hangover.” He spied her and stole the remote. Evie was too busy leaning over to pull a cheesy sandwich apart to fight him. Readily, leaning into Billy’s shoulder, Evie got comfortable there as they shared a silence. A hot, greasy meal that was perfection. Even a few laughs over the TV. 

   She forgot about pretty made up dolls. About that girl she lost. About whatever was trying to take its place. About screaming and thunder.

   “I think we should set some ground rules for this thing since we’re obviously avoiding labels,” Evie said during a commercial, wiping her fingers on a napkin before she pushed up. “Water?”

   “With ice if you really wanna impress me.” Billy kicked back and heard her scoff. “What do you mean, rules?”

   “I mean,” the sink started running from the kitchen, “just...you wanna be with me and I wanna be with you and we’re not gonna bring a third party into that. Basic ‘don’t screw this up’ rules.”

   “Unless you’re into it.” Billy cracked his cheekiest smile as she returned. Ice clicked in two glasses. Billy put one arm up on the couch to gesture so she tucked in there. Cups clicked and they hydrated as if a mission was afoot. 

   “Ah, use the coaster.” She leaned forward so they could set the drinks down. Billy rolled his eyes and sat back, legs spreading.

   “You worry too much, I know how to tell people I’m seeing a girl.”

   “How public can we be? If I try to kiss you or, god forbid, hold your hand at school...will you be weird about it now?”

   “No, and just give me a slap if I get weird on you again.” He shrugged. ���If I wanna slip you my tongue or smack your ass, are you gonna get all squirrely on me?” Billy tipped his head back when he felt her chuckle.

   “Depends on who you do it in front of. I figure you’ll use your brains for that judgment. I hope.” Came the softer reply. Evie curled into the warmth of him. Stared at his neck and watched the muscles and veins shift under tanned skin. Wondered about sinking her teeth there. “You can get handsy within reason. Do that thing where one person slips their hand into the other’s pocket as they walk.”

   “I’ll give you the John Hughes fantasy if you throw me a little pornstar now and then.”

   “Bet you think every nasty thing you say makes me blush.” 

   Evie wiggled down and settled her head in his lap. Eyes snapped down to see her face crinkle with a brighter smile, still only somewhat fatigued from the night before. Curl spiraling long over her shoulders and his thighs. He caught one around his finger. Twirled it with a thoughtful expression before he looked at her eyes.

   “You are beautiful, Evangeline Fenny.” Billy had to sigh it. A fierce and tender proclamation. A stunning spell cast over her like a thin veil. Twinkling jewels. Flash photography.

   It became clear that they held power over each other and that this was the closest she’d ever gotten to her name in lights.

   And Evie did blush. She didn’t look away from his eyes. For once. Not when they flickered to catch her gaze. Lost in Billy, she rose and turned over on her hands and knees. Leaned toward him carefully. Billy inhaled her perfume, got this fluttered look as she took his chin and tipped it to place a delicate kiss upon his throat. Another touched the line of his jaw.

   One muffled sound fused them together. Evie’s back hit the couch. The remote fell with a clatter. Fingers laced, Billy shifted her hand next to her head. Saw her pause to kiss his knuckles. Tough with scars from too many fights that burst them open. 

   Fingertips gave this gentle caress of Evie’s hairline with his free hand. Careful as if something here could shatter. Thick lashes fluttered so she turned to look up at him there. Words crushed in her throat. Almost pleasurably.

   “Open your mouth.” Billy longed to taste the fragmented syllables. Lips parted. A finger swept the kiss-puffed swell of them. “Little wider.” His own mouth curled. Thumb rubbing a circle into her chin before he came down. A vaguely sweet-salty kiss. Tangy, almost reminding him of that balmy California air.

   Evie matched him. Pushed back. Cupped his face. Made a heavenly sound that vibrated into him.

   And she leaned out as if struck by lightning.

   “What’s your middle name?”

   “What?” He laughed, watching her lashes flutter. Hand midway to touch her breast.

   “Your middle name.” Evie fingered the metal pendant when it hung down from his neck. Traced a line across his collar before tucking spun gold behind his ear. 

   “Why?”

   “So suspicious.” She tugged his tee so he’d kiss her again. Slower this time. “This, Billy, is totally a date. So, I’m asking about you about you.” Frankly, Evie wanted to know every little, silly thing there was to him.

   “Feels like that perfect, lengthy ending of a date to me.” The snark had Evie pouting. Stopping anymore kisses he dared to plant. Billy gave pause. “It’s stupid. My middle name.”

   “Well, now you have to tell me.” She shifted so he could drape his weight across her, one elbow planted near her head. Billy rolled his eyes. Cringed.

   “Seamus.” He mumbled, sparking. “Don’t laugh. Mom chose it after an ancestor on her side.”

   “Just smiling cause you told me. That’s not bad!” Evie pressed her lips when they trembled. “William Seamus Hargrove.”

   “Yeah, I sound like a creepy lighthouse keeper who's really into masturbating.”

   “One out of two.” Evie squealed as he pinched her side for that. “Marie!”

   “Huh?”

   “My middle name. Marie.” Arms looped loosely around Billy's shoulders. They wrapped each other up, spoke intimately of casual subjects. All too easily. 

   “Evangeline Marie Fenny.” He gave it a taste. Liked it.

   “Uh-huh.” Evie’s fingers twirled idle into Billy's curls, massaging circles into the back of his warm neck. “My mom got the middle name from this famous Voodoo Queen in New Orleans. She thought to name me Christine, Wendy, or Beatrice but when I was born, she changed her mind at the last minute because she saw me and said the name just came to her from this epic poem. Said it was star-worthy so she plucked it down from the night sky and kept it as her own.”

   "A star?" He panned to focus on her expression relaxing.

   "It's a lot to live up to." Something to grieve deeply in that.

   “Hm. Voodoo Queen. So, do you like to turn boys into creatures when they cross you? Frogs, goats, and bats maybe? For sacrifice?”

   “I mean, that’s the first thing they teach us, obviously. Voodoo is actually peaceful and balanced, it just has a violent misconception because of racism. It’s an even exchange of life and energy. A relationship you build with actual effort. Signature.”

   “My mom might have liked it, she was spiritual-like.”

   “My aunts know more. They were pretty worked up when my mom branched out. I like to think she balances a couple religions to get by. She does the same thing with hair styling…and boyfriends.” Evie puffed, eyes elsewhere. “Just a jukebox, she changes the song by whatever is gonna comfort her most that week. I just tell people she’s open-minded and she is.”

   “My dad hates your mom more than he’s hated any neighbor we’ve ever had. And we used to live across from these guys he didn’t like me talking to. Said they were living in sin. Well...he used worse words.” Billy admitted, vaguely entertained because Neil loved to spit words only when backs were turned. He was a coward. “They were always nice to me. Owned this fancy cake shop so they sometimes gave me a truffle if I was playing on the apartment steps.”

   “I can picture you small. Face all messy with chocolate.” Evie gushed there. “Probably the cutest thing. Bet Neil hated them more for being sweet.”

   “The one and only time he spat the word out in the open, one of those guys broke his nose. I got the brunt of that anger later, but it was worth it. Just makes me like Mona more.”

   “I’m sure.” Evie blinked, sighing elsewhere under Billy’s gaze. “My mom and I have a disconnect, but I am proud of her. She’s so educated despite having me young even if people don’t know it. She’s marched for human rights and she’s braver than she knows. She always stands for something and I hope I can one day too. Even if her big, noble causes distract from her home life.”

   Evie paused with this searching look. Unsure if she should indulge the thought that swept her eyes. Gently, she continued.

   “I don’t think her mom ever loved her. Nana was always so cold to her, not like with the older sisters. I noticed that young. She might have liked me only cause I was her one and only grand-baby.”

   “Why’s that?”

   Evie flickered her brown eyes again, frowning.

   “You can’t repeat this, not even to me.” A sigh followed when Billy nodded. “When my mom and dad got divorced...that Christmas break she took me back to N’awlins. They live in this big place, I used to think it was a castle. Her three older sisters, growing old together. Nana was with them until she passed away. I used to hang out in the attic when I wasn’t at their store. Going through boxes of memories.”

   “Yeah.” Billy nodded for her to go on.

   “My mom wasn’t supposed to be born. Nana had her sisters. She had this husband. Perfect life. A shop to pass down. One night, she was closing and a man attacked her. Held her down and…” Evie swallowed. 

   “Oh…”

   “He hurt my Nana bad. I don’t think she was ever the same, how can you be? But, she got pregnant with his baby. Kept it and that was my mom. I think my mom spent her whole life trying to make up for it. I’m sure she knew.”

   “How so?”

   “My grandfather left not long after she was born and..my Nana wrote him this letter I don’t think she ever sent. It was begging him to just take Mona and love her right. It was full of apologies and, I think she was gonna kill herself. I don’t know what changed her mind. But, I found that letter and read it. It was in my mom’s things. Under the floorboards of the first dollhouse she ever made herself. She must have found it all the same. Maybe when she was my age.”

   “Probably wasn’t an easy thing to find for her.”

   “Right. Might explain why mom can only handle the dainty things in life. She just wanted to be loved. So, I think after that...I tried even harder to be perfect for her. I know she loves me and her mother never loved or wanted her. She tried so hard for everyone even if she’s bad with the negative. We’re friends. She always tells me I saved her life so I’m scared of letting her down. What if I can’t save her one day?” Her voice cracked so Evie swallowed a lump down to level herself. 

   Billy felt that prick his heart. Deeper than he liked. But, the advice still came out clear.

   “That’s not your job, Evie, you need a mother. You have plenty of best friends.”

   “I thought she married my dad cause she loved him, but really I think she married the first person who promised to care for her. Who whisked her away from her mother’s cold house. It worked out that he was always traveling for work. It feels like everything I thought I knew about my life wasn’t real.” Evie caught herself, eyes on Billy’s pendant. She hoped it protected him. Well enough. “But, my dad. I bet he thinks about me every day. I know it.”

   It was always striking and peculiar how Evangeline spoke of her father. Billy pictured a string being pulled from her back to rattle the same peppy sayings. Over and over again until perhaps she believed it too.

   Evie paused to stare at Billy thoughtfully. With the pull of her string, she switched modes to become something else. 

   “What kinds of things to do you like to write about?” She asked with this dreamy sort of expression crossing as if the words before were all imaginary. She was fine. Her mother was fine. Her father, he…

   It was all fine. Picture perfect. Paparazzi flashing to send her into a sea of spots. Memories wiping.

   “I don’t know, anything to not be here.” Billy caught himself, both of them still wrapped around each other. “Not here, I mean. I’m here.” 

   Billy seemed to realize how present he was and shifted off her.

   “The words almost don’t sound real.” Repetition. A mild chuckle. “I’m here.” He sounded them out carefully. Evie pulled up. Stared at Billy sitting on his knees between her legs.

   “That’s it.” She said. “Labels and rules aside. As long as we’re just here, I think we have a handle on this. I can manage that, can you?”

   I’m here, Billy gave this closer look and nodded. Earring dangling. Fingers twisted his ring around.

   “Are you going to tell Neil or Susan about this?” Evie’s question made him pale noticeably.

   “Hell, no. It’s better if my dad doesn’t figure it out. Don’t like him talking to you.”

   Evie didn’t argue with that.

   “I don’t think I want to tell my mom, she’s just a lot when I’m seeing someone or liking anyone point-blank.” Evie winced.

   “Don’t freak on me if I pull from you around my dad. I don’t trust him near you. He’ll say shit and you don’t need that.” Billy peered aside until Evie took his hand, shaking it almost officially.

   “Deal. Screw Neil.”

   “Oh,” Billy laughed, “you're still a funny girl, Evie.” Eager as can be, he cupped the back of her head. Kissed her into the couch. They forgot the dull aches that kept them so grounded. All giggles, she squirmed out to escape him. Left Billy breathless and tugged as she got up. “Wait, where ya going?”

   “Um. My room. Duh.”

   He lit up and tried to play cool which melted the second he scrambled to scoop her from the floor.

   “Ah!” Evie wiggled and clung to him. Feeling his muscles bulge and strain as they always did. Made her heart sing. “We didn’t discuss this!”

   “If I can lift it, it’s mine. You spent all last night challenging me, what do you expect?” Billy jostled her which had Evie wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders. Barely squealing.

   “Okay! Don’t drop me!” She squeezed into his arms and balled up. Billy laughed all the way to the bedroom. “I didn’t wash the sheets yet.”

   “Even better, let’s make a bigger mess of them.” Billy dropped her playfully into the covers. Pulled his shirt off as Evie sat up. Eyes falling to the hard contours. He relished that she liked to look at him. Fingers wrapped around her wrist, encouraging the cool palm into his skin. Up the deft lines in his stomach. “You can touch, I won’t charge you for it.”

   She dropped the awe and pushed from him. Laughing back into the pillows.

   “You’re such a pain.” Evie stiffened because Billy dropped down to crawl up her body. Pretense gone. One hand cupped her jaw. Urged it open as fingers stroked the silky cheek. Thumb curving the swell of her parting mouth. Evie kissed the pad and let the digit slip along her tongue. 

   “You’re so good.” Billy shuddered when he felt her tongue whirl obediently around his thumb. Breathless. Evie reached down to undo his belt. Sly as can be. 

   “You’re eager.” She whispered coolly against the wet thumb tracing a line down her chin.

   “I haven’t been laid much the past few months, I’m collecting. Times I tried didn’t work. Sue me.”

   “Poor thing.” She cooed, working his zipper down until Billy bit his lip. Hips shimmied between her spread legs. He jerked her hips up to get the underwear and leggings off in one expert pull. “Did you think about me when you tried?”

   Billy narrowed on her. Sighed as a hand slipped into his jeans. Moaned.

   “Yes.” He stole himself a kiss. “Couldn’t even measure up to that kiss in the street.”

   “Remind me how that went.” Evie hitched a laugh and he smothered her down. Scared the syllables with his tongue.

   Billy pulled her hair for good measure, pushed his open fly into her bare skin. He didn’t waste time this hour as she moaned and pulled for him. Adjusted to find her core. Hips snapped together, both of them mostly clothed in disarray. A good ache built as he moved. Hard and intent like he was making an impression into her flesh. Into her marrow. 

   Evie would remember him and this time and how he played her. Totally. Neither of them would be running. This moment was about the long haul together. They kept slowing to just look and breathe. Noses nuzzling. Soft exhales in turn. Billy broke kisses to push his face up against her hair and jawline, arms sliding underneath her to cling. He let Evie whisper sweet things into his flesh. Let her hold him just as close.

   At the sweetness of her coaxing, he spilled inside her. Earlier then he meant.

   “Shit.” Billy started to push up when Evie’s legs caught his hips.

   “Stay,” she puffed, “stay like this for a bit.” She prodded and pawed, openly needing him. So very bad.

   “I’m crushing you.” He mumbled into her cheek. Trapped in heat.

   “I like it.” Evie’s arms looped his shoulders. Both of them got the shakes. “I like how you feel right here.”

   “You didn’t come yet.” Hot breath ghosted her neck.

   “It’s okay.”

   Billy blew air into her jaw. Kissed the line of it before he reached down to finish her.

   “Yeah?”

   “Ngh, yes.” She mewled out silently. "Oh, Billy." That was his favorite song in truth.

   “Atta girl.” Billy kept planting kisses. Evie twisted with nowhere to go. Whimpered until she was locking under him. Mouth back open for his slow tongue. She reached a peak and let him slowly bring her back down.

   Lips muffled into her collar. He stayed there inside her. Took every piece of comfort she offered. One hand reeled up to pet her curls. Arms kept him firm against her so he could listen to her twittering heart slow and lull. Fingers danced too delicate across flesh.

   Evie whined as he pulled out. Felt the absence burn hot. 

   They messed the sheets. She was still pulling for him until he pushed her over. Wrapped himself around her after fixing his jeans back up. Leaving them open. Evie shifted, restless until Billy kissed behind her ear.

   “Just sleep. Not going anywhere.” Billy’s words lulled her back to relax. “Quit squirming about it.”

   She stilled, fingers trailing up the hair on his arm before she dropped her head to the offered bicep. Evie tilted Billy’s wrist to see the watch, groaning.

   “It’s not even noon.”

   “Maybe you’ll think next time before you get up hungover on a weekday before eight,” Billy mumbled into the curls. 

   “Only did it for the Hargrove grilled cheese.” Evie closed her eyes to sigh. "You fell for it."

   “Guess we’re both screwed.”

   “Mm-hm.” She let her mind flutter. Felt Billy’s hand stroking her bare thigh. 

   Fingers moved up her hip. Kneading the flesh. His palm trailed over her tummy and she didn’t stop him. Didn’t clam up at a boy touching her fuller areas. Billy worshiped her skin. Breath hot into dark curls. She almost wondered if he was trying for another round massaging her hip like that with dancing fingertips. 

   “Hard to nap when you...when you touch me.” She sounded breathless.

   “Like touching you,” Billy mumbled. “Gonna figure out a way to prove it to you without the label. This thing.”

   “For a boy who likes to talk, I notice certain words are hard for you.” She felt the arm under her wrapping tighter, pulling her further into his fire. “Not judging. I have problems words too.”

   “Still good with my mouth.” Billy shifted hair from Evie’s neck and jaw. Settling his lips there, lazy as can be. “And my hands. But, you still have something nagging you tell you I’m not being truthful about the exclusive thing. Gonna figure out how I can make that up to you.”

   “If I really didn’t trust you, Billy, I wouldn’t have let you stay here.” Evie shifted around to face him, still laying on his bicep. There was plenty of fear. Fear of exposing her heart and vessels and nerves to be plucked. Fear she'd like him more than he liked her. Fear this relationship would be such an easy thing to fall into.

   "That's honest." He decided, lashes batting. Evie reached up and traced this curving line near his mouth.

   “Just be with me cause you want to be and try not to raise your voice if you’re upset." She dropped her hand. "It’s okay if you’re upset, you can tell me. It just freaks out when men raise their voices. It’s like thunder and I...I’m scared of thunder.” 

   Evie recalled the passive-aggressive way Fredrick would slam things when he was upset with her instead of outright telling her. How he’d wait until she was near tears and begging his forgiveness. Billy studied her eyes. Saw lightning flash within them. Knuckles came to her cheek. Gave an idle caress. His soft lips found her brow and lulled her heavy eyes until they began to flutter. Billy laid there and watched Evie fade, let her sleepy frame tuck into him. Under his chin. She found solace. 

   He thought of the men in her life and his life who raised their voices. Who hit. Who broke them down to a series of parts they can pick and choose from to make a doll that suited them best. This image they placed up carefully for protection, it may have shattered them both distantly. Billy didn’t want to be a piece of thunder in Evie’s life. Striking to make his points so she wouldn’t forget them. 

   But, Evie slept so soundly in his arms. Barely twitching while his hands roamed her body. Under the shirt down her bare back. Threading into fluffy locks of thick hair. These little caresses that were her lullaby. It made Billy believe with all his soul that he’d never be like them.

   And it made it so easy for him to follow her in darkness.

** ** ** 

   “You’re awfully quiet, Max.” Evie turned her head in the seat. Trees whizzed by illuminated with little flits of the morning sun. 

   “Just a test today, I guess.” Max had her backpack clutched close in her lap. Almost hiding behind it. She hinted a smile. “I gave Billy shit this morning.” Billy snorted in the driver’s seat, nodding. One hand idle on Evie’s knee. Hot through the denim.

   “She did. Neil wasn’t around.” 

   “Hey...I told Will and them I’d go to the arcade. Just to hang out after school. I’ll be home before dinner.”

   “Does Neil know?” Was all Billy asked.

   “Yes, he thinks I’m just going to see El. Stays quieter if I’m seeing the Police Chief.” Max plucked up her skateboard. “I won’t need a ride so you guys can make-out.” She snickered while Billy swerved to park at school.

   “Yeah? Beat it.” He shifted his seat, patting Evie’s knee to make her wait there. Max jumped out and hopped on her board.

   “She does seem off,” Evie remarked more so to herself.

   “Things at home are off, it’s making it weird for her and her friends.” Billy shut the door with a hard look. Exhaling out his nose. “It was bound to.” Evie watched Max skate down the hill around other students. Seemingly isolated. She didn’t push the subject and wiped the frown aside. Mauve lips upturned when she peered to see Billy staring at her face. Not reaching for a smoke yet.

   “Got something for you.” He said instead, fishing into the front pocket of his denim jacket. “Tried to figure out how to make this official for you. Here.” 

   Billy dropped a silver chain in her hand without ceremony. The silver ring he wore on his middle finger hung from it. Evie wondered what he’d fidget around with now when he was deep in thought.

   “I don’t have a class ring or Letterman jacket for you because I’m not a douche. But, guys do this. Don’t they?” Billy peered at Evie eyeing the ring before she met his gaze. 

   “It’s perfect.” She turned, gesturing so he could help her put it on. It sat lower than the little music note she usually wore. Evie debated it and pulled her dad’s necklace off, looping it around her wrist as a bracelet because she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Maybe it not being in plain sight would make her easier to look at for Mona. “Thank you.”

   “My mom got it for me. She had it in the family and said it would fit me one day. That and this chain.” He fingered the saint pendant. 

   “I’ll be careful with it,” Evie promised him. 

   “It sits exactly where I wanted it to.” Billy flashed some pride.

   “Over my heart?” Her eyes glimmered.

   “Over your tits.” He laughed when she shoved at him, tugging his collar in for a kiss. 

   “You’re gross,” Evie mumbled, pecking him once more. She fingered the ring and beamed. 

   “You’re into it.” Billy turned her chin for just one more. She could live in this. 

