#real anxious to open that up before the next one opens at shit o clock

[saey-bae]

writers rejoice because i know i’m not the only one googling weird shit at 2:42 am for their writing

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

You Over Her

Request: Hello. I was hoping I could request a Peter Parker imagine where Peter goes to Y/N to ask for her help to tell M.J how he feels in FFH. Y/N has a crush on Peter but helps him but instead Peter falls for Y/N? Angsty to happy fluffy ending?

Requested by: @mintynapalm-blog

Paring: Peter Parker x reader

Word Count: 5.6K (this was longer and still shorter than I imagined?)

~Master~

~Marvel Master~

Peter had no idea how to tell a girl he liked her. He knew it, Ned knew it, you knew it, hell even May knew it. He somehow always managed to embarrass himself and never get the job done. Like right now as you sat in class next to Peter and Ned as they went over Peter’s plan to ask out MJ.

You were flipping through your book, barely reading it as you listened to Peter. “Okay, first I sit next to MJ on the flight.” He began as Ned and you nodded, humming a yes. “Second, I’m gonna buy a dual headphone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time.”

“Okay.” Ned said, prompting him to continue.

“Three, when we go to Venice, Venice is super famous for making stuff out of glass, right? So, I’m gonna buy her a Black Dahlia necklace, because her favorite flower is the Black Dahlia, because of, well...”

“The murder.” Ned filled in, you looked up just in time to see Peter with a lovesick smile. Your eyes shot back to your book as fast as they’d risen.

“Right. And four, when we go to Paris, I’m gonna take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace. Five, I’m gonna tell her how I feel. And then six, hopefully she’ll tell me she feels the same way.” He finished with a satisfied smile on his face as he looked between you and Ned. Your focus was still on the book and Peter felt a little less successful.

“Oh!” Ned shouted, getting Peter’s attention. “Don’t forget step seven.”

Peter furrowed his brows as looked at you and Ned wondering if he was forgetting something. “Step seven?” he asked. Ned glanced at you briefly with a smirk as you quirked a brow.

“Don’t do any of that.” You let out a snort at Ned’s words, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and prevent another from coming through. Peter’s whole face dropped at Ned’s words and you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He must really like MJ.

So, you might’ve been crushing on Peter. Crushing putting in lightly.

“Y/NNN!!” Peter called at you, snapping you out of your slight daydream. You played if off and luckily neither Peter or Ned caught on. “I need your help.”

“My help? What the hell with?” you were already unnerved by the smile Peter was giving you and you weren’t looking forward to finding out what he wanted.

“Well you’re a girl.”

You blinked at him, your lips falling into a thin line. “Astute observation Pete.” You closed your book, moving to stand up and shove it into your backpack before Peter grabbed your arm.

“No! I just mean- I meant, you’re a girl. You’re good at these things, right?” He sounded desperate and with a sigh you sat down, slouching in your seat a little.

“Good at what? Asking someone out? Peter you know I’ve never asked someone out right?” You didn’t really want to have this conversation, but you knew Peter was going to keep asking.

“Well, you know how girls want to be asked out. You could help me, you know, ask out MJ.” Peter smiled at you and you groaned, closing your eyes.

Well shit, he had a point there.

“Please Y/N, you know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. Please?” He gave you his puppy dog eyes, the ones you knew you could never say no to as you groaned, throwing your head back.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll help you.”

“No Y/N you can’t.” Ned said. Mentally you were relieved, but you didn’t understand and neither did Peter. “We were going to be bachelors in Europe Peter!” You had to laugh at his statement, both boys looking at you before Ned carried on. “Look, I may not know much, but I do know this: Europeans love Americans and more than half of them are woman.”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure that’s not true.” You told him, patting his back.

“Less than half are woman?” Ned clarified as you rolled your eyes, giving up.

“Sure Neddie. Sure.”

Peter groaned, getting your attentions again. “I really like MJ, Okay? She’s awesome, she’s funny in a sort of dark way, and sometimes I catch her looking at me.” He glanced over your shoulder, seeing MJ coming your way as his eyes widened. “Guys, she’s coming. Just don’t say anything.” You rolled your eyes, turning in your seat momentarily to send your friend a smile.

“What up, dorks? Excited about the science trip?” She asked, leaning into the table to stand next to you.

“Yeah, and Peter’s plan.” Ned said as Peter and you both looked at him with wide eyes. He wouldn’t tell MJ, right?

“What plan?”

“I-I don’t have a plan.” Peter blurted out.

Ned tried to make things better, only to make things worse. “No, he’s just going to collect tiny spoons while we’re traveling to other countries.”

MJ scrunched her face up, looking at Peter like he was crazy. “Like a grandmother?”

“It’s for his Aunt May.” You interrupted them, sending Ned and Peter a look to play along. “All the ones she collected were lost after the blip. Peter was going to buy some new ones for her.” MJ looked almost taken back by your response, the boys surprise almost matching until you kicked them both under the table.

“Uh, Yeah. T-they’re for May.”

“Wow, Peter. That’s really cool.” Peter smiled nervously to her, making your stomach drop slightly. “By the way, travel tip: You should probably download a VPN on your phone, just so that the government can’t track you while we’re abroad.” MJ said returning to the girl you knew. Peter chuckled, telling her the idea was smart before watching her walk away.

He turned to Ned, glaring at him before looking at you. “Don’t mention it Peter.” You gave him a smile before grabbing your book and headed towards the door.

“Well, I think that went great.” Ned shrugged as Peter nodded, sending him another glare before watching you disappear.

You flipped through the channels on the news while sitting on your couch, seeing reporter after reporter talking about the blip. You were about to turn it off before you saw Peter dressed as Spider-Man at what seemed to be a support rally. You sat up and listened to the reporters attack him, asking him if he was going to be the next avenger or how he was supposed to fill Tony’s shoes. You hated listening, about to turn it off before seeing Peter start to get anxious, leaving the interview as fast as he could.

You sighed, reaching for your phone and shooting Peter a quick text asking if he was alright. You didn’t expect Peter to answer after moments like these, he needed space and you knew that. But you couldn’t help but wonder if MJ texted instead of you, would he have answered?

Peter ended up texting you that night before he went to bed, apologizing for not answering earlier. You were already in bed when you got his text, and the one following asking if he could FaceTime with you.

You groaned checking yourself out in your camera. Your hair was a mess and you looked like you haven’t slept in days, but you ignored it knowing Peter’s seen you looking this bad before.

You pressed the call button and the moment his face popped up on your screen, you had to laugh. He was holding the phone way to close to his face and the lights of the room were off, the only brightness coming from his screen.

“Pete, pull the phone away!” You giggled as he let out a groan, pulling the device from his face slightly. You felt yourself gasp when you realized he was shirtless, and you hoped he hadn’t heard it.

“Why are you up so late?” He grumbled out, turning to lay on his back and bunching his pillow into his chin.

You looked over to the clock in your bedside table, reading the bright letters telling you it was half passed one in the morning. You shrugged at the screen. “I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep. ‘Sides, we leave for Europe tomorrow.” Peter groaned, running a hand over his face making you chuckle again. “Were you on patrol?”

He nodded, shooting you a lazy smile. “Yeah, figured I get one more night in before we leave.” In the dark, Peter looked at his empty suitcase. “I’d ask if you’re packed yet, but knowing you, you’ve been packed since we got back.”

“Hey, I am an organized person, okay. But Peter, please tell me you haven’t put off packing.” He gave you a grin, one that told you he did in fact put off packing. You scoffed, smirking at him. “So, any progress on dating MJ?” You didn’t know why you brought it up, it hurt you to think about, but you knew it was important to him.

“What? O-oh, Uh Nope. Not since class.” You started to nod because letting out a yawn, him making chuckle. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You asked before another yawn took you over, your eyes droopy.

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m fine Peter.” You lied. Peter didn’t say anything, just watching you yawn a third time. “I swear I wasn’t yawning a minute ago.”

“Aw, Y/N am I putting you to sleep?”

“Shut up jerk. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so tired if you would’ve gotten off patrol earlier.” You laughed but Peter didn’t laugh with you, instead his brows furrowing.

“You were awake because you were waiting for me? I thought you said you couldn’t sleep.” You realized what you had just said, telling Peter the real reason you stay up until 1:30.

You didn’t have time to respond before your dad opened the door. “Come on Y/N. You promised last night you’d go to bed earlier.” He flickered your lights before Peter’s chuckle made its way through the phones speaker and your dad stopped. “Good to bed, Peter.” He called out, watching you turn the phone to him.

“Sorry Mr. Y/L/N!” Peter said over the phone, both of you trying to keep yourselves from laughing as your dad sent you a knowing smirk. Behind the camera your eyes widened, glaring at him and silently pleading that he would stop and shut the door. He finally relented, turning your light off on the way.

You face palmed as you spun the phone around again, seeing Peter’s teasing smile. “Ooh, you got in trouble.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I know.” You sighed, looking at Peter through the phone. “Night Petey.”

“Good night Y/N.” Peter watched as you pressed the end call button, your face lingered on his screen for an extra second before it disappeared and he turned off his phone, bathing him in darkness as he worried about this trip.

The airplane was exactly how you expected it to be. The kids from your class were creating chaos as people tried to board, making you laugh and shake your head. You took your seat next to Brad and looked around for your friends. Betty and MJ were sitting in the row behind you and Peter and Ned were sitting on the window a couple rows ahead. You could see Peter kept glancing at MJ before you remembered his plan.

Step 1: Sit next to MJ on the flight

You thought about how to do this, tapping Betty on the shoulder. “Hey Betts, would you mind switching seats with Peter? He’s a little allergic to the perfume of the lady in front of him.” Betty furrowed her brows but stood up none the less, climbing over MJ and heading to the row Peter and MJ sat.

“Hey guys.” She said as Peter and Ned just stared at her, making her more confused. “Peter, Y/N said you needed to switch seats? Something about allergies.” One look at the face you were giving Peter told him that this was all part of your plan as he quickly got to his feet.

“Oh yeah! Uh, thanks Betty.” Ned let him out of the row as Betty took Peter’s seat, giving Ned a shy smile. When Peter passed you, you gave him a thumbs up before settling into your own seat. You hadn’t realized Brad was watching you with a raised brow and a smirk of his own.

“What?” you asked him as he shrugged, the smirk never leaving his lips.

“Nothing. Just thought it was weird you couldn’t switch with Parker. Especially since in doing so, you could sit next to your friends. But instead you’re here, sitting next to me.” You bit the inside of your cheek, grinning a bit yourself because Brad had a point.

“Maybe I wanted to sit next to you.” He let out a chuckle, knowing you were just messing with him to drop the conversation. You reached into your bag, pulling out your earbuds and putting them on your table. Brad watched you, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a dual headphone connector he had bought for this exact reason.

“Wanna share?” He offered, getting your attention. You looked between him and the connector before snickering under your breath.

“Sure Davis, why not.” Peter watched between the cracks of the chair as you plug your earbuds into Brads, putting them into your ears. He couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably in his seat at the sight before MJ nudged him.

“Dude, you okay?” She asked as he nodded, pulling his attention away from you onto her.

Step 2: Watch movies with her the whole time

Peter offered MJ the dual headphone connector. She shrugged as she plugged her headphones in, and Peter put on a movie that was something MJ liked. But he couldn’t help but look through the cracks of the seats to see you snort at the movie you and Brad were watching before covering your mouth, hoping no one heard or saw. But Peter did because right now, his attention was solely focused on you. And the way you rested your head on Brad’s shoulder to see the movie better.

And the way his stomach felt to be on fire, lighting his heart along with it.

The first stop on your trip to Europe was Venice and you couldn’t be happier. Brad decided to stick by you since the flight, you didn’t really mind honestly, Peter was trying to get with MJ and Ned had forgone his entire Bachelor’s in Europe plan when he and Betty started to date during the 9-hour-flight. You were all headed to the Saint Marco Polo’s Square basking in the sunlight as it hit your face.

“Y/N!” Peter called after you as you set off with Brad who was going to take your pictures for you. You turned around to see Peter jogging up to you as you pulled your sunglasses off, giving him a soft smile.

“Hey Pete. What’s up?” you could’ve sworn Peter sent Brad a glare, but you shook the feeling off, believing it to just be in your head.

Brad on the other hand, caught Peter’s glare and threw his arm over your shoulder. You raised a teasing brow at him, but he wasn’t looking at you but at Peter. “I uh, I was hoping you’d come with me to buy the um,” He seemed to pause in his words when he saw Brads fingers placed delicately on your exposed shoulders thanks to your top that cut off just above your navel and came up to tie around your neck. You tilted your head at him. “To buy the thing.” It took you only a second to remember step 3 of the plan.

Step 3: Buy her a Black Dahlia necklace

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth before turning to Brad, giving him a sweet smile and putting your hand on his arm. “Sorry, I kind of promised him. Rain check?” Brad didn’t want to, but he nodded, feeling you pat his arm before walking away with Peter.

Peter didn’t say anything as you kept stealing glances at him. You were getting kind of tired of the silence as you bumped your arm with his. “So, where’s this glass necklace shop?” You asked looking around.

Peter looks around, seeing the sign just ahead as he points. “It’s just up there.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Peter was about to question you before you grabbed his hand, taking off running through the square. Peter laughed hard as he was forced to chase after you, seeing you glance back at him every so often with a wide smile that just made him more confused with his feelings.

The store came quicker than he hoped as you stopped running, dropping Peter’s hand from yours and panted slightly. You looked at the quaint store, marveling in its beauty before Peter held the door open you. Inside was even more lovely than the outside, every wall and case filled with glass designs as you began to look around.

“Buongiorno.” Peter told the older man behind the counter who repeated the saying, giving you both a warm smile. “Hi, I’m looking for a-“

The man stopped Peter before he could say anything else.

“No English.” He said as Peter’s face dropped. You grabbed Peter’s hand stepping up to the counter.

“il mio sta cercando una collana.” You spoke up as Peter looked at you with wide eyes. The man’s warm smile was back, directly pointed to you as you described the necklace to him. He made the necklace before holding it up for you and Peter.

“Fiore Nero.” Peter took the necklace into his hands.

“è perfetto.” You thanked the man for making it and Peter paid him before you both headed outside, Peter once again looking at you amazed.

“I didn’t know you knew Italian.”

You shrugged, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes when the sun hit them. “My mom loved Italy, she always promised to take my dad and here when I grew up. She started teaching me when I was young.” Peter’s smile fell a little when you mentioned your mom. He remembered the day 13-year-old you called him, crying over the phone and he had to beg May to drive him to your place just so he could comfort you. He knew how hard it was to lose your parents.

“Y/N-“

“What was step 4 again?” you interrupted him, not wanting to get into his conversation right now in the middle of Venice. Peter cleared his throat, looking straight ahead to where MJ was standing surrounded by birds.

“Give her the necklace on top of the Eiffel Tower.” He reminded you and you nodded, giving him a smile.

“Good, so now you have time to ensure she feels the same about you.”

“What are you talking about?” You rolled your eyes, looking around the square as you talked.

“Well, step 6 is hoping MJ feels the same and in order to for her to feel that way, you have to convince her.” You stopped Peter in his tracks, getting him to look at MJ playing with the birds. “Peter I’ve never had a boyfriend, okay? It’s pretty obvious that I don’t know how to get a guy to like me,” Peter wanted to object when you were too busy watching MJ to him as you kept talking, “but I know what a guy could do to get me to like him.”

It was pretty easy to figure out. It was everything Peter did.

Peter nodded his head, taking deep breaths as you laughed quietly, putting your hands on his shoulders to get him to look at you. “Peter, trust me, you’ll have no problems getting her to like you.” Peter’s lips curled up in a smile at your words, for a second you enjoyed the moment, but that moment was over as soon as you remembered you were trying to set him up with your friend. You cleared your throat, pulling your eyes back to MJ and taking your hands off his shoulder. “Just be honest with her. No one likes secrets, especially from a guy trying to ask her out.”

“Honest. Okay, I-I can do that.” He said as he bounced on his feet, getting his whole body in motion to hype himself up. You chuckled to yourself as you watched him, giving his shoulder a slight push in her direction. Peter stumbled as he started looking, turning back to you with wide eyes. You gave him a smile, one that Peter found to calm his nerves immensely as he inhaled, carrying on with the plan. You watched Peter walk away, literally right into MJ’s hands from yours. Your heart was drowning in your chest as you watched Peter and her talk, seeing the smiles he gave her and knowing they were nothing like the smiles he was giving you. You had to turn away at the sound of MJ’s laughter.

“Are you sure you should be helping him?” You jumped in your spot at the sound of Ned’s voice behind you. Your hand flew to your chest as you spun around to scowl at him, seeing Betty and him side by side. The smirk Ned wore made you glance over your shoulder briefly to Peter before shaking your head.

“And why shouldn’t I? I mean, he is my best friend.”

This time it was Betty’s turn to smirk at you. “Because you’re in love him.”

“Betty!” Your jaw dropped as she shrugged her shoulders, resting her head onto Ned. “I’m not in love with Peter.”

“Come on Y/N. Just be honest with him.” Ned mocked giving you a smile and you knew he overheard your conversation with Peter.

“It’s not that easy, Ned.” You sighed, feeling Ned’s arm around your shoulder as you walked away. “He likes MJ. I’m helping him ask out MJ. Not me.”

“So, you’re not gonna deny it?” Ned asked as he felt you chuckle in his arm.

“Would you believe me if I denied it again?” Betty and Ned shook their heads as you all snickered, moving on to visit Venice. You hadn’t realized that the moment you started walking away, Peter’s eyes were drawn to you, seeing you sulk with Ned and Betty. His brows were drawn together as he forgot about the girl who was playing with pigeons in front of him, focusing instead on you who was currently throwing your head back in laughter at something Ned or Betty had said.

Ned and Betty wanted to ride a gondola together and not wanting to be a third wheel or ruin their vacation, you opted out, telling them you just wanted to check out some of the shops. Your first trip to Venice wasn’t at all what you expected it to be, but you weren’t really complaining. It was a beautiful day out and the people were kind, always offering you smiles whenever they saw you. It wasn’t long after before you figured it was time to start finding your classmates. You were in a little boutique much like the one you were in with Peter before you started hearing screaming outside, you and the shop owner exchanging worried glances as you left the store. The moment you did, you regretted it, your jaw dropping at the sight of a huge water monster taking form in the canal. People ran by you shrieking, the woman you were with doing the same and grabbing your arm. The action snapped you out of your shock as your feet started running, trying to keep you from falling on your face.

The woman’s grip on you dropped when a piler landed between you, both of you jumping to the side to avoid being crushed. You had landed on the ground, your legs giving out under you before you felt someone pull you up. “Y/N!” He shouted, his hands cupping your face to make you realize it was Peter.

Your eyes couldn’t seem to focus before he started to pull you along, bringing you to an area that was semi clear. “Peter?” you cried out, getting him to look at you. He was soaked in his clothes, his hair draping in his face. “What is happening?” You looked at the water monster, buildings being broken as your heart raced. “What is that?!”

Peter didn’t know how to answer that, his wet hair flopping as he looked between you and the monster. “I don’t know. Just stay here.” He grabbed your hands, looking in your eyes. “Please tell me you’re staying here.” You mouth opened, trying to say something but nothing worked so you nodded, feeling Peter squeeze your hands before running away.

You didn’t know how long you stood there watching Peter battle the water monster attacking Venice. You were safe where Peter had left you. Keyword, were. A rush of water hit the building next to you, the wood cracking before it fell. You let out a scream, backing against the opposite wall. The wall connecting the two buildings together started to fall as well and you knew you had to get out of there.

