#but i appreciate he and another aunt reached out to apologize

[bonafidehero]

I hate how I grieve sometimes. I know it happened, but I haven't actually accepted it yet, and I probably wont for another six months to a year, if my track record is to stay the same. Which I feel always causes me more trauma in the end and even though I know I'm doing it I can't seem to stop myself.

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Blooming Showers

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: A split-second decision leads to a night full of changes

Word Count: 3610

Warnings: Angst with some fluff at the end, little use of Y/N, assigned nickname towards the end, distrust, anger, wound/mention of blood, anxiety, racing thoughts, friends-to-lovers

A/N: This is definitely my longest piece I’ve written in a really long time. I started watching TASM with my cousin and friends and immediately fell in love with Andrew Garfield all over again so I NEEDED to write something. This isn’t smutty but I kind of want to do a part two thats smutty and angsty

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

Rain softly padded against the window, causing the lights from outside to cast soft shadows, the lights from passing cars making those shadows dance. It was quiet, almost serene in New York - the sirens were few a far between tonight, and distant as well, the occasional coo of a bird trying to find shelter - there were no kids running down the fire escape trying to sneak out, no couples in petty arguments that shook through the thin walls.

Nights like this were few and far in-between, where for a few minutes you were able to fall in love with your city all over again, and you were able to remember every reason why you wanted to be here. 

The only thing that would've made the night better would have been seeing Peter, your lifelong best friend, and partner-in-chaos. Your phone lit up occasionally with messages from him, apologizing over and over for missing another scheduled movie night. 

It wasn't the end of the world, Aunt May needed help with something so you understood, but it still stung. This was the 4th one this year he'd miss. You understood when there was a foot of snow on the ground, and when midterms then finals week came, but it had felt like since graduation two weeks ago that Peter had been avoiding you. 

Trying not to dwell on the sinking feeling was hard, so many changes were happening and your brain was becoming more and more hyper-aware that more changes were bound to come. Graduation may overall be a good thing, opening up new opportunities and finally not having to worry about classes you'd never use a day in your adult life, but it also meant that you were about to start a new chapter of life. 

In an attempt to stop the racing thoughts, you decided Fuck Peter for missing your movie night and decided to watch a movie anyways. Pressing play on an old favorite, you left the comfort of your bed to grab some snacks from the kitchen. 

Ten minutes. That's all you were gone, but in those ten minutes, the city's beloved vigilante slid your window open, practically tumbling off of the fire escape and onto the floor. He did his best to avoid your bed, not wanting to soak it in the rain or the blood that was on him. 

There was a cut through his suit, not deep but enough to nick the skin and have scarlet drops dripping down. He reached for a towel that had been carelessly discarded by you earlier in the night, haphazardly tying his cut up with his free hand and then pulling his mask off. 

Peter's breaths were rugged, head now leaned back against your bed as he tried to calm himself from the adrenaline rush of the near-death experience he just had. Sure, he only had a cut and a few bruises to show for it, but he knew deep down without his enhanced sense he surely would have been dead. He hadn't even processed the split-second decision he made to go to your apartment instead of Aunt May's house. 

It wasn't until your shrill scream, the sound of the snacks hitting the floor that Peter's eyes flew open, looking at you as if he had just been caught committing a crime. His eyes were wide, realizing at that very moment the weight of his actions and inactions for the past several years. He didn't dare move, only a breathy sigh of your name leaving his lips. 

Your brain moved quickly once you realize that the intruder sitting on your floor was Peter… Your Peter, dressed in a red and blue skin-tight suit, holding a mask, with your towel wrapped around his arm. There had to be a reasonable explanation. 

"Peter?" You knew it was him, but your brain was still attempting to come up with some explanation as to why he was dressed as Spider-Man. 

You quickly grabbed the stuff you had dropped, putting it on the bed and kneeling next to him. "Peter, what the fuck is going on?"

He stared at you, blinking a few times and not sure what to say. He knew there was a lot he needed to say, a lot that needed to be explained but he didn't know where to start. He's been lying to you about a part of himself for years now. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed out, breaths still shaky. 

You now realized the towel was covering a cut, the smell of iron mixed with city rain present in your nose. "Shit, what the fuck. Are you okay? What the hell is going on?" 

He nodded, "I've been worse," he mumbled. "I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me." He leaned his head back against your bed again, taking a heavy breath in. 

That was the worst thing he could have said to you. Don't worry, at this point, you were worried and confused about everything. 

"Peter, you're my best friend, you know I love you, but if I do not get an answer as to what is going on in the next minute I am kicking your ass and calling May."

His eyes opened, looking over at you. The look of regret and hurt was evident, "I'm so sorry," he said, barely moving. His body ached but his heart was aching more as he watched the expressions on your face change the more you noticed and pieced things together, "I should've told you but I was scared you'd get hurt."

"Peter, what should you have told me?" Your voice was betraying you, breaking and quivering as you attempted to be firm. 

"I- I'm Spider-Man, I've always been. That's- Something happened tonight and I had to go help-"

"So you've been lying to me for 5 years now?"

He went silent and all he could muster was a small nod. 

"You've been hiding this from me for 5 years? Peter - I - we tell each other everything. If you've been lying about this, then what else are you fucking lying about?"

The hurt in your voice was evident. It was more like betrayal, and distrust, and it wrenched his heart and gut. The silence lingered as you started piecing more and more together. 

Five years. For five whole years, through your senior year of high school and the entirety of your college career, you spent attached at the hip to Peter Benjamin Parker - and he had been lying to you about a pivotal part of his life. 

In hindsight, finding out Peter had been Spider-Man all this time made a lot of things make sense. Five years’ worth of last-minute cancellations, questionable excuses, black eyes, and bruises. 

There was your senior prom. Aunt May was so excited that Peter and you were going together, she had always joked and wished the two of you would end up as more than friends. "Just memories for your wedding one day", she would say. 

Everything leading up to prom was great. Peter went dress shopping with you, he got a tie to match the color of your dress, Aunt May made sure the two of you had a matching boutonniere and corsage, he even took you to and from your appointments the day of prom.

However, an hour into prom itself he had to leave hurriedly, frantically coming up with an excuse of not feeling good when moments prior you had just finished taking pictures and laughing at the cheesy poses. 

That one stung, but you never admitted it, at least not to him. Peter had insisted you stay behind, spend time with other friends and he'd see you the next day. You're not even sure if he knows you left 20 minutes after he did, heartbreaking and feeling stupid for hoping Aunt May could be right. 

The summer between your senior year of high school and your freshman year of college was filled with last-minute cancellations. 

Since you were kids, specifically since second grade every Friday night was movie night and a sleepover. Even as you grew into teenagers Aunt May and your parents worked out an arrangement they could both be comfortable with to let you two continue your little tradition. But that summer every single one was canceled or Peter would leave early. 

For weeks you were convinced Peter no longer wanted to be friends with you, that somehow, some way you upset him and he hated you. Until a week before college started and he called you out of the blue for coffee and school shopping. 

Suddenly, things seemed normal again. Aunt May's house was close enough that Peter would go home for the weekend, and you would usually just follow along for Friday and then head back to your dorm Saturday. You'd meet up to study a few times a week or go run errands together, you were even back to gaming together once a week. 

So, you figured that Peter's sudden change in behavior could have been from his break up with Gwen. You knew he didn't take it easy when she ended things after finding out she was accepted into Oxford. You couldn't blame her really, but you weren't happy to see Peter's heart breaking. He talked about it some, but his eyes would always tell you more than he actually would. 

Of course, Peter would bail occasionally throughout college, but a lot of it made sense. He forgot about a project due or was just plain tired from working part-time and doing school. 

The part that never made sense though were the bruises and scratches. Peter always had an excuse; got hurt in the lab, fell skateboarding, hurt himself helping Aunt May. But at the end of the day, that's all they were; Excuses. 

Peter reached out to you, the touch of his cold hand bringing you back from your racing thoughts. "I…I know I shouldn't have hid it, (Y/N), I'm sorry I did. There was so much going on, so many threats and I- I just didn't want you to get hurt. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if you got hurt."

Tears began to prick your eyes, instantly jumping away from his touch, the feeling of dread and distrust sinking deeper into you with the singular move.  "And what if you got hurt? How do you expect me to live with myself if you died?" Your voice was still shaky, fear now starting to fill in the gaps between each emotion. 

Your eyes wandered to the towel he had tied around himself, blood beginning to seep through. "Peter," you reached for his arm but he grabbed your hand, stopping you and making you look him in the eyes. 

"I'm okay, I promise. It'll heal quickly, just needed to stop the blood… I'll buy you a new towel." His voice was soft, his gaze never leaving yours. 

"I'm not worried about the stupid towel, Peter." You sighed, "I- How could you have hidden this from me for so long?" You asked again, this time much more upset than angry. 

Peter let out a shaky breath, his body finally starting to come down from the adrenaline and the full weight of his actions set in. "(Y/N), I mean it when I say I wanted to tell you," his voice was sincere, still holding onto your hand that had reached for his cut, "But I was more worried about your safety and making sure you wouldn't prioritize worrying about me over the rest of your life. The only person alive that knows is Harry. I never told anyone else, Aunt May doesn't even know."

It still hurt that Peter never told you, but it was starting to make sense, "How does Aunt May not know?" 

Peter shrugged, offering you a soft chuckle, "You know she only sees and hears what she wants to. I never told her, but I'm also shocked she hasn't figured it out."

Peter gave you a look that made you know he was truly sorry, lower lip pouted out some, eyes big and wide, almost looking like a kicked puppy. "I know I have a lot to explain to you, and I know I need to rebuild your trust in me, but I need you to understand that I am really sorry for hiding it for this long. I've wanted to tell you since it all started, but I was told that it could put everyone around me in danger if they knew so I didn't want anyone to find out."

As much as you hated it, you did understand it. Giving him a soft nod, you let go of his hand instead of moving to rake your hand through his hair to get it out of his face. "I understand, but I don't like it."

"You don't like anything that doesn't go your way," he teased with a soft laugh, quickly earning a glare from you that made him laugh more. "I'll also explain everything once I'm not still soaked and healing." He said, motioning to his arm. 

You nodded, "Did you wanna go take a shower? I can make some food or order takeout."

Peter thought for a moment then nodded. He unwrapped his arm, looking at the little scratch that was left behind from the wound he had not even 20 minutes prior. "Yeah, yeah let me go shower… do yo-"

"I'll put your clothes and a clean towel by the sink for you once you're in the shower. I'll also take your suit and the towel you have and throw it in the wash, okay? You just go get cleaned up while I find us some food."

Peter nodded, giving you a quick hug and kiss on the forehead before disappearing from your room. It took you a moment, immediately sitting down on the bed, attempting to process everything. 

Your best friend of 15 years is Spider-Man. Your favorite person is your favorite superhero. Your best friend has lied to you to be able to go save people. Your best friend could have died, and has probably almost died countless times.

To say it was a lot to take in was an understatement.

You could hear the shower start running in the room next to yours, the sound thankfully pulling you from your spiraling thoughts and panic. As you moved through the apartment, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and collecting some spare clothes Peter had left behind at your place before, the emotions started to make sense. 

Yes, it did hurt that Peter had hidden this, but his reasoning made sense. The hurt that you couldn't shake was how many times you could have lost him. He could have been dead on top of a skyscraper, no one able to discover his body with how high up he is, and you would've been none the wiser. Or if he died on the streets and eventually was unmasked you'd be left to mourn with the rest of the world instead of being able to process the loss of your other half in private. You'd be learning and losing so much so quickly. You'd be lost in a pool of emotions so chaotic it would make this moment seem calm. 

Peter was back in your room about 20 minutes later, the pizza fresh out of the oven and sitting on the bed with you. You were looking at the TV, not really watching the forgotten movie you put on. As much as you tried to not let your thoughts continue to run wild, your brain didn't want to listen. 

He moved the pizza to the closest surface and sat on your bed, immediately pulling you in for a hug when he saw the lost look on your face. Your mind felt like it was a broken record, spinning fast but on repeat. 

"What's going through your head?"

There was no reason to reiterate the same thing you had told him earlier. You pulled off of him, sighing deeply before giving him a small smile, "A lot, but I'll be okay."

He nodded, "So… movie night? I definitely owe you one."

You nodded, looking up at the screen momentarily, your gaze being pulled to your phone as a new news alert popped up about Spider-Man. You didn't bother checking it, but you're brain did finally click the two puzzle pieces together fully that Peter is Spiderman. 

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes and a slight pout, "You're fucking Spider-Man," your tone was accusatory which caught him off guard, a slow nod all he was able to offer before you continued, "You have let me tell you for years that I'm in love with Spider-Man. That I would marry this person I thought I'd never meet. That's so embarrassing!" You whined at the end. 

Peter chuckled, a blush on his features and his hand going to mess with the back of his head. "Yeah… you finally realize that means you've been saying you're in love with me for like… 4ish years now?" He teased. 

It was a joke. It was just banter which was typical for Peter. He was always teasing, playful, and borderline flirty with you. But that statement rang a little too true. You froze, movements and breath seemingly paused, and Peter quickly noticed that your heart rate quickened. 

It wasn't the first time that happened around him. He's noticed countless times before how your skin would heat up and your heart rate would increase when he complimented you. He even noticed when he would do something, only sometimes accidentally, that would turn you on. Peter, not wanting to ruin your friendship or make you uncomfortable, never acted on it though. 

"You okay, daisy?" It was a nickname he didn't use often, but one that he's called you forever. It held a special place for him, a reminder of some of his first memories of you - flower hair pins and daisy doodles all over your school papers. It was also a term that usually had you flustered and stumbling. 

"You finally realize I've been in love with you longer than that?" 

Now it was Peter's turn to freeze, taking a moment to make sure he heard you right. He watched as you squirmed some, re-situating yourself and pulling at your clothes, heart rate quickening and eyes avoiding his. 

It made sense really, but he couldn't believe it. Peter has had a crush on you since your 5th-grade school dance where you wore a dress your parents let you pick out, so you were beaming with pride and excitement. He remembers you spending the night at Aunt May's after, staying up all night eating snacks and playing video games. 

Every day since he's made himself believe there was no way you'd like him back. Peter believed you were far out of his league, and even if that wasn't true he was too scared of losing you to take the risk of pursuing something more. 

"How long?" Maybe that wasn't the right response but he wanted to know, felt like he needed to know. 

"Longer than I can remember," you responded, breath shaky, "I can't lose you, Peter… I - Spider-Man or not, I can't lose you. And you coming in tonight, wounded and dropping a massive secret like that on me - Peter, you really scared me. I love you and losing you would kill me."

"You're not gonna lose me," his voice was soft.

"Don't make any promises you can't keep," you could feel the tears starting to form. 

Peter moved to you, his large hands coming to cup your face and make you look at him. "I'm not making a promise I can't keep. You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not because of being Spider-Man, not ever."

He waited for you to blind away your tears, using his hands to squish your cheeks in an attempt to cheer you up a little. Once he got a soft laugh out of you, he broke out into a smile. "I love you," he said firmly, "I'm in love with you. I have been since we were kids." He confessed to you. "So I mean it, I'm not going anywhere."

Peter watched your eyes get wide as you processed what he said, feeling your skin heat up under his hands, "Can I kiss you?" His voice was soft and airy. 

A slight nod was all he needed before he pressed his lips to yours. It was intense and soft and sweet, everything and anything all at once. Butterflies erupted from low in your belly and vibrated your chest. His chapped lips moved in sync against your bite-swollen lips, sending waves of electricity and emotions down your spine and through every nerve. 

He pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours as the both of you caught your breaths. His hands fell from your face, searching for your own hands. "I know I have a lot to explain, I have a lot of work to do to make you feel secure and know I'll be here, but I'll do whatever it takes, daisy, I promise." 

She huffed out a small laugh, pulling away and nodding, "Thank you, Petey," you pressed another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away fully, giggling at the almost shocked look he had on his face, "Looks like we both have a lot to get used to." Your gaze softened some, "No more secrets?"

Peter laughed as well, grabbing your hands and bringing them to his lips, presently multiple kisses to them. "No more secrets

[autumnsnuggling]

"Sorry's Not Good Enough"

Thinking about Harry growing up hearing ‘Sorry’s not good enough’ and just learning it’s pointless to apologise, as it’s just spat back in your face anyway. 

Thinking about him really struggling to apologise to people, and mainly doing so by buying people gifts or making reconciliation gestures of some kind. 

Thinking of him building a relationship with Draco, who, for all his family’s faults, always taught him the importance of apologising to the people you love.

Thinking about Draco getting more and more frustrated when, no matter what, Harry doesn’t outright apologise for things. He changes his behaviour, sure, but it still stings and reinforces old stereotypes — the golden boy, too high and mighty to consider how a lowly ex-death eater feels. And what stings more is that everytime they fight, Draco makes sure to apologise to Harry. 

Thinking about it all coming to a head after they have a stupid fight about something that doesn’t even matter, and Draco’s still a little too amped-up. When he apologises and Harry graciously accepts, saying it’s okay, Draco just sighs, the spark of annoyance reigniting in his chest instantly. Thinking about Harry just flinching, trying to shrug it off, appease Draco in some way, whilst fighting off the shame his Aunt and Uncle drowned him in as a child. Thinking about everything ramping all the way back up until they’re both yelling at each other again, and Draco just leaves, screaming about how he knew Saint Potter could never truly value a death eater as a friend. 

Thinking about Harry destroying his house until all he could do was curl into a ball and sob. 

A day goes by, then another, and then a few more, until it’s been over a week of silence on both their sides. Harry knows Draco’s waiting for him; understands he needs to reach out first and explain. Except he wouldn’t be able to, not really. He was never good with words like that. So instead, he listens to his therapist, and chooses vulnerability.

Draco knows bits about his family by now, so, after a few anxious turns around the house, he extracts a few memories of Vernon and Petunia hissing the phrase at him, and attaches it to an owl with a simple note: ‘I can’t say it, but I am. I hope you understand.’

Thinking about Draco putting off watching the memory, just to be a bit of a drama queen, and then apparating to Harry’s the moment he’s seen everything, grabbing Harry in a hug. Thinking about him murmuring over and over that he’s so sorry, he should have realised, he knew Harry was sorry anyway, he’s much to Gryffindor to not be so ‘sickeningly sappy’. Thinking of Harry clinging to him, crying just a little, yet feeling able to breathe for the first time in a week. 

Thinking about Draco learning to appreciate Harry’s unspoken apologies, acknowledging them for what they are, and always reassuring him that an apology is always good enough for him.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter One.

Oh guys, when I tell you I was touched beyond words at how this was received by you all. I have been sitting here squeaking with joy at your lovely reviews! If I have missed anybody out in my thank you notes, please take my humble apology and know that I appreciate you so much for taking the time to both read and offer feedback.

Okay, so on with the first chapter, then. You'll notice here that my imagination weaves with canon to make some slight changes, such as giving the boy's (and Ada's) mother a name, also I wrote John only to have one child with his late wife. It made sense to me, not having to pull focus from the plot too much by having to characterise four little ones on top of everything else.

So yes, here we are, then. I think I'm going to choose Thursday as our update day and keep it to once a week posting. Those who know me of old know that I often like to throw in a little surprise update sometimes, though! Once again, thank you so much for the feedback, and I truly hope you continue to enjoy it :)

Previous chapters - Prologue

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,057

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“John?”  

He was still in a daze as he entered the back room, seeing Polly lift her gaze from the paper she read in front of the crackling hearth, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re bloody white as a sheet. If you’re about to be sick, go back outside. I’ve neither the desire nor patience for mopping up the contents of your stomach.”  

“Nah, I’m... I’m alright, Pol,” he began, his voice just as vacant as the expression upon his face, the toothpick between his lips practically dangling.  

She wasn’t convinced by his statement, placing the paper upon the arm of the chair and rising to her feet. “John, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you...” She sniffed his breath, her mouth down turning as she scoffed, “and you stink like a brewery floor. What did Tommy say, eh, about getting in this state. Look at you!”  

Her admonishment barely even landed; John still in a state of shock at what he’d witnessed, his eyes flitting to the table. Whiskey. Yes.  

Polly’s gaze followed. “No. There’ll be no more of that. You’ve had enough.”  

Finally, he moved, side stepping his aunt as he reached for the bottle, uncorking it rapidly and drinking from it directly. “Believe me, Pol. After what I just saw, all the fucking whiskey in Ireland ain’t enough.”  

She folded her arms, watching as he crashed down in the chair opposite the one she’d been comfortably sitting in. “Well, you don’t look hurt. Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad.” 

“Not for me, but...” he began, taking another swig of the golden liquid within his grasp, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as his eyes found hers, “for the fella outside missing his head, I can’t say the same.”  

“You bloody what, John Shelby?” Her voice rose like a siren, Polly’s authoritative boom filling the space. “A Rasmussen, I take it? And since when have you been in the habit of lopping off heads and leaving the evidence all over the bloody street? Holy shit, you boys will be the death of me!”  

She then studied him a little closer. No blood. He'd have been covered in more than just a fine misting of crimson, should he have removed somebody of their head. It also wasn’t John’s style, as far as despatching of an enemy went. He was a gangster, not a barbarian. She wouldn’t have even pegged his elder brothers for such acts, and their bloodlust far exceeded John’s. Her statement was about to be recanted when her nephew offered his reply.  

“No, not me. I didn’t do fuck all!” he corrected, gulping back more whiskey, the shock starting to soften as his muscles began to unclench, one by one. “It weren’t me, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I’ve just seen out there.”  

“Is that so?” she charged, moving swiftly to stand beside his chair. “Try me.”  

He pointed his index finger towards the door, his eyes rounding once more as he relived it in his mind. “A woman, a fucking woman in a white dress, covered in blood, moving faster than I could see. She fucking... grabbed this fella, right, like he was a kiddie’s doll, bit into his neck, and then ripped his fucking head off. I ain’t lying to ya. I swear on my soul, that’s what I saw. She had these teeth, teeth like a fucking wolf.” 

Polly lifted her chin, a wave of cold dread sloshing through her insides. She knew exactly what John had seen, but could scarcely believe it. They were back. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”  

His eyes narrowed, leaning forward in his seat. Her answer, it had been a little too swiftly delivered. “You believe me, don’t you? You know what she was.” 

“I said go to bed.” 

“I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what the fuck that thing outside was.” Yes, Polly could be firm, but so could her nephew. It was a trait that ran strongly through the Shelby blood. She sighed, her shoulders dropping, striding to the cabinet and fetching two glasses.  

“Pour.” John met her instruction wordlessly, tipping the whiskey into the glasses she held, taking the other from her. Polly sank into her seat, sipping her whiskey and pulling a cigarette from the case beside her, lighting up. “Your great-grandmother used to call them the shadow walkers, but it’s only since that Bram Stoker fellow wrote his novel that there’s been a commonly known name for them. That woman you saw, John, she wasn’t human. She was a vampire.”  

John was baffled, and his face showed it. “But they ain’t real. I’ve heard of that book you’re on about, Dracula, isn’t it? They... they’re fiction.” 

A light snort sounded from Polly’s nose, her cigarette glowing as she took a fierce drag upon it. “Most people think that they are. They think of them as nothing more than monsters of make-believe, dreamed into existence by the imagination of a brilliant novelist.” Pausing, she smirked darkly, sighing through her nose. “I wish to god above I was one of those people. They keep themselves very well hidden, the vampires. And who would believe it, that these blood sucking creatures of the night truly exist, eh? Seeing is believing, though, and by god, John. I wish you hadn’t seen her. Those things, they’re evil incarnate.” 

“She saved me life,” he admitted, eyebrows rising a fraction. “That man, and apparently three mates of his, they were all waiting for me. The one missing his head was Samuel Rasmussen. She knew him by name.”  

Polly cocked her head slightly. “What did she say to you?”  

“Not much,” he sniffed, sipping his drink. “Said what I’ve just told you, then said my blood smelled like earth and fire, other things an’ all but I forget what. Oh, and that I was the most beautiful creature she’d seen in a long time.” 

She smiled, nodding slightly. “Well, she got that part right. You take after your mother in that respect.” It never ceased to amaze her, just how much John resembled Thora, her late sister-in-law. His blue eyes, lily skin and auburn hair came straight from her. “I’m warning you now, though. What she did for you won’t have been out of sheer magnanimity, oh no. There’ll be a reason behind it, and whatever that reason is, I am telling you, John, you’ll want for no part in it.” 

He smirked, feeling a little more himself. “What if the reason is that she just wants to fuck me?” 

Immediately, he found his ear clipped. “Fucking hell, Pol!” 

