#reblogging this piece of shit again before i go to class for two hours

[amoristt]

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

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“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him. 

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this. 

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red. 

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you. 

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.” 

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it. 

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?” 

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most  practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy. 

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip. 

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy.  As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.” 

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be. 

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke. 

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind. 

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find. 

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.  

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse. 

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable. 

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look. 

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began. 

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan. 

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?” 

You lowered your head. 

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot. 

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled. 

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?” 

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod. 

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.  

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned 

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again. 

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly. 

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust. 

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that? 

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person? 

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once. 

No one believed you.

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With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew. 

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under. 

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed.  How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you. 

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions. 

No wonder he was so angry. 

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call. 

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.” 

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing. 

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.” 

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.” 

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it. 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again. 

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy.  He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right? 

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger. 

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos. 

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh. 

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up. 

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?” 

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot. 

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.” 

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.” 

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm. 

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Push

Warnings: noncon sex, oral, mentions of violence, abuse, and death.

This is Lee Bodecker (who is already dark!af) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your daddy’s in business with the Sheriff but a dirty cop has not limits.

Note: This is my first Lee Bodecker fic. Obviously it’s a dark on so mind the warnings. Lee is just awful. Like what a bastard, the worst!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘She said "I don't know if I've ever been good enough I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in”’

-Push, Matchbox Twenty

🚔

You traced the small crack along the lip of the plate. The dinner set your mother had been so proud of was wearing away. Everything had started to since her death. The farmhouse seemed darker, more desolate amid the sentinel pines, your father's shed more sinister though the childhood tales of what was within had long since been dispelled. The walls shuddered with each gust of late autumn air.

The house was empty but for you. Your brothers were at about their usual business, Arn and Cal at work at yard and Will in his classes, though more likely bumming cigarettes behind the church. Your father had rumbled off in his old Ford pick-up not an hour ago but hadn't given you a reason. He never did and it was better that way. Better you didn't ask questions or speak out of turn. Focus on yourself, in the work that needed to be done as the men bustled in and out of your purview.

You set the plate on the mat to dry, a soapy bubble dripped down the back as you plunged your hand back into the water. You piled the dishes one after the other, scrubbing and scouring. The clink of the thick glass painted with faded petals and the old silverware was thunderous in the chilly kitchen.

You heard an engine, quieter than your father's cantankerous truck. The gravel mulched under the tires and you grabbed a rag to dry your hands as you walked through the front door. You peeked out the window as the cruiser pulled up; the old black and white with its blue and red crown.

Sheriff Bodecker came around maybe once every two weeks. You didn't keep track, you never spoke to him. Your daddy always took him to the shed for a beer and a chat. The uniform took a cut of the profits from your father's sill. The moonshine sold better than the beer sold at the store in town but wasn't allowed on the shelves. the lawman turned his eye for a percentage and the occasional jug of the brew.

You watched the sheriff brace himself against his door and lift himself out of the car. His jacket was zipped up against the impending winter but could barely contain his stomach. He reached into his car and plopped his hat on his head before he slammed the door. His boots were just as loud as his tires as he rounded the vehicle and paced towards your daddy's shed.

He turned back, hands on his hips, and peered across the empty lot. The big blue truck always greeted visitors, not that there were many. You watched the sheriff retreat and as he neared the porch, you let go of the curtain and pressed yourself to the door.

Your brothers and your father were the only people in your life. You minded the house and spent your spare time with one of your mama's old books or a needle and thread. 

The door shook as he knocked. You blinked and slowly turned. You grabbed the handle but didn't pull. He must have known your daddy wasn't there. A fool could guess that.

He banged again and you twisted the knob. Slowly, you pulled the door open just a crack. You looked through with one eye as the sheriff felt around impatiently in his pockets.

"Daddy ain't here," you said quietly.

He tilted his head and grinned. He scoffed and ripped his hand out of his jacket.

"I guessed that. Be a shit officer if I couldn't," he snickered. "Pardon the language, miss."

"I don't know when he'll be back," you said.

"I got time," he checked his watch.

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you. You gulped, uncertain.

"Sorry, we don't get many visitors. Guess I should invite you in… I got coffee? Tea?"

He considered you through the inch between the frame and the door. "You gonna have to open up for that," he said, "you got anything sweet?"

"Some leftover cake from Arn's birthday. It's probably stale." You answered as he placed his hand flat on the door. "It's strawberry cream."

"Mm, you make it yourself?" He asked as his other hand rested on his belt.

"Mama's recipe," you explained.

"Well,” he pushed on the door, "Can I come in then or am I eatin' on the porch?"

You stared at him and slowly stepped back as he put more weight against the door. He dropped his arm as you were flush to the wall and he stepped inside. You looked at his boots as he pulled the door from your grasp and threw it shut behind him. He chuckled as he turned to you again and looked at his feet.

“Not meaning to mess up your floors, miss,” he wiped the treads on the mat.

“It’s fine. My brothers never did care much either,” you waved away his words and retreated, “I’ll get you that cake.”

You went to the kitchen and took the glass lid of the cake dish. That was your mother’s too. The long crack up the side made you want to cry. If she could see how the life she’d left behind had become so distorted. You took a plate from the mat and dried it before you laid it out. You cut a slice from the cake and carefully angled it onto the saucer.

“Should I put the kettle on?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a chair before he sat. The wood groaned under him. He put his hat on the table decisively.

“You got milk? I had a coffee on the way.” He sat back in the chair and spread his legs wide.

“Milk,” you repeated as you neared and set the plate on the table then grabbed a fork from the drawer. You handed him the silver then went to the fridge, “Should be enough.”

You poured him a glass and put it down beside the plate as he greedily cut a bite out of the sponge with his fork. You went back to the sink and stuck your hands in the tepid water as you fished out the last few bowls and scrubbed them one at a time. You could hear him chewing behind you as the metal hit the porcelain with each bite.

“You really don’t entertain much, do you?” He asked.

“Sheriff?” you pulled the stopped and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands.

“You know, I go ‘round folks’ houses and the wives, they smile, flip their hair, even excuse themselves to powder up,” he remarked, “And here you are doing your washing. Your back to me and everything.”

“I told my daddy I’d have ‘em done,” you shrugged. “Besides, I wasn’t expecting ya.”

“I rarely announce myself to shiners,” he rolled his eyes, “Must be quite the life, hmm? You cleaning up behind four boys. You look old enough to have a man of your own to worry about.”

“Maybe,” you wrung the dish towel. 

“Most girls your age are outta their daddy’s house and settled down with a babe on their hip. Even two.” He said.

You frowned. “Well, Sheriff Bodecker, are you married?”

He squinted and tilted his head. He smirked and said ‘no’.

“You’re older than me. Maybe you’re the one who’s overdue.”

“Not too old,” he stabbed the last morsel of cake.

You turned away and grabbed a cup and wiped it dry. You went about drying each piece as he sat quietly. You sensed his gaze as you put away the dishes. The tension mounted as you snapped shut the cupboard and he tapped the plate with the fork.

You were relieved when you heard the gravel crunching outside. Your daddy was back. The putter of his old truck was a welcoming sound.

“That should be him,” you said as you went to the table and picked up his plate. 

He set the fork atop it and grabbed your wrist before you could back away. “You take good care of a man.”

You swallowed and resisted the urge to pull away. “Not too many men can take care of themselves,” you uttered.

He laughed and let you go. He stood and you quickly scurried away to dump the plate in the sink. “Probably right,” he said as he took his jacket and pulled it on, “Definitely not in the ways a woman can take care of a man.”

You turned the faucet as the front door clattered. “Sherriff?” You father called down the hall, “You in here?”

“Here, Rhett,” He flipped his hat on and winked at you, “Son of a bitch, I’ve been waiting long enough.”

🚔

There was a cluster of brambles deep in the woods. A carpet of red, orange, and yellow leaves slowly wilted to brown beneath your feet as you climbed through the brush. You clutched your basket in one hand, your fingers cold even inside your gloves as the winter crept nearer with each day. 

You were the old scarf with the uneven edges. The first one you knitted yourself after your mama had shown you how. Your fleece jacket was hand-me-down from Cal, the sleeves were too long and it puffed out from your body when you zipped it, an old oil stain along the left side. Your skirt, your own creation from two of your mama’s, hung to your knees, your stocking barely thick enough to keep out the chill. The heel of your right boot flopped as it threatened to fall off entirely and made the trek all the more treacherous.

You tossed walnuts into your basket every now and then if they weren’t crushed or caked in mud. The trees muffled all noise the deeper you got and the trees loomed darker above. You stopped at the overgrowth of leaves and vines. Blackberries and raspberries hung plump in the last harvest of the season. You preferred the wild berries to the grocers; they were larger and juicier.

You set down your basket as you pushed through the sharp, thin branches and began to pick. You knelt to grab those hidden at the bottom, dumping handfuls atop your collection of walnuts.

You heard a rustle behind you. Subtle, soft. More likely a deer than a bear. You peeked over your shoulder but didn’t give much heed to the disturbance. There was always some creature flitting around in the forest. You tuned back to your work, your gloves dappled with the dark juices of the berries as some were so soft the burst on touch.

The bushes behind you shook and a twig snapped.

“What you doing out here all alone? I thought you were a bear.”

You stood as you recognized the voice. You dropped the berries in your hand into the basket before you turned and clapped off your gloves. “I thought the same of you.” You blanched as you saw his gun in hand. “You hunting out here with that?”

Sheriff Bodecker looked down at his pistol and scoffed. “Maybe,” he looked up as he kept his gun in hand, “How you know about these berries?”

“They’re wild. There for the taking,” you turned back and pushed through the brambles as you plucked berries from the bunch, “Mama used to take us here when we we’re kids.”

“You lookin’ to make another cake?” His boots crushed the leaves and sticks as he neared.

“Conserves; jams,” you answered bluntly as your basket filled with each handful. “Too bad strawberries are all gone for the season.”

You sensed him watching you as you stooped again. He reached down to your basket and took a raspberry. He popped it in his mouth as he straightened. You glanced over, his gun was pointed at the ground but still in hand. He knocked it gently against his leg as if thinking.

“Tart,” he said, “I prefer strawberry. Sweeter.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled as you dug through the bush, “Well, they charge too much down at the grocer for ‘em.”

It was quiet but for you pushing past the bramble and filling your basket. You could hear him breathing above you as he watched, transfixed by your simple ritual.

“Never told me why you’re all the way out here,” you said as you contented yourself with your haul. “Should I be worried? Some criminal out here hiding in the branches?”

“Sitting by the river on my break, as I do,” he shrugged as you lifted your basket. “It’s a far way back to your daddies. My cruiser’s closer. I can take you home.”

“I prefer the walk. Gives me an excuse to be away.” You smiled and made to step past him.

“We can take our time,” he caught your arm.

“Thank you, Sheriff, but I can find my own way back.”

He turned you to him and raised his gun. His eyes searched your face as he pressed the muzzle to your cheek.

“Ain’t much on the first look but after a while, you’re not so bad,” he said as you stiffened, “If you didn’t dress like a matron, you might even be pretty.” His gun fell to the collar of the jacket. “Usually men don’t offer favours to girls who ain’t pretty.”

“Let go of me,” you pleaded softly, “Sheriff…”

He pointed his gun skyward and released you. He holstered the pistol and laughed to himself.

“You go on lift up that skirt and give me a good look. Then I’ll drive you back to your daddy’s. You have my word as an officer of the law.”

“Pardon--”

“Shhh,” his hand lingered on the pistol, playing with the little strap that would snap it into place, “No one needs to know. Just a peek.”

“Sheriff--”

“Girl,” he cleared his throat, “Ya gonna do what I tell you or I’m gonna make you do worse. Now go on.”

He snatched the basket out of your hand and you let out your breath, relieved at least that he no longer had his fingers on his pistol.

“It’s cold out--”

“You argue with your daddy this much? He don’t seem the type to bide it and let me tell you, he seems a lot more tolerant than me.” He took another berry and chewed it, “So lift your skirt and we’ll be on our way.”

You stared at him. He smirked and licked the dark juice away from his lip. You hands shook as you bent and clumsily felt your skirt. You gathered the hem and stood. You bunched up the fabric around the bottom of the coat and he tutted in satisfaction.

“Turn around for me, girl,” he softly swung the basket, “Bend over so I can get a nice look at you.”

“Sher--”

“I really don’t wanna knock ya around and you don’t want that either,” he warned. “Two seconds. That’s all it will take.”

You gulped as bile burned your throat. You turned, careful not to catch the loose heel of your boot, and held your breath. You bent forward slowly.

“Further,” he ordered. The thin cotton of your underwear stretched across your ass. “Well, you got a much nicer backside than I expected.”

You let out a sharp breath as he pinched your ass and you stood suddenly. You stumbled forward and dropped your skirts. He laughed as you spun to face him. He shoved the basket against your chest. 

“See how easy that was,” he leered at you as you took the basket. “Who you hidin’ that body from? Maybe your daddy’s a selfish man, hmmm? Keeping you from all the men.”

“Can we go?” You muttered as you tried to hide behind the basket.

His blue eyes bore into yours and he shifted on his feet. His hand rubbed the front of his pants as he side stepped you.

“Sure, cruisers ‘round the bend.” He waved you past him and waited. “Come on, you said you wanted to go.”

You walked past him along the trail and he followed, close as his loud breaths filled the air. He pointed you down the path with curt orders and you came into sight of the broad river. His car was parked just off the sideroad that led back to the town. 

His keys jingled as he brushed by you, dragging his hand across your rear as he did. He opened the passenger door and looked at you. You neared and quickly got in, sitting on the long seat within. He closed the door harshly and rounded to the other side. The car dipped with his weight and he shoved the keys in the slot.

“Come here,” he gestured with two fingers, “Closer.”

“What?”

“Put the berries down,” he pointed to the other side of you and you placed the basket on the seat.

“I should be home sooner than later. I gotta start cooking--”

“I’ll get you there,” he grabbed your arm and slid you over the seat. He flipped his hat off and dropped it over the basket. He slung his arm over your shoulders. “Go on, put me in first.”

He gripped the wheel with his other hand and you blinked dumbly. You realised what he meant and pushed the shifted into gear.

“You cold? You’re shivering,” He said as he carefully turned the car, “Just tryna warm you up, girl.”

“I’m fine,” you crossed your arms as he drove at a snail's pace up the dirt road.

“I’m cold,” he gave an exaggerated ‘brrr’, “Do me a favour. Unzip me.”

“What?” You tried to pull away and he bent his arm around your neck, his hand along your chest as your head was nearly on his.

“I’m hard as fuck. You did that. Now take care of it.” He growled. “Get these damn pant unzipped and finish it.”

“Let go--”

“You don’t start listening and I’ll tell you’re daddy what a whore you are. Up in the woods flaunting your ass to the wind.”

You stared down at your stitched skirt. Your mama’s. You only wore her clothes. They were modest. You’d once worn a dress your friend Laverne had given you, more modern, with a shorter skirt. Your daddy belted you until it was ruined.

Your hands trembled as you felt along the Sheriff’s stomach and fumbled beneath. You unbuckled his belt clumsily and found his fly ready to burst. You pushed his zipper down as he groaned and he lifted his arm over the seat. His underwear was tight to his bulging cock.

“Now don’t keep wastin’ my time and take me out,” he snarled.

You pulled the elastic down and he popped out above it. You hesitated as you stared at his throbbing tip.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” You confessed.

“Christ, girl,” he snickered, “Grab it and just… move your hand.”

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his cock. It was as thick as the rest of him. You gripped it but still had no idea what to do next.

“Up and down. Like your polishing a shotgun,” he urged, “A nice long barrel.” You bit down and slid your hand along his length. “Tighter,” he gritted through his teeth, “Faster…”

He purred as you played with him. He drove a little faster and steered with one hand as his other hand clawed the back of the seat.

“Fuckin’ don’t know, girl, feels like you know exactly what to you,” he uttered, “Got me close already.”

You stared at the middle of the steering wheel, the silver emblem, and tried not to think about what you were doing. His hand fell to your back and he caressed the back of your coat. He grasped the cloth in his fist as his grunts grew louder and longer.

“Grab that coffee cup,” he demanded, “Go on, you don’t wanna make a mess.”

You took the cup with one hand and popped the top off with your thumb. It flew onto the floor and he hummed.

“Hold it at the tip, before--” He choked on his words and you quickly moved the cup. 

He hit the brake and white ribbons streamed from his cock and laced the rim of the cup and your fingers. White globs slid down the paper and you slowed as a chill went through you. You pulled away your slimy hand and the cup. He took the latter and tossed it out the window and sighed.

“Shit, girl, that was good,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped his glistening cock before covering himself up and zipping up his pants. “Get cleaned up.” He tossed the cloth on your lap, “Not far from home, now.”

🚔

Your days passed like molasses. Ever since your venture into the forest, your life slowed to an interminable pace. Your thoughts were darkened by the sheriff’s shadow. You scrubbed, scoured, and swept but could not rid yourself of the memory. The scene played over and over in your head. You swore you could feel him still spread across the palm of your hand.

A week after, when he drove up behind the boys on their return from town, you watched through the window in dread. Cal, Arn, and Will hopped out of the truck and greeted the sheriff. The four of them went to the shed where your daddy was, the latter peeked over at the house as he passed.

You were reassured that your brothers were there. The sheriff wouldn’t, really couldn’t, try anything more. You went back to basting the thick chops. As you made to cap your homemade sauce, the back door opened and your daddy looked in from the mud room.

“You bring out some glasses for the lot of us. And put an extra chop on for the sheriff,” your father slurred. He’d already started drinking. “He be joining us tonight.”

He left before you could respond. He usually drank his swill out of old jars and saved your mother’s dishes. You coated another chop in spice and set it with the rest before slipping them in the oven. You washed your hands and counted out five glasses. You hugged them in your arms and stepped into your boots. 

You pushed the screen door open with your elbow and tramped down the steps. You crossed to the shed and kicked the door with your boot. “Daddy,” you called through the wood.

Will slid open the shed door and you stepped inside. You went to the table and placed the glasses down on the old chipped surface. You stood and looked around. Your father filled each with the clear shine from a large jar.

“Isn’t he a bit young?” You said as Will sat back down.

“Not your business, woman,” your daddy spat, “Go back in the house. To your business.”

“Yes, daddy.” You sniffed and looked at Will. He gave an apologetic smile but none of your brothers ever stood up against your daddy.

“Lady not joining us?” Bodecker asked.

“Ha, that girl gets a whiff of this stuff and she’d be on her back. This ain’t no drink for ladies,” your daddy chortled. “About time you tried it. What you been doin’ will all that swill I give ya.”

“Boys at the station like it. I think they’re some of your best customers, ain’t they?” Bodecker countered. “Besides, I been tryna stay clear of the drink.”

“One night won’t hurt,” your daddy coaxed.

You went back to the door and slid it shut behind you as the men continued to chatter. Well, they would at least drink themselves too senseless to bother you much.

🚔

You cleared the table of the empty plates and scraps left by the drunken men. They had been loud and raucous, so much so you’d eaten your dinner at the counter to avoid them. When they finished, they left in a stumble, though the sheriff seemed as steady as ever as he trailed behind. He stopped at the door as he held it and peered back from the mud room at you.

You washed the dishes and put them away. You wiped down the table and fixed the chairs around it. The night was moonless and eerie. The wind wailed and shook each window and door in the house as it seemed to blow right through the walls.

The mud room door clattered again. It had been over an hour since the men returned to the shed. Their voices no longer carried in the air but the shed remained alight from within. You turned as Bodecker closed the door. He carried a tall glass of swill as he stopped in the door frame.

“Lightweights,” he said, “All your men passed out. Think one of ‘em pissed in their pants.”

“You’re drunk,” you said as you kept behind the table.

“Not really. I couldn’t finish mine,” he crossed to the other side of the table and set down the glass, “Why don’t you finish it for me?”

“I don’t drink that stuff,” you said, “Dump it out on the grass.”

“You work so hard. You should have a little fun,” he rounded the table and slid the glass across it as he neared, “Come on. Have a drink.”

“I don’t--” He grabbed you suddenly, wrestled you down into a chair and held you there by your shoulders.

He lifted one hand and felt around his belt. He flicked his holster open and rubbed the pistol with his thumb. 

“Drink it.” You watched his hand on his gun. He slid it out just a little. “Ugly things men do when they drinking. “Playing with guns… sometimes don’t always end up so fun. Don’t think the young one would make it in the hold.”

“No, you--”

“Drink,” he sneered. “It’ll loosen you up.”

You reached for the glass and he nodded. He snapped his holster closed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of you. You put your lips to the edge of the glass and the alcohol stung your nostrils. You tipped it, slowly, and tasted it with a gag. It was vile, stringent, and fiery. He pushed it up with two fingers until you were choking on it. He didn’t let up until the glass was empty and the shine dripped down your chin.

You slammed the glass down and coughed. You touched your throat as your head spun and a warmth nestled in your cheeks. You tried to shake away the haze that washed over you.

“That’s it, girl,” he purred as he leaned forward, “You feel better, don’t you?”

“N-no,” you stammered as you gripped the chair.

“’Daddy’,” he said, “Girl, you had me hard in there… you too old to be callin’ that man, daddy.” He stood and shrugged off his leather jacket, “But you be right to call me daddy.”

“I don’t feel…” Your stomach burned and you tried to stand. You stumbled and he caught you.

“Don’t you get all jumpy on me, girl,” he sat you back down. “You gonna hurt yourself.”

You slumped in the chair and braced your head. You felt terribly dizzy and your inside were alight. You heard a jingle and looked up as Bodecker unzipped his pants. You recalled the day in the car and filled with panic. You stood again and this time staggered, falling onto your knees with a cry.

“Mmm, it’s okay, girl, you can stay down there,” You looked up as he pulled his cock out through the vee of his pants, “Come here.” He grabbed your chin and yanked you forward, “Open up.”

You snapped your mouth shut and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. His other hand came up behind your head and he pulled you close. His fingers spread across your head and he used his other hand to poke his cock against your lips.

“I’ll break that pretty little jaw of yours and tell your pa he did it,” he growled, “Now come on.” You shook your head and he slapped you, hard. He seized you again. “Open!”

Your mouth fell open and your vision blurred as he shoved his cock inside. He forced himself down your throat and you kicked your feet as you grabbed at the front of his pants. He groaned and held his cock at its limit.

“And I thought you were good with your hands,” he pulled back and thrust back in. Your eyes rolled back as they teared up and you choked. “Mmm, much better.”

He started slow at first, though each tilt of his hips was relentless, deep and painful. You struggled to breathe around him and it only seemed to feed his lust. He gripped your head between his hand as he fucked your mouth, the sloppy sounds made your head swim as the slobber leaked down your chin and his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out of you suddenly and shoved you away. You fell back onto your ass and wiped your mouth. “You tryna end this night early or something.”

He let out a breath and watched his cock bob before him as he grunted.

“Get up and get your drawers off.” He ordered, “Then I want you like you was in the woods, huh? Skirt up.”

You wavered as you tried to climb to your feet. He caught your errant arm and pulled you up. He spun you and you swayed. He bent and his hands crawled up your skirt as he felt around. He ripped your underwear down and let them rest at your ankles. He turned you to the chair and pushed you forward. You fell and caught yourself against the seat. He threw your skirt up and bared your ass.

Your legs quaked as he pressed his hand between your legs and felt around. He rubbed your cunt as you squeezed him with your thighs. He pinched you and drew away.

“You don’t wanna make this harder than it needs to be girl,” he sneered, “You’re in no state for that.”

He stepped closer and bent over you. His arm wrapped around your middle as he felt around below you with his other hand. He caught the tip of his cock and guided it to your cunt. He pushed it along your folds, sliding it up and down until he found your entrance. You whimpered and pushed back against him, too weak to break free.

“You fight and it’ll hurt more,” he grunted as he pushed his tip into you and you yelped. “Fuck, you’re tight.” Another inch and he stopped as he took a breath, “Holy hell, girl, you really weren’t lying. You ain’t been touched.” 

He growled and inhaled the scent of your hair as his hand gripped the chair next to yours. He thrust into you in a single tilt and you exclaimed as he stretched your walls. You reached to the back of the chair and latched onto the crossbar as you tried not to sob.

He stood, slowly and pushed deeper into you as he grabbed your hip. His other hand kneaded your ass as he began to rock. His groans were as steady as his motion as he dipped in and out of you. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into your flesh as he panted, his stomach bouncing against your ass.

“Be as loud as you want, girl,” he barked, “No one gonna hear you.”

He rutted into as the chair shifted below you. He kept a hand on your hip as his other trailed up to your shoulder and he arched your back. His zipper bit into your flesh as he sped up, slapping against you harder and harder as you whined louder and louder. It hurt terribly and your entire being thrummed with an unknown sensation. 

You closed your eyes as your vision swirled and your arms shook. He pulled you back so you stood against him, your back curved as he hammered into you. You were on tiptoes as he didn’t let up and turned you against the table. Your fingertips brushed the top as you reached out blindly and his hand stretched across your neck as he forced your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum, girl,” he hissed, “You fucking whore. You’re going to make me cu--”

He grunted and his hips spasmed as a warmth seeped into you. He gave several, final snaps of his hip and slowed. He fell forward with you bent beneath him against the table. Your legs were limp as he crushed you with his weight. His heart pounded through his chest and he gasped for breath. 

You sniffed and pushed back against him. You were suffocating. You needed him off of you. You needed him out of you. 

“We ain’t done yet,” he hooked his arm around you and pulled you back to sit on his lap as he fell into the chair. “You got two minutes to get me hard again or you can clean me up with your mouth.”

[sacredsorceress]

My Hero || Peter Parker

pairing: civilian!peter x avenger!reader

summary: when your boyfriend, peter, gets invited to the stark gala for his internship, you have to try to make it through the night without him finding out that you’re secretly an avenger

a/n: peter is in college here! finally another oneshot for our boy petey- reblogs and replies are super appreciated!

word count: 3.9k

warnings: reader has spidey’s enhanced senses, there’s a gun, fluff

masterlist || request || taglist

Pushing open the door of the building you had just had class in, your eyes immediately met those of your boyfriend sitting on the bench waiting for you outside. As soon as you saw him a smile reached across his face and he pushed himself out of his seat, making his way over to you.

“Hey, Pete-”

“- So I don’t know how I got one of these-” Peter started rambling, walking beside you. “They handed it to me and in my head I was like ‘this has to be a mistake’ you know? ‘Cause there’s no way I would get invited-”

“Woah, Peter, slow down!” You laughed, turning to your boyfriend. “What are you talking about?”

Realizing that he hadn’t even told you what he was going on about, Peter stopped and began shoving his hands through his pockets. When you stopped your pace in front of him, you watched as Peter pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

“What’s that for?” You asked.

A smile spread across his face once again as he pulled the invitation out of the envelope.

You swore you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you saw Stark Industry’s logo printed on the piece of paper.

“It’s for this party thing-”

“-Gala.” You corrected him.

“Yeah!” He said. “Gala! It’s for this gala that Mr. Stark is hosting and you know- at first I didn’t think I could be invited, but it has my name and everything.”

You began to tap your feet as he explained this all to you, feeling your anxiousness grow.

“So, are you going to go?” You asked, praying that he wouldn’t say the answer that you were sure he was going to give.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked.

You knew it was a rhetorical question. At least in Peter’s mind there wasn’t a logical reason as to why a 19 year-old intern for Stark Industries shouldn’t go to a Gala- it could open so many doors for him and it was a rare honor- but you knew things that Peter didn’t. To be more exact, he didn't know the things you were keeping a secret from him.

You had known about the Gala before Peter had even mentioned it because you had been invited yourself, not as a Stark intern, but as an Avenger. You had only found out you had abilities a few months ago when you had been bitten by a radioactive spider. Later you had been discovered by the group, but managed to have your identity remain a secret. 

It’s not that you didn’t trust Peter enough to tell him- you were going to tell him- just not yet. You needed more time.

This Gala invitation felt like Tony Stark was purposefully trying to ruin your life, despite the fact that you had never informed him- or any of the Avengers for that matter- that you and Peter Parker, his intern, were dating.

“Of course I’m gonna go!” He said. “Mr. Stark invited me. This is big for me, Y/n. And... guess what?”

“What?” You asked, not particularly enjoying where this conversation was headed.

“I have a plus one.” Peter said.

Of course he did.

“Oh that’s awesome, Pete!” You smiled, beginning to walk in the opposite direction once again. “I’m sure May would love to go!”

Jogging to catch up with you, Peter grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you back.

“May?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why would I ask May? I want you to go with me.”

Looking at your boyfriend, you felt so guilty for lying to him. He was the sweetest person you had ever met and as he smiled at you, hopeful to have you on his arm at tonight’s event, you couldn’t find it in you to say no to him.

“I’d love to go, Peter.” You said. “Pick me up at seven?”

“Yeah- wait.” Peter said quirking his eyebrows again. “How did you know it was tonight?”

Shit.

“Oh!” You chuckled. “I... I don’t know why I figured that. So... seven?”

Slowly nodding his head, your boyfriend nervously chuckled. “Yeah, seven.”

“Okay!” You exclaimed, leaning in to peck Peter’s cheek before pulling away. “I have to go meet my professor. See you later!”

And with that you took off in the other direction, your mind filled with worries about tonight’s event, planning ways in your head to keep your double life a secret from your boyfriend. As you did, Peter watched you walk away, still glued to his spot sensing that something just wasn’t right.

-

Clipping on your earrings, you heard the sound of Peter’s knuckles meeting your door, lightly knocking. Pulling the door open, your eyes met Peter’s and you smiled.