   Just one more kiss.

   Deciding to join the rest of the student body, they got out. Evie slung her strap over one shoulder while Billy held his bag in a wad at his side. They met each other around the car before Billy slipped his arm around her waist, bringing Evie into him. Fingers delved into her back pocket.

   Every teen around them took note. It was official. Comments piled in as they passed into school.

   “Great party, Evie.”

   “Looking good, you two!”

   “Love your outfit, Fenny.”

   Whistles cast and overlapped suggestively. 

   “This is weird.” Evie leaned into Billy as they got to her locker. Students looked at them together. Offered winks or smiles. Students who never addressed her much before.

   “You’re the keg king. What’s that saying?” Billy had shrugged. “Heavy is the head… Fine is the ass.”

   “I regret you already.” Evie broke to laugh at him. “Pure poetry, Billy.” She shut her locker, paused to see Heather headed her way looking apprehensive. Another smile crossed, even fuller than the last. Heather seemed to respond and follow it.

   “So, I heard I missed a piece of history.”

   “Hardly, I puked everywhere.” Evie swept curls behind her shoulder. “Billy, can Heather and I have a sec?”

   “Depends, am I still an asshole prick?” He leered over Evie’s shoulder.

   “You’re back down to normal prick status.” Heather beamed even sweeter while Billy caught his tongue between his teeth, seeming to like that. 

   “I can work with that, princess.” He tugged Evie’s curls and went around them to head to his locker before the first period. Evie shifted on her feet so they walked along together.

   “I know...things have still been kinda weird.”

   “I just figured I’d let you and Carol work through your stuff, you know?” Heather looped her arm into Evie’s.

   “Can’t without my best friend there. Sure, Carol and I are bonding, but that doesn’t… You and I went to dances together, Heather, we stayed up eating junk food and watching terrible movies. We bought our first bras together.”

   “Our mothers made that day so mortifying, I think I’m still messed up from it.” Heather giggled with Evie snorting next to her. “And you got a real B bra while I basically bought a damn bandage.”

   “We’re repressing the memory together.” Evie tugged her down the next hallway where Steve scrambled to snatch her into an unexpected bear hug.

   “Tell me it’s true, oh my god, Evie.” He was near howling with laughter. Evie, shocked that Steve lifted her feet from the floor, stammered through the broken train of thought.

   “What?” She got spun around with a cry as Heather cackled. Students hurried around them. Steve wasn't strong like Billy, but credit was due.

   “You’re the keg king?” He shook her by the shoulders. “You smashed Billy’s record in front of him. In front of everyone?”

   “I’m never drinking again.” Evie dropped her head to his chest, hands covering her face.

   "You're my absolute hero, Eves, I hope you know that." Steve gripped Evie tighter, got close like he thought to kiss her but resisted.

   “Yeah, you’re going to have to fill us in on everything at lunch.” Heather decided, grasping Evie’s hand. “Jesus, Steve, get it together.”

   “Let me have this, Holloway. She's mine.” He squeezed Evie’s amused frame back into him. “He made my life hellish.”

   “I’ll dedicate the win to you. How’s that?” Evie slipped from Steve, laughing now. “Lunch. We’ll give Billy shit about it together.” A wink that Steve matched, thoroughly enjoying this momentous day. Evie rejoined Heather to hurry toward class. “How about a sleepover? Us, Carol, and Max. I think she needs more girls in her life. No boys invited.”

   Heather hugged her books close to grin easier.

