#like he moved on so quick now that he’s back with his friends

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Never Got to Say Goodbye

ex boyfriend!eddie x reader

You see Eddie over a year after your break up and you both realize that you never stopped loving each other

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, angst, a guy gets handsy with reader

You sit at your vanity in your room, dreading to get ready. You don’t even want to go out, but you feel like you have no choice. Your friends are trying to get you to meet someone new but how can you when you’re still not over your ex? 

You’re not even sure why you broke up anymore and you’re wondering if he feels the same. If he lies awake playing your breakup over and over, wishing that you would have just stayed together. But you suppose it was just a “right person, wrong time” sort of thing, that it was more the situation than anything that led to your relationship ending. 

You put on your makeup and get dressed as you put on the mixtape that one of your roommates had made for you. You’re dancing around as get ready, loving every song that’s been put onto it. She knows you so well, knows exactly what you like. But then you freeze when the familiar guitar riff floats through your ears. 

“I can’t dance,” you tell Eddie as he guides you around your living room. He’s trying and failing to teach you how to dance but he’s just so determined to show you how. 

“Sure you can,” he says, turning up the volume of the stereo before taking your hands in his. He steps forward and you step back as he guides you through the moves, being so gentle with you like always. “Eyes on me, okay?” 

You nod and keep your eyes on his pretty brown ones as he slowly shows you the steps. You’re not even sure how he learned this but you love seeing the fluid steps and wonder how he does it so well. There’s just so much about him that you want to know and you hope you’re together long enough to find out every single thing about him.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your flashback and you’re quick to turn off the music before hurrying to answer it. Janet is on the other side, a bright smile plastered on her face like always. You know she’s waiting on your to finish so you all can leave and you’re actually kind of pissed at her for not at least letting you finish your flashback. 

You’ve been having a lot of those lately. It’s like your brain is trying to torture you with all of the memories because it knows just how much you’ve been missing Eddie. You miss him so much that it actually hurts. It’s to the point where it’s gotten so painful to think about but you don’t want the memories to stop.

You grab your purse and follow Janet and the other girls out the door. Luckily, the club is just down the street so you don’t have to hail a cab to get there. They’re all talking about finding someone to hook up with but of course, all you’re thinking about is your ex and how much he would have hated a place like this.

Being in that close proximity to strangers-drunk strangers at that-was his worst nightmare and the loud music was so overstimulating which you totally understood. It was something that he would always push through for you because of how much you loved it and now you know you’re going to miss having him by your side, whispering silly things into your ear and staring down any man who even looked at you. 

As the four of you get in line, Violet slips some condoms into your purse that you’re sure you’re not even going to need but you let her anyway. It’s easier not to put up a fight, especially when they’re all just trying to help. 

The club is newer and allegedly very hard to get into and as you look up at the name, you notice that it sounds very familiar, something you’ve heard a billion times but you’re sure that it’s not actually what you’re thinking of. 

“Ed’s?” You ask with a laugh. “That’s the name of a bar, Eddie, not a club. And why do you want to own a club anyway? That’s not exactly your scene.” 

“For you,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I want you to have a place you can call your own, where you can make the decisions. You always complain about the music and the prices and now you’d be able to have whatever you want.” 

“You’re doing this for me?” You feel tears welling up in your eyes at the gesture, wondering how you got so lucky to have someone who cares that much about you. That pays that much attention and is willing to drop a bunch of money just so you could be happy. 

“I’d do anything for you, you know that,” he winks and your heart flutters. 

“Ed’s,” you nod, having a newfound love for the name. “I like it.” You lay your head on Eddie’s chest while he runs his fingers through your hair, your favorite lullaby. 

“I thought you might.” 

You’re thrown back into real life to the bouncer outside the club asking for your ID. When did you get to the front of the line? Did you really zone out of that long? 

You shake the thought away and pull your wallet out of your purse, retrieving your ID and handing it to him. Once he sees that you’re of age, he hands it back and you head inside. As you walk through the doors and take in everything, you still think about how familiar everything looks, almost as if you’ve seen it before. But it can’t be what you think it is…can it?

Your friends have separated from you yet again so you head to the bar for a much needed drink. As soon as you sit at the bar, you look around and see just how busy it is. The bartenders are working hard to stay on top of their orders and as much as you really want a drink, you’re willing to wait as long as you need to. 

You pick up the menu and look at the drinks, the deja vu coming over you again as the names all sound familiar. They’re based on metal songs, songs that you’ve heard so many times you could sing them from memory. 

They would all play so loudly in Eddie’s car as you’d drive around town, screaming the lyrics as loud as you could through giggles because you were just so happy to be around each other. 

You haven’t even been able to listen to any of them since the breakup because it just hurts too much. At first, you were only listening to them because of Eddie, but over time, you really grew to appreciate the genre and even started listening to them on your own. 

Eventually, one of the bartenders comes over to take your order and your mouth falls open as you make eye contact with him. You definitely must be hallucinating because he looks so much like Eddie. As you stare at him, taking in his features, his longer hair, his beard, and nose ring, his own eyes widen which causes you to believe that he is in fact real. 

The last you heard, he was in Chicago. What was he doing back in New York? And why hadn’t he told you? Oh, that’s right. He probably doesn’t have your number anymore and considering that you haven’t kept in contact, you don’t really deserve to know what’s going on in his life anymore. 

And that just kills you. You wonder how much about him has changed besides his appearance. He obviously still opened the club even though you aren’t together anymore. And it seems to be doing really well so you can’t help but feel your heart swell with pride. He got everything he ever wanted. And the stab to the chest is that he didn’t even need your help to do it. 

“What can I get for you?” He asks and now you don’t even want a drink. You want him to sit next to you while you tell each other everything that’s happened over the past year. You want to tell him just how much you fucking miss him. 

“Rum and Coke,” you reply and he smiles, loving to see that you’re still ordering the same drink. 

“You got it,” he nods and moves around the bar, fixing the drink. You watch him, staring at his back, wishing you could hug him from behind like you always used to do. He’d just laugh and turn around , wrapping his arms around you and giving you a squeeze. You miss everything about him, but you’re pretty sure you miss his hugs the most. They were always so tight and long, his favorite way to show you just how much he loved you. 

Loved. As in, past tense. You never stopped loving him but you’re not sure if he still loves you. Considering how he’s been treating you like every other customer, you don’t think he does. You almost want to just get up and leave but he sets your drink on the bar in front of you. 

“One rum and coke,” he says, wiping his hands off on a towel and you can’t even look him in the eye. It’s just too painful. 

Eddie can’t fucking believe that you’re here. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you broke up, well, more specifically, that day and how much he regrets the whole thing. It still plays in his head on a loop, torturing him. What he would give to go back in time and beg you to stay.

“So what are you saying?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Surely you’re not suggesting what he thinks you are. No way are you breaking up with him. You just can’t be. You’ve been through far too much to just give up on each other.

“I’m saying that what’s the point of even being together if we can’t be together? We’re both always busy and we see each other once every few weeks. That’s not a relationship Eddie.” He knows your right, but he’s sure that you just need to push through and you’ll get through it just like the two of you have every time you’ve had something you needed to work through.

“So you want to break up?” He almost looks like he’s going to cry and you just can’t bear to look at him if he does. You don’t need this to be any harder than it already is.

“I didn’t say that…but I don’t see any other choice.” You’re both crying now and the whole thing is just pitiful, the two of you looking at each other with tears streaming down your faces, having a conversation you never thought you would. 

“No. No, we can make this work.” He’s taking your hands in his and as much as you love that he’s fighting for you, you know you just can’t keep going like this.

“How?” You ask and he reaches up and wipes your tears, resting his hands on your cheeks. This is one thing he just can’t fix and that breaks you.

“I don’t know. I guess maybe it’s for the best,” he shrugs, finally seeing it from your perspective. He feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest and he’s not entirely sure what he should do about it. You’re always there to fix things for him and the one time he really needs you, you’re not going to be there.

“I guess so,” you sniff, the two of you now breaking into sobs, knowing that things between the two of you will never be the same. 

You moved your stuff out of his apartment that week and you both cried the whole time, the pain all consuming as he helped you pack up your stuff, being his sweet self which just added salt to the wound. You broke up with him and he still helped you move your stuff, being nothing but a gentleman about the whole thing. 

He didn’t even beg you to stay or anything like you thought he would. He just silently helped you pack stuff into boxes then put it all in the truck you rented. All he did was cry, not even uttering a single word to you as he did so. 

He hasn’t seen you since that day and he has no idea how you got even more beautiful since then. You’re wearing a pretty silver dress and the biggest standout is that you’ve cut your hair. The short style looks good on you, but Eddie thinks that everything looks good on you. 

He doesn’t know how he ever let you slip through his fingers, who he let you move your stuff out of his apartment, why he even went as far as helping you pack everything up. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he felt like it was the right thing for both of you. 

But now that you’re here tonight, he’s wondering if it’s fate giving him a second chance. God, if he’s offered one, he’s going to take it. Just thinking about it, he feels the weight on his chest lifting, like everything finally makes sense again. 

You’re sipping on your drink so elegantly, giggling with a man who’s now occupying the stool to the left of you. You seem to be having a good time and now you’re holding Eddie’s heart in your hand, squeezing it as you continue to giggle with the man and he can feel it, his chest aching as he watches you slip through his fingers once again. 

But as he’s turning his back to help the other customers, he sees the man’s hand sliding up your thigh and something about watching this happen is making his skin crawl. Just thinking about this guy touching you like that makes him want to break every single one of his fingers, especially because of how uncomfortable you look. 

You’re trying to scoot away but don’t have the strength, the guy grabbing hold of your arm and holding you there so you’re unable to move. Even from your profile, he can see the fear in your eyes as you try to push him off. 

 Eddie’s had enough of this and rounds the bar, grabbing hold of the guy and pulling him off the stool. As soon as he looks the guy in the eyes, seeing that he’s not even phased tells Eddie that he does this a lot and that doesn’t sit right with him. He’s seen red now as he holds the guy by his shirt and he knows he really shouldn’t but before he can stop himself, he raises his fist and punches him square in the face before letting security take care of him. 

He shakes his fist afterwards because of the tingly feeling just as you’re throwing yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck as you bury your face into it. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, pretty sure that you’re trying to thank him, but he doesn’t need it. He did it because it was the right thing and honestly would have done it for anyone. 

You pull away and Eddie feels every part of him ache when he sees that you’re crying. He notices your face change, your eyes widen as you slip your arms from him, almost as if you think that you’ve made a mistake.  

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you step away, quickly adjusting your dress before wiping your tears from your cheeks. There was a time where that was Eddie’s job but being chronically single since the breakup, you’ve learned to do it for yourself again 

“For what?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to prevent from reaching out for you. 

“For hugging you,” you reply as if it’s obvious, but clearly it’s not since he’s still looking at you like a confused puppy. Has he always been this adorable? 

“Baby-” he cuts himself off, the nickname coming so naturally like it hasn't been months since he’s called you that. “You can hug me anytime you want. Especially after that.” 

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “This is just weird for me, I guess. I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here and I guess old feelings are just flooding back.” You’re chuckling awkwardly like you shouldn’t be saying it, but it’s honestly music to Eddie's ears.

Eddie’s brain short circuits as you finish speaking. Old feelings? So you don’t still love him. You don’t feel the same way as he does and that absolutely kills him. This whole thing has just become torture but he can’t get himself to walk away because he’s still wrapped around your goddamn finger. Some things just never change. 

“Well, I um-” you cut yourself off, now feeling flustered. “I should get back to my friends,” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder and Eddie couldn’t be more disappointed. He really wishes he had more time with you, realizing just how much he missed you now that you’re leaving again. If he doesn’t say something now, he’s going to be kicking himself for the rest of his life. 

“Wait,” he calls after you and you turn around, clearly caught off guard by him still having something to say. “I get off in about an hour. Do you want to…go somewhere?” 

“Eddie…” You look hesitant, almost caught off guard and now he’s trying to think of how he can backtrack since he’s clearly made you uncomfortable. 

“I just want to talk.” You think about it and Eddie can practically see the gears turning in your head. You want to, you really do, but there’s so much that you want to say that you probably shouldn’t. 

You want to tell him how much you miss him, how you miss being wrapped up in his arms, the way he’d squeeze you tight before the two of you fell asleep. You miss the humming that he did or the tv constantly playing on low volume in the background because he hates silence. 

You miss his kisses and even though it’s been over a year since your last one, you still vividly remember what his lips felt like. They were almost always chapped and he often tasted like the mint gum he chewed to cover up the tobacco for you. 

“Okay, yeah,” you nod, craving to be in his presence so badly. Being here with him now, all of that anxiety and dread you’ve been carrying around with you is gone, replaced with warmth that’s spreading throughout your body, the calm that always coursed through you when you were around him. For the first time in so long, you finally feel like you’re home. 

-

Eddie’s feeling clammy as he stands outside the club. He’s smoking a cigarette to help ease his anxiety but it’s not working. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to talk to you. Maybe because there’s so much uncertainty. There’s so much he wants to say and he’s unsure how you’re going to take it all. He wants to tell you just how much he misses you, how much he still loves you. It’s fucking breaking him being apart from you and when you left, he felt like he lost his purpose, his passion for everything gone with you in the moving truck. 

And the thing is, he doesn’t even blame you for leaving because what else were you supposed to do? That’s what happens when people break up. He just wishes he had gotten the chance to say goodbye since you made the decision to leave while he was at work. He got home and all of your stuff was gone, those cute little mugs you had collected over the years gone from the kitchen cabinet, your books that you would read to him every night before bed disappeared from his bookshelf along with everything else that you owned. 

Seeing you tonight made his feelings for you even stronger and now he can’t even fight them off like he usually does. They have to make themselves known, wanting Eddie to not deny them anymore. He guesses he can’t now and he honestly has no idea what he’s going to say to you without looking like a lovesick fool. 

So he just continues to smoke his cigarette until it’s gone, then reaches for his pack to get another one when you exit the club, giggling with your friends before saying goodbye to them and heading over to him. You’ve gotten even more beautiful since he last saw you a couple hours ago and it hurts so bad knowing that he can’t have you. After getting your closure, the two of you will go your separate ways and Eddie will go home to a bottle of tequila and put on the mixtape he made for you while he drinks until he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s pathetic and he knows it. He’s imagining you telling him that you miss him too then sharing a kiss that’s filled with fireworks. He really needs to get a grip and stop wishing for something that will never happen.

“So,” you speak up, standing there awkwardly as you fiddle with the strap of your purse in your hands. “Where are we going?” Eddie completely forgot to come up with a spot and now he’s panicking, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Dina’s,” he says as he takes one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out underneath his boot. Your eyes widen at the name, memories flooding your mind of sitting in your favorite booth, the two of you giggling over pancakes and a milkshake with two straws. 

Eddie suggesting that place is like a stab to the gut, too painful to go there and try to relive the good memories of your failed relationship, but you think that maybe it won’t be too bad. 

“Dina’s, wow, I haven’t been there since-” you cut yourself off, wondering if this is even a good idea, talking things over with your ex, bringing up the past as you both mourn what could have been. You’re just not sure if you should be doing this. Maybe it’s not too late to catch a cab and go home.

“Since our anniversary,” Eddie finishes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, seeing that you’re not wearing one, your shoulders bare, your arms wrapping tighter around your body to try and warm yourself up but it’s not working. It’s taking everything in him not to give you the jacket right off his back but he knows you won’t take it, too stubborn like always. 

“Right,” you nod, knowing that this will be nothing like that. It will just be an awkward and painful conversation that you really wished you hadn’t agreed to. You have tried so hard not to think about Eddie, pushing out every single thought you’ve had but there is always going to be little pieces of him sprinkled into your life. Whether you like it or not, there’s always going to be something that reminds you of him, taking you back to that painful place where you left him as you moved out that day. 

Eddie leads you to his van and you can’t help but feel like this is a date. You wish it was, though. Maybe you’ll be able to turn everything around and he’ll be your boyfriend again. Or your friend at the very least. 

He opens the passenger door like he always used to and helps you into the van and it’s just like old times. You look around the van as he rounds the hood and it looks exactly the same, the stickers that have been on the dash since you’ve known him are still there, even the ones you gave him. 

They’re curling up at the edges, the adhesive wearing off, but that only means that he’s loved them so much that they’ve been there a while. You run your fingers over them as Eddie gets into the driver’s seat, watching you from where he’s sitting with a smile that’s filled with admiration. 

He starts up the van and catches you singing along to the next song on the tape he’s got in. It’s the last one you made for him that he plays in a loop because apparently he loves to torture himself. It’s got his name written across it in your handwriting with sloppily drawn hearts all over it. 

He can’t keep that stupid smile off of his face and joins you, both of you laughing through your duet as if no time has passed. Things are so different now but one thing you at least know for sure is that Eddie still loves ABBA. 

You sing the rest of the song, your laughter fading away as another one starts and now it’s just awkward silence. Neither of you know what to say even though you unknowingly still love each other. If only the two of you could get over your anxiety and just say it already. 

But you can’t. You won’t. You already hurt him once and you’re not going to do it again. He’s doing so well and you’re not going to stumble into his life and claim your have feelings for him when he’s definitely over you. 

If only you could see how lovesick Eddie still is. If only you could get back all the cobwebs that have gathered in your past and see the future that’s right in front of you. Eddie is still as head over heels for you as he’s always been. He never stopped loving you even when everything went to shit. He’s tried, god, he’s tried. He’s wanted to forget you, but you’re always still there, stuck in his mind forever. 

He pulls up to the restaurant and you’re thrown back in time again, another flashback that you can’t seem to escape as much as you want to. You remember the tender touches of your hands across the table and the loving stares and now you’re just sitting across from each other like two people on a blind date. 

You hate that you still remember your exact orders even though you haven’t even thought about this place since the last time you sat in this very booth. His hand is resting on the table as he looks at the menus and god, you just want to reach for it, to know if they’re as rough as you remember. You hope he still uses that lotion you always used to buy him. 

He’s sitting there, looking so pretty with his hair tucked behind one ear, moving an unlit cigarette between his fingers that’s always been a nervous habit. You hate that he’s nervous but you completely understand why. This is uncharted territory. You’re completely different people now and this whole thing was completely unplanned. 

You mimic him and look at your own menu but you’re not even hungry. You’re actually feeling sick thinking about why you’re actually here. You’re nervous as shit to have this conversation. You just know he’s going to break your heart and you suppose you can’t even be upset with him since you deserve it for leaving him all that time ago without even so much a goodbye. But the thing is, you actually actually left because you were terrified to see the look on his face so you fled to avoid the pain of seeing how heartbroken he was. 

“So,” he says, taking a deep sigh as he sets his menu on the table, looking you in the eyes as he does so. 

“So,” you repeat in the same fashion and furrow your eyebrows when he brings his hands up to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He then slaps his hands onto the table which startles you, looking at you with that fire that you’ve missed the entire night. 

“I’ve gotta be honest,” he says, his gaze still burning into yours. “I’ve missed you. Like, so much that I can’t even stand it.” He knows that it’s rushed and that he probably sounds crazy and eyes widen at his confession, he’s terrified that he’s scaring you away. God, he’s driving you away again, fucking up one more time before you leave his life for good. He just can’t seem to get it right. 

Before he can even finish his speech that he’s been writing in his head for months because in the blink of an eye, you’re sitting right next to him, a goofy but adorable grin on your face. He has no idea what’s going on but he sure as hell isn’t going to deny you being in such close proximity to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, nervous all over again because even though you’re smiling at him, he can’t help but feel iscared that you’re going to slip through his fingers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-”

“Eddie,” you cut him off, your hands cradling his cheeks like they used to and his eyes widen as he stares at you, wondering what you’re going to do next. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice small for the first time tonight. 

“Will you please just shut up?” You ask before pressing your lips to his, pouring out all of your repressed emotions for the past year pouring into it and you don’t even care that you’re crying. You just need this and apparently Eddie does too because his arms are wrapped tightly around you, his own tears trailing down his cheeks as he involuntarily whimpers against your lips. 

This is the best way he’s ever been shut up in his life and it’s crazy to him just quickly you’re both able to do this after so long, picking it up like it’s nothing. It gets progressively more hungry and as you’re sticking your tongue into his mouth, you suddenly realize where you are, deciding that you can’t exactly do what you’re doing here. So you stand from the table and offer him your hand which he gladly takes. 

You’re both out the door in a flash and as soon as you’re heading down the alley between the diner and the other building, you’re pulling Eddie into the dark, pressing yourself to the wall as your lips find his again, somehow even more hungry than before. You’re both crying again but you’re too caught up in your need for each other to be embarrassed. 

His hands are sliding up your dress as he kisses down to your, nipping at whatever skin he’s able to get his teeth on as he goes. It starts off as gentle kisses as he murmurs the words “I missed you” against your skin but it gets progressively more intense as he begins to suck on your skin, making your brain feel fuzzy. 

“I missed you too,” you moan as he pushes you gently against the wall. He’s pulling down your thong and you let him despite being so out of practice that you’ve felt so nervous about sleeping with anyone else. Being with Eddie, though, just feels so right. 

You unbutton his jeans and pull them down with his underwear, so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even notice that he’s slid himself inside you, both of you grunting at the tight fit.  

He’s moving slowly at first but progressively gets faster, missing the feeling of being inside you, missing the way you moan, the way you grab onto him, scratching up any part of him you can get your hands on, missing you. God has he missed you. It feels so right being here with you now.

He’s moving so fast, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pumps and pumps, his lips finding yours again, biting down on your bottom lip as another moan slips past your lips. It’s loud and he’s eating it up, wondering how much more he can get out of you before you’re absolutely spent. 

You’re close already but to see how long you can hold out. You’ve gone so long without him between your legs that it doesn’t take much for you to orgasm, to completely undone as he bottoms out inside you. He’s still going as you whine his name, pumping in and out, in and out until he reaches his own orgasm, moaning so loudly that you’re almost concerned that someone is going to hear him. 

The words “I love you” fall from his lips and you melt when you hear them, so happy that he still feels the same way, that the love you have for each other has never faded. You’re both smiling now as you pull him into another kiss, mumbling the words back to him against his lips. A laugh escapes his lips as he pulls away and he picks you up and spins you around. He’s the happiest he’s been in so long. 

“C’mon, angel,” he says, grabbing hold of your hand and leading you back to his van that’s around the corner. “Let’s go home.”

[stevebabey]

the four steps between (best) friends and lovers

summary: Long-time best friends, it's not a surprise that it's you Steve comes to when he needs a fake girlfriend. One little white lie, one perilous family dinner, one evening of pretending to be a couple.

How hard could it be?

[ 12k + best friends to lovers + fake dating + fem!reader]

STEP ONE: THE PROPOSAL

"Be my girlfriend."

The glass held between your fingers slips and makes a loud bang as it hits the sink. The water from the tap pours over it, unaware of the incredibly unusual change in the universe that just occurred.

You tilt your head up, ignoring the lost glass, and raise your eyebrows high. "Come again?"

Steve huffs a little, as though you're the one being rather dramatic, and leans further forward across the island. His hands are planted firmly, his hazel eyes wide as he all but pouts at you. You're still grappling with where the hell that came from.

"Be my girlfriend. Please." He says. "For just one dinner, I promise. I swear I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't actually desperate."

You blink, clearly having missed a beat somewhere.

Frowning, you finally shut off the tap and rescue your abandoned glass from the bottom of the sink. You pick up and give it a quick once over for any chips. Scot-free, luckily.

"Okay, back up." You say, giving a small shake to clear your head. You make a face. "First of all, Harrington, ouch."

Steve sags a bit. "C'mon, you know that's not what I mean."

Not even a hint of a smile at your dig — which tells you he's probably pretty serious then.

"Secondly, what dinner is this? What could be so important that you have to show up with a faux-girlfriend on your arm?"

Steve properly slumps this time, a loud groan accompanying the languished movement. His forehead presses against the counter-top and you bite your tongue to avoid making an unhelpful, teasing comment about it. Instead, you refill the glass in your hand and wait patiently.

"I…" Steve begins, his voice muffled against the counter-top.

"MybrotherisintownwithhisfiancéeandI—"

"Steveeee," You interrupt as you give in to the urge, leaning over and poking him in the head. "If you want my help, please stop mumbling into the counter and tell me the problem."

He doesn't move for a moment, still face down, but you can see the rise and fall of his back as he sighs deeply. He shifts, twisting so his face is no longer hidden. It's noticeably pinker than it was a minute ago.

"My brother is in town next week." He explains. "With his fiancée. And my parents really love to kick up a fuss whenever he gets brought up, whether it's, yanno, like, about jobs and shit or whatever."

Steve waves a careless hand out. He rises from his slumped position, tucking his chin into the palm of his hand.

"And, like, this time it was about relationships. It was all," Steve's voice pitches up, whiny and nasally. "When are you going to get a serious relationship like Brandon, Steve? When are you going to settle down, Steve? When are you going to stop being a disappointment, Steve?"

He huffs another sigh, this one tinged with more defeat. You feel your face twitch in sympathy.

"So, just to get them shut up I…" Steve averts his gaze to study the counter-top suddenly. He draws an idle circle with his free hand. "I said that I was actually dating someone."

You take in his words. "But you're not."

"Thank you, genius. I had no idea." Steve straightens up with a scoff, throwing his hands out. Dragging them down his face, another groan warbles out of him.

"But now they're expecting me to show up to this dinner with someone — someone I'm dating — and I cannot admit I lied. So, please, be my girlfriend for one night."

You snort. His distress, a disaster of his own making, is just a tad bit funny. Just a little. A smidge. "Dude, chill. Just say your girlfriend is sick and she can't come."

Steve laughs mirthlessly. "That's like the adult equivalent of saying oh you don't know her, she goes to another school. No, I can't do that! C'mon, please."

His hands clasp together, raised in a plea.

"Think of it as one hugely, massive favour."

You take a moment to think it over.

"When is it?"

"This weekend, Saturday, 5 o'clock."

"Dress code?"

"Formal. Duh."

"How many people?"

"Uh, my mom, my dad, my brother, his fiancée. Maybe my uncle? Four or five."

Saturday was only a couple days away. He'd left it awfully late to ask—and you're not exactly sure who else would step up for the job if you said no. For the first time since he threw out the insane suggestion, you properly consider it — and feel your face screw up instinctively.

You? Pretending to be Steve's girlfriend?

Sure, to some girls that probably sounded like a dream come true, but it hadn't ever been like that between you and Steve.

You weren't even sure if you could picture it, being tucked under his arm, receiving delicate kisses on the head instead of noogies. Your nose wrinkles again at the oddity.

It wasn't like people didn't like to speculate — men and women can't just be friends, after all — but getting on Steve Harrington's kiss list had never really been a priority to you. Would you even be able to pull it off?

Your mind casts out to the girls that Steve tends to date, nit-picking as you try to think of what separated you from them. While Steve would certainly vehemently deny it, you're pretty sure you can pick a pattern out from the array of girls. A type that you certainly wouldn't see yourself fitting into.

Steve just… doesn't go for girls like you.

Steve, watching you closely, sees the hesitation sink in. He leans forward again, bargaining face on.

"You can veto every movie we watch for the next month."

You squint at him. Raise your chin an inch, forcing yourself not to smile too obviously. It's not often you get to see Steve looking ready to actually grovel for something.

He narrows his eyes, catching onto your deviousness. "Fine. I'll pay for your shakes for the next month, too."

You take another moment to think it over, exaggerating the hmmm sound you make. You tap your finger against your chin, indicating you're not quite convinced yet.

Steve leans further forward, his expression inching toward a bitchy disbelief. A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He looks as though he might start another slew of scoffing, his tongue pressed into his cheek, before he seems to re-evaluate what's at stake here.

He says, "I will drive you up to Indianapolis on—" He holds up one finger. "—one occasion when you ask."

Grinning, you stick out your hand for him to shake.

"You've got a deal, mister."

Steve sighs, his shoulders sagging in relief as he drops his hand to rest in yours. You give it a firm shake and just when you can see the thank-you forming on his lips, you tug his hand forward. You grin wider, almost taunting.

"I would've done it just for the shakes, just so you know."

Steve does scoff this time, ripping his hand back from yours. "You're an awful friend."

You bite down your smile, already dreaming of the free shake you'll be sipping all the way out to Indianapolis. You take a sip of your water and raise your brows at Steve over the lip of your cup.

"Hey. Don't you mean awful girlfriend." You wiggle your brows, not failing to see the hint of pink that colours Steve's cheeks.

Despite the colour in his face, Steve manages to deliver a long, unimpressed stare at you.

His eyes flick down your figure, clearly turning your words over in his head, then back up. As though he's actually realising what he's asked you to do.

He huffs another sigh, running his hand down his face. "Jesus Christ. This is an awful idea."