“Take something seriously for once in your fucking life!” 

He rubbed the side of his head, chewing aggressively on his toothpick. “I bloody am.” 

Her snort dripped in sarcasm “Like fuck, you are. You’d want throwing right into the loony bin if you even contemplated that, you bloody daft boy!” She remained forward in her seat, her dark eyes fixing him in an unbreakable stare. “Don’t trust her, not even for a second, or it’ll be your head ripped off your shoulders and left out for the coppers to find next. You hear me?” 

“You make it sound like I’m going to see her again,” he mused, swirling the whiskey around within the glass tumbler before sinking it.  

“You will,” she assured, her tone bitter. “You will see her again, because like I said, they don’t do anything without good reason to, those creatures. But you’ll be prepared. Carry a silver knife and get up to the church sharpish, fill a little bottle with holy water from the font. When weaponised, silver will kill her and the water will burn. And whatever you do, John, never, ever invite her into this house. She can’t get in unless she’s invited.”  

He had to wonder how, exactly, Polly had such a wealth of knowledge over them. “Have you ever met one before? You talk like you know them of old.” 

“No, thank god, but your great-grandmother Boswell, she had. Those campfire stories she told us as babes, we knew they weren’t fibs. We heeded her warnings. They’re drawn to gypsy blood, you see, something about it being palatable.” 

“She didn’t bite me, though,” John reasoned, Polly scoffing lightly. 

“If she’d just taken out four other fellas, she probably wasn’t hungry. That’s what they need to survive, the blood of the living. Trust me, she’ll be back, but you’ll be prepared. Stab her in her cold, dead heart and forget you ever met her. Don’t even think twice about it. We’ve got enough to be reckoning with, what with these fucking Rasmussen’s and the pile of shit they’re throwing our way. I don’t need the worry that you’re being stalked by the bloody undead on top of that.”  

“Why didn’t you mention any of this to us before?” 

Sinking her drink, she cleared her throat, reaching for the bottle. “And have you think I’d gone loopy?” Her snorted words brought a smile to John, Polly continuing. “We just don’t speak of them any longer. They’re rare, not an everyday threat. I’ve never heard hide nor hair of them since hearing nana’s stories, since I was just a young girl.”  

As the lie fell from her lips, Polly felt conflicted. She had to protect him, though. Keep the details scant. Besides, he was too drunk to take on anything else. Indeed, there was more she could have explained. She decided against it, clamping her lips between her teeth for a moment. 

“Hang on,” he spoke, frowning a little. “What did you mean, when you said undead?” 

“They aren’t alive anymore, John.” She paused, picking a little fleck of tobacco from her lip. “They walk and talk, but they’re not really living. Something about how they’re made, I don’t know the details, but yes. Undead. An enchanted corpse, basically.” 

“I dunno about enchanted, but she was enchanting,” he began, the corner of his mouth upturning. “She was bloody beautiful.” His face further softened as he remembered that feeling of magic lingering in the air between he and her, the pull to her, her essence shining like the brightest star within a pitch-black sky.  

“John, no. Absolutely fucking not.” Her pointed finger only momentarily wiped the growing smirk from his handsome features. “I mean it, do not even consider a fucking dalliance with a bloody vampire!”  

He shrugged slightly. “I’ve took worse to bed.” 

“John!” Her acerbic bite of his name had him in soft fits, the whiskey seeming to do the trick in placating the fear he’d felt at the time, now he was no longer in peril. “Your fucking face when you walked in here not ten minutes ago, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I was surprised your trousers were still dry, you looked that afraid!” 

“Bloody hell, Pol. I was only pulling your leg,” he laughed, rising from his seat. “Don’t worry, I ain’t stupid. I’m going to bed. Maybe all of this is just a drunken dream, I dunno.” Suddenly, her foot shot out, kicking him in the shin. “Ow, what the fuck?” 

“Did that feel like a dream to you?” 

“No, it feels like it’s gonna be a whacking great bruise on me leg!” 

She smirked, entertained at herself. “Good, might have knocked a bit of sense into you. Goodnight, love.” 

“Yeah, night, Pol.” 

He departed for the stairs, ambling up quietly so as not to wake Finn, entering his room and shivering upon the removal of his coat. His stripping of clothes into long johns and a vest was done at speed, diving under the bed covers and burrowing beneath the many woollen blankets. He hated that his room was the farthest from the chimney breast, meaning the heat didn’t ever reach the room where he could see his breath clouding through the darkness, it was so bitterly chilly.  

The knocking through of the three houses that allowed for their once illegal bookmaking endeavours to be run from the Watery Lane properties meant one large communal home, Tommy and Arthur’s abodes flanking the three, John remaining within the house he’d been born in twenty-eight years previously. It was the home he and his late wife had lived in, before he’d sadly lost her four years previously. 

Closing his eyes, he felt the pull of sleep tug at him, drifting off into dreamless slumber, awoken the following morning by the sound of the milkman’s cart doing the morning deliveries. Oh, his head. He needed tea and jam slathered toast, and quickly. Heading downstairs, he warmed enough water to have a wash and shave, combing his hair and returning to pull on a suit, opening the front door to take the milk in off the front step.  

“Morning, Mr Shelby.” 

“Morning, Jack,” he called back to the milkman, his cart paused, John turning to see a throng of people gathered a little further down the lane. “What’s all that about?”  

“Some kids found a headless body down by number six, so I’ve been told. The bobbies are on their way. Shocking business for a Wednesday morning, I can tell you!”  

John’s heart skipped on a beat as the night before rushed back over his neurons. He truly hadn’t been dreaming. “Blimey,” he began, feigning something as close to shock as he could, craning his neck a little further, able to make out the figures of his elder brother’s there surveying the scene, the local constabulary appearing right at the bottom of the lane. “Wonder how he ended up headless?”  

Jack lit a cigarette, his chest tightening as he coughed. “Might be best not to know, eh?” He paused, John seeing it, the unspoken statement there upon the milkman’s face. Grim discoveries close to a Shelby dwelling. Of course, he suspected it had something to do with him or his brothers, but Jack was much too cautious to speak it. Their reputation preceded them, after all.  

“I’ll be moving along now, Mr Shelby.” He flicked the reins, clicking his tongue. “C’mon, Beamish. Walk on.” The giant, bay shire horse snorted before continuing to the next house, Jack’s lad jumping off the back of the cart to lay the required bottles next to each door, both getting a good look at the grizzly scene as they passed it by, Tommy and Arthur having a brief chat with Sergeant Moss before walking back to meet John on the doorstep.  

The former cocked his head back in the direction of the small crowd. “Know anything about that, John? How one of our adversaries came to be missing his head almost right outside our front doors?” He’d recognised Samuel’s face as it lay wide-eyed upon the cobbles ten feet from his body, remembering him from the race meet. 

Tommy watched as his younger brother stepped back into the house, his mouth thinning. “I think we need a family meeting.” With the elders of the Shelby family assembled, cups of tea poured and cigarettes lit, John recounted the events of the night before to his brother’s, Polly interjecting with details that backed up his story. Tommy listened passively, but Arthur, well... 

His gruff laughter sounded through the air, sweeping a hand through his hair. His laughter was not mocking, though. It carried with it all the hollowness of fear. “A bloody what?”  

“Arthur, you know he’s telling the truth,” Polly stated defiantly, her eldest nephew still laughing, laughing to stop himself beginning to shake with fright. 

“What a pile of old shit! A bloody vampire, eh? Fucking hell, you two have lost your faculties if you’re expecting us to believe that!” Turning to his brother, Arthur was surprised to see Tommy completely unmoved by the story, his face unflinching, taking another drag of his cigarette.  

“Come on, Arthur,” he spoke evenly, sipping his tea. “Nobody is having you on, and you know it.” Turning to John, he placed his tea down. “This woman, John. Long, dark hair with a tattooed throat and chest?” 

He nodded a little dumbly. “Yeah, that’s her.”  

Tommy sat back again, flicking ash into the nearby ashtray with a sniff. “She’s been watching the house for a couple of weeks now.”  

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention that to anyone?” Polly charged him with, a deep frown settling between her eyebrows.  

“Speak not of the shadow walkers, lest ye bring them into the light. That’s what our dad used to say,” he revealed, Arthur scoffing immediately as he threw himself to his feet. 

“I ain’t listening to this load of old cobblers! Fucking mad, the lot of ya!”  

“Arthur, you know it’s true. You saw what I did on that night,” he reasoned softly, Arthur’s agitation winding tighter by the second as he paced the flagstones. “It’s time to face up to what happened.” 

“What night?” John demanded lightly, looking between them. Silence followed. “One of you better give me a fucking answer.”  

Tommy paused, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more. “I’ve thought about that night here and there over the years, but never mentioned it. Dad told us not to breathe a word to anyone,” he began, Arthur making a start for the door, almost throwing it off its hinges and slamming it behind him.  

Jerking his head in his wake he raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Terrified the life out of Arthur, so much so that he pissed himself. He’s never come to terms with that he witnessed, refuses to acknowledge it ever happened at all. He can’t comprehend what he saw, what we saw on that night, when dad took us up to the Black Patch when we were nippers to visit family. Now, I don’t know how much Polly revealed to you, but they aren’t spoken about, the shadow walkers as our gypsy kin always referred to them as, but for centuries, they had a pact.  

“Gypsy blood to a vampire is what a fine wine or whiskey is to us, so for hundreds of years, vampires would guard the camps in exchange for feeding upon that blood. That was, at least, until the pact was broken. I don’t know why, and neither did our dad, but one night they returned, to hand out the punishment they felt befitting of that broken pact.  

“Our dad did perhaps the only honourable thing he ever has as a father, and got on a horse, riding us out of there to the nearest church where he hid us away until the dawn. Vampires cannot walk upon hallowed ground, nor can they stand in the daylight, lest they burn to ashes. The rest of the camp weren’t so lucky. People were attacked, only very few surviving, but in a state of dread that one day, they’d be back. I suppose that day was last night, for I highly doubt she’s acting alone.” 

John immediately stared at Polly. “Did you know all of this?” 

She nodded in confirmation. “I did.” 

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me last night?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing. 

“Because you were drunk as a lord, John. What I said was enough explanation without going into the finer details, of which I wasn’t sure you’d be able to absorb. I’m fucking surprised you comprehended even half of what I told you, to be frank.” 

John’s puzzlement was clear as it ghosted across his face, sighing as he rubbed his brow. “But it don’t make no sense. If she was here because she wanted us dead, some kind of further punishment for our kin breaking the pact, then why am I still alive? She could have had me head off, just the same as she did to Samuel fucking Rasmussen, but she didn’t.” He felt his heart flutter as he remembered how fondly she’d gazed upon him. God, she was such a beauty. 

Tommy shrugged lightly. “At a guess, I’d say she wants to rekindle the blood pact. Why she’d choose us and not one of the other families out there, well, I can’t answer that.” 

“Which means she probably wants something else from us, something greater,” a frowning Polly mused, the dread in her voice quite clear. It was a distinct change to her usual confident, self-assured tone. 

“And we’re not about to give her the chance to even broach it.” Tommy then turned to John, his eyes wide. “You’ll carry a silver knife upon your person from now on, as we all will. Her kind are not to be trusted. Killing that man, I suspect was to lure you into a false sense of security. Vampires are immortal; they have all the fucking time in the world to exact a plan. She’s biding her time.” 

“She didn’t only kill him,” John snorted, jerking his head to the right. “Coppers will find another three bodies somewhere out there soon enough.” 

Tommy rose to his feet, keen to move to his office and begin the day. “All the more reason not to trust her when she returns. Mark my words, John boy. She’ll be back. She’ll be back, I tell you, and it won’t lead to anything good.”  

All talk of vampires, blood pacts and a family history unknown to John meant that he could forget his pounding head for a short time. After his refuelling with toast and tea, he walked through to the offices, grasping the ledger and beginning to write, the space soon filling, the usual loud chaos abounding.  

Hangovers and mysterious, vampiric women aside, John’s day ended certainly more favourably than the previous. The favourite at Epson, Shamrock Pride pulled up lame in the fifth race, just as he was intended to. This netted a very tidy profit for them, John finishing his day with a spring in his step because of it.  

The Garrison for a whiskey or three? Whyever not.  

“Daddy?”  

The soft grasp of a tiny hand curled his little finger, John pausing from pulling on his overcoat to look down into the big, green eyes of his daughter, Katie carrying a book within her grasp.  

“You should be in bed, pige.” Pige. Short for pigeon, the fond pet name for his only child from his short marriage to Martha, his wife taken from him by the cruel clutches of consumption when Katie was mere baby in arms.  

Poking out her bottom lip, she proffered the book forth. The Velveteen Rabbit. It had to have been their fourth read through at that point, the book only published six months before. “Please?” 

He sighed softly through his nose. “Go on,” he spoke to his brother, “I’ll catch up with you.”  

Arthur nodded, leaving John to place his coat over the back of the fireside armchair there in the front room, adjusting his trousers as he sat, Katie scrambling onto his lap. “Right, where were we?”  

Opening the book, the cloth binding soft and velvety against his fingers, John laid the well-worn leather bookmark across Katie’s legs, stroking her strawberry blonde curls as he began to read. Ten minutes, give or take, and she would nod off with her little rosy cheeked face nestled against his chest.  

Eleven and a half minutes later, and the soft little piglet snorts of a babe in slumber filled the space, John smiling down at her. “Let’s get you up them stairs, eh, pige?” Once he’d placed her into her bed and covered her in blankets, he laid a kiss to her forehead, whispering his love before creeping out, overcoat thrown on and a cigarette lit before stepping out into the frigid night.  

Snowflakes fluttered down over the streets of Small Heath, John feeling winter tingle as his cheeks, the flames of the blast furnaces offering a roar of warmth as he passed them by, the lights of The Garrison twinkling through the inky gloom.  

“John.” 

The whisper of his name echoed through his ears, John turning, his eyes scanning for the source. Nobody. On he walked.  

“John.” 

It was louder than before this time as once again he halted, turning, looking for the female to whom the voice belonged. He almost dived out of his skin when upon his turn back, there she was.  

The vampire looked even more breathtaking to him than she had the night before. 

[jrob64]

Pet for Rent, Chapter 2/4 (The Idea)

A CS Modern AU Story

Thanks for joining me for chapter 2! Writing this story has been a bit therapeutic for me after losing my Zeke, and adopting Winston has been, too. I hope you'll stay with me for the rest of the story.

Shout out to @kmomof4 who sent Winston the ducky toy he has in the picture. His Aunt Krystal spoiled him with a welcome package the week we got him!

Thanks so much to @hookedmom. I'm lucky to have the best and most patient beta!

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Emma, Henry, Killian and Norman/Winston spend more time together. When Henry continues feeling sad about having to leave the dog at the animal shelter, Killian proposes an idea that might solve the problem.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 6821

ALSO POSTED TO Ao3 and FFN

Story begins under the cut

Emma didn’t think it was possible for four hours with a stranger to pass so quickly. Sooner than she expected, Killian was looking at his phone and announcing that it was time to return Norman to the shelter. It may have been her imagination, but it sounded like there was a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Henry took control of the dog on the walk back, giving the adults an opportunity to resume the conversation that had been ongoing throughout most of their time together. Emma watched her son handling Norman as he wandered from one side of the path to the other to explore in the tall grass and she commented, “Henry is gonna sleep good tonight.”

“I don’t doubt that. He told me he had his last game of the season this morning.”

“That, in addition to playing fetch and ‘keep away’ with Norman, and all of the running around he did with you, will have him zonking out early.” They walked on a few paces, before she added, “I want to thank you, Killian, for spending so much time with him. Since he doesn’t have a father, he doesn’t get a lot of one-on-one time with a man, so I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure. He’s a good listener and a fast learner.”

“Yeah, I kinda wish he had more games left, so he could apply what you taught him. I’m afraid he’ll forget it by next season. You’re wonderful at teaching, and very patient.”

“Thank you, Emma. I truly did enjoy it.”

“The youth league is always begging for people to coach. Maybe you could do that next year.”

Killian looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I could, if I’m still here.”

“Any idea where would you go if you decide to leave?”

“Not really, but it wouldn’t be terribly far away. I want to stay close to Liam.”

When the shelter came into sight, Henry turned around and dragged Norman back to Emma and Killian. “I had fun today. Can we do this again?”

“I’ll have to check our schedule to see when we’ll have another chance to rent Norman,” Emma answered.

Henry shook his head. “No, I mean with Norman and Killian.”

“Oh, uh,” Emma stammered, glancing at Killian, who was scratching behind his ear. “I don’t know about that, kid. This was just an accident and Killian was nice enough to make the best of the situation.”

“But Mom, he had fun, too, didn’t you, Killian?”

“What did I tell you about putting him on the spot?”

“Sorry, Killian,” Henry apologized. “But it did seem like you were having fun.”

Killian reached forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “It’s quite alright, lad, and you’re right - I had a very good time with you and your mother today. And Winston, of course.”

“You mean Norman,” Emma remarked.

“He still seems more like a Winston to me. Don’t you see the resemblance between him and England’s former Prime Minister?”

Emma took in the dog’s jutting lower jaw, drooping jowls and prominent forehead, and had to admit he did share some physical traits with Winston Churchill. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do see it.”

“Anyway, at the risk of being too forward, it would be nice to have another day with you and your boy, if you’re amenable to that, Swan.”

Emma thought for a moment, then said, “Henry, why don’t you take Norman to the end of the path and give us a minute, okay?”

He started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “Come on, Norman. Mom doesn’t want me to hear what she’s gonna say.”

Emma watched him go, her mouth agape over his comment. She heard Killian chuckle and turned to look at him.

“He’s quite a bright young man,” he laughed.

“Yeah, he’s getting too smart for his own good,” she agreed. “But he’s still a little boy and I’m a protective mom. I don’t want to promise him something that’s not going to happen, so if you’re not serious about doing this again…”

“I assure you, Emma,” he interrupted. “I wouldn’t dream of letting him down. If you’re willing to give me your contact information, I’ll send you some options and we can figure out a day that works.”

She eyed him critically for a few seconds, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression. “I know Henry would really like that.”

“Only Henry?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I have to admit, I had a really good time today, too. So, um, to answer your question, I am, how did you say it, amenable to doing it again.”

His grin made her heart do a pleasant little flip. She made sure Henry and Norman were okay while waiting for Killian to pull out his phone and start a new contact. Once he did, he handed it to her so she could add her information.

After handing it back, they began walking again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him checking the phone screen. “It’s not a fake number, by the way,” she said.

“That’s good to know,” he returned with a smirk, while typing out a text to her so she would have his info. “Is that something you’ve done before?”

“Maybe,” she replied cryptically.

“In that case, I feel honored that you gave me the real thing.”

She giggled in response, giving him a slight nudge with her elbow as they reached the end of the path.

“What did you say, Mom?” Henry asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Killian and I are going to look at our schedules to find a day that works.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted. “How about next Saturday?”

“Calm down, kid. I told you we’re going to figure it out.”

They arrived at the shelter and Killian opened the door and held it for them. David was sitting at a desk behind the counter, tapping away at the computer keyboard. He looked up with a broad smile when they entered. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Emma replied. “Thank you for allowing us to borrow Norman for the day.”

David looked between the two adults standing before him, obviously wanting more details. “Did you…all of you…get along okay?”

“Yes we did, Dave,” Killian said smugly.

There were several seconds when all they could hear was the barking of some of the dogs in the back. Finally, David sighed. “Alright, I guess I’ll just take Norman back to his cage, then.”

“Oh, uh,” Emma said, giving Killian a wink, “one of us will be in touch to schedule another day for us…all of us…to rent Norman again.”

David’s grin told them he knew exactly what that meant.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“I hear you met my future brother-in-law,” Belle said. It was Monday, and Emma had stopped at the library to return a couple of books and choose some more before her shift at the sheriff’s station.

“News travels fast.”

“Killian always eats lunch with us after church. He told us about the mix-up at the animal shelter and said he had a great time with you and Henry.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Emma said, moving to a shelf and studying the books more closely than necessary.

“He thinks very highly of you, too.”

Emma shot her a brief glance. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”

“Well,” Belle began, clearly struggling to be non-chalant, “he said you were very easy to talk to and he enjoyed your sense of humor. He also said he had fun helping Henry with his soccer skills.”

“He was really good with Henry and I, um, I liked talking to him, too. He’s supposed to contact me to figure out another time to rent Norman together. Henry asked if we could.”

“I don’t suppose you protested too much, did you?”

Emma chose a book off of the shelf and studiously perused the summary on the back. “You know I want my kid to be happy.”

Belle crossed the space between them and laid her hand over the book, garnering Emma’s full attention. “To the best of my knowledge, you’ve never once introduced your son to a man you may be interested in dating in all the years I’ve known you.”

“Wait a second…first of all, I didn’t introduce him to Henry - we met accidentally, and secondly, who says I’m interested in dating him? We’re simply planning to rent Norman together again. It’s really not a big deal, Belle.”

“If you say so, but I have to tell you that I’ve never seen Killian so animated while talking about someone. You certainly made an impression on him.”

“I’m sure I did. Dressed in old sweatpants and a hoodie, no makeup, hair a complete disaster - I was a mess.”

“He didn’t mention that. He just talked about how he enjoyed the time he spent with you and how much he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Emma could feel her face heating and knew she must be as red as the leather jacket she was wearing. She wasn’t ready to admit that she was just as eager to see him again, too.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

That evening, Emma had just finished checking over Henry’s homework and shooed him off to the shower, when her phone dinged with an incoming text. Picking it up from the kitchen counter, she couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face upon seeing Killian’s name.

K: I’m hoping this message reaches Emma Swan. If I’ve reached someone else, you can blame it on her. It was followed by a smirking emoji.

She shook her head at his ridiculousness, and decided to play along.

E: I’m afraid you’ve been misled. This Emma Swan must be a horrible person. She added a winking emoji.

It took a few seconds for the three bubbles to pop up, then she laughed out loud when she read his reply.

  K: Oh, she is a terrible, awful person to give me a fake number.

E: She’s probably not used to giving out her number to random men who just happened to rent the same dog she did.

K: That seems to be a plausible excuse. Perhaps I should forgive her.

E: Oh, you most definitely should.

K: Very well. If I’m ever fortunate enough to see her again, I shall grant her my forgiveness.

E: That’s very gentlemanly of you.

K: I’m always a gentleman.

Emma heard the clothes hamper lid slam in the bathroom, signifying that Henry was finished with his shower.

E: I need to get Henry into bed. I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so, depending on how resistant he decides to be tonight.

K: Tell him I said goodnight.

E: That will probably get him all excited and it may be longer than twenty minutes.

K: I’m willing to wait.

Emma left her phone on the sofa and went to Henry’s bedroom, where he was getting settled under the covers. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she brushed his damp bangs away from his forehead.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“You ask me that every night.”

“Yes, and half the time you’ve neglected to do it.”

“I just have to brush them again in the morning.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you, or didn’t you?”

He sighed dramatically. “I did. Wanna smell my breath to make sure?”

“Not particularly. I believe you. Ready to say your prayers?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Name three things of thanks,” she said, initiating their nightly tradition.

Henry tapped his chin in thought. “I scored two goals at recess.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I used what Killian taught me. Oh! That’s my second thing - meeting Killian.”

“Actually, he texted me while you were in the shower.”

“He did? Did he say when we can rent Norman together again?”

“We haven't had a chance to discuss it yet. He did say to tell you goodnight.”

“Tell him I said goodnight to him, too.”

“I will. What’s your third thing?”

“Umm…we changed seats in class and now I’m sitting beside Avery.”

“Just make sure the two of you don’t get into trouble for talking too much.”

“We won’t.”

“Good. Now, what three things do you want to ask of God?”

“To help me do good on my math test tomorrow, to send me another dog, and to let us see Killian again soon.”

They both folded their hands and closed their eyes while Henry said his prayers. When he finished, Emma read him a chapter of Fantastic Mr. Fox, kissed him goodnight and left his room, turning off the light on her way out.

Picking her phone up from her couch, she scrolled through the text conversation with Killian, smiling at the light banter they shared.

E: I’m back.

When a response didn’t come through for a couple of minutes, she went to her bedroom to change into her pajamas. Then she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied moisturizer.

When she went back into the living room, she saw a new message on her phone.

K: Is it okay if I call you? I’m not fond of texting.

She noticed that the time stamp was right after she put her phone down, over ten minutes ago. Instead of answering, she brought up his contact and hit the call button.

“Hello, Swan.”

“Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“I was hoping I didn’t upset you by asking to call.”

