#but she believes that SHE has been rejected so she swallows her sadness and pretends she never wanted it in the first place

[biblicalhorror]

Mad Men s1e9 "Shoot" really is That Bitch

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Baby Broke Down In My Bed Again

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: this came to be because 1. I wanted to try and write a more sanguine, less patient reader 2. @minaslittleone do you remember a long time ago when we agreed that someone with as much self-hatred as Wilhemina probably had moments when sex wasn’t bearable, or something like that? Well, I decided to write a fic about it. Reader x W’s relationship has been going on for quite a while in this one, because I wanted a less guarded, more trusting and forgiving Wilhemina.

Word count:  ≈ 8 700

You collapsed on the bed with a groan and let your body sink into the mattress. It had been such a long, boring and yet incredibly busy day, that had made you feel way older than your years. All you wanted now was to forget about it entirely and let warmth and content take over.

Wilhemina was tucked in on her side of the bed, reading a book. She had been particularly quiet this evening, seemingly lost in her head, had played with her food and answered your questions with short, annoyed sentences. You had let her be, given her space, regularly glancing at her for any sign of pain, but her back didn’t seem to be the trouble. She had helped you clear the table, and the soft brush of her hand against your arm had felt like a silent apology.

Now you snuggled up to her side, curling your body to fill all the gaps between you and her, and planting soft kisses on the bare skin between her collarbones.

“What are you reading?” you whispered, draping one arm over her stomach to pull her closer.

“Still the same book,” she answered, rather curtly.

You peered up at her, planted more kisses along her collarbone, then buried your face in her neck. Your eyes fluttered closed. She was so warm, so incredibly soft and safe, your safe place; you felt the tension slowly leave your body, and be replaced with sweet, happy content that nestled cozily in your stomach.

Home. In the past year you and her had built your home together. You had painted your walls in her colors and she had filled her rooms with your laughter. By now you knew by heart which parts of her floor creaked when you put your foot on it, which parts of her body to press your fingers on to make her moan.

“Will you read to me?” you whispered against her skin.

It came out too muffled for her to understand. She made a questioning noise, but it bore so much annoyance you decided against repeating your question. Instead, you slipped your fingers under her night shirt and started stroking slow circles on her stomach, the softness of her skin sparking a low fire where there had been only warmth.

You snuggled closer to her still, nudging her neck with your nose and breathing her in. She was intoxicating, you thought, as you planted soft, lazy kisses that lingered longer on her skin as your brain slowly awoke to a growing need, so ridiculously intoxicating; you pushed yourself up on one elbow for better access as you trailed kisses up her neck, your other hand sliding up to caress the swell of her right breast.

Wilhemina set her book aside, which made you smirk victoriously. You sucked on the skin over her pulse point just as she lay one hand on your shoulder, and was about to flick your thumb over her nipple when she gently pushed you away.

There was surprise in your eyes when you met hers. Wilhemina was so incredibly hungry for affection she rarely rejected it when you so eagerly offered it to her.

You scanned her face, your breathing quick and expectant.

Wilhemina held your gaze and shook her head. “Not tonight, Y/N.”

She didn’t look annoyed anymore, just sad. It was this sadness that silenced the protestations tingling on your tongue.

You swallowed down disappointment and planted one last kiss on her collarbone before lying down again, with your face mere inches from her shoulder. You closed your eyes, forced yourself to take a few deep breaths till the heat in your head and in-between your legs was back under control.

“Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Of course I am,” she retorted, but the tone of her voice betrayed her.

Her voice was always softer in the evening. There was a warm fondness to it that let giggles and chuckles and secrets go through almost unimpeded. Four months or so into your relationship, she had allowed herself to take off parts of her armor and hang them next to her coat after she had closed the front door to her place or yours. Weapons were set on the floor, and the weight of them replaced with the weight of your body on top of hers.

But tonight, she was using the voice which to your ears sounded like the low, threatening growl of faraway thunder. Meant to warn, to intimidate, to make you duck your head and run away.

For a few minutes you lay in silence, watching her.

“Do you want to keep on reading?” you asked eventually.

“No.”

“Should we turn off the light, then?”

“Don’t you need to get off first?”

The spite and harshness of her voice had you reeling for a second. You pretended it didn’t hurt.

“Excuse me?”

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours, dark and glazed. “Don’t you need to get off first?”

This time, her voice wasn’t spiteful but mocking, condescending. That made it even worse.

“No,” you answered, gaze boring into hers, “I don’t need to get off first.” You paused. “Did something happen today?”

“Nothing happened today,” Wilhemina snapped.

You swallowed back anger, forced your voice to stay calm. “Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

With a groan you closed your eyes and rolled away from her, reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp.

The darkness only increased your anger. You lay fuming with your back to her, curled in on yourself and cursing that brain of hers that was so ridiculously stubborn and scared and hurt. There was no talking to her when she was behaving like this and yet it was killing you, not knowing how to help her even after a whole year of loving her.

And what troubled you was, she had opened up to you before. Not enough times that you couldn’t count them on the fingers of one hand, but still. And you couldn’t begin to understand why tonight she had decided to shut you out.

You heard her shift behind you. Before you knew what you were doing, you were turning on the light again and sitting up.

“Talk to me,” you said – maybe a bit too harshly, but you couldn’t do better.

Wilhemina slowly opened her eyes to meet your gaze.

“I have nothing to tell you,” she said slowly and quietly, “except that if you need to get off, the bathroom –”

“What happened today?” you cut her off.

Wilhemina’s face hardened. “I told you before,” - voice slower still, and mocking, mocking so cruelly as if she were talking to a moron -, “nothing happened today.”

“I’m not turning off the light until you’ve talked to me.”

She smirked. “Suit yourself. I can sleep just fine with the light on.” And with that, she closed her eyes.

You huffed, staring down at her disbelievingly. For a minute you waited, refusing to believe she was going to end the conversation like this. But she didn’t move, didn’t make a noise. You watched the slow, regular rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, almost mesmerized, then groaned.

Hot-tempered, your parents had always called you. You knew they were right, and you had been successfully working on it. But tonight, something in you snapped.

You had been so patient with Wilhemina. Taken one step forward, two backwards. Braved the storm, kneeled down and extended one hand toward the terrified and the abandoned shivering in the rain. But tonight, you let the anger win.  

So, with your heart pumping fire instead of blood and its smoke filling your head, you lay down on your back, spread your legs open and touched yourself.

And you started to moan. Loud, exaggerated moans, and you made a show of moving your hips so hard the bed creaked.

“Fuck,” you cried, moving your wrist in fast circles that brought you no pleasure at all, “hmm,” biting your lower lip and closing your eyes; you slipped your hand lower down, and forced a finger inside. “Fuck,” you screamed, “I haven’t been fucked so good in months!”

Stop it, a voice pleaded somewhere deep inside your head. You ignored it. You bucked your hips against your hand, slid your other hand up your body to tease your nipple. As you forced another exaggerated moan out of your mouth, you increased the pace between your legs, anger making you desperate for release and increasing with every second you were denied it.

You pushed another finger inside, wincing at the pain, and rubbed harder at your clit, demanding pleasure. You tensed your muscles to help your body reach its climax; and then, finally, finally, felt pleasure build and build and sweep over you. As your body gave a few weak shakes you remembered to arch your back and to cry out, “Yes! God! I haven’t felt so good in so long!”

With a dramatic sigh you let your body fall back on the mattress and brought one hand up to your forehead. There was a drumming in your ears, and something unpleasant that nudged in your chest. You closed your eyes, feigning exhaustion, forcing your chest to heave, and waited a few seconds before you stole a glance at Wilhemina.

She hadn’t made a single noise, nor moved an inch, during your little show. She was still lying on her back, barely breathing, eyes wide open and unblinking. The only thing that proved she was still alive was the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw.

In the following silence, the smoke in your head cleared. The drumming in your ears slowed down, the tingling between your legs disappeared; but the thing in your chest grew. It grew and crushed your heart till it became hard to breathe. 

You were about to say Wilhemina’s name when she slowly sat up in bed. She paused, her back to you, and reached out for her cane. Her hand was shaking.

You closed your eyes and listened to her footsteps as she fumbled about the room for a while, dropped something, picked it up; walked out. Her footsteps receded down the corridor; heels; and then, you heard the front door close.

**

Your flat was empty and silent when you got up at dawn the next morning. For a long moment you stood still in the middle of the room, not looking at anything in particular, dread gnawing at your insides.

You weren’t sure you could remember what had happened the night before. The pictures were too blurry. There were memories, but could they be real? You didn’t want them to be. Everything you could remember had anger and cruelty woven into it, things that had ugly faces and smiled ugly, selfish smiles.

The side of your bed where Wilhemina usually slept was unmade. You picked up her pillow, pressed it to your nose and breathed in her scent. Then you walked into your bathroom and saw with relief that her things were still there, the toothbrush and makeup products she always left at your place and whose sight you cherished every morning more than you cherished that of the rising sun.

You turned, walked into your living room. Her coat was gone, so were her shoes. There was no note on the table. In the sink still lay the two mugs you had been too lazy to wash the evening before.

On the verge of panic you picked up your phone and dialed Mutt’s number. He was a friend of a friend, and it had been thanks to him that you had first met Wilhemina all those years ago. Mutt’s idiocy and complete lack of maturity had, strangely, grown on you. You two sometimes spent drunken evenings together, watching movies and screaming at the screen every time something happened that was scientifically impossible. In the company of Mutt it was easy to be stupid, and gross, and mean. So, you thought, as you listened to the ringing tone, Mutt was the kind of person you needed right now: someone to confess your sin to without fear of being judged, for without a doubt he had, at one point in his life, done worse; someone that would give you such ridiculously bad advice you could, if you were lucky, withdraw a few crumbs of wisdom from the madness.

“The fuck, asshole,” Mutt barked into the phone, “have you seen the time?”

You closed your eyes, wincing. You could almost smell the alcohol in his voice. “Sorry, Mutt. I really need to talk to you.”

Mutt yawned, groaned, fell silent. All you could hear was the quick beating of your heart. The clamminess of your hand made the phone slippery, and your eyes were starting to sting.

“I, um,” you started. Took a breath, released it shakily. “So, possibly, I fucked up.”

There was a noise like another distorted yawn. “Babe, why am I not surprised.”

“Did something happen at work yesterday?” you asked.

“Yeah, Lily spilled her Starbucks on Jeff’s laptop and it made all the arms go ballistic –”

“I mean,” you cut him off, sniffling, “I mean with Wilhemina.”

Silence. A noise, as if Mutt was moving.

“Mutt?”

“Gimme a sec, I’m thinking. No, nothing that I can remember. Hey, did you know that –”

“Are you sure, Mutt?” you insisted. You felt the hot, wet lick of a tear as it trailed down your cheek. “Nothing that someone said that made her snap? Are you sure nothing –”

“She snaps at everyone 24/7, how am I supposed to know,” Mutt grumbled.

“I fucked up,” you sobbed into the receiver. Your body bent forward with the force of the guilt that finally washed over you. “Mutt,” you whined, “when she comes to work, could you tell her to call me?”

“You’re scaring me, Y/N,” Mutt said.

“Tell her to call me. Lock her up in her office or something until she agrees, Mutt, please. I can’t lose her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N, and it’s too early for this shit. But yes, yes, ok, I will. Not the lock her up thing. I don’t want to be caned.” There was a pause, as you sniffed and sobbed, not even caring to wipe your cheeks and nose, then Mutt added tentatively: “There’s a football game tonight if you want to come over and watch it with me. Don’t call, just barge in. Goodnight.” And with that he hung up.

You called in sick at work. You spent the day pacing up and down in your flat, occasionally throwing yourself on your bed or couch to sob.

Your phone never rang. Not that y ou really expected it to. But still – you had hope.

When the hands on your clock announced 3pm, you decided you couldn’t wait anymore, and drove to Kineros. You parked your car on the sidewalk. Somehow you managed to reach Mutt and Jeff’s office before security caught up with you. They narrowed their eyes at you, but sent the security guard off.

“When I said barge in,” Mutt started, “I meant my place.”

“I’m here to see Wilhemina,” you panted. “Is she in her office?”

“Yeah, but she warned her assistant not to let anyone bother her and I think –”

“I won’t be long,” you cut him off, rushing out of the room. One second later you were back. “Show me the way?”

Wilhemina didn’t look up as Mutt and you walked down the long corridor that led to her office. You scanned her figure worriedly, noting the vacant look in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders and the tight line that was her mouth as she typed quickly on her laptop.

“Babe,” Mutt started, “there’s –”

Wilhemina cut him off, slowly raising her head. “Do not let yourself think for a second that just because you –”

Her eyes fell on you.

Slowly, her mouth closed. You almost stopped in your tracks at the rage that ignited in her eyes.

“I’ll let you two lovebirds deal with your things, then,” Mutt said with a nervous laugh, before turning on his heels. You barely registered his departure.

For a few, long, painful seconds, you stood frozen in front of Wilhemina’s desk, your hands clutching the hem of your shirt, holding Wilhemina’s burning gaze and your whole body vibrating with love and fear and regret; and then, something in your chest burst, and you lurched forward.

“Mina I –”

“I told Lily to wait for you in the room next door,” she cut you off, voice low and so terribly slow.

You blinked. “Who’s Lily?”

“Mutt and Jeff’s favorite pleasure giver. Just the kind of human scum you need, as you made very clear last night.”

“You pushed me to it,” you mumbled half-heartedly.

Unfortunately, Wilhemina heard you.

Slowly, performing the precise balance exercise she had rehearsed thousands of times before, she stood up.

“Because you refused to speak to me,” you were quick to add. “You’re a human being, Mina, not an oyster –”  

“You’re so fucking eloquent,” Wilhemina taunted. “If only you could control your emotions as well as you can express yourself.”

You took yet another step forward, your stomach pressing against the edge of her desk, as you felt the familiar hot tingle which meant anger had fought its way through the crowd of all the other emotions battling inside you, and had now reached the stage.

“If only you could actually express yourself,” you spat back, refusing to lower or avert your eyes no matter how painful it was becoming to hold her gaze. It was too intense, too furious and too dark. “Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting me out all of a sudden? I feel like we’re back on day one.” You leaned towards her in exasperation – and in hope, that maybe you could still reach her. Your eyes widened in a plea, your hands closed around the edge of her desk. “What’s going on? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Wilhemina’s face closed up even more at your words. The anger in her eyes disappeared under a thick veil.

“I don’t need your help,” she said, still as terribly, terribly slowly.

“I’ll go find Lily, then,” you fumed.

“You do that.”

Wilhemina’s eyes still expressed nothing at all, and it broke your heart, for that nothing wasn’t here to hide her anger. She had no problem letting anger show. That nothing was here to hide how badly she was hurting.

It made you want to break something. Anything, but mostly the walls around her heart. To hit your fists against them and to tear them down brick by brick and to crash your way into her.

And above all the rest rose a sense of helplessness, for you had no idea how to fix this. You had shot a perfect shot, hit the center of the target, the arrow’s head tearing through the heart. And as the hunter bends over their kill, you held Wilhemina’s blank, glazed eyes, and caught a glimpse of the damage you had done.

And then, a wave of revolt. For she had hurt you, too. Had refused to let you in and spat bitter words at you.

There were just too many things happening inside of you, too big a crowd of emotions. You were boiling and you didn’t know how to cool down.

You turned on your heel and were about to storm off when the crowd suddenly held its breath. Anger had bent down and helped frustration up onto the stage.  

You turned around, fists clenched and eyes stinging. “I’m sure Lily will tell me more about herself in five minutes than you ever will in five years!” you burst out.

“Then why are you still here?” Wilhemina growled lowly. “Or are you too stupid to understand how one walks? One foot aft-”

“Because I love you!” you burst out. “This past year with you has been the best in my whole goddamn life and it kills me, that you won’t let me in.” You shook your head, briefly closing your eyes against the emotion that you could feel bubbling out of you. “I want to love you but you won’t let me,” you whined.

Wilhemina didn’t reply. She turned a shade pinker, but her lips stayed tightly shut and her eyes stayed veiled as she processed your words. When finally she spoke, her voice was laced with bitterness.

“You seem to think of yourself as the victim,” she said slowly, and a flicker of anger made its way out and shone in her eyes. ”I don’t know much about being loved,” spitting out the words as if they could kill her, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to hurt like this.”

At first you thought the words had slipped unbidden from her lips. It still surprised you when she would confess to being in pain, physically or mentally. Of course there were signs you had learnt to recognise, a clenched jaw, glazed eyes, wanton snapping, but Wilhemina rarely gave her pain a voice. Pain was shameful. It had to be ignored and never, never to be processed.

But then, as you watched her, stunned, and her body hunched up as if she wished she could disappear, and her eyes turned vulnerable, the certainty settled inside you, painful but incredibly warm. It hadn’t been an accidental push, but a voluntary jump.

There was no uprising. Anger, frustration, the stage, suddenly vanished.

Without thinking you stepped around her desk, but stopped when Wilhemina took several steps backward.

Her name left your mouth in a broken plea, but she shook her head and then all of a sudden her façade shattered.

The quiver in her voice when she spoke next made your heart ache.

“I know I cannot ask for much but I thought – I thought in a relationship at least the most basic respect –”

She trailed off, jaw and mouth still working to form words her voice refused to carry.

You shook your head, blinking back tears. All the fight in you had disappeared; all that was left was a terrible sense of dread and guilt.

“No no no, Mina I… sweetheart of course you can ask for everything, I…”

Tentatively you took a step forward. This time, Wilhemina didn’t move. She was peering at you, chin uncharacteristically tilted downward, eyes getting shinier by the second.

You held up both hands in front of you.

“I didn’t mean it,” you heard yourself say. “You’re not inadequate, I – I didn’t mean any of it, Mina. Look at me,” you added forcefully, as her eyes moved to some random thing over your shoulder and threatened to glaze over again. “I swear I didn’t mean it. I got mad, and I fucked up, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Certainly your last few words were what Wilhemina had been dying to hear, for her shoulders suddenly slumped. Tears pooled in her eyes that she harshly wiped away before they had time to stain, and she let out a long, trembling sigh that seemed to take her strength away with it.

A strangled, mirthless laugh burst from your lips. Your arms fell limply to your sides.

You were too scared to even dare breathe properly. Scared that Wilhemina would order you away and refuse to ever see you again, or, more likely, that she would shut you out and retreat behind her walls, pretend she was alright, that nothing had happened and that she hadn’t even felt the prickle of the needle. But her face stayed open, her eyes vulnerable as she wiped at them repeatedly in an attempt to maintain her composure.

“Will you, uh.” You shifted your weight on your feet, unable to stay still for the sight of her so unguarded made you desperate to reach out and hug her. Gather up the pieces and glue them back together. “Will you let me pick you up from work tonight? I can drive you back to your place, and we can, if you want, talk.” Your chest hurt. You leaned towards her, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can make it right, Mina, I know I can. Please let me in – I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina bit down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering. She nodded, and when her hand came up again to wipe her eyes, tears rolled between her fingers and down her cheeks.

Without thinking you extended your hand towards her, and briefly brushed her wrist with your fingertips.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding, fingers still swiping at her face.

You peered up at her hopefully. “Okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay,” you laughed, so incredibly relieved you felt like bursting into tears.

A laugh left Wilhemina’s lips, too, sad and half-strangled. She moved her arm until it met your hand. Your fingers automatically wrapped around her wrist, thumb gently stroking her skin as she swiped at her eyes.

She looked smaller, and so much younger, a little girl who felt too much and had been unwillingly shoved into an adult’s body. You wondered if this was her with her soul stripped completely naked.

You had expected high walls built higher and stronger, defensive armies gone mad with wrath at the blow you had dealt - not an open gate. What had you done to deserve it? This was so unhoped for, so dearly cherished, whatever had triggered it, be it trust or love or both.

You weren’t sure how to express your gratitude. Weren’t sure you were worthy of such a precious thing as her trust. Your hands had never held a baby bird that fragile before.

You gave her wrist a squeeze. “I’ll leave you alone now,” you whispered, “and –”

“Actually would you mind –” She cut herself short. Her gaze searched yours for a second, pleadingly, begging you to understand without her having to resort to words.

“Yes?” you breathed, body leaning closer to hers so there was no more than one inch between her and you.

Her eyes met yours again, dark and sad and something in your chest like a string attached to your heart pulled towards her, desperate to hold with healing hands and soothing warmth.  

“Could you –”

Again, she bit her lip against the words she wouldn’t allow herself to utter. You searched her eyes to try and understand as frustration flicked across her face, nails digging into flesh, lips twisting; until finally she released a breath and with it burst out, terrified and angry and shaking, “Would you mind just holding me for a second?”

She winced at her own words, her nails digging deeper into her skin in disgust as fresh tears pooled in her eyes. With your heart in your throat you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her close.

How easy it would have been to burst into tears and wail pitifully in her arms. God knew how badly you wanted to. But Wilhemina was being so brave, and you had to make it up to her for the way you had behaved, so you swallowed back your tears and forced yourself to take a deep breath to ease the ache in your chest.

You buried your face in Wilhemina’s hair, squeezing her so tight in your arms part of you was terrified you were hurting her - the other part didn’t care. Your fingers dug into her shoulders, and hers clutched the back of your shirt, her lips grazing the skin of your neck but not daring to press a kiss.

Her eyes were red and puffy when you met her gaze again. Gently you cupped her face, and dropped a kiss on each of her burning cheeks – then, tentatively, brushed your lips against hers.

A noise that was half a sob, half laughter pushed out of Wilhemina’s mouth and then her lips pressed against yours, hot and wet and needy but with a shyness to them, so hesitant, as if this was your first kiss and she was expecting rejection. You pressed your chest against hers to show her you were not going anywhere, slid your hand up her back and pushed your palm against her spine, a silent I want you, all of you. So Wilhemina nipped your lower lip, and only let herself relax when you hummed appreciatively.

You held her hand as she fought to regain her composure; straightened her shoulders, veiled her eyes, and shielded her heart. You accompanied her to the nearest bathroom, and gave her hand one last squeeze before you let go of it.

Mutt and Jeff peered up at you as you stomped into their office, collapsed into Mutt’s arms and finally let yourself burst into tears.

Mutt gave your back several awkward pats as you sobbed, clinging to him and wiping your eyes and nose on his shirt. Jeff’s awkwardness was almost palpable, and when you pulled away from Mutt, still sobbing, all he could think of was to offer you some coke, and then a drink when you refused.

“No,” you whined, “no, I need to stay sober. I need to make it right.”

“Jeez, did you kill someone?” Mutt asked, with a glance in Jeff’s direction and a guffaw to hide his nervousness.

“I thought about what you asked me,” Mutt went on after a few seconds. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that happened yesterday.”

To kill time you went on a walk, and ended up buying a huge bouquet of roses and dahlias for Wilhemina, as well as two boxes of fancy dark chocolates, a very fluffy lilac blanket, and two bottles of Wilhemina’s favorite wine. You stacked all those gifts in the backseat of your car, and walked back into Kineros at 6:30pm sharp.

Wilhemina was waiting for you in the lobby, sitting very straight on a chair, both hands tightly wrapped around the head of her cane.

“Oh shit,” you whined, “was it 6 today?”

She nodded. You poured out apologies, which she didn’t seem to hear as she slowly pushed herself up from her chair. You fell silent when you realised she had waited half an hour for you, despite it all. Something nice fluttered in your chest.

In the car Wilhemina’s eyes fell on her gifts, then shifted to you, questioningly, and her cheeks reddened when you explained it was all for her.

The drive was awkward. You turned the radio on to fill in the silence, opened your window because the air felt too hot, fidgeted on your seat and drummed on the wheel every time you had to stop at a red light. Several times you opened your mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Wilhemina’s hand was shaking when she opened her front door. You dumped all the gifts you had bought her on the sofa and hurried to help her out of her coat, and did she want you to make her some tea? Was she hungry? Would she rather you ran her a bath? You could make her dinner, her favorite dish, and if an ingredient was lacking you would run to the store so if she needed anything else you could buy it too, and -

“I don’t need anything, Y/N,” she cut you off, not meanly, but with a firmness to her voice and an absence of warmth that effectively made you shut up.

You stood still in the middle of her living room, not knowing what to do and mind running a mile a minute. While Wilhemina tended to the flowers, you decided to fluff and rearrange the pillows on her couch, and when you were done and couldn’t find anything else to do, you hurried to her and planted yourself at a safe distance behind her as you blurted out, “Mina, I’m so sorry.”

Wilhemina’s fingers stilled for a second over the flowers. She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, didn’t acknowledge your apology.

“What I did yesterday was terrible and I don’t know how to make it up to you,” you pushed on, voice quivering but still loud, for you were determined to mend whatever you could still mend. “I - I don’t know how to apologize properly to you, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”

Silence. Your body felt hot suddenly, as if someone had sparked a fire within you. You ran one hand over your forehead nervously, heart drumming in your ears, peering at Wilhemina’s shoulders. Her ponytail fell neatly down her back, red frizz grazing the pale skin of her neck just below her hairline.  

Silence lingered. Your eyes fell hopelessly to the floor.

“The gifts were a nice touch,” Wilhemina said.

You looked up at her, automatically took a step forward.

“Were they really? I’m so glad. I didn’t know if -”

“Nothing happened yesterday.” 

You cut yourself short, mouth still open as you stared at her in surprise. From where you were standing behind her, you could only see the sharp lines of her left jaw, cheekbone and brow. She was staring fixedly at a rose, hands resting on the table on either side of the vase and supporting most of her weight.

“I passed a couple on the sidewalk and they laughed, and I couldn’t help but –” Her voice faltered, eyes closing in frustration. “I thought they were laughing at me.”

Quickly you closed the distance between her and you and leaned forward to take a better look at her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you breathed.

“Because it’s so stupid,” she spat, eyes still closed, anger making her voice tremble. “It’s so fucking stupid, Y/N. I know they could have been laughing at anything, but my stupid, stupid…”A hiss, one hand coming up to press her palm against her forehead.

“It’s not stupid,” you heard yourself say. Your fingers brushed her arm, a silent question, hopeful, tentative, your skin drawn to her warmth always. And just as she had done a few hours ago, she leaned into your touch, and your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“It made me so incredibly…There was so much…” Her palm hit her forehead as a sob pushed out of her mouth. “It shouldn’t have affected me like that. I shouldn’t have let it. But there was so much… I couldn’t even bear you touching me like that,” she breathed.

“So much what?” you whispered, grazing your lips over her shoulder.

A long, shaky breath. You could almost hear the words screaming in Wilhemina’s head, pushing against the dam in her throat but not strong enough to break through it. Instead, she removed her hand from your grip, reached into her pocket, and slipped a small piece of paper into your hand.

“What’s this?” you asked.

You unfolded the piece of paper to find a phone number in Wilhemina’s handwriting.

Wilhemina sniffed, took a breath to speak. “It’s Lily’s.”

You looked up at her confusedly.

“For the days like yesterday,” Wilhemina explained. Her gaze fled yours, sad and ashamed, before meeting it again. The hand that had been touching yours mere seconds ago now wrapped around the head of her cane and dug into it. “For the nights I can’t satisfy you.”

For a moment you stared at her, unable or unwilling to process her words, while she shrank back further away from you. For a moment there was only white noise in your head.

And then something hot rose inside you, familiar and hated and too strong.  

So, hold on – hold on.

“Is that what you want?” you said – too angry. You were losing control again, brain filled with smoke and it felt like you were listening to yourself speak instead of thinking the words. “You want me to fuck somebody else?”

The words boomed through the room. Louder and scarier than thunder. Wilhemina and you were left staring at each other, too small and too helpless to face something that big and that powerful.

You watched as Wilhemina’s face hardened by the second, drawbridge being raised against the assault. “Of course not,” she said.

“Then why the hell would you give this to me?” you spat, waving the piece of paper in her face.

Wilhemina fought for a second more, before her face crumpled and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I told you,” she whispered, arm coming up to hug herself.

The gesture made something break in you. Some of the smoke in your brain cleared out through the crack.

“You’re a blithering idiot,” you heard yourself hiss. It sounded half-convinced, but it made Wilhemina wince anyway. “If you think I’d want that,” you added.

“And you’re as stupid as you look,” Wilhemina hissed back weakly, “if you get mad at me for trying to help you.”

“I’m mad because you seem to have such a low opinion of me,” you grumbled, crossing your arms against your chest.

“I know there are human needs, which one who is in a relationship is expected to-”

“My ‘human needs’ do not control me.”

A faint, mirthless laugh. “Of course they don’t.”

“They don’t.”

“Right.”

“Yes, right.”

Silence.

The last of your anger was fizzling out. You could still feel it crackling faintly in your upper body, but the last embers were being stifled by something colder and heavier.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

Stubbornly you held Wilhemina’s gaze, trying to look mad, but your fists were unclenching, and it was sadness – it was sadness, taking over. And with it came a sudden sense of exhaustion.

You didn’t want to fight anymore. You wanted to pretend everything was alright, close your eyes and go to sleep. And in the morning the sunshine would have driven out past mistakes, selfishness and hurt, and you would get up with a happy heart and music in your head.

Your gaze wavered. You pretended to examine the piece of paper in your hand, but your vision was swimming, and the clamminess of your palm had smudged the ink. There was a shape that must have been a zero but now looked like a battered eight, and the last two numbers you couldn’t venture to guess what they had been.

You ran your thumb over those broken remnants of Wilhemina’s neat handwriting. Wondered what she had been feeling, when she had pressed the nib of her pen on paper, and had her hand shaken at all? Some people talked with their hands, Wilhemina’s had a language of their own. They would fidget and brush and grab and claw, and they would shake – and you would hold.

Always, dear Lord, always – you had promised.  

You glanced up at Wilhemina again, to find her looking back at you, tears flickering their way down her cheeks.

“Should we, er.” You paused, looking down at the floor again. “Should we have dinner?”

You weren’t sure Wilhemina would play along. But when you gathered enough courage to glance up at her, she was wiping her cheeks, and she nodded.

Wilhemina disappeared into the bathroom while you cooked pasta. Your hands moved on auto-pilot, your brain too numb and too tired to think. You were dumping bits of butter into the pasta when Wilhemina emerged, hair down and body wrapped in a long-sleeved, loose-fitting, thin periwinkle nightdress you had bought her a few months ago.

The fact that she had chosen this nightdress in particular made fresh tears pool in your eyes. It felt like a peace offering, an extended hand you were only too eager to hold. You placed a plate on the table in front of her, and whispered something about her looking very nice. Wilhemina acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

She played with her food until you coaxed her into actually eating some of it, and then you took your turn in the bathroom while she did the dishes.

In front of the bed you hesitated. You didn’t know whether Wilhemina wanted you in there with her, or if she’d rather you slept on the couch, or worse, if she wanted you to drive back to your place. Would she play by the rules? You eyed her as she walked around the room rearranging things and closing the shutters, and planted herself across the bed from you.

Your gazes met. You were trying your best not to chew on your lower lip. Wilhemina’s fingers were fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress. For a few, painfully long seconds it went on like this, until Wilhemina lifted the sheet and lay down underneath it.

You waited for her to settle and then, deciding her silence was an invitation, slipped under the sheet yourself.

Wilhemina reached out and turned off the bedside light.

Hoping you could fall asleep was stupid. Every inch of you was thrumming with nervousness. You wondered if Wilhemina could feel the quick beating of your heart, so loud it seemed to make the whole bed shake.

What time was it? You had no idea. You forced yourself to lie as still as possible, with your hands folded on your chest and your eyes fixed on the ceiling. When you couldn’t stop yourself anymore, you turned on your side, facing Wilhemina.

Blue light seeped through the shutters behind her. So the sun had barely set. What had Wilhemina been thinking, when she had closed the shutters and seen the light still clinging to the sky? Had she ignored it, resigned on playing pretend, that this was a happy night with bright twinkling stars in the sky and on her left the pale halo heralding the rising of the moon? That she wasn’t bleeding inside but warm, and that sleep would find her and press a kiss to her eyelids like a gentle lover.

Wilhemina’s eyes were wide open, shining in the dark. You raised a hand, hesitated.

“Can I touch you?” you breathed.

Something growled. You were not playing by the rules. In this ideal world you and Wilhemina had silently agreed to live in, there was no need for asking. Permission was always granted. Your fingers were to press against her skin freely and there was no need for checking because everything was always fine. This was how you were supposed to play. Cheaters would be kicked out of the room.

Wilhemina shifted, settled on her side, facing you. The distance between you two was small, less than the length of your hand.

She nodded.

Your fingers grazed her shoulder first, a safe place, before moving until they reached the edge of her nightdress. They jumped over her neck to land on her chin, and then spread out, cupping her cheek.

