#well. lapsed a bit a couple months in but it was never a real. conversation

[badcountryofficial]

Anyway it's fine I'm here you're there. I'm growing and I know what I'm doing and where I'm going and what my plan is and what I'm focusing on. And I get to grieve and process and no one knows who you are aside from "my ex" or your name which isn't even your name anymore so don't be so paranoid. And you're doing whatever you're doing and I'll never know. And you'll never know what I'm doing. And we'll never know each other again.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Edge of Control Chapter 1: A New Start

Summary:

25 year old Danny Fenton tries to live a normal life, he works at a rundown convenience store, all while suppressing his ghostly powers. But when a predatory customer constantly harasses his fellow coworker, something starts to crack.

Notes:

TW: Sexual Harassment & Assault Based on a prompt from @Regonold

Danny Fenton stood at the register of the cornerstore convenience shop, eyes scanning the dingy street outside. A pair of flickering fluorescent lights buzzed above him, casting a pale, sickly glow over the shelves lined with snacks, cigarettes, and cheap canned goods. The neon "Open" sign blinked weakly in the window, like it was struggling to stay awake.

It was well past midnight, and the streets were quiet. For now. In this neighborhood, the calm never lasted long, especially once the bars let out and the real characters started crawling from the shadows. But Danny didn’t mind the late hours. In fact, he liked the stillness—the normality of it all.

The bell above the door jingled, and Danny looked up to see Tracy walking in. She was wearing her usual oversized hoodie, hood up despite the warm night. She gave him a tired smile as she approached the counter.

"Hey, Danny," she greeted, dropping her bag behind the counter. "Quiet tonight?"

"Quiet for now," Danny replied, leaning his elbows on the counter. "But it's only a matter of time."

Tracy nodded, sliding in next to him at the register. She was only seventeen, a high schooler trying to save up some money before graduation, but she had that kind of wary, streetwise attitude that came from growing up around the wrong kind of people. She'd been working at the cornerstore for a couple of months, starting not long after Danny did, and though she didn’t say much about her life, Danny knew enough from the way she carried herself to understand she had her reasons for keeping her head down.

In some ways, she reminded him of himself. They were both just trying to survive, trying to blend in and stay under the radar. Except Danny had a lot more to hide than just a rough home life.

He hadn’t used his powers in weeks, which was a personal record. After years of ghost-fighting, he’d finally managed to escape Amity Park—escape the never-ending cycle of being a hero, being a target. Here, in this nameless city with its dirty streets and forgotten corners, he was just another face in the crowd.

It felt good. Normal. Like he could breathe.

"Anything weird happen earlier?" Tracy asked, flipping through the worn inventory clipboard, though Danny doubted she was actually paying attention to it.

"Just the usual," Danny shrugged. "That guy who always tries to steal candy bars came in. I scared him off."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Scared him off? Did you glare at him real hard or something?"

"Something like that," Danny said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hadn't used any ghostly abilities, but a hard look and a bit of quiet menace were enough to keep most people at bay. He was good at blending in, but he was also good at not being messed with. A skill he'd perfected over the years.

Tracy chuckled, tossing the clipboard aside. "You’re like a bouncer in a convenience store. Bet they don't pay you enough for that."

"Not even close."

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence. Outside, the streetlights flickered, casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalk. Danny watched them with half an eye, his mind wandering. He liked the rhythm of the job. The simplicity. Sure, the neighborhood was rough, and the clientele could be unpredictable, but it was manageable. It was... human.

No ghosts. No paranormal disasters to deal with. No one trying to hunt him down. Just the mundane, gritty reality of a life that didn’t demand anything more than showing up and keeping the shelves stocked.

It was peaceful. For the first time in what felt like forever, Danny wasn’t running. He wasn’t fighting.

Of course, there were still slip-ups. A couple of weeks ago, he’d caught himself reflexively phasing through the stockroom door to grab something. Luckily, no one had seen him. And once or twice, when the lights flickered, he’d instinctively thought it was ghost-related, his heart hammering with that old adrenaline rush. But nothing ever came of it. No threats. No ghosts. Just faulty wiring in an old building.

“Hey, Danny,” Tracy said, pulling him out of his thoughts. She was leaning against the counter now, looking a little more serious. “Why’d you take this job? You’re, like… way too old to be working here.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Too old?”

“You know what I mean. You don’t seem like someone who’d be stuck in this place. Most of the guys your age are off doing, I dunno, real jobs.”

For a moment, Danny wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d come here to disappear, to live a life no one questioned. But here was Tracy, questioning it. He could come up with a hundred lies, but somehow, he didn’t want to lie to her. She’d seen enough BS in her life already.

“I needed a change of pace,” Danny said eventually, keeping it vague. “Something... simple.”

Tracy nodded slowly, like she understood. She didn’t push him for more, which Danny appreciated. She had her own secrets, too.

The bell above the door jingled again, pulling their attention. A group of guys in their early twenties shuffled in, already drunk and rowdy. Danny tensed, his senses going on high alert. Tracy gave him a look, already clocking them as trouble. They were loud, obnoxious, and definitely not here for snacks.

"Great," Tracy muttered under her breath.

Danny straightened up, his easygoing demeanor shifting into something more watchful. His heart rate picked up, and a familiar, cold edge settled into his gut—the instinct that something bad was about to happen. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t use his powers, wouldn’t let his ghost side out. But there were times like these, when the predator in him stirred, that it was hard to keep that promise.

He just had to hope that tonight, he wouldn’t have to.

[spaceskam]

welcome to another "I wrote this at work ignore the typos" situation featuring content in the little teaser for s3

ao3

"Michael Guerin with a cup of tea. Interesting."

"Bettering myself with soothing beverages," Michael said, leaning back in his chair as he looked up at Alex. He still felt a little off kilter, but he had no intention of guilt tripping Alex. It was a work in progress. He was a work in progress.

"Is that a quote from self proclaimed life coach Isobel Evans?" Alex asked, cocking his head to the side and smiling. Michael felt dizzy with it. It'd been so long without that fucking smile.

"How'd you know?" Michael asked, trying to keep the conversation light and not let it drift to an antagonistic place. He was good at that. Unfortunately, he was less good at keeping that at bay. "Where's the boyfriend?" Work in progress.

"He couldn't stick around, had to get to a meeting. He just met me at the bus stop," Alex said. Michael nodded and only then let his eyes drift away from his face, giving him a quick once over and tried not to be greedy with it. He still had his bags. "Is this seat taken?"

"Yeah," Michael said, casual as possible because Alex deserved that, "Saving it for this guy I met a few years back. You might know him. Around my height, dark hair, nice biceps, used to be in the army, killer thighs–literally, I almost suffocated me once."

"Shut up," Alex laughed, sitting across from him, "And I wasn't in the army."

"Same evil."

"Fair enough," Alex said, clasping his hands together and leaning forward, "Man, what's a guy gotta do around here to get a drink?"

Michael absolutely did not get his hopes up about this.

"Just sit there and look pretty," Michael said, pushing himself to his feet.

He'd been working a little harder and getting Sanders to make the place look a bit nicer in the front so new comers would show up, both resulting in everyone making more money. It was the most money Michael had ever had saved up before and he barely knew what to even do with it. He'd never wanted it before, never wanted to act like he was here to stay, but now it was there and now he could pay for Alex's drink.

He allowed himself to feel a little good about himself for that.

He order a medium vanilla latte, extra vanilla and an extra shot of expresso like he'd seen Alex order when they were a younger. Before he was a complete fuck up. Before when ordering anything but black coffee felt rebellious. And he paid for him for the first time. And he absolutely wasn't prideful bringing it back.