"Hey, it's your idea, not mine."

—

A stray blouse flies from the closet, landing in an unceremonious lump at the foot of your bed.

You toe at it gently, narrowed gaze travelling from the murky colour up toward the closet, to the perpetrator currently tearing your wardrobe apart. He doesn't even pause, hands still digging, almost resembling a dog burying a bone.

Sighing, you drop your head back, hair splaying against your pillow. The water-stain on your bedroom ceiling greets your sigh with silence.

You had thought that, while sure, yeah, the Harrington's are a fancy bunch, it ultimately wouldn't be that much of a hassle to step in as Steve's date.

You'd have to dig through your closet for the nicest thing you owned (and seldom wore) and you and Steve would concoct a ludicrous story that could be the next John Hughes film.

It would take an hour, tops.

A severe underestimation. Maybe the promise of one hugely, massive favour should've tipped you off.

"Are you being serious right now?" You moan from your place on the bed. You shift your head forward again, eyeing your best friend across the room.

Steve, still buried in your closet, makes a loud harumph in answer. His voice comes out muffled against the clothes, too swamped amongst the fabric. "—Y'know, this wouldn't be so hard if you actually had anything wearable in here—"

You make a noise of indignation, tipping your head further forward. Your necklace shifts, the pendant sliding down the chain and hitting the comforter beneath you.

"And just what are you trying to say?"

Steve pauses for a moment, his hands halted on a pair of coat-hangers. He leans out from the clothing and lets his head loll back, his hazel eyes forming a flat stare.

"Har har." Steve says sarcastically. He turns back to the closet, the coat-hanger in his hand scraping as he pushes it along, assessing each piece with quick, attuned eyes. "I'm just saying you have a lack of clothing that my mother deems acceptable."

He turns back for a second. "Which is a good thing, by the way."

You hum in agreement, letting your head flop back onto your pillow. You've seen the pantsuits Cynthia Harrington wears.

Steve continues his barrage through your wardrobe, making a noise of disapproval every couple of seconds.

You also can't say you had expected to get started so soon; as in immediately post fake-girlfriend proposal. It occurs to you that perhaps you've said yes to something bigger than you expected.

"You're taking this really seriously." You comment.

"Yeah, well," Steve reaches in and tosses another blouse, this one pale-blue, on the bed by your feet. "I know you've met my parents before but they're, like, different when Brandon comes around."

"Different?"

"Like worse. Way, way worse." He draws a line with a flat hand. "Brandon makes them just so—"

His hand curls up, forming a fist. He sighs, dropping it to rest on his hip. For a long moment, he stares into your wardrobe.

You push up on one elbow, brows knitting together. "Steve?"

Steve jolts lightly at your voice, torn out of his thoughts. He reaches out and plucks another blouse from your wardrobe, a maroon pleated one that you'd sworn you had thrown away. It's horrendous and definitely picked out by your mother. He turns and chucks it on the bed, crumpling atop the others and looks up at you, hands perched on his hips.

"Just, like, the smoother this dinner goes, the better, okay?"

You sit up completely, catching the seriousness leaking into Steve's voice. Damn. He actually sounds pretty worked up about the whole thing.

You smile, aiming for comfort. Even if you hadn't quite grasped what you had said yes to, Steve was still your best friend.

His parents were… difficult on the best of days. It was clear he was going for the least eventful, head-down approach as he could for this.

You could do that.

"Okay." You nod, more serious this time, eyeing the blouses on the end of the bed. You miss the relief that shutters across Steve's face. "We got three days til Saturday. What do you need me to do?"

"You can start," Steve says, spinning back to face your chest of drawers this time. His eyes flash over, with a hint of mirth. "By telling me if you even own a skirt that goes below your knees, you scandalous woman."

You laugh and get to your feet, wandering towards your drawers to pull open the bottom most one. Fishing around, you try to recall if you have anything church-worthy, tongue poking out your lips.

A hideous woollen skirt gifted to you for Christmas a couple years ago springs to mind. You shiver.

"Below the knee, huh?" You say. "You better start telling me about the role I'll be playing if I can't even turn up as myself."

You're only half joking. Your fingers curl around the scratchy fabric and you wrinkle your nose in recognition. Tugging it forward, it escapes the confines of your drawers and splays out with a sudden poof. You get the joy of remembering just how ugly it really is.

Twisting, you hold it up to Steve who has taken your place on your bed, laid back.

"Think this'll do?"

Steve's head perks up and he locks onto the skirt in your grasp. "Ugh, it's awful. Perfect."

You drop the skirt, abandoning it to take your place next to Steve on the bed. The springs creak slightly as your weight joins Steve's, the bed dipping and forcing you closer together. A smile sneaks onto his face.

"Okay, but for real," You jab a finger into the softness of Steve's side and he makes a little noise of complaint. "You've gotta tell me what I'm expecting for this, dude. It would be, like, catastrophically mean of you to send me in there blind."

Steve sighs — something he's really doing that a lot recently — and rolls toward you, propping his head up with one arm. The edges of his polo stretch as his bicep bulges. He frowns down at your comforter as he thinks.

"I don't know if I actually can prepare you for it." He admits, raising his gaze to look at you through his lashes. "Like, I think we're gonna have to just come up with a story and fend off the questions as best we can."

Another thought occurs to you. You frown. "Wait, don't your parents, like, know about me already?"

Steve's gaze darts away, this time staring at your comforter with a greater intensity. He gives a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, well, that's why it'll work. They basically already ask me when we'll be getting together."

Your brows jump. A teasing grin taunts your mouth but you forsake it for a more helpful approach.

"Alright, then," You say. "Then let's do better than fending off the wolves. If I'm gonna be your fake girlfriend, I'm not gonna half-ass it. Let's knock the socks off your parents."

Steve's eyes jump up, meeting your stare and it takes another moment before he realises you're being genuine. You grin, poking him in the side again.

"And Brandon."

"Yeah?" Steve smiles. He sounds a tad awed at your dedication, his eyes roaming over your face gently. After a moment, he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "Okay. Uh, we have to come up with a backstory first."

"And it has to be one that your parents will believe too."

Steve nods, then pauses, a frown knitting together his eyebrows. "Wait, when did we get together? We can't have just started dating that's— like, almost as bad as showing up without a girlfriend."

You blink, perturbed. "What?"

"Oh, hey mom and dad." Steve says, his tone sardonic and flat. "Oh yeah, this is my girlfriend who I somehow started dating just one week ago, coincidentally just in time for this family dinner."

You cringe a little. He does have a point.

"Fine." You say. A little worry burrows into your brain — the longer you make your 'relationship', the more details you have to construct, to remember, and recall correctly.

You worry your bottom lip. "How long is long enough though? If it's too long, we have to remember more things."

Steve's mouth twists in thought. He gives a hmm.

"I think the last time you saw my parents was… sometime around New Year's Eve, right? They had that party, d'ya remember?"

You wrack your brain and find a memory with glittering fireworks and greasy hot-dogs. Steve had too much champagne and emptied his stomach into a bush. Faintly, the memory of passing by Mr and Mrs. Harrington fits in there— only for a moment.

"Yeah," You say.

Combing over the last years' events, you try to think if there's anything else you would've seen them at.

Graduation? You try to smooth out the wrinkles of that memory too; sunny day, sweltering gown. You hadn't remembered seeing Steve's parents there. "'Cos they didn't come to graduation, did they?"

"Nope." Steve says, popping the p. He rolls back to lie flat on your bed, folding his hands to rest on his chest. "What about after one of my basketball games? The final one of the season." He proposes, eyes tracking back to you.

You laugh without meaning to, spurred on by Steve's surprise.

"Really? At your basketball game? That's when the sparks went flying and we got together?"

Steve's mouth drops open an inch in offense. He throws his hands up. "What? That's, like, totally romantic." He defends. "Besides, it's a good reason for our friendship to have changed."

"You lost that game."

"I still scored!"

"Fine." You appease, laughing lightly. "We got together after you lost the last basketball game of the season."

Steve wrinkles his nose again. "Well, don't put it like that."

You laugh again, soft and light.

"Who asked who?"

"I asked you." Steve says.

You nod, carefully trying to commit the detail to memory. Your head spins as you try to think up the variety of different questions you might get asked at the dinner.

What sort of questions might his parents ask? Or his brother? They'll probably want to know the basics — how you got together, how it's going. You might get a shake-down to see if you're worthy of dating a Harrington.

Then, of course, there is the matter of ensuring you're a convincing couple. In love enough to be brought along to an exclusive family event.

That means… getting touchy. The thought sends a jolt through your stomach— will you have to kiss?

You bury the thought. You'll cross that bridge and have it's subsequently unavoidable, awkward conversation when you get to it.

You're not sure who'll you will have more trouble convincing; Brandon or Steve's parents. But from what you know of Steve's family, you'd bet none of them know him that well.

For all you know, this could well be a walk in the park. Maybe the easiest free trip to Indianapolis ever earned.

"What's Brandon like?" You ask, trying to get a better sense of who you'll be fooling. "Do you think he'll ask many questions?"

"He's…" Steve's eyes shift from you to the ceiling, his mouth forming a flat line. "An asshole, like my dad. He's got this amazing talent for getting under my skin. Which usually includes undermining just about anything I have going for me in my life. Or—" He gestures to you with a sigh. "—what I actually don't have going."

He rolls his head in your direction, his mouth twisted into a bitchy frown.

"He used to always rat on me to our parents when I was kid. He once got me in trouble for going to see Tommy just because he didn't want to walk me over. Said I disobeyed authority." Steve makes quotations with his fingers.

Your brows raise in disbelief. "Isn't he, like, fifteen years older than you?"

Steve huffs a mirthless laugh. "Yep. Told you, asshole. So, yes, he'll probably ask questions but I don't think he'll expect I'd do something as desperately pathetic as faking a girlfriend so hopefully we'll fly under his radar."

Reaching out, you whack Steve on the arm, relishing in his annoyed ow!

Eyes narrowed, you wait til he's looking at you with his what gives? face before you say, "What you're doing is not pathetic, nor is it desperate. It is an act of survival against your shitty family, okay?"

Steve stares at you for a moment before his shoulders seem to melt, the tension leaking from them. He flops his head back.

"Okay." He murmurs in agreement.

"Alright," You say. "Now, let's get this story straight. We got together at the final game of the season, which would mean we've been together for nearly…"

STEP TWO: THE ACT

Your legs itch and you fight the urge to readjust your tights for the umpteenth time.

Steve, in the driver's seat beside you, drums his hands against the steering wheel too rapidly to be casual. He keeps darting one hand to his mouth, teeth worrying at his thumbnail.

You'd reach out and smack him to get him to stop but you're beginning to feel the lurch of nerves yourself. The drive from your house to Steve's has never seemed so, so entirely too short.

"Okay, uh," Steve's throat clicks, clammed up from his silence for too long.

He hadn't spoken much when he had picked you up, other than to laugh at your joke at the mismatch of yourself and your prim outfit.

You'd ended up finding a double-breasted blazer in your mom's closet and you look almost ready to run as the local mayor. You're even wearing tights.

"We got together the 20th—"

"—of June, last year." You finish for him.

Steve nods, his face still facing forward. His eyes look a tad unfocused, even as he reaches out to adjust the collar of his dress shirt. "Right. So we've been together for, uh, about ten months."

You nod encouragingly, checking the details in your head. "You asked me out. Our first date was—"

"—at The Hawk." Steve cuts in, parroting off your memorised answers. "We saw Labyrinth and, uh, then I drove you home."

That part isn't technically untrue. You and Steve had gone to see Labyrinth together back in June of last year, but it certainly hadn't been a date. You find the details lend themselves quite easily regardless.

"That's when we had our first kiss." You remind him, even if it makes your face heat minisculy. "What did you get me for Christmas?" You quiz.

"Uh," Steve's hand rabbits against the steering wheel, nerves evident. He finally breaks his stare from the road to glance at you, his brows furrowed together, eyes worried. "Fuck, I can't remember."

"It's fine," You stress, waving a hand. "You got me tickets to Billy Joel and we drove out to Indianapolis for the concert in April."

Steve nods a bit too manically, his perfectly coiffed hair coming a bit loose. The houses flashing by the window gradually get bigger, fancier. He bites his thumbnail again and this time you do reach out and tug his wrist away.

"Thanks." He murmurs.

He turns the wheel, the engine droning as the car takes the corner to enter his street. Your nerves hike a mile higher and you tug at your tights fruitlessly again. The street is lined with nice cars — not unexpected for Steve's neighbourhood.

What is unexpected is the sheer volume. You and Steve peer out the car windows, eyes wide, as you take in the full street. When you swallow, your throat feels particularly dry.

You turn to Steve. "I thought they said it was a family dinner?"

Steve, his eyes darting from car to car, either trying to find a park amongst the packed sidewalk or maybe just panicking like you are, takes a moment to meet your eyes. He looks a lovely shade of chalky white.

"They definitely did."

There's a free space down the end of Steve's street, the driveway already full with two cars, neither you can recognise.

Steve's foot hits against the brake too abruptly and the car jerks to a stop, rocking forward. You grip the edges of your seat tightly as Steve kills the engine. For a moment, neither of you make a sound.

"What if there's more than just family in there?" Steve croaks, turning slowly to face you.

The paleness in his face has pitched toward something greener. He swallows heavily, twisting back to stare out the windshield and his hands on the wheel tighten. "Oh my god, this is— this isn't gonna to work."

"Steve."

"Valentines, we did Lover's Lake," Steve mutters to himself, eyes still out the window. "Fuck, this is so stupid."

"Steve," You try again. His own panic is worsening your own and if he continues to spiral, you fear you might never make it out of the car and you did not wear itchy tights for that to happen.

"You got me the Michael Jackson record for my birthday," He rattles off again, almost absentmindedly, as though his mind can't pick between panicking about trying to remember all the details or the apparent extra guests.

"This is— oh my god, we're never gonna convince them."

"Steve." You say firmly. His head snaps around, broken from his mutterings. He blinks at you.

You take a deep, exaggerated breath in. Steve follows instinctively, his shoulders rising as he inhales.

"We will convince them." You insist earnestly.

Offering out your upturned hand, you wait for Steve to shift to place his bigger hand in yours. When he does, your fingers curl around it, cradling it.

You can feel the rabbit of his pulse at your fingertips and you meet his eye as you say, "We know each other—really well. We're best friends. We've practised, we look the part, okay? Now, all we have to do is… be a couple for an evening. It's going to be fine."

Steve swallows and for a moment, he doesn't say anything. Then his breath bursts out in a release of tension, his hand finally squeezing yours back. "God, what would I do without you?"

"Crash and burn, probably." You tease, thankful when unease hanging on his frame is replaced by something more familiar.

Steve makes an appalled noise, tightening his grip on your hand so you can't pull it back. His other hand moves, his fingers dancing across the ticklish skin on the inside of your arm til you shriek out in laughter, yanking your hand back.

Your laughter seems to have dimmed the nervousness a bit. You glance over your shoulder, down the street, and track an older couple dressed primly entering the Harrington home. As you turn back to Steve, you swallow to gather your nerves.

"Ready?"

Steve doesn't look like he is, his shifting, unsure eyes and stressing hands. He pushes his palms against his slacks and takes a sharp inhale, before meeting your eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

You count the steps up to the doorway without even meaning to, arriving at the Harrington doorstep in approximately 47 steps. The maroon double doors before you seem taller than usual. Steve raises his hand to knock and then halts, his attention shifting to his upraised hand.

He quickly tucks it back against his side, except this time with his elbow held out for you.

A faint pang of surprise in your chest, coloured with something softer, nicer. You’ve seen somewhat what Steve’s like on his dates and you’ve certainly heard plenty of the aftermath. But you’ve never been on one, of course.

As you loop your arm to nook in his, you find yourself unexpectedly eager to find out exactly what it’s like to be Steve Harrington’s date.

Steve knocks on the door, then twists the knob and lets himself in.

Despite seeing the earlier guests, there’s little to prepare you for the room full of people that stand on the other side of the door. Moving on instinct, clinging to Steve’s arm, you step through the threshold and into the lion's den.

Your nerves fry. Never mind lion's den; you feel more like a fly caught in a web. Frog boiling in a pot? No, that doesn't work because you know exactly what you were signed up to when you said yes to Steve.

Well, not precisely. You survey the crowd, counting at least three times as many people as you were expecting with nervous eyes.

Your little white lie with Steve just graduated to having an entire audience. No pressure, right?

“Steven.”

The croon of Cynthia Harrington greets the pair of you.

You feel Steve stiffen up beside you, his shoulders rolling back, his entire body straightening up. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

“Mom,” Steve says. His voice is a bit dry and he swallows again. “You didn’t say there were going to be this many people here.”

He’s polite enough to not word it as an accusation. His niceties don’t work, bouncing off the painstakingly sculpted smile of a businesswoman.

“Please, it’s a networking event, I’m not sure what you expected.” She adjusts her diamond earring, swaying and heavy, as she speaks dismissively. “I told you this, Steven.”

You never hear anyone call Steve Steven other than his parents.

“No, Mom, you didn’t.”

There’s a barely restrained bite in his words.

That catches Cynthia’s attention. She stops her roaming gaze to focus on her son, not even glancing at you. After a moment, she gives an exasperated huff.

“Well, why else would we be back, Steven? Your father is trying to close business with Mr. Collings.”

The sting isn’t even for you — in fact, you don’t even think she realises she’s dealt it — but you feel it all the same. Steve’s arm looped with yours tightens, a minuscule motion.

Though you know he thinks they’re all assholes, it doesn’t stop Steve from hoping they’ll come back for him.

“Right.” Steve says, voice tight. “Sure. Of course.”

You’re just thinking about dragging him away from this barbed conversation, clearly pricking all his sensitive spots, when Cynthia’s sharp gaze slides over to you.

Her eyes gleam in recognition and her posture changes.

“Oh, is this the girlfriend you’ve spoken of?”

This time you’re the one who stiffens up. It’s momentary. You know that Steve’s likely freaking out too and at least one of you has to pull yourself together.

The most winning smile you can manage glides onto your face.

“That’s me.” You squeeze Steve’s arm with your hand. It's half in genuine comfort, half in show.

Cynthia regards you for another long moment before she manages to straighten up further, as though pinched.

“Oh! Yes, I recognise you. Remind me of your name, dear?”

It’s a struggle not to grit your teeth. Steve and you have been friends for nearing ten years now.

Still, you relay it politely for her. Your smile feels a bit wooden now.

“Oh, Steven. How nice.” Cynthia says, a touch of patronisation in her tone. Her beady eyes slice back to yours. “He had such a crush on you for the longest time, it’s—”

“Mom.” Steve hisses, cutting her off. Another unexpected jolt of something warm in your chest. Wait, really?

You chance a glance up at Steve. His ears are tinted pink.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of how that makes you feel, so you shelve it for later. Maybe when you’re not being thrown to the sharks by Steve’s awful parents.

Okay, too many animal metaphors. Falling asleep to the Discovery Channel last night is definitely taking its toll.

“We’re gonna mingle, find Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. He moves forward, past his mother, and tugs you with him. Your legs itch with the reminder of your scratchy tights.

“Alright, Steven. Make sure you say hello to your brother!”

Steve huffs, loud enough that you hear it, and you let him lead you through the throngs of middle-aged people. He stops when he reaches the kitchen, finally unwinding his arm with yours.

He does it so he can shove his hands in his hair, a stressed motion from Steve if you’ve ever seen one.

“God, okay, that went well.” He says sarcastically.

“Stop. You’re ruining your hair.” You reach up and rescue his lochs from his harsh grip, fingers around his wrists to tug his hands away. You’re far too aware of how long it had taken him to do.

Steve lets you. When you focus on his face, you notice the pink from his ears is also on his cheeks.

The question jumps off your tongue, unbidden.

“Was she telling the truth? About… the crush? Or was she just trying to tease you?”

The pink dips closer to scarlet. Steve sighs, his eyes closing for a moment.

“I— she- yes,” He admits. Your heart shudders at the revelation. Steve’s eyes open and he twists his hands so he can hold yours in them. “But, like, not now. In the past. Years ago, I promise.”

For his sake, you do your best not to take it too seriously. Even if you wanted to pry, now is not the time nor the place to do so.

However, you can’t resist a small, teasing grin. Steve catches it and his embarrassment gives way to exasperation instantly.

“You likeeed me,” You say in a sing-song voice.

Teasing is not unfamiliar in your friendship with Steve and getting to joke around, even at this strange party, feels nicer. Steve groans dramatically, his eyes closing and his hands pushing against your hands to shove you away.

A new voice interrupts.

“Liked? I sure hope he likes you now, being his girlfriend and all.”

You and Steve both snap out of your easy joking, remembering that you’re supposed to be presenting as a couple. Head turning to who had spoken, it only takes a couple of seconds for you to place who it is.

He looks a little bit like Steve, but not really.

The eyes are different, not as slanted and he hasn’t got any of Steve’s beautiful moles. But the nose, the mouth, put together with matching brown hair and tan skin, you know who this is without having to ask.

“Brandon.” Steve says. The name is stilted in his mouth.

Brandon smirks, his same hazel coloured eyes dragging a long, scathing once-over of his younger brother. He doesn’t look impressed, if his disinterested expression is anything to go by.

Then he does the same to you.

It’s almost tangible, the prickly feeling of his gaze raked over your body. Searching, hunting, nearly making you want to perk up to gain his approval.

God, Steve was right on the money. This guy is like his father but worse.

“The eye-candy of the month, huh?” He says to you, chuckling as if he’s made a joke.

You consider, then make the decision to throw all pleasantries out the window. You don’t smile back.

“Actually, Steve and I will be coming up on one year soon.”

Tangling your hands back together as you say it, you lean into Steve’s side. It’s warm, smells of his cologne. Only when you gaze up at him, do you let a smile grace your lips. It’s soft and genuine.

Steve smiles back down at you, crooked and lovely.

“I’m surprised anyone could settle him down,” Brandon continues and you turn back to him, fighting the urge to narrow your eyes. It doesn’t escape you how he’s jumped from one slight dig to the next.

He’s clever with it. Polite enough that Steve can’t exactly bring it up as an issue.

Brandon continues, swirling his crystal tumbler of whiskey idly. “Surprised he wanted to. Little bro always seemed like such a womanizer. Didn’t think he’d want just one chick.”

He leans in and socks Steve on the shoulder, hard, when he says the word womanizer. He’s grinning.

You have to admit, Brandon’s far too good at this — good at getting under your skin. If you hadn’t been forewarned of his behaviour, if you actually were Steve’s girlfriend, it would certainly rub you the wrong way. He’s certainly doing his best to sprinkle grit and strife between you two.

And you know it hurts Steve to hear — Sure, maybe when he was a thick-headed freshman, with no clue about the world, he had acted that way.

Nowadays... Anyone who knows Steve, even a little bit, knows he wants the real deal, more than anything.

“Not anymore,” Steve says, though it’s not nearly as confident as he usually is. He clears his throat and casts his gaze around. “Where’s Ariel?”

“Ah,” Brandon hums, looking around himself. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Not sure. I think I left her in conversation with the Erickson’s from across the street. She’s been pleading with her eyes to be saved but hey, she’s gotta learn sometime, right?”

Your lip curls up in distaste before you remember yourself. Fingers intertwined with Steve’s, you clutch them tighter for some semblance of strength.

You’ve got to get the two of you out of here before you start outright sneering at this man — which is very much not the heads-down approach Steve had asked for.

“Babe,” you say, effectively dismissing Brandon’s comment as you look up at Steve. He looks down at you and squeezes your hand. “Can we grab a drink, please? I’m feeling thirsty.”

Steve murmurs his affirmation and you both turn back to Brandon to bid a polite goodbye. His left eye twitches just once, the only indication that he’s put off by your subtle rejection.

“Well,” Brandon fixes his features, his smirk sliding back into place. “Don’t let me keep you. What was your name again, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t say.” You say, forcing the politest, more nonchalant expression on your face. You let him stew in the awkwardness, waiting for him to break and ask.

He doesn't. Brandon just smiles, though this time it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He holds out his hand and despite how you don’t want to, you place your own in it to shake it.

“Well, it’s been real nice getting to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you later tonight.” He smiles like a promise. His grip tightens in the handshake.

You grip his hand tighter, matching his strength, and for the first time in the whole conversation, you match his perfectly fake smile.

“Not if I see you first,” You say, spoken pleasantly enough that the meaning of your words doesn’t sink in until you’ve pulled back. You urge Steve somewhere, anywhere that’s not here.

“C’mon, let’s get that drink.”

There’s a punch-bowl out in the living room, thankfully. Displayed next to it is a large jell-o mould, arsenic green, and jiggling gently whenever someone bumps the table. Rich people stuff, you assume.

You eye it curiously as Steve quietly ladles a cup for you, then himself.

The punch is pineapple flavoured but peachy in colour. You sniff the cup Steve gives you hesitantly before you take a small sip. It’s nice. Mostly juice.

You peer up at Steve over the next sip and the cup hides your near hiccup of surprise when his hand slides along your waist. His hand, warm and large, settles on the small on your back and urges you closer.

“That was— wait, this is okay, right?” He pulls his hand back an inch, hovering over your waist. You nod without having to think about it.

“Okay,” He sighs in relief, resting it back down. His thumb moves, soothing along the fabric almost absentmindedly.

He grins at you, “That was, like, amazing to watch. The whole —not if I see you first— just, god, his face. Amazing.” His hand on your waist squeezes lightly. “You’re amazing. I didn’t know you could be so snobby.”

He says the last word slightly too loud and you laugh, worriedly stealing a glance around the room. No one’s paying you much mind. You do notice, however, that Brandon’s meandered into the living room now.

You sidle closer, tucking up under Steve’s arm.

Surprise touches Steve's features; his brows raising a bit, lips parting, and cheeks colouring that ruby colour once more.

It’s as if, despite all your previous agreements, he’s forgotten that you’re supposed to be acting like a couple.

As if he’s forgotten that couples act like this. In love, that is.

“Are you finding this weird?” He murmurs, volume control on this time. It’s said just to you, muffled into your hairline.

From afar, you think it might look like he’s kissing your forehead.

You take another sip of the punch, peering at his dress shirt, and consider his question. It’s not weird, per se. You tell him as much.

“I think it’s just new,” You look up at him — closer than you usually ever see him. His lashes are long and spidery. His hazel eyes are lighter under the lights. “Just different to what we’re used to. It’s… nice, I think.”

“You think?”

You expect Steve to tease you for your own unexpected soft answer but instead, his response comes out with a strange reverence.

If you had to pick a word, something traitorous would maybe call it hopeful. Wait, traitorous? Wait, hopeful?

"Yeah," You shrug a little, no big deal. "I mean it's not that much different from how we already are, right? Just a little more..."

Steve's thumb swatches along your back, more intentionally this time.

"Touchy?" He provides.

You nod and pretend the strange acknowledgement isn't making you feel a tad more flustered.

The touchiness is really quite nice. It’s sweet to have an anchor in this freaky social situation, very much unlike the aforementioned and abandoned Ariel. Steve’s hand on you is a grounding touch, a constant soft reminder of the person who has your back—literally.

And the person is Steve — which, again, isn’t really that different from what you’re used to. He sorta always has your back anyway.

You suppose it hasn't really crossed your mind before, not in depth at least, the small changes that would occur if you and Steve really did date.

How different would it really be?

Chin tilting up, you slyly steal a look at him as Steve scans the party. He's probably planning escape routes, jaw clenched subtly. He's clean-shaven, not a whisper of that stubble that you think suits him rather well.

Would you still be friends, if the two of you dated?

The question feels silly the moment you think it, even if it's only spoken in your mind. You wrinkle your nose lightly and hide it behind another sip of punch. There's an easy answer to that.

Of course you would. It's like you just said: not that different from how you are now. Same teasing dynamic, same loyal history, same sharing embarrassing secrets and same driving around doing nothing, loving it.

Just more. More of this.

Steve squeezes your side warmly, his head twisted to look back down at you. He's asked you a question you realise.

"Hm?"

"I was asking how long do you think it's acceptable to wait to fake a heart-attack to get us out of here?”

Amusement draws your eyebrows up. You grin up at Steve. "A heart-attack? At your youthful, healthy age? C'mon, Steve, they'll never believe it."

Steve's expression twitches closer to bitchy as he considers your rebuttal. You take another sip of punch. He relents.

"Fine. What else? I’m not above faking haemorrhoids.”

The punch in your mouth comes back out in a surprised splutter, thankfully landing mostly back in your cup. A drop of it streaks down your chin.

Your surprise quickly morphs into a glare, eyes shifting up to deliver it to your best friend.

The shit-eating grin on Steve’s face tells you that his timing was not accidental.