Wilhemina leaned into your touch and let out a sigh at the familiar softness and warmth of you. She made a movement as if to shift closer to you, stopped herself. For a moment you simply stroked her cheek, and then you continued your exploration of her, hand slipping down her chin to brush past her collarbone and down between her breasts.

There had been nothing sexual about your caress, but Wilhemina reached for your hand anyway and kept it still over her heart. Her eyes met yours, sad and ashamed.

“I know, baby,” you breathed. You offered her a smile you weren’t sure she could see in the dark. Laced your fingers with hers, gave her hand a squeeze. “I won’t, I promise.”

Wilhemina bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering. You pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” you breathed against her skin, before pressing another kiss on it.

The thing growled again. In the ideal world you had agreed to live in, it scolded, your hand should have slipped lower and moans should already be filling the room. But in this ideal world, one more piece of Wilhemina would be breaking, and one piece of you would start to rot.  

Wilhemina draped one arm over your waist, and when you felt her tentatively nudge your collarbone with her nose, before nestling her face in the crook of your neck, when you felt her shift so that her thigh pressed against yours, nightdress riding up and her skin warm and soft, you closed your eyes to block out anything that wasn’t her and you, and the space your bodies occupied.

And how it made your heart swell, the trust her actions told of. Pressing herself against you like that, and trusting that you would be true to your words, and not seek to take it further. Or was her need for affection so strong she was willing to take the risk? You decided to believe in the former.

Your hand that had been on her heart slid up her chest and underneath her nightdress to feel more of her. You buried your face in her hair.

“I don’t mind whether we make love or not,” you whispered. You cleared your throat and said it louder, in case she hadn’t heard the first time, or had refused to hear. “I really don’t. What matters to me is that you’re happy – or at least, that you feel safe.”

Your hand started tracing lazy circles on her skin. Wilhemina’s lips pushed against the skin of your neck, nose blowing hot air on it.

“If I reacted the way I did yesterday,” you pushed on, “it was only because I got mad at what you said, and because I knew you were holding something back from me.” You swallowed, drew a nervous shape across her shoulder. “Sometimes… sometimes it gets so hard for me to control my anger. It’s not an excuse, I’m just telling you so you understand what happened. I know I never should have reacted the way I did.”

You pulled away then, determined to have her look at you before you uttered the next words. You had forgotten it was very likely she wouldn’t be able to see your expression in the dark. It seemed to you honesty shone of its own light.  

Slowly, her eyes opened to meet yours. You cupped her cheek and offered her a smile. It was quivering, burdened by guilt and remorse, but it was there still.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, loudly, because you felt a whisper wouldn’t be enough. You wanted to scream the words out.

Wilhemina nodded, made to hide, to bury her face in your chest but you gently held her head up so she could look at the honesty in your eyes. Her teeth sank into her lower lip in a vain attempt to stop herself from breaking down, but her chin was trembling in your palm, and soon enough you felt tears slip down between your fingers.  

Angrily you pushed your forehead against hers. “You’re not inadequate,” you breathed. “You’re not inadequate. Do you hear me?” She nodded, a sob pushing out of her just as her lips caught yours so it petered out in your mouth. You kissed her back, spoke the next words between her teeth. “I don’t think I’d ever been made love to before you. It felt nice, but you… every time you as much as touch me I feel a thousand raptures. Do you hear me?”

Her tongue pushed inside your mouth, despair making her too brutal, and she was still choking on tears and sobbing into your mouth as her hands grabbed at every part of you that she could reach. You kissed her back, hands holding her waist, until she had bit and nipped your lips swollen and stolen all the air from you and you had stolen all the air from her, and you both pulled away at the same time, breathless.

You both stayed silent as you caught your breath, blowing air into each other’s mouth. One of your hands let go of her hip to swipe at her cheeks and stroke across her brow. Wilhemina sniffed, pressed her forehead against yours again, and let go of a long, hot, moist breath.    

And then, because you had agreed to tell her your failing, she agreed to share her secret with you.

She held your face in her hands and tilted it so her mouth was brushing your ear, and you reached for the sheet and pulled it over your heads to hide from the game masters and because it had always been easier for Wilhemina to communicate in complete darkness. When no one could see her and her failure, and she could stop performing for there was no one to intimidate.

She described harmless things first, the color of the dress the woman had been wearing, how the man’s arm had been wrapped around her waist. He’d been wearing glasses and her hair had been tied up.  

Then she said how, when she had looked up at them, they had been laughing, their heads almost touching, and how the woman’s eyes had scanned her face first, and then the man’s. And how the woman had nodded at something the man had whispered in her ear, her lips twitching with amusement.

They had passed her and they had walked on and out of her life. And she had walked on and out, too, but her steps had faltered.

And she shouldn’t have let it, she whispered in your ear, as the air beneath the sheet grew warmer, she really shouldn’t have let it, but the laughter had sunk into her and crawled all the way up and down her, hurting everywhere – except her heart. Her heart had gone numb to protect itself.

She’d carried the weight of the laughter crawling and hurting inside her and she’d carried on her day, completing all the tasks she had had to do, and then she’d driven home, taken off her coat and accepted the cup of tea you had slipped into her hands. The laughter had still been weighing her down when you’d told her about your day and she’d tried but failed to listen, and later when she’d helped you cook dinner, forced her food to stay down, let you neglect the dishes and fled to the bathroom where she’d locked the door behind her.

She had locked the door behind her, she confessed in a small voice. Because she had been craving for solitude, because your fond smiles and worried looks and tender touches had hurt her as much as the laughter had.

And then in bed you had pressed yourself against her with a renewed promise of love and tenderness and her heart had roared back to life, crying out that this was too much, that it couldn’t handle any more. It revolted against love and desired to burn itself out. It shall step through fire and burn down to ashes and it would not allow anyone to save it.

You let her speak. Your throat was too tight to let out words anyway. Until Wilhemina sniffed and said she knew there would be more nights and days like this, and that was why she had given you Lily’s phone number – at that, your voice forced its way out to growl that you would never, it would kill you and even if you could bear it, it would kill her too and that you would never allow.    

Wilhemina lowered her head and sobbed.

After you two had emerged from under the sheet, you got up to get her and you some water, and opened the window to air the room. Outside it was finally night. You looked at the dark, silent street and wondered if tonight could still be saved, after all; if it could still be made into something Wilhemina and you wouldn’t be afraid or ashamed to remember.

But then, as you lingered at the window and Wilhemina called out your name, sleepy and soft, and you turned to see her lying on her side with her arms opened, you realized tonight had already been saved. So you quickly closed the window and crossed the room to her, and breathed a “Thank you” into her hair as her arms closed around you and pulled you close. 

Tag list: @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers   @coconutlipss  @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills  @vintagepaulson @billiedeansbottom @lilypadscoven @winslctrg @simpforpaulson @venablesgirl @mckennamayfairgoode  @ka-s

[hqamore]

boreal star ✵ chapter seven

with alina in the wind, general kirigan now has scramble to find her. the only person he has to get through is you.

series genre: romance & angst

series pairing: [past?] aleksander morozova (general kirigan) x reader

word count: 1.5k

warning(s): suggestive?

here’s the masterlist

when you regained consciousness, you attempted to open your eyes, quickly shutting them after being met with blinding lights. you felt aches all over your body. cold intrusions weighted your wrists as you shifted them, accompanied by the clanking of chains. you could hear the bustling crowds outside, conversations about the famed general kirigan being in kribirsk. the wind kissed your cheeks red when several masses moved into wherever you were being held (you presumed a tent).

“get up.”

not carrying for the tone, you pretended to sleep. after several moments passed, your chains were yanked. you fell onto the floor, your muscles pulsating in pain.

“what a lovely wake-up call.” you wrestled against the hands grabbing at you and, when you lost, were forced to sit up. “you know, i usually get to know someone before getting rough. we all have our kinks i suppose.”

a high-pitched giggle rang before it was muffled (not very well though). with a cleared throat, it ceased completely. you slowly opened your eyes to observe the room. a total of five bodies: zoya, ivan, a palace guard, a durast, and aleksander. you’ve gotten out with higher odds stacked against you.

“tell me where they went.”

you rolled your eyes and smirked. “unfortunately for you, my dear general, i’ve only sent them off. just told them to run far from ravka.”

your former lover glanced at ivan who shrugged. he breathed in deeply, clenching his fists. he squatted in front of you and called out to his subordinates. “leave us.”

one by one, they left the tent, zoya hovering by the opening with a nasty look on her face. you looked at her and winked. her lips curled into a sneer before she huffed away.

you returned your attention to aleksander who took the opportunity to come closer to you. you leaned back but failed, closed in by a bench. you watched as his hands rested on your knees. you tried to shake them off only for him to grip tighter as they climbed your legs. you met his half-lidded eyes, thrown off by the (scandalously) familiar gaze.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you said, your eyes darting from his eyes to his lips.

a lazy smile took residence on his face, his tongue flitting across his bottom lip. “did you not miss it?”

feeling very confused and slightly mortified, you tilted your head away from him. “miss what?” you asked.

“our rendezvouses. how you could have me groveling at your feet with a simple touch. how i begged to use my mouth to please you,” he whispered. he rested his hands, kneading your inner thighs.

you scoffed. “did alina rejecting your advances give you brain damage? you really thought i would—”

your words were swallowed when his lips meshed with yours. you would be lying if it didn’t make you have butterflies. after being apart for years, you couldn’t tell if it felt right or nostalgic. stopping yourself from getting lost in the feeling, you shoved him away with your bounded wrists and bolted up. aleksander stumbled back, looking bewildered and distant.

“how dare you?” you spat. “trying to seduce me again for your stupid ambitions? let me be very clear, aleksander. you may have fooled me once, but there will not be a second time.”

you snorted and shook your head, a flurry of emotions rising in you.

“for thirty years, i wondered why i wasn’t enough for you? for fate? did i not follow you faithfully? did i not hang off your every word? did i not love you more than my own life?!”

furious tears welled as you heaved heavily. aleksander was still, his mouth parted, looking as if he wanted to say something. you couldn’t afford to give him the chance anymore. the stitches in your heart were breaking at the seams.

“i hated the world for so long for not giving me the powers you desired. i hated myself over things i couldn’t control. i knew for months that i was not your fated, your wistful destiny, but i stayed. i hoped that your words were empty and you said those things in a drunken stupor, but they say drunken words are sober thoughts. i was a fool to wish otherwise.

“the day i left was the day i stopped allowing myself to mourn over the fact that you were no longer mine. i finally saw my worth and decided that i would love someone else who would too.” you wiped away the tears that fell, then closed your eyes to prevent more from falling.

“did you?”

“what?” you whispered tiredly.

you heard him shuffle to stand, his shoes dragging against the carpet. “did you find someone else to love?” he weakly asked.

you made the mistake of opening your eyes. you took in his appearance—his red, glossy eyes that bore into you and the subtle way his frame wilted. you couldn’t decide whether to scoff at the audacity of him, acting as if he was the victim, or cry at the sight of his regretful posture. even through everything, a small part of you desperately wanted to believe him and embrace him, but you knew you couldn’t—that you shouldn’t.

“i did,” you said, avoiding his eyes.

“oh,” he breathed. “are you still...”

“we parted ways prior to my being here.”

he hummed softly and looked to the sky—like he was praying to the saints. “what if... i was being sincere? would you give me a chance to prove it?”

a scoff left you in disbelief, bitterness coating your voice. “you continuing to pursue your delusions is proof enough for me.”

with longing eyes, he stepped closer to you and captured your hands in his. he bent his neck to level with you. “what i’m doing… what i have been doing for the past five-hundred years… it’s all been to make ravka safer, to make grisha safer, to make you safer.”

you turned away, your will to not fall fading, only for him to tilt your chin towards him. he cradled your face in his palm, brushing away stray tears. “please, [y/n]. i admit, i made one of the biggest mistakes in my life not searching for you. i believed that you were a placeholder, someone to keep me satisfied until the sun summoner came. when you left, i realized how wrong i was.

“every single day, for 30 years, you were my first and last thought. how are they? are they safe? i hope no harm has come to them. [y/n], when you appeared before the king, you don’t understand how relieved i was to see you. at first, i was angry and spiteful at you for leaving me alone, but, as time passed and we fell into routine, my love resurfaced and won.”

you chuckled. “and what would you have me believe alina was? i saw it in your eyes at the winter fete. the same affection i once thought you held for me.”

“the winter fate?” he paused before smiling. “[y/n], you must’ve caught me thinking of you wearing that kefta.”

you grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from your face, the heavy chains grounding you. “you must think me stupid to believe that.”

then, aleksander looked grief-stricken. he fell onto his knees, his lips ghosting over your hands. “what do i have to do to make you believe me, [y/n]?”

you offered a sad smile. “destroy the fold… then, and only then, will i believe that your words aren’t pretty lies to trick me into complying.”

you turned as much as the chains could afford you. “please leave me be,” you whispered.

it felt like eons before you heard him move away. “there will be an expedition through the fold tomorrow. we are to escort foreign diplomats. so, rest up.”

wind rushed back into the tent as he left. once the tent flapped shut, you sank into the ground. tears streamed down your face as you pounded your chest, trying to relieve some of the sorrow. you hated yourself for even hoping that some of what aleksander said was true. you hated that, unlike what you wished to be, you were still easily manipulated by his charms.

i hate that i can’t hate you.

—

unbeknownst to you, aleksander’s heart was rabid and his duplicity dissolved, almost like the kiss was a rush of cold water. he couldn’t find it in himself to deceive you—or himself—anymore.

at first, he was attempting to seduce you. but, when he had kissed you… it was like all those years without you were unreal. it was like he hadn’t lived in the moments where you weren’t there by his side. it was like he could finally let go of the breath he never knew he was holding.

he was a blind man who was given the gift of sight, a deaf man given the wonders of hearing.

he had never felt more stupid in his life. he already had his equal. [y/n] was there, presiding over his heart, and he was an idiot to believe what he felt for them was something akin to complacency.

“general kirigan!”

blinking, he looked up to see ivan running towards him. he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

the heartrender stopped by his side, leaning closer. “we found the sun summoner and the stag. should we bring them in?”

aleksander glanced back at your tent, then turned away ashamed. “bring them unharmed. bring the tracker too.”

taglist (could tag the bolded ones): @kykymyeon @shelivesindaydreamswme @blackbirddaredevil23 @amortentiaaaa @safetyhtom @savannah-elliott @deceivedeer @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @sarcastic-and-cool @supersouthy @let-love-bleeds-red @andwhatofthelight @all-art-is-quite-useless​ @mixed-imagination​ @ashdab2611​ @aria-grace-scott​ @multifandom-addict​ @aleksanderwh0r3​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @kirigansgf​ @evyiione​ @theoutsidelandhere​ @wizardwheezes​ @partiesandblurrypolaroids​ @pansysgirlfriend​ @takethee​ @its-carlerrr​ @kaqua​ @rachellovesharry @imrann123456

author’s babble: now, there’s a dilemma for me. i think i see two ways this can go. crack!fic-ish or no crack!fic-ish. i will keep the crack!fic-ish portion separate. if you’d like to read the alt route, you can start with this! it’s the alt route ending of chapter seven *:ﾟ*｡⋆ฺ(*´◡`)

[justlightlysedated]

For the kisses prompts - #22 for Malex please 🧡

And thank you so much for finding the planetary alinement sequel fic for me 🧡🧡🧡

22. kisses in the rain

Alex is on the phone with Forrest, who calls him periodically every couple of days to talk about what he's doing, and Alex usually pays attention, or pretends to pay attention, but today he can't stop looking out of the window, at the rolling clouds, lighting up with flashes of lightning, the thunder rolls loudly, shaking the very vibrations of his house.

He watches the next flash of lightning and counts the seconds between it and the loud thunder.

Still a few minutes away, he thinks.

He's startled out of his thoughts by a loud knock on his door, and he hears Forrest, sounding a little pissed off, like he's been trying to get his attention but Alex isn't responding.

He picks the phone up, takes it off speaker, and puts it to his ear, mouth open to speak, but then the banging on the door sounds again, and Isobel Evans' voice, of all people sounds out, loud enough that it would have probably been picked up by the speaker.

"Alex! I know you're in there. I don't care if you're balls deep in that Nazi obsessed blue haired twink, we need to talk!"

"I have to go," Alex says, and hangs the phone up on Forrest asking him what's going on, and winces slightly, before he shrugs and drops his phone back on the counter.

He gets up from the couch, reaching for his crutch, since he hadn't been expecting any visitors, and starts to make his way to the door.

Isobel, of course, doesn't have the decency to let him open the door. She opens his locked door, practically blasting it off its hinges and she stalks into the house, eyes finding Alex immediately.

"Where is he?" She demands, stalking forward, one hand aloft, eyes sharp, like she's getting ready to pry the information out of his head if he doesn't answer fast enough.

"Who?" Alex asks, because he's well versed in Isobel enough to know that if she was talking about Forrest it would be in a mocking tone, not one that is tinged with desperation.

"Michael," she says in an obvious tone, and just hearing his name makes Alex's heartbeat spike. "He's been missing for days, and he only did that whenever he was holed up with you."

Alex shakes his head, feeling anxiety and worry bleed into him, "I haven't seen Michael since he walked out of Pony during my set, making it very clear what he thought about my song."

Isobel gives him an incredulous look, but Alex isn't sure what part of his statement she's having trouble believing.

"Over the last year the most contact we've had was text messages when he needed information, so if he's fucked off somewhere it definitely wasn't with me."

Isobel shakes her head, and she looks more irritated than anything, "God save me from my fucking oblivious brothers."

She turns to look back at Alex, "Max is dying. His new heart is failing, and he's known the whole time, and just let us know a few weeks ago. Michael isn't taking it well, and I thought that he'd come to you, but I'm guessing he knows about the Nazi obsessed blue haired twink that periodically warms your bed-"

"He has a name, you know?" Alex says, interrupting her, but Isobel continues speaking like he hadn't spoken.

"-which would explain his dive into the negative spectrum of emotions when he had been feeling pretty hopeful and anticipating your arrival."

Alex blinks at her, feeling confused, "He was hopeful?"

Isobel shakes her head at him, "But I was wrong. I'm wasting my time, because he'd never come here after a rejection."

"Rejecti-?" Alex starts to ask, feeling even more lost than before, but Isobel just turns around and heads back out of his house without even a wave of goodbye.

The slamming of the door coincides with a rumble of thunder, making Alex jump a little.

He hears his phone ringing back where he left it, and he knows that it's going to be Forrest.

A small part of him wants him to go back and answer the phone and explain about ex sort of sisters-in-law who don't know how to wait for someone to open the door, but there is an increasingly louder part of him that is yelling at him that he knows exactly where Michael is, that instead of offering his sort of boyfriend, sort of not boyfriend, any explanations, he should go and demand one from Michael instead.

Alex nods his head sharply and then turns to head to his room. If he's going out into that storm that's brewing, he's going to need to prepare himself.

-

Alex finds Michael at their spot off the Desert View dirt road that leads from town to Fosters Ranch. The truck is hardly visible to the road, but Alex knows exactly where it is.

Alex doesn't pay too much attention as he carefully parks his car next to the truck, and he turns off the car without looking to make sure that Michael was there.

He clenches his hands around the steering wheel and breathes in deeply, and then breathes out slowly.

And then he shakes his head and tells himself to stop being nervous or scared or whatever he was being right now, it was just Michael.

Alex lets go of the steering wheel, and gets out of the car, closing the door with a slam that gets swallowed up by the thunder that sounds immediately after the flash of lightning.

Alex breathes in deeply and closes his eyes at the smell of ozone filling the air.

Alex loves thunderstorms and when it rains so hard the smell of it permeates everything. It makes him sad and melancholy, but also fills him with a mellow sort of happiness.

It's Michael, in a scent that Alex can find anywhere. It's not as good as the real thing, but it helped whenever Alex faltered during the last year.

He looks at the truck, searching for Michael, staring into the cab of the truck, and jumping a little when he finds him sitting on the tailgate.

He looks like he hasn't moved in a while, and he doesn't even twitch when the thunder crashes again.

Alex takes him in for a moment. His face is being covered by his hat, but his clothes looked nicer than anything that Alex has ever seen him wear. Even in the dim light, he can tell that his jeans have no holes, and the sweater he's wearing actually looks soft, and like it actually fits him.

It makes something warm and fuzzy curl in the pit of his stomach, that Michael is doing good, that he's happy and well. Well, he's not really happy right now, if Isobel is to be believed, but from the small, unasked for updates that Kyle gives him whenever they meet up for beers, he knows that Michael hasn't been miserable or drinking like a fish or getting into bar fights or dating anyone.

Alex shakes his head to get rid of the last thought, because he knows better than to hope for anything. If the last three years, since he came back to Roswell the first time have taught him anything, it was that Michael was over him, and Alex just needed to get over it.

Which was much easier said than done.

Alex had thought that he had been making steps towards that, but he could feel the tips of his fingers tingling just from proximity.

Maybe this was a mistake.

As soon as he thinks the words, Michael turns and looks at him. His lips are parted like he was going to speak, and then he seems to realize that Alex was the one standing there, and not Isobel or Max.

Their eyes lock, and Alex feels his heart skip several beats, before it starts racing, matching his quickening breaths.

Lightning flashes and thunder crashes as they look at each other, and Alex has a feeling like something mystical, something alien is about to happen.

Alex walks closer to the truck and Michael doesn't move or say anything, just continues to stare at him, eyes too big, like he's not sure that Alex is real.

Alex sits down next to him and the truck moving up and down with Alex's weight is what snaps Michael's gaze away from him.

"Hi," Alex says, and his voice comes out breathless and quivering, but he pushes forward anyway. "It's good to see you."

"What are you doing here, Alex?" Michael asks, the question falling out of his mouth almost as soon as Alex finishes speaking.

"Isobel came to see me," he says, and Michael scoffs, looking at Alex and quickly away. "She said you were missing, and she thought you were at my place, and it wasn't until she left that I realized I knew exactly where you were."

Michael shakes his head, scoffing again, as he turns to give Alex a sardonic look.

"That doesn't answer the question. What did Isobel let slip 'accidentally' that made you come all the way over here, when you haven't bothered with a hello since you've been back?"

Alex bristles immediately at the implications in his tone, getting defensive, "I don't owe you anything, Guerin."

"I'm not expecting anything from you, Manes," Michael drawls, a mean smirk on his mouth.

Alex scoffs, "Really? Because it sure seems like you were expecting something."

Michael looks away at that, but Alex is just gearing up.

"Which is the part of all of this that is confusing me. I understand you coming out here and wanting to be alone because your brother is dying, again," Michael flinches at the words, and Alex wants to reach out and comfort him somehow, but instead he keeps talking.

"What I don't understand is you being hopeful about us and taking me being with someone else as a rejection. Michael, you were the one who ended things between us. You pushed me away and reminded me at every turn that while I wasn't like my family, I also wasn't what you wanted."

Michael is looking at him now, eyes wet with tears, brow furrowed, and he's shaking his head a little, like Alex is speaking about something that he doesn't understand.

He doesn't say anything in the lull of Alex's flow of speech, so Alex keeps talking.

"I am sorry, you know," he says. "About the song. I wasn't expecting you to be there when I was performing it. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"What?" Michael asks, sounding disbelieving, and he fully turns, tilting his head up a little so that he can see Alex's face clearly. "Why would you think that I was uncomfortable?"

"You walked in while I was in the middle of singing, and you left the second you realized exactly what the song was about. In conjunction with the fact that you'd just gotten your heart broken, I know you weren't walking into the bar expecting a declaration of love, and I'm sorry that I-"

"Alex," Michael says in a low voice, lowering his head just a little. "Stop apologizing."

Alex opens his mouth to speak, but stops when Michael reaches up and takes his hat off, tossing it to the side and ruffling a hand through his hair.

Without the hat, it's almost like a strip of armor that Michael had been wearing has come off, and he looks at Alex intently, "That's not why I left."

"Oh," Alex says, deflating. "Then why did you leave?"

Michael huffs out a humorless laugh, looking away.

"I thought I was doing what was best for us at the time. Maria had just broken up with me, and while I wasn't ready to jump into a relationship with you, I wanted things that I knew were selfish. And then I saw that Nazi obsessed blue haire-"

"So she got that from you?" Alex interrupts him, giving Michael an exasperated look.

Michael just shrugs unrepentant.

"I saw him there, watching you sing, and I just, I didn't think that in that moment, if given the choice, you'd pick me, not after everything that happened. So I left, because I wanted to give you the space to heal and to date whoever you wanted. But then I heard you were coming back home, and I don't know, I guess I couldn't stop myself from hoping that you were coming back for me."

Alex just stares at him, eyes wide, feeling like someone just turned his entire world upside down. He swallows hard, not really knowing how to respond.

"Michael, I-"

But Michael shakes his head, getting to his feet and standing in front of Alex.

"You don't owe me anything, remember?"

Alex just shuts his eyes, and inhales deeply.

After a couple of seconds where Michael just keeps staring at him, and the storm brews ever closer, thunder so loud and near that it reverberates through Alex's bones, he speaks again.

"I was ready, you know," he says, trying really hard to sound casual and failing. Alex opens his eyes to stare at him, but Michael is looking up at the sky, the flashes of lightning caught in his eyes.

"Or I thought that I was,” he continues, shaking his head and then looking back at Alex and jumping when he sees that Alex is looking at him. “I even went to meet you at the bus stop.”

“So that was you?” Alex proclaims, jumping down from the tailgate.

Michael looks embarrassed, cheeks flushed red, and it reminds him so much of the Michael that he fell in love with that he loses his breath for a moment.

“You noticed huh?” Michael says, making a face.

“I swore that I saw you through the bus window, but when I actually looked there was no one there, so I thought I just imagined it.”

“Well, when I saw your boyfriend there, I made myself scarce,” Michael says, a bitter tone to his voice, but he looks apologetic, so at least he’s self aware enough to know that he has nothing to actually be bitter about.

“Not my boyfriend,” Alex says automatically, and Michael just stares at him a bit incredulously.

Alex rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Like you’ve never had a booty call, Guerin.”

Michael raises both eyebrows at that, and gives Alex a mock shocked look, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But he ruins the effect by smirking, and Alex can’t help it, he bursts out into laughter, the tension of the last couple of minutes draining out of him.

He’d thought maybe things between them would just be weird and stilted and painful, but so far it hasn’t felt anything like that. It felt easy.

Alex stops laughing and just grins at Michael, who is just staring at him with a look that Alex is very familiar with.

Alex’s smile dims a little as he continues to stare at Michael who breathes in deeply like he’s steeling himself for something.

“So, not your boyfriend, huh?” he says, taking a step forward.

Alex inhales sharply at the words, and licks his lips, shaking his head.

“So, if I kissed you right now, what would you do?”

Alex exhales a small disbelieving breath, his pulse racing and fingers tingling. Michael has never asked to kiss him before. He’s always just done it like he’s afraid that Alex will tell him no if he dares to ask.

Michael looks away, probably thinking that Alex meant that as a no, so Alex takes a step forward, and Michael freezes, eyes snapping back towards Alex.

“Why don’t you do it, and find out?”

Michael moves forward like he thinks that Alex is going to change his mind at any second, fingers pressed to Alex’s face as he tilts his head to the side and presses his mouth to Alex’s.

The move makes them stagger backwards a little, but Alex hardly notices as he pushes his fingers into Michael’s hair and holds on tight, keeping him close as he kisses him back.

The storm breaks at the same time, and the rain falls hard and cold, pelting them and soaking them almost immediately, but neither Alex or Michael care as they continue to kiss.

Michael digs his fingers harder into Alex’s jaw and kisses him harder, parting his lips and licking at Alex’s mouth. Alex wraps his arms around Michael’s shoulder, pulling himself in closer and opening his mouth to Michael’s.

Michael kisses him deep and just a little bit desperate, and Alex loses himself in it, thinking, this, this, this.

This is what he’s been missing. This is what’s always missing. Michael kisses him like Alex was created specifically for Michael to kiss. And Alex can’t help but surrender to the touch.

After what feels like forever and not long enough, Michael pulls away, panting heavily.

Alex blinks rapidly a few times, before he realizes that his vision is blurry because of the rain that is pouring down on top of them.

He looks up at the sky as lightning lights up the clouds and thunder rumbles, and he closes his eyes breathing in deep. Michael drops his forehead to Alex’s cheek, pressing his face along the side of Alex’s face and just breathing.

Alex just tightens his hold on Michael and breathes with him.