The look on Alex's face said he was also aware that this was the first time he could afford to buy him something so trivial, but he wasn't going to say anything because he was Alex. He took a sip as Michael sat across from him again and he smiled with a tiny bit of foam gracing his top lip. Michael felt his chest constricting with some twisted sort of pride and he refused to let himself be embarrassed by it.

"Thank you," Alex said.

"No problem."

Then they lapsed into silence, drinking their respective drinks and staring. Alex never turned his head away like he usually did; Michael never broke the silence like he usually did. None of it was awkward or uncomfortable or tense. It was just... having non-alcoholic drinks with someone he loved in whatever sense of the word he could.

It was nice. It was easy. It was something so completely different than Michael knew what to do with.

He craved more.

"So, do you need a ride to your house so you don't have to walk with all that?" Michael asked, definitely not mentioning that Forrest at the very least could've taken it. Granted, there's a chance he offered and Alex declined, which would be very much like Alex, but still. If he can kiss him, he can help with his bags.

"Depends. Are you willing to drive out to the middle of nowhere?"

"So that was a sold sign," Michael said. Alex took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah. It was a nice house, but it didn't really feel like home, you know? And after everything..."

"No, I get it," Michael said, nodding, "So where are you staying now?"

"Old Valenti hunting cabin. My cut of the inheritance and what I'm getting for selling my house is gonna be used on making it decent," Alex said.

"And amping up the security system," Michael added. Alex grinned and nodded.

"And amping up the security system."

"Well, it's my day off, so I can definitely take you," Michael said, not saying he took the day off specifically to meet Alex. That wasn't necessary information.

"You don't have to."

"What if I want to?" Michael asked. Alex looked at him, still smiling but he was clearly a little wary. "Just let me help out. I'm even going to try to not make you feel bad about the boyfriend."

"Oh, well, thank you so much for your efforts," Alex said sarcastically, but his tone was light and his smile was even more so, "But you really don't mind?"

"Alex, it's the least I can do," Michael said. It sounded weird in his voice, but it felt right. Alex seemed to agree if the look on his face said anything. Michael was more than a little proud of himself for not second guessing himself or assuming the worst.

Maybe he actually did do some growing.

"Okay then. Let's go."

Having Alex in his truck again didn't feel real. He was giddy in a way he hadn't felt in awhile and the fact that his bags were on the floor and not between them made that feeling skyrocket. Alex was comfortable with him. Or, at least, he seemed to be.

"Did you have fun?" Michael asked. Alex huffed a laugh.

"Well, I mean, I was doing dirty work, so not really. Forrest met me a couple times but I never wanted him to stay too long, was way too dangerous," Alex said, turning in his seat to face him.

"When I came out there with Kyle, you let me stay awhile," Michael said. He wasn't bragging. Absolutely not. He was simply useful for the task at hand and Kyle had to get back to work. Them eating take out on a hotel room floor and staying up too late was just convenient, a secret little addition to the trip.

"Yeah, but I trust you not to get killed by accident," Alex said, "Forrest had a good childhood. He's not at all aware of his surroundings like you are."

"Good for him," Michael said, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Alex may or may not have noticed.

"Also," he said slowly, "I'm kinda getting spoiled with the telekinesis thing, I'm not gonna lie."

Michael bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to be unnecessarily happy with that.

"Well if you ever need to make use of it, I'm your man," Michael said. Alex hummed in response–Michael couldn't tell if it was an acknowledgment or agreement.

It was around a 45 minute drive to the Valenti hunting cabin and the trip there was a bunch of small, winding, hand-made paths. You couldn't find it if you didn't know it was there. It was perfect for Alex.

Michael helped him get his bags inside and took in the fact that most of the stuff that had been in his house wasn't present. The furniture was broken in and there were a few boxes around, but not enough to hold everything from his house.

"I need a change," Alex said, going to the breaker box to turn the electricity on, "I thought that when I came back the first time that would be my big change, but I just did more of the same shit. So this is a real change."

"Sounds like it'd be good for you," Michael agreed.

"Yeah," Alex sighed, looking around. His eyes eventually landed on Michael again. "Do you have to go?"

"No, not unless you want me to," Michael said. Alex nodded.

"Move some boxes for me, telekinesis boy?" he asked. Michael grinned.

"Sure."

The spent what felt like two hours rearranging and unpacking and cleaning, Alex encouraging him to show off in a way that felt so ridiculously good. Everything about this was good. Spending time with him without expectation and tension and time limits.

He loved him more than his body had space for.

"Michael!" Alex said, immediately followed by a laugh, "You're going to break something!"

"I won't, have faith," Michael said, pulsing with the attention, "And if I do, I'll fix it."

He twisted his wrist, manuvering the fully put together bed frame through the door with his mind. It bumped into the door frame once or twice, but Alex just laughed and lightly scolded him.

Later, once they did what they could and got settled, Michael found himself on Alex's back porch with cans of coke in hand instead of beer.

"I love the view," Michael said.

"There's deer that'll get close if you're quiet," Alex said, "You'll have to sit with me to see them sometime."

"Yeah, whenever you'll have me," Michael said.

"Whenever you want," Alex responded. He sounded like he meant it.

Him meaning it didn't stop his phone from lighting up, didn't stop the way Alex's face closed off, didn't stop the way he sighed and locked it back. He took a long sip of his drink before he spoke.

"Forrest is on his way," Alex said. Michael shifted in his seat and nodded.

"So I should go."

"Do you have work tomorrow?" Alex asked instead of saying leave, instead of saying stay.

"Yep, bright and early."

"Okay," Alex said, "If I bring my truck up there in the morning, do I get privileges where I can sit with you in the back while you look over it and tell me what I need to fix after it sitting in my yard for nine months?"

Michael swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. He was leaving, he had to go because it wasn't his place to stay right now. But there was a promise of tomorrow. Of spending more time together just because.

The privilege of it, Alex said.

"Absolutely," Michael said, standing up, "I'll squeeze you in."

"Cool. I appreciate it," Alex said, looking up at him with a smile, "And I appreciate you helping me out today. Made all of that a lot easier."

"Not a problem," he said, "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Wait," Alex said quickly, getting himself to his feet and coming closer. Without much of a warning about what exactly was coming, Alex wrapped his arms around his neck. Michael hugged him back easily.

Alex squeezed him; Michael squeezed back.

"I'm so glad you're back," Michael whispered against him.

"I've gotta come home at some point, right?" Alex whispered back. Michael nodded.

They held on for longer than they should.

"Alright," Alex said after awhile, letting go with a reluctance Michael wasn't so unfamiliar with it ached, "I'll see you in the morning. I'll bring food."

Michael didn't like to get his hopes up.

He decided not to be scared this time.

[elspethc22]

Never Again

Sciles Week Day 2: Sleep Intimacy

Pairing: Scott/Stiles

Word Count: 1969

When Scott had asked Stiles at the school if he wanted to split up to investigate the train tracks and Stiles had responded ‘never again’ he’d meant it very literally. In the weeks since they’d defeated the Wild Hunt and its wannabe rider the Nazi, Stiles had spent a total of one night in a different bed to Scott. And that night hadn’t gone too well.

The first night, everyone had seemed to just accept that Scott and Stiles weren’t being separated so soon after getting Stiles (and everyone else) back from the Wild Hunt. With everyone suddenly back, both the Sheriff and Melissa had ended up being called back in to work as people tried to deal with, and once again try to explain away, the recent events.

Scott knew Stiles was going to want to go home, to see his house and his room and be in those familiar surroundings after so long, so it wasn’t even a question when he followed his best friend home that night. Like Stiles, he couldn’t bear to separated again so soon, not after so many months and not knowing who Stiles was, what he was missing, and then knowing and struggling to get him back.