“What do you think?” You asked, gesturing at the dress you were wearing.

You watched as Peter’s jaw practically dropped and he reached out his hand for yours.

“W-woah.” He said in awe, a smiling reaching across his face as he pulled your hand, twirling you around. “You- you look so beautiful, Y/n.”

Despite the anxiety that you were feeling about the night ahead of you, you couldn't help but smile at his compliment. No matter how often he called you beautiful, you still became a smiling mess every time.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Parker.”

He didn't. Standing in front of you, you couldn’t help but notice how much your boyfriend had gone out for the Gala tonight- adorning a a black tuxedo, his hair slicked in a way that you were sure was his Aunt’s doing.

“Since when do you have a tux lying around?” You asked, tugging on the labels of his jacket.

“I rented it a few hours ago. May picked it out.” He told you, resting his hands on your waist. “D-does it look okay? I thought it might look better than the old suit at-”

Pulling on the lapels once more to bring his lips to yours, you kissed him, quickly shutting him up as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. Smiling and  pulling away you straightened out his jacket.

“You look amazing, baby.” You whispered. “Now let’s get going shall we, Mr. Parker?”

“We shall.”

-

Stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk outside of the museum where the Gala was being held, the thoughts that you had been pushing aside for the last nine hours suddenly came to the surface as your heart began to race in your chest.

How were you going to keep everything a secret? You hadn’t even told the other members of your group that you would be attending with your boyfriend... your boyfriend who didn’t know that you had super-human abilities or that you were one of them.

As Peter laced his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly before guiding you towards the building, you gave him a soft smile while all you could do in your head was attempt to haphazardly form a plan.

Stepping inside the foyer of the museum, it was clear that no expense was spared for the night. The room was filled with people you didn’t recognize, waiters with flutes on trays weaving through the crowd. The sound of the orchestra playing mixed with the sounds of the hundreds of conversations around you.

It was times like these that you weren’t so glad to have your abilities, the light of the chandelier glowing brighter in your eyes as your enhanced hearing tuned in on ten conversations around you.

Unlacing your fingers from your boyfriend’s, you pulled him closer.

“I’m going to go find the bathroom, okay?” You told him. “I’ll be back.”

“Already?” He asked. “Do you want me to wait outside or-”

“No!” You exclaimed a bit too excitedly before lowering your voice. “I’ll find you.”

Before he could say anything else, you pushed through the crowd of people, leaving the foyer of the museum to find an empty hallway. When you finally pushed through your last person, reaching an empty exhibit within the museum, you slumped against the all.

Why did you think this was a good idea? Although Peter would have initially been upset with you declining his invitation and Tony Stark would no doubt find it suspicious that you cancelled so last minute on his end, at least you would be spared from the nervousness you were feeling now as your hands became clammy and the air felt as though it grew thicker by the second.

“Y/n?” You heard a familiar voice ask.

Pulling yourself away from the wall and glancing over your shoulder, you looked up to see Natasha Romanoff standing in the doorway of the exhibit.

“Sorry,” You said, playing with one of the bracelets adorning your wrist. “I can leave if I shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, kid.” She said, smiling. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“Yeah,” You said, chuckling. “That’s because I came with my boyfriend.”

Tilting her head, she smiled.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. So your boyfriend came with you?”

Although you knew what she meant, you shook her head.

“Nope,” You told her, popping the p. “I came with my boyfriend. He... he’s an intern for Stark. He thinks I’m here as his plus one.”

“... But you’re an Avenger?” She said.

“He uh.. he doesn’t know that.”

You felt guilty finally saying it out loud, confessing to your mentor that you had been lying to your boyfriend about not only having super-human abilities, but about being a part of the Avengers, risking your life to save others almost weekly.

Rather than lecturing you, she made her way over to you, leaning against the wall beside you.

“I can understand that.” Natasha said before sighing. “But... I also understand what it’s like to live a double life, Y/n. You can’t keep living like this. It’ll make you sick and at some point you’ll lose yourself in the two.”

“But how can I tell him?” You asked, turning to face her. “I’ve been lying to him for so long and he’s just so sweet, Nat. He’d be so worried about me if he knew.”

“You said he’s nice, right?” She asked, smiling as you nodded. “Then tell him. He’ll understand and if he doesn’t... at least you’ll feel better because right now you look like shit.”

Scoffing at her insult you elbowed her. “Thanks, Nat.”

Patting your back and shoving herself off of the wall, she laughed. “What am I if not honest?”

Before you could throw her another snarky comment, however, you watched as she strolled out of the exhibit, heading back into the Gala.

Letting her advice sit with you, you knew that she was right. You had never been as stressed as you were hiding your identity from your boyfriend. You were actually less anxious fighting bad guys than when he would go to grab a pencil from your drawer where you kept your web shooters when the two of you were studying.

You had to tell him- if not for your sake at least his own.

You were afraid to tell him, but Nat was right.

He deserved to know. He was your boyfriend and one of the most kind, honest and understanding men you had ever met- he deserved to know what his girlfriend was up to every night and even the danger he was putting himself in by choosing to be yours.

You decided then that you were going to tell him... except not tonight. Tonight was his night- the night where he finally felt like an appreciated member of Tony Stark’s staff- and he didn’t deserve your limelight ruining it.

Straightening the dress you were wearing, you made your way out of the exhibit and back into the expansive foyer of the museum. Tuning in your hearing, you looked for your boyfriend, but when you heard his voice muffled with Tony Stark’s... it was too late to turn around.

“Y/n!” You heard Peter call. “I’m over here!”

Taking a deep breath, you waved back to your boyfriend, forcing a wide smile onto your face. Striding over to Peter, your eyes met Tony’s whose quickly went wide as he pieced together the situation in front of him.

Before he could open his mouth, however, you extended your hand to him.

“Mr. Stark!” You exclaimed. “It’s so nice to meet you. Peter’s told me so much about you- I’m a huge fan- really.”

Slowly taking your hand and shaking it tightly, he quirked his eyebrows, staring at you for a moment before turning back to Peter.

“Parker,” Tony said, pulling his hand away. “if I knew you had a girlfriend like her, I would have promoted you sooner.”

You felt Peter’s hand wrap around your back to rest on your waist as he smiled brightly.

“W-well thank you, Mr-”

“You know,” Tony said, cutting him off. “I just can’t get over it. She looks exactly like this girl I know. What did you say your name was again?”

You should have figured that Tony was going to give you a hard time.

“Y/n.” You told him, through gritted teeth.

“Y/n...” He said your name again, before chuckling. “God I almost feel like I’m talking to her-”

Before he even had the chance to finish his sentence, however, you heard the overwhelming sound of the glass window that spanned the length of the room shattering behind Tony. Turning your attention to the area, you watched as a large robot-like creature climbed its way into the foyer, kicking it’s legs through the remaining wall. Behind you the crowd of people began to erupt into screams as they rushed out of the doors of the museum. 

“Holy shit!” You shouted, stunned by the android.

At your side you felt Peter’s hand grip yours and when you turned around to face him, you watched as he attempted to pull you in the other direction towards the door, tugging on your hand.

“Y/n, we have to get out of here!” He exclaimed.

You had hoped you had more time.

You had hoped you would be able to break it to him nicely.

But as you turned back around to see Tony Stark’s Iron Man suit forming around him and the robot stepping inside the building, you knew you were out of time.

Pulling your hand out of Peter’s, you watched as a look of betrayal washed over his face.

“I can’t Peter!” You shouted, reaching your hands behind your dress.

“What? What do you mean you can-”

“Are you in or are you out, Y/n?” You heard Tony ask.

Glancing between him and your boyfriend, the sound of the robot destroying tables echoing throughout the room, you nodded at Tony.

“I’m in.”

“What do you mean you’re in-”

Ignoring Peter, you undid the laces on the back of your dress, the fabric falling to your feet.

You were thanking yourself for choosing to wear your shorts underneath your dress right about now.

“Good.” Tony said. “Your suit’s coming in three.., two...”

Stretching your arms out, you felt as the high tech machinery of Tony Stark’s  “spidey suit” for you met your skin. The material stretched across your body, covering your skin until it finally reached around your face, forming your mask.

Turning to look at your boyfriend, you saw his eyes go wide, his mouth practically dropping to the floor.

“What... Y/n-” He stumbled over his words.

Picking your dress up off the floor, you shoved it into your boyfriend’s arms.

“Peter, you need to get out of here!” You shouted over the sound of destruction in the background.

“I- I-” He continued, still glued to his spot. “You’re Spider-Woman?”

“Hey!” You heard Tony shout. “Save the Soap Opera for after we stop this thing!”

Glancing back at Tony and then to Peter, you gently shoved Peter in the direction towards the door.

“We’ll talk about this later!” You shouted, jogging backwards. “Just get out of here!”

Without turning around again to look at Peter’s face, you shot a web towards the android, flinging yourself towards it. When your web met the android’s chest you landed a swift kick to its head before shooting another web, spinning yourself around the android’s body.

“Shit!” You shouted. “This thing’s strong! Can someone help me out?”

As soon as you asked, you watched as a familiar shield came straight for the android’s head, dodging out of the way at the last second, it collided with its face, stopping the animatronic from moving its arms long enough for you to swing yourself around them, webbing them down at its sides.

“Thank you!”

As Tony continued to blast at its face, trying to get a reading on what this creature was, you shot a web towards its waist, swinging yourself around its body once again.

“Taking out the legs, Y/n?” You heard Cap’s voice ask through the earpiece of your suit.

Huffing and Puffing, you replied. “That’s the plan!”

Pulling the webs that you had spun around the android’s knees tighter, you groaned, feeling the strain on your muscles. Just as you were about to lose your grip, the webs slipping from your fingers, both Steve’s shield and the rays from Tony’s palms hit the back of the android’s knees, knocking it onto the floor. Jumping off of the being at the last second, you landed on your knees.

Pushing yourself onto your feet, you heard the clicking sound of a door within the android’s torso opening. When you looked up, your eyes were met with a man who had a gun raised in his hand... pointed at you.

“Hey!” You called shakily, raising your hands. “We can talk this out.”

“Talk this out?” The man said. “I spent two years working on this-”

Before he could say another word, however, the loud clang of a platter meeting the back of the man's head rang throughout the room. When he fell to the ground, your eye’s met Peter’s who stood behind him, the silver tray in his hand.

“Peter?” You asked, tapping the side of your neck so your mask would retract from your face.

Dropping the tray to the floor, he doubled over, hands on his knees.

“That was...” He said huffing. “... so... cool!”

Rushing over to Peter’s side, stepping over the unconscious man’s body, you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s back, listening as he wheezed. Knowing his aunt well enough to know that she wouldn’t let Peter leave the house without his inhaler, you slipped your hands into his pant pocket, pulling out the device and placing it in his hands.

As he inhaled a quick two puffs, his breathing slowly evening out as his airways opened up, you and him looked up to find the attention of the rest of the team on the both of you.

“Well,” Nat said breaking the silence, staring at the unconscious man on the floor in front of you. “I guess love really does conquer all.”

Hearing a chuckle settle over the group surrounding you, the next person to speak was Steve, stepping in front of Peter and reaching his hand out for him to shake.

Glancing between Cap’s hand and face, Peter straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Oh, wow.” Peter said in awe, shaking his hand dramatically. “M- Mr. Captain America, sir, I’m a huge fan.”

Smiling, Steve laid his hand on his shoulder.

“I can say the same about you, kid.” He said. “You gotta stand up for your girl- no matter how strong and capable she may be... I would know.”

Without saying another word, leaving Peter starstruck in his spot beside you, Steve walked away towards Natasha. Tony was the last to come up to the two of you.

“Well, Parker,” He said, tapping his wrist so that his suit retracted from around his body. “I gotta say- I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“T- thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter said nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“I guess we can consider making you a paid intern now.” Tony said. “You saved an Avenger and now you get paid minimum wage- sound fair?”

Nodding his head smiling, Peter took Tony’s hand in his, shaking it. “Yes! Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it!”

“I know I won’t.” He said, pulling his hand back and stepping away from him. “And Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Be nice to her.” Tony said finally shooting you a wink before heading towards the rest of the group standing over the unconscious man.

Glancing down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers, you looked up at Peter.

“I’m so sorry for not telling you, Pete.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I was just so scared. At first I didn’t even know what was going on with me and then the Avengers found me and my life just got so crazy, but you always treated me like I was just me... I didn’t want that to change and I.... I didn’t want you to leave me once you found out.”

Taking your fidgeting hands in his, he squeezed tightly.

“You thought I would leave you?” Peter asked.

You nodded.

“Y/n, I- I would never leave you.” Peter said seriously. “Yeah, it’s super cool that my girlfriend’s Sider-Woman and you look... like... really hot... in that suit-”

“Peter.”

“But I love you.” He told you finally. “Not Spider-Woman- you.”

You weren’t able to help the smile that reached across your face as you listened to your boyfriend. You should have known that Peter would never hate you- especially not for something as cool as having super human abilities- and you almost wanted to laugh at yourself for worrying so much over it. In the end all that mattered was that Peter now knew and he chose to be with you anyway.

Taking your hands out of his, you cupped his face in your hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“Thanks for being my hero tonight, Peter.” You whispered.

Smiling, gazing at his face you couldn’t help but notice the blush that began to rise to his cheeks as he nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh that? That was nothing.” He chuckled.

“Hey! Love birds!” Tony shouted from across the room. “The press has gotta be here any minute- better head out unless you want your face on the front page.”

“You’ve got it, Mr. Stark!” Peter called back, waving his hand.

Waving goodbye to the members of your group one last time, you laced your fingers with Peter’s guiding him towards the door.

“Got my dress?” You asked.

Pulling your dress out from behind a nearby vase, he continued his pace handing you the bundled up gown.

“Couldn’t forget that!”

Smiling you slipped behind a wall near the entrance, pulling your gown on. Without asking you felt Peter come up behind you, lacing up the back of your dress as you tapped your wrist, your suit retracting with your touch beneath the dress.

“I don’t know about you,” Peter said, tying the laces. “But I’m-”

“Starving?” You asked, laughing.

Stepping back from tying up your gown, he laughed. “Yeah, want to go grab some post battle dinner?”

Taking his hand in yours, you couldn’t help the smile on your face. “How can I say no to that?”

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes! 

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much 

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

    March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

    April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

    April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

    April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[transthaumaturge]

Squirrel Girl is Super Gay for her Roommate and I Want Everyone to Know

A gay infodump of sensible length by Rachel Tikvah

ALRIGHT, SO The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl was the very first comic that I ever read regularly, back when I was looking for more stories with strong female protagonists but didn't really know why. Back then I just thought I really liked strong female characters and not that I was being gay on main, but now I know the truth. The comic had a 5-year run, and it was the first time that Squirrel Girl, AKA Doreen Green, had had her own series. She had a brief run in the mid-2000's where she was established as someone who could beat up Thanos with her bare hands well, more like squirrel hands but was mostly a joke character that happened to be incredibly buff and had indestructible plot armor. USG decided that Doreen's next major life goal would be to enroll in college to become a computer scientist, because her writer, Ryan North, is really into computer science and they basically gave him free rein over Squirrel Girl canon for five whole years. Like, a solid third of the plots are solved with some kind of computer science smarts. It’s really cool. Anyway this is Doreen in one of the gayest solo pictures I could find of her on short notice, which is also one of the variant covers from the actual series:

And this is her college roommate, Nancy Whitehead:

I'm like, 99% certain that Ryan North intended for them to end up as a couple and Disney!Marvel told him no. So he decided to make them AS GAY FOR EACH OTHER AS POSSIBLE without explicitly saying that they were a couple, and it ended up going under the radar. What follows is evidence for that claim. I’m going to put a "read more” after this so it doesn’t clutter everyone’s dashboards, but please read on if you’re interested. There’s a lot of cute gayness after this point. I’m also going to put all of the image descriptions at the end, since they take up a lot of space and I don’t want to break up the flow of the post. Finally, a quick spoiler alert for one arc in the middle of the series and a couple major plot points from the final few issues.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

So for a while it was just kind of hinted at that they’re in a relationship, mostly because they were basically domestic life partners for like, two whole years in-universe before the comic run ended. But it really came to a head with an arc that was ran about 2/3 of the way through the series. Some pictures of them being, like, so cute together in general and/or talking about how much they care about each other before I get to that arc, though: 

Also Doreen describes her and Nancy's cat as "co-parented" in one of the last issues:

ANYWAY, THE ARC. THE HYPERTIME ARC. So one of the villains created for the Squirrel Girl run (I think they liked making weird shit canon just because they could) was a dude who went by the name "EpicCrimez". He’s a crime streamer. He livestreams his crimes to an online audience. I don't know. *Throws up hands*

He had some kind of laser gun that he built out of scavenged alien tech but didn't really know what it did, so he shot it at Doreen and Nancy for kicks. It shot them into hypertime, so suddenly the rest of the world was moving at a fraction of the pace that they were. They were moving so quickly that they were slated to live out their entire lives over the span of a single weekend if they didn't figure out how to reverse the effects. And...they did. Live out their entire lives together. For the two of them, they were the only two people in the world. There were other people, but they looked like statues unless you spent a very long time observing them. Doreen and Nancy grew old together in a world where they only had each other. This is an incredibly cute domestic scene from a little while after they found themselves in hypertime:

Gosh, I wish I could find more official art from that arc of them just living together, it was so good. But the point is, they were both old by the time that Nancy figured out how to get them out of hypertime. And it wasn't ideal. Their bio signatures were stored in the gun that EpicCrimez shot, and they could essentially "reboot" their bodies from when they were first shot and send themselves back into the regular timestream. But they wouldn't remember anything about the life that they had shared together. Nancy almost didn't want to do it. She raised the possibility of them just living out the rest of their lives together, because she didn't want to forget their life together. This is the conversation they had:

"I don't regret any of it. I don't want to lose it, and I don't want to lose us." "You're not getting rid of me that easily." Every time I look at that last picture, which took up an entire page of the comic, I start to cry. We’re seeing the final moments of two people who love each other more than anything, who were each other's entire lives, savoring their last moments together and wondering what the future holds. Sacrificing the life that they built together so that their younger selves could live a better, fuller one. Dying in each other’s arms, scared but comforted by the fact that they had each other. And then the arc ends, and they can't remember anything, so the status quo is restored. They have some paintings they made of each other while they were living together in hypertime, but they move on pretty quickly without ever knowing the significance of those lived decades. Still, it's clear in the arcs that follow and the adventures they embarked on afterward that they would die for each other. All of that continues until the end of the last arc. Their shared apartment's been blown up at this point by a supervillain who wanted to ruin Doreen’s life before eventually killing her. And in the aftermath of the fight, they're sifting through the wreckage for anything that survived (don't worry, the cat got out in time) when they find the picture that they painted of themselves during the hypertime arc:

They have a really cute conversation about how this chapter of their life is over, but they're going to be okay and they're going to build a new life together. And then Nancy basically tells Doreen that she can't live without her:

And then Doreen says something super queer-coded about how she likes the idea of the world knowing her secret identity now:

On the very last page of the comic, after all of the action is over and the series is about to end, they're talking to each other in what's supposed to be a twitter thread and Doreen asks Nancy a very thinly veiled question about whether she still wants to spend time with her now that her identity's out. She pretends it's about a class project, but it's really not about the class project. Here's how that conversation goes:

With no knowledge of what happened during the weekend when they shared their entire lives together, without ever having heard Doreen say it to her before, Nancy’s heart still knows which words to choose. "...you're not getting rid of me that easily. <3" I believe that the author of the series, Ryan North, did as much as he possibly could to portray them as a couple without saying it outright. And as the last piece of evidence to support that claim, I want to share a response he wrote in one of the series' last-ever letter columns:

"as for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical "Super" "Man" book without an equally hypothetical "Lois" "Lane"!" It's easy to write off this analysis as wishful thinking, or as a misreading of the subtext. But when the author of the series says that these two characters are meant to always be together and compares them to one of the most famous couples in any comic series ever, it's clear that there's more to it than that. 

Some Additional Thoughts: 1) Doreen and Nancy are both probably bisexual or pansexual, since they both expressed romantic interest in men throughout the series but they’re both clearly interested in each other too. There might be an element of demiromanticism there as well if part of the reason that they’re into each other romantically is because of how emotionally close they’ve become over the years. I want to make sure that that facet of their romantic orientations doesn’t get erased, because bi and pan folks get erased enough as it is. Neither Doreen nor Nancy are lesbians, just super-cool WLWs.

2) HERE’S WHAT THE ISSUE 50 VARIANT COVER LOOKED LIKE

That’s NOT a fun, totally straight way to pose with your platonic gal pal. They’re so incredibly cute together! I have no words! In Closing If you got this far, thank you so much for letting me talk to you about a comic that’s very important to me, and a couple in that comic that I care about very much. I spent way too long making this (six hours and counting), mostly in writing the image descriptions, and I’m very proud of my work but very tired now. Hyperfixation is a hell of a drug. If this resonated with you, please consider reblogging it so that more folks can see it. If not, even a like is nice. I’d also love to engage with people who have their own thoughts, so feel free to leave some comments in the notes if you’ve got an idea/a reaction/any additional cute Doreen/Nancy scenes that you’d like to share with me. At any rate, this post has gone on long enough and I don’t want to ask y’all to read any more than you have to. So have a great day, good morning / afternoon / night, and stay safe. Thanks again for reading! ~Rachel Tikvah, AKA @transthaumaturge Image Descriptions: Image 1: [ID: Squirrel Girl, a young woman with light skin, is posing in front of a brick wall that she seems to have crashed through, leaving a perfect outline of her body. She’s facing away but looking backwards over her shoulder at us and smiling. She’s flexing upward with her right arm and has her left fist resting on her left hip. Her sidekick, a squirrel named Tippy-Toe, is standing in the cutout she left in the wall and is making the same exact pose while wearing a light pink bow around her neck. Squirrel Girl is wearing brown lace-up boots, fur-lined hot pants over grey tights, and a brown fur-lined jacket with sleeves that come up to her forearms and a symbol of an acorn embroidered into the back. She’s also wearing a hairband with fake squirrel ears on it over short reddish-brown hair. She has a large squirrel tail coming out of her hot pants that sweeps down in a curve behind her lower legs. The illustration is drawn so that everything is bathed in the light of a sunset, and Doreen is casting shadows on the wall in front of her.] Image 2: [ID: Two frames depicting a scene between Doreen and Nancy in their college dorm room, with many cardboard boxes still not unpacked and sitting on a bare bed mattress. Nancy Whitehead is a young woman with dark brown skin and short, curly black hair. She's wearing black tights, a white dress-top, and a yellow cardigan over that. Her arms are crossed as she holds her white cat, Mew, against her chest. Doreen is wearing grey tights and a black long-sleeve shirt with a wide collar and white stripes across the chest. She's holding Tippy-Toe up to Nancy with both hands so she can see her better. The following dialogue ensues: Nancy: "A squirrel? But weren't you the one who was all about pets not being allowed in--" Doreen: "Yeah, I know. But this really interesting person I met today told me that obeying an unjust law is itself unjust." Nancy: "...You know, I was worried I'd get a weird roommate, but you're all right, Doreen Green."] Image 3: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are both sitting on a lavender-pink couch in nightclothes. Doreen has short, orange hair. She is wearing a loose-fitting grey long-sleeve shirt and steel-blue cutoff shorts; Nancy has cropped black hair. She is wearing a dark purple top with sleeves that come down to her upper arms, and loose-fitting navy-blue shorts that come down to her lower thighs. Doreen is side-hugging Nancy as she says, with an ecstatically happy smile, “Nancy, you’re the greatest. You know that, right?” Nancy gives Doreen a full smile as she responds, “I’d always suspected it, but it is nice to have it confirmed.”] Image 4: [ID: Nancy is shown from the shoulders up. She has short, curly black hair. She’s wearing large, disc-shaped gold dangle earrings, and a red jacket with prominent shoulders and a yellow collar. She’s fixing the observer with an angry, determined stare as she says, “She knows this man wouldn’t dream about betraying her, or he’d have to answer to me.”] Image 5: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are eating breakfast at the brown, circular kitchen table in their apartment. Doreen’s wearing a skin-tight athletic crop top that’s striped in black, red, white, and blue. Her arm muscles are well-defined and clearly visible as she puts a spoon in her mouth, closing her eyes as she does so. She has a bowl of cereal in front of her, and half a banana in front of that. Nancy is sitting to her left in a pink camisole top that’s also exposing her muscles, scrolling through something on her smartphone. Her hair is in a yellow fabric wrap that’s knotted on one side of her head. A cup of coffee sits in front of her. The clear blue sky is visible through the window centered on the wall behind them.] Image 6: [ID: Nancy and Doreen are facing away from the vantage point, walking towards an Empire State University campus building and holding hands with their fingers intertwined. Nancy is wearing a long knee-length grey coat and black knee-high boots, with a baby-blue side bag hanging from her left shoulder. Doreen is wearing a magenta sweatshirt with the periwinkle-lined hood down, light brown form-fitting denim pants, and black ankle-high boots, with a dark brown side bag hanging from her right shoulder. Trees and bushes hem the walkway in on either side. The building in front of them is dark red, with glass doors and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor. Doreen is saying “...we’re just going to have to take the long way around.”] Image 7: [ID: Doreen is facing towards the vantage point and is visible from the legs up, standing in front of a pile of rubble in the background. She’s wearing high-waisted light blue shorts over black tights, and a red windbreaker with sleeves ending at her upper arms that’s opened to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. Tippy-Toe is sitting on her shoulder. There are two people facing Doreen, each slightly in frame and silhouetted in black against the light of the setting sun. Doreen is fixing them with an angry, determined expression, resting her right fist at her hip while she gesticulates with her left hand and says, “So! I don’t know about you all, but Melissa kidnapping my friend and blowing up my life and my house and almost blowing up my co-parented cat makes me feel like giving her a piece of my mind. Friends...”] Image 8: [ID: A full comic page. EpicCrimez is looking like a dork in a green and black skin-tight jumpsuit, bright red ski goggles, and a green wig cap with his brown hair sticking out the back in a mullet. He’s standing inside a jewelry store and holding up a fist of expensive gems and pearls-on-strings as holds up his smartphone and speaks into it. He’s facing off against Squirrel Girl, with her allies Koi Boi and Chipmunk Hunk on her right, and Nancy and Brain Drain on the left. The following scene ensues: EpicCrimez: “And for those of you just tuning in, welcome to another successful heist by your boy EpicCrimez, streaming live! Now with 10% more live crime action than any other streamer! Don’t forget to like and subscribe!! I know some of you in EpicCrimez Nation have been forgetting to do that lately. Not acceptable.” Squirrel Girl: “You picked the wrong small business to rob, crime-initiator! Because this mall is protected by super heroes.” Brain Drain: “HELLO” SG: “And also an unrelated civilian friend I brought along too!” Nancy: (Not looking up from her phone) “ ‘Sup.” EC: “Check it out--Squirrel Girl and her miscellaneous friends are here! It’s action you won’t find on any other channel!” SG: “Are you...streaming your robberies?” (Nancy pockets her phone) EC: “Yeah I am! For money reasons! And with you “heroes” in it, I’ll make even more!” SG: (Whispering to Nancy:) “Question: a fight scene just gets him more traffic, which lets him profit from this crime even more--so does this mean we don’t fight him?” N: (Whispering back:) “I feel like letting him go causes more harm, but I look forward to us teasing apart the moral implications of this later.” SG: “Nice.” SG: (No longer whispering:) “I’ll like and subscribe, EpicCrimez! I’ll like fighting crime, and subscribe... to a worldview wherein the strong protect the weak!” EC: “Oh my gosh, are you like wholesome Spider-Man or something??” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Wholesome Spider-Man, Wholesome Spider-Man/Does whatever a wholesome spider can/Is he tough?/Listen bud/He’s here to hear you talk about your day and tell you it’ll all be fine while taking you out for your favorite meal for dinner because he knows you deserve it.”] Image 9: [ID: Another full comic page. Doreen and Nancy are in their apartment together, and their friends Tomas and Brian (AKA Chipmunk Hunk and Brain Drain respectively) are frozen as they look down at the machine that Nancy is on her knees in front of, working on. Nancy, barefoot, is wearing cerulean-blue athletic pants, a black long-sleeve spandex shirt without shoulders, and narrow-framed glasses. Her hair is partially covered by a yellow cloth head wrap tied on the left side, with black dreadlocks spilling out the side and back. The machine in front of her is made of dull grey metal, about a meter tall and roughly circular. Wires dangle out of a hatch that Nancy is fiddling with. Doreen is wearing a flowing, dark-purple pantsuit with wide, ankle-length legs and a halter top with the sleeves tied off at her shoulders. Her shoes are light-brown ankle boots with a horizontal gap on the bridge of each foot. Her wavy orange hair is parted in the middle and down past her shoulders. She looks incredibly cute. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “What do you think?” Nancy: “I think--come on you stupid screw--I think we’re still years away from this thing working, if it ever does. Who knew time machine construction is really hard, except of course for everyone who has attempted it?” (She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand) D: “Hah! No, I mean my new outfit.” N: (Looking up and checking her gf out:) “Doreen! You look amazing!!” D: “Liberated it from a very expensive department store uptown!” N: (Now standing) “Tony paid for it?” D: Tony will eventually discover he was kind enough to leave some expensive jewelry in trade, yes. I pinned a note to him so he knows.” N: “There really are advantages to being friends with billionaire playboy genius philanthropists.” D: “Right?!” N: (Taking Doreen’s hands in hers:) “It’s a shame we can’t take a picture of you all dolled up.” D: “Not without standing still for a few months, yeah. But I was thinking about that. I picked up something else at another store downtown. Thought maybe it could help us with that.” (Holding up a shopping bag with one hand while still holding onto Nancy’s hand with the other:) “Nancy Whitehead, I thought you and I might take up painting sometime.” At the bottom of the page, small text says: “Tony Stark moves from meeting to meeting, his body accumulating dozens of notes every second. He sighs. Stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen. But then he smiles, because after all...stuff like this didn’t happen before he knew Doreen.”] Images 10-16: [ID: Several pages worth of comic frames, posted together to depict one scene. Doreen and Nancy are now old women, likely in their seventies or eighties. Doreen has short, grey hair. She’s wearing a tan button-up waistcoat and an orange ascot, brown flats with an olive-green skirt, knee-length and softly pleated. Her tail is sticking out the back of her skirt over the top, bushy and brown but with stiffer, less-dense hair. Nancy has her grey-black hair done up in a ponytail, a mass of tight curls behind her head. She’s wearing thin oval glasses, black dress pants, black flats, and a lavender cardigan with a flower motif along the edges, open to show the yellow-orange top underneath. They’re standing in front of a completed time machine. On either side are tall pieces of machinery, and in the middle is a round, flat metal dais hooked up to everything else with snaking cables. The following scene ensues: Nancy: “So...this is it, babe. The new machine.” Doreen: “Your secret project! Nancy, it looks like you started from scratch!” N: That’s because I did. I finally realized our old machine was never going to work. Maybe if we had a few more decades, but...there’s no time. And given that our backs are to the wall, I took a risk. I disassembled the gun right down to the metal, and examined all the parts. And I did find something: a data chip. Doreen, the gun stored our bio signatures when it us.” D: “What are you saying?” N: “I’m saying my new machine won’t send us back in time, and we’ll still have lost a weekend of real time. But it will restore our bodies to normal time.” D: (Hugging Nancy tight:) “Nancy! You saved us!!” N: (Resting her hands on Doreen’s shoulders:) “Not--quite. There’s a catch, Doreen. Our bodies will make it...but we won’t. Look, Doreen...I’m an old woman. I’ve spent most of my life in hypertime. This wasn’t how I saw my life going, but...I don’t regret any of it. I don’t want to lose it, and I don’t want to lose us.” D: “I don’t understand.” N: “It’s like restoring from backup. Our bodies will be restored to how they were the moment we were first hit. But--that necessarily includes our brains, too. Everything we’ve done since we entered hypertime--our entire lives spent together...we’ll forget.” (She looks at Doreen in distress) D: “I don’t either, Nancy. You’ve been the most important person in my life. But if we do go back--we can do it again. All of it. It might not happen again quite the same way, but--well, like you say...we’ll have all the time in the world.” N: (Their faces inches apart, they both tilt their heads down and smile sadly:) “Twist my arm, why don’t you.” (They both step onto the dais holding hands, and blue energy starts to ripple around them:) “You filled up Spidey’s web-shooters before we go?” D: “Yep. Again.” N: “You and me, saving the world.” D: “Well,” (holding Nancy’s hand in both of her own) "No reason we can’t do it twice.” N: “You know, there’s a chance things could turn out differently, now that we’ll have video games to distract us. In 40 years we might decide we don’t like hanging out after all.” D: (Hugging Nancy even tighter than before as the energy from the time machine starts to envelop them, resting her face in the nape of Nancy’s neck:) “Nah. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”] Image 17: [ID: Doreen and Nancy are sifting through the charred rubble of their apartment as night starts to fall around them. Doreen is wearing faded blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with a Captain America star in the middle. Over top of the shirt, she’s wearing a dark reddish-brown leather vest with four metal studs at the four points of the folded-out collar. Nancy is wearing black tights and a light green long-sleeve shirt with olive-green sleeves. The front of the shirt has a picture of Cat-Thor, Cat God of Cat Thunder’s head on it. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “So I know we’re only a few hours into it, Nancy, but I think my identity being public isn’t gonna be as bad as I thought.” Nancy: “Oh?” D: “Yeah, Tony’s given me lots of tips, and it does honestly help to know that my parents are protected by a robot tree with laser eyes and my friends live in a city with the most super heroes per square mile.” N: “Most super villains too, but--Hold on. I think I found it.” (Nancy lifts a picture frame out of the wreckage, charred around the edges but otherwise no worse for wear. It has a painting inside of it of Doreen and Nancy, arm-in-arm, from hypertime. Doreen is wearing the lavender pantsuit from before, and Nancy is wearing a tight-fitting lilac dress.) “...And it looks like you and I made it through just fine.”] Images 18-19: [ID: Two later comic panels from the same scene. They’re wearing the same outfits, but Nancy’s now cradling her white cat, Mew, in the crook of her left arm while she holds onto the picture frame with her right hand. The following scene ensues: Doreen: “Come on, let’s talk about it! If we’re starting a new chapter in our lives, and we can decide what’s in it, what do you want it to contain?” Nancy: “Doreen...” D: “What are the three things you can’t live without, Nancy Whitehead?” N: (Holding up the picture so that Doreen can see it:) “Fine. If you must know, all this girl needs to be happy are cats and squirrels and knitting and computers and friends and secret tattoos and super heroes and lots and lots of love. Also food and shelter. And water. And internet.” D: “That’s more than three things.”] Image 20: [ID: Same scene as before, a single frame with a close-up on Doreen from her chest upwards. Doreen cups her chin with one of her hands and says, “Honestly--I thought about it. I really did. But I realized that where I am now, I’m safe and I’m loved and I kinda like the idea of not having to lie to people anymore, you know? Even if it is just a lie of omission. I want to share my whole self with the world. I don’t want to have to hide who I am anymore.”] Image 21: [ID: Something resembling a twitter thread, with dialogue between Nancy and Doreen stacked chronologically as horizontal boxes. Their respective names and handles are at the top of each of their comments. Nancy is Nancy W. and @sewwiththeflo, Doreen is Squirrel Girl and @unbeatablesg. The following conversation ensues: Nancy: “You think I’d leave you high and dry??” Doreen: “I think I don’t want our lateness harming your grades and therefore harming your post-secondary education or career choices and therefore harming your ENTIRE LIFE?!” “So yeah I think you should switch to someone else, real talk. I honestly don’t mind, I promise.” Nancy: “Please. If there’s one thing I know about you, about me, and about how we spend our future together, it’s this. Doreen Green...” “...you’re not getting rid of me that easily. <3″] Image 22: [ID: A paragraph of text, black text on a yellow background. “As for more Doreen and Nancy, I hope so too. A Squirrel Girl book without Nancy would feel like--like--like some sort of hypothetical “Super” “Man” book without an equally hypothetical “Lois” “Lane”!”] Image 23: [ID: A group picture of Squirrel Girl and friends sitting down on a grassy hill and watching the sunset together. Kraven the Hunter is in the foreground for some reason, looking almost directly at the camera. In the background we see Koi Boi, Mary Mahajan, Chipmunk Hunk, Brain Drain, and Mew the Cat. In the middle of the shot, Doreen and Nancy sit together. Doreen is in her superhero outfit with Tippy-Toe on her right shoulder, and Nancy is in a yellow cardigan and jeans on Doreen’s left. They’re holding hands, fingers intertwined, as Nancy leans against Doreen with her whole body. Their heads are tilted inward towards each other, the side of Doreen’s head touching the side of Nancy’s, as they look off into the distance together.]

