#someone said it in the tags of a drawing a while ago (maybe it was you :0) and I had never noticed that it could be confusing shdjdgdh

[palskippah]

I hope this is okay to ask, but why do you sometimes replace "I" with "Y"? Genuinely curious

Hi!

No problem! It's a cursive mayus 'i' (or the way I was taught to write it 😔), because it's easier to write sometimes. Maybe it has something to do that in school I mostly wrote in cursive, and even when I try to write only in this kind of format with separated letters and stuff, I end mixing them sometimes sjsjsh

Most of the time I don't even realize I do it 😔 ahsjhshs apologies, it'll happen again 🧍

[raeinyourdreams]

'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

���Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[paradiseismine]

Hii could I req Trevor x Ghost reader? Just anything smut or whatever i love your work tyy 🫶🏻

See you in your dreams - Trevor Spengler x ghost reader

Pairing: Trevor Spengler (Ghostbusters Afterlife) x ghost! f!reader

Warnings: softer smut; some hurt/comfort; some fluff; references to Wuthering Heights (if you squint); also maybe kinda long hehehe

Love note from Nina: omggg you guysss I got my first request!! I got sooo excited for this, I’m sorry it took me a few days. I did some research on how ghosts work in the Ghostbusters universe, but this may have some slips here and there. Hope you like it, anon! 💕 also: feel free to send me more reqs, I’d love to hear (read?) your ideas!

Growing up, Trevor always detested going to aunt Cathy’s house. Although very big and castle-like, it was always weirdly cold, somewhat decayed and had this creepy aura in there - kind of similar to the house he had moved in with his family a while ago, and that was his first argument when his mom, Callie, said she wanted to visit her sister. Aunt Cathy was Callie’s only sister, and one of the few family members they had left, so he couldn’t say no to his mom when she pleaded for him and Phoebe to tag along. They were only staying there for a week, tops, she promised.

As they arrived after a four hour drive, Trevor greeted aunt Cathy and helped Phoebe bring her luggage upstairs. It was an unusually big house, so they could each have a bedroom of their own. That made it a bit easier. Trev was feeling pretty introspective and definitely needed some time for himself. After some fancy dinner where aunt Cathy and mom talked about uncle Heath’s death throughout the entire three-course meal, he excused himself to get ready for bed.

A few minutes later, his mom knocked on the bedroom door.

- Get some rest, Trev - Callie said, approaching and running her fingers through her son’s hair in a lovingly manner, as he was sitting on the bed. - You deserve some time off after all of that ghost busting. There are no ghosts here, you’re safe to rest.

- No ghosts here??? That’s what we’ll see! - Phoebe yelled from the corridor, joking. Callie had left the door open.

Trevor chuckled and smiled at his mom.

- Thank you, mom. I will. Get some rest too, you must be tired.

She kissed his forehead and clicked the lights off before shutting the door, leaving him alone in the bedroom. Trevor let out a deep sigh and lied in bed, tired. Shortly after, he drifted off.

To someone who would normally have a hard time falling asleep on a new environment, that was pretty unusual. Maybe it was just tiredness, but something made Trevor sleep very soundly that night. He even started dreaming.

The dream set was some sort of forest. Not too dense, so he could still see the sky in a charming shade of blue. The birds were chirping softly and he could smell the grass, one of his favorite smells. That dream was weirdly vivid, for some reason. After walking around the forest for a minute or so, he spotted a girl dressed in a long white dress. It was you. Your hair cascaded along your shoulders and back, beautifully, as you turned around and noticed him. You had a small basket in your hands, and were absentmindedly picking out flowers next to a small cottage. He assumed it was your house.

You waved at him gently, smiling. He smiled back and felt confident enough to approach you and talk.

- Uh, hi - he said, a bit nervously. No conversation ever felt so real in a dream before.

- Hi Trevor - you responded, calmly. How did you know his name? - You created such a beautiful setting for this dream. Did you grow up in the countryside or something?

- I, uh… Not really, I just feel very at peace near nature, I guess. - he was able to finally look into your eyes.

The connection you both felt was instant. You didn’t know that much about him yet, and he knew nothing about you, but somehow, it was like a magnet was drawing your bodies closer. You two were paralyzed by each other’s gaze for a second, smiling shyly when you were able to look away.

- Do… Do I know you? I mean, you knew my name and everything, so I…

- Not really, no - you answered, shrugging. - My name is y/n, nice to meet you.

- You’re just something my mind made up, then? I mean, it makes sense that my brain would create a girl for me to talk to and stuff…

- No, I existed before being on your mind. - you pursed your lips together, not sure if you should have revealed yourself so early into the conversation.

- Y-you’re not a creation of my mind? - he inquired, utterly confused.

You chuckled and put some more flowers in the basket.

- Do you want to come in for some tea? - your head pointed at the cottage. - Maybe we can talk more comfortably in there.

- Hm, sure - he nodded. - But how do you know there’s tea in there? Is it your house?

- No, love - you responded, grabbing his chin for a second. - Your mind created this place. I was able to come in a few minutes before you showed up, just to help arrange everything and get some basic information about your life. You seemed so tired, I just wanted to help you release that tension. You’re a really beautiful boy, you know?

- Thank you - Trev laughed, slightly blushing. There were so many questions on his mind. - I mean, let’s go ahead and have some tea then.

You guided him into the cottage and sat him down on a chair next to the kitchen table. The table was already set with a porcelain tea pot and beautiful tea cups. You put the flowers you had picked on a small vase at the center of the table, and set the empty basket aside.

- Did you arrange this before I arrived?

- Aren’t we talking too much about me, darling? Tell me, how do you feel? Like, how do you really feel? - you sat down next to him and put your hand on his upper back.

Trevor slowly broke down crying as he spoke. He was so tired, but felt like he could never show any signs of it. He had to be strong for his mom, for Phoebe, for the Ghostbusters. He had to “man up”, be the man of the house and everything. There was never time for his feelings or for vulnerability. Until now. You embraced him gently, as he suppressed his sobs after communicating those afflictions to you.

- It’s ok, love - you reassured him. - You can cry, you can be yourself here. You’re safe. It’s your own mind, you can do whatever you want.

Trev stayed in your embrace a bit longer, stabilizing his breathing. His arms stopped shaking around your waist, and softly let go of your sides. He distanced himself slowly, just enough to look you in the eyes. Then, without any further notice, he put his lips to yours.

It was a very soft and delicate kiss. He held both of your hands in his, until he had to use one of them to get your long hair out of the way. Caressing your cheek, he deepened the kiss, faintly moaning into it.

- It feels so good to kiss you - you whispered, slightly embarrassed. - I haven’t been kissed in so long…

He guided your face to kiss you once again. It was like he couldn’t contain himself. Your lips felt so good against his. He was so gentle and respectful, you wanted to grab him by the collar and attack his lips with yours.

- You’re… you’re literally my dream girl - he admitted, kissing your palm. - I wish I could meet you in real life and spend more time with you.

- I’m a ghost, Trev - you confessed, more embarrassed than before. - But I’m a, say, rarer type…

- W-what do you mean by that? - he looked at you, confused, his eyes seeming a bit watery again.

- I’m a dream ghost. I can only appear physically in people’s dreams. - you explained, in a more serious tone, grabbing his hand softly. - I don’t haunt houses, or objects, or anything like that. I haunt minds. I can only exist when someone’s dreaming, so I can tune in to their dream. I sensed your presence and ended up in your conscience tonight.

- But I-I’m a ghostbuster… - his eyes blinked in disbelief.

- I know - you chuckled, a sad gaze lingering in your eyes. - It was such an amazing coincidence… You’re not gonna put me in a proton pack, will you?

- Of course not - his eyes widened and his hands tightened their grip around yours, trying to reassure you that he meant no harm.

- I knew it - you responded, lightly pecking his lips again, then letting go of his hands. - You need someone who understands, and I really wish I could be that person. You’ve got a beautiful mind, and oh, such a pure heart, Trevor Spengler…

- Touch me - he said as you stood up, and it nearly sounded like a question. His pleading eyes were desperately looking for yours. - Kiss me, anything. I just need to feel your touch. Please.

- You’re so warm - you put your hand on his cheek, sweetly. - and I’m a cold ghost girl…

- Don’t say that, y/n - he took your hand from his cheek and kissed your palm once again, looking up at you with pleading eyes. - I’m having the best time here with you. Please.

Trevor stood up, towering over you; leaned in again and kissed your lips, more eagerly this time. His right hand lightly grabbed the hair of your nape while his left hand caressed your cheek. You reached for his upper arms, shyly, wonderstruck by that kiss.

He then gently pushed you up against the wall. Trev seemed way more comfortable now, wild even. His lips embraced yours in an inebriating way, hands gripping your waist, hips brushing against yours. You could feel his arousal through his trousers, which sent you even closer to the edge. You felt the dream setting shift, walls disappearing around you for a second. When you opened your eyes, the setting was a bedroom - Trevor had understood that this was a dream, and he could control it as much as he wanted.

- I think I know what you’ve set your mind to, mister Spengler - you broke the kiss, chuckling and gesturing at the huge bed in front of you. The walls were decorated with flowers and beautiful curtains. It was all very lovely and romantic.

- Do you… do you want it too? - Trevor seemed concerned if you desired him as much as he desired you. - I mean, I -I felt so good kissing you, I-

- I would love to - you answered, fondly, as your hands ran through his hair. - Let’s just… Take it slow, ok?

He nodded, his lips red and slightly parted. Trevor leaned in to kiss you once again, much slower this time. The kiss was sensual and dainty, his lips tracing yours in a magnetic way, his hands cupping your face and your own resting on his shoulders and chest.

He put his hands to your waist, pulling your body closer to his in a slow and gentle motion. In reaction, you put your hands to the hair on his nape, holding it rather than pulling it. His hands roamed up to your shoulders, caressing your cold skin. You broke the kiss and nodded, looking into his eyes, giving him your permission.

He pulled down the sleeves of your dress and it slowly fell, pooling at your feet. You were completely bare underneath it, and Trevor let out an audible gasp at the sight of your naked body.

- Can I… Can I touch you, y/n? - Trevor stuttered, mesmerized at your beauty.

- Please… - you moaned, nearly whispering.

- You’re so beautiful - he muttered, his lips parted in awe, fingers gently exploring your breasts and the delicate curve of your waist. - You’re quite literally a dream…

You chuckled softly as Trevor kissed your neck and collar bones, his warm lips like fireworks on your cold skin. You gestured for him to take off his clothes as well, and he gave you permission to do so. Soon enough, you two were both stripped in front of each other. Trevor’s body was so beautiful. His smooth pale chest, his lightly toned arms… all of it made you shiver in anticipation. He took you in his arms again, and you couldn’t help yourself any longer.

- Take me, Trev, I’m yours - you whispered to his ear, enraptured by the pleasure you felt under his warm, soft human hands.

Trev tightened his grip on your waist and swooped you off of your feet. In a couple seconds, your back was against the mattress, as he had carefully deposited your body on the bed. He climbed on top of you and continued trailing his kisses down to your breasts.

Groping your waist firmly, he gently suckled on your nipples, faint moans now escaping your lips. Trevor kissed your body with such amazement, it looked like he wouldn’t stop. He kissed lower and lower down your belly, until he reached your wet slit.

- You don’t have to - you said, running your fingers through his hair to stop him, as his head slowly went downward.

- But I want to - Trevor tilted his head, looking into your eyes. - Can I?

- Well, ye - you could barely finish the word before Trevor dunk his head between your thighs again. - Yes…

He licked up and down your slit, his hot mouth attached to your core, causing your legs to tremble in bliss. He held your thighs apart with a tight grip, as if to detain you from distancing yourself from his touch. His tongue was rolling around your clit, tasting your core with such pleasure, he was nearly getting off on it as much as you. Your sweet juices were dripping down his chin as he lapped you up hungrily, delighted with your taste.

- Trevor… - you moaned, before arching your back on the bed, reaching your mercurial high.

His eyes stared into yours, half-lidded, as he seemed proud of himself for making you moan his name. No boy had ever looked at you in such an intense, lustful way.

As your whole body trembled, he kept going until you had ridden out of your high, you two savoring each second it had lasted.

- Felt good, beautiful? - he asked, a cocky smirk on his face.

- Amazing… - you panted, breathless.

He roamed his hands all over your body once again, warming up your cold skin, making you quiver and tingle. You sat up on the bed to capture his lips, tasting yourself as you kissed him.

- Is there anything else I could do for you, y/n? - he asked, enchanted by you.

- Yes, lay back, my love - you whispered, guiding him to lay down on the bed.

You got on top of him, one leg to each side of his waist. Reaching for his lips one last time, you kissed him passionately, wanting him to remember you. It was only a dream, you knew that. But you wanted him to remember those feelings, that touch, everything.

Going for his earlobe, you nibbled and sucked on it until Trev couldn’t help but moan and squirm under you. His neck was next. It soon got covered in kisses and hickies (it was only a dream and wouldn’t leave any trace behind, either way), just like his chest. You roamed your hands gently all over his torso, savoring the heat and softness of his human skin.

As you sat up on his lap, your heart was beating out of your chest with desire, but you wanted to make sure Trevor was comfortable. You wanted to be his dream girl, not his nightmare.

- May I? - you asked, softly, as your hand held his throbbing erection.

- Yes, y/n, please - he pleaded, lightly panting.

You raised and lowered your hips slowly, engulfing his cock inside you. It had been so long since you felt anything like this… Your muscles were tightening around Trevor’s shaft as you got to its base, and you could feel him shyly thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

- You’re mine now, Trevor Spengler - you whispered, riding him, ecstatic. You threw your head back, getting shivers down your spine, your hands on his chest.

- I’m yours, y/n - he moaned. Trevor’s beautiful dark eyes squinted in pleasure, his mouth opening slightly. His hands grabbed onto your hips to help you with your movements, as he was eager for more.

You don’t know how long it lasted, but your juices were all over his shaft, his inner thighs, everything. Every second of Trevor’s touch, even if he touched you for all of the eternity, still wouldn’t be enough. He was perfect, warm, soft, delicate, and so precise in every single little thing he did.

Trevor whispered your name, his voice faint and raspy, pleading. Your eyes met his immediately.

- Please, I-I - he stuttered, his eyes rolling in pleasure as he tried to speak. - I need to-

- Do it, my love - you grabbed his face.

His eyes squeezed shut as Trevor held your body to his, and with a louder moan, spilled into you. Ugh, he was so soft and warm. You missed being human just like him. As he came down from his high, you got off of him gently, trying no to hurt his sensitive shaft.

As you laid down next to him, you two snuggled up together in a thick warm blanket, enjoying each other’s scent. Trevor was playing with your hair as you rested your head on his chest. All you do could do was thank God, fate, the universe, anything that could be responsible for that encounter. Trev seemed to be doing the same, as he broke the silence a minute later.

- There must be a way - he said, determined. - I… I want to get to know you better, y/n. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this with anyone before, I…

Suddenly, the whole room started losing definition, becoming blurrier and less colorful. Objects started vanishing slowly, and even though Trevor seemed utterly confused and scared, you already knew what this meant.

- Oh dear - you muttered, sad, gently caressing his cheek. - You’re waking up… Seems like we don’t have much more time together, at least for now. I enjoyed your company so much, Trevor. You’re a really special person. See you in your dreams tomorrow, if we’re both lucky. Try to sleep around 9:30 p.m., if you can.

He felt his body moving without his mind’s command, and the sight of you slowly vanishing from his grasp.

- No… No - he slurred still in his sleep, sad, but defeated. - Come back… Please.

But he woke up. His eyes opened and he realized it was already morning. His mom and Phoebe were arguing in the nearby bathroom over something stupid, and because of their bickering, he woke up.

He turned on the bed, frustrated, trying to fall asleep again, trying to find you; up until he noticed something had happened in his pants… A nocturnal emission. He was wet through his underwear and pajama bottoms, a visible patch of his own cum.

Great, he thought. How am I going to hide this? Y/n better come back to see me again tonight. 9:30, she said. I have to write this down.

[lara-cairncross]

OKAY. SO. I just looked through the entire fairy au tag..I apologize for all the notifs .... bUT that being said, because I just looked at everything, I don't think any of this has been discussed much, so I have a few questions!! (This is actually a really long ask I apologize for that as well)

Do the turtles give gifts to April? I know there was talk about Donnie making like tiny versions of what he thinks are his own ideas and inventions for April to use, but do the other turtles ever make anything for her? I noticed like a vine kind of looking ring that she had in the size comparison with Leo, and I was wondering if that was given by one of the turtles, or if she already had it just because she would definitely make herself a little ring out of like flower stems or whatever. ALSO. ACTUALLY. It looks similar to what Mikey has around his arms and legs, sooooo ??? (And is that bracelet she has, also in that drawing, possibly from one of the turtles as well ?)

And, does she ever make anything for the turtles? AND AND AND does she ever make anything with the turtles? I feel like she would make things with Mikey, like jewelry and stuff idk

OH AND ALSO. I'm curious about Donnie's glasses. Because they are clearly different than Bobble's with the water drops, are Donnie's like glass or something? Like actual lenses or whatever?? Aaaand did he somehow make them himself, while not being able to see very well before making them, or did someone else help him with that? And how did he get the materials for them?

I realized I'm extra curious about Donnie (and his glasses specifically help-) and extra EXTRA curious about April's interactions with the turtles.... I'm wondering if you have any ideas about the kinds of stuff they do together? Whether just April and one of the turtles, or all five of them together, or any combination?

Anyway yeah that's it for now. I really really really really love this au and I will probably come back and ask more questions because RHAHWWSUWHSWHHSHWNWKEZJEJHRHEHFHGEGS they're my favourite silly goofy little guys fr!!!!

AHSHSHFHE PLEASE DONT APOLOGIZE FOR THE NOTIFS OR THE QUESTIONS !!! getting spammed makes me feel so loved mwah <3 I know this ask is from a while ago, but I remember seeing you all over my "activity" tab :DDD

Yes, the turtles all give gifts to April! she has SO many little trinkets laying around her cabin from the fairy boys, bc she never throws any of them out,,, even if a lot of them are kinda useless to her lmao (looking at Donnie's "inventions" for this one). The little flower stem ring around her finger is just something she made for herself (probably after one of the boys taught her, I'm thinking Mikey?), but the bracelet was intended to be a gift from Leo :D he finds all kinds of pretty rocks/gems/lost things around Neverland when he's making deliveries and finding materials and stuff. April gets a lot of old jewelry and seashells and things from Leo! Raph tends to give her little things that his animals have shed (pretty scales and feathers, maybe the occasional antler or talon?), and Mikey will just. Fill her house with flowers. And not, like, cut flowers-- just CLUMPS of dirt and roots all over April's counters. All the boys will help him do it too, and April feels too bad to tell them to stop HAH

2. Most of what April "makes" for the turtles is just various human dishes that they want to try! She gets a bunch of weird snacks for them too-- like, can you imagine a fairy trying a Taki for the first time? A SOUR PATCH KID??? Donnie drinks one single drop of hot sauce and dies immediately lmao. She doesn't really make them gifts, but she'll buy Donnie whatever cool human materials she thinks he can make something out of (more on that later--), and she'll get specific video games and phone apps and movies that she thinks the boys will like!! And maybe the occasional bigger gift, like a stuffed animal for Rose :) ALSO YES she would totally make flower crowns and rings and stuff with Mikey!! gotta do smth with all the flowers he's dumping in her living room rip

3. FUN FACT ABOUT DONNIES GLASSES (I've been waiting for someone to ask about this--): He started off with glasses/goggles that were similar to Bobble's water-drop ones!!! He only figured out to make glasses with actual lenses once he met April, and got to study HER glasses! His own glasses are made of, like, cheap magnifying lenses April bought him, and he cut them down to size :DD The metal on his goggles/shell/glasses is all also stuff that April bought for him-- probably like, wire of different sizes. She gets him a lot of human materials to play around with hehe

4. Group activities with the boys + April can be anything, really. Her family's cabin is kinda in the middle of nowhere, and April is a city girl at heart, so sometimes the boys will force her to go hiking or exploring in the woods with them :D She hated it at first, but as time goes on, she gets more used to the bugs and the wildlife and everything-- especially since Raph and Leo will do their best to scout out routes beforehand so she doesn't get freaked out by anything. Movie nights are also really common! So are video games, to an extent? But it takes basically all four turtles to maneuver one X-box controller, so it's a little more rare lmao. April definitely wins 90% of the time.

5. As for individual activities-- those are also a bit more rare. The two boys April interacts with one-on-one (or two-on-one) the most are Leo and Mikey, since they're usually the least busy, and Leo can fast-fly them to April's cabin and back really quickly. Typically though, Leo doesn't go to the cabin unless all five of them are available to meet up!

(...although Leo starts bringing Mikey more often once Mikey loses his job. teehee.)

AHHEHFHER THANK YOU FOR ASKING SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!! I loveeeeee getting to worldbuild a bit :DDD I STILL CANT BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE INTERESTED IN THIS LIKE THATS CRAZY TO ME LMAO

let me know if you have any more questions! thanks bby <3

[tamelee]

pls bottom naruto is disgusting stop drawing this ooc cringe

Eh? And it hadn't even been a full day.

Anyway, do you know what this means?:

It means… that I don’t give a damn about your whiny gibberish about this top/bottom bullshit, because it sounds incredibly silly. (And wrong because I draw both?)

It’s fine to have a preference, good for you (I have one too!), but if all you care about between a character-dynamic is the single notion which establishes a rule within a fandom that demands only this particular dick in only that particular booty and nothing else, while dividing yourselves between "us and them" while seeing the people who like the same exact characters as your "enemy" and treating them as such— well, 

I have nothing to say to you, I couldn’t care less what you think about me and I don’t know you. 

But for the sake of other creators who are often a target also, some which I know quit because of this… there is a little something I'd like to say about these servers:

You don’t think I (we) know what is said in there and by who? 👀 That your rules of "what is said on here stays here" with a bunch of people online that you don't know, is actually respected? Why do you think I never join any. And bet your ass that I'm not the only one. This constant fighting between NS/SN is such an embarrassment for this fandom, seriously. I hope you realize that.

Because, instead of encouraging a (new) creator to share something about the characters you claim to love (for fucking free) you go off chastise them for not “doing it right”/“your way”, pretending it's some unspoken commission no one knew of or was paid for. Instead of being happy there’s still so much creative contribution for characters from a story that ended years ago, you go complain under fanfics and dishearten writers, often grinning away with your little server-“friends” and make fun of work someone poured their heart in. Or, you huff, puff and breathe fire as you make plans to cancel them out of pure bitterness, to the point (especially new) creators are too scared and dispirited to ever share anything again. It's easy to do anonymously, aye? And if you think that doesn’t affect their lives and sends them right back into a crestfallen pit of dark hell because it prevents them to do/share the single thing in life that gave them a bit of joy, then...

Congratulations; you’re a heartless bastard.

And you, as a fan, did yourself dirty too.

Do you know how many people don’t want to share anything at all for this fandom because you people leave comments, tags, asks, tweets constantly complaining about an incorrect portrayal of the (in your opinion) only acceptable dynamic, like a bunch a brats? Do you? Because I’ve talked to quite a few of these discouraged creators, they have to hope for the best and pray they’re spared from your scrutiny. I receive it from both sides every now and then.