You stepped out the store, dashing away as the building crumbled, sending you to the ground again. You groaned as you pushed yourself up, barely getting one foot flat on the ground before you let out a scream. Water fell atop you, knocking you over and slamming your head against the ground below you. A sharp pain went through the back of your head as the water cleared up. You coughed the water out of your lungs, clutching the back of your head and thanking the fact no blood had shown up but it didn’t last long before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you passed out.

When the water monster was taken care of, thanks to some magical hero Peter had never met before, he immediately went back to where he left you. But when he saw the building you were last in collapsed on the ground; Peter felt his entire body give out. He took off running, ignoring the cries of his legs and his eyes as he jumped onto the rubble, pulling debris away left and right in hopes of finding you.

You couldn’t be gone. You had to be alright.

Peter’s cries turned into guttural screams as he neared the bottom, only seeing ground instead of you. He shouldn’t have left you there. He should’ve brought you to Ned or MJ. He was with MJ, just before the monster attacked but he left her with Brad, running off to find you as none of his classmates new about your whereabouts. Peter sucked in a breath, trying to keep from crying more as he grasped the fact if he hadn’t found you, maybe you were okay. Maybe you were with your friends. He felt around his pocket for his phone, pulling it out to find it waterlogged. He groaned, rubbing the palm of his hands to his eyes before he shoved the device into his pocket, stood onto his wobbly feet and started back to the crappy hotel you were hopefully in.

When he arrived, Mr. Harrington sighed in relief thanking the fact that Peter was alright. Ned was out of his seat, rushing to Peter’s side as Peter’s eyes scanned around the room for you, only to come up empty. The dread in his stomach only increased as he grabbed his friend’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “Ned. Where’s Y/N?”

Ned copied Peter’s stance, giving him a smile. “Calm down! Calm down. She’s fine. She’s in her room with MJ. She found her passed out on the ground and Brad helped carry her back here.” Ned was barely done with his sentence before Peter was running up the stairs three steps at a time, his classmates watching his frantic actions before turning back to the tv where Mysterio was being shown. Peter headed straight to your room, the door busting open to reveal you and MJ both jumping as you sat on the bed, MJ right next to you as you were wrapped in a blanket, holding an ice pack to your head.

Peter let out a shaky sigh, as soon as soon as he saw you, his lips turning into a smile when yours did. “Thank god.” He mumbled before making his way to the bed. You immediately jumped up, the ice pack and blanket falling off you as ran to Peter. His hands immediately went around your waist as you threw yours around his neck, letting him lift you into the air for a hug. His head nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he shook in your embrace.

MJ watched with a smirk before standing up from her chair, walking past you both and to the door. You pulled yourself from Peter to look at her. “I’ll leave you to it.” She winked at you as you gulped, looking to the floor before up to Peter. His eyes were locked on your face and watery, tears wanting to race down his puffy cheeks. He hadn’t even looked back at MJ, his sole focus on you as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek.

“Peter.” You whispered, feeling your voice crack.

“I thought I lost you.” He muttered, bringing his other hand up to your other cheek. You grabbed his wrists softly, gently rubbing your thumbs on his skin. “I thought I killed y-“

“No.” you stopped him, your hold on his wrists tightening briefly. “Don’t say that Peter. It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“I’m so sorry.” He sobbed out, bringing you into his arms again. You held him close to you, letting yourself cry into his shoulder as he did yours. Peter knew you were right, but he was the one to tell you to stay there. And if you died without him telling you the truth…

Peter pulled away as fast as he could, startling you as your hands fell off him, both of you standing a few feet away. Peter didn’t say anything, making you nervous as he looked at you, just looking at you. You didn’t know if it was the concussion you were sure to have or the way Peter’s eyes glinted as he looked at you right now, his lips turning into the smile you grew fond of.

Peter knew the smile he’d given you was different than the one he gives everyone else, and much different than the ones he’d given MJ. The smiles he gave you were nowhere near the ones he gave her. The ones he gave you held emotions; it was Peter looking at you with a love he didn’t even know he had yet.

Step 5: Tell her how you feel

Just be honest with her

“Y/N I love you.” You froze under his gaze, your heart pounding through your ears, making you believe you heard him wrong.

“W-what?” You stuttered out. Peter’s confidence dropped, his smile dropping and making you realize you hadn’t heard him wrong. “Wait, you don’t mean that as ‘I love you, you’re my best friend’ right? I- I mean, what about MJ?”

Peter let out a light, airy chuckle, shaking his head and licking his lips. He didn’t say anything as he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into him again and pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes closed, your hands slowly moving up to run your fingers through his hair. Peter feeling your fingers tug his locks, took the chance to deepen the kiss. When you pulled apart, your forehead rested onto his, noses nudging together. “Y/N, I’d choose you over her every day.” His breath fanned over you lips, making you giggle and bite your lip, looking into his eyes.

“I’m not just imagining this because of my head, am I?” you joked as Peter laughed and closed his eyes, crinkles lining the corners. When he opened them again, Peter was greeted with a sight that made him weak in the knees. Not from the way 20 minutes ago he was digging around in a collapsed building thinking you were underneath, or the way his legs ran him throughout the city when he had hope you were at the hotel. No, this weak in the knees started as a flutter in his heart, a warmth encasing his body, seeming to pinpoint the small places your fingers delicately touched his skin.

Step 6: Hope that she feels the same way

Peter took your hand in his, threading your fingers with his. “Peter.” You spoke softly, making Peter stop fidgeting with your fingers. “I love you too.” Peter didn’t know how much he needed to hear those words coming out of your mouth. He wrapped his arms around your waist again and hauled you in the air, spinning you around before laying another kiss on your lips.

A/N: I literally couldn’t figure out how to finish this piece, so I just did. Hope you like it and it’s what you wanted hon! Let me know what y’all think!

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[dakohtah]

my god, haven’t we grown up a little?

ducknerva? minewton? whatever u call it, have some hot, fresh Big Wife, Little Husband TAZ: Amnesty fiction, also available on my ao3

..

It wasn’t that Duck was emotionally constipated or, like, real invested in the concept of his own masculinity. He was just a dude. Maybe a dude who, say, didn’t really do ‘opening up’ super well.

No, like, for real.

Not in the “aw, shucks, no one taught me basic emotional competency” way, but more in the “God cursed me with a very particular voice and face that makes emotional intimacy difficult at best” way.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know how it looked. It was a bad look. He knew that. But, listen, okay?

It was the oldest story in the book: there are two folks, right? One has a big destiny, and the other is some kinda alien sword mentor, or something. There’s a big talking sword, that’s a whole thing. And then, uh. Well, like, twenty years pass. That’s nothing, though, they don’t talk or anything. But eventually they live together? Like, later. Way later. Only Aubrey is there, too, so it isn’t, uh. Well, you know how Aubrey is. Anyhow, Leo’s next door, too, so—it’s not—it, uh—yeah.

Yada yada, they fight some aliens, like, real good, and then—boom! You know. Some of their closest friends are in an alien dimension, maybe forever, and it’s time to figure out what comes next.

Well, it turned out Brazil was next. That part was kinda easy, actually.

Planting trees. Doing good. The whole, uh, thing. And Duck usually felt okay about that—real okay. Maybe better than he ever had, actually.

It was good work to be doing. And it felt good.

And, well, maybe—you know. It’s back to the story, right? Maybe one of the two—the big destiny one? You remember. Maybe he, somewhere along the way, kind of, uh—you know? Right? You gotta know. It’s kinda really obvious, and he’s kinda been really counting on that because—uh.

Aw, Christ. He really just thought that she’d, like, know. You know?

Seemed like everyone else did, anyhow.

“Y’gotta say something, Duck. I don’t—God damn it, you’re so stupid. How’d you survive a whole apocalypse with such a bad case of stupid, huh?”

Duck didn’t know, so he said, “I don’t know, Juno! Listen, if I knew how to—if I could just, like—say it?” He heard more than felt his head connect with the wall behind him but couldn’t bring himself to lift it from the couch, “Listen, I’m not doin’ this on purpose. Does this look fun for me? Huh?”

Juno shrugged. Duck didn’t see it, but he could feel it in the air. It was less than sympathetic, and Duck regretted inviting her into his apartment.

“She’s not a fuckin’—okay, well, she is an alien, but c’mon, bud. Just, I dunno? Sit her down. Look her in the eye. And just—” and she said this bit in a real low—and real hateful, honestly—impersonation of Duck, “Now, listen, Minnie—”

“Hey, don’t fuckin’ call her that, she said she doesn’t like it and—”

She waved him away, tucking her feet up in under her, “Aw, fuck clean off, Duck, she lets you call her Minnie all day long. And, obviously, I’m bein’ you. Now, hush.” Juno’s voice was deep in a mean approximation when she spoke again, “Listen, Minnie, I’ve been a’thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thinkin’ ‘bout the way your big, strong arms could just—”

“Hey, now—”

“—just pick me up, real gentle-like, and whisk me away—”

“Juno, I fuckin’ swear you better quit it or else I’ll—” Duck stood up, real ready-like, felt abruptly like a real dipshit, and sat back down. Squinching his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten, “Now dang it, Juno, you know it ain’t as easy as all that.”

His apartment was quiet for a beat, and then another.

The lumpy, cushioned arm of Duck’s chair dipped, and he felt a familiar form lean against his hunched shoulders. Duck released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when Juno said, “M’sorry about pickin’ on you, bud.” A beat, again, “I think it’s sweet, that’s all. Minerva will think so, too.”

Duck leaned in, trying desperately to convince himself that these were real, tangible concerns and not the premise of a high school romcom, “You think so? Like, for real?”

“For real,” Juno confirmed solemnly. Duck took a chance, glancing up at her as she continued, “She probably even—you know, likes you back. Like, like-likes you back,” her eyebrows waggled, and it was hateful as hell.

Duck groaned and his temple pulsed with a dull ache. Christ, he felt old, so he said, “Jesus Christ, Juno, I’m forty-three.”

“Ee-yup,” Juno affirmed with a slap on his shoulder.

“This is fuckin’ stupid.”

“Yessir.”

“I’m just gonna say it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like—tomorrow.”

“That so?”

Duck sat up, his fists clenched, “No, you’re right—tonight. I’ll fuckin, uh—I’m gonna do it tonight.”

Juno clapped him hard on the back this time, “Hey, that’s the spirit, buddy!” She glanced up at the wall clock and cursed, “Shit, s’already six? I ought’a head on back to mine and get cookin’.” She stood fluidly, grabbing her keys off of the coffee table before heading toward the door.

Duck stood quickly enough to give himself a head rush, “Juno, hold up a sec, I—uh.” He met her by the door and spoke fast, trying hard not to stumble over the words, “Please, please, tell me I can stay with you for a few if it goes real bad.”

Juno snorted, “Yeah, whatever. Do I look like a fuckin’ Motel 6? I’ll leave a light on for you.”

“Thanks, Junebug.”

“Good luck, Don Juan.”

----

By the time Duck heard the key turning in the lock at 6:45 on the dot—as usual, Minnie always ended up staying over a little late on her Saturday shifts—he’d been left alone long enough to feel as though he was setting himself up to be nominated Dipshit of the Century.

Too late for regrets, he figured, because the door was creaking open and the sight of her was damn near enough to get him all winded.

“I am home, Wayne Newton!” Minerva declared, waving her ranger cap at him with a beaming grin before turning to hang it on the coat rack by the door. “Today I saw three very large ducks, and they—" she stopped short as she got a better look at him, hands falling slack by her sides.

In retrospect, Duck figured it might’ve looked like a little much. Or maybe it just looked bad. Both, maybe? He glanced anxiously down at the table he was seated at, taking in the center candle, uncorked bottle of wine, and admittedly shoddy alfredo he’d managed to throw together since Juno’d left.

But he’d had some time to practice, so Duck said real cool-like, “I, uh—hello, Minerva.” He pointed a shaking hand at the chair, placed across from his at the table, “Won’t you—uh, have a seat.” Except that he forgot to make the last bit sound like a question, so he added, “Um, please?”

Minerva looked decidedly anxious, which Duck didn’t like one fuckin’ bit, as she shrugged out of her coat and toward the chair. She hesitated, a calloused hand brushing the table delicately, “Is everything alright, Wayne Newton?”

“No—fuck! I mean, uh, yes?” Duck realized too late that he’d never stopped pointing at the fucking chair and snatched his hand back. “Uh, everything is absolutely alright, just peachy.”

Minerva nodded once and sat. She was looking a little over his right shoulder. Duck followed her gaze to a fuck-off big river rock she’d given to him the month before and, bizarrely, felt comforted enough to carry on.

“So,” He began, but it didn’t go anywhere. Duck glanced back at the rock and tried again, “Okay, Minerva, we’ve got to talk.”

She nodded solemnly, “Alright.”

Duck, stupidly, nodded back before taking a deep breath, “Okay, I, uh—aw, fuck! I just—Minnie, I’m sorry, I meant to do this after dinner and I just. Fuckin’ forgot, I guess? Shit. You can—”

“No, thank you, Wayne Newton. This meal looks skillfully prepared, but I would like for you to speak first.”

“You sure?” Minerva nodded, so Duck said it quick like ripping off a band-aid, “Alright, Minerva, I lo—uh, like you. I like you.” He swallowed hard against the confusion that colored her broad features, “Like, uh. Romantically, Minnie. I would like to, um, take you out sometime.”

Minerva’s mouth dropped into a perfect little ‘o’. To Duck’s mounting horror, she dropped her head into her palms.

It was quiet for a long moment, during which Duck was pretty sure his soul left his physical body. Fuck, he had to fix this, he—

“Wayne Newton, how long have you harbored romantic feelings toward me?” She spoke real slow, and it was a solid minute before she lifted her head.

Duck was at least relieved that she didn’t look mad, just—embarrassed? He was already speaking before her eyes met his, “Shit, Minnie, I’m so sorry, it doesn’t have to—”

She held up an open palm to stop him and seemed to collect herself. “No, please do not apologize. I, ah—I believe there has been a very large misunderstanding. Did you—feel this way before we traveled to Brazil?” Duck was quiet for a minute, and she said, “Please be honest, Wayne Newton.”

Duck figured he must’ve looked like a fish, the way his mouth was opening and closing. He didn’t know what she was getting at, and still had half a mind to head to Juno’s for the night, but all he said was, “Um, I—yeah.”

Minerva visibly let out a breath, but put her head into her palms again, “That—Thank you, Wayne Newton. That is a relief to hear.”

Duck felt a truly unhealthy amount of blood rush to his cheeks and up his ears, “Minnie, d’ya mind if I—uh, ask why?”

She let out a noise Duck might’ve expected to hear from a squeaky wheel before stammering, “Wayne Newton, I am now very embarrassed. I do not want to tell you why.”

Gingerly, Duck managed out of his chair and around the table. Real slow, he put a hand on her shoulder and found himself unspeakably relieved when a hand came to tentatively cover his. He cleared his throat, “Hey, now, it’s—it’s alright. You don’t have nothin’ to be embarrassed of. Will you tell me what the, uh, misunderstanding is all about?”

Minerva mumbled into the palm her face rested in.

“Can you please say it one more time?”

She finally met Duck’s gaze with a deep frown, turning slightly in her seat. “I was—Wayne, I had believed that we were already romantically involved,” she admitted miserably.

Duck opened and closed his mouth a couple times before words came out, “You what?”

Minerva shook her head as if shaking off a bad dream. “Wayne Newton, I had asked you if I could accompany you to Brazil. Do you remember this? I had told you that I would follow you anywhere if you would allow it. I assumed that you understood that I—that it was a confession, if you will. You said—and I quote, Wayne Newton— ‘same here, bud’. I had assumed…” she let the sentence hang, eyes trained on the table.

Duck felt as though he might be having a stroke, “It was a what?”

“And you are so—so hesitant sometimes, Wayne Newton! I had believed—well, perhaps you were not interested in intimacies such as the holding of hands! And—you invited me to share our home here! Your planet is just so different at times, I just—oh, Christ.” There was a thump, and Minerva’s clean-shaven head connected with the table, “Wayne Newton, there is worse shame yet.”

Aw, jeez, she was getting worked up. Duck’s brain felt like it had been replaced with mashed potatoes. It was okay, it would be alright—he could fix this, so he opened his mouth and said, “I—what?” His hand felt too hot under hers. He was gonna pass out.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, which he figured was fair, “I gave you the large rock.”

Duck nodded dumbly although she wasn’t looking at him. He could see the rock, sitting proudly by their bookshelf, “Uh, I—yeah. Yeah, you gave me a great rock, Min.”

“You see, I was under the impression that large rocks were symbolic of a lifetime commitment on this planet?” Minerva said it like a question and fuck, Duck was gonna pass out. “We have been—well. It has been one year since we moved, and I—” she groaned, “Wayne Newton, this is the nightmare scenario.”

And it really wasn’t funny, except that it kinda was, so Duck gave a weak laugh and his vision got a little splotchy and—

And then Duck was looking up at Minerva and boy, Jesus, did his back hurt.

“Wayne Newton, it seems that you have fainted,” Minnie’s voice was earnest as she crouched next to him on the floor of their kitchen. “Perhaps you should eat some food?”

With an embarrassing amount of effort, and the assistance of Minerva’s outstretched hand, Duck managed to sit upright, “Now, hold on just a second, Minnie. You—I mean, we…are we like, together? I mean, romantically?”

Minerva looked at the ceiling—maybe bargaining with God. He sure wouldn’t blame her if she were. “Yes, that was the impression I was under.”

He swallowed audibly, “And you’re like—cool? With that?”

“I—yes.”

Duck started to feel faint again when he said, “Minnie, are we engaged?”

Minerva relaxed out of her crouch and sat heavily beside him, shooting a venomous look at the living room. She was looking at Duck’s engagement ring, he noted feebly. “Wayne Newton, this is humiliating.”

“I mean—I meant, like. Is that…is that what you want?”

Slowly, Minerva’s warm hand found its way to cover his. Real gentle-like. Duck could feel thick callouses and the outline of a long scar stretching across her palm, and he was helpless to do anything but spread out his fingers and catch hers in between them. It was quiet for a long moment before Minerva spoke.

“Wayne Newton, I meant it quite literally when I said I would follow you anywhere, for as long as you would allow me to. I do not—it doesn’t have to be now, or ever. I am not sure what the ritual on this planet entails, to be entirely honest, and I do not know if it is something you want at all. It is clear that there are some things I do not yet understand. Regardless, this is—I would like this. For as long as you will allow me to.”

“Fuck it,” Duck said a little too quickly, so he scrambled to add, “I mean, yeah. Like, me too, I—yes.”

“So, you—do you like the handholding, Wayne Newton? Can we do that?”

Duck squeezed their interlocked fingers, “Yeah, for sure.”

Minerva nodded sharply, “Wonderful. We shall hold hands for just a moment more, and then we will eat our cold dinner.”

And, honestly? Duck wasn’t like, super sure if he was engaged or what, exactly. But Duck knew that whatever it was, he was super into it, so he said, “I’m super into that, hell yes.

[carol-effing-danvers]

knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe), part three

this is final section in part one of the series “run long, roam far, return soon” part two: “where we grew up” part three: “push me, pull you”

(click here if you’d prefer to read this in AO3′s format)

part one, part two

Billy has no idea what the fuck Steve is talking about, and he has no interest in anything that’s not their mouths touching each other, anything that’s not Steve’s lips and Steve’s tongue and Steve’s hands. 

Billy has no idea what the fuck Steve is talking about, and he has no interest in anything that’s not their mouths touching each other, anything that’s not Steve’s lips and Steve’s tongue and Steve’s hands.