“You’re unbelievable,” You hiss because what happened to the polite, head down, and not eventful approach that Steve had all but pleaded from you?

He reaches for a napkin for you without asking — and then tugs you in closer with the hand around your waist, brings the napkin up to your face. He hovers, giving you a moment to realise what he’s doing, before he dotingly swipes away the streak of juice.

“Careful now, honey,” He says, giving the petname a teasing intonation.

How he managed to pick the petname that does actually make your heart perk up in your chest is beyond you. Maybe he knows you better than you think.

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be?” You ask, brows raised, pretending to be annoyed. Your bitten-back grin gives you away. “Making me spit my punch and then just sprinkling in a petname—”

“—like you didn’t do that first, with Brandon in the kitchen.” Steve interjects. He crumples the napkin and drops it back on the table.

“Okay," You say. "Fair."

"We forgot to discuss that, actually," Steve says. He sounds casual but he looks away, studying the punchbowl rather intently. "What... like, do you like to be called? In a relationship?"

It is an oversight both of you managed to miss, which makes you feel a little foolish now. You focus on the question.

"I like honey," You admit gingerly. A tepid smile threatens at your lips and when you look up at Steve, he's already turned back to watch you closely. "It's a bit old-fashioned. Sounds more like something you say if you're married but...I think it's nice."

"Yeah," Steve says softly. "Me too."

Something hums brightly in your chest at his gentle expression, his fondness zeroed in only on you. You break his gaze to swallow, your mouth suddenly dry.

"What about you?"

Steve chuckles. "Don't like babe."

"Too late."

“Yeah, well, obviously.”

There’s a beat and you think if you’ve ever had this conversation before. Sweetened preferences didn’t usually make it into your gossip sessions. This is new territory.

“I like sweetheart too,” Steve says, somewhat offbeat. As if he’d thought for too long if he’d say it or not.

He peers down at you, a scrunch in his nose. “Not like Brandon says it though. He might’ve ruined that one for me.”

“He can ruin this dinner, but not that.” You decide for him. “C’mon, sweetheart. We look like we’re stealing all the punch.”

Using your hand in his, you lead him away from the punch table and weave through the people milling about the living room. A touch of resistance makes you glance back. You can see a pink glow painted on Steve’s cheeks.

Your feet come to a halt, twisting back to properly face him. You can’t resist the urge to tease. “Oho, you weren’t kidding- you do like that one.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve murmurs, his tongue pressed into his cheek and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t believe I raised you so poorly as to address a lady like that, Steven.”

You jump at the intrusion, realising you’d unluckily managed to stop right beside Mr. Harrington. Fuck, why are all of Steve’s family so good at sneaking up on you? You chalk it up to their snakeish tendencies.

“Dad.” Steve says hurriedly. Then, with a quick swallow, he corrects himself. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Harrington is not what you’d call an impressive man. Sure, his suit is tailored to fit and you have no doubt his overwhelming cologne costs more than three paychecks combined — but in substance? He lacks. Severely.

You’ve met him thrice.

Every time, you wonder how someone as wonderful as Steve, can come from someone like him.

Though, it certainly explains the god-awful ‘King Steve’ phase Steve had gone through in his freshman and sophomore year. You shiver at the memory.

“It was warranted, Mr. Harrington, believe me,” You jump in to move the attention of Steve’s father back to you, easily shouldering the blame. A smile, cool and collected, graces your face. “I was teasing him, after all.”

Mr. Harrington grunts in disagreement. “Hardly an excuse to speak so crudely, especially in front of guests.”

Opening your mouth to defend him again, Steve speaks first. “You’re right, sir. I apologise, it won’t happen again.”

Steve still shoots you a thankful glance. You clamp down your half-formed response and squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes back.

Maybe the two of you should’ve learned morse-code with all the squeezing you’re both doing. You hadn’t anticipated holding his hand for this long.

You could let go. You don’t really want to — and you’re pretty sure, neither does Steve.

You can’t remember the last time you held his hand.

“Your new girlfriend, I presume?” Mr. Harrington nods to you.

Steve barely gets a moment to respond when his father is waving him forward, stepping back to open a circle of middle-aged men behind him.

“Come, there’s a few associates I’d like you to meet, Steven.”

There’s no question, only a demand. Despite how it feels like stepping into a pit of vipers — damn you, Discovery Channel — you and Steve join the circle.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harrington addresses the four men before you, a wry smile on his face. “My son, Steven.”

Then, as an afterthought, with a glance your way. “And his girlfriend.”

“Oh? Not fianceé?” One of the men speaks up. He’s balding, his hair combed over in an attempt to cover his ruddy coloured scalp.

“I’m afraid you’re thinking of my other son, Brandon.” Mr. Harrington says, words suddenly imbued with a proud tone. Steve’s hand grows rigid in yours, though you don’t think he’s even noticed. You send a squeeze back.

A different man speaks up. This man has all his hair, but also has a pot-belly that threatens to send buttons on his dress shirt flying.

“Ah, well, fianceé to be, I bet.” He says, speaking directly to Steve and ignoring you. “Soon it’ll be the ol’ ball and chain. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, son.”

Then the fucker winks at you—as if you’re in on some big joke. A deep, miserable pity dawns in you for their wives.

“Actually,” Steve begins. There’s an edge in his voice.

You glance up at him concernedly — sure, these guys are douchebags, but you know that. Throwing in the polite and heads-down approach in front of his father might be the worst timing ever.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Steve says. The bite in his voice has receded and instead, he sounds calm. Polite. “My girlfriend is one of the best things in my life. She’s smart, talented, beautiful— and why she chooses to waste her time with me is a mystery to me.”

He speaks as though he believes every word he’s saying, a hundred percent. You realise you’re holding your breath when Steve turns to look down at you. His hazel eyes are soft, genuine.

“She makes me a better person. She’s… She’s my best friend.”

The line between your genuine friendship and this fake concocted act blurs entirely — and suddenly, you can’t tell what is real and what is not.

Worse, you’re not sure which you'd prefer more.

Does he really think all those things about you?

Steve, who should probably, definitely take up an acting gig after this, plants a quick, nimble kiss on your forehead to sell his loving words.

He turns back to his father’s business friends.

“Believe me, if I ever get so lucky as to marry her, I’d be the ball and chain.” He chuckles. “Not the other way around.”

You’re still holding your breath, heart stuck somewhere halfway up your throat. The businessmen before you show varying amounts of surprise and annoyance—none more of the latter than Mr. Harrington himself.

It doesn’t matter. Steve’s said it all in that perfectly polite way that’s so often been used against him. Something within you glows hotly with pride.

“Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us,” Steve says politely. He drops your hand to re-link your arms once more, then nods to them. “I need to reapply my haemorrhoid cream.”

You’re pretty sure Steve turns you both away from the conversation as fast as he does, knowing that you’re gonna laugh. You do, his last sentence so unexpected it turns your laugh into this foul half hacking, half coughing noise.

Steve pats your back, expecting it, raising his voice as he walks you forward, “There, there.”

There’s a little smugness in his tone. You wait until you pass back into the front hall — now Cynthia Harrington free — to unlink your arms and smack him on the chest.

“Asshole!” You exclaim, but you’re already laughing. Steve’s laughing too, the sound bright and honeyed amongst the dull murmur of the event. God, the looks on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would actually do that.”

“Hey, it got us out of the conversation, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but,” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, gaze falling from his for a moment. “I mean, won’t your dad…?”

Steve sighs and then shrugs. “I think I’m done trying to impress people like that. If you’re not up to standard to them, why the hell would I care about their opinion of me?”

Your heart feels a little wobbly at that. Steve has always been devastatingly earnest; it’s just less often directed at you. The two of you are used to teasing.

You fall back on it. “Awww,” You coo, gripping his forearms and leaning forward with a coy grin. “You got haemorrhoids for me, honey? That’s so romantic.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying and failing to suppress his own smile.

“Hey. Fake haemorrhoids, thank you very much.”

“Eh, what’s the big difference?”

“One is my bleeding heart, the other is my bleeding ass, is the big difference.”

He can barely get through the sentence before his laugh takes over. You dissolve into laughter too, cheeks beginning to ache with the force of your grin.

“Steve? Leaving so soon?”

The sweet bubble of laughter around you and Steve pops at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He’s in the doorway that leads to the kitchen and at your attention, he steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve says. His eyes track Brandon with every calculated step his brother makes til he stops, a few metres from you both.

“Y’know, I heard that hasty exit in front of dad. Did you know that was in front of Mr. Collings? Y’know, the one guy dad’s trying to close a deal with?”

Shit. You swallow heavily. You didn’t know that. You know neither did Steve.

Beside you, Steve grows tense. When he swallows, you hear his throat click from dryness.

Brandon watches and revels in the tiny reactions, his smirk growing. He tucks his hands into his suit pockets casually.

“I talked with mom, too. Learned some interesting stuff, especially about your pretty lady here.”

He nods to you, hazel eyes slicing across to meet yours. Your nerves start to stand on end, something threatening in his calm demeanour setting you off. You grip Steve’s forearms tighter.

“That she is the best friend you’ve been mooning over all these years. And I just thought—” Brandon clicks his tongue. “Man, what are the chances that we don’t hear a thing about you two getting together until this conference? Crazy timing, if you ask me.”

He tilts his head to the side, examining the two of you closely. His smug nature is far, far too much like that of a predator toying with its prey.

“It’s like- wait, no—”

Brandon cuts himself out, fishing a hand out his pocket to gesture to you, grinning smugly like something is funny.

“Is he paying you?”

You recoil back, so baffled and taken aback by the cruel mockery Brandon jumps to make of his younger brother. To make of your best friend.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

Brandon blinks, surprised, and a bit of his smugness dries up. He draws his hand back, holding it up defensively.

“C'mon, like it's not just the kind of pathetic move he’d pull. I haven’t even seen the two of you kiss.”

He chuckles as if the idea is ludicrous.

STEP THREE: THE KISS

You act without thinking — turning back to Steve, your hands reach up to tightly grasp the collar of his dress shirt.

You see Steve’s hazel eyes widen ever-slightly, then you’re pulling him down, pressing up on your toes, and kissing him.

And… oh.

He’s not half bad at that, you think. It takes Steve a moment, but then his arms circle your waist and after a tentative moment, he kisses back gently, deepening the kiss. Not bad at this at all.

For one brief, precious second, you’re kissing your best friend.

And it's entirely incomparable to any kiss you've experienced before—immeasurable in passion and utterly undoing in a thousand ways.

Steve breathes a little heavier, his cheeks flushed, when you break away. You sink back down off your tiptoes, hands dragging off Steve’s rumpled collar to rest on his chest. You turn to face Brandon.

He doesn’t look so smug anymore. He looks ticked off. Good.

“Brandon, you’re an asshole.” You state plainly. “I hope one day, soon, your fiancée realises what a cruel and shallow bully you really are. And I hope she leaves you for it. Truly.”

The ticked off expression on Brandon's face veers closer to aghast and offended—as if he can’t believe you have the gall to speak to him that way.

“I hope you realise what a stain you are on other people’s life and I sincerely hope that I never have the displeasure of meeting you again.”

Moving to grip Steve’s hand in yours, you move towards the door without a goodbye.

STEP FOUR: THE AFTERMATH

It’s bright outside. Stepping out feels a bit like waking from a stress dream, where in reality, the sun is shining and things that were driving you nuts aren't really problems you actually have.

You stall on the front doorstep, where you were just an hour or so ago.

Well, that didn’t go… awfully, you think. In fact, you’re feeling quite happy with serving Brandon a perfect brand of his own medicine.

You’re about to open your mouth and say as much when Steve drops your hand, brushing past you to head down the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Your stomach drops at the tone of his voice, a prickly disappointment draped over his words. You’d think you’re reading into it — if Steve wasn’t currently heading for the car, not even waiting for you to catch up. A dead giveaway.

Tights itching from the hasty movement, you quickly follow him and puzzle for a moment. He’s mad. But at what? It takes only a moment to hazard a pretty good guess.

Before the dinner, the awkward conversation of how touchy you two would be had been breached. You and Steve both agreed; no kissing. Even with how close the two of you were, it felt like strange territory to cross into. An unspoken line not to cross.

By kissing him, you’d broken that rule.

Guilt wells up within you. Your moment of telling Brandon to suck it suddenly feels tainted by the sliminess of kissing Steve without permission. You pull at your tights uncomfortably, trailing behind Steve on the sidewalk.

As you reach his car, you swallow the lump in your throat, and speak up.

“I'm sorry, okay?"

Steve, who's reached the driver's side door, looks up and over the top of the car. Then furrows his brow.

"What?"

"For..." The word gets stuck in your throat like wet paper. "Kissing you when we said we wouldn't do that. That was-" You inhale sharply and study the trim along the edge of the car window.

"I just really couldn't stand how he was talking to you. And I thought that would shut him up."

You glimpse back up at Steve. He's softened a little at your words, the crease between his brows gone now. His eyes dart away, a muscle in his jaw working tightly.

"Yeah, well, you were right. It worked."

Steve seems to hear how short his words sound right after he says them, especially as you rear back an inch. He gives a sigh, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "Look, I'm not mad about the kiss, okay?"

His particular wording isn't lost on you.

"But you are mad." You press.

"I'm not."

You step closer to the car, desperate to understand. He is mad but he's not mad about the kiss? Does that mean he is or isn't mad at you?

"You sound mad."

Steve makes a sputtering noise, like he's torn between denying it or not. You catch it, pressing your hands against the car window to lean in even closer.

"So, you are mad. At me? Are you sure it's not because of the kiss?"

“Yes. No." He's furrowing his brow again, confused between how to answer your question correctly. He pinches the bridge of his nose with another sigh. "It’s- no, I'm not mad at you.”

Still not an exact answer. You eye him warily, your guilt still lingering at the front of your chest, aching painfully. It forces out your next words, reminiscent of a rambling apology. You take a step back from the car and begin to pace.

"It's okay if it is the kiss, Steve. I- I mean, we said we wouldn't and I broke that- and I don't want you to ever feel like—"

“I just— I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that!”

That halts your pacing, feet quite suddenly rooted to the spot. You turn rapidly back to Steve, your eyes wider than they were a moment ago, heart jammed back up your throat. Did he just say...?

Steve realises what's escaped him a moment after you do. His hand leaps to cover his mouth as if he can smother the secret he's just let slip.

His eyes crush closed. He smushes his hand against his face more forcefully as though he's trying to push the words back into his mouth.

"What does that mean?" You ask softly. "Steve?"

He clears his throat, dragging the hand down and off his face sluggishly. "That, ah, no- nothing!" He deflects, hands making a crossing motion. "It means—zilch. I just, ah, you know- it's—"

He's thought about it before—about how he'd want a first kiss between the two of you to go.

A glow in you dissolves, the saturated sweetness of it riding through your veins like a sugar rush. You have a sudden wish you weren't wearing such a ghastly outfit for this conversation.

"Steve," You interrupt him. You round the front of the car slowly, stopping with still some distance between you. Let him meet you in the middle. If you're right about all this, that is.

"If there's even a small part of you that wants to do that again," Your breath shudders at your inhale. "You need to tell me."

"A small part?" Steve echoes your words, his tone incredulous. He rounds the car to meet you, his hands out in front of him, flexing into fists. "Don't— don't say what I think you're going to say, if you don't mean it."

He pauses in front of you, eyes blazing with a fierce emotion as he stares down at you. He studies your face and then groans, tipping his head back and burying his hands in his hair.

"It's a big part, y/n. A huge fucking part of me wants to kiss you again and has wanted to for awhile." Steve stresses. His hands sag down from his mussed hair to hang off his neck before he gestures back to the Harrington house.

"What I said in there? About my crush on you being ages ago? I lied. I've had a crush on you for years and I don't think I ever stopped and so if you don’t mean what I think you mean, please don’t… Don’t give me hope.”

There's desperation in his final plea.

A thousand emotions course through you, all competing for your attention. You squint incredulously at Steve, half tempted to sock him for the feeling of a kept-secret. You're best friends for gods sake. Years. Years, he said.

A tremble takes your heart. You open your mouth and try to find the right words.

"Wha... You never said anything."

It comes out a little insulted.

Steve stares at you, flabbergasted. "You never seemed interested!"

"I didn't think I was your type!"

Though it seems impossible, Steve's eyes widen further, his hands shifting to hold out before him, fingers spread wide.

"Are you saying you've thought about it before!?"

"No!" You exclaim, suddenly stressed. You run your hands across your face agitatedly. "I mean, yes. Of course, I've thought about it before!”

Your fingers splay against your cheeks, pulling an expression not unlike the painting The Scream. You're not sure you've ever been this stressed, this undone before.

“Every day through fuckin' high school someone asked me if we were a thing. I just... hadn't, like, considered it til today. Properly."

"Okay, okay," Steve breathes in deeply.

He brings his hands together, clasping them, and he rests them against his forehead. For a second, he stares at the ground before he meets your gaze, dropping his hands.

"And... now?"

Fuck. Right. Cards on the table, you guess.

"Like," You don't know where to put your hands now. They drop off your face and hang loosely at your side. "I told you, I hadn't really, like, thought about it — but we were in there and it just wasn't that different!"

It's a heavy effort to keep yourself looking at Steve. There's no decoding the expression on his face, not when you're already frantically trying to unscramble your own feelings.

"If we did actually, yanno—" You stumble over the words, a fierce and bumbling heat flaming your face. "—date and be—I don't know—boyfriend and girlfriend, like, I guess what would actually change? And now I think we've just been one step removed from dating this whole time!"

Steve takes an almost quivering breath in and takes a step forward, bringing you both closer. He asks the million-dollar question.

"Would you... want that?"

"I," You flex your hands anxiously. "I don't think we can go back to the way things were." You say truthfully.

Something crestfallen ripples across Steve's face. It's hidden away in the next second. You gulp involuntarily. You feel so nervous you can feel it's fizzing inside you, bubbling like a freshly carbonated drink.

But more than that, it feels like you're balancing on the precipice of something good. Like waiting for news on whether you get something you desperately want.

And there it is; the true revelation.

"And I don't think I want to."

The admittance hangs between you, strung out and tinged with your apprehension and Steve's disbelief. He stares at you, brown hair tousled and messy, pink lips parted in his surprise.

He's your best friend and he's been waiting all this time. Holding the torch quietly, the flame flickering low sometimes, but always burning, always for you.

How the hell did you miss it?

"You..." He croaks. He reaches up and tugs at his tie as if it's suddenly too tight around his neck. "You mean that? You'd want to, like, date me?"

What you really want is to kiss him again. To chase away the tender look of disbelief in his eyes with a passionate press of your mouth against his. But you won't kiss him without asking twice in one day.

"I would like to try," You say. It takes a lot of courage to not lose your nerve. You rock up onto the balls of your feet to let out some of the rampant nervous energy.

Steve clocks it, some part of his brain that knows you, and all your tells well, finally coming back online. You're as nervous as he is, and maybe just as unsure.

But you want to try.

That's about all Steve's ever wanted. A chance for more between you.

He closes the distance between you, his hands shifting up and sliding along your neck to cup your jaw. It's ticklish enough to make you shiver and Steve smiles at the motion. He draws your faces closer and you push up on your toes to reach properly, magnetically drawn in.

He pauses just before your lips can touch.

Your eyes scan his face and he does the same to yours, both of you drinking in the intimate closeness. This close, you can see the tiny quiver hidden in his lips.

Fondness percolates between you, sweeter than sunlight and softer than a daydream. You can't resist the smile that toys at your mouth. Steve smiles too.

You're excited.

His pupils are blown wider than usual, only a ring of hazel around them. It might be your new favourite colour.

"I imagined," Steve murmurs lowly, his eyes now trained on your lips. "Our first kiss would be more like this."

The kiss is different from the one in the hallway. There's no surprise in it, no hesitance — Steve cradles your face between his hands preciously and kisses you so fiercely you ache.

He kisses with painstaking reverence. With an unfaltering adoration. Steve kisses you as though he envies anything that's ever touched your lips.

You grapple to find purchase on his suit jacket, your fingers curling around the material and pulling him closer without breaking the kiss. Steve hums into your mouth, his nose pressing against yours. You're both trying to pull each other closer.

"That was-" You breath heavily against his mouth as the kiss breaks. Your eyes open. Steve's gazing at you through his lashes, honey-eyes doting.

"You-" You try again, realising you haven't finished your sentence. You can barely get a word out, a relentless grin overtaking your lips. "I mean—you thought it- like that?"

"I hoped." Steve whispers. He's grinning too, not yielding any of the nearness between you. His thumbs on your jaw swatch softly across your skin.

God, he'll undo you entirely. This newness, this intimacy, it's ruining you. You capture your bottom lip with your teeth and bite it meanly to try to contain your grin.

"So, like, you wanna try? For real?" You say, matching his whisper. Speaking too loud feels like it breaks the moment—and you want to savour it as long as you can.

You can't even imagine how Steve must be feeling, waiting all those years. You take your feelings and multiple them tenfold. It's dizzying. It only endears you even more.

"Like, being boyfriend girlfriend?"

Steve's eyes crinkle in happiness as he scrunches them closed for a moment. His nose scrunches a little too at the motion. He takes a deep inhale and opens his eyes.

"Dating, boyfriend girlfriend, sweethearts, I don't care what you call it." He breathes. "Yes. Yes, to all of it."

Then he kisses you again, stealing the affection off your lips with an ardour that threatens to make your knees weak.

You kiss and kiss until you and Steve are both smiling too much to properly continue.

Only a couple days ago he'd asked the same question you had asked him, except as a begged request to help his ruse. He's the only one you'd have said yes to, you know now, the only exception.

One can only wonder how the two of you would have carried on if you had said no — never gone along with his frankly ridiculous plan, never showed up on his arm to fool an event full of people, never kissed him just to piss off his brother.

Never known the true depths of affection Steve held for you.

As you crowd in closer — your lips skimming across his gently, hearing the hitch in Steve's breath before you kiss him once more— you're thankful you'll never really know.

taggin some peeps below! @illyrianbitch @headkiss @brettsgoldstein @spideystevie @djotime

@katsu28 @inthehystericalrealm @djarinova @cheugyphobe @sunshinesteviee

@sunlitide @citrinesparkles @bigfrogs

just ppl that either expressed interest in the preview or i thought would enjoy! <3 i don't know what possessed me to pick this draft up and straight up like double the word count and finish it in one day but whew,,, i enjoyed that sm

[justmylvr]

your sweet little family.

dad!tenya iida x implied fem reader.

a/n: ANOTHER PART ! this is in no way in order, i'll post as i see fit and maybe organize them later.

it's been four years since your daughter was born, it went by far too quick for your taste. asahi grew to be much like her dad; she shared his blue hair, his nose, his taller figure, and his punctuality. it was something you adored, till she would be eager to leave atleast 30 minutes beforehand. he taught her how to read the clock just to be punctual.

if she wasn't practically attached to him by the hip, she was trying to copy him. she tried her best with his posture and words, though the latter was much harder. she often stumbled with her words when trying to talk like him though he always helped her out with it. he found it endearing when she would watch him so closely, carefully mimicking him.

though she had picked up some of your traits. she had your eyes, hair texture, and she was just as playful as you. you two would often be found decorating tenya in marker tattoos, makeup, and pretty hair clips. he loved it, even if he had to remove it all before work. the only thing he didn't have to remove was the nail polish which he would show off to all his hero friends.

today was one of those nights where you guys spent your time dolling him up. asahi had been brushing his hair for about 5 minutes straight now, just a liiittle too roughly. she kept holding his head so he could look in the mirror, asking if he liked it every time.

"dad. you like?" she asked, not giving him much time to answer before moving on.

she dropped the brush and moved infront of him, picking up a small pallet of eyeshadow. she picked the brightest, most sparkly shade of purple. once he closed his eyes, she wiped it on his eyelids, not very neatly.

"ohh that looks great, bubble. i think he needs some more." you hummed, pointing to his nose. you knew she loved doing his makeup and couldn't resist coloring his whole face.

"thanks mama. help?" she asked, offering the makeup pallet to you. gratefully accepting, you got a light pink on your fingertip, gently brushing it against his cheeks. she continued to rub the purple against his nose and eyelids, before running off to find her purple lip gloss.

"am I beautiful?" tenya questioned, a teasing tone evident in his voice. he opened his eyes, a smile on his face as he batted his eyelashes.

"oh you are. bubble really outdid herself this time." you teased, laughing a bit at his actions.

asahi came running back into the room, yelling 'found it!'. she opened the lip gloss, smearing it along his lips, overlining them a lot. you could smell the lip gloss, a sweet grape flavor that she adored.

in this moment, you were content. you guys couldn't be happier than this moment here and it got you wondering, would it be so bad to have another?

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 5

A/N: Today is my birthday. So, I'm posting this today for all of you. I like to do fun things for others on my birthday and throughout the year. This is my gift to all of you, the next chapter early. <3 Enjoy.

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4525

Warning: Angst, longing, some Fluff. Not much that I can think of.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 5

A slow, lopsided grin broke across Dean’s face, utterly wrecked by the sound of your voice. It hit him like a punch to the gut—warm, knowing, inevitable.

Across the room, Jess stood frozen, staring at Sam, who looked just as thunderstruck. Recognition flickered between them, their past colliding with their present. Jess had always noticed him, the boy she’d wanted to talk to but never had. For Sam, she was the girl he’d been too shy to approach, graduating before she ever presented. And now, fate had pulled them back together.

“Looks like our families just got a little bigger,” John murmured to your parents, his voice carrying the weight of years spent hoping for this moment.

“Looks like it,” your father agreed, while your mother pressed a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes glistening.

A teasing voice cut through the heavy silence from the other side of the living room. “Are you four just going to stare at each other all day?”

Heat rushed to your face as you and Jess snapped out of it, giggling like teenagers. The sound was enough to break the spell, letting the brothers breathe again—just barely.

Sam cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can, we, uh… talk outside?”

Jess shot you a giddy look before smirking at Sam. “Yeah. She’s not everyone’s cup of tea,” she teased, throwing an arm around you in a quick hug. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, she added, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Jess,” you hissed, mortified, but she only chuckled before slipping her hand into Sam’s and leading him toward the door.

Dean didn’t notice. He hadn’t stopped looking at you.

“I don’t bite,” you teased, your voice soft but playful, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.

Dean blinked, finally shaking himself loose from whatever had him trapped in place. “Yeah, I, uh…” He exhaled sharply, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should move closer or keep his distance. “Sorry.”

Sorry—for staring, for not knowing what to say, for the way his chest ached just from being in the same room as you.

Dean had been around plenty of omegas before. But you—your presence, your scent, your everything—were something else entirely.

And for the first time in his life, he had no clever remark, no easy charm. Just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and the certainty that he had just found something he never realized he was missing.

Tilting your head slightly, you studied him, wondering what was running through his mind. “Would you rather we spoke outside?” you asked gently, just wanting him to be comfortable.

Dean shook his head again, then cleared his throat, finally forcing himself to move. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure you were real,” he admitted, easing into the seat Jess had vacated. His wolf stirred beneath his skin, urging him closer, but he ignored it—your comfort mattered more than his instincts.

You settled back into your chair, noting the distance he kept. He could have sat beside you, but chose to face you instead. Perhaps he wants to be able to look directly at me. “Your father mentioned you were going through something, when he was here earlier,” you said, your voice laced with quiet concern. “Is everything okay? Is there something I could do to possibly help?” 

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, your sincerity both unexpected and endearing. “When I’d come back in the mornings and shift back... your scent clung to me. It sort of drove me crazy because I—” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t remember anything when I shift.” He tried to find his usual confidence, but the words still felt awkward, like he was tripping over them.

Your brows knitted together. “Why can’t you shift back or remember things?” 

Before he could answer, you blinked, realizing something. “Oh! Would you like some coffee?” You winced at the oversight, feeling like a terrible host.

Dean chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head in quiet amusement. You weren’t like other omegas—there was no hesitation, no shyness, just you, unfiltered and real. It was refreshing.

“Coffee sounds nice,” he murmured, watching as you moved effortlessly around the spacious kitchen. He leaned back in his chair, finally starting to relax. 

“I have a genetic mutation,” he explained after a beat, his voice quieter now. “It happens sometimes to alphas in my pack. When I shift, I stay shifted ‘til sunrise, and I don’t remember anything.” His gaze flickered to yours, gauging your reaction. “But… the upside is any pups I father will have immunities to certain diseases and things.”

You set a cup of coffee in front of him before taking the seat beside him. “Will you ever get those memories from when you shifted?”

Dean took a breath, steadying himself. Your closeness tugged at something deep inside him—his wolf stirred, pressing at the edges of his mind, drawn to you. But he held himself still, not wanting to push, even as your scent wrapped around him like a whisper of something familiar and longed for. He’d been around plenty of omegas before, but none had ever unsettled him like this. You were his. His true mate. His body knew it, his wolf knew it, and yet, he had no memory of the nights spent at your side. 