Again, congratulations: you’re the reason there’s less chance of you getting what you want in the first place. 

Do you... really not realize?

The more you squabble with "your enemy" (lol) the more it affects the "us" you care about while the rest of us just bask in the glory that is SNS/NSN and couldn't care less about what you think/have to say. So, keep everyone else out of it and go mope elsewhere.

But, between you and me? There are better ways to share what you think is right. Make something yourself, because what's stopping you?

You’re perfectly capable, it doesn’t have to be art or a fic, maybe there’s just something in the story that you really enjoyed— write about it. Make a meta. Post the panel, show the moment that determined your undying love for this single dynamic and why— whatever.  Because, wouldn't it be nice having someone encourage you to create something you like? 😬 Especially because you and your server feel so strongly about it? And then you don't have to depend on others either?

Wouldn't it be nice?

Well?

Hm!?

Try it, ffs.

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER (iii) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit @starmansirius @hadesnumber1daughter // previously // next

Pairing: Kaz x Davina Rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,655

Summary: Davina’s reappearance has Kaz reconsidering just about everything. Meanwhile, Davina seems to be building a strong foundation for her snakes.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, Brekker.” She nodded.

She blended into the crowd seamlessly and Kaz had lost the silhouette of her hood quickly. He hadn’t moved from his spot and the bustling crowd seemed to move around him, the way water rushed around rocks. Too many thoughts were swimming in his head.

Davina Rollins had left her father. There was a strange relief in that confirmation. He’d heard rumors that the beloved daughter had disappeared years ago, but he hadn’t cared to look into it. Davina had always been kind to him and Jordie, but he had no expectations of her turning on her father.

The hooded girl left more questions than answers. Who was she? What was she to Davina? How much did she really know?

Then, as he thought of them both, he realized something. He knew her. Maybe not in any real sense given that he couldn’t think of what her name could be, but he had met her before. Maybe it was years ago, maybe it was just in passing, but damn it all he should know who she was.

As he picked up walking again, he thought of Davina. A certain fondness settled in his chest and he tried to banish it. He hadn’t thought of her often, but when he did, it was always a pain. He remembered an easier time, when he was just a boy. When he had his brother. Davina was someone he thought was gone forever, like Jordie, but now she was somewhere near.

Despite that, he couldn’t imagine what Davina would look like now. It had been years since he’d seen her, and even remembering her as he knew her was harder lately. When he laid to sleep and let his mind wander, inevitably to those memories, her face started to blur. Her voice was muffled. He couldn’t fully remember the way she said his name, the way she laughed. He cursed himself for forgetting that.

He needed to find the girl in the hood again. She held the answers he wanted and he’d do what he needed to get them.

It took a few days but the girl resurfaced. She had visited Nina Zenik, left some sort of token to be delivered, so he asked Inej to retrieve it. The Wraith returned with a handful of papers.

“Drawings?” He flipped through the pages. “She asked Nina to get drawings to me?” It would’ve been a lie if he had said he wasn’t a bit offended.

“I didn’t tell Nina, but they’re rather well-done.” Inej said honestly. “She must be around more than we realize.”

She was right. All the images were perfect. He lingered on the page that had him and his brother. Jordie was the one face he’d never forget, even when he wanted to. Even when the memory changed from his smiling, warm older brother to the cold, bloated, water-logged corpse that brought him back from death.

Kaz dropped the papers on his desk with a sigh.

“Can you find her?” He asked, but he knew the answer.

“The hooded one or the Rollins girl?”

“The Hood may be an interesting investment. The Rollins girl can wait.”

He decided to omit Davina’s name for now. That was one of his many secrets, a tidbit of information that he could keep to himself for a little while longer. There was sentiment there, he knew, but he could ignore it. Call it a tactical advantage. Or simply a spin of Maker’s Wheel. A gamble.

He didn’t need to look to know Inej was gone. He both cursed and thanked her silence, footsteps light as feathers. When he was alone again, he lifted the drawings again and found himself staring at a penciled image of himself, from years ago. A boy lost to the waters. Dead and drowned, resting beside his brother, the Bastard of the Barrel returned to take his place. He had known he hadn’t fully let go of his brother. Part of him knew he never would while the other wished it so.

But looking at that drawing, he was that boy again. Playing with a girl with the biggest eyes he’d ever seen, a smile that was dazzling like sunlight, a voice that was always warm and welcoming. A girl that had made him laugh, played games with him, made up a ridiculous nickname for him.

“I like calling you Kazzle. You can call me Davi, if you’d like. My parents do.”

“I like Vina better.”

“Hmm.” She thought on it and then smiled. “So do I.”

“Damn you, Davina.” He cursed to himself and tossed the paper aside again.

He ran a covered hand over his face, hoping to rid himself of some of the thoughts. It didn’t work.

No, of course it didn’t. Davina had always had those hooks in him. No matter how he shoved the thoughts away, ignored the little things that could remind him of her. She was there, like a ghost, watching but never speaking.

Despite it all, he knew it all would be for nothing. Davina was still a Rollins. She was still Pekka Rollins’ daughter. And if he had his way, to break down everything the man had brick by brick, he just might be able to use Davina to do it. And if he had to, he’d do just that.

So Kaz cast the treacherous, childish adoration aside. He silenced the voice in his head that was calling her name, froze the warmth in his chest at the idea that she still thought of him, ignored the yearn to see her, find her himself and find out if he could be brave enough to confess anything to her. Instead, Dirtyhands would come to see the hard work done.

That was who spoke to the Hood when they brought her to the Slat.

He sat in front of her for a bit while she was unconscious, and she seemed to take an eternity to wake up. In the time between finding her in the alley and setting her up in the chair, Inej gave him what was allegedly a ring from Davina’s childhood. He could only vaguely remember the accessory so he simply put it on a chain and tucked it under his collar. He had stepped to the side and even considered calling for Nina Zenik when she finally came to.

The Hood infuriated him almost instantly. Her tongue was shaped by spite and anger, but if someone were to pay enough attention - the way Kaz did - they’d see she was hiding something. Most bravado was a facade for something, and the Hood was no exception.

Then her taunts began. She mentioned the gloves, as most do. That meant nothing to him. He had heard all the tales and even fabricated some of his own, but the name struck him like a blow.

Kaz Rietveld.

She spat his true name at him as if a threat, and Kaz Brekker was not someone to threaten. He was going to let it go, say something else that would make her cower, but she then mentioned his brother.

His movement was a reaction, a yank of the crow’s beak across her face. Their back and forth continued, nothing Kaz hadn’t expected, until something peculiar caught his ear.

“Your snakes?”

The panic was obvious in those wide eyes, though she covered it quickly. He knew there was something to that slip-up in her persona, the alleged right hand to Davina Rollins, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Yet.

Even in that fleeting moment, her wide eyes seemed familiar to him. He started to wonder…

Another act of arrogance, another movement of the cane. Another dance of words and threats.

“What makes you think you haven’t led us to her already?” Kaz asked. His tone was simple, as if asking about stock prices or an old friend, but the threat was clear.

Her brows furrowed in thought as she dropped her gaze to the floor. She was retracing her steps over the past few days, wondering when she had lost the illusion and exposed everything.

He knew she hadn’t. Inej had followed her for almost a week until the Wraith grew annoyed at the Hood’s purposeful dilly-dallying and returned to the Slat. Yet the possibility was still enough to throw her off balance and Kaz reveled in her desperate attempt to confirm with herself that she hadn’t betrayed her gang.

Again, he found familiarity in the Hood when she spoke again. In that determination to protect and defend what was hers, to challenge those who dared to take it. He knew he had seen it in Davina, when they would play and one of other neighborhood children tried to take her toys or change the rules of their game.

Then the Hood broke free and kicked him in the head before fleeing.

It was months before he crossed paths with the Hood again. In that time, Nina had sent word that she was being visited by the Hood often. Jesper swore he saw a hooded figure in the shadows. Even Wylan was jumpier than usual.

Inej, as always, was the picture of calm. Stillness, simply squaring her shoulders as a dare to the Hood and all of Davina’s snakes. Kaz had never said it aloud, but he was thankful for her quiet presence.

He had gathered a name in that time as well, Melli Dodgion. She was seen flashing the snake tattoo and a few well timed passings told Kaz that she was highly favored by Davina. It was a gamble, but when Kaz saw the Hood again, he threw the name out.

She denied it, of course. Kaz had expected that much. He wasn’t fully convinced Melli was the Hood, but he knew dangling that knowledge was a powerful taunt. It showed the Hood and Davina that she was not as hidden as she believed. That her snakes weren’t as careful as she needed them to be if she wanted to keep herself hidden.

Then the Hood threw herself into the canals.

Good, let her drown.

The next day, a loudmouth in the Emerald Palace let it slip that Davina would be visiting her father that night. It took a whirlwind of moves, but Kaz gathered Wylan and Jesper to stage the job while Inej kept their path clear.

He was going to get to Davina.

He caught her running from the Emerald Palace, blood dripping off her arm and a mask hiding the bottom half of her face. He snatched her by her wrist and pulled her out of sight. But when he looked at her, truly took her in and studied her, she was the little girl he knew.

After he learned the truth of Jakob Hertzoon, he believed the rest of the family were fake as well. He had thought the girl he knew as Davina was an actress, maybe intended to protect the real Rollins daughter. But with her standing there in front of him, knowing what he knew, he couldn’t deny it. Part of him was glad that there was some truth to those memories.

Her eyes were still the biggest he’d ever seen, though there was a sharpness in her stare now. A tiredness that weighed on her brows. Her cheeks weren’t the round shape he pictured anymore, matured with her time away. He could see the head of the snake peeking out of the open buttons above her dark vest.

She was Davina but also, he came to realize, the Hood.

How he didn’t realize before given those damn moon eyes he didn’t know and he would’ve cursed himself for it had that prickly feeling of dread not settled in his stomach. Well, if Davina hadn’t hated him before, she very likely did now.

“Hello, Davina.” Once he said her name, that boyish part of him that was kicking its way to the forefront was wishing he hadn’t. Her name was his secret and now it was said aloud, but at least they were alone. And he still had her nickname.

Vina. She’s Vina to you and she’s alive. She’s right here.

“Hello, Kaz.” She said in relief and he felt his heart beat a little faster. He knew she was smiling under the mask and the thought to take it off her crossed his mind. He wanted her to say his name like that again and again. Relieved. Grateful.

He would want to hear her say his name in any tone, he decided. Anger, disappointment, cheerfulness, resentment, regret, relief. He wanted the questioning sound of worry for when his luck would run out before he could more. He wanted her to say his name with a laugh, scold his name for a comment too cruel or an action too underhanded. He wanted all of it from her.

He almost said as much until he caught sight of her bloodied shoulder again.

He snapped back to focus. Back to the job at hand.

But of course, Davina saw through it. She threw Jesper at Kaz and ran off.

“I like her.” Jesper coughed with a smile once Davina had disappeared.

“You like women that punch you in the throat?” Kaz shoved his friend off and got to his feet.

“I like the women that don’t avert their eyes from the Bastard of the Barrel.” He snorted. “She’s not afraid of you, Kaz. That’s gotta be worth something..”

“She will be.” Because fear was better than whatever else was stirring in his treacherous heart.

He considered chasing her but he knew she was long gone. He huffed a sigh and motioned for Jesper to follow back to the Slat. He knew Inej was watching from above. He saw her hesitate to follow, but after a moment she was moving with them from the high ground.

Jesper talked the entire way back. About how Pekka Rollins could shoot his daughter, what Davina could’ve said to piss her father off, whether or not Davina was on her father’s side, what to do next time they saw her. He seemed rather giddy for that one. 

Kaz thought of the ring sitting at the end of the chain around his neck. He kept it there since Inej had delivered it to him. It was an unsaid promise that he’d see her again. As the Hood, she had made threats to return for it. The thought nearly made him smile. He pictured the way she’d walk up to him, maybe demand he hand it over. Maybe she’d try to hit him, pull her blade on him, aim a gun at him. He knew he’d give it back when she came for it, but he wouldn’t just hand it over. She had given it to him as a gift after all.

When they got back to the Slat, Inej met Kaz in his office.

“You let her go.” She pointed out. He noted no anger in her voice, just interest.

“I did.” He confirmed. How was he to deny it?

“Why?”

He set his cane aside and pulled his gloves. One was stained with Davina’s blood. “Do you think Davina and her snakes could be useful to us?”

“Do you?”

He raised a brow and gestured expectantly for her to speak.

Reluctantly, she did. “Davina is still a Rollins. We cannot prove she is truly separated from her father just yet. She bought the gambling den he owned.”

“Word is she cut him out.” Kaz countered. “Her lieutenant was quite excited about that bit. And, well, he did shoot her.”

“Taking one piece of Rollins’ holdings isn’t enough.”

Brick by brick. That was how he had planned to take down Pekka Rollins. And that was exactly what Davina had done. One brick.

“No, but it’s a start.”

“What do you know about her?” Inej stepped closer, a new fire sparking her eyes. “Why does it matter if they’re useful? I don’t think she’d truly ally her snakes with anyone.”

He wanted to tell Inej. He wanted to tell her that Davina was the first friend he had in the Barrel. That she and him had something good, something not even her father could corrupt. He wanted to say that Davina haunted him, day in and day out. She was the little voice in his head that kept hold of his humanity and shoving it to the forefront when he needed it. But he didn’t.

How could he?

Snakes and Crows never did get along.

“We have the advantage over Davina.” He said instead. “Our numbers are better but I’d argue her coffers are better padded. And her snakes may not be helpless, though I doubt they have real strength yet.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’d like you to deliver a message to Davina.”

Her brows raised in question.

“If she wants to keep that gambling den, she’ll be paying a tax to the Dregs.”

“You think putting her under Haskell’s thumb a bit will pacify her?”

“No. Something tells me her father’s downfall would be the only thing for that.” In that, he understood her.

“Then why?”

He gave a small shrug. “Maybe it’ll humble her. It was you who said her pride would be the Hood’s downfall, didn’t you? It’s the same for Davina.”

“How are you so certain, Kaz?”

“She’s yet to prove me wrong.” Briefly, he thought of that night near the canals.

“Is it even midnight?” She practically laughed, just before the bells. “Oh Saints.”

“Let that be a lesson. I’m almost never wrong.”

He shoved the thought away and focused back on Inej. “Tomorrow night, I ask you to deliver a message from the Dregs to meet. We’ll use the square. I doubt after whatever happened in the Emerald Palace she’d be willing to come to us, and I’ll be damned to go to her. Her Hood is too crafty to allow any advantage.”

He thought of how she broke free the night he had her. How she dove into the canals. How she’d even escaped the Wraith.

“She’d never let us in her snakes’ den.” Inej shook her head. “You’ll have to tell Per Haskell.”

“Yes, I’ll deal with the old man.” He waved a hand.

“Could she get to Stadwatch?”

“Even if she could, she won’t. She can’t make that kind of show of force whether she wants to or not.”

“The Hood spoke as if Davina knew you.” Inej pointed out. “Tell me how you know her.”

“I’m not sure I do.” He said lowly, as if admitting those words would hurt him. And maybe they did. Maybe he needed that hurt to stop the infernal swooning at the thought of her. “And I’m not so sure she knows me at all.”

“Then at least tell me you have a plan.”

“My dearest Inej.” He offered her a near smile. “I always have a plan. We won’t be bested by Davina Rollins or her snakes.”

Meanwhile, you were cursing every decision you had made since you were a child.

You had made it to the safe house and managed to get the bullet out. You cleaned and dressed the wound as best you could before burning the blood soaked gloves. You ate some of the hidden rations and rested, a pitiful and restless night of what barely passed as sleep. The next morning, you dressed in some of the spare clothes.

You kept your pants and wore your vest underneath. You had a rough, worker’s shirt that was two sizes too big but it hid your protection so you didn’t mind. You had a long scarf that you draped over your head and pulled over your mouth.

It made you wish you had stashed Komedie Brute costumes as well. You shrugged your good shoulder, just another thing to add to the list.

You managed to make it to your Healer.

“At least you had the good sense to clean it.” She chastised with her accented Kerch, a light knock to the back of your head before her hands went to work.

“Yes, I seem to have all the good sense the Saints gave a rock.” You rolled your eyes, gripping the shawl in your other hand tightly. You thought your fingers would tear through the fabric.

“You should find a Corporalnik to add to your clutch.” She said, an off handed comment that felt more loaded than it should.

“Are you not my ally?”

“And what happens when you can’t make it across East Stave to find me? You bleed out in some alley and your body is added to the Barge. No, girl, you need someone closer to home.”

“There’s someone you’d like me to take in.” You understood. “Are you certain I could trust them?”

“He’s a good boy.” She promised. “He ran from the Little Palace when I did. I don’t want to send him away but he needs his own funds. I can only provide so much for him.”

“I see… He’s a Healer you said?”

“A gifted one. An average Tailor.”

“What of a Heartrender?”

“Poorly, but he could learn if you need him to.” She hesitantly admitted.

“Would he want to?”

“Using an untrained Heartrender may kill someone you didn’t intend to.”

“Yes, well, at this point I may need to.” You mumbled then winced as the wound burned sharply through your arm. “Hopefully he’s gentler than you.”

“Do you want quick or gentle?” She snapped, pinching your underarm.

You hissed slightly but said nothing. When it was done, you felt only soreness. You pulled your usual payment from your boot but she pushed your hand away.

“Take in my boy.” She said and you saw it in her eyes. A mother’s love, aching to protect her child. It made your chest tight.

“Take the money.” You gently insisted. “I’ll meet him. I may even know someone who can help.”

Maybe befriending Nina Zenik would have an advantage.

“Thank you, Snake.” She nodded, accepting your payment.

“Davina.”

“Myranda.” She nodded once again.

“I’ll come back at ten bells tonight. What’s his name?” You drew your cover over your head.

“Kolya.” She gave you a small smile. “But he likes Kol.”

With that, you were gone. You went back to the snakes and some fussed about your return. Some were quick to assume you were dead, but given your choice of interactions, you didn’t blame them. You simply waved them off, promised you were okay, asked one of them to bring you a proper meal, and went to your office.

Melli was the one to bring it to you and you were thankful for that. She made idle conversation about what you missed. The paperwork was submitted and approved, so you were now the official owner. All that was left would be to name it.

“We could call it something clever but snake related.” She offered. “Like the Viper Pit.”

You made a face.

“Serpent’s Den? Snake Nest?”

“Play with the ‘s’.” You suggested. “Like a snake’s hiss.”

“Oh!” She clapped. “Something like Sss…”

“Snakes are symbols of things like healing, protection, intuition. You get any ideas from that?”

“Hmm. Sixth Sense?”

“And one of the ‘s’ can be a money symbol.”

“Yes! See, this is why we need you.”

You smiled slightly.

“How do you feel?” She asked gently.

“Physically, I feel good. Mentally, I’m exhausted, Mel. Brekker was going to snatch me off the streets. My father shot me. The only good thing that has come from this is that I’ve potentially found a Corporalnik for us.”

“A Heartrender?” Her eyes were wide.

“A Healer.” You corrected. “But he could learn.”

“Where’d you find him?”

“His mother has done a few healing sessions for me, says she wants him to have his own money and that way I have someone ‘closer to home’.”

“What’s his name?”

“You can come with me to meet with him tonight and bring him here. Tomorrow, I’m going to try taking him to Nina Zenik.”

“The Dregs’ Heartrender.”

“I’ve been friendly with her and turns out, she was training with the Second Army for Ravka till she got caught up in a Drüskelle raid.”

“And now she’s in Ketterdam? I thought no one escapes the Fjerdan witch hunters.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t ask, but she’ll teach him.”

“And if she just runs off to Dirtyhands and tells him you’ve recruited a Corporalnik?”

“The only thing left for Kaz to do is to actually kill me.” You shook your head.

“Or me.” She mumbled, picking at a loose thread at her cuff.

“What?”

“You said it yourself. He thinks I’m the Hood.” Her eyes wouldn’t leave her sleeve. “What if he kills me thinking it’s her?”

Your chest tightened at the thought. Imagining Melli at Kaz’s mercy, the cruel things he could do just because he thought she was the Hood. But when you thought of the alley, the way he’d looked at you like he saw through you… And then there was the fleeting way he looked at you like you just hung the moon.

“Melli, you have my word.” You promised. “I’ll slice off each and every one of his cursed fingers if he so much as touches you. Okay?”

She let out a shaky breath and when she looked at you, you saw the tears. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest. Was that all you could give her? A true, warranted fear of Kaz ‘Dirtyhands’ Brekker and a flimsy promise of her safety. Her watery eyes served as a reminder that you had a responsibility to her and every person bearing the mark of your snakes. You had to keep them safe. Whatever war you wanted to wage against your father was yours. The want to ally with Kaz was also yours. They wouldn’t pay for your mistakes or your overzealous attempts at either.

You came around your desk and wrapped your arms around your lieutenant. She held onto you tightly, her fingers digging in as if you’d disappear if she let go. You felt her shuddering breaths shake her shoulders, heard her muffled cries against your shoulder. It all just made your promise more firm.

You refused to allow your snakes to suffer for you.

Later that night, you dawned your hood to meet with Kolya. Melli opted to stay behind and you didn’t press, especially when you noticed her hands still shaking. You offered whatever comfort you could before leaving.

He was already waiting when you got to the familiar building, a bag on his shoulders and a small trunk in his hands. He raised his free hand when he saw your figure and you felt the small increase of your pulse.

“Careful, Kolya.” You said, putting your hands up in surrender. “Your mother says that’s dangerous.”

“Da-“ He began but you shushed him quickly, your pulse settling to its usual pace. “The snake?”

You drew your hood back enough for him to see your face. He stared at you with wide eyes and you took a moment to take him in. Brown curls he had styled back, though one stubborn strand fell out on either side of his part. Dark brown eyes that reflected the moonlight. A tall, lean frame with broad shoulders. He was your age, maybe a year older.

That was a boy you could teach to fight. The idea gave you some hope.

“Come with me.” You said finally, turning to leave. He was quick to get to your side. “Tomorrow, you’ll meet with a potential teacher.”

“My mother told me you lead a small gang.” He said, less of an accent than his mother. You wondered if he had lost it or if he just had a better gift for language. “That you tend to get yourself hurt.”

“Both are true.”

“She also said you wish me a Heartrender.”

“A Healer is more than welcome. What do you wish for yourself?” You glanced at him, noting the sharp angle of his jaw. The lines around his mouth as he frowned.

“Somewhere I can do good.” He said finally, determination in his voice. “My mother told me of the Darkling, how he wanted to use Grisha to change Ravka so he could rule. I don’t want that.”

“Joining me means you’ll still fight, Kolya.” You admitted. “I intend to dismantle an empire and make amends with a boogeyman. I don’t intend to take over Kerch or Ketterdam. I don’t even want the Barrel, just to see the alleged King of the Barrel fall.”

“Are you not the princess, then?” He looked over at you carefully, as if worried he said the wrong thing.

“No.” You shook your head. “I was never intended for his throne.”

“So you’ll tear it down?”