“No, nothing like that. I just decided to do my nighttime routine,” Emma explained. “Henry said to tell you goodnight, by the way. I always ask him to tell me three things he’s thankful for from his day, and you were involved in two of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. He scored two goals playing soccer today at recess, because of what you taught him, and he was thankful for meeting you. That’s the third night in a row he’s said that one.”

“That’s very kind of him to say.”

“Well, you made quite an impression on him and he’s eager to see you again. Speaking of which, what does your schedule look like for the next few weeks?”

“It’s wide open, actually. Do Saturdays work best for you?”

“Yeah, because Henry is in school during the week and I work until five every day. I also work one Saturday a month. This coming Saturday is the one I work this month.”

“How about the following week?”

She switched him to speaker and pulled up her calendar app. “That looks good. Henry gets a haircut that morning at nine, but we could meet after that. The weather is going to start getting too cold if we wait much longer.”

“Liam has been telling me to be prepared for a cold winter. He says Maine is quite a bit colder than England during the winter months,” he stated. “Shall we make plans for that day, then?”

“Sounds good to me. Want to meet at the shelter at ten-thirty?”

“Actually,” Killian began, then paused for a few moments before clearing his throat and continuing. “I was wondering if you would agree to me picking up the two of you to go to the shelter together.”

Emma bit her lip, considering his offer. Her gut instinct was to decline because it would seem too much like a date, but her practical side said it was logical for them to make the twenty minute drive together.

She knew he was waiting for her answer and was probably having second thoughts about asking, since she was taking so long. “Um, sure, that would be fine,” she finally said. “I’ll text my address to you.”

“Okay, good. Shall we say ten o’clock? Will that give you enough time for Henry’s haircut?”

“Yeah. It only takes about twenty minutes, if that long. His barber is Jefferson and he’s pretty fast.”

“Liam recommended him and I had an appointment there a couple of weeks ago. He is fast, if a little…quirky.”

“Oh, you mean because he wears the top hat? I guess he’s trying to live up to the name of his shop.”

“Just naming his shop the Mad Hatter of Hair makes him sound a bit eccentric.”

Emma laughed. “He’s harmless, though. His daughter Grace is in Henry’s class and she’s very sweet. Jefferson is raising her by himself. His wife passed away before Grace started kindergarten.”

“How sad. Now I feel bad for judging him.”

“I wouldn’t say you were judging him, just making an accurate observation. I knew him before his wife died and he was every bit as quirky as he is now.”

They continued talking for another twenty minutes. Just like the day they met, the conversation didn’t lag at all as they transitioned easily from one subject to another. Before they ended the call, Killian asked if it would be alright to call her again later in the week and she agreed without hesitation.

Lying in bed that night, Emma smiled dreamily as she replayed their conversation in her mind. She may be venturing into self-imposed forbidden territory ever since Henry’s father abandoned her, but Killian Jones intrigued her and she couldn’t find it within herself to care.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Killian called Emma four more times over the next two weeks. Their conversations lasted longer each time, until they spent over an hour talking and laughing on Thursday, before their scheduled outing.

He suggested that they take Norman back to Storybrooke’s nature preserve after picking him up, which she thought was a great idea. She mentioned that she and Henry spent quite a bit of time there during the summer, hiking the trails and wading in the creek. Despite intending to visit, Killian hadn’t been able to get there yet and was happy to know his first time would be with Emma, Henry and Norman.

Saturday morning found him taking more time than usual to get ready. He chided himself for being a bit vain, but wanted to make the extra effort for the lovely lady Swan. If things went well, he was planning to ask her out on a proper date.

He had confided his intention to Belle, hoping she would give him advice about where to take Emma, should she agree. Not only did his future sister-in-law present him with recommendations, she also mentioned that she would be happy to watch Henry, and was sure Liam would, too.

Once Killian was satisfied with his appearance, he tried to occupy himself until it was time to drive to Emma and Henry’s house. After going online and paying some bills, washing the few dishes in the sink and sorting his laundry, he still had about twenty minutes left.

His heart sank when he heard the notification for an incoming text, thinking it might be Emma cancelling their plans. He was relieved, then a little apprehensive to see it was from his brother. Belle promised she wouldn’t say anything to Liam about his plans to ask Emma on a date, but they were an engaged couple and couples weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. Unfortunately, his former girlfriend hadn’t abided by that rule, since she kept one whopper of a secret from him.

L: Any plans for this afternoon, little brother?

Killian dropped his head back with a sigh. Not only did Liam insist on calling him that irritating moniker, now he had to explain that he did indeed have plans. He was sure he would have to answer questions about what they were and with whom, since he rarely did anything on the weekends.

K: Actually, I do.

L: Oh, really? What are you doing?

K: I’m renting Winston from the shelter again.

L: Great! Belle is working today. Would you mind if I came over to see the little guy?

Killian’s thumbs hovered over his screen, trying to decide how to tell his brother no without sounding rude. Even though Liam was acquainted with Emma, he tended to be over protective, and Killian didn’t want him giving her the third degree or making her feel uncomfortable. Plus, he selfishly wanted to spend time alone with her and Henry.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost time for him to leave. Quickly, he typed a message he was hoping would appease Liam.

K: Sorry, not this time. Emma, Henry and I made plans to spend another day together with him.

As he pulled on his jacket, he heard another notification. Closing his eyes momentarily, he opened them to read Liam’s message, then released a relieved breath.

L: I hope the four of you have a good time, so I can see that look of happiness on your face again.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“Henry, Killian’s here!” Emma announced, dropping the curtain after seeing his car pull up to the curb.

“Coming!” she heard him yell in response.

She quickly ducked into the bathroom and inspected her appearance in the mirror one more time. She hoped to make a better impression on Killian by applying light makeup and pulling her hair back into a neat ponytail. Her outfit was simple - jeans, sneakers, her favorite light blue blouse, and red leather jacket.

The doorbell rang as she re-entered the living room, but before she could get to the door, Henry sped past her to pull it open. “Hey, Killian!” he said excitedly.

“Hello, lad,” Killian answered, then shifted his eyes from Henry to Emma. She saw him swallow before giving her one of his winning smiles. “Good morning, Emma.”

“Hi, Killian. You’re right on time.”

“Not being prompt is bad form, Swan.” Looking at Henry again, he stated, “Your haircut makes you look a bit older.”

Henry reached up to run both hands along the sides of his head. “Do you really think so?”

“Aye, at least a year or two.”

“Please don’t say that,” Emma said, handing Henry his jacket. “He’s growing up way too fast as it is.”

During the drive to the shelter, Henry talked about one thing after another. Emma wondered if Killian would tire of her son’s constant chatter, but his questions at regular intervals proved he was fully engaged in what Henry had to say.

Meanwhile, she spent the time admiring the man beside her. He was dressed in dark, stonewashed jeans, an army green button-down shirt, and the same black leather jacket he wore the first time they met. His scruff was neatly trimmed and his dark hair artfully combed. His rich laugh at some of Henry’s comments was a sound she was sure she would never get tired of hearing.

When they entered the shelter, David gave them a smug smile that Emma tried to ignore. She knew he was probably patting himself on the back for his matchmaking, but she really didn’t mind, because meeting Killian was, so far, a positive experience.

Norman was extremely excited to see them again, and after everyone got into the car, they were on their way back to Storybrooke. Henry was preoccupied with Norman in the back seat, so the adults finally had a chance to chat with each other. Their conversation was as free-flowing as it had been every other time they spoke in the past two weeks. Emma had never met anyone so easy to talk to, and wondered if it was because their backgrounds were so similar.

During their earlier phone conversations, she learned his father had abandoned his family when Killian and Liam were little, leaving their mother to raise them alone. She shared how she was abandoned at a fire station baby box when she was less than a week old, and had never been adopted. They both had been in situations where they were deceived and misled by the person they loved. Emma came to realize that being able to empathize with someone else made it easier to connect with them, just as she had with Killian.

The crisp autumn weather was perfect for hiking at the nature preserve. They explored all of the available paths and walked along the shores of the creek. The water was too chilly for wading, but Norman enjoyed splashing in now and then when he spotted a particularly intriguing leaf, bug or stick.

After hiking for a couple of hours, they took a break to drink Gatorade and snack on protein bars, thoughtfully packed by Killian. He also had treats for Norman, which Henry used to try and teach the dog again how to sit on command.

They stayed until the last possible minute before getting into the car for the drive back to the shelter. No one spoke for several miles, until Henry finally said, “I really wish we didn’t have to take Norman back there. He’s always so sad. Why can’t we just adopt him, Mom?”

Emma glanced over at Killian, who met her eyes for a second before directing his back to the road. “I wish we could, but it wouldn’t really be fair to Norman. We’re both gone all day and he would have to be penned up that whole time.”

“But he loves us and we love him!” Henry exclaimed. “Ernie didn’t have to be penned up and he was fine during the day.”

Emma turned to look at her son. “I know, kid, but it was easy with Ernie. He was with us for several years and was older. Norman is young and full of energy, so he’s going to need a lot more attention and training. I wouldn’t trust him being in the house all day by himself.”

Henry heaved a huge sigh. “Okay.”

They were all silent for the rest of the drive. Emma saw Killian look at her out of the corner of his eye once in a while, but they didn’t carry on a conversation. She spent the time thinking about the practicality of adopting Norman, but knew she would have to stick to her guns, because it just wouldn’t be fair to the rambunctious dog to be cooped up all day.

When they reached the shelter and exited the car, Killian slowed Emma down by placing a hand on her arm, while Henry entered the building with Norman. “Emma, I’ve been giving it some thought and I have an idea, if you’re open to it.”

She shrugged slightly. “Sure, let’s hear it.”

“Perhaps, if you adopted Win-, er, Norman, I could keep him during the day while you’re at work and school. I could pick him up in the morning before you leave and drop him off after you get home.”

“Sort of like shared custody or dog sitting?” she asked, turning to face him.

He chuckled. “Aye, something like that, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, Killian. That seems like a pretty big commitment between people who barely know each other. You’re not even sure you’re going to stay in Storybrooke.”

He scratched behind his ear. “If I move, it won’t be for a while, since I signed a six month lease on my apartment. That would give us time to train the dog. I know we’ve just met, but I…I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your boy. I’m hoping this is just the beginning of our friendship.”

Emma stuck her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and rocked back on her heels. “I hope so, too, but I’m still not sure about the arrangement you’re suggesting.”

“I completely understand,” he said, then paused before asking, “Are you counting it out altogether, or will you consider it?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth in thought for a few seconds. “I’ll consider it,” she finally answered.

He gave her a small smile, then moved to open the door for her.

They went inside to see Henry sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman, the dog’s head resting on his leg. David was listening to the boy give him a detailed description of their day at the nature preserve and looked up to give them a big grin. “Sounds like you had quite the adventure today.”

“Aye, we all had quite a workout,” Killian responded. “It’s quite a lovely place.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky to have it in Storybrooke,” David said. “Mary Margaret takes her class there on a field trip every year.”

Henry’s head whipped around. “Mrs. Nolan didn’t take our class!”

“It’s early in the school year,” Emma said. “I’m sure she’ll take you sometime.”

“They usually go in the spring,” David explained, as he walked around the end of the counter. “Are you ready for me to take Norman?”

“No,” Henry said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the dog’s neck.

The three adults exchanged understanding looks. They gave the boy a couple more minutes, before Emma picked up the end of the leash and put her hand on Henry’s head. “It’s time to say goodbye to him, kid.”

Henry drew back to look at Norman. “Goodbye, boy. I’m gonna miss you.” He kissed the dog on top of the head and rubbed his ears.

Emma reached down to pet the dog, then handed the leash to David. Killian stood beside her to pat Norman, too, telling him to be a good boy.

David bid them all goodbye, then headed to the back with the dog reluctantly following him. Henry looked up at Emma from where he still sat on the floor. “Mom…”

“Henry, don’t say it. I already told you why it’s not a good idea to adopt him right now.”

“Right now? Does that mean we can adopt him later?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emma replied, giving him her patented ‘don’t push it’ look. “Let’s go, kid.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Henry pushed himself to his feet and followed her out the door Killian was holding open. Once they were in the car and on their way to Storybrooke, Killian asked, “Would you, um, would the two of you like to get a late lunch at Granny’s, when we get back?”

“What do you think, Henry?” Emma threw over her shoulder.

He turned from where he had been glumly staring out the window. “Can I get a cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure.”

“And a chocolate milkshake?” When his mom didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Please? It’ll make me less sad about Norman.”

Killian chuckled lowly as Emma rolled her eyes, muttering, “I’m raising a con artist.”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Killian mentally kicked himself the whole way back into town. What was he thinking, asking Emma to agree to what was basically a long term commitment? He probably ruined his chance for asking her out on a date, too. He was sure she would think he was coming on too strong, if he did.

At least she agreed to have lunch with him. Hopefully, she would also allow him to continue calling her. Those phone calls and the texts they shared were always the highlight of his week.

As much as he enjoyed his time with Emma, having Henry with them made it even better. Killian hadn’t had a lot of interaction with children, but it was easy being around Emma’s son. He was bright, articulate and funny - very much like his mother. He was also respectful and well-mannered.

On the day they met, Emma confided to him that she was afraid she was making a lot of mistakes as a single mom, who never had a mother of her own to set an example, but he strongly disagreed. She wasn’t perfect - no parent was, but Henry seemed to be well-adjusted and confident, so she was obviously doing many things right.

Killian saw how much Henry loved the dog and wished he could help make the boy’s desire to adopt him come true, which is why he made the offer. He had come to love the furry little rascal, too, and would seriously consider adopting Norman himself. He just didn’t know if he could take the dog with him if he decided to move away from Storybrooke.

He pulled up in front of Granny’s, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, as he heard Emma and Henry do the same. Typical of a young boy, Henry took off running and was already skipping up the steps to the front door by the time Killian reached Emma’s side.

“He’s pretty excited,” Emma explained. “Eating out is kind of a treat because we don’t do it very often.”

“I hope I wasn’t out of line for asking,” Killian said.

“No, not at all. It really perked him up.”

Killian halted at the bottom of the steps, causing Emma to stop and look at him. “I also hope I didn’t upset you by making the offer to watch Norman.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “I’m definitely going to think about it. I really miss having a dog around, too. I just have to weigh all the pros and cons.”

He smiled and nodded his understanding, then bounded up the steps to open the door. Henry was at the counter talking animatedly to Ruby, who looked up and gaped at Emma in surprise.

“Hey, girl! I didn’t realize you knew the very handsome new guy in town!”

Killian could feel his ears turning red, when Emma glanced at him before replying. “Hi, Ruby. Actually, we met by accident a couple of weeks ago.”

“By accident, huh? Did you hit him with your car or something?”

“Nothing like that. We were both renting the same dog at the animal shelter.”

“Was seeing him today another accident?”

Emma put her hands on her hips. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. It was planned this time.”

Killian wasn’t sure he had ever seen such a wide grin on the waitress’s face. They all gave Ruby their drink order, then Emma ushered Henry to a booth and Killian slid in across from them.

“Are you getting lasagna?” she asked.

“I think I’m going to try the grilled cheese and onion rings. Someone recommended them to me,” he smirked.

“Very intelligent person,” Emma grinned.

“Aye, that she is.”

Ruby arrived at their table with their drinks and Henry’s milkshake. She gave Emma and Killian another broad smile when she took down their identical orders. “His and hers grilled cheeses, huh? Maybe there’s some truth to the saying that couples begin to eat alike.”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. “I think the saying is that couples start to look alike, and we aren’t a couple. We’re just friends.”

“I see,” Ruby said, glancing at Henry, who was busy spooning the thick milkshake into his mouth. “Well, they do say there are benefits to being friends.” She gave them an exaggerated wink, then turned and made her way to the kitchen.

“Ruby isn’t exactly the epitome of subtlety,” Emma said, a blush filling her cheeks with color.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“It was nice of Killian to take us to Granny’s today,” Henry said, as he was climbing into bed that night.

“Yes, it was. I was very proud of you for remembering to thank him without needing a reminder.”

“Thanks for letting me get a milkshake, even if it didn’t make me stop feeling sad about not being able to adopt Norman.”

Emma tucked the covers around his shoulders. “I know, but try not to think about it.”

“I can’t,” Henry pouted. “He’s probably crying himself to sleep tonight.”

“I think he’s probably going to sleep remembering all of the fun we had today.”

Henry stubbornly shook his head. “Nuh-uh. He’s wondering why we didn’t bring him home with us.”

“Henry,” Emma sighed, “I know you’re sad, but we just can’t…”

“I know,” he interrupted, “you keep saying it wouldn’t be fair for him to be alone all day, but he’s already alone at the shelter all day, except for Mr. Nolan, and at night, there’s nobody there at all.”

“There’s other dogs and cats…”

“That’s not the same. They’re all in cages by themselves. If we adopted him, he could sleep on my bed, like Ernie did.”

Knowing she was going around in circles with him, Emma reached over and picked up the book from his nightstand. “How about if you say your prayers after I read to you tonight?”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, he said, “Fine, but it’s not gonna make me forget about Norman.”

After reading to him for fifteen minutes, hearing his prayers - which mentioned Norman and Killian several times - and kissing him goodnight, she left his room. Heading into her own bedroom, she went through her nightly routine automatically, lost in thought.

Once she was in her pajamas, free of make-up and teeth brushed, she peeked in on her son to find him sound asleep. She made sure the front door was deadbolted, turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room and went back into her room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared at the phone in her hand, mind racing.

Finally, she pulled up Killian’s contact and hit the call button.

She was almost ready to hang up after it rang four times, not wanting it to go to voicemail, when he answered. “Hello, Swan. I wasn’t expecting to talk to you again so soon.”

“I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Not at all. What’s on your mind?”

“Henry was still upset about Norman before he went to sleep. I feel like I’m being selfish by not allowing him to get a dog.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“Because one of my excuses is that a dog is a lot of work and would need training, which it would. I’m making it seem like all the work would fall on me. Now, I know Henry is only eight, but I think he’s pretty responsible for his age.”

“From what I’ve seen, I would agree with that,” Killian cut in.

“Thank you. Anyway, I think he would be able to help train and take care of the dog, so that excuse is out the window. The other big concern I had is that the dog would have to be home by himself all day, which brings me to the reason I’m calling. I’ve been seriously considering your offer, if it’s still on the table.”

“It is.”

“Are you sure that’s not asking too much of you? I mean, you’re home during the day, but you’re working. How would you be able to take care of him?”

“I’ve had him here with me a few times already and he makes himself right at home. He’s housebroken and doesn’t demand too much attention. If he starts getting restless, I take him outside and play with him for a while. That works with my schedule because I have to take breaks now and then, when I’ve been staring at the computer screen for too long.”

She blew out a long breath. “What if it turns out to be too big of a commitment? We’ve spent some time together and have done a lot of talking to get to know each other, but we’re still basically strangers.”

“Well actually…” Killian began, then paused for several moments before continuing, “I was hoping to have an opportunity to ask you something today, but the right moment never presented itself.”

Emma’s heart began to beat faster in anticipation of what she suspected he might ask. “What did you want to ask?”

“Would you, um…would you consider going out with me?”

Standing up to pace back and forth between her bed and dresser, she chewed her lip in contemplation. She could literally count how many dates she’d had since Henry’s birth on one hand. She only went on those dates to appease Ruby, who was convinced Emma’s Mr. Right was out there somewhere, but she hadn’t been attracted to any of the men.

She couldn’t say the same about Killian. From the time she laid eyes on him, she felt an attraction that only got stronger the more she got to know him. He seemed to be the total package - kind, intelligent, considerate, and insanely hot.

“What happens if we adopt Norman, then go out with each other and realize we’re not compatible?”

“If you adopt him, I would keep my commitment to help take care of him, even if we decide dating doesn’t work for us. You have my word, Emma.”

She came to a halt at the end of her bed and turned to face the mirror above her dresser. For eight years, Henry had been her number one priority and always would be, but maybe it was time for her to do something for herself. Could that something be going out with Killian Jones?

She was so deep in thought, she didn’t realize how long she had been standing there considering her answer. When Killian finally spoke, his quiet voice startled her. “What do you say, Swan?”

“Yes, Killian. I will go out with you.”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

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[zablife]

As Long As I Live (Part 2)

Tommy Shelby & Amelia Holland (OC) x Bonnie Gold

Summary: Amelia introduces herself to Tommy and gets acquainted with the Shelby clan, plus one of Tommy's men whom she has particular feelings about. 

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt. This has taken some time for me to finish, but it's completed now and will be released once a week until we reach the end. There are 4 parts total.

Warnings: language, mention of pregnancy, mention of a weapon

Part 1

Tommy’s reverie was broken by the sound of boots thudding down the carpeted hallway. His hand hovered over the handle of his pistol as the door swung open, but he quickly released his grip as he took in the sight of a girl, no more than sixteen, standing at the threshold, muddied from riding and cheeks chapped from the cold.  

A maid stood behind her out of breath with a ready apology. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby, she ran past and I couldn’t stop her!” 

“It’s alright, Clara,” Tommy replied. “Come,” he said with a wave toward the girl, removing his glasses and setting them beside his typewriter.

She hesitated only a moment as she studied him, then as if her mind was made up, dropped the bag she carried and paced toward him purposefully. He sighed heavily, knowing the reproachful look on her brow and the weight which caused her shoulders to slope. The question on her lips would be one he’d heard before, but he would allowed it to be asked just the same.

“Are you Thomas Shelby?” she began searching his steely blue eyes for a semblance of recognition. 

“I am,” Tommy said with a nod though nothing in his affirmation was welcoming. His face remained impassive and his arms crossed at his chest defensively.

Amelia gulped, feeling his stare piercing through her and nearly lost her courage, but quickly regained it as curiosity got the better of her. “Then I believe you’re my father,” she informed him, not wasting any time revealing the reason she stood before him. She had a feeling he was a man who appreciated brevity.

“I see,” Tommy said simply, searching his desk for his cigarettes and lighter. Amelia furrowed her brow in confusion as she watched him take his time selecting a cigarette and rubbing it across his bottom lip carefully. “Have a seat. Tell me about yourself and how you came here,” he offered as he lit it and took a long drag. Rounding the corner of his desk, he leaned against the corner, watching the smoke rise to the ceiling as she spoke. 

Amelia stood a little straighter, collecting herself to explain in the most direct way possible, but found it difficult to keep emotion out of her voice when mentioning her mother. “My name’s Amelia…There’s not much to tell really. Mum didn’t have much, but she raised me with kindness and love. She said you died in the war so I never thought to look for you until my aunt told me you were alive. I came because she didn’t want me anymore, but…I also wanted to meet you very much,” she confessed, surprising herself when she added the last part.

Tommy only nodded thoughtfully, exhaling smoke slowly as he responded in a flat, even voice that contrasted starkly to Amelia’s testament. “I’m a wealthy businessman and a member of Parliament, love. I get these kinds of visits more times a month than you can possibly imagine. Poor girls like you who tell me I left their mother to raise a child alone in the worst circumstances. I should write them all down and make another fortune in penny dreadfuls,” he said with a humorless laugh.

Amelia felt her blood turn to ice as she listened to his callous words. Her jaw tensed involuntarily and she found herself striking back before she had time to think. “I didn’t come here for your money, Mr. Shelby. I came to find my father,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t want to admit it? That’s fine because I would never claim a heartless bastard like you either,” voice raised to match her growing temper as she stood face to face with the man who had chosen cruelty over compassion. 

For the first time, Tommy’s eyes fell upon her and the necklace that hung around her neck. His fingers reached for the sapphire and he blinked quickly at the sudden recognition of the gem. “This…this necklace. Where did you get it?” he asked feeling momentarily unbalanced.

Amelia pushed him away, shaking her head in fury, “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you're asking!”

Tommy’s entire disposition changed in that moment as he was transported back to 1914. He remembered the dappled sunshine of the hazel tree and afternoons spent in the arms of a girl with raven hair as his fingers grasped the air in front of him. “I gave that to a girl before France as a promise. When I returned her family wouldn’t tell me where she’d gone,” he said quietly, more to himself than Amelia as the memories resurfaced. Some members of her camp swore they’d seen his girl, Izzy, with a swollen stomach soon after his departure, but it was a rumor he’d chosen to forget in his heartbreak. 

He looked at Amelia now, studying her carefully. “What was your mother’s name?” he asked, squinting at her.

“Isidora Holland,” she replied hesitantly, concerned by the sudden change in his mood. “I-I think I’ve made a mistake in coming here,” Amelia replied, rushing to the door to retrieve her bag.