God, get a grip, he mentally berated himself.

The tips of his ears burned as he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhh… yeah. I mean, kind of.” He let out a rough chuckle, almost embarrassed. “My true mate has to claim me before I’ll remember.” Saying it out loud made it real in a way that sent his pulse skittering. Omegas didn’t usually claim alphas, not the way an alpha claimed an omega, anyway.

Your expression didn’t shift the way he expected. No shock, no discomfort. Just quiet understanding. “So, you’re kinda like me,” you murmured, lacing your fingers together in your lap. “I have a genetic mutation, too, but mine’s a little different. I can only smell presentation, can’t shift during the full moon, and… I can’t feel that connection my soulmate would feel being near me.”

It was something you’d always carried like an invisible weight. But telling him? It didn’t feel heavy—it felt like something finally lifting off your shoulders.

Dean stared at you, completely caught up in the way you spoke—gentle yet playful, confident yet soft. God, he could listen to you talk all day and never get tired of the sound of your voice. It was like some heavenly melody that soothed not only him, but also his wolf. When you tilted your head, confused by his silence, he blinked, trying to snap out of the trance he was in. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed at himself for getting lost in your eyes, again. “So, to you, I just smell like an alpha?” he asked before taking a sip of his coffee, trying to wrap his head around that.

He couldn’t imagine not recognizing the distinct scents of his pack, not feeling them in a way that tethered him to something bigger. His wolf whined softly in his mind, unsettled by the thought. “That… sounds lonely,” he admitted.

You studied him for a moment before offering a small, reassuring smile. “I grew up with it, so it never felt like I was missing anything. My pack comforted me with physical contact instead of scent. And I had Jess. She’s like my sister.” 

Dean nodded, but the thought still lingered, gnawing at him. He tried to imagine it—living in a pack without scenting the safety and warmth of the people around him. It was foreign, but the way you spoke about it, there was no bitterness. Just acceptance. 

“Wow,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I honestly can’t imagine what that would be like.” But there was something in his voice—something quiet and earnest—that made your smile linger.

The two of you talked for hours, the conversation stretching on like neither of you wanted to stop. Even though you’d spent the last several years speaking to his wolf, none of those memories belonged to him. So you shared them, watching the way his eyes softened, the way he leaned in slightly every time you spoke. 

He told you about his childhood, about his brother and his pack, about the kind of trouble he and Sam used to get into. And every time he made you laugh, something in his chest eased—like he was getting back something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

Time unraveled between you, stretching and folding into itself, lost in the quiet gravity pulling you toward each other. The hours ticked by, as time often does, the afternoon slowly melting into evening. Golden light slanted through the windows, setting his green eyes aglow. It had all just flowed so easily, his entire body relaxed so much so that he wasn’t tripping over his words anymore.

“Would you let me cook dinner for us?” you asked, hoping he’d stay, just a little longer.

Dean’s gaze flickered over your face, as if memorizing the moment before it could slip away. Then, that slow, easy smile spread across his lips. “Dinner sounds amazing,” he murmured, voice rich with something unspoken. 

Neither of you had noticed when the others had left, how the main cabin had emptied around you. The world had faded to just this—this space, this stolen pocket of time where nothing else existed. 

Outside, one of your cousins leaned against his truck, a knowing smirk on his lips. “So, your place or his?”  

You smacked him on the shoulder, shooting him a glare. “Seriously?” 

Dean’s wolf didn’t bristle at the interaction, both finding your behavior somewhat adorable. A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he shook his head in amusement. “Hers. She offered dinner, and what kind of mate would I be to refuse such an offer?”

The word mate sent heat rushing to your cheeks before you could stop it, and your cousin barely contained a laugh, though he knew better than to push. Without another word, you made your way to the truck—only to freeze when Dean stepped ahead of you, opening the door with a quiet, effortless chivalry.

Your breath caught when he held out his hand.

The moment stretched between you, charged with something neither of you had the words for yet. Slowly, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up your arm. His fingers curled around yours, firm yet careful, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if you’d let go.

During the short drive, he wanted so badly to move closer, maybe just hold your hand, but he was trying so hard not to rush into anything. Even his wolf kept trying to nudge him to get closer, missing the closeness the two of you had shared during the full moons. Now, there was nothing separating the two of you.

“Come on,” you said with a smile, stepping out of the truck.

Dean followed without hesitation—not like a lost pup, but like a man who had finally found what he had been missing. His wolf stretched within him, content in a way it hadn’t been in years.

The cabin welcomed you both with the stillness of a familiar sanctuary. The air smelled like you—faint traces of your scent woven into the wood, the very bones of the place. It settled around him, comforting, but not enough. His wolf still wanted closer. 

Your parents were nowhere in sight, but a note sat waiting on the kitchen table. You plucked it up, scanning the familiar handwriting before huffing a soft laugh.

“Looks like my parents are going to stay in another cabin for the night,” you murmured, shaking your head before glancing at him. A small, almost apologetic smile tugged at your lips. 

If you were being honest, you understood exactly why your parents had left. Most soulmates bonded within hours of meeting—nature pulling them together in an unshakable, undeniable force. Yet, despite the quiet certainty of your connection, you didn’t feel that same urgency, due to your mutation. 

Dean leaned against the doorframe, watching you with cautious curiosity. He wasn’t sure why that simple statement sent heat creeping up his neck until realization struck. God, her parents think… he couldn’t finish the thought, his ears burning. His mind hadn’t even gone there. 

He cleared his throat, searching for something to ground himself. “So, whatcha gonna make?” he asked, leaning against the doorway as you moved toward the fridge. 

“It’s a surprise,” you teased, pulling out ingredients with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

The room hummed with quiet, steady warmth. Being here, watching you, being near you—it was so damn easy. Now walls, no tough guy act, just the quiet, unshaken truth of your presence. He hadn’t expected this. The pull, yeah, he’d expected that. But the calm? The peace? That was new.

And yet, even as he basked in it, something gnawed at the edges of his mind. You weren’t feeling this same way was. He knew that, had known it from the moment you looked at him without that same electric urgency. His wolf knew you, but you—

You were steady. Measured. Not resisting, but not swept away either.

His fingers curled against the wood of the doorway. It should’ve bothered him, that difference, that lack of mirrored need. Instead, it made his wolf want to comfort you in the ways he had on the nights of the full moon, being close to you.

Having him there, cooking for him, was something you’d only ever dreamt about. Cooking for your mate. The butterflies were still dancing around in your stomach, but it wasn’t nerves, and that alone felt impossible to explain. Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like you were the only woman in the world to him.

Before he even realized it, he stepped forward, his hands moving instinctively to help as you prepped the food. Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was something else. Something comfortable. Like a dance you’d already learned, despite never having done it together before.

Dean found things without asking, his hands moving to the right cabinets like he’d known their places all along. He barely paused, barely had to think—because it all made sense. Practical, easy, like the way his own kitchen was set up.

His wolf rumbled in satisfaction, catching the slight shift in your scent like he’d done on countless full moons. The scent of comfort that he knew came from his closeness. The one that meant home.

You watched him from the corner of your eye while focusing on the meat sizzling on the stove, sprinkling seasonings with practiced ease. “You didn’t have to help. I offered,” you tried to insist, but his easy smile told you all you needed to know before he even spoke. “Feels right,” he shrugged, reaching for a cutting board.

It did. More than right. His wolf settled, no longer forced to watch you from across the room. No longer waiting, hoping.

His wolf wasn’t even uncomfortable being on your pack’s land, never feeling like he needed to protect you from an unknown intruder, not here. Dean mostly stopped fighting what his wolf wanted, letting his comfort around you guide him. He almost chuckled quietly, realizing it was his own nerves that made things a bit awkward at times.

He tried not to think too hard about how much his wolf already knew you—how many full moons you’d spent on opposite sides of the fence, growing familiar in ways he hadn’t yet had the chance to. A part of him wanted to be jealous of that, of the connection his other half had with you before he even got the chance. But he shoved that feeling away.

The last thing he wanted was to taint this with thoughts that didn’t belong here.

His mouth was already watering before you brought dinner to the table, which he had set in anticipation. 

Dinner was easy—comfortable in a way that neither of you fully expected, but both instinctively leaned into. The meal itself wasn’t anything extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. The simple act of sharing a table, passing plates, and catching each other’s lingering glances between bites was enough.

Dean wasn’t used to this, the quiet domesticity of it all. A meal that wasn’t rushed, a conversation that didn’t feel forced. You laughed at his surprise when he took his first bite because, of course, you knew exactly how to season everything just right.

“Damn,” he muttered around a mouthful of food, shaking his head. “You been holdin’ out on me?”

You smirked, shrugging as you took a sip of water. “You’ve only known me for a couple of hours, Dean.” His lips quirked, eyes glinting with something warm. “Still feels like longer.”

Neither of you addressed that truth out loud. It just was.

After dinner, cleaning up felt just as easy. You didn’t even have to ask Dean to help—he was already stacking plates, rinsing them off before you even got up from your seat. It was effortless, like he belonged here in ways that should have felt foreign, but didn’t. His hands moved with familiarity, setting things aside as you worked alongside him. The hum of the night filled the comfortable silence, the occasional clink of dishes the only real sound between you.

“Y’know, most guests don’t do the dishes,” you teased, bumping his arm lightly as he passed you a plate to dry.

He scoffed, shooting you a sidelong look. “I’m not most guests.”

No, he wasn’t. And you were starting to understand just how much that meant.

When everything was put away, you hesitated for just a second before grabbing a folded throw blanket from the couch. It was soft, worn from years of use—your favorite. You turned, holding it out to him.

“For you,” you said, feeling a little ridiculous for the sudden shyness creeping in. “Till we see each other again.”

Dean looked at the blanket, then back at you, something unreadable flickering across his expression. He didn’t say anything at first—just reached up, pulling the flannel from his shoulders and offering it in return.

Your fingers brushed as you took it, the fabric still warm from his body heat. You swallowed, clutching it lightly in your hands.

“Thanks,” you murmured, not trusting yourself to say much more.

Dean only nodded, taking the blanket and tucking it under his arm. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he stepped back, giving you one last glance before heading for the door.

The night air was cool when he stepped outside, the quiet settling around him in a way that had his wolf stretching beneath his skin. He pulled in a slow breath, adjusting the blanket under his arm, when movement caught his eye.

Sam.

Dean stilled, watching as his brother stood on the porch, Jess in the doorway. Sam leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, something tucked under his arm as well. Dean waited till she had slipped back inside before getting his brother’s attention, a lopsided grin on his face again as he waved him down.

The Impala was a sight for sore eyes.

She was parked near the main lodge, the chrome gleaming under the moon’s light, looking damn near perfect. Their parents must’ve driven her up, knowing full well Dean would want his baby for the ride home.

Running a hand along the hood, he exhaled, lips twitching despite himself. “Well, I guess they didn’t forget about us after all.” Sam huffed a quiet laugh beside him, “Yeah. Probably didn’t want to assume one of the Winters would give us a ride back.”

Sliding into the familiar leather seats, he inhaled deeply. The scent of home wrapped around him—motor oil, leather, and something that just was the Impala. The blanket from you sat on his lap, the fabric soft under his fingers as he reached for the keys. The engine rumbling to life beneath him. 

Sam settled in the passenger seat, the blanket from Jess resting on his thighs.

The road stretched ahead, and for a few minutes, neither of them said much. Just the sound of the tires against the dirt path, the trees rolling by as the land faded in the rearview.

Sam was the first to break the silence. “Jess is amazing. She made me dinner, and we talked all day.”

Dean flicked him a glance, waiting.

Sam sighed, shaking his head with a small, almost disbelieving smile. His thumb brushed absently over the blanket Jess had given him. “We talked about taking the summer to really get to know each other. Spend time together before we go back to school.” He paused, an almost dreamy smile finding his lips. “She wants me to claim her before we go back to school.”

Dean’s fingers tightened slightly on the wheel.

“We’re waiting, to have pups,” Sam added, catching the shift in his brother’s posture. “We both want to finish school first.”

Dean nodded, jaw shifting, but said nothing. His mind was already moving too fast, and his wolf stirred uneasily inside him.

Sam glanced at him. “What about you and Y/N?” he asked, smelling the shift in his brother's scent.

Dean frowned. “What about us?”

“You guys talk about any of that?” he coaxed gently. Claiming and pups was something he knew his brother thought about often, and now that he’d finally found his true mate, you, Sam was hopeful.

Dean let out a slow breath, his grip tightening for just a second before he forced it to relax. “Nah.”

Sam waited, but when Dean didn’t elaborate, he pressed. “You want to?”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Man, we just met. And we’re—” he stopped himself, exhaling. “I dunno. It’s different.”

It was different, in so many ways. His wolf knew you, for years before today. You were different than other omegas, unable to feel that instinctual pull toward your true mate. Sam knew all of that, but talking about it? Putting words to something he barely understood himself? That was another thing entirely. How the hell was he supposed to bring up stuff like claiming and pups when you were still figuring out what any of this meant to you?

Dean rolled his shoulders, shifting in his seat. “Ain’t about that. It’s just—” His fingers tapped the wheel, and the other slipped down, resting on the blanket you had given him. “There was a lot we didn’t talk about.”

Sam was quiet for a few moments, reading his brother like an open book. “So, spend the summer getting to know her better. Your wolf already knows her. Let him lead.” Dean laughed dryly. “Pretty sure if I did that, he would have claimed her tonight.”

His mind was running a hundred miles an hour, overthinking every interaction they’d had over the day, every moment he could’ve brought any of it up. Hell, should I have? Or would that have been too soon? What if she didn’t want any of that anytime soon? What if she did and thought I didn’t? 

Sam sighed, “You’re thinking too hard.” Dean shot him a flat look. “Shut up.”

Sam just grinned, shaking his head. “Look, all I’m saying is, you two still have to talk about it eventually. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off instead of overthinking it to death.”

Dean exhaled through his nose, eyes on the dark road. Yeah. Eventually. But that didn’t mean he had to figure it out right this second.

—-------------------------

The cabin door flew open with a burst of cool night air, slamming against the frame as Jess all but tumbled inside. “Oh my God!” she practically squealed, eyes bright with excitement as she spun to close the door behind her. 

Before you could react, she launched herself onto the couch beside you, bouncing slightly as she tucked her legs underneath her. The flannel swallowing her small frame was unmistakably Sam’s—just like the one draped over your own shoulders belonged to Dean.

You huffed a small laugh, “Let me guess—Sam?”

Jess gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. Look at you. Psychic now?” You just rolled your eyes, but the teasing glint in hers didn’t waver. 

“Okay, but seriously, yes,” she continued, grabbing one of the throw pillows and squeezing it like it might contain the sheer joy she was trying to hold in. “I can’t even explain it. It’s like—I don’t know. Like he’s always been there, like I’ve always known him. We talked all day. About everything. And then, at the end of the night, he just—” She broke off, grinning so wide it had to hurt. “He kissed me, Y/N.”

A genuine smile pulled at your lips as Jess practically melted into the pillow at the memory, her fingers twisting in the fabric.

“That’s amazing, Jess,” you said softly, and you meant it.

Jess sighed dreamily, still grinning as she looked at you. “I think I love him already. Is that crazy? I mean, I know you hear about the whole soulmate pull, but to feel it…” she exhaled again, her gaze going distant for a moment, lost in the warmth of it all. 

You shook your head. “No. That’s normal.”

Jess studied you then, her expression shifting just slightly. That hyper-focused awareness kicking in, the one that always saw too much. “You okay?”

You hesitated, but it was just long enough to put her into little sister mode.

She sat up a little straighter, her grin softening into something more thoughtful, something meant just for you. “Talk to me,” she coaxed gently, knowing how things were different for you than they were for others.

For a moment, you bit your lip. You’d hoped—maybe too hard— that you’d feel that connection, that pull that others felt when being around their soulmate. But hadn’t been there. It still wasn’t. You missed his presence, but not like you knew he was missing yours. Then there was everything he hadn’t even asked you about. There had been plenty of opportunities, but not once had he brought any of it up.

“We didn’t really talk about that stuff,” you murmured, shrugging off the weight of it.

Jess was quiet for a beat, but you could see her mind working through the small piece you’d given her. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to,” she offered, voice thoughtful. “Since you can’t feel that pull, maybe he’s afraid of pushing too hard.” Then, with a knowing smirk, she nudged your shoulder. “What happened to you being the curious one and asking questions so you don’t overthink things?”

You huffed a small laugh, the tension easing slightly from your shoulders. “Didn’t expect you to be the voice of reason.”

Jess grinned proudly. “I have my moments. Now, tell me everything. I have to know.”

----------------------------------------- Chapter 6 - coming soon

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[thaniabb]

I’ve been into sports car by Tate mcrae, don’t blame me by Taylor swift, and Diet Pepsi by Addison rae lately. Idk if that does anything for your inspiration in any way but 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ vibes

Love made me crazy - F.W

- ‘don’t blame me’ by taylor swift -

warnings : overprotective!fred, possessive!fred, innocent!reader, no use of y/n, pet names (butterfly, love)

summary : the older weasley twin protective nature toward his best friend, evolves into something darker and more obsessive, though she remains blissfully unaware. As Fred’s feelings for her intensify, he resorts to subtle but intense actions to keep anyone else away from her, pushing every other guy out of her life without ever speaking a word of his true nature. But Fred knows, and the lines between friendship and possessive love blur, creating a tension neither of them can escape.

AN : fucking thankful for this request, working on some more things so ya’ll shall expect that in a few days. anyways request more bb’s! not proofread.

“lord, save me, my drug is my baby”

Fred Weasley had always been the fun one. The one who made you laugh until your stomach ached, the one who was never serious, the one who seemed to bring chaos with him wherever he went. But that was just Fred, your best friend.

You had known him since you were both children, growing up together, inseparable. You had never questioned his actions, never thought twice about the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, when you needed it. He was Fred, your Freddie, the person you trusted with everything.

And why wouldn’t you? He was just your best friend.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Fred was still the same in a lot of ways—playful, charming, always making jokes—but there were moments, small moments, when you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes. A flicker of intensity that made you feel uneasy. But you pushed it away. Fred was Fred. He was just protective, that’s all.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It all started after a random, casual conversation you had with Jason, a boy in your year who had always been friendly with you. You were sitting at the Gryffindor table one evening, chatting about homework, when Jason, as casual as ever, leaned over and asked, “Hey, do you think you could help me with that Transfiguration essay? I’m totally stuck.”

Fred, who had been sitting beside you, was silent for a moment. You didn’t think anything of it until you saw him shift in his seat. There was something about the way he moved that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Fred was looking at Jason like he was a bug he wanted to squish.

“Transfiguration?” Fred repeated in a voice that was far too loud. “Nah, mate, she doesn’t have time for that. She’s with me right now. Isn't that right, love?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden intensity in Fred’s voice. “Fred, I’m just helping Jason,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s no big deal.”

Fred didn’t take his eyes off Jason, who awkwardly shifted in his seat. “No, I’m sure she wants to help you, mate,” Fred said, his tone almost playful, but there was something dark underneath. “But she doesn’t have time right now. You’re on your own with that essay.”

Jason’s confusion was evident, and before you could apologize or explain, Fred stood up, his movement sharp. “Come on, love , let’s go,” he said, practically pulling you from your seat.

You gave a quick, apologetic look at Jason, but Fred was already steering you away, his grip tight on your arm. You didn’t think much of it at the time. Fred was always like this—always protective, always joking around. It didn’t occur to you that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all just fun and games anymore.

You brushed it off. It was nothing.

The days that followed were similar. Every time another guy tried to approach you, Fred would appear out of nowhere, slipping between you and them with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. It was like clockwork. If you spoke to anyone else, Fred would swoop in, pushing them away without ever saying a word. If you were laughing with someone, Fred would suddenly be there, laughing louder, pulling your attention back to him.

And you, innocent as you were, thought nothing of it. Fred was just being Fred. Your best friend. Always there to protect you, always there to make you laugh. Nothing more.

But his behavior was becoming harder to ignore.

One afternoon in the common room, you were sitting near the fireplace, absorbed in a book. Fred was, as usual, lounging on the couch beside you, but today, you noticed that he was unusually tense. His leg was bouncing, his eyes flickering between you and the door.

“Is everything okay, Freddie?” you asked, looking up from your book. You noticed that he hadn’t been himself lately. He had always been carefree, but now, he seemed… on edge.

Fred glanced at you, a forced smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s great, butterfly. Just a little distracted, that’s all.”

You frowned, but before you could ask more, a boy from Ravenclaw, Peter, walked into the room, carrying a stack of books. You smiled and waved at him.

“Oh, hey Peter! How’s your essay going?” you called, eager to catch up with your classmate.

Peter smiled back, a little shy. “Oh, it’s going alright. I was just—”

But before he could finish, Fred was up off the couch in an instant, practically cutting him off as he threw an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, mate,” Fred said loudly, his tone casual but his eyes a little too sharp. “we were just about to grab some snacks. You know, a bit of quality time. Can’t let her get too distracted by homework, right?”

Peter blinked in confusion. “Oh, uh, okay. Sorry if I interrupted.”

“No worries, mate,” Fred said, ushering Peter away with a playful nudge. But as soon as Peter was gone, Fred’s grin faltered, his eyes turning dark as he looked at you.

“Don’t worry about him,” Fred said softly, his voice low. “He wasn’t going to keep your attention. Not like I can.”

You blinked, a slight shiver running through you at the intensity in his words. “Fred, you’re acting a little strange today. Everything alright?”

Fred smiled, but it was tight. “Of course. Nothing to worry about, butterfly. I’m just here for you. Always.”

You didn’t quite understand what he meant, but you nodded and smiled back, assuming it was nothing more than one of Fred’s usual quirks. After all, he was just Freddie, your best friend, right?

But you didn’t know. You didn’t see the way Fred’s eyes would darken every time another guy came near you. You didn’t know that, after every “innocent” interaction, Fred would slip away quietly and find the boy who had dared to speak to you, cornering him in empty hallways or behind corners, his words cold and threatening.

“Stay away from her,” Fred would whisper, his voice low and dangerous, his smile gone. “She’s mine. Don’t even think about it.”

The boys, scared and confused, would back off, retreating with nervous glances, and Fred would return to you with that same innocent smile, as if nothing had changed. As if he hadn’t just scared off anyone who might dare to take his place by your side.

And you—completely oblivious—continued to see Fred the way you always had. Your best friend. The one who had always protected you, made you laugh, and kept you safe.

But the more Fred watched you, the more obsessed he became. Every time you spoke to someone else, his heart would race, and his mind would scream. He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t let anyone else near you.

“Don’t blame me,” he whispered to himself one night as he stared at the moon, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. “You made me crazy, butterfly. You made me this way.”

And yet, the next day, when you smiled at him, when you laughed with him, he was the same Fred you’d always known. He would never tell you. He would never let you know how much he was losing himself in this love, how much he couldn’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.

Because you were just his best friend. Right?

As time went on, you continued to brush off Fred’s strange behavior, convinced that everything was as it always had been. But Fred’s obsession was only growing stronger, and he couldn’t stop. Every time you laughed with another boy, every time you looked at someone else, he felt a pang in his chest. But he never showed it. He just continued to push everyone away, quietly, ruthlessly, until no one else dared to approach you.

And you, innocent as ever, never suspected a thing.

But deep down, Fred knew. He knew that he was falling deeper into something he couldn’t control. And in the end, it wasn’t just about being your best friend. It was about wanting to be more.

And he’d do anything to make sure no one else ever got that chance.

“don’t blame me, love made me crazy”

[yunsound]

The Third Installment to the Oubing Saga- Yunbing

PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED!

Entry ticket: reading this post and acknowledging that the following is about to be 18+. No, I'm not writing anything explicit, but it's going to be some mentions of sex. Move on.

After finishing Ne Zha 2025 (or the 2019 version if you're a real one), did you feel overcome by the gayness? Did you wonder why the fuck anyone would ever look at their best friend like that? Did shoujo anime music start playing in the back of your head?

...yeah you're not alone.

As previously mentioned, Oubing is currently China's biggest fandom ship (I stay hopeful that this wave of hype will last longer than it did in 2019). I also trust that you all understand why that is.

Seriously, I've never seen any piece of Chinese media except for straight up BL THIS gay.

Let's count on one hand how many BL tropes these movies include.

Red/blue

Soulmates

Only friend

Enemies to lovers

Friends to lovers

Oh oops, we ran out of fingers! Next hand.

Friends to enemies to friends to lovers

Forbidden romance

Demon x angel

Two halves of one... thing

...bondage? I suppose? If you know you know THE scene.

Oh wow look at that we ran out of fingers again. MOVING ON TO THE NEXT HAND-

Okay, I'll stop here. All of this makes Oubing technically a very vanilla ship (ignore the bondage that's mostly a joke. Though you WILL see a lot of art involving Ne Zha's red sash in... different usages) and very sweet. Pure love, I suppose.

Do you know about Shangmei Oubing, a variation on Oubing featuring different adaptations of Ne Zha and Ao Bing? Well now you do. Read this post to figure out what I'm talking about.

If there's a spectrum of the wholesome-ness of Oubing ships, Shangmei Oubing is in the middle. Yes, it's very toxic, but technically Ne Zha does really love Ao Bing a lot, just in the wrong ways.

On the OPPOSITE end of that spectrum, we have Yunbing.

Yunbing is the ship between Ne Zha and Ao Bing from the 2021 movie New Gods Reborn: Ne Zha. The movie itself is on Netflix- it's kind of a mid movie, I'm NGL, but the animation is pretty good.

I haven't watched the whole movie (how do I know it's mid? Because I saw some clips and they made me sigh out loud) so I'm maybe not the most reliable critic, but it's just not peak storytelling, okay?

Yunbing is 80% made TF up (headcanon ships are the best ships) because in the movies they hate each other, like TRUE hate, not gay hate. I'm talking GENERATIONAL hating.

If you ignore canon, though, (my favourite thing to do), you are left with Yunbing, which is honestly really fucking yummy.

Here's a quick overview of the background and dynamic of the ship/movie/characters without spoiling the plot of the movie.

The main character of the movie is called Li Yunxiang (remember that Ne Zha's dad is Li Jing, so technically his full name is Li Nezha prior to him fucking himself up via sashimi-ing his flesh from his bones).

Li Yunxiang is the reincarnation of Ne Zha in a modern setting in the fictional East Sea City (Donghai City). He doesn't know or remember being Ne Zha. He works as a deliveryman I think, or a smuggler or something low-paying and dangerous I think.

In East Sea City, water is in shortage due to the Dragon Clan (now a rich family business) hoarding it. The third son of this Dragon Clan (his name is De San) is, you guessed it, the reincarnated Ao Bing.

Actually I'm not sure if he's reincarnated or if he's just been here the whole time hating.

De San, unlike our polite nice Ao Bing from Ne Zha 2019/2025, or the terrified victim Ao Bing from Shangmei, is a huge bitch. He's also a girlfailure. He's not some mass-murdering psychopath, but he's a spoiled rich brat who lives and breathes capitalism and privilege.

Look at his stupid face. Isn't he punchable? No, despite the blonde hair, the director has confirmed he isn't mixed or foreign, he's just an idiot who bleached his hair.

He was supposed to be some sort of dominant playboy daddy character but the entire nation of China just immediately saw the potential for girlfailure brat bottom and I guess that's where my brain went too.

After Ne Zha pulled his tendons out, his dad paid some SERIOUS money to make him a mechanical tendon. Let me tell you I don't know why but this shot of his metal spine is SO fucking sexy

Sorry for thirsting on main, IDK what it is but it's getting to me.

De San still wants revenge on Ne Zha for pulling his fucking tendons out so he spends like 10000 hours trying his very best to kick Li Yunxiang's (confused) ass and never manages to get there, it's so funny.

See, the main reason this ship is so delicious is the dynamic, not their interactions because this is ACTUAL hate, I'm talking they'd kill each other in an instant with NO hesitation. The sexual tension is through the roof. Okay, they're both straight, but you DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE IN THAT DOCTRINE.

Mild spoiler alert!

There's a scene in which Li Yunxiang gets one over De San by making him crash his car. As De San goes flying out of the car in intense pain, he glances over at Yunxiang, who's looking back at him.

Instead of giving him a middle finger or a thumbs down, Yunxiang fucking gives him a finger heart. IK it's supposed to be mocking but it's so funny, especially the BLATANT rage on De San's face afterwards.

The appeal of this ship is just the hate sex. This is a ship 100% meant for gooners, if you'd prefer sweet vanilla hand-holding and blushing you probably want to go back to regular Oubing.

Why does De San have such pillow princess potential? First of all, look at him. What the fuck is that waist to shoulder to leg ratio?