“Brick by brick if I have to, but know that I will never ask any of my snakes to do something I wouldn’t be willing to do myself.”

You felt his hand take yours and you stiffened, but your steps didn’t falter.

“I can’t offer much, yet.” You confessed. “A warm bed, hot meals, safety while you sleep, and a means of your own money. It won’t be easy, nor will the money be substantial for now, but I intend to reward those that deserve it.”

“You needn’t convince me.” He said with a small chuckle and a squeeze to your hand. “My mother says you have a good heart, and I trust her judgment. I will fight beside you, heal your crew, train whatever you need. I know what this is. I am here to join your ranks, Snake.”

“And we’re grateful to have you… Tomorrow, we’ll create the contract. For now,” You took your hand from his when you reached the side door to your building. Melli was waiting on the other side, opening it when you knocked. “Melli will show you to your room.”

He nodded to you before Melli ushered him inside.

“He’s cute!” She mouthed with a grin and you nodded with a small smile.

You took a deep breath through your nose and glanced around. The streets were quiet, as it usually was around your building. But sometimes the quiet was eerie, as it was tonight.

The calm before the storm, maybe. Or it was just calm for once, pieces finally falling into place for you. Yet it made you wonder how things might fall apart next.

The next morning, you waited until after breakfast. Kolya seemed to get along easily with the rest of your snakes and that eased some of your worry. The boy was all smiles as he went around, introducing himself to seemingly everyone.

You called both him and Melli into your office when it was time.

“I suppose I should formally introduce myself.” You began, sitting in your chair. Melli stood beside you and Kolya sat across from you. “My name is Davina. This is Melli, my lieutenant. I am also known as the Hood, who met you last night.”

“I’m Kolya.” He nodded. “But I’d prefer Kol.”

You slid the paperwork towards him. “This is your contract with us. In it, it states the usual bits about loyalty and expectations. It explains how our payouts work, promotions, selection for jobs, incentives, etc. I have to recommend you read it on your own because I’m sure to forget something.”

Kol began to read the papers, his finger following along each line.

“We don’t recruit via buying out other deals, so it’s not a contract you earn your way out of.” Melli added. “There’s a renewal date, about 18 months from signing, so you won’t be paying a portion to the snakes.”

“How do you earn profit then?” Kol looked up for a moment before returning to reading.

“Everything we do, from our gambling hall to running jobs, comes into communal funds. Once a week, we payout the snakes and the rest stays in the coffers for whatever we need as a whole.” You explained. “Food, bills, supplies for jobs, business acquisitions.”

“And how do I go about one of those?” He pointed to the tattoo that was showing thanks to your sleeveless shirt, the snake beginning on your shoulder before creeping down and its head resting on your collarbone.

“Four weeks after signing.”

“Like a probationary period.” Melli nodded.

“Well.” He smiled. “I’m convinced. Davina, Melli, it’d be my honor.”

He signed the papers and you passed over his first payment. He took it with a thankful smile and practically skipped out of the room. You told him to ready himself to meet his potential teacher and that seemed to put even more pep in his step if possible.

“He seems nice.” Melli said once the door shut.

You were filing the paper away. “He does seem to be making friends quickly.” You agreed.

“Davina.” She practically sang and there was a teasing tone in her voice.

“Yes, Melli?” You looked up and saw the mischievous smile on her face. “All the Saints.” You sighed and rested a chin on your hand. “What’s that look for?”

“He’s very cute.”

“Is he?” You pretended you hadn’t noticed.

“And he’s nice. Loyal.”

“Seemingly loyal. We don’t know that for sure yet.”

“He signed on with barely any questions.” She deadpanned. “Don’t you see?”

“That we’ve found a great asset?” You shrugged.

Her eyes went wide and she threw her hands around in a frenzy. “No, Davina! Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

“Don’t start that.” You groaned.

“Maybe… If you get to know him…”

“Melli.” You warned.

“I’m just saying! It might help you get over-“

“Do not say it.” You cut in firmly. “There is nothing between Kaz and I.”

Your mind told you that was a blatant lie but you shoved the thought away, even if it were true.

“Then, please Davina, tell me why you’re so obsessed with that cursed alliance! You know he won’t go for it!”

“It’s more than an alliance.”

“Exactly. You’ve developed an infatuation and I don’t blame you. He’s very pretty but Davina, he’s horrid. You’ve heard what they say about him, the things he’s done.”

“Yes, and I’m daughter of the ‘King of the Barrel’. Who’s to say I’m much better than Brekker? Who’s to say my conscience hasn’t withered to something like his?”

“So you find kinship in him?” She scoffed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does! Your endless fawning is going to get you killed.”

“Enough!” You snapped. “What I hope to gain with Kaz is my personal responsibility. I’ve said that and I will not require you or any of the snakes to partake in it. If I have to leave them in your care for that time being, I will, but I won’t have you pestering me to stop.”

“Pestering.” She repeated and her face fell. “I didn’t realize that’s how you saw me.”

“You don’t understand.” You sighed.

“But you won’t tell me?”

“I can’t… I can’t because the story isn’t only mine to tell.”

She left without another word and you felt the guilt settle in your stomach like a rock. You knew it wasn’t fair to keep that kind of secret from Melli. She was supposed to be your most trusted, yet you kept your biggest motivation a secret. You wondered what Kaz had told Inej or Jesper.

Did they know that he knew you? That you knew his brother? Saints, did they even know he had a brother? Too many questions with no means of an answer. You went back to your room and washed before dressing in something more fitting to wear in Nina’s presence.

You snapped your cloak at your throat, called on Kol, and left your building.

When you arrived at the White Rose, you were led almost immediately to Nina. It seemed coming on a fairly regular schedule had earned you more priority. You liked the feeling of importance as you were led to Nina’s room.

“I come with a gift.” You said as Kol shut the door behind him.

She gasped. “Waffles?”

“Ah, ‘fraid not.” You clicked your tongue, pulling your hood down, and she huffed in disappointment. “But you may be more interested in this, Nina Zenik.”

“I do prefer silks or jewels as my flattery.” She said in thought. She seemed to finally register Kol. “You brought a friend? I’m surprised you have any.”

“Oh hush.” You waved a hand. “I brought you a student.”

“He’s Grisha? Corporalki?”

You stepped aside and motioned for Kol to take over.

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded. “My name is Kol and I am Grisha, from the Little Palace. I am a Healer mainly, but my mother says I can Tailor well and have potential as a Heartrender, if I can find a true teacher.”

She stared at him for a moment before she smiled slightly. “I do vaguely remember you…” She turned to you. “You want me to teach him?”

“I’d appreciate it.” You nodded. “I know you have obligations to the Dregs, so I don’t ask this as a snake.”

“Have you joined her ranks?” Nina asked Kol.

“If she’ll have me.” He nodded.

“Why?”

He looked at you and you could see what Melli meant that morning. Big, soft eyes and a gentle, almost admiring smile. You returned the small smile and nodded in encouragement.

“It was my mother’s idea.” He confessed. “She has worked with her a time or two, and my mother has always been a good judge of character. Never quite trusted the Darkling or his ambitions, but enjoyed the perks of the Little Palace.”

“We all have our vices.” Nina shrugged.

“I enjoy helping people, but I also like a good fight.” His eyes seemed to shine at the prospect. “That’s part of why we left Ravka. Mother said I’d be of too much interest for the Darkling. So it seems the Hood and the snakes can give exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Hmm.” She thought, lounging on her velvet couch. “Oh, alright. You’ve wooed me with those glittering eyes of yours. I’ll teach him.”

You and Kol smiled at her.

“But-“ She pointed at you. “I expect waffles. Or candies. Better yet, both.”

“I will make a note for next time, but for now, I hope this will do.” You laughed and dropped the money on the table. “Thank you, Nina. And you know I have to ask…”

She waved a hand. “I don’t have to tell Brekker anything I don’t want to. Now, leave us.” She shooed you away.

“As you wish.” You pulled your hood up. “I’ll wait for you outside, Kol.”

“Thank you.” He nodded and the excitement shone in his eyes.

You went outside and took a deep breath. The bustling crowds moved around you, some bumping your shoulder. You saw street performers shouting and dancing, magicians and illusionists. You saw kids trying to pick pockets. Some succeeded, some were scolded.

For the first time in a long time, you felt successful.

You had a Healer. You had a teacher for your Healer to expand his talents. You had a new business.

Maybe you could do this. Maybe you did have a chance.

All you needed was to settle up with Kaz.

“Speak of the Devil.” You muttered as you saw the black clad menace making his way over, the crowd parting as he moved through. The tapping of his cane grew closer and you tried to flatten against the wall. You tilted your head down in hopes of him passing you by, but he stopped right in front of you. You cursed silently and lifted your eyes.

“Fancy meeting you here, Da-“ He began.

When you heard the first syllable of your name, you reacted. You gripped his jacket with one hand and clasped your hand over his mouth as you pulled him into the nearest alley.

[strrykais]

die with a smile

a hwang hyunjin short story

week four

it was intense, the air in the room was stiff. hyunjin felt a bead of sweat on the tip of his hairline. his heart was racing a millions miles a minute, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be breathing.

"BINGO I WIN" jisung yells out throwing his single card in the air. causing the group around him to groan.

"come on i was one away!" you groan throwing down the dabber leaning your head on his shoulder. hyunjin smiles down at you gently patting your hair. hes gotten closer to you and jisung, whenever you would go missing he would always find himself in the room of han jisung.

hyunjin grew to love his time with you, being in here for almost a month. he learned that yeah maybe he does have cancer but he could continue to dwell on that or live each moment till the fullest. he learned that from you if he was being honest. your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes shined when you painted or when you watched him draw.

both of you hung out at your secret hangout spot. which wasn't a secret when jisung walked in after following you both in here. hyunjin was in the middle of drawing you when you asked a question.

"have you ever been in love?" you softly ask. the question threw him for a loop.

"uh no, sometimes i feel like i don't even know what it feels like or if i can love someone enough." he says. if he was being honest he never had a true representation of love. his parents divorced when he was little and his mom wasn't exactly the motherly figure he would of hoped. "have you? you know been in love."

"yes, though i never got the chance to tell him." you say with a sad smile. looking away from you, hyunjin felt jealous, maybe he was jealous that you got to experience love. or maybe he was jealous that you loved someone. he didnt want to think to hard on it.

"oh why not?" he wondered if you would tell him. he started to realized he knew very little about you even though you know quite a lot about him. he just wanted to feel close to you.

"i never got the chance to say it and i didn't think it was a right time to express that to him." you sigh "are you almost done im getting tired."

"yeah, go rest. we can finish this another day." hyunjin gives you a smile while you slowly make your way out.

hyunjin noticed you were more tired recently. when he asked you about it you told him that the doctors put you on a new prescription, and it made you really exhausted. even if you are tired you tried to not let it affect the mood.

hyunjin tried his best to not worry about it but he couldn't help but walk past your room whenever you were napping. or sit in the chair by your bed till you woke up. he was starting to get worried that he couldn't go a day without seeing you. you just carried this aura around you that made him want to continue to hang around.

hyunjin was lost in thought when his doctor came up to him asking if he had time to talk.

hyunjin and his doctor sit back in the office where he sat a month ago.

"how have you been this week? feeling okay?" the doctor asks while looking through his file.

"yeah i no longer feel sick when taking that medicine." hyunjin says picking at the skin around his nails.

"thats great to hear, so i was talking to your nurses and they think as well as i, you are free to be discharged. we called in your guardian to come sign you out, he said he should be here in a hour or so." the doctor says with a smile but slowly frowns when he see the look on the boys face. "hyunjin you should be happy why do you look so upset?"

"no i- um im just in shock, is it okay if i head out to say bye." hyunjin says while standing up out of his chair.

"yeah go ahead, it was lovely taking care of you, if you feel off or anything dont be afraid to come see me. also we are gonna need you to come back in a week for a check up if that okay." hyunjin nods rushing out the door to make his way to you.

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tags : @hannamoon143 @jellyleggz @tajannah-price1 @skzfelixlove @kkamismom12 @mafiulaputaama

[lynzishell]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire 💛Atlas & Asher🩵

✨TYSM for the tag @raiiny-bay, @zosa95, @dandylion240, @sirianasims, and @hannahssimblr 🤗💖

Of course, I went overboard with this, so grab your favorite beverage and let's dive right in, shall we? ☕💕

-what common/uncommon fear do they have?

💛Atlas: [Pointing to Asher] Water. 🩵Asher: You can’t just leave it at that. It’s not like if you set a glass of water on the table, I’ll run screaming. I have a fear of drowning, so I don’t like to be submerged in water. You’re never going to catch me out swimming. Probably not on a boat either, while we’re at it. Not taking any chances. 💛Atlas: Fair enough. But you won’t even put your face under the water in the shower. 🩵Asher: That’s because it reminds me of being submerged in water. Anyway, this conversation is making me sweaty, and there just happens to be water on the other side of this fence, so let's change the subject. Next question.

-do they have any pet peeves?

🩵Asher: Oh, Atlas fuckin’ hates mindless small talk, like the kind you use just to fill the silence, or because you awkwardly feel like you need to talk to the person next to you. Seriously, he’ll like you a lot more if you just sit next to him in silence for an hour. 💛Atlas:  Very true. And yet, your record for silence is, what, twenty minutes?  🩵Asher: Maybe. But I don’t make mindless small talk. 💛Atlas: Yeah, I do like listening to you ramble on about your latest obsessions. You get all animated and excited, it’s really cute. 🩵Asher: You’re really cute.

-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

💛Atlas: Uh, I don’t know, what’s in our room besides the obvious? Probably too many electronics. 🩵Asher: Right, between the computer and the switch and my drawing tablet and our phones... 💛Atlas: And your sketchbooks and pencils. How many pencils does someone need? 🩵Asher: I don’t have enough; I’ll tell you that much. Count yourself lucky that most of my art supplies are scattered between Lex’s place and my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it all organized in one place, but that day is not today.

-what do they notice first in a person?

🩵Asher: Hm. That's a good question. What did you notice about me first? 💛Atlas: Your hair, obviously. 🩵Asher: [laughs] 💛Atlas: But no, I would say your eyes. I’d never met anyone with such pure gray eyes before, they’re striking. Your eyes are very expressive too. And you make eye contact with people more than anyone else I know. Like, whenever I talk to you, I always feel like you’re really listening. 🩵Asher: [smiles] I am.

-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

🩵Asher: Oh god, mine is probably like a 5, and Atlas’s is probably a fuckin’ 8 or 9. 💛Atlas: I would’ve said 7, but we can go with 8.

-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

💛Atlas: I think my first instinct is freeze, but then probably flight. Depending on the situation, I’ll walk away or hide away. 🩵Asher: Mostly. But with James, you definitely went to fight. 💛Atlas: That was different. I don’t care if people hurt me, but I’m not going to let them hurt the people I love. Ash is definitely more of a fighter than I am.  

-do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

🩵Asher: I don’t come from a big family, it’s just my parents, me, my sister, and my niece, but we are very close. But honestly, family isn’t just about relatives. Chosen family is just as important. When I say my family is the most important thing to me, I don’t just mean them, I also mean Atlas and Lex and Dawn and Phoenix and Aspen too. And Jasper, obviously. 💛Atlas: Exactly. If we’re talking about relatives, I come from a very large family, but I will never see or speak to any of them again, except for Dawn, of course. A few years ago, I never would’ve considered myself a family person, but Ash’s family taking me in changed all that. I’d definitely say I am now. 🩵Asher: I love that.

-what animal represents them best?

💛Atlas: Oh, that’s easy. Ash is just like Jasper, his border collie. Playful and energetic, friendly, intelligent, hardworking, and he loves to snuggle. 🩵Asher: Hm. I think for Atlas, I’d say a deer. 💛Atlas: A deer? 🩵Asher: Yeah, like, you’re quiet and cautious, a bit anxious with a tendency to hide, but you’re also beautiful and sweet. 💛Atlas: You make me sound more like a bunny. 🩵Asher: No, definitely not a bunny. Have you ever come upon a big buck deer? They’re majestic and intimidating, and they’ll kick your ass if they have to. They’re… survivors.

-what is a smell that they dislike?

💛Atlas: Ammonia. 🩵Asher: No one likes the smell of ammonia. 💛Atlas: I know, but when I was a kid, at the end of every school year, we’d have to clean our desks with this ammonia spray. Twenty kids spraying ammonia in an enclosed room. It was awful. I’m sure they had the windows open, but even still, that smell is seared into my brain, makes me want to gag just thinking of it.

-have they broken any bones? if so, how?

🩵Asher: Okay, story time! So, when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that. Anyway, I was dancing around in my room, as one does, and I tripped on a book, one of many scattered around my disaster of a room, and tried to catch myself as I went down. Bad decision. I’ll spare you the details, but the pain I felt in my wrist was horrible. I literally saw stars. And then I almost puked when I looked at it. So, of course, I started screaming for my mom. She came running in, and I told her that I’d broken my wrist. And what did she do? She yanked on it and snapped it back into place! Because apparently, I’d just dislocated it. But, fuck, it hurt. If a broken bone is worse than that, then I hope I never break one. 💛Atlas: I broke a toe once. Stubbed it on the corner of my bed when I was in college. I wasn’t good about taping it up or anything either, so it healed a little crooked.

-how would a stranger likely describe them?

🩵Asher: For Atlas? One word: quiet. How they interpret that quietness varies though. Some people think he’s really shy, others think he’s just aloof. But he’s actually neither. He’s introverted and pensive, sure, but he’s also very warm and enjoys chatting with people if it’s a more meaningful conversation, y’know. Like, when we first met, we would talk for hours and hours. 💛Atlas: That’s true, but you’re such an easy person to talk to. I think that’s what people would say about Ash. He’s just very relaxed and friendly and has a way of putting people at ease. He’s good at connecting with people and getting them talking and making them laugh.  

-are they a night owl or a morning bird?

🩵Asher: Probably night owls, I’d say. Atlas prefers starting his day later and working late, if he has the option. 💛Atlas: Yeah, but these days, it feels like I’m working all the time. But even still, Ash starts his day earlier. I don’t know. I think he’s somehow both. He has no issues with mornings, but he also gets a burst of energy in the evening and sometimes it’s hard to get him to come to bed. 🩵Asher: To sleep, anyway. 💛Atlas: [laughs] Right.

-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

💛Atlas: Ah, Ash hates vinegar and anything pickled. And he loves warm spices like cinnamon and cardamom. 🩵Asher: Oh my god, and Atlas is fuckin’ backwards when it comes to this. He likes bitter flavors to a strange degree, like super bitter beer and strong coffee and he’ll only eat chocolate if it’s the super dark stuff, otherwise he hates it. He doesn’t like sweets. No sugary drinks or candy or even pastries.

-do they have any hobbies?

🩵Asher: We both love gaming and dancing. Otherwise, I like to draw and spend time with my dog. My favorite is taking him down to the beach to play fetch, he loves it there. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and I don’t know, I like to stay active because I feel like I’m constantly at a desk otherwise. I used to rock climb a lot, but since we climbed Mt. Komorebi, we took a break and never really got back to it, so I pretty much just run and work out at the gym occasionally. And I like to sing. 🩵Asher: Seriously, I wish you could hear him. He has the most incredible voice. 💛Atlas: Aw, thank you.

-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises?

💛Atlas: Ash would love it! He’d be so stoked that everyone showed up for him like that. 🩵Asher: And Atlas would probably dump me on the spot if I ever did that to him. 💛Atlas: I don’t know if I’d dump you, but… okay, yeah, I probably would.

-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece?

🩵Asher: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atlas wear any jewelry. 💛Atlas: No, I’ve tried, but I could never get used to it. I’d always end up taking it off by midday. 🩵Asher: I can see that. I wear earrings, but that’s it. I used to wear a necklace that an ex gave me, but I threw it out when we broke up. I wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I didn’t dare to walk out on the dock [laughs] so I tossed it in a dumpster instead. 💛Atlas: I didn’t know that. Which ex? 🩵Asher: Elias. 💛Atlas: Ahh. Yikes. 🩵Asher: Yeah. Anyway. Next question.

-do they have neat or messy handwriting?

💛Atlas: I think we both write fairly neat. 🩵Asher: I think so too. Yours is all sharp angles, but it’s not sloppy. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and you have a strong preference for uppercase letters. Sometimes it’s rushed, but it’s never messy. Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but I really like your handwriting. 🩵Asher: I like yours too.

-what are two emotions they feel the most?

🩵Asher: [points to Atlas] Anxious. 💛Atlas: All of the time. 🩵Asher: And, hm, we can only pick two? I’d probably go with either introspective or focused. 💛Atlas: That’s probably right. For you, I’d say, passionate or inspired and then maybe playful or energetic or something like that. Okay yeah, passionate and playful.

-do they have a favorite fabric?

💛Atlas: Probably cotton, I guess. 🩵Asher: Yeah, same. I don't know. Never really thought about it, to be honest.

-what kind of accent do they have?

🩵Asher: I don’t know. Do we have accents? I mean, I guess Atlas gets a hint of a drawl when he drinks, it’s pretty cute. 💛Atlas: I do not. 🩵Asher: You do! I never told you because I didn’t want you to get self-conscious and try to stop. 💛Atlas: It’s a good thing I don’t drink often, I guess. 🩵Asher: Whatever. I love it. 💛Atlas: And I love you. 🩵Asher: I love you too.

And I love them too!! 🥹

Okay, whew! What are the chances anyone actually read all that? I really can't just be normal about these things, can I? Oh well... Now it's your turn!! I'm gonna tag @madebysimblr, @crownsofesha, @xldkx, @honeyjars-sims, aaaaaaaaaaand @igotsnothing 🤸🏻‍♀️💖 Answer them normally, or have a little fun with it, or ignore me completely, that's fine too (no it's not) 🫶🏻

[pucksalotguys]

Chapter 3

A faster than usual update so here we are with chapter 3 ! Be warned this chapter involves sexual content so if you don’t like smut just move along. Also If you haven’t already HERE is chapter 1 and HERE is chapter 2. I will be making a masterlist after this chapter so it’s all easy to find. I can’t spoil for this one much so enjoy ❤️

(Please remember to like, reblog, add tags, comment and leave me some asks to let me know what you think (anon is on for a reason so don’t be shy, I promise I’m nice 🫶)

WC:3.6K

Sidney held his glass of water tightly in his hand, he knew it was wrong, he knew he should’ve simply declined her offer to talk but she was just that enticing to him

“Listen I may not be married to have much expertise in relationships but maybe you could’ve tried to speak to her rather than just leaving” Cece shrugged 

“I would've but she asked me to leave” he admitted “Basically kicked me out, I would’ve stayed but I just didn’t wanna blow up. I hate arguing more than anything”

She nodded sympathetically and sat up straight “You did good doing that, you know your limits though I must admit just on my own opinion….her throwing you out isn’t okay. That’s your home too,it’s not fair to you but….is there something else going on ?”