[cancerjupiter]

astro notes: neptune edition (pt. 1)

neptune represents issues which are frequently unconscious, so all of this may operate without your awareness. if projected, the negative aspects of neptune become more emphasised. the more you reject it in your own life, the more likely it is that you’ll meet it in exaggerated ways outside yourself.

neptune in the 1st house

tends to be the kind of person who waits and sees, but your outward behavior doesn’t begin to describe what goes on inside. you feel connected to your environment because you’re aware of subtle energies, you pick up impressions from others they’re usually unaware to be giving. you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of knowing (beyond a verbal level) what others’ unconscious motivations are, what’s hidden behind their civility. you tend to be very idealistic, preferring to live in harmony: peaceful non-demanding relationships and quiet and aesthetically pleasing surroundings. you choose to think kindly of others, whether they reciprocate or not; your sensitivity gives you a natural compassion. you can be most charming, often whimsical, sometimes romantic, and usually empathic. you seem approachable and often receptive to a degree others find startling and deeply gratifying (if not a little scary lol). you want life to be perfect for yourself and others, and your desire for a better world can be channeled into artistic creative pursuits, social work, or mere daydreaming.

you often struggle with personal identity. you may be so open to others that you pick up their moods without realising it. you tend to mimic, unconsciously, the strong characteristics of the last person you were with. don’t become an emotional sponge; define your emotional boundaries and accept it is necessary for your growth to establish a firm identity. another thing i noticed about you is that you guys don’t mind suffering; no, i’m not saying you don’t hate it (everyone does!) but you seem to accept it when you don’t have to. you put others first and feel that it’s best to sacrifice your own well-being than to be responsible for someone else’s suffering.

there’s almost always a strong awareness of and interest in spiritual energies with this placement. you may actually be psychic, whether or not you’re comfortable with the ability. you may deeply religious, although not conventionally since institutions don’t satisfy you; you feel at home with a belief system you know, from personal experience, exists. your lack of interest in the real world can lead you into seriously bad habits like drug abuse or eating disorders and due to your dislike of physical activity, this can quickly damage your (often sensitive) health. alternatively, this placement can also lead to arrogance, depending on the sun and midheaven placements/aspects.

neptune in the 2nd house

you tend to be idealistic with the use of money and personal resources, not terribly attached to them. you look at them as temporary and although sad to part with something you own, you can let it go where others simply cannot. there’s an indifferent attitude towards finances, income and etc. some of you are v generous and will give things away to people who can truly admire it, believing nothing truly belongs to anyone. this outlook satisfies you greatly, making you easygoing but also easily being taken advantage of. this sort of gives you a fairy-tale attitude towards your money - it’s either always there when needed, or simply one of the world’s idiotic, materialistic preoccupations. you may be unpractical or simply forgetful with resources; not willing to sit down and figure what’s the best buy and choosing to go with intuition. purchases usually go by what you want rather than what you can afford (my friend has no idea how much is on her bank acc and doesn’t care to figure it out. she just doesn’t care lol). you should actually read the small print in contracts and not trust just anyone with your money.

alternatively, there may be a strong tendency to overvalue material things (neptune = beliefs in the house of money and possessions), specially if there’s an earth emphasis in the chart, making you inclined to putting great care and time into upkeep. you usually want your things to look aesthetic™️. 

there’s also a strong creative tendency; it may be expressed in various forms but it will certainly be inherent. you need at least periodic access to music and inspiration, including the outdoors where you can soak up peace and serenity. since the 2nd house also relates to sensual pleasures, you probably expect these to provide a kind of ultimate ecstasy. in short, this placement forces you to face up to your tendencies to create illusions about money, possessions, sex, or creative pursuits. don’t expect more from them than they can provide.

neptune in the 3rd house

on one level, this placement can confuse and scatter the brain, giving it vagueness and disorganized thinking. sometimes, however, the mind exhibits uncanny insights into the subtleties of the environment. you sense the hidden nuances and meanings behind what’s being said. what you miss in terms of precise analytical ability, you can by being able to view the big-picture more clearly. there’s a danger to this however; your desire to view what’s beautiful and ideal around you can give a kind of selective perception in which only the good is seen and what doesn’t fit into that is ignored.

you don’t usually feel comfortable expressing yourself through normal channels of communication. what you have to say can be better demonstrated through dance, poetry, song, or picture (painted or taken). there’s often a shyness in the early school situation, which manifested in mental illness (my friend has dyslexia and this was a hard time for her) or simply confusion.

since this house also rules siblings, there may be some sacrifices to be made in relation to them; they may be a problem or have difficulties. since neptune fuses the boundary between the self and others, you may feel you’re responsible for their problems or everything which happens in the immediate environment (also ruled by the 3rd). if you don’t have siblings, you probably longed for the companionship of it, an idealized vision of what a sibling is. i also noticed this neptune placement showing exceptional ability as teachers - specially working w children who have learning difficulties. they can understand ways to communicate with and understand the child better than anyone else.

neptune in the 4th house

i have this one and it’s a loaded position: an unconscious planet in an unconscious house. to feel safe in a secure nest is fundamental, though that’s often quite unconscious. your idea of haven includes a lovely home, w lots of food and someone who will take care of your needs. there’s an assumption that the mother, early home life and emotional security all need to be perfect. that is, all needs will be met with ease, and there’s no upset or disappointment in these areas. the mom or other primary caregiver, is supposed to be there when needed, regardless of other commitments. the illusions connected to the 4th house (remember, neptune refers to illusions which must be exposed and released) are deeply intimate; and any threat to them is profoundly threatening to you.

neptune in the 4th generally has to overcome the strong need for the nurturing parent to not only be perfect but to continue being so into your adulthood. you have great difficulty separating from them; you may never fully do it. it doesn’t matter if they actually lived to your expectations, for their importance is in your head - the parent you idealized or pretended they were. sometimes, however, this desire focuses on the home rather than the parent. in this case, the childhood home was either perfect, or mysterious and elusive. you can react by trying to re-create the exact same nest.

with this placement, nurturing yourself becomes the ultimate value, a way to find supreme satisfaction. you can also make the most amazing caretakers and companions. your need to nurture others is a complicated expression of your own hunger to be taken care of; you give too much and eventually become resentful when no one appreciates your (not asked for) sacrifices. you might also project neptunian traits onto your parent; they may be v spiritual and loving, vague and confusing, or even absent, so you were left w only a fantasy of what they could - and should - have been. they might have also been a victim (similar to pisces moon) and you might’ve felt obligated to save them. 

you feel like caring involves being swallowed up completely, and it’s something you either constantly yearn or are terrified of. you also feel if your (unrealistic) emotional security needs aren’t met, you won’t survive the disappointment (you did, and you will again). neptune in the 4th can make the most patient and loving parents, w a strong sense of their emotional bonding and spiritual responsibilities. you will do more to create an ideal parent/child relationship than anyone else and constantly remind others of how important it is to strive to be the best parent one can be.

neptune in the 5th house

this combo leads to a definite charisma, an aura of charm and power and importance (timothee, angelina, mlk, drake, etc). it’s a strong indication of some kind of acting ability, though it may be used as a teacher or a salesman rather than on stage. you’re likely to work in some area where applause and respect can be immediate and experienced personally. you need this; neptune undermines the self-confidence so you depend on others’ feedback to measure your worth. this can be a deadly dependency because even the highest praise and respect can truly fulfill the yearning to be loved unconditionally, only provide a temporary high, making you forever vulnerable.

some of the illusions related to this placement include the need to have perfect relationships and children, and the perfect artistic creation. whenever one expects perfection, they’re doomed to disappoitment, although the process of disillusionment may be needed to rethink your outlook on life. you may expect your love life to provide a complete sense of fulfillment. you can make a v romantic partner, the type to love cheesy romantic things and music, who can surround your lover with utmost affection. however, you might also expect them to sense your wishes and always meet them; or expect yourself to always be sensitive and caring at al times, regadless of your moods and/or needs.

you need to re-evaluate your tendency to romanticize lovers instead of seeing them for who they are. you may also harbor illusions towards children, your own or all, which hamper your ability to deal w them realistically and effectively. there’s a difficulty in developing a strong sense of self-worth, or maybe fancying yourself to be far more important than you really are. this placement is associated w a great deal of inspired creativity, however, and if other chart factors support it, it indicates exceptional artistic talent. with humility and self-awareness, you can use your magnetism to uplift those who have lost all confidence.

neptune in the 6th house

w this placement, neptune is in its polar opposite, since 6th house relates to virgo and neptune relates to pisces. this house is about the world as it is and how to manage it in a day-to-day basis. neptunian energy is the opposite: it yearns for and seeks to unite w the cosmos, which transcends this world. how can these two work this out?

when they’re well integrated in the chart, you can dream of neptune while using the practical 6th house skills to plan and organise the dream you wish to make true some day. it can direct the neptunian energy to envision something better, prettier, more creative and inspiring. without this, the 6th house is merely a housekeeping unit - a drive to organise and plan, but for what purpose? neptune supplies it with purpose and the house repays it with practical skills, usually related to some artistic work.

however, if the energies are at odds, there is the need to dream vs. the need to be practical and realistic. you feel a strong need to busy yourself w details and make everything as efficient as possible, tidying up and even criticising others (negative virgo energy). you may expect far too much from others and yourself, never able to say “no” when more work is piled on you. another expression is not being able to keep your shit together; you forget, are disorganized, feel tired and drained of energy, get sick often, or feel generally unfulfilled. my friend, for example, often seeks jobs for its glamorous aspects, only to get swamped by details and routine. 

[fruitydiaz-archived]

nothing safe is worth the drive

post 4.12 treasure hunt fic that i forgot i was working on

set after taylor turns buck down outside bobby and athena's

insecure buck | soft eddie | love confessions

6,513 words

AO3 link

Buck felt like he was floating.

And not in a good way. It felt like he was floating in a way that he hadn’t felt in a while. He felt listless, aimless, purposeless. Therapy was supposed to be helping him, he was supposed to be sorting through this — this thing that he had, this issue with abandonment, this need for everyone around him to constantly reassure him that they wanted him around.

The real problem was that this abandonment thing wasn’t just a single loose thread that Buck just had to untangle and then set right. It was a million little threads all knotted together, threads from his past relationships, threads from his family, threads from his friends, threads from work, twisting and weaving together into this suffocating blanket of shame. He wanted to be needed, wanted to be loved. He wanted it so badly that it made him feel sick, made bitterness creep up the back of his tongue, made his skin itch.

Every session he had with his therapist felt like a battle.

He wanted love but he hated that he wanted it. He wanted to be self-sufficient but he was lonely — he wasn’t strong enough. He wanted something meaningful but he never felt like he could trust it. He never felt like anything was enough — because he never felt like he was enough.

He was supposed to be getting somewhere, he was supposed to be making progress, but lately he’s been falling into the same old thought patterns he was supposed to have left behind with Buck 1.0 and 2.0.

Supposed, supposed, supposed.

Have patience with yourself, Evan. Show yourself the same compassion you’d show a friend.

These things take time.

Have you ever thought maybe you just need to be patient, wait for the universe to come to you?

The thing was — he knew Taylor just saw him as a friend. He knew every time he looked at her, every time Eddie joked about her being his girlfriend — he knew it wasn’t right. But he wanted it to be right.

They already knew each other, they had history. They already knew they had incredible sex together. So the only thing they needed now was the love. And he thought that they could work at it, maybe. He thought that over time, the more that they built on their friendship, the closer they would get to crossing that line into something meaningful.

But it wasn’t right. She didn’t like him that way and, honestly, he didn’t know why he kept trying to push it. Everytime he leaned in, everytime he let his eyes soften and linger, there was a voice in the back of his head screaming at him that it was wrong. But he wanted to ignore it.

Because he wanted it to work. He wanted it to be her. Because he didn’t have any other option.

They’re on the front porch at Bobby and Athena’s and he’s trying — he’s trying, again. It should be easy, he does love Taylor, maybe just not in the way he thinks he’s supposed to, but he can pretend. He can pretend that the pounding of his heart in his chest is excitement, pretend that the way his stomach is twisting is because of butterflies, can pretend the reason his hands shake and his palms sweat is because he wants her that bad.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He just wants love.

“I’m glad that we’re friends,” She says, smiling up at him. She knows what he’s trying, and she knows why he’s trying it — she’s called him out on it before.

That’s not what I meant, when I said you should wait for the universe, Buck. You know that.

But he really wishes that it would just work. That things would just fall into place like they do in the movies, that some switch would flip and he’d get what he wanted. But this...this isn’t really what he wants. And he supposes, that’s why it’s not working.

When he heads back into the house, there’s a cloud over him. He can feel it and everyone else clearly picks up on it, with the way their eyes all fall on him, then shift to Taylor, then back at him, then soften with a false sense of understanding.

They don’t get it. Nobody does.

He knows he’s doing that thing he does, where his face hardens, and he stares off into space, absorbed in thought and mentally checking out of the conversation. Eventually, everyone stops nudging him, stops trying to get him to check back in. But Eddie keeps his eyes on him.

Eddie.

Eventually, the crew begins to clear out. Taylor leaves first, of course, thanking Athena and Bobby for hosting, waving a quick goodbye for everyone else, walking briskly out the front door, phone in hand, always with a purpose.

Buck can’t tell if he’s sad to see her go or happy. Her friendship has been something like an anchor for him over the last couple of months — but he keeps trying to turn it into something it's not and the rejection he always knew would come is stinging more than it should.

Her presence is starting to feel like a constant reminder of all the ways he’s failing right now, which isn’t really fair to her.

Eddie and Buck hang back after Hen and Chimney leave, insisting on helping Bobby and Athena clean up a little. He’s not sure why they both linger. It feels oddly domestic, the two of them collecting silverware from a kitchen table that’s not either of theirs — it reminds him of the way Chimney and Maddie will linger in his apartment kitchen after dinner, clearing up and giggling to each other, Buck sitting stunned at his own kitchen table, feeling like an outsider in his own apartment.

They don’t talk much as they help — because Buck’s still brewing under his dark cloud of self-doubt. But Eddie’s nothing if not persistent.

He comes around to Buck’s side of the table and Buck glances at him, hands freezing as he reaches for another fork. Eddie doesn’t look at him, though, so Buck continues what he was doing, a little more on edge now. Their fingers brush once when they reach for the same bowl and Buck shocks the both of them with how quickly he rips his hand away. Eddie studies him for a second and Buck keeps his eyes trained on the table.

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie finds when he looks at him, but he must find something, because he sets his collection of dishes and silverware back down on the table and turns to face Buck, one hand on his hip with a sense of determination. He can practically see the way Eddie’s turning over words in his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say, so he braces himself.

“Why don’t you come over after this?” He asks, his voice gentle. Buck wants to ignore him, wants to finish clearing the table, say goodbye to Athena and Bobby, and leave — go back to his quiet apartment, bury himself under the blankets in his bed, and let his anger and hurt simmer.

But also — God, does he want to go to Eddie’s. He so badly wants to go to Eddie’s and soak up all of the gentle attention he knows Eddie wants to give him right now.

But also — he knows exactly how much that attention is going to hurt when he has to leave, when they have to cap off this week of brief fun and excitement and go back to reality — where Eddie’s with Ana and Buck is alone.

He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks, tries to force a casual smile onto his face but he knows it looks more like a grimace.

“What, you haven’t had enough of me yet?” He laughs, aiming for a joke, but he knows exactly how it lands; it’s pitiful and self-deprecating, a thinly veiled challenge. Eddie doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. He just stares, steadily. Buck can feel the facade crumbling under the weight of it.

“Look, Chris is spending the day with Pepa and I don’t have to pick him up until later tonight. If you’re still around, I know he’d like to see you. He misses you.”

It’s a cheap shot, throwing Christopher at him like that. Eddie knows he’d do anything for that kid. And, to be honest, Buck misses him too, fiercely. It’s not exactly like they’ve been spending a lot of time together.

But he’s stubborn, so Buck keeps his eyes on the table, and doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Eddie adds quieter, “I want you to come over, Buck.”

And Buck feels it all fall apart, right then. Because that’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To be wanted by Eddie.

Buck wants to think that he’s good at hiding it, wants to pretend that this burning desire he has to be the center of Eddie’s entire world isn’t written all over his face every damn day. But he knows it is — he’s never been good at hiding his emotions. His sister’s called him out on it, Hen has made gentle, quiet comments about it, and even Taylor saw right through his weak advances, saw them for what they were — a distraction.

The fact that he can’t get a grip, can’t put a fucking lid on this boiling hot need of his, is embarrassing. And he hates that Eddie apparently sees it too. Because of course, Eddie knows that Christopher isn’t his only weakness. The kid gets it from his dad. Buck’s weak for the both of them.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with all of the emotions building up in his throat, so he looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, and nods quickly.

The smile Eddie gives him nearly knocks him back off his feet.

A few minutes later, they’re saying goodbye to Athena and Bobby. Well, more like Athena is kind-heartedly herding them out of the kitchen and out the door. Bobby says bye to them in the doorway, pulling each of them into a hug that surprises them both. Buck’s pretty sure that Bobby holds onto him just a second longer, squeezing him tighter, and clapping him on the back with a force that hides some kind of message.

I love you, kid is probably what he’s saying. Buck wants to swallow his tongue.

If he wanted to dig into himself and figure out exactly why he finds it hard to accept that the love from his co-workers — who are like his family — is enough, which his therapist actively encourages him to do, he would probably find that it’s because he believes that these are overwhelmingly good people. These are the people whose hands he willingly places his life into every single day, because he knows they’ll take care of it. They’re people that he looks up to every day, follows their lead whenever he feels lost, takes after them to better himself. And the thing that life has taught him about people like them, is that eventually they see him for what he is, and it’s never enough.

He fights every day not to feel like a fraud in that firehouse. He fights every day to earn his spot — even though everyone keeps telling him he doesn’t have to.

Old habits die hard, they say.

He climbs into Eddie’s truck — he had insisted on picking Buck up for lunch, since Buck drove them to dig for treasure — and feels the cloud over him start to dissipate, just a bit, in the familiar space. Part of him wants to reach out, grab hold of it, and yank it back into place. It’s that stubbornness of his that likes to hold onto the bad feelings, because they always feel safer than hope.

For the first 10 minutes of their drive, they don’t speak, just listen to the sounds of the radio. It’s peaceful, and as they drive Buck feels the cloud of his start to disappear. When he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, he can pretend that he doesn’t want it to stay, and he can start to let it go.

His feelings around Eddie are confusing, especially lately. He knows how he feels about Eddie, though, admittedly, he’s scared to say it out loud. When you voice something like that, give it a name, it makes it more real. Before, it was easy to ignore. Eddie was his best friend, Eddie was his partner, Eddie had his back, Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was content to keep that unnamed emotion under wraps for the sake of their friendship. Things were good — why would he want to risk it? Anytime he’s loved someone openly, they’ve left him. He wasn’t going to let Eddie leave him.

But now there’s Ana. And Buck doesn’t want to keep that emotion locked up anymore — not with the way it’s eating away at him. He wants to let it out, let it consume him, and maybe consume Eddie too. But that’s not an option. He can’t love Eddie, precisely because he loves him. He can’t risk losing him any more than he already has.

So he can’t let himself get too comfortable, can’t settle back into that spot he’s had reserved for the last 3 years. Because comfort leads to slip-ups; comfort leads to revealing things he shouldn’t. When they were both tiptoeing around their emotions — that was fine. Buck would slip up, then Eddie would slip up, then both of them would pretend they had no idea what they were dancing around.

Or, at least, that’s how he thought things were going. But, apparently, Eddie had enough of that dance and found someone that was actually worthwhile. Buck desperately wishes he could find someone too, but apparently the only one worthwhile for him — is Eddie.

Buck knows his peace can’t last forever so he’s not surprised when Eddie eventually turns down the radio. He’s been tapping his fingers against the steering wheel anxiously ever since they got in the car. Buck knew he was dying to start probing him with questions — in the most gentle, caring, Eddie way possible.

“Want to tell me what’s bugging you?” Eddie flicks his blinker on, eyes trained on the road, and he asks the question with such an air of nonchalance that Buck almost believes him.

“No,” He says flatly, shifting in his seat. The corners of Eddie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he hates the fondness that creeps up in him at it. He fights to keep a smile off his own lips — he’s frustrated right now.

“Anything to do with that private conversation you had with your girlfriend out on the front porch?” Eddie asks...and...there’s an edge to his voice. That edge that’s been there every time that Eddie’s brought up Taylor — like he can’t let Buck have one thing. It cuts right through him, and he snaps, just a little. He sits up straighter in his seat and stares at Eddie. He can feel the heat rising in him — the anger, the want — getting twisted in his chest.

His face burns.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He bites. He’s got more venom in him than he expects, the baritone of his lower register rumbling beneath the surface. It surprises Eddie, enough that the smile falls off his face, and he turns to actually look at Buck.

Buck knows his mask is all but wiped away — he’s clear as day to Eddie, his emotions all there on the surface, for Eddie to see.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the anger bubbling in Buck die back down a little bit, and turns into his neighborhood. Buck feels himself relax again and guilt starts to settle in, in place of the anger that’s slowly fading. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, apologize, maybe, for snapping — but nothing comes out.

“Do you want her to be?” Eddie cuts in, interrupting whatever unnecessary apology Buck was trying to work out. He deflates against his seat and looks down at his lap. Yes, is what he wants to say. But it’s not really the truth. And as much of a fight as he’s been putting up — he’s really fucking tired. Fighting against Eddie’s not worth it, and he never likes it.

“I don’t know,” Buck says honestly, quietly. His voice sounds smaller than he’d like and he rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed. “I’m tired of being alone, Eddie.”

His voice breaks, and it hurts, and it’s humiliating, but it’s the truth, ugly as it is. Eddie nods, like he understands, which he doesn’t. Buck wants to scream, just a little.

“You’re not alone, Buck.” Eddie turns onto his street and slows down, taking the chance to look over at Buck, slumped down in his seat. He watches Buck roll his eyes, watches his eyebrows jump up and his head tilt like he’s ready to brush Eddie off. “You don’t have to be in a relationship, you know? You can just be Buck.”

“No offense, Eddie, but I’m tired of hearing shit like that from people who don’t get it.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t get it?”

“No.” Buck’s getting short with him again, so Eddie doesn’t say anything in response. He waits, counts to five, lets his breath even out. He’s not looking for a fight — but that seems to be Buck’s default, right now, and that’s not how tonight’s going to go.

He parks in the driveaway and cuts the engine off, letting the silence settle over them.

“What don’t I get?” Eddie tries again, once he sees that Buck’s backed down a bit.

“It’s not the same for us, Eddie. It’s not the same for any of you. Everybody has someone. Maddie, Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Athena...you. Hell, even Albert had Veronica. I don’t have anyone.”

They stare at each other for a beat, before Buck breaks their eye contact and looks back out the window. His jaw locks like he’s not going to say anything else, and Eddie waits.

He turns his keys over in his hand and drops his head down. He doesn’t understand Buck’s need for a relationship — that much is true. He’s been on about this for months now, probably as long as Eddie’s been seeing Ana. Or — was — seeing Ana. That’s ended now...and he hasn’t really found the right opportunity to bring it up.

Eddie sighs and slips his keys into his pocket.

“Look — you’re right. I don’t know why you want to be in a relationship so bad. You don’t have to put all of your self-worth into someone else’s hands. You’re enough on your own, Buck.”

Buck still doesn’t look at him but Eddie can see the telltale working of Buck’s jaw, the way he clenches it and unclenches it whenever he’s trying to fight back some wave of emotions. He tries to sniff subtly, but Eddie’s watching him like a hawk.

“And, uh, besides, I’m...Ana and I broke up. A while ago, actually.”

Buck’s neck snaps as he turns to look at him, surprise all over his face. Eddie shrugs a little, cocks his head to the side, and smiles, shy.

“Wh — what? What do you mean?” Eddie shrugs again.

“We...we just ended things, man, I don’t know?” The look Buck gives him is entirely unimpressed and it almost makes him laugh.

“I don’t know? Eddie. How did I not know about this?” And — Eddie knows Buck. He can pick apart the layers of anything Buck says in an instance; the fake lightness in his voice, the question hiding another question, the underlying layer of hurt.

How did I not know?

How did you not tell me?

Eddie rubs his jaw with his hand before shaking his head and pushing his side door open.

“Come on, Buck. We’re not having this conversation in the car. We’ll end up here all night.” He jumps out, then turns around, leaning against the frame of the car and looking at Buck expectantly.

Buck stares at him a couple seconds longer, brain still struggling to catch up with him. He looks like he wants to argue. Against what, Eddie’s not really sure, and he’s pretty sure Buck isn’t either.

Wordlessly, he unclasps his seatbelt and slides out his side of the truck. Eddie counts that as a win.

They head into the house in silence, Buck walking straight to the kitchen to grab them some beers while Eddie flicks on the lights and does a general scope around the house, just to feel settled.

When he walks back to the kitchen, Buck’s shoes are off — he left them by the door, next to the pile of Eddie’s and Christopher’s — and he’s hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink. Eddie’s body warms, the way it does whenever he sees Buck comfortable in his home. He stopped trying to analyze the feeling a long time ago — just accepted that Buck was a part of his home now and when he wasn’t there — it didn’t feel complete.

Buck’s got one bottle of beer in his hands, another uncapped on the counter next to him. Eddie smiles as he walks over to Buck, drifting into his orbit to grab the bottle. They tap their bottles together in a wordless cheer, a habit of theirs they can’t ever break, even with tension sitting heavy between them, and Eddie leans back against the kitchen table as he takes his first sip.

They drink in silence and Eddie can feel the way Buck’s holding himself back, the way he’s refusing to broach the subject before Eddie does. He takes another sip of his beer and sighs, holding it down in his lap, and fiddling with the cap.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t like there was a big problem between me and Ana...it just wasn’t working,” He glances at Buck, who’s watching him with that look in his eyes; the one that always makes Eddie feel pinned in place, grounded in a way that few things do, like he’s the only person in the world. He shifts.

“We both agreed to end things...together. But I still needed some time, you know, to think about...things,” Eddie drops his gaze back down to the bottle in his lap. He pauses, taking the opportunity to take another sip of beer.

He hadn’t been planning to have this conversation with Buck for a while. That’s exactly why he didn’t tell him that they had broken up in the first place. Because somewhere between introducing Ana to Christopher and the last couple of months — Eddie had come to a startling realization.

The moment it hit him was nothing, really. It was a quiet moment. One day his Abuela had stopped by the station to drop Christopher off at the end of Eddie’s shift and Eddie was still in the locker room. He came out to find Chris and Buck talking by the truck. Christopher had just pulled out his latest art project to show Buck and Buck was on his knees beside him, staring at the piece of paper like it was a genuine work of art. He asked serious questions about the subject matter, the colors Chris had chosen — and Chris eagerly answered all of them, laughing when he thought Buck asked a silly question, and Buck would fein offended and then burst out laughing with him.

It was so ordinary, so normal for them, that Eddie didn’t even pause when his heart warmed at the sight or when that fond smile made its way onto his face or when he squeezed Buck’s shoulder as they said goodbye. He didn’t realize until he had made the whole drive home, ate dinner, helped Chris with his homework, put him to bed, and then settled in under the covers that night. Then it hit him all at once.

He was in love with Buck. He wanted to see Buck every day, wanted to wake up in the morning and come into the kitchen to find Buck doing something entirely mundane like drinking coffee, or eating breakfast, talking with Chris about anything and everything while he sat at the table eating cereal. He wanted Buck to come home with him after a shift and sit down at the table with them while they ate dinner and talked about their days. He wanted Buck there for movie nights and beers and birthday parties and bedtime stories and sleepovers and — everything.

So he broke up with Ana. And he spent the last month and a half trying to figure out exactly how to move forward from there because he was pretty sure that Buck loved him too.

But now there’s been all this time and space between where they once were and where they were now — a weird distance between them, a chasm that seemed impossible to cross. And every time Eddie tried to reach out he was met with resistance — because Buck was clearly trying to make something work with Taylor.

Why? Eddie didn’t understand. They seemed friendly with each other, and Eddie tried not to let his jealousy eat away at him, fought hard not to listen to that voice in the back of his head that screamed that he lost his chance, that he’d been replaced. But Taylor was clearly disinterested in pursuing anything else with Buck. And from where Eddie sat? Buck sure kept trying, but his heart didn’t really seem to be in it.

So — it was confusing. And the more time went by, the less Eddie really knew what to do.

And now they’re here.

“Look — nobody knows, except, you know, Christopher...and Abuela, Pepa, my mom, my dad, my sisters — you know,” He waves his hand, dismissively. “But nobody from work knows. You’re...you’re the first one I’ve told...because I want to tell you.”

He doesn’t miss the pleased look that passes over Buck’s face before he forces it down into something slightly more neutral. He stalls, taking another sip from his beer. He looks like he wants to say a couple of different things, or a million different things — Eddie wouldn’t know — but he settles for the easiest.

“How long?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and presses his lips together.

“Month and a half.” And there it is, that unimpressed look, again.

“Eddie—” Eddie holds up his hands in defense.

“I know, I know, okay. It’s been a while. I told you, I had...some things to think about.” That’s as vague as he can be. He’s not really sure that now’s the time to say I was trying to figure out how to tell you I love you. Buck blinks, waiting for Eddie to elaborate. When he doesn’t, he rolls his eyes.

“Eddie — a month? What was there to think about, you had already broken up,” Buck’s tone is exasperated but he’s not angry — not like he was an hour ago. Eddie chews on his lip, looking back down at the bottle in his hands and picking at the wrapper on it.

“I had to think about what I wanted,” He says quietly. When he looks back at Buck — he sees the confusion. But Buck stays quiet, eyes flicking over Eddie’s face. They stay like that, suspended in the moment, for a while, before Eddie speaks again.

“What do you want, Buck? Is it Taylor Kelly?”

He’s not sure what gives him the confidence to ask that, to turn the conversation back around on Buck. He tries to keep his voice level when he says Taylor’s name; he’s perfectly aware of how his voice turns to something twisted and bitter whenever he talks about her. She doesn’t deserve it, not really, but he can’t help it. He tries his best.

Buck keeps his eyes locked with Eddie’s and they narrow a little, like he’s trying to figure out Eddie’s play, flipping the switch on him like that. Eventually, he drops his gaze and does a confusing series of tiny head nods and shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t know — no. Not really.” Eddie nods. He repeats his question.

“What do you want, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, not at first. He’s distinctly thinking that he’s not drunk enough for this conversation. He’s not drunk at all — he’s barely had half of his beer. He’s not nearly as loose as he’d like to be for this — not nearly as loose as he needs to be for this. But he wants to be honest with Eddie, wants to save this intimate moment, wants to cherish the closeness. This is what his therapist encourages him to do, take the opportunity to open up, not to hide away in the things he thinks are most comfortable, not to shy away from the vulnerability that scares him, to embrace it, and be honest and real.

“I want...someone to come home to,” He starts, and his voice cracks on the word home, but he powers through, even if he has to take another large gulp of beer before continuing. “I...want someone who...will see everything that I have to offer and...it — it will be enough.”

I want you. I want you. Can I be enough for you?

Buck falls quiet again and Eddie takes the risk, stepping forward into the space between Buck’s legs. They weren’t far apart to begin with, the space between the counter and the table isn’t that great, but now Eddie’s breathing his air. Buck chances a look up at him.

“Do you know what I want?” Eddie asks, eyes steady on Buck. He doesn’t dare to breathe. “I want someone that I can count on. Someone who...won’t be scared by all of the parts of me that are broken. Someone who will look at Christopher — and see him the way I see him, the way he is, a kid with so much light and love in him. Someone who won’t just see his limitations — but all of the possibilities of things that he can do. Someone who will love him and support him and never leave his side.”

Buck’s eyes are big and watery and he jumps to fill Eddie’s silence.

“Eddie, no part of you is broken. And Chris — Chris is an amazing kid. It’s impossible not to love him. Anyone who gets to be a part of your lives is lucky.”

And — of course. Of course, that’s how Buck responds. Of course, Buck skips over the quiet declaration, the subtle implications that it’s him, it’s him, it’s him — to reassure Eddie in a way that just proves that he’s everything he could ever want. Eddie nods, rests his fingertips on the counter, just on the outside of Buck’s thighs. His voice drops into a softness he rarely indulges in, a tone he saves just for the people he loves.

“I want someone who will have my back.” He watches the way Buck’s eyes widen, the way he freezes at the words. His eyes jump back and forth between Eddie’s and his mouth drops open, just a bit. Eddie continues.

“I want someone...that I can count on...and that I know, no matter what, they will always have my back.”

The silence in the room is borderline oppressive — the way Eddie can feel it surrounding them, enveloping them like a weighted blanket. He struggles to breathe as he stares back at Buck, waiting. They’ve been playing this game all night. One moves, the other waits, then they move, and the other waits. It’s Buck’s turn to make the move. Eddie doesn’t want to push him — but all his cards are on the table.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, but nothing else follows. He’s frozen in place on the counter and Eddie knows what’s running through his mind.

It’s fear. It’s fear clawing its way up Buck’s chest, fear pressing down steady on his lungs, suffocating him. It’s fear that has every fiber of his body locked in place — unrelenting.

Buck is one of the bravest people Eddie’s ever met — and he’s met a lot of brave people. He throws himself headfirst into danger every day of his life for the lives of others. He would lay his life down on the line for anyone, no matter who, no matter what, no matter when. And he loves — he loves so fiercely, so bravely, so willingly, despite every way in which he’s been hurt before.

He’s brave not because he doesn’t feel fear — he feels it constantly, but he lives in spite of it, loves in spite of it, fights in spite of it. All Eddie wants is for him to feel safe in this, to know it's real and that he can love and not be afraid of it.

He takes another calculated risk, and lifts one of his hands from the counter, settling it gently on Buck’s thigh. He jumps, slightly, at the contact but doesn’t move away or go to remove Eddie’s hand. He swallows.

“Evan, I want you.”

And Buck can’t hold it back anymore — the fear, the want, the anger, the love. It comes bursting out of him at once. His face twists up as the emotions rush over him, and he wants to just shut his eyes, block it all out, not let them ruin this moment — but he can’t. The next thing he knows, he’s crying, breaking down sobbing in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen at the simple admission that somebody — not just somebody but Eddie — wants him.

It’s too good to be true. It has to be.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, struggling to keep back tears. He gives Eddie that look, the one that says you don’t know what you’re talking about — I don’t believe you, and Eddie’s heart breaks.

He reaches his hands up and gently cradles Buck’s face between them; he can’t hold himself back from touching him, not anymore. Using his thumbs to wipe at Buck’s tears, he moves so that they’re eye to eye and Buck can’t look away from him.

“I love you, Buck.” And he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that it might be too soon to say it — because he’s been in love with Buck for years and in their line of work anything can happen to them at any time. If life has taught him one thing it’s that we never know when we’re going to go. And if anything were to ever happen to them and Eddie hadn’t grown the fuck up and taken the opportunity to tell Buck, this man who radiates light like the sun, who’s filled to the brim with love, who wants to give it to anyone and everyone who will accept it, who deserves love honestly returned — he doesn’t even want to think about it.

So he tells him, and he means it, and he needs Buck to know that he means it.

Buck’s face crumples on itself again. Eddie gives him a second to let more tears fall, watches as the muscles in his face move, trying to work out a response.

“Eddie,” Seems to be all he can say. He tries again.

“Buck — what do you want?”

He pauses and the tears keep streaming down his face but then he looks at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie sees it — the moment that it clicks for Buck. The moment he realizes that this is real and if he wants it he can have it.

“You.”

Eddie nods, trying to keep himself from breaking down crying too, but he’s not sure it’s possible. They’re both exhausted, running on the carbs and coffee from Bobby and Athena’s and little to no sleep. But he’s grateful for anything that got them here, finally.

“You have me,” Eddie says, and he means it. “Me, Christopher, we’re yours, Buck. You’ve always had us.”

“Eddie,” Buck sobs and he’s clinging to Eddie’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “I love you. And I love Chris. And I can’t lose you, not again, I can’t—“

“You never lost us, Buck,” Eddie shushes, pressing a solid kiss to his forehead. “Never. You might have, you know, been a dumbass once or twice. But we’ve both made mistakes. And here we are.”

Buck nods and looks around, blinking like he just realized where they were. He looks back at Eddie, eyes red from tears but a soft smile on his face nonetheless.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to make out with you on this counter.”

And — it’s tame, by his standards and Buck’s, he’s well aware of that — but something about that admission leaves him winded. He’s too startled to even respond for a second before he breaks out laughing.

It’s an effective tension cutter, and Buck laughs too.