   “I’d like that.” 

~~~~~

A/N: Letting these two finally just be intimate is everything to me. Thank you so so much for reading. Comments and rbs are well loved and appreciated!! Feel free to chat with me, pretty please! Tag list & ask open. xoxo :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10​ @charmed-asylum​ @unmistakablyunknown​ @lukespatterson​

[stareyedplanet]

Birthday Surprises [p.p.]

•••••••••••••••••

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!reader Summary: Peter takes time from saving New York to spend time with you on your birthday, and he’s got a few surprises up his sleeve to make the day truly special. Notes: this is a very self - indulgent fic considering it is my birthday today, so seriously, do not come at me. you have been warned. even still there are like no descriptors. i think i mentioned he runs his fingers through her hair? maybe she blushes? i honestly can’t remember. i don’t really reread and edit soooo… and he picks out her outfit if that ruins your creative ability idk. people be weird sometimes. anywho, any feedback is appreciated other than the stuff i mentioned. Warnings: pure fluff, maybe a kiss or two Word Count: 2,348 ••••••••••••••••• You had never really been one to celebrate your birthday in the past. When you were younger you had a few parties, but as you got older birthday plans just seemed to fizzle out into nothingness. It always made you a little sad, but that was probably because the last birthday party you had you ended up sobbing at. Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t have a birthday party after that. You didn’t have very high expectations for the day, since to you it was just another day and another year. Your life wasn’t going to dramatically change because you were a year older. Really you just thought that maybe you would see Peter in between his patrols, and you’d put a candle on the little cupcake you got yourself. But Peter Parker had other plans.

He knew that you never really celebrated, but he wanted to make the day special for you. To him, you deserved one special day dedicated to you — really you deserved every day to be special and dedicated to you.

He couldn’t be more thankful for such a perfect and patient girlfriend. You never complained when he canceled on a date, or when he went on patrol so long you only got to see him a few minutes. Any time he ever had a cut or a bruise, you would sit him down and patch him up, always putting on a brave smile to cheer him up, even if he knew you were always terrified you would lose him. But you never let it get to you. You were always there for him and never showed signs of backing down.

So he was determined to make today special for you.

It was early when he was knocking on the door to your place, a sweet smile lighting up his entire face. He took in your appearance, still dressed in an oversized shirt and baggy sleep pants. Your hair was a mess around your face, frizzy and unbrushed.

This wouldn’t do.

“What are you doing? You have to get dressed! We have a busy day, come on.” Peter coaxed as he walked into your place, pushing you towards your room.

“Peter? I thought you would have patrol this morning?” You said, clearly confused as to what the boy was on about. Not that you were unhappy to see him. You loved being able to hang out with Peter longer than normal.

“Nope. Today is all about you, angel,” Peter grinned, kissing your cheek as he pushed you into your room before going to the dresser and pulling out an appropriate outfit. And by that he meant jeans and his old Midtown sweatshirt you had stolen ages ago.

“What are you doing?” You laughed as he pushed the clothes into your hands before turning his back to you so you could get dressed.

“Tik tok, Y/N,” he sang, waiting patiently for you to finish getting dressed. He knew you were done when you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back and just inhaling his scent.

“Can’t we just stay in, Peter? Seriously, I don’t need anything big.” You argued quietly, nuzzling into him more.

Peter turned around in your arms and kissed your head, playing with the ends of your freshly brushed hair. He just swayed with you for a minute before he shook his head.

“Nope. My special girl deserves a special day. Come on, you’ll love it, Y/N. Trust me…” Peter said, giving you sweet puppy eyes. You could never say no to those eyes. Not really.

“Fine, I trust you Peter. But promise we can just come here and watch Lilo and Stitch at the end of the day?” You asked him, looping your arms around his neck.

Peter gave you an Eskimo kiss, nudging his nose against yours.

“It’s on the plan, angel. I promise. We’ll have cuddles and movies later.” Peter assured you, pressing his lips against yours quickly. “Now are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.” You agreed finally, grabbing your phone and keys, slipping each of them into their normal pockets.

Peter laced his fingers with yours as he led you out of your apartment and down to his car, helping you into the passenger seat before climbing into his side. He subconsciously reached over and buckled your seatbelt before giving you a sheepish look of apology. He knew you didn’t like it when he did that. Sure you thought it was cute that he was worried about your safety, but it borderlined him being overly worried and protective.

But today it didn’t seem to bother you. In fact, you smiled at him and just shook your head in amusement, which made Peter’s face brighten as well. His hand rested on your thigh as he drove to the first location of the day. Breakfast. He watched as you began bouncing in your seat when you realized where he was pulling into.

IHOP.

You absolutely loved the place, but you hardly ever got to go. And Peter clearly knew you if this was where he was taking you for breakfast. He once again led you inside and you all took your seats.

“Come on Peter, tell me what else you have up your sleeve for today?” You asked him, leaning across the table to talk. You batted your eyelashes at him, hoping he might tell you what else he had planned.

“Nope, it’s a surprise, Jellybean,” Peter grinned. He wasn’t usually good at keeping secrets but he was determined to make sure he didn’t let a single thing slip.

Before you knew it you two had been there for two hours, laughing and talking and teasing. You were sure you could have sat longer but Peter had someplace else for you to go and began to usher you out.

You waited patiently in the car as Peter drove, his hand returning to it’s spot on your thigh, the other controlling the wheel. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hoping your stare down might get him to crack. It didn’t.

This drive was a little longer than the first one, so you knew you weren’t headed back to either of your places.

“Peter, where are we going?” You whined quietly, hating surprises. But you trusted Peter.

“You will see. Jeez, be patient, Angel,” Peter laughed quietly, squeezing your thigh gently.

You tried for a while longer to get it out of him but ultimately gave up, leaning your head against the window to watch the buildings passing by. It was thirty minutes later when Peter told you to close your eyes.

With an amused smile you placed your hands over your eyes, waiting patiently for Peter to park the car, come around to your side and help you out. He then led you around while making sure your eyes were closed. Peter was so excited to see your reaction. He had gotten help from Mr. Stark for this one, so he really hoped you would like it.

You two eventually stopped and Peter moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Open your eyes.” He whispered to you.

So you did.

You looked around and your jaw dropped when you saw the large Broadway sign. He had brought you to Broadway Theatre. And when you glanced down he was holding two tickets for Wicked. You turned your head to share your look of shock and happiness with him. You had wanted to go to a Broadway show for so long, and Peter had made it happen.

“Peter… how?” You asked him, turning in his arms with teary eyes.

“Mr. Stark helped me get really good tickets. He also… may have paid for them to run the show tonight.” Peter explained quietly.

“You got… Tony Stark to pay to run Wicked on my birthday for me?” You asked incredulously.

“Of course I did. Do you like it?” Peter asked.

“Like it? Peter this is literally the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I love it.” You said before throwing your arms around him.

The show lasted for around two hours, and you were on the edge of your seat the entire time. Peter thought it was cute how into the musical you were, and he found himself spacing out to stare at you for chunks of the performance. He wouldn’t admit that if you asked though.

The performance was over in a flash, and you were both disappointed and invigorated because of it. It only had just ended yet you wanted to watch it again and again. Peter had made a good choice.

“Thank you for such a wonderful day.” You murmured to him as you walked out of the theater. “You’re welcome, jellybean, but the day is far from over.” He grinned.

“What do you mean?” You asked, surprised that he had more planned.

“I mean it’s time to get back in the car. And don’t worry, the next part has more standing up and walking around.” He told you as you two headed to the car.

“Peter, I really don’t need anything else.” You tried to tell him.

“Come on, you’ll love it…” Peter said, giving you puppy eyes. “Please?”

“Fine.” You sighed. He had seemed to put a lot of effort into it all so you didn’t want to ruin it. “But then can we just go home?”

“Yes. Scout’s honor after this last place we will watch movies and cuddle.”

“You weren’t a scout.” You reminded him with a smile.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows. It made you laugh as he pulled onto the road once more, taking you to your last mystery location.

It was a 40 minute drive.

It was long and you were already sick of sitting in this car, but every time you whined like a child asking if you were there yet, Peter would only laugh and tell you that you were ‘getting close love.’

Once again when you were in the final stretch, Peter told you to close your eyes so he could properly surprise you. Much in the same fashion as earlier, Peter helped you out of the car and began to walk you along. Only this time you could somewhat hear where you were going.

“Peter… are we at Coney Island?” You asked him. Your eyes were still covered so you couldn’t see the pout and puppy eyes Peter gave you. He uncovered your eyes since you had guessed.

“Yes… you ruined your own surprise you know.” Peter told you, kissing the tip of your nose.

You giggled, shaking your head as you threw your arms around him. He really was probably the sweetest and best boyfriend you could ever even dream of.

“I know. It’s not my fault I have ears though.” You pointed out, pulling him into another hug.

“Yeah, but still…” Peter whined.

Eventually the boy gave up on the argument and pulled you into the park. The first thing he tugged you to was the swinging chairs, knowing it would give you two a great view of everything around. And despite the line, you two were able to get right on, another compliment of Mr. Stark. It was that way with everything. You had unlimited rides and unlimited games. Nothing could be better, except maybe just being home, cuddling with Peter.

Next you chose to play some of the carnival games that were everywhere, after Peter begged you to stop for cotton candy. And of course you had agreed, only you chose to steal from his rather than get your own.It was a whirlwind and before you knew it, hours had passed by in the blink of an eye, leaving you and Peter thoroughly tired out from your fun. It meant it was time to go, even if Peter was disappointed he hadn’t won you anything — rather, you won him a stuffed dog you two agreed to share custody of.

Before you two could leave, you pulled Peter into a photobooth, wanting to have some memento of the evening. But finally it was time to go home, and this time Peter told you he was headed to his place for one last surprise.

Your leg was bouncing with anticipation as you waited for him to get to his place. What more could this boy possibly have up his sleeve?

It turned out, Peter had set up the sweetest little fort in the middle of his living room. Aunt May was nowhere in sight and it just left the two of you. He handed you a little cupcake with a candle on it.

“Happy Birthday, Jellybean.” Peter smiled, kissing you softly. “Let’s watch some movies.”

You both walked over to his fort, getting rid of your shoes and climbing in. You settled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest as you ate your chocolate cupcake.

“What was your favorite part of the day?” Peter asked you eventually, after settling on Lilo and Stitch. He tried to fight for Rapunzel, but it was your birthday so of course he lost. Not that he didn’t usually lose that fight.

“Hmm, you know what? This is my favorite part.” You replied quietly.

Peter frowned, surprised and confused by your answer. “Really? But we do this all the time.” He said, knowing this wasn’t new or special.

“I know. But that’s what makes it great. All I need is you and some Disney movies and I’m happy. Everything else was great… but this is my favorite place to be.” You admitted to him. There was nothing better than cuddles and movies with Peter.

“Oh…” he murmured, suddenly feeling shy as his cheeks went 

“I love you Peter… You were all I needed to make today special.” You whispered, twisting in his arms so you could kiss him.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Peter smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “Happy birthday, angel.”

[sithsecrets]

A Matter of Expediency - Part XI

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

—

Part 11

4.5k words

Mentions: pregnancy, swearing, mild sexual content, discussions of past relationships, menstruation

—

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask your husband, hesitantly settling in his lap as he starts up his TIE-fighter, flipping switches and pushing buttons.

“Oh yes,” Kylo assures you, absently pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I would never put your in danger.”

You’re still not convinced, unsure about two people galivanting through space in a one-man vessel, but Kylo’s arm is strong around your waist, his words comforting. And honestly, you’re too excited to really be bothered, thrumming with anticipation at the notion of zooming around the ship with your husband after hours.

Kylo is careful as he guides your ship out of the hangar, exiting the Supremacy with care. But as soon as the two of you are fully out in the inky expanse of space, he punches the accelerator, sending the little craft off at an exhilarating speed. You giggle as Kylo whips you around the ship, squealing when he makes sharp twists and turns with master precision. Hux had told you that your husband was an excellent pilot, but you had no idea what that really meant, accustomed to traveling on casual transport vessels. But Kylo is being anything but casual, telling you to hold on as he executes rolls and loops and other tricks that make your heart jump up in your throat.

Clutching onto your husband tightly, you’re absolutely delighted to realize that he’s enjoying himself too, grinning against the side of your face as he tells you to brace yourself before he does something complex. Stars, he even laughs, the sound of his joy coming from deep in his chest. He loves this, you realize, loves to fly. Your husband, a serious man, a man with little time to himself and so much to do, loves to go out and do the one thing that probably makes him feel truly and supremely free. And what’s better still, he’s decided to share this hobby of his with you.

By the time Kylo lands the TIE back in hangar two, you’re breathless and giddy, flushed with elation from all that’s just happened. As soon as Kylo pops the door open to give the both of you a bit more air, you’re on him in an instant, pressing kisses to his face as you laugh and laugh. He kisses you back, holding you and smiling into your mouth.

“Did you have fun?” Kylo asks, finally peeling you away from him.

“More fun than I’ve ever had in my life!” you exclaim, turning to fall back against his chest with a sigh. Wistfully, you add, “Oh, we should do that every night.”

Your husband settles his arms around your middle, nuzzling into your hair. “If the Empress commands it, then so it shall be.”

You smile at that but say nothing, content to stare out at the stars glittering in the distance before you. Kylo’s got his little craft positioned so that the two of you can gaze out the back of the hangar, safe inside the climate preservers and blastshields. The two of you hold one another for a long while, sitting in comfortable silence until Kylo finally speaks.

“Did you have any lovers before me?” he asks, settling you in his lap.

“I told you the night we wed that you were my first,” you reply, brows drawing together in confusion. You thought the whole thing had been rather unforgettable, but maybe that was because you were the one who wiped a bit of blood from between your legs when all was said and done.

“Well of course,” Kylo says quickly, sensing your disconcertment. “But did you have any other… beloveds? A boyfriend, or just someone who cared for you?”

You shake your head. “No. Mila was very good at turning others against me, and there are many beautiful girls my age in my husband’s court. Everyone passed over me, I think.”

Kylo kisses the top of your head upon hearing this, arms holding your tighter. He hesitates as he goes to speak though, almost as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Even the women who attended to you?”

You balk at that, caught off-guard by the question. Memories flit through your mind like flashes of light, and for the first time in years, you think of Sabe’s hands, of the way her lips felt on your neck. The two of you had been so young then, barely Helda’s age when you first kissed each other in the dark. It was an innocent little tryst for the most part, two teenagers sneaking into each other’s beds to make out for a couple of hours while everyone else was asleep. There was only one time that something “serious” happened between the two of you, something that was a bit more than simple kissing. You had been so nervous when Sabe opened the front of your nightgown, self-conscious about your body back then. But her mouth was warm and soft and wet as she suckled at your breast, laving her tongue across your nipples in a way that made you sweat. She never touched you, never actually made you cum, but that was the first time you can remember really wanting to have sex with someone. No promises were made, you never courted one another, but you would be lying if you said there wasn’t a bit of puppy love at play all those years ago. Obviously, though, the little fling ended, fizzling out with the heat of the summer months. You thought Sabe had moved on forever and a day ago, but you’ve been rethinking the idea of that since her little post-engagement explosion.

“I see,” Kylo says softly, breaking you from your thoughts. Embarrassment washes over you then, staining your cheeks with crimson— he saw what you were thinking about.

“I don’t miss her,” you say at once, rushing to explain lest your husband mistake your reminiscing for longing or pining. “We were virtual children then, curious and bored and accessible to one other. I just don’t like how we ended our friendship is all. Sabe was very angry when I said I wanted to marry you, even after you offered me a chance to break things off. Myself and my other ladies ended up having a fight with her about it, and it was ugly. She was ugly.”

Kylo gives you a squeeze around the middle, comforting and companionable. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, mildly upset and completely unaffected all at the same time. The little relationship you had with Sabe is all water under the bridge, old news from years ago that you look back on with fondness. But her cruel comments towards yourself and Lydia have not faded with time, and they still sour your image of her overall.

Tired of thinking about the matter, you shake your head to clear away of images of Sabe, of her mean eyes and her soft mouth. Reaching a hand back to toy with a lock of your husband’s hair, you decide it’s his turn in the hot seat.

“What about you?” you ask, inquiring about his past relationships. “I’m sure you had many beautiful lovers before me.”

Kylo plays it modest, simply saying, “I took women to my bed on occasion, yes, but they were never anyone special.”

You won’t let him get away that easily, though, pressing for details. “Who did you sleep with?”

Once again, your husband is casual, speaking the truth without boasting. “Women I met through diplomatic work, mostly. The parties and the dinners, you know how it is.”

In actuality, you don’t know how it is, but you nod companionably nonetheless. You’re an adult— you understand the basic premise of what he’s saying.

“You never had girlfriends, lovers you saw regularly?”

A shake of the head, and then, “None of them interested me. But I certainly didn’t string anyone along. I watch officers do that to people all the time, and it disgusts me to no end. My intentions were always clear from the outset.”

You admire and respect that sentiment, pleased to hear that your husband never went through a womanizing phase like so many men of station do. And not because he wasn’t desired, either, for you’re sure the women (and men) flung themselves at Kylo back in the day the same way they do now.

Your final question is perhaps your most invasive, but you think Kylo won’t be offended if you ask it. “What was your first time like?”

“When I was twenty-two, Supreme Leader Snoke sent me to negotiate a treaty on Valdera,” Kylo begins. “As you know, the President of Valdera and his Parliament like to partake in quite a bit of… merrymaking when they receive guests. They threw me a feast, and many important officials were there. Nearly all of them were drunk before we even began eating, but I didn’t feel comfortable becoming inebriated amongst strangers.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to your husband’s knuckles to show that you’re listening.

“Anyway, as I was having dinner and trying to ignore all of the foolishness going on around me, I felt as though I was being watched. When I looked down the table, I saw that it was a woman who was staring at me. She was seated in a dignitary’s lap, and I thought at first that she was his wife. But then I noticed that other women had come to the table as well, and I understood at once that she was some sort of concubine. Or a prostitute, maybe. In any case, she was very beautiful, and I could see everything she was picturing in her head as she looked me over.”

“She was fantasizing about you,” you say, and not without a bit of jealously. This woman is long gone, a relic of Kylo’s past, but you still can’t help yourself from being a bit miffed.

Your husband must sense the change in your mood, because he draws you closer to his chest, laughing lightly. “Yes, you possessive little thing, she was.”

Though you’re not ready to be done sulking just yet, you crack a smile nonetheless, unable to stay mad when Kylo’s teasing you and nuzzling his nose against your ear.

“Naturally,” Kylo continues, “I was a bit taken aback, but I didn’t say anything there at the table. A few hours later, I retired to my rooms for the night, and she came knocking not long after. I was unsure of myself, but I let her in anyway. She said she was there to spend the night with me, a gift from the President himself. I told her at once that she wasn’t obligated, that she didn’t have to stay if she wasn’t truly willing, but she was insistent, putting her hands all over me as she told me that she was tired of fucking old men. I warned her that I wouldn’t be much of a partner, given my inexperience, but she said that was no matter.

“She taught me much that night. All of the ways a man can fuck a woman, what to do with my hands and my mouth… She probably enjoyed the sex more than I did that first night, but I tried my best to please her.”

“I’m sure you did just fine,” you tell your husband, unable to fathom him being a bad fuck. “Did you see her again after that?”

“Yes, but only for the remainder of my stay.”

You pause, hesitant to hear the answer to this next question. “… Did you care for her? Or any of the others?”

Kylo says nothing for a moment, rearranging in his lap so that you two may look at one another a bit better. His face is set, expression serious as he cradles your cheek delicately in his palm. “I always treated my partners with respect, but none of them ever meant anything to me, not really.”

For just a moment there, in the chill of the hangar, you feel safe enough to lay bare one of the soft spots on your heart. “Do I mean something to you?” you whisper, too afraid to ask any louder than that.

“You are my wife,” Kylo replies, caressing your skin. You kiss your husband then, heart bursting at this quiet, almost unspoken admission of his love for you.

The two of you retire to bed not long after that, walking hand in hand back to your quarters. Kylo lets you hold him so tightly that night, falling asleep with his face pressed against your chest. You breathe in the scent of his hair as you nod off, warm and content.

---

Palgodu is just entering its winter months, the air nipping at your exposed face and ears as you walk up the steps of the royal castle. Snow hasn’t fallen yet, thankfully, but you step lightly anyway, not wanting to graze over an icy patch and go tumbling. Kylo is by your side, of course, shrouded in a black as per usual. He keeps you close, probably trying to warm you up himself even though you’re draped in furs and thick fabrics. The two of your take in the great castle before you together, noting the fine stonework and carpentry. It’s a sturdy building, built no doubt to keep warmth in and invaders out. Guards are lined up all along the front of the place, armed to the teeth. They may be there for you and Kylo’s benefit, a welcoming party of sorts, but you doubt it. If your planet just ended a civil war, you’d keep yourself covered on all sides as well.

King Eli awaits you and Kylo as soon as you enter the castle, grinning broadly as he welcomes the both of you to his home. The first thing you notice about the King is his size, for he is tall and wide, made exclusively of thick slabs of muscle. He would be imposing with his full beard and beastly hands, you think, if his demeanor were not so warm.

You and Kylo amble through a corridor just off the castle’s entrance hall, following in the King’s wake. You pass many tapestries along the way, precious pieces of handiwork that seem to depict the history of Palgodu. They turn your head, these works of art, and you find yourself studying them intently until you’re shown into a small receiving room at the end of the hall.

The first thing you feel when you lay eyes on the Queen Eleanor is envy. Before she even so much as speaks, you’re plagued with it, the jealousy you feel so white-hot in your veins that you’re afraid your skin will glow from the heat. She is heavy with child, the Queen, her stomach round and swollen underneath the skirt of her gown. To make matters worse, the bundle of blankets that she clutches to her chest is squirming, confirming that she already has a little one out here in the world as well. And then a young girl dashes out from the corner of the room, giggling as she evades being picked up by her nurse, and you feel as though you might actually burst into tears.

It’s idiotic, you know, to be jealous of a woman simply because she has children, but you can’t help the way your mind rages at the sight of Queen Eleanor and all the bounty of her womb. She has so much of what you want, so much of what you’re worried you��ll never be able to have. Still, it’s impossible to hate her for long— the Queen, like her husband, is just far too kind.

She welcomes you with open arms, beaming as she declares that she feels as if the both of you already know each other. And you sort of do, you suppose, given how much you’ve communicated these past few weeks. Like you, Queen Eleanor handles her regime’s charitable efforts, and you’ve spoken at length over comm about donations and food and a myriad of other subjects. She’s practical and a bit headstrong, passionate about protecting those who rely on her and her husband for help.

“I apologize for not meeting you right when you arrived,” Eleanor says to you. “The baby needed to eat, and Maudie is always so restless when she’s forced to stand still.”

Finally, you snap out of you sad little trance, remembering where you are and what you’re doing. “Oh please, don’t be sorry,” you reply, waving her off with a gesture and a sweet little laugh.

Though your feeling of envy pass quickly, the sudden burst of intense emotion does leave you feeling disoriented. The rest of the afternoon is mostly a blur, and you barely feel like you’re there as you and Kylo dress for dinner. You must put up a good front though, because neither Miriam nor Kylo says anything as about your demeanor as they interact with you.

Dinner consists of a large feast, and you’re grateful for the crowd around the table. There’s much talking and laughing, and you’re able to shrink back into the noise, more content with observing rather than participating tonight. You do feel a bit better though, fortified by your warm meal and a few sips of wine. And of course, Queen Eleanor continues to be a lovely friend, trying to rope you into conversations regarding the upcoming charity gala that the two of you have worked so hard on.

Just as you’re digging into your dessert, however, you feel it, that round, aching pain that most women know all too well. Your good mood evaporates immediately, overtaken by an empty sort of melancholy that’s even more painful than the cramping in your abdomen. Keenly aware of your audience (and the fact that you’re wearing black), you try desperately not to let your emotions show on your face. And stars does that take all you have, the task made even more arduous by the fact that your husband sits beside you. You don’t want him to perceive the shift in your mood, so you must guard your thoughts more closely than ever before.

