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busycryin · 4 years ago

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Disinhibition

Pairing: Benjamin ‘Benny’ Miller x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Injury, bad words, mentions of sex.

Summary: Benny gets injured and loses his filter. (Not that he had much of one to begin with)

Note: This is self indulgent fluff. I regret nothing. I am in love with all of these men.

It was never your idea of a fun Friday night - watching Benny get the ever living shit beaten out of him.

Until six months ago you’d never have even set foot in an event such as this, but here you were, beer in hand watching the brother of your best friend take an uppercut to the face in a fight you think he was winning.

To you Benny was the gentle giant; a sweet guy who topped up the window wiper fluid in your car when it got low or the guy that gave you the last hot dog at the barbeque because he knew you secretly hated Frankie’s burgers. In this ring he was one hundred percent the warrior you’d heard stories of as a mask of icy calculation had descended across his features.

The outside world was shut out; it was just him and his opponent in the ring.

His opponent just so happened to be a gorilla - there was no other way to describe the mans body as his arms were thick chords of muscles covering bone - somehow managing to make Benny look lithe.

You were still new to this but you weren’t quite sure how he was even in the same weight class.

Christ, this was bad for your blood pressure.

You couldn’t help the butterflies fluttering around your stomach despite the fact that for every hit Benny took he landed two. The two were locked into a hold on the ground, you didn’t quite understand what was happening, but Ben had somehow got the upper hand. It was as he held the man down that the bell finally rang and you released a breath you didn’t realise you were holding; the round was over.

Santiago, another friend of Will’s who was standing beside you and Frankie, blew out a heavy breath.

“This is a fuckin’ close one.”

“Guys fuckin’ huge.” Frankie echoed your thoughts whilst taking a sip of his beer.

Will was bent over Benny talking into his ear as the younger of the duo desperately chugged his water bottle. He looked absolutely exhausted, your heart was beating madly in your chest; you decided to remain silent.

All too soon the break was over and the mouth guard was back in place protecting those pearly whites that were often directed at you in a half-smirk/half-grin concoction that always signalled he was up to no good.

“Don’t worry, Guapa! Ben’s got this, he’s one tough sonovabitch.” Frankie patted your back reassuringly. Somehow you weren’t convinced but you smiled at both of the men, nodding enthusiastically and draining your half full beverage.

You knelt to place your cup under your seat, rising finally as the bell rang, signalling the beginning of a new round of torture. Your hands interlocked nervously in front of your mouth flinching at every hit the other man landed on Benny.

You felt Santiago pat your shoulder and shoot you a smile whilst he cheered for the younger Miller. “He’s got this, Y/N.” He spoke, repeating Frankie’s earlier reassurances.

Benny did not have this.

As was made evidently clear a couple of minutes later when the two were grappling on the ground, his opponent had got the upper hand and was above him trying to get him to submit. But Benny being Benny wouldn’t give in, despite being banged to rights. 193 pounds didn’t seem so heavy right now as his opponent twisted his arm to the ground, his thick legs wrapped around Ben’s torso.

Your heart dropped as you could’ve swore you heard the crack of bone over the crowd. Finally Benny tapped.

The fight was over, he’d lost.

Santiago had thrown his hat off raking his fingers through his hair in disappointment “Mierda! I thought he had it!”

“That guy was fucking massive, I hope he’s okay.” You mumbled when you realised Ben was still sitting on the padded ground.

“Let’s go see, eh?” Frank gestured towards the ring where a medic had now entered, tailed closely by Will. You had to stop yourself from racing to his side as sat injured in the ring.

You see, you and Benny had a complicated relationship.

Well it wasn’t that difficult, simply put Ben was a bit of a slut, now you didn’t judge him. Live and let live, you say, but casual sex just wasn’t your thing. Especially not with the brother of your best friend. You’d come to rely on your easy friendship with the older Miller brother so you avoided your relationship with Ben going beyond flirting - your friendship wasn’t something you wanted to fuck with on a whim.

So, a strange friendship in limbo was where you and Benjamin Miller firmly remained.

Benny was pulled up into standing, his face was pale as the MMA medic inspected his arm. The man shook his head at Will as they walked, both supporting the injured man.

“-dislocated, he’s gonna have to go to the ER.” The three of you caught the end of the conversation as you followed the trio.

“He okay?” Frankie questioned first “Going to the hospital?”

“Yeah, the idiot pushed himself too far. Popped his shoulder out of the socket instead of submitting.”

“Shit, Ben! Are you okay?” You asked, rushing to his side.

“I’m fine Y/N.” He grunted ever the hard headed soldier, his face was laced with pain even as he tried to be impassive in his agony.

You backed off at his clear dismissal, not wanting to push him whilst he was in such pain.

“We’ll meet you there, yeah?” Santiago questioned.

In the end, you and ‘Pope’ sat in the hospital chairs for an hour or two waiting. Frankie had waited for an hour before he had to get back to his family, the two of you had insisted he get back. It wasn’t fair on Mama Morales to have to look after the baby on her own.

Santiago was the friend of Will’s you knew the least. He was always kind but he simply was never around. He came and went as he pleased much like an outdoor cat, but in the short time you’d been around him you knew he was a nice guy. Two, going on three hours alone talking about nonsense had pretty much cemented that as you now sat in the waiting room playing go fish, waiting desperately to hear some news about your - What exactly was Benny to you?

Your crush? No. You weren’t in Kindergarten.

Your friend? No. Not enough.

The guy you had incredibly strong feelings for - the kind that made that tingle in your stomach when he laughed at your jokes but you can’t tell him because he’s a man whore who can’t commit to one woman? No. Abit long, not to mention a complete overshare.

Your person.

You were waiting desperately to hear some news about your person when finally Will rounded the corner. You stood before you realised what you were doing.

“He okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Asking about you Y/N, come and see him?”

“Of course.” You reply picking up your purse.

Both you and Santi follow Will through the winding hospital halls. You hear Benjamin before you see him.

“I wanna rock and roll all night and party everyday! ” His usually melodious voice is hoarse and slurred, he sounded somewhat drunk as he butchered the rock song from his favourite band.

“I love you too, man.” Will says with a small smile on his face as he sits on one of the chairs beside the bed.

“He’s had some anesthesia. He’s pretty high right now, so brace yourselves.” He’s sitting up in the bed arm wrapped in a sling, staring up at the ceiling as he sings (shouts) when you round the corner.

“Will, you’re back!” He lights up as he sees his brother “I love you.”

However Will is forgotten instantly as soon as Benny catches sight of you. “Will! This is her, Christ, its the angel I fuckin’ told you about!”

“Calm down, Ben.” Will still has the smile on his face but he tilts his head to the other patient behind the curtain being subjected to his younger brother's lack of an indoor voice.

“How are you doing, Brother?” Santi questions, sitting on the chair to the other side of him.

He looks at Santiago. “Pope! Have you seen her? She’s so gorgeous, man. She’s here.”

You chuckle as you walk to stand beside him on the bed. He instantly takes your hand in his good one and pats the bed beside him. You can’t help but acquiesce despite the cloudy look in his eyes. It’s like the lights are all on but nobody's really home.

You hop up, facing him sideways on. You’re not about to cuddle the man in front of Will and Santiago, no matter how desperately you’d like to.

“How you feeling, Soldier?”

“Better now you’re here, Angel.” You can’t help the snort that comes out at his words.

“I’m glad I can help.”

“You could help me in another way y’know Y/N.” He smirks in a way that is so completely Benny you almost forget he’s delirious.

“I think you might regret this when you have a filter, lovely.”

“You hear that Will?” Benny’s whisper isn’t quite as stealthy as he believes as his voice is barely quieter than a shout. “She fuckin’ called me lovely, I’m fuckin in there man!”

“...No way...” Will replies simultaneously trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Y’know Ben you might want to calm down, you might be making Y/N uncomfortable.”

“Y/N… Oh god Y/N. She's gorgeous man, inside and out and her tits -Man her tits are-” He makes a growling noise.

“Ben!” Will admonishes whilst Santiago is looking on, his hand covering his mouth desperately trying to contain his chortles. “I think you should get some rest buddy.”

“I’ma do that. I’ma put my arms down, my head back and get some rest.” Benny tells his brother resolutely all whilst nodding his head and in his defense he does just that… for a grand total of ten seconds before his blue eyes reopen and fix on you.

“Y/N?” Benny ‘whispers’ whilst tugging on your hand that is still firmly locked with his good one.

“Mmh?”

“I think we should have a baby.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. We can have like 6 babies and I’ma’ fuck you so good every single night for the rest of our lives and we can have our own barbecues and I’ll cook you up the hamburgers special.” You can’t help it as your eyes widen exposing the whites in their entirety. You’re trapped somewhere between laughing and mortification as you know there’s no way in hell Will and Santi didn’t hear that.

“I’m not a baby machine dude, six kids is alot for my body to handle.”

“You’ll think about it?” He asks his eyes heavy as they lock on yours.

“Moron,” You chuckle whilst raising the hand which is not currently his prisoner and push the strand of dirty blonde hair from his eyes “You get some rest and I’ll give you all the babies you can handle, big guy.”

“If I go to sleep am I going to die?”

“No, Ben. You won’t die.” You can’t help a final giggle at his expense, apparently Benjamin Miller without a filter is quite the character. Finally he closed his eyes, his strong much larger hand still wrapped around your own as he drifted off.

A few moments passed and nobody seemed to know what to say. Every suspicion they’d had, had been confirmed. You hoped to god they weren’t going to tease him about it.

“Don’t make fun of him too badly when he wakes up, fellas.” You mumble awkwardly, your eyes not leaving his face.

“That’s my line.” Will pipes up from his seat when you finally meet his eyes. “My brothers a stubborn guy, he’ll see this as a screwing things up with you Y/N/N.”

“He never said anything. The guy’s impossible to read.”

“Nah, you’re just too close to it, is all.” Will supplied - ever the guiding light in your world recently.

“Well. We’ll see, won't we?” The guys start discussing the fight, about where Ben went wrong - something you didn’t really want to think about for a long time - or in the very least until his shoulder was healed.

Finally during the lull of conversation as they’re both checking their phones you go to ask Will when they’re releasing the giant moron when Santiago finally speaks up. “So, Y/N. You and Ben mind naming one of the kids after me? I figure with 6 of em’ you can spare at least one for the namesake.”

Tag List:

All - @benakenalove

#benny miller x reader #benny x reader #benjamin miller x reader #ben benny miller #benny miller #Benjamin Miller #ben miller x reader #triple frontier #benjamin benny miller x reader #triple froniter fanfiction

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laketaj24 · 4 years ago

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The Business II: Sorry Mama

A/N: Sorry, I promised this Monday! But here it is! It is a little lengthy, but I think it’s worth it. Taglist here. Reqs are open! Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Smut, daddy kink, a little pettiness -

Part I

Colson Baker Masterlist

Song Inspo: Sorry Mama, Phem and Machine Gun Kelly

His home made you feel as if your tiny loft apartment above the record store was a fuck up. You didn’t even have a front door in Colorado, and here you were being presented a room bigger than your entire apartment. You sat comfortably on the bed, trying to escape a reality that was smacking you in the face.

“Interview at the radio station in the morning.” You had out your planner jotting down the long list of his upcoming events and practices. “Shit, he’s going to Cleveland next week.” Did you even have your license? Were you able to fly?

“Busy?” He knocked on the open bedroom door and then leaned his tall body against the door frame.

“Uhm, just making a schedule for the next few days.”

“Are you always awkward as hell?”

You scoffed. “Are you always abrasive?”

“Abrasive, no. Honest, generally yes. I’ve been trying to get you alone for two days.”

“I didn’t know.” You lied. His attempts were blatant; he’d bought you coffee every morning, granted you were his assistant, and he’d attempted conversations with you but him being your boss made it hard to define the lines in whatever you two were doing. “What are you trying to get me alone for?”

“To talk,” Colson walked into your room. “How are you liking it?”

“It’s pretty busy; you travel a lot.”

He chuckled. “Yep, all the time. Are you regretting it?”

“No,” you answered. “You?”

“Nah, I mean, you haven’t gotten me coffee or like done anything yet, but I think you’re cool.”

Your mouth dropped, and he burst into laughter. “Can I do anything for you today, Mr. Baker?”

“For me, no. I’m great. But you can come out of this room and go a few places.”

“My wardrobe is shitty. I’ve washed this outfit three times. And it’s not even mine.”

“It’s clear it’s mine,” he laughed again. “Let’s get you some clothes.”

“I’m gonna pay you back.”

“No, the fuck you’re not, meet me downstairs. And you gotta wear your own shoes, you can’t fit mine. I’m like certain you don’t have big feet.”

He disappeared, leaving you in the bedroom by your lonesome. You had been sheltered the past three days, not talking to anyone but Kara, who had nothing good to say. And at this point, it didn’t matter. You just wanted her to stop calling you; she’d left you drunk with a bus full of men and said good luck.

The phone rang again and again; you answered, this time perching it on your shoulder. “Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“Do I sound distraught to you?”

“You don’t have to be a smart ass! You quit your job. You haven’t come home. I was worried.”

“I’ve got a new job; I’m good. Thanks.”

“Being a whore?” She scoffed. “What’s the job?”

“None of your god damn business, you smart-ass arrogant bitch.” The call ended, and the eyes of Rook landed on you. “What?”

“You okay?”

“Oh, I’m better than fine.” You growled. Perhaps you shouldn’t take your anger out on him, but you did. “Can you move?”

“Certainly.” He smirked.

He moved out of the way, and you headed down the stairs; Colson awaited keys in hand and a smile on his face. “Assistant?”

“Colson.”

“Yeah?”

“Are we leaving?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door for you and waited for you to go first. You lead the way staring at the array of vehicles in the driveway.

The store didn’t have everything that you wanted, but you were impressed it offered more than what you expected.” You looked at the black dress, slinkily hanging from the manikin. The satin would hug your curves, but it wouldn’t put them out for everyone to see. You liked it. You touched the soft fabric and then picked it up.

“If you get that dress, you gotta wear it home.” He said from behind you.

“Why is that” You two had not addressed the elephant in the room. You’d rode this man for hours straight and would do it again if he looked at you a certain way. But he was now your boss; there were lines to not cross in business. This was an apparent line that should not be crossed.

“I want my clothes back.” He said with a crooked smile. “So you either wear that or go naked?” Colson shrugged and looked in the body-length mirror in front of him. “You can decide; I think U might win either way.”

“What’s the prize that you win?”

“I don’t know exactly; you've been quiet as hell ever since you got off the tour bus.”

“I don’t remember how we met.” You admitted.

“You remember nothing?” He cocked a brow. Colson looked at you through the mirror; his face is stoic and unmoving. “You were that fucked up?”

“I’m not a good girl.” You answered. “I figured you knew that.”

“I don’t like good girls, so perfect.” He turned to face you and bit his lip. “You really remember nothing?”

“Is it worth remembering?” You teased.

“I’ll give you a refresher.” Colson pointed to the dress. “Put that on.”

“I’ll don’t think I want it anymore.” You brushed past him and looked up. “I’ll find something I like Colson, you just chill. Isn’t that what you told me you were here for? Just to chill.”

“You’re right; take your time.” Colson gave in quickly with a slight nod, and he moved to the men’s part of the store, not paying you any attention.

You were not a good girl; that made telling him no easy. So if you wanted to fuck him, you could fuck him. But, unfortunately, this was not the time; you barely remembered how this all started. Had it not been for the video footage, you’d be fucked. The feelings were all there, you blushed every time he cracked a smile, and yet you stood in a mental chamber confused about what to do.

You picked up a few items and headed into the changing rooms. They were huge, not like the department storerooms you were accustomed to; there was a mirror and a chair. You hung threw your clothes over the door and picked up the first dress. It was bright yellow, not really what an assistant should wear. You didn’t care. You slid it over your hips, jumping once to get over your ass, and then looked in the mirror. Yellow always looked good on you. You shook your head yes and smiled. Shit…, you were beautiful, hair pulled a messy ass bun and glasses on the tip of your noses, and you were the baddest bitch you’d ever seen in your eyes.

It was a yes for the yellow dress. You tossed it over the door creating a mental yes pile for yourself. It took you about ten minutes to try on every dress. Three yes and two no, it worked for you. Maybe he would find a normal store so you could have leggings; there was no way in hell you were wearing dresses the entire gig. You shimmied out of the last dress and tossed it over the door, and it disappeared, snatched down the moment it hit the door. Then you realized… no clothes were hanging there. Every piece you’d draped over was gone. You stood with your panties in bra with a dropped mouth. The awe was real; he got you. The sneaky man fucking left you helpless.

“Colson!”

“What’s up?” He asked innocently.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?”

“Oh, my clothes? They are in the car.”

“Oh my god! You asshole. Give me my clothes.” Your heart dropped as you heard his laughter, and then you joined him. “This is not how you fuck me again.”

“It is, however, how I get you to try this dress on for me.” He hung the black dress over the door. “Please?”

“Fine!”

“Thank you, Y/N. You are so difficult.”

“Mark my words, you sneaky little bastard.”

“Little?”

You snickered. “Big sneaky cocky bastard.”

“Better,” Colson said. “What words am I marking?”

“If you get this pussy… it won’t be today.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.” You took the dress from him and started to get dressed. He somehow guessed your size appropriately, and you didn’t even care; you were impressed. The dress felt as good as you imagined earlier. It fit you right, hitting a few inches above your knee, accentuated your ass, and making your breast pop. This was a club dress for sure, but here you were, walking out the dressing room with it. Colson awaited you in the front of the store, bags in his hand and a wicked smile on his face. “You like it?”

“Fucking love it.” He shook his head and pointed to the clerk. “She’s fine as fuck, right.”

The woman blushed and pulled her hair behind her ear. “It looks good on you!” She beamed.

“Don’t lie; she’s fine as hell.” He walked over to you, draping his long arm around your shoulders. “You like it?”

“I do.”

“Road trip.” He took your hand in his and pushed the front door open to the store, and lead you out. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good, I could eat too.” The edged sentence hit your pussy immediately, but he just kept walking to the car, ignoring the few people who recognized who he was and opened the door for you. They kept their distance, but the vultures were out and clicking their cameras.

Colson hopped into the car and pointed to your seatbelt. “Buckle up.”

“You're not worried about them?”

“Who?”

“The paparazzi”

“Oh, Nah, they got a job to do. Let them do it.” He shrugged.

“They’ll know about me.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He merged into traffic and sighed. “They’ll know you’re my assistant tomorrow at the interview.”

“Right!” You exhaled. Small reality check, you swallowed and looked into the bag. “You have a busy tomorrow lined up, you know that?”

“I do; you do too.”

“Are you sure about having me as your assistant? I can go home; you don’t have to keep being nice to me because a groupie made it back to Cali with you.”

“Nah, you act like you don’t even like me.” He shot you a loo a sped the car up, “You got nothing to worry about, right?”

“That’s right.”

He got food for the both of you, but he didn’t head back to his place. Instead, you were outside of the city driving up the hills of California; you’d always wanted to come here, so you took in the scenery while mentally going over the schedule again for tomorrow. Colson's hand rested on your thigh, the calloused pads of his fingers stroked playfully up and down your legs. You liked the feeling. It had been a while since you’d felt some guitarist hands on your body. Apparently, he played it more than you gave him credit. He gripped you occasionally and dug into your flesh. Sensual act for someone who had a new girl every three days.

“You’re from Colorado,” He asked as the car slowed at the top of the hill. The plateau gave a good view of the city that thrived a few miles over.

“No, I’m actually from Texas, but I left when I was twenty. My parents were hella strict.” You peeked into the bag of food and grabbed one of his fries.

“Colorado served you well.”

“I just moved there, I went to New York, got a really good job, lost it, and then moved to Colorado with my mom and her new husband. I hate it.”

“Well, good you don’t live there anymore.” Colson parked the car, let his seat back, and took the bag from you.

“You say th-,” Your phone rang. Your mother’s face flashed before you, and you rolled your eyes. “Give me a moment.”

Parents were needed; you knew this, but your mother had criticisms, and if you knew Kara, she’d called your mom to tell her about the last few days. No, you had not answered her calls, and you didn’t intend to deal with it now, but if you knew your mother correctly, she was two seconds from declaring you are missing.

“Hello.” You answered the Facetime call, and your mother did not look impressed, just worried.

“Y/N.” She shook her head. “Where are you? Did you quit your job? Haven’t you been home in days? Are you okay?’

“I am fine.” You shook your head. “I have a new job now, and I will be home soon. I promise.”

“With that, whatever the fuck he is?” She stared at you.

Colson leaned in the frame, “Performer. Hey Miss Y/L/N.”

“I am married now; that’s not my name.” She cut daggers into him. “Walk away from him; I would like to talk to you alone.”

You sighed, “Be back.” You stepped out of the car and walked a few steps from him. You hoped he wouldn’t hear your mom act a complete ass on the line, but she was about to be loud. “Mom.”

“Don’t fucking mom me,” She hissed. “Don’t do this,” She paused. “Come home, now. Tell that tug to give you a ride, and maybe they’ll hire you back at the gas station.”

“You really think your daughter is only worthy of a gas station?” Colson appeared behind you.

“Give me a second.”

“Hang up on her.” He shrugged. “Conversation was over before it started; she didn’t give you a chance to explain anything. She just assumed you were out whoring?” He raised his brow at you. “Conversation was done five seconds ago; hang up.”

“Tell that boy to stay out of this,” She added.

“Mom, I got a job as his assistant.”

“A whore?”

“Okay,” You tried to block her assumption ut. “I will call you back later.”

“Yeah, away from him.” She ended the call.

“You know how to make shit worst!” You stared at him.

“Or better. Fuck her, fuck that little ass gas station. Fuck her calling you a whore.” Colson took your hand and spun you around once; the move resembled dancing. You felt like you were floating; he twirled you back to your chest.

“I didn’t know you were this sweet.” You said, looking up at him.

“I have my moments.” He admitted. He swayed with you. “They’re not as rare as people think.” Colson sighed and lifted you from the ground easily. Your feet dangled as he walked you back to the car and placed you on the hood. “I think this is going to be good for you, so don’t worry about the shit that’s going on back home; this is a good thing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I keep meaning that shit too.” He stood in front of you and lifted your chin. “You really don’t remember that fucking kiss.”

“Which one,” You smiled.

“This one,” Colson’s lips met yours, and your breath disappeared as did the need to breathe, and you didn’t instantly remember, but the butterflies were familiar. He cradled your head to give him more access; his tongue dipped into your mouth and met yours. You moaned, tasting him, and fought the urge to wrap your arms around him and moving this along faster.

You pushed him back a little and took a quick breath. “It was that good?”

“Um, that was better.” His face turned a shade of red. “Fuck.”

You two met again, this time with no intention of stopping. Colson’s long fingers moved up the line of your thighs, pulling the soft fabric with it; you raised your ass from the hood of the car and unbuckled his belt. “What’re you gonna do to me?” You whispered.

“Make you forget who you are,” He whispered.

Were you going to fuck him on the hood of his car? Absolutely. You tugged at the seam of his boxers, tugging on the elastic, and he pulled them down enough for him to spring out from them. Eagerly you stroked him from hilt to tip, and he pushed you back on the hood of the car, fuck warming you up… you were wet enough. He gripped your thighs, pushing them open and running his fingers down the slit of your pussy before he slammed into you.

The sun had started to set, but if anyone wanted a show of you getting fucked they had it, legs open and back arched from the car. He suppressed a growl fucking you slowly. He took pleasure in watching your face contort each time his length went into you. “You’re perfect.”Colson’s tone dropped to a whisper, but that fucking whisper was enough. You wanted to sit up and ride the fuck out of him.

He hit deep, the curve of his cock hitting the right time you bucked against him, spasming, and he’d only been in yu a few minutes. “How many are you gonna give me today?” Colson asked.

“How many do you want?” You rested on your elbows and gave him a smile.

“Everything you fucking got.” He slid out of you and pulled you closer to him, kissing you before he turned you around and bent you over the car and slapped the round globes of your ass. Colson played for a second, slipping one finger into you and then another. You mewled, wiggling your ass against his war cock, coaxing him to slide into you. He played into it, rubbing the head of his cock across your entrance and then sliding back into you.

Your teeth clamped onto your bottom lip, and you were flushed, relishing his movements. He pushed into you, rounding his and pulling you back onto him. “Look at that pretty pussy.” He hovered over you. “How she’s fucking shaking for me; I think she remembers who daddy is… Let me see if I can make you.”

Was that a challenge? His hand traveled down your back to the line of your ass, and he pushed a finger into you while he continued to fuck you. His pace left you winded, but the feel of the pressure of him being in both had you elated. “Fu-,” You bit your tongue.

“Y/N.” He sung and then slammed into you once more. His finger curved, and you screamed. “Say it for me, call me daddy.”

“Daddy, don’t stop.” You all but sang, and Colson reacted accordingly, making his fingers move expertly to apply just enough pressure, and his cock hit just the right angle. Of course, you fell apart under him, but he didn’t stop, nor did you want him to. You could handle this if this is what he wanted from you.

The thought of him stopping hadn’t crossed his mind; he was too enchanted in watching your ass bounce on him and feeling the shockwaves of the orgasm flow through your pussy onto his cock.

The evening passed seamlessly; you had worked up an appetite, so you ate, talking about tomorrow, and he drove back to the house. The house was quieter than usual, TVs could be heard, but everyone had separated. “Get some sleep.” He said, opening the front door for you. “we got a busy ass day tomorrow.”

“Will do, good-,” Colson’s lips met yours once more. “Night.”

“Night.” He took the bags from you. “See you tomorrow.”

Your mind raced as you walked up the steps to your room. This was going to be more difficult than you intended, fuck blurred lines--- you could barely see straight.

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#machine gun kelly #mgk x reader #mgk x black!reader #colson baker #colson baker x reader #colson baker x black reader #laketa j writes

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bratkook · 4 years ago

Text

eleven months. (m) myg. two.

masterlist.

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: fluff, slow burn!!!, eventual smut, warnings: brief non-descriptive mention of death, otherwise none word count: 7k author’s note: here’s some more backstory on both of them as well as more interaction beyond yoongi hunting down an album by the cure lmao. like i said before, i’m really soft for yoongi in this story so lmk what you think! (also..because i hate myself and love piling up wips, theres mention of oc having a previous love interest that’s actually part of another story that takes place in this universe that’s a prequel soooo...coming soon lol) taglist (open): @min-yus summary: it’s been years of yoongi living his routine life, accustomed to his pace of living, going with the flow and simply existing. until you come along. yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, but he weirdly craves it. craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what’s coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. and maybe you can help with that.