“Really?” Eddie chuckles, letting his head drop so he can stop staring into Buck’s eyes for five seconds and breathe.

“Oh yeah,” Buck says, sniffling. He slides his hands up Eddie’s arms. “Here, and on your couch, against the wall...in your bed.”

He tacks the last part on with a kind of shyness that Eddie’s not used to hearing in Buck’s voice — especially not when it comes to sex. He looks back up again to find Buck’s eyes on him, still a little guarded and unsure.

He recognizes that a simple declaration of love isn’t enough to wash away Buck’s self-doubt — it’s not enough to fix either of them. But they’ll work on it together.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

“We can do all of that, Evan,” He promises, smiling at the gentle gasp that leaves Buck at the sound of his given name.

“You know, I normally don’t like it when people call me Evan,” Buck says, dropping his hands to Eddie’s waist and letting his fingers dip under his shirt, feather-light against his skin. “But there’s something about the way you say it.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment, bumping Buck’s nose with his and pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. Buck sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“I dunno. It makes me feel good.”

Eddie pulls back again, eyes shining, and he smiles at Buck.

“I always want to make you feel good,” He says, and Buck tilts his head to the side, face flushing as the sweetest smile grows on his lips.

Eddie closes the space between them and presses his lips against Buck’s — gentle, at first, like a promise to keep him safe.

They kiss in the kitchen for a while, their hands lightly traveling over their arms, their backs, their chests, their thighs — a sweet exploration of something familiar and new all at once.

They kiss until they get lightheaded and Buck starts to feel like he’s floating again.

But it’s different this time, better — because they’re doing it together.

[omgkalyppso]

It's 1 AM — happy belated birthday Owain! I wrote some owainigo / laslodin ? Intended as being able to be read as an S support for Laslow and Odin. Written to recognize Inigo as bisexual and polyamorous and Owain as a trans man. Vague about Owain's sexuality because he currently has his sights on Inigo only.

.

It had been a long time since Laslow had felt like dancing; even recently, he’d wondered if he’d ever want to again, when they’d fallen into Valla and all hope had seemed lost. Yet when Xander had ordered he and Peri enjoy themselves this eve, he’d had a week for his dancer’s garb to be refitted — the clothes he’d arrived in — now matching a soldier’s girth and shoulders. He was not the spritely lad of years past, and wondered whether he looked like a fool.

In the least, the steps were as familiar as breathing, and the melody of the drums was known to his heart, even if the tune wasn’t the same.

His mother — his birth mother, whom he’d only known for such a short time, so much of her dancing was made for battle: relief in victory, love in anticipation, heart in loss. She remembered music of happier times, but those dances hadn’t translated into his tiny feet, so used to the sound of war drums.

He found his dancing riled the spirits of some, who watched or tapped a foot, mimicking a step or two, and Laslow felt further from them than he ever had before.

They were going home. He was going home.

This crowd would only be a memory.

.

He wondered where he would find himself: would it really be the world left in relative peace where Grima lay sleeping? Or would his intent send him spiraling far and away to the land of memory, nightmares and blight? Would Owain even wish to leave Nohr? It suited Odin Dark so naturally. He seemed happier as a mage, and through magic, his own and discovered, Owain had even managed to mold his chest into a form that brought him joy and comfort.

Inigo wondered whether Owain would hold any apprehension in sharing this version of himself with old friends and family.

Some would say Owain had no understanding of shame or embarrassment, but they’d never read his stories aloud, or seen him as a young bashful man who knew little and less of how to present himself. Still, Owain had grown, had carved himself and the world around him in ways that had secured their victories as of late.

Inigo knew that it was his own insecurities over returning that truly alarmed him.

Meanwhile Severa knew what she wanted. She always had. Her heart might be large enough to reserve pieces for all who showed her kindness and some manner of discipline, but she could never stay away from Morgan and her parents. Her home was known and waiting.

.

The song ended and he shared a soft laugh with his liege, a man whose trust and generosity he was on the cusp of betraying.

.

Public celebrations were a favorite of Owain’s. He had learned to handle a crowd, and could often find a group or three to regale with tales of victory, honor and suspense. There were jeers at times, but less when the people were joyous and relieved. Perhaps not all understood the challenges that had weighed upon their liege lords and borders, or their fabric of reality, but they knew strife, and wanted to believe it could be felled by a hero — why shouldn’t he be that.

He’d been shouting over the music for so long, that he’d nearly missed Elise’s voice marveling excitedly, “Hey! Did you know about this? He told me his dancing was a secret.”

While the Xander hushed his sister and they chittered on in silence, Odin Dark also fumbled in his tale, glancing, for a moment, to where Laslow spun daggered discs on his wrists. Owain might have trailed off entirely, and taken the time to watch as much of the performance as possible, whether to jeer or jest or compliment, but Odin had an audience, people who would think him missing or worse in the weeks to come, and so he dove back into an embellishment of the beasts they had defeated. He could watch Inigo dance again. He was sure of it.

.

The tents were relatively empty when the witching hour came to pass. The masses had retreated to the castles and campgrounds, manor houses and taverns where guests and guards were making due. A flutist was speaking with Laslow, a dancer by his side, correcting his posture, of all things. Owain sat on the edge of a fountain, and watched until his friend noticed, as Laslow turned away, red in his cheeks and upon his neck. He stopped their performance swiftly, seemingly assuring the dancer that he would remember to practice. It put a pinch in Owain’s brow, mournful that he’d spurred his friend toward another broken promise.

“You were watching then?” asked Laslow, spinning a ribbing at his side through his hoops so that they would lay at his hip, jingling.

“Even those whose ears I captivated with tales from the saga of Odin Dark, could look nowhere else!” He chuckled as Laslow sat by his side, shifting slightly, as the costume left little protection against the cool damp stone of the fountain. “If only you’d told me, we might have coordinated our performance!”

“I’d make a poor archrival then,” Laslow teased. “If I weren’t stealing your audience.” He stretched, and Odin watched how the bulge of his belly and triceps marked Laslow for his latest manner of fighting — reserved, sturdy, and strong. “And still, not one enraptured lady to request an encore, nor a single suitor to waylay my evening with a flower or three.”

“Only me,” Odin said mournfully, shaking his head.

“Only you,” Laslow agreed, smirking, and he saw how tired Owain was then, and hoped it was his performance, regaling the public with magic and mystery, but he knew it was the war, the ever present ones they’d fought through. He wondered if he would ever feel so comfortable as to compliment his friend, the growing wrinkles at his eyes, the stubble of his beard, the mouthwatering line of muscle revealed by his boastful outfit. He licked his lips. “My vexatious tormentor. Are you headed to sleep?”

Owain saw that the question had two answers. The first was an affirmative, though he would go to his room and stare at the ceiling, perhaps retreat to the library and spend his last few hours in this realm reading more and more of foreign magic as their time grew short. The second was a negative, and perhaps he and Laslow could find somewhere that drink still flowed, and they could pretend to lose themselves in tankards while he made a show of failing to find them dates and he either made a friend of the barman or annoyed him until they were both ejected into the night. However, something inside him overflowed, and Owain found himself seeking to fight the beasts of trepidation and consideration — perhaps he had already won, and it was their blood that had filled him with their ferocious candor as he asked, “Do you know I’m in love with you?”

Laslow’s eyes blinked wide, lashes casting a flickering shadow across his cheekbones.

“Owa—Odin,” he objected. “You can’t—” He huffed, frustrated, taking to his feet. “We fight against each other with every step.” He hid his eyes in his hands and then slowly adjusted his head as he admitted aloud, “I fight against commitment with every breath.”

“When do we not fight towards a common goal — against the forces of darkness, together?” Owain asked with a small smile, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the insides of his spread knees. “My confession need not change anything between us, it certainly doesn’t mean to change anything about you. My affection has grown even as you’ve found joy and rejection with your strings of lovers. And I’ve found that I can love you — that I do,” he swallowed, “love you. I’m saying it too much now.”

“There is nothing consistent in our lives,” Inigo said, sad and distressed. He wrapped his right arm around himself, squeezing at a shoulder, too muscled to feel right going back into his old life, too scarred to hope that wherever they found themselves in two days time that there would be the peace and family he’d hoped for. “I have gone days feeling as though everything around me is temporary, and others believing that this is what is real and it is me who doesn’t belong. We nearly failed. We—”

He hesitated as Owain stood before him, reaching out carefully to take hold of either of his elbows.

“We didn’t,” Owain said, calm and sure.

Time passed. Neither man could say how much. Patiently, Owain did not force an embrace, but he did rest his temple against Inigo’s, rocking his face towards him as he whispered, “And you’ve had some consistencies in your life. And me in mine.”

He waited longer, breathing deeply while his friend calmed in his arms, and then Inigo was lifting his left hand up to Owain’s hip and the mage smiled, letting his hands creep around the small of Inigo’s back, locking them together. “If I declared that I would dedicate my life to you, very little would change … and I think that’s very telling.”

“I feel good, with you,” Inigo murmured, tucking his face into the curve of Owain’s neck, “but my trysts don’t last and you—” he bit his lips, and as they rolled back into place he felt them pout against Owain’s skin, almost a kiss, “you’re too important for me to risk in a bout of bad behavior.”

Owain snickered. “Are you asking me to make sure you don’t grow bored? I think no matter what awaits us after tomorrow, I can promise it will be interesting.” He tossed his head back, and smiled wider as Inigo admired him; it was a wonderfully new feeling. “Do you think Odin Dark would settle for less? That the tale of the Avengers of Righteous Justice would end here?”

“Avengers?” Inigo repeated, pulling away from the embrace.

“I don’t forget my friends,” Owain assured him, but Inigo continued.

“And, really, I rather hoped that my tale might end. In some manner of the word… I want to rest. I want to feel the relief that these people felt, that our parents felt when their journey was over. To find a stage to dance upon, perhaps a student to apprentice while I’m still young enough to perform.”

“Then we will find it,” Owain said with conviction, his hands on Inigo’s shoulders. “A place where Selena can be a tired old general, or an extension of nobility, where our friends are close, and our families closer still, and where I study all the magic that has ever beset us with worry — that of gods, and dragons, and travel between realms—”

“Is this why you sought to be a mage?” Inigo balked, holding the dips at Owain’s elbows.

“All to keep us safe,” Owain said cryptically, blue eyes flickering with withheld words. “I will work tirelessly to make that peaceful realm you dream of, friend.”

“I can’t expect you to vanquish evil on your own,” Inigo said, a measure of wonder on his face. A puff of air passed his lips, joy and shock and hope twisting his lips first in a frown and then in a smile. “Very well then. Together, this time. We’ll start this tale together, as we’ve always been.”

“Then—?” Owain prompted, hopeful.

“Of course,” Inigo assured him, pulling himself into Owain’s space again, this time to plant a kiss on his warm lips. “I’ve loved you too. You need only look to your side — if you truly wish to take me as I am … then you will always find me here.”

[nike-shawn]

Hockey Shawn Part III

A/N: Lol this took forever. Exams really are the worst. Pls, as always, let me know what you thought of this! Feedback is the best motivator. 

Trigger Warning: Talk of Drug Addiction/Usage

Part I

Part II

If you were more confident, you would say you and Shawn are dating. 

You aren’t, not really. He just sleeps over at your place every night, texts you at random times to tell you things that reminded him of you, and brings you your favorite restaurant’s takeout on nights he knows you are working too hard to remember to eat, grading papers and emailing parents. 

This has been going on for too many months. 

One night, while your head rested on his chest, you tapped out the rhythm of his heart on your mattress. It sounded too familiar to be comforting. You knew him better than you knew your roommates. You loved him more than you loved that college boyfriend. You---

“Are you okay?” 

You tensed in his arms. Part of you wondered whether your feelings for him were so deep that they melted through you and into him, like sap trailing down a broken branch and into the grass. It seemed impossible for him to not at least be hinted towards your love for him-- it was so obvious to you. A bit too obvious. 

“Hmm?” you asked, though you both knew you heard him. 

He lightly pinched the skin of your upper arm, playfully scolding you but he asked the question again, this time his lips closer to your ear. “I said, ‘are you okay?’” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shawn laughed lightly. “You fall asleep in two seconds flat on every other night, but it’s been an hour and you’re still awake.” 

You sighed out your exhale. You could’ve told him then. You could’ve said actually, I'm not okay because you don’t love me like I love you and you could’ve gone from there, could’ve made him tell you what he really thinks of you, but instead you told him that “school’s been crazy.” 

He didn't believe it. You could tell by the way he didn’t immediately kiss away the fold between your brows or rub his thumb up and down your shoulder. He just mussed up his hair and swallowed like he was keeping something from leaving his lips. 

Okay, you thought. He doesn't wanna talk about it either, then. 

Since then, although you both act the same way you always have, there’s some kind of unspoken tension between you. When he comes over it seems like he’s biding his time, waiting for you to blurt out what he knows you’re waiting to say. When he hugs you hello, his arms are stiffer. When he kisses you goodbye, his lips are colder. But he still texts you every night with random, seemingly insignificant things that happened that day. You know it’s because he finds some comfort in hearing you interact with these quips of his. You tell him oh, that’s interesting or really, he said that? like you are together. Like you’re dating. Like he loves you.

Shawn’s flying back to New York from Toronto today. Yesterday was the first day in almost three months that he didn’t text you to tell you what he was up to. You checked your phone between each class period, your heart getting lower and lower until it was just about in your stomach. You know why he was there. You knew who he was with. 

And you knew you didn’t stand a chance against her.

After school yesterday, you finished up grading and tugged your winter coat closer around your shivering shoulders as you walked from the school to your car. Your mind refused to let you forget the disappointment that now was associated with Shawn’s pretty face, the betrayal that has now settled deep into your bones. How could he love Maddy? How could he be with her while you’re tidying up the bed you two have shared for months on end? How could he hold her while you’re still shivering in his absence? 

You rest your head on your steering wheel as tears start to fall down your rosy cheeks. Your car is freezing cold but you barely notice, frustrated sobs ripping from your throat. There’s some kind of rabid, angry energy bouncing around in your chest, and your hands itch to grip your phone and dial his number and scream at him until that feeling goes away. 

And why shouldn’t you? Why shouldn’t you scream at him? Does he not deserve it? 

Once you compose yourself, you decide that, no. You won’t call him. You’ll wait for his slow slither back to your apartment. You’ll wait until he pretends like nothing happened. 

Then. Then you’ll confront him.

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

“What?”

Shawn has pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth. Your eyes narrow in on it. “Nothing,” you say, finally tearing your gaze away. 

Everything he does annoys you. It’s like the knowledge of what he did last week is choking you from the inside out. His hands on her hips, his lips on hers, his clothes in her closet, his clothes on her floor... 

“Seriously,” Shawn says, louder than before. “What’s up?”

You shake your head, fiddling your thumbs. The food in front of you has gone cold. Your appetite is gone. The idea of confronting him sounded a lot easier before he was in front of you, all innocent looking and warm. His hair has gotten longer so it falls in his eyes now when he looks down, and you fight the adoration in your chest as he, annoyed, pushes the stray hair from his face. His eyebrows raise, waiting for you to answer him. 

When you do, he wishes you hadn’t. “You were with Maddy.” You say it not as a question, but as a one-off statement, something not up for debate. 

Shawn finishes up the pizza he was chewing before sliding his empty plate further into the table, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his sweatshirt pocket. He takes a deep breath, pushes his hair back again, and answers with a simple “yes.” 

“Why.”

“She asked to see me.”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying angry tears. You can already feel them crawling their way up your throat. “That doesn’t mean you need to see her.” 

Shawn has a tick in his jaw and you wonder if he has the audacity to be mad at you, if he thinks you’re being ridiculous. As if he hasn’t spent all his time with you, hasn’t told you things under bed sheets and under streetlights as the New York chill frosted up his car windows. You let one stray tear fall. The rest you manage to hold back, but the damage is done. You’ve broken the facade. 

At the sight of your sadness, he seems to lighten just a bit. The tick in his jaw is gone and his arms uncross. But still, he says “we’re not dating” like someone would say ‘today is Tuesday’ or ‘the weather is nice’. “I love spending time with you, Y/N, but we’re not dating.” 

“Then what the fuck is this?” you say, your voice rising above its normal volume. “What the fuck are you doing when you spend weeks on end here? What do you tell Maddy you’re doing?” Incredulous, you throw your hands in the air as you exclaim “and I’m crazy?! To think that I had some kind of claim on you?” You wrap your arms around yourself as you suddenly cold and exposed. You’re crying a lot now, and you use the back of your sweatshirt sleeve to wipe at your running nose. “Fuck you Shawn, honestly. You spend your time pretending that you love me for what? For something to do?” 

“No, of course not.”

“Then what? What do I offer you that you can’t get from Maddy?”

Shawn just drops his head as he shakes it, rejecting everything you’re throwing at him. “It’s not like that.” 

At a loss, you drop your face in your palms. Tears slide through your fingers. You say, sadly, “I can’t keep seeing you if you can’t commit anything to me.” 

Shawn stays silent, twisting the ring on his left middle finger around and around. 

Quietly, you say, “get out, please.” When he doesn’t move, you say, louder, “I said, get out.” 

“I don’t think I should leave--”

“Well I think you should’ve left three fucking months ago,” you bite back, poison in each syllable. 

“Stop being so mean: I just wanna talk this through.”

“Then talk!” You yell, throwing your hands to the sides. “Talk! All you’re doing is deflecting! I fucking wish you’d talk to me.” 

Angry again, Shawn stands and you feel your confidence shrinking as he dwarfs you in his height. He takes a few cautious steps forward and you can see that he wants to yell, wants to match your volume, but he doesn’t want to scare you. So, instead, he puts his hands out in the same way you do to a wild animal-- cautious, yet imposing, as he walks closer and closer to you. You’re nose to nose now and you're in a cloud of his cologne. 

His hands come up to your shoulders and you notice that you’re shaking with all the pent up anger and love and whatever the fuck else you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks. He places a careful kiss on your forehead. You let your eyes close as tears slip out from under your eyelashes. 

He handles you like some kind of fine china as he guides you to sit again in the dining chair, him taking the place beside you, his hand gripping your knee lightly. He starts with, “Maddy was my first friend after I got signed.” His thumb rubs over your leggings once before wiping his sweaty palms on his own thighs. “I moved to the city and had no one besides my teammates, but even they weren’t super welcoming. Went to this party and Maddy was there, dancing on a table. She was really drunk and I heard some guys talking about how they could see up her dress so...” he shrugs. “So I helped her down and the rest is history I guess.”

“You started dating?”

Shawn nods. “Yeah. She was a model. She was just getting started, then, but after a year or so she made a good name for herself.”

“And you did too,” you add.

“Yeah, I did alright,” he says, smiling a bit. “But then... um.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “I got hurt. I think you said you saw the video. I couldn’t play so I ended up spending a lot of time with Maddy. Stayed at her apartment most of the time, actually. And when you move in with someone, you start to see their... mannerisms, and the way they are when they don’t think anyone is looking.” He leans back in his chair again, faking nonchalance. “I broke up with her and she reacted badly. I think I was the thing keeping her sober, since I was there all the time and she had someone to hang out with besides her friends who all used.”

Things started to click for you, then. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So when we broke up, she went back to hanging out with the wrong group of people. She’s always had addiction problems, to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. But I had no idea that me living with her was keeping her on the right track.” He clears his throat and you can see his eyes getting red rimmed with tears. “I just want to make it clear that I care for her a lot, but we were never meant to be together. I apologize for keeping this whole situation guarded but it’s... tough. It’s tough for me to talk about.”

“I understand,” you whisper, guilt lacing your words.

“I can see how you’d be angry with me. I really can see it. But I can’t cut Maddy off. I’m afraid that the one time she reaches out and I say no... I don’t know. I just recognize that she’s fragile.”

You nod.

Shawn rubs at his watery eyes. “I care for you, too, though,” he says in quietly. “I just don’t know if I can commit right now.”

You fight the frustration in your chest. Calmly, you ask him, “what is the difference between what we’re doing now and a relationship?”

He’s silent.

You continue. “In my eyes, a relationship is exactly what we are. The label is the only difference.”

“And the publicity.”

“What?”

“The public thinks I’m with Maddy. She likes it that way.”

Your heart sinks. “Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t care for you—”

“I get it,” you interrupt him.

The two of you sit in silence and it feels like an 80 lb. weight was placed on your shoulders. He moves forward to kiss you and you let him, though your brain is screaming at you to cut him off for good. He doesn’t feel for you the way you do for him. You’re wasting your time. 

But as he jokes around with you and tries to stuff pizza in your mouth and tells you that he’ll be around tomorrow you just can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this will work out. 

🍁⚡️🍁⚡️

You get home from work the next day and Shawn is waiting for you outside your apartment complex, car running and headlights on. 

You recognize his car because it’s much too nice to be in your parking lot that’s riddled with pot holes and fading painted lines. The lot is almost always empty, since most city-dwellers choose to take public transportation over their own vehicles. Plus, he’s easy to spot because when he sees you with your coat pulled around your shoulders and your school bag slipping down to the crook of your elbow, he rolls down his window and shouts “Hey, miss? You’re very beautiful and I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

You smile and walk over to the driver’s side, close enough now to see the familiar scar on his cheek. “Hmm,” you tease, “what’s in it for me?”

“A lovely dining experience at the finest restaurant in New York City with the most handsome bachelor on the East Coast.” 

The cold wind whipping your hair around, you give him a quick peck on the lips and walk around to the passenger side door, shoving your bag in the back. His cold palms rest on your cheeks as he pulls you in for a deeper kiss this time, his tongue darting in your mouth for only a second before he pulls away. You ask, “what did you do today” in the normal way that you do, unable to stop the wide smile from crossing your face. 

“Went to a few meetings,” he says casually. “Then I had a doctor’s appointment...” 

The way he trails off makes your ears perk up. “Oh? And what did they say?” You watch as a wide grin takes over his features and your heart leaps for him. “Can you play again?”

Shawn nods and you just about jump out of your seat, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms meet behind your back, your body leaning over the center console. You can see people walking by your parked car and you know you should be worried about them looking in, but you can’t care about any of that right now. You can feel Shawn’s smile against your shoulder and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such joy for someone else’s successes. “They said my hip has healed a lot more than they thought it ever would, so I can maybe get back to practicing in the next few months.” 

“Wow, that’s so fantastic, Shawn, really.” 

“Thank you, baby.” 

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he says again. “I thought I’d pick you up for a celebration dinner.”

You kiss him on the cheek and pull away for him to put the car in reverse, turning on to the bustling New York streets. “Where are we going?” you ask. Your mind is racing through all the nicest places, places he surely would fit in like the true celebrity he is. A feeling of dread washes over you as you look down at your outfit. “Oh my god, I need to change. I’m still wearing my work clothes.” 

Without missing a beat, Shawn says “oh, don’t worry. I was thinking we could just pick something up.”

You swallow back your disappointment. Of course he can’t take you out in public. You’re stupid for thinking otherwise. You dig your fingernails into your pants to keep yourself from showing any signs of let-down. “Okay, yep. Sounds good.”

He looks over to you like he knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t say anything. 

The two of you chat for a bit about where you want to go. He talks about his meetings of the day and how he felt like his life was getting back to normal, like old times. 

He speaks and you stare at his ruby red lips as they form each word, and you’re trying your hardest to pay attention, but all you can do is wonder where exactly you fit in his new world. 

Deep down, you know you’re on borrowed time, because his new world doesn’t have any room to spare. 

[ketamineharry]

Rose Pt 2 - Joshua Bradley

Requested: No, this is the second part of the Doctor Who au. This part is slightly longer than the first at an almost 3,000 word count. I really do hope you enjoy this as it has taken me forever to write it. Lots of love, as always xx

You sat in your front room, the familiar domestic style of your ordinary life being a vast difference from the experience that you were dragged into mere hours ago. Your mum, Jackie, as much as you loved her… was always a bit over the top, always had something to say or brag about. Always wanted the Earth to centre around her.

“The whole of Central London has been closed off as police investigate the fire. Early reports indicate.” The news reporter stated. The anxiety and severity of the situation, hadn’t yet sunk in. You were barely able to keep a track of your own thoughts.

You slumped down into the sofa, hoping that if you slipped down far enough, that it would swallow you whole and that you wouldn’t have to continue processing what had gone on. It was crazy to even think about, and you couldn’t talk to anyone about it, because as the Doctor had stated, it would get them killed. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the saying goes.

“I know. It’s on the telly. It’s everywhere. She’s lucky to be alive. Honestly, it’s aged her. Skin like an old bible. Walking in now, you’d think I was her daughter. Oh, and here’s himself.”

Your boyfriend, Mickey flopped down on the sofa with you. His face is the picture of concern, as he takes your hand in his.  

“I’ve been phoning your mobile. You could’ve been dead. It was on the news and everything. I can’t believe that the shop went up!” He exclaimed, his voice frantic. Laced with worry. His eyes searched your face for some sort of answer, some sort of explanation.

“I’m alright, honestly, I’m fine! Don’t make a fuss.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t tell your boyfriend. The one person you were supposed to confide in, with everything.

“What was it though? What caused it?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in the shop.”

“It’s Debbie on the end. She knows a man from the Mirror. Five hundred quid for an interview.” Jackie said, her excitement clear.

“Oh, that’s brilliant! Give it here.” You said, as you snatched the phone out of her hand and disconnected the call. The measures that you were having to undertake to protect people were beginning to mount up.

“Well you’ve got to find some way of making money. Your job’s kaput and I’m not bailing you out.” She told you, quite matter-of-factly.

The phone rang again, your eventful night being the gossip of the tower block so it seemed. You just wanted to be able to go to bed and try to forget about it. But, you couldn’t do that, until everyone that knew you, or knew of you was reassured that you were safe.

“Bev! She’s alive. I told her sue for compensation. She was within seconds of death.” Jackie said, as she made her way through the flat, presumably so that she could work herself up and get excited and not have you bring her down about it.

“What’re you drinking, tea? Nah, nah, that’s no good, that’s no good. You’re in shock. You need something stronger.” Mickey said, trying to convince you to come out, for an alcoholic beverage. As much as you would usually be down for it, the thought of having to face even more people with even more questions, was exhausting.

“I’m alright.”

“Now come on, you deserve a proper drink. We’re going down the pub, you and me. My treat. How about it?” He asked, as he playfully pleaded with you.

“Is there a match on?”

“No, I’m just thinking about you babe.” He stated, simply.

“There’s a match on ain’t there.” You said playfully, a broad smile spreading across your face. The small normality of your boyfriend trying to persuade you to go to the pub with him, so he could get drunk and watch the football, was a comfort that you didn’t know that you needed.

“That’s not the point, but we could catch the last five minutes.”

“Go on, then. I’m fine, really. Go. Get rid of that.” You instructed him, as you threw him the plastic arm that the Doctor had pulled off of the mannequin a few hours beforehand. You just needed it out of your house, so that you could continue to try and live in some sort of normality and repress the memories of what the afternoon and the evening had presented you with.

Mickey quickly gives you a soft kiss, before taking the arm and getting ready to leave.

“Bye, bye.”

“Bye.” You respond, as you gave him a small wave.

As Mickey was leaving, he pretended to strangle himself with the arm. He would never know just how chilling that imagery would be for you, and you could never explain. Or else get him killed. For the safety of everyone you knew, you had to pretend that you were fine and you had to pretend that you knew nothing. Quite the burden to carry on your emotionally exhausted shoulders.

--

You woke up to the sound of your alarm clock, blaring beside you. Begrudgingly, you stopped the sound and went to get out of your bed.

“There’s no point in getting up, sweetheart. You’ve got no job to go to.” Jackie’s voice called. Sending you into a vivid reminder of what had happened the night before. Perhaps, it would be best to go back to sleep for a little while.

--

You were sitting at the dinner table with Jackie, discussing your future or what was left of it. You had to find another job, but everything that was available or was suggested to you, just didn’t seem like the right fit. You couldn’t force yourself to work somewhere, when it just wouldn’t work. You just weren't that type of person.

“There’s Finch’s. You could try them. They’ve always got jobs.” She suggested. You knew that she was just trying to be helpful, but there was no way that you could work in a butchers.

“Oh, great. The butchers.” You groaned. You were fed up of trying to sound grateful for each suggestion, because they weren’t helpful and these weren’t jobs you could see yourself enjoying. After all, she was your mum and you had hoped she would’ve known you better than this by now.

“Well, it might do you good. That shop was giving you airs and graces. And I’m not joking about compensation. You’ve had genuine shock and trauma. Arianna got two thousand quid off the council just because the old man behind the desk said she looked Greek! I know she is Greek, but that’s not the point. It was a valid claim.” She said, as she danced her way back into her bedroom.

Once Jackie was in her bedroom, the cat flap at the bottom of the front door began to rattle. A telltale sign that although you had instructed her to pin the cat flap down, because you didn’t want to have strays coming into the tiny flat, that she had in fact not listened to you. As it seemed like the cat flap was able to move freely, for it to be making all of that noise.

“Mum, you’re such a liar. I told you to nail that cat flap down. We’re going to get strays.” You complained.

“I did it weeks back!” She protested.

“No, you thought about it.”

As you bent down to try and see what was going on, you noticed four silver nails sitting comfortably on the floor. Something had managed to unscrew all of them to be able to try and get through the cat flap. Without warning, it moved. Cautiously, you pushed the cat flap back, in an attempt to see what was going on, on the other side of your door. It wasn’t a total surprise to see the Doctor, the stranger that had saved your life the night before on the other side. Quickly, you rose to your feet and opened the door for him.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, confused.

“I live here.”

“Well, what do you do that for?”

“Because I do. I’m only at home because someone blew up my job.” You explained, a slight hint of anger to your tone.

“I must have got the wrong signal. You’re not plastic, are you?” He asked, as he made a fist with his hand and gently tapped it against your head a couple of times. “No, bone head. Bye then.”

“You. Inside. Right now.” You instructed him, as you took his arm and successfully pulled him into the flat.

“Who is it?” Jackie asked, from her bedroom.

“It’s about last night. He’s part of the inquiry. Give us ten minutes.” You explained as you walked past her room.

The Doctor stood in the doorway, you couldn’t make out much of their conversation, but it seemed like Jackie had attempted to try and make a flirtatious advance onto him, which he had rejected.

As he joined you in the living room area, you felt a sense of shame. The clutter of your everyday life was on show. From magazines, to a deck of cards, the television set sat proudly in the corner of the room. The domesticity seemed alien to him. Like, he didn’t have any of these things himself and it concerned you. Perhaps, he was just some loner who in playing the hero had gotten himself attached to you and now you had let him into your house.

“Don’t mind the mess. Do you want a coffee?” You asked, breaking the silence that had filled the room.

“Might as well, thanks. Just milk.”

“We should go to the police. Seriously. Both of us.” You suggested, as you tried to think of a way to end the nightmare that you had found yourself residing in.

“That won’t last. He’s gay and she’s an alien.” You heard him mumble.

“I’m not blaming you, even if it was some sort of sick joke that went wrong.” You said, in an attempt at comforting him.

“Hmm. Sad ending.”

“They said on the news that they found a body.” You told him.

“Y/N Tyler.”

“Ah. Could’ve been worse, look at the ears.”

“All the same, he was nice. Nice bloke.” You said, as you continued trying to explain Wilson to him, but it seemed like he either wasn’t all that interested or couldn’t hear you.

You could hear that he was trying, and had failed to shuffle a deck of playing cards.

“Luck be a lady.”

“Anyway, if we are going to the police, I want to know what I’m saying.” You began, only stopping as you heard the deck of cards he was attempting to shuffle, fall to the floor. “I want you to explain everything.” You continued.

“Maybe not.”

He stops for a moment, as if he was trying to observe something. A silence from him, he failed to even explain his actions any longer.

“What’s that then? Have you got a cat?” He asked you, as he attempted to try and figure out what was going on.

“No.” You answered simply, as you finished up making the coffees. “We did have, but now they’re just strays. They come in off the estate.” You continued, as you picked up the two mugs of coffee and bought them into the living room with you. You placed them down on the coffee table in front of you, finally taking in the mess that was your living room.

“I told Mickey to chuck that out. You’re all the same. Give a man a plastic hand. Anyway, I don’t even know your name. Doctor what was it?” You asked, no sooner than you had. The plastic arm had attached itself to your face. You were barely, still able to breathe.

The Doctor, quick on his feet, pulled at it. Which only made matters worse, as he did, you both fell onto and crashed through the glass coffee table. Pieces of glass, and other matter flew everywhere as your bodies collided with it. He decides to use the metallic device that he had used the previous night to open the fire exit door, which finally pulls the arm off of your face. He then jabs the device into the palm of the hand, which stops the fingers from moving. The life from the object, seemed to have been drained.