Mercifully, your mask never slips, your defenses do not fail, and you’re able to excuse yourself from the table with ease. In a surprising turn of events, Kylo actually accepts King Eli’s invitation to play cards, and watching your husband walk away from you is perhaps the biggest relief of all in this moment.

The walk back to your chambers is relatively short, but your limbs are so heavy as you make the journey. Miriam is there waiting for you, but you have no heart to perform for her, stumbling into the ‘fresher with little more than a weary ‘hello’. When you check , your underwear are stained, just as you suspected. And though you already knew what happened the moment you felt your stomach cramp up at the table, this confirmation of your worst fear makes you breakdown completely.

Cleaning yourself up sloppily, you leave the ‘fresher with tears in your eyes, startled to find Miriam there in the doorway when you try to go back to the bedroom. She’s poised to get you whatever you may need, mouth already forming the words, “What can I do for you?” when the two of you lock eyes. You don’t know why you do it, but you collapse into Miriam’s arms right there, offering no explanation for your actions as you dissolve into sobs.

“What’s the matter?” you attendant asks quickly, supporting your weight as you sag against her. Miriam’s hands are on your back, in your hair, rubbing and petting and trying in vain to soothe you.

You draw back from Miriam’s chest, hiccupping pathetically. “I started my period,” you tell her, and the fact that you sound like a distraught twelve-year-old girl is not lost on you in the moment.

Miriam looks confused for a moment, asking, “Did you—?” But then her face dissolves into a look of sympathetic understanding, and she puts her arms around you again. “Oh. Oh, my lady.”

You beg for a bath, unable to do anything else as your attendant holds you close. Miriam does as you ask, letting the hot water run as she unlaces your gown and lets down your hair. Trying to be useful, you take off your jewelry on your own, but even this small task feels insurmountable in the midst of your breakdown.

The heat of your bathwater feels like a warm hug against your skin, but not even this serves to soothe your aching heart. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you curl in on yourself, choking on your own tears and sniffles. Miriam allows you to have a moment, sitting patiently by the bathtub as you settle yourself. Finally, she speaks.

“What’s the matter?” she asks softly, reaching out to stroke your hair again. You don’t brush her off, though your tone is less than charitable.

“I already told you,” you reply curtly, hugging your legs closer.

Miriam maintains her composure, speaking gently. “I know. But I have a feeling that this is about something more than a bit of blood in your underwear, Empress.”

Swallowing thickly, you contemplate whether or not you want to get into all of this right now. But Miriam is your only resource, really, the only older woman in your life that may be able to offer you a bit of advice.

“I just want to be pregnant,” you finally croak, voice raw from crying for so long. Miriam sighs at that, nodding solemnly.

“I know, my lady,” she says companionably, still carding her fingers through your hair. “Has the Supreme Leader said something to you? Gotten angry or expressed his dissatisfaction?”

“No,” you say quickly, moving to sit up now. Your head pounds, clogged with congestion from all your crying. “It’s… it’s the Queen.”

Miriam starts at that, eyes ablaze, her tone indignant. “Queen Eleanor said something to you?”

You can’t help but laugh then, touched by your attendant’s defense of you. “No,” you say, any joy you experienced just now dissipating. “She’s a lovely person, it’s just… It’s just her children. She has so many, and I—”

“And you have none,” Miriam cuts softly, finishing your sentence for you. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip to keep from crying again.

“I just don’t understand it,” you declare, utterly bewildered. Miriam lathers up a rag, washing your body as she listens to you talk. “Kylo and I have sex nearly every night it feels like. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“It’s not about what you’re doing,” Miriam soothes, rinsing you with her hands. “Sometimes these things just take time, that’s all.”

You throw a look Miriam’s way, eyebrows raised. “It only takes once.”

Miriam laughs a bit at that, nodding. “Yes,” she concedes, “technically once is enough. But that’s not the case for everyone.”

That makes you sigh, mostly because you know she’s right. Still, you can’t help but feel betrayed by your body, by your womb.

“Have I ever told you about the first woman I ever served?” Miriam asks, redirecting your attention away from your thoughts.

“No.”

“She was a senator’s wife,” your attendant begins, pouring shampoo into her hand now, “and she was desperate to get pregnant from the moment she got married. Like you, though, it didn’t happen for her right away, and she became rather upset. She began doing anything she could to conceive after a few months, drinking these disgusting teas, standing on her head after she and her husband had sex— just all sorts of nonsense. But after a year, she still had no child. Doctors assured her that she wasn’t barren, but of course she thought otherwise.

“After a lot of crying and wasting away in her bed, my mistress decided to just put the whole thing out of her mind. It destroyed her to do so, but she decided that perhaps she wasn’t supposed to be a mother. But do you know what happened after she quit fixating on the idea of getting pregnant?”

“She got pregnant,” you answer, already seeing where Miriam’s going with this story. She nods, confirming that you’re correct.

“That’s right. She went on to have another three children after she had that first baby, and they were all healthy and beautiful.” Miriam hooks her fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at her. “The same way yours will be. But you must relax, Empress. If you fester in this desire to bear a child, the stress will prevent you from getting the very thing you want so badly.”

You want to argue, to say that you aren’t working yourself up into a frenzy about having a baby, but that’s simply not the truth. You think of conceiving each and every time you and Kylo make love, you pray and yearn and hope as you as you wash him off your body. You even dream of it sometimes, giving birth, and not all of the things you see in your head are pleasant.

“Just enjoy being with your husband,” Miriam advises, almost as if she can read your mind. “If you relax and allow yourself to let go when the two of you make love, a baby will come quickly. I promise.”

You desperately want to believe you attendant, but your own anxiety forces you to remain unconvinced. Still, you’re grateful for the reassurance, figuring that everything will be brighter in the morning.

Kylo comes back from his card game not an hour after you get out of the tub, kissing you soundly as he grumbles about drunken aristocrat and a particularly poor hand that came his way during the event. You almost tell him about your little episode but ultimately refrain from doing so, figuring that it’s not worth the trouble. Still, your husband is intuitive as ever, asking you if everything’s all right as the two of you retire to bed.

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you tell him, more than happy to snuggle down under his arm.

Kylo doesn’t press the matter, though you’re not sure he believes you. But he holds you close anyway, shielding you from the chill of the room.

That night, you dream that you’re running all through the Supremacy, chasing after a small child that giggles and squeals as they continuously evade your grasp. It’s frustrating, for they always seem to be just ahead of you, just around the corner or already running down the next hall over.

Just as you get close enough to grab the back of the child’s shirt, you wake up.

[dontmindthefangirling]

The Heartbreak Prince {p.p.}

chapter 8

Peter Parker x Female!Reader / Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Peter Parker is Midtown’s bad boy. You’re Midtown’s new girl. What happens when you break down his walls?

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of underage drinking, violence; Peter and reader are both 18+ (seniors in high school)

chapter 7 |  series masterlist

-

A week had passed since Flash’s party and Peter knew he was in trouble. 

As if you didn’t occupy enough of his thoughts before the party, now you were on his mind constantly. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and couldn’t even walk down the hallways of Midtown High without catching the sound of your laughter with his heightened senses. 

He knew he had been pretty drunk at Flash’s party, but that didn’t change the way he felt about you. It was driving him crazy, but you made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with him. 

He hadn’t felt this way for someone since MJ and it scared the living shit out of him. He didn’t know how you had managed to worm your way into his heart, but you did and he couldn’t get you out. 

The school day was coming to a close when Peter was walking down the hallway, shooting daggers at anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way, when his ears perked up at the sound of your giggles. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it without his spider senses.

He spotted you at the end of the hallway near the doors leaning against a set of lockers while talking to Brad Davis. Peter had to fight every urge in his body to go right up to him and punch him in the nose. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop on you conversation, but he could hear every word and his blood was boiling the way you smiled at Brad.

“So uh, do you want to grab a coffee or something?” Brad asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Peter almost laughed. What a douche. 

“I’d love to,” you responded, making Peter’s heartbeat loud in his ears as he watched the interaction. You looped your arm in Brad’s as you walked with him out of the school. Peter could feel his body shaking in anger as he stormed in the opposite direction, opting to take the long way home. 

-

Ever since Flash’s party, you and Brad started talking more, starting with a few texts here and there that weren’t only about your chemistry homework, and somehow ended up with you getting coffee with him after school. 

You liked Brad. He was kind, and his smile warmed your heart. He was a good guy, and the complete opposite of Peter Parker. 

You told yourself to forget about Peter, and focus on your new friends who you loved, and now Brad who was funny and charming and everything you’d think a girl would want in a guy. 

So why did you still look for Peter in school? Why did you still look for him in your apartment building? Why did your heart quicken in your chest when you’d see him? 

He wasn’t good for you. You knew that and he continued to prove it, again and again. Especially in the most recent days. He had been getting into more fights at school, practically every day, and refused to talk to anyone. You had seen him in the principal’s office more than you saw him in class.

There was a rumor going around school that he was doing drugs, but you knew that wasn’t true. Even if you weren’t speaking to Peter, you knew he wouldn’t. But something was definitely going on, and you didn’t particularly enjoy that tugging feeling in your chest that told you to help him. He was spiraling and everyone around you either turned a blind eye to it, or gossiped about it. 

You were on your way back to class from the bathroom when you passed the principal’s office, jumping slightly when Peter came storming out of the room. He froze when he saw you, your eyes locking in the empty hallway. 

You cleared your throat. “You okay?”

Peter stared at you incredulously, like he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. He shifted, running a hand through his curly hair that was getting a little long. 

“Suspended,” he muttered, holding up the slip with the principal’s signature on it. 

You inhaled sharply. “What did you do?”

“Too many fights and skipping class and stuff.”

You took in Peter’s appearance. He had dark circles lining the underside of his eyes, his hair was getting longer, and he looked tired. You knew Peter wasn’t stupid, he got into Midtown for crying out loud, and he was Spider-Man, although he didn’t know you knew that. 

“You wanna talk about it?” you offered, somewhat hesitantly, twirling the hall pass in your hands. 

Peter offered you a small, closed-lipped smile, which took you by surprise. 

“No, uh, thanks though. Don’t worry about it,” he said softly as he started to turn to walk towards the doors. You quickly stepped forward, grabbing his arm gently so he would turn to look at you. His eyes were wide in surprise as he turned back towards you.

“This isn’t healthy, Peter,” you mumbled. “You can’t keep acting like this.”

Peter glanced down at the floor before shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I know,” he said. “Have fun on your date with Brad.”

Your mouth dropped slightly at his words, watching his back as he walked further and further away from you towards the doors to leave school. You did have an official date with Brad tonight, more than just coffee like you’ve usually been doing, but you had no idea how he knew that. 

You wanted to follow him, but the hall pass was heavy in your hands and you knew you’d be in trouble if you spent any more time away from class, so you halfheartedly made your way back.

-

“Suspended?!” May yelled, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at her nephew that had just walked into the apartment in the middle of a school day. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Peter, what the hell is going on with you?!” May cried, snatching the piece of paper from the principal out of Peter’s hands. 

“I mean, you were top of your class a year ago! Now you’re failing two classes and are suspended for three days!” 

Peter was silent as May continued to yell at him. He felt guilty for getting suspended, his emotions were just too much to handle and it was like those football jocks were trying to get under his skin. He didn’t care if the popular jocks of the school hated him for fighting them, he was never really friends with them anyways. Just another distraction.

“Is this about MJ?” May asked, lowering her voice. “Because we can find you that therapist again-”

“It’s not,” Peter muttered. “At least...not completely.”

“Peter, you have to talk to me,” May cried exasperated. 

Peter looked up at his aunt, and his lip trembled. He missed MJ. He missed Tony. He missed Ned. He wanted you. 

“Oh honey,” May sighed, quickly wrapping her nephew in a hug. “What’s going on?” 

Peter broke down and told May everything about you and how he was terrified of losing you, just like he lost MJ. He told her how you made him feel happy again and he told her how he felt guilty for treating Ned so terribly the last few months. 

May listened the whole time, nodding to encourage him to keep talking. She knew he was struggling, he was just also very good at shutting everyone around him out. She wasn’t going to let him do that again. 

“It sounds like (Y/N) is a very kind girl,” May said, offering Peter a small smile. Peter nodded, staring down at his lap. 

“Honey, you can’t shut everyone out because you’re afraid of losing them,” May said. “MJ’s death was not your fault.”

“But if I wasn’t Spider-Man, then-”

“Dr. Ock is responsible for her death,” May said sternly. “Not you.”

“I just don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me,” Peter said, his voice cracking. 

May sighed and pressed a kiss to her nephew’s head. “They won’t because you protect those you care about.”

Peter’s heart felt heavy, and he knew Tony would be so pissed at him for failing two of his classes and getting suspended. He hadn’t visited Tony’s grave in a while, and he would’ve loved some of his sarcastic advice right about now. 

“Do you think I could patrol the city for a little while?” Peter asked. 

May wanted to be mad at him and tell him that he was grounded for getting suspended, but he hadn’t used the Spider-Man suit willingly since MJ’s death and if this was any way of getting him back to his old self, she was going to support it. 

“Of course, sweetie.”

Peter smiled at her before standing up to give her a tight hug. 

“Love you, May.”

“Love you too, Peter.”

Peter quickly scrambled towards his bedroom, finding the Spider-Man suit crumbled up in a ball in the corner of his closet. He stared at it for a moment before putting it on and slipping out his window into the city.

-

You felt bad canceling on Brad, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair to him if you went to dinner and your only thoughts were about Peter. However, you didn’t know how that ended up with you standing outside of Peter’s apartment door, staring at it, trying to bring yourself to knock. 

When you finally mustered enough courage to knock, you wanted to quickly turn around and run. You were too late when you heard the clicks of the locks.

The door swung open, revealing a beautiful woman in her mid-forties. She smiled at you, adjusting the glasses on her nose. 

“Hi honey, can I help you?” she asked. Her smile was warm and the apartment smelled like cookies. This was Peter’s apartment, right?

“Hi, I’m uh, looking for Peter?” you said. You had no idea what you were going to say to him, but you knew you needed to talk to him. 

The woman smiled widely. “You must be (Y/N). Please come in.”

You were a little shocked she knew your name as you stepped inside the apartment that was almost identical to yours. This one seemed homier, with family pictures almost everywhere. You spotted one of Peter, the woman, and a man smiling all at the picture. You almost didn’t recognize Peter. He was wearing a blue Midtown sweatshirt, and he wasn’t as nearly as bulky as he was now. The most striking difference was how happy he looked. 

“I’m May,” the woman said. “Peter’s aunt.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled. 

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” May asked. “Peter’s out right now, but he should be home soon.”

“Tea sounds great, actually,” you said as you sat down at the kitchen table. May quickly joined you, along with two cups of tea. 

You couldn’t help but wonder where Peter was. Was he out as Spider-Man? Was he getting into more fights? You didn’t know.

“Peter’s told me a lot about you,” May said with smile as she took a sip of her tea. You blushed as you looked down at your drink.

“Good things, I hope,” you chuckled. 

“Only good things, honey,” May smiled. “He’s very fond of you.”

You wanted to laugh at that but you refrained yourself from doing so. He had an odd way of showing it. You shifted uncomfortably, and set your gaze on the picture of Peter smiling happily.

“How old was he in this picture?” you asked curiously. 

May smiled sadly. “Fourteen. That was taken a few months before his Uncle Ben passed away.”

“Is he the man in this picture?”

May nodded. You felt your heart get heavy. How many people did Peter lose in his life?

“He looks so happy,” you whispered, more to yourself than to May, but she heard regardless. 

“He was,” May sighed. You both sat in silence for a few moments, your mind racing until May spoke up.

“So tell me about yourself, sweetheart,” she said cheerfully. There was just a positive aura about her that made you feel almost immediately at home. Her smile was warm and inviting and you found yourself chatting up a storm in only a few minutes of arriving there.

You told May about where you grew up and what your parents did for work. You told her about your childhood pets and what you wanted to do after high school. She listened to every word, offering insight here and there, but you enjoyed talking to her. 

You had gone through three cups of tea by the time you heard shuffling in Peter’s room. 

“Is that Peter?” you asked May. 

“Oh, uh, yes, sometimes he likes to come in through the fire escape,” she said. You wondered if she knew her nephew was Spider-Man. Probably, right? That would be a hard secret to keep with the person you live with. 

“May! I’m home!” Peter called from his room. Hearing his voice made your heart skip a few beats. 

“Okay honey! Come out when you’re ready! We have company!” May called back.

You bit your lip and held your breath without realizing it when Peter emerged from his room in a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt. His hair was messy and he was breathing heavily like he had just come back from a jog. He froze when he spotted you sitting at the table with his aunt. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed. 

You get him a tight-lipped smile, not trusting your words. 

“(Y/N) and I have been chatting,” May said as she took your empty cups of tea to the sink. As she passed Peter she whispered, “She’s lovely.”

“Uh, what...what are you doing here?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. You stood from your chair at the kitchen table and took a few steps towards him, but stopped when you were still a few feet away.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you said softly, glancing over at May who was washing the dishes in the sink. Peter nodded silently before gesturing for you to follow him to his room. 

“Sorry for the mess,” he sputtered, quickly tossing any loose articles of clothing into a laundry room in the corner of the room. You chuckled. 

“You should see my room.”

Peter laughed lightly, as he took a ball of red and black clothing and shoved it in his closet. You wondered if that was his Spider-Man suit. You still pondered around in your head if you should tell him that you know he’s Spider-Man. 

“So uh, what did you want to talk about?” Peter asked, gently shutting the door behind you. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you admitted, taking his room in. It was typical for a high school student, just not what you were expecting of Peter. Star Wars posters hung above a small desk with pieces of technological scraps sitting on top of the desk. He had awards from being on the decathlon team hanging above his bed.

“How long were you on the decathlon team?” you asked.

“I uh...quit last year. Afte MJ.”

You looked at him, nodding in understanding. 

“And robotics?” you questioned, glancing at the gadgets he must have tinkered with on his desk. 

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “Same time.”

You were both silent for a while as Peter watched you walk around his room, taking everything in. He found himself fascinated with how you carried yourself, so confident, yet not overbearing. He found himself staring at your lips, noticing how plump and soft they looked. He shook himself out of his thoughts.

“I thought you had a date with Brad tonight,” he said, confused.

“I cancelled.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

Peter felt guilty for feeling giddy that you cancelled on Brad to talk to him instead, because he wasn’t good for you. Brad was. Why would you do that?

“I know that this whole...bad boy persona or whatever it is, isn’t you, Peter,” you said softly as you sat down on the edge of his bed. Peter leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are you talking about?” he muttered.

“You act this way to shut people out because you’re scared of losing them,” you continued, looking up at him. 

Peter found himself getting irritated. “Did you come over here to psychoanalyze me, (Y/N) or is there something you actually wanted to talk about?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “See, this is what I mean.”

Peter tightened his jaw as he looked towards the window, keeping his eyes off of you. He had to admit, this facade was getting a bit tiring. And after a successful night of patrolling, he missed being one of the good guys. He saved a kitten from a tree for a little girl, helped an old man get directions, and even stopped an attempted robbery from a little shop at the corner of his street. All in all, he had a pretty good day of fighting crime, despite getting suspended. 

But it was like second nature to him now to push people away. That is until you came along.

You stood from your spot on the bed and took a few steps towards him. Peter could hear your heartbeat quicken, and he felt his own mimic that as you got closer. You stopped when you were only a few inches away, which forced Peter to turn his gaze from the window back to you.

“Brad is a good guy. He’s nice, and caring, and I should be out to dinner with him right now,” you said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “So why don’t you go have dinner with him then.”

“Don’t you see what I’m saying?” you cried, pulling at your hair. “I cancelled on him for you.”

Peter chewed on his bottom lip. He couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze. 

“And I don’t get it either because all you do is push me away and say these mean things to me and my friends, but for fucks sake Peter, you’re the only thing on my mind,” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation. Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did you feel the same way?

“And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why,” you sighed. “Even though you’ve pushed me away, I can’t help but want to keep trying to help because you shouldn’t be alone, Peter. I know you’re a good guy, so please just help me out.”

Peter stared at you in silence. His heart was thundering against his ribs.

“From that time when we were actually friends, I felt like I knew the real Peter Parker,” you admitted. “And...I-I...I really liked that Peter Parker.”

Tears swelled in the corners of your eyes as you looked away from him. You told yourself you wouldn’t get emotional in front of him because it gave him all of the power. But suddenly, Peter’s arms were wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. It took your a moment before your hands flew around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin. “I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent and taking in the fact that he initiated this hug, not you. 

You both stood in that hug for what felt like hours, but was really only minutes. Eventually, Peter pulled away, clearing his throat as he adjusted his shirt, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“I care about you a lot (Y/N),” he muttered. “I’ve just been scared because I haven’t felt this way since...uh...since MJ.”

“You won’t lose me like MJ,” you whispered. The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted and you felt yourself being pulled towards him, like there was a gravitational force between the two of you. 

Peter chewed on his bottom lip as he stared down at you. 

“I want to be that Peter again,” he whispered, his breath fanning your face. “Please let me be that Peter for you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest as you looked up at him. You could finally see through all that fake male bravado and saw the boy who had his heart broken time and time again. 

Your nod was all Peter needed before his lips came crashing down onto yours. Your hands instantly flew around his neck as his planted themselves on your hips. His lips molded against yours perfectly, kissing you fervently like your lives depended on it. It was needy and perfect as you pulled him closer to you. He held you close to him, gingerly, like he was scared that you were just a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was very real as your hearts beat together. 

But oxygen was a necessity, and you both had to pull away, just enough to breathe. Peter rested his forehead on yours, breathing heavily. You met his gaze, and broke out into a grin. Peter mirrored your smile with one of his own, one that almost resembled the one in the picture in the living room. 

Before you knew it, Peter’s lips captured yours in another kiss, sending your hearts into a synchronized beating frenzy. 

Was it crazy? Maybe. Did you want him to stop? Never.

-

chapter 9 coming soon :) xx

sorry for the wait! I’ve been studying for the MCAT (medical college admission test) and it’s taking up literally all my time during the week. I’ll try to get chapter 9 up as soon as I can!

taglist: @justanothercynicalgenzkid // @ ilytomholland // @ star-holland // @ludiclove // @clipopex-writing // @imboredandneedwritingprompts // @futuremrspeterparkerholland // @someinsanefangirl // @tiny-friggin-human // @toms-irish-girl // @santa-feigh // @parkeret // @spidreling // @awokenfandoms // @wizliar //  @ spiderbiteholland // @ baconlover001 // @ snowflakeamour // @geekofmanyforms // @spider-manholland // @th0ttie4tommy​ // @thereal-bookqueen​ // @eridanuswave​ // @lovelydivs // @thiccgameplays​ // @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh // @ thedaydreamingwriter

[hq-cuties]

hi, i luv ur writing, and i can't wait till u blowup. i wanted to ask, are you taking requests for just the prompts and nothing else? if not, could u pls write some angst that turns into fluff between kageyama and his (fem) s/o in a gangsta au?thank you so much! (you don't have to do the gangsta au if you don't want to, i'll still love it all the same)

 thank you so much! I’m accepting ALL requests right now, so I can definitely do this! I’m probably not going to do the whole “gangsta au” thing, though, because I’m not confident that I’d be able to write it without it being terrible. I’m sorry for that, but I hope you enjoy it otherwise!

—-

     The sound of his cries echo through the empty gym. He had been sitting there for at least thirty minutes, his face shoved into his sleeve and his hair disheveled. The sound of the volleyball hitting the empty court resonated in his mind, over and over and over again.