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Chapter Four.

a/n: this was one of my fav chapters to write, so hope you all enjoy! I think you’re all gonna like this one hehe :’) pls reblog to share and leave feedback as it continues to motivate me <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | word count: 10.1k

come talk to me about WTSGD! i’d love to know your thoughts!

October 31, 2017 

A lot had happened in the last five months that felt like an eternity. 

After Luci’s very first performance for Miss Saigon and her unfortunate breakdown that was caused by one of the biggest critics of Broadway, practically insulting her, she performed almost every night after that. 

When one bad review on her performance was ratified by hundreds of tweets and reviews, saying that Luci’s performance was one of the best they’d ever seen, she’d say she did her damn job. The night of her breakdown, she received a text from Nina, who sent her a link to a few reviews on her Broadway debut. Those articles directly addressed how unprofessional and poorly written Adam West’s review was, and that he needed to open his eyes to observe and admire brilliant, wonderful, and beautifully performed talent. On top of the important names next to Adam West, theatre-Twitter seemed to agree with the positive articles that were written about her, tweeting that Luci was the next face of Broadway; and who cared if she started her career in commercials and Off-Broadway because getting the role in Miss Saigon had proved that she worked her way up and that she was good. 

After reading the articles and tweets, her mood had drastically shifted. She was so overwhelmed by the positive comments that defended her from a misogynistic man that she cried again, but it was tears of happiness this time around. She walked out of her apartment, headed to Harry’s door to show him the uplifting reviews, and he was happy to see that she was ecstatic—he was happy for her. 

They had definitely become closer since that day. 

Harry and Luci hung out a lot. Whenever they had the chance and they both weren’t busy, they would knock on each other’s doors or text one another, asking to hang out. For the most part, he opened up to her, showcasing his true personality and becoming more comfortable around Luci—enough to joke around and be himself. He loved the way he didn’t feel like he had to be someone he’s not; everything felt true and real. 

It was refreshing for Harry to have a real friend, a best friend, other than Jeff and Mitch. Although he developed a small crush on said friend, it was nice to just have a chat and walk around the neighborhood with her. He’d been talking himself up to ask her out, not knowing if she’ll say yes or if she even feels that way about him; but from what he could tell, he thinks that she’s sort of infatuated with him. Luci would flirt with him from time to time, and would tell him that he’s adorable and sweet, making Harry’s cheeks redden from the sweet talk. 

Luci’s situation with Daisy and Samuel never got better. Ever since she started to perform more and more—sometimes even more than Daisy—they would be nothing but rude to her. They weren’t used to someone taking their spotlight; it was like someone stepping right in front of them on center stage to steal the show—especially if it was someone they despised and was new to Broadway. The two tried to take it up with Tal, demanding and arguing about how they deserved to perform every single night, but Tal kept her word to Luci and the rest of the industry: that she would stand up for her cast and run the show herself. 

Throughout the months, Luci had been talking with Harry about something very, very important. It was a few weeks ago, during their walk to a bagel place in the morning, when she first brought it up. 

“Remember that lady who came up to me after the show?” She asked as they walked along the sidewalk. Harry nodded, letting out a ‘mhm.’ “So, she’s a talent agent…” Harry raised his brows, thinking she was an agent for Broadway. “In Hollywood.” Samantha Stone was one of Hollywood’s greatest and biggest agents; she mostly worked with actors who were first starting out in the industry before making them successful. Samantha was always on the hunt for new and fresh talent; she walked the streets with an eye like a hawk. 

In early September, Samantha was in New York for a small getaway, as well as to meet one of her side pieces in the city. She figured she could watch a show or two since she was already in the city, and it’d been ages since she'd seen a Broadway show. Deciding on Miss Saigon because she saw the tweets and reviews of Luciana, she decided to give it a shot and see what her hype was about. And it did not disappoint. She was so intrigued and invested in the story, and was absolutely blown away by Luciana’s performance. Naturally, even though she shouldn’t be working, she waited until the cast was coming out of the theatre to approach her. 

Luci was in complete shock because she’d never had anyone walk up to her, telling her to give her a call because she was a talent agent and hoped to work with her soon. When Luci got back home, she looked up Samantha Stone and her breath hitched as she found out who she had worked with and what she did for a living. 

“Holy shit!” Harry completely stopped walking, making Luci stop as well. They stood on the side of the sidewalk as people passed by them. Harry beamed excitedly, but soon his smile softened, noticing Luci’s didn’t match his. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you excited?” 

“I-I don’t know. I just get nervous thinking about it, like she wants to work with me.” Luci fiddled with her fingers. 

“Isn’t that great?” Harry asked softly; he didn’t see what was wrong with that, but he was being patient with Luci to try and understand what she was feeling and thinking about.

She nodded. “It is. I’m just nervous; I hate disappointing people. What if I call her and I do an audition or whatever, and she realizes that I’m not meant for the job? She’s the biggest agent in Hollywood, Harry. That would mean I’m not meant for any job,” she explained worriedly, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach as if it’d been simmering for hours on the stove.

Harry slightly frowned. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to doubt one’s own talents, and he absolutely hated that Luci was doing it. 

“Luciana, listen to me.” Well, that definitely caught her attention. “You’re remarkably talented, end of. If you end up being dropped by that agent, then fuck her. She shouldn’t be a talent agent if she can’t see clear talent right in front of her. Literally everyone in the same room knows you are so incredibly gifted. Plus, wouldn’t you like to try it out? It doesn’t hurt to try because you have nothing to lose. You’ll still be on Broadway; and then you’ll try again later if right now is not your time.” 

Smiling, she appreciated his words. She nodded, knowing he was completely right. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” Her response seemed to satisfy Harry. “Thank you.” 

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you.” She smiled. “Still gonna help me grade papers?” 

She chuckled as they started walking on the pavement again. “Yup. Believe it or not, it’s actually fun grading papers.” 

He turned to her shockingly. “Oh, really? Then maybe you could be my TA and I’ll have you grade all the papers.” Luci laughed, saying that she didn’t mind; she adored moments when they were playful. Their friendship was refreshing to the both of them. 

A week after her conversation with Harry, where he reassured and encouraged her, she called Samantha, who was delighted to hear from Luci. Samantha asked if she wanted to meet for lunch; Luci was hesitant, but she remembered Harry’s words, and it really didn’t hurt to try, so she agreed and they met in Midtown at a Thai restaurant. 

It was a casual luncheon where Samantha got to know Luci before she decided if she wanted to sign her or not. Luci completely rocked her socks; she was funny, kind, and very humble—traits that not a lot of stars had. So, Samantha immediately thought she was perfect and very likeable. After thirty minutes of eating and chatting, Samantha pulled out her business side, along with a contract, and discussed what this could mean for Luci. She went over her contract very quickly, and Luci knew she couldn’t keep up so she pretended to listen, nodding and letting out a ‘mhm’ to be interactive. 

Samantha had a pen ready for her to sign, but if Luci knew anything, it was to not sign contracts right then and there, and to go over the contract in further details on her own. So, Luci told her that she would look over the stack of papers once more before she got back to her potential agent. 

Luci wished she took a business class to understand such things about contracts and how to handle things herself, but she thinks that she might enroll in some classes some time soon. She attended Boston University and graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Performing Arts in Theatre Arts. On top of auditioning, solo acts, musical pieces, and countless shows for the four years she was there, she maintained a 3.5 GPA in her general education, and that’s something she’s incredibly proud of herself for. There were a few classes during her freshman year that she failed, making her consider dropping out, but she picked herself back up and promised herself to work harder, and she did. 

When she got back home, she tossed the contract on her coffee table as she sighed, grabbing a glass of water. She had felt stressed out about the situation, but then she remembered that Harry’s sister, Gemma, was a lawyer in London. So, she sent Harry a quick text, telling him about her situation, and asked if Gemma was able to help out. Harry was on his lunch when she texted, but he quickly asked Gemma and she was quick to comply, anything to help her brother’s friend.

The day after, Harry and Luci both sat down on his couch, FaceTiming Gemma on his laptop; it was the very first time his sister and Luci were meeting each other. Harry warned Luci that Gemma was a bit tough with his new friends, but once the two women chatted for a few minutes, Gemma was smittened with her; Harry was shocked at how quick they seemed to become friends, but he cherished it because he liked Luci…a lot. 

Luci had sent over a scanned version of the contract, so they went over it together with Harry sitting next to her for moral support; and from what Gemma said, the contract was clean. The most important thing that Gemma was looking for was that Luci had a say to back out of the contract, and it stated that clearly. Gemma told her that she could sign the contract if she wanted, and that eased Luci’s anxieties, making her thank Gemma almost a million times for her help. 

The next day, Luci met up with Samantha for brunch with the signed contract in her hand. Samantha was delighted to see that it was inked with her signature; she told Luci that this won’t be the only thing she was going to sign because so many people are going to want her autograph. That made Luci smile, giggling a tad bit at the thought of it. 

By the beginning of October, Samantha called Luci and informed her that she was booked for an audition for a supporting character in Ocean’s Eight that was to be released late next year. Luci was surprised at how quickly Samantha was able to get her an audition, but they didn’t call her the best for nothing. 

With only two weeks to prepare, Luci put her time and effort into rehearsing the few pages of the script Samantha had sent her. Luci didn’t have a talent coach whatsoever, so she tried her best to see every aspect of her acting, jotting down notes on the margins so she could further better herself. She was hiding her stress and nerves quite well as she tried not to freak out about how insane this opportunity was to even audition. 

When her audition was only two days away, she called Ren for the traditional pep-talk that inspired and motivated her to do better and to try her best because that was all that she could do. She wished that her family was physically next to her so she could feel the comfort and warmth that they provide because after all, they are home and always will be. 

Luckily, some producers were in New York holding auditions, so she didn’t have to fly to California for a day or two. She’d never felt more intimidated and nervous than the moment she stepped inside the medium-sized room that was painted in a light gray tone. A long foldable table was in the middle of the room with a small camcorder on a tripod next to it. Luci’s had many auditions, but this…this was real shit, the real deal. She was standing in front of Hollywood and big name producers who’d never heard of her name until the moment she walked in and they had a glimpse of her portfolio. 

She introduced herself, masking the nerves that were crawling up and down her body with a warm smile—not too bright, but enough to show her gorgeous grin. They asked her to read off of page twenty-three to twenty-five; taking a breath, she gave all that she could. And in her opinion, it’s the best acting she’d ever done, which is saying a lot because she thinks she did quite well after every show of Miss Saigon. 

The producers’ faces were unreadable as they simply looked at one another, writing a few notes on their yellow notepads. Luci wanted to lurk, to see what they were writing as she hoped they weren’t disappointed or had immediately crossed out her name from their list. 

They thanked her for coming in before dismissing her; she thanked them as well, waving as she walked out the door where she released the biggest sigh. It wasn’t from relief because she was still on edge of the result of her audition, but she felt like she had been holding her breath for the ten to fifteen minutes that she was in that room. Her heart was pounding quite sturdily; and if she was being honest, her mind had completely blanked out once they yelled ‘action,’ but that was usual for her. 

Now that it was ten days after her audition and Halloween, Harry practically begged Luci to get out of her apartment. She knew that she couldn’t stay cooped up in her room as she overthought the audition constantly. She began to get headaches from overthinking every single thing she did in that audition, and it drove her insane. 

So, when Harry suggested that she should go to the Halloween party that Daisy was throwing on the rooftop of her building, she dreaded it at first, but the thought of going out was calling her. She assumed Daisy wouldn’t want Luci to be at her party, but she invited the entire cast and a few more people that she knew personally, so it wasn’t like Daisy was going to speak to her. Since it was a party, everyone could bring a guest or a few friends, so that was when Luci begged Harry to attend with her. 

“Please, come with me.” She had her best pouty lip on, looking at him with doe eyes. Just by that look, he almost gave in, but he wasn’t sure if this type of party was for him. Harry was a mellow and chill guy; he didn’t need rooftop parties and unlimited amounts of booze. He was fine with a small gathering, a few movies and board games—now, that was his type of party. “The party would be so much more fun with you there.” 

Harry playfully scoffed. “Please. Luci, I’m the most boring guy there is.” 

Her brows furrowed in disagreement. “No, you’re not. I happen to think you’re quite fun.” He smiled softly at her in appreciation. “Please. We wouldn’t even have to stay that long.” 

He could tell that she wanted, no, needed him to be there with her. She wasn’t very close with her cast mates—despite all the months she’d been part of the production—besides Nina. But Nina knew everyone so Luci would be left awkwardly standing there, waiting for her friend to come back. 

“How long would we stay?” 

Her eyes brightened with hope. “However long you want.” 

“An hour? Hour and a half, tops?” 

“Sounds perfectly fine to me.” 

“And what would we wear?”

Luci was a bit shocked by his question. “You wanna match?” 

“I mean, that would be fun, right?” She nodded, agreeing. “Since it is quite last minute, I say we dress up as the 70s or 80s era. Pretty easy, right?” 

She liked the sound of that. “Yes, let’s do 70s! I wanna raid your closet because I know you have some gems in there.” 

Harry laughed out loud—her favorite laugh that was music to her ears. He knew he had a great sense of fashion, and he’d always go to the thrift store to pick up something that he’d never worn before. It wasn’t like he was not going to wear it, he just needed to be more comfortable with himself to wear the clothes that he buys. So, for now, he settled with black skinny jeans and patterned-print button downs, which is the most ‘flashy’ he’d dress as…for now. 

“I knew I liked you for a reason because I was hoping you’d say 70s.” Luci felt her cheeks warm up before they went to Harry’s apartment. 

It took an hour and a half to find an outfit that Harry liked; it would’ve been shorter, but with Harry’s 70s playlist that was playing in the background, they took breaks to dance and sing. Harry had a beautiful voice, Luci thought; and she wondered if he was ever in a band before or wrote music because he does have an elaborate music taste, and that added to Luci’s liking for him. 

They proceeded to go to Luci’s apartment so Harry could help her find an outfit. He brought his wireless speaker so the music wouldn’t stop; and she continuously threw the articles of clothing onto her bed—where Harry was lying on his stomach—every time he shook his head no. 

With the same amount of time it took Harry to decide on an outfit, Luci settled on hers. She looked in her full-body mirror, twirling around to see if it looked okay and if she was satisfied with it. Harry remained on her bed, admiring how beautiful she looked as he thought that she was way out of his league. As Luci was dancing and prancing around her apartment, Harry was deep in his thoughts; he didn’t know if asking Luci out was the way to go. Not only would he lose her as a friend when or if she rejects him, but he couldn’t bear the ache he would feel in his heart. 

For his own sake, he needed to protect himself before the heartbreak; and if that meant refraining himself from making a move, then that was completely fine to him. 

“Ready?” Luci called out from the doorway. Harry got off the bed, looking her up and down. 

She was wearing peach colored pants that flare at the bottom, sitting high on her waist; a white silk blouse with orange accents, a long brown coat because it was quite chilly outside, and pink glasses that were transparent. He thought she looked absolutely beautiful, and her outfit was meant for her. The colors matched Harry’s outfit as he wore rust-orange pants that sat wide at the bottom, a flashy patterned long-sleeved blouse with the collar matching his pants. Luci gave him a similar pair of glasses as hers, so they weren’t wearing shaded lenses in the nighttime. 

“Yup. You, uh, look really good.” 

Luci smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Thank you! You look good, too. This color looks amazing on you.” 

Harry looked down at his outfit, hiding the blush that formed on his cheeks. “Thank you. I like it a lot.” 

They headed out and towards Daisy’s apartment building where the rooftop was large enough for everyone to stand comfortably without feeling like they were shoulder-to-shoulder. There were plenty of lounge chairs, and a few tall bar tables next to tall heaters, considering it was just below fifty degrees. 

Some people were making their way towards Daisy's apartment since it was too cold outside, but Harry and Luci decided to stay, both agreeing that the heaters were keeping them warm as they sipped on their drinks. 

“Luci!” Nina walked over towards her, giving her a hug; Luci made sure not to mess up the placement of her fairy wings. 

“You look amazing!” Luci complimented as Nina put her hands on her cheeks, thanking her friend. Luci could tell that Nina was a bit drunk already as her eyes were drooping and she couldn’t stand straight on her own two feet. 

“Harry! I’m so glad you’re here.” He smiled saying hello to her. Nina and Harry met in July when he had gone to see another show. He was giving Luci another bouquet of flowers—the same bundle that he gave her the last time since she told him that she really liked them, and they looked amazing on her windowsill—and she dragged him to find Nina since she was performing the same show. Nina immediately gave Luci that certain look that said ‘he’s really cute,’ and Luci just nodded, giving her an apparent look as well. 

“Did you bring anyone?” Luci asked, knowing that she was talking to a few guys; her favorites, from what Nina told her, was Laurent and Alec—the two guys that are in her Soul Cycle class, one on Monday and the other on Friday. 

Nina shook her head. “No. I wanted to get fucked up today and didn’t want any of my mans see that shit. Oh! Can I take a picture of you two? You both look so cute!” 

Luci looked at Harry, silently asking and he nodded. She stood beside him, not knowing whether to put her arm around his waist. They’d never taken a picture together before, after all the months of knowing each other. Luci handed Nina her phone before she turned on the flash, taking a picture of the two. Harry hesitantly puts his arm around Luci’s shoulder, making her look at him, smiling. She then wrapped her arm around his waist as they both smiled at each other before looking back at the camera. Nina was squealing behind the phone because she just captured the cute and quiet interaction between them that made for a sweet candid. 

Nina handed Luci’s phone back to her before she told her that she was going to talk to some other people. The two women hugged, and Nina said goodbye to Harry. 

Harry leaned into Luci’s side, bending down slightly. “Send me those pictures, yeah?” 

A chill ran through her body at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. “Sure,” she croaked out, sending the pictures to him. 

After a few moments of light conversation and humming the beat of the music, Harry asked, “So, which one is Daisy?” 

Luci looked at him, quite shocked as to what sparked his interest in her, but she didn’t say anything. She looked around until she spotted her in a leather catwoman suit, hugging her body tightly that Luci thought it was cutting off her circulation. But she had to admit that it looked amazing on her. 

“That one.” She slyly pointed at Daisy who was talking to some of her friends. Luci was surprised to see that Samuel wasn’t here, considering that he was part of the cast. Daisy and Samuel seemed to be in their ‘off again’ stage of their relationship; and no one who was part of the cast or who was close to them could keep up with how many times they’d been through that stage, but they seemed to like each other too much to call it quits for good. 

“Hmm. She seems nice.” 

“Yeah, she does—to everyone except me.” They were both looking at Daisy, and it was like Daisy could sense a few eyes on her, so she looked around and made direct eye contact with Luci. She excused herself to her group of friends before making her way towards her and Harry. “Speak of the devil.” Luci sighed, making Harry chuckle. 

“Luci! I’m so glad you made it.” Daisy faked a smile as she greeted Luci with a hug, which surprised both Luci and Harry. Daisy pulled away, immediately locking eyes on this. “Oh, who’s your friend?” Instantly, Luci knew why Daisy was so nice to her; it was because she spotted Harry and didn’t want him to think she was such a bitch. 

With her brows furrowed, Luci shifted a little closer to Harry who was standing there and not saying anything. “This is Harry.” 

Daisy flashed him her stunning smile that wooed almost everyone. “Hi, I’m Daisy.” He shook her hand, introducing himself. “Your outfit looks really good.” She complimented him. 

“Thanks, Luci helped me pick it out.” He smiled at Luci, who was smirking. For a second, Daisy rolled her eyes before she returned to her big smile. 

“Would you like to get a drink with me? I see you’re almost empty.” Daisy’s eyes pointed at his cup, which only had a small sip lingering at the bottom of his clear plastic cup. 

“Uh-”

“C’mon, just one drink?” Her voice was innocent and sweet, nothing like the cruel and rude Daisy that Luci knew all too well. 

What Luci expected Harry to say was that he was okay and that he didn’t want a drink with her, but he responded quite the opposite. 

“Okay, sure.” Luci’s head averted towards Harry as she looked at him with shock and a face asking what the fuck he was doing. But he shrugged as Daisy clapped, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bar. Luci huffed, watching the two walk away and she was left by herself with a watered down drink and the cold air. 

She figured she’d wait for him to come back to where she was sitting, hoping he wouldn’t take too long. 

But twenty minutes had gone by, and Luci started getting annoyed.  

Thirty minutes, and Luci tells herself that she doesn’t care and mindlessly goes on her phone. 

An hour had gone by when Luci huffed, mentally saying that she does give a shit and goes to find Harry. 

How long could one drink take anyways? Definitely not an hour, Luci thought. She searched the rooftop for the two, only to hope that Harry was looking for her too. After ten minutes of looking around the rooftop, passing her cast mates who were asking her to take a shot with them—she took another one, adding more alcohol into her body—she couldn’t find Harry. She started to think the worst; he could’ve possibly taken Daisy home, or Daisy could have taken him up to her room—either way, she didn’t like any of those options. 

For a minute, she mentally debated if she should check Daisy’s apartment, which would be better since it was warmer indoors than it was out—she was convinced it got colder once Harry left her side—but the negative side of her mind, who was taunting her like the devil on her left shoulder, told her to check if Harry was inside because she wasn’t going to like what she was going to see. 

Either way, she needed to find Harry and she didn’t want to go home without him, so she went inside the building and took the elevator down to Daisy’s floor. There were people walking in and out of her place, so it wasn’t that difficult to find which one was hers. With the same amount of people inside her apartment as there was on the rooftop, Luci made her way through the nice and luxurious apartment. She was just on the edge of tipsy; the drinks with her coworkers had gotten her there. Heading up the stairs, she passed by people who were making out, cuddling on the steps, and talking. 

Once she got to the end of the hallway, she had almost given up on her search for Harry until the door at the end of the hall opened, revealing Harry who was leaving and quietly closing the door. 

Luci stood in the middle with an expressionless face. He hadn’t seen her yet, but the way she wasn’t giving any emotion didn’t mean that she didn’t care; the thoughts in her mind were invading every inch that there was just too much to focus on. 

Harry turned around, stopping in his tracks once he faced her. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m sorry for leaving-”

“Were you…” Luci referred to what was happening inside the room as she couldn’t finish her sentence because the thought and the words simply disgusted her. 