In the next coming weeks it becomes obvious that Yoongi is in fact a regular. His routine visits allow you to remember the usual days and times he’d pop in, so you knew if you’d be working on his chosen days.

Somewhere in between his casual drop ins, the two of you had formed somewhat of a friendship— or the beginning stages of one at least. Yoongi liked your sense of humor, how open and friendly you were to anyone you encountered, always having something to say about anything. Conversation came easy to you, never running out of stories. It left Yoongi thinking you’ve definitely lived about ten lifetimes compared to him.

In turn, you liked how he let you steer the conversation any way you chose. Most people would probably watch on in horror at the way you’d go from talking about a specific song or band, and then switching to a story about how you chased a pickpocketer during your travels before moving on to talking about your roommate’s cat. None of it gave him whiplash though, seamlessly flowing into the next topic with a grin on his face, never feeling like he had to think too hard to keep it going. It worked best this way. Yoongi was observant by nature, a great listener above it all, so if you were the one doing most of the talking it was fine by him.

Everyone at Rkive360 had taken notice that Yoongi’s usual five minute visits had turned into ten, and then twenty, until it became very clear he was lingering inside the store. No one told him anything, besides the fact that he was bestfriends with the owner and had immunity, all of you were fond of him. Taehyung enjoyed the sly remarks Yoongi would make, Sana just enjoyed ogling at him, Namjoon would never mind seeing him, and you would take any chance you could to attempt to wow him with your small knowledge of music.

It was a nice distraction whenever he stopped by, always heading straight to the back where the vinyl was kept. Sometimes he had a specific album in mind, other times he was simply browsing, but he only ever bought one at a time. It was routine, maybe even a weird ritual of sorts if he really thought about it.

On the days you knew he’d be coming you would spend a little extra time in the beginning of your shift picking out a few records to suggest to him if he didn’t have one in mind. Because of this, he had stopped his usual path to the bins and now came directly to you, the first stray off his usual routine.

Today you’re standing behind the counter, ringing up a customer when he walks in, a smile on your face as you chat away. He patiently waits at the far corner, leaning back against it as his eyes roamed the interior of the store, taking note of the way Sana and Taehyung were trying and failing to build a giant display. It looks like a mess of parts, scattered around with no instruction manual in sight— definitely Taehyung’s idea to toss it judging by Sana’s look of frustration.

He tears his gaze away from them beginning to argue when he hears you wish the customer a good day as they leave, pushing away from the counter and shuffling your way with a grin on his face. You smile back at the way his doughy cheeks push out, high points of them reflecting the light from above.

“Any shirt facts of the day?”

That had also become another common occurrence. Whenever you decided to wear a band shirt, he somehow always had random facts about whoever it was. It didn’t matter if it was some obscure french band or a 90’s rapper, Yoongi knew something about everyone, like some walking encyclopedia of musical artists. So when you take a step away and spread your arms out, he sees your shirt of choice today is The Doors, and he scoffs. Too easy.

“The Doors were the first band to ever advertise a new album on a billboard.” He nods his head slowly, almost as if he’s telling you yes I know, amazing right?

A hum leaves your lips at his fun fact, slightly impressed by it. “Interesting. Like always, I did not know that.” You peek under the counter top at the selection of records you kept stowed away for him, safe from any undeserving customers. “Now, do you want to see my daily, hand picked selection just for you.”

This was his new favorite pastime, getting to see the random albums you’d group together for him, wanting to know what you thought was worthy for him to listen to. When he nods, rubbing his hands together in excitement, you haul up the stack and carefully spread them out across the top.

The genre of the day was R&B, he can tell that much as he sorts through the albums. You’re familiar with the way he clumps together certain records, marking them down as albums he already owns, until he gets to an orange colored cover. The words The Internet fill the top right corner along with Ego Death on the bottom left. This he had never heard before. He picks it up and flips it over, scanning the song names with interest.

His eyes raise up to yours with curiosity, the same sharp gaze that somehow still makes you nervous holds the obvious question being passed between you with no need for words: are they any good? And the way you nod your head immediately convinces him enough. “Alright, I’ll give them a shot.”

A small sense of pride fills your chest, a tiny victory whenever he decides to pick something from your stack, trusting whatever music knowledge you had somehow convinced him you have. “I promise you’ll love them.”

When you hand him his change and the brown paper bag, you immediately check the time and clock out, dipping back under the counter and grabbing your bag from its hidden spot.

“Are you off?” Yoongi finds himself asking, no longer used to leaving immediately after he purchased something. The usual fifteen minute conversation you two had was missing today, and he’s not too sure how he feels about that.

“Yes I am, you were my last customer. The store will now be run by those two heathens. Here’s to hoping they don’t bite each others heads off while they finish building whatever the fuck that is.” Taehyung is now standing up, lazily holding up a part of the display as Sana tries to screw something together, angrily giving Taehyung commands but he only mimics her with a ridiculous face. And when she socks his thigh, her fist aiming a little too close to home, you let out a laugh.

Yoongi highly doubts that’s going to be possible, Namjoon would probably have to be the one left to finish building the display while also putting them on opposite sides of the store whenever he came in for the day. It was truly a shock that they had gone this long working together without an actual fist fight breaking out. If it came down to it, Yoongi had his money on Sana being able to whoop Tae’s ass.

“Do you know any good take out spots nearby? I’m starving and I’m still new to the area so I’ll take any recommendations.” Your voice snaps him back, his eyes looking at you briefly as the question registers within him.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a place not too far from here that has pretty good jajangmyeon.”

“Hell yeah.” Your hands pat your belly softly, coming up to readjust your bag as you walk around the counter and head for the door, shouting out a goodbye to Taehyung and Sana as you leave the store. When you exit the shop, your hand holding the door open behind you, you glance back inside in confusion when you spot Yoongi still standing by the counter with wide eyes. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

Truth be told, he had been wanting to talk to you outside of work for a while but he was scared to ask, not wanting to make you feel obligated to say yes just because he was a regular at your place of employment. Something about you seemed familiar to him, and to be quite honest he just craved social intimacy. His job consumed him and coming into this record shop was the small escape he needed, you being there was just a newly added plus.

You’re on the same page he is, wanting to hang out with him just as much as he had, something about the way he seemed like a half open book interested you. Throughout all of your adventures you had forced yourself to come out of your shell, no longer afraid or bashful when it came to initiating friendships. If you wanted to get to know someone better, then you’d bite first. And you definitely wanted to get to know Yoongi better.

It takes him a moment to react, his gaze switching from you to look back over at your coworkers, seeing Sana sending you a curious glance. Yoongi was about to attempt to muster up the courage to ask you to hang out and you beat him to the punch, but after a second he grins at you with a nod. Of course he was coming.

The weather in Seoul is forgiving today, the usual cold of autumn being prevalent in the air without the need to bundle up, the slight wind not stinging your skin as it blows around you. This was probably your favorite season, comfortable enough for you to do whatever you want without feeling restricted by heavy layers or sticky from the heat.

A soft smile is on your lips, hands shoved into the pockets of your baggy cardigan, and a small pep in your step as your eyes take in the world around you. That feeling you get when you visit a new town on vacation, how you’re just passing through for a brief moment in a place so many call home, it makes you realize how small you actually are.

It’s a feeling you always longed for, to experience a new place and make it home, it's the main reason you always bounced around so much. Staring at all the shops around you, taking in all the people just going about their daily life, you’re content with your new choice of scenery.

Too lost in your own head as you take in the shops and people around you, you snap out of it when Yoongi reaches out and clasps a hand on your shoulder, steering you to turn right when you keep walking straight. “Get your head out of the clouds.”

He hears the snort you let out, allowing him to guide you the correct way. Slowly trailing away from the main road, the amount of people lessens, only a handful of stores line up around the alley you had turned into. When you spare a glance at Yoongi you can see the excitement on his face, speeding up his pace until he’s standing in front of the restaurant. It’s a small hole in the wall shop that didn’t even look like it served food from the outside, all black exterior with a red sign hung up on top showcasing their name, Ipum.

It’s charming, and the way Yoongi spreads his arm out puts a similar smile on your face. Only then does he pull open the door, allowing you to step in first before he follows.

Once Yoongi steps inside he’s immediately greeted by the workers calling out his name in glee, bowing in response with a bashful smile as he approaches the small counter set up for take out orders, not needing to read the menu. You don’t realize he’s waiting for you as you take in the interior of the restaurant, the red dining tables surprisingly packed despite their lack of advertising outside. This place really must be as good as Yoongi promised.

“Anything specific you want?” he asks, finger pointing to the small menu in his hand in case you needed it. When you shake your head, letting him know he can order anything he wants, he does exactly that, placing two orders of jajangmyeon, along with fried dumplings and sweet and sour pork to complete it. It was his go to choices whenever he came, so he hopes you’ll enjoy it as much as he does.

As you step to the side, backs pressed against the wall closest to the counter in order to keep the space open for the workers and patrons to walk comfortably in the small shop, you turn your head to glance at Yoongi again. “You come here often?”

The way the workers had spoken to him had made that glaringly obvious, but you wanted to hear it from him, wanted to know if he came here for comfort food or some other weird tradition like his ‘one-vinyl-a-day’ way of life.

It was sort of a habit he had fallen into years ago. Having grown up in this city his whole life, he had stumbled upon this place his last year of high school. It had become a staple soon after, a place he would come to directly after classes were done to come stuff his face before heading home. Then it became a place his girlfriend and him frequented when the apartment they moved into turned out to be a mere block away.

In a way, the owners of this shop had become like a second family. The amount of times they’ve seen Yoongi at his best and worst throughout the years, never once throwing judgment his way even if he came in beyond plastered back in the years he used to drink, never turning him away even if he cried into his noodles.

He decides that’s a little too much to unpack right now, so he just nods in confirmation. “Yeah, I’ve been coming here for years. One taste of their noodles and you’ll be hooked too, trust me.”

Oh you trusted him, the amount of plates you’ve seen so far just made your mouth water once they passed by you and the smell of the food reached your nose. “We should’ve just sat down, I’m not gonna be able to wait until I get home to eat this.”

As you say this one of the workers approaches you two with a tied up plastic bag in his hand, the inside stuffed with takeout boxes and utensils for you to take. Yoongi grasps the bag with a smile and thanks him as he walks away. “Don’t worry, I live like a block away.”

He realizes how his words could be taken immediately, how he had assumed you two would innocently go back to his place to share a meal. You had invited him to eat but the location of where you would be doing so had not been discussed and the last thing he wanted was to come across as a sleaze.

His mouth was ready to back track completely, until he sees the way you dramatically place your hand over your chest, and he knows it's too late, “Oh damn, your place? Saucy, but I’m starving so I’ll do almost anything.”

You can see the way he relaxes when he notices you aren’t being serious, taking his words lightly the way he intended them. His eyes roll behind his lids, a lazy smile gracing his lips as he shoves your shoulder lightly to get you to start walking.

“Is jajangmyeon all it takes?”

“Slow your roll, good jajangmyeon is all it takes. I’ve yet to have a taste.”

Yoongi smiles at your words, taking the lead when you step out of the shop and turn back down towards the main street. His apartment was on the next block over, a short walk that you didn’t mind, especially since he took it upon himself to point at random stores you passed to let you know the best places to get what.

He has a lot of love for this city, the memories it possesses spread out through his entire childhood and early adult years, lingering in each crack on the sidewalk. He often sits and wonders how different his life would be if his parents had decided to move to Busan instead of Seoul, or stayed in Daegu altogether. The thought of the timeline of his life being altered so drastically to the point of possibly not being able to be living this moment sends his mind into a flurry, so he's grateful you’ve reached his front door now as his mind settles.

“Oh my god who’s this?” You coo as you step into his apartment, crouching down towards the white stone floors to pet the fluffy gray cat that greeted you, enjoying the way it purred and rubbed against your knee.

“That's Yuri, the queen of the house.” He steps away from you, setting the plastic bag on top of the kitchen counter a few feet away, his hands pulling out the containers and setting them down. “Don’t give her too much attention or she’ll never let you leave.”

Yuri glances up at you, her bright green eyes peering up innocently at Yoongi’s words, almost as if she was pleading for you to keep petting her. It doesn’t take much convincing for you to scoop your hands under her and press her against your chest as you stand up, your fingers gently scratching the top of her head. Yoongi lets out a sigh when he sees his cat has succeeded in wrapping you around her finger.

“Sorry, she’s too cute to not cuddle with.”

She nuzzles into your chest, purring in appreciation when your fingers trail down onto her spine. Yoongi watches you as he pops open the lid of the container that holds the noodles. Yuri is his baby, yet every time a new person comes into his place she acts like he doesn’t exist— well not until he pops open the container holding the sweet and sour pork. That's when her head pops up, her green eyes sharpening when she spots the food, and Yoongi glares back at the fluffy traitor.

When Yuri's fluffy body shakes slightly as you laugh Yoongi glances back at you, breaking up the staring contest he had going with his cat. “She’s gonna betray your love right now for some pork.”

You don’t doubt him, not with the way her paws start to push at your arms, attempting to stand up in your embrace until she’s hopping off from your arms and slowly walking towards Yoongi. She’s absolutely shameless as she rubs her body against his legs, and Yoongi can only look down at her before staring back up at you, gesturing out with his hands. “You see?”

The act of betrayal doesn’t sting, not when she’s as cute as she is. Instead you just chuckle, walking towards the stools Yoongi has by the oversized kitchen island, a breakfast bar set up at the end, the food spread out on top of it. He ignores Yuri for the time being, pulling out the stool beside yours and sliding into it. The both of you pull your chopsticks apart and get to eating instantly, swirling the noodles until they’re evenly coated in the sauce.

You try to ignore the way Yoongi blatantly stares at you as you bring up the first clump of noodles, waiting to see what your initial reaction would be to the food he held so near and dear to his heart. Yoongi knows this could go south so quickly, there is nothing worse than trying something new when you’re starving and having it absolutely suck. Sensing his nerves, you slurp the noodles up, and when the salty taste hits your tongue you hum, chewing them thoughtfully to make a show for Yoongi.

“Verdict?”

He waits patiently for you to swallow, sharp eyes analyzing your expression, seeing you lick your lips and grin at him. “You weren’t lying, definitely some of the best jajangmyeon I’ve had.”

In pure dramatics, he practically sags in his seat and raises a fist into the air in success, being able to properly enjoy his food now that he knew you approved of it. The two of you begin to eat in relative silence, the sound of munching and slurping filling up his kitchen space.

As the minutes go by, the back and forth of your chopsticks plucking out a dumpling after he did, lands with you snatching the last one. An evil cackle leaving you as you pop it into your mouth and grin at him, cheeks puffed out slightly and he can’t find it in himself to be irked at you snatching the last dumpling when you looked like that.

The compromise of that is you leaving the remaining pieces of pork for him to enjoy, and when Yuri gracefully hops onto the counter you see why he had suggested that. He grasps a tiny piece of pork on his chopsticks and feeds her like a parent would a toddler, airplane noise and all until Yuri opens wide and gently clamps down on the meat.

“She’s spoiled because of you.”

He merely shrugs, a giant smile spreading across his face as he watches her with adoration as she chews the food. “I refuse to confirm or deny that.”

As you finish up the last of your food you just watch on as Yoongi alternates between feeding himself and Yuri until no more pork remains. Seeing the soft way he acts with his cat just warms you up, Yoongi had always seemed like a blunt person from the times you’ve seen him at the store, his sense of humor is one that could easily be taken as harsh or cold if you didn’t match it, but you’d never expect to see him this way. The tops of his cheeks push out as he smiles at his cat, cupping her face between his hands and rocking it back and forth before planting a kiss on her forehead.

She seems to understand that that's her cue to hop off the counter, knowing that snack time is now over as Yoongi starts to clean up the empty containers. When you reach to clean your own mess up he’s quick to slap your hands away, smirking when you retract them with a small wince, your fingers rubbing the back of your palm that he had swatted with a pair of chopsticks.

“Shoo.” He waves his arm in the direction of his couch, not giving you another glance and missing the way you pout at how he had dismissed you like he would his cat.

With a huff you turn on your heel, properly taking in his living room. From the small tidbits of half truthful information that Taehyung had provided you with, you knew Yoongi was somebody in the music industry. You had always assumed that when people said that it meant struggling soundcloud rapper or something of the sort, but from the look of his apartment alone it was very evident that Yoongi was not a struggling soundcloud rapper.

The wall of his living room was lined with floor to ceiling windows, letting you catch a glimpse of the cityscape down below, the darkening horizon and slowly flickering street lights blending together. A dark grey couch was on the wall adjacent to that, directly facing the entertainment center he had set up, complete with a massive mounted television and soundbar, a collection of DVDs organized in the storage unit below it.

You walk closer to it, catching sight of the picture frames he had displayed along the top of it. They were all simple black frames, all differing in size, all of them having photos of Yoongi and his friends on them. The one in particular that had you smiling was a photo booth picture with Yoongi and Namjoon, they were accompanied by three other people, a boy with slightly red tinged hair and a bright smile, another boy with dark brown hair and a slight pout on his face from Namjoon squishing his cheeks, and a girl with light brown hair smiling widely as Yoongi gave her bunny ears.

Namjoon was a very smiley person, never needing a reason to be, but seeing Yoongi sporting a massive gummy smile had you realizing how nicely a smile suited him. It was clear that he held this group of people near to his heart considering they all occupied the remaining photos as well.

A couple of steps right beside that was where he had his prized possession, his record player that he had fully customized to get him the desired sound he was looking for. It was a sleek black, accents of silver shining off of it, resting pretty on a dark stained wooden stand. A few of his records were stored beneath it, but what really caught your eye was the eight by eight makeshift gallery wall that showcased his current favorite LP’s, each individually shelved to show the album art in all its glory.

“Should I give this a listen with you here?”

His question has you turning your head towards him, cutting your admiration of the album covers short. He stood a few feet away, his hands holding up the orange cover of the album he had bought today with your suggestion, and a small sense of nerves bubbles up in your stomach for some reason. You had always suggested music, confident in your choices when you were in the safety of the record store, but having to witness his first impression made you a little uneasy. What if he hated the band entirely, or worse, what if he pretended he didn’t hate them just to soothe your ego.

Is this what he felt like watching you take your first bite of food earlier?

“Sure,” you choke out, taking a giant step back from his record player, hearing him chuckle at your odd behavior.

As he lifts the cover up and slides the giant record out of its sleeve you decide to go sit on the couch, sinking into the plush material and welcoming Yuri into your lap when she jumps on as well.

With a few clicks, the low whirring is heard of the turntable beginning to spin. And when he eases the needle onto the record a small crackle sounds before Get Away starts to play. He fiddles with the volume slightly until satisfied, only then does he turn back around and join you on the couch.

His face is settled in thought, bobbing his head gently to the beat as he rests back against the couch, sinking into it with a groan until he’s fully comfortable, legs spread out with one arm resting casually on his lap and the other on the arm rest, fingers tapping along.

You watch on in silence, your fingers raking through Yuri’s fur until her purring calms your nerves and you’re sagging back. Before you know it your eyes shut as you listen along to the music, your belly is full and your limbs are sore from the unpacking and rearranging that had to be done at work so being able to sit here and shut your brain off while mellow music filled the room was what you needed.

Before long the A side is finished playing, Yoongi having to get up to flip it over until the B side plays all the way through, the ending voicemail of Palace/Curse playing until it fizzles out entirely, the room falling into silence once more.

Yuri had gotten comfortable herself, sprawled out across your lap with her head by your hip, but when Yoongi gets up with a stretch her head pops up, eyes narrowing at her owner until she senses no threat and lays back down.

“Verdict?” You repeat his earlier question, seeing him hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, his lips pursed in thought.

“Honest opinion?”

“Brutally honest.”

He hums with a sly grin as he turns his head to face you. “They’re good. Kinda makes me feel nostalgic too for some reason. But as a whole, it's great music that calms you down.”

With the way you’re laying practically boneless on his couch you can attest to that, they were definitely a band you listened to to unwind. He catches the wide smile spreading across your face as he stands back up to properly store the record, your smile only getting bigger when you see him replace one of the displayed albums on the wall with the new one.

“It's going on the wall of favorites,” he announces, sliding the previous record back into the storage underneath.

“I’m honored.”

He steps back from the wall with his hands on his hips, admiring how the orange of the album pops out against the others. Yoongi very rarely switched these albums out, but he had a feeling this wall would eventually become full of the random albums you’d recommend to him.

“Quick question,” he starts as he turns back to face you, taking in the sight of you and his cat cuddling together. “It’s been sitting at the back of my mind, and Taehyung has given me like three different answers.”

A small laugh leaves you as you raise your eyebrow at him in question. “Sure, what is it?”

“Where did you move from?”

You stretch your legs out in front of you, your toes just barely reaching the coffee table he has set up a bit away from the couch, Yuri mimicking your actions and stretching out as well. You were definitely gonna grow as attached to her as you were to your roommate’s cat.

“Like where was I last before this, or where am I actually from?”

He walks towards his fridge, still being able to see and hear you due to the open layout of his place. “Both I guess.” The door pops open and he reaches for a bottle of water.“You thirsty?”

“You have some wine, or some beer?”

Yoongi grunts at that, shaking his head slightly, “Sorry, I don’t drink anymore but I’ve got water and juice.”

You’re sitting up straighter now, voicing out that the water was fine. “Where I’m from is classified information, you’ll have to level up on our friendship for me to tell you that.” You accept the water he hands you, smiling at him as he sits back on the couch. He was fine with your secrecy, taking whatever you feel comfortable telling him. “But I was in Madrid before I came here.”

“Oh? Did you leave where you’re from to go live there?”

Your fingers capture Yuri’s paw, squishing her toe beans as she gently swats at your hair. “No, I was in Amsterdam before that, and Berlin before that as well to name a few. I’ve been bouncing around since I was 20, so about 6 years now.”

He has a look of interest on his face as he sips the water, leaning onto the couch sideways to face you. “Do you ever want to go back to those places?”

“Like visiting the place more than once?”

He nods, his eyes focusing on Yuri’s fluffy body, seeing her sitting back up to hop onto the ledge of the couch, rubbing her body against the back of your head before settling on the backrest of it and getting comfy.

“Hm, not sure. I can’t see myself wanting to flip back the pages of my life to reread a story I already know the outcome to.” With a sigh you shrug at him, your fingers now tracing the material of the couch. “Maybe in the future, years from now, I’ll crave a specific memory and want to go back, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

The amount of new cities and countries you’ve been lucky enough to call home for any amount of time held a special place inside of you, the memories and stories you had because of those experiences helped shape you into the person you are. Sure not all of them were movie-like experiences, some close calls happening at a few places that made you question whether you made the right choice living your life the way you did. But then you’d have moments that just felt right, and right now, sitting on this couch with Yoongi, this was one of those moments.

“So you don’t plan on staying here forever?”

“Well what do you mean by forever?”

He smiles, not thinking he would have to explain what forever meant to him. “For the rest of your life. Is there another version of forever Y/N?”

“Shut up,” you laugh. “It’s not likely, but who's to say. I never move somewhere with a time frame of how long I plan on staying.”

“How do you decide? Sorry if I’m prying but I just can’t imagine that moving somewhere new would be easy. Picturing having to leave friends behind would probably wound me.”

That was true, that was definitely the hardest part of doing this— emotionally at least. The people you met and befriended were a factor in deciding how long you’d stay somewhere. After the initial week of exploring a new place, it gets lonely. You’ve been to places where even the roommates you’d stay with weren’t friendly, and you’d have to take it a step further and search for friendships elsewhere. It was the main reason you had learned to not be timid when it came to making the first move.

“It’s kind of a gut feeling. The longest place I’ve lived in was Paris for two years.” A smile spreads across your face as you recall the two years you spent in that city, how you probably would’ve left after a few weeks if you hadn’t ran into that cute boy right before the club you were in shut down for the night. That experience alone was one of the main reasons you made it a conscious decision to not fall in love, not wanting to experience the inevitable heartbreak that came with it.

Paris was the first place you moved to, jumping head first into adventure and taking everything that came with it, including romance. Leaving friends behind had been hard, but leaving Park Jimin behind had been a different version of painful.

“Before this I was in Madrid for a month. I found myself getting comfortable too fast and when I get comfortable I get bored. When it's no longer new and exciting I don’t see the point of staying anymore.”

Yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, the carefree aura radiating off of you, but he weirdly craves it. He craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what's coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. His entire life had changed in the last few years and was now built off routine, bullet point to-do lists and deadlines he had to meet. The only adventure he experiences anymore is thanks to his friends, luring him out of his apartment to fulfil any of their spur of the moment ideas, but nothing comes close to this.

He’s not able to understand how you can be suspended in freefall for the majority of your life, and instead of panicking about your lack of parachute, you’re admiring the view.

“Do you plan on staying here forever?”

That question makes him freeze a little, he had been prying into your life no problem but now that a question was directed at him, he felt himself growing uneasy. “I guess I did.”

“Did...why past tense?”

You see the way he hesitates, his mind is already playing through all the scenarios that can come because of this but he decides to just bite the bullet. “Love makes you think of forever. I pictured forever with my fiance.”

At the mention of a fiance your mind thinks of the girl in the photos with Yoongi, the girl with the bright smile and wide eyes.

Was Yoongi a married man?

He can spot the way you process his vague information, knowing he should elaborate before you think anything else, before your eyes move to his ring finger only to find it bare. “When you’re with someone for almost 8 years its normal to think of forever you know.”

The flashes of his relationship play in his mind, meeting his fiance in his last year of high school. How they had pulled each other out of their shells, becoming rather chaotic in their adventures over the years, turning into adults and supporting each other in every aspect of life.

The memory of Yoongi proposing to her still feels fresh in his mind, taking her to Jeju island since it was a place she had always wanted to visit, not being able to due to caring for her family.

“We were actually planning our wedding, having invitations sent out with everything nearly ready but she uh–“ he stops to breathe slightly, his eyes moving to stare at the picture frames, proving your assumption of the girl being his fiance right. “She got into an accident.”

He hadn’t specified if she died or not, but that faraway look in his eyes spelled it out for you. Forever didn’t have any sympathy for his situation, but he just shrugs it off, forcing himself to not speak further on it. There was more that tied in to the tragic passing of his fiance but he felt he had overshared enough already, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by unloading this information on you. The last thing he needed was to turn this nice day into a pity party with him being the center of attention.