He sighed “To make a long story short when we were first dating she worked at an art studio, she then took over it when the owner retired and then sold it when she got pregnant with our boys because she wanted to be a stay at home mom after….after Roman’s diagnosis” he cleared his throat “And now she bought another studio because she wants to host classes now, she got it with her inheritance and went as far as hiring our old nanny and expected me to just take it all with no complaints since you know I’m so absent since I play hockey”

“Oh wow” Cece rubbed her forehead “Damn that’s….that’s not good” she said quietly

Sidney let out a small chuckle “Shit you’re telling me, but I mean realistically as much as I hate to admit it she’s right. I start the season soon and well I won’t be around as much”

“That doesn’t give her a right to just take over things” she shook her head “I get she’s the mom and she’s probably overwhelmed and-”

“Please, overwhelmed ?” he interrupted and scoffed “She spends the fucking day researching special diets and therapies and speaking with bullshit experts about Roman’s condition while treating Aaron like he’s some golden child and treating Roman like he’s made of glass”

“And that makes you mad ?” Cece asked

“I just wish she’d accept him for who he is” Sidney shook his head “Okay maybe he’ll need a walker or even a wheelchair at times but it’s okay. I love him and I accepted that a long time ago. Sure it makes me sad we can’t play hockey or skate together but I do other things with him. We draw and build legos and read books and watch shows. His brother Aaron doesn’t care he’s different, he’s just happy he has someone to play with. It’s just her….their mother”

She didn’t know what took over her but she placed a hand gently on his back “I’m sorry, I am”

He wiped his nose and gave her a grin “I’m sorry for exploding like that on you”

“Hey sometimes we just need to vent” she grinned back “But I will say, I think if you were to tell her how you felt maybe she’d be open to having a deeper conversation with you. I feel like underneath all that she’s going through something”

“She wants another baby” he confessed “In her mind if we bring another child into this world everything will suddenly be fixed”

“A baby is not a bandaid” she shook her head “I feel for you but I feel for her too, she’s doing what she’s doing to find herself again. She knows she’s not being the best of people so she’s wanting to go back to something she’s good at, to somewhere she belongs” “I get that but-” “No buts” she spoke up “You have your career, you have a team. You play hockey and you love it and you’re around people who love it just as much as you do. You have that as an outlet, she doesn’t.” she explained “And maybe she’s coming about things the wrong way but she deserves some happiness. I know she’s not being the best of a person at the moment but maybe having her hobby back into her life will help her realize she needs to step up as a mother to those two little boys and as a wife to you. I know I don’t know her but as a woman I feel for her, I really do” “Just sucks” he shrugged “It sucks so damn much, I want the best for my boys. I want them to see two loving and happy parents but all they’ve seen so far is arguing and tense moments and soon they won’t even be seeing me everyday or her. They’ll be raised with a nanny most of the day along with me on some phone screen. I can’t believe I’ve fucked them over so badly” he rubbed his face “Sidney” Cece whispered “It’s okay” she looked in his eyes “Sometimes life is just really hard but it doesn’t last” Tears shimmered in his eyes as he reached over and gave her a hug. In such a short amount of time she had provided him with an outlet. He had been able to vent and open up about so much he was holding in and while it broke his heart it did help a little. What didn’t help was what he was feeling inside of him as they were close together. He made eye contact with her and leaned in as he took her lips into a gentle kiss He expected her to push him away but she simply stayed in position and kissed him back, removing her arms from his shoulders and down to her sides as she moved her head to the side and allowed him to hold a side of her waist. He couldn’t help but move his other free hand up to caress her cheek. For a moment they just stayed that way, making out on her couch with only the sounds of saliva being heard for a good while until he slowly pulled apart and backed up

“I….I…I’m sorry” he whispered

“It’s okay” she murmured shaking her head “I’m gonna go….” he stood up quickly “I’ll….I’ll talk to you another day” “Yeah…yeah see you” Cece nodded as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and rubbed them together nervously “I’m sorry” Sidney said instead as he left her apartment shutting her door

 Touching his lips with his fingers he rubbed them together and took in what was left of her taste. He then smelled his shirt to see if her scent lingered but there was nothing. There was no trace of her on him, not even a bit. He couldn’t risk going back to his apartment, she was right next door and just too much temptation for him at the moment. Instead he went back to his car and drove home, needing to get it all out

**********************************************

As soon as he came through the door he practically ran up the stairs to his and Jacqueline’s bedroom and woke her up with a hungry kiss. He wasted no time as he unbuttoned his shirt and kissed down her neck “I missed you too much” “I’m sorry” Jacqueline kissed him back in response “I’m sorry for being a total bitch, I promise first thing tomorrow I’ll call the bank and have them-” “Shh” Sidney whispered as he reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a condom as he opened it up quickly and took his pants off “We’ll deal with that tomorrow okay ? Right now I just want you” He was still hard as he rolled the condom on and it wasn’t because of Jacqueline. He knew Cece was the cause and it was fucking with him. He shook off the thought of her as he positioned himself on top of his wife and gently pushed in, she wasn’t aroused as much as he wished she was but she was still moaning which was a good enough distraction “Yes baby” Jacqueline whined as she wrapped her legs around him “You’re fucking me so good” Sidney buried his face deep into her neck as he thrusted in and out of her at a good pace, he closed his eyes for a moment and suddenly Cece came into his mind. He pictured how she’d react to him, if she would want him to kiss her or hold her. When the realization hit him that he was thinking of her while fucking his wife, he quickly lifted his head and looked in Jacqueline’s eyes and like a dream he saw Cece instead “Baby… are you alright ?” Jacqueline panted “You want me on top ?” “I…I….I want you from the back” he whispered “Ew, you know that’s trashy” she made a face of disgust “Do I look cheap to you ?” Sidney sighed as he felt himself soften “The other way, not that” “I hate doggy style” she pouted “I cum way too fast” “I’ll go nice and slow” he tried giving a smirk, desperate to just have some kind of physical touch “Good” she turned around and positioned herself

Sidney quickly inserted himself and began pounding into her as he held her waist with his hands, he tried his best to get himself into the mood and picked up the pace “S-Slow” Jacqueline moaned “I don’t wanna cum yet” “Come on, it feels good to me” he murmured as he lifted her hips up a bit “Just arch more”

“Slow go slow” she mumbled “I’m sensitive you know that” He continued to fuck her at the speed she liked, boring and slow. The sound of skin slapping against skin and her moans filling up their bedroom while all he could think about was Cece. The thought of her moaning his name and begging him to fuck her was all he could think about and rather than pushing out the thought like he did before, he closed his eyes as he began to picture her in Jacqueline’s position Her perfectly round ass in the air as he held her waist, her brunette curls glued to her forehead and sides of her face from the sweat building up as he pounded roughly into her. He pictured her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he hit every sweet spot she had. Her screams and moans begging him to go harder and faster, her hands clutching the bed sheets and biting down on them from the satisfaction she was feeling. He knew she’d be a fucking animal in bed

All those thoughts made him get hard again as he opened his eyes and looked down at Jacqueline who was a whining mess. He took it as a sign and picked up the pace as he pressed his hand down to her lower back to stabilize her form a bit more “I love when you do that” Jacqueline whimpered as she looked back at him

“You like it don’t you” he muttered as he hunched over her body, desperate to remind himself that this is where he belonged; with her. He didn’t need to be thinking about someone else while having sex with his wife, it was wrong. So wrong. He kissed her shoulder as sweat began to build on his brow and shook off those thoughts quickly, he was exactly where he needed to be. With Jacqueline is who he needed to be and he’d make sure of it 

“I need to cum baby….I need to cum so bad” she whined interrupting his thoughts “Not yet” Sidney grunted as he kept a tight hold on her waist “When I say so, hold off a little longer, just a bit more” “I can’t” she panted “I need to cum” Knowing she couldn’t hold off like he wanted he picked up his pace and began thrusting into her harder and faster, making her scream into her pillow as her orgasm hit her making her legs shake uncontrollably. She had finished but he still had some in him

“Let me eat you out for a bit” he breathed heavily, desperate to keep it going with her as he flipped her on her back “This okay ?” he whispered as he lowered his face down

“No” Jacqueline shook her head, entirely overstimulated “Get away”

“I’m desperate to taste you, please” he pleaded as he tried again only to get his face slapped away roughly “What the hell Jacqueline, that hurt ! What the fuck did you do that for ?” he held his cheek

“You know I fucking hate that” she said as she held the bedsheet to her chest “It’s vulgar and disgusting, god what’s wrong with you ! We have class Sidney, I’m not some whore !”

“You’re fucking insane” he pointed at her as he got up and grabbed his clothes “Insane” “Where are you going ?” she asked “You can’t just leave me here alone after we just have sex ! Get back here, this discussion isn’t over !” “I’m sleeping in the guest room, where I should’ve stayed the first time rather than leaving just because you said so” he snapped as he walked out and changed in the hallway, walking into a guest room as he shut the door and locked it He took out his phone and noticed a text message from Cece from just minutes ago I just wanted you to know that everything is okay and I don't want you stressing about anything and as far as I'm concerned I've totally forgotten about it. Much to his surprise as soon as he read it another message from her came in

Just please let me keep my job.

Concerned he immediately started to write her back despite how late it was

Cece everything is okay. I would never ever tell management to fire you. You're safe and your job is safe please don't ever feel uncomfortable with me.

Another came in Thank you. Listen, I meant what I said, there’s nothing awkward. I hope everything is okay with you and your wife. Your children deserve to see you two happy and healthy. Do it for them.

He rubbed his face as he reread the message over and over, do it for them. He’d try his hardest to take her advice.

By the time he woke up in the morning Jacqueline was already gone and this time the twins went with her. It was Wednesday which meant that it was art class with both of them, something he had never been invited for because she claimed it was her personal hobby with them. But what he did notice was from her was an email and whenever she emailed him he knew he was in for it. It was her way of communication without needing to text or call, she did it whenever she needed to feel in control

He read through it and simply shook his head, there wasn't really much else he could do. She had written to him that while their night had ended on a sour note she still wanted to talk to him and emphasized how much she loved him and just wanted things to be better. It was what she always did whenever they had a big fight, only this time she was the one who was apologizing. He knew the routine to a T, he would email her back and she would then text him and he would then text back and later on that night she would say sorry in her own way. Things would go in a cycle until they would fight again, he was more than used to it Rather than go through that all over again he simply sent her a text message that said he loved her and they'd get through anything. To sweeten it up even more he made a call to an assistant to make sure that her new studio location had all the new supplies it needed before she could even get there later in the day. At this stage in the relationship he just wanted them content and for the boys to see a happy family

The rest of the day went on as usual. He worked out at the gym which was followed by a quick skate session then followed by a shower and now he was at lunch at one of his favorite spots. He gave a quick hello to the hostess and to some of the waiters, people he had known for years

In the middle of eating he lifted his head when he heard a familiar voice, sitting just a few tables away from him was none other than Cecelia. He gave her a simple wave and smiled. In return she waved back and then giggled as she pointed to her chin. Wide-eyed he looked in the reflection of a spoon only to see his mouth and chin covered in sauce from his burger

 “It's that good, huh ?” she asked 

 “This is so embarrassing” he blushed as he grabbed a napkin to wipe his face

She simply grinned from ear to ear and shrugged “I knew I should have ordered the barbecue bacon burger instead of the chinese chicken salad” “I didn't know you would be back so soon, I thought Kyle said to give it a couple days” he reminded her “You needed rest, remember ?”

Cecelia rolled her eyes playfully “Oh come on, my cut is basically non-existent” she pointed to the side of her forehead and suddenly leaned over so she could hear him better “Hey, question ?” “What ?” Sidney asked softly

“Do you think I'll have a cool scar like Harry Potter did ?” she asked with beaming eyes He laughed, he laughed deeply, one he needed so badly “Cecelia ?” “What ?” she chuckled “It’d be super cool” “You're not going to look like Harry Potter” he chuckled and turned his head “Way to crush a girl's dreams” she shook her head and sipped her soda He watched her and scoffed as he noticed her food choices “Not to be rude but don't you think you're a little too old to have orange soda and fries with your meal ?” “Since when are you the food police ?” she raised her brow “Can’t a girl just have her choices ?” Sidney chuckled, she was so funny and full of life. He wondered what that was like, to simply just always be happy and find positivity in any situation. Silence followed for a bit as he went back to eating his food and she went back to reading her book. Deep down he was grateful that she was doing exactly as she said in the message she had sent him the night before. She wasn't being awkward and she was simply making conversation “Hey” he said after a while “Are you going back to the office ?” “No actually” she shook her head “I’m going to be able to work from home for the rest of the day and tomorrow. You probably already know but I'm just getting the itinerary and reservations done for the preseason trip you guys are taking next week” “You coming ?” he asked surprised “Well considering I'm an assistant to coaches and I have to make sure that reservations and everything else you guys need such as food and room preferences is done to your exact liking…yeah” she nodded

“Dumb question” he shook his head “Well…have a nice rest of your day” “Likewise” she grinned He watched as she finished up her food and asked for the check and just as she was getting her bag ready his worst nightmare came true and in walked Jacqueline and the boys heading his way “Look boys, daddy’s here too” Jacqueline grinned Sidney quickly put a smile on his face and walked in her direction as he picked up both boys and kissed their heads “What a nice surprise, how did you guys know I was here ?” “Just got lucky” Jacqueline replied with a smile as she went up and kissed him

He kissed her back softly and sat the boys down, when he turned around Cecelia was signing off on her check and gave him a wave goodbye “Oh sweetheart he's with his family right now he's not going to sign anything for you or take pictures” Jacqueline turned around and gave her a sympathetic smile “You should know the rule by now” “Jac, no” Sidney turned red as he watched Cecelia give a reassuring nod “Jacqueline meet Cecelia she's the new executive assistant to coaches” “Oh wow” Jacqueline faked being impressed “Not to be rude but isn't that like a man's job ?” “I mean there's no gender preference but I do get paid like a man which is pretty cool” Cecelia shrugged “It’s nice to meet you by the way” “ Well considering you'll be around, I'm going to assume you're in charge of the family lounge ?”  Jacqueline asked “Yup” she nodded “I’ll be host for home games” “I'll need your email and your number to be able to text you and email you because there's certain accommodations that need to be done for some of us and some of the kids, specifically dietary. Last season was such a headache and I really don't want to go through that again so I hope you're a quick learner” Jacqueline said as she handed her phone over 

Sidney watched in horror as Cecelia simply nodded and did as told. Jacqueline liked to test people and he knew that she was about to test the shit out of Cecelia and he also knew he was gonna do everything he could to help her out.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 11

Masterpost Read on AO3

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's note: Issuing an apology for making people panic earlier this afternoon. Sorry y'all. It was kinda fun though. I promise if an MCD tag was needed it would be there (spoiler: It's not needed)

---

November 19 Nassau Bay, TX

“Buck?”

“Gale? We don’t have to go. Helen’s on console. We can stay here.”

“Maybe you should sit back down, take a minute.”

“Gale? Can you hear me?”

“I need you to breathe, Gale. Please.”

“Look at me.”

Hey doll, look at me. 

Gale’s eyes snap to Benny, who is watching him with the same wariness with which you’d regard a spooked animal. His hands are up, placating, as he sits on the edge of Gale’s mattress. Gale realizes that, at some point in the course of this conversation, he threw the blankets to the floor and scrambled out of bed. He’s on his feet, sheets wrapped around his ankles, and he’s stopped breathing again. Pepper and Meatball are standing beside him, whining. They know something’s wrong. He feels like he might throw up. His chest burns from holding his breath. 

He wants it to burn.

“I need you to breathe for me, Gale,” Benny instructs. He stands and reaches out to put his hands on Gale’s shoulders, but Gale stumbles backward, pressing his back to the wall. The only person he wants to touch him right now is his husband, and his husband is on the moon, unconscious and dying. He doesn’t know why he can’t stand the idea of someone else’s hands on him. His brain isn’t working right. His eyes dart from Benny to the dogs to his own bare feet and back.

Hell, he feels like a spooked animal. 

“Okay, okay.” Benny yields, stopping with his hands up in surrender. He’s acting calm, but Gale knows him. He can tell Benny is starting to panic, and it’s because of Gale. “Just take a breath for me, okay Buck? Breathe with me.”

Benny takes a deep breath in, watching Gale carefully. Then he breathes out. In. Out. In. Out. Gale is staring back at him, completely still. He watches the exaggerated motion of Benny’s chest expanding and contracting, and he knows he’s supposed to do it, too. 

His chest burns.

He flexes his hand and feels the metal of his wedding band dig into the skin. 

Breathe, he tells himself. Or, more accurately, he hears Bucky’s voice in his head. Breathe, angel.  

So Gale takes a breath. Benny sighs in relief, nodding his encouragement. Gale exhales. He forces the mechanical motion of his lungs, drawing in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. He forces himself to keep doing it, even though he doesn’t know if his other half can do the same.

“We… we aren’t sure he’ll survive the trip back to the lander.” That’s what Benny just said a moment ago, sending Gale spiraling. The words ring in his head, back and forth and back and forth like a ping-pong ball trying to break out of his skull. 

We aren’t sure he’ll survive the trip back… he won’t survive. 

    We aren’t sure he’ll survive, 

Back to the lander… 

     the lander,

The lander.

Aren’t sure

      we aren’t sure… aren’t sure he’ll survive survive survive survive survive. 

Survive.

Won’t survive. He won’t survive. 

Benny handed the console over to Helen the moment she arrived, right as Curt was getting Bucky’s body back onto the rover. It was a hell of a bad time to change CAPCOMs, but it was understood among flight controllers and crew alike: Benny had to get to Gale 

Benny sighs, sitting helplessly back down on the bed. “Gale, we don’t expect him to… it would be nothing short of a miracle if he…” He can’t finish the sentences. Doesn’t want to. Can’t bear delivering this news to his friend. But it doesn’t matter. Gale knows, and the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, too loud in his ears. 

We aren’t sure he’ll survive. We don’t expect him to survive. 

“I’m so sorry.”

Bucky was alive when Benny ran out of Mission Control. But the seemingly infinite time between catastrophe and salvation is a no-man’s land, and no one can be sure what injuries and suit damage Bucky sustained until Curt gets him back through the airlock. All they know now is he’s unconscious, his suit pressure dropped far too much far too fast, and his vitals are too weak. 

And now Gale has to fight to breathe, too.  

What would you say differently, if you knew the last time you talked to someone might be just that – the last time? What would you tell them? Would you say things a little differently, use different words, speak in a different tone, express different thoughts? Would you try your best to shove every ounce of love you feel for them into every single syllable? 

What words can there possibly be for an eternal goodbye? 

Or is it not about the words at all? Maybe it’s about looking, touching, listening. So that when you let go, when they finally drift away, you can remember every trivial and yet crucial piece of them. Everything you loved and everything you hated and everything you wish you could hold close to your chest for just one more minute. One more day. One more lifetime.

How do you let go, though, when you know you’ll never hold on again? Do you let yourself drown in the sound of their voice, in hopes you never forget the exact resonance, the exact cadence, the exact rise and fall of their laugh and the way their smile twines through every word – the sound of how much they love you? Would you pay just a little more attention? Would you stare at them just a little longer, lingering on every feature that you want to etch into the canvas of your brain even though you know the picture will fade, leaving a hole in your heart and a pit in your stomach as you sob into their pillow and wonder why you’re not strong enough to carry the mantle of their memory for the rest of time. 

The human consciousness is not built to know which goodbye will be the last. Because that goodbye will burn you alive. It will pin you under the weight of grief until someone has to tear you away, kicking and screaming, because if you knew you were never going to hold the love of your life again, you wouldn’t ever let go. 

I love you.

Those are the last words Gale said to Bucky yesterday, when their goodbye was a when you come home, not an if you come home. How can there be anything more profound to say? If that goodbye had to be their last, what else is there? And yet here Gale is, wondering, obsessing, insisting that he should’ve said it better, said it more, said it differently. That he shouldn’t have let go. 

His husband. His best friend. The love of his life. 

Gale thinks there should’ve been something else to say. But he can’t think of it. He can’t think of anything. His brain is stuck. His body is stuck. 

John. 

“Gale?”

Gale is leaning with almost all of his weight pressed against the wall now, fists clenched tight at his sides beneath the cuffs of the too-big sweatshirt that smells, wrongly, like himself. No longer like John. He takes a deep breath in, and Pepper scoots closer to his side, nudging at his hand. Gale exhales and uncurls his fist so he can idly run his hand over the dog’s soft ears. She whines and pushes into the touch, eyes not leaving her person’s face. A good dog. A very good dog. 

“Gale?” Benny says again. “Are you with me?”

Gale nods slowly, but his eyes look right past Benny, out the window across the room, unseeing. It’s still raining.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Benny repeats. 

Gale doesn’t move, save for lips that he’s shocked are capable of forming coherent words. “I need to get to JSC.”

Benny shakes his head, reaching a hand out only to remember what happened just moments ago, and he leans down to scratch Meatball instead. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Buck. They’ll let us know when they know anything. I think you need-“

“I need to be there for my husband,” Gale bites out. “That’s my job. It’s my job.”

Benny averts his eyes, closing them tight. It’s a losing battle. Any other loved one, Flight would bar from being there. Any other loved one would have to wait for news. Any other loved one would only ever know exactly what NASA chose to tell them, no more, no less. But Gale isn’t any other loved one, and they don’t have a protocol for this, for an astronaut facing death while their spouse is working in Mission Control. He knows there was a long debate over whether or not to allow Gale to stay on CAPCOM for Artemis 3, but he insisted he could handle it, and Harding believed him. 

So Benny nods. “Okay. We’ll go. You gonna wear that?”

–

Gale looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the harsh light highlighting every sign of exhaustion. His hair is messy, hanging limp and shaggy over his forehead. His eyes are red and swollen, dark bags beneath them. The sweatshirt had been discarded in favor of a fresh white button-up and a black tie that Benny had nearly had to tie for him. But Gale had swatted his hand away and forced his own fingers to quit disobeying him long enough to finish getting dressed. He looks at himself now, and he can’t reconcile his own reflection with that of a man who was just told his husband may or may not be dead by the end of the day. It’s wrong. 

It’s all wrong.

He forces himself to stand up straight, shoulders back, like a good soldier, and he stares at himself hard in the mirror. He reaches for his comb, for his hair gel, and his cold fingers freeze in the air above them. He envisions himself styling his hair, brushing it back in a neat coif. It’s what he does every day, even though he runs his hand through it about twenty times an hour so that it’s pointless by noon. It’s what he does every single day, so why won’t his hand move?

Bucky always liked Gale’s hair in the morning, when it was messy and unstyled. He said it was cute, sexy, perfect – that it was special because Bucky was one of the only people that got to see Gale soft. “No just leave it like that,” he would plead, grinning as he wrapped his arms around Gale from behind, trying to wrestle the hair gel out of his hand. Gale would roll his eyes and snatch it back, slicking the gel through his hair before Bucky could stop him. They’d stare at each other in the mirror, and Bucky would slowly reach a hand up towards Gale’s hair, threatening to mess it up again. But Gale would snatch his fingers in his own, shaking his head, and Bucky would pull Gale’s hand back to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

Gale feels phantom lips on the back of his hand, and he considers not styling his hair after all. It doesn’t feel right, all of a sudden. He wonders if he really has to style it ever again, and he only has half a second to think about how that question is just absurd before an unwelcome answer smacks him in the face.

For the funeral. Have to look nice for the funeral. 