“N-No.”

“Why do you seem unsure?” She was testing him; she heard the hesitancy in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the truth. 

A new attitude rose him. “Why do you care?” His voice was a tad bit harsher, but he was a little confused on why she was questioning his actions. 

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, crossing her arms, avoiding his question. “I’m going home. Are you coming with or…?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that she hadn’t answered his question, so he’ll ask again later. He nodded, and Luci turned around; he followed. 

The entire ride on the subway and walking towards their apartment building was quiet. They didn’t even sit next to each other like they always did; just across one another, avoiding eye contact.

It was when they were both in front and unlocking their doors was when Harry spoke up. 

“Luci.” She stopped her movements, turning around slowly as did he. This time, she looked at him so deeply in the eyes that it was physically difficult for her to take her eyes off him. “Why were you mad at me before we left?” 

On the ride back home, Harry thought about the events at the party. He’d never seen Luci so annoyed at him before, so it got him thinking a lot about what she felt for him. She was jealous, anyone could see that, and he wanted her to say it out loud why she was jealous because he could name a few reasons. 

“Did you have a good time with Daisy?” 

Harry breathed out a chuckle. “You’re jealous,” he stated immediately. 

“Answer my question-”

“Then answer mine.” 

The tension was so thick that with just one small poke of a needle, it would collapse and break. They’d never had this type of conversation before, where the tension was rising and the room felt warm; they were always playful and laughing with each other that neither of them thought they were capable of having this certain type of energy with one another. 

“I was mad because you left me alone at the party…with Daisy of all people,” she said honestly, leaving a few things out. 

“Is that all?” He raised his brows, crossing his arms. 

Luci shook her head. “That’s not how it works, Styles. I answer yours, you answer mine.” 

A smug grin landed on Harry’s face. “Did I have a good time with Daisy?” He repeated her question. “To be honest with you, no. She was pretty drunk, so I took her to her bedroom—that’s why I was in there, She was…nice.” Luci sensed a ‘but’ trailing. “She even asked me if I’d wanna go out some time.”

“What’d you say?” 

He tsked. “Not how it works, Suki.” Luci rolled her eyes, letting out a soft huff. “Hey, they’re your rules.” He chuckled. “Now, answer this: why were you jealous?” 

There was a surge of confidence that Harry’s never felt before; maybe it was because he knew things Luci didn’t know herself, but watching her unfold those realizations was definitely feeding his ego. 

Luci sighed deeply before she started. “Knowing that Daisy could possibly get anyone she wanted was a bit of an insecurity of mine when we were on our way to the party. That was because I knew she’d want you. I mean…look at you, you’re literally so gorgeous.” Harry blushed. “And I knew that it was inevitable that she would ask you to hang out; I was just surprised when you said yes.” 

He nodded. “I rejected her when she asked if I wanted to go out.” A bit of weight lifted from Luci’s shoulders, but not completely as there was still something heavy she’s been wanting to say. “Why’d you hope I’d say no? Besides the obvious that she’s mean and rude to you.” 

Alright, time to fess up, Luci. 

Luci inhaled deeply, hoping her confession wouldn’t have him running for the hills. “Because why would you go out with her when you could go out with me? Like, on a date…” Her anxiety was up to her chin as she locked her hands behind her back, preventing them from shaking any more than they already were. 

That one simple question had answered all of the other questions swirling in his mind; not the ones that were asked in the rapid fire round of questioning and answering under the thick cloud of tension over them, but the ones he asked himself a few months ago when he was doubting that she’d ever felt something for him because all this time, she had felt something, and she just asked him out. 

His heart flipped. “You wanna go on a date with me?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask, but I didn’t know if you were interested in me or not,” she said shyly. Luci hadn’t asked someone out before—someone she was really interested in. She’d either wait until they asked her and if they didn’t, she’d move on and pretend that her feelings for them never existed. But Harry was different; seeing him with Daisy tonight had made her realize just how much she felt for him. He made her laugh, smile, and he was such a kind person. 

“I’d love to.” He suddenly answered, taking her back a little. 

She looked at him with wide eyes. “R-Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask you too, because I’m very much interested in you, but I didn’t know you were interested, well, until tonight.” Luci giggled. 

“I made it pretty obvious that I was jealous, huh?” 

“A tad bit, but it’s sweet; and I wasn’t gonna go on a date with Daisy. She’s no Luciana Ivy Suki.” He teased, making her face heat up at the sound of her full name coming from his lips. She wanted to kiss him right then and then, wanted to taste the sweet taste that he was storing in his mouth; but she refrained from doing so, figuring that they’d wait until after their date—whenever that was—to wait to kiss him because it would very much be worth the wait. 

“Okay, I’ll, uh, plan the date then.” Her lips turned up, feeling a certain ache on her cheeks already from smiling too much. 

“Can I plan it too?” He genuinely asked. 

“I did ask you, Harry.” She raised her brows teasingly. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll plan the next date then.” He blushed. 

Luci tilted her head, smiling sweetly at his words. “The next date, huh? We haven’t even been on the first date; what makes you think there’ll be a second one.” 

“Oh, love, I think there will be.” Harry stepped closer to her, heart pounding in his chest; Luci gulped at the closeness. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her by the way he was looking at her intently. And for a moment, she was gonna give in and say ‘fuck waiting,’ and kiss his pink lips until he leaned forward and kissed her soft cheek for a brief moment. “Can’t wait for our date. Let me know what the plans are.” 

“O-Okay.” The touch of his lips on her skin had stunned her, and she wanted them back on her instantly. 

Harry opened his door, giving Luci a small smile before walking in. She started to slowly back into her open apartment, holding onto the door handle tightly. Before they closed their doors, they stared at one another, admiring each other before they said: 

“Sweet dreams, Luciana.” 

“Sweet dreams, Harry.” 

November 8, 2017 

Harry strongly knocked three times on the door right across from his own door with a bag full of takeout, another bag full of snacks, and a small brown bag that had a white box inside. 

The door swung open; Luci smiled at the person behind it. 

“Happy Birthday, love!” Harry greeted.

“Aww, Harry, thank you so much.” She was surprised that he remembered, let alone bring a celebration to her as she eyed the bags in his hands. Luci turned twenty-six today; her day was full of greetings from her cast mates, her family, and FaceTime calls from her brother and parents. She was going to make a trip back home for a day or two since she had to perform on Friday, but she was going to see her parents during Thanksgiving, so FaceTime calls had to suffice till then. 

Stepping to the side, she invited him in. He hugged her tightly, kissing the side of her head as her face heated up. They walked to the kitchen, and Harry set the bags on the countertop, unraveling the tie of the takeout. 

“First, I’m sorry for just showing up unannounced and invading your place.” He added a breathy laugh. 

“No, it’s okay! You’re welcomed any time,” she genuinely said; Harry made a mental note of that. 

“Second, this is not a date. I know you didn’t want today to be our first date, but I couldn’t just sit in my apartment and not do anything on your special day! So, here I am.” 

“Here you are.” Luci couldn’t help the warmth that rushed to her face and neck. 

“Third, I brought Chinese since it’s your favorite food. And I just so happen to know a lovely place that has the best Chinese in Brooklyn, which is my favorite place that I’ll take you to soon, but know that you’re so incredibly special because I never take anyone there.” He took the takeaway boxes out of the bag, opening them up as steam released from the boxes. 

Luci leaned against the countertop. “And what makes me so special?” Teasingly fluttering her eyes. 

Harry stopped what he was doing, looking at her intently. “You’re so sweet, funny, and incredibly kind. But most importantly, you’re grounded and humble; and you’re special to me.” His dimpled poked through his skin as he smiled, meaning every word. 

Heart flipping, stomach in knots, and tears washing over her eyes, Luci walked around the counter to hug him, head resting against his chest as she whispered a ‘thank you’ in his ear. 

For the rest of their night, they ate the authentic Chinese food while Harry told her about the restaurant he got it from, including the workers who owned the place. They also talked about work, teased, flirted, and bantered about whether fruit belonged in salads—they do not. 

Harry gave her the brown paper bag that held her gift, and she opened it with shock. He gifted her a gold circle pin that was customized with her initials engraved in the middle, and the saying ‘Shine bright, Dream even bigger,’ separated at the top and bottom. He’d noticed that she had pins on her travel backpack, and would occasionally wear one on the side of her baseball cap. It was the most thoughtful and attentive gift she’d ever received, and that earned Harry a tight hug and many thank you’s. 

After the night was coming close to eleven-thirty, Harry called it a night as he still had to wake up early tomorrow for work. Their goodbye at her door was a long one that was filled with tight and long hugs as they swayed for a moment, enjoying the warmth of each other. They promised each other that they would find a day that was open in their schedule so they could finally have their date; they even pinky swore on it—Harry kissed her pinky, vowing. 

Luci watched Harry open his door before walking inside his apartment; she blew him a kiss as he caught it, placing his palm on his cheek, making her smile. 

As they closed their doors, Luci couldn’t help but think that she just had the best birthday ever. 

November 17, 2017 

Luci’s leg nervously shook as she waited for her digital clock to hit 2:30 p.m. 

Today was Luci and Harry’s first date, and will hopefully be written down in history. She’d been anticipating this day for a while now, and she couldn’t believe the day was finally here. The few days after she asked him out, they tried settling on a date, but the two weeks after Halloween were booked for them. 

Luci was performing most days out of the week and Harry needed to figure out his teaching plans since it was close to Thanksgiving break and winter break. But when Harry found out that he had a random Friday off, he immediately told her, and to their luck, Luci wasn’t performing that day. So, they were settled on a day, and Luci couldn’t wait to take him out. 

She told him that he was going to need to dress warm since they were going to be outside for most of the day, so he opted for light blue jeans that were a bit baggy, a white t-shirt, a black coat that had faux fur on the thick collar and cuffs; since he, assumingly, was going to be walking around a lot, he wore black old school vans. Harry looked in the mirror, ruffling his hair in his hands to get it to stick the way he wanted it to. His hands slightly shook as he was fixing his hair, and he realized he hadn’t felt this nervous in a while; it had been a while since he’d gone on a date with someone he truly liked. 

When it hit two-thirty, Harry opened his door and locked it before taking a step forward. He took a breath, shaking his nerves off; as he was just about to knock, he heard Luci shuffling around inside her apartment as her keys jingled in her hands and her boots thudded against the wood. He put his hand down, thinking it would be nice for her to just see him right when she opened the door. After a few moments, Luci felt like she had everything she needed, so she swung her door open to only find Harry standing right in front of it, hiding behind a familiar bouquet of flowers—her favorite ones from him. 

“Hello.” He smiled, dimples clearly present. Luci felt like she could cry on the spot from just being so overwhelmed with her nerves and the anticipation leading up to this day, this moment. “These are for you. Hope you never get tired of them.” Harry handed her the bouquet, and she hugged them to her chest. 

“Harry, thank you. Believe me, I would never.” The start of her cheek aches had begun, and it had been about thirty seconds into their date. But cheek aches with Harry were her favorite type of aches, so she didn’t really mind it. 

She went back inside her apartment as Harry followed her in; she put the flowers in a vase before fixing them a little, making sure none of them were drooping down on the edge of the glass vase. Placing them on her windowsill, where she usually puts the flowers Harry gifted her, she smiled gratefully at them before turning her head and smiling at Harry, extra grateful. 

“Shall we go?” He asked, and she nodded. 

Harry followed Luci down to the subway station as she got on the M train. In eleven minutes, there were four stops; the subway was quite packed with no available seats, so the two stood, holding onto the silver bar in between them with their bodies close in proximity as they stood. Harry took the chance to look down at her, simply admiring her beauty as she mindlessly looked around, not noticing his eyes lingering on her. 

When their stop was on Essex Street, they got off, transferring onto the F train towards Coney Island; and Harry suddenly knew exactly where they were going. He didn’t say anything but smile. The entirety of the ride took forty-two minutes with twenty-two stops; they were able to sit down next to each other after the first stop. 

Their bodies were close—thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. Luci took out her wired earphones—figuring they were going to be there for a while, why not listen to some music—handing Harry the left one as she put the right one in. She played Fleetwood Mac, Tame Impala, ABBA, Lorde, and Hozier—a few artists they’d bonded over—as they both swayed in their seats, making up some dance routine with their arms and shoulders. They laughed and ignored the weird looks of bystanders, who were trying to have a peaceful train ride to their destination, but Luci and Harry were too focused on each other to care. 

Once it was their stop, Luci put her headphones and phone in her purse before they got off and walked side by side one another. Harry had the urge to pull her close to his side, to hold her soft hand, but he was too shy to make a move. When they walked up the stairs to exit the station, their fingers brushed together—practically bumping into one another. Luci confidently made the move and linked their fingers together; Harry looked down and back up at her as he blushed, squeezing her hand lightly. 

“Is this okay?” She asked, looking up at him. 

“It’s perfect.” He meant it; the way her small hands fit so perfectly into his, as if he was protecting them. Holding her hand was comforting, and it surprised him at how comfortable he was to be making physical contact with her; but ever since he met Luci, he’s surprised himself quite a few times already. 

They finally reached their first date hotspot, and Harry assumed right as to where she was taking him. 

Three wide entryways painted in navy blue and orange had ‘Luna Park��� painted in orange at the top. Above the entryways were large flower-like and crescent moons that lit up during the nighttime, giving the boardwalk the most illuminating glow. The large Ferris wheel could not be missed as the carts swung and rattled back and forth. On top of the excitement of the amusement park, there were screams from people who were on the roller coasters, and the smell of fair food that they couldn’t wait to devour. 

Luci paid for their entrance admission, and Harry frowned, wanting to pay, but they both agreed that they could go half on the food, and games and rides. 

They felt like little kids who were at Disneyland, minus the famous castle and Main Street music, as they walked around the park to check it out as the wood beneath them creaked with every step while they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“Everything looks really fun,” Harry exclaimed.

“Right! Do you wanna play some games first or ride on some rides?” 

“How about we get the rides out of the way? You look very excited to go on them, and I have a feeling there’s no way you’re not going on them without me.” Harry assumed, quite accurately. 

Luci put her hand on her heart teasingly. “You know me too well.” Harry chuckled. “Okay, let’s go on some rides!” She dragged him to the admissions booth, and Harry paid for both of their passes for rides. 

They waited in line for the ‘Cyclone,’ which was the biggest rollercoaster besides the Wonder Wheel. Luci sensed Harry’s nerves as he kept looking up at the ride, and he couldn’t keep still. 

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Harry, you don’t have to go on the ride with me.” She was starting to feel concerned for him because his hands were becoming damp, which she didn’t care for, and he kept bouncing his leg everytime the line stopped moving. 

He raised his brows, and brushed away his nerves to the side but not very far. “No, no. It’s okay—I’ll be okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, he nodded. “I’m sure. We’re here to have some fun, not be nervous, right?” 

“Yeah. But I’ll admit, I was nervous before we left,” she said, hoping to change the subject to distract him from the fast ride above them. 

“Why’s that?” He curled his lips into his mouth. 

“This is our first date, I want it to go well,” she said honestly. It had been a while since she’d been on a real date—the last one being in college—but to be nervous for a date was a feeling she wasn’t familiar with. 

“Think it’s going quite well, don’t you think?” He gave her a toothless grin, brows raised. Luci nodded, happy that he was always reassuring her and making her feel comfortable. “Plus, I was nervous too—still am, if I’m being honest.” 

“Yeah?” 

He nodded his head as if his nerves were the most obvious thing. “Oh, yeah. I want this to go well too. But by the way we’ve been friends for months before this happened, I think we’ll be okay, Ci.” Her eyes slightly widened at the new nickname that she’d never heard; Harry instantly noticed her shock. “I-Is it okay if I call you that?” To be honest, he’s always wanted to call her some unique nickname that would only be for him. ‘Luci’ seemed to be the name everyone called her, ‘Ana’ was her brother’s name for her, so the last syllable in her name seemed to be free. 

“No one’s ever called me that.” And she thinks that’s extra special. “But yes, please call me that.” She approved, and he smiled. 

It was their turn to get onto the Cyclone, and Harry suddenly didn’t feel so nervous anymore as they were being safely strapped into their rollercoaster cart. The ride was quite high, looking over the blue water and Coney Island Beach; the view was quite gorgeous, even in the middle of a cold November day in New York. 

They screamed as the ride dropped; Luci held up one of her arms as the other held tightly on Harry’s hand as he grasped the metal bar, afraid to bravely put his arm up like his beautiful date. 

When the ride was finished, they had a rush of exhilaration, wanting to go on the other rides. So, they did; they laughed, screamed, and were the most carefree people they’d ever been in their entire lives because they brought it out of each other. 

After they filled their rollercoaster crave, they ate and talked. Individually, they were both worried about this part of the date where they had to talk because they’d been hanging out for so many months and getting to know each other that they thought coming up with conversation topics were going to be difficult. But it was natural for them; they didn’t put any pressure on themselves to speak every single minute of the date. Instead, they relished in the comfortable silence they seemed to form, not minding it one bit. 

The sky had turned into a cotton candy pink from a bright blue quite quickly. Luci wanted to watch the sunset, but was a bit sad that they hadn’t played the majority of the games; but Harry told her it was okay, and they would come back another time when the park reopened again during the Spring. 

Hand in hand, they walked to the beach that was just across the street from Luna Park. The bright lights from the park were becoming distant as they continued to walk further away from it. Since it was mid November, there weren’t that many people out because of the cold temperature—just the few people who were passing by along with others who decided to watch the sunset as well. 

“Tell me about your last relationship?” Luci suddenly asked; Harry looked at her amusingly. 

“Like now? In the middle of our date?” He teased, making her laugh. 

“I mean, if you want to. I was just curious.” 

Harry thought for a moment. “Hmm. My last serious relationship was over a year ago. We broke up right before I started teaching at the middle school.” 

“What happened?” She asked softly, not wanting to pry, but she was also curious. 

“We weren’t good for each other anymore. I guess life happened, and we turned into people we weren’t proud of. We grew apart; she was more in love with her career than she was in love with me. Couldn’t say I was the best boyfriend either,” he explained, not getting into too much detail. But he’d neglected her without even realizing it, causing his ex to occupy herself with work. “So, we broke up. And it felt like it was a sign from the universe that was holding me back from venturing out because I immediately got a job at the school when I had been putting off finding a proper teaching job.” He breathed out a chuckle, remembering the memory.

He’ll admit, his last relationship had hurt him quite a lot. He’d never felt such pain before, and it had made him quiet and reserved. But how it ended made him not seek out to find a relationship. For a while, he didn’t like the idea of love because it had only hurt you. But then he met Luci, and at first, he was hesitant to even be her friend because just at first glance, he was ruined, and he didn’t want to go through that process again; but here they are now. And maybe, he’ll tell her this, but for now, he doesn’t want to scare her off. 

“Do you still talk to her?” 

“Nope. Last I heard of her, she was engaged to this woman she met a few weeks after our breakup, but I have no clue if they’re still together.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What about you?” 

“My last relationship?” Harry nodded. “To be honest, I’ve never been in a serious one…like ever.” 

He raised his brows in shock. “Really?” 

“Yeah. The furthest I’ve gone that was close to a relationship was a friends-with-benefits towards the end of college, which didn’t end well.” Harry sensed her mood change a bit, so he didn’t pry on asking what happened in the past. The bad memories had filled her mind, making her frown, but she pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to think about them at the moment because the timing is unbelievable. “That’s that; I don't have any exciting or tea-spilling relationship stories.” 

For a moment, she didn’t want to jinx her luck, but she imagined what it would be like to be in a relationship with Harry—despite it only being their first date. Her mind took her to a fantasy that was so special and sweet because that was how she pictured what it would be like to be with him. 

They sat in silence as the sound of the waves crashing and the seagulls above them took over their hearing. It was nice and refreshing to sit side by side, taking in the beautiful scenery that the world provided. Sunsets had always made Luci feel a vast amount of gratitude towards the world and the people around her; the opportunities, the things that she got to see—they all wouldn’t have happened if the sun didn't go down, promising a new tomorrow. 

Suddenly, Harry stood up, brushing the sand that had gotten on his jeans. He reached out to Luci, who was still sitting down and looking up at him. 

“C’mon. Let’s walk,” he suggested. She grabbed his hand as he helped her up, and she patted away the soft sand that had stuck to her black jeans. 

They held hands as they walked the shore of Coney Island Beach, walking towards where the sun was departing from the world. Once the sky had turned into a purple and orange blended masterpiece, Harry stopped walking, facing Luci as he took a deep breath. 

“I’m trying…really hard to hold back.” He held her cold hands in his, lightly pushing and pulling her towards him. He’d been thinking about it for the entirety of their date, and he just wanted to pull her in and kiss her whenever.

Luci shook her head softly as she stopped swaying; her eyes flickered towards his mouth, glad she wasn’t the only one thinking the same thing. She dreamed of this—had been wanting to press her lips against his for quite some time 

“Don’t hold back. Please, don’t hold back.” Her tone and eyes were pleading for him to not refrain himself from the most magical feeling. Luci let go of his hands, wrapping them around his waist as if she was giving him permission to kiss her. 

He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing down to her elbows before he trailed them back up and to the sides of her neck and jaw. Placing a soft kiss to her forehead before placing his on Luci’s, he inhaled deeply, taking in the saltiness of the ocean next to them and the sweetness of her skin. 

Luci fluttered her eyes closed, and Harry took that opportunity to connect his lips with hers. They molded their lips together as if it were one, tasting one another for the first time. The feeling of their passionate kiss felt like the ocean had synchronized together, forming the most beautiful and largest wave for the most dedicated surfer; and when it crashed, it was powerful, breathtaking, and strong—like no other wave could top this one, no one could top this one of a kind kiss. 

Harry smiled into the kiss, making Luci smile and giggle as well. Her stomach fluttered, hugging him tighter to her as his thumbs gently caressed her soft skin. Nothing could top this feeling. 

Pulling back, Harry breathed out a giddy chuckle before placing a few more pecks on her lips as if he was dreaming the first time. Luci opened her eyes as did he; she looked into his and found an immense amount of adoration within him. 

“I like you…a lot.” 

She leaned her forehead against his chest, cheekily smiling and restricting herself from squealing before she looked back up at him. “I like you too, Harry.” 

Harry flashed her his smile, something that he couldn’t wipe off his face, not like he tried. Nowadays, he was smiling a lot more, and he was one hundred percent sure Luci was the cause of it. 

Kissing her forehead, Harry hugged her to his chest as they watched the sun go down. With her face pressed against his chest, she heard the erratic heartbeat that was pounded heavily; and in that moment, she knew exactly how that felt—to feel so much for one person that your heart could fall out—and she only hoped he could feel hers because it was pounding just the same. 

As they held each other tightly, they both knew that this was going to be something special. 

And they were all in for the ride.

an exciting chapter! come talk to me about your thoughts, feelings, favorite moments and scenes! thank you for reading <3 next chapter will be up next saturday!

[everafterkeiji]

Song: This Love by Camila Cabello

Summary: Love has so many definitions yet Oikawa never gave you the right ones.

Pairings: Tooru Oikawa x gn!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags,Genre: toxic relationships, angst, dozens of cuss words, manipulation

A/N: i promise i love oikawa- pls reblog & comment if u enjoyed!

Was it one of those nights again? The nights where everything is crumbling apart and you're holding onto someone who is broken as well.

Still, you find yourselves testing what it means to be in love.

"I can't keep watching you destroy yourself, Tooru!" You shout as he stands up from the bed then standing in front of you, his power towering over you.

"I'm doing completely fine, Y/N! What part of that don't you understand?!" He shouts back, with a tone stronger and louder one fighting yours.

I'm tired of meeting in the middle.

"Tooru- I support you but if I have to see you fucking lose yourself over a game then I can't handle it anymore!" He lets out a bitter laugh, backing away from you to stare you down. Each part of your body was trembling and his did the same. His body was drained from exhaustion and yours reeked of pain.

"Support me? Then fucking stop already! You said you'd always be there for me and now you're switching shit up?" He says, the drug in your veins fading while your hand trembles at the peak of his voice.

"I stuck to my promise Oikawa! What about you? Didn't you promise you'd always make time for me?" You asked- a slight crack in your voice remembering how tender he used to say these pretty promises.

"Well isn't that just so fucking selfish of you to assume I could make that happen."

He turns his back to you while your jaw was down to the floor, your eyes wide with tears streaming down every second and a heart snapped in half.

"You don't get to call me selfish when I was never a priority to you in the first place!"

Oikawa hesitates to look at you.

He knows what he'll see. A sight of you he's seen multiple times yet it always punches him in the gut with how he's aware that it was because of him.

How many broken pieces of your heart did you have to walk on for you to admit that he never puts you first?

If it was a battle on whose selfish, the king knows he's at the top.

"What the fuck? I tried Y/N! I'm always coming to your fucking rescue and it makes me hate the way you need me." He pities himself. He knew how low it was for him to say, your emotions are always valid to him- he treasures them because you hid them from him when you met, how hard it was to be open to these emotions with one person.

He was that person that you regretted ever being vulnerable to knowing he turns them like knives, striking you in each body part.

"Do you know how many times I had to ask myself if I needed you? God- you were so busy all the time I had to push away my own feelings for you, Tooru!" Your knees felt weak when you remembered how many times you've broken down without a shoulder to lean on. He should've been there- a call away whenever your tears came to you but knowing how he'd never let the game go, you threw away your sorrows to make sure his smile stays on.

"If you needed space, then just walk away!" He shouts, he runs a hand through his locks as he takes a seat back onto the mattress.

I did and each mile I went, I returned to you.

"Go on then- cause it's obvious we need it both!" You closed your eyes as you gripped the strap or your bag, ready to turn your heel on him.

But the flow of love in your veins insisted you to stay, to fix the relationship that was never complete.

"Tooru." You called out for him, desperate to touch him and forget everything.

But he pulls away.

"Just go, Y/N." He whispers, finally the soreness of his throat was growing on him. He still couldn't dare to look at you, he knows that his eyes would give away that he wasn't man that you wished him to be.

For the first time, loving him wasn't something you could endure anymore.

-

The next day comes in and Mattsukawa finds you in the corner of the empty classroom, with your sobs resonating in his ears.

"Y/N?" He calls out for you while he immediately rushes to your side, gripping both your arms, fearful that something happened to you on your way to school.

"I-Issei- hi." You stuttered in finding a way to replace the sadness in your voice.

"Did something happen? It's just me, Y/N." He says softly, caressing your arm as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your uniform.

Oikawa wasn't there to walk with you in the morning.

What makes it better is that you couldn't sleep last night.

Now, you were scared. When somebody finally shows you concern, you want to cower away thinking that it'd be a waste of their time.

Selfish, is the first word that comes into your head.

"Nothing happened. I didn't get any sleep last night- I'm just really stressed out I'm so sorry." You said looking down, while Mattsukawa sighs sadly, taking you in his arms and patting your head.

"That's fine, Y/N. I can always help you with your studies if you really can't do them anymore."

What help is there for a heart covered in thorns?

"Thanks, Issei." You whispered while he pulls away from the hug, to rest his hand on your shoulder.

How easy it was to mask your feelings.

"It's nothing, I'll walk you to class." You nodded as he protectively walks in front of you knowing no one would want people to see how they broke down.

Oikawa sees you and Mattsukawa as he walks with Iwaizumi. He notices the way your orbs looked lifeless with heavy bags underneath, the paleness of your lips and how you constantly look down.

He's in it for it again.

"Did you two fight?" Iwaizumi asks, Oikawas eyes met with yours and you look away instinctively while he feels a sting to his heart because your eyes held fear.

Iwaizumi let's out a sigh, the silence was enough to give him an answer. Hanamaki meets with you and Mattsukawa while Oikawa wondered if he should even approach you.

He's reached the line of boundaries where everything was just filled with pain. Exhaustion never mixes well with insecurities. A hard working person like him makes unchangeable decisions, like last night and maybe several weeks before that.

There was just a massive difference between his love for volleyball and his love for you.

But the amount that he gives to volleyball, should be the same amount that he gives to you.

This is what he struggles with the most.

How can he juggle all the things he love to meet at one point? He can't just expect you to be on the court while his passion drives the ball, and he can't have the ball in his hands when you're in class with him.

It's possible to meet in the middle, but he chooses not to.

As classes went on, the gap between you and Oikawa grows bigger. During lunch, where were you? With Hanamaki and Mattsukawa. Even a glance from him would hurt you and now he can see a clear view of how perfection turned into wreckage.

By the time, practice was about to start he jogs up to you in hopes of talking things out, even a way to just get a response from you.

It was completely unfair. He'd call you so many names without reason while you fought and never even named him a single ugly thing. It's all his fault. For being up in the gym too late, for loosing his appetite and his energy to the point where he drowned you in his challenges.

"Y/N hey-"

"I'm gonna go, Oikawa." You cut him off before he can even say anything else. He feels his the way his breath gets caught in his throat. You didn't even spare another second before turning your back on him with the intention of walking away.

His eyes widen before grabbing your arm softly as he tries to pull you to his embrace you stood your weight to the floor.

"Y/N- c'mon love.. talk to me." He whispers, his hand shaking as it held onto you. You tried to rip him off but instead he surrounds his arms around you, his head leaning on your shoulder, tears forming as he feels the cold atmosphere of your body.

"I can't keep waiting for the time where loving you doesn't hurt me, Tooru." You said quietly while he harshly closes his eyes and holds onto you even more.

"I'm so sorry- I promise I'll be here and you don't even need to question yourself- I- just come back to me..please." He pleaded, desperation in his voice while his tears streamed down on your clothes. You too looked away as a pool of your own tears were resurfacing.