There’s still some of that Old Billy left in him, a part of him that’s always a bit wild – a little blood in his eyes, a little fire in his heart – and it doesn’t usually require too much effort on his part to put that beast on a leash. But everything about his emotions goes out of control where Steve Harrington is involved.

Billy pushes him backward until he hits the wall, hands gripping his sides too tightly, and leans forward to drags his teeth across Steve’s bottom lip. Steve makes a soft sweet sound of startlement, and his hips jerk sharply. A thick hot ridge presses into Billy’s dick and holy shit that is actually Steve’s dick and he’s so big and so fucking hard.

A growl vibrates through his vocal cords and he pushes back hard, almost pinning Steve to the wall with his own hips, grinding against him with enough force to leave bruises on them both and pushing his tongue into his mouth with a wet slide. Steve makes a throaty provocative noise, a purring “mmm”, like he’s taken a bite of something really delicious, his fingers digging into Billy’s lower back to hold him there, blunt fingernails cutting gouges into his skin.

Again, they have to break away for air and Steve draws away with a gasped little “uh” that makes Billy feel so fucking dizzy with want, a string of saliva connecting their lips for just a second before Steve tilts his head back, red lips parted and throat bared as he gasps for breath. The temptation is too great for him – Billy traces over the beauty marks and creamy skin with kitten licks of the tongue, sinking back into his boyhood fantasy with relish, softly biting and sucking at every single one.

“Uhhh,” Steve moans under his breath, dragging his nails over his skin and pulling Billy’s erection into alignment with his own, and Billy is-Billy is gonna fucking explode-

"Ahem." There is a tiny cough, more of a pointed clearing of the throat than someone struggling through a late winter illness. 

The two of them probably jump about a foot into the air, scrambling around to figure who had witnessed them trying to all but fuck in public. Buckley was looking amused and very pleased with herself. Outright gloating, she says "I see I won't be grading any quizzes next year."

Steve is blushing hard, hair wilder than ever and lips kiss-bitten, tenting out of the front of his pajama bottoms with an obscene bulge that Billy needs to get his hands and his mouth on. "I-that-you-"

Robin hands him her purse, with a smug smirk. "Here, cover that before someone calls the cops on us," she says, hazel eyes dancing with laughter. "I told you he wouldn't hit you in the face. I can't believe the two of you had a crush on each other and it took you ten years to figure it out."

Billy whirls on Steve. "You-you had a crush on me, pretty boy?" 

Under normal circumstances, he'd be embarrassed by the way his voice cracks, like an acne-ridden boy, but this is an urgent question demanding an urgent answer. 

"You didn't tell him?" Robin laughs. "Oh, Steve. Honey, you can't let your dick do the talking for you."

"I disagree,” Billy says bluntly, eyes darting over his crotch – currently (tragically) hidden behind Robin’s purse.

“Of course you do,” she says in a tone of humoring him, still far too entertained and smug. “Seriously, Steve. You can’t manage one adult conversation?”

Even more flustered – my god, that pale skin gets so red – “I thought he was gonna clock me, I wasn’t about to have a heart to heart!”

“Why the hell did you kiss me if you thought I was gonna deck you?” Billy demands, skin crawling with the discomfort of old longing and older shame.

Steve shrugs rather helplessly, a very dissatisfactory answer.

“He likes to flirt with danger,” Robin informs Billy grimly, giving Steve something of a gimlet stare. “He’s addicted to risk.”

“Rob!” he yelps, looking harassed.

“Steve!” she mocks. “I’m literally gonna get old and die before you talk about your feelings! Hargrove, Steve-o had a big gay crush on you in high school-”

“Oh my god,” Steve moans, covering his face with his hands.

“Can I safely assume that you also had the hots for my man Steve-o at the time?”

“Uh…sort of, yeah,” Billy mumbles, shocked into near honesty.

She gives Steve a pointed stare. "I draw the line at asking him out for you, dingus."

Wild, terrifying hope surges in Billy. "You wanna go out with me?" 

Steve's big dumb doe eyes are directed at the checked linoleum floor. "You-you don't," he mumbles. "The whole town knows I'm a queer, Hargrove. You don't wanna go anywhere in public with me."

"Don't," he says softly, dangerously, boxing him in against the wall with a hand planted beside his head. "Don't tell me I want. No one tells me what I do with my time."

No one tells me what to do.

"If I say I want a date with you, I mean it." He's throwing himself off a metaphorical cliff here, but the memory of Steve Harrington's face has haunted him for ten years. After knowing his lips and tasting his skin, Billy's sure it will haunt him for thirty more if right now he does nothing. If after all that time, he has a real shot and throws it away because he'd rather stay closeted, if only in Hawkins, then he is nothing more than the scared boy still wilting under Neil Hargrove's control.

Robin, he sees from the corner of his eye, looks almost impressed.

There's a sweet, reluctant little smile tugging at Steve's lips. "Yeah?" With a bit of cheek, a bit of a flirtatious air, he tugs on Billy's button-down shirt. "Can I cook you dinner?"

His brows shoot upward. "Can you actually cook, pretty boy?"

"Say yes, Hargrove," Robin sighs. "If only so I don't have to watch him mope for the next ten years. Even if you don't bone, which is unlikely since Steve is a whore (“Jesus Christ, Rob!”), it’ll probably be the best meal you’ll ever eat in your life. Steve can cook his ass off."

"Wrong choice of words," Steve says dryly.

"Is it, though?" she counters. "If you play 'Hot for Teacher', I'm never speaking to you again."

"Shit, there goes that plan," Steve deadpans.

Billy grins, tongue held between his teeth. These two are great, he feels like he’s watching Frasier, but gayer and with swearing. "The two of you oughta think about getting your own sitcom."

"Saved By the Bell?" Robin suggests tartly. "Unmarried with Children? Friends But Gay?"

"Queers," Billy shoots back. "Like Cheers, Buckley, c'mon now."

"Hey, that's not bad," Steve says brightly. Then, shyer and quieter: "Do you like Italian?"

"The sky's still blue ain't it?" he answers, feeling his stomach do an anxious little flutter.

"Last I checked. Meet me after school this Friday, and be hungry."

Billy feels more daring, more confident, so he lets his eyes traveling up Steve's body. Sex hair, red lips, bright eyes, and a beard rash from Billy all over that snow white skin. "That ain't gonna be a problem."

Steve smiles at him, like he's charmed, like Billy's just charmed him. 

Billy wants to take a time machine, go back eleven years into the past and shake himself so goddamn hard. "Just wait!" He wants to scream in his 17 year old self’s face. "Don’t take it out on him, for fuck’s sake!! All you have to fucking do is WAIT!!"

But he can't do that, and he ends up standing in the store, dumb-struck, when Steve kisses him, fast and hungry, and Robin pulls him out the door.

El watches him at the kitchen door, grinning from ear to ear, looking like a cat that just ate a whole goddamn flock of canaries. "All right you little shit. You win."

"He likes you," she says, looking entirely enamored of this new development. "He really likes you."

Billy's heart goes double-time and his stomach flips all the way over.

Ellie grins even wider. Her chins rests on her fist and she gives one of her excited little wriggles, like a puppy whose seen her favorite person. “You should bring him flowers when you see him tonight.”

He makes a face. “You don’t think it’s too corny?”

“Steve is a romantic,” El coos. “He’ll appreciate the extra effort. And you think he’s worth extra effort, don’t you?”

“Well yeah!” he blurts out, and El’s face is terrifying. Jesus, she looks like a shark when she smiles that way, and Billy realizes that he’s been caught, yet again, havin’ feelings and shit. “I don’t wanna look like I’m coming on too strong. That shit makes some people nervous, you know?”

“Yes,” Eleven agrees solemnly, folding her hands together.

Billy looks at her sharply. “Yeah? What about you, Ellie? You and Max are out here trying to get me dates – you talked to any boy since you and Wheeler broke up?”

She stiffens, fidgeting slightly. “It’s-you know, it’s just more-more difficult because-” El touches the watch over her wrist, worn to conceal the serial number tattooed there. “And the town still think I’m a weirdo, and some of them don’t like me because I’m one of Joyce’s kids, and all of us love Steve. I really only talk to the-the Party-?”

She’s talking very, very fast and she’s tripping over her words and that’s how Billy knows that he’s stumbled upon something that El’s been holding close to her heart. “The Party, eh? Some nerd you-” and he’s falling into a trap but he still can’t see it yet “-got your eye on?”

Immediately after the words come out of his mouth, Billy realizes the black hole that he’s just opened up. The losers who fell into the weirdness of the Upside Down were not a large number. Wheeler, whose relationship with Ellie is over. Byers, who might actually be queerer than Billy himself. Sinclair, who still makes eyes at Max when her back is turned. And-

“Henderson?!” he demands incredulously. “Do you have a crush on Henderson?!”

Eleven, his poor Ellie, fiddles with her apron and stares at a point over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eyes. “I-I didn’t say that. I never said that.”

Oh, poor girl. She doesn’t even have to. El’s face is starting to look blotchy, like she might burst into frustrated tears. “El,” he says gently. “Ellie, any one of the nerd-herd would trip over themselves face-first for you. Ask the boy out – he’s gonna say yes and thank sweet Jesus for the chance.”

Looking outright miserable now, El says “I can’t.” No, she doesn’t just look miserable, she looks like she might be sick. “I’m-I haven’t-I don’t-”

Billy doesn’t really understand what she’s trying to tell him until El gestures at her lower body, quickly swiping angry tears from her eyes. “Oh,” he says, though he can hardly fathom it. “That’s-that ain’t that big a deal.”

“Do you know any other twenty-four year old virgins?” she snaps, flushed with shamed anger.

“Probably Henderson too?” he jokes, then feels like shit when her lower lip wobbles. “That doesn’t matter! Do you…want to?”

“I-I wasn’t ready. And now it’s probably too late. He’s had like ten girlfriends!” El wails, blotting her face again. “They’ve all been really smart and pretty, Billy!”

“Baby,” he soothes, heart breaking for her as he folds her into a hug. “You’re smart and pretty. And I need you to know that if he does anything to hurt you, I’ll take a psychotic level of pleasure in destroying everything he loves.”

A laugh escapes her, thin and watery. “Bitchin’.”

---

"Oh my god," Steve says on way back to the car. "Robin-"

"I know."

"He fucking said yes, Rob-"

"I know."

"I'm making him dinner."

"Mhm."

"Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I'm-I'm gonna fuck this up, Rob, I-" He pauses, taking in the look on her face. Robin is staring at him serenely, brows pitched slightly upwards. "I'm being an idiot again, aren't I?"

"Only a tiny one," she says, with great loyalty.

"Hurry up, I need to clean everything I own twice." Again, when he's sitting in the driver's seat, staring with blank disbelief out the front windshield. "He said he likes me."

"Yeah, babe," Robin says gently, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "He did."

This she won't make fun of. Whom Steve loves, he loves without caution, holding nothing back for himself, and with every expectation that his affection will be spat on and thrown back at him. It was heartbreaking to watch, and she'd seen it happen too many times. 

Trying to keep him from stumbling into a pit of his own anxiety and insecurity, Robin asks "So...is he a good kisser?"

Steve's face floods with heat and he breaks out into this goofy adorable grin. "Such a good kisser, Rob."

She smirks. "It sounded like you were being mauled by a wild animal."

Dreamily, Steve says "His lips taste like strawberry jam and he smells like a bonfire in a forest of pine trees. He can maul me any time he wants to."

"Oh, he wants," Robin drawls with laughter in her voice. "Trust me, he wants.”

He spends nearly a week randomly flooded with giddy anticipation and nervousness but by the time Friday actually rolls around, he kinda…forgets? It’s not that he forgot he and Billy have a date, it’s that when the actual agreed upon time comes around, Steve is a bit too distracted to notice.

---

Billy isn’t dumb enough to bring the flowers with him – there’s forward and then there’s forward, y’know?

Rather than being in his classroom, Billy is stopped short just before he turns the hallway down to the primary kids section when he hears Steve’s voice, quiet and very serious. “Why did you hit him?”

“He-he said I was stupid!” a little boy says, with all the blind impulsive fury of a small child. “Him and Hannah wo-wouldn’t play with me!”

Completely surprising him, Steve solemnly asks “So Denny hurt your feelings?”

A quiet sniffing, and then a mumbled “Uh-huh.”

“That’s wasn’t very nice of him to say, Martin,” he says sympathetically. “Do you want a ‘feel better’ hug?”

Even quieter, like he was scared to say it out loud: “Uh-huh.”

And when Billy peeks around the corner, Steve is crouched on the ground, hugging Martin Roberts as he snuffles into his shoulder. Billy is having an emotion, and it’s A Big One, even if he doesn’t quite understand what that emotion is.

“Do you feel ready to say sorry to Denny for hitting him, and he can say sorry for hurting your feelings like that?”

“Yeah.” Martin does sound much calmer, actually.

Steve stands and spots him, gives Billy a small smile, like he hasn’t just broken his brain a little bit. “Sorry I’m running a bit late.”

“Take your time,” Billy says, thunderstruck.

He wonders what would’ve happened, what his life would’ve been like if one of his teachers had been even half as patient and understanding as that with him. 

---

Billy says "Go ahead and unlock the door, I left something in my car."

Angie is his living doorbell, so as soon as Billy returns and opens the door, she's right there, wailing in her usual piteous manner. Steve already assembled the sauce for dinner, it just needs to be warmed up and the fresh pasta boiled to tender.

"Who is this?" Billy asks, amused.

"That's Angie. Pet her - she expects to be greeted at the door and she won't leave you alone until you do." Steve goes out to the hall and stares, owl-eyed.

In one arm, Billy has Angie who looks very smug at having seduced Steve’s man, and in the other- Dumbly, Steve asks “Did you buy me flowers?”

“Uh…” Billy says, uncharacteristically bashful. He lets Angie drop back to the floor with a heavy thump. “…yes?”

He could tease him – ‘is that a question or an answer?’ – the problem is that he’s stumbled and fallen face-first into a giant pile of infatuation. “They’re beautiful,” he breathes, eyes wide, tentatively reaching out to lightly brush his fingers over the petals. Billy bought him red carnations. Not quite as obvious as red roses and somehow both lurid and innocent. “Let me find something to put them in.”

He leans forward with head tilted, hand around the collar of Billy’s shirt, and gets halfway to kissing him when he realizes that this is maybe overplaying his hand. But like…Billy Hargrove bought him flowers? Fuck it, I’m gonna kiss him.

Gently, he presses their lips together and Billy let out a sweet little sigh, slipping his fingers through Steve’s belt loops to pull him closer. His mouth is soft, full, velvety, and discovering it again is so delicious that Steve gets lost in him. Billy licks his lips as they part. "Still having Italian, I see."

Steve blushes. "Uh, yeah." Quickly, he scrambles away with flowers in hand before he can do something incredibly dumb and classy like offer to make himself the first course. "Hope you're hungry."

"In many ways," Billy replies huskily, eyes shamelessly undressing Steve right there in the kitchen. 

So maybe he preens a little. So maybe he bends over a little too long as he grabs a vase from beneath a sink. It's been such a long time, he thinks wistfully, since someone wanted him in such an open, brazen way. He gets laid...well, not often but not never, either. But that’s quick, hurried fumbling in a bar bathroom of the next town over or fast hand jobs in dark places.

He doesn't get a bed, or lots of kissing, or arms to hold him afterwards. He doesn't get the next morning or lazy sex in the sunlight. Women think he's gay and men are scared shitless to be seen talking to him longer than ten minutes. He gets scraps and has to be happy with it because up until now, he understood that was the best he could hope for after being outed in a small town.

"You're a little cocktease," Billy rasps, eyes fixed rather desperately to the way his dark jeans are hugging Steve's ass.

"Can you blame me?" Steve asks with a smirk over his shoulder, letting Billy look his fill. "Spent a year watching you strut around without a shirt on, sweating and pushing me around. And I was such a dumbass, it took me a whole year after that to figure out why I was half-hard every time I saw you walk onto the court."

"Yeah?" Billy purrs. Oh, maybe Steve shouldn't be giving shit like that out. Too much ammunition. "Did I have you chubbing up your shorts?"

Steve rolls his eyes. He's sure that to Billy, he must've seemed terribly obvious. The hopeless bisexual disaster with his tenting shorts, either unable to figure out what he wanted or without the guts to do something about it. "You know you did."

"No," Billy replies quietly, with much more seriousness. "I didn't know."

Steve pauses to fill the vase. "...that wasn't why you were teasing me?"

"No. I teased ya because I wanted the prettiest boy in school to pay attention to me," he admits, an almost helpless note to his voice, looking genuinely pained.

Startled, Steve says "Okay, but I wasn't actually the best looking guy in-"

"My frigid ice princess, he froze me out in every direction, no matter how I pushed him. And when he wouldn’t give me what I wanted, I hurt him." Billy closes his eyes, as though the memory makes him sick, even now.

“I’m not cold,” Steve says quietly, setting the vase filled with lushly blooming carnations on the counter, and watches him practically do a double-take.

“That’s what you chose to take away from that?!” he demands.

Coldness reminds him too much of his parents. Looking at Billy through his lashes, Steve says “You already apologized for that years ago. But I resent being called frigid. I’m not cold.”

My frigid ice princess. He refuses to accept being called cold. But he doesn’t refuse being called Billy’s.

Billy’s stare is piercing and he lifts a hand to draw a rough thumb over Steve’s lower lip. “No,” he rumbles. “You ain’t, are you?”

Billy has always possessed this weird (well, it seemed less weird after he figured out he was attracted to him) magnetism for him, this force that draws Steve in. Time has not diminished that force.

Again, he pulls Billy in by the collar, their tongues curling around each other, and Steve gasps “I have to finish dinner!” with a ragged voice, even though his arms are still around Billy’s shoulders.

“Hurry,” he says in a soft burr, beard scraping over Steve’s neck as he nuzzles into him and sending a hot crackle of sexual tension through him.

“Who is a cocktease?” he demands weakly.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Billy says with a wicked smile. A daring hand cups the full expanse of one buttock and gives Steve a possessive squeeze. “Better feed me good – gotta keep my energy up.”

“Oh my god,” Steve says, face flushed as he turns back to the sauce on the stove. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“If you wanna play hard to get, I don’t mind a game of cat and mouse,” he says with a smile that’s positively predatory. “But to be honest, I don’t think you have that kinda patience in you, Harrington.”

Steve salts the boiling water and throws Billy his most heavy-lidded flirtatious smile. Subconsciously, he mimics Billy’s lip-licking motion. “If you wanna get in my pants, you’d better learn to say ‘Steve’.

Billy strokes his beard, letting him see the heat in his eyes. “Stevie,” he husks, his stare consuming Steve’s whole body like a physical touch. “Stevie-baby. Darlin’.”

He has to make himself keep focusing on cooking because he knows that if turns around right now, all this work will have gone to waste. “Make yourself useful,” he says hoarsely. “And grab the bottle of wine from the fridge.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he drawls, brows raised. “Holy shit, Steve. If the kids make you drink this much you might wanna consider a new line of work.”

“Most of those are nearly empty,” he says, rolling his eyes. The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts and he adds, “The kids are fine. It’s some of the parents I can’t stand.”

He sets his vase of carnations on the end table beside the sofa where they can be admired, and wonders if Billy’s already noticed that next door, Melanie Dohr’s class has twenty-four children but his classroom only has sixteen. Several parents were so outraged that he was hired on for the kindergarteners that they outright refused to allow their kids to set foot in his classroom.

Maxine van Haut had been one of only two parents to actually volunteer, in public, to put her daughter in his care. To his utter surprise and disbelief, his old classmate and former friend Carol Bainbridge had been the other parent.