Gale about stops breathing again. And for a moment, it’s real. For a moment, he sees in the mirror a grieving man. For a moment, it’s not early in the morning of mission day 13; instead, it’s the day his husband will be laid to rest, a mile marker for the rest of Gale’s life without the love of his life.

For a moment, Bucky is gone, no doubt about it, and Gale is an island, alone in this world, lost without his other half to hold him above water or tether his feet to the ground. He’ll be forever in limbo as a newlywed, because they never got a chance to be anything more.

He’ll have to fly to Virginia, where Bucky will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery as per his wishes. “If I die, make sure I get the whole nine yards,” Bucky had said to him once, long ago. Gale can’t even remember when; they were just boys, really, the first time he said those words. The first time Bucky looked at him with the knowledge that wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, there was a decent chance he wouldn’t come back alive.  

Even then, Bucky knew that the kind of life he intended to live may not be a long one. It’s a risk he took with no hesitation, sacrificing time for living exactly the way he wanted to. Gale fell in love with him anyway, followed him to the ends of the Earth, because they were two halves of the same whole. 

“If I die, make sure I get the whole nine yards,” Bucky had said to him again, just months ago. Gale can remember exactly when; they were engaged, their wedding soon, the mission looming over them, and Bucky was rewriting his will to reflect his new and rightful next of kin. 

Gale hadn’t wanted to discuss it, even though he knew they had to. A little-mentioned and not at all glamorized consideration of diving headfirst into the unknown – the what-ifs, the contingencies, the acknowledgement of putting your life on the line and what that will mean for the people who love you most.

“I know it’ll hurt,” John told him that day. “But if-“

“Bucky-“

“If things go south, Gale. I need you to know-“

“Don’t.”

“Buck,” Bucky sighed. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Gale may never know what Bucky had been trying to tell him that day, and that thought claws at his throat. Why hadn’t he just let him say what he wanted to say? Why couldn’t he give him that peace of mind? Why had Gale been so selfish, in that moment?

If nothing else, he’ll give Bucky the whole damn nine yards, everything he deserves.

He’ll have to request a flyover. The request will be granted, he’s sure. The Department of Defense will spare no expense; Major John Egan, U.S. Air Force, the first man to die while stationed on the moon, will receive any honor Gale asks of them. Bucky would like that. He would be proud of that. 

Four jets will soar over his funeral right before the sun sets, friends and family looking on as they approach, the buzz of the engines rising with their love and grief. One aircraft will lift up and away towards the heavens, a missing man leaving the others to continue on without him, a gaping hole in the formation to match that which has been left in the lives of Bucky’s family. A symbol of the fallen, a symbol of the future he sacrificed, a symbol of a life lived and taken away. 

As an Air Force Major, Bucky will receive full military funeral honors. Lines of airmen will march behind his casket, escorting him to the next unknown. A color guard will carry the flags, rising and falling in the breeze as if they, too, are offering a final salute. A military band will wail down the hallowed paths between rows of gravestones. Seven riflemen will fire a three volley salute, and with measured steps and trained precision, the pallbearers will transport the casket to its grave. It will be draped with a flag, to be folded and given to the deceased airman’s next of kin.

How many times has Gale been one of those pallbearers? One of those unsmiling men charged with delivering an American hero to their final resting place. More than he cares to count, in any case. That’s just how being an Air Force pilot goes sometimes; a lot of good men and women are lost too soon. 

He never expected to be on the other side. Never expected to be the devastated loved one looking on, trying to decide if he can allow himself to cry, or if he should breathe through gritted teeth and act like a good soldier, as expressionless as the pallbearers carrying Bucky’s body in hands that never knew him the way Gale’s did. It comes so easily, playing the part of Major Buck Cleven, keeping the walls up and sandbagged against the flood threatening to drown him. 

Is he an airman, or is he a husband?

Or is he a widower?

Is it an affront to John’s legacy if Gale doesn’t cry for him as his body is returned to the earth, nothing but stardust and a memory carved into Gale’s soul? Gale can imagine him saying “don’t cry for me, angel” just as easily as he can imagine him saying “you better cry for me, babe,” and Gale is struck by the paralyzing panic of not knowing. He doesn’t know what Bucky would want. How can he not know? Shouldn’t he know? 

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t know what his husband would want him to do. He doesn’t know how to keep going. He doesn’t even know who he is without John Egan at his side. 

He doesn’t know…

He never expected…

He’s not sure what, exactly, he did expect. For him and John to go down together or not at all? That’s the way they’ve lived their lives for so many years, to the point that Gale is hardly sure where he ends and Bucky begins. They’re tied to one another, an invisible string in the form of a name, a silent and resounding commitment engrained deep in the blueprint of their life, as if their mutual coexistence is written into the laws of their universe. 

One cannot exist without the other. Buck and Bucky, it’s just how the world is meant to be.

Gale never expected to be forced to sit in the front row of a military funeral, clothed in the exact same dress uniform as the casket team committing his dead husband’s body to the Earth. He’ll sit, straight-backed and composed, in those uncomfortable chairs. He’ll stand and salute, Benny and Marge on either side, as other men hold the flag aloft over his husband’s casket, quiet and somber as the bugler plays Taps into a descending dusk that promises to surrender the fallen flyboy to a peaceful rest. The mournful, haunting notes will ring out over white marble headstones, calling home an extinguished soul, and Gale will have to use every last ounce of composure he has not to scream. He will watch, unblinking, as the flag is folded into a neat triangle, the crisp white stars facing the open sky like a final reminder that among the stars is where Bucky died. 

Gale will sit silently, unable to say a thing over the painful lump in his throat, and he will wonder if he’ll ever breathe easily again. He’ll wonder if the hands of grief will ever unwrap their chokehold on his lungs, or if that’s the price he has to pay for living when John couldn’t be afforded such luxury. He will resent the prospect of living this life without John’s hand on his, holding him close, kissing his cheek. He will fear the day he can no longer recall his smile from memory alone, his laugh, the feeling of his arms wrapped tight around him. He will grieve, and he will wonder if the grieving will ever end. 

How can it possibly end when a piece of you will be missing forever?

Gale will feel his heart break for the millionth time, a plummeting, debilitating feeling that will assault his entire being on repeat every single day. He will feel sick, tired, angry, alone. He will feel like he died in the same breath that his husband did, and he will have to force his lungs to keep working because if he doesn’t, he fears his body will simply give up altogether. He will bite his cheek until he tastes blood on his tongue to keep the agonized cry from tearing out of his chest. 

He will wish he’d gone down at Bucky’s side. 

And yet he will stare straight ahead as an officer kneels before him. They’ll hand the flag to him, unsmiling, eyes filled with an odd comfort and a shared sorrow that can never truly match the sorrow that is threatening to bury Gale alive. But Gale will take the folded flag in his hands, shaking fingers gripping the fabric far too tight because it’s the closest he’ll ever get to holding John’s hand one last time. The only reason Gale will remember what the officer says to him in that moment will be because it’s standard, because he’s heard these words time and again said to the distraught loved ones of other soldiers. 

He’s one of them now. 

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Air Force, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”

So scripted. So simple. And yet it will twist like a knife into what’s left of Gale’s heart. A finality. Those are the words that Bucky would want Gale to hear, if nothing else because they’re what Gale is prepared to hear. If nothing else, because they are the words that have been slated for his death since the moment of his birth, since the moment the universe put forth such an uncontainable force as John Clarence Egan. 

Gale will sit there, his hands clutching a tri-folded flag that he’ll have to find somewhere to display in a too-empty home as a final remembrance. Friends, family, fellow airmen will look on as he cradles it to his chest, bearing witness to a pain that they can only just barely begin to comprehend. 

And Gale will no longer be able to stop the quiet, anguished sob that rises from his constricted lungs and finally breaks through the facade of Major Buck Cleven. Because Buck Cleven can’t exist without the man who gave him his name in the first place. 

–

“Buck? Are you okay in there?” 

Gale blinks, and his head clears. Benny is knocking at the bathroom door. 

It’s November 19, 2025. Mission day 13. 

Bucky isn’t dead. Not yet.

As long as that remains true, Gale has no choice but to assume that he will survive this, because if he doesn’t… well, Gale doesn’t know what he’ll do. Bucky has kept him steady for so long that he isn’t sure he can relearn how to keep himself afloat in time to come out the other side.

He has to believe that Bucky will make it, that he won’t abandon Gale here on this beautiful, terrible planet. That he’ll find a way, somehow, because that’s what Bucky Egan has always done. No matter the damage, no matter the stakes, he’s always, always come home. 

So what the hell is Gale doing standing here imagining his husband’s funeral? 

We don’t expect…

Staring into his bathroom mirror, Gale bites down hard on the inside of his cheek until he can taste the blood, and he locks eyes with his reflection. He watches the expression of grief and fear on his face twist into an ugly disgust and self-loathing, eyes dark with an abject ferocity that threatens to tear this world apart.

How could he, even for a moment, imagine his life without Bucky in it? How could he so easily give up hope? John deserves better than that.

Gale doesn’t really know how it happens, but he’s winding his right arm back, hand clenched in a tight fist, and before he can even blink, before he can even process the course of his own anger, his knuckles collide with the mirror. He doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t feel it. His ears are ringing and he can still see the reflection of his narrowed eyes and his set jaw in the shattered glass, now stained with blood. 

“Gale?” Benny calls out in alarm. He’s pounding at the door. Gale looks down at his hand, torn and bloodied, red dripping onto the tile floor by his feet. He wonders why he can’t feel it. “That’s it, I’m coming in.”

The door slams open, and Gale looks into the shattered mirror, spiderweb lines breaking the image into jagged puzzle pieces that just don’t quite fit. He watches the sadness and pain and shock flash across Benny’s face behind him in a stop-motion of emotion. “Fuck,” Benny mutters.

Gale raises his hand slowly, so he can inspect the cut flesh, and he thinks that, surely, he should be able to feel this right now. Surely, it should sting and burn. He tilts his hand back and forth and watches the blood trickle down, but Benny grabs him by the wrist. “Come here you idiot.”

Gale doesn’t protest this time. He lets Benny shove his hand under the faucet to rinse out the blood, lets him painstakingly remove the shards of glass with tweezers from the medicine cabinet, lets him dab the mosaic of cuts with rubbing alcohol. Slowly, he becomes aware of the pain, of the fact that his hand is throbbing as his body tries to mend itself. He wonders how it can do that, when he feels like there’s nothing left to mend.

When Benny places gauze over his hand and starts wrapping it with a bandage, Gale finally has the sense to do something. He grabs the bandage from Benny’s hands and starts winding it around and around his own fingers, securing it over his wrist. When he looks up at his friend, Benny is staring right at him, assessing him. “I’m fine,” Gale mumbles.

Benny shakes his head, eyeing Gale’s liberally wrapped hand, blood still staining his fingertips. “Yeah, you look so fine.”

Gale grits his teeth and looks down at the floor. “I have to be fine. It’s my job to be fine.”

“As a flight controller or as a husband?”

“Both.”

“I think you should stay here this morning.”

Gale looks up, and Benny tries not to take the furious glare being leveled at him personally. “Like hell.”

“Buck-”

“I’m going.”

Benny closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Fine. I’m driving you.”

“You’re off shift.”

Benny tilts his head, giving Gale an unimpressed look. “I don’t give a damn. I don’t trust you right now.” Gale supposes that’s fair. “And I’m scared as hell, too.”

“Someone’s gotta let the dogs out.” Gale has half a mind just to take them, walk right on into Mission Control flanked by two huskies. Who would stop him? 

Benny sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Then he turns to leave the bathroom. “I’ll ask one of the neighbors.”

Gale nods. “Ask Jane, across the street. Her little girl loves Pepper and Meatball.” What he doesn’t say is that Jane has a husband in the Navy, currently stationed overseas. If anyone is going to understand this situation without being overbearing with their sympathy, it’s her. “Tell her what happened. She deserves an explanation for being woken up this early.”

Then Benny is gone, leaving Gale alone with a bloody hand, a bloody floor, and a bloody mirror. He flexes his injured fist as much as he can with the bandage on, feeling the sting. Then he takes a deep breath and turns off the light. He doesn’t put any gel in his hair.

–

Mission Control goes utterly silent when the door at the back opens and Major Buck Cleven walks in. Major Buck Cleven, dressed in his usual slacks, white button down, and a black tie, ever the professional. His jaw is set, his back straight, his eyes hard. There’s little to give away the fact that he’s living his worst nightmare, save for the lack of product in his hair. Instead, his hair hangs messily over his forehead in a soft and unkempt way that few in this room have ever seen, and they don’t know what to make of it. The strangeness of it is menacing in its own way, a symbol that something terrible has happened, and yet it makes each and every one of them want to hug Gale tight and protect their CAPCOM at all costs.

And then there’s the fact that there’s a thick bandage wrapped tightly around his right hand, the edge stained with blood. For those who can see him up close, there’s tell-tale redness around his eyes, but he doesn’t look away. Anyone who dares to look at him, he looks straight in the eye. 

Marge shoots to her feet at the front of the room, an unreadable mess of surprise and empathy and sadness and fear plain as day all over her face. The other flight controllers follow her lead, rising slowly, solemnly. 

Harding, who had been alerted of the situation immediately and arrived at JSC not long ago, steps in front of Gale. He reaches a hand out, and Gale stares at him, daring him to hold him back. 

“Chick.”

Harding’s eyes are sad – which Gale hates – and he takes a deep breath. Some of these younger astronauts are like sons to him. John Egan and Gale Cleven, especially. The dynamic duo. The partners in crime. The newlyweds. Some of the best pilots – some of the best men – he’s ever known. His fear for John and his empathy for Gale clash uncomfortably, almost unbearably, with his commitment to this program. “You shouldn’t be here right now, Gale,” he says, as gently as he can. 

Gale clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “It’s my shift.”

“Helen’s doing a fine job.”

“She’s damn good at her job,” Gale agrees. “But you need three of us.”

“We’ll put Macon on.”

“Macon doesn’t know this mission like I do.”

“He can learn.” Harding matches Gale’s insistent gaze, and he watches the expression on Gale’s face twist into resentment. It breaks his heart, having one of his boys look at him like that. But he knows that grief is no state in which to work through a life or death situation, and he can’t in good conscience put Gale through that or sacrifice the well-being of the rest of the crew. Gale doesn’t speak. Harding sighs again, softening his features. “Go home, Gale. There’s nothing you can do for him here. We just have to wait.”

Gale feels the rage fill his body. He hardly even knows what happened, hardly even knows what the fuck he’s supposed to be waiting for. For his husband to either die or not? 

“He’s alive, then,” Gale says simply. 

Harding doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then, “We’ll let you know when-“

“Bullshit,” Gale sneers and shakes his head. “No. No. You are not treating me like some astronaut wife with no choice but to wait around in the dark until you decide to tell me what you think I should know. No.”

“I’m not trying to do that, Gale. I’ll make sure you’re updated on anything that happens. But I can’t put you on coms. I can’t risk the mission.”

“The mission?” Gale scoffs. “The mission!” How about Bucky’s goddamn life?  

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Harding insists. Gale can see the pain on Harding’s face, and he knows very well what he’s trying to say: that Gale isn’t capable of doing his job right now. That he isn’t stable or focused. That they need someone with less investment to make sure his husband keeps breathing and the mission keeps going and nothing else gets fucked up. 

Harding puts a hand on Gale’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s the right choice to put you-“

“I am fully capable- get your hands off me.” Gale shakes Harding’s hand away and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he levels a hard, decisive stare at his boss. His voice is low and angry, carefully controlled. “I am fully capable of taking over CAPCOM. Don’t you dare act like I’m not. You know me, Chick. You fucking know me.”

Harding doesn’t say a thing, just watches Gale, evaluating the pilot and astronaut he knows Buck Cleven to be at the same time that he’s wishing he could make this better, take away the pain, save both of these boys from the unfairness of the universe. 

But these were discussions that were already had, months ago. They always knew this was a possibility, and Harding let Gale into Mission Control anyways. Granted, he hoped it would never come to this, but it was a judgment that he himself made. He decided that, in the event Bucky faced the worst, Buck would still be a reliable flight controller. 

Gale watches as these thoughts swarm through Harding’s head. “Let me do my job, Chick.”

“As a flight controller or as a husband?”

That damn question.

Gale feels his heart pounding, and he’s shocked to realize that his lungs are working of their own accord. Bucky is alive. So now Gale has to get to work. “Both.”

“Fine,” Harding agrees. “But I’m bringing Macon in to be briefed so he can take over if needed.”

Gale nods in silent agreement, and Harding squeezes his shoulder before motioning for him to go ahead. 

He looks out at the Red Shift flight controllers around the room, and he is keenly aware that most of them witnessed this entire exchange. They’re watching him warily, with varying levels of pity and empathy, but he just nods to them, too, and they track his motion as he walks past console after console towards the front of the room. The only people who don’t turn to look at him are Helen and Dr. Huston, who are laser-focused on working the crew through this.

Gale stops beside Albert Clark’s console, and the Flight Director reaches out to put a hand on Gale’s shoulder. He leans in close. “He’s sticking with us. Determined bastard.”

Bucky is still unconscious and relatively unstable, but Curt managed to get him inside the lander. Best they can figure from Curt’s account and the suit telemetry, the rover’s wheel broke going down the slope of Shackleton, and Bucky got stuck beneath the rover when it tumbled down. He hit his head pretty hard, and the oxygen regulator in his suit was damaged, causing both the pressure sensor and the mechanism that slowly decreases the pressure over a set period of time to malfunction. 

His suit depressurized from over 8psi to less than the minimum anticipated 4psi, which not only makes it hard for the body to take in enough oxygen, but the rapid depressurization can cause decompression sickness symptoms that vary in severity depending on how much nitrogen was left in Bucky’s body. He lost consciousness due to head trauma, but they remain concerned about the effects of hypoxia on the brain after being in low pressure for so long.

Since getting back to the lander, Dr. Huston, Helen, and Rosie have been in constant communication, monitoring Bucky’s vitals and guiding Curt through every step. He managed to get Bucky out of his busted suit, which he’ll inspect for damage later. He has Bucky breathing pure oxygen again, trying to get enough of it to his brain. EECOM increased the cabin pressure to nearly double the standard atmospheric pressure in an approximation of a hyperbaric chamber. Ideally, this will mitigate decompression sickness and assist with oxygen uptake in Bucky’s body. The external head wound itself was not serious, no doubt thanks to Bucky’s com cap softening the blow, but it did lead to a decent amount of blood loss. After cleaning away the blood to inspect the injury, Curt had to wrap Bucky’s head. He has no way of checking for brain damage on Starship as long as Bucky is unconscious. 

They’ve been running through abort scenarios, but with Orion at the furthest point in its orbit, it would take Starship almost as long to reach the crew capsule if they aborted now as it will for Orion to reach them on schedule. With Bucky unstable, they don’t think it’s a good idea to strap him into a launch vehicle until they know more about his condition, so he and Curt are staying put.  

After thanking Clark, Gale walks over to Marge’s PAO desk in the front corner of the room. He wraps his arms around her, and he can feel her trying not to tremble in his embrace. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, hugging him tightly back. “You should be here.”

Gale squeezes her a little harder, and she squeezes back, before they both let go. She reaches across her desk and picks up a cup of coffee, extending it towards him. “I picked this up for you. Benny told me you were refusing to stay put. What’d you do to your hand?”

Gale takes the cup in his good hand and glances at his bad one. He bites his lip in embarrassment. “Punched a mirror.” 

Marge scrunches her brow and tries not to laugh or cry or say much of anything. “They’re trying their best for him.” 

“I know,” Gale whispers back. He takes a sip of coffee, letting the bitter taste burn his tongue. Then he walks to his own console, patting Croz on the shoulder as he passes, and he and Benny flank Helen on either side.

She looks up at them both, and Gale sees exhaustion on her face that mirrors his own. “Curt’s checking for other injuries, now that we’ve got the recompression and the head wound under control. He’s got a lot of swelling in his right lower leg,” she tells them, straight to the point. Gale appreciates that; he doesn’t need another person’s pity right now. “Curt was able to x-ray it. He’s got a non-displaced tibial fracture.” She points to an image on her computer monitor that Curt no doubt sent through moments ago. They’d tested the capabilities of Starship’s med bay their first night on the surface. They just never expected to have to use it like this.

The image shows Bucky’s tibia, a crisp line right through the middle. The separated pieces of the bone are perhaps just millimeters out of place. Helen hands Gale the second headset. Once it’s turned on, he finds that he’s tuned in to chatter between Curt and Rosie, who is trying to aid from Orion, thousands of miles away from the moon. “I need you to do this, Curt,” Rosie is saying.

Curt: “You have to be kidding.”

Rosie: “It’s not hard. Just tap it in.”

Curt: “I’m gonna make it worse.”

Gale looks at Helen, eyebrow raised. “Gotta set it,” she whispers. 

Well, shit.

Rosie: “You did it in training. You’re gonna have to do it now.”

Curt: “In training it was on a dummy.”

Rosie: “Think of it this way, it’s still on a dummy.”

Gale snorts, and he’s startled by the fact that laughter is possible right now. Helen smiles beside him.

Curt: “Fuck.”

Rosie: “Come on Curt. Just one little push. He’ll be pissed if he wakes up and learns I have to re-break his fucking leg to make it heal right.”

Curt: “Fuck, okay. Okay. One, two…”

Gale can hear Curt gagging as he presumably crunches the bone back into place, and he makes a disgusted face of his own as he nervously twists his wedding ring around his finger. The visual of Bucky’s leg, of all things, being unprofessionally set by Curtis Biddick, of all people, on the moon, of all places, makes him squirm.

Curt: “Okay, I think I got it.”

By the time Curt gets Bucky’s leg splinted and wrapped, Macon is there, making four CAPCOMs in Mission Control. Curt hasn’t identified any further injuries other than a mottled bruise-like rash on Bucky’s upper arms and abdomen, a symptom of decompression sickness that indicates Bucky still had some nitrogen in his blood when his suit depressurized. Rosie instructs Curt to monitor the rash closely for swelling and see if the recompression therapy alleviates it. 

Helen then alerts Curt that she’s handing the console over to Gale so she can find a nice cot somewhere in JSC and get some unrestful sleep before her actual shift starts later in the afternoon.

Benny decides to stick around a while longer, and the following couple of hours fall into a quiet and tense waiting game. Gale talks with Curt about his condition, Bucky’s condition, the lander’s condition, and EVA findings (which feel trivial now and yet remain necessary). He talks with Rosie and Alex about various observations and experiment results, including the behavior of certain medical devices and procedures in deep space (somewhat ironic). 

Around 7:00 GMT (3pm Houston time), Mission Control is uncharacteristically somber. A group of flight controllers that is usually focused yet friendly, collected yet outspoken, doesn’t feel much like talking at all. Benny left an hour or so ago to try and get some shut eye before Blue Shift takes over at midnight. At the end of their workday, Alex, Rosie, and Curt are all eating dinner, their coms off. EECOM had eased the pressure in Starship back down to normal, though if Bucky starts showing more decompression symptoms they’ll have to increase it again. For now, he’s as stable as he’ll get. 

Gale, Macon, and Croz are eating takeout sandwiches and playing I Spy, like children, in order to avoid thinking too much about the situation at hand.  