He’s just waiting for the routine apologetic words that would fall from your mouth—maybe you’d reach over and rub his arm like some people did, tell him how sad it was as if he didn’t already know. Some half assed attempt to make him feel better even though you were clearly blind sided by the topic.

Yoongi didn’t want that, always hating the way people would stare at him like he was some charity case. This was why he rarely chose to stray from his circle of comfort, from the people that knew the baggage that came with him and accepted him, keeping his group as tight knit as possible in order to not pick at scabbed over wounds.

When you sigh, he braces for it, mentally accepting that this might be what ends your new formed friendship before you could really creep through the cracks in the wall he built. But instead you reach forward and grasp Yuri once more, scooping her up and bringing her to your chest like a baby. “So Yuri wasn’t the only queen of the house, is that it?”

Yuri purrs in confirmation and Yoongi turns to stare at you again, blinking the wetness away from his eyes before he could even call them tears. You had a smile on your face as you stared at him, not that typical sympathetic smile people always sent his way, it was a genuine one, letting him know he was free to talk more on the subject if he needed to.

And for the first time Yoongi acknowledges that maybe he did need to. He was so used to bottling his emotions in, shutting himself off after her passing, pushing all of his friends and family away and locking himself at home as he mourned, submerging himself in his work to numb himself from feeling anything. Even now, his friends never pried, let him handle his feelings any way he wanted to. But Yoongi can’t act like his chest aches from keeping it all in, the pressure slowly releasing even with the minimal information he had given you.

“Yeah,” he sighs out in relief, reaching out to pet Yuri. “Hani was the queen before Yuri got promoted.”

As you coo at his cat he feels himself sagging back onto the couch. The small dam of emotions he had inside finally released, and before you know it he’s spilling everything out, telling you tidbit stories of him and Hani, and somehow easing you into sharing similar stories of you and Jimin.

The sun fully sets through the windows, neither of you noticing as you talk well into the night, and Yoongi found himself laughing and smiling at the mention of Hani for the first time in two years. You urge him on, watching on with interest while he talks about the day they had picked up Yuri from the shelter.

His eyes are crinkled up in that endearing way you had seen more of today than in the past weeks of knowing him, and it fills you with warmth to know he’s allowing you to know about this part of his life. It felt like sacred information, uncharted territory from the way he had hesitated in the beginning, almost like he wasn’t sure if he could trust you with the precious memories he held tightly. All he needed was a gentle nudge and a genuine smile to slowly let you flip the pages of his brain, knowing you wouldn’t judge the bleeding ink and scratched out words that came with each story.

As he stares at the way you smile at him, he comes to the realization that your sneaky ass must have already managed to slip past the cracks of the walls he built, infiltrating the tight knit circle he had for himself. He has to hold in a laugh when he recalls the way Taehyung had seriously suggested that you might be a spy sent here from another country. Maybe he was onto something, because he was refusing to accept that his willingness to overshare and stray from his norm was due to anything but your highly trained interrogation skills.

You clearly had his cat fooled as well. When Yuri leans up and nuzzles her face against yours he sighs, knowing she had claimed you as her favorite solely based on the attention you gave her. You were good. Yoongi guesses he would have to keep you around now, just for the sake of his cat, nothing more.

#yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #min yoongi #bts fluff #bts fics #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #heartsforbts #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner #new #eleven months

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hotkoyo · 3 years ago

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SFW Howie Alphabet Headcanons

Author's Note: When will my husband come home from war?

Disclaimer: These headcanons are based on how I imagine Howie to be based on the game. You don't have to agree with what I say here as everyone is free to have their own ideas.

𝄥 𝄞 ── 𝄇

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

VERY affectionate. I honestly feel like he grew up surrounded with so much love and now he’s just overflowing with it. Howie is all about showing his love through warm hugs, having his arm around you, swinging your hands as you walk, head pats, you name it. Another one, in my opinion, is words of affirmation. He'd tell you how much you matter to him through words, like quoting lines from his favorite movies and saying "I love you" before you both go to sleep.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Affectionate. Lots of play fighting and cuddling during movie sessions. Singing to Disney songs at the top of your lungs. You guys make friendship bracelets for each other (and he never takes off his). Definitely one of those dudes who drive their best friend everywhere.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

If it’s not apparent already, this dude is a giant golden retriever and he lives for the cuddles. He is born to cuddle, baby. Due to his size, it’s natural that he ends up as a big spoon more often than not but he definitely loves the moments he gets to be the small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

So domestic, even when you guys just started dating. It’s easy to imagine yourself settling down with someone as warm and comforting as Howie. He would love to settle down and build a home with you and you guys love having conversations about your dream house and how your life would be like in five, ten years. He’s alright at cooking in general but can cook some amazing Chinese dishes that his mom taught him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be hard for him to get out of a relationship, to be completely honest. He’s one of those people who easily gets attachment issues and finds it hard to move on from a relationship. If he really has to be the one to end the relationship, he would want to talk it out with you and try to end your relationship on a good note. I feel like he’s one of those people who really values respect, even when things aren’t working out anymore between you two.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Howie is a hopeless romantic and while he does have his insecurities, I feel like he would really love to commit to someone. In terms of marriage, it really depends on you. I don’t think his career would hinder him much when it comes to popping the question, to be honest. If he feels like he’s comfortable enough with the relationship and sees that you are, too, I think he’d propose to you when he feels like the time is right.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Howie is a textbook example of a gentle giant. He knows he’s strong so physically, he knows when to hold back a bit. Emotionally, it’s canon that he’s a soft and caring boy through and through and he would never hurt you on purpose.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Ugh, he LOVES hugs. It’s canon that the Yan fam is really good with hugs so if you need a pick-me-up, he’s your man. Whenever you guys are alone, he acts like an overgrown koala because he can’t get enough of hugging you. If hot chocolate is a hug, it’s what Howie’s would feel like. Warm, familiar, and comforting.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows he loves you when he does but holds back a lot in fear of coming off too strong. If he feels that you feel the same, then he would say it pretty quickly into the relationship or during a spur of a moment. If it seems that you need more time, he would hold back just so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s the type who’s less jealous and more insecure. His jealousy isn’t going to make him act rashly and put you on the spot. It’s slow and creeping and you might not notice at first because of how well he conceals it but it becomes apparent by the way he starts to act distant.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm and gentle. His kisses make you feel so safe and loved and he likes to take the time to show you how he feels through the gesture. He loves to kiss you everywhere but his favorite places to kiss you are your nose and temples.

Also, kiss him on the forehead and he’d melt into a puddle. Another one of his hotspots is at the back of his neck. Kiss him there and watch him sputter as he tries to gain back his bearings.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids, kids love him. He humors the kids a lot and is a great impersonator so prepare yourself for some improvised skits in front of the kiddos. Can’t say no to the kids, though, so you might have to step in from time to time. Kids treat him like a human jungle gym. Which he actually is.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I definitely see him as a morning person. Also, he’s so fit that you can’t tell me he doesn’t workout every single morning. Probably goes on an early jog and is one of those people who seems so chipper even if it's only seven in the morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Have you seen actors with their stage makeup on? There’s no way Howie’s skin stays so smooth and supple without some form of skincare routine. Has his own skincare routine and loves doing it with you together in front of the mirror (while making faces at you). After a good skincare session, he'll sit on the couch or in bed with you cuddled up to him as he reads scripts from his new upcoming projects.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Depending on how much he trusts you, it could be sooner or later. The thing with him is that he keeps things bottled up to himself. It’s hard and it’s tiring and the moment he feels safe with you, the dam breaks and he starts to reveal things about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It’s definitely hard to annoy Howie and even harder to provoke him. He has the patience of a saint and unless something is very wrong, you can always find him just chillin lol.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s quite sentimental so he definitely remembers your relationship milestones. He remembers a lot of small things about you; like how you like your cereal and your best friend’s name from high school. Some of the details can be fuzzy at times but he tries!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Canonically: The moment you said yes when he asked to be your boyfriend at Luca’s "sister's wedding".

Headcanon: The time you both visited his family in Chicago for the holidays. You were walking home from dinner when the snowfall turned into a snowstorm. It was terribly cold and windy but you both kept on laughing at the situation and you looked so gorgeous with snow stuck to your hair under the waning streetlight that he didn’t even care that he's freezing his butt off.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Isn’t too protective in the traditional sense because he knows you can take care of yourself. More protective of how you feel because of his words and actions so he’s careful in what he says and how he says them because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Highkey loves to be protected tho. Thinks it's kinda hot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Puts a lot of effort in his career, obviously. Howie is always so passionate and ambitious when it comes to being a top actor. Relationship-wise, he’s a simp. Dates are mostly casual with him but he puts extra time and effort in choosing or making gifts. All the extra and expensive bits goes into your anniversary dates.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A lot of times, he leaves his wet, sweaty workout shirts at the corner of the room and somehow always forgets no matter how many times you’ve scolded him. Sometimes doesn’t close or tie snack packages properly so when it's your turn to eat them, they’re often stale. A terrible snorer when he’s had a long day on set.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Quite concerned. He likes to highlight the nice parts of his body through the clothes he choose to wear and tries to follow a healthy diet in general. He worked hard for his body and as much as embarrassing as it is to admit, he loves to show off and be admired for it (especially by you).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

A strong believer that every person is complete and whole on their own. He believes that every person is their own and just because you love someone, it doesn't mean that your life must revolve around that person. Even so, he is a romantic. So even if he knows that he's complete without you, he does prefer to have you by his side.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He can play the piano really well. Aside from dance lessons, his parents put aside a lot of money to sign him up for piano classes when he was younger. Now, he plays them whenever he’s deep in thought and it’s always relaxing to hear him play.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In general, Howie doesn’t like broccoli. Keep those away from him. Please. When it comes to partners, Howie stays away from people who make him feel less. Basically people who put him down for being who he is and liking the things he likes. Narcissists, if you will.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He’s a snuggler and he nuzzles into your side a lot when he sleeps. Whether you get too warm is your problem because this dude is Strong™ and won’t let you push him aside that easily. And, God, I hate to say this but he’s definitely a snorer. Not all the time but when he’s really tired.... let’s just say you won’t be getting a decent sleep.

#howie yan #roadkill howie #fictif howie #fictif roadkill #roadkill #fictif #fictif nix hydra #nix hydra #howie yan headcanons #fictif howie headcanons

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detectivesofty · 4 years ago

Text

home is where the heart is | j.h.

Summary: the heart wants what it wants, even if it’s over 700 miles away

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Song I listened to while writing: sofia by clairo

Author’s Note: this has been in the works for SO LONG, so I really hope that you like it! Reblog/like if you do! Sorry this is slightly late, I was drawing and forgot the time

Warnings: slightly spicy? mention of character death, cursing

Word Count: 4,8k

You looked out of the window as the cab driver cruised through Chicago. You just landed at O’Hare an hour ago and immediately hailed a cab to see your brother. It was hard to keep in touch with him living in Chicago and you in New York, but the two of you tried your best, especially in emergencies. Like this. The moment you heard about Anna’s death, you took the next flight out, barely having packed anything. Your brother needed you.

“Thanks!” you told the driver, handing him his money and grabbing your bag before you headed up to Kelly’s loft. Unlocking the door with your key, you felt an overwhelming sadness overtaking you, accompanied by cold and silence.

“Kelly…?” you called out softly, shutting the door behind you.

“In here.”

You followed his voice to what you guessed was the bedroom and there he was, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you said softly, dropping your bag and sitting down next to him. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m so sorry Kelly.” You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned into you, tears streaking his face.

For a while, you just held him, not knowing what to say. Oftentimes, grieving people didn’t want to hear empty apologies and ‘it’s going to get better’, they just needed someone to hold them.

“Thanks for coming. I know you’re really busy with work right now and I just… Thanks,” Kelly sniffed out and you held him tightly.

“Hey. No matter how much work I got, if you need me. I am here, Kels. You’re my brother.”

Kelly gave you a water smile and wiped his tears away. “Anna really would’ve liked you. I wish I had introduced you two instead of Benny.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking?” you teased and he let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me about her.”

You and Kelly spent the next few hours talking, catching up. He told you about Anna and you told him about your job and how you wanted to work your way up. Kelly was in the middle of telling you the story of how he and Anna set out at 2 am to get a cheeseburger from Le Chevals, when your stomach growled loudly.

“I am so sorry,” you said and Kelly laughed. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

He frowned at you, pulling you up. “Jesus Y/N, you need to take care of yourself. Come on, let’s go get some food.”

“But only if we get deep dish pizza!”

“I wasn’t aware that you eat anything else.”

A couple of minutes later, you were at Sal’s pizza place, waiting for your order while scrolling through your phone, when someone called your name.

“Y/N?”

Looking up, you saw Jay Halstead walking towards you with a big smile.

“Detective Halstead, fancy seeing you here,” you said with a teasing tone in your voice and he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug.

“Thought it was you. You didn’t tell me you were in town.”

Your smile dropped a bit, nodding. “Yeah, I am here for Kelly.”

“I heard. I am really sorry, Y/N,” Jay told you, squeezing your shoulder gently and you smiled at him.

“Thanks, Jay.”

The radio in Jay’s hand crackled to life and he stilled for a moment, before looking back at you. “Hey, I need to get back to the district, we’re on a case right now. But we should get a drink. How long you in town for?”

“I am not sure yet, but I will let you know,” you told him and he pointed at you.

“I will hold you to that,” he pressed a quick kiss on your cheek, before he rushed out the door, leaving you standing still on the spot, holding your cheek.

Did he just-?

“Order number 57!”

Quickly, you shook out your head and walked to the counter to pick up your order, before going outside, where headlights immediately blinded your eyes. Squinting them, you walked closer to the car and got in.

“Did you have to blind me with the headlights?” you asked your brother, buckling up as he started the drive home.

Kelly chuckled. “Do you want me to honk next time?”

“Forget it,” you snorted, shaking your head. You drove in silence for a while before you spoke up again, hesitantly. “So… I ran into Jay.”

“Oh, you did huh?” Kelly asked, a smirk on his face and you punched his shoulder.

“Shut up! I am never telling you anything ever again.”

Kelly snorted, rolling his eyes at you. “Don’t be so dramatic. Besides, you didn’t have to tell me anything. You always have the same look on your face after you’ve run into Jay.”

Jay and you had a… Complicated history, if one would put a name to it. You met two years ago, at an unofficial first responders picnic that Antonio and Gabby planned. It was just a coincidence that you were in Chicago that week and Kelly brought you along. There you had bumped into Jay and immediately took a liking to him. I mean, he was part of a highly respected police unit and basically the definition of tall, dark and handsome, what was not to like?

Jay asked you out on a date and you basically spent the rest of your time with him, but your stay in Chicago eventually came to an end. You were adults and you knew that long distance relationships were destined to fail, so you parted as friends. But every time you found your way to Chicago, you also somehow found your way back to Jay, which probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

Except for the last time you’ve seen him.

Last you’ve heard, Jay and Erin started dating and you took that as a sign from the universe, telling you that you and Jay weren’t meant to be. While it still hurt to catch his eyes across the bar during nights out with everyone, you knew this was for the best. For both of you.

Jay got to be happy with someone who doesn’t live in another city and you were forced to move on. The goodbye didn’t hurt as much that time, so you knew it was the right choice, because all the other times made you feel like you’ve left your heart in Chicago.

While it was easy to forget about Jay in New York, it was that much harder every time you visited Kelly. Back here, everything reminded you of Jay.

The park where he used to take you for picnics; the italian restaurant where you had your first date; the entrance of the hotel where he kissed you for the first time. It was like you couldn’t erase him out of your head. Sure, it helped knowing that Jay was in a happy relationship with someone else, but it still hurt. Now, you felt confident enough to start being friends with him again.

Or so you thought.

A couple of days later and Kelly was doing better. You did a lot of home cooking, like this night and then the two of you lounged on the couch with the tv running in the background when your phone rang. One look at the screen had Kelly wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Jay?”

“Hi Y/N. Can you talk?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you got up and walked to the window, holding your phone to your ear.

“Yeah, hey. I can talk. What’s up?”

“My case is over. Do you want to go grab that drink right now?”

“A drink? Right now? I don’t know Jay. I came here to take care of my brother and-” You frowned, looking at Kelly who nodded vigorously, giving you a double thumbs up.

“Go! I’ll be fine!” he whisper-yelled and you rolled your eyes at him, turning away.

“Actually, yeah. I am down. Meet me at Molly’s in ten?”

“Yep. See you in ten.”

You hung up the phone and glared at Kelly, picking up a pillow to throw it at him. He ducked with a laugh. “What? I was wingmanning you!”

“You weren’t doing shit. Stop laughing at me and call me a cab!” You grumbled, walking towards the guest bedroom. Still hearing Kelly’s laughter from the living room, you rummaged through your bag. While you were still annoyed at him for laughing at you, you were glad that he was feeling better.

But right now, you had to focus on making yourself look better. So you tamed your messy hair, picked out a nice sweater and put some make-up on. You then stumbled out of the room, while simultaneously trying to put on your boots.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Kelly called over his shoulder before you left, but you only yelled an “I love you!” back. You got in the cab that was already waiting by the curb and after a quick drive, you got out at Molly’s. Judging from the loud voices coming from inside, which only amplified when you opened the door, it was pretty full, though you immediately spotted Jay when you walked in.

He was waiting with two drinks by a corner table, raising his hand with an easy smile when he saw you. He got up from his bar stool to give you a hug and you relished being in his arms again, before you pulled away.

“It’s good to see you,” he told you, sitting down across from you. “Do you still drink vodka cranberries?” Jay asked and slid one of the glasses in front of him towards you.

You gave him a suspicious look and wrapped your hands around the cold glass. “Are you planning on getting me drunk, Jay?”

“What? I wouldn’t do that.”

Jay grinned at you and clinked his beer bottle against your glass. “So,” he said after taking a sip from his beer. “How have you been?”

“You know me. Same old, same old.”

If you were honest, being an event manager wasn’t even half as exciting as Kelly or Jay’s job, but you loved it nonetheless. And the business was booming in New York. Your agency is getting calls everyday, which is to be expected in a city that never sleeps.

“So I managed to get a deal with the brother and in the end everyone was happy,” you concluded, drinking your vodka cranberry.

“Huh. That reminded me of a hostage situation we had a couple of weeks ago.”

You cracked a laugh and shook your head at him. “Don’t be silly. Now, how have you been?” you asked, biting your lip as you paused. This was the question you dreaded to ask. To hear about how happy he was with someone else. But you wanted him to be happy. And you were an adult. So you asked.

“How’s Erin?”

“We broke up,” Jay blurted out, as if he had waited for that question. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, we broke up.”

Oh.

“Oh. I am sorry to hear that,” you said, genuinely. You liked Erin. She was tough, smart and incredibly beautiful. She was good for Jay.

He shook his head with a small smile. “Don’t be. We parted as friends. It was better that way, trust me… What about you? Is there anyone in your life?”

“No, not really. Between work and constantly trying to get to Chicago it’s hard to find someone who can keep up with my life, you know?” You knew who that someone was, who you wanted it to be. But how realistic was that?

You and Jay were so deep into your conversation, that you didn’t even notice the bar empty out and late it had gotten, until you glanced at your watch, your eyes widening. Looking around, you saw that there were only four people left in the bar, including you and Jay.

“It’s pretty late, huh?” Jay commented and you nodded, pursing your lips.

“It is. I should go home.”

“Or,” Jay cut in, reaching out to take your hand as if he was scared you’d jump up and leave. “You could come back to my place? Maybe get a coffee?”

It was nearing one in the morning, Jay wasn’t being smooth by inviting you over for a coffee.

Jay knew he wasn’t talking about coffee.

You knew he wasn’t talking about coffee.

Hell, the homeless guy across the street knew he wasn’t talking about coffee.

And you promised yourself you wouldn’t let this happen again, because it was only going to hurt when you left. But yet-

“Yeah, a cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.”

So the two of you more or less stumbled out of the bar and hailed a cab to Jay’s place. The drive there was laced with anticipation as you sat close to each other, talking with low voices. When you finally reached Jay’s apartment building, he tipped the cab driver generously and with an arm wrapped around your waist, Jay led you up to his apartment.

You haven’t been to this one yet, so naturally you looked around curiously after he’s unlocked the door, letting your jacket drop from your shoulders. It was painfully obvious that Jay had decorated it by himself, but it was still homey.

“So, where do you keep-” you asked, turning around to face him but Jay swiftly backed you up against the wall, caging you in with his (muscular!) arms. He was so close, you could feel his breath fanning against your cheeks and you gulped, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he said lowly before he dipped his head down to press a searing kiss on your lips. And now you remembered why you always went back to Jay even though you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t.

The way he kissed you, touched you. It always made you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. You sighed softly against his lips and kissed him back, your arms winding around his neck. While you felt the anticipation drumming in his body by the quick beats of his heart, he didn’t show that during the kiss and instead took his sweet time reacquainting himself with your body. His hand slipped beneath your blouse, his fingers still cold from outside and you shivered, reflexively biting down on his lower lip a bit.

“Maybe a coffee wouldn’t be a bad idea right now,” you breathed out and he stilled, giving you a look.

“If you’re still thinking about coffee right now I am definitely doing something wrong.”

A smirk curled on your lips and you shrugged nonchalantly, playing with the hair in the nape of his neck. You knew you were playing with fire, but you weren’t going to back down now. Jay let out a deep chuckle, pulling his arms back.

“Guess I have to up my game, huh?” he hummed before he dropped down to his knees and from then on, coffee wasn’t on your mind once. It certainly was the next morning, though.

Pulling a face, you turned over in your bed when the sun almost blinded you, even through your closed lids. You paused when you were unable to turn over and it was then that you registered the strong hold around your waist. The thoughts in your head were whirring before last night came back to you and you silently groaned into your pillow, cursing your past self. You got weak.

You laid still, debating your options while at the same time relishing being held by Jay for the last time, because you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t get weak again. Sneaking out was off the table. Jay was a really light sleeper, due to his service in Afghanistan and you didn’t want to risk a confrontation right now. You knew your time to make a decision was over when Jay tightened his hold around your waist, groaning quietly.

“I can literally hear you thinking, Y/N,” he grumbled, his voice still raspy from sleep. “Can you maybe wait until like,” Jay lifted his head to glance at the clock, “After ten? I had an exhausting night.”

He let his head fall back on the pillow and you snorted only whacking his forehead playfully. “You’re an idiot.”

“You still love me,” Jay mused with a small smile as he glanced at you and your resolve wavered, almost wanting to give in and enjoy your time with Jay. You weren’t sure what to respond to that. At one point, you were sure that you were in love with Jay. But with the distance between New York and Chicago and his relationship with Erin, you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

Luckily, he himself saved you from having to come up with a reply when he rubbed his eyes. “We should get some food. I’ll grab us some coffee and breakfast from the cafe across the street, hm?”

“Yeah that sounds nice.”

“Awesome. You just stay in bed, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Jay told you, getting out of bed to pull on some jeans and a sweater. He disappeared into the bathroom and you heard the toilet flushing, before the water ran.

“Are you sure?” you called out meekly, scanning the room for your clothes, which were scattered all throughout the bedroom. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Jay leaned his head out of the bathroom, the toothbrush still hanging from his lips. “No, it’s fine, I’ll be quick.” He disappeared back into the bathroom for a bit before he returned, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, which left a hint of mint.

“See you in a bit!” Jay called out before you heard the front door shut behind him.

It was now or never.

Half-heartedly, you got out of the bed and started picking your clothes up, putting everything on. You felt like an asshole leaving like this, but you knew if you stayed for breakfast, you wouldn’t be strong to leave. It had to be now. Leaving the bedroom, you grabbed your jacket off of the floor and your purse, which was laid across the couch. Slipping into your shoes and turning to the door, your heart felt heavy in your chest. Rubbing your eyes, you turned the doorknob and immediately bumped into Jay.

Fuck.

“Oh hey, I forgot my wallet,” Jay laughed, looking you up and down before his smile turned into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing. “Are you… Leaving?”

Your eyes were wide and you exhaled slowly, before nodding.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” you burst out, running your hand through your hair out of frustration. “Are you expecting me to just stay with you and act like everything’s fine just to pack up my stuff and leave for New York in a couple of days?”

“I- That’s better than just fucking leaving!”

“But I am always leaving, Jay!”

Tears sprang into your eyes and his eyes widened slightly.

“I am always fucking leaving and it hurts. I can’t keep doing this over and over again.”

“Then don’t leave!” Jay exclaimed. “Why don’t you stay in Chicago? Kelly is here, all your friends are here… I’m here.”

“So you expect me to uproot my whole life in New York and move here just because I love you?”

You reeled back at your sudden confession and your hand flew to your mouth, to prevent any more to come out.

Fuck, wait. I take that back!

Jay’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he looked speechless for a moment. “... You love me?”

Your thoughts were racing and this morning has already gone all kinds of wrong. “Just… Forget it,” you sniffed, pushing past him and walking off in quick strides, trying to block out his voice as he called for you.

After you’ve successfully hailed a cab back to Kelly’s place, your brother looked up at you with a grin on his face when you slid the door open, no doubt about to fire off a dumb joke how you’ve stayed, but his face immediately droppen when he took you in.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kelly nodded in understanding and you disappeared into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind you. Even though it was barely noon, you felt drained and empty as if you had a long day of work behind you. With a deep sigh, you sat down on the edge of the bed and tugged your laptop close to you, determined to do what was best for you.

A short time later, you emerged from the bedroom with your suitcase in tow, your purse slung over your shoulder. Kelly gave you a sad smile when he saw you, putting the pieces together.

“You headed out?”

You gave a short nod, your shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I hope you’re okay with that. I know I am supposed to be here for you but-”

“No buts. You being here is supposed to be good for both of us,” Kelly interrupted you, jumping over his couch to grab you by the shoulders gently. “You already helped me a lot, Y/N. If you need to go home, then I will give you a ride to the airport.”

With a small smile, you gave Kelly a tight hug, though you weren’t sure if he was right. If you were going home. Or if you were leaving it. But being back in New York felt like a fresh start. You immediately threw yourself back to work, which took your mind off of things. Due to your personal days you took, you had to catch up with a lot of clients and while it was really stressful, it was welcomed. Coming home to an empty apartment every night kept ripping open wounds though and there was only one way to change that, though you weren’t sure if you were bold enough to do it. The countless phone calls from Jay you kept denying weren’t helping either. But you weren’t ready to talk to him. Not yet.