Billy watches him drop nests of fresh pasta dough into the boiling water with fascination. Steve counts to thirty in his head before scoops the noodles, just underdone, from the water and into the sauces, adding a knob of butter before he lets the tomato, cream, and herbs meld together.

“How did you learn to do this?” Billy asks, as he adds a pinch of red pepper flakes and begins plating their pasta.

“Um…well, after my parents basically told me not to bother going back to their house ever again, I was sad and when you’re sad, you eat a lot. I became obsessed with making the most complicated, ridiculous things I could find. If I was focused on the food, I didn’t have to focus on why I was making it,” Steve says lightly.

He realizes too late that he’s probably oversharing. He does that a lot when he likes someone – Robin calls it his ‘Achilles heel’, whatever the hell that means. She says that once he’s attached to someone, he can’t let them go, even when it hurts, which is why Rob and Nance are still his friends. He doesn’t see the problem really. Who couldn’t use another friend? So it hurts for a little while, he still gets the rich reward of a friend forever.

“After I figured out how to make things that would break my brain, I started focusing on how to make them delicious. On that note: please don’t ever say the word ‘barbecue’ around Rob, that’s a ten hour lecture nobody needs to hear again, even though I only gave myself food poisoning.”

“You…gave yourself food poisoning?” Billy asks slowly, eyeing their plates.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought that grilling and drinking don’t mix.” Steve shrugs and grins. “Grab the wine and the glasses, I’ll get the plates.”

Steve has a reasonable level of confidence regarding his own skill. He still blushes to what he’s positive is probably a firetruck red when Billy takes his first bite and makes a noise that’s more suited to a man receiving a blow job than a man eating a meal. He whispers, “Holy fuck, Harrington”, eyes closed in reverential bliss. The rings on Billy’s fingers gleam, silver and gold and ruby, as he holds his knuckles to his mouth, as though he’s tasting divinity.

Steve grins at his fork. For a while, there’s no talking because Billy has zero interest in anything that’s not this meal.

They actually make conversation like real ass adults, which he will tell Robin about later because she’ll be proud of him for that.

It takes them until the end of dinner, laying back on the sofa and trying to not die because they are both full, that they get to a topic deeper than day to day activities. Because it’s sort of the elephant in the room with them, Steve decides to break the taboo and says “So…where did you go, when you left town back then? Max told us she thought you went back home to see your mom.”

It maybe wasn’t the thing to say, because for a moment, Billy’s eyes look flinty and cold. “No,” he says finally. “I never stayed in Bakersfield for too long. I only went to see her once. She-the way she saw the world was one way, and the way I saw it was another way, I guess.”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “What does that mean?”

Billy’s jaw tightens. “It means that when you’re on your second marriage with a six-year-old kid at home and your first son shows up on your doorstep as a wild-eyed man fresh outta the hospital, you’re gonna call him a raving lunatic, slam the door in his face, and threaten to call the cops if he doesn’t leave you alone.”

Steve’s spine goes rigid. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Steve blurts out. “Jesus, she sounds like a shitty parent. I mean, mine aren’t a whole lot better, but they wouldn’t call the cops on me.”  

Billy shrugs, though he can see the shadow of old pain in his eyes. He takes a sip of wine, probably to steady his nerves, before commenting, “Yeah, Max told me why you probably won’t run for mayor anytime soon.” Reflexively, Steve grimaces and Billy chuckles slightly. “Kinda sorry I wasn’t here for that.”

“For my public humiliation?” he says, trying to ride the fine line between bitterness and black humor.

“For your ‘awakening’,” Billy purrs. He’s looking at Steve’s neck the way Steve imagines lions stare at the necks of gazelle on the savannah. “I’m not the picture of class and taste, but I’m pretty sure I coulda gave you better than a coat closet.”

Steve can’t quite bring himself to look at him directly. “You were there for it, in a way. You were the reason that I realized I wasn’t completely straight.” It’s his turn to reach for the wineglass. “You raced out of Hawkins, and I realized that I had a meteor-sized crush on a boy I was never going to see again, and the last time I had seen him, he was dying in front of me.”

Even now, with Billy right in front of him, he can’t hold that memory too closely or he’ll just start bawling. It’s probably tied with his mother telling him Steve needs to stay with Robin and leave his keys for his most painful memory.

Keeping his head down, Steve adds “And I maybe didn’t deal with that too well, so after that was a series of really terrible decisions Rob is too nice to blab to other people about, but will never let me live down in private, all neatly wrapped up with outing myself to the whole town.”

Billy is very quiet and it takes a moment for him to gather the courage to look at him. Billy’s stare has become penetrating, and unwavering. Lowly, he says “Maybe we dodged a bullet with me leaving, then.” He smiles grimly. “Cause the person I used to be wouldn’t have been too nice about knowing you were willing to suck a dick and the dick wasn’t mine, Harrington. And I don’t just mean not nice to you. I woulda made the whole fucking town pay for that.”

Trying to hide his nervousness, Steve rests a hand on his elbow and sips from his glass. “I’m not exactly inexperienced, you know. What does the person you are now think about that?”

“I think…that I don’t really care what you’ve done before,” Billy says slowly. “Or who you’ve done it with.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence,” Steve observes.

“If you’re the kind of person who gets bored with having the same partner, you might wanna cut this short,” he informs him bluntly. “I don’t like sharing, and I try to be a better person than I was, but I’m not about to tell you I’m not a jealous possessive bastard, because I’m never gonna lie to you. I am.”

He leaves his glass on the table. “I’m pretty sure there’s this saying, ‘only boring people get bored’.” Steve leans his head back into cushions, feeling full and sluggish and maybe a little bit horny. He skims his fingers slowly up Billy’s thigh. “If you don’t wanna get bored, you have to put in the work.”

“Yeah?” Steve is transfixed by the way Billy’s tongue curls around his teeth. Teasingly, Billy says “You gonna work for it, baby?”

Steve kneads the muscle in his thigh, thick and warm beneath the denim, and feels heat begin to coil in his belly. “I think…you should let me worry about that,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb up the inner seam of his jeans. Billy’s breathing stutters and he smiles, slow and satisfied. “And relax.”

He swings a leg over Billy, settling on his lap and leaning in for a kiss as he unzips his jeans. Billy breathes “Shit” against his lips and starts unbuckling Steve’s belt.

Steve’s pants end up thrown over an arm of the sofa, where they’ll probably end up covered in black cat hair, and he opens the fly of Billy’s jeans so that their dicks only have two thin layers between them instead of four. It’s been too long and Steve moans “fuck” as he settles back down onto his lap. He can feel Billy pulsing, the wet spot forming in his boxers and Steve pants, open-mouthed as he grinds down, slow and lazy.

“No, c’mon,” Billy says raggedly, pulling at the buttons on his shirt. “Don’t just gimme half a show, baby. Let me see that body.”

Steve helps him, flipping his tie off and sending it to hang out with his slacks, and pulling his cardigan over his head. He knows when Billy notices what’s beneath the linen when his hands skim up Steve’s chest and pluck at his nipples, gently tugging at the medical grade steel embedded in his skin. “Oh, you’ve got goodies,” Billy groans, mouthing over the fabric. Steve hisses and arches up to meet the touch, lightly pulling at his dirty blond hair. “Naughty Stevie, trying to hide his goodies from me – oh. Baby, you are all grown up.”

“I shaved,” Steve chokes out, throwing his shirt to the side and trying to steer Billy’s mouth – his teeth, especially – back to his nipples. Billy strokes the dark thatch of hair on his chest, tantalizingly close to where he wants him. “In high school, I shaved it. I thought it was weird, how much I had.”

“Hmm,” Billy purrs thoughtfully, rubbing his face in it. Steve moans and squirms as the much rougher hair of his beard scraps and catches on the permanently sensitive skin. “Think I like it.”

“You,” Steve starts, hoarse and cracked, then swallows and tries again. He wants Billy, wants his sweat and skin and heat, wants all those things he never usually gets. “Yours too, Billy.”

“It ain’t pretty, Steve,” he warns.

“Do you really think that’s worse than watching it happen?” he whispers, pulling Billy in for a kiss, deep and intense. “It’s alright, c’mon.”

There are large scars, thick and deep and silvery, all across Billy’s chest and stomach, places where the Mindflayer tried to kebab him. Steve runs his hands across all of it – the scarred and the unblemished, the ugly and the statuesque – and bends to kiss him everywhere. None of it surprises him, and to him, it’s both terrible and miraculous. Every piece of logic in the universe says that Billy Hargrove should have died that day, and yet, here he is, warm and shuddering beneath Steve’s hands.

“I didn’t know why,” he continues at a whispers. “I didn’t understand why I had a hard time looking away from you. I remember watching the way the sweat dripped off you on the court.” He hums and traces a hand down Billy’s chest, over the muscles and scars, the same path of the sweat in his mind’s eye. “I was so stupid – I thought I was jealous of your looks. Nobody says that men look ‘beautiful’. But you were, and you still are.”

“Don’t need to sweet talk me,” Billy murmurs, nosing at his jaw. He pets at Steve’s hair, hand caressing all the way down his spine. “I’m a sure thing, sweetheart.”

“What if I just want to?” Steve says with a smile, bangs hanging into his eyes. “What if I think you need someone to be nice to you?”

“Is that what you think?” Billy asks, and plucks a flower from the vase. “Maybe I think that’s what you need, too.”

Gently, he uses the petals to trace the shape of Steve’s lips, his knuckles brushing the shape of his cock through his briefs. Breathlessly, he gasps “Billy Hargrove is a romantic. Stop the presses! Breaking news!”

“No one will ever believe you,” he says sweetly, clamping the stem between his teeth. “I’ve committed the perfect crime.”

He hauls himself and Steve from the couch, cackling as Steve yells and clutches onto his shoulders. He prays that Billy is as strong as he looks. “Turn left!” he yelps. “Bedroom is the last door.”

As soon as they are safely on the bed and Billy is no longer trying to bear both of their weight, Steve snatches the flower from his mouth to kiss him.

“You’re a madman,” he says with admiration, caressing his cheek with the petals.

“I’ve met Wheeler, you’re deeply attracted to the mentally disturbed,” he accuses, plucking at Steve’s piercings to make him squirm.

Billy draws his teeth lightly over his left nipple. “Yeah, like that.” Tugging gently on his hair and pushing his ass down on Billy’s cock, his limp fingers surrender the carnation back to him. The petals feel like velvet against his ultra-sensitive nipples and Steve chokes down his whines. “Bite them, please. Billy.”

He’s leaking all over his underwear, dick jumping and twitching with each little nip and sharp bite, mindlessly frotting with him, and Billy squeezes at his ass, rolls up his hips to meet him. “Fuck, you’re big.”

“I thought you’d want to top,” he gasps. “I don’t mind.”

He hums and looks up at Steve through his impossibly long lashes. His eyes are dark and glittering. “Maybe I just want to do this. Maybe I just want to see you fall apart on top of me.”

That flower – he’s still holding the carnation, uses the scarlet petals to paint a path down over his stomach, and swirls it over the wet patch of fabric where the head of his cock is trapped by the fabric. “Your hands,” he pleads, pulling lightly at his hair again, guiding his other hand, calloused and covered in rings, into his lap. “God, you have such beautiful hands, Billy.”

Billy gets his palm around Steve’s length and grunts as Steve turns his head and tugs on his earlobe with his teeth. “Imagine me jerking you off, like this?” he rumbles, rough skin grating over Steve’s cock. “Huh, baby? You think about me in the dark, when you were alone? Did you think about my hands?”

“Your hands,” Steve rasps, and kisses him softly. He can’t get his fill of Billy’s skin, rough, silky, smooth, and everything in between. “The way a cigarette looked in your mouth. You pressed up against my back. Sweat running down your body and Billy, how much I wanted to touch you-”

Billy cuts him off with a low groan, biting at Steve’s lower lip and abandoning the carnation to give his nipple a cruel twist, grinning against his mouth as Steve convulses. “I dreamed ‘a you, Stevie. I dreamed of your big heartbreaker’s eyes and your pretty lips.” He touches his neck and Steve realizes that he’s tracing the moles all over his skin. “I thought about the noises you’d make if I kissed you here. How you’d sound when you came. For me.”

“I’m gonna,” Steve croaks, sucking at Billy’s tongue. Imagining that he’s sucking something else. He’s sounded in the pine and bonfire smell of him, and his thighs shake around Billy’s hips.

“How you’d taste,” Billy growls, and Steve can taste him, the strawberry jam sweetness of him, and he could cry. “Don’t leave me waitin’ for it, Stevie.”

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he cries, trembling hard.

“Let me hear it.”

And Steve sobs “Billy. Don’t stop, Billy.”

“I got you, Stevie-baby.”

His body is liquid fire in Billy’s hands, fluid and burning ember-bright. Billy keeps kissing him, frantic and hungry, even while Steve is out of breath, and he doesn’t realize why until Billy starts squirming out his jeans and underwear and starts jerking himself off harshly, still kissing at Steve’s neck.

“Stop,” he slurs, and rolls on top of him, pinning Billy’s arms to the bed.

“Steve,” he whines. “Don’t be a brat. Just-”

“Let me do it, baby,” Steve murmurs, stroking his belly and throwing his best bedroom eyes. He strokes his hands up Billy’s thighs for extra insurance and licks his lips. “Let me get you there, Billy.”

“Fuck,” Billy whispers hoarsely, briefly closing his eyes. “Okay. Yeah.”

Just because he’s gonna do it doesn’t mean he’s gonna make it easy.

Lazily, Steve French kisses his way down Billy’s chest, treating the scarred skin the same as the silky-smooth muscles, taking his time to lick down his body, letting himself taste the salt and musk. He by-passes Billy’s cock, weeping all over his stomach, only stopping to lap up the little pool forming above the head.

“Steve,” Billy hisses. “Jesus fuck – PLEASE.”

He sucks hard on his inner thighs, biting at him until it will bruise. “I’ve thought of this so many times,” he admits, gently pressing his thumb beneath his balls, brushing his other fingers so achingly close to his cock. Billy nearly jack-knifes off the mattress, swearing at his as his fists pull on the sheets. “And it’s better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

“I wondered what you’d do,” he murmurs, kissing just alongside his cock. “If I was on my knees for you.”

“I’m gonna fucking die,” Billy gasps, touching his hair, stroking it away from his face. “Steve-”

He makes sure he’s watching, makes sure Billy’s eyes are open as he circles his fingers around him and s l i d e s his cock, hot and wet with precum, past his lips. He hums and groans at the velvety heat in his mouth and Billy bucks the tiniest bit, moaning like a dying man as his dick rubs over the silky slickness of his tongue.

“Steve,” he says, weak and reedy, “…sweetheart…”

He hollows his cheeks and groans again, giving Billy a come-hither stare. Billy’s head falls back onto the pillow, crimson lips parted as he pants, loud and desperate. Oh, Steve likes him this way. Billy’s beautiful. He’s always been beautiful, but he’s worn into this beauty, like the softest cotton shirt in the drawer.

Steve sucks him, slurping and sloppy and wet, presses his fingers ruthlessly to Billy’s perineum.

“FUCK,” he roars and grips Steve’s hair just this side of too tight. Shoves up into his mouth, always just shy of choking him, and begs softly. “Take me, gorgeous. Fuck, like that. Gonna come, Stevie, gonna come for your hot mouth-

He screams without making noise and Steve licks him clean, flicking the jizz from his lips like a cat licking cream.

“Jesus Christ.” Billy says, still breathing hard. “Stevie, you’re worth waiting ten years for.”

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part thirty seven/

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: did ya miss me?!  cause i missed all of you! Haha enjoy! We got some good shit coming up!

Warnings: language, booze, drugs, implied smut

Taglist: @brideofdraculana, @xstarryeyes, @aryssav, @miserablecunt, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies, @venus-calum, @justjodeye, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @are-we-real, @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @dillightfulpickle, @baiabouk, @awesomealmostdopestudent, @martabastic, @romanticvengeance, @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill, @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls, @rockersbox, @brooklyn-antiques, @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, @lilytalebi, @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @lunamadhatter99, @broke-n-bitchy, @thanks2pete, @slowandangry, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @swoopygorl, @motherloovebone, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @wheresmyvodkabitch, @waywardprincess666, @malibubarbievince, @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @marvelismylifffe, @zoenicoles, @pfft-halsey, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @primal-screamer, @electradestiny, @marshbev @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @miss2001babe, @nassauartist, @emmaelizabeth2014, @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120, @xrosegoldwolfx, @cranberribread

October 1987

Nikki’s POV

I walked up the stairs to Vanity’s room after being welcomed in by Lucia and Tonya. I barged into her room, not bothering to knock, cause why the fuck would I?

I saw that she was sleep, I scoffed as the sun was just now setting. How the fuck could she be asleep already.

I crawled into her bed and got on top of her, “Van...wake up.” I said, kissing her lips and then her chest, “We have a party to go too.” I whispered into her skin as I saw her start to wake up.

“Nikki...get off of me.” She grumbled tiredly as I did what she said and laid next to her, “Congrats on the album release today.” She said, sitting back on her elbows as she looked at the alarm clock.

“I’ve been asleep for five hours.” She laughed, “Why are you here?” She asked, rubbing her eyes as she smiled at me.

“Thanks babe, you gotta get up and get dressed we’re having a party to celebrate the new album.” I explained as she gave me a weak smile.

“Can I skip this one? I’m tired Sixx, I can’t keep up tonight.” She questioned, as I shook my head.

“No. You’re gonna get out of bed and get dolled up. Then you’re gonna come with me, don’t pack a bag you have clothes at my place, that’s where the parties at.” I explained as she pushed the hair back and out of my face.

“C’mon babe. I gotta introduce you to the band that’s gonna be our opening act. They’re new, but they are good.” I added on, trying to convince her as I kissed her shoulder.

“Who is it?” She raised an eyebrow as she was curious.

“Guns N’ Roses.” I stated as she let out a gasp and then a huge grin broke out across her face, maybe she shouldn’t meet them if she’s already acting like this.

“Guns N’ Roses!?! Nikki! I am absolutely in love with their music! Why didn’t you tell me sooner!?” She squealed as she got out of bed and went to her closet.

“You never act this way with Motley...” I frowned as I watched her push hanger after hanger.

“Oh stop it, I do too.....but man they’ve had some really great songs on the radio. Paradise City? Welcome to the Jungle? Sweet Child o’ Mine? My Michelle? I haven’t heard a song of theirs I haven’t liked yet.” She continued to be dramatic as I rolled my eyes.

“So does Motley.” I said under my breath, “What was that?” She asked turning around to face me.

“Never Mind, What should I wear?” She said holding up a dark red leather skirt and a pair of black ripped up skinny jeans.

“Neither.” I blurted out as she cocked her head to the side and looked at me. I didn’t want her wearing something for all these guys to be drooling over.

“Are they nice guys?” She questioned as she pulled down her pants before putting the jeans on, “Yeah...sure.” I grumbled as I watched her get ready.

“Axl is an arrogant prick sometimes, Izzy is a good kid, Duff and I get along and go over new chords and riffs a lot. Steven always runs around with T-bo-“

“Is Slash fun?” She abruptly cut me off as she slipped on a tight grey tank top that made her tits pop out even more before pulling on a black leather jacket.

“Is he nice?” She asked about him again. I glared at her, “What’s that look for?” She seemed confused.

“Nothing. Are you ready to go?” I examined her outfit as she put on a pair of all black converse. She shook her head before walking to the bathroom.

“Why are you so curious about Slash?” I yelled for her, but she was quiet. So, I have to keep my eye on her and tell this guy to back off already.

“I’m not, I’ve just heard a lot about him.” She finally answered me, “He’s pretty hot.” She mumbled, walking back into the bedroom.