    All anyone did was leave him. His teammates, his friends- everyone. How could he have failed so terribly? He failed his team. He failed himself. Tears soak his jacket, and the emptiness of the gym he occupied was comforting and terrifying all at once.

     The harsh glares of his teammates as he sent his last toss are burnt in the back of his eyelids, the picture never leaving his brain. The scene plays over and over in his head, like a never ending loop of his failures. Everything around him seems to be against him, even his own self. He continues to cry into his jacket, curled up in the corner of the gym.

     “Tobio?” A voice calls out to him. No, your voice calls out. He looks up at you, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. You’ve never seen him this pathetic before. “Is everything okay? What happened?”

     He gives you a blank stare, almost as though he’s looking through you. “Obviously not,” his voice is rough and harsh as he puts his face back to his knees.

    “Is it about what happened during the game? Tobio it’s okay, you-”

     “How the hell do you know that it’s ‘okay’ huh?” His words defy his own mind, saying everything he wishes not to say to you. You look at him and put your hand on his, trying to get through to him.

    “I just mean it’s going to be okay. They’ll come around, you just have to keep working.” You make feeble attempts to reassure him, to make him feel even the slightest bit better. His glare only seems to grow harder at your words, and he swats your hand away.

     “You will never know what it’s like. You’ve always been so near-sighted, so immature. You never see when it’s just time to give up. So, I’ll tell you,” his voice rises to the point where he’s just about yelling, “Give. Up. Leave me alone and give up!”

     You watch his outburst as your heart seems to stop at his words. Tears prick your eyes, but you push them back. “Fine. Come see me when you’re done being an ass.” You respond sternly, picking up your bag. 

    The second the gym door closes behind you, you release everything you were holding back. Warm tears stream down your cheeks, the words he said to you punching you in the gut. He’s never spoken so cruelly to you, especially when you’re trying to help him.

    Kageyama ignores you for weeks, and you do the same. Every time you pass him in the hallway or see him during class, your heart thuds desperately against your chest. Your one wish is to be close with him again. Memories of your friendship flash through your mind, the reminders that once made you happy now turned into a lethal weapon. After every bright thought of you two, the flashes of his outburst in the gym lurked. It waited for you to miss the friendship you once had, then struck. Every word he said sticking to your brain.

     You want this to end. You feel hopeless, not knowing how to help him. There are times that you get yourself together and make a plan to talk to him, but each one turns out a failure. After the first step taken towards him, you back down, afraid that he will shut you out once again.

    The new school year starts, and you and Kageyama grow ever further apart. You choose Nekoma High, knowing that a few friends of yours would be joining you there. Kageyama becomes a simple memory of an old friend. A friend that you wish you had, and when you were still together, you wished you had more with.

     Nekoma, however, had chased away the dark memories of volleyball that Kageyama had placed within you. The team at your school was smart, exciting, and supportive. Kuroo, a friend you made in your first few days, convinced you to become manager of his team. After a lot of begging, you agreed, and ingrained yourself in the lives of the sweet volleyball boys.

     “Hey, (y/n), the bus is about to leave.” Kenma walks past you, pointing at the bus full of his teammates.

    “Oh, thank you Kenma. I’ll be right there.” You grab what the team labeled ‘the mom bag’, and climbed onto the bus. You were all headed towards the training camp, where the coach set up multiple practice games with other schools in the area.

     “(y/n), do you know who we’re up against first?” Kuroo peeks up from over his seat at you, leaning on your headrest. You flip through the schedule until you find what he was asking for.

     “Hmm.. It says here you’re with Karasuno tomorrow.” You read off the other schools in order, telling him the times and dates that you have each school. He nods, thanking you, and sits back down in his seat.

     You arrive at the camp late, and the couch yells at everyone to go to sleep. The practice game started quite early for the team’s liking, and they all sigh in annoyance. You head off to your own room, separate from the mass of boys, and get everything ready for the morning before going to sleep.

     The alarm on your phone goes off at 6:30, and you sit up groggily. You gather everything the boys need for practice, get dressed, eat something small, and head down to the gym. Your team gets there earlier than needed to allow time for practice and warm-ups. Everyone greets you, their faces tired and droopy, and you take a seat on the bench next to the coach.

     The doors of the gym open once again, and the sound of multiple voices overlapping fill the room. You stand with the coach, and go to meet their manager while he speaks with coach of Karasuno. The two of you converse for a while before you part ways, sitting back on your team’s side of the court.

     “Coach?” you turn your attention away from Lev practicing his receives and towards the man sitting beside you. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “I’m going to use the restroom before the game starts.” He nods, waving you away.

     You walk through the empty hallways of the building towards the bathrooms. Each footstep echoes off the walls, filling the room with sound. You use the restroom and wash your hands, wiping the water on your jacket. As you push open the door, something, or someone, rather, slams against it.

     “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t know someone was-” You stop apologizing and stare down at the raven-haired boy below you. His face is turned down and his hand rubs his forehead slowly.

     “It’s fine, I should have been watching where I was going..” His face is turned downwards, and his hand slowly rubs at his forehead where the door had hit him. He stands and brushes off his pants before looking at you.

     His calm, soft expression twists into one of confusion and surprise. Redness tinges his cheeks, and he turns his eyes back to the floor. The silence hangs between the two of you, the air turning thicker with each passing second.

     He’s the first to break it, mumbling out a simple “I didn’t think I’d see you here..” You nod, agreeing with him, and every memory that you had pushed away came rushing back at you. The good ones from your friendship, the sad times you pushed through together, and the moment in the gym that ended it all. You remembered all the times you wanted so desperately to talk to him, and all the times that you failed at doing so. Flashbacks of passing him in the hallways and sitting next to him in class resonated in your mind.

      The silence returns as the both of you look at the floor. His head is spinning, thoughts race through his head a mile a minute, trying to think of something, anything to say. He wants to apologize, but not just that. He wants to do something much more than that, you deserve better than a simple ‘sorry’.

      He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his face pointed at his feet.

     “What?” you look at him, trying to understand what he was trying to say.

     “I said I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, okay? I know it was a long time ago, and this is way way too late for me to expect forgiveness, but you need to hear it anyway. I’m so sorry, (y/n).” His breath is ragged, and his heart pounds against his ribs. 

      “I missed you.” your eyes tear up, and your cheeks grow pink as you think about everything he’s saying to you. You forgave him long ago, you just didn’t know how to tell him that. 

     He stares at you in disbelief, his eyes glossy. His thoughts continue to run wild, comprehending what you said. The three simple words you said in reply echo in his brain. That was the last thing he expected from you.

     Tears brim his eyes, and a smile graces his lips, “I missed you too- I missed you so much”

    You smile back at him, and embrace him tightly, “I wanted to talk to you sooner, but I never knew how,” you explain. He stays quiet, and simply hugs your tighter, “I’m so glad I saw you today, Tobio,” 

    He moves back and smiles at you again, “I’m glad I saw you too,” his voice is soft and quiet, and his breath grazes your face. Your faces grow closer, and his hand rests on your cheek. “May I?” he whispers, his eyes barely open.

    Your heart pounds as you close the gap between the two of you. Everything you ever wanted to do coming true in this one moment: outside of the women’s bathroom at a volleyball training facility.

    He pulls away from you, his cheeks burning red. You laugh at his expression, “We should head back, they’re probably about to start”

    “Oh, yeah,” his face returns to a (mostly) normal color, and he turns to walk down the hall again. You join him, side by side, but stop in front of the gym doors.

    “Good luck,” you smile up at him. He nods, and walks inside. The two of you join your respective teams again, your heavy hearts much lighter than before.

—-

   Okay, so I made this a lot longer than I was originally going to, so I’m very sorry for that. I had a lot of fun writing it though! Kageyama might be a little ooc, but I did my best!

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Fast Forward (part 1)

Back at it again with another time travel fic. This time it’s a Lewis fic, and he’s travelling forward in time. (LewVivArt)

Self-indulgent, sappy, angst and melodrama. Also, this is leaning towards LewVivArt. Don’t usually focus on ships in my fics so we’ll see how this goes.

Summary: Lewis wakes up in a future where he’s been dead for two years.

Part 2: here 

“You’re sure it’s fine.”

Lewis watches Vivi hover next to Arthur, on her knees, peering under the van to watch Arthur do whatever mechanical thing he did when he lay down on that roller thing to work on the van’s undercarriage.

“Yes, Vivi. Everything is good to go. I’m just giving her a once over for good luck,” Arthur responds, voice slightly muffled.

Vivi leans forward, cheek almost touching the concrete in an attempt to follow Arthur’s movements.

“It made that weird squeaking noise the other day.”

Arthur huffs, “That was the brake pads, which I’ve replaced. Pass me that wrench.”

The arm that Lewis can still see waves towards a slime silver tool which kind of looked like a wrench. Vivi is again distracted, trying to follow Arthur, so he pushes himself out of the doorway and weaves his way around the workshop to grab the tool. He kneels next to Vivi, putting it in Arthur’s still waving hand.

“I’m sure the van is fine Viv. Arthur knows what he’s doing.”

Vivi sits upright to give him a look, “I’m not doubting Arthur. Just making sure there are no more road trip delays. The Mystery Skulls Machine needs to be 100% ready to take on all manner of ghosts that we’re definitely going to find while we solve all those unsolved cases.”

“Lewis hand me the tool next to the one you just gave me,” Arthur interjects, and Lewis glances down, locating and handing Arthur the requested item, before turning back to Vivi.  

“Ghosts,” He starts slowly to be provocative, “Right. I’m sure the van can handle whatever the ghosts throw at it.”

“Is that a hint of scepticism I detect,” Vivi leans forward, taking his bait, giving him a light poke in the chest, “We don’t take too kindly to sceptics in these parts.”

Lewis grins, also leaning in, giving Vivi a raised eyebrow, “That’s unfortunate. What are you going to do about it.”

“Ah,” Arthur’s exasperated voice interrupts, “Can you two shuffle back, I can’t get out with you guys sitting there.”

Lewis, still grinning, heaves himself to his feet, holding a hand out for Vivi. Vivi sniggers, taking his offered hand so he can pull her upright.

“Sorry Arthur,” They both say in unison, watching Arthur shuffle around under the van, finishing up with whatever he’d been doing. A second later he slides out, smears or oil across his cheek, so it matches his off white work shirt.

“Everything good?” Lewis asks, offering a hand to Arthur as well. His friend heaves himself into a seated position, muscles along his shoulders shifting.

“Yeah. It’s all fine. Like I said, I was only doing a tune-up for good luck,” Arthur grips his hand, and Lewis almost forgets to pull, slightly distracted by Arthur’s smile. It’s warm almost reminding him of Vivi’s playful smirk but more relaxed and easy. The mental comparison throws him through a loop for a hot second.

“Well, that’s good, cause I can’t wait to get out of this place and see something that’s not cactus and dirt for once,” Vivi is talking, bouncing with pent up energy, “We should start packing now, so we’re ready to leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Haha, sure,” Arthur laughs, wiping his hands clean on his shirt, “let me just park the van out front to make it easier.”

“Come on Lew,” Vivi tugs at his hand then frowns, face wrinkling, pulling back. Lewis realises a second too late that his hands are now also covered in grease.

“Yuck,” Vivi grouses, “Arthur, how is it that we get covered in this stuff when you’re the only one doing mechanic work.”

“Bad luck?” Arthur offers with a loose shrug, quickly retreating to his van.

“You know where the sink is,” He calls back at them.

Vivi huffs, watching Arthur reverse out of the garage. She then turns and gives him a contemplative glance.

“You know. I only get this oily stuff on my hands when I touch you.”

Lewis eyes snap away from where he’s tracking Arthur and onto Vivi who leans in towards him, wigging her eyebrows.

“Uh. I was being helpful?”

Consideration and maybe realisation flash across Vivi’s face and she grins.

“Helpful. Right. I’m sure that’s all. Nothing else?”

This is new. Lewis stares at Vivi, unsure of what she’s hinting at exactly. He’s still getting used to this flirting thing, and Vivi is better at it than him, so maybe he’s missing something.

“Let’s go wash our hands and pack the van,” He suggests in place of addressing her question. Vivi seems disappointed. He has no idea why, a few seconds ago she’d been all but pushing him out the door in her rush to start packing.  

>>>

Long into the evening, after the van is packed and everything is ready for the road trip, the exchange is still playing over in his mind. It repeats on a seemingly endless loop. Arthur…Vivi. He liked them both. Being officially with Vivi is still new, and he’s getting used to thinking of her as more than a friend. But, he’s never really considered Arthur the same way.

Or had he? Lewis frowns up at the ceiling of Arthur’s living room. He is stretched out on Arthur’s couch, and Vivi is snoring loudly on a mattress next to him.

Now, considering the whole thing, he doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Arthur about him and Vivi being in a relationship. What did Arthur think about it? It’s weird that he has never thought to ask.

He loves Vivi, her energy, enthusiasm, the get it done attitude, can’t image his world without her really. But he also feels the same way about Arthur and his more methodical approach to life and openness with all emotion from happiness to fear. Arthur who is his best friend. Lewis ponders the comparison. He’s not sure what to do with this information. Did Arthur feel the same way? What would Vivi think? Should he broach the topic with either of them?

He doesn’t come to a conclusion instead drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

>>>

Lewis awakens feeling oldy heavy headed like he has slept longer than he should. He is still on Arthur’s old couch, but Vivi’s mattress has been moved. He stares at the empty floor in slight confusion. Had Vivi and Arthur packed it up without waking him? Strange. He doesn’t consider himself a heavy sleeper and Vivi wasn’t a quiet person so it should have woken him.  

The sound of a oiled pan spitting and the distinct smell of eggs frying distract him from the conundrum. Lewis hoists himself upright to peer over into the kitchen. Arthur’s lounge and kitchen are joined into one open-plan room so he can just make out the back of Arthur’s head and shoulders by the stove.

There is the sound of salt shaker clattering over and Arthur swears under his breath. Lewis lets a small smile pull at his lips. The only time he hears Arthur swear is when he’s trying to cook. He’s not quite sure why Arthur’s decided to make breakfast when it’s usually Lewis who handles anything kitchen related but he’s not about to complain. Though, it is odd that neither Arthur or Vivi had decided to wake him. Weren’t they supposed to hit the road as early as possible?

Lewis yawns, trying to rid himself of that odd heavy headedness, swinging around so he can stand. The curve of his back cracks as stiff muscles loosen. Now he’s standing a few paces from Arthur, the couch and an island benchtop separating them.

Lewis opens his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘good morning’, but Arthur beats him to it, turning,  still holding the pan of eggs.

“Hey Viv, hope you like burnt eggs because…”

Several things happen in quick succession.

Their eyes meet. Arthur freezes, face draining of colour. The pan clatters, falling from Arthur’s hand and onto the floor, cracking against the floorboards. The eggs and hot oil spatter over the bench, ground and other's side.

Lewis makes a sound of alarm, “Whoa Arthur. Are you okay.”

He starts towards the kitchen intent on offering aid and forcing Arthur’s hand under some cold water.

“Stay back,” Arthur snaps, backing up, stumbling when he almost slips on the now cooling oil.

Lewis hesitates at the panic in Arthur’s voice, eyes darting around, trying to find its source.

“What? What’s wrong,”

The sound of clicking across the polished wooden floor draws his attention towards the door nearest to Arthur. Mystery trots in, ears pricked and alert, probably in response to the sound of Arthur dropping the pan.

Lewis doesn’t think too much of it, more focused on helping Arthur, until a loud growl and the flash of teeth has him backpedalling. Mystery’s snap misses by an inch and Lewis takes several steps back, eyeing the surprisingly aggressive dog wearily.

“Mystery? It’s me boy. You know. Lewis.”

Lewis has never seen Mystery attack anyone, so he’s understandably unprepared for the sudden hostility.

“Don’t move,” Arthur is biting, “I don’t know what’s happening, who you are, but your trick isn’t going to work.”

“What are you talking about,” Lewis tries to edge around Mystery and almost gets bitten for his trouble, “What’s going on. Why is Mystery acting up?”

His brain then processes Arthur’s questions, “Wait. What do you mean you don’t know who I am?”

“Lewis has been missing for almost two years now. You’re expecting me to believe he would just waltz back in here like nothing.”

“What? No, I haven’t,” He objects feeling very thrown at the aggression in Arthur’s tone, “Is this some sort of prank because it’s not very funny.”

Arthur glares. Arthur’s never glared at him like that before.

“Whatever this is,” Arthur growls, “just… don’t. Lewis was officially pronounced dead yesterday. You can’t be here.”

“But…” He starts, hesitates, then continues in distressed exasperation, “I am Lewis….and I AM right here!”

Note: Another of my time travel fic which has been sitting around for a while, now out in the world. 

Part 2: here

[aelysalthea]

Baby Foxes Still Bite: Chapter 4

WARNING: I know it's been throughout the story quite a bit so far, but this chapter contains pretty heavy depictions of and implied child abuse. Please be careful if you find this kind of content triggering.

Chapter 4: Day 3

Flipping her sunglasses up onto her head, Allison blew a bubble of her gum as she reached for the doorbell. The chime had barely sounded before Abby's door was wrenched open.

"Fuck," Nicky blurted out as soon as he saw her. "Fuck, fuckety-fuck."

Allison blinked. She raised an eyebrow and blew another bubble. "Hemmick? What's wrong with you?"

Nicky didn't listen, and Allison wasn't all that surprised. He looked a mess, his hair askew and made worse by his hand raking through it, his eyes blow wide and face cast into lines of tension. His lips were pressed together so tightly they were blanched white. Whatever had happened in the two hours that Allison had returned to Fox Tower had apparently thrown him off the rails.

"You haven't seen him?" Nicky asked, nearly yanking his hair out as he raked his fingers through the mess again.

"Seen who?" Allison asked, though she was fairly sure she had an idea.

Nicky didn't answer. Uttering a strangled sound, he spun on his heel and trotted back into the house. "It's just Allison," he called. "I don't – I have no idea what the fuck –"

Closing the door behind her, Allison followed him into the house. A flicker of something – concern? Was it really concern? – sparked in her chest as she stalked down the hallway, heels clicking on Abby's floorboards. Two hours. Two goddamn hours she'd been away, taking the suggestion that Abby had offered as none of the rest of the Foxes had, and shit had hit the fan. Two hours of reprieve to gather herself from the latest dip out of reality with a good bout of hair-washing and fresh clothes, and she should have been feeling a million bucks at least. Two days of having one of her friends shrunken small enough to practically fit into her handbag could really do a number on a girl, to say nothing of sleeping in jeans and a bra the previous night.

And now said friend was… what -?

"What happened?" Allison asked, stepping into the kitchen stuffed to overflowing with Foxes. Heads turned and voices momentarily quietened, except for Abby who, phone to ear and muttering in rapid-fire conversation, hastened past her from the room. Allison barely noticed her leave. There were more than a few faces that flickered with guilt, and Allison didn't blame them. They should feel guilty if Neil was – if he'd actually -

"Did you lose him?" she asked, though it was more of a demand than a question this time. Allison was only a little surprised that something like that suspected concern made its way into her voice.

Another beat of quiet, glances exchanges and more flashes of guilt surfacing, before Dan straightened slightly from where she was leaning heavily against the dining table, her hands propping her upright. "We were left in charge of him," she began before faltering.

Renee, clearly having returned from Fox Tower in Andrew's car more promptly than Allison had, patted her shoulder before glancing at Allison. "Andrew went to see Bee as soon as I dropped the car off."

"Was practically dragged to see Bee, you mean," Matt said. He shrugged at Allison's glance. "He didn't want to go, but Bee wouldn't hear it. Said it would be good for him to have a break for a while."

"Which was a royally bad idea," Nicky said, hysteria pitching his voice into little more than a squeak.

"Yeah, we know that now," Aaron said, rolling his eyes, but even that was a tense gesture. His own concern practically seeped from him like sweat.

"We were keeping an eye on him," Dan said. "We were, I swear. I don't know how he – how he even…" She trailed off, glancing around the table at the Foxes. "How the fuck did this even happen?"

"We're terrible parents," Matt said, scrubbing his face with both hands.

"It's not your fault," Katelyn said, sparing a smile for Nicky as he shot her a desperate, almost pleading glance. "Honestly, we were all watching him, so if he managed to slip away somehow then I think he would have managed it just as well with anyone else."

Murmurs of disagreement, more guilt, and curses circled the room, and Allison couldn't help but agree with the dissent. Katelyn was like that, always looking for the silver lining, and Allison had postulated that it was part of the reason she'd managed to stick with Aaron throughout the shit of the past year. But even so, Katelyn was wrong.

How had they lost him? Allison knew as little about kids as the rest of them, and even less in most cases given that she actively avoided them at every opportunity. She would be the first to admit that she would make a frankly terrible 'parent', as Matt had claimed himself to be numerous times over the past few days, and not only because she appreciated her freedom more than she did any remaining maternal instincts that had survived into adulthood. Kids were little snots; they spoke too much, asked too many questions, were generally dirtier than they should be, and had the instincts and inhibitions of a drunken football jock. And that was just the older ones.

But Neil was an exception. He was different, even without consideration for who he was to Allison – a teammate turned reluctant friend who she now enfolded into her coterie as readily as she did the other Foxes. More readily than some, particularly when it came to the monsters. Baby Neil was different because he had an odd edge to him that seemed to override a decent chunk of childish tendencies, because he dropped bombshells about his home life that his older self would shudder to know he admitted to, and because he was actually kind of a cool kid. Allison had never play-fought with a six-year-old before, but she'd admit to enjoying it when it came to Neil.

That Neil had apparently disappeared? And that it had been in the brief window that she'd been away? It kicked up a gut-churning bout of worry that Allison hadn't anticipated, alongside an equally powerful bout of resentment.

Jesus Christ, you lot, she thought, frowning at her friends even as they bowed their heads in their persisting guilt. You had one fucking job.

"Well?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "Where have you looked?"

"Everywhere," Nicky all but wailed, dropping his head onto the table with a heavy thunk.

"Abby's calling around," Renee said. "We were outside scouring the street until a couple of minutes ago."

"I'm gonna go again," Matt said with the ring of words that had been spoken before.

Dan sighed. "Go where, Matt? Where else would we look?"

"I'll take my truck –"

"And what, just wipe the streets again?"

"It's better than sitting around and doing nothing!"

"I'll come," Kevin said, speaking for the first time and straightening from the wall he'd been leaning against. His shoulders were rigid with tightness. "Andrew will kill me if he comes back and Neil's not here."

"Just you?" Aaron asked, rolling his eyes again. This time, the gesture hardly seemed exasperated at all, more likely posturing than sincere derision. He shook his head. "I just don't get it. I wouldn't have picked it of him."

"Of Neil?" Matt asked, eyebrows snapping up. "You wouldn't have picked it of him doing a runner?"

"Neil was probably running before he could even walk," Dan said. Nicky hummed an agreeing whimper into the table.

"Yeah, I know he was when he was older," Aaron said, frowning in thought more than annoyance. "But as a kid? How he acts and everything, and what he said, I don't think…" He shared a glance with Katelyn and she reached her hand for his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "When you're on that tight of a leash, you wouldn't do a runner."

He spoke from experience. Again. Allison regarded him for a moment, pursing her lips. Neil's conversion into a Mini Me had hit him oddly hard; even more oddly considering the relationship between him and Neil that already existed. Allison didn't have to look far to see it scratched the surface of his own childhood like picking at an unhealed scab.

Which she could relate to. Even more so when she was cast back into reflection on her own childhood. Aaron was the type of person to wear the leash his mother had put on him, leaving it loose and hanging even when it wasn't looped over someone's hand to yank him in any given direction. He wore it as though it were a part of him, accepting his fate.

Allison had worn her own leash, but it had never been hanging flaccid. She'd struggled and strained at it every opportunity she'd had. 'Rebelliousness' had been a label engraved on her like a tattoo for as long as she could remember, and she hadn't denied it. But that wasn't quite right, was it? Where her parents muttered 'rebellion', she'd thought of freedom. When her nanny scolded her for foolishness, she'd thought of escape. Poor behaviour, acting out, resisting orders – it fit the mould of a rebellious child, then a rebellious teen, and Allison had let the term drape across her shoulders because it was useful. It had given her as many liberties as it had restrictions.

But that didn't mean it fit.

As a child, Allison sought freedom and escape when other kids chased after candy and games of tag. What had become active attempts at escape certainly hadn't begun that way. Allison could even remember the first time she'd run away from home – or 'run away', because it had only appeared that way. Allison hadn't meant to flee; she'd simply seen an open door and longed so ardently to know what was on the other side of it that she couldn't help but look.

"Shit," Dan cursed, breaking into Allison's thoughts. "Shit, so… so if he didn't do a runner, then -?"

"Shit," Matt echoed. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Could someone have nicked him?" Nicky asked, head lifting from the table and eyes blown even wider than before. "Could the Moriyamas -?"

"No." Kevin shook his head, though he looked less convinced than he sounded. "No, they wouldn't. Not with the deal Neil made."

"Would the deal still be in effect?"

"Fucking hell, would it?"

"Would they recognise him? As a kid, he's –"

"Oh, come on. It's impossible not to recognise him."

"Oh my god, does that mean -?"