“It’s alright, I’ve stopped it. There you go, you see. Armless.” He explained.

“Do you think?” You asked him, as you hit him with it.

“Ow.”

--

As soon as the Doctor had come, he was off again. But, you couldn’t let him leave until you had some sort of answers. A clear story in your head if you will. So, you decided to follow him down the stairwell.

“Hold on a minute. You can’t just go swanning off.” You protested.

“Yes I can. Here I am. This is me, swanning off. See ya.”

“But that arm was moving, it tried to kill me.” You said, voice raised slightly from a mixture of fear and annoyance.

“Ten out of ten for observation.”

“You can’t just walk away. That’s not fair. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.” You all but begged. Once you had the answers, you could easily drop it and go on with your normal everyday life, treating the cause of these events as some sort of anomaly.

“No I don’t.” He stated simply.

You had found yourself outside, still chasing after him.

“All right, then. I’ll go to the police. I’ll tell everyone. You said, if I did that I’d get people killed. So, your choice. Tell me, or I’ll start talking.” You threatened. Which caused him to stop and turn around, allowing you to catch up to him a little bit.

“Is that supposed to sound tough?” He asked, flippantly.

“Sort of.”

“Doesn’t work.”

“Who are you?” You asked.

“Told you, the Doctor.”

“Yeah, but Doctor what?” You questioned.

“Just the Doctor.”

“The Doctor.” You repeated.

“Hello.”

“Is that supposed to sound impressive?” You asked.

“Sort of.”

“Come on, then. You can tell me. I’ve seen enough. Are you the police?” You enquired.

“No, I was just passing through. I’m a long way from home.”

“But what have I done wrong? How comes those plastic things are after me?” You couldn’t quite understand it all. It all just seemed a bit much. From your understanding, you hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet, these things still seemed to want to haunt you.

“Oh, suddenly the entire world revolves around you. You were just an accident. You got in the way, that’s all.” He explained.

“It tried to kill me.”

“It was after me, not you. Last night, in the shop, I was there, you blundered in, almost ruined the whole thing. This morning I was tracking it down, it was tracking me down. The only reason it fixated on you, is ‘cos you’ve met me.”

“So what you’re saying is, the entire world revolves around you.” You stated sarcastically.

“Sort of, yeah.”

“You’re full of it.” You teased.

“Sort of, yeah.”

“But all this plastic stuff, who else knows about it?” You asked, your inquisitive nature getting the better of you.

“No one.”

“What, you’re on your own?”

“Well, who else is there? I mean, you lot, all you do is eat chips, go to bed and watch telly, while all the while underneath you there’s a war going on.” He explained.

“Ok. Start from the beginning. I mean, if we are going to go with the living plastic, and I don’t even believe that, but if we do, how’d you kill it?”

“The thing controlling it projects life into the arm. I killed the signal dead.”

“So, that’s radio control?” You asked.

“Thought control. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. So who’s controlling it then?”

“Long story.”

“But what’s it all for? I mean shop window dummies, what’s that all about? Is someone trying to take over Britain’s shops?” You questioned, with a slight giggle.

“No.”

“No.”

“It’s not a price war. They want to overthrow the human race and destroy you. Do you believe me?” He queried.

“No.” You responded simply.

“But you’re still listening.”

“Really though Doctor, tell me. Who are you?” You asked. He took your hand in his before answering

“Do you know like we were saying about the Earth revolving? It’s like when you’re a kid. The first time they tell you that the world’s turning and you can’t quite believe it because everything looks like it’s standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We’re falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world and if we let go.” He began, as he let go of your hand.

“That’s who I am, now forget me Y/N Tyler. Go home.” He instructed, as he headed towards a blue police box with the arm in tow.

You turn around, deciding to go to Mickey’s as luckily he had a computer. Before you could go much further though, you heard a strange noise. You looked back over your shoulder to see that the police box was gone, something was definitely going on and you needed to find out what.

[loudsuitlover]

Doctor Harry XXXII. The End of the Road

A/N: This is it folks! The end of the road... I want to thank you all for every message and for that, especially my love anon (now not anon anymore) because seriously you’ve been the wind blowing on my sail. 

Also like I’ve said, I’m all in for blurbs into Harry’s and Indie’s life together so I might surprise you with some when you least expect them ;) Thank you thank you thank you 

BLUE’S POV

My hands are sticky and trembling as I wait on the line. The dim lights really give the café such a cosy sense to it and the dark brown of the furniture and the bricks also make it look like you were inside an auburn tree. It also smells delicious, like cookies and cinnamon and berries deliciously mixed with the strong scent of coffee.

My heart stops beating as I stand before her with just the desk and the vintage looking cashier between us. She hasn’t yet looked at me when she asks.

“What would you like to have, dea-?”

Her tone dies down when her hazel eyes finally set on me and mine investigate hers as I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Indie.” She whispers.

I give her a timid smile. Dylan’s mum calls someone named Molly and asks her to take care of the cashier as she comes out from behind the desk. She’s wearing an apples-pattern apron tied around her waist and her hair, shorter now than ever, is barely coming out of a low ponytail on the back of her neck. She lets out what could be described as a nervous chuckle when she stands closer to me. I can tell she doesn’t know how to greet me so I give her a hug. Her arms wrap around me and I feel her sighing against my chest.

“Let me get us a cup of coffee and a muffin.”

I stand there watching her work and hold the cute lilac plate with the huge muffin when she tells me and she takes both our coffee cups with tiny plates underneath to a table near one of the windows. It’s raining outside but it’s nice to watch and hear the rain from inside the café. The fire is lit so it’s nice and warm inside too.

“The place looks lovely, Amalia.”

“Thank you.” She smiles. “You look stunning.”

I smile at her before I add some sugar to my coffee and stir it with my teaspoon. She does the same.

“It’s very nice to see you. This muffin right here is called Indie Blue.” She grins. “It’s got vanilla and blueberries.”

I nod and smile at her but I’m sure she can tell my eyes get teary. I don’t deserve this. The fact that after three years, Dylan’s mother still makes a muffin and names it after me, when all I’ve done is… Move on just breaks my heart.

“How are you, love?” She sets her hand over mine. “Tell me about Med school.”

“I’m good.” I lie. “Med school is fine. It’s getting harder every year but I like it more every year too so that’s good. I feel like we’re all growing up so fast though. I mean Olivia’s leaving, Jason too…”

It almost surprises me how I can still talk to her as if we were family. I guess in a way we are. We went through the loss of Dylan together. She helped me and I think I helped her too, so I think we will always be somehow connected.

“Where are they leaving?”

She grabs a fork and eats some of the muffin after she took the paper of it and I eye the fork she set in front of me. Her kind eyes don’t leave mine and she looks so much like Dylan, even though the colour of their eyes is different, the way they look is the same so I can’t look into her eyes for too long. They look at you as if you were the most interesting person in the room, it doesn’t matter what you’re saying, you can talk about garden dwarfs and still be interesting to them.

“Olivia’s going to Paris. She’s very excited. She wants to be a gynaecologist and she got an internship on the maternal unit so she’s very happy. And Jason’s going to the States. He’s only going to be gone for three months, thank God.” I chuckle.

“Not long.” She grins.

“What about you? How are you and Robert?”

“We’re good, yeah. Robert’s back on the road. He went back last year and I’ve been good, pretty busy with the café and the organisation.”

My eyes drop to the muffin between us when she mentions that and I take a forkful and bring it to my mouth.

“I’m also babysitting now. D’you remember the Holts next door?” I nod. “Well, they had a baby and I stay with her sometimes.”

“Nice. I bet she’s cute.”

“She is so cute, so chubby too.” She giggles.

I giggle and fear the moment when our conversation will die enough so that she would ask me why I came. I don’t need a reason to come see her and I could always say I just wanted to catch up with her, but this woman knows me like my Mum does and I know she knows there’s something I want to tell her.

She asks me about my Mum too but I know they still talk and she tells me about Caroline, Jess and Sean. She keeps in touch with them too and it’s nice to hear life’s good for them. Sometimes I’m sad I lost contact with them after Dylan’s loss but it was just too hard to see them. It was like I couldn’t stop thinking about who was missing. 

“How are you, really, Blue?” She asks.

I know what she means. I take a deep breath. There goes nothing. 

“I met someone.”

My voice croaks and I didn’t know the tears were so close to falling until they roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away and try my best not to sob and even though her eyes are teary too, her hand rests on mine again and her thumb caresses the back of my hand.

“I’m very happy for you.”

My eyebrows meet and I shake my head. I knew she would be. 

“I just wish I could talk to him. I want to tell him I haven’t forgotten about him. I never will…” I let the tears roll down my cheeks. “I love him but… I’ve just been… So lonely and it’s been so hard and I wasn’t looking for him, he just… Showed up and… I don’t know, I guess you’re the closest thing I have to Dylan now… And I needed to take this off my chest, to explain myself to you, I… I wish he hadn’t died, I wish that every day, but he did and I have to stay here and live without him and I thought I had to that alone but… Maybe I don’t?”

“Indie, Robert and I want nothing more than for you to be happy. We love you. And so did Dylan, I know he did, but like you said, you have to live, darling.” She smiles. “He’d be happy.”

I can’t hold it in anymore so I hide my face behind my hands and full on cry. She brings a chair next to mine and wraps her arm around my shoulders and just let me cry like she has done so many times before.

“I miss him.” I confess. “There are so many things I want to tell him every day, you know. I want him to see that Coco’s in love, that I got an A in Paediatrics, that Rio is working at the bank.”

“He is seeing that.” Her arm squeezes me closer to her. “He’s taking care of us. I know you miss him, honey. So do I, but he would want us to go on.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He would be very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

“I just want him to know I love him, I always will, even if I love someone else. It doesn’t change who he is to me.”

“I know.”

She gives me some tissues and I cry over her son’s absence as she rests her cheek on my head and caress my arm. She’s always been a lot stronger than I am and she’s always been a rock to rest upon when I felt I couldn’t go on anymore. When I calm down enough, she sits back in front of me and gives me a small smile.

“Will you tell me about him?”

I can see him in her and somehow by telling her, I feel like I’m confessing it to him too.

“There’s not much to tell now” I raise my eyebrows “it didn’t work out.”

“What? Why?”

I shake my head and shrug as if I didn’t know why when I perfectly know what happened. I tell her a little about him though and she asks mum-like questions and even laughs at some of the stories I tell her.

After about an hour of chatting, we both call it a day and I go home to my dad and siblings. I didn’t tell them the real reason why Harry didn’t come. I told them he eventually got caught up with work and if they didn’t believe it they pretended they did.

The Golden Girls have been checking on me daily but even though I’m heartbroken, I’m somehow calmed. I talked to Amalia and I told Harry what I needed to tell him so I guess I just have this feeling of having been honest with everyone and I don’t feel guilty anymore.

I’m brushing my hair on my pyjamas after the shower when Ollie calls.

“Hi, babe” she chirps. “How is everything at Capitol? How’s your dad?”

“Good.” I tell her. “Yeah, he’s doing great. You wouldn’t tell he had an aortic dissection.”

We both chuckle.

“I knew it. Your dad’s strong like a bull.” She giggles.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. I got a call from Paris. Do you remember I did the interview on Skype?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, they just called me.” She sighs. “I got it.”

So she’s officially leaving. Oh, man, I’m going to miss her so much.

“Indie?”

“Yes.” I get my shit together. “Well, that’s great, Ollie! I’m so happy for you! I won’t lie to you, I’m going to miss you like crazy but I’m happy for you.”

“Maybe you don’t have to miss me…” She says.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I rejected it.”

“WHAT? Where does this change of heart comes from?”

“I don’t know… I’ve just been thinking… Paris is so far away…”

Oh, no. She’s as head over heels in love as I am… It must be the time for us Golden Girls…

“You did it for Mario, didn’t you?”

There’s a certain silence on her end but I can hear her breathing.

“Maybe.”

I smile.

“So you guys are like together for real?”

“Yes… Aren’t we?”

I chuckle.

“Oh, no, don’t ask me! Did you two talk about this? Does he know you took the internship down for him?”

“Of course not! I didn’t do it for him! Olivia Bassot doesn’t reject internships for anyone! I did it for myself.”

“Because you want to be with him.”

“That’s right but still it was for me, not for him.”

“Okay, yeah, great.” I laugh. “May I know what made you change your mind?”

She sighs.

“Actually, I don’t quite know. It’s just when they told me I got it, I wasn’t happy, you know? So I thought wait, I don’t have to go, I don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”

“That’s right.” I smile. “I won’t lie, Ollie, I’m fucking happy.”

She laughs.

“Me too, babe. Now I gotta go, I’m telling Mario tonight. Wish me luck.”

“What do you mean wish me luck? He’s gonna be thrilled!”

“He better.” She laughs. “Anyway, gotta go. Love you!”

“Love you.”

Well, at least there are some good news. Wrapped up on my thick woollen stay at home cardigan, I make my way downstairs where I guess my family awaits. Rio’s reading a book near the fireplace and Coco’s walking towards the door.

“Are you expecting someone?” She asks me.

I shake my head and stare at the door from the bottom of the stairs. My dad shows up at the kitchen door and tells me he made pumpkin and sweet potato cream and I’m about to thank him when my sister opens the door.

“Blue, look who’s here!”

My mouth and my eyes open wide. My heart beats hard and fast against my ribs and my breathing stops until I feel tingling all over my skin.

It’s Harry.

“Hello, Blue.”

I deflate like a balloon when I hear his voice and my breathing resumes. I almost have to hold on to the railing of the stairs so as not to fall. There he is, calm and unfaced, standing right next to my sister and looking stunning on blue jeans and a dark brown sweater underneath his opened grey coat. His hair is a messy mane of curls on top of his head but his warm signature dimply smile is nowhere to be found. That’s the only reason that I don’t run towards him and kiss him.

Hello, Blue. No hello, baby or hello, love. Hello, Blue. Anyone here in Capitol could have said that… But he’s here. He’s cold, but he’s here. That’s already something and I don’t know why I’m complaining.

“Oh, Harry!” My dad walks towards him and offers him his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Blue said you got caught up with work.”

His green eyes search for mine before he looks back at my dad. I don’t know what he’s thinking.

“I was indeed caught up with work but… I got off the hook last minute.”

“That’s great! Isn’t that great, Blue? But get in here!” My dad urges me. “Greet him, honey.”

I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair as I walk closer to him. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off me but he’s seemingly unaffected by my presence. I’m afraid of his greeting. If he flinches I might cry. I don’t know whether he read my note or not but if he did, I don’t know why he’s acting so cold and if he didn’t, I don’t know why he’s here.

Coco’s closed the door after him and I see a small trolley behind him. My heart warms up at the thought that he came to stay. When I get to him, the habit takes the best of me and my lips search for his but he discreetly pulls his face away and instead gives me a hug. I don’t know if he did it out of respect for my dad or because he didn’t really want to kiss me. Something tells me it’s the second.

His hug is short and superficial and when he pulls away I feel like crying. His green eyes avoid staring into my own and I wonder if he came all the way here just to torture me with his coldness and distance. As I turn around, I see Rio standing a few feet behind me.

“This is my brother, Rio. Rio, this is Harry.”

“Hi, mate.” Rio shakes his hand and Harry gives him a lips closed smile.

When my brother pulls apart, Coco slips her thin, woollen covered body and gives Harry a hug. He gives her a dimply smile and I feel jealousy burning on my belly. What is he doing? That smile was for me!

“I’ll put another plate on the table.” Dad smiles.

My siblings follow him inside the dining room and Harry and I both hear the drawers opening and closing and plates and glasses being placed on the table.

“How did you know where my dad lives?” I whisper to him.

“I asked Olivia.”

With that he walks inside the dining room and I hear him asking Coco how he can help. Wait, so Olivia knew he was coming and she didn’t tell me anything? I literally just talked to her!

At least during dinner I get to sit next to him even though I doubt it was his choosing but rather where he was supposed to sit. I feel clumsy with my cutlery as I try to cut the steak. My Dad’s been asking Harry and me questions all dinner and Harry’s answered those about himself but has let me answer the ones about our relationship so he doesn’t have to tell everyone we’re nothing now, I guess.

My dad brings homemade yoghurt to the table and even after the sweetening effect of my dad’s dessert, Harry’s still distant and cold but he only punishes me. He’s all smiles and cavalry to my family and even Rio seems to like him.

“And Harry” Rio asks “do you know my sister Coco’s boyfriend?”

Coco rolls her eyes and blushes and Harry chuckles.

“Yes, I do.” He nods. “His brother works with me. They’re nice guys, good people.”

“Cool.” Rio nods. “Podrías traerlo tú también a casa, Coco.” (You could bring him home too, Coco.)

“Sí, claro. Harry es mayor que tú. No es lo mismo. El está a salvo porque no podrías con él, pero Guido tiene 21, como Blue. Te lo comerías con papas.” (Yeah, right. Harry is older than you. It’s not the same. He’s safe because you couldn’t take him but Guido is 21, likewise Blue. He’d have nothing to do.)

I don’t think Harry’s understand most of it, but I’m sure he got the part of Harry’s older than you and Guido’s 21 and he’s smart enough to figure out the rest.

Harry’s phone screen illuminates as he gets a text and my heart gets warm when I realize he at least hasn’t change his lock screen photo. I can’t help the grin.

“You didn’t send me that picture of the wedding.” I half whisper to him.

“Did you see them?”

“So there’s more than the one…”

He lets out a little giggle that warms my insides and makes me feel like a teenager.

“You meant my lock screen, right?”

I nod.

“Who took it?”

“The photographer. I think he had a thing for you.” He smirks. “He took lots.”

I look down at my empty yoghurt bowl and smirk. I think that was progress. Baby steps, but it’s better than the cold stare and the minimum hug he gave me when he got here.

After dinner, Dad moves the party to the living room and we all take seats on the couches and the armchairs by the fireplace. Harry doesn’t pay attention to me but my family doesn’t find it weird, mostly because they haven’t really seen us together before, but also because Dad and Rio seem so invested into learning about him. They find him as interesting as I do and I think Harry is at ease too, despite all the questioning. I can tell by his body language that he’s grateful for the way my family welcome him. His eyes avoid mine, but I can tell there’s gratitude on them too and I wonder if he’d ever look at me like he used to.

Dad gets up from his armchair and walks towards the record player and Rio and him start a conversation about which album to play. I take it as my chance to have Harry to myself so I jump from my spot on the coach and sit down next to him. His eyes warn me not to sit too close and most importantly not to touch him, so I keep my hands to myself despite my yearning. 

“Are you okay?” I whisper. 

“Yes, I am. How are you?”

His interest both surprises and softens me and my heart flutters with hope.

“I’m happy you came.” I confess.

“I’m happy you invited me.”

His words are conciliatory but his tone is still dry and I can’t read his expression. His body is tensed though.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

I snort. He’s impossible. We both fall into silence after that and I wait for him to explain himself but he never does so I speak again.

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“I am talking to you now.”

“Harry, please.” My bottom lips come out of its own accord. “Can you stop torturing me?”

His jaw clenches and he looks ahead, away from me. I swallow my willing to yell at him and look down at my feet. I feel belittled and abandoned and I hate that he’s so close and so far away.

“I… Did you read my note?”

Only then he tilts his neck so he’s facing me. His green eyes look at me and for the first time since he arrived, I can see the battle inside him. I can see the part of him who wants to forgive me, maybe there’s even a part that already has; but he’s still holding back. I can work with that, I can respect that.

“I am sorry. I already wrote that to you but I can say it out loud in front of my family if you want. I’ll do anything, please. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t want you to do that or to keep apologizing, even.”

“Then what do you want?”

I watch him blink. I can tell he’s flabbergasted. He probably wasn’t expecting this behaviour from me and quite frankly neither was I but after talking to Amalia and after getting the peace I needed, I need him to know I would really do anything to take back all the pain I’ve caused him.

“I want you to be fully honest with me and to be yourself for real.”

“Pardon?”

“No more lies, no more hiding things.” He whispers. “You tell me the truth and you tell me what worries you and you tell me when you’re scared and you tell me why. I’ll do the same. I think it’s a fair deal.”

I swallow. I can do that. I meant it when I said I’d do anything. If that’s what he wants, then that’s what he’ll get. I just hope he won’t run away when he hears it all.

“When are you planning on saying it to my face?”

I almost laugh. Is he serious? He came all the way here just to hear me say that? I didn’t think he would want to hear me say it with such fervour. Isn’t it obvious? Is it not enough to show it? Is it not best to show it? I would rather have someone never telling me they love me but showing me every day that the other way around.

But okay, I can do that too. If he wants me to say it that bad, then I’ll say it… But in my own way. From the corner of my eye, I can see my dad’s still busy with the records and Rio’s back on his book and Coco’s on the phone. No one’s paying attention to us. So I get closer to him and I act brave despite the fear of his rejection. He frowns but he gets visibly nervous and he doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t pull away so I keep getting closer, like a kitten, and his eyes drop to my mouth. My lips look for his and Harry relaxes his face and for a moment it seems his guard is down and his lips part. His pupils are dilated and his eyes are set on my lips.

“Blue! I got an A on my essay!” Coco celebrates.

Fuck you, Coco! I mean- good for you but fuck your timing! Harry pulls away from me and I straighten my back despite the way my chest deflates. I give my sister a smile.

“Enhorabuena, hermana.” (Congratulations, sister.)

Dad and Rio congratulate her and ask her on her essay, as if they would understand anything of her engineering, and I try to gain back my reconciliation with Harry but he pulls back this time.

“Wait, Blue.” He whispers. “I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t touch you until you figure your shit out.”

Great. That could take years, genius.

It shouldn’t make me so frustrated. I remind myself of a dog in heat or one of those men that get mad when women reject them at bars. I frown and straighten my back so I sit farther away from him, but after a second I can’t take it anymore.

I stand up and without saying a word I make my way upstairs. Harry’s been all talkative to my family and ignoring me all night, they can show him to his room now or give him conversation. I don’t care anymore.

When I climb the stairs, I open the door to the balcony and make my way outside. It’s freezing out here before the mountains, so I turn on the heater and wrap one of the blankets on the basket between the couches around my body. Looking to the side, I can see my part of the balcony, the one that belongs to my room, and I remember last time I was here, when I sat there with Jason and we talked and talked about Harry and about Dylan and about the same fucking story once and again.

It was all for nothing. After all, it was all for nothing. I tortured myself with the thought that I was leaving Dylan behind, I looked at myself in the mirror and felt guilty and couldn’t recognize myself and all for what? All to be now sitting down all alone because the man who turned everything into a fucking mess doesn’t even want to touch me.

I hear the balcony door opening and my sister’s soft voice almost whispering she’s here and the next thing I hear are footsteps coming my way. The door closes and Harry stands beside me.

“It’s bloody freezing in here.”

I nod but don’t dare to look at him.

“Baby”

His tone sounds tired but the nickname makes my heart flutter. My eyes search his, desperately, and I think he’s done with giving me the hard look and the cold façade. I don’t like that Harry, that’s not him. Harry is kind and understanding and a good listener. He’s not harsh and hard and cold. That’s me.

“I think I’m acting like such a spoiled brat.” I confess. “You’re just giving me a taste of my own medicine and I don’t fucking like it. I didn’t really need you to show me how insufferable I am though. I already knew that.”

He sighs.

“Can we go somewhere alone and not freezing?” He asks. “We need to talk.”

I look into his eyes. He’s standing tall right next to the heater and I’m sitting down with my knees to my chest and the blanket around me. My heart is pounding on the back of my throat and I can feel my pulse on my brain.

“I love you.”

The words come out clean and clear, despite my nervousness, and my eyes don’t leave his until the weight of them fall upon us. That’s the first time I have ever said that to a man different than Dylan, that’s the first time I’ve meant those words in a romantic way after him. I can’t yet read him. He’s just looking at me and I don’t know whether on the inside he’s grinning or whether he’s about to cry.

“Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” I am whispering now and I guess all my strength and my bravery have gone with those three words that got no answer.

“Is that why you said it?” He raises his eyebrows.

“No” I look down at my knees and think I’m about to cry “I said it because it’s true. I already wrote it down for you.”

He offers me his hand. I don’t understand his silence or why he is barely moving but I take his hand and he gives me a timid smile.

“Will you show us to your room?”

I leave the blanket a mess on the basket and walk with him towards my room. My dad played Miles Davis downstairs but I can still hear the fire and the keyboard of somebody’s laptop.

Once in my room, I take a deep breath and try not to think of what happened here before I met Harry. I try not to see Dylan on my bed, I try not to listen to his voice making fun of me for my decorations. Harry has a look around but he stands right there and he doesn’t move until I tell him he can.

“After your boyfriend passed away” he starts.

I feel my shoulders tensing and my breathing catching on my throat. No, no, no, no. I can feel his green eyes on me, studying me carefully, but I can’t look back at him.

“Did you go to therapy?”

I swallow. I don’t know why it is so hard to talk about this yet I manage to nod.

“How long for?”

“Two years.”

I see him nodding his head before he sighs. I guess he’s figuring out I’m actually really broken. I suppose if I hadn’t been to therapy, then he could hold onto that and he could say well she’s crazy now but she’ll get better but I bet after knowing I am actually the product of two years of therapy, he might give up.

“You said I wasn’t your second boyfriend. How long did you stay with him for?” I don’t answer. “How long ago was this?” He gives me some time to answer but I am still silent. “Why did you two break up?”

I am embarrassed to tell him and I don’t know why that’s even important. Javier is not something that bothers me. He’s in the past and I don’t think he has left any trauma in me and even if he did, Harry doesn’t have to worry about that. He is nothing like him and not even for a second have I doubted that.

“You’re not gonna speak?”

I want to fix things with him and I want to give him what he wants from me but I am embarrassed.

“Say something.”

“I don’t want to sleep here.”

The second I step out of the room, everything seems easier. I hear him taking a deep breath and sighing deeply before he follows me and when we enter the guest room in a second he’s behind me. His proximity covers my skin with goosebumps because I can feel his breathing against my ear shell and I can smell his scent and I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my mouth.

“When you found out about my shit you shut me out and I chased you day and night so you would let me explain. You were mad and, despite the way you treated me, I didn’t stop until I got you to listen to me because you’re important to me and I care. Now, you’re the one who’s hid something from me and instead of getting mad, I’m here, trying to get you to talk to me and you can’t even look me in the eyes.”

His proximity disappears as fast as it arrived and all he lets me se is his back as he sits down on the edge of the bed. I swallow and don’t know what to do. I look at him before my eyes set on our reflection on the glass of the window. He is looking down so he can’t see it but I can see us two and all of a sudden it’s like I know what to do.

Harry doesn’t deserve my silence. I owe him. I owe him a lot, even if he doesn’t know that, because in the last five months, I have laughed a lot more often and a lot harder and I have respected myself and I have actually wanted things. He gave that back to me and he deserves to see me, he deserves to know me and if after that he wants to leave, then I will take that but he will know who I really am.

I take a sit on the bed and cross my legs so my ankles hid underneath my thighs. I have never done this before outside of therapy and I don’t even know where to start. I take a deep breath.

“I met Dylan in this house when I was fifteen years old. Until then I had just been a posh spoiled girl like you thought I was when we met and, to be fair, I think if it hadn’t been for him, you would have been right on every stupid assumption you made about me that day in your kitchen.” I swallow.

“We started dating a year later but really I think I fell for him the very same night we met. I’ve had a… happy life. I mean before the accident. My childhood was good, my family never struggled and I was loved and wanted. I think I’ve always had everything I’ve wanted and still before I met Dylan I always felt like I was never in the right place. It was an uneasy feeling but I just never felt like I belonged anywhere. And then… He gave me that.

He didn’t think of me as a spoiled rich girl, he saw me and to him I was just… Indie. And he made me feel like the most interesting person in the world. I told him once when I was little my friends’ mothers wouldn’t let me play with Rio and the rest of the boys so I never learnt to climb a tree and he took me to his grandparents’ house and had me climbing to this huge tree on their backyard before he got the ladder down from his tree house.” I giggle nervously and hear Harry snorting a chuckle too.

He has turned around and is now staring at me and he’s silent but his body language has completely changed. I have his undivided attention.

“He was my first everything. My first love, my first boyfriend, my first best friend, my first time… And also my first fight, my first heartbreak and my first reconciliation and I guess… There was a part of me who wanted him to be the last too.”

I bit my bottom lip so it stops trembling and Harry patiently waits in silence until I get my voice back.

“When I left for Uni, he stayed in Capitol. His dad had cancer and his mum had to work so he decided to postpone Uni for a year or two until things got better. I admired him for that but then…” My eyes look away but now that I’ve started it’s like I can’t stop. “He changed. He became short-tempered and harsh and we started fighting a lot. I think he felt as if his life was stuck among cancer and poorly paid jobs while mine was moving forward and getting better and I was having fun when he was… I think he felt as if I have abandoned him and in a way, I…”

My face contorts and my throat closes on me to the point where my voice and my breath get stuck inside. I feel pain and guilt and embarrassment choking me and my eyes shut as hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks.

“I did.” I confess. “I was tired of being sad. Whenever I saw him, we ended up fighting and I saw my friends and everyone around me living their best lives and going to parties and I was just the girl with the sad boyfriend and I…” I shake my head. “I wasn’t there for him when he needed me.”

I take a deep breath.

“One day he came to see me and we had a fight and he left for hours. When he came back…” I lick my lips dry after all the talking. “He was high. That was the first time I saw him like that but then it all started to make sense: his mood-swings, his depression, his irritability… I tried helping him.” I wipe my tears and sob before I clear my throat. “I talked to his mum, to my parents, to his friends, to him… I asked for all the help I could get but… He wanted me to go with him to one of his new friends’ party. I didn’t like those people and I was trying to get him away from them because they all smoked and he wasn’t acting himself when he was around them…”

I swallow again but the lump in my throat is getting bigger and bigger and harder to swallow.

“So he went alone. I was in Grad. It was me who called him. I felt bad that I hadn’t gone with him to the party, even if they were the wrong crowd, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do to be there for him… And… He was driving.”

I dare to look at Harry then. His green eyes meet mine but I can’t take it. It’s hard enough to tell the story, doing it under such intense stare would be impossible.

“I lost it.” Even if I had wanted to look into his eyes, everything gets blurry before me now as a new army of tears rolls down my cheeks again. “I begged him to stop the car, I yelled at him, I… I even said if he didn’t then I’d break up with him.” I sob. “And he was mad and he yelled back and then… I heard the crash.”

I stop and my eyes set on the wall. Harry’s hand gently rests on my knee and it surprises me that my body doesn’t react to it. My mind wasn’t expecting that and yet my body seems to be so used to his touch, it didn’t flinch or even jump.

“The doctors said he died on the spot so the last thing he heard before dying was a threat.”

I look at him expecting to find the judgement on his eyes. Maybe he’s disgusted by me. Maybe he thinks I’m a terrible person and he doesn’t want to see me again. But all I find is pain and sorrow and love. I frown.

“I was depressed for six full months after that and when I started talking again, I started going to therapy. I wish I were dead too.” I admit.

I can see the pain flashing through his green eyes but he lets me talk. He doesn’t shush me or tells me don’t say that and I love him for that. He lets me say and he lets me feel and I know he didn’t want me dead but he gives me this moment, he gives me this silence, these words. He lets me owe them.

“And somehow I was; some part of me was. I thought I was never going to feel even remotely close to how I felt when he was with me. For years I felt like I didn’t want anything. I just did things, but I had no desires. I wasn’t hoping for anything or even trying anything… I was just waiting… And it might sound ungrateful or selfish but I honestly was just waiting for the day I die. I felt like some part of me was already dead. 

When I met Javier I wasn’t much better than that. It had been almost two years since Dylan’s accident and I guess I just wanted to feel something. We met at a club and fucked the same night and after that he was sweet at the beginning, I thought he was protective but really he was just jealous, possessive and controlling. He was… Bad. He was an abuser and he came across someone dead inside so he could do anything because I didn’t care and he did. He made me feel disgusting and fat and lazy and powerless but I guess in a way it was what I wanted. I have tortured myself for what happened to Dylan for years now. I feel guilty for not having been there for him enough… I guess part of me thought I deserved Javier to some extend… Until one day he tied me up to the headboard of the bed and left me there for three hours.”

Harry’s eyes horrified at that. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches but he still doesn’t say anything. I swallow and go on.