“Hi Mrs. Porter, it’s Y/N Y/L/N. I just received a call from Mangia NYC, and they unfortunately won’t be able to cater the event,” you spoke into the phone as you exited your office, phone in your hand, “However, Bartleby & Sage are free and they are willing to do it for half the price, do you want me to book them?”

You pressed the phone closer to your ear as the noise of the traffic almost drowned Mrs. Porter on the other line and you tried your best to focus on her voice. Even though you were already off the clock, you wanted to get a hold of Mrs. Porter first, before you could relax for the night. Rummaging in your bag for your tablet as Mrs. Porter agreed to your suggested caterer, you held the phone with your shoulder, dotting down the name of the caterer into the tablet.

“Okay, that’s great. Seems like everything is taken care off now and-” you nearly stumbled over your own feet when you saw Jay leaning against a street lamp a couple of feet away from you. His hands were in the pockets of his jackets and while New York wasn’t as cold as Chicago, it was still freezing so there was a small woolen hat atop of his head.

“Ms. Y/L/N, are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you quickly said, snapping out of it and reverting your focus back to Mrs. Porter. “Uhm. My colleague will go over everything again in the morning and then they’ll get back to you. Have a nice evening, bye.”

You hung up and peered over to Jay, cautiously walking over to him. It was weird to see him here, after your last encounter ended rather badly and you’ve dodged all of his phone calls.

“Hi Jay,” you greeted him carefully, giving him a small smile.

“Hey,” he hummed, half his face hidden by his jacket. “Can we talk?”

After a short pause, you nodded. “Yeah sure, let’s go back to my place.”

The walk to your apartment was quite tense, filled with awkward fillers and smalltalk. You sighed internally when you reached your apartment building and let Jay and yourself in, leading him to your apartment on the second floor. Taking your jacket off and putting your purse to its designated spot, you turned to Jay.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Water would be great, thanks,” he replied, looking around your apartment. It was his first time here and you left him to explore to grab two water bottles from the kitchen. Returning to the living room with two water bottles, you saw that Jay was looking at a framed picture of the two of you that was standing on a dresser. You probably should’ve put that away, but you didn’t have the heart to do it.

“Here’s your water,” you said awkwardly and Jay put down the frame quickly, accepting the water bottle.

“Thanks.”

Sitting down on the couch, while fingering the label of the water bottle you glanced at him, pressing your lips together. “When did you get in?”

“Just a couple of hours ago. I had a job interview and Kelly gave me the address of your office, so I swung by afterwards,” he told you and you nodded, before pausing when you processed the information.

“You had a job interview?”

Jay nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, before he took a seat on the couch next to you. He seemed nervous and you could see that he was trying to find the right words. Your heart was racing and you tried to calm down, to no avail.

“You were right. It wasn’t fair of me to assume that it would be easy for you to just move to Chicago,” he started, lowering his gaze. “I know that it must’ve been hard always coming and leaving, especially with Kelly and all of our friends. I haven’t been thinking about your life, your home, here in New York and that was selfish of me.”

“Jay-” you started, but he shook his head, holding a hand up.

“Please just let me finish?”

Holding your breath, you nodded, so he could continue.

“I’ve just been thinking of how you left me, and Kelly and how much easier things would be for us if you’d just stay in Chicago.”

Us?

“I think I was taking you for granted and I don’t want to do that anymore. Which is why I am transferring to the NYPD.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of the sockets when you heard his words and you were speechless for a moment, not knowing where to start.

“You can’t transfer to the NYPD!” you protested. “Your life in Chicago is so good right now, you’re in the freaking Intelligence Unit, you yourself said that it was your dream job, why would you just give that up to be here with me?”

“Because you’re my future, Y/N,” Jay confessed quietly. “I love you.”

Blinking, it took you a moment to process this, before you lunged at him, hitting his chest with your fists.

“Y/N, what-?”

“I can’t believe you would do this!” you sniffed, leaning your forehead against his chest and his heart was beating just as fast as yours. “I can’t believe you’d leave Chicago for me. You love Chicago.”

Jay chuckled, wrapping his arms around after having dropped the water bottle on the couch. “I do. But I might love you a tad bit more.”

“Stop it,” you huffed, pushing at his chest. You sat up so you could level him with a glare. “I am not letting you do this. You’d regret it.”

“Y/N, I’ve been thinking a lot about this and I am sure that I want to do it.”

“What if I told you that my firm is looking to open a branch in Chicago and my boss wants me to take one of the leading positions?”

“I- what?” Jay looked at you in surprise, his mouth agape. “You’re moving to Chicago?”

You nodded with a smile and he let out a laugh, tackling you in a hug. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you. You should’ve told me!”

“You literally told me not to talk, Jay. I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

Jay rolled his eyes at you fondly and held you close, pressing a kiss on your head. After a while of just holding each other, with everything finally falling into place, he spoke up again.

“So you’d need to find a place to live huh?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you asking me to move in with you? You do realize we haven’t even been officially dating, right?”

“Okay, this?” Jay said, pointing between the two of you, “has been going on for the past four years and you know that.”

“Don’t be silly. Fine, I’ll think about it,” you conceded and he grinned at you, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

“That’s all I ask.”

🏷️ list: @shipshipshipau // @savvywords // @samantha-chicago

#home is where the heart is #jay halstead #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd #jesse lee soffer #chicago pd imagine

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captcas · 3 years ago

Text

Something to Hold Onto by captcas

Emma Swan has always had two superpowers. First, she can always tell when you’re lying. Second, she can retreat into the magical storybook she was found with to visit her fictional friend, Killian Jones. When Emma gives the book up, she wonders if she’ll ever see Killian again. read on ao3

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

Pregnant?

Emma slides down the tile wall of the Shell bathroom. Usually she’d do everything in her power to avoid touching anything in a gas station restroom. Right now she can’t find it in herself to care about the amount of infectious diseases she’s being exposed to, her eyes fixed on the two pink lines that just threatened to change her entire life.

Threatened? More like promised.

She jumps when she hears a knock on the door, “Ems? You ok?”

It isn’t until she wipes the tears from her cheeks that she realizes she’s started to cry. Neal knocks again, “Ems! You good?”

Clearing her throat, she musters up the will to answer, “Yeah, uh, just a minute.”

She scrambles for her backpack, desperate for an escape she’s not entirely confident will be there.

It’s been too long.

When her fingers touch the cool leather of the mysterious book that has somehow woven its way into every important moment in her life, a sense of calm overwhelms her. She knows that avoiding her problem isn’t going to change anything, but right now, she couldn't care less. As she settles in her lap, the positive pregnancy test laying the floor in her periphery, she thinks back to the first time it allowed her to escape.

Des Moines, IA; 1989

Emma hears footsteps coming from down the hall and quickly pulls her blanket over her head. She hates the way it makes it hard to breathe but she also fears what’ll happen to her if she gets caught up past curfew again. She holds her breath as the door creaks open and doesn’t move again until the door shuts and the footsteps walk away. Coming out from under the covers, she takes a deep breath of fresh air. Once she’s sure no one else in her bunk is awake, Emma pulls the thick, leather book out from underneath her bed. This book is one of the only things her parents left her; a book, a blanket, and a name. Ever since she could read, and even before, if her foster parents were kind enough, she’s poured into these stories– escaping reality for ogres, pirates, princesses, and true love. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the stories almost seem ever changing and expanding. She never has to choose what to read, the book opening and picking a story for her– although she finds herself partial to the updates of the young Snow White.

Tonight she opens to a brand new story titled “The Brothers Jones”. She’s never heard of this fairytale, but that’s how most of these stories start out until they twist and turn into well-known characters from movies that the other kids watch to pass time. It seems rather short, but Emma doesn’t mind, especially seeing as it’s way past her dictated bedtime. She hunkers down into her pillow and begins…

Once upon a time there were two brothers. Liam, the eldest, was outgoing and mature, helping their parents around the house and picking up odd jobs around town to help with trips to the market. Killian, on the other hand, was quiet and kind. He often found himself staying home to take care of their mother. At ten years of age he was too young to get a real job, so their father, Brennan, and Liam took care of earning money in hopes to keep their mother alive.

One night, Killian’s mother took a turn for the worse, her breathing slowing until it stopped. The family gathered around, comforting one another over the loss of Alice.

The following days seemed like a blur for the family, preparations for her funeral taking up most of their time. When the day finally came, the Jones boys were distraught. Her burial became too much for young Killian so he took off to the one place which could calm his worries, Brennan and Liam calling after him as he ran. Liam wanted to go after his younger brother but Brennan stopped him, urging him to give Killian some space.

Emma pauses for a second, shining her flashlight over the picture of the two boys which accompanies the start of the story. Her finger traces over the face of the younger one, she thinks to herself that she wishes she could meet this Killian. She glances a moment longer and turns back to the story…

Killian ends up by the docks, his legs moving on their own accord. He finds an empty slip and decides to sit on the end of the pier, crying over the loss of his mother.

Emma suddenly feels as though she’s drifting to sleep. The words seem to be floating off the page and wrapping themselves around her. When a flash of light surrounds her, Emma is sure she’s dreaming. She shuts her eyes in fear, unsure of where this dream is taking her.

Suddenly, her bare feet hit cold ground. She shivers, still too scared to open her eyes, her hands acting as a makeshift blindfold. She hears what sounds like a seagull and smells what she can only imagine is the sea. It’s a comforting quiet disrupted by the soft sound of someone crying. In a quick bout of bravery, the young girl opens one eye. Gasping, she removes her other hand from her face and her eyes grow wide. Sitting in front of her is Killian Jones, the boy from the storybook. She hesitates, but slowly walks towards him. She now knows he’s the source of the quiet sniffling and pauses, unsure she should bother him. Before she can turn around and explore more of her dreamworld, Killian looks over his shoulder and wipes his runny nose on his hand. He looks at her intently, and Emma is drawn to the deep blue of his eyes which seem to shine brighter through his tears. His eyebrows curve in confusion and he speaks, “Who are you?”

His voice is the most beautiful thing Emma has ever heard. His accent is unlike anything she’s heard before, but it’s melodic and reminds her of her favorite song. She hesitates to respond, but somehow feels comforted by his presence. “I’m… I’m Emma. Are you… Killian?”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline but he gives her a soft smile, “Yes, miss. I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you here before.” He scratches behind his ear as she struggles to explain where she came from.

She’s sure she can say anything, she’ll wake up in the morning and Killian Jones will remain the figment of imagination he is, so she’s honest. “Oh! I’m not from here. I’m from Iowa! Well, at least I’m from Iowa right now…”

“Iowa?” Killian questions her once again. “I’ve never heard of such a place. I don’t get to travel much. Is it close to here?”

Emma decides to sit down next to him, both of their legs swinging over the dark water. “I think I’m pretty far from home. One minute I was reading in my bed and the next I was standing behind you.” Emma flinches at her own honesty but reminds herself it can do no harm. She’s finding peace in this dreamworld, she almost feels as though she has a friend.

“Well, Emma, I don’t know how you’re here but I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad moment.” He hangs his head, fiddling with a hangnail on his left hand.

“Your mother…” Emma says it in barely a whisper but Killian hears it all the same. She clasps her hands over her mouth.

“How did you––” He looks afraid of her and she hates it.

“Killian, I––,” She reminds herself again he’s just a dream, “The book I was reading… you were–– are a character in it. That’s how I knew your name, and about your mom. I also know about your brother, Li––”

“Killian? Is that you? Killian!” Emma is cut off by who she can only assume is Liam looking for his little brother. She scoots a bit away from him and hides her face in embarrassment while he turns to talk to his brother. Confusion was etched across Killian’s face before they were interrupted.

“Aye, Liam. It’s me. I’m sorry for running, it’s just… mother… she––” Killian is practically toppled over by a hug from Liam.

“I understand, Killian.” Liam looks as though he’s been crying but smiles and rubs his brother’s head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It’s then that he notices Emma. “Brother, who is this?”

Killian’s neck heats up with blush and Emma has to suppress a giggle. “Liam, this is Emma of Iowa.”

Emma chuckles loudly this time and Liam looks a bit confused but brushes it off quickly, “Ah, hello Emma. I hope my little brother hasn’t burdened you with our troubles too much. Where is your family?”

Killian mumbles something that sounds like “younger brother” and Liam smirks slightly. She supposes it’s something between siblings and ignores the ache for a family that lives deep in her soul. Emma snaps out of her melancholy to answer, “Oh, um, they’re at home.” She shoots a look at Killian, urging him to help her keep her secret. She once again is warring with the part of her brain which says none of this is real but shoves it down in light of Liam’s stare. “I should be going.”

Killian looks like he’s about to say something when Liam speaks, “Ah, yes, well we should be getting back to our parents as well.” Liam’s voice cracks at the word parents, but he continues his strong facade in front of his brother. “Ready, Killian?”

“Aye, I’m right behind you, brother.” Liam hesitates but turns away to leave Emma and Killian to say goodbye.

Emma speaks first, “I’m so sorry about your mother, Killian.” She looks down at her hands, she’s never had parents, but she can imagine watching one die is not easy.

“It’s ok, Emma. Liam and I will manage.” Emma can tell he’s being brave for her but she lets him continue. “You go home now, I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents, I’m an orphan.” It bursts out of her before she can stop herself, her innate need to be honest with Killian taking over. She’s scowling now, ready to spit back any pity he throws her way, but when she looks up, all she sees is understanding. He nods at her.

“Will I see you again, Emma? Friends are all too rare in my life.” She smiles softly, happy to have made a friend herself.

“I hope so, Killian.” They smile at one another and she hears Liam call him from a distance. Killian nods once more and runs to his brother, glancing back over his shoulder one last time. Emma smiles, and watches him fade from sight.

As quickly as Emma landed in this world, she is back in her bed. The book sits open on her side table. She grabs it, hoping to see more of Killian’s story to add fuel for the rest of the night’s dreams. Emma is shocked at what she sees. Side by side are the text of her encounter with Killian, and a perfect sketch of the two of them sitting on the edge of the pier. Emma expects to be scared, but instead she’s comforted by the drawing of her and her new friend. She closes her book, and places it in it’s hiding spot, easily drifting off to sleep with memories of ocean air and the sound of Killian’s voice.

Phoenix, AZ; November, 2000

She hasn’t visited him since Ingrid— it’s not fair that she uses him like this, but she needs him.

And he promised. They promised.

With a deep breath, she opens the book and thinks of her friend as the warm light surrounds her and takes her away...

Sea air fills her lungs as she finds her footing– the breeze a sure sign she’s landed wherever Killian finds himself these days. She orients herself by finding the water and spots a ship coming into land– Emma would know that ship anywhere. While she can tell it’s the Jewel, the vessel’s usually regal presence seems tarnished somehow. As it nears the shoreline, she sees Killian at the helm. A smile spreads across her face before she can stop it– he always looked so at home on the water. As he nears the beach, Emma senses something different about her old friend. He’s older, each of them learning long ago moves differently in their separate worlds– almost as they need it to rather than on any set timeline– but she can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than age.

Killian directs the crew effortlessly, not a single soul arguing with him. The ship hits land and Killian gazes over the side long enough for Emma to notice the heavy space beside him. Something’s missing– someone’s missing. It dawns on her as the ramp hits the sand… Liam.

Killian walks off the ship with a swagger she doesn’t recognize– a false confidence she’s positive only she would recognize as a front. Second guessing her decision– maybe she’d stayed away far too long– Emma reaches for the leather book. Selfishly, she takes one more look at her friend, or the man which used to be. He scans the beach with a stoic look that only falls away when he meets her gaze. A smile breaks out across her face as he runs towards her. She lets go of the book, anxious to learn more about where she is and what Kilian’s been up to. He barely says hello before she's wrapped in his arms choking up at the pure innocence of his laugh when he picks her up and twirls her around.

“Emma Swan!” Killian puts her down, swiping a soft curl from her cheek, “It’s been so long, love.”

Emma can’t speak, she’s changed since they last met, but not like him. Studying him, she releases him from her grasp and her hands trail down his arm, hesitating when her left one hits something foreign. Killian flinches and tucks it under his jacket. She’s still unable to put a finger on what’s different, but her old friend, always sure and steadfast, seems… lost. She can’t help but speak candidly, “Killian, where is Liam?”

He smirks, a mask unfamiliar to her aside from her brief glimpse of him exiting the ship, “Ah, yes, ‘fraid my brother was lost to the sea.” He gazes off before seemingly being startled into remembering her existence, “Emma! You can’t be here, it’s dangerous.”

Emma looks around for the first time since she arrived and realizes this place is unlike any portside town she’d landed in previously. “Where exactly is… here?”

If she didn’t know better– Killian Jones is not afraid of anything– she would’ve sworn she saw fear flicker across his eyes, “Best you not know. Why are you here? Is everything alright?”

His genuine concern reminds her of the pregnancy test she left in the Shell bathroom. Never one to mince words and never sure how long they truly have, Emma breaks the news abruptly, “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

Now she knows its fear– coupled with a brief flash of sadness that she doesn’t have the energy to dissect– that crosses his gaze, “Emma, ho–”

She cuts him off, she doesn’t want to answer the questions, doesn’t want to disappoint him, “It doesn’t matter. I will be ok, I just… needed to see you.”

He nods before turning to a small man in a red beanie who has hovered close by but out of earshot for the entirety of their conversation. “Smee, it will be dark soon. Gather supplies and take the crew aboard. I will return shortly.” The man nods before yelling a feeble attempt to wrangle up the rest of the crew while Killian leads Emma closer to the water’s edge. She knows there’s more to everything happening here than he’s letting on, but she also knows that if he’s not telling her, it’s with reason.

They find a small alcove, hidden from the ship, and Killian takes her in his arms swaying slowly. She can’t help but giggle, “Killian, what are you doing?”

“Just, I know you probably don’t have long, but please– before you go, just– one dance.” She nods, this tradition is one she should’ve seen coming. They danced the first time when Emma was nervous for her first homecoming dance– he taught her how to slow dance. Her next trip was to tell him she’d moved again and never gotten to go to the dance after all– so they swayed once more... that was the last time she’d visited.

As they settle into a comfortable stance, Emma feels something cold hit the small strip of skin exposed at her back. Logically she knows it should be his left hand, but the chill feels metallic. She stops herself from flinching, not at what must be a prosthetic, but at the temperature of the metal. Meeting his gaze, she can tell her lack of response comforts him briefly before the exhaustion and fear returns to his features. He forces a smile before pulling her closer— clearly, he doesn’t want to be here anymore than she wants to be home, so she dances. Killian hums quietly, a melody she’s heard many times before and often sings to herself when she needs the comfort of her friend. They don’t speak at first, the soft sound of his hum and the distant white noise of waves hitting the sand more than enough to fill the air around them.

Emma feels another wave of fear fall over her and breaks the silence, “I don’t really know how, Killian.”

He leans in closer, “It’s easy. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” He winks at her and they feel like children again— twirling in fields of flowers and playing along the shoreline. For a moment, she forgets the monumental changes waiting for her at home and just tries to be happy. Killian spins her around, dipping her, and making her laugh like she hasn’t in what feels like her entire life. He slows and begins to hum a different shanty she doesn’t recognize but causes her to sway back and forth all the same. She has to stop herself from jumping when he speaks again, “I know you’re scared, Swan, but you can do this.”

Emma doesn’t tell him that she knows she can’t, that she knows Neal can’t– or that he won’t. Instead, she just savors the moment with her best friend.

Whether he’s real or fiction or an impossible dream stopped mattering long ago— Killian is always here, a constant in her inconsistent life, and that’s worth everything to Emma. She gazes into his eyes, as easy to lose herself in as the ocean, and he looks back. They’re practically nose to nose and Emma can see every scratch, bruise, and line of exhaustion that covers his face.

He’s still one of the most beautiful humans she’s ever seen.

Maybe it’s that realization that causes her to lean in ever so slightly. His eyebrow raises quickly before mimicking her movement. They have history, it’s patchy and incomplete, but it’s theirs and no matter what Emma always finds herself back in this fantasy’s arms.

He’s fiction, always has been, but he’s been an escape all the same. Emma doesn't second guess her decision to kiss him– no harm, no foul when this is all a dream anyway…

But it never comes.

Their moment is disrupted by a loud cawing noise. It almost sounds like a bird, but the way he flinches and the stoic fear that settles across Killian’s face hints that, whatever made that noise, is not to be messed with. His back stiffens beneath her hands before he moves in front of Emma. Using his left hand– no, hook– he pushes aside the tree blocking their view, “I’m sorry, Swan. You need to go. Now.” He turns back to her frantically, and with fear in his eyes growing, she has no choice but to believe him.

Her heart is beating loud enough that she's positive he can hear it too and she’s not sure if it’s the imminent danger or the fact she almost kissed him.

He’s not real, Emma.

Still, the look in his eyes fools her into playing along once again, rushing back towards his ship as darkness falls like a blanket across the beach. Emma stops him, selfishly pulling him behind a bush for just one more moment alone. “When will I see you again?” She isn’t sure why she’s asking when it’s always been up to her.

He smiles at her before pulling her tight, “Just hold onto this— to us and our parallel existences.” His right hand cups her cheek and she takes a moment to find comfort in his warmth, “You’re one of the only reasons I’m alive, Emma Swan. Let me be your something, as you are mine.”

Emma can feel herself crying now, the reality she’s returning to feeling scarier than whatever has Killian rushing her home, but he’s counting on her to survive, so she will. “I’ll see you soon, Killian.”

He smiles at her one more time, bright and hopeful, “Aye, Swan. I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she feels the warmth bubble inside of her as the light surrounds her once again and takes her back. In no time at all she’s sitting again on the dingy tile floor of a gas station in Phoenix. She holds the book close once more before putting it back in her bag. She sighs, remembering Killian’s faith in her, as she grabs the pregnancy test and goes to break the news to Neal.

As she leaves the bathroom, she’s startled by two officers with their guns drawn. As she’s told to raise her hands up, the lifted watch Neal gave her for her birthday catches the harsh fluorescent light and the positive test falls from her hand clattering against the linoleum at her feet.

Phoenix, AZ; August, 2001

“Emma, are you sure?” The doctor questions her as he wraps her crying son in a towel.

She refuses to look, the tears and sweat stinging her eyes. Emma knows if she holds the small boy, she won’t be able to give him up. The doctor turns away, placing the small boy into a bassinet behind him and Emma feels a weight lifted from her. Being given up herself, Emma swore she’d never put a child in that position, but she also never thought she’d be giving birth in prison.

The recollection of her own upbringing sparks something inside of her, “Wait!” The doctor turns around, something like hope in his eyes. Emma knows he thinks she’s changed her mind, but in reality, her decision has only been further solidified by her choice not to send him off alone. “There’s a book. In my personal belongings. It’s leatherbound and full of fairy tales– please, send it with him.”

The doctor looks at the guard who nods before sending their partner to retrieve the storybook. She’ll feel safer knowing even a piece of her— and a larger piece of Killian– will be with her son no matter where he ends up. The book made her feel like her parents at least cared enough not to send her off alone, and she hopes it provides the same comfort for her son.

It can be his something to hold onto.

Slight melancholy aches through her at the realization she’s given up her right to visit Killian ever again. She thinks he’d understand– support her even. Still, Emma smiles softly as the book is placed next to the hospital crib before drifting off where memories of distant lands keep her fast asleep.

Boston, MA; October, 2011

“Another banner year.” Emma blows out the blue star candle, and makes the simplest of birthday wishes. As she begins to unwrap the cupcake there’s a knock at the door. Startled, but curious, she opens it to a young boy looking at her like she’s standing on her head.

“Can I help you?” Emma’s had a long night, and while she could really go for some girl scout cookies, she doubts the small boy outside her door at 8pm is here to sell her any.

“Are you Emma Swan?” He tilts his head as he asks, a simple movement that Emma almost finds endearing.

“Yeah. Who are you?” She’s trying not to be impatient, but she really needs to take a shower and wash off the scum from her skip earlier that evening.

“My name is Henry. I’m your son.”

Well she wasn’t expecting that .

Storybrook, ME; 2011

Henry’s adoptive mother is– something. Regina Mills is not who Emma expected when she spent late nights picturing Henry with a family, but he has a roof over his head and everything he could ever want. And the town, Storybrook, is quaint and safe. Henry seems healthy.

What more could she have wanted for her son?

Maybe to not have the gut feeling that something— no everything — is off in this town.

Regina (aggressively) asked her to leave after dropping Henry off, but she can’t find it in herself to head back to Boston just yet. She wanders into a small diner that touts an attached inn, and the warm atmosphere is beyond inviting. Against all previous plans, she settles herself onto a stool at the bar and orders herself some hot chocolate. As she sips her drink, she takes in the rest of the diner only to realize almost everyone is looking at her. Almost. There’s a dark haired man with his back to her sitting in one of the booths. Emma finds herself fixated on him, and the fact that, unlike everyone else in the diner, he couldn’t seem to care less that she’s here.

A waitress in a short red skirt drops off soup at his table before making her way back towards Emma. “Hey, new girl. You want some food?” Startled by her forwardness, Emma responds with a stutter, “I– uh– no– I’m not– uh.. Why is everyone staring at me?”

The girl– Ruby if her name tag is anything to go by– belly laughs before answering, “Girl, we haven’t had visitors to this town in ages .” Emma isn’t sure how to take that but Ruby doesn’t seem to mind as she keeps talking, “I mean, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a visitor in this diner. Strictly regulars. That’s why they’re staring, hun. Not to mention, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.” She shrugs her shoulder in Emma’s direction and winks with a wolf’s smile.

She’s spunky and Emma likes her, “Well, I’m happy to be your first. Do you have any rooms?”

Ruby scoffs again, “All of them– no visitors remember? Except room 9, Sailor Boy over there has taken up permanent residence in that one.” The waitress motions towards the man in the back booth before flagging down an older woman asking for a room key.

Emma glances again at the dark haired stranger, wanting to know more, but having no real reason to strike up a conversation. Before she can approach him, she’s being handed a key and ushered up the stairs to her room by a pushy old lady that everyone seems to affectionately call Granny. She settles in for the night, her curiosity about the town and its residents only growing the longer she stays.

When she wakes up, it’s to Henry knocking on her door again. She opens to find him practically vibrating, “You stayed?!”

She can’t help but smile at his excitement, finding it hard to tamper her own, “Yeah, kid, I did. Don’t you have school or something?”