“And so are you, don’t worry. You’re hotter.” She laughed as she looked at me, but I didn’t find anything about what she was saying funny

“What have you heard?” I questioned, “Just what the groupies the guys bring backstage talk about. They seem to fuck everyone.” She giggled as she stood in front of me.

“Oh relax, Sixx. I’m just messing with you.” She expresses as she tousled my hair even more. I nodded as I looked up at her, “Ready?” I asked as she nodded.

We walked downstairs as she said bye to the girls, but she came to a halt at her doorstep.

“Oh no. I am not getting on that death trap. You must be blitzed out of your damn mind.” She retorted, moving her hair over her shoulder as she judged my motorcycle.

“Van, baby. It’s not a death trap, I mean it is but only if Tommy is driving.” I reassured her as I noticed her pouting.

“Why didn’t you drive the corvette? I love the corvette. There’s doors, and windows and safety.” She continued to complain as she wrapped her arms around her frame.

I rolled my eyes and let out a groan, “Just give it a try. C’mon, I’ve been dying to get you on the bike.”

She shook her head, “Vanity, you’re being a big baby. C’mon doll, just get on the motorcycle and we’ll be there before you know it.”

“Did you know roughly 5.1% of people involved in motorcycle accidents die? I don’t know how much that is, but that’s like a lot.” She breathed out, her voice becoming almost like the many valley girls I’ve had the pleasure of fucking. They were annoying though, I usually covered their mouth so I didn’t have to hear them.

I shook my head, pointing at the bike, “That’s not a lot babe, get the fuck on the bike. Jesus, out of all things to freak you out.”

She walked closer to the bike, “You’re not even gonna offer me a helmet?” She asked, as I was starting to grow frustrated with her. I stomped over and handed her the helmet I sometimes wear.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “What now, Princess? Not your color or is it out of season?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not like I’m gonna wear it Nikki. It would totally mess up my hair.” She retorted, pushing the helmet back to me

I exhaled my frustrations, “Don’t get how you’re so concerned about safety and you won’t even wear the damn thing, but whatever.” I grumbled getting on top of the bike as I waited for her.

She groaned and climbed on top after me, “Just don’t dangle your feet and you’ll be fine.” I explained as she nodded and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Just...just pay attention to the road..” She said into my ear as I started driving us back to my house.

“You’re not high are you!?” She yelled over the engine and traffic. I rolled my eyes as I let go of one of the handle bars and held her hand.

“No...not yet anyways, just shut up and enjoy the ride.” I snapped at her.

“Ugh, well then.” She said, and was quiet for the remaining fifteen minute drive.

*Nikki’s house*

“Y’know, I didn’t really mean it when I told you to shut up.” I explained as I helped her off the bike.

She looked up at me, letting out a huff, “You’re cute when I frustrate you.” She smirked, patting the side of my cheek.

“You’re cute when you shut the fuck up for once.” I bluntly said as she scoffed, “Well you’re cuter when you shut the fuck up too.” She was quick to respond.

“Do I need to take you upstairs to get rid of that attitude before the festivities begin?” I questioned, her lips parted like she was gonna say something but she was quick to stop herself.

“No.” She mumbled as she started walking to my front door.

I groaned as I watched her walk ahead of me, her ass looked fucking great in those jeans. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her inside, taking her up to my bedroom while throwing her over my shoulder despite her weak fighting and laughter.

*a few hours later*

“Doll! Come here!” I yelled over the loud music, motioning for her as she was talking to some girl.

Vanity approached me, taking eager steps as she saw the band sitting on the couch, “Vanity, meet Guns n’ Roses.” I said, wrapping an arm around her waist loosely.

“I’m sure you know who all of them are, since you’re such a big fan and all.” I teased as she shook her head, “Nice to meet all of you.” She smiled sweetly as I noticed the guys look at her like a fresh piece of meat.

“Does she come with the tour?” Slash stood up from the couch, pretty much fucking drooling over her. I pulled her closer to me, hoping that would give him the fucking signal to back off.

“Slash, or Saul. Whatever you want to call me is fine. It’s nice to meet you, Vanity.” He responded, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and sticking his hand out for her.

I noticed that playful smirk on her lips as she shook his hand, “Nice to meet you too..” She replied, taking a step away from me and a step closer to him. After a less than normal amount of time to shake someone’s hand, she finally let go.

“But you didn’t answer my question, do you come with the tour?” Slash asked, shoving his hands into his front pockets as he kept all of his attention on her.

“Of course, she’s on the Motley bus with me.” I pointed out, “Someone has to keep her from going wild.” I had received a glare from her and then an eye roll.

“Not with him, just in the same vicinity.” Vanity was quick to clarify, “Yeah, the vicinity of my bed.” I reminded her as I whispered into her ear. She nudged me in the side in return.

“Slash, i would love to hear you play sometime.” Vanity said, teasingly placing her hand on his arm. He took her hand and led her to the couch so she could sit with him. I sat down on the other couch across from them.

“Yeah, of course angel, whatever you want. You can come by my hotel room if you’d like.” He said, while putting an arm behind her head and resting it against the back of the couch.

“No, maybe at the show you can.” Vanity explained, glancing over at me as I gave her a wink. Good girl.

“Can I get you another drink?” Vanity asked him as she pointed to his half empty bottle of beer, “Or some blow? T-bone will help with that, I think.” She continued as I rolled my eyes and took a sip out of my glass.

“His legs aren’t broken, Van.” I butted in as she looked over at me. I was sick of their flirting already, “I’m just being nice to your guests, Nikki.” She snapped back at me.

“Yeah, my guests. Not yours. I can do it myself.” I barked back, “Hey, she’s just being a good girl and wanting to help.” Slash butted in as he put his hand on her thigh that was crossed over her leg. I’m about to break his god damn hand if he doesn’t get it off of her.

“Fine. You want a drink. I’ll be back.” I angrily stood up, giving her a warning look as I left.

*Vanity’s POV*

I watched Nikki stomp off, but a hand on my jaw broke my gaze as Slash forced me to look at him.

“Is Sixx your boyfriend or something?” He asked. I shook my head, “It’s...it’s complicated, but I’m single.” I replied, giving him a sweet smile as I noticed his eyes travel down my body.

“You like what you see?” I flirted with him, pushing his curly hair back and out of his face.

He licked his lips as he nodded, brushing his hand over mine, “So since you’re single, I’m guessing you wouldn’t be against going out on a date with me now would you?”

I laughed, pulling my hand away from his, “a date? You’re a rockstar, you don’t date.” I rolled my eyes, running my nails through my hair. Every rockstar I’ve met through Nikki were all the same. They never dated, if they did, they got married and then divorced shortly after. Meet, fuck, date, get married, get divorced it was the same cycle.

“Well, you don’t know me. I’m not as famous as the Crüe yet, so it would be a real date. We could do dinner, talk over some wine or champagne if you’d like. I’d be respectful and wouldn’t try to get into your pants...no matter how bad I wanted too.” He breathed out as I cocked my head to the side. I was impressed.

“Uh...okay. Sure, yeah. A date. Well when?” I asked him as he seemed to be pondering on the idea, “Before the tour starts? The last of normality.” I chuckled at his words.

“Yeah, once you go on tour with them it’s over. You’ll be drunk or high all the time, barely sober enough to play. Sleeping in until the next show, and everything else in between.” I explained to him as I felt his fingers play with my hair.

“And what about you?” He asked as I shrugged and looked at him, “Nikki had to practically carry me back to the hotel just about every night of that answers your question.”

He smirked, nodding as he spoke, “Well...if he’s too busy...I’d gladly help you to your room. Safely, of course.” I took a hesitant breath when he lowered his face closer to mine, my eyes darting to his full pink lips. I could tell he noticed by that confident smirk he was now wearing.

I looked around, seeing if I could find Nikki but he was no where in sight, “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

Slash moved away from me when I saw a ringed hand passing him a beer, “Where’s mine?” I asked Nikki, noticing his eyes were low and he was having a problem trying to stand up straight. I also noticed that the sleeves that were rolled up to his elbows were now rolled down to the middle of his forearms.

“You’re not a guest. You know where everything is, you can get it yourself.” Nikki barked as he sat down in a chair next to Slash.

I bit down on my tongue as I glared at him, I didn’t want to start this in the middle of a party.

“I’ll be back.” I told Slash as he gave me a smile and I walked to go find a drink. And a T-bone.

*Nikki’s POV*

I watched Slash stare at her ass as she walked away from him, “Hey man, are you hitting that?” Axl asked, slapping my knee, “Cause if you aren’t, I am.” He added on, laughing before he passed a joint to Duff.

“I caught her interest before you even had the chance to say hello.” Slash joked to Axl as Duff handed him the joint.

Slash handed the joint to me after he took a hit, “Whatever you do-,” I paused as I took my hit and exhaled, “If you know what’s good for you, and your band. She’s off limits.” I warned Slash, but also looked at Axl. I had no worries about Axl, he would never be her type. Not even for a quickie. But I needed to get the fucking point across that she was mine.

Slash chuckled, smiling arrogantly as he took a sip of his beer, “She said she was single. I think that makes her fair game.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, that’s not how this fucking works. When she has your bands name tattooed on her as like she does mine, I’ll let you know when she’s fucking single.” I snapped at him, breaking the joint in half and throwing it into a half finished cup of booze.

“Sixx, man...I’m not trying to ruffle your feathers, but if she wasn’t single, I don’t think she would have said yes to going on a date with me.”

I glared at Vanity as she walked up with glossed over eyes and a red solo cup, more than likely filled up with vodka cranberry.

“What are you drinking angel?” Slash asked, pulling Vanity down to sit down next to him, as I saw him eye me when he put her legs on top of his.

“Vodka Cranberry.”

“Well, hope you enjoy yourself.” I said, smacking Vanitys’ leg off of his, “As for you-” I glared at her as she had a confused look on her face, “I brought you here to meet them, not to fucking date.” She immediately looked away from me and took a sip of her drink, “Its not a big deal, Nikki.” She said, still looking at everything but me.

“Yeah, man. Not a big deal.” Slash said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he smirked at me and blew the cigarette smoke in my direction.

I took a long drink of whiskey, before speaking to her, “Not a big deal? It wouldn’t be a big deal if you didn’t have your lips wrapped around my cock just this afternoon before everyone got here.”

“Nikki...knock it off.” She said, slamming her cup down on the table, “Can’t help yourself, can you? Some new rockstar comes to town and you just have to try and get on their dick.”

“You’re being an asshole.” She said as Slash held her tighter, “And you’re being a slut. Please, you think this fucking guy can satisfy you like I can? You’re just lying to yourself.”

“Well I can sure as hell talk to her better than you clearly can.” Slash jumped to her defenses as she sat back with that pouty look she always gives me when she’s not getting her way.

“Slash just leave it. He’s mad because I’ll go on a date with you and not him. His feelings are just hurt.” She cackled, as the guys around her laughed too.

I felt my face go red, “Fuck you.” I said, fists balled at my side as I walked away from her.

“Nik...Nikki...” She was following after me. I walked up my stairs, seeing that she stopped at the bottom of them as I went to my room and slammed the door shut.

I quickly went into the closet and sat down on the Persian carpets that were inside. I grabbed a rig and a spoon and started melting the junk on it. How could she just fucking laugh at me like that? And then my peers laughing with her? I told her how I felt about her and she just wants to throw it in my face.

I heard my bedroom door close and then saw through the crack of the closet door that she had sat down against it, “Nikki, open the door.” I heard her voice as I shook my head and loaded the needle up.

“Go hang out with Slash, wouldn’t want you to hurt his feelings.” I stated as I rolled my sleeves back up and tied a band around my arm.

“Please nikki....I’m sorry. I’m just-I’ve had a lot of blow and a few drinks..” I rolled my eyes, and I’ve had double the amount you’ve had and three full syringes of heroin. Well, four now.

“I don’t give a fuck Vanity. You’re single. Go do whatever the fuck you want.”

She sighed as I heard her get up off the floor, and reach for the door handle. I kept my boot on the door so she couldn’t come in, “Don’t you dare fucking come in here.” My voice was muffled as I had part of the band in my mouth as I was in the midst of sticking the needle into my vein.

“Can you come back out at least? You can’t hide away in your room while you have a whole bunch of people here celebrating your band.” The door knob turned as she let go of it.

“I’ll come down when I’m ready, just go away.” I listened to her shoes against the wooden floor of my room, followed by the door closing behind her.

I sighed as I felt the rush go through my body, before I leaned my head back in pure bliss. I looked around the closet that was tinted with blue hues. I shook my head as I tried pulling myself up to my feet.

“Fuck...” I groaned, leaning into the mirror as I looked at myself. I wasn’t even getting high anymore, it was now just a fucking need to survive the day.

I opened the closet door, seeing that she didn’t even fucking leave, she had just left her shoes at the door and walked to my bed. She was lightly snoring as she laid on top of the covers.

I grabbed a shirt for her and threw it on the bed as I shook her leg, “Van, wake up...you can’t sleep in jeans or a jacket.”

She mumbled as she sat up and took off the jacket, followed by the shirt. She was full of laughter when she was trying to get dressed. I helped her stand up as she pulled down her jeans and tried kicking them off , but kept tripping over them.

“I’m sorry.” Her words were slurred as she sat down on the bed and watched me pull the pants from around her ankles.

“Just go to sleep. I don’t want to talk about it.” I pulled the blankets down and then covered her up.

“Kiss me so I know you’re not mad.” I rolled my eyes at her stupid comment, but I kissed her lips anyways, “I’m still mad though.” She groaned as she turned over to lay on her stomach, her bright pink thong was now exposed to me. I let my finger run across her tattoo.

I slapped her ass as she let out a moan, “keep it up Vanity, or I swear you won’t walk right for a week.” I muttered as I started walking to the door.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” I turned around to see that she was looking at me. The shirt had raised up and was exposing her naval ring and the other tattoo on her hip.

I smirked, “Trust me, doll. You don’t want that. Shut up and go to sleep.”

[builder051]

Shards of psycho

Creedless Assassins (Nat and Clint, pre-Avengers). Set approx. 2002. Contains references to self-harm and self-induced vomiting in a non-eating disorder context.

_____

Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she's screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's hot but a psycho

So left but she's right though

At night she's screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind

--Ava Max

_____

“Shards o’ Glass popsicles are for adults only.”

“What the fuck…?” Nat stares at the words fading to black on the TV screen. They’re not the same words she’s hearing. She isn’t sure if it’s a test or if she’s going nuts.

“Geez.” Clint steps out of the bathroom, shirt untucked and tie draped over one shoulder. “Ok.” He ducks between Nat and the television. The blue glow of the next commercial illuminates a stubborn cowlick on the top of his head. The individual hairs wiggle in the static pull as he leans close to the box and looks for the power button. “You know that’s not real, right?”

Clint succeeds in turning off the TV, then crosses his arms and leans against the wall beside it. “Popsicles covered in broken glass? It’s a ploy to get people to quit smoking.”

“Huh.” Nat nods as if she understands. She can fool most people with a little sprinkle of faux sincerity, but Clint knows her too well. He narrows his eyes and Nat can practically see him noting the tells—her stance a touch too symmetrical, her motion a smidge too smooth.

“What’s the problem?” he asks. He flicks his gaze back to the blank TV screen, then looks at Nat again, his brows knitting in shock and concern. “You don’t want one, do you?”

Nat doesn’t rush to answer. If she says no in a hurry, Clint will only see through her. He will if she says no at all. So instead she matches his squint and glams onto the furthest fact she can without crossing the threshold into outright evasiveness. “You’ve seen that before?”

Clint nods. “You haven’t?”

Nat shakes her head, the motion much more natural. It’s almost embarrassingly so, as if she were born to be defiant.

“It’s on all the time,” Clint says with a laugh. “Truth media, I think?” He shrugs. “Something partnership for a drug-free America.”

“Right,” Nat scoffs. It would be absurdly petty to use the fact that she isn’t American to rationalize her penchant for dangerous behaviors. Even stupid ones, like slicing open her tongue for a lick of artificial strawberry. She imagines the juice running down her chin, thick and syrupy and mixed with blood. It’s not a hard image to draw up, and not entirely unappealing. Kind of like the pack of Marlboros at the bottom of her purse.

“What, don’t you watch TV on your days off?” Clint’s beginning to look incredulous.

“Yeah, of course.” Nat gives her hair a toss, the auburn waves dipping into her peripheral vision. It doesn’t take much of a stretch of imagination to turn the flash of scarlet into spray from a bullet wound. “I catch the news. Sometimes.” She steps closer to Clint, grinning manically. “You just think I’m weird because you watch too much.”

Nat uses both hands to smooth down Clint’s unruly hair, but it springs back up the moment she removes them. “I’m pretty sure only Cartoon Network does this much damage.”

“Hey, I don’t—” Clint starts, but Nat cuts him off and pushes him to sit on the edge of one of the beds.

“We’ve slept in the same room. Don’t lie to me.”

“Fine. Guilty.” Clint’s cheeks go pink. “Let’s not bring that up half an hour before my wedding, alright?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Nat says sarcastically. “You going all stodgy family man already? I thought you’d at least make it through the honeymoon before you gave up the ghost.”

Nat makes to head into the bathroom for a wet comb, but Clint grabs her arm. His calloused hand wraps all the way around her wrist and then some. “Hey,” he says, his smile slowly dropping into something more serious. “Nothing’s gonna change, ok?” Clint blinks, and Nat sees her silhouette reflected back in his eyes. “I’m not giving up the ghost. Alright Casper?” The corners of his mouth spring back into a grin.

Nat doesn’t want to smile, but she can’t help herself. It started off as a learned response, but now it’s her natural reaction when she’s about to cry.

“Here.” Clint gives her arm a tug, and Nat trips into his knees. He pulls her onto his lap and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. A chaste, brotherly kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

Nat counts the seconds on her exhale, pushing her lungs until they’re completely empty, then picturing a diamond-bright shard boring a puncture to keep them from filling again.

“You can’t wear your tie like that.” She yanks on the end, intending to hold it up like a noose, but unsecured, the find grey silk slips off Clint’s shoulder and onto the floor. Nat hops down to retrieve it, not sorry for the excuse to break contact. As soon as they’re apart, though, she wants to touch him again. Or at least get close. “you can’t wear your hair like that, either,” she says.

“Who made you the fashion police?” Clint complains, though he stands and moves back toward the bathroom. Willingly, it seems.

“Um. You?” Nat offers. “Unless it was Laura.”

“Yeah.” Clint starts to laugh. “Like I said. Guilty.”

“Come on.” Nat pushes him against the bathroom counter and yanks his collar into place so she can get to work on the tie. A subtle buzzing comes from the mirror, and Nat realizes it’s vibrating against the wall. She doesn’t have to look up at Clint’s face to know they’ve made a silent pact to ignore whatever’s going on in the room next door.

“You gotta learn how to do this yourself.” Nat tells him, giving his tie a final adjustment and starting on his hair.

“I will, Clint promises. “I have, like, 20 minutes left to be a stupid bachelor. I’ll shape up tomorrow.”

Nat should grin at the joke, but instead she frowns and checks her watch. “Twenty minutes?” she says. “Try ten. Rule number one: never trust the clock on the hotel coffee pot.”

“Shit,” Clint mutters. He drops his chin and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

“Hey.” Nat dampens her fingers under the tap and smooths his hair again. She doesn’t mean for it to be a comforting motion, but it is anyway. It’s an equal swap, her confidence for his concern. It makes Nat feel a little better to see him losing his cool, and that makes her the guilty one. She deserves a Shards o’ Glass Pop instead of whatever they’re serving at the reception downstairs.

“You’re fixed,” Nat says when Clint’s hair is arranged neatly. “You’re good. Go downstairs and get your girl.”