"Tooru-"

"I'll be better- no I'll be the best for you. Everything Y/N- you're not selfish, never- I'm so fucking sorry." He digs his head into your neck even more while you tried your best to not let out a sob.

"You promise?" It was so little, like you didn't even want to say it because your expectations of love never met with reality. Sadly, Oikawa heard it yet there was a second where he hesitates and you took notice of that. How tiny of a detail makes you hold back on everything you wanted to say.

He removes his arms from behind you while he stands in front of you, now opposite to the power he had last night. It seems like it was your turn to have him this intimidated by the tension.

He takes your hands, caressing them, then holding them up to his face as he places sweet kisses on them. Some of his tears fell on your hand and he let them stay, while you hated how it was a genuine sign that he could be honest.

"I do, Y/N." You stared at him while he begs with his eyes. A single tear escapes your eye as it cascades down your cheek and wipes it away with his finger leaving traces on it.

You give him a nod and this sets his heart on fire.

His lips tug into a sad smile while he gently meets his forehead with yours, closing his eyes. He was more than thankful for another chance.

"I love you." He says, still with eyes closed, only focused on the beat of his heart syncing with yours.

Once again, the drug of love leaves a reaction in your body.

"I love you too."

-

Then the next few days, there was an ounce of hope.

Oikawa's nights were full of sleepless hours and what makes him stay awake is you, or at least how broken you were.

He couldn't help but imagine how you were in deep helplessness and you couldn't even gather the courage to call him because you thought he was more important than your own emotions. He imagines how you'd rather push your screams onto the pillow instead of voicing them out or even how you chose to smile for him after heavy hours of being accompanied by stress and insecurity.

It haunts him how he called you selfish, how he made you think that it was your fault for even being his- supporting him even. He needed you- he did but this thought is always surpassed by the fact that he always wanted to be number 1, to beat his own demons and the ever mocking Shiratorizawa.

He couldn't even remember where he took off practice to stay with you. He often visits your room to rest for a while but he barely gets to do that nowadays. During the mornings was his opportunity to give you a fraction of his time but something so simple he still forgets.

So, he makes up for it.

Even with the help of Iwaizumi, Oikawa goes home by 6pm so he spends the night with you even if it's for a few hours only. If he was going to prove himself to you, he'd do with a 100% of his body.

He was on the brim of losing you and he wasn't going to let himself be the reason for you to walk out of his life.

"What's wrong?" You asked as he laid in your lap, stroking his hair.

"I'm just happy that's all." You leaned your head on the pillow as he takes your hand, intertwining it with his kissing it once again.

There it was, the bad kind of butterflies that swarmed around you.

You wished you didn't forgive him that fast, it was nearly a day when you forgave him. The space that he mentioned basically meant nothing as he also gave in to it. He struck a nerve that day yet you went and took his apology like you've begged for it.

You did wanted to avoid him at all costs because there was never a moment where his insults didn't replay in your mind. You needed for him to realize that he had caused another split to your heart, what you didn't expect is for it to happen within hours.

You thought that Oikawa would've argued with his ego before he could talk it out but it happened so instantly that it didn't give you enough time to rethink your decision of forgiving him.

Oikawa held onto his ego but he had to remember his heart or else he would've dropped yours instead.

"It's getting late, Tooru. You should go." You said sighing before planting a kiss on his forehead. He smiles before sitting up and embracing you tight like you could slip any moment now. You had your arms wrapped around him as his slow breaths rested on your neck.

"I love you, Y/N." He says, holding on to you longer.

"You need to go Tooru-"

"Why don't we go on a date on Friday?" He asks pulling away from you. You raised an eyebrow at him as he chuckles.

"I need to spend more time with you." That's when it was your turn to smile, it felt so good to lift the heavy feeling off your chest, seeing that he's genuinely trying to be the best for you.

Your hand reaches for his cheek, your heart swelling with joy as you look at him while he leans in to your touch.

"I'd love that." He grins as he pampers your face with kisses at how excited he was to see the smile on your lips return. You let out fits of giggles as he continues to cover your faces with delicate pecks.

"Tooru- baby!" You shout as he laughs before placing both hands on either side of your face.

"Good night love, hopefully you don't dream of me this time?" He teases making you roll your eyes as you sneakily land a peck on his lips.

"That isn't too bad." You said chuckling as he kisses your lips while you smiled before allowing your lips to move with his. You pull away, flicking his forehead with your finger.

"Go." You said laughing, he gives you a pout before sighing and taking his bag from the floor.

"I'll see you on Friday then?"

"You'll see me tomorrow, Tooru."

"That's even better." He leaves with a smile on his face while what remains on yours were heated cheeks.

It was good to feel how love flowed in your bloodstream again, it wasn't bad to take in some of it's harshness from time to time.

-

"Really? Oikawa hasn't brought that up." You pout as Iwaizumi shrugs beside you, it was Friday and your boyfriend decided to miss it for some odd reason.

Iwaizumi brought up the topic of an upcoming match and that Oikawa saw an article of how Ushijima takes the crowd by storm again. He's never mentioned it to you but you did notice how he'd walk you home and instead of staying, he'd leave for some specific reasons.

"Anyway, will you be there?" Hanamaki asks, biting into his apple. You nodded of course. You couldn't miss the opportunity to see him outwit the opposite team again.

"I just hope he doesn't go crazy with training again, Wakatoshi taunts him even through a photo. I don't wanna see him- forget about his health." You wanted to say how you wanted to avoid arguments but the boys seem to agree to what you said knowing Oikawa oversteps his strength all the time.

"I'll watch over him." Iwaizumi says looking at you while you smile at him, grateful that if you weren't always there- it was Iwaizumi that you can count on.

"Thanks, Haji."

"Are you not worried about my health, Y/N?" Hanamaki says pouting making you laugh while Mattsukawa flicks his forehead with a straw.

After classes, home was calling your name for you to get ready on your date. There was the familiar feeling that kicks in, how you got excited when his name on your phone lights up the dark room, or when you see his jacket on your bed- it was back. The love bug has returned, how the first bite felt like love was overwhelming but you wanted to handle it.

God, you felt so silly- acting like one of his fan girls who got noticed by him. You were lucky enough to even obtain the title of being his so of course your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when he admitted his feelings to you. Though, it felt good. After the whole argument, you were scared if that feeling can ever come back now that it did- you were more than relieved.

-

The clock goes on as you wait for him to arrive.

Sure, it had been a good 20 minutes that passed but you were assuming that there'd be a meeting since there was a match coming up so you let your patience take over for a while.

But 20 minutes grew into an hour, and an hour turned into 2 more.

You couldn't even cry because you knew, it was too good to be true. Storming out your house changing out of the outfit you initially planned, you chose to dress into something more comfortable knowing it wasn't going to happen anyway.

You knew where to go.

As your feet lead you to the Seijoh gym, your heart was growing darker with each step.

Hearing the sound of volleyballs impacting on the floor, you already knew.

"Oikawa! Go home!" Iwaizumi shouts while the stubborn setter shakes his head, spiking another ball, out of breath as he do so.

You heard Iwaizumi loud and clear, that was enough for you to run back home, to never face his lies again.

Maybe you were a fool for lovebugs- but the bite wasn't to make you fall in love.

It was for you to stop.

"Go home, Oikawa. C'mon." Mattsukawa says sighing while the first years were already bidding them goodbye. Iwaizumi waves them off and tells them to rest well while Oikawa was still spiking to no end.

"I can't- I need to beat them." He says panting while the other third years share a look, remembering your words.

"What about Y/N?" Iwaizumi asks and it seems like this doesn't hit Oikawa like it's supposed to.

"Yeah, isn't it Friday? Aren't you guys supposed to be on a date?" The moment it leaves Hanamakis mouth, Oikawa stops. Iwaizumi sighs in annoyance when he sees the way his best friends expression drop with shock.

"You forgot didn't you?" Mattsukawa asks and suddenly he's brought back to the moment where he found you crying, now realizing that it was to put up the fact that Oikawa was the only reason.

Suddenly, the silence of the gym surrounded him like a tight space while his mind went at war for his mistake.

"Fuck! I- I have to go." Oikawa stutters as he immediately grabs his bag but before he leaves, he sees how disappointed his teammates looked at him. He looks away as he runs to cut the distance between you and him.

"This isn't going to be good for the both of them." Iwaizumi says sighing before picking up a few stray balls. The other two agree sadly but they hope that you two would be able to withstand the issue.

But Mattsukawa feels like you were at the tip of the cliff already.

After a few minutes, dozens of knocks awoke you from your corner as you knew who was at the other end.

"Y/N? Let me in please.." He begs through the door as you felt the tears continue to drip down your cheeks. You closed your eyes as Oikawa leans his head on the door, praying you'd open it.

And you did.

Your heart was numb, your eyes were giving out but watching him stand there made you feel alive, because you knew this was the last time you'll ever let the drug of love fool you again.

"Y/N- I'm so sorry I just we had a project and-"

"I didn't think you'd still lie to me." You said with a dry voice as his heart was pinned by your words.

"I didn't even know there'd be a match." You added, chuckling bitterly as Oikawa bites his lip looking down. You let out another laugh, the red hue of love was fading in your system turning into a deeper shade of how you've let the toxicity slip from your notice.

"I'm so fucking sorry-"

"Tell me then, can beating Ushijima bring you everything you've ever wanted?"

He was quiet. You put him in a spot where he shows too much hesitation that you wished you didn't even ask in the first place.

"And if you won, I guess that's when you can realize to put your health first." You continued stepping forward as his eyes looked at your exhausted ones.

You surprised him by tugging onto his shirt, gripping it with every might left in your body. You held him because there was nothing else for you to hold onto.

You tried to grab the last thread of love strapped in your body but it seems to have been cut when you saw him at the gym.

He didn't know if he could hold you because this a whole other side of you he prays to never see again. He just wanted the warmth of your skin on him but why was it that you felt the coldest to him?

"So please tell me, what do I have to do for you to stop choosing me?"

You said this with every timbre of your voice trembling as you land a firm punch to his chest then turning your back to him, letting out a sob.

"I understand, Tooru. God- I always have and it fucking sucks that I know I can't do anything about it." Oikawa looks at you, adrenaline rushing to his heart when it sinks in.

"I can't choose, Y/N. You're making this hard for me because I love both." His voice cracks at the idea of choosing between you and a sport he's loved since he was a kid. His dreams that he wants nothing more then to happen, while he visualizes a possible future with you.

"I've always known what you'd choose, I just wish I fucking knew when I needed to stop believing that it could be me." You were defeated and naïve, you should've known that it would bring you to this conversation over and over again. You tilt your head, harshly gasping for air as you sniffle, the heaviness of your eyes taunting you to sleep the pain away in hopes it'd be a dream instead.

"Y/N stop fucking saying that- you're acting like I didn't try and give you everything that I could!" He yells, his own eyes brimming up tears. You were surprised to hear this but seeing how his cheeks and ears were painted red, you knew that he's been trying to release all the things he wanted to say.

"And I did the same yet you always turn it on me, Tooru! All I've been saying is that I just wanted you to make me feel like I could be at the top of your list- even for a second but I just keep getting played over and over again." You rambled on and what makes you crack under the pain was a scoff.

"You knew what game you were playing, why didn't you stop?" He didn't attempt to stare at you since his question felt like it was mocking you.

You should've left. The moment where the crowd cheers for him while your shouts became the weakest, you should've known.

Oikawa did too.

He thought you would've gone and walked away when you had the chance but what shocks him is that you stayed. There's a voice in his head that tells him that what you two had can never remain permanent but he held onto his beliefs that he could make you stay no matter how difficult the game was.

"Because I fucking love you too much Tooru! God if I could just- get it out of my fucking veins then maybe I could realize how I've gone into a trap instead." You shouted, walking towards him with both your eyes wishing for it to be over.

"What trap are you talking about Y/N! I love you just as much as you did and I tried to make things work but it- isn't working anymore." His voice fades with his ending sentence while you've gone to a corner, sobbing and sliding off the wall, sitting on the floor as every ounce of love dies on you when you hear him.

"I don't know- it's a word that I can never know what it means- I can admit that it is scary." You said looking at the night sky, with your knees to your chest as Oikawa smiles fondly at your words.

"What's so scary about falling in love?"

You look at him before answering.

"Everything."

"Maybe I can show you that it can be beautiful." He says, staring into your orbs. You smiled at his words before resting your hand on top of his while he blushes before intertwining them.

"What if it hurts?" You ask him, adjusting your position as you listened to his convincing words.

"Love always hurts." He says sadly, chuckling in order to ease how bitter it was. He sees how your reaction didn't falter because you knew it was true, so with his hand lifting your chin to meet his eyes, he speaks.

"But that doesn't mean I can't take some of the pain away."

You felt Oikawas presence beside you as he leans his head on your shoulder closing his eyes as two people were tired of ripping each others heart.

"Maybe you should set me free." You whispered, your voice gave out, like your last words. Oikawa sucks in a harsh breath as you close your own eyes and he sees the final tear fall from your cheek.

"But I really don't want to."

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

AO3

Previous

So. here’s the final chapter, although there may be an epilogue (thanks to @faeriesfanficblog for the suggestion)

Thanks to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. I appreciate all of you. I cant tell you how much I enjoy reading your lovely comments.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks and @faeriesfanficblog for their support

I hope you enjoy this chapter

Chapter 14: From Regret to Realisation

A noise rouses me from my deep sleep. My legs ache as if from unaccustomed exercise and I feel in desperate need of a shower. Last night’s activities come hurtling back into my mind as I become aware of the large, warm body lying next to me. What had I been thinking? Actually, that was the problem—I hadn’t been thinking. My body betrayed me and totally bypassed my brain. I can’t even blame alcohol. Two beers each—last night can hardly be classed as a drunken mistake.

A loud snore makes me turn over to face the reality of what I’ve done. Jamie is lying flat on his back, still asleep. The duvet is loosely tucked around his torso, leaving his chest exposed. I feel myself blushing slightly as I notice the evidence of our nocturnal tryst—an angry purplish bruise on his shoulder and another above his left nipple.

I don’t want him to wake up just yet. I don’t really want to be having an awkward conversation at this time in the morning. And, the fact is, I don’t really know what I want. Actually, I do know—I want it to be this time twenty four hours ago—when Jamie and I were friends. Everything’s shifted now and I’m worried that it’s the end of our friendship.

So, we do need to talk, I know that. But not here, not now, not with the smell of sex in the air and my lips still tingling from his kisses.

With a muffled sort of ‘hmmph’ noise, Jamie rolls onto his side, facing me—fortunately still asleep. Under the duvet, one leg trespasses onto my side of the bed, trying to wind its way around my calf. I hold as still as possible, willing him not to wake up, trying to delay that inevitable moment of awkward realisation.

My mouth feels very dry. And I’m sure my breath must stink too. I can’t go to Geillis’ smelling like this—all garlic and sex and sweat.

Of course, brunch! I reach behind me and fumble around for my phone on the bedside table.

My phone tells me I have precisely one hour before I’m due at Geillis’.

“Shit!”

Jamie groggily opens his eyes as I leap out of bed and quickly gather up my sweatshirt from the floor, wrapping it around my torso. He looks half asleep and somewhat confused. Part of me just wants to reach out and stroke those auburn curls off his face. The other, more sane part of me holds back, not sure of the message I want to give to Jamie or what Jamie wants to hear.

Securing the sweatshirt under my arms I sidestep towards the door, conscious of his eyes following me.

“Morning.” I venture, clearing my throat.

“Morning,” he replies, warily.

“Look,” I begin. “I know we need to talk about...about...er, last night. But I need to get to Geillis’ for brunch. If I’m late she’ll think there’s something wrong. So, sorry, I need to have a shower after…well… after...”

“Aye, I ken.”

“Can I call you later and we’ll sort something out?” I find it difficult to look him in the eyes.

“Ok… er… I suppose. Till later then.”

*********

Once in the shower, I wash quickly but thoroughly, removing any trace of Jamie from my skin. It can’t, however, remove the turmoil going on in my head. The same thoughts keep revolving around my mind—what have I done? Was this a one night stand for Jamie? Does he want a ‘friends with benefits’ set up? Is this the end of our friendship? What do I actually want?

So many questions but I’ve got no answers.

Unbidden, an image pops into my head, scattering my questions to oblivion.Jamie’s face last night, close to mine, sharing the same breath as slowly, so slowly, he enters me, watching me. Even now, my body responds instinctively to that memory. A spark flickers in my groin, only to be extinguished as I think I hear the front door slam.

As I step out of the bathroom with my robe tied firmly around me, I’m not surprised to find that I’m all alone.

**************

The brisk walk to Geillis and Dougal’s house does nothing to clear my mind. Normally, I love this walk through the park on a bright Sunday morning, watching children feeding the ducks while parents relax on the benches. The fresh air and wonderful scenery in the middle of Glasgow’s urban sprawl usually fills me with a sense of freedom and relaxation—but not today.

The ping of my phone causes my heart to race. As I read the message from Geillis, asking me to pick up croissants en route, I can feel my heart rate return to normal but my thoughts are still completely tangled up. Am I pleased or disappointed that it wasn’t Jamie?

***********

Armed with a bag full of still warm croissants, Geillis lets me into her house. There’s no sign of Dougal.

Geillis notices me looking around.

“I’ve sent him tae see his mam,” she explains. “She’ll be desperate tae see her wee boy and I dinna think she’ll be that arsed about whether I’m there or no’. Besides, as much as I love him, I’ve been wi’ him all day every day fer two weeks and I need a bit of girl time. Ye dinna mind do ye? He’ll be back afore ye’ve gone. And I wanted ye all tae myself.”

I settle myself on the sofa in Geillis’ cosy kitchen while she busies herself brewing the coffee and setting the table.

“So tell me,” I begin. “How was St Lucia?”

Geillis’ description of their days spent relaxing on gorgeous sandy beaches, snorkelling in the warm blue ocean, and evenings spent drinking cocktails in little beach bars watching the sunset turn the sky golden, makes me long for a holiday like that and I suddenly realise how much I want to share it with someone special.

Eventually, she realises her coffee’s going cold. “So, enough about that. What’s been happening here while I’ve been away? Any news, eh?”

I look down at my plate, now full of flakes of buttery pastry and idly push a few back and forth. “Oh, nothing much. Work keeping us busy, as ever. We missed you, you know.”

Geillis tilts her head, trying to catch my eye. I look up and try to make my face as expressionless as possible.

“Claire,” she sees right through my glass face. “What’s happened? What’s gone on?”  

I say nothing.

“Let me guess. Is it tae do wi’ work?... Jamie...er…?

At the mention of his name, I stop playing with the croissant crumbs.

Her face breaks into a huge grin. “It’s ye and Jamie, isn’t it? Ye’ve slept together. When? C’mon, spill.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to Geillis about it, but as soon as she says that, I realise how much I need to tell someone.

Pushing my plate to one side, I rest my arms on the table and lay my head on them. “I’m not sure what I’ve done. Yes, we slept together last night, and now I think everything’s ruined. That’s it...our friendship gone.”

A chair scrapes across the floor as Geillis comes to sit beside me. She engulfs me in a tight hug and leans her head on my shoulder as I sit up.

“Claire, ye canna ruin a friendship with sex,” she cajoles. “It’s like ruining ice cream with chocolate sprinkles, eh.”

“If only it were that simple.”

“It could be that simple. Why not? Jes’ think about it...think about what ye want.”

“I want everything to go back to how it was—Jamie and I as friends.”

Geillis pulls away a little bit and looks me squarely in the face. “Truly? Is that what ye really want. Claire, think about it. Dinna lie tae yerself.”

“I—“ I pause and try to corral the thoughts rushing around my brain. Is that really what I want or do I want more? I’ve been telling myself for so long not to get involved, not to get hurt, it’s become my automatic response—don’t form relationships, get out before it gets too serious. I’ve never really questioned it before. But now Jamie has ignited emotions, feelings that I tried to keep locked away.

“I want Jamie in my life.” The words burst automatically from my mouth. And Geillis is right. It is simple. But—

“See, ye finally admitted it. Ye need him, don’t ye?”

I nod silently as tears fill my eyes. But I’m scared, I’m terrified of this feeling, this need for him. I’m scared of allowing myself to relax, to love someone and then to have it all vanish. That happens—they can just be taken from you in an instant. I’ve learnt that. And I’m frightened of being rejected.

“This isn’t easy for me,” I talk slowly, trying to find the right words to explain. “I don’t know what to do. I’m used to not getting involved, not having a relationship. If I let my guard down, relax, lo—“ I stop myself from that premature declaration. “And then what happens? People leave and I’m on my own again. Only this time it’s worse because I know how happy I can be.”

Geillis rips off a piece of kitchen towel and hands it to me. “Nothing but the finest here,” she smiles. “I ken ye sae well, Claire. Ye’re ma best friend and I ken what’s going on in yer head. I’ve seen yer fighting this fer weeks. Even when ye wouldna admit it tae yerself. Ye wrap yerself up in this shell, afraid tae let anyone in, afraid tae let yerself get truly involved. That’s why ye date men like Frank—they’re never going tae touch ye. And yes, it’s scary sometimes. But ye need tae take the risk.”

“But—“ I try and interrupt but Geillis hasn’t finished.

“Nah, I’m no’ done yet. I ken that, growing up things were no’ always easy but consider this— we’ve been best friends fer what… eight years, nine?”

I nod obediently.

“And I love ye. Ye’re ma family, ye’re the one I depend on. Ye ken mam and dad are bonkers. Anyway, ye love me too, right?”

Again, I nod, frantically sniffing and trying to hold back the tears at Geillis’ heartfelt words.

“Sae, ye’ve allowed yerself tae take the risk wi’ me. And look, I’m no’ going anywhere. I’m no’ leaving ye. Why could it no’ be the same wi’ Jamie? Go on, risk it, take that step.”

I know that Geillis is right. And I think that maybe, with Jamie, I’m ready to try. A feeling of excitement bubbles up inside me as I let myself consider a future with him—only to have the rational part of my brain quickly stamp on that emotion and grind it to little pieces.

“There’s another thing though, Geillis,” I explain as I twist the sodden piece of kitchen towel between my fingers. She gently takes it off me and passes me another.

“I mean, what if he doesn’t want me? What then? It might be just a casual one night thing to him. I can’t go back to being just a friend… I can’t.” Thinking of that, I start to cry, already anticipating this scenario.

At this, Geillis jumps up and rushes from the room, calling over her shoulder “Back in a sec. Just stay there.”

I’m more than a little confused, but, true to her word, she quickly returns carrying her iPad. She sets it on the table in front of us and selecting an app, types in a password.

“Our photographer has saved all our wedding photos here, for us to make our selection. Dougal and I were looking at them last night.” she explains.

I try to focus on what Geillis is saying. Perhaps she’s trying to distract me from my worries, cheer me up by looking at the photographs. I should stop thinking about my problem and let her have her moment of pride. But she's scrolling too rapidly for me to see the images, until she eventually stops.

“Here ye are,” she sighs. “Tell me what ye see.”

The photograph was obviously taken at the reception, after the meal. The white tablecloth is covered with glasses and cups. I’m sitting to the right, talking to someone not in the shot. My cheeks are slightly flushed from food and wine and my hair has started to free itself from its confines. I’m looking happy and relaxed. Jamie is sitting next to me, his jacket casually slung over the back of his chair, his hand resting on the backrest of mine. His face is partly turned towards the camera. There’s a small smile on his lips, but it’s his expression in his eyes I notice, watching me with such softness, such tenderness and, dare I say, such longing, that it takes my breath away.

Geillis touches my arm. “Ye see it, don’t ye? Claire, that is clearly a man in love—and I dinna mean with Great aunt Frances. Seriously, ma pet, rejection is something ye dinna need tae worry about. Sae, ye need tae tidy yerself up a wee bit, dry those eyes and go and get yer man.”

***************

There’s no word from Jamie and so, once I’m home, I decide to take the initiative and contact him. However, inspiration fails me, so in the end I decide to keep it simple.

I think we need to talk. When are you free?

Anytime today

I’m at home for the rest of the day.

I’m on my way

I quickly rush to the bathroom to check that the effects of my tears have disappeared—no red eyes or snotty nose, thank goodness. I add a dab of perfume and a touch of lipstick before running my fingers through my curls.

Time passes slowly when you’re watching the clock. Every second lasts a minute, every minute an hour.  I try and focus on something else but fail miserably. Jamie’s presence is everywhere in my flat—from the living room sofa where it all started, to my bedroom where it came to it’s natural conclusion. I retreat to the kitchen but the pizza boxes and empty beer bottles are a further reminder of him. And so I end up wandering aimlessly from room to room, constantly checking my phone, constantly listening for footsteps outside my door.

Eventually, the doorbell rings. With sweaty palms and my stomach performing somersaults, I walk to the door, taking long, slow breaths, trying to keep myself calm.

Jamie stands in the doorway. He’s wearing his favourite rugby shirt and jeans that I’ve seen him wear so many times, but somehow today he looks different. I feel so aware of his body underneath his clothes, I need to catch my breath.

“Come in, please.”

Today he’s holding back—yesterday he needed no such invitation. With a brief hello, he follows me into the living room, standing awkwardly next to the sofa.

“Will you sit down? Drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” He sits on the sofa, wiping his hands on his jeans. Maybe he’s as nervous as me. Maybe Geillis and I have got it wrong and he’s here to put me straight.

I sit on the chair opposite him. An awkward silence descends. It’s so strange—not even twenty four hours ago, he was making me scream with pleasure, and now we can’t even look each other in the eye.

I clear my throat. “Jamie—“ I begin.

“Claire, please. Can I say what I need tae say,” he interrupts me nervously, looking down at his hands.

I’m finding it difficult to keep still, my knee won’t stop jiggling and I keep biting the inside of my cheek, but I let Jamie speak.

“Yesterday...last night…I didna plan that... I didna come here for that.”

Even through my nerves, I can’t help but smile at this confession. “I know that, I was the one who invited you here, remember? And I was the one who—”

“Aye, ye were. But I wasna sorry. And I’d be lying if I said it wasna welcome. In fact, I’d been wanting it for the longest time,” he pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. “That is...I mean...not jes’ the sex but a relationship wi’ ye, Claire. I held back because I thought...think...thought ye jes’ wanted tae be friends. But now I need tae tell ye this, after what’s happened, I dinna think I can go back tae that. Mebbe we could try, if that’s what ye want, but for me that’s no’ going tae be enough.”

Finally, he looks up at me and I see it. I see what the photographer captured. How could I have missed it? And, just like that, a weight is lifted off me and my stomach stops it’s somersaults only to be replaced by a feeling of excitement and anticipation.

In one swift move, I’m at his side. Reaching out to touch his cheek, my fingers stroke the soft bristles. He turns to me, eyes now full of confusion—am I trying to console him as I deliver unwelcome news?

“Jamie,” I speak softly. “I didn’t think I wanted a relationship.”

His body tenses and he tries to turn his face away as I continue.

“But, then I met you. I thought I just wanted you as a friend. But I was scared to admit to myself that I wanted—want— more. So, I don’t want us to be just friends. That’s not enough for me now. I’m ready to move forward.”

He breathes a large sigh and I feel his body relax. A huge grin lights up his face. His arm draws me in and I snuggle there, resting my head on his chest.

“Sae, Miss Beauchamp, do ye want tae go out wi’ me then?” His voice sends vibrations through my body.

“Jamie, we’ve already been out loads of times.” I laugh.

“Ah, but this is different, this is courting,” he over enunciates the last word. “We go out, aye, but this time there’ll be hand holding, secret looks and then we rush home when ye canna keep yer hands off me.”

I playfully punch his shoulder. “Or vice versa.” I’m feeling bold and playful now, almost giddy with relief. “Maybe you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

His hand, snaking down my back to rest against my bottom, proves the truth of this statement.

“Mebbe,” he kisses the top of my head. “Sae, would ye like tae go out fer dinner tonight, as a couple?”

It’s amazing how natural, how right this feels to me. I sit up. “What I would really like is dinner here. We don’t have to go out.”

“And?” Jamie gives me his attempt at a wink and, as usual, fails miserably.

“Well, maybe an early night? It’s been a stressful day.”

He glances down at his watch. “It’s four thirty. Is that early enough fer ye?”

“Never too early,” I laugh as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, showering my neck with tiny kisses that send shivers down my spine.

“Oh, Claire,” he whispers between kisses.

And just like that, with Jamie’s arms around me, I feel like I’m home. I’ve found what I never even realised I was searching for.  All the doubt and worry in my mind has disappeared. It seems so clear now. This isn’t scary, it’s exciting. This is where we’re meant to be—moving forward together.

This isn’t the end. It’s just our beginning.

*****************

The line about ice cream and chocolate sprinkles was actually from The Big Band Theory (credit where credit’s due) but I loved it

[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

College AU Week 1 Day 3 - Evgeni Kolpakov

A/N: I have never written for Evgeni but I kind of love the way this turned out. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and liking. This is day three of the January AU Writing challenge/300 follower celebration! 

* I posted a video I listened to while writing this if you wanted to listen while you read. It helped inspire me. 

Pairing: Evgeni Kolpakov X G.N Reader (please let me know if I missed any pronouns)

Warning: I don’t think anything, it’s pretty romantic/fluffy. 

My Masterlist 

My computer crashed, and you're the student worker at the IT center. 