When they reach the Stilinski household, Stiles parks the jeep and they hop out. Scott follows Stiles up to the front door, and then pauses when Stiles does, watching as Stiles just stares at the door.

‘Stiles?’ He prompted after a moment, and Stiles nodded, unlocking the door and letting them inside. Scott wondered if he should ask Stiles about eating – did things like that matter in the hunt? But he could tell from the slump in Stiles’ shoulders that he was exhausted, so he let Stiles lead them past the kitchen and up the stairs.

They changed into comfortable clothing and then settled into Stiles’ bed. At first they just lay there, side by side, just far enough apart that Scott could feel the distance.

‘Stiles, are you ok?’ He asked gently after they’d laid there in silence for a minute. Stiles turned his head, then rolled to face Scott. Scott did the same, so they lay staring at each other.

‘It’s just… I have to admit, there were a few moments there when I really wasn’t sure I was getting back here. It’s just…’ He trailed off, and Scott scooted forward, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him forward, shifting his own body slightly so he could pull Stiles up next to him.

‘I get it. Right after you disappeared, Lydia was so adamant that she’d forgotten something, that there was something we were forgetting or missing, but none of us could really understand what she meant at first. Then, the more she talked about it, that feeling, the more I felt it creeping in and started noticing things. Like an empty space in a photo, little gaps in memories that just didn’t quite make sense, like why I would go looking for a body in the middle of the preserve.’ Scott paused, looking down at Stiles who had tilted his head up and was watching him.

‘Then, when I remembered you – when we heard your voice through the radio, I couldn’t understand how I ever forgot you. When we were using the machine to try and bring you back with our memories, it was so overwhelming, I couldn’t focus and now I think I know why – because you’re there in almost all of my memories, all the important moments in my life since we met. There were too many and I couldn’t focus it down, couldn’t pick just one that was important because they’re all important. Because it’s you. But I still couldn’t bring you back.’

That last bit was whispered, but Stiles clearly heard it as he suddenly sat up, holding Scott’s face between his hands to force him to look at him.

‘That’s not your fault, Scott. I don’t know everything, but I got enough from my dad to know that Lydia bringing me back has to be because she’s a banshee. He said that they never tried to come for her, the riders, and about that other town with the only person left behind being a banshee. So it’s not because you failed, Scott.’ Stiles told him, and continued to hold Scott’s face still and stare at him until Scott nodded.

Then Stiles nodded, clearly happy with Scott’s acquiescence, and laid back down, snuggling in close to Scott once again. Scott brought his arm back up around Stiles’ waist, and let himself settle in a bit more.

‘I’m so glad we got you back, Stiles.’ Scott whispered into the silence in the room after a few minutes.

‘I’m so happy you got me back too.’ Stiles whispered in return, then they both lapsed back into silence, and slowly started to drift off to sleep.

They woke the next morning when the Sheriff finally returned home from the station, popping his head into the room very briefly to check his son was really back and then tell them he was getting some sleep.

The sound of his dad woke Stiles, and he lifted a hand in acknowledgment, listening as his dad shut the door behind him. During the night, they had shifted so when they woke they were pressed Stiles’ back to Scott’s front, spooning together with Scott’s arm keeping them firmly together.

Stiles had a fleeting thought regarding his continual position as the little spoon before he pushed that aside and pressed back slightly, into the warmth of Scott’s body, feeling Scott’s arm tighten slightly in response. Stiles smiled, and let himself drift back off to sleep.

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

The second night, Scott had returned home to be with his mum and Stiles stayed home to spend time with his dad. When Stiles made his way up to bed, he went through the same routine as the night before, the same routine as always, getting into his pyjamas and crawling into bed.

He then proceeded to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, waking every hour or two reaching across the bed for someone who wasn’t there, feeling cold and unable to get warm or with his heart racing as he thought he heard horses and whips. When his dad came to check on him in the morning, he was curled up on his side, staring at his phone trying to decide if it was too early to call Scott.

The decision was made for him when his phone suddenly rang, Scott calling him. He hurried to answer the call, holding the phone to his ear.

‘Scotty?’ He breathed into the phone, and heard a responding sigh.

‘Hey Stiles. Sorry if I woke you – ’

‘You didn’t. I uh, I couldn’t really sleep last night.’ Stiles admitted softly.

‘You either, huh?’ Scott asked and Stiles nodded even though Scott couldn’t see him.

‘I kept reaching for you, and you weren’t here.’ Stiles admitted in a low voice, knowing Scott would hear him.

‘Same.’ Scott whispered back, and Stiles closed his eyes.

The Sheriff stood in the doorway listening to the conversation, and was torn between being worried about Stiles’ inability to sleep apparently coming back, and being so happy to have him back and be able to listen to him talk to his best friend even if the topic wasn’t fantastic. With a silent signal to say he was heading to work, the Sheriff left his son still talking to Scott.

He wasn’t surprised when he got a text later that day from Stiles saying he was spending the night at Scott’s.

From then on, the boys alternated their nights between the Stilinski and McCall households, and either the Sheriff or Melissa lost track of the days, well if the boys weren’t at their respective houses they just made the assumption they were at the other house, and they were correct.

They both also assumed that after a few weeks, once everything started to settle again, they would slowly stop this and go back to what it had been like before. This assumption was not correct.

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

One month after Stiles’ return, the Sheriff went to wake his son for his graduation ceremony. After everything that had happened at Beacon Hills High School over the last few months (years) the ceremony had been slightly delayed. As the Sheriff opened the door, he bit back a sigh as he was once again greeted with the sight of Scott and his son curled up together in Stiles’ bed. He had really hoped that now that some time had passed, their shared need for each other to be able to sleep would fade, but that did not seem to be passing.

This morning, Scott was curled up on his side, facing the wall, and Stiles was curled around him, one arm slung across Scott’s midsection, holding him close. They’d often shared a bed as they’d grown up, a closeness forged from a shared grief of losing a parent (albeit in different ways), of being different from their classmates due to asthma and ADHD and being each other’s only real friends for so long. But this was different, this was a new type of closeness and the Sheriff wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

He also worried that now that school was over, and the future upon them with college and who knew what else that this co-dependency for sleep would not end well for either boy. But he knew that saying that to them wouldn’t help, at least not saying outright. Perhaps it was time to talk to Melissa.

He cleared his throat, knocked a couple of times on the door and spoke.

‘Boys, time to wake up – graduation day.’ Stiles stirred first, surprisingly given Scott’s werewolf hearing and reflexes. He turned his head towards the door and gave his dad a smile.

‘Morning dad.’ The Sheriff smiled in returned, then nodded towards Scott.

‘Wake Scott up, get dressed and come down for breakfast. Melissa will be here to join us in half an hour.’ Stiles nodded then turned back towards Scott. The Sheriff stepped back, but then paused, watching his son gently shake Scott.

‘C’mon Scotty, time to get up. Big day today.’ He said, hand on Scott’s shoulder. Scott mumbled and then he brought his hand up to wipe at his face then turned to face Stiles without dislodging Stiles’ arm from his waist.

‘Morning.’ He said lowly, his voice still think with sleep.’ Stiles smiled at him.

‘Can you believe it, Scott? Graduation! We made it – we actuallymade it.’ Scott grinned at him, then his smiled softened slightly.

‘I couldn’t have made it without you.’ Scott told Stiles, who ducked his head. Scott lifted a hand and tilted Stiles’ head back up to look at him. ‘I mean it. No way I’d be here if it wasn’t for you.’

‘Same, Scott. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. And I wouldn’t want to be here without you.’ Stiles admitted and the Sheriff closed his eyes tight. He didn’t want to believe the sentiment but he heard the truth in his son’s voice.

‘I wouldn’t want to be here without you either.’ Scott responded, and the Sheriff heard the truth there too.