“Buck?” Curt’s voice sounds tired when he switches his coms on, a little wobbly with nerves. Gale has been through Hell today, and he can barely imagine what it’s been like for Curt.

“I’m here, Curt,” he says. There’s a long silence. “Curt?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t-” Curt cuts off, like he doesn’t know what to even say. Couldn’t what? Prevent this? Stop this? Do better? Do more? Fix it?

Gale doesn’t want to hear any of it. “It’s not your fault.”

“It was that wheel,” Curt insists. “If I had… I dunno. Done a better job fixin’ it? Told him not to drive it up that incline? If I’d gone with him?”

Gale closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair. Macon and Croz sit quietly beside him, eyes downcast. “It’s not your fault, Curt. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

When Curt is quiet, Gale turns off his mic so he can address Clark and Dr. Huston. “Fellas, where are we at?”

Dr. Huston studies his console, no doubt analyzing Bucky and Curt’s vitals. He looks up at Gale. “Tell him to rest. He should check on Bucky every hour, and we’ll wake him up if there’s a change before then. There’s nothing else he can do now.”

Gale relays the message to Curt, who predictably puts up a fight about it. “You’re no good to him or to us without some rest,” Gale argues. Curt finally, grudgingly, agrees. “And Curt?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Thank you.”

–

At 6pm, two hours after Gale was supposed to end his shift, Harding finally convinces him to go home. “No, Gale. Home. You’re not sleeping on a cot here. You’re going home.”

Since Benny left hours ago, Marge is tasked with making sure Gale gets home in one piece. He tries to tell her that she, too, should go home, but she insists on staying the night with him. No one trusts him to be alone right now, and he doesn’t really know what they’re so afraid of. As Marge pulls her car into his driveway, though, he looks down at his bandaged hand. With a frown, he realizes that maybe he doesn’t trust himself to be alone either. It’s dark, and he feels a loneliness and a fear creeping back into his head now that he’s not on shift, now that he doesn’t have any purpose other than to worry about John. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. So he tells her to go on in while he grabs the mail. 

As he closes the mailbox and glances through the flyers and envelopes in his hand – no threats, thankfully; that would probably about do him in – the front door of the house across the street flies open. He squints through the light of the streetlamps as Maggie, the little girl that lives there, comes tumbling out, red curls bouncing as she runs down the front walk. As if she only remembers at the last second, she skids to a stop at the edge of the road and checks both ways three times, even though their sleepy neighborhood street rarely has any cars going up or down its length. Like a game of red light green light, she goes from a halt to a dead run across the road, right towards Gale. 

“Mr. Cleven?” she says as she stops at his feet. There’s something pure and innocent about her voice that feels out of place in the dark turmoil of Gale’s mind, but it breaks through like the smallest ray of sunshine. He looks down at her. She hardly reaches his waist, and she’s grinning up at him, freckles dotting her little face like constellations. She told him once, when he babysat a few months ago, that sometimes other kids say mean things about her freckles. He shook his head and stood her right in front of her bedroom mirror. Kneeling down beside her, he pointed to a few of the freckles on her face, and he told her that she carries the stars with her everywhere she goes. 

“Space obsessed,” her mother, Jane, told Gale once. “Says she wants to be just like you.”

Now Maggie’s smile turns to a frown, and she looks at her shoes before slowly looking back up at him, as if she’s not sure that she’s allowed to. So instead he kneels down to her level, so she can look him in the eye. He motions to the piece of paper that she’s gripping in her hand, so tightly that there’s tiny, wrinkled, finger-shaped imprints on it. “What’s that you got there, Mags?”

He knows the smile he tries to give her doesn’t reach his eyes; it barely even reaches his mouth. But it’s the best he can give her, now. She juts the piece of paper towards his chest, turning it so he can see the drawing on the front, scribbled in colorful crayon. It’s an astronaut, no doubt, wearing a white EVA suit with a big helmet and the American flag across the chest. They’re standing next to a tall white triangle that Gale knows is a spaceship, and the ground – drawn as a straight line directly beneath the astronaut’s feet – is pockmarked with circles that he assumes are supposed to be craters. There’s stars in the messy blue sky. In what is unmistakably a child’s handwriting, the words “Feel Better Jon” are scrawled across the top in red crayon. The J is backwards and the h is missing, but there’s a little heart drawn at the end of his name. 

Jane must have told her that John got hurt up there – the reason they had to take care of the dogs today.

Gale feels his eyes threaten to well up, and he bites down hard on his lip as he takes the drawing from Maggie, willing his hands not to shake as he stares down at it. 

“It’s John,” Maggie explains. She rocks back and forth on her heels, watching Gale shyly. “He’s on the moon. And that’s his rocket, right there.” She points to the oblong tower that is Starship.

“So it is,” Gale says. He’s surprised by the small chuckle that erupts from his chest, and he’s even more shocked to see a drop of water fall onto the drawing, leaving a wet spot in the corner. He tries to wipe it away with his thumb. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he tells her, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, trying to compose himself. When he opens them again, though, Maggie reaches out with her small hand, and she wipes another tear off Gale’s cheek. 

“I know he’s not here,” she says, pulling her hand slowly away. “But I thought you could give it to him when he comes home.” 

Gale looks at her, and he feels like his heart has been shredded to pieces for the hundredth time today, simply unable to beat anymore. Maggie watches him sadly, and Gale hates himself just that little bit more. He’s the adult here. He shouldn’t be making this kid sad. He shouldn’t-

But then Maggie throws her arms around his neck, nearly toppling him over. “He’ll come home,” she says, not a single doubt in her voice. “He has to. He promised he’d teach me how to ride a bike.”

Gale can barely stop the gasping sob that tries to primally tear its way out of his mouth, but he winds his arms around the little girl and holds her close, clutching the drawing so tight behind her back that he makes bigger finger-shaped imprints right next to hers. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

He looks up, over Maggie’s shoulder, and sees Jane standing on the front porch. She lifts a hand in a wave. When Maggie lets go, Gale takes her hand in his and leads her back across the road, stopping to check each way. On the porch, Jane sends her daughter into the house.

“Thank you,” Gale says to her. “For watching the dogs. And for this.”

“That was all her idea,” Jane says with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes any more than Gale’s reached his. “I’m sorry to hear about John.”

With little left to say, Gale thanks her again, promising to update her, before heading back across the street. Inside his own house, Marge has the news playing on TV. Harding is standing at a podium in one of JSC’s newsrooms, explaining to the whole world that Mission Commander Major John Egan has suffered a near-fatal accident and is in unstable condition.

Gale stares at the television, his vision tunneling, as he stumbles backward until the backs of his legs hit the front of the couch.

Near-fatal.

Unstable.

If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.

Might not survive.

Nothing short of a miracle.

After Harding answers a small handful of questions from disgustingly over-eager reporters and walks out of frame, the screen shifts to a news anchor, who highlights what the director of the Human Spaceflight Program just said. As the broadcast ends, she looks gravely into the camera, and her words add to those that have been ringing in Gale’s ears on repeat all day. 

“Our hearts go out to Major Gale Cleven and the entire NASA community at this time.”

Gale doesn’t know if it’s those final words or the child’s drawing gripped between his fingers or the fact that the whole world now knows about Bucky’s accident or the horrifying realization that all of the hateful skeptics who prayed for his husband to die just might see their wishes come true… but that’s the moment his body gives out.

The room spins in slow motion, walls closing in. His throat closes up. The breath rushes from his lungs. His head is pounding, his fingers grasping for something, anything to keep him above water. 

John. 

“Gale?”

“Gale, honey, are you okay?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Gale, look at me.”

Gale barely comprehends the fact that, somehow, he ended up crumpled on the floor in front of the couch, his bad hand pressed to the floor and the other clutching the drawing to his chest like that damn tri-folded flag at an airman’s funeral. He barely comprehends Marge sitting beside him, but she pulls him into her arms. He turns to her, and she puts her hand on the back of his head, guiding him to rest against her so he can hide in the crook of her neck. He cries into the fabric of her blouse, and he has half a mind to feel bad about it, but his entire world is falling away too fast. Hiccupping sobs fill the silent living room and wrack his entire body as every tear he refused to shed, every emotion he refused to feel over the course of this entire mission, finally bursts out of him in an onslaught of all-consuming anguish. 

Marge shushes him and holds him tight, the only thing keeping him in one piece, telling him that Bucky's strong, that he'll find a way through. She rocks him back and forth like a child, and he just can’t seem to stop or to catch his breath.

His chest burns.

“I need you to breathe, sweetheart,” Marge says to him as she strokes his hair. “Breathe for me.”

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

He can’t breathe. He can’t stop. He can’t keep going.

He can’t.

His hands scrabble at Marge’s back, holding on for dear life. 

He needs his husband. He needs John. He needs-

“Take a breath, Gale. Please.”

Don’t cry for me, angel. Just breathe.

---

---

Part 12

[cosmicalily]

things my family (and friends) have said irl as things skz would say

tagging @hannahhbahng since harper was a lil excited about the last one !!!

chris:

"i'm unpredictable. i'm dangerous. i just put on my indicators and went straight."

"aw, thank you, you saved me a spot while i was busy rolling my ankle!"

"and while you finish that off im gonna draw some faces on eggs. because i’m an adult and i can."

"break your mate's hand...assert dominance...actually make sure they have medical insurance first."

*standing in the doorway* "i AM outside. i can feel the wind in my...beanie."

minho:

"if someone hits you, kill their mother."

"yeah, yeah, you don't wear sunscreen bc it makes you feel gross, y what'll feel grosser? chEMOTHERAPY, DUMB BITCH!"

"no offence? there is a fence! i have so many fences, i have a whole ass yard."

"c'mon now you've been through sexual education, you know how these things happen."

"you're not putting on your jumper right. you're meant to like, suffocate three times during the process, it's just sliding on nicely."

"i am jamie oliver reincarnated- oh wait he's not dead yet."

changbin:

"the rabbits eat the carrots and then the carrots eat the...oh wait that doesn't work."

"i'm sorry about my language but...it's fricking lit."

"do you mind if i eat my peanuts?"

"my goodness your hydrangeas are looking SMASHING!"

"is 'flamboyant' a good word to use?"

"those are the beaniest beans i've ever beaned."

hyunjin:

"i said bless you twice. i'm not saying it again."

"they're RECYCLED pants. they're made from crushing OLD PANTS, and turning them into NEW PANTS."

"i'm going to grammar my essay. full stop, full stop...talky marks, another full stop."

"no, because i am an inconsistent queen."

"well it is study skills, you're skilling your studies, studying your skills."

"pft, well, someone owns the moon!"

jisung:

"i sat in the freezer once for like 10 minutes and it was SO COLD."

"and maybe that's just my excessive people pleasing wait does your ear cuff go all the way around okay good."

"and so i tried talking to...i'm about to fall asleep."

"woah...trauma jokes are DEEP."

“eueOEHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! cancelcancelcancelcancelcancel.”

"living that pre-christian lifestyle!"

"you give a fish a man a day, that day, a man a live."

felix:

"you look very nice and golden. like a nice toasted waffle."

"no don't swear! the frog i'm playing in crossy road might be very young."

"I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING WAS FINE STUPID DUOLINGO MAN!"

"no we have to do it prehistorically."

"maybe i identify as a salamander."

"i don't think that's possible, i'm a morning person."

seungmin:

"it's not cheating, it's psychological consultation."

"in the nicest possible way, you look like a white rapper."

"no, i'm not writing CHAPTER THE THIRD, dumbass."

"thanks for the gift but my birthday was like four months ago and this is a library book."

"that never would've happened if you had SAFER CHAIR ETIQUETTE."

"that's like saying oh you have 5mins to answer this questioHA NEVERMIND!"

"MWAHAHAAHA my rat is coming along!"

jeongin:

"they're being PRODUCTED!"

"pretty sure he practices snoring."

"yeah, you love me. but not like that. no homo."

“HOW CAN YOU COMPARE SOMEONE TO A USELESS ORGAN THAT NOBODY LIKES BECAUSE IT EXPLODES?”

"if i just use really descriptive words...anne. frank. died. badly. anne frank died badly by death which is sad because she died by death."

[aeoneskova]

Fanfic Author Interview Tag!

Thanks for the tag @pretentiouswreckingball <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

Eight so far! Working on another :)

What's your total A03 word count?

623,855 words... that is bonkers to me

Your top 5 stories by kudos:

Honey Honey - Marlene McKinnon PoV, post-first war, she becomes a muggle primary teacher and raises Harry. I'm hoping to fully edit this fic so you might want to hold off if you're planning to read it.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Percy Weasley x Oliver Wood, 1st-7th year slowburn, the epitome of "they were roommates."

The Funny Tricks of Time - a companion fic to Honey Honey

Seven Dials (Pointing At You) - wolfstar one-shot based on something that actually happened to me during a trip to London.

Just In Case - the first fic I ever posted, a one-shot about Halloween night 1981. I think my later halloween one-shots are much better than this one to be honest.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I read every single comment and reply to as many as I can. The only time I might not is if you've left multiple comments over many chapters - then I might just respond to them all in one on the latest comment.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm... pretty much all my fics in the Halloween Archive one-shot collection are equally as angsty and depressing so I can't really choose one over the other

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't so far, however I do have some fic ideas that are inspired by other stories but not necessarily crossovers. Like I have a wolfstar astronaut au planned, inspired by the Martian, but you don't need to know anything about the Martian to read it.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I've had some hate on Honey Honey. As much as I have my own issues with the fic, I wrote that as a child. Which I know might be surprising considering its content and length, but I wrote that whole thing as a minor and those comments could've easily dissuaded me from writing altogether. Don't leave hate on fan work!

Do you write smut?

Not so far. Like I said, I wrote a lot of fics while I was still a minor so I didn't feel comfortable with it. I will likely start to expand on intimate scenes now, though I doubt it would be full smut.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I hope not...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of - I've received a lot of foreign language comments before which makes me wonder if someone has? If so, I'd appreciate them letting me know, at least then I could link the translations to the original.

Have you ever co-written a fic?

No, and as much as I like the idea of collaborating, I think I'd be too stressed about it :/

What's your favourite all-time ship?

I have to say wolfstar, my beloveds. But I do also enjoy drarry.

What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Oh god... I have a LOT of wips that I do want to finish, but realistically? I'll go with the wolfstar astronaut au I mentioned, it's called A Hopeless Romantic's Guide to Life on Mars. As much as I love that fic idea, I think it'll be a while before I can get round to prioritising it. But you never know - if you asked me that a few years ago, i'd have said Honey Honey and GOFLB, but look at them now!

What are your writing strengths?

Descriptions maybe? Or my characters. I like to think I put a lot of work into making my characters complex and building their relationships, but idk

What are your writing weaknesses?

Procrastinating. God do I procrastinate. And I make things way more complicated than they need to be. Realistically, Honey Honey could have been half the lengths it is, but I draw it out too much and that's why I think I need to go back and give it a good edit. But I need to stop procrastinating first.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? For me personally, I wouldn't do it because I'm not fluent in any other language. If I had to, I'd write the dialogue in English but tag it as "she said in French/spanish/etc." I can understand other people using it but I also find it difficult sometimes to scroll up and down between translations in the notes. But that's just me

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Stranger Things, probably, I love steddie fics. I also recently finished All for the Game and have been binging andreil fics but idk if I'd ever write my own. As for other ships, I have a drarry idea in the works which I hope to get to eventually :)

What's your favourite fic you've written? For fics I've posted on Ao3, I'm torn. I love the writing in both Seven Dials and Another Bloody Mary the most, so I'm most proud of them quality-wise. The wip I'm currently working on (a wolfstar pirate au which I've written half of) will probably be my favourite once its finished <3

Open tags for any other fic writers!

[happyk44]

i started writing this in my drafts weeks ago but didn't continue much farther than the first sentence - probably put it down to do something else and then passed out lmao. anyway after scrolling past last night wanted to continue it but can't be effed to scroll through my drafts rn (i save everything to my drafts to tag and queue later and my drafts ar like over 250+ rn)

anyway percy who becomes obsessed with finding this grim reaper he saw the night his mom killed his step-dad. he was an abusive asshole and percy helped his mom stage the scene to look like someone gabe owed money to came knocking. they don't have much in terms of expensive shit - just the TV and playstation. it's an old old model that one of percy's classmates was going to throw out as he wasn't into the games he had with it anymore and was getting the latest version for christmas.

it was nice that he gave it to percy with only a fraction of the cost in hand and a promise to give him the rest over time. percy paid him off every monday. it took sally weeks to pay it off, percy chipping in by donating cans and glass bottles he found lying around. the games were old and a little childish, but it was the only entertainment percy had aside from sally's old and crappy laptop that gabe hogged with online poker games.

so it sucked to watch sally dump it into an empty trash bag. it's small, she'd said. the tv would be too big to carry out without causing suspicion, even in mind-your-business new york city, but the playstation, her shitty laptop, and gabe's cell and wallet were things that could be dumped into a bag with no one giving a second look. percy crawls out the fire-escape grateful their shitty apartment building doesn't have cameras. he has to use a couple boxes to really rise himself enough to stuff the bag under the other bags. sally walks out the front door and they go have a late dinner at a nearby cafe.

then go home an hour later and scream in surprise at gabe's dead body in the bedroom, still warm from the heater in the corner boiling up the room that sally promptly unplugs.

percy doesn't think much about WHY his mom was so specific about how to clean his blood off the kitchen floor, about how to stage the scene, about moving gabe's body into the bedroom, about pulling him like he had been then letting him fall flat. heating up the room to keep him warm and fresh, while keeping the window cracked open so the heat doesn't stay by the time the police arrive.

he writes it away as her being a reader, a writer. maybe murder mysteries had been on her mind lately. maybe she watched too many cop shows. maybe she'd thought about this so many times she perfected it. his mom was not a repeat killer. gabe was her first time. her only time. and it was fine.

he sucked.

it's sitting in the chair, feigning distress but not too much, talking to a cop about the scene while he stares off into the air when he sees him. the boy is young, dark-haired and pale-skinned. he's startled by the presence, cutting off in his explanation about how people often came banging on the door for money gabe owed them. how he kept his poker winnings in the now open and empty safe in the bedroom. he wants to draw attention to the boy, but no one else seems to notice him.

he watches idly as gabe is carried out the front door in a body bag. then disappears towards the bedroom.

percy stands and mutters something about wanting to see his mom. the cop guides him to where she's sat on the bed crying thick tears. the boy is there. no one else cares that he's there. the boy reaches out and gabe's body shimmers into view. he's a visage of how he'd looked right before he died - the wide-eyed shock, tensing of his shoulders, mouth open wide because he'd been shouting at percy, threatening him.

he didn't realize how much like his mom he was until gabe fell flat with a knife sticking out of his throat. his mom standing behind him breathing hard. she'd squatted beside his head, pulled out the knife. stared at it. then stabbed stabbed stabbed until gabe's chokes turned to wispy gasps and his wispy gasps disappeared.

"four stab marks," his mom had said. "hopefully that won't look like overkill. but make sure to mention how many times people came screaming at the door just in case."

gabe's white glowing form dissipates into a ball in the boy's hands. he pulls out a baggie from his shoulder bag, then dumps gabe into it with a grimace.

he does suck, percy thinks. be annoyed.

the boy steps away. his eyes catch percy's. percy's arm tightens around his mom's shoulders as he looks into the endless void that is the other boy's eyes. flashes of his own death catch his mind. lying flat on the ground, weakly asking for help, and a dark-skinned man with black angel wings standing above him whispering, i'm sorry, but it's time to go.

then the boy looks away and disappears into a shadow.

grover believes him when he tells him about it. that's the thing percy loves about grover. the mystical and paranormal are easily believed. grover's parents are hippie-like green witches. percy doesn't really get it but has surmised from grover and visiting their house it means they really, really like plants.

"grim reaper," grover calls him. "or a psychopomp. collectors of the dead."

he lists a bunch of names from various cultures until percy cuts him off. "are any young boys?"

grover shrugs. "i mean life is bigger than what the stories tell. there's more people, more humanity. atheists even. where do they go? who collects them? there's definitely more gods and spirits than we think these days. it's not like they all stopped fucking just because the stories ended. there are definitely more gods than we think."

percy doesn't know what to do with that. grover asks him a lot of questions about the boy. but it's hard to answer them. they can't find a culture he could belong to, a way to summon someone without a name. the kid was young, dressed normal in black clothes with a normal black messenger bag. there were no signs of culture, religion, belonging.

he could've blended into a primary school playground easily.

"maybe you need to kill someone," annabeth suggests. the conversation arises a year or so after they first met and befriended her - a new addition halfway through the school year, a few months after gabe's unfortunate death. following a CPS check, her biological mother decided to take charge of her. annabeth spent a lot of time grumbling about her family in california while also missing california ("it's familiar, new york is not, i don't miss my step-mom, i miss the comfort of routine") and bitching about her bio mom's obsession with her grades and extracurriculars.

it takes some campaigning but the three of them manage to create an afterschool club in the new school year for her to find some time to chill and relax and get school work done. it took a lot longer to convince her mom to let her join their "magics and mystics club" - some nonsense about how it'll make her stand-out in college applications.

percy highly doubts any college is looking too closely at middle school extracurriculars, but what does he know? he's either lasting until graduation with grover and annabeth, or getting his GED and dropping out to immediately book it to the first basic entry-level job he can find. school already sucks ass, but his barely medicated ADHD and severely dyslexic ass already twaddles the line of a C average. What's the use of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that's only growing frantically from interest and a degree he barely achieved with the lowest grades required to shake the hand of someone he's never interacted with?

annabeth spends most of her time in the club doing her homework, while percy gets reeducated on grover's witchy stuff. their club advisor is the drama teacher who only checked in at the beginning of that first meeting then dipped for the drama club. grover's putting together a presentation on the history of mysticism while percy glues pictures to poster board. annabeth will present their stuff. the three of them doubt anyone will care if they did anything productive with their club, but annabeth's mom will so they do their best to make it fancy as fuck.

she already doesn't like either of them.

in the spare times that annabeth isn't doing homework or studying for another class, they talk about the spiritual and paranormal, magic and whatnot. so percy mentions his experience with the reaper.

and annabeth's first suggestion is murder. it's hilarious. grover knows the truth but annabeth only knows the lie. percy makes a note of it in his head. maybe he'll hint around the truth. they're close, but there's still time needed between the two of them. the worst she's told him is about the spiders in her bedroom. but nothing about what kickstarted a CPS investigation and her subsequent arrival into his life.

"maybe he's a murder reaper," she says. she's intellectual, doesn't believe in the mystic magic stuff but tolerates it for grover. "so he only comes around when there's been a murder."