Most people would be happy to have a night off from work. Ordinary people who don't go to school all day, spending their evenings at the IT center troubleshooting with students who've procrastinated their assignments. Shouting at you because their computer has decided to crash or their internet in their dorm has failed. Honestly, any person who works in customer service would be happy with a night off and away, but not you. Not since he first called. 

You sigh, thinking of the way his voice makes you hum in the squeaky rolling chair you find yourself perched on nightly. The Russian accent thick and shooting straight through your core as he talks to you about everything and nothing, making your heart beat faster. Evgeni, the enigma from your work who never failed to call you every evening for the past month; you'd never seen him, nothing more than a voice on the phone. His words honey to your ears as he makes you laugh. You want to know him. You have to know him. 

"Hey! Are you okay there? You seemed really out of it," your friend Charlotte looks concerned until you smile and embrace her outside the club. 

"Oh, I'm okay just thinking about someone," you pull back, and she grins. 

"Oh, is this about the mysterious caller that has your brain in a tizzy? Are you missing him already?" she teases, and you nod. The smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume waft onto the darkened street outside the piano bar. The ivories' tickling makes you think of Evgeni and how some nights he would play his piano over the phone. He was a very talented player, and you dreamed of hearing him play in person. The way his hands would move across the keys as he would coax the sweet music from them. 

Charlotte taps you on the shoulder and points to the bar, "I'm sure he can survive without you for one evening." 

"He wasn't able to call tonight; he had a prior engagement." 

"He plays the piano, right?" 

"Yes." You see the wheels turning in her head as she points towards the bar, "No, he didn't mention that he was playing anywhere tonight, just that he had something and wouldn't be able to call." You open the door and step inside, her following close behind. The bar is lit up on one wall with a single spotlight on the small stage. A black baby grand piano sits atop it, and the sounds of the keys sing to your heart. 

You walk over to the bartender, order a gin and tonic and take a seat at a two-seater towards the middle of the club. Taking a moment to soak in the music before you observe the player. He's handsome in a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; the chords in his arms shine under the light. He's got on a black fedora, but you can see the hint of a buzz cut underneath. His face with a light speckling of stubble just beginning to form—smoke curling from the ashtray perched on the top and a half-drunken glass of red wine. 

As the piece comes to a close, you feel yourself in a slow trance. The world around you slowing down as the music fades, and he does a small bow of his head as the crowd erupts into applause. You sit there frozen as he reaches for the cigarette, pulling drag and holding it between his fingers. Almost as if he can feel the magnetic pull, he looks up into your eyes, and you drown in the deep brown of his own. Lips parting on a small gasp when his gaze sears into your soul and ignites the fire in your blood. 

He leans towards the microphone, "Thank you, everyone, for this next piece…" but you stop listening as your heart stops. You would know that voice anywhere. It's the voice you'd heard every single day for the last month, the one who colors your dreams. The voice you dream of as you touch yourself at night, wishing it was really him whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

*********** 

One Month Ago 

The phone rings more than you would believe for an evening IT department, and you pick up on the second ring already opening the form to fill out for the request. "Thank you for calling the  NYU IT department helpline; this is Y/N; how can I help you?" 

"Yes, hello, my computer keeps crashing when I try to submit an assignment," a man with a deep Russian accent coos in your ear. 

"Okay, and have you tried turning it on and off again?" He sighs and agrees, going through all the usual motions of a phone call this late. 

"Well, it would seem to be an issue with the server, I will put in a work order request for the IT department heads to take a look, and they will get back to you within 24-48 hours." 

He let out a groan, "But I need to submit the assignment tonight. Listen, I am not some privileged child who waited until the last minute to submit the assignment. I take night classes for business and work all day as a security guard. I really need to get this turned in on time. Please, there must be something you can do." Something about the tone in his voice gives you pause. 

"Maybe…" you try to think, "maybe I can send your professor a formal message from the IT department and submit your assignment for you. Can you email it to me?" 

He agrees, and he scrambles for a pencil, writing down your email and quickly sending it off. His name pops up a few minutes later, Evgeni Kolpakov. "Evgeni? Where are you from?"

You can hear the amusement in his tone when he says, "Vermont." 

You let out a chuckle, "Vermont really?" 

"A refugee camp in Vermont," oh shit, you try to apologize, but he lets out a laugh, "It's okay. Vermont is full of surprises, you know." 

"Oh really now," you finish composing the email and attach his essay before sending it, "done, it's sent." He lets out a relieved breath. 

"Thank you so much," he chuckles, "what do I owe you for the trouble?" 

"Tell me more about Vermont," you smile and lean back as he fills you with stories of his childhood. You spend two hours on the phone, and when you look at the clock and gasp, he quickly apologizes. 

"I'm sorry about taking so much of your time...but I'm not sorry for talking to you," you can hear him put something down in the background, and you sigh. 

"I'm not either," you whisper, "this has been one of the best nights I've ever had at this job." 

He chuckles, "You mean the universities IT department is not a bustling hub of excitement during the evening?" 

You laugh, "No...would you," you know you shouldn't ask, but you can't help yourself, "would you call again if you had any other problems?" I work ten to four in the morning this week." 

"I promise," his voice gets more profound as you hold your breath, "I will call back tomorrow with another problem if only to talk to you again." 

You tremble at his tone and hang up with a longing, "I'll be waiting." 

*********** 

Present Day 

"Evgeni," you whisper under your breath, but it's almost like he can hear as his head snaps up and looks at you again. His hands are poised above the keys, and he smiles. 

"This is for you," he whispers and makes love to you through the music. A personal symphony just for you as his fingers caress the keys like the ways of a lover. 

You listen, transfixed eyes never leaving him, your drink, Charlotte, and the world around you fading into nothing until it's just you and him alone. The music swarms around you, and you feel yourself rising slowly towards him as the song ends and the cheers of the crowd flow. But you don't care as he stands and holds out a hand for you to take, leading you outside and into the fresh air. The chill December evening shocks you back into reality. 

The feeling of his jacket, he grabbed draped over your shoulder as he rests his forehead against your own, and you feel the rough exterior against your back. "It's you," he whispers, and you feel his moist breath upon your lips. 

"It's you," you reply before closing the distance between you and sealing your lips together in a kiss that is soft and gentle. He groans, placing his hands on your cheeks and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You feel alive and consumed by him as he takes control and melds you to him, caressing you like his fingers caressed the keys on the baby grand. 

When he pulls away, you both smile, "I've been waiting for you," he whispers against your lips. 

"Oh Evgeni, I've been waiting for you too." The long days of waiting for the phone to ring are long gone as your fantasies and realities bleed together to make one complete vision. Love. 

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @heythere-mel​ @justanotherblonde23​ @artsymaddie​ @anetteaneta​ @lunarthoughts​ @aellynera​ @lucifer-​ @houseofthirst​ @chicken-ona-stick​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @letoartreiides​ 

Tagging some extra people who may be interested (I hope that’s okay, let me know if not): @writefightandflightclub​ @tinygaydemonbby​ @itspdameronthings​ @damerondjarin​ @wasicskosgirl​ 

I listened to this while writing if you wanna listen while reading: 

[jamielea81]

When We Were Young

Chapter 2

Description: Leaving the only home your daughter had ever known wasn’t part of the grand plan. But then again, sometimes taking chances can change your whole life. And you should know that, you’ve been doing that since the start.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Angst. A curse word or two.

Word Count: 2,700

A/N: Thank you for the wonderful response to the first chapter! Hope you enjoy this added twist. As always, this is strictly for fun and I mean no harm. Please let me know your thoughts as I love to read them. Likes and reblogs give me life.

Catch up with Chapter One

**

“I’m your..” Chris shook his head and looked at the assistant in the room and then at the photographer. “Jodes, I need a minute.”

Chris didn’t wait for a response, instead he slid his arm from around Ellie’s waist to grab her hand, pulling her to the far end of the room.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ellington. Ellie for short,” she said, playing with her hair. “Look, I don’t want anything. Just wanted to see you in person,” she said softly, her nerves coming back to her.

“Why do you think I’m your father? You have to understand, this isn’t the first time someone has said those same words to me.”

Ellie bit her lip and nodded. “NYC Cryobank and Family Planning.”

“Fuck,” Chris swore softly, ducking his head. “How old are you are you anyway?”

“Fifteen.”

“It’s not possible,” Chris said shaking his head. “I was eighteen when I donated.” He licked his lips and patted his pocket for his phone.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t expire like milk,” she replied, Chris giving her a weak smile.

Ellie played with her fingers, not knowing what else to say. The whole speech she played over and over in her head was suddenly forgotten. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper and stretched out her hand for him to take it.

“It’s my mom’s number. Figured it would be weird for you to call a minor.” Chris took it and shoved it into his back pocket. “Not that you have to call!” she added quickly. “I just wanted you to know that I exist. And we’re great. My mom and me, I mean. I’ve had a great life and wanted to see the person that made it possible for me to exist. Just don’t call tonight. She doesn’t know I’m here. If you decide to call, I mean.”

They looked at each other. Ellie trying to memorize his face. Chris trying to find himself in her eyes and smile.

“It was nice to meet you Ellie,” Chris said, a closed lip smile on his face, finality in his voice.

“Ye-yeah. You too,” she said, dropping her head and walking out the room. She wanted her mom and she wanted her now. This was a mistake and it was taking everything in her not to cry.

Ellie made it to the nearest restroom, walking past a line of girls that were washing their hands or fixing their makeup. She pushed into the stall at the end of the row, locked the door and sat down on the seat. She grabbed a large wad of toilet paper from the dispenser, flushed the toilet, and placed the paper over her mouth. The tears and her sobs started to flow. She hoped that both the sound of the toilet and the paper would muffle her cries.

**

It had been three hours since you received the call from the academy about your daughter missing class. Three long hours of not knowing where she was. Not knowing if she were safe. Gwen had done her best to calm you down as she usually did, but your mind was still reeling. The troubling thing is there is nothing you could do but wait.

The house was mostly unpacked except for your books that were going to be placed in the small bookcase in the living room and your office which you had not utilized in the nearly three weeks that you lived in Belmont. You couldn’t really call it an office per se, it was nook off the formal dining room that wouldn’t be used. Ellie and you were plate on your lap on the couch or out on the deck kind of people. You had a dining room table, but it was mostly a place for Ellie to spread out her school assignments and for the occasional crafting you did.

With your books all unpacked, the dining room table dusted, and the office looking it bit more like an office, you collapsed on your couch. Feet up, blouse off save for your cami, you were done with this day. Once she got home and knew she was safe, you were going to bed. You’d have to dream up a punishment. Ellie hardly got in to trouble. She occasionally mouthed off like teenagers did, but this was uncharted territory for you.

You heard the door open and you were immediately on your feet, rushing down the stairs to the entry way. Her face was puffy and red and you knew immediately something was wrong.

“Mama…” she started, having a hard time catching her breath. “I’m…so…sorry.”

You wrapped your arms around her as she started to sob on your chest. “Shhh. I got you,” you said softly.

When she started to settle down you urged her to follow you up the stairs. “Why don’t you take a hot bath and I’ll get your jammies ready and then we’ll talk?” Ellie nodded her head slowly. “You can use my tub. I’ve got the good bath stuff anyway,” you said, sending her a wink.

“Thank you,” she said with teary eyes. “I love you.”

“Love you too baby.”

Whatever happened was big and you hoped she would be honest with you.

**

A frozen pizza was currently baking in the oven. Tonight, was not the night for a home cooked meal as you were still too worked up as was Ellie. You had changed into pajamas as well despite it only being six in the evening.

Ellie was sitting on one end of the couch with her body turned to face you, her knees pressed against her chest. You sat on the other end facing her, one leg tucked under the other.

“I haven’t been truthful with you,” she started. “About a year ago, I found some information out.”

“What kind of information, Ellie?” This was sounding way too ominous for your liking.

“Christian. You remember Christian?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“From third and fourth grade soccer when you played on that co-ed team?”

She nodded her head. “Christian’s really good with a computer. I’m pretty sure he’ll be working for the FBI one day. He uh, he was able to do some digging for me.”

“What in the world would he need to dig up for you?”

“He was looking into the donation center you used. I asked him to try to find out information about the donor you picked.”

“Ellington Rae,” you breathed out.

“I’m sorry mom. I just really wanted to know.” Her eyes started to well up with tears again.

You nodded your head and gestured with your hand for her to continue.

“Well, he found your case number and was able to find the donor number. He eventually found the name assigned to the donor number.”

You let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I went to see him today. He lives here in Boston. At least he does most of the time.”

“Ellie!” you shouted. “That’s not only dangerous but an evasion of privacy. We don’t know this person. He could be a bad guy. He could have a family of his own now.”

She was full on crying again and your heart was stuck between being angry and wanting to soothe your child. Of course, you pulled her to you, wrapping her in a hug again.

She pulled back, letting her hands fall into your lap. You grabbed on to both of her with yours.

“Are you okay?” You shook your head. “Of course, you’re not.”

“There’s something else,” she said.

“Do I wanna know?”

She licked her lips. “He’s Chris Evans. The actor.”

Well, shit.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“I just wanted to see him mom. Not on the movie screen or in pictures online. I just had to see his face in person. Just once. I wanted to see if he smiled like me. Or see if his eyebrows shoot up like mine do when I laugh.”

You nodded your head numbly. Even though you barely talked to your own father, you understood the need to know.

“That’s where I went today. There’s a comic convention downtown and he was appearing today. I bought a ticket to get my picture taken with him. He’s only there today, so that’s why I skipped school.”

You released her hands, standing to your feet, and started to pace. “Was this whole move a lie Ellie? Are we here so you could meet this man?”

She covered her face with her hands but didn’t answer.

“Did we only move to Boston so you could meet your biological father?” you asked sternly.

“S’not the only reason. I’m so sorry mom. I wanted us to move here for Harvard, but I could have found another engineering high school closer to home.”

You shook your head. It was your turn to cry. The two of you had a very honest relationship and made decisions together. The trust was broken and you weren’t sure if it could be repaired anytime soon.

The closeness you and Ellie shared is why she knew from the time she was eight years old that she didn’t have a dad like other kids did. You were open and honest with her about the decision you made at twenty one. The two of you have talked about it several times through the years.

When she was twelve, she questioned whether you had gotten pregnant to escape your parents. You explained to her that wasn’t the reason. You had wanted to be mom. Had known that’s what you wanted more than anything.

You weren’t in a serious relationship and didn’t want a random hook up to father your child. You had friends you could have asked, but thought that would complicate things as those friends settled down with spouses of their own. You had just graduated from college and were spending four additional months in New York before your lease ran out. Your parents had expected you to come home to Kentucky and you had planned on doing so. You had money, more than enough. Not only did your parents send you a more than generous allowance every month for four years, you also had a large sum of money your grandma Ellie had left you that became yours when you turned twenty one. Her only request was to do something for you with it.

Researching and planning was what you were good at. Apparently, those skills came in handy when finding a donation and family planning center. Two consultations and an appointment later, you had a positive pregnancy test sitting on your bathroom vanity. After two months, you called your mother to tell her. To say that conversation went poorly was an understatement. You were throwing your life away according to her. She didn’t know Ellie was the result of a sperm donor. To this day, only Ellie and couple of close friends knew. Your mother and father figured you had been with a deadbeat guy who chose not to stick around. You were essentially told not to come home.

New York City wasn’t a place you wanted to raise a child. You had loved the city all through college, but rent was expensive and buying would be out of the question. You wanted some place that had that small-town feel. Somewhere a little quieter. When your classmate Peter offered you a place to stay in his home-town of Wilmington, you took him up on the offer. Living with Peter and his brother Caleb was a bit of a change for you. You often found yourself cleaning up after the two of them. It didn’t last long as you found employment with an employer that wasn’t discouraged by your six-month pregnant belly. You found a two-bedroom apartment shortly after, decorating the nursery in neutral colors because you wanted to be surprised.

Ellington Rae Y/L/N was born in the early hours of April sixth. Named affectionately after your grandmother. Your favorite person in the world, second now that you had your little Ellie. She came out screaming and never stopped. She was a fussy baby and you found yourself in tears almost as much as she were. But she was your everything and still is. Your parents came to visit when she was three months old. They visited yearly, often bringing gifts that a child did not need nor want. When she turned five, they sent money once a year for her birthday. The money went into an account for Ellie’s schooling and when she expressed dreams of Harvard, you were glad you did.

When she was three years old, you moved out of that small two-bedroom apartment into your bungalow near the beach and that’s where the two of you stayed. Friends became family and you were both happy. But now everything seemed to be a mess.

“It’s going to take time, Ellie. My trust has been broken but I’m mostly hurt that you couldn’t come to me about this. We should have talked about this. We could have come up with a plan together.”

You sit back down on the couch and pull her back to you. She’s still your baby even though she’s as tall as you.

“You’re right and I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “I gave him your number. You know. In case he wanted to call. Wanted to know me.”

She sounds so damn broken and you’re feeling broken over it.

“Okay, baby. If he calls, we’ll take it one step at a time. But if he doesn’t, it’s his damn loss because you are the best thing I have ever known in this world and that will never change.”

**

Two weeks had passed and Chris hadn’t called. Ellie didn’t talk about it, but you knew it affected her. Being rejected by anyone hurt. You couldn’t blame Chris entirely though. Him choosing to donate all those years ago was his choice. It was supposed to be an anonymous one. Now he knew he brought a life into this world. Accepting that had to be hard for anyone. Accepting that and being a public person was probably harder.

Punishing Ellie was harder on your than it was on her. She’s the new kid in town and at that age where life long friendships are formed, you didn’t want to exclude her from hanging out with her friends. So, you limited it to only weekends. She had to check in with you on where she was or if she went to a different location than what was planned. She was also in charge of dishes and taking out the trash. Her biggest punishment of all was knowing you lost a lot of trust in her.

**

Your phone rang only to stop ringing after two rings. You were in the kitchen, putting away this week’s groceries so you hadn’t been able to reach it. Taking a quick glance, you didn’t recognize the number. Figuring they realized their mis-dial, you went back to deciding which meat to leave thawed in the refrigerator and which to freeze. Exciting times.

It started to ring again. You turned away from the freezer to stare at the device sitting on the kitchen island. That same number appeared on the display. As the second ring rang out, you dared it to continue a third time. It did. You grabbed it with one hand, clicking the accept button with your other.

“Hello,” you answered.

“H-hi. This is Chris. I uh. This is Chris Evans.”

**

Tag list: @lakamaa12​ @dontbetooobvious​ @straightforwardly​ @mariswritingforfun​ @imaginesofdreams​ @anat2507​ @captnstarryeyed​ @chrisevansfanfic​ @capstopavenger​ @zofty15​ @wemisshim3000​ @panic-naran​ @crimeshowtrash​ @caramara3​ @keithseabrook27​ @syms-things-5​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @deidrashouseofpain​ @jennmurawski13​ @craphole-7-male​ @punygodd @iguessweallcrazyithinktho​ @raulpetermendes​ @mrsevansthefirst​ @cevans21​ @shay-rav​ @sweet--rabbit​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @christocrave​ @thatcrazymarvelfan​ @firefly-in-darkness​ @toews-a-peek​ @benedicttcumberbabe​ @fairlightswiftly @tanelle83​ @pinknerdpanda​ @allaboutthebooz​ @estillion14​ @panicfob​ @patzammit​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @collinsstanharbour​ @twittytelly​ @linki-locks11​ @ab-baybay​ @rda1989​ @impalaimages​ @jesseswartzwelder​ @rainbowkisses31​ @xostephanie​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​ @xxloki81xx​ @thenormreedus​ @firstangeldragonranch​ @soitmightgetweird​ @maeleeme​ @denisemarieangelina​ @rvgrsbrns​ @icanfeelastormbrewing​ @velvetwonderbucky​ @kitkat1690​ @smilexcaptainx​ @suppu97​ @dangerouslovefanfic​ @dwights-new-plague​ @kelbabyblue​ @sweetlittlegingy​ @chrisevansforever​ @evansxxx​ @twittytelly​ @southerngracela​ @bitterstar88​ @squirrelnotsam​ @kitkatd7​ @nea90sweetie @marvelislove10​ @the-doctors-fallen-angel​ @flamencodiva​

[mortedeveles]

Loving Gestures. [POC WEEK]

Summary: After a tiring and painfully long week, you're ready to stretch and relax for the weekend. But ending your week on a sour note puts you into a foul mood. Luckily, your loving and affectionate girlfriend Yaoyorozu is more than ready to brighten your mood with the few tricks she has up her sleeves. 

Pairing: Momo Yaoyorozu x hispanic!gn!reader 

Themes: slight angst, comfort, some smooching and cuddles. [ONE-SHOT] [POC WEEK]

TW: nothing? slight cursing

a/n: this is another of my additions to the writing event POC Week, which you can find HERE! please make sure to check out my friends and support their works <3 

did some research, wanted to include a snack that’s inclusive with all hispanics. if the snack i included doesn’t apply to your country or you have a comment, please let me know. 

i couldn’t find a way to keep momo’s original skin color, so i’m just going to roll with the banner like this. as always, please leave a like, reblog, follow and/or comment if you enjoyed! the feedback is greatly appreciated <3 

(banner is made by ME, do NOT repost or use without my permission!) 

''Good morning, class 1A!'' Iida announced as all the class sat down. Some of them responded cheerily, while others grumbled; trying to rub the sleep out of their eyes.

'''Morning, love,'' your loving girlfriend said. You forced a smile on your lips as she pressed a tender kiss on your cheek and took a seat next to you.

''Morning,'' you replied softly. Momo smiled and stared at you, seemingly in the mood to chat but frankly, you weren’t. Today wasn't your day so far; you had stayed up late studying for your upcoming tests, arrived late to your first class, and spilled coffee on your bed. But thankfully, it was Friday. You could make it to the weekend, just one more day and the tiring school week would be over. The words were repeated in your mind over and over, hoping to provide some relief. But the only thing they did was wear you down. 

Momo frowned when she noticed your weary eyes and tense posture. She pressed a hand on your back and you flinched, eyes widening. While the two of you had been in a relationship for a couple of weeks, it was new and tender; the physical contact you shared with Momo was on rare occasions. The fact that she was initiating physical contact in public with you was… shocking.

''Mo-momo?!'' You nearly shrieked but managed to keep your voice low, fearing to catch the attention of others. She frowned and began to rub her soft palm across your tense back in circles. You didn't want to admit it, but you relaxed under her touch.

''You seem to be very distressed and tired, Y/N,'' she explained, her eyes focused on your back. ''I don't know why, but I hope this gesture will help you relax.''

''Um...'' You felt your face warm as a hearth but slowly nodded. ''Tha-thank you, Momo...''

She met your eyes with a kind smile and nodded; her smile was so warm and beautiful you might've well combusted.

''Of course, Y/N. Anything for you.'' Well, shit. There went your heart, which nearly burst with Momo's attention.

''Th-thanks...''

Her touch soothed you enough to focus on the first class, but your exhaustion and lack of sleep began to catch up on you as the day stretched forward. Your movements were slow and sluggish and you'd find yourself forcing your eyes open several times.

Yaoyorozu noticed your exhaustion throughout the day. During lunch, as she sat with you, an idea began to brew in her head.

''Love?'' She murmured. Your head was squished against the table and your lunch had been long forgotten. Momo softly tapped your shoulder and spoke again.

''Y/N...?'' She whispered in a hushed voice. Jirou and Tooru watched the scene and giggled quietly.

When she heard soft snores vibrate throughout your body, a soft smile spread across her lips.

''Mmmm...'' You groaned in your sleep. The three girls giggled quietly.

''She must be tired,'' the invisible girl commented. Momo nodded in agreement.

''Indeed,'' Momo murmured. ''Y/N should rest, so don’t wake her up.''

''What about her lunch?'' Jirou furrowed her eyebrows.

The ponytail girl sighed. She softly petted your back before noticing there were goosebumps on your skin and you were slightly shivering. You were cold. She quickly took off her blazer and draped it on your figure with a satisfied smile.

''...Yayorozu?'' Said girl nearly jumped out of the seat. She quickly met Jirou's gaze and smiled nervously.

''Yes?''

The short-haired girl snickered. ''You didn't answer my question. What about L/N's lunch?''

''Oh...'' She frowned. ''No worries, we don't have any physical training after lunch today. I'll give her some snacks and treat her to something after school since it's partially my fault for not waking her up.''

Jirou and Tooru giggled and Momo's face felt warm. ''My my,'' Jirou smirked. ''You're so considerate of L/N's health, though it's not surprising. After all, you are L/N's girlfriend.''

''How romantic!'' Tooru cooed.

Momo stammered for a couple of seconds before clearing her throat. ''Please don’t make a fuss out of this, Jirou. Helping Y/N out isn’t a problem for me.’’

The two girls giggled and murmured, but all Momo could focus on was your sleeping face; even though you were unconscious, your eyebrows were scrunched together and she could see the exhaustion displayed in your face. Momo would make sure to help you relax after school.

                                           ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

After you had woken up, you opted to staying silent and nodding along with whatever Momo said. The half an hour that you slept had helped you greatly, but the sleepiness and weariness hadn't left your body just yet.

''Alright, class,'' Aizawa began to slide into his sleeping bag. ''You have this period to complete your mathematics homework-,'' the class groaned. ''-and no, I won't hear it. Yes, it's a difficult task, but you will only face harder in the future. The assignment is due next Monday, so get to work.''

Everyone murmured but eventually cooperated. Students pulled out notebooks, binders and seats screeched in the classroom as they shifted directions.

Your teacher groaned lowly and once he zipped himself up in the sleeping bag, fell to the ground. Your hooded eyes watched the movement in the class, too tired and weary to participate. 

''-/N...? What do you think?'' Momo looked at you and frowned. All you could think about was taking a nap, again.

''I’m sorry,'' you murmured sleepily and rubbed your eyes. ''What did you say?''

''I was wondering if it was fine if I took you...somewhere after school?''

You hummed and furrowed your eyebrows. ''Will be there food?'' Momo laughed and a smile crept on your lips. She was beautiful; from how her eyes would gently flutter and when her lips curled into a smile and moments like these made you realize how lucky you were to be Momo’s partner.

''Of course, Y/N.'' You quietly cheered and leaned back into your seat.

''Then I'm all in.''

Momo smiled and your heart stuttered. ''Very well, Y/N. I promise you'll enjoy it.''

                                               ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Once the school bell rung, the two of you raced out of the school and awaited for Momo’s driver, The moment you had slipped into the luxurious car with your girlfriend, you had fallen asleep. Momo didn't mind, as the drive to the mall would take a while and she wanted you to rest as much as possible.

Your brief but pleasing slumber shortly came to an end when a soft voice lulled you awake and hands gently shook your shoulders.

''Y/N? Love? We're here.''

''Hm?'' You groaned and slowly sat up. ''What's happening?'' Your eyes slowly blinked as they adjusted to their surroundings.

Momo laughed and clasped her hand around yours. ''We arrived at the place I was telling you about. Come along, let's not waste any precious time.''

You smiled and followed her out of the car and noticed you were in an underground parking lot. ''Momo? Where are we?''

''Oh,'' she blushed. ''I wanted to bring you to my favorite mall so we could spend some time together and relax,'' her eyes quickly darted towards yours. ''If that's okay with you?''

Her gestures made your heart warm. With a loving smile, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, hands sliding to her neck. Even though there was one uncomfortable looking chauffeur- not that you noticed- she immediately responded, her lips meeting yours as her arms wrapped around your waist.

''I'd love to,'' you stepped back and smoothed your uniform. ''You're so sweet, Momo. Thank you, I really appreciate it.''

She nearly squealed as her face grew warm. ''It-it's not a problem, Y/N! Anything for you,'' her face grew even warmer and you noticed with a giggle. To avoid her embarrassment to grow any further, you grabbed her hand and tugged her away from the car.

''Well then, lead the way.''

Between nervous giggles and quick exchanges of kisses, you found yourself staring in awe at the building in front of you. Classy people walked briskly past you and the decoration of the mall was the most glamorous thing you'd ever seen.

''Momo, I....'' You were breathless. You were aware that your girlfriend was well off but you didn't know to what extent. On the other hand, you came from a humble home and rarely knew this type of luxuries.

''It's beautiful here!'' You exclaimed. Momo's hand squeezed yours and she laughed nervously.

''Really? This is just the mall...'' She looked rather sheepish as she scratched the back of her neck.

''I've never been to a mall like this one,'' you admitted. Momo nodded in understanding before tugging you forward with a smile.

''Come along, there's much you have to see.''

Hours flew by and you slipped into every store you spotted and usually came out with a bag or two. You noticed that Mom was being very generous, splurging her money on any clothing piece or supply of your favorite hobby that you would spot. The clothing stores were your favorite because the two of you would slip into the dressing rooms to try on clothes- but mostly kiss.

''What do you think?'' You twirled and Momo giggled. She was sitting down a few feet away from you.

''You look absolutely lovely, Y/N.'' Her compliment made you smile.

''Thank you, Momo,'' your eyes drifted to the price tag that was attached to the clothing and your jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

''Twelve thousand yen?!'' You shrieked. ''Momo, I can't get this, it's too expensive and I don't want you to-,'' you were sharply interrupted by Momo's soft lips caressing against yours. All current activities and worries you had flew out the window as Momo's hands began to travel your back, the two of you moving backward until your back pressed against the wall.

When the two of you pulled away, the first thing you noticed was Momo's swollen lips and flushed cheeks and you were sure you didn't look any better.

''Y/N,'' she started gently, her hands squeezing your hips. ''Don't worry about the price, my love. I'm doing this because I love you and I want you to choose to your heart's content.''

''Momo...'' You were breathless. ''I appreciate the gesture, but I don't want you to empty your wallet because of me,'' your eyes averted to the floor.