“Thanks. I know what you mean, but…” Clint gives her an anxious smile. “I’m already with my girl.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” Nat warns. But her cheeks twitch into dimples again. Because she feels like bawling again.

“You know what I meant, too,” Clint insists. “Ghost girl.”

And Nat does. They could never really be a couple. It would break up their partnership for one, turning them into the kind of husband and wife who rarely see each other, busy with stressful jobs and fighting over whose turn it is to take out the trash. If either of them is even home to do it. That one time they fucked is always going to be just that. One time. It’s probably better that way; no repeat performance to spoil the memory.

Laura’s going to be in for a rough life. Nat knows she knows it. She’s stronger than Nat is, knowing it and choosing it anyway. Nat isn’t sure if she envies her for it or hates her. The indecision makes her stomach hurt.

Clint takes his suit jacket from the hanger on the back of the door. “Alright,” he says as he slips it on. “I can do this.” He holds out his hand to Nat. “You ready?”

“Uh, yeah, one minute,” she waffles. “You go down. I’ll be there in a sec.” She quickly glances around for an excuse. She picks up a tube of mascara from beside the sink. “Just gonna touch up.”

“Ok.” Clint backs out of the bathroom. “But hurry. On time is late, remember?”

“Your opinion of my short-term memory is insulting.” That’s more like her usual affect.

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint waves his hand dismissively. “See ya down there.”

“Ok.” Nat stays put in front of the mirror until she hears the door to the room close. She keeps listening until she loses Clint’s footsteps at the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

The people next door are still boning. Clint’s getting married in under ten minutes. And Nat’s going to explode.

She stabs herself hard in the thigh with the hard plastic cap on the mascara. It puts a dent in the sharp crease of her trousers, but it doesn’t hurt. Not enough.

“Fuck,” she breathes. She wants to put a good slice in the inside of her arm. Clint’s razor is there on the counter, tempting her, but blood on her sleeves would be a dead giveaway. Nat chews her tongue, thinking again of the commercial. It’s stupid. She’s stupid.

Nat’s stomach clenches. She crosses to the toilet in two steps and leans down, barely getting her fingers past her teeth before hot bile splashes into the water. She tastes copper mixed with the acid, and when she looks down, a thin veil of rust red swirls with the pale yellow.

Nat shouldn’t feel triumphant. Biting through her tongue or aggravating an ulcer is no cause for celebration. But there’s too much other celebration going on today. Nat needs the counterweight.

She tears off a length of toilet paper and wipes her mouth, then shakily stands up and washes her hands. Nat glances at her delicate gold watch. Three minutes left. It’s enough time, but barely.

She takes a deep breath, willing her diaphragm to stop trembling. She can do this. She’s done harder things. Standing with her friend through a 15-minute ceremony should be nothing. Nat picks up her neat black heels and tucks the room key into her back pocket. She steps into the hallway and runs for the stairs. The elevators are too slow. Plus the privacy of the stairwell will give her a chance to dry her tears.

[chroniccombustion]

Caught in the Grey (ch 2)

Genre: Trans!AU, hurt/comfort, romance, angst with a happy ending Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), Yosuke Hanamura, Naoto Shirogane, Investigation Team, Izanagi/Shadow!Souji Warnings: depression, dysphoria, disassociation, self-hatred, implied suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, mentions of homophobia, implied past child abuse and transphobia, canon-typical violence, mild sexual content Status: multi-chapter, incomplete

Playlist: Spotify | Youtube <- previous chapter | next chapter ->

The light has changed from dingy blue-grey to anxious pink by the time he realigns himself, creeping along the wall to spill down across the floor. There is a twisting sensation low in his stomach, a burning in the back of this throat. He runs his leaden tongue across his gums and they tingle in response. The ache is still there in every limb, echoed by a shaky feeling that makes his world feel like it’s slipping in and out of solidity.

He flips open his phone with his thumb. 7:19am the screen now reads, as well as a flashing notice from half an hour ago, proclaiming, 1 new message.

Shirogane-kun: SENPAI PLS CALL ME

Chapter 2: Been a Long Damn Day

“From the beach to the city, I been putting on a face. You’re no stranger to a mask, you ain’t lost or amazed. I been lost in a maze, been a long damn day, I been lost in a maze, been a long damn day…”

- (“Sinking”, Jeremy Zucker)

Shirogane-kun: SOUJI-SENPAI WHERE R U?

Shirogane-kun:  R U OK?

Shirogane-kun: PLS RESPOND

Shirogane-kun: SENPAI PLS I AM WORRIED

4 missed calls from Shirogane-kun

 Aibo: bro u ok? wtf happened?

Aibo: no srsly wth? what was that?

Aibo: prtnr we cant find u where did u go?

Aibo: shit the girls pageant is starting we cant leave

Aibo: not funny bro

Aibo: call me back man cmon ur freakin me out

Aibo: souji?

7 missed calls from Aibo

            14 new messages, 9 missed calls from Kanji-kun, ~*Rise!*~, Amagi Yukiko, Satanaka Chie, TEDDIE

 Souji stares down at the phone in his hand, squinting against the brightness of the screen in the pre-dawn gloom. 5:42am, it reads. Fantastic.

He shifts his weight to lean more against the side of the couch rather than the chilly wall and groans involuntarily when his entire body protests. He’s stiff, cold, and his everything is angry with him for sleeping on the floor. His uniform pants are still on from yesterday, though he has no idea just where his shirt and jacket went – or the flesh-colored bit of fabric that he wears underneath. At some point after running home in a blind, dissociative panic he knows he must have pulled them off because he remembers being shirtless before properly passing out, so, theoretically, they must be in the room with him somewhere. He doesn’t have the energy to look.

As long as his pants are still on.

As exhausted as he is, (mentally, physically, emotionally,) he knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep at this rate. He can’t work up the energy to pull out the futon or change into real pajamas, and besides, he’d just have to get right back up for school again soon after. His body aches too much to let him relax anyway.

So Souji sits there, folded over on himself in the corner between the couch and wall, and doesn’t read the slew of missed texts from his worried friends. He can’t; their escalating concern leaves a guilty stone in his stomach on top of the embarrassment he already feels. He knows they’ll be upset with him for not telling them where he is, that he’s okay, and it spikes his anxiety just thinking about it – which just makes it all the more impossible to open the rest of the texts. He’d barely made it through Naoto’s, forced himself to read Yosuke’s, before he’d had to quit.

Something else, though, is the quiet, creeping dread that has nestled into his already-anxious heart. He can’t read the rest, can’t bring himself to respond and ease their worry because he doesn’t know what to say. How can he possibly explain to his friends why he bolted like a frightened cat for seemingly no reason? They’d want to know what set him off, why it had caused such a violent reaction, and every reason Souji can think of just leads his brain deeper and deeper down the winding rabbit hole of Things He Doesn’t Want to Talk About.

How is he supposed to tell them what brought about his soul-shattering panic attack without revealing everything else?

Still. If he stays silent for too much longer then he’ll lose the window of opportunity to try and play this whole thing off as something they shouldn’t worry about. He also potentially runs the risk of one of them reporting him missing, or even just straight up going to his uncle. There is no easy way to go about handling this garbage fire of a situation and trying to think of ways to avoid it is only making everything so much worse inside his head.

Souji lolls his head back and watches the encroaching dawn slither through his windows and play across the wall across from him. It’s the only light in the room aside from his phone. Eventually, that, too, goes dark.

 The light has changed from dingy blue-grey to anxious pink by the time he realigns himself, creeping along the wall to spill down across the floor. There is a twisting sensation low in his stomach, a burning in the back of this throat. He runs his leaden tongue across his gums and they tingle in response. The ache is still there in every limb, echoed by a shaky feeling that makes his world feel like it’s slipping in and out of solidity.

He flips open his phone with his thumb. 7:19am the screen now reads, as well as a flashing notice from half an hour ago, proclaiming, 1 new message.

Shirogane-kun: SENPAI PLS CALL ME

He… wants to. Out of all his friends, Naoto would be the safest one to talk to right now. They know, and he wouldn’t have to think up some excuse as to why he fled from school the way he did. It would be… refreshing, he thinks, to finally be honest about a situation like this. (He also shamefully knows that of everyone he still owes an explanation to, he may have frightened Naoto the most. After all they’ve done for him the past two days, he owes them at least this much.)

His thumb only hesitates over the call button for a moment – just one – before he shakily presses it down. The line picks up on the second ring.

“Senpai! Oh thank god; are you alright? Where are you?’

Souji winces at the desperation in his friend’s voice. “I’m fi—“ He swallows against the dryness in this throat, hesitant to say “fine,” because he really, probably isn’t. He hasn’t been fine for days. “I’m alive,” he finally settles on. “I woke up at home but I don’t remember getting here.” There’s no point in lying, and it feels good – if only a little – to admit even the tiniest bit of weakness to someone he knows won’t use it against him.

There is a pause on the other end of the line. “You… ‘woke up’,” Naoto slowly repeats. “How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know. The whole time, I think.”

Naoto sighs and it sounds like a rush of tension being released. “Alright. Alright, it’s worrying that you do not remember, but at least you’re safe.”

There is another pause, a longer one this time, that Souji doesn’t know how to fill. When Naoto finally speaks again, their voice is tiny, quiet, sounding so very young and sad that it damn near wrenches Souji apart.

“…Senpai, you scared me. I knew something must have happened but...”

There’s no one there to see it in the dark, but Souji instinctively hangs his head, shame and guilt lashing at his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Something that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle comes over the line before Naoto vehemently says, “Don’t apologize. I know what panic can do to the mind, and I suspect you were not in complete control at the time. I just wish I could have helped.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” he says, because it’s true.

Naoto doesn’t seem to agree. “What I have done is paltry compared to what needed to be done. I try not to make deductions about the Team anymore, but I imagine you require a great deal more support right now than a pack of makeup wipes.”

He doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t exactly know how he can.

Naoto sighs again, this time sounding more frustrated than relieved. “I… That was invasive of me, I apologize.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, but your patience with me is appreciated anyway.”

They go quiet for a bit, and Souji can hear faint noises in the background – rustling cloth, the creak of leather. He is reminded that it’s early-o-clock on a school day and that Naoto is probably in the middle of getting ready to leave.

“Souji-senpai?” they finally say, soft and cautious. If Souji were to have any other siblings beyond Nanako, he thinks maybe he wouldn’t mind having Naoto as family.

“I’m still here,” he answers, and it feels like a drop of warmth. He thinks he might smile if he wasn’t so drained still.

“Do you… need to talk about it? Whatever it was that happened, I mean.”

He thinks. Yes, in a way he does, if only to let Naoto in the way they deserve to be. It would be nice to get it off his chest, to have someone understand, but at the same time he doesn’t think he can. Telling Naoto – while safe – would also mean reliving the gut-dropping horror of Teddie’s words. Souji has just barely gotten purchase in the real word again, shaky as it is, and he’d rather not have that tentative stability taken away again. So he takes a breath and lets it out slowly through his nose.

“I… probably,” he says, “but I’d rather not think about it anymore.”

Naoto hums. “I understand. Sometimes it’s better that way.”

There is more shuffling. Then, “I’m terrible at this, aren’t I?”

Souji huffs – a quiet laugh that isn’t exactly a laugh but is closer than he usually gets. “I don’t think so,” he assures them. “You’re trying; that’s more than I’m used to.”

He thinks he probably shouldn’t have said that. He can’t bring himself to dwell on it right now.

A low, displeased sound comes through the earpiece, and Souji can vividly picture the stern furrow of Naoto’s brows, their lips pressed into a thin, stony line. Yeah. He really shouldn’t have said that.

Thankfully they seem to let it go (though he’s pretty sure Naoto never lets anything go and is just filing it away for later,) because the next words he hears from them are, “Did you sleep at all?”

“Uhm. A little. I think so, at least.” It certainly wasn’t long or well, but he isn’t going to mention that.

Another low, wordless sound. “Have you eaten?”

Oh.

He thinks back to the way his stomach had purged itself the day before last, how he’d been too dead inside to eat breakfast or even pack lunch yesterday. No wonder his body feels weak and shaky, his skull tight behind his eyes.

He swallows. “I… no. Not since… no.”

“Senpai.”

“I think… I might need to stay home today,” he whispers sheepishly. He feels like a child facing down the disapproving stare of an older sibling – which throws him a little since Naoto is younger than he is. He can’t tell if it’s comforting or just plain unsettling. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Do you want me to tell the others you have food poisoning?”

He startles. “That…” He clears his throat to try and regain himself. He’s surprised by how easily Naoto is able to handle this, how quickly they volunteer to cover for him. He hates that he’s surprised. He thinks Naoto would hate that he’s surprised as well.

“You’d do that?” he whispers, unable to hide the slight tremble of grateful awe.

Naoto’s voice is kind, gentle like warm water on an aching body when they say, “I’ll tell them whatever you need me to, Senpai, and nothing else.”

Souji makes a sound that he’s pretty sure is wet and mildly hysterical. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Senpai. I mean that truly.”

He lets out a long, slow breath, careful not to do so directly into the phone, and lets the feeling of something safe and grateful and happy wash over him; like a place to rest when exhaustion peaks, or the warmth of a fire chasing away cold misery. Or, he thinks with a tiny smile, the glowing, sparkling, champagne-fizzy feeling that a bond sends zinging through his veins whenever its rank has risen.

Comfortable quiet reigns as the rank up run its course.

All too soon though, reality returns and through the phone speaker there comes a clock chime from somewhere in the background. Naoto makes a muffled sound as they apparently take their phone away from their ear for a moment.

“Do I need to let you go?” Souji asks when it seems like Naoto can hear him again.

They sigh. “Possibly. Will you be alright?”

He pauses. Aside from how shitty he feels due to lack of proper sleep and no food for two days, he feels… lighter. The anxiety from before has calmed somewhat now that he no longer has to drag his protesting body to school and face down his friends. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s nice to find that he means it. “I’ll be alright. I’ll…” he huffs – the faintest hint of a chuckle, “…spend the day recovering, probably.”

Naoto hums again. “Good, do that.” A beat of silence. Then, “Thank you for calling me, Senpai. If you hadn’t I was planning on coming by your house after school.” They make an odd noise that Souji thinks might be an audible expression of discomfort. “I would have done so yesterday, to be honest, had Kashiwagi-sensei not hauled us all off to change for the beauty pageant.”

Oh hell. He’d forgotten about the second pageant. He winces as he realizes just how awful it must have been for his friends – Naoto especially. “I am so sorry,” he says, his voice a rush of breath. “I shouldn’t have run out on you like that; after everything you did for me, I should have stayed to support you—“

But Naoto cuts him off. “Senpai, it’s alright. Panic and the mind, remember? Don’t apologize.” They make the noise of discomfort again, and Souji thinks he can almost hear the way Naoto’s face scrunches up when they deeply dislike something. “Obviously I survived, though it was… unpleasant,” they say, tone flat and unamused. “I won.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, I would like very much for that to never happen again to either of us.”

There is a muffled voice on Naoto’s end of the line and Souji hears what might be a hand covering the receiver. Naoto says something in return, though Souji doesn’t catch it. A few seconds pass before Naoto returns. “I’m afraid I have to leave now, Senpai. Would it be alright for me to text you during lunch to check on you?”

Souji feels the edges of his mouth stretching upwards, just slightly. He can’t remember if he’s ever smiled as much as he has in recent months. “If you want to,” he replies. “I’ll be okay, though; I just need to eat something.”

“Please do.” A sigh. “Take care, Senpai.”

“You, too.”

Naoto makes one last short noise of affirmation before the line disconnects and Souji is left to stare down at the call’s time stamp on his dimly glowing screen. 7:38. He’ll be late if he wants to try and make it to school.

He isn’t going to.

Looking up at the room around him he is surprised to find the morning light has started to fill it properly – more gold now than blue or pink. It’s brighter than yesterday, when it was a pale, sickly yellow reflecting the way his body felt like lead and his head like poison. He stretches his arms upwards, grunting as several things pop. Maybe today will be better, he thinks; maybe his mind got its fill of blackness over the past 48 hours and will leave him alone today.

Deciding that a good place to start would be finally acknowledging how empty his stomach is, Souji pulls himself to his feet and braces himself against the back of the couch as the waves of dizziness roll over him. He lets them pass, then pushes off the couch, shaky and weak. He’s glad it sounds like no one else is home – he’d hate to try and explain why he was hugging the wall on his way down the stairs. He steels himself, plants his weight on the balls of his feet as best he can, and slowly starts to make his way down towards the kitchen.

He only pauses once for breath at the bottom of the stairs, taking the opportunity to change his newest friend’s name in his phone from “Shirogane-kun” to “Naoto”. 

He feels along the bond of the Wheel of Fortune arcana and smiles at the newfound strength glowing back at him.

---

Souji expects school the next day to be an awkward affair, and to some degree it is. Thankfully no one outside the IT seemed to really notice his terrified escape two days prior; or, at least, no one outside his friend group says anything. He does, however, catch a few whispers floating around as he passes certain groups of people – whispers that sound suspiciously like they’re about the cross dressing pageant and how “good” he looked on stage, usually from tight clusters of giggling girls or between the odd pair of jittery-looking guys. He does his best not to listen.

The real unease, though, sets in when he slips into his seat in the classroom and Yukiko, Chie, and Yosuke – who is here early for once – all turn to look at him. He tries to give them a reassuring smile but it feels just as forced as it actually is. Yosuke especially seems unconvinced.

Luckily the teacher walks in just as Souji feels the back of his head starting to smoke from how intensely Yosuke is staring, so he’s spared having to face his partner just yet.

Unluckily, this just means that by the time lunch rolls around, Yosuke wastes no time in poking Souji’s shoulder to get him to turn around. Slowly, Souji does so, and fixes his best friend with a shaky half-smile. He’s so tired of his nerves running at full capacity.

“Hey,” he says, a little less steady than he’d like.

Yosuke raises a brow at him. “Hey, yourself. What the hell, man? Why didn’t you text me back?”

Besides them, Yukiko nods in agreement and Chie opens her mouth to join the conversation.

Souji doesn’t wait for her to speak. “Did Naoto tell you what happened?” It’s partially a stalling tactic – something he hates being so good at anymore – and partially to see what they think went down so that he can build a believable story off it. Naoto had messaged him during lunch the day before, as they said they would, and given him a rundown of the excuse they had spun for him, but he doesn’t want to just play off that. Yosuke is too observant for his own good sometimes, and his ego is fragile enough that Souji knows he’ll need to be extra careful when trying to lie his way around his best friend’s suspicion.

It’s Yukiko that answers. “Naoto-kun said you went home because you weren’t feeling well, and that was why you weren’t at school yesterday.” She tilts her head, dark eyes narrowing in concern. “But you disappeared so suddenly! You seemed fine before.”

“Yeah,” Chie exclaims, nodding vigorously. “One minute you were in the classroom with us and the next you were just gone!”

“And tearing down the hallway like the building was on fire. Seriously, bro, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fast.” A flicker of worry passes over Yosuke’s face before it settles back into the oddly pinched look he’s been wearing. He stares at Souji with creased brows and a downturned mouth. “And apparently you just left? You didn’t even stay to see the girls! I woulda thought you’d at least wanna cleanse your eyes after seeing Kanji in a dress.”

Souji feels his face turn stony. When Chie makes a noise of offence and smacks Yosuke in the back of the head, Souji makes no move to intercept.

Instead, he chooses to look at Yukiko when he speaks, as though he’s answering questions in turn. “I was fine for a while.” He has enough to work with, he thinks. Maybe. Naoto has laid the groundwork for him to (hopefully) weasel his way out of this without too many roadblocks. He chooses a middle path between lying (he doesn’t like lying to friends now that he has them) and the truth (because no, no, not in a million years, no) and works the half-truths through a set of carefully constructed loopholes. He’s become far too good at loopholes.