Second, in the Cantonese dub, he calls his father (Ao Guang) "daddy" (in English btw). Sorry, what? You are a twenty-something year old fully grown man. It is fairly common for rich Cantonese people to call their father daddy (according to my rich Cantonese friend) but it's a little much.

Third, he's such a failure it's hilarious. Spoiler alert: there's a whole scene in which his father calls him a failure and he's like "wait what". He's kind of dumb and pathetic despite being arrogant and proud.

Very princess-like. Chinese version of Drarry, basically. They also both really like cars! TBH if they weren't Ao Bing and Ne Zha's reincarnations they'd probably be really good friends.

Generations of hating each other is such gay behaviour, WHY is that other man on your mind over thousands of years??

Some of the popular headcanons for Yunbing:

Yunxiang calls De San "third princess" or "princess" because he's such a... princess

In the middle of like, fistfighting each other they somehow transition to having sex without knowing how

De San slaps Yunxiang in the face and he's like "on the other side too"

"Only I can be the one to kill him, fuck off!" *surprised look* "No that's not what I meant-"

Inappropriate usage of the metal spine (which is probably more sensitive and delicate...?)

I recommend, if you're looking for Oubing content (of the decidedly not workplace friendly variety) and if you like ENEMIES to lovers (emphasis on the enemies part) that you go through the AO3 Yunbing tag (云冰, I'll link the AO3 tag here directly).

If you want recs please ask me, I am so passionate about all three iterations of Oubing.

To quote a XHS user:

Oubing: Pure love

Shangmei Oubing: Pure fear

Yunbing: Pure hate

[emsdevs]

birthday celly prompt list - William Nylander

a/n: i promise i'm getting back on my writing grind 🙏 i don't have an ask for this one bc i just wanted to write for willy so i asked kirby to pick a prompt for me 🧍‍♀️ enjoyyyyy!! 🧡

Prompt 3: "I've always wanted this."

masterlist | Birthday Celly 2025 Masterlist

You’d known William since you were a teenager. You were neighbors with the Hughes boys, and Quinn had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. You were a year older than him, but that didn’t stop the two of you from being inseparable. When you went over to his house one summer day and found a strange boy you didn’t recognize, you didn’t expect it to change your life the way it has. The entire time William stayed with the Hugheses, you admired him from afar, telling yourself that having a harmless little crush on the older boy wouldn’t hurt anything. 

At the time, it didn’t, but when you ran into William after moving to Toronto a few months ago and all of those feelings came rushing back, you started to regret it. He’d been quick to ask you to meet up for coffee one day, catch up with one another. You let yourself agree, and ever since then, he’s been your closest friend in Toronto. You’d hang out with him whenever he got a free moment. He’d let you dogsit when he had roadies. You two had gotten so close that you talked on a daily basis, but those feelings were still creeping into the back of your mind.

You felt your heart race any time his hand brushed against yours. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach when he looked into your eyes just a bit longer than what could be considered normal. You found yourself thinking about him more often than you cared to admit. You’d see the most random things, and your mind would find a way to connect them to Willy. Needless to say, you were in deep, and you weren’t sure how much more you could handle.

When Willy invited you over for dinner, you couldn’t say no, so you headed straight to his place after work. He didn’t have a game tonight, so you two would have plenty of time to hang out. When you arrive at his place, you’re surprised to see the fancy setup he has for you. Usually, the two of you would just order some takeout and watch a movie while you ate, but this looks like some kind of Valentine’s or anniversary dinner or something. It definitely doesn’t look like a dinner for two friends. 

Willy clocks the confused look on your face, and he’s quick to make his way over to you. He grabs your hands, guiding you closer to the dinner table, loaded with food. 

“Will- I- What is all this?” you stammer out. You were still shocked, unsure of how to act now.

“Well,” he trails off a bit, “I just- I don’t know. I mean I might’ve read this wrong, so just let me know if this isn’t something you want. But, you know, we’ve been getting a lot closer recently, and I was kinda getting a feeling that this might be something more than friendship. I mean, I know that’s what I want, but I was getting the feeling you want that too.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so nervous. Your heart jumps to your throat, and the weight of the feelings you’ve been pushing down for years is lifted off your shoulders. A relieved smile finds its way onto your face, and you let out the breath you’d been holding since you walked into his apartment. “I’ve always wanted this,” you squeeze his hands, trying to get your point across with something other than words. He smiles, letting out a breath, before removing his hands from yours in favor of placing them on your cheeks. He pulls you in, placing a soft, long-awaited kiss. Teenage you would be freaking out right now, and if you’re completely honest with yourself, adult you is freaking out too. You spent years of your life pining over William, and just like that, he was yours now. Apparently, he had been for a while.

taglist: @dancerbailey3 @nadicakes143 @wollgirlie

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[silver-cyn]

A fic for the TGCF discord Valentine prompt - as you wish.

Always In My Heart

Read it here on A03.

Xie Lian loved him. 

The thought still struck Hua Cheng in a way he could never quite put into words. Like a blade aimed at his heart only for a kiss to land on his lips instead.

His expression darkened when he remembered how Xie Lian had come to harm on his birthday last year and suffered literal heart pain over him.

(don’t think about the state preceptor's divination, don’t think about Xie Lian going against all of heaven to save him as a child)

Instead, Hua Cheng remembered: 

“I’m very good at bearing pain. If you’re by my side, I can stand it. If you’re gone…it will be unbearable…”

Before those words, Hua Cheng had been cursing his uselessness all over again to protect his beloved. All his power, all his strength and still he’d been helpless. Just like during the battle with the emperor, just like in the fucking temple…

Breathe San Lang. 

Xie Lian’s comforting words grounded him as they always did even in his absence. Hua Cheng took a deep breath, unclenched his fist, and blinked dispassionately at the crescent moons left on his skin. He shook his hand, and they disappeared as if he’d painted over them anew.

The point was, Xie Lian’s words had solidified like a punch to the gut how much he loved Hua Cheng. It was incredible, unbelievable and more than anything Hua Cheng had ever imagined. Every night he thanked his god for his blessings. One might think he meant their heated moments of intimacy where he worshipped Xie Lian’s body all night long. And while that was true, it also included him actually visiting his god's temple to express his gratitude.

Xie Lian knew him to be sincere, but when he'd heard Hua Cheng's actual prayers and his reasons, his face had lit up with overwhelming affection as he tackled him to the ground in a hug. 

Yet really, how could Hua Cheng not do so knowing he was the most blessed creature on this wretched planet to have the love of his beloved after so many centuries?

Every day was a joy, a blessing, a new discovery, another adventure, another moment in their daily life that he cherished and held close to his dead, unbeating heart.

So yes, Hua Cheng was in the honeymoon phase of his relationship with Xie Lian and probably always would be.

With all that said, was it any wonder that he’d initially missed something was off with his beloved?

Hua Cheng blinked, allowing his silver butterflies to reveal Xie Lian’s spiritual power written into the very threads of his clothing. The simple yet heartfelt prayers glowed briefly white beneath his eyes. 

Keep him safe.

Bring him back to me.

Let no harm befall him.

Sweet. Considerate. Nothing to worry about on its own. In fact, Hua Cheng had done the very same for Xie Lian’s robes. (He remembered Xie Lian laughing at Hua Cheng's atrocious handwriting even as he'd peppered kisses over every inch of his face)

But there was more.

“Good to see you, Your Highness. Hua Chengzhu really pulled through for me in a pinch. He’s a good friend,” Pei Ming slapped Hua Cheng’s shoulder, one hundred percent ignoring Hua Cheng’s glare.

“We’re not friends. I did you a favor. You owe me now. That’s all,” Hua Cheng shrugged off his arm and very intentionally moved to Xie Lian’s side. 

“Isn’t that how all good friendships start?” Pei Ming said with a grin.

Xie Lian smiled with bemusement and a clear question at Hua Cheng.

“Just some boring business with Heavenly officials not competent enough to do their jobs without my help,” Hua Cheng said with a pointed look at Pei Ming. 

“Well, it’s not like I can pretend to be ghost bait myself, can I? I —”

“What did you say?” 

The quick shift in tone was so abrupt, it stopped Pei Ming’s words in their tracks. Hua Cheng had been distracted by Xie Lian’s loveliness and had started thinking of ways to whisk him away early from heavenly business. Yet even he was pulled from his musings at the tone of his voice. 

“Your Highness, it was truly nothing. Just a pesky demon with a particular taste for —”

“Ghosts? And you decided that putting my husband in danger was your best option?”

Pei Ming closed his mouth with an audible click. Xie Lian was completely serious, and the steel in his voice made Pei Ming's fingers spasm. He just barely checked the urge to reach for his sword. 

“Your Highness, your Ghost King’s power is near unsurpassed. There was never any danger,” Pei Ming tried to appease to no avail. 

“Oh? If that’s the case, please use yourself to your full capabilities next time before burdening San Lang with your problems. Is that clear?”

Pei Ming nodded automatically. He looked to Hua Cheng but the Ghost King paid him no mind. His attention was solely focused on Xie Lian.

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness,” Pei Ming said with a quick bow and an even quicker exit.

Once Pei Ming was well out of sight, Hua Cheng pulled Xie Lian closer and whispered in his ear about how beautiful he’d looked telling Pei Ming off and how much Hua Cheng wanted to carry him home right now and…

“San Lang!” Xie Lian blushed and buried his face in his hands.

 

But he hadn’t said no. In fact, he’d swept Hua Cheng off his feet and carried him home after rolling the dice. 

Hua Cheng set the robes aside and wandered thoughtfully around the room. His hands brushed the rumpled red sheets of their bed, picked up the tossed aside scroll and calligraphy brush from the floor.

Xie Lian’s calligraphy stared up at him, beautiful as ever, yet with a distinctly vivid it that sent an unconscious shiver down his spine. The aggressive strokes reminded him of another incident.

“San Lang! Watch out!” Xie Lian dropped in front of Hua Cheng and slammed his fist directly into the demon. The combined strength and spiritual power behind it obliterated the enemy completely leaving no trace of it behind except for its last dying scream.

Hua Cheng stared with one raised eyebrow at Xie Lian who turned to him with worry on his face.

“San Lang, are you okay?" He questioned, taking Hua Cheng’s hand to check it thoroughly. Seeing no injuries there, he glided his hands over his arms, his torso while his eyes inspected lower. 

“Gege, I’m fine,” Hua Cheng tried to reassure him but Xie Lian spun him around to check his backside.

After confirming he actually was all right, Xie Lian finally relaxed.

“Good, I’m glad. Sorry to drop in like that. It was sneaking up on you.”

A blatant lie that Hua Cheng didn’t call him out on, too charmed and awed by Xie Lian effectively ending the demon’s life in one punch.

“Actually gege, I think I have some pain here,” Hua Cheng said. Xie Lian’s eyes briefly flashed with fear, but relief and fond exasperation replaced it when he saw Hua Cheng pointing at his lips.

“Ah, sorry San Lang.  I think I have something that can help,” Xie Lian said. No sooner had the words left his mouth then he slotted their mouths together for a kiss. 

 

It was easy to get lost in their kiss. It was easy to block all the grumbling from his Highness' mouthy servants. Yet, in the quiet of their bedroom now, he recalled that Xie Lian's arms, locked around him with immovable strength and equal tenderness, had trembled just the slightest. 

Something was troubling Xie Lian. 

 

***

Something was troubling Xie Lian.

They had just finished sparring in the spacious armory when suddenly Xie Lian let out a sound of distress. 

“Your Highness, what’s wrong?” Feng Xin asked. He turned to Xie Lian after setting his borrowed weapon aside.

“My necklace. I can’t find it,” Xie Lian patted his neck frantically, face bloodless and eyes wide as his fingers came up empty no matter how often he checked his robes and bandages. 

“The one with the ring on the end? Did you take it off before sparring with us?” Mu Qing asked. His sharp eyes were already searching the room for it.

“No, no. I never take it off,” Xie Lian said. He tossed his weapon carelessly aside to frantically search the nearby area.

“Feng Xin, Mu Qing. Please help me find it. It’s a precious gift from San Lang,” Xie Lian said. 

That guy , Mu Qing thought in annoyance, but seeing Xie Lian so unusually upset gave him pause and the words went no further than his mind.  

Instead, Mu Qing exchanged a look with Feng Xin and they nodded at each other. Feng Xin went to check the display of weapons and Mu Qing the other areas of the room Xie Lian had yet to search.

Time passed and still there was no sign of it.

“Your Highness, let’s rest for a moment before we continue our search,” Feng Xin said, patting Xie Lian’s shoulder.

“No, no, I can’t. I have to find it,” Xie Lian said, not even bothering to look up. 

“We’ve spent nearly an incense time looking for it. I have other business to attend to in a few hours that still need preparation. Look, if your little trinket is in here, it’s not going anywhere. The worst case scenario if you can't find it will be asking Hua Cheng to buy you a new one,” Mu Qing said, crossing his arms. 

“I know it's difficult for you to remember sometimes, but let me remind you there are some things money can’t replace,” Xie Lian said coldly.

As soon as the words were said, he gasped and covered his mouth. Mu Qing visibly flinched and Feng Xin’s shocked gaze flitted between the two.

“Mu Qing, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Xie Lian said, reaching a hand out to his friend. Mu Qing sidestepped him, rolled his shoulders and shrugged it off. 

“Yes you did, but forget it. I’ve said shittier stuff about you before,” Mu Qing said.

“That doesn’t make it okay," Xie Lian said softly. He looked away for a moment, then, turning back to them, he squared his shoulders and gave a small bow.

"Your Highness!" They exclaimed. Feng Xin pulled him up at once, and it was only because he was closer that Mu Qing stopped from doing the same. 

"Please forgive my short temper just now. I truly appreciate the help you provided. My friends, don't trouble yourself anymore over this. If you can, please bear with me a little more, and see yourselves out. I really must find that necklace," Xie Lian said. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, digging his nails into his skin to keep outright panic from overtaking him.

"Xie Lian, what's this really about?" Mu Qing demanded, taking a step closer to him. 

Xie Lian dug his nails deeper into his skin. “I just...I just can’t lose him again.” 

Now that caught Mu Qing’s attention. “What do you mean? Who?”

“San Lang of course. That ring…it’s…”

And both Feng Xin's and Mu Qing’s eyes widened at Xie Lian’s next words.

“How could you be so stupid to lose track of it?” Mu Qing said in disbelief.

"I know. Believe me, I know!"

"Fucking hell! Xie Lian! You need to secure that lock with extra spiritual power. Unbelievable!"

"I said I know, all right! Gods, after everything San Lang and I have been through, how could I --"

“Wait, wait, wait!" Feng Xin interjected.

Both men looked at him.

"Can’t we just ask Crimson Rain to find it? The ring is most likely in this room still. There's no reason he can't find it, right?" Feng Xin pointed out.

“Oh," Xie Lian said, face flushing slightly. He cleared his throat, and his two friends quickly looked away when he scrubbed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his temple.

"San Lang?"

"Why are you saying his name aloud?" Mu Qing grumbled.

"Will you shut up!?!" Feng Xin said, shoving Mu Qing's shoulder. 

***

The ring was found, and Xie Lian’s tension immediately eased once he slipped it around his neck again. He kissed the ring, kissed Hua Cheng, hugged him tightly and then repeated the process all over again much to his friends' dismay. 

Normally Hua Cheng would've basked in delight, but all he felt was concern when he saw Xie Lian's red eyes, pale face and held his trembling body close to his own. 

"Gege, are you --" 

“I'm fine, San Lang! Really!" Xie Lian smiled a far too wide smile at Hua Cheng, eyes closed in near crescent moons. 

"Mu Qing, come with me, please? There’s something I want to get from the kitchen for you before you leave,” Xie Lian said finally releasing Hua Cheng. He stepped over to Mu Qing’s side, not in the least deterred by the look of disgust on Mu Qing’s face.

“What the hell?!? I thought you weren’t mad at me anymore.”

Xie Lian laughed and waved his hands in front of his face.

“I’m not, I’m not. It’s a treat Hua Cheng’s staff made for us today. I think you’ll find it delightful. Take some back for Feng Xin too. Come on.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes followed after the two men. 

“This is because of my ashes?” Hua Cheng asked once the two other men were out of earshot.

Feng Xin nodded awkwardly, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck as he filled Hua Cheng in on the details. 

“What's wrong with him?” Feng Xin asked bluntly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with his Highness,” Hua Cheng said, his tone scathing. Feng Xin's face flushed red, but he didn't back down.

“Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean, and you know you’re not the only one who cares about His Highness. We’re worried,” Feng Xin said, slashing his hand in front of him in frustration.

Hua Cheng turned just enough for Feng Xin to see his profile which, with the eyepatch covering his eye, did an effective job of making his expression even more unreadable. 

“I have some speculations,” Hua Cheng said finally. “And no, I won’t share them. It’s none of your business.” 

Feng Xin was about to open his mouth when Hua Cheng continued.

“Unless he calls for you sooner, come back in three days to see him yourself,” Hua Cheng said and then turned to follow after Xie Lian.  Feng Xin's mouth dropped open, but thankfully Hua Cheng didn't look back. This gave Feng Xin privacy to process that Heaven’s most terrifying threat had, of his own accord, invited them back to his home. 

***

In all the centuries that had passed, Xie Lian had never forgotten the smiling white mask belonging to that faithful black clad youth. The one who’d followed him into the depths of despair and death, and dirtied his hands to fulfil Xie Lian's wish for vengeance. 

The one who’d known him even when he hadn't known himself and at Xie Lian’s lowest moment offered kindness in the form of a small, white flower. 

His heart ached to remember how he’d treated such comfort, stomping that fragile flower into the ground and everything it reminded him of at the time. 

And yet that wasn't the worst of it. 

Xie Lian’s heart pounded in his chest at the sight of that hateful calamity gently caressing the side of Wu Ming’s mask. Nausea rumbled in his stomach and clawed at his throat to see those same fingers tilt Wu Ming's neck to the side, exposing the vulnerable flesh to the blade’s edge in a tender promise of violence.

“Please,” Xie Lian begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

He strained with his all his might to break the chains binding his arms and legs, but it was futile. 

“You said it yourself, Your Highness. He’s already dead.”  That half crying, half-smiling mask turned to address Wu Ming. “Isn’t that right?”

Wu Ming nodded.

Xie Lian couldn't deny his words, he could only repeat his plea.

“Don’t hurt him.”

“It’s all right, your Highness." Dear Wu Ming this time. "To die for you is –”

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh sent visceral pain through Xie Lian's body. It was nothing though compared to the deafening wail of his breaking heart.

“You killed him!”

Finally, that madman was within reach. Xie Lian picked him up by the throat, knocking the other’s mask off in the struggle. When finally the other's face was revealed, it wasn't the face of the past emperor…

 

…but his own. 

“No, Your Highness. We killed him!”

Xie Lian woke up with a gasp.

***

Xie Lian was known by many names.

The fallen prince of Xianle.

The laughingstock of the heavens.

The god of misfortune.

Yet tonight, he was only what he ever truly was – a man, painfully human, weeping in the arms of his beloved over a wrath ghost without a name who made the ultimate sacrifice for him. 

It was a day Xie Lian had vowed never to forget, and never had until that youth returned to him a man, and gave him the most precious gift Xie Lian had ever received.

Heart filled with all his love for Hua Cheng, happiness clinging to every part of him at just being in his presence, let alone being allowed to share a life with him...

…was it any wonder he’d forgotten the day that Wu Ming had died until the day had already passed? Yet some part of him must have remembered and tried to…wanted to…

When Xie Lian's tears eventually dried up, and he'd shared all the words that could be said, Xie Lian sniffled and slumped fully against Hua Cheng.

Hua Cheng tucked Xie Lian as close to him as possible and pulled the blankets over them. Xie Lian eventually fell back asleep wrapped in Hua Cheng's unnatural warmth, heart soothed by every whispered declaration of love that fell from his lips.

***

“San Lang, I’ve caused so much trouble these past few days. I’m sorry,” Xie Lian said. The entire day had been spent with Hua Cheng by his side, pampering and spoiling him much to Xie Lian’s pleasure and Hua Cheng’s delight.

Now evening had come, and they were strolling through the outside corridors of Paradise Manor, enjoying the warm lantern lights and rippling sounds of the waters below the pagoda. In the distance, the raucous noise of Ghost City’s residents made for a warm ambiance that did more to make Xie Lian feel at home than the Heavenly officials ever had. 

“Never gege. You were hurting. I’m only sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Hua Cheng responded, kissing the top of Xie Lian’s head. “As for the others: General Pei won’t hold it against you. And didn’t you already make amends with the Sweeping General?”

At Xie Lian’s thoughtful nod, Hua Cheng hugged him close. Once they pulled apart, they continued walking, Xie Lian twining their fingers together.

“San Lang? I have a request,” Xie Lian said breaking the silence once more. 

“Anything," Hua Cheng said without hesitation, pressing a kiss to their joined hands. 

“Hear me out first," Xie Lian said smiling softly. "I want you to carve another statue of us, but this time...I want it to be from our days together as the White Clothed Calamity and Wu Ming.”

Hua Cheng stopped them at his words and turned to face Xie Lian. Hua Cheng tucked a strand of hair behind Xie Lian's ear, his dark eye watching him carefully.

“Gege, I would do anything for you, but I hate to see you hurt. Why do you want to be reminded of the most painful time of your life?" 

Hua Cheng's concern curled around Xie Lian's aching heart like the softest petals embracing a butterfly. 

“There is pain in remembering, yes, and maybe a small part of me wants that," Xie Lian admitted. "I never want to forget the weight of my past actions, and the price paid for them." 

Sensing Hua Cheng's incoming protest, Xie Lian gently placed a finger over his lips 

"But more than that, so so much more than that, are my feelings of gratitude and awe that my most devoted believer never lost faith in me. You never gave up on me, and even saved me,” Xie Lian said and his smile was so sweet and tender it was a wonder Hua Cheng’s dead heart didn’t come back to life.

“You saved yourself, Your Highness, just like I knew you would. You only needed the opportunity to try again,” Hua Cheng embraced him and Xie Lian clung to him.

“And you gave it to me. I don’t ever want to forget that. Please San Lang,” Xie Lian said staring up at Hua Cheng. "Will you help me honor my most devoted believer?"

And really, what else could Hua Cheng say to that except: 

“As you wish.” 

[mistmarigold]

Currently trying to figure out how exactly should I put my feelings for Yifan (and Sang Yan, by default) in words…. She’s so, so endearing to me and I just want her to be her best, happy, and flirty self (it’s okay if she has literally never done it before in her entire life, she’ll figure it out soon enough and continue giving Sang Yan a brain freeze).

I’ve already talked about her sense of safety with Sang Yan here so not to repeat that but I’m genuinely so emotional over her growth especially in both her comfort level as well as her own sense of self. She might not be 100% there yet but she’s at least starting somewhere. Flirting with Sang Yan especially with that response - she went from 0 to 100 real quick I’m proud of her - like girlie fr said okay I’m gonna try and it’s so, so huge for her. When she’s talking to her friend about loving ourselves, I genuinely think it turned on a switch or something. She’d have never gotten to that conclusion if she was just considering herself but now that the context was her friend and her mom, the perspective shifted. I doubt it did much but perhaps it gave her a push to at least consider herself and her feelings.

Even in this episode alone she was proclaiming that if Sang Yan wants the stars from the sky, he should have them and feeling unworthy of him. But by the end, she actually took a step forward and flirted with a man (big deal) and it’s none other than Sang Yan (though tbf I don’t think she’d have ever gotten to this level if it was anyone else but him). Even with the porridge bit and having food with him like this is such a huge step forward - she’s trying so hard and a part of me thinks she doesn’t realise it because being with him comes so much easier to her than trying to stay away from him. It’s like the latter goes against her entire system so sooner or later, she’d just end up finding her way back to him.

Also, Sang Yan saying “for now” when his mom asked Yifan being his girlfriend I’m just like that man is fr so sure of the potential between them. And it’s incredibly interesting to me because he has no idea why she did what she did all those years ago. She never apologised for it even after they met again. She hasn’t even given him much inkling about her feelings for him - apart from sleepwalking and treat him as free real estate - and yet, he’s standing there telling his mom that there’s potential and hope. I’m marvelling at his heart fr because who does that, really? Despite knowing nothing and being extremely hurt by her words/actions for literal years - so much so that he still carries that hurt and vulnerability - he is still standing there, waiting for one sign from her to pick up right where they left off. His reaction at the end, grabbing her hand and moving seats, pestering her about taking ‘advantage’ of him, never leaving a single chance to talk about them as a unit - he literally doesn’t care that she hurt him back then. All he wants is her and that’s enough, nothing else matters.

His yearning knows no bounds or reason, even if he tries to keep his distance, it still doesn’t work. Wen Yifan and Sang Yan just gravitate towards each other, irrespective of everything in their lives.

(PS. their flirty dynamics are so delicious to me especially with how both their characters are. I can’t wait to see him lose his marbles at Yifan taking the initiative - he’ll be ready to follow yes but still the chemistry is unmatched.)

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ]

Authors Note: it was going to happen eventually. The only name READER goes by is Windweaver -- otherwise there is no use of a name or Y/N.

Masterlist

PART TWO |

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x Rhysand x Fem!Reader + Platonic!Inner Circle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Feyre and Rhysand have decided to go out after eight months of being reclusive with Nyx. In their absence, it would seem the Inner Circle had kept a well-kept secret at their favorite bar — a new friend and a third mate Feyre and Rhysand never knew they had. But you — who answers to the name Windweaver — have your own secrets behind your innocent smiles and sweet scent.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but I take liberties and therefor it’s somewhat of an AU because of what I did, a medium to quick-ish burn, Court politics, protective + possessive inner circle [ platonic ], platonic fae family dynamics that I will eventually go into, TAMLIN MENTIONED, foul language, mentions of: death, torture, war -- not graphically described, this is but a set up for the story so Feysand do not meet R yet.

Word Count: TBA

Rhysand was suspicious.

Granted, he was always suspicious and usually had a right to be when considering what sort of ilk he had to tend to in the Court of Nightmares on a regular basis.

His mate thought he was overthinking it — you’re getting permanent worry lines, she had told him over the mindlink — and had tried to ignore his pattering around and restless fidgeting for days.

Nyx was a welcome distraction, of course, especially when Feyre showed him how easily the babe had begun winnowing in small distances before he was walking on two feet. Rhysand had walked about with his chest puffed out for no less than a week until Azriel beat the shit out of him in training.

In truth, his suspicions lie closer to his own Inner Circle. They were around frequently and Feyre held dinners at their home two times a week that usually ended up with a couple of them spending the night after too many drinks [ Cassian and Nesta, who did not drink much anymore, by default ].

They were less open-mouthed about their drinking exploits when they went out into the Court and dancing. Even Azriel was less chatty about it — and he was not a chatty man by nature.

Dinner was currently underway and Feyre had a babbling Nyx in her lap as she fed him, then herself, then him again. She hummed along to whatever he said to her, because none of it made any sense to one except himself.

Rhysand was nursing a glass of wine and staring at Mor and Amren, and when Amren caught him staring she curled a lip back to reveal her canines. “You better move those eyes before I take them and pin them to my front door.”

Cassian choked on his ham stew, loudly setting down his bowl and wiping his face with the fine napkins.

“Please don’t,” Feyre said, “I like his eyes more than everything else about him.”

“Everything, you say?” Cassian asked wickedly, a feral gleam in his eyes. “That must hurt, Rhysie.”

“Shut up,” Nesta intoned from her spot between him and Azriel as she broke a roll in half and dipped it in her soup, “I don’t want to hear about Rhysand’s cock at dinner.”

“Who said anything about his cock?”

A pause in her dipping, a small reddening of her cheeks, then Nesta continued on with a bored expression as she brought the accurately soaked roll to her lips and bit in, ignoring the bait her mate dangled in front of her.

Rhysand ignored both of them and sipped his wine until Amren returned her gaze back to her High Lord, now irritated in the way he wanted her to be.

“Boy, spit out whatever has ahold of your tongue and your balls before I reach over and take all three for myself,” she warned, setting aside her emptied glass until a bottle floated over lazily to refill it.

Azriel sighed loudly from Nesta’s other end.

“Please don’t,” Feyre repeated as she fed Nyx a spoonful of soup while he reached for the utensil himself. “And also stop threatening one another in front of Nyx. I don’t need him running around next Solstice babbling about Rhysand’s balls.”

Mor was the one to choke on her wine this time, removing the glass and covering her face before anything could spill.

Azriel sighed again while Elaine made it a point to noisily move dishes nearest to her around on the table.

“You’ll forgive me, Feyre, if I’m somewhat irked by your mate’s endless staring,” Amren bit out as she pushed her barely touched food away. Even now she still struggled with eating, even if she had admitted it was fantastic food. Amren was a creature of habit and it was hard when she returned mortal.