Allison exhaled sharply, frowning at the lot of them throwing worries amongst themselves. No one but Renee seemed to notice her frustration, and she only glanced at Allison briefly. Not that Allison really cared. She was growing increasingly pissed off, and her friends, usually so level headed but thrown into a clucking frenzy when the duties of babysitting arose, were making her even more so. Tapping a foot on the floor in rapid clicks, Allison considered for a moment before turning on her heel and stalking back out of the room.

"I'm going to go out and look for him," she flung over her shoulder. "Call me if he turns up."

"Allison!" Dan called after her. "What -? Wait!"

"I'll come with you," Renee said, the sound of her footsteps following Allison from the kitchen.

Allison glanced over her shoulder again as she yanked the front door open. She shook her head. "You give me that call, okay? If Andrew comes back – I expect someone's rung him?"

Renee nodded. "Yeah. He should be here any minute."

"Then you'll need to be here too to make sure he doesn't murder anyone."

That Renee didn't reply but to give a tight smile and a nod spoke more than a flagging attempt at denial would have. Personally, Allison didn't want to be around when Andrew arrived. She expected blood to be spilled, and she'd rather it wasn't her own.

Gunning her car to life, Allison left Abby's driveway with little more than a slight screech of wheels. She was flying down the road in seconds, nought to fifty in a heartbeat, and damn the cops if she got pulled over. She had a kid to find. After all, tolerable kids were hard to come by these days. She knew too well given she'd never been one of them.

Scanning the roadside, Allison passed down street after street, barely slowing to dodge pedestrians or kids of the less tolerable kind playing some ball game in the middle of the road. She didn't slow to swerve around them, and the squawks of indignation flung after her were lost to the wind of her passage.

One street. The next. Then another before she ground to jerking a stop as she caught sight of one particularly kid by himself. A moment later and she threw her car back into motion when she identified it definitely wasn't her kid. Allison was a full ten minutes into her search before she jerked to another stop and stayed that way.

If it hadn't been on a corner, hadn't been in a moment when she'd slowed to less than fifty miles, she would have missed him. As it was, that she'd seen him at all was something of a miracle. On his knees, tucked into someone's front garden, he was apparently oblivious to the world and definitely not doing the runner that Matt had feared. Not abducted either, which was even better.

Allison released the pent breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. Closing her eyes briefly, she flipped her sunnies onto her head again and climbed out of her car. Picking her way through rose bushes and trimmed hedges in heels wasn't ideal, but it wouldn't be a first. Simply the first time Allison had attempted when she wasn't drunk, which made it infinitely easier.

Neil didn't notice when she came up behind him, which his older self would have been horrified at. He didn't notice when she paused at his side, peering down and frowning at whatever had caught his attention. It was only when Allison scoffed, shaking her head, that he flinched and swung his gaze up to her.

"Seriously?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at his solemn, wide-eyed expression. "Are you fucking with me?" When Neil didn't answer, she gestured to the cluster of fur tucked into the bushes lining the house. "You really have a thing for them, huh?"

Cats. A fucking bunch of cats. Not just one either; Allison knew as little about cats as she did kids, but she was pretty sure it was a mother with a bunch of closed-eyed, wriggling, and utterly helpless kittens. Newborns, even; one still had a damp streak of fur on its forehead.

Neil didn't answer Allison's words. He only lowered his gaze back to the cats, giving a tight shrug of his shoulders. He didn't reach for the cats, didn't lean towards the be nearer to the kittens, but simply watched. It was far too much restraint for a little kid, but not too much for Neil.

Squatting down alongside him, Allison folded her arms across her knees. "What're you doing, kid?"

Neil side-eyed her. "Nothing," he muttered, shifting in his own squat.

"Really? Because I was pretty sure you were at Abby's when I left a couple of hours ago."

Neil flinched again, shrugging with even tighter shoulders. "I was just…"

"Just fucking around."

"Just looking."

"Outside. Alone. Without anyone to keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get into any shit."

Neil's expression grew even more solemn, though a flicker of something, something that Allison's parents would have called rebelliousness, flared before he quickly tucked it away. "I'm sorry," he murmured, even more quietly. "It was an accident."

Allison snorted. "You accidentally wandered out of Abby's house?"

"Yeah."

"And would up half a dozen blocks away?"

"Yeah."

"Trespassing in someone's front garden and spying on cats?"

Neil flickered a glance up at the house, face working for a moment before he shuttered his expression again. "I wasn't trespassing," he said, stubbornness hinted at beneath his words this time. "I was just looking. The cat had – she has kittens and everything, and I thought maybe…"

Allison poked his shoulder, rocking him gently on his haunches. "It's still trespassing. You could get in trouble for that."

Neil's shrug was so tight it was barely a shrug this time. Allison didn't believe the nonchalance of it at all, though she suspected that the flash of fear across his face was entirely sincere. While Allison would have been scolded, grounded, and had her freedom restricted even further, Neil would have…

What?

Allison almost didn't want to think of it. What a mass-murdering crime lord and his terrified but equally fierce wife had in mind for punishment didn't bare consideration. Allison didn't want to know, even as something in her chest squeezed and her hand dropped to rest lightly on Neil's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I won't tell anyone," she said, shooting Neil a conspiratorial smile. Reaching her free hand for the cats, ignoring the mother's blown pupils and momentarily bared teeth, she flipped the tag on its collar and squinted at it. "We'll just make out as if you got lost or something."

"Really?" Neil asked.

Allison glanced at him, smile widening at the incredulity slackening his face. "Sure."

"Will everyone believe you?"

Definitely not, Allison thought, but she kept it to herself as she extracted her phone from her pocket, punching in the number on the tag. "Kid, I'm pretty sure they'll be so relieved to have you back that they won't even care what excuses we make. Now come on, let's get a move on."

"But," Neil glanced between the bundle of cats and Allison as she rose, pressing her phone to her ear, "the – but the cat. She – what if she -?"

"Hello?"

Allison held her finger to her lips to silence Neil before replying. "Hey. I've found your cat here. She's got babies."

A beat of silence met her words before the woman on the other end answered. "What?"

"Your cat. Tweetie, or whatever her name is. She's had her kittens."

"Tweetie's got -? Oh my gosh, she's had her -?!"

"I've found her on Wembley street," Allison said, glancing around herself for the road signs. "On the corner of Westbrook. Big fucking house with too many rose bushes out the front."

"You mean she's -? Gosh, thank you so much, you –"

"Come pick her up. She's got, like, five of them and I'm not carrying them. They're all dirty from being under the bushes or whatever, and I'm not getting that shit in my car."

Allison hung up a moment later, turning back to Neil where he blinked up at her owlishly. "What?" she asked.

Neil blinked rapidly for a moment longer before frowning, switching his gaze back to the cats. "Don't you like them?"

Allison smirked. "No. They're hairy and they stink."

"They don't stink –"

"Do you like them?"

Neil twitched, shuffling on his haunches again. "No," he said, and he mustn't have properly developed his lying skills by six, because Allison had never heard a more blatant lie in her life.

She chuckled. "Yeah, right. I think we'll properly have to consider what Nicky said this morning about getting a cat-mascot for the team. I've seriously never seen you so hyped about anything but exy before."

Neil glanced up at her again, though it seemed to take an active effort to drag his gaze from the cats. A mess of confusion drew forth a frown, then raised eyebrows and open mouth, then smoothed into something touched with excitement. "Really? You're going to get a cat?"

Just how he'd made the jump between "you don't like cats" and "you're getting one", Allison wasn't quite sure, but she disregarded it as a relatively rare moment of childishness. Waving it aside, nudged him with a toe before nodding back to her car. "We'll talk about it later. Before that, we've got to get back to Abby's. Everyone's really freaking out, and if Andrew's there, he's probably super pissed off that you're missing."

"Andrew will be angry?" Neil said, jumping to his feet and trotting alongside Allison as she strode back to her car.

She shot him a glance. Only a very small part of her had expected any real fear from him when it came to considering Andrew's wrath, but she certainly hadn't anticipated worry for Andrew. Not even a sliver of it appeared to be for himself as Neil practically scampered for the car to clamber into the passenger seat.

So weird. Always weird. But then, Allison didn't even bother with trying to understand the Andrew-Neil situation anymore. She didn't know why Matt still bothered to try. Folding herself back into her car, she gunned it to life and tore down the street as fast as she'd pulled into it. Despite her speed, the relief she felt at having a pixie-sized kid alongside her was almost astounding.

"Not at you, Neil," Allison answered him. "I'm starting to suspect that Andrew never really gets angry at you." Whatever hold Neil had on Andrew, Allison didn't really want to know, but it helped. Particularly if it meant the littlest of their Foxes would be sheltered like he was made of glass.

Allison ignored the fact that, when it came to protecting Neil, she wagered she'd find herself standing front and centre alongside Andrew in making sure he was kept out of harm's way. While part of her reason might come from the fact that he was a kid now, it certainly wasn't the only part.

~|=|~

The door closed behind Allison, shutting out the curious eyes of Renee's friends as they glanced over their shoulders. Turning back down the hallway, Renee met Abby halfway as she retreated from the kitchen herself.

Renee raised an eyebrow and Abby shrugged. "He's fine now, I think," she said, her voice lowered, and Renee didn't know if she spoke of Neil or Andrew at that moment.

Andrew had been furious when he'd practically crashed his Maserati through Abby's front door. Seething waves of black anger had radiated from him like he was a raging sun, and Renee couldn't blame the rest of the Foxes for ducking for cover. It was likely only Allison's return with Neil in tow that had saved them all from more than verbal blows. Andrew didn't shout – Renee couldn't even remember the last time he'd raised his voice louder than a growl – but she wouldn't have been surprised. Not in the least.

It had been some time since she'd seen him that angry. She'd hoped to never see it again.

But Neil returned, Allison following after him with lazy strides as though she hadn't called Renee with relieved confirmation of her findings barely minutes before. Neil ducked through the Foxes that immediately flocked towards him and planted himself at Andrew's side.

"I'm sorry, Andrew."

Andrew's cheek had twitched as he'd wheeled towards him, the only break in his expression. "You're –"

"I didn't mean to go so far away."

"You –"

"I just got distracted, and then I didn't realise it was a really, really long time that I was away, but I was watching a cat and she had little baby kittens, and –"

"So much for lying," Allison muttered at Renee's side, folding her arms with a roll of her eyes.

Neil's voice was strained as he continued with rapid-fire apologies, his face just as tight, and there was real worry seeping from him just as Andrew's anger did. Renee watched, glanced briefly at the frozen Foxes, and met Aaron's eyes for a split second. His earlier predictions apparently hadn't been quite accurate, but he seemed to observe Neil's babble with keen understanding.

Renee didn't like it. She didn't like it at all – not what was making itself apparent about Neil that had only hitherto been speculation, and not what memories those revelations were digging up from the rest of the Foxes. She hadn't missed Nicky's sympathetic clinginess, his murmurs of "reminds me of baby-Aaron sometimes", or Allison's mutters about shit parents. Not Matt's wrinkled brow or Dan's raised hackles, coaxed to attention whenever one of her Foxes' secrets revealed.

That the situation was triggering wasn't anyone's fault, and most definitely not Neil's, but Renee didn't like it. The darkly angry part of herself that she had whittled down into barely a fingernail-sized sliver within her trembled to life with each reaction she noticed, and she didn't like that, either.

She also didn't like that Abby's face was crumpled into a mask of confused concern when Renee paused alongside her in the relative silence of the hallway. Abby had been wearing such a face far too often in the past few days, just as Wymack did whenever he slunk around the outskirts of the scene. Laughter and amusement, careless entertainment in the form of eating junk and binging movies, was all well and good, but it was a superficial farce masking the concern that festered beneath. The concern that Renee knew infected everyone.

"I hope you don't mind me staying," Renee murmured to Abby.

Abby shook her head. "No, it's fine. I think the others just needed to get out of the house for a while. If you're here…"

Renee gave a small smile. "I'll keep an eye on things, if you'd like."

Abby's return smile was grateful yet no less worried. She stepped past Renee with a gentle pat on her shoulder, slipping through the front door after the rest of the Foxes in what would likely be a much-needed consolation for them being kicked out. Renee instead poked her head around the doorway into the kitchen.

Andrew was sitting at the table, arms crossed before him and head a tilted slightly to listen to whatever Neil was muttering at his side. Neil's voice was low, but it didn't sound urgent anymore. There was no longer the ring of worry bordering on hysteria, the fear that he'd done something wrong and that Andrew would be upset because of it. Renee didn't think that Neil thought Andrew would punish him; she'd seen too much of the both of them over the past few days to think that even as a child Neil could believe such a thing. But the worry was real nonetheless.

It was with relief that Renee noticed, too, that Andrew's simmering fury had cooled a little. Tension still tightened his shoulders and his expression bore that deliberate blankness that she knew more often than not concealed fierce emotion, but he was calm. For now. Leaning against the door frame, she watched them both for a few moments without being noticed.

"… never even got to touch one before," Neil was saying matter-of-factly, fingers tapping on the glass of water he cradled in his hands. "They have germs."

"Germs," Andrew echoed rather than questioned.

Neil nodded curtly. "So Mom says. It's dangerous."

"Not dangerous, exactly."

"But they could make you sick."

"Yes, and breathing the air could make you sick. Touching a cat isn't going to kill you. Don't be so cautious all the time."

"Breathing can kill you?"

"Potentially. Not as much as not breathing, though."

"Oh. That's really tricky, then."

"Exactly. So don't inhale bad shit."

"But…" Neil frowned slightly. "You have those little cigarettes, right? Like the big Coach. I saw the box in the bin. Wasn't that yours?"

"Yes."

"Isn't breathing smoke and stuff bad for you?"

"Definitely."

"Then shouldn't you not do it?"

"Yes. But I'm a hypocrite, so I can do what I want."

"Then you can't really tell me when I'm not allowed to too, huh?"

Andrew snorted, shaking his head, and seemed to catch a glance of Renee for the first time. "You're too wily for your age. Stop it."

Neil cocked his head. "What does wily mean?"

"Clever."

"So then, you think I'm clever?"

Andrew flicked Neil in the side of the head, but Neil only grinned. "Drink your water, Neil."

"'Kay," Neil said, smirking over the rim as he raised his glass to his mouth. Andrew rolled his eyes, rose to his feet, and crossed the room to Renee's side. She immediately turned and led him back down the hallway a ways, just far enough to hide their voices but close enough to still hear Neil. She knew the perfect distance just as instinctively as Andrew did.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

Andrew shrugged.

"Andrew."

"What do you want me to say?"

Renee smiled slightly. "Anything, I guess. I'd rather know what you're thinking."

"Why? So you can predict what I'm likely to do?"

Renee took her turn to shrug. "It might help to know who you blame most for what happened so I can know how to stand in front of if they need it."

Andrew folded his arms across his chest. "That's playing favourites, Renee."

"Not really. Call it supporting the underdog."

"Bias."

Renee laughed. It died quickly into sobriety, however, before Andrew's flat expression. "I mean it, Andrew. How are you? I know it upset you."

"I'm not upset."

"Anymore."

Andrew scoffed, shooting a hooded glance towards the front door. "They're all fucking idiots."

"They're not. They just don't know how to look after children."

"They're incompetent. It was less than an hour."

"Yes," Renee said slowly, "but this is Neil we're talking about. As Dan said, if anyone would be capable of slipping away when he wanted to it would be Neil."

"He's six years old, Renee." Andrew's tone sharpened, rising slightly. "Six. And there's eight of them."

"Nine, including me," Renee corrected.

"I'm not blaming you."

"Maybe you should. I'm as responsible as anyone else."

"You," Andrew raised a finger in her face, "don't get to deflect. They fucked up, and they should learn not to do it again."

"I think everyone's feeling guilty enough already without having a physical lesson taught to them, too," Renee said gently.

"And so they fucking should!"

Andrew snap wasn't loud, but it was loud enough. A split-second later there was the sound of a clatter, a smash, and Renee and Andrew both whipped their attention towards the kitchen. Renee had barely blinked before Andrew practically teleported back to the kitchen doorway. He paused on the threshold for the briefest second before diving inside. Renee hastened after him.

"I'm sorry!" Neil blurted, his words striking Renee before she even had a clear picture of the scene. "I didn't mean to!"

"Neil."

"It just slipped –"

"Stop."

"- and I couldn't catch it, and it broke everywhere and the – the water –"

"Don't touch –"

"I'll clean it up. I will, Andrew. I'll do it, so please don't be upset -"

"You won't do fucking shit."

Renee cringed as she dove into the kitchen on Andrew's tail. It wasn't a pretty sight; Andrew had been fast but Neil was faster, dropping to his knees in the damp mess of the floor and frantically scooping up the shards of fractured glass with his bare hands. There was blood, smears of it along the edges of the glass pieces Neil clutched, and his hands themselves…

"Oh, Neil, don't do that," Renee said, dropping on her knees beside them even as Andrew abruptly rose. In short order, Andrew snatched Neil's hands away from the bloody mess, pinned his wrists in one hand, and scooped him from the ground with his other. As Renee ducked beneath the sink for a dustpan as Andrew planted Neil on the table, gentle but unyielding in his hold of Neil's hands.

"I'm sorry," Neil said, and a glance up at the both of them saw his eyes wide and pleading. "I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't," Andrew said, studying the cuts on Neil's hands.

"I didn't mean to make a mess or – or to be noisy –"

"I don't care about the noise or the mess."

"I won't do it again -"

"You think I care?"

"I – I'll clean it up." Neil nodded fervently, his hands struggling to curl into bloody fists despite Andrew carefully pinning them open. "I will. Promise."

"No, you won't." Andrew glanced briefly towards Renee where she'd collected the worst of the mess. "Med kit?"

Renee nodded curtly. She didn't say a word as she hastened from the room.

If there was one benefit to hiding Neil in Abby's house it was that she had more than enough medical equipment on hand. In short order, wordlessly accepting the retrieved kit from Renee, Andrew was wiping clean the patchwork of cuts and smudges of blood from Neil's hands before covering them in more bandages than Renee thought was properly necessary.

Not that she objected. Not that she would even point it out. Quickly finishing with the mess on the floor, she watched as Andrew worked with precise motions, not gentle exactly but not callous either. She couldn't help but grit her teeth as she watched Neil too, continuing to murmur fractured apologies and eye his sliced hands with barely any real concern. That he didn't flinch at all was even worse.

Renee knew he'd had a life on the run, and she didn't need to see what scars lay beneath his clothes to know that the damage inflicted upon Neil was physical as much as it was mental. But she hadn't known that the damage had started even younger than that. She'd hoped it hadn't.

"Does it hurt?" she couldn't help but ask quietly as Andrew affixed the last bandage. "Abby has some Tylenol in here if you'd like it, Neil."

Neil shook his head, chin tucked and regarding his hands with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "No, thank you," he mumbled. "Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you for cleaning up all of the glass, too. I'm sorry I messed up."

Renee exchanged a hard glance with Andrew. "That's okay. It wasn't much to clean."

"It was just an accident," Andrew said, his words clipped. "Don't freak out over little things."

Neil shrugged tightly. "Yeah, but –"

"No. There's no buts."

"But –"

"No, Neil. No. Shit happens. Move on."

Neil nodded obligingly, but he didn't lift his chin. Renee didn't need to know anything about kids to know he wasn't convinced. Rather than continue to argue, however, he only rocked forward slightly until his forehead butted against Andrew's shoulder. Andrew didn't move to comfort him further, but he didn't move away either. Rather, the tension in him seemed to renew to the point that Renee could detect the faintest of trembles in his shoulders.

She took it as her cue to leave.

Abby was entering through the front door as Renee passed back into the hallway. There must have been something telling on her face, because Abby's frown reappeared. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Renee only shook her head, pursing her lips as she passed Abby for the door. "I just really hope whatever happened to Neil fixes itself soon," she said. If not for the rest of the Foxes, who might appreciate the chance to muck around with Neil at a third of his proper age but definitely missed him nonetheless, then for Andrew. Neil might be cherished regardless of what packaging he came in, but even so. Even so.

Andrew would never admit it, but Renee knew. He likely needed Neil back the way he should be more than anyone. More than he'd ever admit.

~|=|~

A/N: Hi again! Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it!! If you’d like to, or have a second to, I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment on my AO3 page. See you next time!

[footbaliimagines]

New Years Kiss (a Jesse Lingard imagine)

Hello!!!!!! It is me, returned from the dead (I can’t find the gif but insert the bitch thought u saw the last of me gif from American horror story gif here)

Idk what this is really these bits and bobs are NOT chronological they are just like fragments if that makes sense?? So even though the 3 words bit is when they were together its like a ***flashback*** but I wasnt sure how to make that v clear also the chapters are like numbers counting down from ten like at midnight ygm??? Okay I am rambling so will shut up hope u guys like it and hope you have a wonderful nye <3 I hope and am sure 2019 will be wonderful for all of you <3

TEN minutes after you meet him, you realise that you’re kind of fucked.

(And by kind of, you mean completely, overwhelmingly, catastrophically fucked.)

It happens quickly, in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

So quickly, as a matter of fact, that when he locks eyes with you for the first time, and when he grazes your arm when brushing past you to grab his drink, it’s like a switch has been flicked inside of you that you were never sure even really existed.

You put it down to the bubbles from your prosecco that you’d downed just before chatting to him, and that the tipsiness and the buzz of alcohol is the only reason you could be feeling the way you do right now.

Now he’s a face that you can put a name to, instead of just viewing him as Marcus’ other footballer friend, that familiar grinning face you’d spotted at gatherings who always offered you a shy, awkward smile whenever you shared eye contact but someone who you’d never actually found the balls to speak to.

(Sure, as a regular human being with functioning eyes you knew that he was attractive, but he was way out of your league.)

(The constantly grinning, elusive, life of the party Jesse Lingard, who Marcus had raved about to you pretty much since the day they’d met, with his 5 million Instagram followers, ridiculous dance moves that no self-respecting 26 year old man should let the world see, and that smile- God, that stupid, infectious shit eating grin, when his eyes crinkled and made everyone else look mediocre in comparison to him.)

(He wouldn’t look in your direction even if the world was about to end.)

It’s New Years’ Eve, and his Christmas jumper smells like Baileys and cinnamon, lasting remnants of the festive period. “Nice to meet you.” You practically have to shout over the music. “I know Marcus.”

“You what Marcus?”

“I know Marcus.”

“You know who?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, dismissing his question. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“I said.” You shout. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods and smiles again, leaning in, “I don’t want to be weird or anything, considering we just met,” his gaze is hazy and clouded with the effects of the beer he’s clutching in his right hand, “but you’re really fucking pretty.”

You can feel your face flush, a blush superior to the one your red wine had already given you, and the next thing you know it’s nearly midnight, and you’re drunk and giggling and he’s flirting and tracing between the gap between your jeans and jumper with his fingers, and you’re both leaning in and your friends are counting down from ten, and he kisses you, amidst cheers and shouts and fireworks.

And you tell yourself, what’s the worst that could really happen?

“Only NINE stops.” 

You trace your finger over the plastic Metrolink sign, running it up and down the line connecting the two tram stations, marking your place and his. “Nine stops to get from me to you.”

He snakes his hands around your waist, pressing his chin into your shoulder and kissing the exposed skin of your neck. “Stop.” You laugh, voice breathy. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in Manchester city centre on a Thursday night.” He pulls away, leading you towards the platform and laughing loudly, his voice booming throughout the cold night. “There’s no one fuckin’ here!”

He’s had a few pints, and he’s tipsy, handsy, flirty, silly Jesse, one of your favourite versions of him, kissing you breathlessly and grinning, hands running up and down your tight jeans and hooking into your belt loops and murmuring in your ear about how excited he is to pull them off of you later.

“Nine stops, you know,” He hums as the tram pulls away and you lean into him, watching the city pass you by, “is pretty far.”

“You’re such a city boy now.” You roll your eyes. “It’s like, 20 minutes. If we went back to my hometown, you’d be lucky to see a bus more than once every half an hour.”

“You wouldn’t have to do the whole 9 stops if you moved in with me.”

You crinkle up your nose and quirk an eyebrow at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Laughing, you prop your feet up on the empty seat opposite and lean into his side, as he flops an arm around your shoulder. There’s no one else with you two and your voices and shared laughter echo throughout the empty carriage. “I’m serious!” He holds his hands up and looks at you with wide eyes. “Do it. Move in with me. You can cook me breakfast every morning, and make me my tea for when I get back, make me a brew whenever I want one… you’ll make the perfect little housewife.”

“Now that you’ve said that, you can fuck off.”

And you both brush it off and don’t speak of the topic again, but when he leaves for training the next morning, there’s a spare key for his flat lying on a post-it, with a hastily scribbled note.

You don’t have to properly move in – no pressure or anything like that. But I had a spare key lying around and wanted you to have it. Jess x

(When the breakup comes, you don’t work up the courage to give it him back, and it’s still lying in your bedside table draw, post-it long gone, gathering dust and eventually added to the pile of his things you swear you’ll get around to giving him back one day.)

(There’s a strange feeling in your stomach every time you pass by his stop.)

It’s EIGHT in the morning.

You’re sat in the coffee shop equidistant to your flat, Marcus’s house and United’s training ground, where every Sunday without fail, the three of you would meet up for breakfast.

(Well, where you used to meet up every Sunday.)

(Minus that one time you were too hungover to leave the house without projectile vomiting on your own feet.)