He tugs at his own expression until it resembles something sheepish. His nerves help it look more real. “I made the mistake of not eating anything yesterday because I was nervous.” (Not a lie.) “Naoto actually found me in the bathroom… throwing up stomach acid.” (Also not a lie, as long as he doesn’t tell them when Naoto found him in the bathroom.) He looks away and rubs at a spot just behind his ear. He’s aware that it makes him look embarrassed – which is fine – but it also gives him an excuse not to keep eye contact.

Chie and Yukiko both make sounds of distress, talking at him and over each other in their concern and he thinks he may have managed to fool them. He glances at Yosuke and, yeah, no, that’s not convincement looking back at him.

“So you bolted cuz you had to go throw up?” Yosuke asks, his voice thinly tinted with disbelief.

Lay it thicker, maybe I can shock him into buying it.

Souji nods. “I’m sorry I worried you,” he says to all of them, but directly at Yosuke to make sure his partner feels special here. He stifles a grimace at how manipulative he has to be – how much of a coward he knows he’s being. He hates this. “I screwed up and made myself sick. By the time I got home I was in such bad shape that all I could do was lay down and pass out. I didn’t even wake up until yesterday morning.”

Again, it’s not technically a lie, even if he more disassociated than “passed out,” and he doesn’t actually remember anything from his panic attack. He’s aware that when the story gets around to the kohai, Rise will likely blame herself for insisting he participate in the pageant. A tiny peek over at Yukiko and Chie’s faces tells him that they’re feeling a little guilty, too. He hates this. He hates it.

And he especially hates the tiny little piece of him that whispers, “good.”

Trying to swallow the guilt in his own gut, Souji places his hands on his knees and bows low in his seat. It’s the last card he can play without despising himself entirely, and the final touch to what he hopes is a believable enough story.

Chie says something to him that Souji only barely listens to, while Yukiko puts a hand to her mouth and gives him a look like a sad puppy as he slowly sits up. Yosuke, however, seems unsure. His mouth is open slightly like he wants to say something, and he looks torn between worry and confusion.

Deflect. Distract.

Souji puts on a self-depreciating smile. “I’m really sorry, Partner,” (because he knows Yosuke is weak to the nickname), “I left right after Naoto found me. I would have said something but I was afraid I’d have to answer to Kashiwagi if she caught me trying to leave.” He twists his face into something that might be a non-verbal “yikes.”

And that’s what does the trick.

Yosuke’s expression switches to a more exaggerated version of Souji’s own. “Oh god. Smart thinking, man, she probably would’ve made you stay even if you’d throw up on her.” He shudders. “Her in a swimsuit is gonna haunt my nightmares forever.”

Souji actually balks at that. “Swimsuit?” has asks, genuinely aghast as he looks to Chie for confirmation. Oh. Well hell, now he feels even worse for leaving Naoto to their fate the other day.

Chie nods. “Yeah, we had to go up there in swimsuits and dresses and everything. It was humiliating.”

The way Souji’s face contorts in unbridled, empathetic discomfort is completely real and completely involuntary. “I am so sorry.”

Yukiko looks at him, puzzled. “Why? You didn’t sign us up.” She and Chie both shoot Yosuke a look that could curdle blood.

“Oh come on!” Yosuke sputters in response. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

Something tightens in Souji’s chest and, not for the first time, he wishes he had the courage to shut Yosuke’s bullshit down. But he doesn’t, so he doesn’t, and the trickle of self hate from earlier drips just a little bit faster.

Souji bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

 “At least everything you wore was meant for girls,” Yosuke is saying, holding his hands up as though trying to placate a snarling dog. It seems to be going about as well as expected.

He turns his head to shoot Souji a look that says ‘back me up’ but Souji simply raises an eyebrow at him. He might not be brave enough to tell his best friend off for being a prick, but he also has no desire to get pulled into the hole Yosuke is digging right now.  

Yosuke seems to understand that Souji isn’t going to help him, because his face is distinctly paler when he turns back to the girls and says, “You wanna talk humiliating, us guys had it so much worse in drag!”  

Wrong move.

Yosuke lets out a squawk as the girls rightfully begin to tear into him like feral cats; Chie with her fist and Yukiko with words like daggers. Souji lets it happen.

Silently, he digs out his bento and tries very hard not to be bitter. About the way Yosuke’s words leave a weird hot-stinging sensation in Souji’s chest, about how no one seems inclined to apologize for signing him up for the pageant; just… everything.

He squashes the thoughts back down before they can affect his outward expression. It’s fine, it’s okay, everything is okay; he doesn’t feel childishly irritated over the whole damn situation. He just wants the subject dropped.

“I should go apologize to the others,” he says as he stands. No one seems to really hear him, but Yukiko does spare him a nod as he passes. Chie is too busy digging her knuckles into Yosuke’s scalp to notice him leaving.

He heads out the door, bento in hand, and starts in the direction of the stairwell. He really does plan on apologizing to Kanji and Rise at some point today – and Teddie, too, of course, though Souji stills feels shaky at the thought of talking to him just yet – but for now he really just wants to find Naoto. He hopes they like onigiri; out of all his friends, Naoto is the only one he hasn’t yet had a chance to make lunch for, and food will be a good way to start thanking them properly now that the chaos has mostly died down.

It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with Souji finding his own appetite gone for the third time in several days.

---

Lunch with Naoto is a welcome break from the tension of his own classroom. He tries to apologize in person – because it’s more polite than over the phone – but Naoto doesn’t let him. Instead, they wave away his attempt with a light flush on their face and pull down their cap to hide it. It doesn’t quite work. Still, the air between the two of them is surprisingly easy to breathe and Souji feels the last of the jitters drain from his limbs.

They talk a bit. It isn’t for very long, since Souji had spent the first third of the lunch period spinning his not-story for Chie, Yukiko, and Yosuke, but the conversation is easier than he’s used to and he realizes with a kind of happy warmth that it’s because he isn’t having to hide. He doesn’t need to keep his voice in check, keep it purposefully low and quiet, so he’s actually able to talk a little more than he usually does and not worry what will happen if he lets his vocal chords do as they want. He’s practiced for years at this point, anyway, so the danger is minimal, but sometimes, sometimes his throat starts to hurt when he tries for a tone just the wrong side of comfortable.

He’s even managed to regain some of his appetite by the time the end of lunch rolls around and together, he and Naoto make a decent-sized dent in the humble bento. (It turns out that, yes, Naoto does in fact like onigiri, and that the seasoned rice with tuna is their unexpected favorite.) Naoto thanks him but he turns the tables and waves their thanks away in a similar fashion to what they’d done with his apology. They part with plans to spend lunch together again before the week is over and Souji finds he’s wearing the same small, genuine smile that only seems to come out because of Naoto.

He’s almost late getting back because he actually runs into Rise on the way to his classroom and takes the opportunity to apologize to her, too. She does start to blame herself, just like he thought she might, but a well placed smile that he knows makes her blush and a few words of reassurance have her giving him a watery smile in return. He makes it back just in the nick of time with one more friendship smoothed over.

The second half of the day is… interesting. Things seem to have gone back to relatively normal between him and Yukiko and Chie. Chie asks him how it went right before the teacher walks in and Souji flashes her a quick thumbs up. She grins.

No, everything is fine with the girls; it’s Yosuke that appears to still have issues. On any other day his best friend would be poking him in the back with the top of a pencil, tapping him in the side with a note he was passing, whispering snarky commentary about something one of their teachers says, but today…

Souji wants to ask just how badly Chie knuckled him, but he thinks that may be the least of the reasons why Yosuke isn’t interacting like he normally does. A lump forms in Souji throat that refuses to go away no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down.

It takes forever but the final bell eventually rings and, nervous as he is about, well, everything anymore, Souji slides around in his seat to give his partner a smile. He tries to make it as real as he can, calling on all the good things he feels about Yosuke and tucking his earlier frustrations away for the time being. As much of an ass as Yosuke can be, he’s still Souji’s best friend, and Souji would very much like that dynamic back now, if possible. He misses normal.

Just as he opens his mouth to ask if Yosuke wants to walk home together, the other boy stands and slings his bag over his shoulder. Yosuke hurries out of the room, only pausing briefly to turn around and walk backwards while flashing Souji a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I gotta get ready for work, I’ll see ya later, Partner!” And then he’s dashing out the door with one last, “I’m glad you’re better, dude!”

It hurts a bit, like a bruise he accidentally smacked that now throbs a dull rhythm. But, he supposes he might deserve it after the scare he gave everybody, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Yosuke were still upset about Souji not letting him know he was alright. He also can’t actually say his partner doesn’t have an after-school shift, so in the end Souji resigns himself to that little spark of pain and vows to text Yosuke later before he goes to bed. Maybe he’ll bring another lunch to share tomorrow. Just to be safe.

He stays and talks to Yukiko and Chie for a few minutes before Yukiko remembers that she has to go help set up for a large business dinner being held at the inn that night. Chie offers to walk with her and Souji bids them both farewell.

The biggest surprise of the day, however, is finding Kanji waiting by his shoe locker, looking more than a little trepidatious.

At first Souji thinks it’s about his disappearing act the other day; after all, Kanji is the only schoolmate he still owes an apology to. (Teddie is, again, a different matter altogether.) So Souji puts on the appropriate facial expression and readies himself to repeat the story one more time.

“Kanji, hi,” he says, nodding when his friend looks up at his approach.

Kanji stands up straighter from where he’s been leaning against he side of the lockers, but he keeps his arms across his chest like a shield. “H-hey, Senpai.” He looks away and doesn’t say anything more.

Taking that as his cue to start, Souji politely tilts his head and puts on the familiar sheepish expression. “I should apologize—“

“You busy right now?”

Souji blinks stupidly. He closes his mouth with a quiet ‘click’ and takes a second to recover from being cut off and thrown wildly off-balance.

Kanji flushes. “Sorry, Senpai, I just…” He clears his throat and looks back up, shoulders squaring. “I gotta talk to somebody about somethin’ and you’re kinda the only person I trust with it.”

Souji’s eyes go impossibly wider. He feels his brows somewhere up near his hairline and absently wonders where his perfect control over his own face went. “I…” he starts, still not entirely reoriented. He quickly switches gears and tries to tuck the confusion away to make room for Friend Mode. “O…kay?”

Well. It’s something. He clears his throat and stars again, the smallest of frowns creeping along his mouth. “Is everything alright? You know I’ll help in any way I can.”

Kanji gives him nothing but a stiff nod and poorly concealed nerves.

Souji keeps a tight leash on his expression. “Okay, well, let me get my shoes and we can walk together?” he tries. He not sure if he should be anxious or not but whatever Kanji needs him for, Souji knows that he’ll at least feel more at ease somewhere further away from school.

“Oh!” Kanji startles a little and steps far enough back that Souji can get to his locker. “Right. Sorry.”

Five minutes later sees them passing through the school gates, side by side in silence.

Without a clear destination, Souji simply steers them towards the floodplain. If the little seating area is free then that’s where he plans to take them; it’s a familiar enough place that he feels comfortable talking there, but also has plenty of open air so he can make a hasty – but polite – escape should he need to. He doesn’t like that his first reactions to half his friends these days have been self-debates on whether or not he can outrun them.

Kanji keeps fidgeting as they walk, like his fingers are tracing out knitting patterns to keep his mind busy. Souji doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Kanji so jittery when Naoto wasn’t nearby for his friend to sweat over. Their mutual crush is adorable in how obvious it is to everyone but them and Souji hopes one of them will make a move some day. They would make a good couple.

Matchmaking aside, Souji wonders if maybe he should try his apology once more – if only to break the cacophonous silence. He’s had more than enough silence from his own parents, thanks; he doesn’t like it from his friends.

The thought cuts a deep path through Souji’s chest and he grinds his teeth against it, though the pain is an old one and he’s long since grown accustomed to it. It’s been a while since his mind has turned to that particular dark corner.

(He tramples another thought before it can fully form – one that seems hell-bent on comparing certain old hurts with the newer ache of Yosuke apparently avoiding him.)

“I owe you an apology,” he says suddenly, his voice a bit too loud in his own ears. He turns his head to catch Kanji twitching like he’s been startled before looking over at Souji in confusion.

“Huh? What for?”

Souji keeps his features carefully schooled. “For what happened after the pageant. Running off and not telling anyone where I went.” He tilts his head and does not frown. “Freaking everyone out?”

“Oh, that.” Kanji rubs at the back of his neck. “I appreciate it, but you don’t gotta apologize to me, Senpai. Naoto and Rise both already filled me in.” He pauses to give Souji a long, appraising look. “How’re ya feelin’, by the way?”

That catches Souji off guard. It seems Kanji is just exceptionally good at that today. “I’m alright,” he says honestly. Once more, he avoids the word “fine” because that, to him, would imply more than just physical alright-ness and he just… doesn’t want to think about that anymore.

Kanji seems satisfied with his answer and turns back to watching the world in front of them. “Can’t say I wasn’t worried, ‘specially after seeing you bookin’ it down the hallway like that, but I figured you’d let someone know eventually.” He shrugs. “And if you didn’t me an’ Naoto were gonna go check out your house after school today.”

Souji actually chuckles at that, breath stuttering past his lips to form the sound. “So they told me.” He lets one corner of his mouth tug upward as he catches Kanji’s eye again. “Thank you. And I am sorry.”

Kanji flushes and looks away. “Nah, ‘s nothing.”

The rest of the walk is significantly less tense after that.

Subsequently, it’s also shorter than it had seemed a few minutes ago. They arrive not long after and Souji takes it upon himself to sit down and fold his hands over the tabletop, leaving Kanji to lean his hip against the opposite corner.

Well, here goes.

“Alright,” he says, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “What can I do to help?”

Kanji snorts, but it’s neither derogatory nor mirthful. He doesn’t look at Souji as he crosses his arms back over his chest. “Ain’t really somethin’ I need help with so much as I just need to... get it off my chest, ya know?” He frees one hand and makes a sharp, vague gesture near where his heart is. “I can’t keep it in anymore; I gotta tell somebody or I’m gonna go crazy and… well, I figured you’re the safest bet...”

Souji’s expression melts into something soft, warm, amiable. “Well thank you,” he says, genuinely a little touched, only for Kanji’s entire face to go cinnamon-red.

Kanji makes a noise of frustration, scrubbing furiously at his hair to hide his burning cheeks before just giving up and turning so that Souji is now staring at his back. “Damnit, that wasn’t—! UG.” He takes a moment to gather himself; Souji gives it to him. Eventually Kanji lets out a heavy breath and straightens up once more. He makes no move to turn around.

“Look, Senpai, you… You’ve always accepted me, yeah? You never treated me like I was some kinda delinquent or, or whatever Yosuke-senpai fuckin’ thinks I am—“

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Souji says, low and dark and steely. He feels the bitterness and self-dislike bubbling up from their deep-seated pools. Kanji is a good person – rough around the edges, yes, but still just a kid like the rest of them and a genuinely kind one at that. Souji hates how afraid he’s been of jeopardizing Yosuke’s opinion of him, of how he’s been too much of a coward to stand up for his younger friend and make Yosuke apologize for his homophobia. A team is only as good as its leader and Souji must really be a poor leader if he can’t even stop his own lieutenant from being a jerk.

It’s not just that you’re afraid of losing him as a friend, his mind whispers. You’re afraid of him finding out.

Souji glues his tongue to the roof of his mouth and clamps down on the horrible way his chest constricts.

Luckily Kanji is still facing away from him. “Y-yeah,” he agrees, oblivious to his senpai’s internal self-disgust. “Yeah, you’re cool like that. An’ that’s why you’re kinda my best bud.”

Oh, now that just makes Souji feel even worse. He’d forgotten that Kanji had told him that once, back when Naoto had first officially joined the IT, and hearing it again now is like a fist to the spine. He’s failed Kanji, he really has, he—

“And I mean! I know you an’ Yosuke-senpai are ‘partners’ or whatever, but I just… I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that I trust you, Senpai.” Kanji sighs, the line of tension in his shoulders giving way. He tucks his hands into his pants pockets and stares at something out over the grey-sapphire shimmer of the river below.

Souji swallows. “Kanji…”

He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say, besides another useless “sorry”?

But Kanji just shakes his head and leans his weight back on his heels. He looks up at the sky, or maybe just lolls his head back in resignation, like a man coming to terms with the thousand-foot-drop that awaits him.

Souji knows the feeling.

“I think,” he says – and it’s so quiet that Souji has to lean forward to try and hear him better. There is a pause as Kanji takes a deep, long breath and lets it out.

“I think I might be bi.”

Souji is floored. Of all the possible things that Kanji could have just said to him, Souji was very much NOT excepting that to be one of them. It comes so far out of left field that it actually shocks all of Souji’s dark and guilty thoughts into absolute silence.

The quiet rings out between them, stretching into an impossibly long handful of seconds. Souji needs to respond, he knows he needs to, can see the way Kanji’s shoulders have started to tighten and hunch, but for the first time in forever Souji’s mind is empty and he cannot remember how to form words with his tongue.

So he just blinks like an owl and breathes out a soft, “…Oh.” Because really, how else can he react?

Something about how he says it has Kanji tentatively turning halfway around to look at him. Kanji’s face is guarded, like he’s ready at any moment to throw up his bravado, his shields, and the vulnerability it exposes is enough to finally, finally snap Souji back into action.

A warm smile spreads over Souji’s features, hardly even bidden, and he leans back to sit more naturally upright. He lets the smile crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you for telling me, Kanji.” He keeps his voice light, calm, kind; he is completely honest when he glances away and says, “I know how hard it must have been to say it out loud.”

Kanji’s eyes widen in realization. “Senpai… You, too?”

Souji makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a wispy bark of laughter. It’s stifled, but his shoulders jerk with the veiled force of the noise and he matches Kanji’s gaze with a tired, understanding one of his own. “Not bi, no,” he says pointedly, cocking an eyebrow and hoping it’s visible beneath his hair.

Kanji lets out a shaky breath. “Oh,” he echoes. He slides down onto the bench across from Souji, almost like he’s a block of ice melting in the sudden sunlight. “So you’re…?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in companionable silence for a minute, each processing the conversation so far.

After a few beats, Souji tilts his head curiously and asks, “What made you want to tell me?”

Oh, that…

Souji immediately dislikes how that sounded and his face twists minutely at the sour taste the words leave on his tongue. He hastily adds, “I’m honored that you did, don’t get me wrong, but—“

“Why’d I pick now?”

Souji sucks part of his lip between his teeth and nods.

Kanji sighs and leans back on the bench – which looks horribly uncomfortable, considering there’s nothing for his back to rest against. He re-crosses his arms and looks up at a passing cloud. “I started figuring it out a while ago and it’s been buggin’ me ever since. Like, it’s too big a secret to keep by myself, ya know?”

Souji does know. Oh god does he know.

He nods again, even though Kanji can’t see it properly while looking elsewhere. Kanji seems to catch it, though, because he keeps going.

“And after all that shit with my shadow, I just… I dunno. I’m sick of tryin’a hide from myself, so I thought, hey, this is a thing about me, might as well accept it.” He pauses and shifts awkwardly, clearly trying to consider his next words. His eyes flick over to Souji once or twice but he quickly averts them again right after.

Souji waits. He refuses to make this any more difficult for his friend than it already is.

He has a hard time keeping the surprise from his face, though, when Kanji mutters, “Weirdest part is, I knew but it didn’t really hit me until the stupid pageant.”