When he let his eyes open again, Scott had wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist, and the other had worked its way up between them to hold Stiles’ cheek, and their foreheads were pressed together. Stiles’ eyes were closed, and Scott was watching him.

Maybe he did know what to make of it after all, although he did wonder if the boys had realised yet. He’d have to let Melissa know this wasn’t going to be stopping any time soon.

[illfoandillfie]

5 Simple Rules for a Successful Relationship: Blurb

This wasn’t requested by anyone but the idea has been kicking around my head basically since I wrote the Ben POV chapter

Warnings for fluff and smut but it’s all very soft

5 Simple Rules Series Masterlist

Blurb Advent Day 1

Taglist since it’s part of a series: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies 

@coni-martina @hardforbenhardy @cubedtriangle @vicouscirce @arianabrashierstuff @pattieboydwannabe @maggieroseevans @theprettyandthereckless @friccinfricks 

Ben had it all planned out. He’d known how he was going to ask for a while, before he’d even picked out the ring. But, so far, he hadn’t been able to put his plan into action. As much as he wanted to ask it never quite felt like the right time. There was always something going on, somewhere to be – work or dinner with friends or general errands to sort out. But he knew how he wanted it to happen. He’d cook dinner, your favourite meal of course, followed by dessert made from scratch, really bring out the big guns. Afterwards he’d put on some music, a playlist of love songs he’d been adding to for months now, maybe ask you to dance. It was a little corny but sometimes corny was okay. Later on he’d pop into the kitchen and pull out your two mugs and place the ring in the bottom of yours before returning to the couch to sit with you. And then, at the usual time, he’d say he could really go with a hot drink before bed. He knew you’d volunteer to make them since he’d made dinner so he’d wait for you to leave the room before following. He’d listen for the gasp of surprise when you checked the mugs and saw the ring. That would be his cue to step into the room and get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. He had the speech ready to go too, knew what he wanted to say. How fast he’d fallen for you, how glad he was you were with him, how much he loved you.

Thinking about actually popping the question made Ben nervous. But the good kind of nervous. Of course the topic of weddings and marriage had come up before, abstractly. It was nearly unavoidable when his mum would not-so-subtly check for an engagement ring every time you visited, and then even less so when Gwilym got engaged and invited you both to the party. So he’d asked you about it, whether you had ever considered the whole settling down thing – marriage, kids, white picket fence, the lot. He was pleased to find out you liked the idea, had even imagined what the future might be like with him. The only thing you didn’t want was a public proposal which Ben fully supported. After all the attention you’d received as a result of the relationship, all the magazine articles and snapped photos while you were just trying to buy milk and bread, it felt wrong to voluntarily make such a private situation public. Ben was sure you’d be asked about it in future interviews and on social media and he wouldn’t mind sharing the story then, after he was sure you’d say yes. He had no reason to believe you wouldn’t but there was always that slight uncertainty, that intrusive doubt that made him wonder if you’d just tell him to bugger off instead. He found comfort in the plan though. Knowing exactly what he would do was reassuring. But even the best laid plans weren’t guaranteed.

Ben’s actual proposal caught him off guard as much as it did you. It was early on a Saturday, sometime between two and three. Usually you’d both be fast asleep but instead you were stumbling into the house, lit only by the grey light of the morning. You hadn’t meant to stay at the afterparty for so long but people kept handing you drinks and drawing you into conversations and music was still pumping through the speakers and before you knew it five more minutes had become a couple of extra hours. Ben emptied his pockets onto the hall stand as he watched you lean against the front door and kick off your shoes. He couldn’t resist catching you in a quick kiss before he wrapped his arm around you with a soft, “C’mon cuddle bunny,” and lead you towards the bathroom. Both of you set about brushing teeth and washing faces and changing into pyjamas. He chuckled as he watched you extract an almost obscene amount of bobby pins from your hair before you retied it to sleep in. But, even after everything was done and you’d both climbed under the covers, sleep didn’t come. Ben, eyes closed in an attempt to trick sleep into taking him, felt you move under his arm and peeked through his lashes to find you facing him.

“You okay?” His voice was hushed though there was no real need and when you responded yours was too.“Yeah just not really tired,” “Me neither,” “Do you wanna…?” “Now?” “Well just lying here waiting to drop off is a bit boring but I also don’t really feel like getting up,” “Alright then, why not.” “If you fall asleep half way through I won’t hold it against you,” “Shut up and take your pants off,” Ben laughed, already wriggling out of his. “You just didn’t sound very enthusiastic,” “I am always enthusiastic about this,” Ben forgot everything else he might have said as you pulled him into a kiss.

The sex itself was okay. Nothing special really. You’d had better sex plenty of other times, though you’d also had worse. The best way to describe it was fine. It wasn’t mind blowing but it was comfortable and reliable and fine. Ben felt a little clumsy as he kissed you back, his hand roaming over your side and down to your arse. He supposed the dark of the room and the drinks you’d both put down over the course of the night were having an impact, but, by the way you giggled against his lips, it seemed you found it cute more than anything else. To compensate for his inelegant fingers, Ben moved slowly, enjoying kissing you as much as he could. He hummed when you slid your hand down between your bodies and found his dick, stroking it unhurriedly. There wasn’t a need to go faster, no built up passion to release. The sex was a way to kill some time. Even when you hooked your leg over his and he sank into you, nothing really changed. But Ben knew what you liked and did his best to hit those spots as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you again. He decided he must be doing something right based off the small keening noises you made. All the same he didn’t expect your next outburst, said softly right against his lips.

“God Ben, I want you inside me forever,” It slipped out before he could second guess himself, “Then marry me,” “What?” Ben paused his movement, not totally sure he’d actually said it until he drew back enough to look at you and saw the stunned expression you wore. His heart pounded as he realised this was it, this was the moment, “Might be easier to do that if we’re married is all. So, will you? Will you marry me?” It took a few moments for the question to sink in but once it had you nodded in agreement. You felt the same. “Yes?” “Yes.” “Yeah? You’ll marry me?” “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ben broke out into a grin and swept you into another kiss though he cut it off abruptly, “Wait, hold on,” somewhat ungracefully Ben pulled out of you and rolled out of the bed, switching on a lamp and heading over to his chest of draws. He dug around in one for a moment before he pulled out a small box which he brought back to the bed. Kneeling in front of you, he popped the box open to show you the ring before taking it and sliding it onto your finger.

You couldn’t help but stare, holding you hand out in front of you to see how it looked. It was beautiful, not too over the top but not exactly understated either, and it fit perfectly. When you raised you eyes back to Ben’s face you noticed his eyes glistening. “I love it Ben, I love you,” “I love you too Y/N,” he whispered back, kissing you again and laying you back down.

As Ben sank back into you, you placed your hand on his chest, picking up his body heat except where the cool metal of the ring lay. You could feel his heart beating under your palm as he rolled his hips against you, trying to finish what you’d started. It took a little while longer, though things moved less slowly than they had before the interruption of the proposal. Ben dropped his fingers to your clit as he felt you getting closer, drawing gentle circles until the warm wave rolled through you, pulling a soft sigh from your lips. He kept his fingers there as if to try to give you another orgasm, maybe one not quite so soft, but you pulled his hand away, linking his fingers with yours as you kissed his throat and encouraged him to finish too. It didn’t matter that your orgasm hadn’t been particularly powerful. All that mattered was that Ben was with you and he always would be.