Henry smiles, “Not for another hour, wanna grab some breakfast?”

Emma nods and follows her son– not sure she’ll ever get used to that– down the stairs to grab some breakfast from the diner. They order from the counter when all the booths are full, but decide to move when one opens as their food is ready. Emma thanks Ruby, grabbing their plates of waffles, before turning towards the booth just as someone walks behind her. The plates crash to the ground, both her and the man she bumped into bending down to help with clean up. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“My fault, lass. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Emma knows that voice– would know it anywhere.

When she doesn’t answer, he looks up at her, concern etched across the animated eyebrows she’s known for almost her entire life. If she wasn’t positive before, she is now, the blue eyes that haunted her dreams for years after giving up the book are staring directly back at her. “Killian?”

He looks stunned, but there’s no recognition in his eyes— eerily similar to their first night so many years ago on the docks. The warmth of his gaze, the excitement at meeting once again, and the hint of infatuation Emma always stopped herself from hoping for are gone without a trace. The unsettled feeling that’s sat in Emma’s stomach since the moment she and Henry crossed the town line the night before seems to boil over. All the air feels as though it’s escaped her lungs, suffocating her as she realizes the only person she’s ever come close to calling her best friend has no idea who she is. Her fear is solidified when he speaks again, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

@mariakov81 @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @nikkiemms

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #cs canon divergence #captain swan fanfiction #capthamm #bye capthamm #captcas

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“I love you more than coffee.”

yoongi x reader (or oc) (feat. Tae & Jimin) genre: fluff word count: 1.3K

a/n: I swear this was supposed to be like 500 words idk how I do this lmao. AND THIS FIC IS WAY MORE COMPLICATED THAN IT NEEDS TO BE. Anyways, this turned from being a silly Yoon/Kid fic to a mess featuring Tae and Jimin with appearances from Dear and Peaches. Idk what it is, but a Tae fic will be written to expand on what is happening with him and Peaches here. But in terms of Yoon/Kid, I think it shows the easy comfort they have, and that’s why I’m still pleased with this. Anyways, this is sort of edited, sort of not, so I hope it’s easy enough to read. And I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for reading :))

SUNLIGHT seeped through your bedroom window much earlier than you would have preferred, saturating you and the bump in the sheets next to you in its warm glow of a fresh new day. You desperately wanted to cover yourself back up in the duvet and cuddle into your boyfriend for another hour or three, but the sun was heating you up too much to fall back into slumber.

Instead, you crawled out of bed, not particularly carefully, but quiet enough to hopefully not disturb the man buried in blankets. You and Yoongi were… not morning people. Both of you worked hard in your respective careers and creative outlets day in and day out, and that meant you slept hard.

That also meant you both relied on coffee to get you going every morning, and lots of it. Pulling on a pair of your boyfriend’s sweatpants and some socks, you made your way out of the bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.

Upon entering the room, you found Taehyung and Jimin sitting at the kitchen counter staring off into space, both of them snapping their heads towards you in perfect synchronization at the sound of your entry.

You nearly asked them what the hell they were doing in your apartment before remembering you insisted they stay over after a night of movies, pizza, and drinks turned into Taehyung drunkenly confessing to the three of you that he was thought he was in love with his best friend. Jimin drunkenly told his pal that he’d been there, done that, it came with its challenges, but overall, “10/10 would recommend.”

“I feel like death,” Jimin mumbled, dropping his head onto his arms that were folded on the countertop in front of him. Taehyung continued staring at you before shifting his gaze directly in front of him again, not uttering a word as if the action would trigger the throbbing headache he was trying to fight off with his weapon of choice: silence.

“I’m guessing you guys haven’t eaten,” you said, looking at the two boys, nearly laughing at their states. Jimin shook his head. You gave a single nod, walking to the cupboard to first start with… “Fuck.”

“What?” Jimin lifted his head in slight concern, Taehyung’s eyes moving back to you.

Yoongi’s words from the day before echoed in your head as you sighed.

“I used the last of your coffee this morning.”

He even offered to buy you some more, but you assured him you had to grab a few things anyway, so you’d just pick some up while at the store.

As if some fairy god mother or guardian angel or some shit was looking out for you, you opened the cupboard door in hopes that there would miraculously be a new bag of coffee sitting there. “Well,” you started, finding that the empty spot where the coffee should be was still indeed empty. “That sucks.”

“What’s happening?” Jimin spoke up again, lying his head back down on his arms.

“I forgot to buy coffee,” you admitted, closing the cupboard door.

“Uh oh,” Jimin sing-songed, you turning toward him to shoot him a glare. At that very moment, the three of you heard the shuffling of your waddling boyfriend coming down the hallway. Entering the kitchen, he found the three of you staring at him, causing him to pull a face of confusion.

“What?” He asked, looking from you to the two younger men.

“There’s no coffee,” Jimin groaned, Tae looking down to his hands, slowly coming further back into world of the living.

Yoongi’s eyes hung on Jimin for a moment before they slowly panned to you, his expression empty.

“I’m so sorry,” you pouted.

“I thought-” Yoongi started, cutting himself off as he walked further into the kitchen toward the fridge. “Do you all want eggs?”

“Baby,” you said gently. “Are you mad at me?”

“No?” He said in confusion, meeting your sad eyes. “Why do you look like that? Stop being silly, I’m not upset.”

“But you love coffee,” you pointed out through your pout.

“I love you more than coffee,” he told you, a sudden gasp sounding from the kitchen counter. You, Yoongi, and Jimin all turned to stare at Taehyung and his sudden expression of surprise, the first sound from the man since last night.

“Sorry,” Taehyung apologized, his eyes traveling from one person to the next. “Just surprised me.”

You giggled as your boyfriend shot him a ridiculing look. “Why would that sur- are you even alive right now?” You boyfriend asked Taehyung as you stepped toward him, kissing his jaw.

Just as Yoongi wrapped an arm around your lower back, pulling you into his side, a sudden knock on your apartment door pulled each of your guys’ attention to the sound. Staring at the door, Jimin crawled off his stool to answer it.

The cheery voice that resounded from the hallway was instantly recognizable as Jimin’s girlfriend’s. Moments later, Jimin and his girlfriend walked into the kitchen, Jimin looking ten times more enthusiastic than he appeared just a minute earlier.

Next, rounding the corner was Taehyung’s best friend, who he had admitted he believed he was in love with just the night previous. The two girls had become quite close through Jimin and Taehyung’s close friendship. You and Yoongi both looked to Taehyung in concern, taking note of the way he sat up but didn’t smile, instead looking pained and sad.

Looking back to the girl, you saw she was balancing a cup carrier with three coffees in one hand and a bottle of juice in the other hand. That’s when you realized both Jimin and his girlfriend were carrying coffees of their own.

“This one is for you, Yoongi, and this is for you,” the sweet, sweet girl told you both after setting the carrier on the counter, pointing to your respective cups. She pulled the other one out for herself just before she rounded the counter toward Taehyung.

“Oh my god, I knew I had a guardian angel,” you told the girl in appreciation, watching the smile spread across her face, though her eyes were set on Tae, her gaze somehow soft, intense, and curious all at once.

Yoongi kissed your temple quickly before stepping from you and grabbing his coffee. He wasted no time in bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip of the warm liquid, taking a contented sigh as he lowered it, staring at the cup.

“I do love you more than coffee, Kid, but right now I think I love her the most,” he said, still staring at the cup, Tae surprisingly chuckling at the comment as she handed him his juice, running her hand through his shaggy hair.

You stared at your boyfriend in disbelief, watching as his lips curved into a gummy grin, his eyes meeting your offended ones, though the expression was feigned. He lifted your coffee from the carrier and waddled back to you, placing it into your hands. “Only kidding,” he mumbled, giving you a peck before taking another sip of his drink. “Sort of.”

“Keep it up, Min,” you told him. “I’d love to see how far you take this.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he told you with a soft smile, moving back to the fridge.

“Good start,” you held back a giggle as you took a sip of your coffee. “Fuck that’s good, never mind, I’m in love with you too,” you told the girl.

“Hey,” your boyfriend turned to stare at you, his hands full of eggs. You expected him to act offended, claiming you as his, or maybe make a comment about how you betrayed the man making your breakfast. Instead he surprised you with a small gummy grin and a playful, “she’s mine.”

Well, maybe there were three of you in the room smitten with Taehyung’s angelic best friend. But looking at your boyfriend’s gorgeous features as he smiled, his cheeks fluffy and full, you were filled with a mixture of pride, appreciation, and happiness with the knowledge that he was yours, and you were his.

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

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in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises. Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

#ffcc #walker #walker texas ranger #walker fic #my writing #if anyone ever needed an in-depth character study of liam #...here it is

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years ago

Text

the only proof i need is you (taywhora)

it is finally done, i've been wokring on this since the ukd tour started but we don't need to talk about that, it's kind of a sequel to my older canon compliant fics but can be read sepereatly. love my dear mina for always betaing shit I send them, an actual icon

title from proof by Paramore bc that song got stuck in my head as I was tryna get a title, enjoy :)) ao3 link

Tayce relished in the energy she got from this, after so long away from gigs the euphoria wasn’t lost on her. They were lucky, finally able to experience the dizzying highs of such public notoriety.

The heat didn’t help things— of course, they’d get stuck in a heatwave during a cross country tour. The amount of sweat, makeup running by the end of the show, outfits sticking in places they shouldn’t. It was a nightmare, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything

Her attention was pulled back to reality by the laughter of her friends, using silly Instagram filters on each other to amuse them. They stumbled towards her in a flurry of giggles, knocking into her arms and almost sending her falling over into the crowd. A’whora raised her phone to Tayce, erupting into laughter at the way the screen contorted her face into something unrecognisable.

---

“Are you done with those?” Tayce asked, gesturing to A’whora’s fries while his attention was laser focused on his phone.

Before he could answer, Tayce plucked a chip anyway, putting it in his mouth much to A’whora’s chagrin. He huffed, eyes narrowing at such an act of treason.

“You hound!” He swatted at Tayce’s arm as he reached for another. “What happened to yours?”

Tayce lent in further, smiling fiendishly and chewing obnoxiously loud. “Ate them, like, ten minutes ago. You’ve been staring at your phone for the past hour and they’re gonna go cold, missy.”

“I’m eating at my own pace!”

“You eat slower than Lawrence picks up choreo.” Tayce grinned, his heart warming at the way his friend pouted, arms crossed — he was too cute when he got all riled up.

“Don’t involve me in your lovers' spats!” Lawrence hissed from across the table, laughing at the way Tayce’s eyes narrowed. He knew Lawrence was only having one of those stupid more-than-friends jokes, but any implications of their relationship being anything other than professional made the room seem a little too tense for his liking.

“She’s right, you two argue like an old married couple.” Bimini chimed in, resting their head on their hands like this was an everyday event.

“This isn’t an argument, a crime has been committed and you two are bystanders letting such an act go unpunished!”

“It’s a fucking chip.”

A’whora glared at Lawrence for such a comment. It was his chip. Tayce had his own, he could deal with himself. He had a bad habit of eating things that weren’t his and flirting his way out of any repercussions. He’d buy A’whora more of something most of the time but the annoyance was justified after a year of having his food stolen.

Bimini let out an exasperated laugh, the idiocy of the pair never failing to be both amusing and tiring. They bickered like children sometimes but there was a layer of deep connection under it, two people so strong in their unity that nothing could break them apart.

Except a chip apparently.

They slid their own half eaten pack over, not likely to eat the rest anyway. It would be worth the quiet of Tayce settling down with more food for a little while. They missed the peace of them all being passed out from a long night’s show.

“Tayce, you can have the rest of mine, just leave her alone.”

“Let the whore have her own food, you hound.” Lawrence huffed, Tayce snickering at the moniker. It made him raise an eyebrow, nodding before turning his attention back to his fries.

It was hilarious seeing him get so riled up but there was a small pang in Tayce’s chest, he genuinely was a bit upset about having his food taken, it was a constant that always riled him up no matter how much Tayce replaced. He slid a few fries over, secretly enjoying the bright smile that took over A’whora’s face, giving a thankful nod.

---

Tayce felt the repetitive movement of the car slowly lull him to sleep, they were all too tired to do much of anything, passing out in the back of the tour bus in full drag, not even the energy to take it off before going to their hotels. A’whora was next to him, head leant against his shoulder. He looked so peaceful, making it hard to believe he’d been performing in the horrid heatwave an hour ago.

Bimini was on the other side of them, by the window. They’d curled in on themself, contorted in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable. She’d have to laugh when they complained of back pain the next morning. Lawrence was beside them, stretched across the seat between him and bimini. It was strange to see everyone so low energy, though Tayce himself felt it. So many shows in such quick succession, his body wasn’t ready no matter how much preparation went into it.

A bump in the road jolted him back to attention, though the rest of them were long gone from consciousness. At least he thought. His attention turned back to A’whora, taking in all of his features without the prying eyes of anyone. Something about the sight of him, head reclined on Tayce’s shoulder looking like it was the most comfortable thing in the world, it made his heart warm.

Those feelings still went unsaid, he wasn’t ready for a lot of things, A’whora knew that. He knew with time he would open up, it just took patience and love.

---

Tayce’s energy was electric, his constant bouncing and talking leaving the others in the tour bus in a similar state.

Long drives were boring, he had to make it more interesting somehow. A’whora and Lawrence exchanged a look as Tayce set up an Instagram live, mentally preparing for the chaos that would surely follow.

Lawrence was half amused and half mortified at the act that followed, A’whora cheekily shaking her ass on the camera, much to the amusement of the viewers, Tayce slapping it as if it was no big deal. He’d probably come to regret that later but the moment buzzed with the excitement for their next show, the tour in general, and the euphoria of touring with some of his best friends.

The rowdy energy kept up for the rest of the day, Tayce rarely lost his buzz as A’whora had come to learn, it was a blessing until it was late and she was ready to go out when all he could do was pass out in the hotel room.

They had to share this time due to availability, acting like it was a minor inconvenience when it was all they wanted now, to feel the comfort of someone going through the same grueling thing as you, waking up next to Tayce was euphoric. Something about him took the best, happiest feelings out of A’whora and left him a gooey mess of love and laughs.

Though Lawrence was catching on, or so Tayce claimed he thought, confiding in A’whora knowing even he could keep this secret. He knew better than to say something like that, Tayce’s vulnerability was difficult to keep, any sign of trouble and he’d close right back up for a long time to come.

“Oh, there are the lovers.” He boldly prodded the pair, erupting into a laugh as Tayce scowled. The atmosphere was too tense for 9 am, the previous night out leaving him in a precarious state of trying to balance a normal act and a vicious headache that only a kiss from A’whora had managed to vanquish.

“Well what crawled up your ass and died?” He followed up, Tayce’s glare frosting over in a way that truly worried A’whora. He was not happy and he didn’t want to sit in a car all day full of tension. Where was Bimini in this mess?

“It’s too early for this shit, settle down.”

His voice seemed to reason more with Tayce as he got into the car, quickly pulling a’whora beside him. Bimini came out a while later, apologising for the wait. None of them ever seemed to be on time, it was almost as if they took it in turns this tour.

Their presence brought some much needed peace as Tayce started perking up through the journey, still oddly quiet but much better than wanting to bite Lawrence’s head off this morning.

---

“A’whora! God, hurry up!” A shout came from Bimini as they prodded her to change faster. Damn costumes, never easy to get off in a hurry.

Tayce watched it with muffled laughter, the misfortune not enough to need intervention but much too amusing to leave alone.

Lawrence shared in her amusement, though had no problem commenting on her time wasting.

“I thought I was the slow one, the whore’s got us all beat.” She commented, the room erupting in laughter much to A’whora’s annoyance.

“Stupid fucking outfit! Tayce?” The complaint was followed by a pleading whine, her eyes starting to tear up with sheer frustration.

Tayce obliged, walking over and unzipping the outfit to let A’whora out, grabbing her new one and sliding it up her body, slowly as to allow her to get in without rushing.

A’whora felt herself almost quiver, the feeling of Tayce’s hands running down her back taking her back to—

Nope. She couldn’t do this, not during a show. Keeping this secret would eat her alive by the time they got finished with this tour but she could enjoy the little moments they had, as inconspicuous as possible.

“Talk about sexual tension.”

“Oh fuck off Lawrence.” Tayce shot back. Before any more words could be exchanged they were rushed back on stage for a group number.

Thank god for Tayce.

—-

Tayce let himself fall onto the bed with a loud groan. It was incredible being able to perform for huge crowds and meet their fans but this was a new kind of exhaustion. He felt the need to hibernate for the next week. Beside him, A’whora flopped down, a similar sigh leaving his lips.

“I can’t wait to get home, I’ve got a face mask and a few packs of percy pigs waiting for me.”

“Is that all you ever think about? You better share, missy.” Tayce teased, a tired grin spreading across his face, elating his boyfriend who rolled over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Only if you ask politely, or maybe you do something nice for me.” The last part came out in a purr, their faces so close Tayce swore A’whora could feel the heat rising off his face at the insinuation.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t play along, flirting and calling his bluffs. But this was more intimate, the two of them, together. No one else, no need to worry about keeping it down so their roommates wouldn’t find out. It was a flash of a possible future. The pair of them working, joking, and loving together.

It dawned on him then, cuddled together without a care in the world after the most exhausting two weeks of his life. This was what he wanted, he didn’t care what other people thought. Something melted away without him realising, leaving his heart bare and ready for the taking though A’whora always let him set the pace.

“I love you, George.”

He froze. Did he hear that right? Did Tayce just say he loved him? Tayce, the one who could never let himself be vulnerable, much less admit his deepest feelings.

“I love you too.” He choked out, sounding more shocked than he knew possible. Tayce couldn’t help but laugh, he wasn’t expecting it but that reaction was nothing less than adorable. He pulled him into a soft kiss, enjoying their closeness before they both drifted off, hardly ready for the travel and fatigue of tomorrow but safe and cosy in the presence of each other.

He could get used to this.

#a'whora #tayce #taywhora #rpdr fanfiction

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sparkkeyper · 4 years ago

Text

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Word Count: 3,797

Warnings: None

Summary: Old habits die hard. Crowley and Aziraphale’s habits are very, very old. Building their own side is difficult when 6000 years of instincts won’t shut up.

(Originally very loosely-based on the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside" but then it kind of did its own thing, haha. I was originally going to post this for Advent Omens but uhhh you can see that didn’t quite happen. Written as ace but you can read it however you want, really. Guess what fools, it’s Soft Boi hours again!)

(Now on AO3!)

-----------

The snow had started early in the day. When Aziraphale arrived at the Mayfair flat it was just a dusting. But the flurry had become a proper snowfall, and then quickly decided 'go big or go home' and transitioned into a flat-out storm.

This didn't phase the two immortals in the slightest, of course. If anything, the swirling flakes outside made it feel even cozier inside. Crowley's sleek, minimalist flat had grown a fireplace for the occasion, and a very surprised new chimney on the roof of the building found itself venting smoke that somehow managed to bypass three floors.

They sat together on the plush sofa (obtained at Aziraphale's insistence several months prior, on the grounds that he wasn't going to continue coming over if there was nowhere comfortable to sit, and Crowley couldn't have that) and drank wine and talked and laughed and reveled in the feeling of being cozy and warm on a cold, blustery day.

Time had traveled on in the usual manner since Armageddon failed to happen. The two of them were unwinding slowly. Thousands of years of looking over shoulders did not evaporate in an evening, benevolent Antichrist or no, and 'our side' was a concept they were still carefully exploring. But what a glorious exploration it was.

There was no limit to the amount of time they could spend together. It was a dizzying concept that they were both adjusting to, but one that carried a thrill through it all the same. Crowley had been sorely tempted to buy tickets to every concert, play, and musical revue London had to offer and do nothing but attend shows for the foreseeable future, the two of them together. In public. He very well might have done too, if Aziraphale hadn't talked him down amid giddy chuckles. "We have time," Aziraphale had reminded him, and Crowley was ecstatic to realize that it was true.

He had relented to two a week.

It was elating. They stood closer together, they sat beside each other on public transportation rather than one behind the other, they gave each other teasing nudges with elbows.

And sometimes - when they were both at least a bottle in - one of them might even bump their hand against the other's, and fingers might intertwine, and an electric tingle would flood Crowley like a live thing, and most importantly neither would pull away for at least two solid minutes and oh wasn't that alone worth saving the world for?

Crowley spent a previously-unheard-of amount of time at the bookshop and Aziraphale's face always lit up like the sun whenever he walked in. He arrived early, stayed late, sometimes didn't bother going home at all, often showed up with wine or snacks, and they were together and it was wonderful. He had fallen asleep on the bookshop couch in the past, but these months he got the impression that Aziraphale had zoned the piece of furniture as specifically his. There was a permanent place set aside for him in Aziraphale's home, in Aziraphale's life. It made a warmth pool in his stomach to think about it despite the creeping winter chill.

Aziraphale had begun to visit Crowley's flat in return. The angel had never once set foot in the place until the night after the airfield - Crowley had never given him the address, to be fair - but now that permission had been granted Aziraphale was here increasingly often. It was so like the easy evenings at the bookshop, just with more austere surroundings. Music, alcohol, debates and memories and slightly drunken speculation. The occasional temporary twining of fingers. It was good.

It was overwhelming sometimes, this new 'good'.

Aziraphale always left the flat at the end of the evening, usually around ten. He had no reservations whatsoever about chatting until dawn in the bookshop but the flat was a new environment, Crowley supposed. Possibly something to do with propriety.

Possibly something to do with thousands of years of distance that they were both still figuring out how to cross.

But that was Aziraphale, all right: as slow and steady as a glacier when it came to his set, comfortable ways. So much had changed in the past few months and the angel had had to adapt quickly. Crowley didn't begrudge him taking a few things slow. Old habits were hard to break and their habits were very, very old.

Crowley understood well how shadows could linger even in the bright daylight. It was all well and good to say he was off Hell's payroll. It was another thing entirely when instinct crept up on him screaming that he needed to watch his back, to sit a row behind Aziraphale on the bus, to have forty excuses ready for when Dagon came auditing. It took considerable effort to override those instincts and remind himself that 'together' was okay. It was allowed. And still he'd so far only managed to turn the volume down on them, not silence them completely. He didn't know if he ever would. Crowley didn't doubt Aziraphale had similar instincts of his own. If the angel felt better setting himself a curfew, Crowley certainly wasn't going to judge.

But tonight they were here, and warm, and sheltered from the blizzard. As 'retro' had begun to slide back into style, Crowley had picked up a sleek addition to his stereo system that was at once a record turntable, radio, tape deck, and CD player, with added Bluetooth capability for good measure. Strains of Vivaldi swam through the room from a vinyl, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the clinking of wine glasses. Aziraphale was settled deeply into the sofa, his posture several steps short of perfect which was how Crowley knew he was truly relaxed. Crowley, as per usual, was draped over the couch like he'd never seen one before in his life, as though he had too many limbs and didn't know what to do with them all. It was good.

Life was good.

It was a little after ten when Aziraphale spoke up. "It's getting late." His voice was a bit distant as he looked out the window, snow glinting in the reflected light as it fell. "I suppose I ought to be going."

There was a note of regret to his voice, a lack of conviction in his eyes, that Crowley had learned to read over the long years of the Arrangement. A smile pulled at the corner of the demon's mouth, covered up easily by another sip of wine. It was a very old game they played, treading carefully along the outside edges of things that could not or should not be said aloud. Expectations, angelic ones in particular, built a lot of barriers. Aziraphale wanted something that wasn't allowed him - or wasn't supposed to be allowed him - and couldn't bring himself to reach out and grasp it. It was Crowley's job to find ways for him to justify the forbidden something to himself.

In the subtle language they shared, the angel was asking Crowley to tempt him, and how could Crowley pass up a request like that?

"Awfully cold out there," the demon drawled, gesturing languidly toward the window with his wine glass. "Snowing like nobody's business. Wind and ice and subzero chill. Terrible night to be out in."

"I'm sure it's not so bad."

"Not so bad? It's been raging for hours! Look at it! It's knee-high! You expect me to try and drive my poor car out in that mess?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon. "Ah yes. Imagine if humans invented other forms of transportation aside from your horrid car."

The demon's argument was all bluff and they both knew it. The Bentley could slice through the snowdrifts like a hot knife through butter if Crowley wanted it to. It wasn't the strength of the argument that mattered - it was whether or not Aziraphale could twist it to bypass the metaphorical roadblocks. Crowley rose to the challenge by sprawling back on the sofa with a smirk. "Other forms of transportation? You mean a bus, in weather like that? And good luck finding a cab out there, angel. City's practically shut down."

Aziraphale stood, giving his back a tentative stretch. "I could walk, of course. I've done it loads of times. It doesn't take much more than twenty minutes, not counting the care that has to be taken for ice."

"Walk, he says!" Crowley tossed back the remainder of his wine like a shot glass. "Think of it - the first angel in history to catch pneumonia! Bad job I'm not working for Hell anymore; they'd give me an award!"

"If doing those temptations in Qashliq for you didn't give me pneumonia, I'm quite sure nothing will."

"Are you ever going to let that go? It was over four hundred years ago!"

"It was February in Siberia, no I will not."

"Suppose you did stay a bit longer," Crowley ventured, changing tactics. It was a risk, coming at the problem from such a direct angle when they were both so used to ghosting along edges. "Bookshop wouldn't go anywhere, would it?"

Aziraphale blinked at the abrupt transition. "Well no, I shouldn't think so. It's just...I mean if I don't return home someone might notice of course and well...people will talk."

Crowley leaned forward over his knees, seriously. "Angel. When, in two hundred years in that bookshop, have you ever given a single fuck what your human neighbours think?"

Aziraphale drew himself up with a huff, and Crowley was delighted to see familiar indignation winning out over nerves. "I am an upstanding member of the community, I'll have you know. And it's not just my neighbours, of course - it's yours as well. That little old lady who lives on the floor below, for example. She always gives me that look when I pass her in the lift."

"What look?"

"You know! That look! Like she thinks she knows what's going on between the two of us."

The demon grinned like a Cheshire cat and gave a suggestive wiggle of his shoulders just for the expression it painted across the angel's face. "You're worried that my neighbours are going to think you and I took a tumble in the sheets?"

"They already suspect! Or at least she suspects." Aziraphale was trying so hard to keep a straight face, but mirth glinted behind his eyes. "Do you know what she said to me as she was getting out of the lift the other day? 'Don't forget to use protection; you don't know where he's been!'"