“The pageant?” Souji blurts. “How?!” Everything in his head scrambles a little, and there is a moment where he’s just gaping at Kanji like a fish with his mouth trying to form shapes and failing miserably.

He not sure how two people could have such wildly different reactions to that living nightmare of a day.

Kanji actually laughs at his outburst – a bit awkwardly, but still a laugh. “Yeah, the whole thing sucked ass, didn’t it?” He scratches at this cheek. “Kinda liked my dress, though…”

“It looked good on you,” Souji mumbles, still not fully recovered.

Kanji flushes and glances away. “Thanks, Senpai. You uh, you looked good, t—“ He trails off as he looks back over at Souji, eyes widening and brows furrowing.

Souji’s making a face; he knows he is, there’s no way he isn’t when there’s a layer of frost creeping its freezing fingers over his heart. He can feel the stretch of his lips over his teeth in a twisting grimace that’s well beyond his own control. Don’t think about it, please don’t think about it...

Kanji coughs into his fist. “Uh, I mean, you always look good, Senpai.” His expression does something funny, like he’s just realized what he’d said, and he apparently just gives up trying to salvage it. Instead, he props his elbows up on the table and drops his face into his hands. “Fuuuuuuuuck! See? That’s my problem! Naoto always looks good and you always look good, and I can’t catch a break!” He ‘thunks’ his forehead down onto the hard wooden tabletop. Souji hopes he hasn’t hurt himself.

 Kanji’s voice is muffled when he says, “That ain’t a confession, I swear, I just think you’re handsome, same as everybody else does.”

Oh.

OH!

Souji’s expression does a 180 and he can feel himself beaming. He’d been scared; after what Teddie had said, Souji had been expecting Kanji to say something similar, to say his bisexual realization had come about because of Souji in costume. (He suppresses a shudder at that.) But no. Kanji had called him “handsome” instead, which meant – awkward friendly attraction aside – Kanji had found him attractive as a guy. Not because he’d been dressed as something he wasn’t, Kanji had seen him at face value: a guy in a costume.

If he wasn’t so certain that Naoto would pistol whip him, Souji thinks he could dive across the table towards Kanji right now and kiss him.

He reins it in and settles for chuckling instead. “I’m flattered.” And he really kind of is. His eyes are fond as he adds, “I’m proud of you, too.”

Kanji sits back up again and flashes Souji a sheepish – albeit heavily relieved – grin. “You’re somethin’ else, ya know that, Senpai?”

Souji just beams brighter and gives him a noncommittal shrug.

Kanji exhales, the remaining tension bleeding out into the dirt below their feet. “Damn. It feels good to let all that out.” He laughs again, the sound light and relaxed. “I was gonna tell my ma first, but I think she already knows.”

Souji nods. His mouth turns imperceptibly downward and he says, with just a touch of chill, “A good mother usually does.” He tightens his face against the way it wants to crumple, and if there is a new ball of bitter thorns in his stomach then he chooses to leave it be.

Kanji thankfully doesn’t notice the way Souji’s expression has turned plastic. “Yeah,” he agrees, “and she’s said stuff before about ‘bringing a girl or a boy over for dinner’. I thought she was talkin’ about friends at the time but now I’m not so sure.”

He matches Souji’s gaze right as Souji manages to school his face back into something more natural. “I’m real glad I told you first, though.”

Warmth settles in on top of the thorny clot of pain and soothes the worst of the jagged edges. It’s still there – has been for years – but it’s easier to manage than it was a minute ago. Souji huffs through his nose, his quiet little not-laugh, and looks down at the table. Maybe he’s being selfish, but it makes him feel special in a way he thinks might be just what he’s needed.

“Me, too,” he says, and relishes in the feeling of fizzing, giddy brightness as the Emperor arcana jumps up another rank.

---

Souji goes home in a better mood than he ever expected to be. He makes dinner, watches TV with Nanako, manages to get a head start on the schoolwork he’d missed the day before. The only damper on his happiness is the fact that, despite Souji texting him several times throughout the evening, Yosuke has yet to answer back.

The sting from that afternoon returns and Souji is left frowning at his phone screen as he lies on his futon before sleeping. It’s… fine, he tells himself. I deserve this for scaring him like that. I’m overreacting.

He sets the phone aside and turns over, determined not to let it get to him. He’s asleep in minutes – well before midnight – and so doesn’t notice when the sky starts to open and drizzle gentle rain over top the resting world.

He doesn’t even stir when the clock strikes twelve and his television crackles to white-static life, a faceless monochrome figure peering out into his room with lightning-colored eyes.

[jeminy3]

FIRESIDE - Chapter 3

3. I'm not sure if I should show you what I've found.

has it gone for good?

or is it coming back around?

WARNINGS: suicidal talk/thinking, death mention, closeted feelings, yelling, callouts

Read on AO3 

Read on Google Docs

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5

- Back in the Present -

"...So, it was alright, I guess. She was alright, I mean. Don't know if I can say the same for myself."

...

"I mean, I tried. But she didn't seem into it as it went on. Dunno, maybe she could tell. At least she was nice enough not to say anything."

"...Not nice enough to at least leave me a note, or something. Just... poof, gone. Didn't even wake me."

...

"I'm not hung up. It was one night, I'll live. Not like it's the first time it's happened anyway."

...

"Hah, that's true. Look who I'm talking to."

Roy looks down from the horizon to what's in front of him: the grave of Brigadier General Maes Hughes. He's left another rose on it, alongside the other flowers and bouquets he's brought over the past two years. The grief's still there, but at least it's a more distant, empty feeling now.

He lets out a long, tired sigh. "...I know what you'd say. That I deserve better, right?"

He takes a swig from the small metal flask he's brought. It's some cheap gin, nothing special. Just something to take the edge off.

"You used to say that all the time. Didn't really help, but I guess it was better than nothing. We all know what I really deserve."

...

"Yeah? Wish I didn't."

...

"I guess so, yeah. It's nice while it lasts."

...

"Hah. You always made it look so easy. You were kind of an ass like that, y'know? Telling me to get married and all. But you didn't know, to be fair, so."

...

"Like I said, I'll live. This is nothing, compared to everything else I've been through."

...

"Well, it's looking like I'll be promoted soon, so... maybe it's not too long, now."

...

"I'll be fine. I'm kind of looking forward to it, actually. Maybe I'll see you again. See my parents, even. You'd better introduce me if they're there."

...

"I was a child, Maes. I'm practically a stranger now."

Roy glances back at the horizon, where the sun's dipping further and further from its high-noon position, the glare long-since faded from the surrounding clouds. He guesses that it must be getting close to two o' clock now. Break's almost over.

"It's getting late. Better get back to it, then."

...

"Yeah, I'll try. It's just... hard. You know."

He glances back over his shoulder as he turns to leave. "See you later, Maes."

Then he makes his way down the hill and out of the graveyard, away from the silence.

---

Breda approaches the break room door with some trepidation. It's quiet in there - too quiet. But he knows why. He sighs long-sufferingly, and pushes his way inside.

As soon as he enters, Havoc glares at him from the couch at the back of the room. And as Breda predicted, he's still in that mood. Leaning forward, arms draped over his knees, gritting his cigarette between his teeth, bouncing his foot vigorously. He's a ball of tension wound too tightly, ready to snap at any moment.

He's way too obvious at this point.

The others know as well, but are still keeping their distance from him. Riza in a chair near the center of the room, Fuery at the coffee pot in the corner, Falman by the water cooler to the left of the door. Safe positions.

Havoc meets Breda's eyes, jerks his chin. "He's at the graveyard again, isn't he?" he growls.

Breda shrugs. "Probably, yeah. His car wasn't out there when I looked."

"Tch..." Havoc clicks his tongue so harshly he almost hisses. With the smoke from his cigarette he looks every bit like the lit fuse of a bomb. He leans back, trying too hard to relax, crushing himself into the couch's back cushion.

He tears his cigarette out of his mouth, breathes out a uneven plume of smoke. "Typical. Talkin' to dead men when there's real ones right under his goddamn nose."

"You know how he is," Riza says evenly, but doesn't look at him.

He glares severely at her. "Yeah, but I don't have to like it."

Riza just shrugs at him. Breda can confidently say he's sized up the situation by now, and decides to move himself next to Falman by the water cooler, away from the door. The others aren't saying anything or making any moves, just glancing at Havoc nervously (especially Fuery). As usual, Breda decides to step up to the plate himself.

He gives Havoc a pointed look, putting his hands on his hips. "Y'know Jean, you could talk to him."

Havoc aims that glare right at Breda. "Oh yeah? And say what, exactly? Some sage relationship advice or somethin'? Sure, I'm the damn guru of that shit. Big help I'd be."

He's wide open. Breda looks him dead in eye, keeps his voice even and matter-of-fact.

"Jean... just tell him you love him already."

Direct hit. Havoc's eyes go wide, his jaw goes slack, his cheeks flush to the color of tomatoes. The tension snaps.

Havoc stares, stammers. "I- I don't-  W- what the HELL Breda?! Where'd that come from?!"

Breda frowns. After knowing Havoc for as long as he has, he can't be surprised. "Uh... from you, man. For what, the past year?"

"Two years now," Riza corrects.

"Possibly more, if you count anything before the Lab Three incident," Falman adds.

Havoc just gapes at all of them, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He's flushed down to his neck by now. "Wh- what the HELL are you talking about?! I- I'm not- I'm straight and you all know that!"

They all give him knowing looks. Fuery's turned away from the counter by now, arms crossed in front of his chest, face pinched with a look of absolute pity. "Jean, please. We're getting worried about you. You can't keep denying it forever."

Havoc scrambles to his feet and throws his cigarette to the floor, standing in this vaguely defensive stance with his fists up. "I- I'm not denying a goddamn thing! I like women! And he's our boss! And that's FINE!"

Fuery frowns further, looks him up and down. "...You don't seem fine with that."

"The hell d' you know, Kain?!" Havoc barks, shaking a fist. "Y'all don't know me!"

Fuery cringes further. He might've hit him a bit too directly, Breda thinks. The drawl only gets heavy when he's really pissed off. And he definitely is now, from how he's trembling slightly, gritting his teeth and flaring his nostrils like a bull. But honestly, Breda saw this coming, too.

He tries to save face for Fuery. "Jean, stop-"

Havoc turns on him, the bull ready to charge. "You stop, Heyman! And all y'all! Yer makin' shit up that don't exist!"

Breda shakes his head, fixes him with the disarming look he always uses when he has to silently tell Havoc that he's flying off the handle and needs to calm down. And as usual, Havoc catches it, closes his mouth, exhales through his nose, simmers down into a venomous glare.

"Forget it. Fuck y'all."

He strides to the door in a second, throws it open with enough force to make it slam against the wall, and leaves. The tension dissipates as his footsteps echo down the hallway, and everyone sighs collectively. Breda's glad he moved away ahead of time.

He scratches idly at his neck. "Honestly? I expected that."

"Same here," Falman says, defeated.

Fuery lifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna have a nervous breakdown for him at this rate."

Riza's leaning against her knees, rubbing her eyes and mumbling. "I'm getting a migraine."

Breda sighs deeply, again. "God... Was Rebecca ever this bad?"

Riza shakes her head, still covering her eyes. "Not nearly."

Fuery readjusts his glasses. "Well, you had the smart idea of confronting her early on, so it never got this bad."

Riza withdraws her hand and straightens. "Yeah, that's true."

"And Rebecca didn't follow you into bars just to spy on you from the smoking area," Breda adds.

Riza side-eyes him at that. "Well, yeah. I don't drown my feelings in booze and loose women. And Rebecca isn't an anxious mess with an inferiority complex."

Breda just shrugs again. "Harsh. But true."

Fuery shakes his head. "I just don't get it. Doesn't Roy notice anything?"

"Doesn't notice... or won't notice?" Falman muses, his eyes shifting.

Riza sighs, dipping her head again. "He's ignoring it. Has to be."

" But why?" Fuery asks.

"Easy. He thinks he doesn't deserve it, like he does with everything," Riza mutters.

Breda shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Tch- Well they're a perfect match there. Jean acts like he'd rather lose his damn legs again than think he has a chance with him."

Riza groans softly. "Ugh- It's not about having chances, or being in the same league, relationships are hard enough without everyone making up silly rules that don't matter. Just TALK to each other."

"He's scared. So's Roy. That's all there is to it, at this point," Breda says, now with finality.

Falman hums in agreement, and Fuery just sighs sadly. No one says anything for several seconds, and the awkward silence is... well, awkward.

Suddenly, Riza rises to her feet, jerking her chair back and squaring her shoulders. "Well, I can't watch this anymore. Next time they're in here together, I'm leaving and locking the door behind me. Leave them in here overnight, if that's what it takes."

Fuery snorts behind her. "God- that's kind of extreme, isn't it?"

Riza side-eyes him over her shoulder. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. And those two are the most desperate I've ever seen."

Fuery just snorts harder. "Well, you got that right."

"A solid enough plan, unless Roy melts the door open," Falman points out, stroking his chin.

"Not if he doesn't have his gloves," Riza says coolly, glancing at him.

"He doesn't need them, he can do that clapping thing like Edward did, can't he?" Breda asks.

Riza closes her eyes, nodding slowly. "He can... and he wouldn't even need to use fire, just a metal transmutation to break the lock."

And then she looks at Breda again, this time with lidded eyes and a mischievous smile. "...He's forgetful under pressure, though."

Another look that Breda knows all too well. God help them.

[kinessie]

i tend to lose myself - kinessie

so i actually wrote a fic for the first time in like two years, its short and slow and extremely self-indulgent, but i thought i owed you guys something after all the great support. so here we go, title is based on All Night by the Vamps

ao3 link

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

Kinessa was a real night owl, a trait she picked up from her youth that carried on through her life. Every night she found herself asleep at a different point in the early morning, not entirely through choice, the bounty hunter’s mind just seemed more active in those hours.

The problem with the night was that everyone seems to become independent, there’s no one to talk to after midnight, you’re kept to yourself and your own emotions have space to roam free. Kinessa always struggled with this. She always had so much to say and express, though, bounty hunting taught her a lot about staying silent.

Pacing around her study with an open book in one hand and a glass of water in the other, Kinessa was pushing herself through another long night. She tried going to sleep at the same time as her partner, but the internal body clock of a night owl wasn’t taking kindly to being asleep at a measly eleven o’ clock. After making sure her girlfriend was sound asleep, Kinessa slipped out of bed, finding herself in her current situation in the study.

The book being read kept her interested, Exotic Birds of the Realm and its Regions, obviously one of Cassie’s books, still interesting. Kinessa read on about the Flame-tipped Wagtail, native to northernly Sun Spire. This bird is barely the size of my hand, but it’s still a fierce predator? Good job, little buddy. She thought happily to herself. The next page detailed on birds native to drier climates, Kinessa went to take a sip of her water but found that the glass was almost empty. Guess that’s a signal I should try and sleep again.

As she walked towards the bathroom, Kinessa heard a faint tapping from inside. She turned on the light and found a creature a few times bigger than the Flame-tipped Wagtail. Tapping its beak on the faucet, Zigs had never looked more determined in his life.

“Did I forget to fill your water bowl again? Shit, sorry Zigs.” Kinessa scratched the back of her head in embarrassment, Zigs was her toughest critic at the best of times. He let out his almost signature squawk of dissatisfaction and flew to perch on Kinessa’s shoulder as she let the water run.

Zigs sipped at the water, Kinessa looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tousled more than usual, bags were prominent under her eyes, practically begging her to go to sleep. She adjusted the strap on her tank top which was slightly off the shoulder, “I’m really pulling off this disheveled look, don’t you think?” Kinessa said to Zigs, who ruffled his feathers in acknowledgement, but didn’t stop drinking.

After a moment longer of the water running, talons clicked against the sink to signify the bird was finished drinking. Kinessa turned the faucet off and scratched Zigs’ head, “We should both be off to bed now, it’s pretty late.” She read the clock outside the door, half past midnight. A flash of red swooped past her and down the corridor towards the study, the opposite direction of Zigs’ perch.

“Zigs! I said bed!” Kinessa turned off the bathroom light and walked back to the study, Zigs was tapping his beak at the sliding door to the balcony. The bounty hunter put a hand on her hip and sighed, “Alright, five minutes,” she opened the door and Zigs flew out. Kinessa stepped outside, the air was humid and the night silent. The door closed behind her with a loud click. I hope that doesn’t wake Cass.

Kinessa rested her elbows on the railing and looked out into the forest below. Zigs was perched on a branch, but it didn’t take him long to get bored of that and come back to sit next to Kinessa, “What I’d give to be able to fly like you, bird boy,” she chuckled, “being able to get away from all the bullshit of bounty hunting and maybe get a good nights sleep.” Zigs preened his feathers, “Now don’t get me wrong!” Kinessa smiled, “I love bounty hunting, but if I see one more bounty on an Aico then I’m gonna lose it."

Zigs looked up at her like he was prompting her to talk more, “Sometimes I wish everything was a little more domestic. All my life I’ve been told that all I’m good for is my keen eye. Put a gun in my hand and money on the table and I’ll do it. Thought that was gonna be my life,” she brushed a hand through her short brown hair, an anxious tick, “I left the military, I left the only two guys I considered my parents and went out into the world alone. I never suited being alone-“

Before Kinessa could finish her sentence, the balcony door slid open, she spun around to see her partner, Cassie, leaning in the doorway. Kinessa flushed, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I should’ve been quieter,”

“Nah, it’s fine, I wasn’t sleeping too well anyway,” the huntress shut the door behind her and stood next to her girlfriend, “looks like we’re all having a late night,” she petted Zigs, who was happily welcoming his owner. At least he likes someone. Kinessa joked in her head.

“So what were you two talking about?” Cassie asked, she put her arm around her girlfriend’s waist and pulled her closer to her side.

“Just talking about life and stuff, you wouldn’t imagine how much Zigs has to say! Did you know he was a war criminal?” The pair laughed. It fell silent once again, both women looking out into the distance, Zigs took flight, leaving them be.

Kinessa stopped staring at the trees to stare at Cassie. Her features were perfectly illustrated in the moonlight ; her bright eyes, the soft curve of her face, hundreds of tiny freckles that covered her nose and cheeks, “You’re beautiful.” Kinessa said simply.

Cassie turned her head and smiled so sweetly that the bounty hunter was in fear of catching toothache, “Thank you, although I think you’re the prettier one out here tonight.” Kinessa rest her head on her partner’s shoulder.

“I was talking earlier about how I kind of lost myself after leaving the military. No direction, just bounty hunting.” Cassie stayed silent, letting Kinessa spill out her emotions freely, “that was until I met you. You pulled me out of that just by existing, you actually saw me as a person with layers and feelings, not just a body with a gun. And I hadn’t had that in a long, long time.” She pulled her girlfriend into a hug, it was warmly accepted.

“I love you, Cassie. Thanks for all you’ve done for me, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I’ve never been more grateful to spend my life with another person.” Although Kinessa’s face was buried into her shoulder, she knew Cassie was tearing up. They pulled apart and her tears were wiped.

“I can’t think of spending my time with anyone else,” the huntress’ voice wavered, “you’re so much more than a bounty hunter, how people didn’t take the time to see that is beyond me. Now you have so many friends and people who genuinely care about you, and you’ve made me the luckiest woman in the Realm letting me stay by your side.”

The pair stared at each other with tired, but loving eyes. Kinessa leaned in for a kiss, but before she could, Zigs swooped in and perched on Cassie’s shoulder, “All worn out, Zigs?” she giggled. The bird squawked in agreement, “alright, let’s get you inside. We all need sleep,” she smiled at Kinessa.

“Yeah, come on bird brain!”

Zigs may have been tired, but he had enough energy to peck Kinessa in the head.