Afterwards you curled up, leaning your head on Ben’s chest, his arm around you. He sighed contentedly and kissed the top of your head. “So much for sleeping,” he chuckled. “What we did was better than sleep,” “Definitely. And if we hold out for a little longer we could watch the sunrise,” “I don’t know if I’ll last that long,” “No, me neither. It’d be nice though,” You agreed and lapsed into a comfortable silence. And then a thought struck you, “You know, we’re going to need a cover story,” “What?” “People are going to want to hear the story of how you proposed. Felicity, Joe, Gwil, the rest of our friends, our families, not to mention paparazzi and the press, they’ll all ask.”  “Fuck.” “So you don’t want to look your mother in the eye and explain it happened mid shag either? Good to know we’re on the same page,” Ben laughed, “Funnily enough, that was very unplanned. I had something much more romantic and better prepared in mind when I thought about how I’d do it. A whole big speech about you being the love of my life and how I want to spend every day of my life making you feel happy and safe and loved,” “Go on then, what was it,” Ben explained his original idea, about the dinner and the mugs, all the while playing with your fingers as if he didn’t want to break contact.  “That does sound wonderful, but I have to admit, I really love how it actually happened,” “Me too,” he laughed, “But that’s good. Because now we have a story to tell everyone and a slightly more accurate story just for ourselves.”

[beca-mitchell]

wish i could pretend i didn't need you (1/?)

Summary: Beca Mitchell is born into a life of organized crime, directionless and despondent. Then she meets Chloe Beale.

Word count: 3,347

I know everybody’s focused on Bechloe week stuff and I know there are other things going on, especially with my own fics. But somehow this fic burst out of me in a stroke of inspiration. So to people to whom I still owe prompts/gifts: I’m sorry. I don’t anticipate this fic going beyond 15 chapters, hell we’ll see what happens around the 10 chapter mark based on what I plotted.

Read below or on AO3.

It is a Friday night.

Beca finds herself at her favorite bar. It is an odd hybrid between a karaoke hangout for people who are too drunk to realize how bad they’re doing and a lowkey, dimly-lit hang-out spot where she can be herself without her usual cares and concerns.

“You can go,” Beca says pointedly to her driver. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Seriously,” she promises. “I just want to be alone. I’ll call you if I…” she sighs. “Why am I explaining this to you? Please, just go,” she begs. She hates feeling like a child who needs a constant babysitter. She hates feeling watched and followed, even if it is for her own safety like everybody claims.

It’s tiring, that’s what it is.

Without waiting to see whether the car leaves, Beca turns to quickly make her way inside her safe haven. The bar downtown. A bar with music and drinks and a semblance of normalcy in a city that refuses to define the term ‘normal’ without a million asterisks.

A normal Friday night in Los Angeles.

She likes the music that wraps around her the moment she enters the bar. Barely decipherable because of how loud the bar is. It is the perfect way to both lose herself and be lost in the crowd and the atmosphere of a typical Friday night.

Beca knows exactly what she’s looking for. It’s been a while since she’s had one night of mindless, anonymous sex. She doesn’t think herself too picky, just selective about the kind of woman she can find. Nobody to get attached to, at least not for more than a couple trysts. Nobody too curious.

In her line of work, dating is overrated and entirely unnecessary.

Beca starts at the bar. A quick scan up and down the wooden surface, she can see only completely full drinks and people with dates of their own. The thought makes her scoff—makes her order a drink immediately, then proceed to down it quickly. With the burn in her throat and renewed energy, she quickly scans the crowded space, eyes trained to pick up on significant movements and significant people.

It is then, with a second drink in hand, that Beca spots her. Her eyes catch on this stranger’s hair—the pretty red hair, glinting under shoddy lighting—before her eyes are drawn to the stranger’s easy smile. She appears to be alone as well, or at least, she does for another minute longer before she is accompanied by two other young women. Beca tilts her head, wondering if she has a chance at all, with this stranger. A pretty, kind-looking stranger. With friends, Beca presumes.

“Can I buy you another drink?” Beca asks, slipping into the empty barstool next to the stranger.

Clear blue eyes turn to her, surprised. “I didn’t even hear you behind me.”

“I’d be surprised if you heard anything with how loud this music is blasting.”

A flash of white teeth. She leans closer to Beca, as if she is about to share a secret. “I don’t mind it. I like things loud,” she whispers loudly, adding an exaggerated wink to punctuate her statement.

Beca gapes at her new companion. “I mean. That’s…” She clears her throat, momentary lapse dissipating quickly when the beautiful redhead shifts closer. “So...drink?” she asks, quickly changing the subject. She finds this woman’s personality endearing to say the least, if not a little out there, but Beca thinks she can manage.

“Okay,” the woman agrees. “But you have to join me. Two margaritas, then?”

That’s manageable. Beca orders the two drinks, keeping her eye on the woman out of the corner of her eye. She’s stunned by how easily this woman smiles, but she somehow manages to do it without coming off as completely insane. Maybe a little, Beca muses, but she’s not there to judge.

“What’s your name?” Beca asks, keeping her tone light and just the right amount of disinterested. She slides a drink to the woman, smiling when fingers brush against her own in a clear display of interest.

The stranger giggles, a sound so light and airy that it almost breaks Beca’s resolve. She doesn’t crack. She tries not to, at least.

“Chloe,” she replies, finally. She brushes her hand up the front of Beca’s jacket, brushing against the leather. “I like your jacket.”

The boldness makes Beca swallow her drink a bit too early. “That’s all?” she rasps.

Chloe bites her lip, pretending to think about it. “I mean. Maybe I had more to say. But I noticed you looking at me about an hour ago. You finally made your way over here.” At Beca’s immediate blush and flustered stutter, Chloe pats her jacket again with a giggle before she draws away, sipping innocently at her drink. “What’s your name?”

“Beca.”

“Beca,” Chloe repeats. “I like that.”

To Beca’s immense relief, Chloe doesn’t ask for a last name, nor does she offer a last name of her own. Beca eases into the conversation, relaxing against the bar as Chloe begins to rope her into her orbit. Beca doesn’t even realize it.

* * * * *

“I’m not from around here,” Chloe admits.

“Here as in...Los Angeles or here as in California?”

“Um…” Chloe shifts closer to Beca, comfortable in their little corner of the bar, away from noise and nosy eyes. “Both, I guess? I moved here for a job after finishing school on the other side of the country.”

Beca pretends to gag. “School. Bleh. What’d you study?”

“I’m a vet,” Chloe says with twitch of her lips. “What do you do? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve bought all my drinks tonight. I’m not complaining.”

Beca laughs, but she finds that she has no real excuses. “I…” Beca trails off, unsure what she can say exactly. “I’m between jobs,” she says evasively. “But I used to work for my dad. After I finished with the whole school thing.” Not quite a lie. She currently isn’t on any jobs for her father, though she’s sure she’ll have something come up over the next couple of weeks. Also not a lie—she did finish a degree at her father’s behest.

“You strike me as a musician,” Chloe says suddenly. She reaches for Beca’s hand, playing with her fingers. “Talented fingers.”

Beca holds back her laugh. Chloe is forward, which is refreshing. That was a move if she had ever seen one. She relaxes for a second, then Beca watches Chloe for a long moment, letting the slow heat spread through her body at the point which their hands are touching.

“What?” Chloe asks, shifting closer still. “Am I wrong?”

“A little,” Beca admits. “But I…” She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just a little off.” She glances at their hands, admiring the slender lines of Chloe’s fingers and the softness of her hand. “But...you might not be wrong about other things.” Beca waits for a beat before leaning in, wondering if Chloe will meet her halfway.

Chloe does. Their first kiss is explosive—Beca immediately surges closer, pulling herself further into Chloe’s orbit. Chloe’s lips are impossibly soft, undeniably pliant, and gentle.

* * * * *

It is a Friday night. Nothing out of the ordinary thus far for Beca—her first night off in months.