“I am concerned my Circle is being tight-lipped about something and I am trying to investigate it,” Rhysand announced to the table before Feyre could stop him.

“So the dramatics were . . .” Nesta waved her fork in his direction, ringed hand glittering in the overhead lighting, “ . . . Just you being you?”

“He’s not normally this awful. He usually just asks us when something is off to him,” Cassian told her, popping an entire roll into his mouth without breaking it apart first.

“I have asked,” Rhysand retorted shortly, tapping his fingertips on the tabletop. “Numerous times. All of you. I have asked if anything of note has been occurring in Court while Feyre and I take our reprieve with Nyx. I’ve gotten no reports other than the usual.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything to report,” Azriel told him slowly, his shadows looking as confused as the Spymaster did. Cassian grunted his agreement around his bread product.

“See?” Feyre gave him one of her reassuring smiles, dimples showing and eyes softening to hide the concern that lay within. “You’re being a hen. Nothing is wrong with our people or our Court. If you’re restless and want to return to your duties entirely, you can just say so.”

Rhysand’s scarred hand dug into the top of the table. His mate couldn’t sense it — and maybe he was being paranoid and he had grown restless in the nesting period he had taken up with Feyre and Nyx.

But his Illyrian hindbrain was nagging at him, warning him that something simply wasn’t entirely in the right place.

“Your father’s ilk haven’t caused ruckus?” he asked Mor carefully as he made an effort to pick at his food.

Mor slowly moved her gaze to Rhysand’s own and he saw an icy fire somewhere in the depths of his cousin’s eyes. “No. The last time they did, I gave him a reminder.”

“They’ve been rather well behaved since then,” Nesta commented lazily, watching her own mate swallow down his third roll and reach to the basket for a fourth.

“Cassian save some for the rest of us,” she scolded, lunging forward to snatch the basket away. “Elaine only made two batches and you’ve nearly had an entire full one by yourself.”

“It’s okay,” her sister said, cheeks pink. “There’s more than enough, I’m sure.”

Cassian held a hand out but Nesta refused to give in, eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re going to regret that much bread tomorrow when we have to be up for training.”

Azriel took the basket and plucked his own roll before passing it down the table out of the Warrior’s reach.

“I hate all of you,” Cassian said as he stared at his soup.

“Duly noted,” the High Lord drawled as he once again cast glances at each of his friends. He decided to do this approach differently, casually asking, “How’s Rita been?”

“Good,” Mor answered immediately. “She’s been busier than normal.”

“Her bar’s picked up even more, has it?”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre said with a smile as Nyx smashed a tiny chunk of roll on the side of his mouth instead of inside. “I can’t wait to go again. It’s been so long. Soon.”

“Hmm,” Amren simply said, not agreement nor refusal. A very Amren sound but not matching with the too-blank expression she had where normally she held less defenses around the Cricle lately.

Azriel’s attention was suddenly on Elaine, asking about her recipe so that there was truly no way he could be taken from her conversation without being considered rude. Rhysand wanted to strangle him with his own shadows.

You’re being overbearing and I think perhaps it’s time you and I start going back into Court again, Feyre murmured down the bond. He hadn’t even realized she had entered his mind — her being there was like his own thoughts. I’m worried you’re looking for things to be suspicious about so you can have something to do.

Have you seen the paperwork loaded in the office, darling? he returned while he continued inspecting their friends. I have work for months. But this . . . This is different.

Feyre brushed against him internally in an attempt at soothing him -- and perhaps he was a tad more worked up over this perceived secret than he should be. But he did not like it -- not from his Inner Circle, not from his family.

Mor swirled her wine and chewed on her lip. She had one perfectly manicured hand wrapped around her elbow in an effort to make herself seem relaxed and at ease amongst her peers but Rhysand could taste the nervous energy from his cousin.

She was always made up of nervous energy when the time was around for her father and his agreed population to come into the Court -- she could not relax for at least a week after they were gone.

This was different, though.

"There's a new girl at Rita's," More broke out as the wine glass was lifted to her face, unable to cut off her sentence before it spewed out.

Silence fell and Amren simply poured herself more wine. "Here we go."

"So?" Rhysand said, squinting at the blonde. "Rita's employees come and go frequently -- do they not? She offers an easy scheduling system."

Mor did not further elaborate or answer Rhysand's confused question. He sent a look to his mate, who tilted her head in her friend's direction.

"Is this the big secret Rhysand thinks you're keeping from us?" she asked easily, smile rising up to greet their Inner Circle. "If so, please confirm it and put him out of his misery. He doesn't like not being in the know of things."

"Busybody," Amren grumbled, wine now half empty as she closed her eyes as if to go away from this conversation.

"Yes," Azriel said simply. "But she's been around since Nyx's birth. Came out of nowhere."

"Nobody comes out of Nowhere, Az," Rhysand said impatiently, "So I assume she caught interest because she came not from Nowhere but from another Court?"

"Why would that make a stir? We've had many newcomers since we revealed ourselves," Feyre added.

"She's . . . She came from the Spring Court," Azriel confessed. Though his brothers' facial features were unreadable, the tone . . . it failed to hide the sliver of guilt. "I personally looked into her history. She's High Fae and I'm afraid to let you know that she is related to Tamlin through his mother's lineage."

Feyre's eyes shuttered briefly and Rhysand could only feel the shock that struck her. "He never mentioned any family besides . . ." she trailed off, leaving words unsaid but a history known.

Tamlin had only spoken of who he thought brought importance to him directly -- and a girl in which he likely hardly saw growing up? What would have been so important to waste his breath on her to Feyre for?

Even so, Rhysand knew little about Tamlin's mother or her lineage. It does not surprise him he has a cousin or two floating around in the world.

He reached across his bond, grasping the warmth and clutching it so tenderly. Are you okay?

She responded in kind and connected herself to him in order to grant access to her emotions and the ability to comfort her. I am okay, she confirmed, meeting his eyes with stars in the depths, but I want to know more.

He would give her anything she needed -- and if she wanted to know more about the female who shared Tamlin's blood, it would be hers.

"What do you know?" he asked, breaking the silence of his group. He pushed his empty dishes away and prepared to settle in for a long discussion.

Feyre shifted in her seat but only to hand over a squealing Nyx to Elain so that she may take him to play in the gardens before his bath.

"She used political sanctuary to ask for entry," Cassian told him, arms crossed over the table, expression turned serious. "She claims that during the War she was moved from place to place with her mother so that Tamlin couldn't use them to get her father to contribute troops from his house."

Feyre's jaw locked stiff and Rhysand could feel the tight straining in her core. "Where is her family now?" his High Lady questioned calmly.

"Unknown," Azriel answered, "I sought out their location with my Shadows but their House is in shambles -- in name and standing all. There is no sign of Sylinor or his wife and there are no troops bearing their House' crest to be located."

"Sylinor Windweaver?" Rhysand asked, the name drawing familiarity from a time when he was a boy and still shadowed his father, eyes flashing and his wings twitching behind him. "He has not been seen since--"

"A year before Amarantha's fall," Cassian finished. "Believed to have been executed with his family when Tamlin continued to lack . . . obedience."

"So they lived," Feyre said hollowly, eyes drifting toward the windows where the garden was in view. Elain sat with Nyx as he flapped tiny wings and grasped her skirt to draw her attention to him.

"It seems so," the Illyrian general agreed while Nesta scratched her chin, almost bored of this entire thing.

"So they escape, hide, and then . . . just disappear?" Feyre asked with an icy spike in the tone of her voice that Rhysand knew to be bordering dangerous.

"A lot of Houses fell in the War, and it is possible that Tamlin somehow helped free the Windweavers and attempted to call in a favor later," Amren reminded Feyre bluntly. "Hybern let his soldiers play as they would and some families and their titles were entirely wiped out. The Spring Court relies on House loyalties and the people in each section of land owned by a House to contribute its' army. Autumn Court runs in a similar fashion."

"Spring Court had the Tithe," Feyre said, frowning, "and also made prominent families take people on their territories as soldiers? Is that who Tamlin had as guards on his estate?"

"Likely not," Rhysand told her as he kept sending a soothing rush down the bond toward her. Anytime Feyre learned a new aspect about the Spring Court, it devastated her a little bit more. "Those were probably Fae who came from prominent families of those Houses or Fae who had deep loyalties going back to his family."

"I see." Feyre clasped her hands in her lap in an effort to cease the trembling that threatened to reveal itself. Not from despair, no, Rhysand could feel anger there. Rage and shock. "So this Fae woman. She comes from one of the prominent Houses?"

"Yes," Mor confirmed softly, "but her movements have been much the same. She works at Rita's and goes home after her shift. She's quiet and keeps to herself."

"Did she come with anyone else?" Rhysand asked after an uneasy, but thoughtful, silence.

Amren pursed her lips and shot Azriel a sharp look before finishing off the last of her wine.

The Shadowsinger was hesitating even if his usual stillness radiated his confidence and attempt at nonchalance. "Yes, she came with one other. A child."

"A child," Feyre echoed. Her eyes had been ripped away from their son upon hearing this, and now she had her walls stacked as high and as defensed as they could be. Rhysand brushed against them but it would seem this turmoil was his mates' alone. "There weren't . . . the records of refugees . . ."

“Remember how we discussed a way for fleeing Fae to seek asylum and ensuring their tracks would die at our doorstep?” Rhysand asked quietly, eyes focusing on Feyre.

“Yes. It wasn’t really given a solid outline, though,” Feyre murmured, the glittery makeup around her eyes crinkling with her skin as she eyed him. “Unless it did happen and you didn’t tell me.”

The accusation was piercing, but not untrue.

“It was Mor and Nesta’s project. Amren helped. I had little say in it,” Rhysand confessed.

"We do not always mark down on public records the names of our refugees," Mor took over, speaking to Feyre carefully as she leaned forward in the dining chair and intertwining her fingers together. "We put their names on a list only a three others under our Circle can access and then we store that list in the House of Wind. It is still in its’ infancy and has been used only a handful of times with some denied entries, and we have security checks in place to review the applicants. It takes weeks for them to be allowed into the Court with a citizenship if they request a private status in our records."

"It's a fairly new system," Rhysand reiterated to his wife, reaching out to grasp one of her hands. "We implemented it officially near the birth of Nyx -- and I keep intending to inform you of it.”

Feyre could feel his guilt through their mating bond and blew air through her nostrils. She rubbed at her temples and crossed one leg over the other. “No need to keep me out of the loop on account of my maternity situation. From now on, keep me informed on everything.”

“Of course, Lady,” Mor murmured, dipping her chin. Amren followed suit. “It wasn’t kept from you intentionally.”

Feyre offered a small, comforting smile. “I know. But still done nonetheless. I am able to preform my duties just fine these days and welcome it.” Her eyes glanced at Rhysand accusingly, who had the decency to keep his mouth shut.

Rhysand traced the rim of his glass with his fingertip. “It’s so far been a successful operation, darling.”

“Who’s running it right now?”

Nesta held up her chalice. "I am in charge of the refugees for the most part. When I took your old job part of it is included the safety of displaced folk and giving them a voice and resources."

Feyre nodded, satisfied with her sister’s role in this part of their Circle. She opened her shields just a minuscule ule amount, sending Rhysand reassurance but also digging her claws into his wandering mind. We will discuss this later.

Rhysand did not physically react — but it took his entire being not to flinch as she dug in deeper until releasing him.

"So the child is hers?" Feyre questioned, running one of her fingers across the top of Rhysand's palm to self-soothe. He knew her pain from her experience in the Spring Court ran root-deep, before him, before the Cauldron . . . but he wondered why she felt so incensed by the knowledge of this Fae woman.

"We believe so, but she has no record of mating or marriage. The child is no older than three at most and she only provided a name for her," Nesta replied, snatching another roll and ignoring Cassian's outraged yelp.

"Could this child have been apart of why Sylinor moved them around during the War?" Rhysand wondered, still seeking entry into Feyre's mind through the small gap she opened to him. Gentle brushes and wisps of touch against the shields -- but he backed down when no response was given.

"It is possible," Amren said, "but we do not know for sure. We do not ask about her history and she does not offer it. What we have told you is what we know."

"If she is not a threat or in danger of becoming one," Rhysand finally decided after thinking, "then I suggest that we ease off of following her for now. She sought asylum and it was granted. Let us treat her like a guest rather than a suspect."

"As long as Tamlin does not sniff around asking if his missing cousin is hiding here," his Second drawled, leaning her chin on her hand and squinting like a satisfied cat, "then I do not see an issue in that."

"The High Lord has bigger problems internally right now," Azriel said, mostly to himself by the distant musings in the way he spoke. "He has more concerns than one House being lost to him."

"She's blood," Rhysand countered.

"Since when has blood ever mattered to the High Fae until it suited them?" Nesta asked with a twisted, nasty tone -- and she was right.

"Can you send two more Dawning Brightlights to the table in the corner for me, Windy?" Rita asked, breathless and red-cheeked as she spoke loudly over the even louder crowd that took over her bar this night.

It was a typical busy day you supposed -- though you hardly ever found a slow day at Rita's ever since your first shift and she eagerly brought you on when you told her you would take whatever times she wanted you as long as you did not have to do the midnight shifts.

The money was good and the customers were a breed that only an establishment like Rita's could produce. You worried if you went to the bar just a few blocks down, you'd have had your ass grabbed already.

"Of course!" you call back as you crouch under the bar and pull out ingredients for the drinks she needed. A purple sparkly syrup to drizzle into the bottom of the glass, five second pours of the sweet alcohol that had a strange but harmless shimmer to it, and two perfect mint leaves in each glass and you were off. You swept through the packed building, sweeping under extended arms and narrowly avoiding an unwatchful stagger from an unintended shove.

Chairs being pulled out dodged breezily, and echoes of laughter drowning out muffled apologies as you finally reach your destination.

“Here you go, so sorry for the wait!” You flourished the drinks and let them slide across the table to the two patrons. The two fae raised their glasses at you before downing them and going back to their chatting.

You filled ten more drink requests in under thirty minutes while trying to keep up with the food orders. You were tempted to use your abilities to help you carry things — but doing so would cause great ruckus and you were still hiding. Using it would reveal yourself to your old Court.

“Windweaver!” A familiar song like cry echoed as you dropped some fish and chips off at a burly male’s table. “Oh where art thou, Windweaver?”

Your hair was sticky against your scalp and forehead as you ducked under a pair of dancing Fae and popped up to face the source. It was The Morrigan lounging with her feet on a peanut covered table, grinning wickedly while Amren sat across from her and hissed whenever someone nudged her chair when passing.

“Hi, Mor!” you greeted, relieved and anxious at the sight of her. Her and Amren — and Nesta Archeron — had all been vital in getting you settled in Veralis and you were forever in their debt.

But you feared that your connection to them would mean running into the youngest sister of Nesta and the High Lady of Veralis, of the Night Court, Feyre. You heard only from your mother’s maids what your cousin had forced her to go through.

And you did not want to see the look in her eye the way you did Nesta’s when she realizes who you are and what you run from.

It was your ultimate shame and burden to carry being from the Spring Court, but you did not have anywhere else to go that you’d think could truly shield you from your family should they seek you out.

“You stink,” Amren said by way of greeting, narrowing her eyes at you, “of male.”

You spluttered incoherently at her remark, red. “Amren,” Mor crooned, falsely scolding as she smirked in your direction. “Why are you sniffing her way anyway?”

“Can you not tell that the reek is coming from her?” You did not appreciate the way she eyed you distastefully.

“There is no male,” you said, slapping down menus in front of them despite knowing they get the same thing every time. “I have brushed up against many of them while taking care of customers.”

“Did any of them touch you?”

“No?”

Amren arched a brow. “You’re not sure of that, are you, girl?”

Mor also frowned, tapping her fingernails across the menu in an unsettled manner. “If someone touched you, Windy, Rita —“

You sighed. “I don’t think it was intentional, or I would have felt it and known. I always smell when I work these nights, okay? I’m fine.”

Amren did not look ready to release this from her clutches. “It’s not just a brushing of scents that happen like usual. It’s so soaked into you that I’m almost tempted to force Rita to let you off for the night to bathe.”

“Amren.” You imagined yourself rolling your eyes, but feared the consequences of such actions when it came to the Night Court’s feared Second in Command.

Another arch of a sleek brow, eyes cat-like as she drew in on you. Mor stood by and studied the menu as though she planned on changing her meal choice tonight.

“I genuinely,” you began, “have no male in my life — and I believe I would know if one was scenting me.” You rested your hip against the table to try and remove some weight from your ankles and feet. You were sore.

Mor and Amren didn’t seem satisfied despite you speaking the truth, but they did feel content enough to let it go and instead order their usual drink and meals. You swiped their menus under your arm and head back to the bar to put the order in to the kitchen.

The rest of the night slowed down after that odd interaction. You delivered the drinks to Amren and Mor and ignored the way Amren wrinkled her nose at you whenever you approached. You tried not to take it personally, not with Amren.

When it came close to ten in the evening, you started counting your tips as your replacement, Malora, swept in and greeted you cheerfully.

You decided to stop by Amren and Mor’s table one more time and check on them again before you left. You had your apron draped over your arm and your hair pulled up into a high ponytail. “Hey, is there anything else you’d like me to grab you? I’m heading out pretty much now otherwise.”

Amren waves you off as she downs her fifth drink but Mor looked up to give you a response, pauses at something with a flash of alarm in her eye. Her glass slips from her hand and it shatters on the table.

“Morrigan!” Amren snapped, sliding her chair back before the liquid could pour into her lap. “By the Cauldron, usually you don’t get into dropping things until you’re ten drinks in —“

“Amren.”

“What?” she snapped again, eyes shooting up and meeting your confused ones. She then shot a glare at more, followed her eyesight, and she too seemed to freeze briefly.

“Let me get a rag.” You throw your belongings onto the empty chair at the table and quickly walk across the tavern and get behind the bar to dig out a clean rag, maybe three, to help clean the mess.

When you walked back toward them, they were arguing quietly. You strained to listen, but even your Fae ears were weak at hearing after the War.

After everything.

You unfolded one and started laying it across the spilled mess and drifting the glass and alcohol in one direction; away from both of them.

“Girl,” Amren said tightly. You paused and noticed his strained Amren looked, and the way Mor’s body seemed to be alight with nervous energy, “how long has that been there?”

“What?”

A thin, foreboding finger pointed just above your shoulder to the spot where your neck and shoulder met. Concerned by her and Mor’s actions, you reach up to brush your fingers along the skin but find nothing amiss. “What’s there?”

“Do you need a mirror,” Mor asked, but she did not wait for a response as she reached into the small handbag on the back of her chair and pulled one of the fancy little carry on mirror’s you see in boutiques for sale. Too expensive for you to afford.

You lift the mirror until it’s in the line of sight they pointed out, reflecting the offending part of your body. At first you weren’t entirely sure what they were talking about. But then you looked closer and noticed it just creeping out behind your ear. You tilted the mirror up and to the side until it faced the back of your pointed ear and swallowed at what you found.

Outlining the skin that connected your ear to your head was inked and drifted out into swirling mist-like markings until it faded just out of view. Very underwhelming in hindsight, but a shock because you do not remember having this.

“Oh,” you said quietly as you lowered the mirror. Breathed out. Handed the object back to Mor.

The most awkward silence you had ever experienced.

“Oh,” Mor agreed thickly, nails digging into the wood of the table as she met your gaze.

“That’s a mating mark of a High Lord,” Amren said, slow and dark, eyes piercing you as you started backing away, and dug your own nails into your palms. “But which one?”

“I’m not mated,” you spit out, “to anybody.”

“The bond says otherwise.”

You looked at both females, your heart beginning to race in your chest and did the only thing you knew how to do.

You ran.

PART TWO

[woongiesea]

🖤 ── 𝐿osing 𝒜ll 𝑀y 𝐼nnocence 𝐼n 𝒯he 𝐵ackseat

bttm!male reader x top!mingi (ateez)

in which after a heated club night, mingi teaches his best friend how to have sex !

content warning: gay sex, oral sex, anal sex, mingi's first time topping, virgin!reader / reader's first time, car sex, dacryphilia (?), fingering, size kink, unprotected sex (don't irl !), non-idol au (?) implied second round

lmk if there are any more :p

loosely inspired by addison rae's diet pepsi <33

author's note: hi everyonee !! tysm for all the love on the jiwoong fic, and im back with an anon req, sorry if this took too long im kinda busy with life :p. i wrote this in 3rd person instead of 2nd person this time so reading this might be diff from the first one. this is my first time writing for mingi so i hope its realistic lmao 😭

also mingichella ruined my life.

! MINORS DNI !

"So, where are we going?" y/n asked, curiosity laced in his tone. Currently he was sitting in front of the mirror, legs folded on the hotel room carpet as he dabbed a brush with black eyeshadow on the outer corners of his eyes, brushing through his black tresses, moving silky strands out of his eyes. "You randomly just told me to get ready without telling me anything..."

Y/n could hear shuffling around the hotel room. From the corner of his eyes he could see Mingi shuffling through his coats and leather jackets hanging in all their black and grey glory, waiting to be picked by him to go out in the cigarette-and-chanel no.5-smelling streets of new york.

You and Mingi were finally taking your "best friends" trip that the both had you been raving about since you learned about the existence of New York City. You could tell in Mingi's smirk that he was planning something, and you were scared what he was cooking up in that mischevious head of his.

"Should I just go bare-chested?" Mingi asked, from one corner of the hotel room, out of view from the mirror you peered into, searching for his face. You turned around from where his voice came.

Mingi ruffled his freshly dyed platinum-blonde hair, an impulse decision he made yesterday, claiming that it "would look hot". His leather pants stretched and wrinkled across his long legs and thighs with perfection, glistening under the harsh blindingness of the white hotel room lights. A black jacket draped his torso, with sparkling chains and necklaces adorning his neck. As he cheekily stated, it was obvious he was wearing no shirt underneath, a tackily zipped-up zipper threatening to reveal his lower torso and abs.

Y/n rolled his eyes, barely containing a gasp out of pure shock. "Fuckin' slut." he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "It's a good outfit, but I don't know where we're going to, so I can't place you on the cunt-o-meter just yet."

Mingi raised an eyebrow. "Cunt-o-meter?"

Y/n rolled his eyes. "How much cunt you're serving. Depends on the occasion you're serving all this for." he says, eyes scanning over his 6 foot frame.

"Trust me, we need maximum point on the cunt-o-meter." Mingi cringed as the words came out his mouth, muttering a small "whatever that means."

"Well then, you're good to go, then!" Y/n says cheerily, his words accompanied by a quick "click!" of his makeup palette closing up. He fluttered his eyelids to show off his "edgy" eye look he was planning. "How do I look?"

Mingi smirked. "I like it, you look like a pretty boy." He giggled, showing off his gummy smile that made y/n heart skip a beat at his cuteness, despite how the other was dressed right now. Y/n got up, awkwardly twirling around to show off his outfit.

"Now, unlike you I am not a slut and do infact have self respect. How do I look?" Y/n's outfit was moderately simple - an oversized black sweater he borrowed from Mingi, with denim shorts cheekily teasing at his thighs, and the white knee-lenghts he was seemingly obsessed with.

At this, Mingi wrapped an arm around the shorter's shoulders, his arm seemingly overtaking his entire figure. He smiled. "Let's go."

timeskip

"Alright, that was the first and last time I'm going clubbing with your ass." Y/n groaned, practically collasping into the passenger seat of a somehow sober Mingi's car. Mingi giggled at his friend, who was currently rolling his eyes and proudly displaying him a middle finger. "And why didn't you tell me we were gonna go clubbing? I would've dressed sluttier!" Y/n whined.

"Wearing what, exactly?" Mingi raised an eyebrow in a cocky fashion. "You're scared to go to the pool shirtless. Heck, you can't even wear tank tops in front of me!" He teased. Mingi laughed at y/n's reaction, which was now both middle fingers being stretched in front of his face.

"Whatever. Atleast I don't have the lack of self respect that I let myself being tossed around between 4 guys !" Y/n exclaimed, pointing to Mingi's smudged lipgloss.

"Well, atleast I don't sit in the corner despite half the club trying to flirt with me!" Mingi replied with the same snarky tone. "And I remember that I don't own the glasses!"

"Song Mingi, I'm gonna kill you- and I didn't end up taking the glass with me, did I?" but Y/n's counterattack was ignored.

Mingi had a sinister look on his face. "You had atleast 5 guys foaming at the mouth to take you home, and yet you complain about being single." He smirked with a look of intrigue. "Could it be..." He leaned in closer to y/n till he ear brushed against his pink lips. "You don't know how to have sex, y/n?"

The flustered look on Y/n's face confirmed his suspicions. "Eyes on the road, idiot!" Y/n retaliated, causing Mingi to smirk as he continued driving.

"So, your innocent ass doesn't know how to fuck? How surprising for someone as freaky as you."

"Just keep driving or I'll cannibalize you."

Mingi's car suddenly came to a hault in some dark corner, in some street that seemed nowhere near the streets you memorized on the way to your hotel. Mingi leaned in closer, inhaling the smell of alcohol and your sweet perfume mixed with sweat that lingered on his sweater, currently draping your figure.

"Mingi, where are w-"

"Backseat. Now."

"What the fu-"

"Now."

smut below, minors dni.

"M-mingi, fuck!" Y/n's cheek was flush against the leather seat covers. In the darkness of the night. His shorts were thown away somewhere in the process, windows fogged up, the air conditioner's cool wind sending chills down Y/n bottom and thighs.

Mingi thrust his fingers in Y/n's hole scissoring him in an attempt to loosen up. Y/n's legs found their way to Mingi's shoulders, resting on them as Mingi held onto Y/n's thighs for dear life, imprinting the cool metal designs of Mingi's rings into the shorter's inner thighs. "Fuck, y/n, you're so tight~" He cooed, loving the whimpers that spilled out of the other's mouth. He didn't even bother taking off the other's pants, or his own, even. Mingi was impaitent to get to the good part immediately, simply choosing to unzip his zipper.

He trailed kisses down your neck - hot, open-mouthed kisses, leaving bites and marks across your collarbone and neck, nuzzling his hot face against the crook of your neck. "So responsive..." he groaned. "f I knew you made all those slutty sounds I would've wrecked you long ago..."

His words sent shivers down your spine. You didn't even have time to recollect yourself when Mingi pulled his fingers out, giving you a maximum of 5 seconds to relaxation before he forced his length into you. It wasn't the most girthy dick, but god, was it long and strong. You felt every individual vein, pumping up hard and fast into his erection. Mingi practically shreiked when you clenched around his lenght, hard and tight.

"God damn, so eager to get railed. I might just top more often." Mingi groaned, his voice hoarse and deep. He experimentally began thrusting in and out at a slow and then fast pace. His inconsistency drove you insane: He was trying you out, trying to see what got the best reaction from you.

That's when it happened: His dick slammed into your prostate, targetting a sensetive bundle of nerves. You twitched so hard you were surprised you didn't just cum right then and there. Mingi noticed your blissed-out expression and loud moan. He smirked. "You like that, pretty boy? Ya like when I slam into you like that?" You nodded desperately.

"Lemme do it again, then." A wicked smile adorned his face. And he did. Over and over, slamming down on your sweet spot. Estcasy claimed over you so many times as your velvet walls clamped down on his member. Both of you groaned in unison. Being on the edge of pleasure was so blaringly good that you didn't even realize when you tipped over, letting out velvet white ropes of your substance, coating Mingi and yourself.

"Cum for me, boy~" Mingi cooed, as he too, filled you with his load, blissfully rolling his eyes back as he bit his lip, riding out his high. His substance inside you was an intoxicating feeling. You never wanted it to end.

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, panting. "Let's continue this in the hotel." He smirked, and you nodded.

It was going to be a long night.

[23fallencomets]

anyway i’m going to sleep now so enjoy a sargebon scene i cut out of Apartment 232!!

Logan comes home with a few bags of embroidery string, they’re small but god, are they filled to the brim. Alex eyes them when Logan drops them on the floor by the before clambering onto Alex’s lap.

He does that now, at any given chance.

“I don’t always want to have sex,” Logan had said once with a laugh, “I love it, but sometimes I just want to sit on your lap and hear about your day.”

“Finances are hardly interesting, darling.”

Logan makes a face, “They’re not. Unfortunately, I’m horribly invested in Pierre and Esteban’s rivalry. If they ever fight, my money’s on Este.

Alex wraps an arm around Logan, head leaned far back enough to look at Logan through half-lidded eyes. Logan is just staring at him, hands gently resting on Alex’s chest, his thumb running over the blue Sarge. Logan is wearing a black sweater, Albon mirrored on the left of his chest.