As the fog cleared from Tommy’s brain, he called out “Amelia, wait! Where will you go?”

Amelia fumbled with her bag, shifting her weight as she replied, “I’ll find a place to make camp. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but let me offer a room as an apology for my remarks…please,” Tommy pleaded. If this was his daughter standing before him he didn’t want them to part this way. 

Amelia stared past Tommy and out the large window watching the rain begin to fall in menacing torrents, an inhospitable gloom descending over the house. The crackling fire in the office beckoned to her and she was practically salivating at the smell of something delicious coming from the hall. She told herself she was staying for the comforts provided and not the apology of a man she barely knew or trusted, but a small spark inside her wanted to believe in the love story she'd briefly glimpsed.

———————————

Lizzie took the whisky glass from Tommy’s hands and placed it on the table as he took a seat on the bed. “You’re certain, Tom?” she asked.  

Still in disbelief himself, he spoke quietly, “she has the necklace, Lizzie.” She hummed, knowing all too well what it meant. In their early days of acquaintance, when he’d sought her body for pleasure and comfort, he’d confided about his lost love. When the opium and whisky hadn’t dulled enough of the pain, he talked and hated himself for sounding too like Arthur. 

Lizzie came to stand over her husband and placed her hands on either side of his face, rubbing her thumbs against his hollowed cheeks in soothing circles. He tilted his head up to look at her, searching her eyes for a hint of anger or jealousy. He found none, only compassion for the young girl who had appeared on their doorstep.

“If it’s true what she says about her aunt throwing her out, we can’t turn her away. She has a home here with us,” she assured him.

Further down the corridor, Amelia wasn’t settling into the idea quite so easily. Running her hand across the beautiful oak dresser in the room adjacent to the nursery, she found a row of gilt frames with family photographs. The first to catch her eye was of Tommy and his wife with their two children, a boy and a girl, a perfect little family. The next was of Tommy smiling for the camera, pride evident in his face, as his son looked up at him in wonderment. Her fingers caressed the glass feeling like an intruder.

As she wandered into the empty nursery and found the children’s teddy bear, tea set and carved, wooden horses, she wondered what she had disturbed when she arrived today. Holding a soft baby blanket to her cheek she ached to be close to her mother again and feel comforted by her. There were so many thoughts and questions swirling in her mind about why her mother's family had kept her mother and father apart and what kind of person her father really was. She knew now she wanted to stay long enough to find out.

——————————

Amelia awoke just before dawn, leaving the house to stroll the grounds in the soft pink haze of the morning light. Listening for the sound of the horses, she ambled slowly toward the stables to visit them in hopes of finding solace there. It was a habit she’d had since she was small and it never failed to quiet her mind and slow her racing pulse when she felt anxious about something.

However, this morning she found she was not alone. As she approached the first stall she startled at the sight of someone beside her horse, the man's white shirt billowing in the wind to reveal a gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. “Mornin’,” the young man with ruddy cheeks and an easy smile greeted her. 

“Who are you and what are you doing out here?” Amelia asked a bit more defensively than she intended.

“Could ask the same of you,” he said with a chuckle, going back to his work. 

“I’m here to tend to my horse,” Amelia stated.

“And I'm already doing it, so you might say thank you,” he retorted.

“Didn’t ask for your help,” she mumbled, still trying to decide why a stable hand would need a gun.

Making his way out of the stall, the young man cocked his head at her as he wiped his hands on his trousers. “Are you always so bad tempered in the mornin' lass?” he asked. “Look like you’re ready for a fight!” he said, punching the air quickly before dissolving into laughter.

Amelia was thoroughly irritated with him now, shoving him aside to get to her horse.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Bonnie took a deep breath and leaned against the door. “Don't be like that. I was just having a laugh. My name’s Bonnie. What’s yours?” 

Amelia eyed him suspiciously as she ran a hand down her horse’s neck. “Amelia,” she eventually replied, turning her attention back to the animal and pressing her forehead against the soft fur of its nose, hoping the boy would go away. 

“I heard about you from the lads on watch last night. They say you’re Tommy Shelby’s long lost daughter. Are ya?” he asked. 

Turning to look him in the eye Amelia scowled. “Who did you say you were?”

“Bonnie. Bonnie Gold,” he said with a grin, his hazel eyes catching the early morning rays and shimmering back at her with little flecks of golden light. 

Amelia took a step toward him, recognizing the name. “You were the ones thrown out of the fair last year,” she recalled. Bonnie looked wounded, face falling as she continued with her indictment. “You and your kin are nothing but a bunch of thieves and swindlers. Everyone says your da rigged them fights,” she accused, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

Bonnie’s chest puffed out at the insinuation he’d cheated, stepping closer to her as he asserted, “I could fight a fucking tree and knock it out. Never had to pay anyone to take a fall.”

“If you're so tough, how come you carry a gun everywhere, even to a stable with only little ponies?” she taunted, face inches from his. “What are you scared of Bonnie boy?”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Tommy’s voice boomed from the doorway. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Bonnie said in surprise, jumping back from Amelia. “I was just finishing up.”

“Get on with it then, eh?” Tommy said with a jerk of his chin.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, picking up a pitch fork and stalking off.

“Amelia, what was that about?” Tommy asked, noticing the flush in her cheeks.

“Just getting to know your employees,” she lied, turning back to her horse quickly.

“And?” Tommy said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back onto his heels as he awaited an answer. He sensed there was more she wanted to say, but was holding back.

Amelia looked in the direction Bonnie had gone, biting the inside of her cheek. “You should know his family’s got a bad reputation in our community,” she warned.

Tommy huffed out a little laugh. “You should know better than to believe rumors.”

“What does he do for you anyway?” Amelia asked, feeling bold and seizing her moment to ask indirectly what Tommy’s business actually entailed.

“Oh…a bit of everything, but you might be glad to know he isn’t at Arrow House most days,” Tommy assured her.

“Why is that?” Amelia ventured yet another query, studying Tommy to see if he would continue to humor her.

He took a deep breath, eyeing her carefully before continuing, and she knew this would be the final explanation for the morning. “He’s in training at a boxing gym in Small Heath. Bonnie is a gifted athlete and Arthur manages his fights," he explained, taking a step toward the door. Then in a loud clear voice he proclaimed, "Now, if I’ve satisfied your questions, Frances has made us some breakfast." He rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold before stating, “Join me." It was a statement rather than a request and he instantly began walking toward the house at a rather fast pace.

“Wait!” Amelia called after him, running to catch up. “I’d like to take care of my own horse if it’s all the same to you,” she requested.

Tommy stopped to look at her, seeing the note of concern in her eyes, he agreed. “Alright, but you should know Bonnie’s a good lad.” Amelia nodded, though she wasn’t ready to believe it just yet.

—————————

From then on Amelia took up her rightful place in the family as though no time had passed. She played with Charlie and Ruby, teaching them games she learned as a small child. Her fierce protectiveness over them developed naturally, supervising them when she took them for walks by the river or led them around the stables on the horses. Naturally, they adored her and her kind smile which they saw more of as she settled into Arrow House.

Lizzie enjoyed her company as well. It was a comfort to her, having someone in the house who was able to calm Tommy when he came dangerously close to working himself to death. Amelia brought him out of the office and into the dining room when the maids failed to garner his attention. On those occasions, the whole family was regaled by her tales of travel. Tommy and Lizzie were most eager to hear about the years they’d spent apart, but they never pressed her for more information than she was willing to share. 

Many times after dinner as Lizzie and the maids readied the younger children for bed, Tommy had a few moments alone with Amelia to discuss any questions she had for him. He was open and honest with her in a way he had difficulty with in the past. He wanted her to know him, feeling guilty for having been absent for so long. Amelia responded to this bonding exercise, constantly keeping Tommy on his toes with her multitude of questions about his ambitions. At times he wondered if he should be so frank with her, but her maturity made it easy to explain. 

———————————-

The morning Polly returned from her honeymoon with Aberama, Tommy whisked Amelia away from Arrow House in his Bentley to meet the train. When Polly received the telegram she too was anxious to see what she’d only glimpsed in the cards. Over the years she convinced herself what she saw couldn’t be true, but as she stood beside Tommy on the train platform, the proof was undeniable.

“My God, Tommy, she’s Izzy!” Polly exclaimed, watching the girl from a distance, Amelia's wild, dark hair dancing in the wind. Polly held a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun taking one last look before glancing back at Tommy. He too was staring as Amelia approached, now unable to deny the resemblance.

“How did you find her?” Polly asked in confusion and slight awe, still acclimating to the news that Tommy had another child.

“She found me,” Tommy replied. “Zelda threw her out. Told her to come find me,” he explained.

“That family was always a mystery to me,” Polly admitted sadly. “How’s Lizzie taking it?” she inquired.

“Lizzie knows all me secrets, Pol,” he said and with a knowing look Polly nodded. 

“And the children?” she asked.

“They act as though she’s always been here. She’s teaching Charlie to swim and Ruby begs her to braid her hair and have tea parties,” Tommy said with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes as he looked off into the distance, inhaling a deep breath of fresh air.

The look of genuine happiness was not lost on Polly. There was one last question on her mind, but she couldn’t ask it of him now, not when peace had descended for the briefest of moments. Amelia would find out soon enough what it meant to be a Shelby and if she was smart, she would choose a life having nothing to do with their business. Polly promised herself to protect Amelia that day as she watched father and daughter together, thinking of the things she might have done differently with Michael.

Continue reading Part 3

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

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[thatssonanii]

Aisle 32

A/N: Its short buuut felt like a good stopping point lol and Yes, he got friends!😂😂😂😂

Grocery shopping was usually Haleigh's favorite thing to do when she had help and today she was going at it alone. Her family all had other obligations, though they encouraged her to wait till the next day she didn't want to and decided she could handle it alone. As she stood on the detergent aisle she started to realize that she probably should've waited.

"Why do they always put the one I like on the top shelf?" She mumbled, rubbing over her round six month belly. She giggled feeling the kicks. "You don't know either huh? Guess we'll have to get something else for now."

Looking at her options, she realized that she didn't like any of them. There were no employees around to ask for help and she was not about to ask a stranger. Biting her lip, she thought about all the chastising her mom, aunts and Nana had done when she even looked like she wanted to reach over her head or pick something heavy up.

"If you don't tell, I won't." She said to her belly before reaching for the jug of detergent.

As she was trying to pull the jug down, another patron came down the aisle. His cart came to a stop in front of the dishwasher detergent, his phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder. While he was listening to the person on the phone tell him what kind to get, he saw Haleigh out of the corner of his eye struggling to get the jug down then noticed her belly. Telling the person on the phone to hold on, he put it in his pocket then quickly went over to her.

"Let me get that for you." He said softly.

Haleigh glanced over at him and gave him a small smile as she stepped back. "Thank you."

He pulled it down, placing it in her cart and smiled at her. "You're welcome. That's way too heavy for you to be pulling down."

"Gotta do what you gotta do sometimes," she shrugged, "Thanks again. I really appreciate it."

Giving him another smile, Haleigh pushed past him continuing her shopping. He was cute but she knew on the slim chance that he was single she had way more going on than he wanted to deal with so she kept walking. She loves her baby so much already but thinking somebody was cute was how she got this way. Just another guy to leave her when things got too serious.

Thirty minutes later, she finished getting everything on her list and decided to go look at the baby section. Every time she went to a store with a baby section, Haleigh couldn't leave without something for her unborn baby. She had looked on the first two aisles not finding anything she liked, getting to the third she was too busy looking at the items that she didn't see the other cart before she bumped into it.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I wasn’t paying attention." She apologized quickly.

Looking over at the person's cart she hit, there was that smile again. Only this time it was a bit wider. He looked up from the two sippy cups he held in his hands.

"I'm fine I promise," he assured her. "Are you and your lil one okay?"

Her hand went to her belly feeling the few kicks and laughed softly. "Got a few kicks so we're okay. I really am sorry though."

"You're good, I promise."

The two of them went back to looking at the items on the aisle. Him still trying to pick a sippy cup, her looking at bibs. She could feel him glancing at her but she tried not to look back.

"What're you having? If I can ask."

"Huh? Oh um I don't know yet. My best friends insisted on throwing me a gender reveal this weekend." She explained still looking at the bibs.

He nodded putting one sippy cup back and picking up another. "You got a preference?"

She shrugged a little. "Healthy. You have a kid, huh?"

Looking up from the cups, he gave her a confused head shake. "No. Just a dog. Why'd you ask?"

Haleigh laughed a little pointing to the cups. "You look like you're thinking really hard on which one to get. Figured it must be for your kid."

He laughed. "Oh, oh no. My friends invited me to a baby shower so I'm tryna find things to put in a basket for the mom."

"Ooooh," she laughed, "Well if you know what she's having then get gender specific. If not, gender neutral."

"Smart, that's smart." He winked at her. "Which bibs are you gonna get?"

Haleigh rubbed her face trying to hide her blush. "I think I'm gonna get Mickey Mouse. Boys and girls like Mickey. Right?"

"Yeah they do. I'm Ardian by the way." He said sticking his hand out which she shook.

"Haleigh."

"Nice name. How far along are you?"

"24 weeks as of yesterday."

He nodded, looking over at her. "Congratulations, I don't know why I hadn't said it before. I'll let you go, don't wanna take up all your time."

"Thank you," she said softly, "You're not but I do need to get out of here before I spend more money. Have a good day, Ardian."

He chuckled, sliding out of her way. "You too, Haleigh. I hope you have a good gender reveal."

As they passed each other, they shared another smile and watched her leave the aisle shaking his head at himself. Both were chastising themselves for flirting with someone that was more than likely taken.

[superloves4]

I still taste the past - Chapter 15

Relationships: Curufin/Finrod, Celegorm/Aredhel (background) Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go. TW: none. A/N: I get upset, you guys get a chapter. Enjoy!

Masterlist - Also on AO3

Finrod sighed, placing the books he'd borrowed back on the shelf with more force than necessary, he was sure if the librarian were to see him, they would throw a fit. He didn't want to abuse the books as such but he was terribly frustrated these days. With himself, with his family, with the way things seemed to never get better.

When it wasn't his uncles throwing insults at each other in the forums, it was his marriage all over again.

It was his parents trying to subtly remind him how usually a betrothal took no more than a year to the ceremony, it was trying to sweet talk Amarië's family into believing he had proposed at all, it was the letters to Amarië he tried to imbue with any sort of romantic love, hoping it would change his heart at all.

Perhaps it was the distance, out of sight, out of mind, perhaps the fix to his problems would be to honor his words and marry Amarië at last.

Another slam on the bookcase.

"You shoudn't be mean to the books,"

"What?"

Finrod looked down towards the voice, finding none other that Telperinquar, hiding under one of the tables and now looking up at him with those big blue eyes of his. He was so small, he almost seemed smaller than Atarinkë had been when they met so long ago, but perhaps, Finrod was simply bigger now.

"Mean," the child repeated, with all the self-assurance the house of Fëanàro was known for "You are been a meanie to the books."

Finrod chuckled and bent down so he could look the boy in the eyes "Oh my, you are correct, I should apologize to the books!" Tyelpë nodded, Finrod thought he looked awfully much like Atarinkë as he did so "But a small correction, it's shouldn't and being, your father would not forgive me if I let you speak incorrectly."

Tyelpë's eyes went wide, saddened by the correction, his body mollifying and hiding back under the table. Finrod smiled.

"You don't have to worry, I will not tell him," he whispered, sitting by the table.

The boy's eyes peeked from the shadows.

"But it's atto!"

"Here's a little secret, I can say whatever I want to your atto,"

The boy took a few steps forward, awe in his eyes "I thought only grandfather could do that!"

"Oh really? I'll be sure to tell aunt Nerdanel and Maitimo so," Finrod laughed.

Tyelpë fully left the cover of the table, his eyes still shining as he stared at Finrod "It's because you are taller than atto! I want to be as tall as you when I grow up, then atto won't say I'm too small for forgin'"

Of course. Finrod thought, from the moment the fëanorians had settled back into the Crown Prince palace it had been told that their newest member was well on his way to learn the family's craft. He would expect nothing less from Atarinkë's son.

That common pang of pain when he thought about it. The future they never had.

He pushed the thought away and smiled at the child "Is that why you are hiding here? Your father didn't let you into the forges?"

The boy nodded solemnly, sitting next to Finrod.

The blond thought about it, then reached a book a little above his head and then handed it to Telperinquar, it was the same book a smaller Curufin had grabbed when he was still learning, the same one Finrod had grabbed for him back then.

"I believe this one is great for elflings with much to learn."

"But is only wire jewery, not like what atto and grandfather do at all!"

"And yet your atto started right here with this book."

Tyelpë stared at the book with newfound appreciation, Finrod smiled, he didn't look much like Atarinkë in that moment. The Atarinkë, Finrod knew would never let his feelings show so clearly even at that tender age he would have rather bit his tongue than admitting to as simple a thing as appreciation.

Another familiar pang Finrod ignored.

He messed up Tyelpë's hair, to the child's complaint, then asked "Does your father know you are here?"

Again the wide eyes and Finrod laughed. As expected.

He got up and extended his hand towards the child "Your father must be worried, I'll take you back if you want?"

Telperinquar smiled and let himself be picked up, clinging to Finrod's neck, and they made their way from the library down towards the forges. The boy rambling on about the several things he'd seen, from the small beetle to the great hall of tapestry, where some of the previous queen's work could still be observed, most having been taken by Fëanàro after he'd moved into the Crown Prince palace. It was a joy to listen to him talk, Finrod thought, like an unfiltered Atarinkë and just as precious.

"You shoud come to my baguetting day," Tyelpë said, almost falling asleep on Finrod's shoulder.

"I will be at your begetting day," Finrod assured him "I wouldn't miss such a party!"

The boy yawned and rubbed his eyes "No, I mean my real baaguetting day"

Finrod slowed his walk.

"What," he swallowed "What do you mean?"

"Well, father said is a secret," Tyelpë told him, completely unaware of what he was revealing "But you are my friend so you shoud be at my baguetting day."

"When is your begetting day, Tyelpë?"

The boy yawned again and whispered "Next week." Before falling asleep in Finrod's arms. The forges were in sight now and so was Curufinwë.

Curufinwë looked relieved when they approached, looking solely at his child and being delighted to know he hadn't gone far from the palace, until he looked up. Finrod didn't need to say a thing to his former lover, maybe it was his eyes, or perhaps Curufinwë could feel him radiate anger, the dark haired man simply called over a nanny and told her to take Tyelpë to his room.

"What of you, prince?"

Curufinwë looked at him and dismissed her "I have matters to attend to,"

Finrod had the manner to wait until the nanny and Telperinquar were out of sight to air out his grievance "You lied to me."

The other raised his shoulders "I lied to everyone."

Finrod opened his mouth then closed it again, now angrily pacing in front of Curufinwë.

"How dare you?" he told the other, disgust lacing every word "How can this be your reaction? You bloody lied to me!"

"How did you find out?" Curufinwë, unlike him, didn't move an inch, in fact he seemed as inscrutable as stone.

"Well," the laugh that left Finrod in that moment was a cruel, cold creature "Apparently, I've just been invited to Telperinquar, secret, true begetting day. A reward, for being a good friend!"

Curufinwë sighed, a familiarity with the boy's ways and an exhaustion at them, it made Finrod even more mad.

"He is my son, isn't he?" he spat.

Curufinwë eyes were cold, almost bored with his words "I thought you'd already figured everything out."

"After these lies, I want to hear the truth, Curufinwë, if I can trust you at all."

"If you can't trust me, I don't see how saying anything will benefit you."

Finrod grabbed Curufinwë's face despite the other's protest, uncaring if he hurt him, when he calmed he'd regret it but not in that moment, not when Atarinkë hurt him first.

"I want to hear it directly from your mouth, you won't weasel out of this now."

Curufinwë glared at him, Finrod's hand still holding his head was making it difficult to talk but still he told him "You are Telperinquar's sire."

Finrod let him go, his tense muscle losing all strength. All this time, all the pain he'd felt and the truth was what he'd always hoped it would be, but there was no happiness to the revelation, no happy ending to the mess they were.

"How could you do this to me," Finrod choked out "I love you, was that never enough?"

"Loved," Curufinwë correct him, sharp eyes staring him down "Don't believe yourself too special Findaràto, I merely did what I had to."

"HE IS MY SON!"

Finrod screamed, uncaring if anyone heard their fight, if anything it could be a witness if he ever needed one. Curufinwë, however, would not back away, in that moment he seemed a completely different person to the one Finrod used to know, yes Atarinkë had been reserved and let his brothers take more of the spotlight than him, but this cruel, calculating replica was not the Atarinkë he loved.

"He is not your son," Curufinwë hissed, circulating him "Don't come at me, acting as if you are not engaged, I will not subject Tyelpë to that scrutiny."

"You should have told me from the start and you know it," Finrod closed his eyes, unable to deal with this Curufinwë "This should have never happened, it should have been us, why do you insist in being obtuse?!"

"Us, Findaràto?" Curufin rolled his eyes.

"Will you lie that you ever loved me as well?" he sighed, passing his hand through his hair, exasperated, how had they fallen so far from that day on the roof?

"I'll lie how many times it is necessary to keep my family safe!" Curufinwë glared, in his voice a resentment Finrod could not understand when had that festered in their love.

He got closer to Curufinwë, his full height against the other, and whispered to him like a promise "I will fight you on this, Atarinkë" and he left, never seeing the bravado escape Atarinkë, nor his tears.

It was never to be, however, as just a day later his uncle Fëanàro put a sword to their uncle Nolofinwë's throat, a whirlwind of events that would lead to Fëanàro exiled to Formenos, Atarinkë and his brothers choosing to follow him. And with Atarinkë, so went Telperinquar.

He could've pursued his claim, of course, but for the first time he understood and agreed with Atarinkë's belief that their relationship would only cause a strife on their families. Fëanàro and his father would be at each other's throats and he wasn't sure the Valar themselves would be fast enough to intervene. Finrod thought he could take his role as Tyelpë's father once the exile was over, perhaps then even his fragile bond with Atarinkë could be repaired.

He thought many things then, until the darkness came.

So much happened so fast, he had no chance of talking to Atarinkë and had only been able to have a glance at Telperinquar, he had hoped he could smooth things over but it all came to nothing as Fëanàro swore the oath and as he expected, so did Atarinkë.

Then it was a matter of organizing, his uncle may believe they could arrive in another land with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their swords but if their people remained in that land then trade they would have to do to survive. He filled his pockets with jewellery and anywhere else he could fit, he had to be wearing at least a dozen necklaces in that moment, it didn't make for prettiest of pictures but it necessary.

Finrod stumbled on a small silver ring he had commissioned years before, when he thought he would be able to convince Atarinkë to marry him, he stared at it before putting it on his finger and grabbing his satchel.

The next time he saw Atarinkë he was covered in blood, holding a sleeping Telperinquar covered in blankets, tear tracks still visible in the boy's face.

"I can't believe you joined in on this."

Atarinkë didn't even glare at him, deep dark bags under his eyes, he held Telperinquar closer to his chest "I did what was necessary."

"You killed my people," Finrod reminded him with a tired heart, the bitter cold of the nearby Helcaraxë freezing his resolve, then indicated the boy "His people."

A shadow of regret passed through the other's eyes "You weren't there, things got out of hand, at some point it was simply kill or be killed," he took a deep breath, shaking his head as his voice lost strength "It doesn't matter anymore, we have the ships."

Finrod looked at the swan ships that had always brought him so much joy growing up now were simply blood stained carcasses of their former selves, then Telperinquar stirred and Finrod wondered if his son's safe crossing through those waters was worth the bloodshed. Somewhere nearby, Angaràto and Turukàno were holding their own children in much the same way, it made him wonder if that was what the rest of the Noldor told themselves as well.

He sighed, the discussion on what to do with the ships did not look as if it would end any time soon "It's better if we rest now, we still have much to discuss tomorrow."

Atarinkë stared at him but didn't seem to be looking at him at all "Is there any tomorrow at all?"

They had never known a world without light, it was so easy to believe that this darkness would be the end of them.

Finrod allowed himself to bring the two into his arms, if they were seen so be it "Did you never hear the stories? We awoke in darkness under the stars, it cannot ever truly hurt us and light shall come again."

They separated some time after, Finrod to the Arafinweans, their leader now that his father had turned back, and Atarinkë to the Fëanorians. His dreams were blurry and his sleep troubled, when he woke up Finrod had no idea what time of the day it was, all he knew was that he could see but one distant ship and the Fëanorian faction was gone.

Atarinkë had left him and taken Telperinquar with him.