Her first night off in months and she is being pressed against the wall outside an apartment complex, Chloe’s tongue in her mouth doing absolutely sinful things. And they have, as far as Beca is concerned, a good few hours. But never all night—Beca makes it a point not to stay; she makes it a point not to linger. It is, however, perhaps, maybe, a little difficult to think of anything else at the moment, as the night progresses.

And it has progressed. 

Beca barely manages to take stock of her surroundings, simply allowing Chloe to navigate them into her apartment with ease. She would have never thought Chloe would freely offer up her apartment so quickly, but as they had continued kissing at the bar, Beca found that both their resolves cracked rather quickly. In short order, Chloe divests Beca of her clothes and shoves her onto her bed with a glint.

That had been a mere few minutes ago, both of them too desperate and too aroused to allow for much more else.

“Fuck,” Beca moans. “Fuck, you’re so good at that.” She plants a hand against the headboard, wincing at the strain in her arm. With her free hand, she grabs Chloe’s hair, grinding her hips down, eyes nearly crossing at the rough sensation of Chloe’s tongue against her clit. She gasps with each imprecise stroke between her legs. She wants nothing more than to feel Chloe inside her entirely—fingers, tongue, she’s not picky—but she finds it difficult to articulate more than low, drawn-out moans.

Here, she barely knows this woman’s last name—barely knows her own last name, but she finds that she does not care. Not when Chloe’s hands lock onto her thighs with an iron grip and she begins to sharply flick her tongue over Beca’s sensitive clit. Over and over—Beca cries out, gripping the headboard to the point of injuring her hand, but she does not care. She lets out a groan—somewhere between a groan and gasp—and a string of curses before she is trembling and all but collapsing to the side. Her orgasm ripples through her, like the most pleasurable of waves taking up the spaces in her body. She shudders, tensing her thighs together as Chloe maneuvers them so they are both lying face to face on the bed. Beca tilts her head to receive Chloe’s kiss, which Chloe presses eagerly against her lips. Chloe is all full lips, tongue, and passion, something which only sends heat coiling through Beca’s body again.

As if reading her mind, Chloe pulls back, tongue swiping against her lower lip as she does so. Her hand trails down Beca’s stomach, gently pushing between her legs. “Again,” she rasps, nuzzling her nose against Beca’s. “I want to see you come.” Another kiss, this time with a tug to Beca’s lip between even, blunt teeth. “Didn’t really get to—” another kiss “—see it before.”

And, yeah. Okay. Beca can do that. She nods, pulling Chloe in for another kiss. At around this point, she’d be figuring out an escape from this stranger’s bed and room. But she finds that she wants to stay; she wants to figure out how to make Chloe scream her name or at least make sure that Chloe doesn’t forget their night together.

It feels imperative that she does so.

She is momentarily stricken in the best of ways by Chloe’s hand navigating fully between her legs. She tilts her hips up eagerly, already wet and wanting for Chloe’s fingers. That one orgasm had hardly been enough and whether she chooses to blame it on the alcohol or the fact that she hasn’t been laid in at least four months, she knows that she needs Chloe now. She needs Chloe’s deft, talented fingers inside her.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Chloe murmurs, voice thick with her own arousal. “Just say something—tell me—”

Beca shakes her head. “No, don’t stop. More.”

Chloe nods, pleased by Beca’s receptiveness and begins slowly dragging her fingers around Beca’s slick cunt, gently coaxing her into an even more heightened state of arousal. Beca wraps an arm around Chloe’s shoulder, pulling her closer still. She traces the top of Chloe’s spine, marvelling at each bump and ridge before she tires and traces the smooth muscles across her back, pleased by the shiver that she feels ripple through Chloe’s body.

Chloe shifts so she hovers over her, covering her body with her own. Beca clutches at Chloe’s back, sighing pleasurably. “Mm—fuck,” Beca murmurs, back arching when Chloe’s fingers sink inside her without preamble. She groans at how full she feels—had it really been that long?—and immediately craves more of that sensation. “Go,” she urges. “More, please, Chloe.”

“You like that,” Chloe whispers, breath hot against Beca’s ear. “You’re so tight, Bec—” the nickname falls so easily from her lips. It sends an unexpected flash through Beca, renewed arousal and all. “I’m going to make you remember my name.”

Beca isn’t entirely sure she would have ever forgotten, regardless of the circumstances.

* * * * *

Beca learns, fairly quickly, what it is that makes Chloe tick. She learns exactly where to kiss and nip to make Chloe sigh. She learns where to suck to make Chloe whimper and moan. She learns exactly how to curl her fingers inside Chloe to make her scream her name with unabashed pleasure.

She learns all about the physicality of this woman, but she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why she seems to crave more. In her sleep-deprived, alcohol-induced haze, she fumbles through the darkness of her own consciousness even as she continues to kiss Chloe’s neck and her chest.

She wants so much more.

“Beca,” Chloe rasps, pulling her back to the present. “Oh, Beca, that feels amazing.” Hands press on the top of her head, urging her downwards towards where Chloe needs her most—the place where she is wettest and where she aches for Beca.

It’s nice, Beca thinks, with a small moan of her own, to be so wanted.

* * * * *

Beca doesn’t remember falling asleep. She remembers Chloe’s lips against her own, the press of Chloe’s lips against her inner thigh. She remembers what it had felt like to press her fingers inside Chloe for the first time—the strain in her arm as she attempted to keep up with Chloe’s enthusiasm for her fingers.

She has never done this before. Sleeping over at a stranger’s apartment or house. Staying the night.

It’s new.

It’s also new, feeling a warm arm draped around her middle possessively. The curves pressing up and down her back. The mild discomfort of skin against skin beneath the chill of the air conditioning because their blanket was kicked halfway down the bed.

All of it feels so new and it makes Beca want to run and yet, she stays. She stays, gets even more comfortable in Chloe’s bed, and decides to sleep for another couple of hours.

It’s nice, feeling like she has nowhere to be.

Sleepily, from behind Beca, Chloe nuzzles into her neck with a degree of comfort that would alarm Beca normally. She nuzzles into Beca with sleepy care, clearly somewhere between being awake and asleep like Beca is herself.

The soft press of her nose and lips against Beca’s skin is comfortable. Like she has been there all her life.

* * * * *

It is a Saturday morning.

When Beca wakes again, it is due to the ray of sunlight shining almost directly across her eyes. She groans, lifting her arm to cover her eyes.

“Morning,” Chloe’s voice says, clear as day from the kitchen area. Beca blinks, lifting her head slightly. Her heart pounds as she takes in the reality of the situation: she had slept over—she had stayed overnight. She had broken her one rule about one-night-stands. “You’re up,” Chloe continues cheerily, clearly unaware of Beca’s inner turmoil.

“Um...yeah. What time is it?” Beca groans. “Good morning,” she adds hastily, as to not be completely rude.

“Just after nine. You were sleeping like a log, so I got some coffee and breakfast.” Chloe moves towards the bed from the kitchen, making Beca fully aware of the spacious studio space and open layout of Chloe’s apartment. “Hi,” Chloe murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. She helps Beca sit up, handing her a bagel. “Hope you like cream cheese.”

“I...I do,” Beca whispers. She sits up, surprised by how comfortable she feels baring herself to Chloe after their night together. Chloe smiles pleasantly at her, clearly delighted that Beca is receptive to breakfast. “Thank you,” she adds, sincerity in her tone. She doesn’t say it aloud, but it has been a while since she’s enjoyed any form of breakfast in bed, let alone a substantial breakfast of any kind that wasn’t an extra large iced coffee for the road.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Chloe asks. “I can drive you.”

“You have a car?” Beca asks, surprised. At Chloe’s raised eyebrow, she laughs awkwardly, attempting to brush it off. “No, I just meant—I don’t know. Most people our age don’t really have...a car,” she finishes lamely.

“Oh? How do you know I’m not like twenty years older than you?”