“I spoke to George today,” Logan says slowly, leaning his weight back into Alex’s knees. “It was weird, like I was getting the shovel talk?”

Alex’s hands tighten on Logan’s waist, causing him to twitch a little, “I don’t think he meant anything bad, and apparently, despite being so articulate, he loses his composure when he talks about you.”

“We were best friends,” Alex says, “The breakup was a long time coming, but stuff was said.”

Logan stares at him, blue eyes unblinking as his fingers fiddle with the drawstrings, “I’m realizing that now, actually. I’m not—this is a lot harder than I thought.”

Alex can’t help the chuckle, hands sliding down to rest on Logan’s thighs. His hands are trembling and Logan reaches down to hold them. They haven’t actually talked about Alex’s breakup and his subsequent isolation from his friends. Maybe the breakup was a lot worse than Alex’s had convinced himself it was.

“I genuinely feel like he didn’t mean to come off as rude or possessive, I guess, about you, but the way he was talking to me about you felt sort of patronizing? Like if I knew how you liked your tea and coffee, your favorite restaurants, things that make you, you.” Logan trails off, “I know we’ve known each other for a few months and have been dating for almost as long as that, but it just made me feel like—” like if i’m not good enough, he wants to say.

“We’re still getting to know each other,” Alex says softly, his thumbs gently caressing the back of Logan’s hands, “Sure we might’ve jumped the gun a bit too early, but we’re in the same boat, no? There’s things we still need to mentally prepare for, things we aren’t exactly jumping in joy to talk about, like why exactly you left Florida.”

Logan’s face twitches, it’s all quick and maybe if Alex hadn’t been paying attention he would have missed it, the quick downturn of his lips and the pain that flashed across his features.

“I’m not rushing you to talk about it,” Alex reassures, “I’m not going to rush you to tell me about it, I’m sure it’s bad, but I’m not laying in bed wondering about the horrors of America.”

It’s enough to get Logan to laugh, his head thrown back and Alex’s hand gods up to cup his neck, run his finger down the length of it. Logan flushes before he melts into it, his eyes closing as Alex’s hand carefully grips his neck. He’s barely putting pressure, just letting his hand stay there.

Logan breathes in, tilts his head away, “Don’t wanna do anything right now,” He mumbles, pressing his lips to the ball of Alex’s palm, “I get all floaty afterwards.” He does nip Alex’s palm though, pulling away fully with a grin.

Alex nods, files away the information he found, “I’ll talk to George,” He says suddenly, “It’s not fair of him to seek you out or whatever when he can’t even look me in the eyes.”

His boyfriend shrugs, clearly moved on from the slightly emotional heavy conversation. He slides off Alex’s lap and sits on the cushion near his bags, the cushion Alex had bought when he realized Logan sitting on the floor next to him was going to become a normal occurrence.

“Look at all of this.” Logan says, grin wide as he pulls out bundle after bundle , “Arthur bought them for me—don’t look at me like that.”

Alex forces his expression to relax, “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

Logan rolls his eyes, twisting his body to be on his side, his chin propped on Alex’s knee. His hair is a mess, and Alex can’t help but run his hands through the blonde strands, pushing them away from the unamused stare his boyfriend is giving him. It does make laugh, the annoyance washing off of Logan.

“He found out I have an actual embroidery machine—Dalton sent it over last week—and wants me to embroider somethings.” Logan pats his calf, “Don’t overthink it too much, darlin’.”

Alex shakes his head, picking up a bundle of red, black and yellow. He helps Logan sort them by color, watching the bundles fit into their color group; blues, reds, pinks, yellows and green, the whole rainbow.

“Wait, why am I never here when he sends you things?” Alex asks, “Am I just never home?”

Logan stands up, groaning slightly as he carefully collects his things, “I gave him Oscar’s address.” He says almost cautiously, picking at the blue thread, “It was part of the arrangement.”

Alex knew there was something sketchy about Logan’s family, but since he never said anything, Alex didn’t push for answers. Instead, he stands up and motions Logan onwards.

“Let me see this machine of yours.”

[hoonieyun]

don't die

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader x park sunghoon

warnings: mentions of death, knives and blades, slasher movie vibes, paranoia, profanity, murder and other horror movie tropes, 18+ not proofread lol

wc: 2034

sunghoon’s words ring in your head as you venture throughout the house. you truly should’ve let him be the one to find daniella but you refused to be a sitting duck and daniella was your friend. you needed to be the one to go out and look for her because you didn’t know if you could fully trust sunghoon. 

you felt somewhat guilty that you didn’t trust sunghoon but you couldn’t blame yourself for that. too many people have died and you can’t let your guard down even if it was around your boyfriend. “don’t die” sunghoon said. you couldn’t wrap your head around the concept of those being his parting words. 

were they words of caution so that you had something to hold onto for motivation that was rooted in sunghoon’s love.. or was it a taunt, teasing you as he knew death was just around the corner? 

as you find yourself looking through every room and space on the upper floor of the house, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. you aren’t sure if it’s the paranoia from being shrouded in darkness with the light of your phone barely providing any guidance or if there was something stalking you in the darkness. 

you knew that you probably should’ve continued to thoroughly check every space but as fear continued to creep inside of you, you thought that a quick callout in each room would suffic. you’d whisper and call out for daniella or heeseung in every room you went into and if no one responded, you’d quickly leave and close the door behind you. you were baffled to know that this house was pretty big, sporting several bedrooms and closets on the upper floor. 

definitely something that two college students like jay and heeseung wouldn’t be able to afford but you soon remembered that heeseung mentioned something along the lines of his parents coming from money and that they bought him this house because they felt bad for all of the shit he’s had to go through with the decelis killer. it was like a pity gift for him as they didn’t really bother to come visit him, just wire transferred a shit ton of money and called it a day. sounds like your own mother. 

heeseung had offered you all a room in his new home and jay was the only one who took that offer since they were previously living together anyways. sunghoon had moved in with you into a new apartment while daniella found herself a place of her own, which you still thought was a crazy idea now that you’ve learned the killer is indeed still roaming free and were now hunting you all in heeseung’s home. 

after checking the final room upstairs, you huff out a sigh after not finding daniella or heeseung, a sense of defeat you didn’t want to come to because you refused to believe they’re gone unless you see it with your own two eyes. 

jay on the other hand has only managed to scope out half of the bottom floor. since the living room was being watched by sunghoon, all he had to look through was the kitchen, garage, the back living space, and the several bathrooms and closets. it was a lot more than he thought and as  he maneuvered through the darkness, he mutters little comments to himself about how upset he was that he’s currently walking around in the dark when there’s a killer in his own home. 

as you’re coming down the stairs you meet jay who’s emerging from one of the hallways, “find them?” you ask, barely making out his features as the only light that was left was from the moon casting the faintest glow into the house. your phone had died the longer you were upstairs and it didn’t help that none of you had thought to call for help before your phone had died. no one had their phones on them so either you had all lost them during the darkness or the killer took them as you all slept in turns. 

thankfully, you hadn’t left yours lying around– unfortunately, it was low battery and had now died. 

“no, nothing. i checked the garage and all of the bathrooms and closets. i still need to clear the kitchen and the back living room.” jay explains and you tell him that you’ll take a look at the kitchen while the does the other room so you could save time. he nods and soon walks the opposite way, his body disappearing into the darkness as he retreats to a different hallway of the house. 

the kitchen was easy to find as it was just on the opposite end of the living room, you scaled the walls to have some guidance as you walked through the house and when you see the large window with the moonlight shining through, you know you’ve made it into the kitchen. 

you were careful to walk around as you thought about the killer possibly lurking behind different corners, ready to pounce at any moment, but are knocked off balance when you trip on something on the ground. you fall with a soft thud and manage to catch yourself; your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of what you tripped on, or who. 

daniella was tied up and had her mouth taped shut, unconscious and left behind the kitchen island. you felt equally relieved and shocked to see her, your instincts kicking in as you try to wake her up and untie her restraints. “dani, wake up, please!” you whisper, slight tapping her cheek and when she doesn’t you mutter a small apology before ripping the tape off of her mouth; causing her to jolt away and just before she exclaims, your hand flies to cover her mouth– putting a finger over your mouth to let her know to stay quiet. 

you quickly explain what’s happening and daniella explains how she ended up in the position she was in, “when the lights went out i felt someone grab me, they put something over my mouth and it just knocked me out. chlorophyll or some shit– thank you for saving me.” daniella pulls you into a hug and the tight embrace provides the smallest sense of comfort. 

“i’m glad you’re fine but we’re very far from being saved.” you grab her hand and make your way back to the living room when you and daniella suddenly catch a glimpse of someone standing outside the kitchen window. there stood a man in dark clothes and a sinister mask covering his face; it causes the two of you to jump in fear and when you turn back around you see that he’s gone. 

“he’s outside..” daniella breathes out but the longer you look out the window, your eyes focus onto the reflection of you and daniella in the glass. the moon provided enough light to cast a reflection of the two of you and soon realization settles inside your chest, “oh my god, he’s not outside. we saw his reflection just like ours– he was behind us.” 

suddenly, a loud crash can be heard from the living, prompting you and daniella to run towards the sound even though red flags and alarms were blaring in your mind. you couldn’t help but run towards the danger knowing that your friends could be at the end of the killer’s blade. 

when you and daniella stumble into the living, all you can see is the silhouette of the killer standing over one of your friends who was now lying on the ground after being slammed through the coffee table in the center of the living room. “hey, fucker!” you shout, tossing the closest thing you could find, a flower vase, in his direction. 

the killer quickly dodges your attempt at an attack and retreats into the darkness of the shadows. you and daniella run over to your friend and find that it’s jay. “jay, wake up! hey!” but his eyes remain shut and body limp. you quickly check for his pulse and thankfully he hasn’t yet met his demise. you look around the room and soon become worried as sunghoon is nowhere to be seen. 

fear has long settled in your chest but a new feeling starts to wash over you. like the feeling of suspicion you had felt prior towards sunghoon was starting to transform from suspicion into the truth. you didn’t want to believe that but his absence makes you question everything. could he have been the killer this whole time? he wouldn’t… right? 

he loved you… right? 

“yn..” daniella breathes out, her hand tapping you and when you look up at her, your gaze lands towards the dark hallway just a few feet in front of you both. the small sliver of light shining on the face of the killer, his mask illuminated under the moonlight. 

the killer suddenly dashes forward towards the two of you, lurching forward in an attempt to take hold of one of you, causing you and daniella to pull away from one another. daniella makes an attempt at an escape by running up the stairs and hiding in a closet while you scramble to your feet. the killer just a few feet away from you, his gaze turns towards you as you’re standing up on your two feet; a stare down between you two and in that moment, although fear fills your body. 

there was a sense of connection between you and the killer. the longer you stared at him, it was like you could feel him, like you knew he was and could see his face behind the mask. the killer lets out a small chuckle before running towards you but thanks to the darkness and debris on the floor, he trips over the broken coffee table; allowing you to dodge his attack and make a run for it. you dip into one of the bathrooms downstairs and quietly close the door, turning the small lock as you try to steady your breathing– afraid that he could hear you if he were to walk by. 

you’re not sure how long you’re inside of the bathroom and just hope that daniella is safe hasn’t been found. just as you’re about to open the door and see if it’s safe enough to come outside, you hear a creak come from the other side of the door. heavy footsteps approach and stop right in front of the very door that you were currently purched behind. you blink profusely as you look for ways to escape but the bathroom was a dead end, a death chamber, a singular door that leads in and out, and death was standing just on the other side of the wooden door. 

you grab what you think is an air freshener, hoping that if he were to come into your hiding place, that you could use it to blind him and escape. 

meanwhile, on the second floor, daniella has found safety in a closet in the hallway. she hides herself amongst the different coats and boxes in the closet, the small wooden panels of the closet door providing no help as she could barely see through them. daniella didn’t know what to do next, was she just going to hide like a coward in this closet until help arrived? or would she find the courage inside of her to brave through the darkness and reunite with her friends. 

before she could even decide, footsteps were heard coming down the hallway. they were heavy and somewhat quick, like it was someone in a rush. stumbling down the hallway and as the footsteps get closer and closer, daniella only finds herself getting swallowed by fear. 

she clasps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds of her breathing but her breath ultimately stops as it gets stuck in her throat when a shadowy figure stops right in front of the very closet she’s hiding in. with no way to escape or protect herself, daniella can only close her eyes and hope that whoever is on the other side of the closet door doesn’t think to check in there.

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detective's notes: daniella and yn find themselves at a standstill as both of their hiding places have now potentially turned into the last place they'll be alive. who is on the other side of their doors?

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reservedall writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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[fakeboypuppygirl]

You didn’t think too much of it when your girlfriend moved in and wanted to do a little remodelling to the house your grandparents had left you. It was a little dated but you both liked the rustic style and she could more than easily afford to get the few bits of work done that she wanted. It was also a good excuse for you to have the hooks installed around the place so she had multiple options for restraining you in every room and in any conceivable position. Which you definitely liked the sound of. You didn’t notice the cameras she had put in every single room without a blind spot anywhere though.

She made fast work of making sure the hooks were all well placed and the ones that needed too would easily take your weight. You felt like you had been tied and hung in every way imaginable over the course of that first week. Your favourite so far was being hung by your waist in the bedroom however, you liked the sensation of your breasts that you so carefully concealed all day hanging and swinging while she fucked your tight pussy, telling you what a good girl you were for her. You hadn’t realised how much being misgendered and forcefully feminised would turn you on but it sure did. The mix of feelings you got from it was so powerful it felt like your brain would melt and start dripping away like your cunt.

You’d put your jeans on, packed and were just adjusting your binder under your shirt while waiting for your friends to come over for a few drinks while watching your favourite show that evening. Your girlfriend had gotten some snacks ready, you usually did all the cooking and cleaning, acts of service was something she really enjoyed from you after all. And you liked how fuzzy your brain went when she told you that you’d make a good housewife.

You’re all sat down together, enjoying a few drinks and snacks when the show finishes. You head to the bathroom, you haven’t had much to drink but your heads spinning like you’d had four times as much. You think a quick piss will help, making sure to lock the door just in case. You haven’t told anyone there that you’re trans and you’d like to keep it that way. You know they’d be chill because your girlfriend is and they know that but you just feel like you should have told them sooner and it would be too awkward now.

You come back and immediately feel everyone’s eyes on you.

“Welcome back Lilly.” One of the sneers at you.

How the hell did he know your birth name? You ask yourself but you see the coffee table, seeing your birth certificate there gives you a shock. But not as much as when you see the TV and realise the videos being shown are CCTV footage of everything your girlfriend has done to you over the last week.

Your heads spinning more now and you can’t take it in.

“Oh Lilly I thought it would be a good idea to show your friends what a good girl you are for me, and then I thought I’d better show them some proof it wasn’t AI generated so I got your birth certificate out. But just in case they aren’t convinced…” she smirks as she rips off your buttoned shirt and pulls off your binder so your more than ample breasts fall out.

Your friends get up and start groping at your breasts when one puts his head down your pants just to discover your soaked pussy.

Your girlfriend helps you lie down on the sofa as she pulls off your jeans and boxers for everyone to have better access to you as they pump their hands on their dicks.

“Good job I put a few pills in your beer, you won’t remember this but I’ll show you the video tomorrow.” She laughs as she sits back to watch the show.

[maraschinomerry]

Bottom of the Rainbow

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: after George gets mad at you for keeping a secret, you finally share your unusual hobby with him - searching for the ends of rainbows

Content: sunshine x grump, fluff, mentions of reader's dad (positive), first kiss

A/N: I'm back after nearly a year!! Another sunshine x grump fic, except George isn't really a grump so much as just himself 😅 inspired by but not a continuation of You Are My Sunshine. Thank you as always to my Georges for the support, especially Lisa for beta reading 🫶

Word count: 5.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (to be added or removed, just let me know!)

It was, as most people would describe it, a thoroughly miserable day, and you couldn't be more excited.

As far as the eye could see (which currently wasn’t far at all), London was draped in thick grey clouds, from which poured heavy lances of rain that lashed against the windows of 35 Portland Row like they were trying to break in. The house was quiet save for the dull drumming from the other side of the glass. Lucy was upstairs recording a cassette for Norrie, Lockwood was training in the basement, and George was… somewhere, so you had the living room to yourself. It was rather peaceful really, sitting in your armchair by the window, watching the movements of the sky.

The floorboard by the door creaked as George entered with a huff. So much for peaceful.

“If you're waiting for a client, you're wasting your time,” the curly-haired boy pointed out as he flopped onto the sofa. “We're not expecting anyone and very few people are daft enough to turn out in this weather on the off-chance we'll take their case.”

“Oh no,” you replied cheerily, “just waiting for the rain to die down.”

“Not a fan?” If only he knew. But that was just it, he didn't really know you at all. You'd been part of the same agency, living under the same roof, for 3 months now, and the two of you were still almost as distant as the day you started. Sure, you knew now how each other worked, the way you handled cases, but when it came down to your personal lives you'd found out very quickly how different you were from one another. He was so quick-witted and sardonic, while you didn't have a sarcastic bone in your body. Lucy and Lockwood were able to go toe-to-toe with him, but it was clear he was holding back because they were friends. You'd seen George talk to Kipps once. He was brutal. At least the others had some softness to them, which made you feel a little less like the odd one out.

“Hello?” George's voice brought you back into the room, and you realised you'd been staring out the window again.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. What was it he'd asked? Oh, not a fan of the rain. “I don't mind the rain, actually.”

“Well you live in the right country then.” He'd already picked up his book, and it seemed like he wasn't all that interested in your opinions on the weather or in continuing the conversation at all, so you allowed the room to lull back into the ambient quiet of the pattering outside.

George was quite engrossed in his book, but occasionally he would glance up and find you still watching the rain. What was the big deal, anyway? It wasn’t like it hadn't rained most weeks since you'd arrived, yet every time you gazed out the window like you’d moved to London from a desert. Still, at least you were peaceful with it, creating a companionable quiet for him to read or do research without having to engage in idle chatter. For all your chipper nature and relentless enthusiasm, you were surprisingly reserved. He respected that.

Suddenly, the quiet was broken by an excitable squeak from by the window. George lowered his book in time to see you leap to your feet, face glowing with a smile and the radiance of the sunlight which was finally breaking through the parting clouds.

“Back soon!” you called as you bolted from the room, and within seconds the slam of the front door rang out. Bewildered, George pushed himself up from the sofa and ventured into the hallway. There was an empty space on the shoe rack where your boots normally sat, and the coat rack showed the distinct absence of your yellow raincoat. He opened the front door with a frown, just in time to see a flash of yellow disappear round the corner. The bright pockets of blue that had appeared in the sky caused him to squint, so much so that he almost missed the colours brushed across one of the lower clouds. A rainbow, dipping behind a nearby house.

You returned about 10 minutes later, looking slightly out of breath and considerably less excited than you had when you left. George was back in his place on the sofa, and this time he barely even lowered his book as he addressed you passing the doorway. “What was that all about?”

“Oh,” you replied falteringly, “it was nothing really.” How odd, George thought.

The second time it happened, all four of the group were there. You'd been out for breakfast to celebrate a case well done, and the cafe had provided welcome respite from the rain. Soon enough you all headed for home, when the telltale streak of colour appeared against the vanishing clouds. George was only slightly less surprised this time by the delighted squeal from your end of the line, which was immediately followed by you breaking away in a jog.

“Don't wait for me, I'll see you at home!” you called over your shoulder as you picked up speed.

Lucy frowned. “Should we follow them?”

George was tempted. As much as it didn't really make much difference to him what you did with your free time, he had to admit he was curious where you kept running off to. Still, he shrugged and carried on in the direction of Portland Row and the other two eventually followed.

The coat hooks in the hallway were empty when the trio arrived home, distinctly lacking in yellow. You said you'd meet back here, but with how quickly you were moving they'd assumed you meant you'd get there first. By the time it reached half an hour since you'd gone off, an odd air had descended over the group, tinged with concern.

“Do we know where y/n was running off to?” Lockwood asked, breaking the silence. George had the beginnings of a suspicion, but he couldn't be sure, so he stayed quiet.

Lucy, meanwhile, was less calm. She stood by your chair in the window, peering out every time someone walked by. “Are we sure they're okay? Shouldn't we be going out and looking?”

“Lucy, it's barely gone 10,” George finally piped up. “It won't be dark for hours, they're not exactly in any danger.”

“You've seen the enemies we've made in the past,” she retorted. “You really want to take that risk?”

A bolt of worry shot through George; he tried his best to hide it but was less successful at hiding the way he almost leapt out of his armchair at the sound of a key in the front door.

You sighed as you kicked off your boots. All that for nothing. You'd even gone to all the effort of running with your kit bag, which wasn't exactly light, and it still hadn't been worth it. Sure, lots of the other times had ended up like this, but somehow it stung even more today. At least it seemed like everyone was off doing their own thing so you could sneak up to your room and have some time to yourself.

The living room door swung open, and you caught a glimpse of dark curls.

So much for that plan.

“Where have you been?” George asked sharply.

You groaned quietly, hoisting your bag up and heading for the stairs. “Not now George, please.”

The thud of a second pair of feet on the stairs made your heart drop even further. “No, no, hang on! You can't just run off like that. Do you not trust us or something?”

“George!”

“Well that's what it feels like! We were-” he stopped for a fraction of a second, “Lucy and Lockwood were worried about you. Not even a hint of where you'd gone, what you were doing, how long you'd be…”

You'd reached your room by now, throwing your kit bag onto your bed and sinking down beside it. George lingered in the doorway, but he didn't let up.

“I was just… doing something.”

“Oh,” George scoffed. “So what was so important and secretive that you couldn't just tell us? Were you seeing someone?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You tried to blink them away without him noticing. The last thing you wanted right now was to talk to anyone, let alone be interrogated or lectured by someone so cynical that they'd never understand your motivations. “No-”

“Then what?!”

“I was trying to find the bottom of the rainbow!” The words burst out of you in almost a yell, making the quiet that followed twice as loud. Your gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, and yet you were painfully aware of the look of confusion and judgement on George's face. Maybe if you kept staring at that one spot for long enough, he'd finally leave you alone. “That's why I didn't tell you,” you mumbled. “Because I was afraid you'd look at me like that.”

George stood, frozen, just beyond the threshold of your room. He knew he could be harsh sometimes, but his friends didn't usually mind and anyone who did was met with an even stronger retort. He was the way he was, and that had never been an issue.

Until now.

He wasn't sure which part he felt worse about - the fact you thought he was looking at you in some kind of way, or the fact that you were expecting it. The two of you weren't the closest, but you were friends, weren't you? At the very least, you were a team. You were supposed to have each other's backs.

“Sorry,” he started after what felt like an age. “I just… I don't get it.”

“It's nothing,” you sniffed. Hang on, were you crying? Because of him?

George hesitated a moment, weighing up the impact of crossing both a physical and emotional barrier, before stepping into your room. He glanced around, taking in your space properly for the first time. The pile of books on your desk, the faded music posters on the walls, the photos taped around the mirror. And you, seeming smaller than usual, curled into yourself on the bed, still not looking at him. His voice was soft when he spoke, surprising you both. “We wouldn't be here if it was nothing. Help me understand why it matters to you.”

When you still didn't speak, he thought perhaps he'd crossed a line. Perhaps you were finding the nerve to tell him to get out. He didn't normally do things like this, he had no idea what to expect. He was so busy considering whether to leave that he almost didn't hear you.

“It was my dad's idea.”

George turned his attention from the door and found your gaze on him at last. The slight tears on your lashes, the way you chewed anxiously at your lip, the absolute vulnerability of the moment stirred something in him. He swallowed the feeling. He knew your family were still around to some extent, you mentioned them from time to time, but it hit him that you never talked about them in depth, just a passing comment now and again. You never told him anything proper about them. Or maybe it was just that he'd never asked. “Is that him in the photos?” He gestured to the mirror. You nodded, then gave an extra nod towards the mirror in an unspoken invitation.

The pictures, a mixture of Polaroids and film prints, spanned well over a decade. An adorable short-haired toddler, a beaming child with their front teeth missing, a pre-teen who had clearly shot up out of nowhere, all the way up to you in your first agency training uniform. A couple of the shots were of you and your former teammates, but many of the rest featured an older man. The ones that didn't, George suspected, had been taken by him.

You watched George warily, waiting for whatever comment he was going to make next. The comment never came, and you realised that he was actually paying attention to what he was looking at. You quietly stood, your feet sinking into the rug around your bed, and joined him by the mirror.

“That was our first rainbow,” you murmured, pointing to a faded photo. The boy beside you jumped a little, having been too engrossed to notice your approach. He followed your finger to a photo of you, about 3 or 4 years old, grinning next to the boundary of a lush green field. Just beyond the fence, almost lost to the wear of time, was a thick streak across the sky touching down into the grass. The red and blue had sustained the worst fading, but it was still unmistakable. “We came across it by chance, and my dad told me it was special finding the end of a rainbow. He bought me a whole bar of chocolate on the way home, bigger than the ones mum usually let me have.” You pointed out a couple more photos of rainbows the two of you had found and the outcomes - a special dessert one time, a new pair of boots the next. “Even after I started training and found some on my own, something good would always happen. This one was just before I got my first grade.” It was on the far side of the mirror, so you had to lean to point it out. As you began to pull back, you suddenly realised how close you were standing. His face was nearer yours than it had ever been before, and you breathed in bergamot and cinnamon. George wasn't looking where your finger was either; he was looking at you, not the strange way he had before but a new, equally strange way. You felt your cheeks grow warm, and you quickly went and sat back on the bed, this time leaving a space.

“So that's it? You're going after them for the tradition, and to try and make something good happen?” George asked, his attention now fully on you.

You kicked your feet a little, scuffing them along the rug. “Sort of. It's nice getting the extra boost of luck, but recently…”

George came closer, and when you made no protest he perched in the empty space on your bed. He gave you a small, awkward yet encouraging smile. “Your dad?”

You pulled a face, your nose scrunching. George wanted to make a joke about it making you look like a bunny, fighting the urge to call it cute, but now wasn't the time. He let you speak instead. “I told him I'd write and send a photo when I caught my first London rainbow, but that was months ago. I've spoken to him since of course, but only by phone. The longer I leave it, the more I feel like I can't write without having found one. It doesn't feel the same.” There were tears in the corners of your eyes again.

“You'll find one sooner or later,” George said reassuringly. “It's England after all, you've seen how often it rains.”

You laughed, the tension leaving your shoulders as you wiped your eyes on the cuff of your sleeve. “Thanks, George. And thank you for, you know, understanding.”

“Just promise you won't run off on your own any more, okay? Take one of us with you.”

“I promise. I suppose it's safer that way.”

“Well there is that,” he smirked, “and you'll need someone to take your photo.”

—

It had been just over a week, and you were amazed by how much things had changed. You'd never been uncomfortable around George, you'd just accepted that the two of you were too dissimilar to be close, but now you found yourself wondering how you had ever thought that. You found yourself seeking out his company more often, even if you were both sitting in silence doing your own hobbies - last week, his presence had frustrated you, now you almost craved it. It seemed like he sought you out more too. On that first evening, he'd brought you an album full of pictures of his own family to reciprocate you sharing yours. If he was cooking and you were passing through to or from the basement, he'd either start a conversation that forced you to stay for a few more minutes or he'd ask for you to pass him one ingredient after the other until the meal became a joint effort.

One day, you found yourself accompanying George to the Archives to help with research. It hadn't been a successful day by any standard - someone had borrowed the book George really needed, and the article you were after had been badly damaged by an overeager junior Tendy's agent. The worst part was that you were both absolutely drenched from the downpour you'd arrived in. Thank goodness you both had coats, or it would have been an utterly horrible day, but they hadn't protected you from getting soaked from the waist down. Your boots had only just stopped squelching. The two of you called it a day after an hour of fruitless searching for other potentially useful materials, and you turned up your hood as you headed for the door in preparation. The soft grey of the clearing clouds that met you was a welcome relief, and you immediately started scanning the skies as you walked away.

There.

You gasped in excitement at the vibrancy of the rainbow in the near distance. It was the clearest you'd seen in all your time in London. “George!” you called, already starting to head towards it. He hadn't spotted it, hadn't moved. Each second was too precious for you to wait. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and ran towards the corner. He stumbled a bit at first and his grip tightened around yours, taken by surprise, but he quickly fell into a matching pace. Together you hurtled through the city, narrowly avoiding collisions with pedestrians and lampposts alike. You'd almost lost hope when at last you turned a corner and stopped dead in your tracks. George nearly ran into your back. The colours were fainter than they had been, but they were still clear as day where they fell just the other side of a large puddle. You let out a squeak, and if you didn't know better you'd swear the hand in yours squeezed its encouragement. What was for sure, though, was the way the hand pulled you back as you began to move forward. You frowned.