[sophiapathic]

Sk8: The Infinity - A Take on Love

Because my six unfinished assignments can wait until I throw this into the void, scream for five hours and after my voice gets hoarse, I resort to watching the beach episode on loop until next Saturday.

This was entirely sparked by the recap episode, which really pressed the reak havoc and theorize button in my brain. I am truly losing my grip on reality. Help. I apologize in advance, creatures of Tumblr. 

Me right now:

Anyways... 

I saw people mention here and there screaming that “we need canon relationships and they will get trust issues if a romance isn’t confirmed by the end of the series”. I think that mindset is harmful to have in this case. You can’t really avoid being disappointed if you get into the series expecting it to deliver on your wishes of gay romances. So, this might be controversial, but stay with me please. The anime and manga are both confirmed to be based primarily about the characters themselves and of course the sport -skating. I was hoping to take a closer look at what the series intends to do with certain dynamics and relationships according to yours truly. I also want explain my reasoning behind it not being queerbaiting, though it being inherently queer-coded, through the current lense of the canon.

Sk8: The Infinity is unquestionably a love story.

We need to state the genres this series is in, because some of us tend to forget. It is in fact not a shounen-ai, not a yaoi, not a romance, not even a josei. Say it with me it is a series in: COMEDY and SPORTS.

(Source is the official US Sk8 website.) The spotlight is udoubtedly on skating and what it means. Another important highlight of the show is how the definition of the sport relates to the characters, and how vastly different they are from what we expect. For example, when we see Shadow first, we pigeonhole him into this vulgar indecent rock and roll persona, only to find out later that he is actually a stweetheart at a flower shop. Joe is another very good case study. When we first see him we think of him as a womanizer muscle-head, later we find out he has a heart of gold and is very emotionally intelligent. We’re also quick to judge Miya as the cold, unfeeling prodigy then we discover how lonely and normal he is on the inside. And so on and so on. 

The show continues to defy our expectations of what each character should be like. In a way it is about breaking the conventional stereotypical roles we subconsciously assign to certain looks. We see that even in anime, multifaceted characters can exist without distrupting or damaging the delicate dynamics of a traditional sports anime. We successfully established the second focal point of the series as disproving stereotypes and presenting strong, diverse and unexpected personalities.

How about the defition of skating? What does it mean in the context of Sk8: The Infinity then? Where does a love story come into the picture? Skating is repeatedly described as a ritual of love within the anime, an idea that our villian, Ad*m, is obessed with. In a sense skating is a language of love canonically.

Then skating itself is love. Throughout the series we see varied styles of skating therefore different ways of expressing love, affection. We get to experience several metaphorical ways of “being in love” through characters skating with each other. Each dynamic shows us a type of love. Healthy, disfunctional, outright abusive. 

The way Reiki teaches Langa to skate can be interpreted as a direct metaphor for someone learning to love again after losing a person close to them. Langa’s father has died and Reiki literally brings him out of his shell again. It can also be interpreted as a queer kid’s experience of a world of romance that feels similar to his previous one, that being snowboarding, yet it still being new and different. Skateboarding. When due to Reiki Langa’s potential is discovered and his hunger for more and more develops, especially next to Ad*m, Reiki’s main frustration stems from them not being well-matched or on equal footing anymore. He feels like he cannot give Langa what he needs anymore. Which would obviously go againts the literal description of a healthy romance. Two people with mutual respect who both bring equal assets to the table. He feels like he needs to catch-up to be with Langa again. The only thing he doesn’t consider is Langa’s deep appreciation of him and the fact that literally he was the one who helped Langa experince the feeling of love again.

Kojiro and Kaoru’s relationships, to me, is very much representative of two people  wanting to be in each other’s presence, but due to their different language of love, miscommunicating horribly. Them bantering and insulting each other is the only way they know what to do with the other. The only way they can ensure the other’s attention and eyes are on them. This has worked so far. They are literal opposites, but both have a very clear definition of their form of love. To Joe skating, or love itself, is about the feeling and going with the flow. Being spontaneous. Whereas for Cherry, every move needs to be calculated and executed perfectly in order to be “efficient”. Their frustration comes from both wanting different things from the other, but not communicating their need properly. Despite this, they stick together due to a magnetic pull they obviously feel towards the other. The attraction is there, the trust is there, they are even well-matched in skill as we see them neck-to-neck constantly. They could give each other what the other wants. Only if they could express themselves well... This is why Joe pushes Reiki towards reconciling with Langa. he wants them to not fall into the same trap of not stating their  needs and thoughts properly.

Now Ad*m and Langa are obviously problematic and I don’t really want to have to explain, honestly guys. I really don’t  (since I have trauma regarding this subject), but I need to go into this a little bit. This is a textbook toxic predatory relationship. Where the older, twisted, damaged person, has an obsession with a young, outstading child. He wants to lead him into “Paradise” and show his “Eve” what love is really about. (Ain’t that disgusting you guys...) His form of love is inflicting pain, so I really can’t imagine a scenario where he and his “Eve” live happily ever after and everything is fine and dandy. He needs someone who he can torture. He literally is looking for someone who can handle his way of expressing affection, his “love hug”, who has the same type of crazy eyes for adrenaline and danger. His Eve. In his distorted mind, this all makes sense and Langa is that someone he was looking for thoughout the years. The problem is, he disregards Langa’s side where the relationship becomes problematic.

Cherry and Ad*m during their younger years seems to be a very innocent infatuation on Kaoru’s end. It is a one-sided relationship where someone is in love with the idea of a person long gone. They were discovering the world of skating, or the world of love together with Ad*m taking the lead. Cherry immediately became infatuated with him, wanted to learn his love language, wanted to be at the same level he was. It probably started very innocent. At first, Ad*m being gentle, because that’s how Tadashi was with him too, then after whatever happened between those two, Ad*m, disappointed in the way of love, or skating, Tadashi showed him, returned to what his aunts taught him. Maybe after injuring Kaoru with the “love hug”, therefore eliminating him from being his potential partner, started looking for his “Eve”, gradually became more agressive in love as in skating. Kaoru was distraught and wanted the Ad*m he originally learned love from back. Holding out some hope even years after. Trained to get used to his “love hug”, to literally condition himself to be able to get close to him. Ad*m, however showed Cherry brutally that he truly cannot handle his way of love.

Ad*m and Tadashi. *sighs* As of this post, I don’t really have enough information to give you a good overview of what I see this relationship representing. As far as I can tell Ad*m was abused horribly and to ease the pain and make him forget, Tadashi showed his another way of expressing affection. Skating or love. Basically a first love gone horrible bad, scarring an already abused child and turning them into a monster. Tadashi himself reinstates this during one of the episodes. It was his fault that Ad*m turned out the way he did. Their love slowly became strongly abusive throughout the years. Tadashi is stuck in it because he feels like he deserves it. This is a metaphor for  dangers of an emotionally and physically abusive relationship, where one person feels responsible and the other is using power. Tadashi’s guilt keeps him next to his master and he even endures abuse, now he is trying to break out and show Ad*m he messed up and I think this could potentially be a good representation of how difficult that process truly is. 

As far as Reiki’s, Miya’s, Shadow’s skating goes. Their main arc relating to love is first and foremost learning to accept themselves and aprecciating their uniqe way and style of skating. Only after can they become people who can truly be accomplished in love/skating (in Miya’s case I’m obviously talking about platonic feelings). Each of them had a preconception of their persona in love/skating, which gets questioned heavily throughout the series. Miya gets defeated, Shadow’s soft side gets discovered, Reiki... well. I get sad. :c Even though he taught someone to love again, to appreciate life again, he ended up discovering how dissatisfied he truly is with himself... These three all need to learn to love every aspect of themselves to reach fulfillment and to really experience healthy human relationships.

Sk8: The Infinity is unquestionably a love story, without explicitly being a romance, meaning that it is a tale about love, both romantic, platonic and everything inbetween through a queer-coded lens, showing both dysfunctional, abusive and healthy relationships, ways to express emotions and even delves into self-love and the idea of nature versus nurture in the villian’s case.

That is why I, personally don’t scream for a canon couple. To me, the show gets its main point about affection and love across, without making any of these relationships explicitly stated. Not to mention that it does justice to both of its assigned genres. Comedy and Sports as well. Yeah sure, I wouldn’t complain, but I think these dynamics are more than satisfying to watch, and much deeper than bishounens wanting to bang each other, which is, in my opinion, inherently sexualized. If they want, yeah they can confirm, make it canon without forcing it to be a center storyline. Hell, I would even be happy about it. I would clap with all of us. BUT, as the series currently is, I really see it taking the other route because of the above. This way audiences who want a yaoi or ikemen going at it, won’t be disappointed with the series when they find doesn’t revolve around that, straight viewers will just find it flamboyant, and people who look for subtext and want to read between the lines will certainly do that with the amount of crumbs and hints the writers gave us. 

We don’t need outright, written in black and white gay representation in Sk8 to experience very real types of love. The queer theme is secondary to me, just like queerness is, in most people’s lives. Yeah sure, it is a big thing, but not the only attribute a person has. My life doesn’t revolve around my queerness. I rarely talk about it. If I was a main character this would be a side-arc. Just like Sk8 doesn’t revolve around the characters coming out. It’s just them living their lives and possibly being queer while doing so. If you look at it this way, it is almost normalizing attraction between same-sex people by just showing it as regular love. If you can, why not interpret it this way, so it can be a liberating experience instead of a disappointing one.

Please don’t attack me! I am fragile and this is only my opinion. c:  *crawls back into her hole*

[slaviclore]

Hey folks, I have some thoughts that I’m going to share about my personal reactions to the war in Ukraine. I’m putting it under a tag in case you don’t want to hear about it, but I don’t expect that anything here is especially triggering.

I feel guilty because *everyone* is talking about the war, and I’m not, so maybe it seems like I don’t care or I’m not paying attention. I am, in fact, paying like a pathological amount of attention. So I offer you some insight here, and I apologize for being scarce, and I hope this will fix the guilt. To be clear, I fully recognize Russia as the aggressor in Ukraine, and I support the right of Ukrainians to sovereignty which includes joining alliances that they feel benefit them. 

I grew up in the region of Poland that’s closest to Ukraine, not far from the border where most of the refugees from Ukraine are fleeing. I still have family that lives there, and I visit them, but I’ve lived in the US for many years. I’m fluent in Polish, which is almost exclusively the language spoken in my family. English is my highest proficiency language as I did most of my schooling in the US. I’ve been learning Russian for a couple of years. That’s my disclaimer. If you feel that I am too far from Eastern Europe to comment on the topic, I understand and I ask that you simply stop reading. If you’re offended by the fact that I am willingly learning Russian even though generations of my family were forced to learn it against their will, I understand that too, and you and my mom can be bffs about it.

It’s freaking me out to do my Russian lessons, which I’m fully aware makes no sense. I love the language. Many Ukrainians speak it. But all the content I’m learning from was made before the invasion, and it’s causing cognitive dissonance where I feel like it *must* be about the war, but it’s about like Christmas and COVID or something. The only study routine I’ve been able to keep is to listen to 2 episodes from a Russian language podcast that were published after the invasion because everything else sounds like it’s from another dimension. The publisher of the podcasts is in Moscow, ardently condemns Russian aggression in Ukraine, and he says he doesn’t know what will happen with his language teaching business or if he will be able to keep making the content. The other Russian teacher I buy lessons from lives in Ukraine and has emailed his students to tell us he and his family have thankfully safely made it to Poland. I really feel for them both.

I also feel for my family in Poland, who are ostensibly not worried about the war spilling over the border, but no one feels like they know anything for sure. One of my aunts lives alone on our family property, and there are still n*zi bullets in the wood of her barn. She’s kind of a hermit, and the idea of her having to leave that home is unthinkable to us. Pretty much everyone agrees she and the rest of my family are safe, and I hope that’s the case.

As you know, I normally post things on this blog that I hope help people share and enjoy various aspects of Slavic culture. I try to post from different nations, and I try to stick to fun, interesting and beautiful topics. Right now, I can’t really do that -- not because I don’t want to, but it just doesn’t feel right to me. I feel like I had a tooth pulled out, and every time I try to chew, it’s sensitive and raw. I fully expect to come back, hopefully soon. I really appreciate some of the Ukrainian artists who are religiously posting on social media this past week, everything from their emotions, to their art, to war content. It feels to me like they’re reaching for affirmation while their home and identity as a people are in mortal danger. I will share with you a thread I like from Twitter that highlights them.

So I apologize for not posting very much for now, and I hope you are all safe, and I hope Ukraine will have its peace back soon.

[demibats]

rubescent. [p. parker]

summary: anon requested prompt 26 “You’ve got an eyelash on your cheek.” warnings: brief profanity, unnecessary use of italics word count: 2k+

“And that’s how you get B.”

You were blown away by Peter’s mind. How flawlessly he danced around the equations presented to you on your paper and ended up at the answer. You watched him write more than you were listening to him explain the process so you didn’t really get much written down yourself. He looked up from his paper and pressed his lips together then made a quiet popping sound with them. Brown eyes drifted from yours to your nearly blank notebook to which he chuckled at.

“Were you paying any attention to what I said?” He teased, taking your notebook to begin writing step by step notes for your own use. 

A little embarrassed, you lifted your sweater-covered hands up to cover your face, letting out your own defeated laughter, “I tried but you talked so fast, it’s hard to keep up.” You lied. Peter seemed oblivious to your origin of your distracted nature and continued writing down his helpful tips. 

You and Peter sat on his small bed, notebooks and textbooks heaped up around you to study for upcoming finals. He seemed so laid back compared to when you two sat a few seats away from each other in your lecture hall. He always sat so straight, his eyes glued to the blackboard, absorbing the information that was being presented. You later realized that a reason you asked him to help you study was because you spent quite a bit of time glancing in his direction to look at him rather than your professor or notes.

“Peter! Your food is here!” His aunt yelled from downstairs, making both of you flinch slightly. While Peter stood up to go retrieve the food for the two of you, you leaned over to your bag and grabbed your wallet, fishing out two twenty dollar bills for him. 

“I’ll cover it. Consider it payback for helping me study.” You said with a smile, but before you could finish, Peter was shaking his head at you.

“No no, don’t worry about it, my treat.”

“No, you take the money. Seriously, Pete, I wouldn’t be armed to the teeth with knowledge for this exam if it wasn’t for you. Let me pay.” You felt your lower lip push out into a slight pout and caught yourself, brushing it off with a chuckle. 

He took the cash with a huff and spun around to leave. Stubborn bastard. 

You stood up from your place on his mattress and scanned his room. It was relatively clean, all except for his desk. There were a bunch of papers littered, some crumpled up and some heavily written on. He had things tacked above his desk as well, some that looked like they were from high school. Yearbook photos and academic awards, a picture of a man with glasses and a lab coat and concert tickets. A part of you longed to see who Peter was outside of an instructional setting.

In the midst of your snooping, Peter stood in the doorway, the takeout containers in his hands. He watched as you furrowed your eyebrows while reading some of his notes for a class you didn’t share and how puzzled you seemed, “So I’m guessing particle physics isn’t your forte?” 

Startled, you jumped back and faced the direction of the voice. He caught you being nosy, which escalated your previous embarrassment even more. At least he wasn’t pissed off you were rummaging through his things. Most people would be. 

The two of you returned to your study spot, white takeout boxes replacing your homework. The quiet wasn’t awkward at all, it was comfortable; pleasant even. While Peter had a mouthful of lo mein, you looked up from your dish and washed him scarf them down.

“Did you always want to do bioengineering?” You asked. 

Peter finished chewing the remaining noodles and swallowed them down with a gulp of soda. Exhaling, he situated his body toward you more. “Not really. I kinda wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps and focus on Cross-Species Genetics but we all saw how that turned out for Dr. Connors so.. I pursued a different passion and ended up here.”

While he was enthused to discuss his career path, his tone dropped when he began talking about his father. You cringed inward and instantly regretted asking, but Peter let it roll off his back, “What about you? Organic chemistry seems a little far off from being a journalism major.”

“Science is a required class, thank you very much. And clearly I’m not very good at it or I wouldn’t be asking for help.” You twirled your noodles around your chopsticks, looking away from Peter. 

He shook his head as he placed a jumbo helping of noodles and vegetables into his mouth, speaking through the food. It was unintelligible but it was still so cute. 

“Come again, ace?” You asked, leaning toward him as an attempt to hear him better.

Peter brought his hand up to hover over his mouth, his contagious laughter ringing through his room, “Sorry, sorry, ahem.. I was trying to say that you’re- you’re smart, y’know? Smarter than a lot of the morons we sit with. I um- I think there are other reasons that we’re studying together, y’know?”

As he finished his sentence, his voice got quieter and he gazed down into his food, a poor way of trying to hide his blushing cheeks. If only he was looking at yours. 

You cleared your throat to try to defuse the tension brewing, your thumb sliding over the side of your food carton. “And you’re smart enough to figure that out.” Your voice was nearly as quiet as his.

Slowly, he lifted his head, panning his vision up, hoping to meet your eyes. His toothy smile caught your attention the most, making you return the grin. For a split second, he squinted at you.  “You’ve got an eyelash on your cheek.” He murmured, but you heard him. 

Peter shifted his weight forward, bringing his hand up to your face, the pad of his thumb swiping underneath your eye in a leisurely motion. Your eyelids fluttered down as he did so, your breath hitching in your throat. The feeling of his thumb traveled down to your cheekbone, his hand cradling your face. You opened your eyes briefly, to see Peter inches away from your face.

A beat of silence passed and then you spoke finally, “Kiss me…” You whispered, searching his eyes for a sign that he wanted the same. 

That’s all Peter needed before surging forward, his pinkish lips folding over yours. A chill ran down your spine as he pulled you closer, his hand never once leaving his spot holding your jaw. Your nose bumped his glasses, but neither of you paid any attention to it. Peter’s plush lips opened then settled against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you leaned more and more into his touch. 

Your mind was racing, but not a single coherent thought could be made of the jumbled mess inside your head. The feeling of your heart hammering in your chest almost distracted you from Peter’s kiss and gentle caress. It felt like hours and seconds all at the same time. After Peter pulled away, you could feel yourself pouting again but made no attempt to hide it. He bit down on his lower lip before leaning in to press a brisk kiss to your lips once more. 

“We should, y’know, finish up the- the homework.” He mumbled, too frazzled to think straight. 

You nodded in agreement, too giddy to speak. 

The rest of the study session went by rather quickly. With the tools Peter gave you, you had a bit of hopefulness in yourself as far as the exam went. You slowly packed away your belongings, wanting to spend as much time with Peter as possible. 

“I appreciate the help. My arsenal of tips and tricks is full of Peter Parker’s genius now.” You stood up from his bed, holding the strap on your shoulder, smiling down at him.

You watched as Peter almost hesitantly climbed off his bed and stood before you, towering over you. Another breath got caught in your throat as you looked up into his eyes, pressing your lips together as you anticipated his next move. 

He reached up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he grabbed his skateboard from the corner of his room. While you were slightly bummed he didn’t kiss you again, you figured he’d want to be home before dark so he wasn’t skating through Queens alone in the dark. 

Aunt May gave a small wave from the porch as you and Peter walked, shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk. He looked behind him briefly to see his aunt giving him a thumbs up and a sly wink. Oh brother.

“Are you gonna stay in New York once you graduate?” You asked, watching the cracks in the sidewalks as you passed each of them. 

“Yeah, probably. I gotta take care of May and this place might be a shithole but it’s home.” Peter scratched the back of his neck briefly before letting his hand drop by his side, bumping into yours. He mumbled an apology, looking at his shoes.

It took every ounce of courage you possessed, but you looked down between you two and laced your fingers with Peter’s as you walked. Neither of you said anything about it, but kept discussing little things like a minor childhood memory Peter remembered after seeing something or what you wanted to do when you graduated. Once you made it to your little house a few blocks away, Peter walked you right up to the doorstep, not letting go of your hand while you stood there. 

“Thanks again for tutoring me.” You gave your thanks, but even so Peter didn’t budge and neither did you. He stayed there, looking everywhere but into your eyes. His laidback nature melted away into being a flustered mess but it was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. 

“We could always do something else, I mean, after exams. We go, y’know, or do something else, if you want.” Peter stammered, finally looking down, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” You wet your lips quickly before turning to open your door. Before your hand could get to the knob, Peter had you pull flush against him, his lips finding yours. Your arms instinctively curling around his neck, drawing him in closer. 

His fervent kiss caught you slightly off guard, but you welcomed it nonetheless. You didn't care if wandering eyes witnessed Peter’s display of affection on your porch, all you cared about was Peter. His hand held the small of your back, pressing you into his hard chest while your fingers found purchase in his hair, scratching his scalp gently. Before you found yourself too far gone, you pulled back, looking down between your bodies. “Text me, okay?” You whispered, peeking up through your lashes. 

He nodded as he dropped his hand to his side, the other still clutching his board. His scruffiness looked even more disheveled than before due to the heated kiss, but Peter didn’t seem to mind as he hopped down the steps and placed his skateboard on the concrete. 

“How about I pick you and we can take the subway to campus together?” He hollered before you managed to get into your house. 

You turned back toward him, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear as the wind whipped them around. Nodding quickly, at a loss for words because of this damn boy. His cheeky smile was the last thing you saw before he was zipping down the street on his skateboard.

When you entered the house, you found yourself lingering against the front door for a long moment. With the back of your body pressed against it, you felt a small bump in your back pocket. You pulled off of the door and reached into your blue jeans, pulling out the two twenties you gave for Peter to pay for the takeout, folded into fours together. Cheeky bastard.

---

a/n: This was extremely fun to write! I definitely have found my groove writing for Andrew Garfield’s portrayal of Spider-man, I think he’s become my favorite Spider-man now, I still love Tom Holland though I hope this is satisfactory! Thanks to the folks who are requesting things, I’m slowly making my way through them!

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

Gotta Trust Each Other

Request: The reader is the girlfriend of Sam Wilson and the reader has the flu, and Sam wants to take care of her, but he has to go on a mission. When he comes home he sees Steve cuddling with the reader. He thinks that she cheated on him, but Steve says she asked if he could cuddle her, but she is not cheating on him. With fluff, thanks 

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, @maximeevansblog! I decided to switch the story up just slightly (reader gets a devastating phone call, instead of having the flu). I hope that’s okay! I wasn’t too confident with this one, but I hope you like it! Enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated :)

Pairing: Sam Wilson x fem! Reader

Warnings: angst/fluff, hospitalization, cursing  

When you receive the news, you’re standing in the kitchen, with Steve across from you. Sam was away on a mission with Bucky and wouldn’t be back until later. 

Holding your phone to your ear, you grasp it tightly and stare at the countertop. Tears start to run down your face and Steve looks up at you, brows furrowed with worry. 

“Okay, thank you for letting me know. I’ll have my phone by me. Please call me with any updates,” you say, hanging up a few seconds later. 

After placing your phone on the counter, you lean over and put your head in your hands. 

“What happened?” Steve asks, moving around the kitchen to get closer to you. 

Raising your head back up, you look at Steve through watery eyes. “My aunt’s in the hospital. They said she passed out at home and was found by her friend. They’re running tests on her now to figure out what happened.” 

He places his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Sniffling, you nod your head. “I could really use a hug right now.”

“Come here,” says Steve, opening his arms.

As he moves, his right arm hits your mug on the counter, causing your hot coffee to spill all over the front of you.  

Jumping back, you quickly bite your tongue to stop you from screaming out in pain. 

“Oh my god, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I’m messing everything up.” He walks around the kitchen to grab some napkins, before coming back and trying to wipe some of the coffee off you. 

“Crap, I’m so sorry.” He wipes at your shirt vigorously. 

Placing your hand on his arm, you stop his movements. “Steve,” you say. “It’s okay.”

Stepping back, Steve pulls off his shirt and hands it to you. “Here, just put this on. I’m going to run to my room really quick and grab another shirt. Hold on.” 

“Okay,” you say. When he walks away towards his room, you pull off your shirt and replace it with his. Sighing, you take a quick look at your mug, before picking it up and placing it in the sink. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the couch and decide to go sit down. 

Two minutes later, Steve reenters the room. “Hey, I’m sorry about that.” 

Chuckling, you look at him. “Steve, you don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s okay.” 

“Right,” he says, sitting down next to you on the couch. 

You look down at your lap, tears starting to gather in your eyes again. 

“How about that hug now?” Steve asks. 

Nodding, you look up at him, tears now falling quickly down your face. “That sounds nice,” you choke out. 

“Oh, Y/N. Come here.” Steve grabs you and places you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly. 