Crowley howled, leaning so far back in his laughter that he fell off the couch.

"I don't know what's more outlandish, the idea that we're in here having a lurid physical affair or the idea that I don't know exactly where you've been."

Crowley wiped his eyes dry and held out a hand so the angel could help pull him up from the floor. "Remind me to miracle her fridge so that all her milk keeps past its date. 'Don't know where he's been' indeed."

Aziraphale fought to get his own smile under control, for the sake of his argument if nothing else. "Yes, but it just goes to show, Crowley, people do notice. And they will talk, I'm sure of it."

"Let them," he waved it off. "I've seen tissue paper with more durability than human gossip. It'll all get forgotten in a day or two." Crowley leaned over and refilled both glasses.

"Right. I suppose it will." The angel took a tentative sip and sat back into the sofa again. "Silly thing to get worked up about, really."

On a regular night that might have been the end of it. They'd had their verbal tennis, they'd had a laugh, and Aziraphale had accepted another drink. But try as he might, the angel couldn't seem to settle. There was a stiffness, a tension to his spine that would not unwind. He fidgeted with the stemware, shooting furtive glances at the window, the fireplace, the clock.

The ceiling.

The final notes of Vivaldi faded out, leaving the room in silence, and Crowley rose to swap the record. The discomfort radiating off the angel was almost palpable and it made his own spine crawl. "Aziraphale--"

"Only, the wind really looks dreadful," Aziraphale blurted out, jolting to his feet and crossing to the window. "I really ought to go before it gets worse."

"Can't get much worse than it is, I think," Crowley countered carefully. "Best stay where it's warm."

"I don't..." Aziraphale stared out at the London skyline, nearly invisible in the storm. Pale fingers worried absently at the hem of his waistcoat. His mouth was down to a thin line and there was quite a lot behind his eyes. He looked pained. "I shouldn't impose."

"You're not imposing if I'm offering."

"It isn't...it isn't right for me to stay!"

The demon set down the vinyl he was holding, something dangerous layering his words. "Says who?"

"I've been ignoring protocol too much as it is--"

Crowley gritted his teeth, a growl rising in his throat. "There is no protocol on our side!"

"I know!" Aziraphale snapped. There was a beat of silence and the anger in the angel's face melted as suddenly as it had come, leaving his expression frustrated and upset. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, almost apologetically. "I...I really can't...surely you understand why I can't just..." He ran a hand through his hair helplessly, eyes darting to the ceiling.

The demon set his glass down and moved over to the window.

It was a very old game they played. Crowley was good at his job and Aziraphale was good at the mental gymnastics required to fit through some of the more dubious loopholes. But every now and then they still lost.

He positioned himself in front of the principality, forcing Aziraphale to look at him.

"Angel," he said quietly, as though someone might overhear. "If you want to head home, I'll take you. You know I will. I'd just rather it be because you want to rather than because they would want you to."

Aziraphale looked truly miserable. "Crowley, you've been a marvelous host, you really have, but...I'm so sorry, I..."

Crowley stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. For just a moment the demon's face was soft, genuine. A bit sad but still impossibly fond. "Don't be." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's late. Get your coat, angel, it's cold out there." He doused the fireplace with a wave and stretched his back out. "Give me a moment to sober up and I'll start the car."

Aziraphale sighed, clearly frustrated at a great many things, but headed for the coat rack while the demon forced the alcohol from his system. "It ought to be fine," he muttered as the wine bottles in the corner finished refilling. "It ought to be fine. I can't explain it, I..."

"It's like someone's standing too close inside your personal space," Crowley finished for him quietly, pulling a coat of his own from the ether. "Like you're driving on the motorway and you end up in the blind spot of a lorry. There's no great outward change but all of a sudden the hairs are up on the back of your neck and your skin is crawling. And you just have this overwhelming sense of this is not a good place to be, get out."

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured unsteadily. "Yes, that's it exactly." His eyes found Crowley's, apologetic, searching.

"It is what it is, angel," he assured him softly. "We have time."

A weight seemed to lift from Aziraphale's shoulders. "I...thank you. Truly." There were things unspoken that Crowley could hear beneath that simple phrase. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for being patient with me.

Don't say that, hesitated on the tip of Crowley's tongue. Instinct was, of course, very old and very strong. He swallowed down the words and searched for new ones to replace them.

"You're welcome," he said quietly. The syllables tasted foreign in his mouth.

There was silence in the flat as he buttoned up his coat. Despite the passing months they truly had only moved the barest steps away from where they had been.

They had so very far to go yet.

But it was true. They had time.

"Right." He tried to break the mood as casually as he could, slipping dark glasses on and turning his voice into something light and easy. "Shall we be off then? After you, angel."

The lift ride down was silent, subdued. Something complicated was warring behind the blue eyes and Crowley wasn't going to even begin to touch on it until they were in the car. Aziraphale's steps faltered as he reached the glass doors of the lobby, and Crowley was halfway down the outside stairs before he realized he wasn't following.

"Oi, you coming?"

Aziraphale stared down at the space beyond the door with a peculiar expression: uncertainty and determination and anger and hurt. "I - I don't..." There was a moment of indecision, of frantic debate on his face, then he backed quickly over to the lobby bench and sat down hard.

Crowley pulled his coat tighter about himself as the wind bit through his clothes and ducked back into the building.

Aziraphale held very still, eyes closed and fingers gripping the edge of the bench.

"Angel?"

"Give me a moment. Please."

Crowley paced a cautious half-circle around him, instinctively scanning the principality for damage and the storm beyond the glass wall for threats. Another old habit - nearly useless now but one he wasn't going to be able to drop any time soon. He sat down beside the angel and the lobby was quiet for a very, very long time.

"I think," murmured Aziraphale at last, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay."

Crowley studied him closely. "Are you sure?"

"No." Aziraphale met his gaze. "I haven't been sure of much of anything, recently. Not since Tadfield. But I do not want to be forced back to the bookshop tonight."

"Shouldn't force yourself to stay if you're only going to be miserable."

"It's not so bad down here, that's the silly thing. But for some reason the idea of going back upstairs is just..." He laughed wryly. "What a mess I've made of the evening."

"It was a fine evening," Crowley told him earnestly.

"I thought so too, at least until the end there." He straightened, and looked a bit more like himself to Crowley's eyes. "And it's my most sincere hope that, with some more wine and another record, it might be again. Give me a few minutes. I think I can work up to it."

The demon took his glasses off and studied him closely. The determination in those eyes, the set of that jaw, were so familiar they hurt. There was a nervousness there, but there was a stubbornness as well. Like the glacier: slow, steady, but deep down so, so strong.

Crowley reached behind himself and retrieved a pair of full wine glasses that suddenly and thoughtfully decided to exist. "You know, I reckon..." he said quietly, handing one to Aziraphale, "that these will taste just as good right here as they would upstairs."

Aziraphale blinked. Glanced from his glass to the demon to the lift and back again. And his expression softened considerably.

"And if music and wine is what it takes to hang onto your company for a little longer, I s'pose that's the sacrifice I'll have to make, won't I?" He sat his phone down beside him and with a few taps Mozart began to play from its speakers.

Aziraphale stared deep into his wine glass, a smile spreading across his face that he didn't seem quite ready to share with the world yet. "A little unorthodox, isn't it?"

"And?" Crowley shrugged. "Last I checked, there's no protocol on our side."

"So there isn't. Do you know, I think I like that about it."

The demon lowered his voice. "Say the word any time, you know. We'll go, no questions asked."

"I know." Aziraphale let out a long breath and settled back onto cushions that were suddenly far more plush than anything the lobby bench had seen before. "But at the moment I'd rather be here."

The storm howled beyond the glass wall but the central heating vent behind them kept any stray chills at bay. They sat in gentle silence for a long time.

Piano Sonata No. 14 wound through the room, mingling with the warmth and the wine to kindle a sense of calm: a concoction of human magic that miracles, for all their power, could never replicate. Clever things, those humans.

Crowley traced a finger around the rim of his glass. "Can I ask what changed your mind?" he asked softly.

Aziraphale gazed off into the distance for a moment before looking back to his companion. "It was the 'you're welcome', funnily enough. You've always objected so vehemently to being thanked before."

"Yeah, well..." Crowley took another sip of his drink so as not to meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Like being in the blind spot of a lorry."

Aziraphale nodded. "It's..." He trailed off. Took a swig of wine and swallowed it down hard, as though for courage. "It's a comfort," he admitted so quietly that Crowley had to strain to hear him. "To know that it's not just me."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Not by a long shot, no" he confessed, equally quiet.

"I know accepting gratitude doesn't come easy to you. But you managed, tonight."

"It isn't a footrace, angel. I'm not asking you to keep pace with me."

"I know that. And I'm grateful. It's just... seeing you be brave makes me feel like...like I can be as well."

That smile was tugging at the edge of Crowley's mouth again. He reached out and clinked the edge of his glass with Aziraphale's. "Course you can be. Always have been."

The angel smiled back at him, warm and glowing and grateful, just the faintest hint of pink darkening his cheeks. With a daring Crowley had only seen behind the safety of closed doors and wine bottles, he placed a hand on the bench between them, palm up.

Crowley took it.

Meeting him in the middle, as always.

"Careful, angel," the demon murmured in his ear. "Remember, you don't know where I've been."

Aziraphale gave an undignified snort into his wine glass and their laughter echoed throughout the lobby.

The storm raged cold outside, but here, in their own little in-between place, they were warm.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #my fic #my writing #soft husbands all the time #sneaking in under the deadline like a boss #asexual ineffable husbands #Good omens heaven is full of assholes #they'll be okay they just need a little time and practice

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Text

heiress - 2

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part two of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

previous chapter

His memories had always been foggy. Even after slipping from HYDRA’s control, his memories were still foggy. He could remember almost everything through a sepia-like filter yet his memory as even more distorted the moment he looked at her. He had this gut wrenching feeling he had known her yet his foggy red tinted memories gave him no answer as to who this woman was and whenever he tried digging deeper into his subconscious. he would just get tired. Almost as if his own mind did not allow him to know her but he knew he must’ve seen her face or her figure somewhere and if he hadn’t then he must’ve known her in another life because whenever he looked at her, he felt comfortable. It was an odd sensation to explain, a deja-vu like feeling, a feeling which made him want to run up to her and held her into his arms but she was a stranger. Everything was strange here even Wanda who despite him having shared a few words with, looked so distant.

- When did Wanda have time to have two ten year olds? - Sam threw himself to one of the beds in the room the two of them had been assigned to. Sharon had gotten a different room yet Sam and Bucky were bunking together like 13 year old campers. - Also can she resuscitate people now? I mean, he’s an android but nevertheless. Oh my god, how did an android and a human had kids?

- Do you trust them? Sharon isn’t too convinced.

- Well, Wanda fought by our side so did Vision and Fury and Hill are with them. Unless they all turned evil, I think we can somewhat trust them.

- I don’t know, Sam. I ... I don’t trust the girl.

- They’re almost all girls, cyborg brain. Be specific. Did specificity did not exist in the 40s?

- The one who dropped her gun first.

- Maybe, she’s Pierce’s kid or so says Sharon. Maybe you used to babysit her.

- No, I ...

- Sergeant Barnes ... - Monica knocked on the door before allowing herself into the bedroom. - There were some letters in the file written by you. We believe it is not our right to intrude onto your privacy so we wanted to give them to you.

- God, every time I discover something about you, it makes you sound even older than you are. - Sam leaned against the bed frame as Bucky warringly took the letters from the Monica who left the room once her job was done.

The paper had grown old with time, yellowing around the borders of the Red Room envelopes they used to give the girls who behaved well enough so they could send their parents some news. He remembered stealing a few to try and write any memories which came through so he wouldn’t forget them when the officers erased him. Somehow they always found the letters yet there it was in his hands, a big stack of letters which seemingly hadn’t been destroyed. It was his handwriting that much he knew, however he did not know who Daisy was, he did not know who had the name to which the letters were addressed to.

- Who did you write letters to? Steve?

- Daisy. - he didn’t mean to reply but those words just seemed to flow naturally from him and he was entranced by the name in his handwriting alone.

The snow felt step onto the ground, it was cold, cold enough everyone was wearing jackets inside despite the heater being on and he seemed to have been transported back into his memories. Everyone was cold and covered but not her and no matter how hard he tried to make up her face, it was fogged up in his memory but he could see her, he could see her in her strap black ballet top and worn out pink ballerina shoes which she had particularly asked Madam B not to be replaced. He could see her, but he couldn’t make her out, he didn’t know who she was.

- Daisy, you’re going to get sick. - Bucky could hear himself speak but he wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t there, he was just reliving a memory.

- Don’t call me Daisy. I hate it when you call me Daisy.

- Hey, cyborg brain? Are you ok? - Sam’s voice was echoey until he touched his shoulder and then he was harshly brought back to reality. - Don’t bug out on me, I don’t know how to reset you.

- Yeah, just thinking.

The night was long, too long and he spent every minute of it reading every single letter he had written this woman until they were all spread out across the floor of the room; but we loved with a love that was more than love me and my Daisy, I’m sorry Daisy, I miss you Daisy. Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. He had read that name more than a hundred times and he still couldn’t remember who she was yet he knew he loved her or that he had loved her. The more he tried to remember it, the more his head hurt, the more the blurry memories turned red. He didn’t known who this woman who had meant so much to him was. He shoved those letters under the bed and left the room while Sam was sleeping. He need to clear his head, clearly this woman hadn’t meant that much to him if he couldn’t remember her, but he knew it was a lie. He knew she mattered.

The sounds of his shoes against the floor made him forget about her, her the ghost of a woman he loved. He continued to walk, watching the walls surrounding him until a glass wall broke the continuous light blue of the walls. He peeked through it and there it was, the woman he felt he knew in a black suit on pointe. He was hypnotised by the constant plié to on pointe as if it was nothing. Bucky went around, opening the door to watch her more closely.

- How do you do it? - he asked, taking her by surprise. Turning around, she had fear in her eyes as she took a step back, something Bucky was used to. It no longer hurt as it used to. - The feet thing. I ... my sister used to watch ballet and they always did that.

- Oh, uhm ... it’s all about supporting your body weight onto your toes and wearing the right pair of shoes.

- I’m Bucky, by the way ... Uhm, thank you for not killing us.

- I’m Y/N. - she extended her hand to shake his. - Is the room alright? Do you need anything?

- Do you know who Daisy is? Sharon said your father is Pierce so I thou ...

- I don’t. - she interrupted him. - I don’t really know a lot about my father’s private life. I’m sorry.

- You’re too early for ... - Yelena entered the room in tactical gear, stopping once she saw someone other than Y/N. Her eyes searched for Y/N’s who were begging for help. - Fight training. Closed off fight training.

- Right, I ... I was just looking for the kitchen. - he said but was still gazing her eyes

- I’ll take you. - the blonde Russian gave him a tight smile, pointing towards the door and exiting with him.

The air that seemed to have been previously held on her chest came out almost in a wave and she felt herself slide against the mirrored wall until she was sat on the floor, head looking at the tall ceiling as if she were in catatonic state, and maybe she was, she didn’t know. How could she know if whenever he spoke to her all she could hear was that piano, that damned low piano and the mirage of him, the mirage of the life she wanted with him in Westview. She looked at her shoes, worn out, the pink satin which one was shiny new had black worn out spots over where there used to be an embroidered daisy. She was glad it was gone, she was glad it wouldn’t return. Nevertheless, she could still feel her ... Agatha, poking at whatever protected her mind. She could almost hear her calling out to her with promises of all she wanted. They had always gone after her ... the weak link, the one whose will was easy to break. It was no mistake the red room had given her the nickname Daisy out of all flowers they could’ve picked. She was easily broken, manipulated to be a strong fighter but easily broken by those who knew. She wondered if the Red Room was still out looking for her, looking for Yelena ... she wondered what control they still held over her, what control her father had over her. Both knew she was alive, both had tortured her with tapes of ... him. They knew she was alive, it was only a cat and mouse game until they took her away. Their experiment. Their unsuccessful successful experiment.

- God, he’s awfully chattier than I remember. - Yelena walked into the room, eyes lowering to where she was. - Who told you to take a break? Get up and fight me.

- He knows.

- Chill, Y/N. He didn’t even know what a waffle maker was until now. He’s not gonna break through whatever you made Wanda do to him which, by the way, I’m against. - the blonde sat next to her. - You let Monica hand him the letters, of course he’s gonna wonder who Daisy is. Terrible name.

- I’m sorry, Yelena, not everyone had the pleasure of having the code name Hyacinth. - Y/N teased.

- It was a great code name. The best code name.

- No, it wasn’t.

- Want the morning off? I could spar with Monica or Alexei. - Yelena gave her a kind look and an offer she couldn’t refuse. Last thing she wanted to do was to spar with anyone in her mindset. Yelena understood it, her too having dealt with her own trauma inflicted by the Red Room. In times like these, both girls had learned to leave each other alone to cope with whatever demons they had.

Y/N dragged her knees up to her chest like a kid, hair falling in front of her eyes as she fished for the dog tags under her shirt. She ripped them from her neck, letting the old metal tags slide through her fingers. She clenched the memorabilia of past emotions against her chest.

- Yelena said you were gloom. - Wanda walked into the room still in her pyjamas. - Besides your shield is down and your thoughts are loud. You ought to learn to control it someday.

- Well, you seem to love getting in people’s minds.

- Not yours. Whenever I get the particular pleasure of doing it ... - she sat next to her, still in her dressing gown. - You’re either feeling guilty or in such pain. I think it’s time you speak about it.

- She’s still in my mind ... Agatha. She lingers.

- What does she know? She couldn’t even give you an actually accurate mirage of Bucky. Two arms? Please.

- She’s gonna be after us non-stop, Wanda. She will pair forces with Ross to get what she wants and then all of this will be as worthless as it was. With Zemo if she needs too ...

- She can’t get to you, okay? - Wanda gave her a kind smile, the type of smile she gave the twins whenever one of them was sad but this time it didn’t help. She could hear her voice calling out for her, she could see the purple tint in her nightmares and while Monica and Wanda had learned to deal with it, mostly ignoring it, she could fell the witch’s influence in her stronger than ever.

She remained laid against the wall of the training room even after Wanda was gone. She looked at the ceiling, fingers toying around with the humidity in the air making it fall onto the ground like rain. Fitting, she thought. Yet again, whatever she could do always seemed to mirror whatever she thought or felt like. It was past midday when she made her way from the gym to her bedroom to get dressed. She knew better than to leave the hex unaccompanied but what surrounded it was wilderness and she always felt at peace in wilderness, the soft sounds of birds chirping and the water falls always made her forget the screams from the red room, the purple aura from Agatha ... it just didn’t make her forget Bucky. She had always wanted to see him again, to apologise ... to ... she didn’t know what to do, she just knew she got tongue tied whenever she saw him, the guilt eating her alive.

- Well, hello dear. - Y/N turned around, eyes shining white behind her iris as Agatha stood there in her purple peplum dress. - There’s no need for a fight, dear. I just want to talk.

- Well, I don’t ... - she took a fighting stance but the woman merely shrugged.

- I just came to give you a shoulder to cry. Word on the street is that your Bucky is around. Isn’t that wonderful, dear?

- Based on your illusion of him, I’d think you wouldn’t even recognise him.

- You know, you’ll always be my favourite out of the three girls. You and I are very similar, my dear. Besides, I can help you, I know how your powers work and it’s not for cheap tricks. I can help you with him, I know what it is like to have someone take the person who you love the most be taken for you but I can help you, dear. You and me, we can get what we want, what it’s rightfully yours.

- He’s not mine. - she meant her words to come strong, swiftly like the thunderstorm winds yet they faltered, as if they were only now registering in her mind.

- You know, dearest ... the good thing about the soul stone is that it made you who you are. The bad thing is, you’re not gonna be able to control what it gave you if your soul is in disarray. The more your mind battles, the more your ability will take hold of you.

- What do you mean?

- Why do you think Wanda got more powerful when things were falling apart in Westview?

- Y/N! - Monica’s voice made Agatha disappear in a cloud of purple mist. Y/N turned her head to the side to see Monica make her way through the trees, decked out in her fighting outfit. - What are you doing here? You missed the early morning brief and you’re in ... whatever you’re wearing.

- I just needed some time off. - she smiled. - Why are you in battle gear?

- Darcy’s sure one of the books must be in the Red Room ... the one where you were trained. - Monica sighed, less than happy to have to bring Y/N back to that place but if there was someone who could navigate it, it was her. - Yelena was not trained by ... him, so she does not know. Y/N, I don’t think ... I think you and him should talk.

- There’s nothing to talk about. - she forced a smile, following Monica back into the hex. - We are different people, besides ... I don’t think he would forgive me at all.

- Can you at least tell me what happened? What happened with him, what happened in Westview? Wanda says you’re in pain and I don’t want you to be in pain. You helped me when I was in pain, I wanna help you too. We’ve known each other for what? Five years discounting the Thanos thing? Six?

- I will talk about it someday. Just not today.

- Are you in the headspace to go with us? We can always try and see what Sergeant Barnes remembers if you’re not up to it.

- I am a professional agent. - she smiled. - I’m always prepared.

The sooner we get this book situation sorted, the sooner she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. At least that’s what she thought and as such she had no problem returning to the place which she had escaped from years and years ago. Nevertheless, she was first and foremost an agent, someone who fought for others and for once she had to do just that. Be professional.

She got dressed in her traditional black tactic gear and jacket before heading down to the room where they kept most of their ammunition. It had been Jimmy’s idea to arm everyone involved in a mission just in case despite Y/N, Wanda and Monica being capable to hold their own without it. Even so, having a knife or a gun on them had made wonders before. Normally the people they go against aren’t exactly fair and she had learned that the hard way. As she opened the door to the ammunition room, she came face to face with him lacing up his boots. It was the most common action yet it felt so foreign to see him do it, to see him be in control of lacing up his own shoe laces. Part of her was happy for him, happy he was happy, happy he was his own person but the other part of her screamed for her to let it go of her insecurities, he was not the same man she had known and she was definitely not the same woman. She was guilty for more than half his pain and that, that remained the same.

Y/N ignored him, sliding past him to grab her own utility belt which was really nothing special except for the fact she had gotten everyone important in her life to carve their initials in them. Her point was if she was dying on the field, she had least had something which reminded her of the love which regardless of every bad thing she had done, still remained. She wrapped her belt around her waist and thigh, yet nevertheless it was still too loose. Damned belt.

- You’re putting it wrong. - Buck mumbled.

- Pardon?

- The belt. - he got up and walked up to her. - The second strap ... it’s too low on your thigh, should be higher.

- Oh ... - she moved her gaze away from him.

- Here. May I? - he asked her, hoping to meet her gaze but she merely nodded still looking the other way. Bucky unclasped the strap from her thigh, bringing it up further up, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her trousers. She slowly moved her gaze to look at him and he fixed her belt before he moved up, eyes staring into hers. They seemed to look at each other for a lifetime, before he cleared his throat. - It should be better now.

- Uhm ... thank you, Sergeant Barnes.

- Cyborg brain, how long does it take to lace up some boots? - Sam’s voice reverberated through the room making the two take each a step back going back to the distance between them.

- I have to go. - Y/N grabbed her jacket, exiting the room as fast as she could.

The plane ride was equally unbearable with her sat in front of him, catching his eyes every once in a while. God, she used to love his eyes. She still remembered being tangled in grey worn out sheets, laying across his chest just looking at him, looking at those eyes which always looked the same even when he forgot her. Those blue eyes, they were always the same despite the two of them being different people from who they were in the Red Room. Speaking of the devil, it no longer looked like one. It was falling down, the once crown jewel of HYDRA had worn out with time. The red walls were fading to brown, the spotless rooms were now filled with dust and ghosts of memories. It was gone, so how come it still haunted her?

- Wanda and Sharon will take east, me and Sam west, Alexei and Yelena south and Y/N you can take north with Sergeant Barnes. - Monica suggested. Y/N shot her a way too familiar look, almost as if she were about to argue with her yet she understood the basis of her decision. After all, not everyone had ... a something controlling power.

She took charge into the very familiar north wing of the building. They kept most off the girls who were yet to pass to the red room there and it had been her home for years. Bucky however, was remembering things which he couldn’t fully understand. He knew this place yet he didn’t remember walking these halls, he remembered the pain. He could still feel the pain, the much too familiar pain of having all he knew be gone.

- You’ll take the right and I the left? Sergeant Barnes? - she put her hand on his hand, almost magically taking him away from ghosts of his pain. - Do you want to stop?

- Yeah, I’ll take the left. - he rebuffed her, turning left.

The room seemed to take him in, memories of his own strained voice as he yelled out for some mercy returned to his consciousness, memories of things he had said, things he hadn’t said. He swiftly turned around, turning his gun to the door before turning back again to see a woman standing in front of him.

- Woah lower the gun down, dear. - she had an eerily smile on her lips. Buck took a step back slowly but she moved her hand, a purple glow followed by the sound of the door closing. - I’m only here to help.

- Y/N ... - he tapped his intercom but no sound came from it.

- Yes, that’s exactly who we are talking about. You see I know who Daisy is, she knows who Daisy is. - she took a file from under her shirt. - Everyone knows who Daisy is but you. Now, I think it’s really unfair you don’t know so I decided to even out the game.

She threw the file onto the ground before disappearing. God, at least back in the 40s people only removed their faces. Bucky looked around, wearingly of his surroundings much more than he was before. This room. was playing with his mind yet the file laying on the ground proved the woman wasn’t a mere mirage of his mind. He kneeled down too grab the file, opening it to reveal a passport photo of Y/N accompanied by an information sheet. He read through the first lines quickly until one particular fact stopped him. Known aliases: Daisy.

taglist: @lookiamtrying

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

Text

Just A Friend

AO3

Thanks for all the support.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

I’m on holiday next week so the next chapter may be slightly delayed, but for now here’s...

Chapter 9: From Siblings to Safety Net

Jamie leads the way through the car park. I tread gingerly, the combination of unaccustomed high heels and uneven ground—a potentially lethal combination. He turns and notices my dilemma.

“Here,” he holds out his arm for me. I smile and gratefully take hold of his forearm until we reach the comparative safety of the marquee.

Once inside, Jamie pauses and looks around, trying to find his sister. I look around too, not that I know what his sister looks like, but I’m assuming, based on her brother, that she’ll be pretty easy to spot in the crowd.