Your girlfriend sighed and raised your chin with the tip of her finger, forcing you to meet her gaze. ''Love, buying this for you isn't a bother and besides,'' her eyes drifted to your body before quickly returning to your face with a slight flush on her cheeks. ''You look absolutely gorgeous in it, I...I would love if you wore it for me.''

It was your turn to feel flustered. You swallowed nervously as your face warmed up.

''O-Okay...if that's the case, then I suppose I don't mind.''

The two of you broke into quiet giggles, cutting through the peaceful silence that enveloped the dressing rooms.

‘’Shh!’’ Someone snapped from the next dressing room. Your eyes widened as you met Momo’s alarmed gaze, only to burst into laughter once again. It got to the point where you were nearly kicked out of the store, and Momo managed to buy the clothes you wanted before shooed out of the shop by the irritated-looking saleswoman.

''Thank you for doing this for me,'' you squeezed Momo's hand as the two of you walked forward, carrying dozens of bags. ''I was feeling pretty drained and negative today, but with my nap and this...it's perfect.''

Momo smiled. She pressed a chaste kiss on your lips. ''You're welcome, love. I did this because I noticed your behavior the moment you stepped into the classroom,'' you giggled.

''Oh!'' Momo's eyes widened as she stared off into a direction. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

''What is it, Momo?''

''Look!'' Her face brightened as she tugged you forward. ''It's a churro stand. I remember that you mentioned that they're a dessert in your home country, right?''

The brightest smile formed on your lips. She remembered...

''Yeah, it is!'' The two of you raced towards the churro stand. You nearly drooled at the sight; dozens of churros of different types and countries. Some were long and others were short, shaped into a circle or a straight line, and others shapes you couldn't identify. The majority of them had been covered in sugar and some of them had fillings.

''Mmmm...'' You both said subconsciously. When you spotted the churros of your country, you nearly squealed.

''Momo!'' You pointed at the churros. ''Those are just like the ones I used to have back home! Can I get them?!''

She smiled. ''Of course.'' 

After paying the seller and walking away with your respective churros, the two of you sat on a bench on the lowest floor of the mall, where there weren't any exterior doors and the wind blew inside the building. You swung your legs on the metal bench as you munched on the delicious dessert.

''These are very delicious, Y/N,'' your girlfriend commented. ''I've never eaten churros before.''

You shot Momo a smile. ''Well, now you've been blessed with their flavor.'' She giggled.

The two of you were huddled together, shoulders and warm bodies pressed against each other. An array of bags sat at your side and your feet. Most of the other civilians had left by now and you watched as some stores began to lock and close.

''Momo?'' You glanced at her.

''Yes, love?''

''Thank you for making me the happiest person in the world.''

She gave you that charming smile of yours and tucked her hair behind her ear.

''I should be saying that Y/N,'' Momo leaned forward, her lips brushing against yours. Your heart thumped and you smiled dopily. ''You've made me the happiest girl in the world.''

Your lips collided in a frenzy of warmth. After resting and eating, your body felt brand new and you had no intention of pulling away from Momo’s sweet and addicting mouth. After all, the night was still young; and you were ready to enjoy the last hours of moonlight with your girlfriend.

tag list: @lonelyfangirl453​ @thatgoth-bitch​ 

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Please Don’t Leave {Eijirou Kirishima}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! I tried something a little different with this story and having included a character we don’t know very much about was challenging. Writing this piece was interesting to say the least lol. This was partially inspired by the book/movie “If I Stay” and if you haven’t read/seen it I def recommend!

The silence was strange. Maybe it was just because it was there. Living with nineteen other teenagers could seem deafening at the best of times and quiet moments were rare. Her body felt strange too though, like she both could and couldn’t feel. One minute she felt weightless, comfortable like she was lying on a giant pillow, and the next she could feel a deep, pulsating throb in her head.

When the pain disappeared is when she opened her eyes to see grey all around her. It was dull and seemingly endless, and she furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Man, it’s gonna be nice to have someone to talk to!”

She jumped at the energetic words, blinking rapidly as she fought the sluggishness of her body to sit up. Below her she noticed what sort of did look like a large white pillow but also the smiling boy floating at her side.

He was tall and his fluffy light blue hair made him look even taller which may have felt intimidating if his blue eyes weren’t so friendly as they stared at her from above a white strip across the bridge of his nose. A blue aviator hat and goggles were visible below his hair and he wore a dark blue gi beneath a brown aviator jacket, dust and dirt clinging to the material.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Where are we, and why is everything grey? Are you sitting on a cloud? Wait, am I?”

He laughed. “Yeah, that’s my quirk! I like to ride on them and when you started to appear I could tell you weren’t awake so I made you a cloud bed!”

“How—? Where—?”

“Oh, sure, sorry,” he said quickly. “I dunno where exactly we are but I’ve always called it ‘the in-between’ because we’re between life and death which explains the grey but probably sounds really scary and uh, it is? But at least we have each other! My name’s Oboro Shirakumo!”

She tried to process his rapid-fire words but the only thing she completely understood was his name.

In-between life and death? Why was she seemingly dying? What had happened? She couldn’t remember anything happening to put her life at risk, at least not lately.

“You look really confused and I get that, I feel bad having to give you such heavy news and you probably don’t remember much. I was the same way when I got here, but after a while you should be able to remember and it’ll all come back…” he trailed off, and when she realized the expectant look she said her name. He smiled and repeated it before continuing, “You’ll figure out what led you here.”

“Can I ask what led you here?” she asked quietly when silence stretched between them.

He smiled sadly. “I am—or I guess was?—a hero course student and a villain attack didn’t exactly go my way. Managed to save a class of schoolkids though, and my friend took out the villain all on his own. I’m guessing by your costume you’re probably in a hero course too.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine being alone for so long after all of that. You’re right that I’m a hero course student and my class has been through a lot, but we’ve always been together afterwards.”

“Well, I really don’t know if it’s been long,” he replied thoughtfully. “Time is strange here and being alone definitely doesn’t help. You know how you feel after a really good nap? Like you don’t even know if its day or night or if you were asleep for two hours or two years? That’s sort of how it feels being here.”

“January 8th is the last day I remember seeing on my lock screen,” she mumbled. “I saw it when I woke up and started getting ready for my work study. If something happened on patrol…”

“Not to interrupt but uhm, January 8th of what year?” he asked, eyes bugging when she answered. “There’s no way.”

“What, is it a long time after your villain attack?”

“Yeah. Fifteen years.”

Her eyes widened too. “You’ve been here for fifteen years by yourself?!”

He opened his mouth to reply but she couldn’t hear if he actually did, the searing pain in her skull returning as her hands flew to the back of her head. She pitched forward as tears gathered in her eyes and she cried out in pain.

  Darkness surrounded her and from the heavy feeling of her eyelids she knew they were closed. She felt like she was floating again but this time she could hear voices, garbled and far away. She understood snippets but couldn’t follow the conversation and she couldn’t tell who was saying what.

“…brain… body can try…”

“Stop crying…”

“…class soon… you’ll… without you…”

“…another way! Someone…”

The pain was so much more intense even as she laid still, but then the blackness consumed her and the pain was gone.

  Shirakumo’s hair was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes and was back in the in-between. Still disoriented, she could see that his mouth was open in surprise.

“What just happened?!” she asked, panic bubbling in her chest. “It hurt and I could hear people but I don’t—it was dark.”

“I think you tipped back towards life,” he murmured. “Whatever you heard, do you remember much? Sometimes it helps figure out what’s going on wherever your body is.”

She sniffled, wiping tears from her cheeks with her wrist. “I heard someone talking about a brain, I think? And a body trying to do something but I don’t know what. Do you think they mean me? My brain, my body?”

“Probably,” he said softly. “It can be really hard to hear things when your spirit leans back to life. Sometimes I remember things I never actually saw or heard. The memory itself is hazy, like there’s a dark mist over it so I can’t see much, but I can make out certain words or bits of conversation if I try hard enough.”

“There were other people though, saying to stop crying and asking for another way. I feel like I should know the voices.”

“The more you tip towards life the clearer it is, I think,” he shrugged. “All we can do is hope you move closer to waking up.”

She nodded, lying back on her cloud. If she was hurt badly enough to be suspended between life and death that meant her class was probably going out of their minds, her boyfriend most of all. Maybe he was there speaking to her, maybe he was one of the voices she heard. If he was she could only imagine he was asking for her to wake up. Kirishima was always a beacon of hope, one she was more than happy to follow and prayed would guide her through this too.

He didn’t mind hospitals for the most part, but long hours spent in various ones throughout the country in less than a year didn’t put them on his list of favorite things either. The waiting he had been doing for the last six days in an uncomfortable visitor’s chair was driving him mad and the lack of significant progress in his girlfriend’s condition was even worse.

Sure, she was in the best possible place for treatment and was monitored around the clock but she wasn’t awake. She wasn’t talking to him or poking his nose or kissing his cheek; she was just lying there in the hospital bed looking as if she was going to be swallowed by machines and wires. At least she could breathe on her own and there were no tubes down her throat—he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to handle seeing that.

But still he sat by her bedside any chance he got. After classes ended for the day he took the train straight there, his uniform still on and bag carelessly left in the classroom at his desk. The bag always made its way to him though.

“Kirishima I swear if you don’t start bringing your shit with you you’re giving me money for the train to and from this place. Do your homework while you sit here,” Bakugo snapped at him like every other afternoon as the bag was dropped at his feet.

With a sigh he dug through his bag to find his assignments and opened his notes to work through the homework sheets because he was right, he needed to keep up with schoolwork. He had to be able to help her when she woke up, right?

“Oi, don’t start starin’ into space!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I’m just… this is hard, you know?” he said quietly. “I’ve never gone so long without talking to her and I miss her. She’s right in front of me but I miss her.”

Bakugo scowled. “No one ever said you should be smiling at the fact that your girlfriend had her head scrambled, hair for brains. This is the type of shit we have to deal with if we’re gonna be heroes but that doesn’t mean time stops for you to mope. Besides, didn’t the doctors say she’s doing better?”

“Yeah, they said the swelling’s gone down to the point where it’s really hard to see on the scans so that’s good. But they also mentioned that she’s still low on this coma scale thing, like she’s a six which is just one up from critical. Her only response is to pain and—"

“Tch, you’re just impatient. She’s gonna be fine once her body’s healed enough to wake up. Then the old lady’s gonna kiss her and shit’ll be back to normal.”

“I—

  —really, really hope you’re right.”

“’Course I’m right, you idiot.”

The pain was still there but more a dull ache than before. It let her focus on the voices and she knew them, she knew her boyfriend and his best friend were there with her. She wondered what Bakugo should be right about. He probably was, whatever it is.

Her time in the in-between wasn’t terrible because Shirakumo was good company but she did look forward to the moments when everything went dark and she could hear everyone around her body. She heard her parents and boyfriend most often but her friends were there sometimes too. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she was awake, but she hoped she could open her eyes soon.

“You smile a lot when you snap back from tipping,” Shirakumo observed. He was sat on one of his clouds, elbow on his knee and chin in his hand.

“I hear my boyfriend,” she said with a grin. “It’s just really good to hear his voice, you know?”

“That’s nice,” he said quietly.

She furrowed her brows. “I know you haven’t since I’ve been here but don’t you tip towards life sometimes too? Don’t you hear your family? Your friends?”

“Nah, I don’t know anyone who’s speaking around me. Never recognize what I see through the haze either,” he explained. “I don’t know exactly what that means since it seems like with you, you hear what’s being said to your body. I rarely tip towards life anymore but when I do it’s like I’m on autopilot or something. It’s probably just a dream.”

“Well what do you hear or see?”

“Once I was in a hospital I think but that’s all I can remember, no voices and all I saw was darkness,” he said thoughtfully. “Another time I was in a dome, like a stadium almost. There was a lot of yelling and mostly I can remember shapes and colors. Black and red, green and orange, some white spots in the corner of my eye. Loud bangs like firecrackers were the last thing I heard before tipping back to the in-between.”

She listened intently, the details he described vague but familiar though she didn’t know exactly why.

“Other than those it’s just whispers while I’m in a black fog. It’s just snippets like I mentioned. A word or two here and there.”

“But never your family or friends?” she repeated.

“No, but I can’t really expect that if it’s been fifteen years, huh? My family had my little siblings to look after and my friends—well they’ve gotta be hotshot heroes by now. We wanted to start our own agency together, and I hope they did even without me. The dream shouldn’t die just because I did.”

“What were they like?”

“What’s your boyfriend like?” he teased.

“I asked first!”

“I’m older, respect your elders.”

She let out an exasperated sigh but smiled nonetheless. “His name is Eijirou Kirishima and he’s… he’s like a bright light in the dark. He’s brave even when he’s afraid and he wants to help people because it’s the right thing to do. He’s in the hero course with me and… shit, I miss him.”

“Bet he misses you too,” he said with a soft smile. “He sounds like a good guy, and I hope you can see him again soon.”

“Me too,” she whispered, then after a moment reminded him, “Your turn.”

“Ah well, my buddies were kinda opposite of each other—one loud and energetic, always the center of attention and the other quiet and introverted, sometimes had a tough time believing in himself. But they were both gonna be great heroes! All of Japan was going to know Present Mic and Eras—”

“—erhead,” she finished breathlessly, and Shirakumo grinned.

It had been eleven days since the villain attack that had put her in the hospital and Kirishima still saw her head slamming into the concrete siding of the office building so clearly it may as well have been playing out in front of him all over again. In reality she was extremely lucky that her skull hadn’t been cracked wide open, the only fractures being in her left arm from twisting awkwardly as her body met the building.

Her arm would be easy to heal thanks to Recovery Girl, but the head injury was more delicate and what really needed resolved first. It would take time for her body to recuperate which was the reason she’d fallen comatose; they’d been told that her body was pausing everything else so the damage could be repaired. Once that damage could be taken care of then the other injuries could be tended to. It wasn’t likely to last more than a few weeks but to Kirishima even a few hours seemed like an eternity.

Yet each day after class and on the weekends he waited that eternity, had done it eleven times over. It was difficult—near impossible—to make him leave even for a quick dinner in the hospital’s cafeteria which meant only one person could convince him, and he made sure to do so as crudely as possible.

“Do you fuckin’ think she’s gonna be happy waking up to your stomach growling at her like a goddamn beast? Get your ass some food. If you’re back in under half an hour I’m exploding your ugly fuckin’ face. She won’t recognize you and neither will your shitty mothers.”

It was tiresome to endure the constant yelling but it was true, he needed to eat. “Okay, okay, I’m going. But just make sure—”

“If she wakes up I call the nurse, then you, then her family, then your mothers, then the media, then go fuck myself, I know,” Bakugo finished as his eye twitched. “Get your fucking food, asshole.”

With a defeated sigh the redhead left the room, a glance over his shoulder lingering on his sleeping girlfriend for just a moment as he stepped out into the bright hallway. He let his mind wander as he walked. After eleven days he didn’t need to think of how to get to the cafeteria, his feet knew where to take him.

Bakugo sat back in the visitor’s chair Kirishima had been using as a table for his homework, scrolling through his phone mindlessly. He didn’t hate silence despite what many probably assumed, but this was he sort of quiet that was eerie and uncomfortable because of the circumstances.

“Wake the fuck up.”

Slow, even breaths were his answer.

“What, you embarrassed that you got thrown like a long dart into the side of an accounting firm of all things? Almost couldn’t blame you if that’s why you’re just laying here.”

Nothing.

“I know you can hear me. Know you can hear Kirishima too since—

  —he never shuts the hell up. Probably heard him cryin’ over you too, huh?”

A steady heartbeat and no pain in her head, she breathed in deeply at Bakugo’s words. Of course she’d heard him, the few other times she had come back to her body clearer each time. Her heart broke to hear what she knew were quiet sobs and soared when he would relay the absurdity the class had gotten up to that day.

“It’s your fault he’s upset.”

She hated that he was right.

“Your tests n’shit say you should be wakin’ up any time now. They told him that two days ago and he’s holding on to that but here you are, not even putting up a fight to get back to him. The hell’s that about?”

It… she was trying. But it wasn’t easy when her body felt like it was tied to concrete at the bottom of the ocean and couldn’t possibly surface. She just wasn’t strong enough yet, that’s all. Tipping towards life was lasting longer and longer each time and soon she’d be at the point where she never went back to the in-between. It was just taking time.

“After you blacked out he froze. In the middle of a goddamn villain attack downtown he froze. It was only a few seconds but it coulda cost him, you know that. Then I’d have both of you idiots here probably,” he huffed.

Was that fondness?

“He kept fighting though. He fought until we won but I know he doesn’t think it’s a victory. If he can fight, why can’t you?”

That was the question wasn’t it?

“You better start fighting your ass off to open your eyes. Naptime’s over.”

She hadn’t tipped again since hearing Bakugo’s scolding guilt trip to wake up and while time seemingly didn’t exist in the in-between she felt like days, weeks, months, possibly years had gone by. It was terrifying enough to know that Shirakumo had been there alone for over a decade and never realized it but what if that happened to her too? What if Shirakumo tipped back to life and woke up to resume living or even took the final step towards death? Then she would be alone in the infinite grey abyss with only her thoughts.

What if she never tipped back to life again? She wouldn’t hear a goodbye or say one herself to anyone—not her parents, not her friends, not to the boyfriend who’s kept vigil for what had to have been two weeks by then at least.

“I know you’re scared.”

She looked up to see Shirakumo watching her with an unreadable expression.

“It’s okay to be, you know? This place is like the perfect definition of uncertainty, but you said that last time you heard that you should be waking up soon right?”

“That’s what Bakugo said,” she murmured, staring down at her hands. “But I haven’t tipped since then and now I don’t know if I will again.”

“You don’t feel it at all?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t heard anything.”

“Ah no, I mean you’re… when you go closer to life you look different to me. Like you’re… smudged?”

She stared at him.

“So I see you,” he tried to explain, “but then it’s almost like you’ve got a shadow around you? It—okay, you know how when you draw with an oil pastel you can blend it out? When you tip towards life you look like that.”

“Alright, but what does that have to do with anything right now? I’m not going towards life.”

He gave a weak smile. “Yeah you are. You’ve been smudged since you last heard your friend. It was faint at first but its lingered and now you’re sort of fading out. I think… I think that means you’re waking up.”

“How can I be waking up if I’m not hearing anything there? I’ve been with you this entire time!”

“I don’t know, I’m just guessing! It’s a good thing if I’m right, it means you’ll get to see your boyfriend and your friends and your family.”

“I just… I don’t want to hope and then it be for nothing,” she whispered. “Of course I want to wake up but that’s all I’ve wanted this entire time and I just don’t know how and it’s awful to know I’m causing all of them to worry over me and hope for something that may not happen.”

“Hey I get it, okay? It’s hard knowing that everyone there wants you back but you don’t know how to get to them. But heroes don’t get to lose hope. You can have your moments of weakness but you should never lose hope that it’s going to get better.”

She turned away from him, lip bitten between her teeth. Of course he was right—as heroes they couldn’t lose hope when they were the ones who brought hope to the hopeless in the times they needed it the most. But that also begged the question of how they kept that hope. Who inspired them in the darkest times?

It was an obvious answer once she shed the cynicism: family, friends, loved ones, the people they would fight the hardest for. Her family, her friends, her class, her boyfriend. They had hope for her to wake up and when they spoke to her they were keeping that hope alive.

“It’s okay to be upset,” Shirakumo said softly as he watched a tear make its way down her face. “But you’re gonna wake up, I know it. Just… take a deep breath and we can talk about something else.”

“Okay,” she whispered, turning back to him as she sucked in a breath and let her eyes fall closed.

He watched with a smile as her faded form grew even more faint, then disappear completely as she let out the breath.

The darkness was back. It enveloped her like always but there was no pain in her head. She felt cold, like the air conditioning had been dropped low and created a makeshift icebox out of the room she was in. She also felt stiff but that was both the cold and the fact that she hadn’t moved in what? Over two weeks by then?

There was shuffling to her right. She wondered who was there—was it her parents? Kirishima? The little chuckle answered that quickly.

“Your fingers always twitch when you’re asleep,” she heard him say. “When you fall asleep on me in the common room your little finger twitches tickle because they’re so light. I miss that.”

She never knew she did that in her sleep, and she wondered what made him bring it up.

“You’ve been doing it more and between that and the blinking the doctors say it should really be any time now. I… I miss your eyes. When you blink its so fast I can barely see them so wake up soon, okay?”

She’d been blinking and moving? Could she do that now? She tried to move her left index finger but she couldn’t tell if it worked. Maybe she was still too stiff.

“As much as I love your eyes I think I miss your smile the most,” he said quietly. “Seeing you smile after we confront villains has always been so important, even before we were together. When we saw each other after the USJ and you smiled at me… that was when I realized I had to tell you how I felt.”

He did, right before the sports festival took place. Afterwards he often joked that he advanced as far as he did to prove he was worth keeping around. She could only roll her eyes because he could’ve sat out every event in favor of eating from the food vendors and she would’ve kept him as close as possible.

“When I saw you get hurt I panicked but I knew I had to keep fighting. If nothing else we had to win so I could get to you and make sure you were okay. After we won I practically threw Ojiro and Todoroki out of the way,” he laughed lightly. “I apologized later but I still feel a little bad about it. At least they were understanding.”

Always worried about her, wasn’t he? The feeling was mutual though. She was worried even as he spoke safely from a hospital visitor’s chair just because of the occasional hitch in his breathing. She wanted to see him, to grab his hand, to reassure him.

“Was that finger twitch supposed to be disapproval? I said I apologized!”

Wait, had she really moved?

“They really were understanding though. Heh, probably because I was in tears honestly. Not seeing you smile after a win was just… it hit my heart, y’know?”

Yeah, she knew. He was hitting her heart right now.

“And then you wouldn’t wake up.”

The emotion in his voice was thick and she could picture the pinch in his brows as he tried to hold back tears.

“It didn’t look very good at first and that terrified me more than you could ever know. You barely responded to pain and the swelling took awhile to go down. I don’t know if you could hear me then or even if you can now, but I sat here with you as often as I could and I just kept hoping you would wake up. Well I’m still doing that, but in the beginning I really didn’t know if you would. I held your hand and I cried more than I want to admit just begging you not to leave me.”

How had she gotten so lucky to have him as a partner? What good deed had she done in a past life?

“Even with you moving like that and blinking and everything the doctors have said I’m still scared. They keep saying any day now but I just… when? I’ll sit here every day until you wake up, holding your hand and talking to you. If you can hear me you’re gonna have to get used to me begging even more. Please don’t leave me. I need you here smiling, okay? I want… I want to be a hero you can be proud to stand beside.”

A warm weight settled on her right hand and she realized it was his hand holding hers. She could feel him. She could feel him and she could hear him.

Her body was still so stiff and her eyelids felt like lead but she breathed evenly, gathering all the strength she had. It wasn’t much but it was enough to open her eyes just a bit, light flooding through her lashes and making her close them almost immediately.

Soothing circles were being drawn on the back of her hand and she wanted to see Eijirou smile. It sounded like he hadn’t in so long. She wanted to make him smile.

Her eyes fluttered open just a bit more on the second try but fell closed again at the light. Dammit, hospital lighting shouldn’t be that bad! She tried again, opening her eyes wider and only squinting at the brightness. She kept them open as long as she could before blinking quickly and fixing her eyes on the opposite wall’s small dry erase board; she couldn’t read what it said and she didn’t know if that was because of just waking up or from the injury but she decided to worry about that later.

She could feel the warmth on her hand still and from the corner of her eye she could see red but her head still felt heavy and even turning to the side seemed like an impossibly difficult task. After the fight to just open her eyes she could imagine it wouldn’t be easy. But she desperately wanted to see those red eyes and that sharp smile.

Well her fingers could move and that should be easier than shifting her head to the side, right? So she focused on her right hand and squeezed against the solid palm holding it. She did it once, and then again, and finally a third time. She felt the grip strengthen and soon her line of sight was filled with red hair and red eyes and a blinding smile. She tried to smile back, hoping that the small quirk of the corner of her lips would suffice for now.

In six weeks she had come a long way. After waking up she stayed in the hospital for an additional two days for testing and monitoring before being released back to Aizawa to go back to the dorms. Recovery Girl finished the healing process for her arm and things were, for the most part, back to normal.

Some issues from her time unconscious persisted but were able to be worked through to the point where she didn’t have many difficulties. Initially she had thought there were no effects but as she was dressing to leave the hospital she froze with the laces of her shoe in hand with no idea of what to do next. She knew how to tie her shoes and had known for most of her life, but as she stared down at the white laces in her grip she couldn’t even guess as to what she was supposed to do.

It was a small miracle that her parents were there with Aizawa as she was being discharged because she didn’t think she could handle her teacher having to tie her shoes for her. Relearning wasn’t terrible when she had the help of Eijirou and her friends. They were kind and without much teasing unless she initiated it first. With all the combined effort she was double knotting her laces within two weeks.

Slightly stranger was her perception of music she’d heard prior to her injury—everything sounded just a bit faster, as if it were half a beat ahead of where it should be. It was odd to experience because to everyone else it was normal and just as it should be so she avoided music for a few weeks to shake the uncomfortable feeling it gave her. After roughly a month Jiro convinced her to try listening again and when she started a familiar tune it was just as it should be, no altered speed. It was weird but at least it was over.

She was even back to full contact combat training in hero lessons which was all she had wanted the entire time Aizawa had given her alternate assignments. Most of the class were nervous to work with her even after she was cleared, but she was thankful when both Bakugo and Todoroki challenged her as if nothing had ever happened. That helped to get everyone else back to treating her like the fighter she was.

Eijirou was much clingier and more affectionate with her too. He’d been attentive before but when he’d said he needed her smiling, he had meant it. More than before there was always a hand on her hip, an arm around her shoulder, fingers intertwined with hers, and she enjoyed the increased contact. His goal of making her smile was met a thousand times over within the first two weeks alone, she was sure.

“I did hear you, you know,” she said one night as she laid against him on one of the common room couches. She had one of his hands in hers and traced patterns against his palm. The rest of the class was white noise around them. “I would fade in and out at random times but I heard you the most.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Whatever you heard, I meant it.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “I know you missed me and my smile and you didn’t want to lose me. You’ve told me all of that since I woke up.”

“Of course!” he agreed quickly. “I was there every day and I just couldn’t imagine you not waking up.”

“I’m glad I woke up when you were there. I was fighting to get back to you just like Bakugo yelled at me to do. I’d heard how upset you were and I didn’t want you to cry over me anymore, I wanted to see you smile too.”

“So you remember a lot of what you heard while you were out, huh?”

She nodded. “There’s a lot I remember but I’m sure I’m missing some things.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, catching her fingers to lace them together.

“I think I want to talk to Aizawa about it more. There’s just some stuff Hound Dog wouldn’t understand.”

“Like what?” he asked, kissing her temple.

She sighed. “Just some other things I remember from while I was unconscious. I think he might have some good insight.”

Eijirou gave a nod of understanding and they fell into a comfortable silence.

She was so glad to back with her friends and boyfriend and seeing her parents again had been amazing. At first it felt like she had missed everything in the sixteen days she had been unconscious but they all worked to fit her back into normal life. Knowing they cared about her was heart-warming in a way she’d never experienced before and she was thankful beyond words.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! I’m still a little unsure of how this fic turned out though that sometimes when I try something new. Also I know I put Kirishima through a lot of shit around here but I swear I love him and want the best for him! We love an unwavering and sturdy hero on this blog

[boogiewrites]

No. 9: The Body

Chapter Three

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Diego confronts Eve about the strange events that have surrounded him when he’s with her. Will he find the answers he wants? 

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Talk of injury and past trauma. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Finally, she had a day off, where she could indulge in the tiny bit of irresponsibility her life and career balance allowed. She’d prepped an ice bucket to allow for maximum laziness, shoving her wine bottle into it. She looked at the wine glass she’d sat out and wondered how long she was going to lie to herself and pretend she wasn’t going to be drinking straight from the bottle.  She had sweets, snacks, and a jug of water and she was ready to settle in and binge and stay up as late as she possibly could. She’d probably pass out around dawn then figure it out from there. She had no plans, no drinks with coworkers, no fitness classes, just a hot date with her comfy couch, and a heavy pile of blankets. 

She’d fulfilled a small portion of this goal, an hour or two into her ‘Scrubs’ marathon when there was a tapping on her window. 

“Oh, kitty! You’re back!” She says quickly sitting down her wine and rising from her cocoon on the couch. “You’ve been gone a few days I was getting worried about you with the snow. I kept some fish from my leftovers for you.” She coos as she makes her way to the window, unlatching it before turning on her light to show a large black figure. “You’re not a cat.” She states plainly. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Diego says with a sarcastic expression as she blinks and in her buzzed state processes this information.

“What are you doing here? You’re not due for another few weeks at least, right?” She asks, hand on the window sill still, not being raised fully. 

“No I uh… wanted to have you look at that wound again.”

“Oh is it-?” Her mind switches naturally to doctor mode, even if she wasn’t sober and wasn’t nearly as quick or graceful. “Come on in then, let me pause this.” She pushes the window up as he slinks in behind her and she fumbles with the remote. “What seems to be the problem?” She asks with her eyes on his covered torso and hands on her hips. He seemed to be moving fine. 

“Is this a bad time?” He asks seeing the food and wine bottle on the table.

“No, well… I’ve been drinking but I’m FINE.” She insists with a wave of her hand. “Sober enough to help you out at least. I was just watching tv.” She excuses herself.