Beca tugs at the sheets nervously. “I guess,” Beca stammers, pink tainting her cheeks. “I guess...I guessed,” she murmurs slowly.

Chloe laughs, settling even further on the bed, stretching out. “I’m kidding, I’m twenty-seven. I just turned twenty-seven.”

“Oh, okay. I’m twenty-five.”

“Nice to meet you, Beca, twenty-five,” Chloe announces. She sends a mock-salute towards Beca, playful smile still playing on her lips.

Beca lets some tension ease from her body. She isn’t sure where the ease comes from, but she feels incredibly comfortable talking to Chloe. Incredibly open, despite how vulnerable she feels being significantly underdressed while Chloe lounges in her leggings and button-up shirt across from her. Still, she feels the same undeniable attraction to this woman—the same attraction from the night before. It lingers, hot in her chest, drifting into her belly.

She doesn’t do this. Not usually. Not ever.

“Mitchell,” Beca says quietly while Chloe fiddles with her phone. Her voice causes Chloe to look up. “My name is Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe’s smile is incredibly radiant, enough to light up the whole room. More than the sun itself, creeping its way past the half-open curtains. Behind her head, as if the universe is further highlighting Chloe’s mere presence in Beca’s life—a miracle of sorts, if anything—there is a halo of sunlight, lighting up red strands like the tiny sparks and flames Beca feels rippling through her body. Chloe clears her throat. “We have all morning, Beca Mitchell. If you’re up for it, that is.”

“All morning?” Beca questions. She is sure wonder is written all over her face.

“I...want to get to know you. If that’s okay.”

Oh. Beca swallows. Chloe’s eyes are even more blue than Beca remembers. She is unable to look away, even for a moment, but she isn’t sure that she would even want to, not when she is so incredibly captivated by Chloe. “That’s okay…” Beca finishes by nibbling on her bagel, unsure what else Chloe wants her to say or do. She finds that she is not afraid of these completely unchartered waters, so long as she gets to dive in, head-first, with Chloe.

Chloe rises from the bed so she can sit closer to where Beca is reclining. Slowly, she leans in, eyes watching carefully for anything that Beca might be resistant to—any indication that Beca doesn’t want this.

Beca has never had a morning after—not one that mattered, at least. She is so riveted by the slow way Chloe leans in to kiss her; she is so enthralled by the way Chloe occupies all the spaces that she didn’t know she had—all the capacities she didn’t know existed within her in that moment.

Like a dam breaking, an unexpected surge passes over Beca. She reaches up quickly, pulling Chloe in to close the rest of the distance between them.

“Beale,” Chloe whispers against her lips. Her free hand glides up Beca’s body before she pries her bagel from her hand and sets it aside.

“What?” Beca asks, distracted by Chloe’s wandering hand.

“My name is Chloe Beale.”

Nice to meet you, Beca thinks. It is such a pleasant, reassuring thought that it fills her with something more than her usual existential dread.

It is warm.

Gentle.

She thinks of nothing else for the rest of the morning, simply intent on getting to know Chloe Beale beyond just the feeling of her skin beneath her fingertips.

fin ch. 1

[olliepig]

Centre Stage chapter 3

As always, massive thanks to the wonderful @willow-salix for her editing help and wonderful cheerleading through this.

Also as always, the full thing is available on AO3 here.

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

I need to see you. Can you free up any time this weekend?

Cat smiled as she read the message, thankful that Scott had finally found the time to meet up. It had been a few weeks since they had last seen each other but she didn’t hold it against him, knowing full well how stressed he was with the preparations to build the new T-Drive while also still balancing the running of Tracy Industries with active duty on the rescues that were coming in.

Of course! I’ve only got rehearsals til 2 on Saturday so I can be home and ready by 3 if that works for you?

She typed quickly, stashing her phone back in her bag and returning her attention to stretching and warming up for the rehearsal ahead of her for her first performance of the season. Coppelia was a new ballet for herself and her long-time friend and dance partner, Mark, meaning the rehearsal process was even more intensive than usual and they had been in the studios together almost constantly since the end of their summer break with little time to do anything after but eat and sleep.

“Is that your man again by any chance?” Mark teased, knowing the answer full well by the look on Cat’s face.

“Maybe,” she smiled haughtily, loving the flash of excitement that went through her at the thought that Scott was now ‘her man’.

“Has he finally managed to get some time on his hands to see you then?”

“Seems like it. He’s got a big project in the works just now so it’s been hard for him to get much time off,” Cat explained, careful not to give too much away. “It shouldn’t be for too much longer, then we’ll be able to get something a bit more regular sorted out.”

“With a bit of luck. Just don’t let him drag it out, OK? I know you really like him but if he’s not going to make the effort then it might not be worth the bother.”

Cat smiled, wishing she could tell Mark the real reason Scott wasn’t able to be around. Having first met her in the immediate aftermath of their break-up a decade before, he’d been protective over her ever since he learned who it was she was dating, and she knew he just had her best interests at heart.

“It’s OK, I saw him the week after I got back from the tour in Italy and hopefully it’ll only be for another couple of weeks and then we’ll be fine. Anyway, you’re one to talk, Mr ‘my girlfriend lives in the same city as me and I’ve not seen her in a month.’ My boyfriend’s on the other side of the world and I’ve seen him more recently than that!”

Mark just grinned, knowing that she had a point. “You got me there.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, leaving Cat time to mull things over as she worked through her stretches, the familiarity of the routine bringing some comfort despite her jumbled thoughts. She’d only seen Scott once since her stay on the island but it had been a flying visit and he had been distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere. It had been a fun night, but she’d been able to see in his eyes that he was holding something back. She hadn’t pushed it, just like she hadn’t pushed him to come and see her in the following weeks, knowing that adding to his stress wouldn’t be helpful.

Of course, she was desperate to see him, especially as the mission to rescue Jeff seemed to be getting closer and closer, but she had resigned herself to the fact that it might not happen, knowing only too well Scott’s need to micromanage everything. His focus on detail and ability to block out everything else until that one thing was perfect was a trait that they shared and she allowed herself a small smile at that thought, understanding exactly why he would be reluctant to leave the island when so much was at stake.

As if to prove her point about their similarities, her coach signalled the start of the rehearsal, and she hastily pushed all thoughts of everything outside the studio away, her concentration focused only at the task in hand.

****

Scott had felt a calm descend upon him since arriving at Cat’s that afternoon, in stark contrast to the tension he’d felt at home on the island. For the previous three weeks, he’d been desperate to see her but every time he thought he’d be able to get away, something came up that needed his attention, be it another test of the T-Drive or just more paperwork that couldn’t wait.

If he was honest with himself, he perhaps could have gotten away sooner, but his overwhelming need to find his dad took over and he was unwilling to leave anything to anyone else. Selene had resorted to dragging him aside and practically ordered him to take a break, even going so far as offering to take him to London herself.

Now he was there, he had to admit that she had been right.

A picnic dinner on the floor of the flat had led them to where they were now, cuddled up on the sofa, gloriously entwined in each other and Scott felt like a weight had been lifted off him. Cat lay in his arms, her head against his chest as he played with her hair, letting the silky soft strands cascade through his fingers like liquid, transfixed by the way the candlelight seemed to accentuate the reds and golds.

“Do you want to watch something?” Cat broke the comfortable silence with a vague wave towards the TV, sitting forwards to try and find the remote.

“Can we just leave it off? I’ve spent the last few days looking at screens trying to get the accounts up to date so it would be nice to have some time away from them.” Scott nuzzled into her neck, planting soft kisses up it as he went, tracing them along her jaw and feeling her smile as she turned to meet his lips with hers in a gentle kiss that took him away from all the stresses of the previous weeks.