"i don't think reapers are split up by types of death," grover argues. "and even if they were, why would a little kid be sent to deal with murders?"

annabeth crosses her arms. "maybe he's not a kid. maybe he just chooses to look like that."

they get into a weird half-argument, half-civil discussion. to her credit, annabeth doesn't bring science into it. they both descend to the computers and the books grover brought in from his house to search through to prove whatever point they've landed on.

percy is too busy cutting out paper to glue to poster board. and thinking about the murder aspect. he doubts that murder matters. he's pretty sure grover's right, but he likes keeping his balls so he doesn't say. annabeth is probably right too. magical beings are always capable of changing form. maybe little kid is just easy. who would be afraid of going somewhere with a little kid. or a dog.

but death is needed to see the reaper again. percy doesn't live with anyone dying. and he's too young to volunteer at the hospital. besides death is random isn't it? everyone was convinced that their classmate who got diagnosed with stage four cancer was going to die but she returned a year and a half later missing a leg but recovering. and the gym teacher who ran marathons and was known for his obsessively healthy eating habits died of a heart attack over the summer.

and even if he hovered around people on the verge of death, it didn't mean he was going to be there when they died.

but murder? definitely. he'd be right there because it would be his fault.

at that, he dashes the thought away. murder is wrong. he can't kill people just to see a reaper he saw but never spoke to. it's not like he has any questions about his death. he'll die when he dies. dying isn't scary to him. what's scary is dying before his mom and leaving her childless and mourning. but death itself? he's unafraid.

but inside burns a deep need to see the reaper again. not even to talk to him. just to lay his eyes on that night sky hair and porcelain skin. then he'd be satisfied and the need would go away.

maybe.

probably.

hopefully.

it's on his sixteenth birthday that he sees another reaper. it's not the boy he's looking for. he's disappointed. he shouldn't be. he should be more concerned with the dead man lying in front of him.

the letter opener is sticking out just below luke's left armpit. it hadn't killed him. it was too delicate for that, and the spot wasn't vital enough. but it had shocked him enough for annabeth to shove him away in disgust. he fell back, tripping over annabeth's shoes, and smashed into the glass coffee table.

"shit," annabeth breathes. she doesn't notice the reaper - a slender arabic man appear from the darkness and pull luke's soul of his chest with thin hands. he pushes his hands together and the soul vanishes. then he turns into a dog, or... something like a dog, and disappears back into the shadows.

it's take a few minutes to figure out how to stage the scene. they get rid of the letter opener and shove a piece of broken glass into the spot. this time he doesn't escape through the window. just walks out of the room, calm and detached, and sits in his mom's car. when the police arrive, annabeth, crying thick tears, tells them that he had fallen over while she was getting her things ready after percy came to pick her up.

it's not technically a lie. the police wish him a happy birthday when he says he came by to pick annabeth up from her study session because they were going to do laser tag for his birthday that afternoon. when they don't arrest him in the weeks that follow, he relaxes. and considers his options. he googles arab dogs which is an odd search term but brings up jackals and anubis. cool, he thinks. he tells them both about it afterwards. despite the death, grover is excited. annabeth is less impressed.

"i would've noticed, i was there too," she huffs.

"maybe they don't like you because you're a nonbeliever," grover fires back.

is percy a believer? he's not sure. he knows that what he sees is real. if he was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, surely he'd be seeing them a lot more than twice over the course of four years.

"what if i asked them?" he suggests. "to make themselves visible to you?"

"planning on being around another newly dead guy soon?" annabeth asks with a laugh. grover snorts. but percy remains silent and serious so their amusement shifts to concern

grover leans in close. "percy-"

"just bad people," he cuts in with a solemn whisper.

"you can't be judge, jury and executioner," annabeth hisses. "what you think is bad is not always universal? think about jim crow laws or slavery-"

"annabeth," he cuts in before she can go on an historical tangent. "i was hoping you'd help actually."

it doesn't take long for her to click together what he wants out of her. she glares at him. "percy," she snarls through clenched teeth. "i'm not swishing my ass to entice seedy men for you to murder so you can maybe have a hallucination to process death."

"okay, okay." conceding, he raises his hands. "it was dumb, i'm sorry. i just... really wanna see this kid again. sorry."

annabeth watches him carefully the rest of the day. grover doesn't. he knows what percy is, even if he doesn't agree. so it's not too surprising to start seeing grover scrolling through the newspaper on his phone. he startles every time percy spooks him when he's reading. then laughs it off, swats at percy, and keeps reading. it's the obituaries that percy sees the most, but sometimes articles about a death.

whatever he's looking for, some kind of proof it's percy, he must not find because he doesn't say anything. but it's grover, percy's soulmate. so he's sure the slow side-eye that he gets some mornings are a knowing side-eye.

percy doesn't look at the newspapers. if he's gonna get caught, he'd rather be surprised about it other than worrying and getting sloppy.

it's hard to find truly shitty people from first glance. he doesn't have the patience to observe. just slight insomnia that keeps him up until one in the morning prowling the streets. he hovers around in his old neighborhood, where the cameras are for show and shitty people live. it's still difficult. he doesn't want to go around hurting innocent people. less so because he cares, but more because it would disappoint grover and annabeth and his mom. he can't disappoint them.

he does see reapers, including the one who will one day take him, but never the boy. percy tries to envision him older, but even then none of them match. he does try to speak to them, but they ignore him. he wonders if it's some kind of weird curse. he can see them but they can't. sometimes the ignorance seems intentional, but he can't really tell so other than a few short sentences that always go ignored, he gives up and heads home.

some days he wakes up and is certain the police will come for him. but they never do and so he gives it a few days or a couple weeks and head back out again. they're opportunity kills. random and haphazard. he keeps mittens on, which looks normal in the fall and winter, but sketchy over the summer. to counteract his want to see that reaper, he signs up to be a counselor for a summer camp. grover joins him. annabeth is dragged off to university summer classes by her mom. her emails are miserable. percy wonders aloud to grover if annabeth would be happier if her mom was dead. grover eyes him flatly and says he doubts it.

percy gets assigned to the little kids who tell him all kinds of family secrets. some are funny. some are not.

it's not that hard to get into the camp's directory and write down in poor handwriting and with tons of struggle the names and addresses of these secrets. it's not a lot, which is great. but it's more than it should be and come summer's end, he has his start for the fall.

it's clear grover knows what percy's planning. he was there after all when a little secret got whispered too loudly. but all he says is, "sometimes kids get things wrong." the newspaper on his phone comes back into play after summer ends. but he still says nothing, even when glances at percy from the corner of his eyes.

it's two years of scattered kills before he sees him again. the kid is older now. he looks about fourteen, maybe fifteen. but percy knows it's him. he's the only one who makes eye contact. this time percy doesn't see his death. but he sees the endless void.

purgatory, he thinks, before he blurts out, "i've been looking for you." the teen tilts his head and smiles, small, gentle. the sight of it slams hard into percy's ribcage and sinks messy into his heart. "what's your name?"

"what's yours?" the teen fires back, turning away from percy and collecting the pulsing orb into a little baggie like before. his voice is enchanting, smooth and crystalline. there's an edge of an italian accent in it.

"percy," he says without hesitation. "jackon. percy jackson." he shakes his head. "perseus, actually, but everyone calls me percy."

the teen laughs gently. the sound is haunting. somewhere in percy's subconscious he knows the sound should scare him. but instead he just craves it more. "well, perseus jackson, my name is nico."

nico, percy thinks. in his head, the name is surrounded by hearts like a schoolgirl writing out the name of their crush in a movie. "that's really pretty," he says aloud. mentally he slaps himself. that's really pretty? that's stupid.

but nico just laughs again. "thank you." he steps over the dead body and touches percy's face. "perseus was a quite the soul when he was collected." his fingertip ghosts down percy's cheek, leaving light phantom tingles behind. "will you be?"

then he dissipates into shadows, leaving percy with a heavy craving for his ghostly touch and hauntingly enchanted voice.

[seidenbros]

Can we have a Steve falling head over heels for Robin's college roommate? I'm pretty sure Steve would love a super nerdy bookworm girl. Literature student, maybe? I picture her as a hopeless romantic who's super into the most tooth aching clichès and he definitely finds that cute. But she totally matches Robin's energy, so she is funny + adorable + cute.

He visits Robin on a regular basis and as she is super close with reader, they become friends too but then he realizes that she's everything he ever wanted 🥺

I'm totally vibing with that. Sorry 🤣

Hello love and thank you so much for this request. I decided to mix it with an idea that I couldn't get out of my head, so we have Baker!Steve in this one. I kinda wrote my heart out and just realised that I completely forgot to weave in the hopeless romantic/clichès thing and I'm sorry D: I hope you'll still enjoy it 💚 and if you were wondering what a puddin pretzel is, click here

prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist Pairing: Baker!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6743 Warnings/Tags: mutual pining, use of petnames (doll), broken hearts in the past, fluff, domestic Steve, I mean he bakes come on!, making out, sexual tension Read on AO3

If someone had told Steve Harrington years ago that he would one day earn his money with baking, he would have probably called them crazy. But here he was, still learning this and that, but he was already doing a damn good job. It was work that fulfilled him, baking things that made other people smile, that helped them start their days off right, and he’d even made his first wedding cake. The old man that had taught him, was leaving him more and more in charge of everything, while his granddaughter worked behind the counter to sell everything.

It had started out as a hobby, as a way to experiment at home, since he’d pretty much always been alone. Steve had always had a sweet tooth, so it was just more fun to try this out himself instead of just buying everything. Sure, he had the money, and he often did buy stuff, but he wanted to mix things up. He dreamed about mixing maple syrup with bacon in the form of a cupcake. So he did just that.

While Robin went to college, Steve started working at a shop called Sweet Temptations. Honestly, he’d been drawn in by the name, and then the cupcakes, the cakes and whatnot had made him stay and ask about a job. While Nino, the owner, had told him to bring him something homemade, his granddaughter had immediately said that he could start, because he would definitely draw the younger women in. Sure, they could use the additional customers, but Steve wouldn’t get the job without proving that he indeed had a talent when it came to baking.

And Steve delivered. He did make the Maple-Bacon-cupcakes he’d perfected by now and had wowed Nino with that. So, the old man had told Steve everything he knew, and was still teaching him, even though he only spent one day a week at the bakery, trying to do his best to enjoy his retirement. The shop was still his baby, so he had to drop by and bake with Steve once a week, pass on his secrets, the ones he hadn’t already passed onto him. His granddaughter, Mira, had been right at least, because they had an increase in female customers who even stayed in the shop to enjoy a piece of cake and a coffee, lingering to get a good look at the young baker everyone was talking about.

Meanwhile, Steve’s mind and heart were occupied with someone else: You. God, he had fallen head over heels for you, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

Of course, he’d heard about you from Robin again and again. She loved living with you, because you were so much like her. Sure, you liked different things, and you were someone who did read a lot - maybe natural as a literature student - but you also liked to go out with Robin, enjoyed movie nights, and listened to her ramble on and on. You two just worked so well together, and Robin had quickly become your best friend. While Steve had heard everything about you, you had heard everything about him from Robin.

Still, it had taken a lot of time until the two of you had finally met. Robin had invited Steve over for movie night, and had forgotten to ask you first, so when you’d opened the door for him, you’d been taken aback. You’d seen pictures of him, but seeing him there right in front of you had definitely made your heart skip a beat - and it had been the same for Steve. Robin had apologised again and again, saying that she should have asked you first, but you’d been overjoyed to finally meet that famous Steve Harrington. That alone had made him blush a little. Robin should have seen it right then and there, because she wasn’t used to that kind of reaction from Steve, but she’d been a bit blind in that moment, because she’d still kept apologising to you.

Ever since then, you’d made it a regular thing to rent some movies and watch them together. But it wasn’t just those days that Steve showed up. Sometimes, he stopped by after work and brought a couple of baked goods with him. Sometimes, he came over for pizza in the evening. You liked him, and you liked spending time with him, but never made any advances towards him, because he was Robin’s other best friend. They’d been through a lot, that much she’d told you, but she’d never said what exactly had happened. But you knew that Steve was plagued by nightmares, and that there were certain days that he couldn’t stand bright lights, because they gave him a headache. He’d told you once that he’s had more than one concussion, so the headaches, the light sensibility, those were things that came from that. Not every day, he had good and bad days of course, but when he’d told you about that, you’d hugged him without thinking too much about it. Steve had gone rigid in your arms for a moment, before he’d melted into your touch, had hugged you back and just stayed like this for some time. When you’d separated, none of you had been able to say anything, because Robin had burst back into the room again.

One day, Robin had asked you whether it was really okay that Steve wass dropping by so often. She’d told you that it was okay, if she went over to Steve’s so that you had your peace and quiet to read or study, but you’d quickly told her that it was more than okay. Maybe even a bit too quickly, because she’d smiled at you, leaning in to ask you whether you liked him. The way you’d stumbled over your words had told her everything she’d needed to know.

“I don’t have time for a guy in my life,” you’d told her, but Robin had just rolled her eyes at you, knowing that it was just a way to guard your heart, to not give anyone the chance to break your heart again. If you were honest with yourself, Steve had already managed to slip past the cracks in the wall you’d put up. With his warm smile, his infectious laughter, his caring personality and the love he put out into the world. That was why you had to be careful, watch out that you didn’t fall even more for him. The best would probably be to not spend that much time with him, but you enjoyed it way too much, missed the movie nights when you had something else to go to.

Tonight, though, when Steve knocked on the door to the apartment you shared with Robin, you immediately smiled when you saw him. Steve did the same, before he lifted the tray he was carrying.

“Brought you something new. Just tried it out today!” Steve walked in, taking off his shoes and jacket, while you brought the tray to the kitchen.

“So we’re your test subjects, huh?”

“Oh, you know, I really value your opinion, so…” Steve shrugged his shoulders, before he drew his brows together. Robin was in the bathroom, singing at the top of her lungs, but Steve couldn’t really make out the song.

“I swear, if you keep bringing this stuff, I won’t fit through the door anymore at one point. I already gained weight because of these things.”

“So, do you want me to stop bringing you stuff?” Steve tried to  stop himself from smiling, while his eyes wandered over your body. To him you were perfect, with a couple kilos more or less, he didn’t care as long as you were happy.

“Don't you dare stop!” you said with a laugh as you opened the lid of the tray. The air was immediately filled with the smell of vanilla, making your mouth water. “What is that?”

Your eyes, big and round and filled with wonder, looked up at Steve, ready to take one of these things and take a bite to see if they tasted as good as they looked.

“It’s called a pudding pretzel. See, it looks like a pretzel, but it’s sweet.” He leaned over, his shoulder touching yours as he showed you what he meant. “And the holes are filled with pudding. You just have to try it.”

When he turned his head to face you, your noses nearly brushed. For a moment, you both stayed like this, nobody saying a word, but you quickly straightened, when you heard the bathroom door open.

“Steve?” Robin said, scowling at him as she fluffed up her hair, looking ready to go out. Then, realisation hit her. “Shit, I completely forgot about movie night!”

“Got a hot date or something?” Steve’s eyes locked on her, scanning her outfit, before he started grinning from ear to ear. “Oh you do! And you haven’t said a word!”

“Well…” Now, it was Robin’s turn to blush, but she quickly brushed past the two of you to get to her shoes. “I didn’t wanna jinx it by telling you, and you probably would have talked me out of it.”

That made your ears perk up, and you followed her, because you had an idea who she might be going out with, and it was not a good idea. Still, if that was Robin’s choice, you would accept it and let her go. Once she got her mind set on something, nobody could really talk her out of it.

“I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you two and postpone movie night. But you’re welcome to stay anyway, Steve. You can watch a movie without me, right?” Robin’s eyes settled on you when she straightened again, her shoes now on her feet. Oh that little minx! Right now, that almost felt like some kind of scheme from her to get you and Steve to spend some time alone.

“It’s alright, I can leave if you want to use the night to read the book you talked about!”

“Already finished that,” you quickly said, surprised that he’d remembered that.

“Should have expected that.” Steve let out a laugh that made your lips curl up into a smile. A laugh that was so genuine that it touched your heart and made the last bit of resolve vanish.

“You’re welcome to stay, Steve. Would love the company for a movie.”

The way you said his name, the way it rolled off your tongue, made Steve smile.

“Alright, then I’ll stay.”

“Good!” Robin clapped her hands, giving you a mischievous grin, before she reached for her bag. “Have fun you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” And with that, she was out the door.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Steve shook his head, slowly looking your way.

“Tell me about it!” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “How about I get the movie started and you get these delicious things on a plate?”

Steve agreed without hesitating, but he still watched you leave for the living room. The moment you were gone, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his beating heart. Suddenly being alone with you made him nervous. With Robin there, it hadn’t been awkward at all, but he was scared that he would make it awkward now. He really didn’t want to screw this up with you, but he also didn’t want to make a move because… well, you were Robin’s roommate and her other best friend. If you didn’t like him the way he liked you, it would make things incredibly uncomfortable for all of you.

So, he took a deep breath and put the pudding pretzels on plates, before he walked over to you. He took a seat on the opposite site of the sofa and handed you one of the plates. With Robin not there, there was a huge gap between you.

“Oh my God!” 

Your sudden outburst nearly made Steve jump, because his eyes had been glued to the TV. With big eyes, he looked at you, but seeing the smile on your face made him relax. You wiggled around in your spot, your mouth filled with another bite of the baked goods he’d brought.

“Steve, this tastes absolutely amazing! You gonna sell it at the shop?”

“If Nino agrees, then yes.”

“He’d be an idiot not to sell them. These are better than sex!”

Steve nearly choked on the piece of pudding pretzel he had in his mouth when you said that. He needed a moment, to calm down, before he levelled his eyes at you, trying to figure out whether he’d heard you correctly.

“What?”

“I mean it.” You looked at him for a moment, before you quickly turned to look back at the TV, because the intensity of his stare made you squirm in your seat. Shit, you’d really put your foot in your mouth and had said something that probably wasn’t appropriate to talk about with Steve, especially not because you liked him and had thought about doing certain things with him. “At least better than the sex I’ve had.”

Yeah, you really should have kept quiet, so before you said anything else, you stuffed your mouth with the rest that was still on your plate.

“God, I’m sorry, doll, but then you probably just had the wrong kind of guy by your side.” Steve shook his head, kinda shocked to hear that from you, to know that apparently nobody had made you really enjoy it when you thought that his pudding pretzels were better than sex. It also made him aware that he’d thought about this with you way more often than was appropriate. And he should really not be thinking about it right now, but you’d planted that thought in his head. “Cause it can and should be good.”

“Yeah I know…” You sounded kind of defeated, not wanting to think about how much time you’d wasted with your ex, who’d cheated on you multiple times, and who’d treated you like one of his belongings. But you also didn’t want to think about Steve on the other side of the sofa. Steve, who looked good enough to eat, and who smelled the part as well, because he’d come by right after work, so he smelled just as delicious as the baked goods he’d brought with him.

Steve shifted his sitting position, reached for a pillow to lay it in his lap and balance the plate on top of it, which was more of an alibi move, so that you wouldn’t grow suspicious of him putting the pillow in his lap.

There was about half an hour of silence between the two of you, each one aware of the tension in the room, but staying quiet about it. When you reached for the blanket, though, because you were getting cold, Steve shifted in his seat, looking over at you. Suddenly, he felt a bit bolder. Maybe that was because of your previous topic, maybe it was the overall situation, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms for you, a smile on his lips. “I promise I won’t bite, but honestly, I’m like a furnace, so I’ll keep you warm.”

“I-” you started, biting your lip, but if he was offering, it was alright to do it, wasn’t it? “Okay.” You scooted over to him and snuggled up to his side, your heart racing in your chest when his smell filled your nose again.

Steve’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and he pulled you even closer. Your hand found its place on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart through the shirt he was wearing. Was he maybe as nervous as you were? Or was that just your imagination? When you lifted your head to look up at him, you found him staring back, and you could swear that his eyes landed on your lips. Before anything could happen, before any of you could say a thing, the door to your apartment flung open and Robin kicked it shut again behind her.

You scrambled to get up from the sofa, heart beating even faster than before, because you felt like you had nearly been caught doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Which was ridiculous, since Steve and you were both adults and nothing had happened. Still, you didn’t really want Robin to find you like this.

Steve just looked at you with big eyes for a moment, before you left him sitting there alone to get to Robin. He reached for the remote to turn everything off before he followed you.

“Oh lord, what happened?” he asked when he found you and Robin sitting at the kitchen table. She looked a bit out of it, when you held out a glass of water to her. She’d had a couple of drinks, Steve could tell that already.

“She stood me up.” Robin looked up at him for a moment, before she dropped her forehead to the table again, heaving a sigh. “Waited and waited and was so nervous… Maaaaay have had a couple drinks. Then I left.”

“I’m so sorry, Robin. Want me to trip her the next time I see her?” you offered, laying a gentle hand on her back, slowly rubbing up and down to show her that you were there.

“No… Just.. God, I just wanna go to bed.” You could tell that she was on the verge of tears, because of the alcohol. It always made her either more outgoing or emotional, and after an evening like this, it was clear that she wasn’t dancing on tables right now.

“Come on, I’ll take you to bed,” you said, standing up with her, wrapping your arm around her waist. You looked up, your eyes meeting Steve’s

“Go, I’ll clean up here,” he said with a smile. So, while you went to the bathroom with Robin to get her into something more comfortable and wash her face, Steve cleaned the kitchen and put everything away that you’d used. He brought a bottle of water into Robin’s room and put it next to the bed.

“Thank you,” Robin mumbled, as you entered her room and she saw Steve just put the bottle down, but she meant both of you. “I should have just stayed home with you two.” She flopped down on her bed, taking a deep breath. “Did you at least enjoy your evening?”

“Yeah,” Steve said immediately, smiling to himself as he risked a look at you.

“It was a good movie, so yeah!” To be honest, you had no idea what the movie had been about, too preoccupied with the person standing next to you right now.

“Mhm… Good,” Robin mumbled, snuggling into her pillow. “Was hoping for more, though.”

She didn’t offer an explanation or say anything else, mainly because she fell asleep, but she left you curious about what she meant. Well, you had an idea, but you couldn’t be sure about that. It didn’t matter in the end, did it?

As quietly as possible, you left the room with Steve, leaving the door ajar when you brought him to the front door.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning and take care of breakfast, alright? See how she’s doing.” Steve put on his shoes before he reached for his jacket.

“Sounds good. And thank you, Steve… It was a fun evening.” Maybe, that was not exactly the right word, considering how nervous he’d made you, but the brief moment you’d spent in his arms had made you relax, and it had made you feel so safe.

“It really was, so thank you.” Steve leaned forward to place a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhm… goodnight, Steve!” He turned around at the top of the stairs to give you a little wave, before he disappeared from view. The smile on your lips would probably have been able to light up the whole room when you closed the door behind you. The only question was, how you were supposed to find sleep after this.

As you’d expected, you hardly slept at all, tossing and turning, thinking about the previous evening, how close Steve and you had gotten. You hadn’t lied to Robin when you’d said that you didn’t have time for a man, though it was probably more a way to protect yourself than anything else. But Steve… Steve made you laugh, he filled you with happiness, and he always took care of Robin and you. That’s why he wanted to come by and make breakfast.

Shit. Yeah, you really weren’t ready to face him right now, not when you thought about him pretty much all night and were ready to jump his bones, to act on the tension that had been there between you hours later. 

You cast a quick glance into Robin’s room, but she was still asleep, so you left her alone again and put on your shoes. You needed to get out, go for a walk, clear your mind, whatever. But you were not ready to face Steve. But Steve it was, you collided with when you ripped the door open and stepped outside without looking around first.