“Well, I was making sure no one was here with you.”

“HA!” She laughs a bit louder than intended, then clears her throat. “Um, no, no one else here. There never is.” She chuckles. 

“What about the cat?”

“Oh! Well, I suppose he would count as having a man over.” She offers a warm, sleepy expression that gave away that she was a bit drunk. “Well I mean there’s you. But I don’t know if you count as having someone over since I’ve never invited you.” She makes herself chuckle. 

“You told me to come in just now didn’t you?” He teases. 

“Yeah but...you came through the window I don’t think that counts.”

“Window? Door? Both lead to the same place, what’s the big difference?” He asks sarcastically, he was a bit relieved she seemed in a good mood but was hoping she wasn’t a mean drunk if she got mad at the topic of discussion he had on the table tonight. 

“Societal expectations? Cultural… rules?” She offers and waves her hands. “Don’t make me think of words right now just- what do you need? What's wrong?” She moves towards him focusing herself up.

“The wound was a gunshot wound right? We pulled the slug out?”

“I pulled it out, but yes, go on.” she waits for him to raise his shirt as he talks. 

“I’ve noticed something weird when I come to you for help Doc.” He lifts it to show a recovered body. “These things keep healing... and fast. I need to know how you’re doing that because I’ve been losing sleep over it.” His tone was harsher and she felt the energy in the room shift. 

She leans forward to make sure she’s seeing clearly. They were healed. Pink scars over the newest and the wounds from over a month ago now we’re barely visible.

A bubble of acid rose in her throat as she stood back up, and it wasn’t from the drinking. 

He sees her body language change drastically. It’s like he’d hit her the way she slunk back to rest on the back of the couch. 

She takes a shaky breath to compose herself as a lifetime of fears and questions flood between her now glassy eyes. “I... don't know…” she forces out a whisper. 

“I think I deserve an explanation here.” He says taking a step towards her as she quickly wipes away a falling tear to hide it from him. 

“I don’t have one.” She begins to cry. The past trauma of being confronted and abused for the weird things that happened to her when she was young come at her as his intimidating body language moves closer. 

“I think you do…” still going with intimidation just in case she was faking. Hand ready to grab a knife if she flinched to attack.

“I don’t.” She shakes her head and covers her face in her hands. “I don’t mean to…” she sniffles and moves to teach for a tissue. “It’s just... a thing that happens sometimes and I don’t… I don’t know what... why…” she cries harder this time and his tension shifts. “I’m sorry I’m… I've just been able to get by hoping no one notices it and asks and now…” she motions towards him. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone to know, please.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “I don’t want to have to run again. Please.” She holds his forearm as she cries and boldly meets his eyes. 

“What do you mean run?”

“My mom she… I did weird things as a kid and she…made me so scared of it, of myself...of her.” 

“What’d you do?” He quietly asks. Now moving to put his hand over hers and felt her shaking. 

“Afew times when I’ve had traumatic things happen I’ve… had weird stuff happen. Brought animals back.” She uncomfortably rubs her arms. 

He was piecing it all together in his head. Her career choice made sense, an easy cover for her to just be good at her job and not have to address her abilities since she’d had such fear put into her about it. No father, uncontrolled powers during emotional outbursts. It was all adding up.

“Eve?” His voice was softer this time. “When’s your birthday?”

“My...birthday?” A confused brow appears as she looks up at him. 

“Yeah just...humor me.”

“Uh...okay?” She answers shakily. “October 1st-“

“‘89?” 

She nods. “How did you-?”

He sighs and puts a hand to her back and pats it supportively. “Eve. I think it’s about time we talked.”

Eve watched him curiously, his face seemed to pity her and she hadn’t expected it. He thought he’d either tell her she was full of shit and not believe her. That was her first assumption. The second was he’d kill her because he was an assassin to kill people like her. Some Men In Black type shit. And while she didn’t expect that theory to play out, the arrival of the third option of total acceptance was baffling her. 

“Why did y- how did you know?”

“Because it’s my birthday too.”

“Huh? What are you insinuating?” She wears her confusion unfiltered on her face as she looks up at him and rises from the spot on his chest. 

“Remember when I told you my name? What did you say about the kids in the 90s? The crime-fighting super powered ones…?” He winces. 

He sees the realization wash over her face.

“We all had the same birthday...October 1st, 1989. I was that Diego... I Am that kid….was that kid. right? I mean I’m a man now-pfft obviously-“

“You’re the fucking Kraken?” Was her loud response as she pushed away to look at his face. 

“Yeah…” he draws out the word and gives a nervous forced smile. “Or Number two… as Dad called us.”

“You...you’re…” she begins repeatedly as she fidgets her fingers in thought. She huffs out a nervous laugh suddenly. “Well, that would... make sense wouldn’t it?” She looked around the room as if it might hold some answers to her bewildering flow of thought. “I just... hold on.” She says with a head shake, the emotional rollercoaster sending her spinning and no longer the alcohol as she moved to fix that. “If I’m gonna deal with this level of shit I’m going to drink more. Because... fuck doing it sober.” She says as she leans to take a bottle of bourbon out of her cabinet and sit back on the couch before cracking it open and downing a large drink.

“You seriously didn’t know you had powers?”

“No! I just thought...I don’t know. I thought I was a good doctor? I guess?” he sighs and takes another shot. 

“You are but... I mean you… really didn’t notice?”

“It has rarely happened at work… and normally I don’t have much of a reason to try to heal people outside of work hours. Until you showed up.”

“So any other times you’ve used the powers?”

“Not at work. Or when I was a kid. I thought I must’ve grown out of it.”

“So..” he twitches his nose in thought, lips parted slightly. “Would that fall under “...occurrences at peak emotional environmental stress instances”?” He repeats back from lessons. 

“Yeah…” she groans and slumps against the couch looking away and shamelessly pouting because denial had been nice. “Fuck.” she shouts up at the ceiling. “I have fucking… “powers”? What the fuck is that even-? I’m not... this isn’t...Nah, it can’t-”

“Eve.” he sits down next to her and grabs her shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“How are you so calm?” she asks almost angrily. “Did you know other people had powers? Like what… how many of us are there? Was I supposed to be adopted? Do I get adopted now? I’m way too old to-“

“Woah. Breathe.” He demands as she begins talking a bit too fast. “I can only answer one at a time.” He extends a supportive raise of his brow. 

“So is there like... a book you can give me. “So you have super powers? A How-to In-depth Guide” by chance?”

“Nope. Just gotta fuck up a bunch trying to figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful. I needed more stress in my life.”

He smiles and huffs out a quiet laugh. “So no one else knows?”

“No just… my mom…” she trails off and runs a hand through her hair, covering her almond-shaped eyes for a moment. “This...would explain so much and yet somehow I have even more questions.” She sits up and takes a good long look at her hands. “What’s your power again?” She whispers and turns to face him. 

“Trajectory manipulation mainly.”

“Oh right...yeah, duh the knives.” she hits her forehead and it makes him grin at her. “Sorry I’m a little... this is a lot.”

“Which is why I think we need to try something.” He announces as he stands.

“What?”

“Prove you have powers.” He says standing between her kitchen and living room. 

“I don’t… uh..”

“Every time you’ve used them you’ve been emotional right? A sudden trigger?”

“Yeah…”

“Then there’s the only way to find out.” He says as he quickly takes a knife and cuts his hand.

A loud protest from Eve as she jumped to her feet to react before she even had time to think about it. She took his hands into hers and pulled them to her chest and applied pressure. “You idiot! What are you thinking? There are plenty of other ways to find out!” She shouts as she feels the rush of emotions that come with this unstructured and sudden need for her skills. She’d been off the book when she’d been with him. She’d never had a man stumble to her apartment asking for help, this was something new and it’d made her feel a bit more alive. Like some energy tingling around her nerves inside. She felt the cool flush over her face as they stood close.

“No other way that would get you to react.”

“We really need to discuss your impulsiveness.”

“Focus. Focus on healing it.”

“How?’ I don’t-“

“Yes you do, c’mon. I believe in you.”

She met him with unsure eyes but did as he said. He would know best in this instance, wouldn’t he? If he believed in her, she supposed it was best to follow his lead and believe in him back. 

She holds it close and he feels his muscles twitch. The pain had ceased when she’d clasped him to her, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She needed to know she could do it. And tough love was the only way he knew how to make powers work because that’s all he’d ever known. She focused and he soon felt a warm wave of contentment wash over him for a fleeting moment. 

“Was that you?” He asks her, her eyes still shut and brow concentrated.

“I…think so?” She says before looking down at his hands with a sigh before revealing them. “Okay,” she whispers before removing her hand where he cut himself. “Is it?” She begins softly, hands gently wiping the blood away. “Let’s wash it, come on.” She drags him steadily to the kitchen sink and there the answer was underneath. The cut was gone. “Holy shit.” She heavily exhales and lets his hand go. 

“That’s… good work.” He says moving his hand in and out of a fist. “Good as before.” He nods in approval as she leans against the counter in shock. “You okay? How ya feeling?”

“Tired.” She nods slowly and meets his gaze. “Shocked. And… hungry.”

“You wanna do something about any of those?” He offers, smiling at her and nudging his head towards the fridge.

“Yeah.” She nods and turns to splash her face with water. “Some real food. Uh, get the blue container and I’m gonna…” she looks around and makes a straight line for her water bottle. “Sit down.” She says to herself and takes a good long drink. He follows her orders and sits next to her, two forks stabbed into a plastic container of noodles. “Yeah, that…” she nods and smacks her lips. “Made me surprisingly tired.”

“That’s normal. Carb up here.” He moves the food to her lap and she doesn’t hesitate.

 After a big laborious bite, she shifts the container between them and offers him to join in. “So what now?”

“Whatever you want.” He shrugs.

“There’s not like some registry I have to get on is there?” 

He laughs in response and assures her there isn’t.

“Does using yours make you tired?” 

“Sometimes. If I have to do a lot at once. Like, stop an army’s worth of bullets in mid-air.”

“You’ve… done that?” her eyes stare unblinking. 

“Oh yeah.” He nods as if it was nothing. When in fact it was one of the harder things he’d ever done with his powers. 

“I want to be able to do that.” she looks at him pitifully. A touch adoringly. “Or whatever my equivalent is to that.”

“You can, you’ve just gotta practice.” She nods as she tries to envision a new future that involved this new knowledge of herself she’d gain. “Start with controlling the emotions. Then learn how you wield it without them.”

“So you don’t have to be, like, angry to throw knives you can just do it.”

“Right.” He smirks and throws a knife with little effort that curved and lands in her coffee table.

“Did you have to stab my coffee table?”

“It’s a casualty you’ll learn to deal with it”.

“I do at work already.” She frowns and takes the knife. 

“How’d you even become a doctor anyway? Were you so good at keeping people alive they just gave you a degree?”

She sputters out a laugh. ”I fucking wish.” The first big laugh he’d seen from her unfolds as she shakes her head not knowing whether to be insulted or not. “I was, am...naturally gifted for it it seems.”

“Isn’t it hard? How’d a girl like you manage to get into med school? You’ve made yourself sound like some little badass.”

“I was a badass.” She grins. “So much so that they threw my badass in jail.” She laughs. “You couldn’t tell my punk-ass nothing. I was a statistic waiting to happen. A young runaway, abusive home, repeat offender, all that shit.” She motions with her hands as she speaks. “But...there was a very tough but fair veterinarian that took me on to do some work for community service and all that. And I ended up being surprisingly good with the animals. She gave me more responsibility, I took it all on and got better. She gave me a chance to be somebody. To prove I was more than stat for the system, y’know. She told me I could do anything I wanted and she’d pay for my tuition. So I did. She got me into college and...here I am.”

“Why a Doctor?”

“To help people.” She shrugs. “As cliche as it is. Thought I was good at it, was told I was a good role model for kids that were like me”

“Yeah, you are.”

“No, I’m just some juiced up mutant with powers to heal. My career is a fraud.” She says only half-joking. 

“Power doesn’t make you good at math. Just ask my brother.” He kids with a smile. 

“Oh god, how many of you were there?”

“Seven.” He nods an answer. 

“And now there’s an 8th-“

“Ninth.” He corrects. “Yeah, there was another, uh person with powers we...met.”

“Oh. Are they a member of the...Uh…?” 

“Umbrella Acad-“

“Umbrella academy” she finishes. 

“No, they’re not.”

“So you don’t have to be?”

“No, but...she kinda disappeared so she couldn’t join.”

“Oh sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool. No thang.” He badly jokes and he sees she’s already seen through him. “They wanted to leave. So it’s… fine.” He tries to dismiss the subject.

“So uhh…” she pauses and fights a yawn. “I’m really tired. Like, need to sleep right now tired. So…”

“Oh! Do you want me to? Yeah-You need some rest.” He awkwardly separates himself. 

“Before you go-“ she says, turning to face him by the window. “I don’t… want to do this alone.” She says with twiddling fingers. And I’d like your help.”

He nods, “I can help.” He assured her.

“So is there a way I can get ahold of you? A large spotlight  I can put on the roof perhaps?”

“Can’t make those jokes anymore since you’re one of us now.” He wags a finger her way.

“Actually I think that means I can make them all I want.” She grins. 

“I have a cell phone. Like a.. normal person.” He grumbles and takes it out. “What’s your number?” He puts her into his phone. Hers dings from the coffee table. “Problem solved.” He nods and slips it away. 

“I’ll... see you... soon?” She asks with a tilted head.

“Guess we’ll find out won’t we?” He gives a precocious smile and slips out the window silently.

“This mysterious bit is not as charming as you think it is.” She sass's back to an empty fire escape. But he heard her. And knew she wasn’t being entirely convincing.

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @jaegeeeeer​ @diegos-butt​ @anglovesthis​ 

[timetravelingshark]

So what exactly is this "The Arcana" you keep reblogging stuff for and what's it about? I am curious.

Okay, so I haven’t played it too much yet (I’m only like a fourth of the way through Julian’s route and that’s it, RIP) but the gist of it is that it’s a visual novel where you can romance six different characters. It’s set in a fantasy world, primarily in the city-state of Vesuvia, which is based off of Renaissance Venice with some definite Middle Eastern and Indian influences as well. Tarot is an overarching theme in the stories: the main character, each love interest, and all of the supporting characters have different cards from the Major Arcana that represent them and give insight into their character. The Major Arcana has some pretty interesting forces at play within the world and greatly influence the story. There’s a chance of getting a good, aka Upright, ending, and a bad, aka Reversed, ending. It all depends on the choices that you make while playing.

The main plot is that your character, who is a magician in training (in this world, magicians can actually use magic and are considered very valuable) who is summoned to the palace by the Countess Nadia. She tasks you with finding out who exactly is responsible for the murder of her husband, Count Lucio, who was burned alive in his bed on his birthday three years ago. (What a way to go, yeesh.) The lead suspect is a man by the name of Julian Devorak, who was the head doctor for the palace and treated many Vesuvians during a horrific outbreak of plague within the city a few years ago. He confessed to the murder before disappearing, but his guilt may not be so set in stone..... You’re assisted in the investigation by your somewhat flighty but extremely talented and mysterious Master, Asra, and Portia, one of Countess Nadia’s most trusted servants. A few other very interesting figures pop up along the way, each giving their side of the story of Lucio’s death.

Along the way you meet a cast of amazing characters, all of whom have really awesome designs and fun, unique personalities. I’ll describe the love interests below the cut because holy SHIT I ended up writing way more than I originally thought and also while I haven’t played many routes this is what I’ve picked up from browsing the tags.

First: Asra Al-Nazar

Your Master and one of your dearest friends. Very enigmatic and a man of few words, and is definitely one of the more subdued and laid-back love interests. He tends to disappear for bits of time to places unknown and has a deep understanding of magic and the magical realm itself. He’s got History™ with many of the major players in the story and knows more than he lets on. He’s very Somft™ to the Apprentice and cares about them greatly. Just generally a very sweet if mysterious guy. Lotta people really like him and for good reason.

Countess Nadia

The widow of Count Lucio and the ruler of Vesuvia. She’s very poised and generally keeps a cool demeanor about everything. She’s a very competent ruler and loves her people. Has, hands down, some of the absolute BEST outfits in the game. Like this girl ALWAYS looks good, and like a wealthy aunt, is always willing to make her loved ones look good, too. Very intelligent and crafty, and loves horseback riding and music. Doesn’t care much about the class of a person, and rather their talent and character. However, like all people, she does have flaws. She holds grudges for a very long time and holds them with a white knuckle grip. She’s also extremely reserved and finds difficulty in trusting people, expressing herself, or making herself vulnerable. Like Asra, is very Somft™ with the Apprentice and is very easy to simp for. 

Julian Devorak

The man I’m currently simping for. And yes, you can smooch the accused murderer! He’s a very tall goth doctor who cares way too much and has a massive guilt complex that he hides under a mask of drama and suaveness. Very much a protector type and would do absolutely anything for the people he loves. This man tries not to worry the people around him but at the same time probably survives off of like an hour of sleep and caffeine and he really looks it. He likes being very smooth and cool but if you throw him off his game this boy gets FLUSTEREDDDDD it’s great and hilarious. Kind of has Flynn Rider vibes. Love him to bits. (Can you tell that he’s the only character whose route I’ve played so far???) He wants to find out who killed Lucio, and why. (Minor spoiler: he doesn’t know if he did it or not and would rather like to find out) Feels as though he’s failed everyone he loves and can swing between joy and melancholy very quickly. He’s also ridiculously self-sacrificing. Despite all this, very loveable.

Portia

Nadia’s most trusted servant and also my homegirl. Very sweet, bubbly, and snarky, but is also a total ride or die. Very loyal to Nadia, but will side with the Apprentice over her on certain issues. She knows pretty much everything that goes on in the castle and all the secret nooks and crannies. She lives in a little cottage in the middle of the palace gardens alongside her kitty, Pepi, where she has a huge garden full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. She’s definitely a cottagecore type girl. Also pretty adventurous and willing to go do crazy shit if need be. She’s rather secretive, though. Her personality is quite a bit like my own, which is probably why I don’t really have her on my to-romance list, but I’ll still do her route to satisfy the little completionist gremlin that is my brain.

Muriel

Count Lucio. Or at least, his ghost.

Ah, the BEEG BOI. At a whopping 6′10, he’s the tallest and most muscular of all of the love interests, so if you’re into that Muriel is absolutely your man. He’s very stoic and grumpy, and almost always has a furrowed brow, even when he’s happy. Very much a hermit and likes to keep away from civilization and society. Underneath it all, he’s very gentle towards the ones he loves and especially loves animals and nature, especially dogs and his beloved chickens. Seriously, this boy loves his chickens. When he smiles it’s absolutely adorable. Kind of afraid of his own strength but has no qualms about using it if necessary. Don’t piss him off, he’s scary when he’s angry. Like Nadia, holds a grudge for a long time and is again, very antisocial.

And lastly (and most surprisingly),

Ah, this trainwreck. He’s such an asshole, but such a loveable asshole. Full of himself and with a flair for the gaudy and dramatic, he’s one hell of a piece of work but with the Apprentice’s help becomes an actually good person. Despite his vanity, cruelty, and pettiness, when he decides he likes you, you’re one of his people and he’ll love you wholly and move the heavens and earth for you. Still kind of holds a flame for Nadia despite everything, which is actually really sweet, fight me. He’s kind of got a hero complex and runs headfirst into things without thinking and desperately needs someone to hold him back by the collar at all times because while not pure of heart, this man IS dumb of ass. His facial expressions and dramatics are absolutely hysterical and he’d rather die than admit it but he’s such an ugly crier and it’s hilarious and also very endearing. He’s also kind of in denial about being actually dead, and instead refers to his state as a ghost as being an “Oopsie” and that he’s “Just stuck >:(” He actually doesn’t know who killed him, but is determined to find out. Underneath his pomp and circumstance he’s actually pretty vulnerable and super lonely and could probably do with some hugs and actual human connection. As I said, he does become a good man, or at least a better man, but it takes work on both his end and yours. A pretty divisive route among fans. I’ve personally played the first two chapters of it and honestly I really love him. At the same time, I’m pretty sure if I met someone like him IRL I’d try to strangle him, so there’s that. He’d probably be into that though, the kinky bastard.

So yeah! There’s the main characters and a bit of the plot. Sorry for such an essay but I really wanted to explain all this since you were curious (^^;) I’d definitely recommend playing it, I've had a lot of fun! 

(Also, tip: the scenes that you can buy with coins are just little add ons and treats for the player- the game is very explicitly NOT pay to win and what matters when it comes to getting a good or bad ending is what non-paid dialogue options you choose while interacting with them.)

[cowboylikedean]

folklermore spn finale: the last great american dynasty

Okay so this post took forever to write for a couple reasons. 

First of all, this one is special in that it has two readings for my grief.

The first one is terrible and heartbreaking and honestly I don’t want to spend a lot of time on it. I see Andrew Dabb as THE great villain of Supernatural, and he truly had a marvelous time ruining everything. The sarcastic nature of the song goes in to speak to the fact that I feel legitimately crazy for how much I blame him. It’s sad and heartbreaking. I think about it sometimes when i hear this song and instantly force myself to stop thinking about it and go back to the other view. 

So the other view is more what you might expect with the vibe of the song... but it is SO HARD for me to put into words, I found. So I’m sorry if this is messy and disjointed and all over the place. 

I spoke in cardigan’s post about how I’m not the fan the show wanted and there’s a large part of the narrative in the folkermore-spn-finale feelings for me that expresses not being the fan the narrative wanted or needed.... Most of the time this is brought up in this, it’s angry, or sad, or whatever... but this time... this time it celebrates it.

I had a marvelous time ruining everything.

Putting this under a cut because it’s very long. I didn’t mean for this to get this long rip.

I let myself sink into the feelings of wonder and awe I felt when I first fell in love with the show and then let myself find the conclusion that IF I did in fact “ruin everything” (aka the show) by not being the fan the show needed me to be to enjoy it, at least I had a good fucking time!

From that first bit where Taylor sings that Rebekah’s salt box house took her mind of St. Louis.... Supernatural took my mind off my life too. I remember when I first watched the show, I was 20 and I’d just failed out of school (the first time). I was lying to my mother and her husband (who I lived with) about going to school. I rode the city bus at the time because I didn’t have my license yet. I’d leave the house and say I was going to the bus stop down the street. Instead, I hid in the woods that separated my neighborhood from my grandfather’s back yard. I worked at his house “after school” every day from 4-6, taking care of his house, doing light cleaning and cooking, helping him adjust to being a double amputee so it worked out nice. Every night I pre-loaded 5 hours of episodes on my computer so I didn’t need the internet and every day I would sit in the cold on a log and put my computer on a slightly bigger log and curl up in my warm coat for a day of Supernatural before heading inside to Pappou’s house at 4. Sometimes, I just waited until the afternoon when I knew my mom would be gone and I could go home where it was warm and I had wifi. Sometimes though I got wrapped up and I just stayed there.. all day. 

Supernatural is, what I would consider, one of the last great american TV shows. Like... It’s right there with Grey’s Anatomy as the last TV shows that have an actual following where people watch it and it’s a thing that haven’t been corrupted by the streaming world. Television is so important to me, it’s my favorite medium of storytelling and it’s been lost. Streaming destroyed it. People say we’re living in a “golden age” because there’s “so much good TV” but there’s NOT! What we have is high production quality on a lot of mini-series and long-format movies that have been randomly split up into “episodes” but don’t make sense if you space them out in any way. The episodic serial format of television has been LOST and that’s heartbreaking... 

But to me... this song... it’s about The Last Great American TV Show, The Last Great American Fandom, The Last Great American Dynasty over my life, my fandom, my relationship with tv, and my world view. 

The line “How did a middle class divorcee do it?” also just... First of all there’s something so distinctly American about it... We all know Supernatural is itself a sort of lover letter to Americana... it’s the aesthetic of Nowhere USA which is part of what makes it so effective and heartbreaking. The line in the song is about how Rebekah was just... boring, average, a little sad. Someone unremarkable you feel a little pity for. That’s the Nowhere USA of the aesthetic of the show... THAT’S the heartbeat of “Americana.” It’s boring, average, unremarkable, a little sad, you kinda pity it, it shouldn’t be that deep, but it is. It’s when the unremarkable accomplishes the remarkable. And that’s the whole myth they fed us as kids, isn’t it? I could never explain the beauty of this line inside or outside the context of Supernatural to someone who isn’t US American so I’ll just stop trying... but it’s just kljasfkd 

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that first stanza in the first verse... When I fell in love with Supernatural, I was boring unremarkable, a little sad... and the show was a wealth of possibilities... but also I was at a point where I was getting over the main fandom I’d had for the past year and a half (Buffy) and I had just fallen in love with Sherlock and I had nothing but time. I wasn’t bogged down with the anxiety of school, I got to devote my whole life and existence to this show. I was also a wealth of possibilities, and as we know the show was also boring, average, unremarkable, and a little sad. Both me and the show were Bill and both me and the show were Rebekah.

So when the wedding between me and the show was charming, if a little gauche it made sense cause there’s only so far new money goes. For me, this represents 2012-Mishapocalpyse: The Golden Age... Look... It’s no secret 2012 was my favorite year of all time... Tumblr was small and fun and hadn’t been corrupted by wanting or trying to be “cool” or “edgy” or “interesting.” I chose the mishapocalypse for the end of this era to me because that was the last time I felt like I could come on tumblr and really just LET GO into insanity. Almost instantly people were shit talking it as if it was not the single most fun 24 hours this website had ever had. In 2013, we saw the rise of YFIP and people trying so hard to “””prove””” they were “”””cool”””” unlike ~those~ tumblr people!!! It was pathetic. But in 2012, we just... had fun. And it was charming, if a little out there. But there really is only so far that the youthful innocence of an online community that’s new goes. 

But I picked out a home on tumblr. And our parties were tasteful if a little loud. Tumblr in 2012/2013 was..... Fun. From mapcrunch to the mishapocalpyse. Some would argue about taste, but I’d say... “if a little loud.” I really just can’t separate the fun I had on tumblr back then from spn and I can’t separate spn from the fun I had back then. 

But then of course, we all need to settle down some times because the fun doesn’t last forever. In this line, I hear myself in both Bill and Rebekah and I hear the show in both Bill and Rebekah. Both of our hearts gave out and the other way to blame. 

So then the chorus... “who knows if she never showed up what could have been?” I CHANGED because of the show, I don’t know who the hell I’d BE without it! And likewise, I don’t think *I* personally changed the actual show, but the show WAS changed by each one of us. The show itself is folklore, changed and shaped in each retelling. There’s a creative freedom to the chorus that lives in that love.

So then there’s the second verse. After the rose colored glasses came off, Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever and I gave up on the greater spn fandom forever. I dropped the hellers and joined the tight knit Dean stans. This verse is about living in spite. It’s that wild American rebellion mixed with a little bit of sensual romanticism. In season 9, it was us against the world. And the reality is we were angrier than this verse gives and less free and fun... but looking back, it felt like A Time. I don’t know how to put it into words really but it was like... We found ways (and continue to find ways) to celebrate Dean when we weren’t supposed to. Fuck everyone else Dean is perfect. 

And then in the second verse, we celebrate that rebellion. The change from “the maddest woman” to “the most shameless woman” in the chorus is so important here... In the first chorus, Rebekah and I were mad and crazy and wild. In the second chorus, we had no shame. We lived IN SPITE of the state of the world around us and fucked anyone who had anything to say about it. 

In the first chorus, “who knows if she never showed up what could have been” paired with “maddest” has this creative potential. Like who knows who I would have been without spn and who knows what the show would have been without us, the fandom. And in the second chorus, that line changes to this destructive force. Like the show and I were both shameless to just exist, you know? because we would have been better without each other... but even as it acknowledges that, it’s still... sweet.

So then we have the time I left the fandom. Here we only hear bits and pieces of Rebekah’s life and Rebekah’s time in Holiday House. She was only seen “on occasion.” And on occasion, you could find me reblogging some Dean stan posts, getting into spats with Sam stans, posting about how the writers suck, calling out a heller. But 7 years is a long time and my fandom sat quietly in the history of my blog... And then it was picked up by me. 

Rebekah, in the song, refers to my past. My previous relationship with the show. Taylor’s part refers to my current relationship with the show. 

Who knows if I never showed up what could have been? If I never came back, what would my life look like? It would have been healthier, I’m sure. But then again - I needed this. And if the show hadn’t came back who would I be? 

But there goes the loudest non-woman this fandom has ever seen. I will scream from the ROOFTOPS! and what I want to scream is EVERYTHING from the past but with my full grown adult context. I know now more than I knew then that I had a MARVELOUS TIME ~ruining everything~!!! And I get to CELEBRATE THAT! I get to let go and have fun. I get to sit and think of Nov 5 and how that night, I relived those parties that were tasteful if a little loud. And then every day since I relived flying in the Bitch Pack friends from the city. I get to CELBRATE!

I may not have been the fan the show wanted. I may have fucked shit up. I may have lived in spite of this show even when I lived because of it. But damn I had a marvelous FUCKING TIME Ruining. Everything. Everything this show built it wanted me to see and love and appreciate with these toxic fucking relationships and the destruction of Dean Winchester can KISS MY ASS cause I had a MARVELOUS time fucking that shit up. Everything this show wanted from me that I refused to give it. Every SPEC of growth and learning and fun and enjoyment I have had from this show.... was toxic. It ruined it. Because it was not the growth and learning and fun and enjoyment the show WANTED ME TO HAVE. But damn did I have fun. 

The show and I are the last great American dynasty full of rebellion and spite and damn is it fun.