For the first time since the breakup, Jesse had appeared, the sleepiness still drooping over his eyes and his hair mussed by his pillowcase. Your mind flashes to the image of him sleeping face down in his pillow, a position that made you nearly piss yourself laughing every time you saw him, but you suppress the memory quickly.

“Everyone can see it except the two of you, you know.”

Marcus tips his chin upwards and nods matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes and huff. “You’re a prick. And not just for saying that. But for inviting him out for our thing, our tradition, again, when you know it’s just going to be fucking awkward. He didn’t have to be here.”

“I’m only saying.” He raises his eyebrows and holds up two hands, as if to say, not my fault, I’m not interfering in the slightest, I’m just telling you that I know you’re still in love with your ex, and I know he still feels the same, and that even though there’s a very high chance things could still go catastrophically, terrifically, hugely wrong, I’m going to tell you and mess with your head anyway?

You reply snappily, huffing and folding your arms across your chest, “You’re messing with me, and it’s pissing me off. Fuck off. Tell him to fuck off too while you’re at it.”

He barks out a laugh and you roll your eyes. “I’m trying to reunite my two best friends, that’s all. Get the gang back together and all that!” He whines and shuffles closer to you, flinging an arm around your shoulders loosely. “Let me live. You both know you’re both being stubborn. Just talk to each other. It’ll all work out.”

“I don’t even like him anyway. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It’s a lie, a stupid, threadbare, slap you in the face lie. Marcus knows it too, and snorts. “Yeah, sure. I believe you. It’s not like you’ve been pining over each other for the past 3 months and you’re giving the girl he’s talking to at the moment daggers.”

You pull away your gaze sharply. Jesse’s in the queue- well, he was in the queue, now he’s loitering by the serviettes - and he’s been pulled to the side by a beautiful girl. They’ve been chatting amiably for the better part of the last ten minutes and you can feel your blood temperature rising steadily. “I’m staring,” You begin, and your head starts whizzing at a million miles an hour to come up with a decent excuse. “Because Jesse has our coffees and I don’t want them to get cold just because he’s in the middle of a stupid conversation.”

“’Stupid conversation’,” Marcus air quotes your words and smirks. “Jealousy isn’t a very attractive trait, you know.”

“I’m not jealous.” You scoff. “I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Fuck you.”

A few minutes, and plenty of glares and continuous teaching jabs from Marcus later, Jesse approaches and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that.” he chuckles, and hands you your mug.

Your fingers bump and it’s so meaningless and tiny but you kick yourself for still flinching when your skin made contact. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

(See, he cares about you. Maybe it’s not all just in your head!)

It’s an instinct to smile back at him, a repressed reflex to not pat the empty space next to you and rest your hand on his thigh, but you gulp as he sits opposite instead, far away from the table, from you. “Make conversation.” Marcus hisses.

You can feel your face blossoming cherry red, feel the discomfort in the air rise, feel your palms grow sweaty, and you shoot him a dirty look, mouthing, “Stop making it obvious.”

“You’re the one making it obvious.” He hisses back.

“Hm?” Jesse looks up from his phone to across the table.

He’s wearing that stupidly adorable, confused look on his face again, and you want to kiss him, you want to throw your boiling hot coffee in his face, you want to slap him, do something, do anything that would be less unbearably awkward than the three of you making small talk about the new Kenyan variety of coffee beans Marcus was trying out.

“Hm what?” You gargle.

“I was just asking what you guys were mumbling about.” He leans back, hands gripping his mug.

“Nothing.” You interject, before Marcus can start up again. “Marcus’s just being a dick, that’s all.”

You kick yourself for acting like such a lovesick, pathetic idiot, because you’ve never been like this before, you’ve constantly sworn to yourself that you’d never going be like this, but now he’s in the picture and it’s like everything that you ever held dearly to you has gone straight out of the window. Marcus pipes up, “So, who was that girl?”

(Now he decides to fucking speak.)

“Which girl?”

This time, you’re not quick enough to interrupt Marcus from piping up. “The girl you were flirting with before, Jesse, who you might go out with, who seems really nice and wasn’t a baby by actually talking to you about her feelings instead of hiding behind her emotions because she’s so scared of rejection and open communication, that she’d be willing to sacrifice the possibility of something really great?”

(You’re this close to chucking your cappuccino over his head.)

Jesse side eyes Marcus, opening his mouth to reply but then shaking his head and exhaling instead. “She’s right, you are being fucking weird today.” He shakes his head, tipping his chin upwards slightly and shrugging. “Besides, she’s not really my type anyway.”

(She was beautiful.)

(She’d be anyone’s type.)

He’s looking at you dead in the eye this time, ignoring Marcus’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, and you venture, “What is your type, then?”

He pulls a face, like come on, are you really asking that, you know what my fucking type is and you know it’s not that girl I was talking to strategically 2 foot in front of you so you’d see and get jealous, and when he doesn’t answer, you take it as a silent victory for #TeamYouWereRight, not #TeamJesse.

“That’s for me to know, isn’t it?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

You let Marcus fill the silence of the rest of your breakfast, and when you leave you’re too much of a coward to even look Jesse in the eye.

It only takes him SEVEN days to move on

When the cover of Ok! on your best friend’s coffee table catches your eyes, you can almost feel your wine and the tequila shots you had knocked back rising back up your throat. Your vision is hazy and the bitterness, the anger, the hurt surges through your veins as you pick it up and throw it to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. You were right, the featurette screamed out at you, he wasn’t, isn’t worth it, isn’t worth you crying over. 

It only took him a week to find someone else to fuck and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to go out tonight with the same intentions.

Deep down you know you’re being childish and if you were sober you’d probably never have sunk to such a level, but the tequila is buzzing in your blood and you can’t stop thinking about that fucking photograph.

(A photograph of Jesse revelling in a post-Boxing Day victory glow, crowded with Paul and Marcus in some swanky inner city bar, with his hand on the thigh of a beautiful woman whose Instagram account you made a mental note of to stalk when you were in a soberer state.)

There’s a tranquil voice somewhere in the back of your head telling you to step back and be rational. You’d been friends with Marcus and the boys for far too long to trust the split-second capture of a loitering paparazzi over his word.

It was probably just a one-night stand, that rational voice piped up again. Plus, he’s single now. Give him a break. The boy is gonna need to get laid eventually.

(But he’d told you he didn’t want to be with anyone else, that he’d rather have quiet nights in with his teammates to celebrate, probably just PS4 and takeaway, that he wouldn’t enjoy going out if it wasn’t with you.)

(That rational voice in your head could go fuck itself.)

You shrug off the worry at the back of your mind and post the picture to your Instagram story regardless.  

Your phone buzzes 2 minutes later.

Who is he?

You hate yourself for revelling in his jealousy, but the sense of satisfaction you gain overrides any rationale that sober you would have considered.

?

Who the fuck is that guy?

Can you reply?

I can see you’ve read these messages, you know.

Are you fucking him? Is he your new boyfriend?

Fuck you.

Happy SIX months, babe. Love yaaaaaaaa!!! 

is what the balloon reads, as the delivery man comes by Jesse’s house with a bunch of flowers almost the size of him and a handful of personalised helium balloons.

“Delivery for Mr J Lingard?” The postman reads off his phone, before handing Jesse the assortment of romantic gifts and offering up a screen for Jesse to sign.

He smiles tiredly and nods.

(He swore he had remembered to cancel this order after you’d broken up.)

“Ta mate,” He replies, taking the flowers inside and dumping the balloons behind him in his hallway.

“Anniversary, eh?” The delivery man smiles. “She’ll love the presents.”

(He’s going to throw up.)

Jesse attempts to smile and brush it off with a laugh, but it’s not convincing. “Fingers crossed, yeah.”

“Best of luck.” He walks back down his drive. “Have a nice day.”

“And you.”

He’s alone again in his hallway, the gifts surrounding him, a flurry of red and pink bows and yellow roses, your favourite, your name written onto the balloons.

He imagines you in the kitchen with him, you, being your typical over-emotional, dramatic self probably welling up at the card he’d written, tactfully arranging the balloons for an Instagram photo, talking about inhaling the helium and taking a video for his Snapchat speaking in funny voices, getting stressed out about doing your eyeshadow for your dinner later that evening.

He can imagine looking at you from across his kitchen table like you just hung the moon in the sky, the thought of being with you, eating breakfast with you, talking to you all making his stomach churn. Because the breakup hadn’t been formal nor had it been official, and it was only after you blocked most (well, all) of his social media accounts, and your face no longer appeared, grinning and slightly flushed, in the stands of Old Trafford, that he had realised the severity of what had happened between the two of you.

And Jesse kicks himself over it every day, he could have done more, could have turned up to your house or your office and demanded an answer or at least a conversation, but his stubbornness and obstinacy had prevented him from doing so, and your unwillingness to communicate had landed you both at a stalemate.

(If he could go back in time, he would.)

He leaves the anniversary gifts in his spare room upstairs and doesn’t even open the door.

05:02 – Are you up?

05:14 – Lol of course you won’t be

05:14 – Soz for texting. I can’t sleep and I think I’m just getting a bit caught up in own head

05:16 – I just

05:16 – I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind

05:16 – I just don’t know why this is still so fucking difficult. It’s been like 3 months and I still can’t sleep because I’m thinking about you and how everything went wrong

05:19 – I’m sorry if I pressured you when I told you I loved you and I’m sorry for not fighting more

05:20 – Didn’t meant to rush you. Just wanted to be honest.

05:20 – And now I’ve fucked everything up. And I’ve fucked it with Marcus too, jt’s always awkward and I know he’s taken your side and everything is just shite

05:26 – Fucking hell

05:26 – I can’t do being just friends and I can’t do platonic. Maybe we just should just cut if off completely

05:27 – Please come and see me so we can talk it over

05:27 – I just can’t do this, this in between

05:28 – I love you and I know you still love me

05:28 – Is that not enough???

It’s FOUR in the morning and Jesse’s regretting even leaving the house in the first place.

His head is pounding with the deep bass coming from the speakers behind him, as he gingerly sips at his lime soda, thoughts of his alarm ringing at 7:30am tomorrow morning looming in the back of his mind, thoughts of what his Mum would say if she knew he wasn’t getting a healthy 8 hours of sleep before a game, thoughts of you in that little black dress, swaying to the beat, standing far too close to that short-back-and-sides-probably-a-fuckboy idiot whispering something that Jesse doesn’t want to imagine down your ear.

(Thoughts of what he’d like to do to you in a dress like that.)

You eventually shrug the other guy off when he gets a little too eager, a little too handsy, and pull your hair loose from its ponytail, eyes scanning around the club and pausing when the land on Jesse.

He’s stood in the corner, not speaking to anybody and hardly moving, and that’s when you know he must be in a bad mood, because the DJ’s just started playing Sicko Mode and he’s not even flinched. Then one of his mates appears by his side, hollering down his eardrum, and Jesse doesn’t even respond with a smile or a laugh, he just shrugs him off and walks towards the doors.

You’re not sure why, but you follow him as he heads towards the smoking area.  You lose him eventually in a sea of drunk people, and exhale, the wind suddenly sobering you up. 

Fucking typical, you think, lighting a fag and leaning back against the brick wall, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

You open one eye and there he is, stood there in front of you, looking at you with a mixture of fondness, annoyance and disapproval. Looking at him dead in the eyes, you lift it to your lips and inhale. “I must have a tendency for going back to things that I know are bad for me.”

He looks at you, and you can tell he wants to bite, to start another fight, but then he bites his tongue and exhales. “How have you been?”

“I’m alright.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Good.”

“Jess?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

(The next thing you know, you’re in a taxi togetther and he’s telling the driver his address and your hands are all over him and his are all over you.)

(And you fall into bed with him again, like always, like you know deep down happens every time, as if its a habit, and when you wake up the next morning in his shirt you tell yourself that this time really will be the last time.)

You hadn’t anticipated saying those THREE words to Jesse so soon.

God, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of things lasting between the two of you for longer than a few weeks, but now here you were nearly 6 months later, lying on his sofa with his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. “Hey,” Jesse speaks and sits up, switching the volume of the telly down to zero.

“Hm?”

He looks away, before turning almost as red as the United shorts he was still yet to change out of, then gulping and shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He cuddles back into you and though your heart melts, you wiggle him off and jab him with your elbow.

“Talk to me.” You whine. “You’re no fun when you’re being weird like this. What’s up?”

Jesse heaves a sigh, and for the first time during your conversation, looks you in the eye before burning bright red again and glancing away. It’s like he can’t bear the sight of you, and his determined avoidance of both a proper conversation and sharing eye contact with you makes you feel slightly nauseous.

A few moments of silence pass before he looks at you again. “I, well- I feel weird right now.” He stumbles. “Because, um, I-“

“Jesse, what is it?”

Your pulse begins to race as your mind inevitably wanders, and the pessimist in you instantly leaps to the worst possible thing. Was he breaking up with you? Things had been going so well, and surely Marcus would have called to give you a heads up if he knew something weird was going on with Jesse.

(Then again, you had cancelled on date night for the past 3 weeks to binge the Great British Bake Off.)

(Still, would that really have warranted a breakup?)

(And plus, Jesse was the Bake Off’s second biggest fan, after yourself, naturally.)

It could be something smaller, something to do with his family, or his career. But he never felt uncomfortable discussing football with you, despite your feelings towards his club, and his relatives treated you like one of their own.

(Your mind does eventually wander to the possibility of him cheating, or him finding someone else, but due to your own stubbornness and for the sake of your sanity, you’re quick to expel any ideas like that straight out of your head.)

“I love you.”

His voice is soft and cracks at the end, and it’s so, so far from what you had been expecting, and so unlike the usual confident, grinning Jesse that you were used to that a lump forms in your throat. “Oh, Jess-“

“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to scare you off.” He mumbles. “But I’m finding it way too hard to not have those stupid fucking three words replaying in my mind every time I look at you. Because that’s what’s happening, I swear. I’m trying to play it cool and casual but all I can think about every time you smile, or speak, or laugh is the fact that I’m in love with you.”

A smile pulls on your lips and you immediately scramble forward to wrap your arms around him. He laughs and you feel his chest rumble underneath you. “You don’t have to be scared.” You comfort. “Trust me, I was shitting myself way imagining the worst just now.”

Jesse laughs. “Cos like, it terrifies me, it fucking scares the living daylights out of me, because I’ve never felt like this about, well- anyone before. And I was petrified that you didn’t feel the same way.”

You grin, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his with force. It’s a hasty, reassuring kiss, and your teeth clash and you murmur in between kisses, “I love you.”

(Months had passed since that night now and those three words hadn’t lost any meaning.)

(And you just wish you could say them to him again.)

“I know we said it the last TWO times, but we really need to stop doing this.”

His voice is soft, breaking the silence you were lying in.

(You’re grateful that he was the one to speak first, but you’re not so grateful for him bringing up that wretched conversation yet again.)

He looks across at you, the dim light from your lamp illuminating the side of your face, your knotted hair and smudged lipstick, and then at your bedside clock, reading 01:23. Jesse sighs and you can feel your heart sinking into your stomach, as he reaches for his boxers and pulls them on. Your bedroom is a mess, cushions and throws tossed to the floor, and he speaks up again, “I mean it, this time.”

“Okay.”

He continues, though he really doesn’t need to. You’ve got the message loud and clear. “I think it’s just good for our, er, healing. Isn’t like, not sleeping with your ex like the number 1 thing not to do after a breakup?”

“Probably, yeah.”

You hug your duvet up around your body protectively, before reaching for your bra and t-shirt that had been tossed to floor just two hours earlier, when the expected texts had come, the are-you-awake, the got-plans-tonight?, the I’m-horny-and-I-miss-you-let’s-not-waste-any-more-time texts.

(Leading to the exact opposite of what was good for you after the breakup.)

(For fucks sake, you tell yourself.)

(Dua Lipa did not write New Rules for you to be this pathetic, this needy, this easy.)

“Fine, then.” You say, blasé, casual, giving off an air of nonchalance and indifference that couldn’t be further from the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “You don’t have to spend the night. Can you see yourself out or do you want me to get up?”

The way he looks back at you after you speak is enough to break your heart all over again. It’s a pleading look, and he’s willing you with his eyes to try and communicate for once, for the first time, but you refuse to meet his eyeline.

“I can see myself out.”

“Right.”

He dresses in silence, grabs his stuff and stalks out your flat, slamming your door on his way out. You scramble out of bed to watch him walk down your street, the way you used to when you started dating, when he used to blow you kisses as he ambled off your drive, or when you used to watch him run to a taxi on mornings when he was late for training.

This time, for the first time, he doesn’t look back at your window.

It’s been ONE year to the day since you met him, and you hate yourself for noticing the parallels as you walk into the living room at Marcus’s NYE party and he’s the first face you can recognise.

It’s like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy and it makes you want to die.

(Fortunately, he doesn’t quite spot you yet, and you’re free to make a beeline to the kitchen, in peace and quiet with an unopened bottle of Chardonnay as your company.)

(It lasts about 15 minutes.)

“Hey.”

You turn around and you see him, smiling at you in that same, stupid, garish, adorable Christmas jumper, holding out a Quality Street chocolate. It’s a peace offering, an olive branch, and you take it with a nod. “You alright?”

Jesse nods and takes a seat on the sofa behind you. “So, what are your New Year's resolutions, hey?”

You settle on the sofa next to him, knocking your knee against his accidentally, cursing and looking at him from over the rim of your glass of wine.

Jesse chuckles then shrugs sarcastically. “Can’t improve perfection.”

Your instinct is to let out a cackle, and you do, you burst out laughing so dramatically your drink nearly projects out of your nostrils, because he’s not even wrong and there’s not much about him that could really do with changing.

(Scrap that, he should learn to cook.)

(And definitely how to use a tumble dryer.)

(And call time of death on those dances he insisted on doing every time he scored a goal.)

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“What are your resolutions then, hey?” He knocks his knees with yours.

“Eat more fruit.” You fib.

Stop being so stubborn and accept that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Stop bottling up your emotions. Don’t be afraid to let people know how you feel. Stop being such a fucking coward all the time.

(Resolutions that Jesse of all people didn’t need to know about.)

“Boring.” He hums.

“Drink more water.” You add, nodding. “Start going to yoga again.”

“That’s so generic.”

“Fuck off. It’s called self improvement.”

“It sounds like every basic 23 year old girl I’ve ever met.”

You peek at your phone when he looks away: 23:58.

Fuck. How the fuck had it got so late already?

Your friends begin to gather in hordes in the kitchen, the TV broadcasting the fireworks in London has been switched on and drinks are poured and held aloft. Jesse jumps to his feet and offers you his hand as you do the same; his hand feels warm and familiar and when he lets go it suddenly feels like there’s acres of space between you again.

10

“I think I’m getting déjà vu.”

9

You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smile. “Déjà vu to when?”

8

“That night. The first time we met.”

7

Jesse tips his chin backwards, and someone behind him trips, bumps him forward, and he stumbles into you, by reflex finding your waist and your free hand pressing up against his chest.

6

He’s inches in front of you, and you can feel your pulse in your eyeballs and his breath across your face.

5

You splutter out, “I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

4

Jesse laughs. “What the fuck are you on about now, mad woman?”

3

“I’m sorry. About it all. About everything.”

2

He shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay, stop apologising, we haven’t been this close without wanting to kill each other since the break up and I don’t think we should even tempt the possibility of us arguing again.

1

And he’s leaning in, and you can smell his cologne and it’s comforting and reassuring and confusing, and makes your head spin but grounds your feet, and you’re closing your eyes as your friends begin to shout.

Happy new year!

And he’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you can feel his hand gripping your waist, holding and squeezing you and you can feel your stomach fizzing. When he pulls away he’s looking at you softly, gaze mellowed by tequila and the closeness between you two. “Happy new years, Jess.” is all you can muster, as he leans in and smiles again.

“Happy new year.”

[lovewhatyoudodolan]

In Your Arms || Ethan Dolan

Prompt: He was your world, but what happens when he’s not there anymore?

Word Count: 3720

A/N: Happy ending I promise! In this Ethan didn’t have his original life-threatening accident and was still riding!

MASTERLIST

REQUEST

I had only been to New Jersey once before with Ethan and Grayson and both consisted of some of my favorite memories. The state was beautiful in the fall, not too warm and not too cold unlike my hometown of Pasadena.

When Ethan and I started dating two years ago, I never expected our relationship to last as long as it has. He was still a kid, just wanting to have some fun, but somehow, we’ve grown together.

“Y/N, is there anywhere else you want to go?” I smile at the older woman who was kind enough to treat me to lunch. Lisa Dolan practically took me in with open arms the first time I met her. Only ever asking me how I was able to rein Ethan in.

I shrug, taking a sip from the large coffee I took to go. “The boys are out doing who knows what, so I’m free if you need help running any errands.” Grayson had said something to me this morning about the two of them going off on their motorcycles, so who knows where they are by now.

“I just need to run to the grocery store to get some leftover ingredients for dinner tonight,” she replied softly, “But I can drop you off at the house before if you’d rather spend time with the boys?”

I chuckle and shake my head, “Like I’d rather be surrounded by testosterone all afternoon.” I knew she appreciated me wanting to spend time with her. She didn’t say it out loud, but her smile gave it away.

It wasn’t even thirty minutes later when I could be seen sobbing in the woman’s arms in the middle of the grocery store though. My mind couldn’t comprehend anything she was saying to me as my breathing became heavier and my cellphone fell to the hard floor at our feet. Nothing made sense.

Passerby’s stopped in hopes of helping my panic-stricken self, but the pure fear for the boy I loved prevented any rational thoughts from crossing my mind. A woman I didn’t know cradled me in her arms as Lisa picked up my phone to respond to Grayson’s panicked screaming from the other end of the line, the mother of three immediately collapsing to the floor when her youngest child informed her of what happened.

“Whatever is wrong, you need to snap out of it so you can do what’s best for the situation.” The woman supporting me instructed as I tried to take in shaky breaths. “The issue isn’t going to be resolved until you snap out of this.” She turned my head so we could make eye contact, allowing me to feel less alone. “Breathe with me okay? In and out.” We did a couple of breaths together before my shuddering calmed down and it didn’t feel like a boulder was crushing my chest. “Okay, now that you’re okay I need your help with your company.”

The two of us proceeded to help Lisa in the same way, me starting by taking my cracked iPhone from her hands. “Grayson?”

“Y/N Jesus Christ what is happening over there? I heard a loud crash and then when I talked to my mom, she just went silent.” Grayson witnessed everything that happened to his twin, but somehow, he was able to keep it together long enough to call us.

As the woman who stopped to help us slowly pulled Lisa to her feet, I bit my lip, “Grayson let’s not talk about that right now. Where did they take Ethan? Your mom and I are on our way there.” Gray immediately responded with the hospital Ethan was taken to and I couldn’t help the surge of anxiety that crept up at the thought of going to an Emergency Room.

Lisa thanked the caring woman before the two of us sprinted out of the store, leaving the cart full of groceries behind us. Neither of us dared to speak a word about what was possibly waiting for us at the sterile building we were headed to.

Grayson was pacing back and forth in the waiting room when the two of us sprinted in, Lisa immediately going to hug her youngest son who had a couple of scratched on his face from the accident. “Grayson, what happened?”

“I…” He ran a hand stressfully through his tangled hair as he looked anywhere but at the two of us, “Jeez Ethan, he… he was ahead of me on the road and we came to this four-way intersection. We had the right of way, so we started going through and all of a sudden, this car comes out of nowhere and completely slams into Ethan. Not clipping him, but a direct hit.”

My hands shook at the thought of Ethan getting struck by a car on his motorcycle. “Right after the hit, I turned my bike on its side in hope of avoiding a collision myself which is how I got all scratched up. I sprinted over to him when I saw the person in the car passed out; he was trying to get up but couldn’t move, the paramedics were scared that he was paralyzed.”

“Have they come out with any updates?” Lisa asked trying to stay calm and collected for the rest of this situation.

When I realized that Grayson was also shaking, I moved my hand forward to intertwine our fingers. Even if Ethan is an important piece of mine and Lisa’s lives, no one loves him more than Gray. “T-They said he flatlined but were able to get him back. Neuro said the nerves were good, so he isn’t paralyzed, but he has a ton of internal trauma.”

With all the Grey’s Anatomy, I’ve watched over the years, those words made my stomach fall, “Did they say anything about a medically induced coma?” It wouldn’t surprise me given the immense amount of pain E is probably going through at the moment. Gray’s eye darted from me to his mother, signaling that he didn’t want to answer this in front of her.

“They said they would be out with more information if-if he makes it out of surgery.” The little choke on the word ‘if’ caused my stomach to do a flip. What if he doesn’t make it through? What if he does but never wakes up? What am I supposed to do without him? What is Grayson going to do without him?