“I was done with men when I met you but you…” My voice croaks but I want to tell him. I think this is the most important part. “You said I could have blue cheese” I chuckle nervously and so does he “and I… I wanted to see you.” I don’t know why I’m crying now but I feel salty tears on my mouth and my voice croaks all the time. “I hoped you would be in your coffee break when I went to the cafeteria. I mean at the beginning it was just… Orgasms.” He laughs. “But even then, I felt… Alive. I felt my heart beating and the air on my lungs and I felt my blood rushing through my veins and then it was all the time. You look at me and my pulse accelerates and when you’re close my breath gets stuck on my throat and I don’t know what to say and my skin gets covered in goosebumps and my stomach does somersaults…”

I have barely taken a breath while telling him all that but now he’s blushing and his lips can’t help the small smile and his dimple is out and for a moment I thought I would never make him smile like this ever again.

“So… I got scared.” I shrug. “I got scared that I was forgetting about Dylan. I didn’t want to leave him behind. You know, I’ve… I’ve never been able to go to his grave. I don’t think I can see his gravestone.” My voice breaks and Harry’s hand moves from my knee to my shoulder. “I don’t… I can’t remember his voice.” I sob. “I could hear him on tape but I think it would make me depressed again.” I let the lump in my throat win for a second before I fight it again. “I just want to be able to remember him without feeling my heart break into a million pieces. I mean how long does grieving take? It’s been three years and I can’t talk about him.”

“Come here.”

I let Harry pull me to him and in crying to him about Dylan I find a comfort I never thought possible. His hand carefully and lovingly rub my back and his lips press soft kisses against my hairline. I don’t know how long for he lets me cry but he only pulls away when I’m sniffing and my breathing has gone back to normal.

His green eyes investigate mine for long seconds before he takes a deep breath and speaks.

“I don’t know how to say what I want to tell you without sounding harsh.”

I purse my lips. I don’t know either but I get ready to hear it. I know this is too much. He already said I had to figure my shit out before I was in a relationship and he didn’t even know all this shit so now he’s gonna leave for good. I understand. I wouldn’t wanna be with me either.  

“When you were depressed, I suppose Coco was there for you, right?”

I nod but frown. I do not know where he’s going with this.

“Did that make you feel better?”

“Of course.”

“Did that heal you?”

I frown. I guess… Not. My doctor healed me, I healed me. Coco just loved me.

“You can’t love someone out of depression, Blue.” He states. “What happened to Dylan was a terrible accident and it’s normal that with accidents we always feel as if they could have been somehow prevented but that doesn’t help anyone.” He sighs. “Death is terrible but it’s also a part of life. We all have to die. Dylan was taken too soon and I can’t imagine what that felt like, baby… Really, I am amazed that you went through that and that you… survived that and came out this… Incredible.” His eyebrows raise on his forehead as his head shakes, as if he really was amazed. “And I am sorry for what I said to you. I wish I had known this sooner but I also wish I could take back the moment where I blamed you for your… Things. This is fucking hard and I wish I could tell you how long grieving takes but I don’t know, love. Yet you don’t have to do this alone.”

My heart restarts and my eyes search for the trap.

“You’re not going to leave?”

“Where?”

“I…” I shrug. “I thought this was going to scare you away.” I frown. “That you’d realize I have deep severe issues and you would just walk away.”

Harry frowns and it’s the first time a gesture of contradiction wakes butterflies up in my belly.

“Sometimes I don’t know who you take me for--.” He shakes his head. “I love you, Blue. And I want to see you happy. I love seeing you smile and laugh and I feel… Important when I make you laugh. You’re intelligent and kind and funny and mesmerising and beyond gorgeous and… So young, love. Why would I ever want to walk away from that?”

My eyes move frantically between his and I choose not to ask him whether he really thinks that. I decide I’ll try to believe him. He shakes his head. I think he can read my mind.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” He smirks. “Could you please tell me what would be of your friends without you? Do you think Mario and Olivia would be together if it wasn’t because of you? Do you think Marie would have dared to go out with Adam? And what would be of Jason? You helped him get out of an abusive relationship. Do you know how hard that is?”

I guess he’s right. I do contribute on The Golden Girls.

“And what about me?” He chuckles. “You make me not hate myself.”

His green eyes bore into mine after he said that and I know the nodding of his head is just a way to try and swallow the lump on his throat. I can see the tears he’s holding back now.

“Before I met you, I was just waiting too and now I want to live and I want to love you and you’re gonna let me.” He persuades me so I giggle.

“Promise me you’re gonna let me.” He whispers.

“I promise.” I smile.

He nods, satisfied with my answer, and we both stare at each other smiling despite all the emotions we just shared.

“I don’t know how long it’s gonna take for you to be able to remember Dylan without feeling your heart breaking... But what I do want you to know is that I don’t think you need to stop loving him to love me or anyone else.” He shrugs. “I mean... When I think about widows remarrying, I never think of it as a bad thing, I don’t think it means forgetting... It just means... Your heart is big enough to love twice.” He smirks. 

I let the tears roll down my cheeks and meet my lips. 

“I don’t know why I thought you’d... Like... Not understand.” I shake my head. “I thought you might even get jealous.” 

He frowns, like I was speaking some foreign language and it’s his little understanding that makes me smirk despite my tears. 

“Getting jealous of that is like... I’m afraid it’s literally sick.”

I even chuckle. 

“You’re strong and wonderful” he says “and I have no doubt you’ll get there. I hope it’s me the one you tell about Dylan without having your heart breaking too.” He smiles. 

My lips are curled into a timid smile but my head is shaking because there’s a part of me that’s beyond happy, there’s another part of me that’s heartbroken, there’s another part that can’t believe someone this kind can exist; and in the midst of all these feelings, my mind doesn’t have control over my body anymore. 

“I love you.” 

I let my lips hug every syllable and my heart own every word. Harry’s lips curl until he’s grinning and I think I’ll tell him I love him every morning if he’s going to look at me like that. 

I am not scared anymore. 

I feel liberated and I love this man in a way that makes my heart skip every second beat. For the first time in three years, I feel like there’s not a single part of me that’s not full of life and love and plans and hope and calm.

“I love you too. And now get ready because I’m going to kiss you.”

The air leaves my lungs through a desperate smile as his hands rest on the mattress next to my thighs and he gets closer to me.

“I’m ready.”

[iridescent-hallucinations]

When the Night Comes

Mildly Angsty Jemily Fic

Summary:  Emily Prentiss finds comfort in the darkness. Jennifer Jareau is a shining beacon of light. Can their worlds ever really collide?

Pairing: Jennifer “JJ” Jareau x Emily Prentiss 

Word Count: 1921

Read it on AO3

Nightfall is easier. The cloak of darkness wraps around her body, concealing as well as comforting. People are usually afraid of the dark, but not Emily. She embraced the darkness a long time ago, specifically, on a mild Italian evening, just 15 years old, when the light was too much to bare and the hand wrapped around hers as they walked through church was pulling her from the depths of despair.

No, there’s safety in the shadows, the shadows don’t expose the secrets buried deeply in ones soul. Maybe that’s the reason this job came so easily to her, she didn’t even flinch at the horrors presented to them on a daily basis. Maybe that’s why she took so naturally to profiling; she already chose to dwell among the darkness.

With the daytime comes the scrutiny, people can gaze and the trauma is harder to hide. That’s why she buries herself in her job, so the stares are averted from her, onto the monsters and the demons that walk this Earth. It’s easy to lose oneself in the false sense of security created by the sun light, that’s why she strives to push it away, waiting until night comes to truly show herself.

As she sits in her apartment, drinking alone, she has to admit that the days have been easier since joining the BAU, Penelope, Derek, Spencer, JJ, they break up the danger. Learning to trust them has been a difficult road to walk - there’s a sense of dread that swells in the bottom of Emily’s stomach at the thought.

None of them really knew her, she felt a sense of bereavement at this thought, the little girl inside of her was screaming for her to just give in, be known, be seen, be heard. It had been too long since she’d felt any sense of commitment to another human being.

The second she felt a pang of belonging Emily knew she was in trouble. If she belonged she risked being hurt, all those years of moving pillar to post had given her enough rejection to last a lifetime. The last time she belonged anywhere were the darkest moments of her life, pretending to play house with a mob boss; a killer. But that wasn’t her, that was Lauren, she once again reassured herself, that life had been a constructed reality. It wasn’t real.

So then why did it hurt so much? If it was all just make believe, why did she risk it all to protect that little boy? Surely the affection she felt for Declan was real? But if so, was there some part of her that actually felt warmth towards Ian?

The thought sharply slammed her back to reality. Sighing to herself Emily shifted, standing from the single seater she’d been lounging in to pour herself another drink - Gin and Tonic. If her mind was going to do this tonight, she needed the liquid confidence to take the edge off. Watching the clear liquid fill her glass, Emily tried her best to think of something, anything, other than Lauren.

Picking up the glass with both hands, Emily made her way back to the chair. Resuming her position, she drank deeply, wincing at the way the alcohol strummed harshly at her taste buds. She knew this wasn’t productive, she should have just gone to the bar with everyone else, but when Derek had asked if she was joining, something in her knew what tonight would bring - and it was not going to be the night she unravelled to them. Night time can only bring cover if you let it.

Alarm bells and the way she saw disappointment flicker across JJ’s face told Emily she was making the right choice. Her thoughts had wandered from her old life, she was pleased to be thinking of something else. Jennifer. Emily mouthed the word, no noise coming out, testing how it tasted on her tongue. Like honey. Sweet, but with the potential to be sickening.

Emily had been struggling with her feelings for the younger woman for a while now, she blamed herself, it was typical of her to read too much into things. The looks, the comments, the touches, Emily had documented every single one, logged them into some sort of database in her brain to be over analysed when she was alone. It wasn’t the fact that JJ was a woman that was throwing Emily off, she had found out quite quickly into adulthood that she had a preference for women, it was the tugging in her chest and the tightening at the pit of her stomach.

If Emily didn’t know better she would have thought she was in love. A preposterous idea. To be in love was not part of her plan. If she was in love, she left herself exposed to all kinds of pain, she left herself open, vulnerable to attack. All of this seemed perfectly logical to the brunette, who had almost drained the last of her drink, staring into the glass, watching the ice clink against the side.

Sighing again, Emily swallowed the last of the liquid, waiting for the coolness of the sharp alcohol to hit her stomach. As her head span slightly from intoxication, the darkness settled in, it’s where she belonged, and Jennifer Jareau was not darkness. JJ was light, bright, stunning, she was everything that Emily longed to be when she was young.

The blonde was graceful, strong but subtle, she illuminated any room she walked into, and Emily was very aware that this caused her to retreat. Jennifer Jareau could single handedly unravel all of the hard work Emily had put in to remaining unseen, in the shadows.

The cover of darkness could only do so much when the younger woman was around, the brightness she emits had the potential to eradicate even the most stubborn of shadows that Emily longed to remain hidden in.

A rap echoed from within the apartment causing Emily to jump at the sudden sound. Immediately on high alert, she stood, quickly reaching for her weapon she kept in the drawer of the living room. How sad that she felt so wary in her own home - the thought was passing - but a split second, before she made her way to the front door. Another knock, louder this time, but Emily had braced herself for it, the sound didn’t pierce the silence like it had the first time. Creeping quietly to the door, Emily looked through the peep hole.

Exhaling a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, Emily relaxed, lowered her gun and placing it on the chest next to her keys. Blonde hair and blue eyes greeted her on the other side of the door. Why JJ had decided to show up at such an hour puzzled her briefly, had something happened? She was sure she’d had her phone on loud. The third knock caught her off guard, startling her but grounding her back in the moment.

Swinging the door open, Emily couldn’t hide the obvious confusion knitted in her eyebrows. JJ saw it immediately, and chuckled slightly at the brunette before her. Engaged in an accidental stand off, the two women just stood there, blinking at each other for a good few seconds before JJ finally spoke.

“Hey, you gonna let me in or?”

Realising she was still blocking the doorway with her body, Emily’s mind raced through a hundred different scenarios in a fraction of a second, stepping back and allowing JJ in.

“Gosh, of course, sorry - I, I hadn’t been expecting anyone this late.” Emily offered, closing the door behind the blonde.

Finally settling on an emotion, Emily was not thrilled to realise it was panic. JJ’s presence was already filling her apartment with a soft but bright hue, this was not part of the plan, this was not part of the plan; she repeated the thought as if it were a mantra.

“So what can I do for you?” The brunette finally managed, stepping further into the apartment, cautious not to get too close to the blonde and her ethereal glow, who was stood in the middle of the room.

“Can’t a gal just stop by to say hi?” JJ laughed, still finding Emily’s rigidity amusing. “Actually... there was something I wanted to talk about.”

JJ had obviously also had a drink, she wasn’t drunk - Emily could see that in her piercing blue eyes - but she was loose, looser than usual. Emily checked herself quickly, noticing her hard stance, and dropped her shoulders that she hadn’t realised she was tensing. Taking in JJ’s words, Emily realised it was normal for friends to visit each other out of the blue, it saddened her briefly to think she had never had anyone to stop by unannounced before joining the BAU.

“Of course, you’re always welcome here, can I get you a drink?” Emily asked, ignoring the way JJ’s eyebrows had lifted at her casual comment. Friendship was as foreign to Emily as Russian was to the average Americans.

“If you’re offering - I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” JJ answered, attempting to hide her nerves by deflecting attention away from herself and pointing to Emily’s discarded Gin glass on the coffee table.

“Oh, I was, uh, just having a nice G&T, takes the edge off after a long day I find, makes for a good night cap really, although it’s bitter as hell, they didn’t have any pomegranate tonic at the store,” Emily cursed at herself for being so awkward, why did she say so many words? No one asked, she was better at communicating than this. Making her way to the kitchen counter to pour JJ a glass, she blamed the mild intoxication.

JJ followed Emily into the kitchen, bringing the discarded glass with her.

“You might need this if you’re going to have one too,” JJ said, placing the glass down next to Emily.

Looking up to meet JJ’s stare, Emily dropped the cap of the gin bottle onto the floor, the brightness JJ exuded was getting dangerously close to the shadow Emily was trying to lurk in.

Bending to reach for the cap, Emily took a deep breath to compose herself, and thankfully, by the time she returned to pouring the drinks, JJ had wandered back into the living room.

“Pull it together Prentiss, this was not part of the plan” she muttered to herself, she grabbed the glasses and made her a way back into the other room silently praying the cover of night would disguise the way her heart was racing and her hands were shaking.

Unbeknownst to Emily, JJ was having her own internal conflict. It had been a long time coming, but sat in that bar, watching her closest friends flirt, dance, and laugh with other people, JJ couldn’t shake the picture of a certain brunette from her mind. Clouding the edges of the image, JJ always saw a shadow creeping around the outline of Emily. Whatever was hiding there, JJ decided she was going to find out. After all, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? Shine a light on the darkness and hold your hand?

Shaking her head, JJ knew she was kidding herself. Emily Prentiss was more than a friend to her, she just hadn’t worked out how to express this in a way that wouldn’t ruin everything if it all fell apart. Instead of shining a light on Emily, maybe it was time to find her in the darkness.

[sweetwritertanya]

Feeling You Close

Summary: You arrive home, expecting to have Yoongi just for yourself but instead find him working. At your reaction over the situation, Yoongi has an idea of how to make you feel close to him, even when he needs to finish his work.

Warnings: SMUT and ANGST. This really wasn’t supposed to be angsty, but the beginning turned out to be. Ends up turning smutty at the end, so beware of: swearing, erotic body touching, masturbation (kind of, not really), unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I write) and cockwarming.

Word Count: 3463

You rushed home with a skip in your step, an eagerness in your walk to arrive as quickly as possible. Making sure to get off of work as soon as you could, your mind was completely focused on what awaited for you this late afternoon. Yoongi had promised you the whole afternoon after work for spending much needed time together.

You didn’t blame Yoongi for spending such long hours in his studio. It was part of his work to be so busy, working on so many songs and beats, so many that wouldn’t even make the cut on the album they were preparing for, but that he loved producing anyway. Of course, that meant you couldn’t see him as often as you wanted. Not liking to be disturbed while on his studio, the most you could do was text or call him during his late days, hoping he would reply, and enjoy the occasional days off he had to spend time together, even if he did sometimes end up working on those too.

But today he had promised the afternoon all for you. And it excited you. Lately, you’ve been feeling too distant from him. He still messaged and called at least once every day, but you hadn’t seen each other in a week and you haven’t been intimate for over three. It truly worried you that the passion had subsided. But today you were going to change that.

Getting into the house you shared with him with a bright smile, you call out for your boyfriend who should be there already.

“Yoongi, I’m back!” you yell from the entrance of the home.

“I’m in the bedroom, Y/N” he shouts back, and your heart races. Maybe he was thinking the same as you.

“Give me fifteen minutes in the bathroom, I’ll be with you in a sec” you tell him as you make your way to the house’s bathroom, one door away from your bedroom.

“Sure” he agrees easily.

Giggling a bit, you enter the bathroom and start taking off your clothes. You had prepared a new set of lingerie and a sexy blue night gown for you to change after work, rising off your body and applying soft nice scented lotion on your recently shaved voluptuous form.

Taking a bit of time to tame your hair and make sure the makeup you wore to work hadn’t smudged too much throughout the day, you leave the bathroom coyly and open the door to your bedroom, pulse racing in your veins and cheeks blushing a bit with the images that flashed in your brain of previous adventures in your bed.

And then your smile fell and heart sunk. There was Yoongi, indeed waiting for you on the bed. But he was already in his pajamas and had a laptop on top of his legs, typing away with a concentrated look on his round face.

“Yoongi?” you called slowly, approaching the bed with feather steps, hands fidgeting with each other in front of your chest. “Are you working?”

“Yeah, we couldn’t finish the project in the studio today, but I should be able to finish it from home and sent it to her to see what she thinks” he explains, not removing his dark eyes from the screen.

Your mouth dries and you swallow hard, throat constricting as you feared what you were about to hear.

“By her… You mean Seo-Yun?”

“Yeah, she’s the one I have been working with for the past few weeks” Yoongi shares, not realizing how much it hurt you to know that.

Seo-Yun was an incredibly attractive Korean girl with whom Yoongi has worked before. She was short but very slim, thin legs and a narrow but still rounded hip, flat stomach and tiny arms. Gorgeous triangular face with big rounded eyes, straight nose and full lips. Long flowy black hair. You couldn’t even lie to yourself, she was the epitome of beauty.

Reporters had gotten the picture taken of Yoongi and Seo-Yun leaving together after work before. And they looked amazing together. The girl complimented Yoongi’s leaner frame and somehow seemed to enhance his beauty with her presence. You tried to stay away from the thoughts of how uneven you and Yoongi would look together, you being much heavier than him with large legs, pudgy belly and thick arms. However, the thoughts were always there on the back of your mind.

It made sense now. Why you felt like he was more distant, distracted. He probably liked her better than you by now. Maybe they were even messing around in the studio on those late nights he would stay there. Maybe that’s why Yoongi hasn’t touched you in so long.

Overwhelmed by dark thoughts, feeling hurt and rejected, you turned away so he wouldn’t see the tear that escaped you, although he wasn’t even looking at you at all. You moved to your shared closet and put on the first pair of pants you could grab, the short nightgown function as a silky shirt instead. You pulled from the back of the wardrobe the suitcase you used when Yoongi asked you to move in several months ago. A sob escaped you at the memory, but you powered through and opened it, picking a bunch of your clothes at once and throwing it in there.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi’s voice echoed in the room, the sound of the keyboarding stopping.

“Leaving your house.” You were proud your voice did not waver, even if thick tears rolled down your chubby cheeks as you spoke.

Heavy footsteps darted your way just as you were on your knees trying to zip up the overflowing suitcase, too many clothes in it for it to close properly. A hand slammed on top of the case and pushed it away from you. Yoongi had squatted next to you, but you couldn’t look him in the face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was dark and deep, a dangerous calmness behind the words he spat out.

“Isn’t that what you want?” you questioned him, still avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Frustration taking over, Yoongi grabs your arm and pulls on it so you face him, your teary eyes finally staring at his frowned ones. He looks startled of your tears at first, but refocuses on the conversation at hand.

“I have barely even spoke to you yet, where the hell did this come from?” he persists, the hand on your arm growing tighter.

Sadness and anger taking over, you yank your arm from his grasp and stand up, he immediately straightening up too in front of you, both exasperated and confused.

“That’s just it! You barely talk to me, you barely see me, you barely touch me anymore! Just be honest and say you don’t want me any longer! Let’s just break up so you can go and be with her or whoever you chose” you cried out.  Using the back of your hand, you try to clean your drenching eyes, but at each swipe of a tear away, another takes its place.

“What are you even saying?! I still want to be with you, Y/N!” Yoongi tiffs, grabbing your shoulders to keep you from leaving.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it” you sniff, looking away from his eyes as embarrassment takes over.

“Hey.” He calls, but you don’t respond. You feel your cheeks burning with shame at how insecure and dejected you sounded. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Yoongi gently pulls at your chin and makes you raise your head to him, blushed cheeks and tears building up at the corner of your eyes. His eyebrows, mostly covered by his hair, are frowning with concern, eyes glinting with disturbing confusion and there is tension in his jaw as he speaks.

“Have I really made you feel like that? Like I don’t want you anymore?” he whispers lowly.

Your heart constricts at the hurt behind his questions and for a second you consider lying, apologize for everything and just pretend this never happened. But you knew better than that.

“Yeah” you whisper back, another tear falling from the corner of your eye. “You really have.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath as he closes his eyes and cups your face in his hands, leaning his forehead against yours. When he opens them again, you see regret and guilt behind them.

“I still want you. I still love you. What do you need in order to believe me?” he asks of you.

“I don’t know… I just… I just want to feel close to you again, Yoongi” you exhale heavily.

Your heart breaks a bit further when you see him looking back at the bed, at the open laptop he had left there, and you panic that he will once again leave you in order to go and work. But he looks back at you with a loving gaze and pecks at your worried parted lips, just a little touch of his lips that have your pulse spiking.

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?” he inquires, one hand falling from your face to pull your plushy form against his slim one, grabbing your flesh above your hips.

“Yes?” You really weren’t sure where he was going with this.

“I wanna try something. I need to finish the project I’m working on by tonight and send it to Seo-Yun.” At the mention of her name, your face falls but he immediately reassures you as he leans his head down to look you straight in the eyes with clear honesty. “Hey, it has nothing to do with her, alright? Take those silly thoughts out of your head. This is about a deadline the company forced on me that I can’t postpone, alright?”

“So you’re still gonna chose to work” you clarify, feeling disappointed.

“Not completely. Just trust me, okay?”

Still very much confused, but deciding to go along with what the man in front of you pleaded, you allow him to guide you to his side of the bed. It was then he seemed to really notice what you were wearing, one of his eyebrows frowning in confusion.

“Were you wearing that night dress for me?” he questions.

“I guess it didn’t really caught your attention as I intended” you complained, saddened.

“You know you could be wearing a trash bag and I wouldn’t care, I would think you look beautiful all the same” he stated, fingertips running temptatively down your covered sides, leaving tingles in your skin. “Take off the jeans so I can see your delicious legs, Y/N.”

Flushed at his words and unable to keep a small smile from your lips, you do as he says and remove the jeans from your body, leaving you only in the night gown you had decided to use and your underwear. Yoongi had sat down against the bed rest and motioned for you to sit beside him. As you were about to do so, he pulled you against him so that you end up sitting on top of him instead, straddling his legs.

“Wait, I’m heavy Yoongi, I don’t wanna-” you start claiming, but he interrupts you.

“Sweetheart, you know I love how you feel on top of me. Don’t fight it.”

Sighing, you nod your head and sit comfortably against his thighs, your own so much bigger when compared to his. But he leaves you no time for insecurities to arise, for he takes your mouth for a long passionate kiss that had you exhaling with relief and need.

Lips ravishing on your own, you wrap your arms around his neck as his hands squeeze your chunky thighs and move up to cup your plentiful rump. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip and your part them in invitation, tongue wasting no time to delve into your warm mouth and exploring it once again. His warm tongue rolled and swirled around yours, coaxing you to respond with just as much passion.

A soft moan escaping you from how much you missed this, you climb up him in order to pull your bodies even closer as the kiss deepened. Yoongi grabbed you by the underneath of your ass cheeks and pulled your heated core against him, the friction making him grunt as he was already half hard from the kisses only.

“Okay, Y/N, you said you want to feel close to me, yeah?” he confirms, leaving moist kisses up and down your exposed neck.

“Y-Yeah” you sigh into his left year, a bit distracted by his hands and mouth.

When his hands leave your body, you almost whine until you feel him pulling on his pajama trousers and, looking down at what he was doing, you see him release his growing boner and pumping himself a few times, shaft growing thicker and redder at each slide of his hand. You feel yourself growing creamier just at the sight and the need of having him inside.

“Raise your hips, sweetheart” he requests. You look at him with wide confused eyes.

“What?”

“Trust me” he asks of you again.

Biting your bottom lip, you do as he asks and raise your large hips from his lap. One of his hands pull the fabric of your panties to the side and he starts rubbing the head of his shaft up and down your folds, making your gasp and claw at his shoulders as you shudder in pleasure.

“Y-Yoongi…” you moan, closing your eyes at the feeling.

He then grabs one side of your hip, at the same time his other hand guides his now fully erect member into your aching entrance and, very slowly, pulls you down on him. A guttural sound comes from the back of your throat at the feeling of him slowly filling you, stretching your insides with such pleasure. He felt so good inside of you.

“Fuck…” you hear him curse lowly against your shoulder. “It’s been… a while, yeah?”

“About three weeks” you remembered,

“Never again, sweetheart” he promised you, dropping a kiss on your shoulder.

When your hips started moving automatically, you were caught off guard when he hissed and placed two strong hands grabbing your fluffy love handles, impeding your movements.

“Don’t move yet, please.” He leans back so he can look at you and you see his overly dark eyes and slighted tinted cheeks that have you clenching alone. He shudders and curses again, closing his eyes for a moment before setting them warningly at you. “Don’t do that. Be a good girl and stay like this while I finish sending the few emails I have left, then I’ll make up for my absence, okay?”

Finally understanding what he meant, you nod and embrace Yoongi in a loving hug, trying your best to not give in to the need to move and instead simply enjoy the buzzing pleasure of having him inside of you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you heard him starting to tap away on his keyboard, maybe a bit more hurried than he was before.

It actually felt somehow debauched what you were doing. Here he was, working, at the same time he was buried to the bream into your womb. And the fact that he was doing so because he knew this was the closest two people could be with one another physically, because you wanted to regain this feeling of intimacy with him, had your heart sing with joy. He was doing this with you, for you, and no one else. You could feel him pulsating against your inner walls, lustful for you and your oversized body, no one else.

You couldn’t help to leave a kiss on top of the popping vein at the side of his neck, the one indicating his accelerated heartbeat underneath his controlled exterior. As you did so, his cock twitched and you moaned as he rubbed against a sensitive spot that had you clenching around him again. He groaned in your ear.

“Just… Just twenty more minutes, sweetheart. Give me twenty more minutes” he begged of you. Biting his shoulder, you purposely tightened your walls against him once again. He trembled and cursed under his breath. “Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes.”

Smiling smugly, you heard his hands typing furiously fast on the computer behind you, rushing to finish his work. You continued leaving small pecks on his shoulder, not so much to distract him but to keep reminding him you were patiently waiting.

The loud snap of the laptop being closed almost made you giggle but any chuckle was transformed into a mewling when Yoongi’s hips moved ever so slightly against you, the much awaited friction sending electric shocks to your brain.

“Holy shit, this feels so good!” Yoongi exhaled in relief when he started moving, veiny hands magnetized to your wide hips and forcing you to bounce up and down on him.

The burning coil that had formed inside your belly while having him inside was now snapping at the lightest of movements and you felt you could go over the edge at any given point. You just wanted quick release after such effort to keep still.

“Yoongi, please… faster, faster” you plead in whines, trying your best to accelerate the rhythm of your hips on top of him.

“Fuck… Fuck!” he yells.

Before you know it, Yoongi has you on your back and you cross your ankles on his lower back as he mercilessly pounds into you, hips snapping with such speed against you that your bed is rocking at the force he keeps using. The sound of skin against skin and the smell of sex fills your bedroom.

“Ah!... Yoongi! Yoongi!”

You are chanting his name as his cock rubs the pad of nerves at the far end of your throbbing tunnel, again and again until something inside you snaps and all you can do is arch your back and pull him close with your legs convulsing around him as your overflowing juices cover his length inside, an electric pleasure sparking at every cell in your body and filling you with a warm relief that steals your breath away as you wail.

“Y/N! Ahh…!” Yoongi keeps thrusting into you as you climax, but in no time he freezes as his member twitches and releases himself into you, his body jolting as he spurts his warmth in quick waves.

Sweating and drained, Yoongi collapses his body onto your pillowy one and you welcome him with open arms wrapping around him keeping him warm. In an effort to move his full weight from you, he tries to slide to his side, but you whine and keep him in place.

“No… Stay inside” you request, closed eyes still savoring the aftermath.

Yoongi chuckles tiredly.

“Haven’t I been inside long enough by now?”

“I like feeling you close” you tell him.

He pulls you so you are both laying on your sides, facing each other and still linked at the most intimate place. Glowing skin, content smiles, blushed cheeks and hazy eyes stare at one another.

“Where did you get the idea for that?” you curiously ask him. He holds in a cough and shyly look away for a moment.

“I just read about it. And wanted to try it with you for a while now. It sounded good for intimacy on lazy days” he explained.

“Really? You wanted to try it with me?”

“Idiot. Of course, with you. Get it on your head, Y/N, I love you and only you. No one else interests me apart from you” he reassures you, one hand brushing up and down your arm in a slow motion. “And I like this too. The feeling of having you so close. I’m sorry for making you doubt yourself, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to not let work get in the way of making you feel loved” he vowed.

Smiling at his honest apology, you stretch up and kiss his soft lips.

“Sorry I overreacted, Yoongi. I love you too.”

“I’m taking this weekend off to spend some time with you. What do you want to do? I’ll do whatever you want” Yoongi offered, nudging his nose against the side of your face in a loving gesture.

You think about it for a moment, considering how you want to spend time with your boyfriend on this rare occasion of free time. Honestly, there was only one option that sounded appealing to you.

“Can we just stay home? Sleep in late, cuddle in the couch and watch movies or something?” you question, wondering if that sounded too boring.

He leans his head back and a big gummy smile spreads on Yoongi’s face.

“I fucking love you so much” he repeats, obviously pleased with your choice.

[bush-viper-cutie]

Pretending

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,223

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot:  Severus is forced to attend Lucius’ party. The plan is simple, get rejected enough times, have Lucius think he’s a helpless cause, and go back to Hogwarts to continue reading his book. 

Warnings: None

A/N: For Snape Appreciation Month, prompt 9: Snape is a pureblood. @snapeloveposts​

Posted: 6/20/20

Masterlist

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Severus tried twisting his arm out of Lucius’ grip as he was dragged down the Malfoy Manor entrance hall and through two rococo style double doors into their dancing hall. A live band played in the center as dozens of families gathered and talked or danced around the room.

“You’ve come all this way, so just go talk to people!” Luscious let go of his hand and straightened his coat. “If you haven’t found someone to share your life with – ”

Severus groaned.

“So help me I will set you up with Narcissa’s great aunt!” Lucius stormed away.

Severus scoffed and dusted off his sleeve. “Why did I agree to go to this. I’m perfectly fine reading in my office,” he grumbled.

He would have to make a show of looking. He knew that by the way Lucius was staring him down from across the room. The plan was simple. He would just have to talk to people that would NEVER give him a second of their time, and after a couple of rejections he would see it was pointless and he could be back in his office reading before the clock chimed at twelve.

He glanced at several dancing figured and then at the small groups of people talking and laughing. He spotted several targets of interest. He walked up to an elaborately dressed man with lavender purple tails and a matching gem broach and nodded politely.

The man looked him up and down and walked away. He could admit it stung, but not as much as the inconvenience of being here. He looked over at Lucius who was sipping at his wine while observing him and continued onto the next victim.

This time he offered a polite “Hello” but the man simply copied him and turned back to his partner. Alright I didn’t really expect to simply show up and be turned down… he huffed and walked away, turning his sights on a group of women laughing by the band and a less wealthy group on the other side.

He didn’t feel like immediate rejection and figured the less showy group would let him speak at least a few more words but he was sorely mistaken. They closed of any spaces and huddled closer as they saw him approach with intent.

“Lucius, I swear – ” he pinched the bridge of his nose and walked over to the wealthiest looking group, hoping it would be the last rejection of the night before he could walk back defeated and be allowed to leave and spend his Saturday night in peace reading Kybelen’s new book Forbidden Potion Recipes Lost to Time and Law.