The room is full with a steady stream of people moving swiftly towards the bar and rather less swiftly back to their tables carefully balancing bottles and glasses. I spot, through a break in the procession, Rupert sitting at a table talking to a petite brunette, who I assume is his wife Morag.

“Look,” I nudge Jamie and point towards the table. “It’s Rupert and—“

“Aye, so it is.” And he deftly negotiates our way through the maze of alcohol carrying individuals to the table.

Rupert and his wife stand up as we approach and he greets us enthusiastically, patting Jamie on the back and kissing my cheek.

“Nice tae see ye again,” he says, smiling.

“Good to see you too, Rupert.”

Jamie envelopes Morag in a huge bear hug. Is this the usual greeting for Rupert’s wife? I glance at Rupert but he’s totally unperturbed by this display of affection.

Eventually, Jamie stands up straight. “Claire, I’d like ye tae meet ma sister, Jenny. Jenny, this is ma friend, Claire.”

The intimate bear hug makes more sense now to me.

Jenny holds out her hand.“Nice tae meet ye Claire.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And you too, Jenny. Jamie has told me so much about you and your family. And those photos that you took, wow, they’re amazing.” I can hear myself talking over enthusiastically and force myself to shut up. It’s a habit I have when I’m nervous.

Physically, Jamie and Jenny couldn’t be less alike. With his curly red hair and tall stature, Jamie is some sort of Viking throwback, whereas Jenny’s straight brunette locks and petite, delicate features give her a fragile, almost doll-like quality. I feel like an Amazon standing next to her. As she continues to talk to her brother, berating him for his last minute appearance, I rack my brains. She reminds me of someone, but I can’t for the life of me think who.

Then it dawns on me. When I was a junior doctor working in Trauma and Orthopaedics, the matron there was a brunette too, whose air of fragility belied a rock hard will and determination. Her wards were run with military precision and, without ever raising her voice, it was clear that her command was absolute. She never shouted, she never belittled, but somehow everyone, even the consultants, knew exactly who was in charge. I get exactly the same feeling with Jenny.

A noise behind me rouses me from my contemplation and a large tray of drinks is placed on the table.

“Ian, man, did ye get me a drink?” Jamie laughs.

“But of course, and,” Ian turns to me. “I presume ye’re Claire. I took the liberty and got ye a gin and tonic—double, jes’ in case that was yer tipple. But it’s nae bother if ye dinna want it. I can go and get ye something else. I’m sure I can think of someone who will drink it.” He nods his head towards his wife and mimics drinking with his hand

“Cheek of the man.” Jenny playfully slaps his hand down and smiles. This time the smile lights up her whole face.

“No, gin and tonic is great, thanks very much,” I accept the glass gratefully and take a sip. Well, maybe a little bit more than a sip, but it is much needed.

“Seeing as yer man there canna be bothered wi’ the introductions, I’ll have tae do it maself. I’m Ian, Jenny’s husband and it’s a pleasure tae meet ye,” His introduction is full of real warmth.

“I was jes’ getting ‘round tae it,” Jamie says mock defensively and grabs a pint from the tray. “Anyhow, sláinte, everyone. Here’s tae a good night.”

**********

During dinner, I sit between Ian and Jamie who has Jenny on his other side. Ian is an absolute delight. He listens to my stories with genuine interest, laughing in all the right places and regaling Morag and me with tales of his son’s antics (‘Wee Jamie, jes’ as mischievous as his uncle ever was’).

Once dinner is over, Jamie and Ian spot an acquaintance on another table and excuse themselves. Jenny shuffles over onto Jamie’s newly vacated chair.

“Havin’ a good time are ye, Claire?”

“Oh yes, thank you. Ian has been telling us about your children. They sound like real characters. Just adorable.” And here I am, back to my nervous over enthusiasm. Just like that matron years ago, Jenny has the ability to do this to me.

Jenny gives a tight little smile that doesn’t linger. “Can I be honest wi’ ye Claire?”

My heart sinks. When someone says that, it’s never good. I mean, they never follow that statement with ‘your hair looks lovely’ or ‘the way you handled that developmental dysplasia of the hip was excellent.’ It’s always a criticism. Although I’m not too sure what I’ve done for Jenny to feel the need for such honesty, but I’m guessing it involves Jamie in some way.

“I ken Jamie invited ye tae come tonight as friends, before he met Kelly,” she continues. “But could ye no’ have stood aside and let him bring her as a date? He said he’d already asked ye when I mentioned it to him. But if ye’re just friends ye could have.”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say that doesn’t cast Jamie in a bad light with his sister? Jenny clearly wants there to be something between him and Kelly, which, based on what Jamie’s told me, just isn’t going to happen, no matter how much Jenny pushes. And I’m somewhere in the middle of this.

Jenny looks at me and I don’t think I have to speak. My glass face is doing the work for me. “Ah, I see.”

I spy Jamie making his way back to our table. He hesitates slightly as Jenny’s steely gaze falls on him, before continuing.

Jenny shuffles back to her chair, and pats the now vacant seat between us. He sits down and glances at us both.

“Have ye got something tae tell me, bràthair?” Jenny begins.

“About what?”

“About why ye told me ye’d already asked Claire when I mentioned asking Kelly?”

Jamie turns to me, as Jenny carries on talking. “Claire didna say a word about it. She didna have tae.”

I smile apologetically at him, but say nothing and take a swig of wine. This is between Jamie and Jenny. I’m keeping well out of this.

He sighs. “Jenny, ye wouldna let it lie. Ye kept telling me I should invite Kelly. On and on ye were. I had tae do it.”

“Ye said the date wi’ Kelly was good.”

“If ye think back, what I actually said was that the food at the restaurant was good. I didna say the date was good. That wasna good. We had a nice meal, then we shook hands and said goodbye. I made no promises tae see her again.”

“But Kelly—“

“Jenny, it isna going tae happen no matter how much ye mither. Ye dinna always ken what’s best fer me even though ye think ye do.”

I feel a hand on my arm and turn to find Ian sitting next to me once more. He jerks his head towards Jamie and Jenny. “I find it easier tae jes’ let them get on wi’ it themselves. This is what they’re like, wi’ the bickering. They’ll sort it out, they always do. That’s brothers and sisters fer ye.”

That familiar pang hits me for a brief moment. Of course, I don’t know what it’s like, this familial bickering or teasing, safe in the knowledge that you’ll always have their love. And then it passes.

“I suppose you’re used to it by now?”

“After twenty five years, I guess so. They were jes’ the same as children. See?” Ian points to my other side. I turn to find Jenny tenderly patting Jamie’s hand.

“Sae, Claire,” Jenny leans across Jamie to talk to me. “I see ye’re still drinking that horse piss. What say we send Jamie tae get us all some real drinks? I take it ye like whisky?”

Jenny smiles, and this time it’s genuine.

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

After that brief sibling squabble has been sorted, the evening can only get better… I think. Actually, it does improve. The combination of good whisky and a friendlier Jenny, and I begin to really enjoy myself.

The disco has started and the dance floor is filling up, mainly with groups of women while the men sit on the sidelines only venturing up once copious amounts of alcohol have been consumed and the DJ starts to play the classics— ‘YMCA’, ‘Night Fever’ and ‘Dancing Queen’.

We stay at our table, chatting, our voices becoming louder as the dance floor fills and the dancers begin to sing along to some of the songs. The singing rises to a crescendo for the choruses then rapidly quietening at the lesser known verse lyrics.

“D’ye no’ want tae dance? Jamie asks, a bit reluctantly, it seems.

“No, I’m enjoying myself here,” I reply and watch the relieved expression appear on his face.

“Unless, of course, you do,” I add teasingly.

“It’s no’ really ma thing. I’m no’ much of a dancer. Rupert and Morag enjoy it though.”

We watch for a moment as Rupert tries out some John Travolta moves. I pick up my glass and notice that it’s empty. That seems to be happening a lot tonight.

“I’ll go and get some more drinks,” I announce to the table.

“Let me,” Ian jumps in.

“No, you’ve bought more than enough. I’ll get these. Same again?”

Everyone nods and passes me their empty glasses. Jamie makes to get up, but I shake my head. “I’ve got this. Relax.”

I weave my way through the tables and lean at the end of the bar, money in hand waiting to catch the eye of one of the bartenders. Judging by the size of some of the orders being placed, I resign myself to being stuck here for some time.

A man squeezes next to me, mirroring my position— elbows on the bar, ten pound note in hand. “Snap!” He laughs. “D’ye think we’ll be served before last orders?”

I smile politely and shake my head, all while trying to breathe through my mouth. Even at this stage of the evening, his aftershave is overpowering, applied with all the finesse of a fifteen year old boy. I try to edge away from him a bit, although I do risk disappearing from the bartenders’ line of sight. He shifts a little closer to me which makes me a bit uncomfortable. It might be perfectly innocent, he might just be moving to try and get served quicker. I don’t really want to challenge him if all he’s trying to do is catch the bartender’s eye.

“I’ve no’ seen ye ‘round the club afore,” I catch him glancing at my ringless left hand. “Are ye here with friends or…?”

“Friends.” I mumble, trying to make it clear I don’t want to start a conversation and I turn my head away from him.

I feel a slight touch on the skin of my upper arm. Whether deliberate or accidental, that combined with his closeness, makes me feel even more uneasy .Instinctively I take a step back and my heel lands on someone’s foot.

A familiar voice whispers in my ear. “Oof, Sassenach, yer shoes are lethal,” and an arm snakes over my shoulder, pulling me towards his body.

In a louder voice, clearly aimed at the pest next to me, Jamie continues. “Ach, love, thanks for saving ma place at the bar. Tell ye what, sweetheart, now I’m here ye can go and sit down and I’ll get the drinks.”

He gives me a slight peck as I smile at him gratefully and make a quick exit. Walking back to the table, I can still feel the roughness of his stubble against my cheek. I stop myself reaching up to touch my face, and shove my hand into my pocket instead.

I sit down next to Jenny. “Jamie’s getting the drinks in.”

“Aye, he thought ye needed tae be rescued from that wee dickhead at the bar.”

“Yes, a timely intervention. Your brother’s a good pal.”

“Aye, he says ye’re good friends.” Jenny stares at me, as if searching for something deeper that I’m hiding.

“Yes, that’s it. Good friends.” I answer, confident that my face will tell the same story.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 9

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snorlaxlovesme · 4 years ago

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Walk Me Home

So I guess I wrote this fic for a SoMa week prompt last year and then didn’t post it??? I found it in my drafts and was really confused what a fully completed one-shot was doing staring back at me lmao

So. Here’s a fic for I think the “2am” prompt. Title a reference to the P!nk song, since I’m pretty sure I spammed it while writing this.

____________________

“Hey. Hey!”

Maka hears Soul’s voice call out from behind her, but she doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t want to talk right now; she wants to leave.

“Jesus, why are you walking so fast? Slow down, fuck’s sake.”

The grit of the sidewalk digs painfully into the heels of her bare feet. It doesn’t slow her down, nor does it stop her. In fact, when she hears Soul’s panting from behind her, she petulantly picks up her speed until his hand is landing on her shoulder and pulling her to a stop. He tugs her around despite her best efforts to keep walking.

“Hey, you wanna tell me what the problem is? Why did you leave the party?” He doesn’t even look mad at her, just concerned, which somehow makes her just feel worse. Soul continues, “I went to go talk to Kid for a few minutes and when I came back everyone said you left. Did something happen?”

Clearly something must have happened. She knows he can see it all over her expression, in the way she bolted away from him. Hell, he can probably feel waves of it coming directly from her soul.

But she doesn’t want to talk, so she pulls her shoulder away from his grasp and keeps walking, marching towards the direction of home, probably. She’s still a little tipsy, even though she only had a couple drinks at the party. But whoever Kid hires to bartend at the Gallows Mansion has a heavy hand when it comes to mixing drinks. Either her cocktails were stronger than normal or Maka really is the lightweight every assumes she is. She keeps walking despite her protesting feet and the way the world is swaying around her.

“So you’re just not gonna talk to me?” Soul asks, still trailing behind her. She can feel his hand come to rest on her shoulders every now and again, steadying her when she tips a bit too far in one direction, but pulling away once she’s righted herself. Protecting her while also respecting her boundaries. It’s infuriating.

Soul keeps talking to her back. “Was it something it something Black Star said? You know how Star gets when he’s drunk. He’s got no fucking boundaries.”

It’s not Black Star. It’s not anyone specifically. It’s just everyone. It’s everything. It’s nothing. She doesn’t want to explain it, because that would just be another weakness to add to the ever-growing pile.

“I can kick his ass if you want,” Soul keeps trying, knowing full-well that he could never take Black Star in a fight. The pathetic offer almost makes her smile, but she gulps it down and tries not to cry.

Soul circles around in front of her. “Look, you don’t have to tell me, but could you please stop for a sec? You’re not wearing any shoes and your feet are gonna get all fucked up. There could be glass or something.” Maka, being Maka, doesn’t give a damn about potential dangers to herself, and continues marching forward, leaving Soul to roll his eyes and pick up his pace to catch up with her again. She’s trying not to look at him, but she can see the way his eyes widen in his ‘I have an idea’ face, and two seconds later he’s transformed into a scythe in front of her, hovering a few feet off the ground beside her. His wings flap quickly and silently to keep steady beside her.

“Please?” His voice comes his weapon form, tinny and desperate.

Now Maka is the one rolling her eyes. His winged-form only rubs salt in her emotional wounds, but her feet are admittedly in a lot of pain after almost a half mile of walking on cracked concrete. She concedes and throws a leg over his handle. She grabs onto him with both hands, expecting him to whisk her away to their apartment above the buildings of Death City. Soul surprises her by hovering another foot in the air, so her feet don’t drag on the cement, but flying at the same pace she was walking.

The quiet extends before them into the night. The farther they get from the Gallows, the harder it is to hear the booming bass of the music. Soul lets Maka direct them with her soul through the residential neighborhoods and away from crowded streets. She started this walk with the intention of being alone.

But, ten times out of ten she’d rather be with Soul.

She swallows. “Do you care what people think about you?”

On a normal day he’d snark at her for finally deeming him worthy of conversation, but today he’s quiet as he thinks of what response she might be looking for. She can feel he’s trying to pick apart the meaning of this starting question, but eventually just decides to answer honestly.

“Yeah. All the time.”

It’s the truth, Maka can feel in his soul that it is, but she still doesn’t believe it. In the time that Maka has known Soul, he’s grown so much. She’s always admired the way he just lets things roll off his shoulders, not giving a shit what others think about him. Maybe he’s just been faking it, but he does a damn good job playing the Cool Guy he’s always wanted to be as a kid. He makes Maka’s version of the same kind of make-believe feel like child’s play. No one believes in her flimsy brand of confidence.

“Do you care what people think about us?” she asks.

There’s always been something in the way people talk about the two of them. Soul, the powerful, confident demon weapon that took down Arachne and helped save the world from madness on the moon. Maka, the meister who just managed to hold on for the ride. Maybe that’s not exactly what they say, but it’s implied. In the way other students will look at him with admiration, with appreciation, and then how they look at her, like they’re surprised it was little unstable Maka Albarn who managed to produce a Death Scythe. She knows she’s weak, but do people have to throw it in her face all the time? Like she was the last person they expected to be helpful in the apocalypse?

Even at a freaking party there are people coming up to Soul and asking him for autographs while Maka stands right next to him. Like somehow they know the exact imbalance of strength between Soul and Maka and they’re disappointed in Maka the same way she is with herself.

Just thinking about it has her unconsciously pulling Soul forward down the street a little faster. She breathes deeply. Just a few more minutes and she’ll be home.

Soul finally speaks, breaking her out of her own internal pity party.

“No.”

Maka blinks.

No?

“Our partnership is no one’s business but ours. If people have something to say about it, whatever. I only care about one person’s opinion when it comes to our partnership. And that’s you.”

God, it’s such a simple yet complete answer. And he’s totally right, like always. She doesn’t know why she gives a shit what other people think about her and Soul. None of it matters in the end, but God, does Maka wish for once that when she thought of the word “strength” she could picture herself embodying that word instead of never measuring up. Instead of feeling guilty for somehow always thinking she’s holding Soul back.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

Maka’s soul spikes so suddenly in surprise that Soul comes to a halt in the middle of the street.

“I’m serious. I know you wanna be the best meister you can be, but you’re too stuck in your own head to realize how fucked I would be without you as my partner.” He quiets in a way that means he’s gathering his words, and Maka listens with bated breath.

“You’re the smartest and bravest person I know, okay? And you’re also a reckless moron who pulls some of the craziest shit in battle that I’ve ever seen in my life. It sucks that I have to keep saying this to you, but I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it. The only reason I ever had a prayer of becoming of a Death Scythe was because you’ve been my meister. Stop thinking that you’re not good enough, because you’re better than every asshole at the party. You did something they never could and now never will be able to do.”

Maka closes her eyes for a few heartbeats, allowing this to sink in. Even now, at 2am with the sky pitch dark because of the blackened moon, it’s hard to imagine that she was involved in that fight. She helped save the world and she’s still convinced that she’s somehow not good enough. Maybe Soul’s right, and what they have could only be accomplished with the two of them together. Maybe no one else matters but her and Soul.

“Soul? Transform for me, will you?”

Without hesitation, Soul morphs back into human form, holding her now on piggyback instead of on his weapon form. The shift from being supported by his handle to hanging off his backside is so natural that Maka doesn’t even have to think about it, just adjusts her arms so they’re tighter across his shoulders. She presses her face into the side of his neck in gratitude.

“You always know what to say, you know that?”

Soul snorts and hops a little to scoot her higher up his back. “It’s easy when your soul is practically screaming at me what you’re upset about.” He starts walking again, refusing to put her down because of his stubborn insistence that she’ll hurt her feet. “So. Party sucked for you too, then?”

Now it’s Maka’s turn to snort. All of a sudden the night’s whole emo conclusion feels very overstated. She feels foolish for being so dramatic but remembers that Soul thinks she’s strong even when she’s a drama queen. Depends on her even when she gets caught up in her own head. The reminder calms her soul down considerably.

“Think I drank too much,” she says, nestling closer to his back and laying her arms heavily over his shoulders to remain balanced. “Ox said some dumb shit about me being the weaker partner and it made me sad.”

“Alcohol is a depressant,” Soul says, kind of snooty. He’s repeating what she’s told him on his Moody Drinking nights.

“Wait a minute,” Soul says. “Did you say Ox? Who the fuck is he to talk about being a weak partner?”

“I thought you said you don’t care what anyone thinks about us.”

“Yeah, but that was before I found out it was fucking Ox Ford who was talking down to you. I could totally take his ass in fight.”

Maka laughs for the first time all night. Soul continues ranting all the way home about how he’s going to beat Ox’s face in the next time he saw him (he won’t) and Maka thinks that maybe real strength is remembering that you always have someone on your side.

#soma #soul x maka #soul eater #soul eater evans #maka albarn #like its not the BEST thing ive ever written but damn kelly you could have at least POSTED IT #se fic #my writing

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hockeyboysiguess · 5 years ago

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Let’s Fall in Love for the Night

a/n: i listened to this song (let’s fall in love for the night by FINNEAS) and immediately got hit with matty vibes. enjoy! let me know if you wanna see more tkachuk writing!

Let’s fall in love for the night

And forget in the morning

Play me a song you like

You bet I’ll know every line

I’m the boy your boy hoped you’d avoid

Don’t waste your time on jealous guys, fuck that noise

I know better than to call you mine

You slammed the shot glass down on the bar, your face scrunching up as the tequila burned down your throat. You shook your head as the liquid settled in your stomach and then let out a sigh.

“I think I need another one,” you shouted over the music to your friend Jess.

“Whatever you need, babes,” she said, already leaning across the bar to wave down the bartender. “I know you just asked for space, but you need to dump his ass now.”

“I know what you think. You’ve been telling me every fifteen minutes,” you threw back at her, “but it’s not that easy. We’ve been together forever and I don’t really know what my life looks like without him anymore.”

“You get to hang out with me more,” she sang at you as two more shots appeared in front of you. “The biggest thing, babes, is that you deserve better than him on literally every level.”

You took the shot, knowing she was about to continue her rant of trashing your long-time boyfriend that she’d started five minutes before you’d even arrived at her house to pregame together.

“You are smarter than him. You are hotter than him, like look at you!” She gestured to your body and you rolled you eyes. You used her outstretched hand as an opportunity to put her shot in her hand. “Your ass looks killer in those pants and you and I both know it. Where was I? Oh, right! You are the breadwinner in that relationship. He has that lame-ass, poor-paying job and he refuses to get a better one even though you have the same degree. Who the fuck does that? You pretty much pay all of the bills while he does god knows what.”

She found a pause long enough to take her shot, which very clearly did not go down smoothly. She stuck her hand out to indicate she needed antoehr second before she could continue. You took the moment to order a drink, an actual beer instead of another shot.

“Most importantly of all!” Jess drummed her palms on the bar as she worked her way up to something. “He is terrible at sex!” You tried to shush her because she had shouted that loud enough to get the attention of a few interested parties around you, but you had no luck. “I mean, did her ever make you finish once? In three years? God, he sucks so bad and you need to actually for sure dump him and kick him out of the apartment you pretty much pay for by yourself. ”

You sighed, not loving your life choices that led to this moment right now. You were grateful the bartender dropped your beer in front of you so you could hide behind the bottle instead of answering. Part of you knew she was at least a little bit right, but you didn’t know what everything looked like without him and there were some parts of him that you couldn’t let go of, some moments that pulled at your heart when you thought about. He’d been so much worse lately though and you were having a hard time continuing to give him chances because a second chance happened so long ago you might have run out of numbers.

“Any reason a girl who looks this good is looking sad and drinking a pretty shitty beer at a bar on a Saturday night?”

You turned to see who had spoken and were met with piercing blue eyes and a mess of curly hair. Stubble coated his jawline and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. Objectively attractive. Objectively your type. Objectively trouble.

“I’m Matthew,” he told you. “You are?”

You sighed, debating if you should cut him off with mercy like you were used to doing. Jess cut in before you could, telling him your name and hers before you could back out.

“So, about that terrible beer,” he picked it up and slid it close to the opposite edge of the bar from you, “can I buy you a better one?”

As if he knew, your phone lit up on the bar with your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen, the hearts on either side of his name mocking you. You sighed and opened the text anyway.

I know you’re out with Jess right now and I just wanted to say that I know we’re taking some space right now, but space doesn’t include seeing other people to me. So I’m not gonna do it and I sure hope you’re not.

“Oh my god, give me your phone,” Jess whined from Matt’s opposite side. “I need to throw your phone into a blender. He needs to stop texting you.”

“Boyfriend?” Matthew asked you, an eyebrow raising at the question. “Seems like the jealous type if he’s texted that much.”

Your eyes shifted from your phone to Matthew and back again. He was trying to control you even after you asked for space. You were done just like that. You shot off a quick text to him that simply read ‘We’re done. Get your shit out of my apartment,’ then shoved shoved your phone into your purse, deciding to forget about him and whatever he was about to do next for the rest of the night.

“No, my ex. He still has shit at my apartment and is trying to figure out when he can come get it,” you replied

Jess started freaking out behind you, her fists pumping into the air in wild, uneven movements in her drunken excitement.

“Good,” Matthew smiled at you, “so, about that drink?”

Three more drinks each in an hour and you were stumbling through the front door of Matt’s apartment, his mouth clumsy against yours thanks to the alcohol and his efforts removing his jacket at the same time. You giggled when he cursed against you mouth as he had to pull way to actually get his jacket off. He tossed it somewhere behind you as his mouth reconnected with yours.

His hands were so different compared to your ex. You felt bad comparing them, that your mind was wandering there, but you couldn’t help it. Matthew pulled at different parts of you than he did. His hands on your hips, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, one of his legs pushing between yours as he guided you so your back was pressed against the nearest wall. One of his hands ran up towards your chest, your shirt riding up with it.

“Jesus, fuck,” Matthew groaned when he saw move of your body. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Then stop fucking around and fuck me already.”

Your last words came out as a moan as his mouth found your neck. He chuckled against your skin as he travelled down, sinking low so his lips could kiss along the edge of your low cut shirt. His large hands wrapped around the back of your thighs and he suddenly lifted you, drawing a yelp from you as your nails dug into his shoulders for stability.

“I hope you know what you’re in for.”

Apparently what you were in for was the best sex you’d ever had. Your chest was steal heaving with your second orgasm when Matt slid off the bed. He stepped into his boxers before grabbing his phone off of the nightstand.

“Any idea where my purse is?” you asked him.

“Uh, I think kitchen counter?” He said it like a question, so much so he threw in additional, “Maybe?”

You sighed and rolled yourself out of his bed, sliding on your panties and bra before heading toward the kitchen. Your purse hadn’t quite made it to the counter, falling short onto the floor. You grabbed your phone and headed back toward’s Matthew’s room. You audibly groaned when you saw the notifications on your phone. 13 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 26 text messages. All from him.

“Jesus,” you mumbled under your breath.

“I know I’m pretty good, but already moving on to god-like compliments?”

Matthew’s joke brought you out of the spiral your brain had started to go down. You scrunched your nose up at him and stuck your tongue out, which made him throw his head back and laugh.

“So you had a good time then,” he chided you. His phone hanging loose in his hands as he did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes were raking up and down your body right now. “Wanna go again?”

“Give me like ten minutes,” you mumbled.

You barely registering what he’d said as you started to scroll through his texts. Each one was crazier then the last. Guaranteed, you had ended a three-year relationship with a guy you lived with over text, but you hadn’t realized quite how unhinged he could sound sometimes. You’d barely gotten a quarter of the way in when your phone was taken from your hands.

“Hey, that’s mine!” you whined. Matt was dangling it above your head, completely out of your reach. “Matthew, give it back.”

“Mm, nope. It’s mine for tonight and so are you,” he informed you. “Pick a song.”

He offered his phone out to you instead, Spotify open for you. He wiggled it a little from side to side to try and peak your interest.

“Let’s forget about that douchebag after I just fucked you way better than he does, okay? You pick a song and then we’ll go again and I’ll fuck you even better. Deal?”

A smirk pulled at the corner’s of his mouth. He knew you weren’t going to say no before you’d even decided to say yes. You weren’t sure how he’d known it was your ex. You’d probably given it away somehow. Your mom had always told you that you were an open book, begging to be read. You sighed and took his phone, deciding this night you might regret was better than dealing with you current problems.