Placing your head into his shoulder, you sob uncontrollably. 

He places his hand on your head, lightly kneading his fingers into your hair. 

“Everything is going to be okay. We’re all here for you. You won’t go through this alone.” 

“She means everything to me,” you choke out. “She raised me all by herself, since I was eight years old. I couldn’t bear losing her.” 

“I understand,” he says. Steve gently moves your face from his shoulder and wipes off your tears with his thumb. “We’ve just gotta stay positive and take it one day at a time.”

Grabbing a tissue, you wipe the remaining tears away. 

Before you can respond to Steve, Sam comes running into the room, arriving back earlier than anticipated.

“You will not believe what happened to Bucky…” he stops talking when he notices you and Steve situated on the couch. “What the hell is going on here?” he asks. 

Confused, it takes you a second before you look down and realize you’re wearing Steve’s shirt, while sitting in his lap. 

Immediately, you jump up, at the same time that Steve grabs you to hoist you back onto your feet. 

“Sam, it’s not what it looks like,” you say, walking towards him. 

He turns around, so his back is facing you. “That’s what they always fucking say.” He turns towards Steve. “And, you.” He points his finger at him. “Didn’t take you as someone to backstab me.” 

Steve walks up to Sam. “If you would just let us explain…”

“Explain what?!” Sam yells. “That my best friend is hooking up with my girlfriend behind my back?” 

Frustrated that he won’t even look at you, you walk forward and grab his arm. “Could you at least look at me?” 

Looking at you in disgust, Sam scoffs. “To think that I have given you everything and this is how you treat me?” 

Once again, tears well up in your eyes. Steve notices and grabs Sam, gaining his attention. 

“If you’d just let us explain, you’d know that Y/N’s aunt is in the hospital and she needed some comfort. She asked me for a hug and when I moved, I accidentally knocked coffee onto her. I gave her my shirt to wear. I didn’t even think twice about it, it was just a reflex.” Steve gestures towards the couch. “I decided to hold her, after I came back from getting a new shirt and saw her sobbing.”

Sam curses to himself, before looking at you. “Baby…” 

You cut him off. “I would never disrespect you like that.”

He walks up to you and places his hands on your shoulders. “I know you wouldn’t. I was being an asshole.” 

“I’m going to leave you two to talk. Let me know if you need anything, Y/N,” says Steve, before leaving the room. 

When Steve is gone, you look back at Sam and grab his hand. “For this relationship to work, we have to trust each other.”  

Reaching his hand up to touch your cheek, he closes his eyes and sighs. After a couple seconds, he reopens them. “I… I’m so sorry, beautiful. I do trust you, completely. And, god, I’m sorry about your aunt, Claire. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

“Well, you can start by holding me. Steve’s hugs are nowhere as nice as yours.” 

Sam chuckles before picking you up bridal style and carrying you to your shared bedroom. “That I can do.” 

Laying your head against his chest, you close your eyes. “You know, I love you and I love our relationship. It hurts that you’d think I’d throw it away so easily like that. No one compares to you. No one.” 

Arriving at your room, Sam sets you down on the bed and crawls in next to you, pulling you into his chest. “I’m a fucking idiot, Y/N. For me to even accuse you of that, to accuse Steve of that, I don’t deserve someone as amazing as you.” 

Turning around in his arms, you place a kiss on his cheek. “You do deserve me. But, if something like this ever happens again, let’s hear each other out first, okay? No assumptions.” 

Anthony leans in towards you. “No assumptions.” He gives you a quick kiss. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I love you so...” he gives you another kiss. “...much.” 

Smiling, you give him a kiss back. “I love you too... Come with me to the hospital tomorrow?” 

“Of course, beautiful. I’ll be right by your side the entire time.” 

Giving him one last kiss, you lay your head on his chest and fall asleep to the steady beating of his heart.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part III

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of feelings, handcuffs, testosterone, quite a bit of sex, one surprise kiss (cause Erwin is a privileged dick), parents, domesticity A/N: I apparently did not write an author’s note for this originally, but uh, this is one of my favorite sections of the whole fic, so. 

Mike uses the rest of the break to relax, to get his head on straight so that when he gets back on campus he won’t be overbearing. He knows that’s the last thing you want from him.

 You text back and forth a few times a day, but most of it is dumb shit, and the conversation dies off pretty quickly—either Mike not knowing how to respond or you just growing bored. 

 He busies himself by spending time with his parents and playing with Scout who eats up all the attention. Family comes over for Christmas, and his mom and aunt get into an argument. It’s nothing new.

 He’s happy to get back to the school and back in classes just to stimulate his brain. More than that, he’s happy to see you again. Even if it means the two of you go back to friend-only status. 

 Things are awkward between him and Erwin, though. It isn’t the first time they’ve had a hiccup in their friendship, but this one has really rubbed Mike the wrong way. Erwin tries to apologize a few more times, but every time he does, all Mike can manage is an unconvincing, “It’s fine,” which the other man obviously doesn’t buy. 

 He tries not to be possessive when you start coming to the house again, but it’s fucking hard whenever he has to watch you and Erwin talk and joke around. Mike figured you’d be at least a little annoyed that he’d just walked in on the two of you like that, but you act like it never happened.

 Eventually, Mike has to ask about it, just can’t help himself. “Aren’t you, like, even a little mad that he did that? Don’t you think it was fucked up?”

 You’re sitting on Mike’s bed, a controller in your hand as you play Mario Kart, sound a little distracted when you respond, “I mean, yeah, it was fucked up, but I never really expected anything more from him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 You look at him from the corner of your eyes before staring at the screen again. “Erwin is a cocky motherfucker. I’ve seen the way he gets the girls on campus, probably thinks he can charm all of them which means he probably thinks he’s entitled to all of them. Us.”

 “Are you calling him a predator?”

 You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he’d ever, like, rape anyone. He at least has enough class and common sense not to do that. But I think… He doesn’t care who he goes after. Single girls, girls in relationships, happy girls, damaged girls. He just has a one track mind when it comes to sex. That’s what I’ve gathered anyway.”

 Laying back on his bed, Mike laces his fingers behind his head and thinks on what you’ve said. “That just sounds like a drawn out way of saying he’s a flirt.”

 “A massive flirt. Without any real care about whose feelings he hurts in the process.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “I don’t appreciate it,” you sigh, “But he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to put up with some shit from him.”

 “Even him perving on you?”

 “Not the first time it’s happened to me, probably won’t be the last. He’s curious, I can tell.”

 Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

 You stay quiet for several seconds, toggling over to another track on the game, then ask, “That make you uncomfortable?”

 Blinking up at the ceiling, Mike wonders what the right answer to this is. He doesn’t want to scare you away, but he doubts he’ll be able to act as aloof as you do. 

 “A little.”

 You hum, nodding in a thoughtful manner before suggesting, “I think we can keep hooking up through this semester.”

 Mike sits up on his elbow, looks at you with high eyebrows. “Wait, really?” He sounds too excited, he knows.

 “Yeah. I have mostly easy classes, or really, I have interesting ones which makes studying for them easier. Plus, it might teach Erwin a lesson.”

 He falls back flat, scoffing. “I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point to Erwin. I want you to fuck me because you want to.”

 The game music stops when you pause it, and then you’re straddling Mike, hands on his chest as you smirk at him. 

 “Don’t let this go to your head, Zacharias, but no one has ever fucked me the way you do.”

 Mike tries not to grin, triumph blooming inside of him, and he grips your hips a little too tightly. “Oh, that’s definitely going to my head.” 

 You grind your covered pussy over his denim-clad cock, and Mike feels all his blood flow south.

 Laughing, you lean down to ghost your lips over his and murmur, “Both heads, apparently.”

 That day, the two of you start a routine that leaves Mike falling harder and harder with every passing day.

 *

 “Come on, please just be my date,” Mike begs, thinks about getting to his knees if it’ll help convince you.

 “Why?” You ask, looking up from your textbook.

 You and Mike are sitting in the library—you studying, him bothering you. “I’m honestly so tired of parties at this point.

 “It’s not like the big parties we throw, though,” he tells you. “It’s just the brothers and their girlfriends.”

 “That makes it even worse,” you push one little laugh through your nose. “What makes you think I wanna spend an entire night with a bunch of frat boys and their matching sorority girls?”

 Mike rolls his eyes. “They’re not all sorority girls, just like, eighty-five percent of them.”

 Your head lolls, an expression that reads nothing but apathy aimed at Mike, and he gives you a hopeful smile and adds, “On the bright side, we get to stay together all night…?”

 “Oh god, it's a cuff party, isn't it?" 

 All he can do at this point is beg because the more he explains it, the more he realizes how not appealing this is to you. “Please.”

 Sitting back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest and puff your cheeks out as you exhale heavily. “What’s in it for me?”

 Fuck yes. Half the battle is won. 

 “Uhh,” obviously sex is the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind, so the first offer he makes is, “I’ll go down on you ‘til you cry.”

 You snort. “Try again.”

 “Fuck you ‘til you pass out?”

 “Jesus—why do you want to hurt me? Try again. Third time’s a charm.”

 Mike brainstorms for a solid thirty seconds, thinks about what you’ve mentioned to him over the past couple of weeks, sex and school and—

 “I’ll help you study for your geochemistry exam.”

 You finally look interested. “I’d actually really appreciate that. You took the course?”

 “Yeah, environmental geochemistry was sort of my jam last year. Final grade was a ninety-seven.”

 “Holy shit.”

 Mike shoots you a satisfied smile, but before you can tell him to wipe it from his face, he asks, “So, you’re in?”

 “I guess.”

 This is how you both end up in the frat house handcuffed together. No one seems to be surprised at the fact that you’ve come with him, all the brothers used to you hanging around the frat house.

 Most couples are walking around holding hands just because it takes some of the pressure off of everyone's wrists, but Mike doesn't dare try it with you. Too cute. Too comfortable. 

 These types of get togethers are Mike's favorite, though, always more relaxed than the open parties. There’s still drinking and music, but the energy is different since it’s a tighter knit group. 

 It takes about an hour for Erwin and his date to approach the two of you, fingers laced together, drinks in their free hands. 

 “Looking good,” Erwin greets with a smile. "Very… trapped." 

 “Yeah, you too,” Mike says, trying to ignore the subtext of Erwin's comment.  

 Blue eyes flick to you, and you’re questioned, “How’d he end up talking you into this?”

 You don’t miss a beat as you reply cooly, “Bribed me with sex and study help.”

 “Ah, of course he did.”

 Mike’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches his pinky out to link with yours, a subtle claim. When you rest your head on his arm, he looks down at you and smirks. 

 “Anyway,” Erwin pushes on. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

 Mike lies, “Yeah. How are you?”

 The girl’s voice reminds him of who she is, “Well. How are you, Mike?” It’s a little high pitched and nasally with a northern accent. He especially remembers what she sounded like moaning for Erwin through the wall, obnoxious but Mike can’t really judge since he’s subjected the rest of the house to the same thing once or twice (or a dozen times) before.  

 “Glad to hear it.”

 The group stands together for a few more awkward seconds before Erwin clears his throat and asks his date, “Another drink?” then makes his exit. 

 “You have got to get over this grudge, dude,” you take your head from his shoulder, and Mike immediately misses the warmth. “Like, it’s cute that you’re trying to defend my honor or whatever, but it’s time to move on. You guys are friends. Just talk it out.”

 He sucks his teeth, almost tells you about the way he and Erwin had nearly thrown punches at the ranch house, the way the blond had basically admitted to wanting to try you out, but Mike decides against it, doesn’t want to talk too much shit only to end up making up with him.

 “Guys don’t really talk it out. We usually fight it out.”

 “That’s fucking primitive. You should learn to communicate like mature humans.”

 “Probably,” Mike hums. “But not right now.”

 Being connected to each other means every activity is a partner activity. The most interesting is playing beer pong against Nile and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Marie, house rule for the night being whoever is throwing has to use their cuffed hand. It’s like a twisted three-legged race and requires an amount of teamwork and coordination Mike has never had to deal with before. 

 It’s also the first time he manages to beat Nile. Mike had no doubt that the other man would have crushed you by himself, but it turns out the actual couple does not work together very well. All their shots are clumsy, and Nile gets frustrated right off the bat which only makes things worse. Meanwhile, you and Mike come up with a strategy after the first terrible throw and use it for the rest of the game. 

 You’re both challenged by a few other teams and end up winning every time which has Mike feeling smug about the victories and giddy at how in-tune the two of you are. Gelgar even tells you both, “You guys are good together,” which makes Mike cough as you wave him off.

 You drink a little more, converse a little more, and then—as always—end up in Mike’s bedroom. 

 “You want me to get the key and take these off?” He asks between kisses.

 You smile into him, let out a little laugh and play, “You don’t think it’d be kinda fun to fuck with ‘em on?”

 “It’ll be harder,” Mike snorts. “But, we can. Won’t be able to take shirts off, though.”

 “Good thing we just need to take our pants off.”

 It’s clumsy and silly, and you both tug in opposite directions more than a few times. Mike laces his fingers with yours when he goes down on you, relishing in the way you arch off his bed and squeeze his hand. On the floor, you give him head in the same fashion, and fuck, Mike can hardly focus on you sucking him off while your fingers are woven together, even if it is just for the sake of convenience. 

 He fucks you from behind that night, your face buried in his pillow as he’s buried in you. Both of your arms are stretched behind your back, held at the wrists by Mike’s much, much larger hand. He uses his free one to grip your hip, pushing and pulling you on his cock to his heart’s desire. 

 You’re so pretty, damp with sweat and moaning his name when your head is turned only to shove it back into his pillow when he makes you scream. Your dripping cunt opens up for him perfectly, making Mike feel more inebriated than alcohol ever could, but as his balls tighten and that warmth spreads in his gut, he has a single moment of clarity, assess the position he has you in and pants, “Shit, I can’t pull out.” Not without ripping your god damn arm out of socket or fracturing his dick. 

 “Mmm—fuck, just come inside, come inside me, Mike.”

 That alone makes him lose it, shooting a fucking copious amount of cum into your pussy, so much that it drips from your hole and runs down your thighs. 

 “Fucking C-Christ,” he laughs a little hysterically, gathering thick white and slipping it back inside you. Transfixed by the way his added finger pushes more of his cum out of you, he asks in a daze, “You on birth control?”

 “Yeah,” you answer in a breathy voice.

 Mike hums. “Good. Just gonna sit here for a while then.”

 You let out a whimper that turns to a whine when he rubs his slick finger over your clit. Twitching around him, you tease, “F-finger painting again?”

 He chuckles, “You know it.” 

 Honestly, if he could cover you in cum, he would—admire your body painted in white strings, watch it drip down your ribs and thighs. If Mike hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again at the mere thought, but for now his focus is rubbing your little clit. Still face down, you spread your legs more and more, and Mike has to curl over you, breathing heavily on your neck as you wriggle and buck, overstimulating him as he keeps his cock nestled inside of you.

 He groans just as loud as you do as you start pulsing around him, pussy clenching in a way that actually pulls a few more drops of cum from Mike, then you both pant for a little while until Mike straightens up and pulls you with him, your back to his chest as you hang your head. 

 “You good?” He questions, brushing his lips over your neck as lightly as possible.

 “Yeah,” you tell him. “Just… Full.”

 Mike’s body heats all over again as he rests his forehead on your uppermost vertebrae. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” he warns, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

 “Hmm.” He can see the little smile on your face without even looking up. “You did offer to fuck me until I pass out.”

 “I have a refractory period, you know.”

 You glance over your shoulder, and now Mike gets a good look at your smirk and twinkling eyes. “I can wait.”

 Both of you emerge from the room in the early hours of the morning, still stuck together as you quietly make your way downstairs to find the key to the handcuffs. You’re wearing a pair of Mike’s gym shorts, the mesh falling far past your knees and barely staying up around your waist. He knows you’re still messy and can tell by the way you’re walking that you’re sore, but he has every intention of cleaning you up and taking care of all your aches and pains in the shower. 

 *

It’s party after god damn party with classes and studying and fucking in between. You have never had this much sex in your life, but you’re not complaining. It takes the edge off, and Mike isn’t the worst company. Far from it, actually. The more you get to know him, the more he falls into what you think is his real personality. 

 The brash frat boy is a front, you come to find out, a mask to fit in with everyone else, one he wears very well. 

 But, when it’s just the two of you in his room playing video games or watching TV, he actually relaxes, gets quieter and much more reflective. The pastels and khakis and Hawaiian shirts stay hung up in his closet, both of you lounging in t-shirts and joggers more often than not.

 He more or less tutors you in geochemistry, and between that and all the nerd shit in his room, you realize… Mike is kind of extremely smart. And, it’s kind of extremely hot.

 “I still don’t understand why you hide it,” you tell him one afternoon as you watch him play Ocarina of Time. 

 He shrugs, green eyes wide and focused on the screen, gives you the same answer he did last semester when you’d asked a similar question: “People are more interested in other things.”

 “So you adopted the obnoxious frat boy persona?”

 “I guess. It makes the college experience a lot easier.”

 You cock your head to the side, genuinely curious when you ask, “Doesn’t it wear you out? Seems like you’re just an introvert in hiding.”

 Mike laughs, pauses the game, and looks at you. “It used to. Some days it still does. But, it’s easier than taking shit from the guys.”

 Squinting at him, you mumble, “I will beat up anyone who gives you shit about being a nerd.”

 It makes him laugh. Loudly. And, you see a certain curiosity glimmering in his eyes, unasked questions—probably something along the lines of when you started caring and getting protective over him. 

 You’re not. Not exactly. You just don’t like the idea of anyone giving him a hard time. 

 “No offense, babe, but I don’t know how much damage you could inflict on anyone. You’re, like, two feet tall.”

 You straighten up, chest puffing up as you pull your fists up to your chin and rock back and forth like a Street Fighter character. “You wanna fuckin’ go, Zacharias? I’ll show you how much damage I can inflict.”

 He grins in that boyish way that always makes you look away. It’s too cute and too charming and makes you feel too many things. 

 Mike hangs his long legs over the side of the bed and pulls you on top of him with no problem whatsoever. You’re eye level with him now, heart beating too fast as you hold his shoulders, eyes flicking to his lips. 

 “We can go if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

 He has feelings for you. You know he does, can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he fucks you, and you really should cut things off, but… You don’t want to. He’s the most tolerable person you’ve met on campus, much less annoying than Hitch. You have things in common and joke around until you’re both rolling in laughter. And, of course, the sex is incredible. 

 It’s just casual, you keep telling yourself. Mike is smart enough not to push things. He knows better, knows you’ll just turn him down, and though it’s hard to admit, that wouldn’t just hurt him; it’d hurt you too.

 In his lap now, you don’t encourage him to take things further, mostly because you’re still sore from the night before, and he understands that. Instead, you lock your arms around his neck and change the subject to something that’s still bothering you even after several weeks.

 “Have you and Erwin made up yet?”

 Mike makes a face, answers, “Not exactly.”

 “The hell does that mean?”

 “It means we’re talking a little more, but it’s always short conversations and the problem still hasn’t been addressed.”

 You let out a little, “Ugh,” then state, “You guys are impossible.”

 It really doesn’t make sense that he’s so upset about it, especially since you’ve gotten over it. It was a shitty thing for Erwin to do—walking in like that—but you don’t think it’s anything to end a friendship over.

 And, with that thought in mind, you spend the rest of the afternoon devising a plan. It’s not in your nature to meddle, but it seems, in this case, you’re gonna have to.

 *

 Mike is in his fancy ecology class when you walk into the Pike house, nodding at everyone in the den as you step further inside. You learned a few months ago that it’s much safer to keep your shoes on, less jarring to step on a sticky floor the first years didn’t do a good job cleaning. 

 Nile is reclining sideways on the couch with Marie between his legs, an action movie playing on the ridiculously big TV mounted on the wall. 

 “Is Erwin here?” You ask.

 Nile looks at you with a frown, one that’s completely warranted since you’ve literally never asked this before. 

 “Uh, yeah.” He points up at the ceiling. “In his room.”

 “Cool, thanks.”

 “You know which one it is?”

 Squeezing one eye shut, you’re honest when you tell him, “I think so.���

 The way Marie is quick to pipe up, “Second furthest to the left, right next to the bathroom,” is very amusing, especially when Nile clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

 You make your way upstairs, following Marie’s directions, then take a deep breath before knocking on Erwin’s door, clueless as to what his lock code might be.

 It takes a few seconds, but the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Erwin. His eyes widen a bit when he sees you, craning his neck back like he’s shocked that you’re standing outside of his room. That’s fair.

 “Uh, hey?”

 “Hey,” you greet shortly. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 Erwin blinks a few times then steps to the side, murmuring, “Yeah, of course.”

 His space is very different from Mike’s, more organized, framed pictures, bed completely made. Even his desk is clean, papers and books all stacked neatly on one side of his open laptop.

 “Studying?” You question.

 “Yeah. Would you like to sit down?” His voice is deep—not as deep as Mike’s—and always so proper, like he spent his childhood in country clubs (he did). 

 “Not really,” you answer without any hesitation.

 Unsurprisingly, Erwin leans against his desk instead of taking a seat himself, arms on either side, fingers hanging off the edge of the polished wood. It makes the muscles in his forearms become more prominent, veins popping against his skin. You have to give it to him, it’s a good move. 

 “So, what’s going on?”

 Running your tongue over your teeth, you recall what you planned to say—cut to the chase, stay firm, don’t get caught up in any of his tricks. 

 “You need to make up with Mike.”

 Erwin immediately snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

 “Half-assed apologies aren’t gonna work, dude. Actually sit down with him and hash things out.”

 “Yeeeah,” he drawls. “That didn’t work very well the first time.”

 “Maybe try again? You guys are, like, best friends.”

 “Levi is my best friend,” Erwin corrects, “And, I’m pretty sure that you’re Mike’s at this point.”

 “Don’t say that.”

 “It’s true,” he smirks.

 You wave him off, getting back to your original point. “At the very least, you guys should make up just because you have to live in the same house.”

 Erwin crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes deviating upward as if he’s thinking hard. You doubt he is.

 “So, you’re not mad about what happened?” He asks after a few seconds. 

 You're blunt when you respond, “It was a shitty thing to do. Wouldn’t advise trying it with anyone else, but honestly, I’m not super surprised you’d pull something like that.”

 His facial expression turns to one of true offense, blond eyebrows furrowing enough for a little wrinkle to form between them. “Excuse me?”

 You take a step toward him, almost jab a finger in his chest but resist. “No no no. You don’t get to be pissed. You’re the one who fucked up here. I’m just telling you the truth.”

 Eyes narrowing, he pushes himself off the desk, standing to his full height to loom over you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, one he’s probably used before on many people, and it makes your blood boil. 

 In a futile attempt to make yourself look bigger, you straighten your spine and tilt your head to look up at him, lips pursed, eyes narrow. You remember what Mike said about you being too small to hurt anyone, but you can be scrappy. You’re not above slapping a face or kneeing someone in the balls. 

 Erwin peers down at you, jaw setting for a moment as he really studies you, then breaks into an infuriating smile. 

 “You’re cute, you know that?” He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you swat his hand away. 

 “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

 This close to him, seeing the way he acts behind closed doors, you wonder how Mike ever even got close with him. They’re so incredibly different. For the last semester and a half, you've only known Erwin as Mike's somewhat obnoxious, spoiled friend. Now, it seems he's showing his true colors.

 “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m feeling pretty great right now.”

 Oh, you wanna hit him. You wanna hit him so badly, but honestly, Erwin kind of seems like the type to call the fucking police if you did. 

 “You don’t have any reason whatsoever to be feeling good.”

 He’s still grinning, eyes bright and wide as his pupils dilate. 

 Are you calling him a predator?

 He sure looks like one now, a lion with his sights set on an antelope, and as you stare at him, it dawns on you that this was a bad idea. 

 “You know what? Nevermind,” you shake your head. “You don’t deserve to be Mike’s friend anyway.”

 The laugh that pours from his lips is not at all humorous. His voice drops when he challenges, “You think so?”

 You need to leave, need to get out of here before this argument goes any further, but as you make a move toward the closed door, he slides in front of you. You shouldn’t have walked so far into his room.

 “Erwin,” you grit through your teeth. “Don’t do this.”

 “Just tell me—because I need to know—” he breathes, still staring down at you with that unnerving gaze. “What does Mike have that you like so much?”

 Both your hands flex by your sides. There are so many ways to answer this question, all of which will evoke a different response. 

 But being who you are, you speak before you think, spitting the first thing that comes to mind: "You want me to make you a list, Smith? 'Cause I sure fucking can."