This group consisted of several women with sparkly jewels and gems adorning their long-layered gowns. Two more with braided up-dos with exotic feathers while the other two wore their hair down with a glass hair piece reflecting colorful light all around.

He cleared his throat as he approached, and they looked back at him. He noticed their eyes trailing over his attire and could see their eyes rolling. He regretted wearing the outfit Lucius had sent him, even if it was fancy-looking, everyone could tell he didn’t belong in it.

“Hello,” one of the women greeted him in and stepped aside, making room for him to join.

He stepped into the little circle and greeted everyone. Relieved, his mission now was simple. Open his mouth, get rejected, go home, and finish reading before his NEWT class on Monday.

“Evening,” Severus gave a small bow.

“We were discussing Kybelen’s new book,” the girl closest him smiled.

Severus turned to face her, surprised. She had long flowing hair and a glass bow on her head and in her white gloved hands was the very book.

“Indeed,” he breathed out. “What exactly?”

The other woman sighed, “I think those ‘uncovered’ recipes should have stayed buried in ‘time’. It’s absolutely irresponsible to publish them. I mean, what happens if people try to actually brew them? If the Ministry forbids it for our safety, then why tell the world?” she huffed, completely flustered.

Severus turned back to the girl with the book in her hand and saw she was rolling her eyes.

“See, Mr…”

“Snape.”

The group narrowed their eyes at him, as if trying to puzzle together what kind of family name it was, however the woman with the book payed no attention and continued.

“Mr. Snape, I believe it is right and fair we were given back the knowledge that was stolen from us by the Ministry. These recipes were discovered and perfect and then stolen and burned and hidden for fear of Muggles and their hatred of us and our fear of them. I’ve counted over eleven forgotten techniques in this book that could revolutionize how we brew potions today, and I’m not even finished with it yet.”

Another woman, clearly amused by the argument laughed, “Mr. Snape. What, may I ask, is your opinion on this controversial new book?”

Severus cleared his throat, excited to talk about it, “Well, I agree with Miss,” he turned to the glass bow woman.

She smiled, enthused to have someone on her side, “Marigold Demar-Dor.”

“I agree with Miss Demar-Dor. Already several journals have been released theorizing about the possible changes and effects certain potions will have with these new techniques,” he noticed her smiling at him and continued, “And I personally don’t find it wrong to learn and have knowledge of them. Just because we now know them does not mean they should become legal to brew.”

Marigold nodded, “Well said, Mr. Snape. And please, call me Marigold.”

“Severus, then.” He smiled back at her and noticed she stepped closer to him.

“Yes, but what if some Muggle-born or Half-blood decide to try the one to do with giving a muggle temporary magic on a squib, or worse on a Muggle.”

Marigold laughed, “It was never proven and that’s not how magic works. Obviously back then they received some sort of result that made Muggles appear to have magic. I’m sure half the potions we brew now would give similar effects should we feed them to Muggles.”

“The cure for Flame Breath makes Muggles levitate several inches in their sleep but not wizards. The Ministry manages to keep Wizards from giving it to muggles and I see no reason why it should not be the same for these,” Severus smiled back at the look Marigold was giving him.

“Yes, well true Purebloods would not be keen on the thought of that potion circulating society once more.”

“The Demar-Dors haven’t had a drop of Muggle blood in a century and I see no problem with it,” Marigold folded her arms.

“Mr. Snape, what about you?”

Severus swallowed. This was his chance to escape but he couldn’t bring himself to ruin his night just yet. He was glad to hear her thoughts and opinions on a book he knew no one else cared about, and he didn’t mind in the least the smile she gave him.

“My family has been Purebloods for generations, and I too side with Marigold,” he noticed her arm was now brushing against his.

They had clearly won the argument as the opposing woman looked away in anger.

“Severus, will you dance with me?” Marigold looped her arm in his and turned him towards her.

Severus smiled and led them out of the group, taking her copy and placing it in his pocket. He took her hand and placed his other on her waist and began dancing. Marigold slid her free hand from his arm and up to his shoulder.

She smiled at him and played with his hair as they danced. The song changed and slowed, and she took up his invitation at a second dance. She placed her head on his shoulder and twirled alongside him. After the slow dance she took his arm and guided him through the crowd into the entrance hall and out the back glass-paneled doors.

“You dance wonderfully, Severus,” she looped her arm back through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “How do you know Lucius?”

“School friends. We both went to Hogwarts.”

“He’s never mentioned you,” she looked up at him.

He looked away, knowing Lucius wasn’t the type to bring up any Half-blood friends he might have to any of his wealthier, more pure friends.

She kissed his cheek and stepped back, “There’s a fountain in the garden, would you like to find it with me?”

“I know where it is,” Severus held out his elbow, but she took his hand instead, waiting for him to lead.

They walked in the bright moonlight through the rose bushes and he couldn’t help but feel like a prince from a fairytale. The night had turned lovely, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel anything real. He lied about his status and by the time the clock strikes twelve the party would be over, and he would be back at Hogwarts, reading his book.

Marigold pulled him up the steps and sat them down at the fountain’s edge. Almost like a dream, the fountain lights turned on and the pink-tinted water started pouring out. Marigold leaned into him and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Tell me about yourself, Severus,” Marigold kissed his lips one last time before letting him speak.

“I teach potions at Hogwarts.”

Marigold’s eyes lit up instantly, “Potions was my favorite subject! Now I wish I had gone to Hogwarts, although we might not have been in the same year,” she laughed.

Severus smiled and looked away. His guilt was starting to eat at him and began to mix with dread and sadness. She was beautiful and clearly had the same passion for potions as he did, she even carried the book with her much like he had wanted to do.

He felt her soft glove brush his fingers before she placed her hand on his. He turned back and she kissed his lips once more, filling him with warmth and longing. She looked, talked, and acted like a princess and he wanted to treat her like one for more than just one night.

“Any other subjects you enjoyed?”

Marigold blushed and looked away, “I might have enjoyed… the Dark Arts class.”

Perfect. She’s perfect. His heart broke at the inevitable loss he’d endure tonight. He wondered what she was really like, away from Lucius’ house, away from her friends, just on her own, in a more normal setting. Would she like his personality?

They kissed once more and he heard a distant clock chime, marking the end of the day and the start of a new one. She pulled away from him and brushed her thumb on his cheek. He sighed and looked away, staying still even as she stood.

“Severus?”

“Marigold… You should go on. It was nice meeting you,” Severus hung his head and let his hair fall forward. He crossed his arms, resting them over his knees.

She sat back down and placed a hand over his shoulder, “I’d like to see you again.”

Severus rolled his eyes, “No. You wouldn’t. I’m not a – ” his nails dug into his palms as he squeezed his hands into tighter fists. “I’m not a Pureblood,” he hissed. Disgusted at the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m a bloody Half-blood,” he spat on the ground beside him, loathing how he felt. Ashamed.

She placed her hand on his cheek and pulled his attention towards her. He frowned, confused at her continued affection and was about to speak when she kissed him suddenly.

Her lips were warm and sweet, and her nose pressed against his cheek, heating them up to what he knew would be an obvious pink blush. He closed his eyes and leaned into her kiss, parting his lips with hers and placing his hand on her arm.

“You don’t have to pretend to be a Pureblood around me, Severus. Being one doesn’t make you better,” she pulled on his lip with hers and made him smile. “Obviously it doesn’t make you better considering I’ve rejected several Purebloods at this party and yet decided to dance with you.” She tilted her head and pecked at his lips, “You are far more interesting, and far cuter than any man here,” she kissed his cheek and stood up, offering him her hand.

He took it, “Then you still want to see me again?”

“What were you planning on doing after this party?”

Severus felt very on the spot. He didn’t want to assume where her question was leading and yet he didn’t want to lie. If there was ever a time to use Legilimency on anyone he would use it on her now. He held his hand behind his back and fidgeted, trying to decide on an answer.

“I was going to go back to Hogwarts and read the book. Nothing-else,” he winced at how dull he sounded.

“Then, why don’t you come back to mine and read it there,” she wrapped her arms around his neck, “Afterall, I do have a copy,” she stood on her toes and kissed him.

“But if I’m reading… what will you be doing?”

She winked at him and pressed her lips to his. He chuckled and nodded, letting her apparate them away.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

[manychocolatefactories]

CatCF: White Chocolate

And here is my White Chocolate retelling!

About this version: This version could take place in something between the 90s and the 2000s. It has been strongly inspired by both the world of cartoons in general, and "A Series of Unfortunate Events", as strange as it may seem. In this version, you have Seven Platinum Tickets.

Reinterpretation of Augustus Gloop:

Augustus Gloop, first Platinum Ticket winner. This Augustus, I imagined as a bully.

Physically, he is a very round boy. His belly is round, his torso is round, his face is round, his arms and legs are round, he basically looks like a bunch of balloons tied together, or a mass of spheres/globes. He has two great "beaver teeth". In terms of clothes, he eithers wears hoodies too small for him and of bright, vivid, flashy colors (orange, yellow, pink) or he wears striped shirts that are not slimming at all (such as the red and white stripes shirt of Augustus Gloop in the 2005 movie).

To all adults, Augustus plays the part of the cute, happy, innocent boy. But to all the other kids, he is a horrible, nasty, brutal and greedy bully. He likes to torture and dominate others - though he is not a sadist. He just seeks power and dominion, he loves to strike fear and submission in the heart of other children. A good exemple of his double-faced nature are his beaver teeth - he can actually speak perfectly fine with them, even though they gave him a slight lisp that is quite cute to adults. But with children, he worsens his lisp on purpose so that he would spit and splutter all over their faces, and when said children complain, the adults keep saying things like "He can't help it, he is just different, don't discriminate".

Augustus actually used to be a regular-sized kid (even though taller and bigger than his comrades, but not that fat). He regularly beat up, gave wedgies or other typical bully tortures on his peers to get their money or their toys. But it all changed when one day a boy had the idea to offer him his lunch instead of his money. Augustus was a big eater you see, and he seized the opportunity of having a free lunch. And since all the other kids preferred to give up their lunch rather than their money of their toys, they all started to "encourage" (as in, subtly manipulating him) so that he would racket lunch and food instead of money out of them. As a result, Augustus grew immensely fat on all the free food he got each day - and with his bigger size he could intimidate and crush other kids more easily. But at least, they didn't had to steal money from their parents anymore.

His demise will be with the Exploding Candies (remember those?). I think they would be going by a section of the Factory where some of Wonka's candies are stored, and Augustus would see another kid holding an Exploding Candy. Not knowing what it is, he would bully said kid (maybe Charlie?) into giving it to him. He would swallow it and then...

BOOM! HE EXPLODES INTO LITTLE PIECES!

No, I'm kidding Xp Actually I went with something much more cartoony (this Augustus himself being cartoony - in fact I based him in "fat Chuck with beaver teeth" from the cartoon "Chuck's Choices". It may sound weird but it makes kind of sense in the series Xp). He would  suddenly be all distended and inflated like a balloon, and then deflate completely (again, like a balloon), reduced to a flat, pancake-like boy, with smoke coming out of his mouth, nose and ears.

Reinterpretation of Violet Beauregarde:

The character is named Violet Strabismus, second Platinum Ticket winner. For her, I tried to think about what kind of people/archetype/stereotypes were seen chewing gum all day long, and I ended up finding this idea upon seeing a girl on a train that corresponded exactly to that.

This Violet is the typical embodiment of the cynic, "pseudo-edgy" teenager that seeks everything that is bleak and dark. She is a mix of goth, of emo, of punk and grunge. She only wears and surround herself with things dark, creepy, sinister or sad. She romanticizes notions such as despair, death, suicides, and the like. She is the kind of teenager that claims her whole life is just a series of pains and losses, that she seeks comfort in the darkness and the morbidity, and she disdains everything joyful, innocent or happy. Her two favorite hobbies are chewing gum, and trying to destroy other people's dreams and hopes with depressing talk.

The irony in all that, however, is that despite Violet's claims that she has a miserable and sad life, she actually has a very happy one. She has loving parents that support her in everything she does, and siblings that also love her. She comes from a wealthy background, which allows her to buy all the chains and piercings and extremely complicated goth/punk clothes she wants at specialized stores. She is quite a pretty and good-looking girl, even with her creepy clothes and dark makeup. She even has a huge house, and in fact despite her claims to adore death, never went to a funeral ever in her life, and never knew anyone that died. Still, she keeps repeating that she is a "misunderstood, bullied, rejected loner". And she is not suicidal herself, mind you, nor depressed. She is perfectly fine. She just wants to look like she is, to "fit her style".

Her demise, as with all the Violet variations in my stories, relies on the Three-Course Meal gum. But here, the dish used is the ice-cream. I had the idea that the gum would actually turn Violet's flesh into ice-cream. As a result she is immediately put inside Wonka's cold storage room and freezers, so she doesn't melt. And she is condemned to live her life alone, in dark, cold, locked up places, exactly as she pretended and wished to.

Reinterpretation of Veruca Salt:

Now, I am not much satisfied with this Veruca Salt, but well, it is still worth a shot, even though the idea itself may be not so original.

Veruca Salt, third Platinum Ticket winner. For this Veruca, I envisioned actually a character based on Darla Dimple from "Cats Don't Dance". She is a small, cute and child-like girl, that looks almost like a pretty little doll, but who is able to scream with an insanely powerful voice and can act like a total brat by throwing extremely destructive tantrums and breaking everything everywhere if she doesn't have what she wants.

Her demise was actually suggested by ArtMakerProductions - the Geese Room. The Geese Room from the 70s movie would return, with a full room having geese lay chocolate eggs for Easter (I also think Wonka would be disdainful of this silly idea according to which rabbits laid the Easter eggs). And when Veruca would throw one of her usual tantrum, one of the goose would believe her to be one of her children (due to Veruca's screams sounding like a goose' screams) and just sit on her, crushing the little girl. (Not to death of course, but that's one big goose Xp).

Reinterpretation of Mike Teavee:

This one was hard to think about, but I finally found something I'm quite proud of.

Mike's character is obsessed with television, right? And he wishes to be INSIDE television, right, that's the core of his demise. Well... what about a Mike Teavee that is obsessed with television not as a watcher but as an actor?

Henry Trout, fourth Platinum Ticket winner, is a former child actor who used to be the star of numerous teenager sitcoms and other televisions shows by Disney-like productions. All this fame turned him into a spoiled, arrogant and selfish brat, and when he was kicked off the shows, for both being too old AND being just too much of a jerk, he couldn't let go of the past. He believes that everyone knows him through his work as an actor, and that everyone is a fan of him. He spends a lot of his time looking at his old television shows, and television is his only topic when speaking with other people. He still dresses and acts like a star - and never once realizes that a good lot of people don't know or even remember him. As per ArtMakerProductions, his parents are also his agents, and they desperatly try to find back their son's former glory, by "overselling" him to get a lot of media exposure, and still doing a lot of advertisement and promotion despite him not getting any real work - the finding of a Platinum Ticket was another attempt at becoming famous once more.

Take the characters of "fallen stars" such as Norma Desmond in "Sunset Boulevard" and Jane Hudson from "Whatever happened to Baby Jane?". Mix them with the former Disney or Nickelodeon child and teenage stars, especially if they had a dark turn in their life (the Spouse twins, David Henrie, Cameron Boyce, Zac Efron...). And you get Henry Trout.

His demise is still the Television Room, like all the other Mikes. However his variation is that the television Wonka used was prepared to teleport and air objects, such as Wonka bars. It is still a technology in working, and they only focused on the material and visual parts. They haven't worked on the sounds. As a result, once Henry Trout gets on TV, he is insanely happy because now everyone will see him and nobody will kick him out... but then he realizes he can't speak, because there is no sound. And when rescues from the television, he discovers he turned completely mute.

Reinterpretation of Charlie Bucket :

Charlie Bucket, the seventh and last Platinum Ticket winner.

For this one... I actually don't know. I wanted to do a Charlie based on the "brown-haired Charlie" as illustrated for exemple by 2005's Charlie. But I hesitate. On one side, I haven't used yet the idea of "the too-saint Charlie", aka a Charlie Bucket so good and so perfect he becomes a male Mary Sue, unrealistic and annoying, an exaggerated caricature of a good boy. I thought I could potentially use this with the brown-haired Charlie, especially since 2005's Charlie was criticized for being a too-perfect child.

On the other side, I also liked the idea of a crippled Charlie, in the mind of "Tiny Tim" from A Christmas Carol, and I also thought it would be fitting for him...

So I'll let it float for now.

Reinterpretation of the deleted kids :

# Terence Roper. Since this one had barely any personnality in the original drafts, I decided to include him (especially since I already reinvented the two other kids part of his trio - Clarence Crump and Bertie Upside).

I think of Terence Roper as the typical "hot bad guy" archetype. He is a criminal kid, and a little delinquant, that drives despite not having a permit, that steals, that robs, that like to spread chaos and destroy shop windows and tag walls etc... I think he is the son of two famous criminals, and thus thinks of crime as the "family business". But he is also a very good-looking, very charming, and very popular boy, which resulted in him not only being leader of gangs and the like, but also having a sort of cult or worship around him - similarly to how "bad boys" in high schools can be idolized. I think something very similar appened with his parents - I want to explore with this character how people worship criminals, with very successful bandits, mafioso or drug dealers ending up as popular and romanticized and idolized as movie stars, singers or the like.

He is the blousons noirs of the 50s and 60s, the old-fashioned troublemakers pachucos, the greaser delinquants of the movie Grease, and all other fashionable kind-of-criminal groups you could think of.

But the irony here is that Terence actually got his Platinum Ticket by legal means, by buying a chocolate bar - and in fact, for him to have found the Golden Ticket and not stole it is a great disappointment and shame.

For his demise I thought of re-using the Fizzy Lifty Drink. He would stole it in an act of bravado, and drink it without realizing what it was - which would result in him getting a perpetual case of bad gazes (frequent burps, farts, and other stomach noises). This would completely ruin his cool and good looking image, as well as any kind of grace or discretion he may have.

# Miranda Mary Piker. Sixth Platinum Ticket Winner (Terence Roper was fifth). She is based on the character as most know her : a school-obsessed, fun-killing girl. The original incarnation was a stern, no-nonsense, very strict girl that basically acted like any cruel headmistress or teacher from those horrible British boarding schools. However, given that this character was alreayd beautifully reintepreted by Danguy96, I wanted to do something slightly different. This Miranda is more like an "annoying moral guardian". She is still obsessed with school, good work and being an obedient and good child, and she still disdains silly things such as games, entertainment or fun in general, but instead of being a stern and harsh girl, she would rather be a nagging and annoying pest, that keeps giving speeches and sermons to everyone about why you should act a certain way and not another, a walking moralization that keeps trying to teach "proper manners", "maturity" and "basic knowledge" to everyone in a very condescending way. I also thought she would try to dress up as an adult, and thus with adult clothes - but since she is just a cild, said clothes are much too big for her, resulting in her looking kind of ridiculous.

Her demise would, of course, be the Spotty Powder. I can't remember if this was an idea that was suggested to me, or one used by someone else in their reinterpretation, but I like the concept that instead of falling inside the machine and being crushed to death, Miranda (and possibly her school director father) would actually fall into a big pile of the Spotty Powder, and thus develop all the symptoms of a contagious disease and be forbidden from setting a foot in school for a very long period of time.

Reinterpretation of the rival chocolatiers :

This is the big defining feature of White Chocolate. In this version, the rivals of Wonka have a big part to play.

They don't appear in themselves - but they sent emissaeries, messengers and spoekpersons to contact each of the kids that won a Platinum Ticket, in a similar way to the 70s movie, and each chocolatier tempts the kid with a different "treat".

Slugworth seems to be a chocolatier involved in the criminal underworld - his emissaries at least seem to have some criminal undertones, and act through fear and violence rather than seduction. In fact, I think his chocolate and candy business may actually be a "cover" for darker criminal activites, and "washing" of dirty money.

Augustus Gloop receives the visit of a man with "icy blue eyes and nasty purple scars on his cheeks". He passes off as a waiter in the restaurant in which Augustus is celebrating, even though it is just a disguise. He tries to convince Augustus by both subtle threats, and the promise of a free pass and unlimited offer in all the restaurants and buffets of the town.

And Terence Roper, due to his criminal connections, actually is invited to the house of a wealthy man with ties to the criminal world, a creepy man in fancy, wealthy suits, but stuck in a wheelchair and with a fake eye shining like a silver dollar.

Slugworth's purpose seems to be the destruction of Wonka. He tries to convince the children to sabotage or put maybe bombs and things like that inside the Wonka factory, or to ruin batches of candy, stuff like that.

 Prodnose rather keeps sending women as emissaries. In fact  even thought of making Prodnose actually a female chocolatier, but I don't know yet... I thought of Prodnose as some sort of media mogul, that tries to spread their brand to everything (there are Prodnose television shows, book series, toys, sport equipment, gardening tools, etc...) including candy-making and chocolate-making.

One "messenger" contacts Veruca Salt. She is one of the journalists interviewinv the young girl after she found her Ticket. Based on Cherry from the musical, she is a happy, charmant, pleasant woman. But her face has something... weird to it, almost unnatural, as if she had a bad surgery job done to it. And she keeps smiling all the time - her smile seems completely stuck.

Henry Trout is the other one to receive a messenger from Prodnose. As Henry goes to have a new suit tailored for him (because of course Henry only had tailored suit perfectly to his size), the tailor reveals herself as a messenger of Prodnose, who could easily bring back Henry in Prodnose-made television series and shows. The tailor herself is a tall and thin lady all dressed in black, and with long, spindly fingers with long and pointy nails - her hands in fact look like creepy spiders.

I thought of probably Prodnose trying to cause a huge scandal inside the Wonka factory, and thus asking the kids to find out Wonka's dirty secrets, and if not, to invent some that they would "reveal" upon leaving the Factory. Where Slugworth tries to ruin physically and economically Wonka, Prodnose tries to ruin his reputation and to discredit him on moral ground.

 As for Fickelgrubber, he is actually envious of Wonka. I think he is a very young person hailing from a very wealthy and powerful family, and his dream was to become a candy-maker, but he was very bad at it. However he refused to give up - especially when seeing how Wonka was succesful. Fickelgrubber is an envious and jealous child-minded young person, and he refuses to admit Wonka can succeed where he fails. Fickelgrubber has tried to copy and steal Wonka's inventions for years now, but all his attempt ended up failing miserably - he copied the ice-cream that never melt of Wonka, but they had a tendency to turn into rock-hard material. He copied the gum that could create gigantic balloons of Wonka, but he mixed up the recipe, and the gum actually made kids inflate and pop like balloons. And when Fickelgrubber released glow-in-the-dark candies, it was later revealed they contained a huge dose of radioactive components.

Fickelgrubber's emisseries are creepy kids (I still don't know if they are "friends" of his or merely all sorts of cousins of his real family - as I said, Fickelgrubber is quite young, both in spirit and mind).

Violet, upon visiting her local cemetery, is contacted by a beautiful blond teenager standing on the wall of the cemetery. He acts flirtingly, seductively, playing the "good cop" (and he also actually acts like a cat, meowing, purring and sometimes even moving like a cat - I thought of him as a parody of Cat Noir from Miraculous). And when Violet is not receptive to this, the boy presents his sister, that is waiting behind Violet. A big, burly, muscular girl with a bulldog-like face.

Miranda is also contacted by Fickelgrubber emissaries - twin girls, identical, but "perfect", as in with perfectly clean and ordered clothes, identical beautiful hairstyle, and the like (I thought of them as inspired by the twins from The Shining). They are basically the kind of "perfect" and "proper" kids Miranda seeks to create in the world. And they try to convince her to join them (they even have prepared for Miranda clothes identical to their own so that they would become their new sister). I don't know however how would Miranda react to that - either she refuses, due to stealing secrets being perceived as cheating and she is against it  ; either the sisters actually convince her to go along with the plan by the simple argument that Wonka is an excentric, ridiculous man that gets success without hard work, and Miranda hates both goofy/clownish and not-hard-working people.

As for Charlie Bucket, he will actually be visited in turn by one messenger from each chocolatier (in fact, he may even escape them when they start fighting each other).

Slugworth's emissary... I actually don't know. Xp I thought of maybe a kind olf man, almost grandfather like, that acts all nice and doting, but then reveals that inside his cane, there is a blade.

Prodnose's emissary is a loud-talking woman with a lot of makeup and wearing a huge coat made out of crocodile (I thought of her as a mix of Cruella and Ursula).

As for Fickelgrubber's emissaries, Charlie meets at first a beautiful Japanese teenager (male or female?) dressed in a refined suit, something between a fashion model and a succesful business owner. And when their smooth talk fails, they present their brothers - because they are triplets. And appear from the darkness two huge sumos, teenagers yes, but the size of elephants. (This was again inspired by usual sumo appearances in cartoons, from JCA to the Simpsons passing by Shuriken School).

[vinylhazza]

Timid Touching (E.D)

Summary: After a particularly rough day at work, y/n stumbles upon her bestfriend naked and tugging one out on the couch, he woos her into staying to enjoy the fun and maybe do something she never has before. 

Word Count: 6.2k

Warning: just dirty ass smut

Dedication: @dolandolll thank you for being you! love you bubs xoxo  

It was unexpected on such an annoying and brutal day of relentless complaining at work, spilling hot coffee all over her shirt, and getting stuck in endless traffic that she would walk in and she was she is seeing now. 

She was pulling up to the house in a cursing rage, so fed up with the blabbering dumbfucks at her work that she wanted nothing more than to take a bath, put on a facemask, watch a movie, and go to sleep to start the weekend off right. It was an added bonus that she recently moved in with her two bestfriends Ethan and Grayson - after months and months of begging from both twins and the promise of smiles and amazing avocado toast daily. 

It had been a dream so far, getting to wake up with relaxing vibes and getting to hang out with the men that made her the happiest (one already having her heart but she does her best to ignore that in fear of rejection). It’s your sappy teen movie, a bestfriend swooning over someone that she presumes sees her as only that: a friend. 

She shook the thoughts from her head when she slammed the door to her car, making sure she heard the beep indicating it was in fact locked before she began to stomp up to the front door with her bag slung across her front. She had parked right behind Ethan’s Jeep, noticing for a split second that Grayson’s car was nowhere to be found. It was odd for the time of evening that it was, the sun sinking below the horizon, leaving California in a cool windy evening that was about to get even more interesting, even if she wasn't aware. 

She wasn’t too concerned about Grayson being gone, simply a bit nervous that she would be left alone with Ethan for God knows how long, with his infectious beautiful smile and his sinfully sexy body that drove her insane. It was just a bad night for her to be both pissed off and horny and swooning over her bestfriend. 

She huffs out an irritated breath when the keypad clicks the lock open and she swings the door wide with her hand, stepping into the dark entryway of the house and setting her purse onto the hook at the right side of her head. Grayson had kindly installed it for her convenience, laughing every time she would have to set it on the “dirty” floor. Out of the kindness of his heart he caved and ended his fun by giving her a hook to make her life easier. She liked being able to just grab it on her way out the door, and he knew that. 

Y/n noticed Ethan’s shoes placed neatly on the mat, meaning he was relaxing somewhere and not planning on leaving. 

“E?” she called out through the house, not loud enough to be considered a yell, just louder than her normal speaking voice. But nothing came after. Only the reverberation of her voice against the walls. 

She nudged her shoes off her own feet, setting them next to her bestfriends, speaking once more in hopes he was actually close by and was just too distracted to answer, “work was absolute shit.” But still no answer followed. 

She had been too caught up in her thoughts to actually notice the flashing of the tv coming from down the hall and the peculiar noise bouncing from the walls and to her curious ears. Her eyebrows are furrowed down into a pout as she shuffles down the hallway to the living room, her plan to pester Ethan about ignoring her for the TV cut short when she enters the spacious room. 

You know what they say: curiosity killed the kitty. And she was pretty sure she was going to die of a heart attack when she entered the room - stopping dead in her tracks. 

She realizes quickly what the sounds were, widening her eyes at the TV on a stand that Grayson built, bright as can be in the dim living room, a clip of two girls touching each other flashing across the screen while they moaned loudly into each others mouths. She nearly faints at the sight, so shocked what she thought was an innocent movie was actually lesbian porn. 

“Y/n,” Ethan says casually, startling her just enough that her eyes are ripped from the TV to land right on his bare body on the couch, dick slapped hard against his stomach, leaking precum, “why so sad? work a little rough today?” 

His voice is light and silky, a couple octaves lower than normal, making it even more difficult for her to look him in the eye. 

Was he seriously trying to have a normal conversation right now?  Was he teasing her? Was he mocking her for catching him in such a...interesting situation? 

Her mouth is dry as sandpaper at this point, stuttering out a quick “yeah” sheepishly, not really sure where she should be looking, at Ethan? At the TV? The ground? So she settles for her bare feet, suddenly very interested in her purple nail polish covering them and the ankle bracelet that hangs around the ankle with a little turtle charm. She starts to wish she had stayed a little longer at work, not knowing in the slightest how to navigate this predicament she found herself in. 

She’s seen both of the twins naked before yeah, on accident with each one of them. She wasn’t used to having to knock, so there had been a few times where she found herself walking in on one of them changing - quickly squeaking out an apology and slamming the door closed. But she’d never seen them with a hard on or anything remotely close, not that she could tell at least. This was completely out of the blue for her. 

“Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to not look at someone when they’re talking to you bubs?” His teasing voice cuts through the thickening air. He says it like he wasn't just vigorously jerking off only moments ago, like he isn’t sitting butt ass naked in front of his bestfriend watching two girls eat each other’s pussies sloppily. 

She knows he’s challenging her to look. So look she does, shooting her head up from her feet to land right on his hazel eyes that stare back at her. She makes a mental note to not let her eyes wander anywhere else on his body, especially not down to where her eyes had been glued when she first walked into the room. That’s for sure a sight she won’t forget. 

She decides that instead of standing there with her blushing cheeks and twiddling thumbs embarrassing herself, she was going to politely exit the room and just pretend like this never happened. Even though she would never be able to get the image of his massive leaking cock out of her mind even if she tried to. He was fucking gorgeous and she couldn’t deny it. 

Yeah of course she wanted to fuck the shit out of him, she’s always wanted to, but now that she’s standing here totally off guard and caught watching him red handed she is embarrassed beyond belief. She always imagined that if they did take that step in their relationship it would be more...romantic and not dirty and sudden after a shitty day at work. 

“I think I’m just gonna go take a bath-” She turns her back to the room, fully prepared to sprint down the hall if she had to, not wanting to embarrass herself any longer. She wanted to sink into a hot bath, ease her stress and sleep this horrendous day off. And she hoped to God he didn't bring this up again. But before she can walk back down the hallway Ethan’ talking again in that fucking tone that has her insides stirring. 

“Sweet innocent little Y/n scared of a little porn huh?” he grins at her, quirking a dark defined eyebrow. Little shit knew he was getting to her. 

“Not scared,” she mutters, “I just don't watch it that’s all.” She’s embarrassed to even be having this conversation with him. She wishes for a moment that the floor would just open up beneath her and swallow her whole to save her from having to answer anymore of his questions. 

“Bullshit. Everyone does. How else do you get that little pussy of yours to cum the fastest?” he continues on, staring her down intensely. She couldn't believe how easily he was talking about her the way that he was and saying all of the things he was saying. He’d never been as open as he was being right now. Sure he flirted with her all the time, but he had never used that kind of language with her. I guess now was as good a time as ever to shoot his shot. 

“I don't Ethan,” it's not an answer he’s expecting obviously because his eyes widen and his mouth open some more in mock horror, a shocked little scoff escaping his lips. 

“No? You’re telling me you don't rub that little cunt in the middle of the night when you get all hot and bothered?” his presses on. 

“Yep pretty much what I’m saying,” she mumbles out. 

Please dear fuck Ethan let it go and let me take my damn bath, she pleaded to the heavens, her head falling back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh. She must be dreaming because there is no way in heaven or hell that Ethan Dolan, her best friend, was sitting her saying things to her right now. It seems the moans coming from the speakers only get louder to her ears. 

It’s almost as if the small flame she had in her stomach when she was with him was spreading because she started to feel heat shoot from her middle and down all the way to her toes. She played it off as being anxious but she noticed that her panties were starting to get a bit wet. Rubbing her thighs together is what she settled on until she could take her bath and forget that this night happened unless he brought it up again. 

“Look I’m just gonna go so you can finish whatever you need to,” she tries to dismiss herself once again, twisting on her heel to exit the room and let him get back to watching the two pretty brunettes on the screen scissor each other senseless. As she takes a step she’s stopped once again. 

“Wimpass,” Ethan mutters slyly, deliberately looking away when she turns to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. Did he just call her a wimp? For what reason? 