Questions would continue to swamp my thoughts for the next two and a half weeks as I sat next to Ethan’s bed during visiting hours. Lisa would go to work and come by to visit after her shifts, and on some days, Grayson would go with her, but I couldn’t get myself to leave.

I hadn’t cried since the first day, it isn’t what Ethan would want. However, seeing him in that bed, pale as a ghost with a tube down his throat to help him breathe made it hard not to cry. “You can be a real dick you know?”

A chuckle escaped my mouth as I spoke the words to my boyfriend. “You hog the covers and play too many pranks on me. You ignore me for hours to play video games when we’re supposed to be hanging out. You’ll insult the outfits I wear sometimes, even though half the time your clothes aren’t matching, and I have to fix them. You can be such an obnoxious sassy douche too… God E you have me wrapped around your pinkie finger so tight… what the hell am I supposed to do if you don’t wake up? It’s been two weeks already.”

My face fell onto the soft sheets of his bed as tears began to well up in my eyes. I sat like that for what felt like a century until the nurse came into the room to notify me that visiting hours were over, just like every other day so far.

This continued like a cycle for a little over a month and Grayson and I’s hope was slowly dwindling as time continued on. Neither of us had spoken to our managers in a week because our full focus had been on Ethan and his health, but nothing was changing. The doctors told us to give it time, but how can you continue to have hope when things have been stagnant for almost a month and a half?

I was leaned up against Grayson’s side watching some rerun of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. The two of us had been each other’s support system through the process, and it definitely brought us closer. “You know he was planning to propose next year if you guys worked out? Even brought me out to talk and look at engagement rings. He’s so whipped.”

“Why would you tell me that?” My heart fell as I pushed myself up so I could face the younger brother. “The man I love with all my heart is in a coma still and you think it’s a good idea to tell me that he wanted to get married?”

He shakes his head, obviously not meaning to upset me. “No, I just… I don’t want you to give up on him. Both of us have been skeptical lately, but there’s this feeling I’m getting… like he’s going to wake up soon.” His hazel eyes dart to the television to see Ross and Rachel in a tight embrace. “I just want us to keep fighting for him and not give up hope…”

From there I just retreated to my boyfriend’s old room, not wanting to continue the conversation. I had moved in here after not being able to sleep during the first week with Ethan in intensive care. The sheets still smelled like him and it made me feel safe.

The following day I was just silently sitting in his room, lightly gripping his hand to let him know I was still here. Grayson had gone to the cafeteria to find something to eat, offering to bring me something back but I turned him down.

My twitter notifications were still buzzing with questions about Ethan’s health, bringing a frown to my face when I glanced up at my boyfriend. Fans just wanted to be kept in the loop, especially if he takes a sudden turn for the worst, but sometimes it gets to be too much. I felt like I was going to be sick with a specific question continuously flashed by…

‘What are you going to do if he doesn’t make it?’

‘Will Ethan be okay?’

‘It’s been a month, why aren’t there any updates on him?’

I sighed, squeezing the boy’s hands as tears threatened to fall once again. Sending out my first tweet since before the accident.

‘I’m with Ethan right now. He is healing physically, but still isn’t awake… Keep him in your prayers.’

An uproar followed the tweet since Grayson also hasn’t posted any updates other than to say videos were on hold due to Ethan getting in a traumatic accident. “These people really love you E…”

Another week followed and still nothing new had come up. Grayson and I decided it was best to post a video on both of our channels in order to shed some light on Ethan’s situation with the fans. It was hard to keep my composure during filming, resulting in long drawn out silences and cuts when I’d cry.

I sigh, watching the end of my video over again as it was being uploaded to YouTube. “Ethan is one of the biggest inspirations in my life. He is also the light of my life and I haven’t been able to properly sleep since the accident…”

“All of us are hurting which is why Grayson and I are both taking a break to figure out what the next step in our careers is.” I sigh seeing the change in how red my eyes were, “Right now my major concern though is Ethan’s health… Hopefully, I will see all of you soon. Thank you for your continued support.”

When the upload reached 100%, I shut my MacBook, placing it on the small table next to Ethan’s bed in hopes of finding some peace to sleep. However, that was short lived when Grayson frantically ran into my room. “He flatlined again. They don’t know what’s wrong but they’re saying we need to get to the hospital…”

I don’t think I have ever gotten out of bed so fast in my life…

The three of us were once again sitting in the waiting room, my stomach dropping when none other than Cameron Dolan sprinted in to join us. Lisa said she was only going to fly back if things got worse and her appearance made me feel sick. “Mom you scared me on the phone. I thought Ethan was doing better?”

“So did we,” Grayson’s voice sounded hollow as he stared out the window at the dark rainy scenery. It seemed fitting for what was happening.

Every time a doctor came out, Lisa would jump up in hopes that it was about Ethan only to be disappointed when they went to a different family. It wasn’t until three hours later when someone finally updated us.

“Dolan?” Lisa and Cameron were asleep at this point since none of us had gotten any sleep before rushing here. I raised my hand for the man, waving him over as Grayson woke his mother and sister. “So, Ethan was suffering from internal bleeding because one of the stitches slipped. We were able to repair it, but we don’t know if he will wake up this time. He was under for a little longer than we had hoped and with the lack of response before… I just suggest saying goodbye sooner rather than later.”

This was the first time I had seen Cameron cry since arriving. She had been trying to be strong for Lisa, but it was inevitable for the girl to break down eventually. The doctor gave his condolences before walking back to the double doors leading to the intensive care unit. I excused myself, saying I needed to use the bathroom, but Grayson’s worried expression signified he saw right through my lie.

As I neared the vacant room my sobs finally escaped. I fell to the floor of the handicap stall, locking the door from the outside world as if passersby wouldn’t be able to hear me. At that moment I let everything I had been holding back for the last month out, all of the fear and sadness for the boy who had changed my life.

“Y/N let me in,” Grayson’s exhausted voice said as he knocked on the stall door, “You don’t need to be along right now.”

I coughed, “Just leave me alone.”

“I can’t,” He yelled, “I can’t because I promised Ethan I would look after you when he whispered your name after the accident. I can’t because you were his whole world and he wouldn’t want you hurting because of him. I can’t because you’re as much a part of this family as he and I are. Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” With that he fell to the ground, crawling under the door to get to me. “We all love you and I know this hurts you just as much as it hurts me. You don’t have to pretend to be strong anymore.”

His words just made my tears come faster, “He’s my whole fucking world, Grayson.” My voice cracked as the words came out, “He means literally everything to me, and he might not make it through the night. Even if he does, he may not ever wake up. How am I supposed to survive without his corny jokes or shitty date ideas? Who is going to bully me and tell me they love me right after? Who am I supposed to go to when I’m sad and need ice cream at three in the morning?” I wiped the snot from my face as I continued to cry harder with every world, “It’s pathetic but he is my whole world…”

“It’s not pathetic…” Grayson wraps his arms around my shoulders, just letting me cry it all out. “Just let it all out and when you’re ready we’ll go sit with E.”

The two of us stayed in the restroom for probably another twenty minutes before I finally ran out of tears to cry. A silent conversation was exchanged between the two of us as he helped me back to my feet, me feeling a bit dehydrated due to all of the crying. Neither of us spoke as he led me toward Ethan’s hospital room where Cameron was currently talking to her younger brother.

“I already went in and she’ll probably come out in a minute,” Lisa sighed trying to stay strong. Having already lost her husband, I couldn’t imagine the pain she was in at the moment.

Grayson was the next one to enter the room, Cameron exiting with a blank expression on her face. The same one I had after spending my first afternoon holding Ethan’s hand after the accident. I leaned up against the hallway wall for support, just watching Grayson interact with his brothers’ lifeless body. Letting out a hearty chuckle at probably some dumb memory the two had shared in the past.

It wasn’t long after when Grayson finally joined me in the hallway, seemingly better than when we came arrived at the hospital last night. “He’s all yours.”

I hesitated, seeing all the machines that were once again hooked up to the boy I loved. As days passed, machines disappeared but here we were, back to stage one all over again. “Ethan Grant you wouldn’t believe how pissed I am at you.”

My fake anger was my way of coping with him not responding. “It’s been almost two months and now you decide it’s time to get worse all over again? When did you turn into a quitter?”

“You really need to get your shit together for all of our sakes…” I sigh as I fell into the seat next to his bed, gripping his cold hand tightly in my own. I was silent for a few minutes, the only noise breaking the silence being the machines in the background. “You really want me to sweat, don’t you? Lying here in a coma while I worry like the wife of a man going to war… God Ethan, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t put on the tough girl act for you because you could be dying for all I know. At any point, you could flatline again and they may not be able to bring you back again and that scared the living shit out of me…”

I trace circles on the back of his hand lightly, “I hate how you have become the center of my world in the last two years. It’s been almost impossible to sleep without you by my side, I even moved to your old room in hopes that your sent would help me. I cry at the drop of a hat if someone brings you up in conversation.” I glanced up at the lights in hopes of keeping my tears at bay, “I couldn’t even make a simple update video for the fans without sobbing…”

“You are the love of my life and I don’t know how the hell I could live without you… Please…. Please don’t make me do this alone.” I choke on my words, “I don’t think I can do it without you E…”

My face fell down onto the white sheets as I somehow once again found tears to shed for the poor boy laid out on the bed in front of me. I didn’t know if I was imagining things when I heard choking coming from the boy on the bed, but when a nurse ran in I grew worried. “What happened? I didn’t do anything!”

She chuckled as she pulled the breathing tube out of his mouth, a large smile on her face. “You didn’t do anything, but this is a good thing!” She replied as she started looking over his charts, “He was fighting the breathing tube meaning he is able to breathe on his own. He’s trying to wake up.”

My hand squeezed his hand tightly and a smile formed on mine and the nurses face when a light one was returned. “He’s going to be okay?”

“He’s got a long road to completely recover, but his response means that he’s awake and his body will work harder to heal itself.” From that day it was a steady upward climb for Ethan. He opened his eyes one day when Grayson was in the room alone and the two had been inseparable since. Lisa and Cameron had gone in to speak with the boy a couple of times since, but I hadn’t found the courage to do so yet.

I stood outside his room two weeks after he squeezed my hand watching as Grayson walked out and toward where I was watching. “He wants to talk to you. He’s been waiting for almost a week now.”

“I don’t know what to say to him, Gray…”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward the doorway of my boyfriend’s recovery room “It’s just Ethan. Go.” He gave a light push forward as encouragement before leaving for what I guessed was the cafeteria.

“Wow you really look like my girlfriend, but I kind of forgot what she looks like because I haven’t seen her in so long.” Ethan joked softly as I walked through the threshold, “What took you so long?”

I shrug and talk a seat across from him silently, “I was nervous.”

“Why? I’m going to be okay.” His hand reached forward for mine and I gladly placed mine in his warm one.

“E you were touch and go for two months,” I sighed as he brushed some of my bangs from my face, “I thought that was it for our time together…”

He tilted my chin up so I could look him in the eye, “I promise you I’m not going anywhere any time soon okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” I choked out as he smiled at me.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @callmecracker!

Merry Christmas!! I hope you like it! xoxoxo 

 Read on AO3

******

Windows vs Doors

It's christmas eve when Stiles' dad, just, casually invites Derek over for dinner. His dad cited needing to get to know the Pack's Alpha, but considering the glint in the sheriff's eye and the fact that Stiles and Derek have, essentially, been sneaking around since the very instant Stiles turned eighteen—yeah, he isn't buying it.

By the look on Derek's face when Stiles opens the door for him, the sheer nervousness rolling off of him in waves, Stiles has a feeling he isn't buying it either. Still, he drags the man in, fingers digging into his elbow, and tries to reassure, "Don't worry, he won't bite, he's probably just worried about how my training's going, since I still come back home sporting bruises more often than not."

Derek raises an eyebrow at him as Stiles leads him- arm looped through Derek's, an overly familiar touch, but one he can't seem to restrain himself from- to the dining room, and most of the tension seems to have evaporated from his tumultuous tsunami eyes by now, which, as far as Stiles is concerned, is a win.

"Yes, yes, I know, what're you supposed to do with an insubordinate Mage who never listens to you, and throws themselves headfirst into the line of danger without even an ounce of thought for their own self-preservation—I could recite this conversation in my sleep we've had it so many times."

Derek raises his eyebrows, points out, "You could try being a little more careful," but his tone is light, and his eyes are glimmering, now, all exasperated affection instead of wary stress, so Stiles just grins at him, feeling satisfied, before letting go of his hold on the man's arm to nudge him toward a chair, sitting to the one directly beside it.

"Meh," he intones, shrugging. "I think I'd rather keep my perfect track-record of saving your ass."

"Well, I'd like to keep my perfect track-record of not having that heart attack you keep predicting for me," the sheriff cuts in, as he swans through the kitchen's archway with a few platters of delicious-smelling food. "So, it'd be nice if you started coming back to me in one piece more often."

"He will, sir," Derek says, without prompting, back straight, entire demeanor having done a complete 180. Stiles wonders if it's his dad's station, the fact that he's Stiles' dad, or the fact that he's a dad, in general, either way...

"Huh. It usually takes a lot more for him to engage in conversation."

Derek sighs, heavily, like he doesn't know why he puts up with this shit.

"Uh, sorry. Shitty brain-to-mouth filter, which... really didn't need to be explained, did it?"

His dad pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan, before sharing a vaguely commiserating look with Derek that immediately has Stiles on his toes because no. The very thought of his boyfriend and his dad becoming besties, and somehow conspiring against him to lock him away until he can't get so much as a papercut is a horrifying, and strangely realistic, idea.

Then, as the dishes get served, his dad says, mischevious glint in his eye, "It's a lot easier using the front door, isn't it?" And, oh, god, he knows, he knows.

This is what he gets, for having someone notoriously allergic to doors as his boyfriend, he knew, he knew, that one of their nosy ass neighbors was going to see Derek climbing out of his window one of these days and go running straight to his dad with the juicy gossip.

"He has every little old lady in this town on his payroll," Stiles had told Derek once, naked and sweaty and splayed out, content, on his sheets, to the tune of an exaggerated eye roll and a disbelieving snort. "They're all spies, I swear," he'd said. "Cheek-pinching, cookie baking, grandmotherly spies."

Derek had just finished slipping on his shoes, kissed Stiles on the temple, and promptly parkoured out of the window like a fucking ninja, not believing him for even a second.

Stiles pierces him with his best I told you so glare, now.

Derek does a strange canting eyebrow shrugging move that vaguely translates to, Well, what the hell are we supposed to do about it now?

Stiles makes a waving gesture with his hand and his chin that he hopes Derek will take to mean, Roll with the punches.

Derek sighs and flashes a Stiles' dad a bright, hopeful, Please, god, I hope I'm making a good impression sort of smile.

There's an odd sort of wistful fondness in the smile his dad offers in turn, it's the same kind of smile he wears when he talks about Stiles' mom, about burnt pancakes and forgotten anniversaries and the night she finally got that positive pregnancy test and ran toward the bed to start bouncing on it, screaming like a chimpanzee, not at all minding the fact that it was barely two in the morning and her husband was still trying to sleep. Stiles wonders what, exactly, wove that smile into being.

Maybe it's just the general spirit of christmas?

He gets an answer to his unasked question when his dad murmurs, "You two remind me of me and Claudia," before tucking into his meal, which is just as well, since it gives them a moment to get over their shock.

Stiles tries not to sputter.

Derek tries not to gape.

He has a feeling they both fail.

All in all, the dinner ends up being less awkward and stress-inducing than more than half the parties involved thought it was going to be, right up until the end, when his dad shakes Derek's hand and says, by way of goodbye, "If you hurt my son, I will kill you." A short, cutting, deadly pause, before he clarifies, "Slowly."

Derek's swallow is audible, and Stiles' cheeks are burning so bright he's pretty sure he could beat rudolph in a contest right now, if he tried. Still, his dad already knows, and it's christmas fucking eve, so Stiles pulls Derek in before he can leave entirely, kisses his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, his lips, says, "I love you, idiot," and, "he'll also kill you if you don't get me an awesome present," to which his father provides amused, but loyal, support, and, "drive safe."

After Derek is gone, Stiles' dad asks, "Does he make you happy?"

And Stiles rambles in the vehement affirmative until his father envelops him in his arms and says, "Okay," like that was all he needed.

The next day, Stiles finds out that his dad now has Derek's phone number, and they're almost certainly finding comfort in each other, ranting about Stiles' crazy. He also finds out that the Stilinski house is going to host the Pack's christmas party, and that his dad's gotten presents for every single member of the Pack, which is...

Honestly, after everything they've been through to get to this point, after all the struggle it had taken to get the sheriff comfortable around all this supernatural stuff in the first place? well, this is five hundred miles in the right direction.

The way Derek turns into a puddle of sunshine-goo whenever his dad calls him son is just the cherry on top.

So is the key to Derek's loft, tied in a crimson, snowflake embroidered, bow.

"At least I know how to use the front door," Stiles teases laughingly, but only manages to love his Sourwolf all the more the next time he ends up leaning out of the window, watching the man scale down his house and blow a jaunty kiss before running off into the distance.

Oh, well; we all have our things.

Let the old ladies gossip.

[connywrites]

of flesh and blood 8

start - part [7] and earlier

“Detective Reed’s been acting strange lately,” Jeffrey said with confusion and shook his head, before letting out an amused ‘heh’ of surprise.

“But he’s gotten more work done since…” leaning forward, he adjusted his glasses to squint at the files.

“Since he started working at the DPD.” Hank stood with his arms folded, eyes narrowing with a skeptical gaze and a slow nod.

“Does Connor help you like that?” His voice was genuinely curious as he turned back to Hank, looking up at him.

“Help, sure. Train? Not a chance,” he said gruffly with a chuckle.

“Androids training people… and to think it worked,” Fowler said with disbelief.

“Huh. A human sure as hell couldn’t do it.” They shared another moment of laughter, something they hadn’t done in long enough neither of them would remember.

“How’s the case going, Anderson?” Hank sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“I hate to say it, but I’m too old for this. How about retirement, huh?” Fowler raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Twelve more years, Hank.” Tilting his head back, the younger of the two groaned long and hard.

“Oh, I know, poor baby,” Jeffrey mused, returning his attention to his paperwork.

“Go entertain yourself. Take an early lunch, hell, it’s been a slow day anyway.” All Hank’s exaggerated self-deprecation left him in one fell swoop as he looked sincerely surprised.

“Gavin doin’ so good you’re in a generous mood, huh?” Fowler paused, then huffed, but couldn’t help the smile.

“Half my load is off my shoulders. I might take my wife to dinner tonight.” Brows raised, Hank gave him another long stare, then accepted the offer before Fowler changed his mind.

“There’s a wine tasting on friday. Not your thing, I know, but it’s at the brewery.” Turning his head, Hank looked at him quizzically.

“Wanna come? I’ll buy you a few.” Hank chortled.

“Jesus. Okay. You gonna smile at me like that the whole time?”

“No way,” he said swiftly.

“Then you’d get used to it. I can’t have that.”

-

“I would like a pay raise. Seventeen cents is a fair increase, considering I haven’t had one in the past two years.” Gavin knew he slipped with the last bit of snark, but it kept Fowler’s attention, and that was all that mattered.

“Oh, you want a reward for your good deeds?” Jeffrey shook his head.

“I’ll see about it at the next board meeting. Bring your best outfit,” he said pointedly, acknowledging the fact Gavin stood next to him in a crisp white button-up, bronze tie and a pair of jeans that looked new.

“And leave the android at home, you know the rules.”

“Yes sir.” Turning away, Gavin was gone in a flash without so much as a dismayed glare.

-

“Connor.” The android turned on his heel as he heard his name, straightening his posture attentively.

“Yes, Detective?”

Inclining his head, Gavin held out his hand.

Connor stared at it.

“Goddammit, don’t make me spell it out for you,” he muttered before immediately catching himself and straightening out, lifting his head once he remembered to keep his posture upright.

“Er. Sorry.“ Connor blinked, confused, but unwavering.

"Truce.” The android’s eyebrows shifted with an unidentifiable expression in response.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve been ordered not to interfere with personnel or cases that aren’t my own. I won’t be carrying my pistol during office hours anymore.” Connor looked surprised, then confused, then grateful, pausing in place before stiffly reaching forward to take his hand with a firm grip and two shakes.

“I appreciate that,” Connor responded gingerly. The part of him that told himself androids can’t appreciate was immediately silenced; clearly, they could do much more than he’d ever given them credit for.

“Have a good rest of the day, Reed.”

“You too.”

-

“Welcome home, detective.”

The creeping tingle crawled up his spine as he saw the android waiting as soon as he’d opened the door again, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times to make sure it was real.

Of course it was.

“We are going to open another chapter tonight, but I acknowledge that it is the hour of which you usually have coffee, so I will allow you that freedom first.” Gavin stared, jaw dropped with his mouth agape, but as was coming to be routine, he remained verbally unresponsive. RK900 seemed content he was learning to shut up, eyes following his every move as he sleepily shuffled to the kitchen, already feeling the kick in his ass from cutting down the caffeine. Against his will, of course.

Wasting no time, he poured the grounds into the basket and the water into the basin, slamming it shut with more strength than he’d intended to use as he turned on the coffeemaker. Listening to it gurgle, he could feel the android hovering nearby, disgusted at the fact he was made to feel uncomfortable in his own home. Once the coffee was finished, he poured it into a cup, pouring in a gracious amount of sugar and milk before turning to go sit on his couch, only to be stopped in place as he was startled to see the android standing right in front of him. Silently, he nodded towards the couch in gesture for the android to move.

“Gavin.” He lifted his brows, staring at it under heavy eyelids as he wasn’t sure what it was looking for.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”

“Forgotten what?” He couldn’t help the snark in his voice, but a quick pinch in his side reminded him; this time, it was entirely imagined, muscle memory from their interactions before.

“Ignoring the oxymoron in that phrase, I don’t think I have to tell you twice.” Gavin bit his lip, eyes shifting to the side as he internally contemplated exactly how badly he wanted to go sit on his couch after all. After a few seconds of standing, he decided to omit the request, vision veering back to the android as he took a sip of his coffee.

“What did you wanna talk about, Nines?” Using its nickname as a friendly moniker was a bit strange now that he was in an entirely different situation, deciding he might simply stop using it entirely.

“Do you know why you call me sir?” Gavin dreaded the question he couldn’t even guess a response to.

“You see androids as beings incapable of sentience or emotion. Humanity, as seems to be the buzzword these days. In all technicality, I am but a sexless device constructed of hardware and programming that emulates similar sensations to what you experience. Can it be as exact as biological processing? No. Does that mean humans have an easy time keeping up with the difference as their nature ironically causes them to empathize to inanimate objects to the degree they think of it the same? Definitely not.” It didn’t expect Gavin to follow what it said word-for-word, but the point was put across well enough.

“I don’t care for linguistic pronouns. He, she, it, they… that does not matter. But as I was built to take on a culturally masculine appearance, I will step into the position as I am seen to be, and you will do the same in respecting me as that.” It cast a leering glare down at Gavin, an easy behavior as their heights were a decent foot apart.

“Do you know what that means, Gavin?” Gavin looked exhausted.

“That means no more household appliance nicknames or other various inanimate object references. You will see me as a person, and a greater person than you.”

Gavin felt himself stiffen in place, a reaction that was now occurring more often than he was comfortable with. The desire to call the android out bubbled to his tongue, but never left his mouth.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” This had become relatively easier than it originally anticipated. A few days made a world of difference, it seemed, and continued to pave the path for improvement. Soon enough, Gavin could be an attentive, fully-functioning, well-mannered human – and throw the rest of the world for a loop, as he’d already proven to commence.

“Can I get into my pajamas?” Weird question, and he tried not to show the embarrassment he felt from asking, nearly forgetting how fresh it was.

“No.” Gavin blinked, looking baffled, scoffing and holding back a sarcastic laugh. The RK900 smiled, and he sneered.

“The f—” clearing his throat, he readjusted his posture, almost subconsciously with the reminder to keep his language more precise.

“…Why not?”

“I would prefer you to sleep in boxers. I suppose sweatpants if you’re cold.” The familiar humiliation tinged his cheeks as he swallowed down half the cup of his coffee. Shirtless tied to a chair, sleeping in less than he’d worn in his usual routine…what next, it’ll follow him into the shower? Considering the possibility was more than enough to deter him.

“Why?”

“What did I tell you about asking questions?” Pursing his lips, he finished his coffee, closing his eyes again.

“Fine. Let me shower and get undressed.” He hadn’t thought twice, but his subconscious lead him to wince, before he found himself surprised not to get some kind of pain response. He certainly hadn’t done right by the android, so what gives?

“Alright,” it said complacently, confusing him further; but as he was asked, he didn’t inquire about it. The android stepped aside, and after finishing the cup, Gavin tentatively stepped forward to walk past it.