 He makes a little circle with his hand, a 'go on' motion, and prompts, "Please, enlighten me."

 And, so you do. 

 "Warmth, sincerity, class, depth, understanding—"

 "So, it isn't just about the sex," he cuts you off, sounding more sure than curious. 

 You pinch the bridge of your nose, tired of these god damn frat boys and their obsession with getting their dicks wet.  

 "I mean, it started out that way—not that it's any of your business."

 "I can give you more, you know. Satisfy you better—"

 "Please shut the fuck up," you beg, getting madder by the second. The confidence, the entitlement, is making you sick. 

 "You don't believe me?" He steps toward you again, and you back up. 

 "No, I don't." Because how could he? Whether it's stimulating conversation or sex, there's no way Erwin could compare. 

 And now you realize just how much you appreciate Mike. 

 Erwin is closing the distance between you, moving slowly but purposefully. "This is how it started with you and him, right? You made him chase you?" 

 "Get out of my way," you demand, trying to shoulder past him—

 And, you should have seen it coming, should have been prepared for the way he grabs you, strong hand closing around your upper arm to pull you to his body. Thick fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back, face tilted up, and all you can really do is shove at his chest with your free hand, growling in your throat as Erwin crushes his lips against yours. 

 Adrenaline courses through your body. You try to shake the hand on your head, try to jerk your arm from his grip, but he's too fucking strong, and it terrifies you. 

 Your voice is muffled as you plead, "Er—mmf—shtp—"

 You lift your hand higher and manage to hit him just beside his eye with the side of your palm, and it makes him break the "kiss" (you refuse to actually call it that).

 He breathes a heavy, "Just let me—"

 "No." You push his chest again, and he lets go of your arm. Quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you tell him, "You're a shitty friend and a little fucked in the head, but you're not low enough to force yourself on someone," you pant, shaking with nerves and rage, "So don't."

 Hopefully, you're not giving him too much credit. Despite the overflowing fury and fear, you still think there's a little hope for him. Not with you, of course, just in general.

 He stares at you, expression changing from confusion to understanding to regret, and before you know it, he's scrubbing his hands down his face and muttering, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You're right I—I got carried away. I've been jealous of Mike and curious and—"

 "Why?" You blurt because you do not get it. "Both of you are, like, top athletes and in a fraternity, could get literally anyone you wanted, so what is it? Is it because I'm a nobody? Because you're bored of the sorority girls? Am I the one chick on your list you haven't screwed?" 

 "I… I don't know. You just—"

 "Is it because Mike has a toy he doesn't wanna share?"

 "Maybe." Erwin is frowning again, like he's stumped. He doesn't even know what he's feeling. It's honestly a little pathetic. 

 "Well, pick someone else. I know you have Maddie wrapped around your finger, so take advantage of that or whatever. Just leave me out of it."

 Ocean eyes are wide and troubled. He really does look remorseful, but that doesn't change what he just fucking did. God, you're disgusted. And a little hurt. 

 "Don't ever try that shit on me again—or anyone else—'cause I swear to God, I will break your fucking nose."

 "Yeah, okay," he nods.

 You go to walk past him again, voice loud and unforgiving when you tell him, "Move," and then you're out of his room, slamming the door, and getting as far from Pike house as possible.

 That did not go the way you had planned it to, but you should have been ready for the worst case scenario. That's on you, you guess. 

 Because Erwin Smith may not be a predator by definition, but he's certainly something—something you want to stay away from. 

*

"Why are you acting weird?" Mike's voice pulls you from your empty head, and you take your eyes off the loose string of your hoodie—his hoodie—and look up at him. 

 "What are you talking about? 'm not acting weird."

 He moves from his place at the edge of his bed and crawls to prop himself up next to you on his pillows. 

 "Uh, yeah you are. Have been for the past week or so."

 He isn't wrong. You've kept to yourself a little more since your "conversation" with Erwin. It had just been so uncomfortable and jarring, and you don't want to tell Mike because you know he'll just get pissed all over again which would be very annoying since he and Erwin finally made up. Just like you wanted them to. 

 Except now you know Erwin a little better, and you're not sure you want him having any more influence over Mike. 

 Rubbing your face, you shrug and easily lie, "I've just been tired."

 And, of course, Mike is too smart for that. 

 "Tired? That's the go-to answer for anyone who actually feels shitty."

 "I mean, yeah, but I'm actually tired in this case." It isn't a complete lie considering how fucking late he kept you up last night. 

 Mike hums. "Wanna take a nap before the party?" 

 The acid in your stomach churns. The party. The one you do not have any desire to go to. The one that will push you over the ledge of annoyance and into the realm of genuine discomfort. You don't want to go. You don't want to hang out. You don't want to see Erwin. 

 Sliding your legs under the covers, you lay down in Mike's bed, turning on your side so that your back is facing him. You've told him on numerous occasions that you don't have any interest in certain events, but he always talks you into going to them anyway. So, what'll be different this time? You're just gonna end up downstairs huddled in a corner refusing to drink as your eyes scan over everyone, ready to make a quick exit if you have to. 

 Mike settles in closer behind you, the heat of his chest pouring across your back, and you can feel the pillow dip when he rests his head on it. He waits for a while before letting his arm fall over your waist. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut, makes something crawl into your throat, trying to scratch its way out. 

 "I really don't wanna go tonight," you murmur.

 You expect some form of protest, a convincing argument in the form of a well thought out fucking speech while he kisses down the back of your neck, but instead, a low rumble of, "Okay," spills from his mouth, and you hate how it makes you feel—how grateful you are for him. 

 He's getting to know you. Has gotten to know you after spending so much time together. He can read your ups and downs now, can tell when you're joking or serious, take the hint when you want him with a single look (that one might be the most irritating), but it just goes to show how perceptive he is, how much of himself he's been hiding while in college. 

 The shallow jock you thought you knew is no comparison for this. 

 "Spring break's coming up," he speaks into your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering to himself, "Citrus kills me," like you can't hear him. 

 You pretend not to because it's soft and personal and would probably make him adorably self-conscious, and you can't deal with Mike blushing. 

  "Yeah, it is. Couple more weeks." 

 "What're your plans?" 

 You shrug against him, trying not to get too wrapped up in the way his body feels over yours, longer legs tangling between yours, his draped hand nearly covering your entire stomach, his stubble scratching your neck and cheek. 

 When did you get this close? When did you decide it was okay to be this intimate? This is what couples do. This is comfort. 

 And, you didn't think you needed it, but fuck—

 "Nothing, really. Go see Mom, I guess."

 "Come stay with me," he says quickly. "Just for a few days."

 You wriggle to turn on your back and frown up at him as a myriad of questions fill your mind. 

 Mike takes a deep breath, somehow reading every one of them. 

 "I know that sounds like a 'come meet my parents' thing, but I promise it's not. I just thought it'd be cool to hang out not at school and not at a party. Plus," he shows a broad grin. "You can meet Scout."

 "Mm, tempting," you laugh. "I do like dogs."

 "And, you'll love her! She's so sweet and so goofy and—"

 "I'll think about it," you stop him. 

 Mike bites his lip, looking hopeful, but tries to play it off with a, "Okay, cool," then leans down to kiss you as if you've already said yes. 

 Honestly, you have, just not out loud. He had you at 'hanging out'. 

 *

Studying sucks. Midterms suck. Avoiding parties, however, does not suck. Mike still goes to most of them, kind of has to considering they're usually thrown at the PKA house, but sometimes he just shows his face then comes to your dorm. You try to convince him to stay, hang out with his friends, but he usually just shrugs and digs through your stash of movies until he finds something he wants to watch. 

 It's fine with you, makes passing geochem a lot fucking easier, but it also means little sleep and a perpetual soreness between your legs. 

 You just… Can't get enough of each other. And, you think that's how it's always been since that first party. Afterward, you had denied him in the courtyard and then broke as soon as he got into your room to get his stupid shirt. Denied him at the bar then broke as soon as he leaned over you at the pool table. Denied him at the after-game party and broke after… Seeing his room? Watching movies? Acting like friends for the first time? Whatever it is, you're always falling into bed together, some kind of unstoppable force against your obviously very movable object. 

 It's something you think about too much now, always somewhere in the back of your head. At this point, you should probably just be with him, don't know who you're kidding with that lie about focusing on school (your grades have never been better actually), but you're scared. That's really what's been hard to admit to yourself, not the fact that you're attracted to him or the fact that your irritation has bloomed into genuine fondness and admiration. It's that's you're fucking terrified. You can feel it in your bones. 

 Don't get too attached because people leave. All the time. People let you down. People disappoint. 

 You don't want Mike to disappoint you, so you won't give him the chance to. 

 Of course, all of that is easier said than done as you look over at him in the Wrangler, one huge hand pn the wheel as his other arm hangs out of the open window, catching the wind that batters against it like he's trying to push back. You hate it when he does that, too many horror stories of car crashes that end in traumatic amputations, but it's one of Mike's strange simple pleasures, makes him grin as if it's his head hanging out instead. At his core, Mike Zacharias is just a huge fucking puppy dog. 

 A dubstep song from too long ago is blasting through his speakers, the vibrations hitting you square in the chest as you bounce your leg and bob your head. It's beautiful outside, winter's bite melting away into sunny springtime days. Some of them still bring a chill to the air, but it doesn't matter since you basically live in one of Mike's hoodies, dark green with the school's lacrosse logo stamped in the middle. It's faded and worn out and far too big on you, but it's quite possibly the most comfortable article of clothing you've acquired. 

 The drive to his parents' house is a good three hours, but between the playlist he's made (stellar, not that you'd admit it), the road games you play, and the road head you give him ("Oh, Jesus Christ, this isn't safe—this isn't safe—fuck—") you make it there in one piece and in good spirits, though you have take a few drinks of the soda you got at the convenience store to wash the residue of cum out of your mouth before meeting his god damn family. 

 He grabs both your bags from the backseat, slinging them over his shoulders, then starts up the path to a… surprisingly small home. It isn't a shack by any means, but after what you saw of Erwin's stupid ranch house and some of the pictures and stories Nile and Gelgar have subjected you to, you just kind of figured all of them had ridiculous amounts of money. 

 Then again, you know Mike got a full ride to college with a sports scholarship, and he rarely talks about his family and their lifestyle aside from Scout and little tales from his childhood—trips to the zoo, the one time he rode a dirt bike and broke his collarbone, he and his dad rescuing an injured bunny from the park. 

 You should've known back then that you'd get in too deep. 

 The small garden that lines the house is well-kempt and full of blooming flowers, and the porch is home to a wire table and matching chairs with an unsavory gnome sitting on top.  

 "What in the world…"

 Mike doesn't even glance to see what you're looking at, just opens the screen door and informs you, "That's Leonidas," so casually that it makes you snort and push him into his own house. 

 It opens up to a living room, long couch, recliner, coffee table and all. A TV sits right in the middle of a beige entertainment center, DVDs stacked on one side, blu-ray discs on the other. It smells clean—like the lemon wipes you use in your dorm—but even stronger than that is the smell of food. 

 "Must already be cooking," Mike muses, then calls out in a different fucking language that has you turning to him in confusion. 

 Before you can ask about it, a plump woman a couple inches taller than you comes rushing out of what you assume to be the kitchen. Her graying hair is tied into a loose bun, cheeks rosy from the heat, and she's still in her apron and a single oven mitt. 

 "Miche, γλυκό μου αγόρι!" 

 She stops in front of him and reaches up to grab his face, peppering it with little kisses and babbling words you do not understand in the slightest. 

 Mike is laughing, speaking to her in the same fashion, possibly answering questions or defending himself judging by the way he holds his hands up. You think you have an inkling about why when his mother turns to you, puts her hands on your shoulders to look at you, then pulls you into a tight hug. 

 You squeeze her right back, rocking to and fro as she does, then look up at Mike from the corner of your eyes in a panic. 

 What do you do, what is happening, what hasn't he told you? 

 It’s about this time that a large dog runs into the room and actually jumps into Mike’s arms. He grunts as he hoists Scout up, nuzzling into her beautiful coat as she tries to lick his face.

 "Mamá, let her get settled first," Mike laughs from where he’s getting attacked. His mother lets go of you, but it’s only for Mike to set the dog back down, and Scout takes the opportunity to sniff and paw at you. “Be nice,” he warns her, pulling you in front of him and pushing you toward the hallway.

 That need to snoop around is ever present as you enter his room, but the much more pressing issue is, "You could've prepared me, ya' know. Given me a little heads up that you're…"

 "Greek?" He snorts, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "My last name is Zacharias. That's a pretty good indicator."

 "I—..." You pause, pout, then mumble, "I'm not a genealogy expert."

 "Obviously not."

 He dumps the bags on his bed, a queen size, thank god, because he had told you last week they didn't have a guest room (and had seemed pretty happy about it at the time). 

 "I'll get mom and dad to speak in English for the next few days." 

 "I mean," you shake your head. "It's their house. I don't wanna intrude on that. Let 'em do what they're most comfortable with."

 He steps over to you, makes his classic move of staring down at you and smoothing his hand over your hair to make you tilt your head up. "That's sweet, but I know they're dying to talk with you, so actually being able to understand what they’re saying is kinda necessary."

 Humming, you stand on your tip-toes just as he begins to stoop lower. Before you can meet in a kiss, though, you smirk, "And, just why do they wanna get to know me, Miche? Is that a secret Greek name too?”

 He licks his lips, voice husky when he replies, "I've mentioned you a few times--”

 “Uh huh,” you smirk, too close for him to actually see.

 “And no, I think it’s Hebrew or something.” 

 You snicker before your mouths meet, breaths grow heavy, and the only time you break apart is so that you can look him in his light eyes and tell him, "By the way, the whole speaking a different language thing you can do?" He grunts, encouraging you to continue. "Very hot."

 You feel him smile against you, a self-satisfied, "Yeah?" making you burn against him. 

 "Yeah."

 It's hard to leave the room, but you both know you have to, hoping neither of you look too kiss-swollen when you walk back into the living room, and when Mike's mom is no longer there, he brings you to the kitchen instead. 

 "Smells good," he tells her, leaning over the stove and taking a whiff of the prepared dish that’s been set on top--stuffed tomatoes and peppers that make your mouth water.

 She says something, and Mike lets her finish before asking, "Can we speak in English while she's here? It's kinda hard to add to a conversation when you, like, don't know what's being said."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She immediately gushes, turning to you with a worried look. Her accent is thick and charming, but she doesn't ever stutter, clearly fluent, just more comfortable in her apparently native language. "I just get so caught up when my Miche comes home, I—"

 And, she's hugging you again. 

 "I'm Maia! Christopher—Miche's father—should be home soon."

 You rub Maia's back until she lets go and turns back to the stove, but even as she does, she's asking you, "How is school? What are you studying? Miche's told me very few things."

 He shouldn't have told you anything at all, you want to say. 

 "Um, it's good. I'm an earth sciences major, geology specifically, so Mike—uh—Miche's been helping me study a lot."

 He leans down to speak so only you can hear, "Not necessary to call me that. She's gonna know who you're talking about when you say Mike."

 Not that you'll tell him, but you kind of like the way 'Miche' feels, the way it rolls from your lips to the back of your mouth, and for just one second, you think about how you'd like to moan it in his ear. 

 "So, uh," you shake your head in an attempt to get it back on straight. "Yeah, it's going good, I think."

 "It is nice that you study together," Maia hums, slicing into the dish to portion it out. "Miche probably enjoys the break from his fraternity life." 

 Mike makes an unsure noise, but you grin and lean on the counter, eyes shining as you look at the middle-aged woman, "You know, speaking of that, I need to know what he was like before the whole frat thing 'cause—"

 "Uhh, we don't need to talk about that," Mike quickly cuts you off. 

 Maia, however, catches your eye and winks, a silent promise that she'll fill you in later. 

 Mike sees it, whines a dramatic, "Mamá, please."

 You laugh, glancing over at him with a devious smile that makes him roll his eyes and grumble something. 

 The creak of a door opening followed by the sound of a screen slamming back against the frame signals the arrival of Mike's father. It takes him a couple minutes to join everyone in the kitchen, probably taking the time to get more comfortable after what you assume to be a long day. 

 When he does walk in, once styled hair fallen out of place, top two buttons of his shirt undone, you see exactly where Mike gets most of his looks. He may have gotten his fucking mane from his mother, but he definitely got his height and his eyes from his father. 

 "Oh!" He stops short when he sees you, looks at his wife, then at you, then at Mike. "Is this the girl?" 

 "Dad!" 

 Both of his parents snicker as he turns to you, pleading more than telling, "Just ignore them, they don't know what they're talking about."

 You don't pay him any mind, join in on the fun when you lift an eyebrow and tease, "Am I, Mike? Am I the girl?"

 "Oh my god, this is gonna be a nightmare," he groans, the tips of his ears growing red. Still, he tries to put on a stern face as he points at his parents, speaks in beautiful, rolling words that are beyond you, then turns his flashing gaze to you and commands, "And you, don't encourage them."

 "Mm, no promises." You stick the tip of your tongue between your teeth and wink at his mom the way she had at you earlier. 

 All of you sit at an actual table for dinner, something you haven't done in at least a decade, as you talk and laugh between bites of food. Scout is laying underneath, waiting for someone to drop a piece of food, and every once in a while, you feel her wet nose nudge against your calf.

 Maia and Chris are very kind and very funny, and it isn't just because they pick on their son all the time. Chris talks about his day in the office, complaining about coworkers the same way Mike complains about his brothers—"I just don't understand why you would eat sardines in the break room! Someone explain it to me!" Maia tells everyone about the three hour phone call with her mother—"My god that woman can talk. Every time we said goodbye, she would just start on something new!"

 "Explains where you get it from," Chris says with a chuckle. 

 Maia scoffs then stabs a piece of his food with her fork, eating it with purpose as her husband watches. 

 You lean over to Mike and murmur, "They're cute. I like 'em."

 He grunts. "That makes one of us."

 Sucking your teeth, you mimic his mother's actions and dig your fork into the meat of his pepper, stealing a bite and scraping your teeth over the utensil in a way you know drives him crazy. 

 You immediately regret it when you realize how big the piece is, filling your mouth so that it's hard to chew, and you grab a napkin to cover yourself while Mike snorts and smugly says, "Yeah, bet you feel real smart right now. How does thievery taste?" 

 Shoving his arm, you manage to swallow down enough of the food to talk and tell him, "Tastes delicious."

 When you look back across the table, you find Maia and Chris staring at you and Mike with shining eyes and matching grins. 

*

You get along well with Mike's parents. A little too well in his opinion. There are a couple mornings you wake up earlier than he does and share coffee with his mother. He'll walk in to hear her sharing terrible stories about how, "He was such a sensitive little boy," and, "I miss the days he and his friends would spend afternoons here playing their little games."

 She even breaks out the photo albums one evening after dinner, leaving Mike mortified as you laugh and 'aww' at the pictures of past birthdays, Boy Scout outings, and the horrors of middle and high school. 

 "Look how cute you are with braces!"

 "Please stop."

 "All dressed up for Easter, oh my god, are those bunny ears?" 

 "Mom made me."

 "You were so skinny. What happened?" 

 "Are you calling me fat?" 

 "No, I'm calling you buff. Dummy."

 Less embarrassing are the long walks the two of you take with Scout (who also loves you, of course). She stays close to your hip as you wander around the park, only leaving your side when you throw her favorite ball. At the house, she noses at you until you shift to let her lay either at your feet or on the couch with her big head in your lap. 

 It's the cutest fucking thing Mike has ever seen, and he hates it because he can't do anything about it. He can't tell you how much he likes seeing you walk around in his house. He can't tell you how much joy it brings him to hear your laugh ring out alongside his parents'. He can't tell you how much he loves seeing you slide into his old bed in nothing but one of his shirts, making yourself comfortable against his chest and weaving your legs between his. 

 He can't tell you, but he can do his best to show you. 

 Late at night when his parents are asleep, when the buzzing TV is the only thing lighting the room, Mike moves inside of you with deep, slow thrusts. He hikes your legs up to lock around his waist or pulls you up against himself if he's taking you from behind. No matter the position, it leaves you clawing at him, breathing heavily, jaw dropping open in a silent scream. 

 You feel so good, so tight around him even after he gets you ready for his cock. Your silken walls squeeze and milk him, pulling every drop of cum from him to soak into you. Fuck, he's so glad you're letting him do that now, fill you up until you can't take any more, until white is dribbling from your messy pussy. The way you look at him all fucked out is intoxicating, eyes droopy, smile lazy, body twitching with aftershocks as he sucks on your neck and kisses down your shoulders. 

 You have to know. You have to. Mike knows his feelings are written all over his face when he looks at you, may as well be carved into his skin. The words are on the tip of his tongue every night, but he muffles them with kisses, with burying his face between your legs, with sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. 

 He can't say it because saying it makes it real. Saying it will make it hurt more. 

 So Mike keeps his mouth shut, watches you every day as you converse with his parents and play with Scout. You poke around his bedroom in your usual nosy fashion, finding the rest of his Magic cards, old D&D books and privacy screens. The dusty record player he'd inherited from his grandfather interests you above all else, vinyls stacked around it, some old, some new, and as you flip through them now, cross-legged on the floor and swimming in his hoodie, you tell him the little things you talked about with his mom earlier in the day. 

 "She showed me your baby teeth," you say with a snort. "Why do parents keep those? My mom did too."

 "Black Magic, obviously," Mike says seriously, but when you glance up at him, he chuckles. "I don't know, babe. It's fuckin' weird, though."

 You grin and look back down at The Alan Parsons Project vinyl in your lap. You're quiet for a moment, but when you do speak up, it's in a quiet voice. "I'm pretty sure they think I'm your girlfriend."

 Mike cringes on the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing. "Yeah, that's probably 'cause I told them you were." 

 "What?" You turn your whole body to face him, eyes wide and incredulous. 

 Sitting up, Mike holds his hands out and questions, "What was I supposed to tell them? Hey, mom and dad, I'm bringing home this girl I fuck at school all the time."

 "We don't just fuck," you scoff. "You could've said friend or… Study buddy."

 "Study buddies with benefits," he lets out a humorless laugh. "How many of those study sessions end with your mouth around my cock?" 

 "That's beside the point." You stand up and walk over to the bed, hands on your hips as you glare at him in an unconvincing manner. You're not actually upset, Mike realizes. A little annoyed maybe but more surprised than anything. "The point is they expect us to do couple-y things."

 "We do do couple-y things." Mike reminds you, rolling his eyes when you snicker and murmur 'ha, do do'. "Oh my god, you're a dork."

 "So are you. And, a dumb one. What happens when they find out we're not actually together? Are we gonna have to stage a break up somewhere down the line?" 

 "Stop worrying about it," Mike tries, reaching out for one of your arms to pull you on top of him. You must be very used to straddling him at this point. It seems like you're in his lap more often than you're not these days, even if the two of you are just talking. "Just chill and fake it for a little while longer."

 You pout, glancing to the wall for a second before you mutter, "Might be tough. I've never had to fake anything for you before."

 Mike groans and traces his fingers up your sides, stopping at your shoulders and using them to guide you closer to him. With your face only millimeters from his, he barely even has to whisper when he presses, "Fake it just this once."

 You nod, lips brushing his, and from there you both devolve into sloppy kisses and desperate hands. As always.

[ next ]

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: One more chapter! You guys are a dream, thank you so much for reading ❤️

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, derogatory terms for homosexuality, blood/gore and death/dying

Word Count: 5690

—————————————

Eight: All Die Young

“Um… I think besides everything with Ricky… the night of homecoming was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.”

“With Bradley Lewis’s death.”

“Yeah. I-I mean, it started off as a normal day, a-a great day, actually.”

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

Awaking to a text from Stanley Barber, informing me that he was driving us to school, was a heavenly sight. Almost as heavenly as waking up beside the boy, himself in the near future. Grabbing my phone off its charger, I rolled onto my stomach and texted him back, my feet giddily kicking in the air. It amazed me how he could change my entire demeanor within seconds. I could go from a sniveling baby to a hopping and skipping lovesick fool when it comes to Stan. And I don’t even think he meant to have this much of an effect on me. I wondered if I had the same effect on him? I never really paid much attention to it, just accepted the fact that he would never reciprocate my feelings. Even during that time, I had no idea if we were a couple or just adoring each other. It didn’t matter, though. Stan was finally looking at me the way I wanted him to.

Jacob stared at me with unease as I skipped down the stairs, prancing my way into the kitchen for breakfast. “Mom, (Y/N)’s being weird.” He called out as he opened the front door to leave. Pam hushed him before handing me a plate of food.