You played the first thing you could think of. You regretted your choice as the first few chords started and Matt started laughing at your choice.

“Sorry, that’s super fucking lame,” you mumbled as you began your search for a new song.

“No, no,” Matt’s hands wrapped over your to stop your movements. “I love this song, even though it’s definitely super fucking lame.”

You smiled up at him and it made a mirroring smile come across his face. You let go, letting yourself be entirely in this moment tonight. You let yourself forget the texts and voicemails waiting for you. You let yourself forget how horrible it going home tomorrow was going to be. Instead, you let a pair of beautiful blue eyes and a mess of curls distract you. You made him yours for the night, thinking that was all it could be.

You need a pick-me up?

I’ll be there in twenty-five

I like to push my luck

So take my hand, let’s take a drive

“Are you up?”

Matthew usually texted you. By usually you mean over the past two months where you’d seen him at least three times a week. Fresh off your breakup, he’d become a great regular distraction that made it worth your time to text him instead of trying your chances at the bar again. Apparently he was either drunk or couldn’t read a clock because it was midnight on a Tuesday and he was calling you.

“Well, I answered the phone,” you groaned as you rubbed your eyes with your free hand, trying to wake yourself up a bit. “What’s up, Matt?”

“You didn’t answer my text and I wanna see you tonight,” he told you.

“You’re the worst hook up I’ve ever had for my sleeping schedule,” you mumbled. “Look, Matt, I had a shit day at work and I really just want to sleep and-“”

“Get your shoes on. I’ll be there in like, half an hour.”

He hung up without even bothering to wait for an answer. You tossed your phone down your bed as you let yourself fall back into the blankets. You wanted to let them swallow you up and drag you back to sleep, but you knew Matt was showing up regardless of how you felt about it. You let your feet drop heavily on the floor and let out a sigh before pushing yourself out of bed. You threw your hair up, at least grateful you’d made yourself shower before you went to bed, and grabbed the first clean clothes you could find. The fact that he’d asked you to put on your shoes was odd, but it was Matt. You couldn’t really expect anything because.

The time flew by and Matthew was knocking on your front door before you could even fully process the situation. How he looked this good with joggers hung low on his hips, and a workout t-shirt at midnight you didn’t really know.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Matt sang softly. “I thought you knew that part was non-negotiable.”

“You called me after I’d already been asleep for two hours. You should be amazed I’m vertical right now,” you grumbled at him as you slid on the nearest pair of sneakers you could find. “Where are we going?”

“You said you had a bad day.” Matt verbally skated around your question as he stepped into the hallway of your apartment, propping the door open for you. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you sighed. It had just been one of those days where there were too many little things that individually all sounded fine, but when put together had made you miserable. “How was your day?”

Matt shook his head at you and tsked softly, “Sharing is caring. And you can’t expect me to share if you don’t.”

“Do you like to try and sound like a kindergarten teacher to piss me off,” you stepped into the hallway and began fussing with the lock on your front door to get it to close, “or do you think it’s a kink for me? Spoiler alert, Matty, the answer is I fucking hate it.”

Matt laughed a full belly laugh and you finally heard the lock click into place. You spun on your heels to face Matthew. He smiled down at you and jutted one of his hands out into the space between you two.

“Let’s go for a drive. If you’re a good girl, I might even throw in some French fries at the end for ya.” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth as he added, “And an orgasm or two because I’m feeling generous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but the smile forming on your lips betrayed you. You practically slapped your hand against his as your grabbed it.

“Careful with the merchandise!” Matthew shouted. You shushed him, knowing your elderly neighbor was already none too thrilled with you since her bedroom wall was shared with yours. “Oh, that old bat has heard worse.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Matthew dragged you out to his car. Part of you, a part of you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, noted just how boyfriend-like this whole evening was. Or at least, that this isn’t what people who are just hooking up typically do. You pushed that thought aside. You knew this was just how Matthew was. This wasn’t serious and wasn’t on its way to it, but it could be self-contained serious. Each night could be serious. You could fall for him each and every single night you were with him if you wanted to, as long as the feelings were gone by the time the morning came.

I love it when you talk that nerdy shit

We’re in our twenties talking thirties shit

We’re making money but we’re saving it

‘Cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it

You won’t stay with me, I know

But you can have your way with me ‘til you go

“Okay, okay, try me again,” Matt said slowly, his fingertips tapping slowly on table between you. “I definitely won’t get it this time, but it’s hot when you’re smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a frequent occurrence, and shook your head softly. You grabbed your orange juice and took a few swigs of it before trying to explain the intricacies of your problem at work to him. He was cute and he was really good at hockey, but his ability to understand your job was lacking. Matthew still tried to understand though, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get it. Your ex could understand, you’d gone to school together, but he never tried. It was the morning though, so you couldn’t be in love with Matty right now. That feeling, that temporary love, was reserved for nights in his bed or yours.

“Okay, I still don’t get it,” Matthew sighed, clearly a little frustrated with himself. “But you clearly know what you’re doing and you’re way too smart for me. I hope our babies get your smarts, but my hockey sense. You still can’t figure out offsides.”

“How many babies am I pushing out here, Tkachuk?” You raised an eyebrow at him, but you knew he was just talking shit, trying to get a reaction out of you. “Also, offsides is complicated and I’ve got a college degree taking up space in my brain where you have hockey knowledge.”

“I was thinking three,” Matt told you as he tossed his coffee cup between his hands, sliding it across the table with each toss. “I’ll strap them in skates as soon as they can walk, make them fall in love with hockey before your brains take over and they decide to become doctors or something ridiculous.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that just be the worst thing if little Matty became a doctor instead of a hockey player?” You lifted your glass to your lips and smiled against the edge. “Absolutely the worst thing that could happy to him.”

“Exactly.” Matthew’s smile was evident in his voice. “Glad you’re on board with this plan.”

“Mm, I think you owe me some jewelry and a big party before I pop out any kids for you, Matt,” you sighed as you set your cup back down on the table.

“You’re so fucking picky. I’m just going to stand there in the jewelry store with a blank check and let you go ape shit,” Matt informed you.

“Thinking about wifing me up, huh?” you joked.

The words came out of your mouth and you knew you’d gone too far. Everything else was just running your mouths, something you both needed to keep things light and non-committal. But that joke was walking dangerously close to asking for a real commitment and a future.

“Do you want me to be thinking about it?”

You had absolutely no idea how your were supposed to feel after hearing his response. He was pushing the issue back on you, trying to get you to admit if your question was a joke that didn’t quite land or if it was serious. The problem was you honestly didn’t know. You knew you weren’t looking for anything. You knew you hadn’t let Matthew take you home the night you met at the bar to start anything. He wasn’t the type of guy you would have ever seen yourself with, but maybe that’s because you’d only ever pictured your future with one specific person.

“Is it okay if I don’t really know?”

The question was risky, because up until that moment everything was completely casual. You were forcing an issue that you weren’t even sure was really what you wanted or not.

“I’m good however you want to be. I just like being around you,” Matthew told you. “Whatever you want that to look like, I’m down for.”

You smiled and took his open ending as an opportunities to change the ton of the conversation with, “What if I wanted to move to the Bahamas and become a scuba instructor with you and our three kids?”

“Give up my hockey career to see you in a bikini everyday? Sign me the fuck up.”

I know better

I know better than to ever call you mine

It was like that conversation had only happened in your mind. You’d left the diner that day and Matthew acted like everything was exactly the same as it had been when you walked in an hour prior. You pretended too, because what else were you supposed to do?

“Okay so,” Matthew tossed the stress ball from your desk up into the air and paused to ensure he caught it on its journey back down. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to this party thing the team’s having. It’s like, kinda nice, but I promise it’ll be low-key. I’ll even buy you a new dress for it. Well, I’m gonna let one of the guys’ wives do it. Call it a gift for putting up with me for so long.”

You had said yes without even thinking really. Also, you said yes without realizing Matthew was totally lying about how nice the event was. When the dress arrived on your doorstep, you unboxed it, expecting something just on the right side of too revealing. Instead, you found an absolutely stunning right, knee length formal dress.

“Matthew,” you sighed to yourself in your empty apartment, the dress in your hands. “What are you doing here?”

You mentally blocked out more time to get ready than you’d previously been planning, knowing you had to step up your game this time. Still didn’t mean you weren’t rushing to put the last bobby pin in place when Matthew knocked on your door that Friday evening.

“It’s open!” you shouted from your bathroom.

“You know, that’s not really safe!” Matthew shouted back, his voice getting louder as he came toward you, his dress shoes tapping against the floorboards as he walked. “You know I could’ve been- holy fuck.”

You turned to see Matthew standing in the doorway of your bathroom, his eyes raking up and down your body unabashedly. One of his hands gripped the doorframe in support as his eyes lingered at his favorite areas of your body.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out. “You look unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. Your nerves were rising under his intense gaze and you kept fidgeting with a strand of your hair. “Thank you for the dress. And thank whoever picked it out for me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely gonna have to thank her.”

You giggled a little at just how in shock he still was. Guaranteed, he’d never seen you actually try and look this good before. The best you’d probably ever looked for him was the night at the bar where you met.

“Are you ready to go?” Matthew asked after clearing his throat. He finally had collected himself enough.

“Just gotta our the heels on and then yes,” you replied, motioning for him to get out of your way so you could get to your heels in your bedroom across the hall.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and began winding the straps of your heels around your ankle. Jess has picked them out when she saw the dress. They were a little cumbersome to put on, but they looked incredible with Matthew’s gift, so you dealt with the hassle of getting them on.

“Hey um, I wanted to talk to you about something before we go,” Matthew asked, his voice shaky.

For someone who was usually so confident it was almost a turn off, he was practically green when you looked up at him, taking a physical and mental break before putting on your other shoe. His hands were clenching and in clenching at his sides.

“Look uh, I know you’re,” he paused and looked you over again before continuing. “Well, you’re you and I’m me and this is stupid why did I start this?”

He sighed and let his head fall back, his curls flopping back as he gathered his thoughts. He cursed softly before looking back at you.

“I know I said I’d be whatever you wanted in the diner, that it was up to you and anything would be fine with me.” He finally met your eyes. “But I don’t think anything is fine with me. Fuck, I know better than to think you’re mine, but you feel like mine. God, you really, really do.”

He had crossed the room and was standing in front of you before you could process the words coming out of his mouth. Matthew’s hands grabbed yours and he pulled you to your feet, keeping you steady because you were still only wearing one heel.

“I love being around you,” Matthew told you, his baby blues looking into your eyes. You felt like he was looking straight into you, into the parts that made you who you were. “You’re one of my favorite people I’ve ever met. I know I shouldn’t ask. You’re so successful and smart and strong and you deserve so much better than me. I know better than to think you’d want to be with me, but fuck, do you want to be with me? Because that’s what I really want.”

You didn’t even have to think about your answer. You knew it. You steadied yourself against him and pressed your lips to his. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground to eliminate the rockiness from the one heel situation. His mouth felt different against yours, eager, but tender and caring in a way you’d never felt before from him or anyone.

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, his smile making kissing you too challenging in that moment. “You’re mine now.”

“Kinda already was,” you laughed lightly. “Glad you’re taking the position of boyfriend up officially.”

“Oh shit. Miscommunication. I was promoting myself right to future husband,” Matthew joked. “Guess I gotta earn that promotion now, huh?”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

Text

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Friday, 20:42

Songs: Daniel Blume - Nights Like This; Selena Gomez - Feel Me

Lucas feels ridiculous.

They haven’t been at the party long, and he’s spent the whole time hiding away along the sidelines. He’d made the mistake of asking his dad to get him a costume, anything, it just has to be a costume, it won’t be that bad. He couldn’t help it, on short notice, with his grounding still somewhat in place and homework beginning to mount up. He’d expected something simple, a crappy zombie costume or maybe a skeleton. Something simplistic. Casual.

He should’ve known better. He should have prepared himself to have to come to the party as a prince.

He’s not even a cool prince. He looks like he walked straight out of a Disney movie, and an animated one at that. He’s just glad there are no frills or over-bright colours. The deep blue is comforting enough, but he still feels weird.

Robbe snorts next to him. “Stop fidgeting. I told you you look good, didn’t I?”

Lucas hums, and continues pulling at his sleeves.

“Lucas, seriously.” Robbe reaches out to still his hands, moving to stand in front of him. “I’m literally wearing the same costume as last year. With the same fake blood.”

Lucas grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly. You look hot. And you have to believe my opinion.”

Lucas raises a brow. “Is that so?”

Robbe hums. “It’s way more trustworthy than the guys’. Luca and Yasmina also said you look hot, right?”

“I think Luca thinks everyone looks hot pretty much all the time.”

Robbe considers this. “Maybe. But I don’t. So believe me.”

“Okay,” Lucas sighs. “For the record, though, you look better than me.”

Robbe snorts, but squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Lucas offers him a smile and casts another glance around, seeking out someone in particular—as usual. It’s not difficult to find him. His eyes latch on to Jana first, and then the arm curved casually around her waist, before trailing up to Jens. They’re dancing awkwardly in the middle of the crowd, but with abandon, not caring how ridiculous they look. Lucas almost wants to cringe at the sight, but his lips creep up in a smile regardless. Once he sets his gaze on the other boy, it’s hard to look away.

He’d met Lucas at the end of his street, despite Lucas’s protests that he didn’t have to go out of his way. Lucas had had to stop before getting to him, freezing in the middle of the sidewalk. Jens had gone for a more expected look, decking himself out in a skin-tight skeleton costume, partially hidden under his coat. It was his face, though, that sent the largest shock through Lucas. Someone had done his makeup perfectly, shading in his temples and eyes and cheekbones and even his neck, highlighting his bones in white, making all his features stark and eerie and stunning.

It would have been fine, if he hadn’t skimmed his eyes over the length of Lucas’s body when he finally reached him with parted lips, as if speechless. Lucas had felt fidgety then, too, until Jens had drawn himself together and cleared his throat. He’d smirked, and said, “I see you took Yasmina’s comment seriously, huh, charmer?” Then Lucas had been able to laugh, and brush the moment of tension off, and Jens had disappeared ten minutes into the party with Jana tugging at his arm.

Lucas feels some of the tension return in a fiery ball of attraction and jealousy, warring together in the pit of his stomach.

“He still looks hotter than both of us, doesn’t he,” Robbe sighs, and Lucas looks at him to see that he’s found Jens in the crowd, too.

Lucas allows himself to nod in agreement. “Even though he’s a terrible dancer.”

“He’s fucking awful,” Robbe laughs.

Lucas drags his gaze away to smile at Robbe again instead. “I’m sure you and Sander would upstage him.”

Robbe’s grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he shakes his head. “Uh, I don’t think dancing is my thing either. Sander looks good doing anything, though.”

He sighs, and Lucas snorts, shaking his head slightly. The quiet admiration he holds for Robbe increases in size. It’s strange, seeing someone be so open. It’s not like Ralph, Ralph who is older and experienced and not like Lucas. Robbe, though...Robbe feels fairly similar to Lucas in a lot of ways, and it makes something in him wonder, stirring with a little more hope than he’d held before. A little more understanding.

“How is Sander?” He watches Robbe’s grin twitch as he asks, and quickly backtracks. “You don’t have to tell me. Anything.”

Robbe shakes his head, his smile turning soft. “No, it’s okay. Sander’s bipolar. He already told me I could tell you. He has a good handle on it, it’s just...not always easy,” Robbe shrugs.

Lucas turns the information over and over in his head and hopes he doesn’t look as shocked as he feels. A part of him flinches away from it. The rest of him is screaming that he should have known, somehow. He pushes both sides away and searches for a response. “And right now...isn’t easy?”

“Yeah,” Robbe sighs. “I don’t think it’s a depressive episode, but he was worried it was the start of one. So he’s just taking a bit of a time out this week. He’s still going to school and everything, so I know that it could be worse. That it’s just a bit of a low mood. I just...I think there’s something going on that he hasn’t told me, but...there’s nothing I can do if he doesn’t want me to know.”

“You’re there for him,” Lucas says carefully. “And he loves you. I’m sure he appreciates that enough.”

Robbe shrugs again, but his smile returns, just slightly. “You’re wise for a Disney prince.”

Lucas scoffs and bumps his shoulder, and then they’re laughing, and it’s okay. Robbe gives him a grateful smile and Lucas clasps his shoulder for just a second. He wonders, for a moment, if he should say something, if he should just begin to explain, and he opens his mouth just as Yasmina slips through the crowd in front of them.

She’s donned in all black, with artfully crafted horns on her head made to represent Maleficent’s. She tugs another girl behind her by the wrist, and Lucas recognises her from the party the week before, with her easy smile and dark fringe, now adorned with gold to match her Cleopatra costume. “Look who I brought,” Yasmina presents her.

Robbe instantly greets the girl with a cheerful, “Hey,” and a hug, completing the gesture with a kiss on the cheek. When they part, he gestures at Lucas, and Lucas gives a small wave. “This is Lucas. Lucas, this is Noor.”

“Robbe’s ex,” Yasmina adds helpfully.

Lucas’s eyes widen in understanding. He quickly fixes a smile onto his face as Robbe rolls his eyes and Noor laughs. “Nice to meet you.”

She gives him a quick hug as well as she returns the sentiment. “You’re the one from...Utrecht, right? Moyo told me about you. I’m from The Netherlands too.”

“But she refuses to tell us where,” Robbe says.

“Well, you’ve gotta keep a little mystery,” Lucas agrees.

Noor nods approvingly at him. “Exactly. No Sander tonight?”

Robbe shakes his head as she turns back to him, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. “Not tonight.”

Noor squeezes him. “Everything good with you two?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Robbe assures.

“Good.” She pinches his cheek, and Robbe lets her, rolling his eyes fondly, and Lucas can only watch on in astonishment. Robbe hadn’t mentioned they were still friends, and Lucas wouldn’t have believed him if he’d tried to describe how friendly they actually are. He supposes they’ve had time to get to this point, but he can’t quite imagine himself in a similar position. He doesn’t have the heart that Robbe does.

“Do any of you want to come search for a non-alcoholic drink with me?” Yasmina asks hopefully.

Lucas meets Noor’s eye first, and they both turn to smile apologetically at Yasmina, laughing at themselves. Yasmina rolls her eyes with a smile and focuses in on Robbe, who gives in with a small flap of his hand.

“Yeah, okay. You two don’t want to come?” Noor and Lucas shake their heads and Robbe squeezes Noor’s shoulder as he steps away from her. “Okay. You’re in good hands with Lucas, anyway.”

“Yeah, Prince Charming,” she gestures at him easily, and Lucas laughs, already feeling fond.

Robbe and Yasmina slip away, and he and Noor are left sharing a smile. The silence that settles between them is more casual than awkward, but Lucas still searches for a way to break it.

“So, you and Robbe,” he finally settles on, because it’s the only thing he knows. He cringes immediately afterward, but Noor doesn’t seem upset, listening patiently. “I mean, how was that?”

Noor laughs quietly. “Short. Never perfect. But Robbe isn’t easy to stay mad at. Especially when he seemed so much better off, so much happier, after all of it.” She shrugs. “It helps that his boyfriend is pretty cool, too.”

Lucas laughs, too, and a new slot of admiration is created just for her. “Yeah, he is. But you seem very cool, yourself. I can see why he thought, if anyone, that he could like you.”

“Charmer, huh?” Noor smiles, and Lucas can only shrug, feeling bashful. He wonders how he’s managed to paint that image for himself so quickly again. He marvels at how the word no longer sounds so much like liar.

He’s trying to be more himself, now that he has the room to be someone new. He doesn’t hate the idea that it might not be so different from who he already was.

Noor gets distracted as someone else comes to greet her, and Lucas gives them a small smile and falls back into his own little bubble. He doesn’t mind. He’s able to pick Jens out of the crowd again in seconds.

He still looks ridiculous, swaying out of rhythm with Jana’s arms now looped around his neck, the two of them laughing. Looking incredibly cosy. Lucas watches, and wishes, and wants, and he hates himself for it.

Then suddenly, Jens is looking back.

It should be hard to see in the dull light of the room, from completely opposite ends, but Lucas has no doubt that Jens is looking at him. His gaze flicks up and around and lands on Lucas, as if he’d felt him looking and wanted proof. Lucas feels his jumbled bundle of emotions creep up and lodge in his throat, and he swallows thickly, but he can’t make himself look away. Even as Jens doesn’t part from Jana but moves closer, even as his lips tilt up into something like a smirk but maybe a smile, even as his lids fall to create half-moons out of his eyes, Lucas looks.

Jens keeps looking back.

“Hey.”

He snaps out of it as Noor leans up to speak in his ear, smiling knowingly at him.

“Let’s go give him something to look at, hm?”

Lucas stares down at her, shaking his head in instant denial. Panic bubbles up in him, spreading and stretching until there’s no room left for air. “I—What?”

She flicks her eyes to Jens and then back, raising an unimpressed brow at him. “I’ve gotten better at seeing things in the past year, Lucas. With you, I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

He straightens, feels his face forming into something like a glare against his will, but she sets a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“Hey,” she says softly, “stop that. It’s okay. It’s not like I’ll tell.”

He looks at her for another moment, eyes flicking between hers in search of sincerity. He deflates when he finds it. His voice comes out as barely a whisper, and he’s almost sure she won’t hear it. “Is it that obvious?”

She squeezes his arm again and shakes her head. “Only with the way he’s looking back at you right now.”

“That’s not…” Lucas trails off, wondering what he wants to say. “Jens doesn’t look at me like that. Jens isn’t like that.”

Noor tilts her head, frowning. “How do you know?”

Lucas’s lips part and shut as he searches for an answer. Surely it’s just obvious. Maybe he’s the one in the wrong, for so easily ruling Jens out, but it’s the only way to keep his sanity. Even if Jens could be interested, Lucas can’t allow himself to think that Jens would be interested in him.

He sneaks another glance at Jens, and Jens is still looking back, albeit now with a tiny frown.

Noor uses her grip on his arm to give a tiny tug, raising her brows at him as she begins walking backwards, into the crowd. Lucas follows numbly, only coming to his senses when he’s surrounded by dancing bodies. Then he’s able to rapidly shake his head and look at Noor pleadingly. Backtracking.

“I can’t even dance,” he protests, trying to pull out of her grip, and she lets go only to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Lucas, hey, just take a breath.” She squeezes the back of his neck, and he tries to listen to her, drawing air in carefully and slowly blowing it out. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to dance if you don’t want to. But if you really think he isn’t reciprocating, why waste your night on him? It’s a party, and you look hot as hell, and you should be having fun.”

He almost tells her that she’s just made that a lot harder, because the anxiety currently swirling in his chest is almost enough to drag him under and keep him down for the foreseeable future. She seems to know, anyway, squeezing his neck again as her smile softens into something apologetic. She doesn’t ask any more questions, and she doesn’t make him say the words, and some of the worry dissipates in a cloud of relief.

Someone knows someone knows someone knows.

It’s a little distressing that she’d been able to figure it out on her own, after knowing him for mere minutes, but he’d given himself away and he hadn’t tried at all to deny it. He can’t bring himself to be mad, or upset, as Noor’s smile widens again and she guides him into a rhythmic sway.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, letting himself relax slightly, following her lead.

Noor’s grin widens, and she slides her hands down his arms until she can grip his and guide him into a more dramatic movement. He snorts, and tries not to feel too stupid, and eventually lets a small smile grow on his face.

He can admit it feels nice, taking a moment to let himself go. He doesn’t feel so ridiculous, now. Noor helps, taking the lead and keeping her wide smile, squeezing Lucas’s hands on occasion, dancing happily without much assistance from Lucas. Lucas finds himself moving mindlessly, helped this time by the alcohol only recently added to his system.

His eyes drift back to Jens on their own accord. It’s no harder to find him now, and Lucas’s heart flutters and pounds when he instantly meets his eyes. It’s impossible to truly tell from such a distance, with the lights dim and flashing, but Lucas is almost sure his gaze has darkened, has taken on a new intensity in the few minutes that Lucas hadn’t been looking.

His breath catches, and then leaves him in a rush, because Jana has pulled Jens down into a kiss, and Jens kisses back.

But he’s still looking at Lucas.

Even as Jana cups his face and holds him closer, even as his hands move to her back, even as Noor wraps her arms back around Lucas’s neck, oblivious, Jens keeps looking.

Lucas can’t look away.

Even as his heart tears itself to shreds, it pounds. He can’t stop watching how Jens’s jaw works, how his lashes flutter, how he dips his head, how his eyes never leave Lucas. As if it’s Lucas he wants to be kissing. As if it’s Lucas he has in his arms.

As ridiculous as it is, Lucas can almost feel it.

Stop. He wouldn’t be kissing her at all if he wanted to kiss you. You knew to expect this. Why would he want you?

Lucas has no answer to his thoughts other than the emotions swirling in his chest. The ache from where his feelings had crumbled to dust seems to have inflamed, as if struck by a match. Smoking, not quite managing to set him alight, and still, he has never felt anything like it.

The music cutting off is the only thing that snaps him out of it, and then the lights lift, and he realises Jens has looked away, glancing around in confusion with the rest of the crowd. Senne—who Lucas hadn’t even gotten to greet tonight but who he’d met at his first party here, along with Zoë—clambers onto a chair at the front of the room and claps his hands.

“Cops are at the end of the street, we’re clearing out. Anyone with something to hide needs to go now.”

Fuck.

Lucas casts around in search of his friends, but there are too many people moving around for him to see much. When he looks, however, he can tell that Jens has disappeared. Zoë has taken his place, and is already collecting her things with Jana.

Noor grabs his arm and reclaims his attention. “Do you have anything?”

He shakes his head. “Who did you come with?”

“No one, but I’m fine, my bike’s just down the street. I’ll be gone in seconds.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she rolls her eyes, but she pulls him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It was lovely meeting you, Lucas. Don’t forget what I said, okay?”

He nods, but she’s already slipping through the crowd and disappearing. Lucas begins to follow, moving with the others in hopes of finding someone, and he merges into the hallway at the same time as Robbe, who is collecting his things from the corner. He catches sight of Lucas and smiles, making his way to him quickly and latching onto his arm. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, but do you have the stuff?”

Robbe’s eyes widen slowly. “Fuck. Jens.”

Lucas knew it. He closes his eyes briefly and then takes a hold of Robbe, pulling him down the hallway with him. They look ridiculous, he’s sure, a prince and a zombie slinking through the currents of people, but there’s a new purpose filling him now.

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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