“Woah, careful there, doll!” One of Steve’s hands wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you, while he was carrying a bag in the other hand. Your own hands landed in his chest, eyes closed for a moment, before you managed to pry them open and look at him.

“You running away from something?” he asked, smiling at you, before he carefully took his hand off your arm. 

God, he had no idea how correct he was. On the one hand, you were running from him, on the other from your own feelings, because you were already feeling your heart pick up its pace, and it wasn’t because of the surprise right now. It was because of Steve’s presence, because of the smell of him that filled your nose, because of the smile that made your knees weak.

“No!” Your answer came a bit too quickly for your own liking and you bit your bottom lip, taking a step back. “I’m just running late. Completely forgot I have a meeting. I’ll see you around!”

You gave him a curt smile and a wave before you were off and bounded down the stairs. Steve watched you leave, his heart sinking a little, because it felt like you were running away from him. Still, he was here to make breakfast, so he walked inside and headed to the kitchen to prepare some scrambled eggs and pancakes.

When Robin walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, she was greeted with a set table and everything she could wish for. She only had a mild headache, but nothing a good breakfast couldn’t help with.

“Morning,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes, before she smiled at Steve. “Is Y/N not awake yet?”

“She is… but she pretty much fled your apartment.”

“Huh?” Now, that made Robin’s eyes widen, curiosity shining in them when she took a seat. “What do you mean? What happened?”

Robin reached for the coffee first to take a sip and let the hot liquid wake her spirits.

“She said she has a meeting, but-” Steve heaved a sigh, reaching for his own coffee cup to wrap his hands around it. He looked down, as if he was looking for the right words in the hot beverage. “Kinda felt like she didn’t wanna see me, you know? Maybe, I fucked it up, don’t know.”

“Wait a second!” Robin pinched the bridge of her nose, trying her best to focus. “I feel like I’m missing a vital piece of information here.”

“Nothing happened!” Steve said immediately, looking up again to reassure Robin and make her realise that he was telling the truth. “At least not really. I mean, we were watching the movie and she said that my pudding pretzels were better than sex, so… that topic came up briefly and then we were both quiet… a bit awkward.”

Steve leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, while Robin started eating the pancakes, listening intently to what he was saying. But she didn’t stop him, let him talk until she had all the information she needed.

“When she reached for the blanket, I offered her to come cuddle, ‘cause you know how much heat I radiate.”

“That’s a fact. You’re damn hot all the time.” Robin nodded her head, curious where this was going, as if she was reading a book, or rather having a book read to hear that was just about to get really interesting. “So what then?”

“She snuggled up to me.”

Oh, the smile that appeared on Steve’s lips made Robin really giddy. She’d seen that look before, but it had been a while since she’d last seen that. Sure, Steve had done a lot of dating, looking for the one person that he could call his partner, the one that would stay with him and really love him, but he hadn’t found that person. And now, you were the reason he had that dreamy smile on his lips.

“And then you got hom.”

“Ahh fuck,” Robin groaned, dropping her fork onto the table. “You were doing so well, and then I managed to fuck it up. So much for my plan.”

“Yeah…” Steve was still smiling, but then he realised what Robin had just said. “What do you mean your plan?”

“Forget it…” Robin quickly shook her head, but before she could say anything else, Steve insisted that she should tell him.

“Well… she likes you, Steve! I wasn’t sure how you were feeling, but seeing how much you smile, I don’t need you to spell it out. But Y/N is always like… she doesn’t have time for a boyfriend, she’s scared of getting her heart broken again…”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” Steve rolled his eyes, tried his best not to get his hopes up at what Robin had just told him.

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why the two of you would never hurt each other like that. That’s why I didn’t tell you two about the date yesterday. So that you’d spend some time alone and maybe, finally take a step towards each other.” Robin leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And apparently you did. But why do you think she’d be running from you now?”

“I don’t know! I mean, maybe I was too bold yesterday?”

“Steve, you cuddled on the sofa for maybe a few moments, right? And she could have easily said no, but she didn’t.”

“I kissed her cheek when I left and told her I’d come by for breakfast.”

“Oh boy… Nothing of that was too bold, but I guess, she’s too much in her head again, so that’s why she ran.”

“Maybe.” Steve lifted his coffee cup and emptied the last drops into his mouth, before he got up. “You’ll be alright? ‘Cause I think I just need to clear my head a bit.”

“Steve…” Robin really didn’t want to let him go, not when he looked so defeated.

Sure, Robin had told him that you apparently had feelings for him, but right now, he was sure that you’d run away from him, so that was wearing him down. For months now, he hadn’t had eyes for anyone else, only for you, because you were the one person that made him happy beyond words by just existing in his close proximity. Yesterday, getting to hold you and kiss your cheek had made him unbelievably happy, but for you? It sure looked like he’d taken it too far. So he needed some time to himself, and when he needed to clear his head, he started baking.

“Robin…” Steve looked at her, a weary smile on his lips when he stepped up to her. “Will you be alright?”

“Sure,” she said with a huff, not wanting to let him go, but knowing that she couldn’t keep him here. “What about you, though?”

“I’ll be fine. I always manage, you know that.”

Yeah, she did… and that was what kind of scared her, because she knew that Steve wouldn’t bounce back that easily this time, not when you were the perfect match for him and ran out of the apartment as soon as he arrived.

After a long, long walk and some more coffee from the coffee shop around the corner, you came back home, hoping that Steve would already be gone. When you didn’t see his shoes when you entered, you sighed in relief. At least, you were thinking that it was relief, but it was mixed with a weird kind of longing because he wasn’t there.

“Good, you’re home,” Robin said, leaning in the door to the living room. She’d showered and looked way better than the night before, but the serious look on her face made you a little worried.

“Yeah, sorry, I had a-”

“Meeting, so I’ve heard. Now, tell me, why haven’t you mentioned that all week?”

“Well,” you started, eyes wide, because you hadn’t expected that question from her. And that attitude she was giving you, really threw you off.

“Because you didn’t have a meeting and just ran away so you didn’t have to face Steve, right?”

Busted.

“Look…” You ran both hands over your face and through your hair. Steve was Robin’s best friend, and you really didn’t want to make it awkward at all, but right now, you got the feeling that it already was awkward as fuck. 

“Hey, listen,” Robin said, stepping up to you and taking your hands into hers, her voice and her whole demeanour a lot softer than before. “I understand that, ‘cause you’re scared of getting hurt again, but believe me… Steve would never hurt you. God, he’s so in love with you, it’s painful to watch.”

“He… what?”

“Are you really that oblivious? He’s not just being nice to you. He’s completely and utterly in love with you. And he’s scared of getting his heart broken again as well.” Robin shook her head before she smiled at you. “You two really belong together, you just have to open your heart and allow yourself that.”

Robin tapped two fingers against your chest, letting go of your hands to do so.

“I’m just…” You broke off, shaking your head as you were trying to process what Robin had just told you. You had kind of hoped that Steve would feel the same way, but a tiny voice had told you all this time that he had just been nice to you.

“Scared, I know. So is Steve.” Robin placed a hand on your cheek, making you look at her again. “And now he thinks he did something wrong.” “What? No, no, no, he didn’t, I was just… I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should go and tell him that then. Make him stop worrying, because I know he’ll be baking all afternoon to clear his head.”

“You think so?”

“I know it. Because he keeps overthinking every little thing. Something else you have in common.”

Mira walked to the back where Steve was working and put a new cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Anything else you need?” She leaned in the doorframe, watching him work. He’d come in, looking distracted, and it had shown in the first batch of cupcakes he’d made, because they’d landed in the trash.

“No thanks.” Steve gave her a smile that looked more forced than anything and went back to work. He knew that he needed to concentrate a little more, because that would help him clear his head of you, but it didn’t work. You were there, in his head and in his heart, and by now it hurt to think about you. 

Steve turned the music up a little louder and started putting the ingredients he needed into the mixer. While the mixer was busy, he put some flour on the work surface and made a mould in the middle, because he wanted to make bread as well as some more cupcakes.

He stopped the mixer once all the ingredients were blended together, and tasted it. It was good, no question, but it was definitely missing some more vanilla. Once he had the perfect mixture, he poured it into the baking pans and sent the cupcakes to the oven.

Now for the bread… he mixed the yeast with warm water before he poured the mixture into the mould in the flour. That was the moment you walked into the room, but Steve didn’t realise that he wasn’t alone anymore. He was finally able to clear his head a little, hum along to the music and concentrate on what he was doing. With a spoon, he started mixing a bit of the water mixture and the flour together, before he was finally able to use his hands to make some proper dough. His hands and arms were full of flour, so when he raised his arm to brush the sweat on his forehead away with his forearm, some of the flour stuck to his face and even his hair.

The sight warmed your heart, because he looked completely at ease, so in his element, that you didn’t want to disturb him. At the same time, your heart nearly burst out of your chest, because it was filled with so much love for this man. Now that you were allowing yourself these feelings, they were even bigger than you could ever have expected.

Your eyes travelled up slowly up from his hands, over his forearms, the muscles flexing in them, the veins that stood out, up over his chest, his chin, his lips, and to his eyes that were now looking back at you. You hadn’t realised that he’d stopped kneading the dough and was suddenly aware that you were there.

“What are you doing here?” Steve’s words weren’t harsh, they were extremely soft, surprise shining in his eyes as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“I… I wanted to see you,” you managed to say. “Think I’ve got some explaining to do.”

“You don’t have to explain anything.” Steve shook his head, still trying to smile. “I took it a step too far.”

“Steve, you really didn’t.” You gathered your courage and walked around the work surface to stop right in front of him. “I was just…”

“Scared.” Steve finished the sentence for you, keeping his eyes on you while his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. “Are you still scared?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard, taking the last step to close the gap between you two. “But…”

“But…?” Steve’s voice was low, quiet, but he was so all consuming that you couldn’t think clearly anymore. Your head was filled with him, your body humming because of the proximity of his body, of feeling the heat radiating off him and seeping into your skin. His right hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your head so that you had to look up at him.

“But…” You tried again, your skin feeling like it was on fire from where he touched you, a hint of flour lingering where his thumb brushed over your cheek.

You ran your fingertips up his stomach, over his chest and to his shoulders, pulling yourself up just slightly so that you could kiss his lips. You had nothing to lose, right? And sometimes, you just had to take that jump that you were so afraid of.

Steve was taken by surprise that you’d taken the initiative, but that surprise was quickly pushed away, and he kissed you back. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, while his free hand found its place on your hip. Your body was flush against his, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, your breasts pressed against his chest while his tongue delved into your mouth, making you moan slightly into the kiss.

You’d had your experience in kissing, but this… this kind of kiss was definitely something else. You felt it to the tips of your toes, it made your whole body tingle and ache for more. Close wasn’t close enough, and you could have kept going for some time, not wanting to let go of him, but the loud beeping of the oven made both of you pull back.

“Shit… sorry,” Steve mumbled, lips puffy from kissing, glistening slightly, while dark eyes looked back at you. You probably looked just like him, hair a bit dishevelled but you didn’t care.

“‘S alright,” you managed to mumble, smiling to yourself as you stepped back. Steve made quick work of the cupcakes and pulled them out of the oven.

You bit your bottom lip, looking down at yourself. The flour showed where Steve’s hands had been, and it made you grin like an idiot. Yeah, you could really get used to it.

“What are you making there anyway?” Curiosity got the better of you, so you had to ask about the dough that Steve had abandoned due to you kissing him.

“I wanted to make some bread.”

“Bread? And here I thought, you only made sweet stuff here.”

“Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong, doll. Sweet and savoury. Remember the Maple-Bacon-Cupcakes?” You nodded vigorously, because they were among your favourites. “And bread is just something that has to be mastered. Here, let me show you.”

Steve stepped up behind you and manoeuvred you so that you were standing in front of the dough. His arms wrapped around you, his chest against your back, and his hands on top of yours, moving them to the dough so he could show you how to knead it.

“It’s really soft, isn’t it?” Steve’s voice was right next to your ear, distracting you even more than being trapped in his embrace.

“Mhm…” you mumbled, trying to focus on what you were doing, but Steve made it really hard for you. You didn’t even hear most of what he was talking about, too distracted by the feeling of his strong hands on yours, guiding your hands.

“And then we form a loaf,” he nearly whispered into your ear, his lips almost touching it. Steve moved your hands with his, doing what he just told you, and when the loaf was done, he still kept you right in front of himself to walk over to the sink and wash your hands.

“Steve…” you managed to breathe out and turn in his embrace, when his lips immediately came down on yours. His hands were on your hops, lifting you into the surface, sending flour into the air, a fine dust settling on your skin and in your hair, but you didn’t care. All you cared about were Steve’s lips on yours, his hands moving up and down your thighs, while his tongue invaded your mouth, tasting you and making you crave even more. This was definitely not the right place to be doing this, but you didn’t care. Someone else did, though.

“Steve I just - OH SHIT! Sorry!” Mira quickly turned around again and walked out, still apologising.

Steve lifted his head, looking after her, before he burst out laughing. You chimed in, leaning your head against his chest, hiding your face. His fingers slowly carded through your hair, before he kissed the top of your head.

“Maybe, we should continue this somewhere else.”

“Mhm… Maybe you could finally show me how you live, after you’ve been in our apartment most of the time.” Slowly you raised your head to look at him, feet dangling left and right of his legs.

“What do I get if I show you?” Steve wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you chuckle.

“How about… as many kisses as you want?” Feeling a little bolder, you leaned forward to kiss  over his jaw to his ear, taking your time. “Sound good?”

“Perfect.” His hands squeezed your thighs, before he stepped back and held out his hand for you. You really were everything he wanted, and he couldn’t believe that you were finally holding his hand and smiling just for and because of him. What more could he want?

[x-aefx]

Back to you - Ellie Williams

Part four/

Warnings: internalized homophobia.

Summary: college!ellie au. Having once been close friends, Ellie and you begin to talk again while new feelings bloom and old ones return.

Tags: @blairfox04

Pairing: Ellie Williams x female reader

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Perhaps Dina meant tomorrow or the day after to go speak with Ellie, and maybe that was what you would’ve done if it was someone else, but it was Ellie and you were worried. You made up some shit excuse and escaped the party. The cold air hitting your skin yet you didn’t feel it as you walked to Ellie’s dorm. Your mind was a million leagues away from the present.

Cars past you and people stared. Stared at the girl speeding as fast as she could in her heeled shoes, trying to reach the person she has once again grown to care for like she had two years ago.

When you reached her dorm you didn’t stop or slow down, you didn’t let the relief take you. You made your way In front of her door and knocked your knuckles against the wood six times.

“Go away” you faintly heard the voice inside.

“Ellie I came to talk. Dina’s worried about you and-and so am I.” your chest tightened once the words left your lips.

It was silent as Ellie processed your words. You didn’t hear her make her way to the door, only when it swung open did you know she had been listening.

“well here I am, in one piece fully functioning. You can go now.” Ellie spoke flatly but her eyes were slightly red and her hair less neat then it was at the party. She no longer looked comfortable or relaxed.

“I didn’t come all this way for one quick glance, Ellie. I am worried.” You frowned. This wasn’t the Ellie you had been speaking with at the party, no this was an entirely different Ellie.

Ellie said nothing. You gestured inside her dorm, eyebrows raised. Ellie remained silent as she continued looking at you. Silently she stepped out of the way to let you inside her dorm room. You sighed realizing this would be harder than you thought, but you made your way inside her dorm.

It was just as you remembered except a few added drawings hung on the wall, along with her guitar and her shelf was filled with more cd’s and vinyl’s then last time. Her walls were covered in band and space posters, polaroid pictures and art pieces you knew she had done herself. Her desk was messy to you, but to Ellie it was organized in a way only she could understand. Her bed wasn’t made so you assumed she had been laying in it before you interrupted. She had more dorm space as you due to the absence of a roommate, the last one dropping out in the first year and no one had taken her place.

Your eyes moved to the drawings on her wall. You smiled as you observed one of Ellie squished in-between her father, Joel, and her sister, Sarah on the steps of their farmhouse. Beside it was one of Sarah and her now boyfriend, smiling as they sat beside each other on the couch. She had a drawing of her father playing the guitar and another of him and his brother, Tommy. You always envied her large happy family.

You turned around to the sound of a lid been lifted from a metal box. Ellie’s hand digging around until her fingers clutched around something.

You watched as she took her lighter and moved it to the bottom of the pre rolled joint. Bringing it to her lips she inhaled it slowly before exhaling. You watched the smoke as it left her lips. Ellie walked towards you, stopping inches away from your body.

“you’ve had more than a quick glance now. You can leave.” Ellie’s voice came out in a raspy whisper. Her confidence and cockiness radiating off of her.

“I know.” You whispered back, eyes never straying from her green ones.

“yet here you are.” You could feel Ellie’s warm breath on your face.

“here I am.”

Ellie watched you with an odd expression, one you had never seen her direct towards you before. It was like she was searching your mind, almost desperately trying to find something in your eyes. Her gaze stayed intensely on you for what felt like hours before she took a step back and moved to her bed. She laid with a hand under her head that rested on the soft pillows and the other bringing the joint back to her lips. Ellie closed her eyes as she inhaled the smoke, blowing it out she turned her head to you and opened her eyes, quirking a brow

“if your going to stay, there’s no point in just standing there like a statue. I don’t bite.” Ellie smirked, her voice mocking.

Without thinking you moved to the bed, laying down flat on your back, hands resting on your stomach right beside Ellie. It was just the two of you, the closest you had ever been with her in two years.

Ellie handed you the joint which you accepted. You two sat in silence. There was so much you wanted to ask her, so many unanswered questions, but you didn’t know where to start or how to say any of it. You let the weed bring your mind to ease. You enjoyed the floating feeling it caused your body.

“why did you come here.” Ellie mumbled, eyes glued to the ceiling.

“To see if you were ok.” You answered truthfully.

Ellie frowned but didn’t say anything.

“why did you leave the party?” came your next question.

Again Ellie said nothing. You turned on your side to face her.

“I thought we were getting along. Like old times.” You mumbled. Your eyes took in every freckle on her face, the way the green in her eyes seemed even brighter tonight, the auburn hair that rested on her forehead.

“I thought so too.” Ellie muttered back, her eyes briefly meeting yours before turning back to the ceiling.

“then why did you leave.” You repeat your earlier question.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Ellie avoided answering your question by asking one of her own.

“I already told you. I was worried about you.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because you thought it was.

Ellie snorted, “you left prince charming and all the other boys who were eying you up because you were worried about me, consider me flattered.” Her tone was bitter, her head struggling to contain her feelings any longer.

You were shocked. Shocked by her words and the effect they had on you.

“I’ll always worry about you Ellie.” You whispered, only for her to hear, “for some reason, no matter who I’m with or what I’m doing, my mind always comes back to you. At times I think that’s the only reason I was put on this Earth, to worry about you.” You smiled warmly at her. The weed making feelings you were previously ashamed off seem good.

Ellie smiled, a genuine one. She turned her head to meet your eyes, “sometimes I think the only reason I’m still on this Earth, is because even if I left, I would still find my way back to you.” Came her whispered response. Her words made your body lose all air.

“Then what happened?” you urged her for an answer, but Ellie turned her gaze back to the ceiling.

You stopped the disappointed sigh from escaping your lips in an effort to not make her feel too bad. Your heart was heavy in your chest but one word from Ellie could make it beat with life in an instant.

The two of you lay in the bed, the only sound coming from the record player you only now noticed. The weed made you feel light.

“I stopped talking to you because I was scared.” After a long moment, Ellie finally spoke up.

“Scared? Of what?” you couldn’t hide the shock in your voice. You lay on your side to face her.

“I remember getting all excited after the summer holidays in first year, I think the only reason I didn’t drop was because I knew being in college would mean getting back to you. “ Ellie’s voice got softer, her eyes still glued to the ceiling as she took a drag.

You frowned. You wanted an answer to your question and you were unsure of where this story was going or the meaning behind it. You pushed down the butterflies flying around in your stomach.

Ellie continued, “I had it all planned out, like some fucking weirdo. I remember standing outside that café that Dina said you were at for at least five minutes, before I got the courage to go speak with you. I eventually went in and immediately recognized your laugh. I followed it until I spotted you near the back. With some fucker I didn’t know the name of. It was the shittiest feeling in the world. I felt like I just got punched in the stomach and everyone was laughing at me. It hurt so much that I couldn’t move. I watched him say some bullshit that made you laugh again, I watched his hand touch your arm. I watched it all completely terrified. “

Ellie turned on her side to face you.

“I was scared because of the feelings seeing you with someone else caused, seeing you with a boy. I wanted nothing more than to punch that fucker in the face, simply for talking to you. I was scared he would take you away from me. I was even more scared about feeling that way and having those thoughts about you. “

You realized what Ellie was saying to you. You realized why she avoided you.

“you had feelings for me.” The words came out in a hushed whisper as you looked at her in surprise. It wasn’t a question, you just needed to hear Ellie confirm those words.

“I have feelings for you. Man I thought if I kept my distance from you, then those feelings would go away. “ Ellie chuckled to herself before muttering, “like fuck they did.”

It was quiet.

You tried to process her words, and Ellie waited and watched you as you did.

Her hand travelled from the duvet you both rested on, to your hips. Her hands gently grazed over the fabric of your dress before moving to your waist where her hand rested for a moment. Ellie never broke her gaze from yours. She silently admired your beauty, your eyes, your concentrated look on your face as you tried to understand her words. She smiled softy at that thought. For years she has been bottling up those feelings, and although she would’ve hoped to say them in a more romantic way, she was glad she finally said them.

Without warning she cupped your jaw, her thumb caressing the side of your face. Ellie was much closer now than before. Her eyes darkened and the room grew eerily silent yet your mind was chaos.

You don’t know why you did it, what compelled you in that moment. But when you felt her surprisingly soft lips on yours, your eyes closed and you kissed her back.

Ellie moved until she was now on top of you. You felt her smile slightly against you. Your heart sped so fast you worried she could hear it. She laced her hands with yours against the bed, her legs on either side of you.

You were foolish to think such a perfect moment could last forever. The reality of the situation brining you back to the present, made you realize what was happening and how you weren’t trying to stop it.

You pulled away. Ellie frowned. She looked hurt and confused and that made you feel even more guilty.

Ellie moved off of you, looking at you cautiously as she waited for you to say something.

Your breathing quickened as you grew fully aware of what was happening. Your mind plunged back into the familiar chaos. You looked at your surroundings and then at the beautiful girl beside you, the girl you knew you were hurting in that moment.

“I’m so sorry-I-I need to leave.” You stammered. Quickly you moved off the bed and towards the door.

“Y/N.” Ellie called out after you. Ellie grabbed your arm in an attempt to calm you and to make you hear her words, but you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“Stay with me. Please. Don’t leave. We can talk this out-“

You only managed to shake your head as you pulled away from her grasp. You left her dorm with eyes full of tears. It was only when you reached the very end of the hall, out of Ellie’s view, did you crumple against the wall.

Your body was shaking. This wasn’t you.

You didn’t like girls. You couldn’t like girls. You liked boys.

More tears streamed down your cheeks as you thought back to all the wonderful feelings Ellie caused you and how no boy ever made you feel that way. Ever.

What have you done?