“Hush, now, Jacob. Let her be in a good mood for once.”

“For once?” I frowned and sat myself down. Pam smiled over at me and gingerly kissed my forehead as I began eating.

“Yes. For once.”

When I finished eating and readying myself for the day, I received a text message from Stan.

Stan: I’m outside

Me: omw

Pocketing my cell, I called out to my family before stepping outside to see Stan in his car with a grin on his face. “Good morning, lovely!” He called out above his music as I strode up to the vehicle, climbing inside. I gave him my usual greeting before leaning over and kissing his cheek. He chuckled and waited for me to strap myself in before riding down our street. It was clear he was in a good mood, because he let me pick the music for the ride. As Waterloo by ABBA flowed out of the drawn-down car windows, I felt the comforting warmth of his hand latch onto mine. Our combined hands shook to the beat of the music as we happily sang the words to the song. Remember when I said I had only been this happy one other time? This was even better. There were never any consequences to being with Stan, never a dull moment, never a hint of doubt between our bond. I’d never been as close to anyone as I was to him. And now at last, we were even closer in more ways than one.

Stepping onto the school campus, we were no longer strangers. I still walked within my bubble, and I probably always will throughout my life, but from now on there was no need to allow Stan inside. He was planning to be beside me through it all. He wasn’t afraid to be alienated with me any longer, we were to embrace it together. We were going to allow the stares, the whispers, the rumors. Allow them to act as water on a duck’s back. I was proud of him, I was proud of us. Even as I felt the dark brown glare of Ricky Berry trail after the two of us, watching our bashful and lovestruck glances throughout classes, the way we held hands in the halls. I was certain he got the message that I was no longer his, despite the forceful way he claimed me the previous week.

At lunch, I was just about to declare my spot in line when I felt a gentle hold on my arm. Stan, with a warm grin, pulled me away and walked us to an empty table. “Um, Stan, I’d kinda like to eat lunch today.”

“I know, Nugget,” He held up two brown sacks. “I made lunch for the both of us.” The way his grin grew prideful made my heart swell in affection. We sat across from each other as he slid the bag over to me.

“Awe, Stanley, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, though,” He shrugged and watched as I took each item out of the bag and carefully organized them. “So, about homecoming. I was thinking we could make a big deal out of it. If you want to.”

“I totally want to,” I nodded, eyes trained on my task. “What were you planning, beautiful?”

I didn’t miss the bashful blush tinting his cheeks when I snuck a glance up at him. “Uh… Well, I was thinking when I pick you up, we can take, like, a shitload of pictures. Like, just let Aunt Pam go at it. She’ll love it.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

“And then after the dance, I wanna take you out to eat.”

“Really? Where to?”

“Nothing too fancy. You don’t like all that. I was driving around yesterday and saw this restaurant that specializes in their pasta,” I suddenly felt the tip of my nose being gently pinched. Looking up, Stan was playfully wiggling my nose with a goofy grin on his face. “I know how much you love pasta.”

“I do,” I laughed and swatted his hand away. “And after that? Are we robbing a bank and driving off into the night?”

“If only,” He wistfully sighed. “But alas, I’m afraid we’ll have to remain trapped within Brownsville until we’re old enough to run away.”

I gave a mischievous smirk. “The entire act of running away is rebellious. Why wait until we’re allowed?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t feel like running away,” We shared a laugh. “But in all seriousness, we go to my house and just chill. We can have a dance contest. Our last was a tie, remember?”

The antsy excitement rushed through my veins the closer the night approached. I was never one for making a scene about school dances, but this time was different. It was my senior year, I had Stan, Ricky was out of the picture. Or at least, he was for the next hour. After lunch, Stan walked me to photography class, the two of us hand-in-hand as we had been for the entire day. Approaching the door, he wished me a good class before leaning in and pecking my lips. Our fingertips lingered as he pulled away and continued to his own class. Feeling my burning cheeks, I turned to go into the room, but an arm blocked my path. “Hey, Zip.”

Inwardly groaning, I looked up at Ricky. His bruises were beginning to fade, the dark ring around his right eye taking its time to heal. I silently hissed at the sight of him. “What.”

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize. Brad talked to me the other day and… made me realize that what I did was really fucked up. Really, babe, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You’re so fucking lucky I haven’t called the police on you, Ricky-”

“Yes, I know,” He sighed, discreetly rolling his eyes. “And I really appreciate it. Gives me a chance to better myself, you know? Help you better yourself. And what better way to make up for what I did than to make homecoming the most magical night for you? Yeah? We still on for tonight?”

My eyes dangerously widened at his hopeful smile, his expression melting under my fiery stare. “Are you kidding me?! Hell no! You think I wanna be anywhere near you?!”

“(Y/N)-”

“Besides, I already have another date.” I shrugged and moved to duck under his arm, but he leaned against the doorframe to decline me access inside. I quickly backed away from him, my fear kicking in at his brash behavior.

“What, Stan The Faggot? You’re really going with that fucking twink when you could be going with me?” He laughed right in my face. I lifted my chin and stepped forward.

“Don’t ever speak about Stanley that way. He’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met and is an even better boyfriend than you’ll ever be to anyone-”

“Boyfriend?!” He cackled. “I knew it. How could I not? It was so obvious! You’re fucking crazy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You don’t see the way he dresses? He’s fucking weird, (Y/N). He’s a goddamn drug dealer. What is he gonna offer you? Huh? Free weed? Babe… Come on, you are so better off with me.”

He lightly shook his head with a smile of disbelief as I took out my phone. “I just remembered. You’re not supposed to be near me, talking to me, or even looking at me. I think Jacob would love to hear about this-”

“Fuck you.” Ricky hissed before stomping away, leaving me in an empty hallway that was filled with the ringing of the tardy bell not too long afterwards. At that point, I was just about sick of guys. I was irritable during gym class, running off my anger and letting it steam off my shoulders. When the coach told us we could stop, I took greedy gulps of air and trudged to a nearby bench to rest. As I plopped down, I noticed Syd and Dina walking together to the opposite side of the field. It was good to know they were to finally talk everything out. Now for her and Stan to make up…

I was thankful for a split second for the shadow that casted over the burning sun raining down on me, but huffed upon seeing who it was. Some guy from my math class stood before me. He was shirtless, displaying his six-pack and chest glistening with sweat. He beamed down at me with a suave smirk. “Hey, Zip.”

“Hey.”

“So… I know you and Ricky are… you know. So, since the dance is tonight-”

“Sorry, I already have a date.”

“Right,” He nodded slowly, beginning to back away. “I should’ve known. No worries.”

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

“And he just walked away?!” Stan laughed on our drive home from school. My hold on his hand tightened as I tried to hold in my own laugh.

“No, he ran away!” I snorted, triggering the increase of his laughter.

“What is that, the fourth guy today?”

“Don’t remind me.” I rolled my eyes as he pulled up to my house. Unbuckling myself, I froze at Stan’s intentuous stare. He reached over and grabbed my hand again, raising it to his lips.

“I expect you to dazzle everyone like you usually do.” He kissed my knuckles.

My breath hitched. “Of course. And I expect you to do better than me, like you usually do. What time should I be ready?”

“I’m picking you up at eight. On the dot.”

“On the dot, got it.” I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. He returned it and tilted his head to try and deepen it, but I pulled away with a giggle. Stan watched in awe as I got out of the car, snatching up my backpack as I did. Waving him off, I turned and headed inside my house.

I had to look perfect. Not just for Stan, but for me. This was a new era of myself, I had shedded my skin and materialized as something beautiful. I had to showcase just how beautiful I’ve become. So, after my shower, I struck up a playlist and dolled myself up. Starting off with my hair, I simply pinned it up with white butterfly hair clips. My makeup was nothing special, other than the baby pink eyeshadow and the small application of glitter over it. To seal up the look, I added cherry lip gloss to give my lips a bit of a pop. I hoped Stan would appreciate it. My face burned at the thought of him tasting the cherry on my mouth. Backing away from my mirror before I exploded, I entered my closet. My dress was something I never thought I would ever wear. It matched my makeup in baby pink. An off-the-shoulder look that hugged my torso and flared out to the floor. I managed to zip it up myself before slipping on a pair of white heels. Turning to my reflection, I let out a breath.

I had never looked any more beautiful, I think. I remember gazing at my parents’ wedding photo as a child and wishing to look as beautiful as my mother one day. I wondered if she was looking down at me, proud of who I had become at that point. Gazing fondly down at the ring on my pinky, I blinked back the stinging of my tears.

Yeah, she’s proud.

An eager three knocks sounded at my door and I hurried to open it. Pam immediately teared up the moment her eyes settled on me, camera ready in her hand. “Oh, my baby… You look so gorgeous! Just like your mom!” She gushed. I could only chuckle as she took multiple pictures of me. Hearing a taunting laugh, I looked down the hall to see Jacob leaning against the wall, silently mocking his mother’s excitement. I kindly showed my middle finger to him, much to Pam’s disappointment. “Oh, come on. Now it’s in the picture! Jake, leave your sister alone!”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He feigned innocence and batted his eyelashes at me. I playfully sneered at him before David’s voice sounded from downstairs.

“(Y/N), Stan is here!”

Grabbing my phone, I checked the time. Eight o’clock. On the dot. That punctual bastard. Clutching my phone in my hand, I nervously made my way to the top of the stairs. Everyone was waiting for me at the bottom, including Stan. God, he looked so cute. He was wearing his baby blue suit, some sort of black and tan shirt beneath that oddly went well with the suit. Leave it to Stan to defy the laws of fashion. I could tell he paid extra care to his hair, the way it was styled perfectly for his curls to sit off to the left side of his forehead. I was sure I was grinning like a maniac as I descended the stairs, but Stan’s expression was the reason I was grinning. He looked absolutely astonished and at a loss for words. His jaw was dropped and eyes were bulging as he watched me walk closer to him. When I quietly greeted him, he couldn’t even respond. Great job, (Y/N), you broke him.

“How’d I do?” I whispered and hooked arms with him. At my touch, he snapped out of his haze and beamed at me.

“You certainly did not disappoint, lovely.”

“Awe, and you aren’t looking too bad yourself, beautiful.”

Pam squealed from the sidelines before rushing over to us. “Stanley, doesn’t she look stunning?”

“Absolutely, Aunt Pam.” He grinned at the older woman as she began taking photo after photo of us. We decided to indulge her and pose for each one. All the while, I felt a red hot glare from the side. Glancing its way, I noticed Jacob fuming at the sight of Stan and I hugged up on each other. His Big Brother Mode was going to activate the second Pam was done with us. To my horror, she finished sooner than I thought. As she excitedly showed our photos to David, I watched as Jacob slowly approached us. Just as he opened his mouth to spit some sort of threat towards the poor, unsuspecting Stan, I turned to the front door and flung it open.

“Well, we really have to go! We’re already late, you know.” I chuckled and gently shoved Stan out of the house.

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” Pam called out after us. “You two be careful out there! And have fun!”

“And (Y/N)-” Jacob began to add in a warning, but I waved him off, mouthing an ‘I know’ as Stan scrambled to hold the car door open for me. I quietly thanked him and climbed inside. The car ride to the dance was very pleasant. The hum of soft rock music fit the mood of our night as we quietly sang along. Stan found a parking spot rather quickly and leaned back in his seat after turning the car off. Bringing the visor down, I checked myself in the mirror, gently running my fingers over my white gold hoop earrings gifted to me by my dad for my previous birthday. They were pretty expensive and I hardly wore them, so why not? Hearing a click, I turned to see Stan lighting up a joint. After he took a hit, he looked my way and smiled, offering it to me. Without any hesitation, I joined him in a quick session. As I took my third hit, I felt his eyes on me.

“What?” I raised a brow and exhaled the smoke. His eyes shown in adoration.

“What a sight you are…”

“A sight? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re sitting in my old-school car, looking like a goddess and smoking a joint. You’re so beautiful… Just perfection.”

“Jeez, maybe I should get dolled up to smoke more often.” I joked and handed it back to him. We shared a chuckle before Stan put the smoke out. He gave me a wink before getting out of the car and rounding it to let me out.

Our highs kicked in the moment we stepped into the gymnasium. Our clammy hands found each other as we walked further in. I let him lead me through the sea of dancing bodies and bouncing balloons, the two of us hitting them out of our way as we ended up near the bleachers. When we stopped, we overlooked the scene before us as I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Best theater in town, Stan.”

“Best theater in town, (Y/N),” He looked down at me with furrowed brows. “So, why aren’t you on stage?”

“I don’t perform without my co-star.”

“Well, in that case.” He took hold of both my hands and swung us around. At that, we let loose, broadcasting our best secret dance contest moves to anyone willing to watch. I thought it was perfect. The two outcasts, both outcasts for difference reasons, wildly dancing together away from everyone else. And yet, they were the life of the party. It was meant to be. My feet stung from the stomping and jumping I was doing in my heels, but I couldn’t care less.

“I fucking hate this song!” I joyfully shouted, eliciting a laugh from my date.

“Me, too!” From the sound of our laughter, it was clear the two of us were high. Three songs later, in the middle of my rounds of spinning, I felt Stan’s hands on my waist, attempting to stop me. When I did, my surroundings rotated around me and I leaned into him for support. Looking up, I saw Sydney awkwardly smiling at the both of us.

“Oh! Hey, Syd! I love your dress.” I smiled and gestured to her attire. Her smile widened.

“Thanks, (Y/N), y-you look great.”

“Awe, thanks.” I gushed and bashfully waved her off. My attention turned to Stan, who had a look of indifference on his face, but a hint of pain in his eyes. Sydney noticed it, too, and looked back at me.

“Uh… Can I borrow Stan for a second?”

“Go ahead.” I motioned. Stan stared at me for a second before following Syd onto the bleachers. I suddenly felt very out of place, so I decided to keep my hands busy and get myself some punch. Thankfully, I found Dina there, pouring herself a cup. When she noticed me, she quickly set it back down on the table and reached her arms out for a hug. “Dina, you look so good!”

“Are you kidding me?!” We engulfed each other in a tight hug before pulling away. “You look fucking amazing! You always have to show out, huh?”

“I try…” I lowered my voice. As the two of us talked, lonely guys would come up to us and ask to dance, but we would hold hands and politely decline. After the third walked away, Dina turned to me.

“Hey, so… In detention… The thing that Jenny said about Ricky. Was that true…?” The hesitancy in her voice made me deeply inhale as I nodded in confirmation. Instantly, her eyes welled up with tears as her hands covered her mouth. “(Y/N)... I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would’ve been there for you.”

“No, no, Dina!” I quickly took her hands into mine, my heart wrenching. “It’s okay! I’m okay…”

“You’re okay? H-How are you okay?” She frowned and blinked back her tears. A warm smile twitched its way onto my face.

“Stan… he’s been making everything better…” I admitted. Dina’s face lit up before she hugged me all over again.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! I’m so happy for you! God, you fucking deserve it, girl!” She exclaimed as I hugged back, quietly laughing at her excitement. Our hug was cut short, when Dina caught sight of our dates heading toward us. I turned to them and happily watched as they approached us, their hands lazily clasped together. Sydney held out Stan’s hand over to mine and I gladly took over. “Stan!” Dina grinned at him as he allowed me to lean against his side.

“Dina, you look, um… you look like a Christmas tree.” He awkwardly complimented as I rolled my eyes. Dina looked down at herself.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded before his eye caught something. “Oh, god. Whitaker’s still watching us.” He sighed. We directed our gaze to our principal, who indeed was standing across the gym, arms folded and a piercing gaze on the four of us.

“It’s probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in his entire life.” Sydney crossed her arms, as well, as we all grinned. Stan leaned forward and placed his other hand over ours as he hummed.

“I don’t know, guys. I mean, we’re wanted criminals. Why are we out here in the open? Exposed. First rule of the heist is split the loot and split the fuck up, right?”

“We don’t have any loot, Stan.” I raised a brow in false confusion as Dina smirked at me.

“Yeah, all we did was disrespect this fine institution.”

“And disrespect ourselves.” Sydney finished, Stan humming again before we all shared a soft laugh. Stan’s smile disappeared as a slow song came on. I barely recognized it, but he sure seemed to know it. His free hand reached up to cover his eyes.

“Oh, no. On principle, I just- I can’t,” He groaned and began to free himself from my grasp. “Sorry, this playlist is all over the map. I’ll- I’ll be back.” He squeezed between Syd and I to leave, but I followed right behind. He was nearly at the DJ table, when I managed to stop his striding.

“Stan! Stan, wait!” I laughed and turned him to me. “Come on, I wanna dance to this.”

“(Y/N), I have to enlighten that poor DJ over there.”

“After this song?” I pouted and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t care about the music. I’ll dance to anything with you.”

“That is a lie, but fine,” He sighed before his hands rested on my waist. Our dance started off with timid shuffling, Stan clearly not used to slow dancing. I chuckled and directed his eyes away from his shoes.

“Stan, it’s just swaying, I promise.” I whispered. He gave me an incredulous look before moving with me to the music. Of course, since it’s Stan, he had to add in a few spins that had us stumbling. We laughed aloud when we almost toppled over, and we earned a few weird stares, but we didn’t give a shit. Just as it seemed we were getting the hang of it, a voice that rang throughout the gym interrupted the song and dance.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr File announced from the stage. “If I may have your attention. Stop talking. Look up here please.”

“Thank god, they stopped the song.” Stan whispered in my ear as we turned to the stage. I playfully and gently hit his chest as our teacher continued.

“It is my privilege to introduce your homecoming king and queen, Jeff Butters and Julie Frasheski!”

As the homecoming royalty hopped on stage, we all clapped and cheered for them, Stan and I exchanging looks that said ‘I have no idea who these people are’. “What up, Westinghouse!” Jeff exclaimed into the microphone, his queen by his side, the both of them wearing sashes and crowns. “Yeah! Where my boys at? Whoo! Where do I begin? I wanna thank my mom for meeting my dad-”

His amusing speech was cut off by Bradley Lewis running onstage and clamping his hand over the mic. “Listen up!” He yelled as the feedback screeched. Our smiles dropped as he swayed, clearly drunk. As Mr File tried to take the mic from him, he thrashed about and moved away. “Give me a second! I would like to take this moment to talk about something very important that affects everyone here.”

“What the fuck…?” I muttered and watched as he turned to the middle of the crowd.

“Sydney Novak!” His exclamation sent a flinch through Stan and I, and I felt him tense under my hold on his arm. “Hey, Sydney! Raise your hand! Raise your hand! Give a wave so everybody can see you!” When she didn’t comply, he moved on, proceeding to pull out Sydney’s supposed diary and flipping through it, exposing all of her secrets to the whole school. He told about how at Ricky’s party, she had kissed Dina upstairs. As he spoke, he hopped off the stage and pushed past people to stalk closer to his victim, the path to her and Dina made clear. I could see the panic in Sydney’s eyes. My blood boiled at the derogatory term he used for her sexuality, but Stan was just about ready to pop. His jaw was severely clenched and his face was flushed red in anger. I felt him move forward, but kept an arm in front of him. But there was no holding him back after the next thing Brad exposed. “And my god, don’t even get me started on the daddy issues on this one. I mean, it’s fucking worse than Zip’s! And we all know about that!” That comment punched me straight in the gut and Stan ripped his arm from my hold, pushing his way through the crowd. “Everyone in Sydney’s life thinks that she’s a piece of shit. And I mean everyone!” His cackling was interrupted when Stan broke through everyone.

“Hey, man! Leave her alone!” He went to stand in front of his friend, but Brad immediately swung, his fist connecting with Stan’s face and sending him to the ground, unconscious. My breathing stuttered before I wordlessly shoved everyone out of the way, trying to get to his limp form. There were a few people separating us that wouldn’t budge. I growled as Brad continued, shaking his fist from the blow.

“But that is not even the weirdest thing about Sydney… Novak,” He took a few steps forward, and I watched as Sydney wiped a tear from her eye. This whole situation was fucked. “Get this. Sydney claims that she has-”

To this day, I have no fucking clue how it happened, but Brad’s words were cut short when his blood and brains exploded onto everyone near him. Including me. I heard nothing but white noise the second the blood platter smacked into my hair, onto my face, my dress, my shoes. Brad’s headless body fell limp to the ground, the remaining of his brains spilling out from where his head should have been. His head should’ve been there… His head should be there! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My eyes were glued to the bloodied corpse on the ground. I was sure everyone was screaming and running around, but I couldn’t do the same. I saw shaking Dina’s form, trembling as she moved, but my focus snapped right back to the fucking corpse. I should’ve moved. I should’ve screamed. I should’ve ran. I should have been crying and gagging and panicking, but I just… I couldn’t. I don’t know what the fuck.

“(Y/N)!” I felt a hand pulling me by the arm, but I was in such a state of shock that I blindly let whoever drag me out of the school- no, the crime scene. I felt the cool air nip at my exposed skin, but I still couldn’t have been bothered to react to anything. It wasn’t until I felt a piece of bloody meat slip down my face and disappear into my dress that I could breathe again. I let out a blood-curdling scream as I felt it run down my skin.

“It’s in my dress! It’s touching me!” I cried. The mess of curls in front of me whipped around to face me. Through my teary-eyed vision, I could make out that it was Stan. He was awake, he was fine. But I wasn’t.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?!”

“It’s in my fucking dress!” I gagged as I felt it run down my stomach. “Stan, a piece of his fucking brain-”

He firmly grabbed me by the shoulders and rushed me to his car. I hyperventilated as he placed me in the passenger seat. Before closing the door, he reached into my dress from the bottom and slid his hand from my knees, past my thighs and planted his palm on my stomach. He gagged when his hand touched the meat, grabbing hold of it and ripping his hand from my dress, throwing the flesh to the ground. Stumbling a bit, he shut my door and rounded the car to drive. I had to ride with my window down, letting the wind blow against my face to prevent the contents in my stomach from resurfacing into Stan’s car. He drove all around town, calling out for Sydney. He would glance over at me every once and awhile when I would gag or groan, but that was it.

What a sight I was.

Do I look beautiful now, Stan?

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

When Stan decided to give up on the search for Sydney, he sped us to his house. The sirens of police cars and ambulances echoed within my empty mind. But the moment I left the car, I hurled my guts up into Stan’s yard. He caught me before I could fall and rubbed my back until I emptied my stomach. Then when I was done, I did the same for him.

I had no concept of time, I can’t remember how long we were throwing up in his front lawn, but when we were done, he guided me inside the house and down to his room. The second he let go of me to retrieve new clothes, my entire body trembled and shook uncontrollably. “S-Stan… S-S-Stan.” I whimpered out. He returned to me with clothes tucked under one of his arms. He held me by the elbow and guided me to his bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet lid before starting up the shower for me.

“Nugget? Hey, do you want me to-”

“N-No.” I don’t know why I said that. I needed him in that room with me. He was patient enough to look away as I undressed, nearly falling a few times, and stepped into the shower. He left the door slightly ajar, so I was sure he could hear my sobbing as I sat down, letting the water rinse me of Bradley Lewis’s blood and guts.

I returned to Stan in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants. He stood from his bed and carefully watched the way I moved. The way I slowly blinked and walked two steps at a time toward him. Silently, he lifted his covers for me to lay down. I stared at him emptily for a few beats before complying, my back facing him. I felt his lips on my neck and gladly welcomed the kiss before he whispered into my ear, “I’m gonna shower now, okay? I won’t be long.”

“Go ahead.” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. As Stan showered, my shaking hands reached up and freed my locks from my hair clips. I tried to keep my crying near-silent as I did so, but I wasn’t too sure how loud I was being. Within time, he had returned and laid down beside me in bed. And from the warmth I felt when his back touched mine, I could tell he was shirtless. It was painfully silent as we both unevenly breathed. I bit my fingers to keep myself from crying again. Everything about me felt unbalanced. I wanted to be beaten even. It’s what I deserved for not taking care of myself.

“Hey.” Stan’s whisper broke my train of thought.

“H-Hey…”

“You asleep?”

“No… You?”

“No.” He muttered as I felt the bed dip when he turned around to spoon me. His leg draped over mine as his arms pulled me closer. He pressed his lips to the side of my neck as he deeply inhaled. I closed my eyes and willed myself to ask the question brewing in my mind,

“Do you have any idea what the fuck happened? B-Brad just… h-he fucking…”

“I know,” He murmured against my skin, his hold tightening as well as his throat. I could tell by the way he choked on his breath. “I… I’ll explain it another day. N-Not tonight.”

As we fell asleep an hour later, I knew he’d never explain it.

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