“Give me your camera,” George prompted.

“Oh, right.” With a hint of reluctance, you let go of his hand and pulled a slim disposable camera from your coat pocket. Once again, George stopped you. He directed you to behind the puddle, with the rainbow landing in front, before cautiously stepping into the road and lining up his shot.

“On three, jump. One, two, three!”

You jumped into the puddle with a joyful giggle, the droplets that flew up around you illuminated by the flash of the camera. George took another still photo in case the first one didn't turn out well before handing the camera back. Through the little window on the back, you could see the number 1. You raised the viewfinder to your eye.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Well, I'm not getting this developed and wasting a perfectly good shot, but I don't want to wait until I find another rainbow to finish it off. Smile!”

George rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but he was smiling in spite of himself, and you were smiling too as you pressed the shutter.

You weren't quite sure where you'd ended up, so you followed George who seemed to know a route home. It wasn't until you got to more familiar surroundings that you realised you'd been too giddy to notice exactly which way you were going.

“Isn't the house that way?” you pointed back over your shoulder.

George shrugged. “It is, but we're not going home yet. Lockwood and Lucy won't be expecting us back so soon, so we're going to Arif's for doughnuts.”

You blushed. You hadn't expected anything from George when you dragged him along, you were quite happy to wait for the usual moment of good fortune, but it was unexpectedly thoughtful that he'd paid attention to your tradition and considered this. While you were dragging your heels, clearly not wanting to push the boundaries of generosity, he bought you a rich chocolate doughnut with a salted caramel filling (the kind you'd secretly eyed up before but found too decadent to buy yourself) and a strawberries and cream one for himself. Stepping back out into the sunshine, you sat together on a small bench across the road to eat. The wood was a little damp from the rain, but without hesitation George laid his coat down and sat on one half. You were about to remark about him catching a cold as you squeezed yourself onto the other half, but the warmth radiating into your side caused the words to die in your throat. You nestled in a bit closer; if George noticed, he didn't say anything about it. You unwrapped your sweet prize and held it up, beaming when George touched his to it in a silent toast.

“That was… kind of fun, actually,” he said almost like he was surprised at having enjoyed himself.

“It was!” you grinned. “It was nice having someone to share it with again. And thanks for the doughnut.”

George thought for a minute. “So what's next, you write to your dad and then what? Look for the next one?”

“Exactly. I find it quite encouraging in a way, knowing that whatever happens, however bad things might get, there are always going to be more rainbows. It's got me this far.”

“Well I hope there's a bit of a break before the next one. I'm a researcher, I'm not used to all this running around.”

You blinked. Was he implying he wanted to join you again? And why did you hope that was what he meant?

Lockwood was draped across the sofa when you got home. He peered over the top of his magazine as you closed the front door.

“That took a while. Was it a productive session?”

You worried at your lip. You still hadn't told Lockwood or Lucy about your unusual hobby, and in the moment you felt a bit silly to have been running round and having fun when you hadn't done the work you set out to do. You glanced nervously at George.

“Sort of,” the other boy replied, giving you a reassuring look before turning to Lockwood. “Although I want you to know that if I ever get my hands on the agent who spilled coffee over that newspaper article I was telling you about, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“Y/n, I think you need to accompany George more often, we can’t afford to be blacklisted from any other establishments,” Lockwood winked at you.

“In that case,” George faked a scowl, “perhaps they ought to accompany me while I make us lunch so I don't set your kitchen on fire.”

You nodded, before glancing pointedly at Lockwood. It was time to come clean. “I'll be with you in a sec.” Thankfully, the curly-haired boy got the message, and left you to explain in your own time.

—

Everyone had been very supportive, much to your relief. Lucy had gone rainbow-hunting with you a few times over the following months, Lockwood a couple more, and on one occasion you'd ended up taking the whole team with you on the way back from an errand. It was fun getting to spend time and share your passion with them all, and now you had a whole new array of pictures being developed that you couldn't wait to add to your mirror, but you had to admit that your favourite were the times when it was you and George. You'd been out searching together again just before you collected your first photos, and it wasn't until you reread the letter to your dad before sending and noticed you'd dedicated an entire paragraph to talking about your coworker that you finally admitted to yourself why that was the case. Something good did always happen still, regardless of who you were with, but with him it felt different. He always put in that little bit extra. And gradually, you felt different. Before long you were analysing almost every interaction the two of you had - every late night conversation in one of your rooms, every time his hand grazed yours or he made the effort to give physical contact when you needed reassurance on a case (he didn't do that with anyone else, but that didn't mean it meant anything, right?). You tried not to read too much into it all, telling yourself that even if things had changed it was only because he felt obliged to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't run off again.

You'd now been with the agency just over 6 months, marking 3 months since you'd first run off and started this whole chain of events. Last night had been a particularly rough case, so you were letting off steam in the basement training area. The powerful beat of your music drowned out your grunts of frustration as you swung your rapier through the jets of air, and you yelped when suddenly you spun round to find not a white cloud but George. Clearly you hadn't heard him coming down the stairs. Time seemed to slow as you stumbled backwards, terrified of hurting him or worse, that you'd already done so. One of your feet caught on the other, and you felt the blade fall from your hand as you grasped for something, anything, to stop you from falling. A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around your waist. You gaped up at George in surprise. He seemed just as shocked, though whether that was because of his action or because in the heat of the moment his fingers had caught under your top and gripped the skin above your waistband, you couldn't say. Another blast made you jump, bringing you back to reality, and you frantically hid your blushes as the boy flicked off the training equipment and mouthed something, his words inaudible. You launched yourself to the stereo and paused your music. The silence was deafening.

“I take it you couldn't hear anything, then?”

You frowned, wondering what you were supposed to have heard. Had he been calling you? Then, out of the quiet, a sound emerged. A persistent pattering on the window. Rain.

“You need to come outside right now.” He offered you his hand. Blushing again, you took it, and he led you up the stairs and through to the hallway. You'd been so caught up in the moment that you hadn't realised he was wearing his coat until he took yours from the hook and helped you into it. Hoods up, you both stepped out onto the street. You glanced around. This had to be about a rainbow. But where was it? George gently placed a hand on your shoulder, moving you until you could follow his eyeline.

You gasped.

There in the distance, glorious against the grey clouds, was the most vibrant rainbow you'd ever seen. Above it, much paler but still noticeable, was a fragment of inverted colours. A double rainbow. Frozen in awe, you almost forgot the urgency of the situation, until George took your hand again and started running. Together you wove through the streets, occasionally calling directions or words of encouragement as you drew closer. The colours remained ever vibrant, a beacon of joy across the sky. You found yourselves in a small park, where the main arc of the rainbow touched down into the grass beside a wooden gazebo. Both of you were panting, but you no longer needed words to communicate; George simply held out his hand, and you passed him your camera. He couldn't help but smile behind it as you twirled through the rain with a laugh, feet sinking into the sodden ground, and gave the biggest grin he'd known you to have, even in the photos he'd seen. Then he came closer, turning the camera round and pulling you into his side as he snapped a photo of the two of you. Soon the adrenaline wore off and you were faced with the fact that you'd just run all the way here and it was still raining, so you climbed into the gazebo and slumped down onto a bench. George sat beside you, leaning his head back against a pillar.

“Can you believe that's the first time I've ever seen a double rainbow?” you sighed. The feelings were overwhelming. You'd barely believed you would ever have this experience, of course you'd always thought you'd share it with your dad but somehow being here with George felt like everything it needed to be.

“Seriously? That definitely deserves a celebration.”

You giggled, leaning playfully towards him.

“Does that mean doughnuts on the way home again?”

Something in his demeanour shifted and you worried you'd pushed things too far. His smile was smaller, wavering, and his hand went from almost brushing yours to playing with the hem of his coat.

“Sorry, you don't have to-” you began.

“No, it's… I meant something bigger, since this is such an important moment for you, like, um, like dinner?”

Why was he so nervous about that? It was a great suggestion! You loved nothing more than the times you spent cooking together and it was sweet that he'd realised how much it meant. “Sure,” you reassured him, “what shall we cook?”

He swallowed thickly, voice coming out low and cautious. “Actually, I meant could I buy you dinner?”

Maybe it was the clouds starting to clear. Maybe it was later than you thought and the ghost lamps were starting to come on. Maybe it was just your own obliviousness finally crumbling. Whatever it was, you looked at George in a whole new light, at the way he was watching you carefully and expectantly.

“George Casper Karim, are you asking me on a date?”

He hesitated. “That depends on whether you're saying yes.”

You moved closer and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Does that answer your question?”

George began to lean in, but then he stopped. You started to worry again that you'd done something wrong, until he took your hand and led you from the gazebo. It was just drizzling now, the droplets coating his dark curls in a fine mist and splashing onto your own hair as you stepped outside. The rainbow was still there, fading as the rain died away, and as you were drawn towards its colours George spun you into it, catching you by the waist and bringing his lips to yours. Your mind was filled with fireworks, interlaced with that cosy cinnamon scent which had grown so familiar. He felt and tasted as warm as the sun which was starting to re-emerge, and as his hand came up and settled on your chin, thumb stroking across your cheek, you decided that the photo he'd just taken of the two of you would be going in pride of place on your mirror.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 66: Prove To Me

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

“Give our best to your parents,” Anna says and gives me a final hug before I board the train. “Your neefs are going to miss you.”

It’s time to leave. As much as I would love to stay longer there is lots more calling me back west. Thomas and I meet with Uncle Colon in three days. The Müller contracts need to, nay, will be approved by Thomas. I also need to see what he already knows about the Nazi movement. If it’s spreading this fast here then surely it’s going to become more than just a rumor in Britain.  

“Please stay safe,” Franz bids as he hands me my luggage. “Trouble’s brewing everywhere nowadays.”

We all exchange uneasy glances, partially due to the swastika flag hanging overhead, and Abel steps forward for his own hug.

“You’re going to visit Uncle Colon?”

“Yes. I pray that he will have some answers to Mr. Shelby’s problems. As well as my own.”

My soft-eyed broer nods and offers a hopeful smile. “Our prayers are with you. Tot ziens.”

“Tot ziens, Abel. I guess the next time I might see you all is for Christmas.” I give a small tug on the lead and test out my hond’s new name. “Komm, Dílis.”

The German Shepherd climbs the steps onto the train car and we find a cabin. Dílis hops up on the seat next to me and lays his head on my lap. After a few minutes the train rocks forward and begins chugging away. So here I go. Instead of finding a man in my travels I acquire a German Shepherd. How fitting. Out the window I see Abel and the others on the platform waving at me. 

Arf! The canine whines as he looks out at more Jewish immigrants waiting for their trains.

“You said it,” I murmur, my heart clenching at the sight.

Somehow the trip back seems to fly much faster. Before I board the boat in Amsterdam I make a quick call to arrange for a car to get me once I reach England. The secretary is a different one than last time but she too remembers not to mess with me.

I recognize Nathaniel on another ship once my boat docks in Port of Hull. He steps off and joins me once Dílis and I depart our own barge.

“I see you found a friend," he observes with a smile.

“This is Dílis. Gib Pfötchen.”

The dog’s ears perk up. He remembers what I taught him on the way over and proves it by raising a paw for Nathaniel to shake.

“Well, hello!” Nathaniel returns the gesture. “So did you find what you were looking for?” He wonders as we walk towards the dock entrance.

“I got what I came for. My broer and his family are now partners with Mr. Shelby.”

Nathaniel runs a hand through his thin beard. “That’s very kind of you to do that. But it sounds more like a professional goal rather than the personal one I pegged you for.”

Am I really that pathetic? “However my life is to proceed, God will lead me there. Right now I need to work towards earning money for my familie.” I change the tide of the topic. “What about you?”

The sailor tilts his head in thought. “My family’s doing their part. I guess my job is to keep transporting people. Between the depression and the conditions in Germany, more and more people are moving these days.”

“I agree. In fact you might see my broer and his familie pass by too.”

“I’ll keep a weathered eye out,” Nathaniel promises as a black Bentley cruises towards us. “Just remember your family always has a friend at Port of Hull.”

“I am most grateful,” I thank him as I slide in and Dílis jumps up next to me. “Tot ziens, Nathaniel.”

The car drives off and I’m presented with the familiar English countryside. A freezing countryside. It’s no warmer here than Germany. Throughout the whole day I’m driven across the country, watching the many towns and villages blink by. When we drive past places more affected with poverty there’s no denying the strange looks being given to my pristine transport. I’m sure there will come a point when this depression will turn almost any honest man into a desperate one.

“Here we are, Ms. Steenstra,” the driver says as he pulls up to where I assume is the Port of Liverpool. “Mr. Shelby instructed me to bring you here and tell you that he will be waiting for you.”

Of course he will. “Thank you, sir. Komm, Dílis.”

The pup jumps out of the car and we begin to make our way to the docks. After a few minutes of walking I spot the man I’m searching for. Compared to the rest of the sailors and pedestrians here Thomas’ tailored suit sticks out like a sore thumb; though then again my fur coat isn’t too ordinary either. 

He locks eyes with me and stands up from the bench he’s sitting on. I can’t tell- Is he perturbed? Upset? Anxious? The one thing that is clear is his confusion towards the dog perched by my side.

“What is that?” Thomas asks bluntly.

I gesture to the panting canine, who’s already trying to smell him. “This is Dílis, my new companion.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Dílis?”

“It’s Celtic for ‘loyal.’”

This gets a shadow of a smirk on Thomas’ face. “An Irish name for a German dog?”

I shrug. “I’m American. It’s sort of our thing.”

The gangster takes another skeptical look at him. “He’s just a pup.”

“He’ll grow,” I assure sternly. “Dílis, gib pfötchen.”

Dílis stands up and repeats the trick from earlier. What’s different now is that he’s still smelling Thomas, as if trying to uncover what kind of a person he's just met. Meanwhile Thomas is very accepting of this greeting and gives the dog a gloved handshake.

“Hello hello, Dílis.”

I smile proudly. “You have your horses, I have my hond.”

“Indeed. He likes you.”

Dílis licks his glove. “He likes you, too.”

“Yeah. But you’re his master. The one giving the orders. He’s a fighter. He would tear a bloke to pieces for you.” Thomas and I begin walking to the ship bound for Ireland. “I should tell you there’s a new cause for celebration. I’ve arranged for Aberama and Polly to be married. But don’t tell her. She doesn’t know.”

Of course not. Why change anything now? A fleeting thought of relief sparks through me and I close my eyes. “That’s good. We need some good in the world right now. A wedding sounds like a perfect way to share it.”

Another wedding. More talk of love. Another ceremony for me to be cast out of because I can never truly be one of them. Deep breath. Remember who you are here for.

“I have the Müller contracts to submit to you. We can talk about that later. We have lots to discuss from my trip.” A pinch of guilt tugs at my stomach. “Also…”

“No. Don’t tell me,” Thomas grunts and we stop next to the ticket booth. “You want your pay, yeah? ‘Cause that’s all I am to you now. Another paycheck.”

I keep my tone cool. “You should be used to that by now. I wish that wasn’t true. If you had gone through what I have, can you blame me?”

He doesn’t answer. He stays silent and plunges a hand into his pocket, pulling out his glasses. He fishes out his cheque book and after a few waves of a pen hands me the slip. 

“Here. Take the bloody money.”

Another thousand pounds. “My family appreciates it,” I acknowledge gratefully and stow it in my purse. “What did you expect?”

He finishes buying our tickets and scoffs. “‘Hello, Thomas.’ ‘Good to see you.’”

“What’s the good of small talk when you’ll just ignore me again? The contract says I am still an employee so I am here on behalf of my familie to earn some extra wages.”

If he thinks I’m here out of the goodness of my heart he’s dead wrong. It kills me to do this to him but he can’t play the innocent card with me. I’m not the same naïve, helpless meisje who wound up in your kitchen all those years ago. In fact, you could say that you helped shape me into who I am now, Thomas Shelby. Now instead of sporadically handing out kindness, I reserve it and look out for my familie first. Much like yourself.

Four hours later we’re both standing at the edge of the barge, staring out at the approaching country. It doesn’t look to have changed much since the last time I visited. Dílis is already enjoying the fresh air.

“How might I address your uncle?” Thomas mutters after lighting a cigarette.

I pull my coat tighter around me. “His name is Edmund Colon. Mr. Colon will suffice.”

“And this Mr. Colon… He ain’t gonna fuck with my head, is he?”

“Absolutely not. If he dislikes you he will not hesitate to tell you.”

Thomas takes a puff and shows no definite reaction to this answer. “Good to know.”

“Relax. If I’m around he won’t do anything drastic.”

He hums and keeps looking outward. “Have you been in touch with Linda?”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “You know me better. You know I don’t stay in touch with her or Lizzie.” 

He smirks. “I thought you said you tend to avoid jealousy. ‘Causes viciousness,’ as you’ve said.”

“‘S not just that,” I admit. “They don’t want me to talk, so I won’t.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he takes another puff of smoke and straightens his cap. “I’m afraid there’s more news. While you were constructing business in Germany, we had a visit from a mister Brilliant Chang. We’re now helping to transport opium.”

Drugs? He’s shipping drugs now? How can he agree to that after the mess that drug gave to his body? Well, he most certainly isn’t going to convince me to sell it.

“I see” is all I answer with.

Thomas grunts. “I must say it was unfortunate that you were not here to negotiate. Chang brought a whore who put a gun to Finn’s head.”

His tone sounds as one does when talking about the weather. First Finn gets himself shot and now this? It’s like Polly said when I first started. They forget he’s still so young. Even Finn is forgetting how stupid he can be.

“It was Finn who allowed such a woman to get so close,” I reply softly, reaching down to scratch Dílis’ ears.

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Thomas sighs. “There’s more.” 

My head whips up at him. “More?”

“Yes. We’ve been in contact with a gang called the Billy Boys.” Thomas licks his lips and continues. “They’re the ones who killed Bonnie Gold. Billy Boys fucking tied him to a cross and shot him.”

Bang! The memory of a gunshot rings through my head and the image of Bonnie’s corpse takes form. My body goes stiff and my cold hands grip the railing.

“Jesus Christ… " I murmur with dread. "Have they no morals? Is this all just to get to you? Thomas…”

His icy blue eyes creep over to mine, analyzing me. “You think I don’t feel guilt?”

“I’m saying… When will enough be enough for you?” I gasp. “Your company, your empire, has grown most impressively despite the losses in America. History shows that every civilization eventually experiences its downfall. You need to know when enough is enough!” 

Thomas’ jaw tightens and he takes a step back, pointing a finger at me. “I had you bring me here to discuss matters with your uncle so that I might handle them. Not to hear about how everything I do is wrong.”

My face stays straight and my stare hardens. “I never said that. And believe me, Edmund Colon will say these exact same words when he hears of what you’re going through.” 

The ship docks and I immediately lead Dílis off. Lord, I am already losing patience. Just pay attention and get Thomas to the meeting. Settle things out and then I can get back to work.

Thomas hails a cab and when I ask for Uncle Colon’s address the driver gives me a double-take. Even here it’s not a normal request to be driven to a gangster’s home. But he agrees and in no less than twenty minutes we’re riding through misty green meadows and over frozen streams. Thomas and I stay quiet the whole time and the only noise comes from Dílis’ small whines. Soon the car approaches Uncle Colon’s road and the sight of the cozy stone home makes me relax by a fraction. With its trimmed fence and many bushes. Even the guards don’t bother me. The handful of men standing watch outside recognize me and give friendly waves as I step out of the car.

Thomas, however, is not eased at all about their company. He keeps fingering his cap and running his hand over his jacket where his gun is most likely concealed. I snap him out of it by taking his hand and leading him and Dílis around to the barn. We step inside out of the mist and I hear metal clanking in the distance. I poke my head around a corner and spot Uncle Colon hunched over a beaten up Ford truck. His rolled up sleeves allow for a view of the Celtic cross tattooed to his wrist, just like my necklace. His worn work clothes are a steep difference compared to Thomas' overdressed appearance.

Arf!

At the sound of Dílis’ noise my uncle looks over his shoulder and gets a wide grin.

“Ah, Verena! How’s the cutting?” Uncle Colon greets as he wrings his hands on a grease towel.

“As good as it can when the world’s this dark,” I smile and we both hug. “Good to see you, Uncle Colon!”

Dílis doesn’t hesitate to begin smelling his shoes. “Who is this handsome beast?”

“This is Dílis,” I introduce.

Uncle Colon gets a wise gleam in his eye. “Ah, wise choice. He does look very loyal.” He gets the towel down and reaches for a glass of water. “Have you heard any word from Alfie?”

My smile fades. “I’m afraid Mr. Solomons has been dead for some time now, Uncle Colon.”

The older man’s eyes soften. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It appears our estranged relationship will go on unmended.” His eyes travel past me and his gaze sharpens. “I see you brought someone. This is your boss, then?”

I step aside and gesture to my colleague. “This is Thomas-”

“Thomas Shelby, of Shelby Company Limited,” Uncle Colon asserts, staring him square on. “Anyone who’s anyone here knows about you.”

Thomas stays quiet the whole time, not showing too much gruffness but not exactly appearing overly friendly either. He never moves his eyes away from my uncle.

“He’s the one who’s requested an audience with you,” I remind him.

Uncle Colon nods, staring at Thomas, and goes to pull a tarp over his project. “Alright, then. This banjaxed car can wait a moment or two. Go on in, Verena. Help yourself to a drink.”

Don’t mind if I do. I nudge Dílis forward and walk back out into the damp pasture towards the house’s warm glow. My end of today’s job is done. It’s up to Thomas now to strike an understanding with my own familie.

General POV

The rugged Irishman leads Thomas into another room in the barn. This one appears less dirty and more for business purposes. How can Thomas tell? Because of the waiting cases of empty whiskey bottles. Somewhere in here is Edmund Colon’s own small distillery. Thomas should respect it as if it were his own.

So this is the man who’s always stood behind Verena. The connection to the White Hand. At a glance Thomas thinks he could pass for any other Irishman. A few inches taller than he is, calculating hazel eyes, and a worn face with a faint beard matching the salt and pepper hair tucked under his flat cap. No dapper suit or accessories. His clothing consists of simple muck boots, work trousers, suspenders, undershirt and coat. One could say he appears as a wise friend.

This Mr. Colon is part of Verena’s family, there’s no doubt about it. She shares his bluntness and sense of tradition. If only Thomas wasn’t equally blunt when he paid her. His words are coming back to haunt him. Now he’s whoring away his shame to her while she earns the paycheck.

“Four years ago you got a taste of American cars,” Colon gloats as he pours them each a drink. “Did you enjoy our gift?”

“Yes. The Hudson still works splendidly. It’s one of my brother’s favorites.” They each take a seat on some barrels and Thomas looks up again. “Mr. Solomons is alive and well, Mr. Colon. Verena doesn’t know.”

Colon takes a deep breath and swirls the whiskey in his cup. “Sometimes a dead man is a free man in this world. Give him my regards, if you wouldn’t mind.” He gets a distant look and states: “I love my country, Mr. Shelby. Ireland is a true beauty. But you English always look at us the wrong way.” His hazel eyes flash up to inspect Thomas. “You Peaky Blinders certainly have made a name for yourselves.”

“If you know who we are-” The Brummie gangster starts to explain.

“Mr. Shelby, I don’t care if you’re Gypsy, Catholic, or Jewish. The only reason you’re still breathing is because my informants keep me updated on one of your employees.” Colon points in the direction he just sent Verena and then points to himself. “My niece. Right out there. She trusts you. That got me thinking. You are not members of the Crown, nor am I a member of the IRA. We are simply two men trying to do business for the good of our families. So let us have it remain that way.”

Thomas replays his words and it clicks that now he’s getting somewhere. Just like Verena, any of Colon’s decisions are going to be based on family. 

“My cousin informed me of some men passing through Belfast,” Thomas expresses, taking a drink of the familiar whiskey. “Those one’s called Billy Boys.”

Colon lightly pounds the wall. “Them damn Billy Boys. Thinking they can walk through my streets all high and grand. What trouble did they give you, eh?”

“They’re trying to snuff us out.”

The Irishman lets out a laugh and raises his glass. “Join the club. How’s about we make a deal? I keep away any more mishaps from affecting your trade routes through Belfast, and you kill Jimmy McCavern.”

This man works fast. Thomas can already tell he’s read his character but the question is why is Colon already so accepting? Is it because of Verena’s trust in him?

“That isn’t a fair trade, Mr. Colon. We both want him dead.”

“Yes. But it gives you better motivation. You deal with him and it will prove to me if I should help you. Prove to me that the Shelbys are all they're made out to be.” Colon polishes off the rest of his liquor. “Oh, a fair warning. We do not control the Titanic folk, Mr. Shelby. We keep to ourselves. If they cause trouble it will not be the White Hand’s problem.”

“Very well.”

Thomas takes that as his que of dismissal and stands up, dusting off his jacket. He nearly reaches the end of the room when Mr. Colon speaks again.

“One final thought, Mr. Shelby.” Thomas hears his boots creak closer and closer until Colon puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “You know, when I married my dear Eleanor I thought the guns and fights would leave us alone. But you can’t have both, Thomas Shelby. One or the other, they cannot coexist. From what I’ve been told you found this out the hard way. Your first wife-”

Thomas flinches. “Do not bring my late wife into this.”

“The Hell I will,” Colon growls. “You’re a chaser. This is the life you made for yourself, Shelby. Do not drag my niece into it too. No bullet will be carved with her name.”

The Brummie swallows. “Verena chose to-”

“Malarkey! First you make her think she owes you. Then she falls in love with you.” Colon holds up his wrist with the tattoo. “I am a religious man, Mr. Shelby. But if you break her heart… Another dead man is no skin off my nose. Have I made myself clear?”

His other hand reaches for a pistol under his jacket, never breaking eye contact, and Thomas knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s the same process he goes through when scum politicians and aristocrats turn their noses up at his own family. He never wanted to cause Verena pain. It just… fell out of place. But there is no denying now that he will do what it takes to support her family. 

Thomas holds out a hand and the two men shake. “Very.”

Verena’s POV

It’s sad to see how the house has gotten so cluttered. Instead of a mobster’s home it looks like a hunting cabin. I remember when I was younger it was always spotless, with fresh flowers placed around during springtime. Aunt Eleanor’s touch has since been fading away. Part of this reminds me of Vinegar Hill back home. More Celtic crosses, a faded Bible placed on the mantel, and some of vader’s gifted delft pottery. 

Dílis has taken the liberty to lay in front of the warm fireplace. I set down my glass and look up at the ticking grandfather clock. It’s been an hour. How long are they going to talk? Is Thomas really so stubborn to ignore what offer Uncle Colon might have? If he knows anything about the men who killed Bonnie then he should not hesitate. 

I think back to Michael’s words. This is by far the time to not hesitate. Now is the time for action, to show that Thomas is no spent force. Franz was right. Trouble is brewing and I am not going to let myself be caught in it.

Creak.

The back door swings open and Uncle Colon steps in, stomping the mud off his boots. 

“I left your boss outside to wait.” He points to where he just came from. “Verena. That man. He is just as I’ve been told. Stubborn, scheming, arrogant. Yet you still give yourself to him.”

My jaw drops. “I do not-”

“I’m not talking about virginity. I’m talking about time. For over ten years you’ve served this man. And for what?” He taps the side of his head. “That’s the question you need to answer, Verena.”

If I didn’t know better I’d say his lecture is tinged with pity. Lord knows I’m one of the oddballs in my familie as far as courtship goes but I think I’ve done enough mental bashing to myself by now. Of all people I’d hoped Uncle Colon might understand my position.

“I know.”

My uncle takes my hand as if to say he means no harm. “You’re a wise lass. I know you will do as God guides you. But make sure you remember to value your time, Verena. As your Aunt Eleanor would say, time’s as precious as endless fortunes of gold.”

I respond with a bittersweet smile. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good. ‘S been good to see you, lass.” He smiles down at my dog, who’s now up and alert. “You take care of her now, Dílis. Eh?” 

He leans in for a hug goodbye and I lead Dílis back to the door. Thomas is already waiting in the car. 

“Visit your crazy uncle more often, eh? Slán.”

His Irish phrase brings a smile to my face and I wave goodbye before climbing into the car next to Thomas and Dílis.

“Tot ziens, Uncle Colon. Thanks a million.”

The driver revs the engine and begins driving down the muddy road. As the cottage gets further and further behind us Thomas makes no move to speak. Did Uncle Colon have news for him? Did they accomplish anything?

“What did you think of my uncle?” I outright ask in a laid-back tone. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Thomas pauses, still staring ahead. “You’ve said family is everything to you… Never thought it was this deep.”

“What do you think I first thought when I first saw how your familie runs itself?”

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5