“E-excuse me?” she squeaks, not believing this is real life. She swears to God she must be asleep on her bed or something because Ethan would never be this bold in front of her. Or would he? 

“You’re a wimpass,” he says once again, more clear. A sneaky little smile makes its way to his face, eyebrow still raised as the girls switch positions, one on top one on bottom while one sucks on the others pussy and fingers her at the same time. Her heart is pounding at this point. 

“I’m not a wimp Ethan stop,” her cheeks are on fire because she knows he’s going to challenge her once more. 

“If you don’t stay you're a wimpass,” he reiterates. He knows she hates to be bullied into something, but at this point he’s so eager and hungry to see her finally get herself off next to him he’s sputtering out whatever dirty thing he can to get her to stay. 

He would always call her a wimp when she was scared of something, usually causing her to shoot him a glare and prove him wrong. He hopes this is the same. And with the scrunch of her eyebrows and firm line on her lips he can tell he got to her in the way he wanted. 

“We aren't 4 Ethan,” she huffs out a shaky breath, frustrated that she looks so flustered in front of him. She always wanted to look sort of confident and strong for him, thought he liked that. But she has no clue that her cluelessness is making him want to bust a load untouched on their couch. 

She stands still, fingers playing with the end of her shirt and tries hard to ignore the moans filling the room. 

“Oh I know that, we are actually adults,” he pauses, looking at her with that same smirk, “so if you don’t stay I guess that means you’re a 4 year old wimpass right?” 

He opens his arms in a challenging manner, daring her to take the bait and stay.

So with a heavy sigh and several scorching glares thrown in Ethan’s direction, she timidly makes her way over to the couch just a few steps away, her heart already thumping dangerously fast in her chest. She sits on the opposite side of him, trying not to look, keeping her eyes on the wall in front of her. She doesn’t know why she actually chose to stay because Ethan would never force her into something she didn’t want to do and they both know that. He might tease and mock her but it’s ultimately her decision. 

“I’m not a wimp. And I’m only staying for a bit, my bath is calling my name. And I’m not touching myself so get that out of your head right now,” she’s talking fast and stern, not wanting to be interrupted. She decided she was only going to stay for 5 minutes...that’s long enough right? It’s long enough to her and that’s all she cares about. 

Her cheeks are on fire when he starts to scooch his naked body across the couch and sit uncomfortably close to her considering all the empty space. Was there something wrong with his previous spot? No. Did he want her to see exactly what he was doing up close and personal? Yes. 

“Suit yourself,” he sing songs to her with a dazzling smile, pausing the porn on the screen with the TV remote in between their bodies. It looked so natural and easy with him, his relaxed body that looked so content and comfortable doing this in front of her. It had her mind racing and her eyes following his every move hoping he wouldn't notice, “here let’s change this to something that,” he glances to her stiff frame, “you might enjoy,” he ends with a smirk - dropping a wink. 

He flicks and scrolls through many titles, all ending in “XXX” , sending a shiver running down her spine. He finally lands on a video of a muscular man with many tattoos and a pretty brunette. The scene starts with the two in a bedroom, already naked and on the king sized bed, the mans lips trailing over her dewy skin. It started off slowly, just simple kissing and some whimpers here and there, nothing she hadn’t seen before. She wonders for a minute why he would pick something so vanilla, but she is mistaken when the scene speeds up. 

Ethan palming and stroking his own dick catches her attention from the corner of her curious eyes. His own are fixed on the two on the screen as the anticipation grows. Her eyes widen and her legs cross over themselves when the tattooed mans lips travel down to the woman’s pussy, smacking loudly against her skin. Her cheeks are flushing crimson at the sight of his tongue flicking to collect her juices. 

I’m not getting turned on, I’m not getting turned on, I’m not getting turned on she repeats to herself, trying to stop the already wet pooling that’s happening in her white lace panties. But it was so hard with Ethan’s fit body, knowing he’s sitting next to her stroking his massive dick, knowing he wanted her to stay, and the moans and actions from the two pornstars on the screen. This can’t be happening. She can’t get horny in front of her bestfriend. But that’s easier said than done when the mans lips finally latch onto the woman’s clit, swirling his tongue down to her entrance and back up, repeating the action over and over with labored breathing. She gulped hard, trying to keep herself in check. 

The man proceeds to full on tongue fuck the girl, his tongue flicking inside her cunt over and over again, mouth fully resting on her. Jaw slack and sloshing against her folds.  

She squeezes her legs together when she feels the warmth, thinking it was innocent enough that Ethan wouldn’t notice the small action. She hoped he was too focused on getting himself off to notice she was even there. She hoped. 

“I see that yeknow,” Ethan comments casually, hand wrapped snug around his dick but not moving. Fuck. She was caught. 

“See what...” her face is burning with embarrassment, hating this with everything she had in her. How does one get themselves in this kind of situation?

“I see you squeezing your thighs together, but I promise if you give up this little act and rub that pretty pussy of yours it’ll feel much better.” 

He begins to move his hand up and down again, slowly stroking his aching cock in front of her, rubbing his thumb over the tip and jerking a little at how good it feels. He really can’t believe his own luck that she walked in right as he was just starting to think of her face he wishes he could fuck. There she came, stumbling in on him with those rosy cheeks and fidgeting fingers, so pretty. 

But she’d never gotten herself off before, her posh mother always telling her it was shameful and taboo. So no matter how horny she got, she just wouldn’t let herself fix the situation. Of course she’d had sex before. Had it been great? No. Had it been what she’d expected? Nope. Was it only for the guys benefit and that’s it? Yep. It was the description of her sex life, her needs were tossed to the side and she was left hanging. She just figured that’s how things worked. That’s why she always excused herself when it came to sexual conversations with twins, she didn’t want to be awkward when they asked her questions and seem like she was an inexperienced snob. 

But Ethan was making it seem so...normal, to touch yourself and like it. She was actually naïve enough to think that it wasn’t something everyone did? Fuck he wanted nothing more than the ram himself into that hot body sitting next to him. With that thought alone he grips himself harder to tug and tug and tug, throwing his head back some and looking at her through his eyelashes discretely. 

She sees him watching her, but tries to keep her eyes on the TV, noticing how hard his breathing had become when he ran his fingers up and down his length repeatedly. She’s just staring at him jerking off now, eyes soft and curious. She’s immediately clenching around nothing, just wondering and daydreaming about what he would feel like up inside of her. His smirk grows when he eyes her watching his hand on himself, “like what you see mama?”

“No shut up,” she mumbles, shaking her head and looking away ashamed. She switches her attention back to the girl on the screen, moaning and writing against the bed at the mans touch. The man has now entered the girl, gripping her hips tightly. He’s ramming into her with an unbelievable force, face red and determined. Her mouth is in a large O shape, eyes squeezed shut, entire body jolting forward with every harsh thrust into her pussy. She couldn’t help but imagine Ethan doing the same to her, absolutely wrecking her with speed and uncontrollable moans and grunts. She couldn’t help but imagine his eyes looking at her like he hates her, but showing her much different. Shit she wanted it. Bad.

She nearly jumps off the dark grey couch when her legs are ripped apart and opened wide by none other than Ethan. He has stopped stroking himself completely to reach for her hand and place it right over the crotch of her pants, feeling how hot she was beneath and loving it. 

“Fucking rub already Y/n,” his tone his dominant and frustrated, clearly done with watching her suffer in her own head right next to him and doing nothing to help relieve the built up pressure in her stomach. She stares at him, shocked and frozen. She wasn't expecting that at all, more shocked at the electric flare she felt in her entire body when he had her hand in his own. She’s never been this worked up over anyone in her entire life and she almost blanks on what to do.

“You are obviously sexually frustrated. I can feel it so fucking much and it’s driving me crazy so rub.” His stare is near cold, wanting to fix your situation himself but waiting for the right moment. 

It’s in this moment that she gets a strange feeling to make him...proud? And prove to him she’s not a total inexperienced prude that’s useless. She wants to say something anything in return but he’s already looked away from her and continued to rub himself like nothing happened. It takes her about three seconds to obey his order and turn back to watch the screen and start to gently rub herself over her pants. This continues for a few moments, slowly increasing the pressure until it finally becomes too much and she starts to wiggle next to him, needing something more than a little touching over fabric. 

With a shaky breath she makes a bold move and slips her hand inside her pants, beginning to rub herself over her underwear, the lace causing extra friction. She lets out a quiet whimper at her movements, slipping the underwear aside to rub against her clit in slow motions, finally deciding to dip a finger inside. But that’s where she gets stuck, finger just resting inside of her and not moving. She’s never done this before so how was she supposed to know? She hears a chuckle next to her and turns her head to the side to see her best friend gazing at her with dark eyes, “stuck kitten?” amused and not even bothering to hide it. This is the hottest shit he’s ever seen. 

All of these pet names are driving her mad, slipping out so easily that she doesn't even question it. Kitten had really done her in, cheeks set ablaze while she mutters a soft “I don’t...” not even getting to finish her sentence when he lets out a sigh, yanking her onto his lap and tugging her pants and underwear off quickly. It was so fast she didn’t even have a chance to think or react to what he was doing, just resting against him with wide eyes and a hammering heart. She thinks about just getting up and walking out because she’s mortifyingly turned on and she knows he can feel it right now considering her soaked cunt is sitting right against his tattooed thigh. He smirks at the yelp she lets out when he places his warm palm right on her pussy, rubbing it up and down between her folds, agonizingly slow. His fingers are warm from being wrapped around himself for a good period of time, feeling like fire against her. 

“Relax baby I promise it will feel good,” he whispers huskily in her ear, sucking her lobe for a second only to kiss at her neck a second after. Baby. Fuck she’s gonna die. She wants him to call her that always. She’d gladly be his baby. 

“Keep those pretty eyes on the screen,” he urges, noticing with a rapid heartrate that she had been looking down at his hand that rubbed against her. He adds more pressure to her clit, circling it and pressing on it in figure eight motions to get her wiggling on him again. Feeling her sliding against his fingers is almost too much to handle. 

“Look at how he’s pumping in and out of her,” his voice sends waves of electric arousal crashing through her all at once, “think of all of that pressure...all that pleasure.” His touch is gentle and his voice is quiet, speaking right into her ear, eyes latched onto the side of her face to notice her every expression, notice every quiver of her lip and eyeroll. Loved that it was all because of him. 

She is overwhelmed, moaning and squirming on his lap. She could feel his dick pressed into her back and felt unholy at the thoughts that were racing through her head about the man she never thought she had a chance with. It’s all so mind boggling. Her eyes threaten to flutter shut, body falling back further to rest fully against his chest, but she keeps them open, keeps watching the man ram himself into the petite girl underneath him. She’s already come twice in the video and that alone has her walls clenching around nothing, seeing all of the pleasure and receiving pleasure all at once. And then she finally hears that beautiful moan from the beautiful man she secretly adores and it’s all because her legs are shaking and vibrating lightly from the fire threatening to rip through her. 

“You are unreal mama,” he rasps when his dick twitches again the smooth skin of her back, “you have no idea how sexy this is...touching you like this,” he pauses to kiss her neck once more and suck a love bite into the skin, “while we watch these strangers fuck each other senseless...looks fun doesn’t it baby? Does that look fun?” He pinches her clit lightly, rolling it between his fingers for a moment and grinning at the response she gives him. For someone so seemingly shy and innocent she is more responsive than he thought. He feels high on her, getting everything he can get until he can’t stand it anymore. He almost cums untouched when he sees her answer his question with a nod. 

When he pinches her clit again, her hand shoots down to rest against his own, sensitive and not expecting such a feeling just from him pinching her down there. With the previous boys there had never been any of this foreplay, but just using her as a hole and ditching her. 

“My sensitive girl,” he hums with a proud smile, smacking her hand away and moving his fingers down to circle at your entrance, dipping a finger in and then shortly adding another, moaning, “fuck you’re dripping,” he breathes out. She grabs his hand once more when he curls his fingers in her up to that spot that has her seeing stars. 

“That feels so good e,” she whines, finally becoming more vocal. It had him humming into her neck with a nod, he knows what he’s doing to her - but it’s still nice to hear from her. She has both hands down holding the top of his that fucks into her, adding that extra pressure herself. It gives her some sense of control and lets him know that she’s loving it and she wants him to keep going. 

“Can you play with those beautiful tits for me baby?” never stopping his movements with his fingers, he just wants her to feel as good as she possibly can, plus wants to see her pleasing herself, “just play with your nipples...wanna see you play with yourself,” he continues, fully expecting her to shrink into him with heated cheeks. But she merely raises her shirt above her head and un clips her bra to squeeze and massage her breasts together, following his order and squeezing on her own nipples, rolling and pinching them. She lets out the loudest moan yet when he rubs over the side of her leg lovingly, still fingering her to the heavens. It was such a...soft touch that had her turning to look at him, noticing how close she was to his lips and if she really wanted to she could lean in to kiss him. She’s simply observing the way his eyes watch her, dark and beautiful just skimming over her glorious body like he adores her...which he does. He wishes she knew. 

But then she decides to be bold, taking her hands away from her body to cup his scruffy cheeks, eyes flicking up to meet hers before she plants a kiss right upon his mouth. His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling he’s longed to feel for so long. Her hands are cradling his face, kissing him with a passionate force, sighing when he finally starts to kiss her back with the same urgency. Of course they are being intimate right now, but somehow this has a different meaning to both of them - they put all of their feelings and thoughts into this kiss, floating on clouds together. 

“I’d like to fuck you like that,” he breathes when they break apart to catch their breath. His fingers dip into her faster and harder than before, trying to convince her. Little does he know she doesn’t need convincing, “you want that mama? Wanna feel me all up in your guts? Fuck I’d ruin this little pussy..” She’s watching the man on the screen plunge his dick into the woman aggressively, the moans echoing around the living room. 

“Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, anything for you kitten,” and you can tell he means it, turning her head to plant another soft kiss on her lips. 

“E-ethan do something - I need more” breath being knocked from her chest as the pleasure increased. 

“What do you want?” he urges. When he doesn’t get any other answer other than a whiny “please” he rams his fingers into her harder than ever, making her cry out. “Fucking answer me Y/n or I’ll stop,” he threatens. 

“Fuck me please e,” she moans out, grinding into his hand, hips swiveling against him. 

“Beg for it,” he growls, just waiting for the word so he can flip her on her back to slam himself into her tight fuckhole, he just knows it’s worth the wait. 

“Please Ethan fuck me please I promise I’ll be good please just wanna be good for you please!” Oh my God he wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t expecting it to have such an effect on her, but she’s totally gone, euphoria fueling her. 

That’s it. That’s all he needed to tug her off of his lap and slam her onto the couch, hovering over her, admiring the way her hair fans out like a halo...beautiful, breathtaking, ethereal, ravishing, lovely...fuck he’s really whipped. It’s like he’s seeing her in a new light, like he has refused to accept the feelings he’s always had and now that she’s here he wants to. It almost makes him panic that the way she’s grinning up at him right now is making his heart flip and flutter. But he merely takes a deep breath before leaning down and kissing her again slowly, nibbling on her bottom lip. 

“You’re about to feel so fucking good baby,” he is so damn cocky and it makes her even more soaked if that’s possible. He rubs his reddened tip between her slick folds before entering the tip into her, even with just the tip in he can feel how tight she really is. He can tell it's been a while, and that makes it feel all the more special. 

When he sinks further into her he leans down to rest his head against her chest, overwhelmed. 

“Thought you were an angel, turns out you're a dirty little slut,” he whispers when he takes one of her nipples between his lips. On the word “slut” he bottoms out, balls deep inside of his babygirl. He promises that after this things will change between them, he has to make her his officially. But right in this moment his top priority is getting her to cum the hardest she ever has (judging by the fact she’s only cum once before it shouldn’t be too hard but he doesn’t know that). 

Her fingertips push against the curve of his back, pulling him closer to her. She can feel him pulsing inside of her, so so deep. With every thrust, every push and pull her boobs are bouncing against his chest. He raises himself on one steady arm, muscles bulging, looking like fucking work of art above her while he continues to speed up, slamming into her over and over again, one hand squeezing her hip. She knows she’s probably going to be sore after this but she doesn't mind. It will just be a reminder of this amazing moment that she hopes will happen again. 

“Faster yes yes yes just like that right there keep - fuuuuu” her voice is hoarse at this point, moaning loud and occasionally screaming out when he hits a spot so deep she thinks she might pass out. She can’t believe all of his length could actually fit inside of her. None of the men she’s ever been with have been this big. He has every right to have that cocky look he’s giving her. 

“So pretty kitten gonna make me cum,” he groans while looking down to where he disappears inside her, plunging deeper and deeper. Her legs are shaking once more, warm ball growing in her tummy, threatening to explode at any moment if he keeps thrusting so hard and fast. He’s panting, red in the face, light blanket of sweat covering his sun-kissed skin. 

“Wait wait I can’t- fuck it’s too - ohhhh” she’s threatening to let go, grinding her hips up to meet his thrusts, fucking herself up on him. Such a dirty girl in disguise. 

He gritted his teeth, feeling it coming like a freight train. 

“Cum for me e, come on give me that cum,” she whispers seductively in his ear, rubbing a manicured fingernail down the side of his neck, twirling a little piece of hair in the back. That did it for him. 

He lets go at the same time she does, screaming her name and stilling in her to spill all that he has into her pussy, grinding slowly to milk himself dry, spurts of warm thick cum seeping out of him and into her cunt that just keeps quivering around him. Wave after wave of pleasure washes through them both, the unexpected situation making everything even more arousing. She’s so warm he almost doesn’t want to move. He likes the feeling of being buried inside of her. She obviously feels the same way by the look on her face because she is reaching up and tugging him down, hugging him while he peppers sweet tender kisses into her neck, nails scratching over his back. His chest rises and falls at a steady pace now, so tired after their previous actions that sleep threatens to take over. 

He doesn’t think he’s every came that hard in his life, and he was happy about the fucked out look on Y/n’s face, and her limp body. He did his job well. 

His beautiful hazel eyes are fluttering closed, eyelashes tickling her neck. He loves this feeling and never wants to let it go. 

“Thank you,” she whispers to him shakily, legs entangled with his on the soft plush couch. 

She knows they should move to the bedroom in case Grayson comes home, but she is so unbelievably comfortable right now and the feeling of him loving on her feels so good she can’t bring it in herself to force him to move his exhausted body across the house. 

“For what sweetness?” he mumbles with a mumbled voice, making a dreamy smile appear on her face. 

“For helping me...” she’s shy and he can tell, but he’s never letting her go after this. He will make it his personal goal to make her feel as beautiful as he knows and sees that she is. She feels like something has changed between them, something has finally been unlocked, like it was just a matter of time before they ended up together. 

“Anything for my girl,” he assures her with another peck to her skin, meaning it with his entire person, “let’s get some sleep and maybe we can...take a shower yeah? If you don’t want to it’s okay I just think maybe the modesty thing between us is practically diminished but if you’re not comfo-” he blabbers on in his sleepy voice, anxiousness creeping in. 

“That sounds great e, quit your blubbering and go to sleep,” she assures him, kissing the top of his head and receiving a chuckle in response. Her nails still scratch at his scalp, lazily trailing through his hair. She’s still not fully convinced it’s real, but prays when she wakes up he’s still going to be smushing her with his heavy ass body. She knows she won’t be sleeping in her own bed, she’s already addicted to the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They don’t realize it in this moment, but this is the start of an incredible journey that they both deserve, and to think all it took was a little bit of timid touching. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Femslash February (Day 14)

Prompt: Heart Fandom: Winx Club Pair: Icy/Lucy

Summary: Lucy asks Icy on a date. Icy accepts for the sake of humiliating the woman. She doesn't expect to actually enjoy her company.

Today on rarepairs; has anyone actually wrote for Icy/Lucy yet????

A paper bat wing, because hearts are too cliche. She slips it under the door and leaves in haste. She hopes that this time it will be reciprocated or appreciated.

She has a feeling that it won’t be reciprocated even slightly. More likely, she will be mocked and ridiculed again. What a fool she is to try to chase after someone so painfully obviously cold. Someone so far out of her league.

Why is her heart so...misguided? Why can’t it be as dark and warped as Cloud Tower itself. That would be wonderful. That would be easy. It would beat pining over a woman who would rather see her spelled and hexed into oblivion.

Even Mirta isn’t this foolish. Even Mirta isn’t setting herself up for this much humiliation.

And yet, she comes back to her dorm to find a note on the floor. Her hands shake as she opens it. She knows what she is going to find; she just isn’t sure how harsh and humiliating the rejection will be. Icy is mighty creative and her creativity has a razor’s edge.

It is frank and to the point, written in elegant cursive. The kind that she thought the ice witch ought to have. ‘Fine. 11:30 at the Broom & Hex Cafe.’ She stares at the silver ink, her hands shake with twice the force.

She has a date. She has a date and yet she can’t quite believe that she does. She knows exactly how this is going to end. Really there’s only one way that it can, realistically speaking. But,  how pathetic she is, she craves the witch so much that she is more than willing to face further humiliation just for a taste of what she craves. Just for a lovely little illusion.

.oOo.

“Oh she’s going to weep.” Stormy chuckles.

“She’s going to do more than weep by the time I’m through.” Icy vows.

“And here I thought that I was the devious, alluring one.” Darcy quirks a brow and runs her fingers through her locks.

“You just keep toying with Riven, I’ll make sure that Lucy doesn’t lurk outside our dorm ever again. I never was a fan of Fae Hearts's day, ladies. But this will be one to remember.”

“But wait!” Stormy bolts upright. “What if she, like, loses it and gets more obsessive and weird?”

“Then we’ll teach her another lesson.” Darcy shrugs.”

All she will have to do is endure one loathsome day. A few hours of false gushing and pseudo sweet talk will pave the way for days of wicked delight.

.oOo.

The cafe is particularly crowded when she arrives, dressed in her favorite ripped plaid dress and a set of matching arm warmers that are at least a size or two too big. She swallows and takes a deep breath as she searches the ice witch out. It only takes one quick sweep to know that she isn’t there--the woman is the sort to stand out rather starkly. But she does a second and third sweep anyhow.

She has to laugh, of course she wouldn’t even show up. That’s the oldest trick in the book. But she had so fervently hoped that Icy would at least pretend to love her for an hour or so.

“You’re early.”

Lucy jerks.

“You showed up?”

Icy quirks a brow. “You’re welcome.” She breezes by. “We’ll sit over there.” She points to the table at the very center of the room. The one that is already occupied. “I always sit there.”

“But that spot is already taken.”

She snaps her fingers and the platters on the table begin to wriggle and crawl. And then they are knocked to the floor as the couple scrambles away. Worms, grubs, and roaches turn back to soup, chili, and gummies. She snaps a second time and the mess is cleaned. “Looks vacant to me.”

“You’re terrible.”

“The vileist.” Icy smirks.

“It’s admirable.”

“Naturally.” She pulls out a chair. “Sit. Tell me about yourself, and make it good, I don’t waste my time on losers.”

“I’m not.”

“Convince me.”

She clears her throat. She hadn’t realized that this was going to be an interview. “I thought that this was a date.” She scoffs. “Not an interrogation.”

Icy crosses her arms and leans back in her chair.

“I can play the guitar.” She caves.

“The guitar? I play myself. What brand and model?”

“I have a SpiderMistress, Cauldron Green. You?”

“SpiderMistress as well. Midnight Hex.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide. “How’d you get that? Those models are super expensive.”

“I won it at a competition a few years back.”

“Maybe we can, I don’t know, have some kind of practice together! Are you, Darcy, and Stormy in a band.”

Icy snickers. “We don’t have time for that. Though I suppose that Stormy is a pretty capable singer and Darcy wouldn’t be terrible on the drums.” She shrugs. “Anyways, it’s a useless hobby.”

“Why do you say that?”

She catches a flicker of something in the woman’s frigid eyes. Something sincere, sad, regretful? It is gone before she can decipher it. Gone so fast that she may have imagined it entirely. “It means nothing compared to higher goals. I have ambitions, real ambitions.”

“And talent.” Lucy declares. “I haven’t heard you play but you’re good at everything else you do.”

“True.” Icy replies. “But I’ve been told that my talents are best invested elsewhere. I think I’d like a bigger following than a handful of groupies.”

The way groupies rolls off of her tongue. That pointed stare… Lucy’s heart sinks. She is pathetic, she knows that she is. Really she isn’t much better than a groupie and Icy isn’t even famous. She pushes it down and tries to play it off. “Yeah. Why settle for less when you can have more?” She wonders if she is settling for less by trying for someone who thinks of her as less.

“Yes, that’s a good question. Why would I settle for less.”

Lucy’s heart sinks further.

“My powers are nice and all but I think that with a touch of dragon fire magic…” she trails off and takes a spoonful of ice cream. “That’ll make a real show, don’t you think?”

Lucy nods vigorously. “I mean your magic is amazing the way it is. You’re the most powerful witch that I know. But how badass would it be to have fire and ice magic?” She is kissing so much ass. Gushing and rambling and making a fool of herself. She wishes that they could just stick to talking about guitars. “What would you do with all of that power?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Icy replies. She holds out her spoon, “have a taste.”

She wants to, desperately, just to taste the witch on her tongue. But how sadly desperate would that look. “After you licked it?” She crinkles her nose.

Icy scoffs. “How do you plan to…” she leans in closer. “Make out if you can’t even share a spoon with me.”

Lucy swallows. “Licking a spoon isn’t as exciting as making out. All or nothing.” She does a lot of big talk for someone with such low confidence.

Icy quirks a brow. “All or nothing.” She shrugs. And with an alarming abruptness, she pulls Lucy in by the collar and plants her lips upon hers. They are as frosty as she had expected and she tastes of spearmint and cigarettes. She smells of it too. She tangles her long blue fingernails in her hair. She is vicious and merciless, it’s exhilarating.

And she pulls back. “Wow, that was the most underwhelming kiss I’ve ever had. Usually they at least try to impress me.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Improv, my dear.” She drawls. She leans back once more, draping her hands on the arm rests.

And something snaps. Something that should have snapped ages ago. But it comes as a desire. A desire to shove the chair over if only to see that smug, conceited smirk crack. To shatter the woman’s ego if only for a moment.

“You know what, I don’t know why I tried!” She stands up with a quickness that knocks the chair to the floor. She has to keep her momentum before it vacates. “I think that it’s because I feel bad for you. You’re hollow and shallow and...and…” her lip twitches into a snarl, “you aren’t as amazing as you think you are. Do you even think that you’re amazing?” She isn’t sure how to end her rant so she finishes with the first thing that comes to mind, “you can have the most expensive guitar on the market but that doesn’t mean that you have the talent to play it.”  

And it is gone, that smug, conceited look. Gone and she hadn’t had to even raise a fist. She balls them both and makes her way to the door. She has dignity. She has self-respect.

And she deserves more than a stupid game. All or nothing. All of the nothing in the world is better than letting herself chase after one moment of false love. Her heart isn’t so foolish as she had thought.

.oOo.

It wasn’t supposed to have gone like that. Lucy wasn’t supposed to have left. That was her role. She rubs her hands over her face. She was supposed to be doing the humiliating. Not that she hadn’t been able to save herself the worst of it with a remark about how dramatic witches these days are.

But that isn’t it. That isn’t what keeps itching and clawing at her mind. She lightly raps her fist against her forehead, as though she can knock the deeper, more disturbing implications from her mind.

She wishes that the woman would have just flinched and cried like the rest of them. She wishes that Lucy were as unbearable, cringe-inducing, and repulsive as she had assumed that she would be. She was supposed to have been intolerably embarrassing to be around.

She wasn’t supposed to have talked about guitars or bands or anything that Icy is thoroughly and truly interested in. She wasn’t supposed to have made these things sound so intriguing and worth investing time into. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to have shown any teeth.

Icy doesn’t think that anyone has had the balls to stand up to her so publicly and, God, how intriguing it is. She cringes to herself. Not Lucy. Not loser Lucy. It can’t be her of all people. Especially not after the game she’d tried to play. The game that she’d lost.

Lost and swapped decks. She inhales deeply. She supposes that she will just have to do what she does well, encase her heart in ice much thicker and colder than before. The feeling will pass, it always does. She has just as little time for romance as she does for silly guitar riffs.

She lays back and stares at the ceiling until Darcy and Stormy enter.

.oOo.

She notices Icy lingering. Lingering and, dare she say, lurking. It is almost laughable.  It could be that she is waiting for an opportunity to strike, watching and observing for weaknesses, an opening to take her vengeance. But somehow she senses that this isn’t the case.

No. The witch is exuding the very same energy that she once had.

She thinks that it would be plenty satisfying to march right up to her and let her know that she has been well aware of her presence and watch her stumble over a lie about how she had only been stalking about for the sake of feeling out the enemy.

It would be satisfying twice over to make a scene of it, to deal out the same brand of humiliation that the ice witch had intended for her. If only Lucy didn’t still feel so drawn to her. If only Icy wasn’t  everything she admired in a person; bold, confident, suave, and cool. If only she weren’t so beautiful in a cutting, razorlike way that is all her own.

She can very well toy with the woman, blackmail and mock her, rouse her hatred and contemptment. She can’t help but do so at least a little. “See something you like?” She calls into the hallway. She expects the woman to slink away with a muttered curse or two. Instead she slips out into the open and leans against the frame of the door with her arms folded across her chest as though she had intended to be seen in the first place.

“Perhaps a few things.” She flicks her hair. “We didn’t finish our date, Lucy.”

“I lost interest.”

Icy quirks a brow, “did you?”

She wishes that she had. “Mostly.”

“That’s a shame.” She shrugs. “I admit, you piqued mine. I didn’t realize that you had fight.”

It occurs to her that perhaps the ice witch is very much into that. Into someone who is willing to get in her face and fight back. She can’t imagine that many people would.

“It’s compelling. Keeps things intense.” She continues.

“Well, while you look for fights, I’m going to look for respect.” Now that she has found it she isn’t willing to let it go so easily.

Icy is quiet for a moment. “You have already.”

“Was that a compliment?”

.oOo.

The deeper this conversation goes the less worth she thinks it has. She is going to make a fool of herself, and for what? Love? That isn’t the downfall she has in mind for herself. “Don’t push your luck, Lucy. I still have curses and hexes that will…”

“Make me regret ever setting foot in Cloud Tower? Yeah, I get the gist.”

“Do you?”

“Get to the point. Are you here to hex me or kiss me?”

Really, why not both? “I guess that, that’s up to you.” Though she supposes that she’d much prefer to have another go at the woman’s lips. “Show me what you can do now that you’re prepared.”

Lucy grips the door and Icy is certain that it is about to slam in her face. Instead the woman damn near throws her into the wall. Her kiss is rough, almost savage. Intriguing. She curls her fingers into strands of dark green hair and adds a frosty edge of her own. And then Lucy pulls back as abruptly as she had engaged. Her breathing is still decently ragged. “Improv, my dear.” She says again, “can make or break the moment, do you understand now.”

Lucy nods. “Perfectly.”

“Well then...” Icy trails a finger over the woman’s cheek, content to have taken back at least some control.

“Well then, what?” She puts her hands on her hips.

“Are you interested in a real date?”

“Don’t you have a reputation to uphold?”

Icy rolls her eyes, “I’m the one who decides what’s in and what’s out. Welcome to the in crowd, Lucy.” So long as she keeps up with her newfound confidence she will stay for quite a long time. And with luck Icy won’t have to do any of the work to keep her at the top. “It suits you better, Lucy. This, self-respect thing.”

.oOo.

A second date. A real date. Her heart thrums faster than it has in a while. And the ice witch doesn’t think that she’s pathetic. And when they speak in the halls it feels different, she doesn’t call her a loser this time. She doesn’t dismiss her, doesn’t mock her with Darcy and Stormy when she is just on the fringes of earshot.

It doesn’t take terribly long for the two of them to get used to her stopping by the dorm. They still whisper. She still hears them questioning and pestering Icy. Icy invites her over more. Icy makes a point of slinking as close to her as possible, of getting handsy, of initiating deep kisses. “If they hate what your doing,” she mutters in Lucy’s ear, her voice husky with passion, “do it in front of them, exaggerate it, give them something to really talk about.”

She wonders if Icy has always been so bold or if it is the product of trial and error and one big sweeping success that has driven her to the top.

“You have much more allure when you aren’t copying everything that I do.”

“I’ve found that there isn’t anything worth copying.” Lucy smirks.

Icy gives a haughty sniff, “fuck you, Lucy.” She grabs her by the scruff of her shirt and pulls her onto the bed.

She wishes that she would have found her sense of self worth earlier.