Feeling his need for closeness, Cat leant into the kiss, increasing the pressure and deepening it as her mind tracked back to a couple of hours previously, where a kiss just like this had led them to the bedroom, tangled in the sheets as they took their fill of each other.

Scott’s lips were deliciously warm and soft, and impossible for her to resist which was a fact that she knew he used to his advantage. Reaching up, she slid her hand into his hair, feeling the short strands at the base of his head tickling her fingers as she felt his arm snake around her waist, pulling her into him.

Knowing full well where this would end up if left unchecked, Cat pulled away and settled herself back against his chest, smiling to herself as she heard the soft thump of his heart, now beating somewhat faster than it had been before. His strong arms held her snugly, making her feel safer and more cherished than she had in a long time, and she smiled as she felt a hand sneak up and start playing with her hair again, glad that he’d retained his love for it after all their time apart.

It had been obvious to her since his arrival that he needed an outlet to talk so, while her whole body protested the loss of his kisses, she held firm in her decision that tonight would be about ensuring that he had the time and space to feel comfortable enough to do so.

“It’s felt like forever since you were last here,” Cat murmured, not really expecting an answer. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Scott replied, kissing the top of her head. “It’s been a long few weeks trying to get everything together.”

“I bet it has,” Cat sympathised, pausing for a moment to consider the best way to proceed before remembering that a gentle approach had always worked better for her in getting Scott to open up in the past. “I know in my job, I always find it's the bit towards the end of rehearsals that’s the worst, when you just want to get out there and do it but you have to wait, even though you feel completely ready.”

“You could have just described the last couple of weeks. At times it’s felt like setback after setback even though I know we're nearly ready now. If the next test goes right we should be able to launch any day.”

Scott unconsciously tightened his grip as he spoke, something deep inside him rebelling against having to leave her behind for a mission that held so many dangers. There was nothing in the world that would stop him doing it, but the potential for an outcome in which none of them returned had been hovering in his subconscious for weeks. He had been repeatedly pushing it down, fighting it off as he chose to focus only on the issues that he knew he could control, but it never left him completely, emerging instead in the dark of the night, leaving him breathless and unable to sleep.

“That’s amazing that it’s getting so close,” Cat continued, his actions making her aware of the extra turmoil that seemed to have flooded Scott’s mind at the thought of the imminent launch. “It’ll be such a weight off your shoulders when you know for definite when it’s happening. You’ve been carrying so much for so long.”

Scott couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him at her words. “You’re telling me. Taking a bit of the pressure off would be amazing but I can’t see it happening any time soon. I can’t just set dad back to work as soon as he’s home.”

Cat craned her neck to look up at him, relief flooding through her when she saw from his expression that her words had hit home. His arms loosened slightly as he regained control from whatever had caused him to clutch her to him, but, while she was glad he wasn’t consumed by it, she was also concerned that there was yet another thing that he wasn’t sharing with her.

“I know, but that’s not what you’re planning on doing is it?” she clarified, confused as to why he would even feel the need to say such a thing.

“Absolutely not,” Scott exclaimed, horrified at the thought. “He’s going to need time to settle back in and recover so there’s no way I’d do that.”

“But at least the pressure of the rescue will be off you by then. That’s got to be something at least?” Cat sat up and turned to face him in the vain hope that it would help her to follow his line of thinking that seemed to run deeper than she had been aware of.

“Yeah, that’ll be something I guess,” Scott conceded. “It’s just… you know how I took on almost all of the business side of things after we lost Dad? Well, it’s been a lot of work but it’s OK, it’s what I’ve had to do to keep everything running.”

Scott squeezed her gently as he spoke, as if to reassure her that he really had been coping with everything over the years before loosening his grip again and continuing.

“But since we found out that Dad might still be alive, the thought’s been there that I might not have to do this forever and to be honest, it’s felt like more and more of a burden,” he continued more quietly, making Cat strain to hear him properly.  “It’s almost like now that it might be about to get eased a bit, I’ve realised how heavy it is and it’s almost unbearable. But then I feel guilty because when I say it cos it sounds like I only want Dad back so I can set him to work again and that’s not how I feel at all. I just want my family back together.”

Scott looked up from where he had been focussed on his hands and met her eyes, expecting to see revulsion and judgement in them; instead, all he found was sympathy and understanding.

“Oh, sweetheart, I totally understand what you’re saying,” Cat soothed, holding his gaze as she bridged the gap between them, reaching out and stroking his cheek in a bid to comfort him. “Nobody would ever think you were only wanting your dad back for selfish reasons. It’s not who you are and anybody who’s ever met you would know that instantly.”

Since her stay on the island, Cat had a much better idea of just how hard Scott worked, and she was full of admiration for how he dealt with it all. The stress of suddenly becoming the head of both Tracy Industries and International Rescue while grieving the sudden loss of his father must have been almost too much to bear, yet he had shouldered it for years without complaint. Wanting a release from it seemed completely natural to her.  

“Thank you. I just feel so horrible and selfish even thinking it.” Scott looked away, moving out of reach of Cat’s comforting touch, ashamed that he had been reduced to this. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who could cope with anything, and here he was struggling to even cope with doing the basics after so long.

“You’re absolutely not horrible,” Cat protested fiercely, taking his hands in hers, and holding them tightly, the passion in her voice making him look back at her in surprise. “You’re a wonderful, kind, compassionate man who is in a really, really stressful situation. And you’re allowed to be a bit selfish sometimes. Nobody is going to judge you, least of all me. I’m always here, no matter what’s going through that head of yours.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” Scott lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, savouring the scent of her skin as it calmed his racing mind.

“You must have been very bad in a previous life,” Cat quipped, trying to lighten the melancholy that had descended. To her great relief, Scott laughed, relieving some of the tension in the room.

“Well, it was clearly the right decision,” he countered with a twinkle in his eye, leaning in and capturing her mouth in a soft kiss. “Seriously though, thank you so much for not pressuring me to talk or to come and see you over the past couple of weeks. I know it’s been hard but I needed the time to get everything done and if I’d been here my brain would still have been on the island.”

Cat nodded but remained silent, allowing him the time and space to talk now that he seemed willing, sensing that there was still more that he needed to get off his chest.

“I’ve been desperate to see you but I just couldn’t leave,” he continued, feeling like more and more weight was lifting with every word. “It probably sounds stupid but the thought of getting Dad back is like a dream, and it’s felt like if I do anything else but focus on it, I’d wake up and it would be over or something. I’ve been fighting it for weeks so thank you for not adding to the pressure I was putting on myself.”

“That’s OK,” Cat smiled, glad that her instincts had been correct. “You’re your own worst enemy sometimes though. You know that don’t you?”

Scott sighed and rubbed his face. “I know,” he said eventually, “I just don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

“I totally understand that. I can’t even imagine how stressed you all must be and not wanting to offload onto your brothers is perfectly reasonable. But I’m sure you could have spoken to Selene? And I hope you know you can always talk to me.”

“I know I can,” he smiled softly. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

Silence hung over them as Cat reached forward, brushing his cheek gently with her fingertips before sliding her hand around the back of his head, pulling him towards her and kissing him softly.

“It’s OK not to know what you want to say,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “There’s no pressure to talk about anything if you don’t want to, now or ever. I just want you to know that you can.”

Her touch had always centred him and been a calming influence in times of need. He drew strength from it now and took a deep breath, needing the release from talking but still terrified of admitting his deepest fears.

“I’m scared,” he admitted finally, pulling back and meeting her eyes with his, the vulnerability contained within them breaking her heart. “Assuming we even find him, what’s Dad going to think about what I’ve done over the last 8 years?”

Scott broke their gaze suddenly, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his face before looking up and to meet her eyes again.

“Did I do the right thing, bringing Gordon and Alan in?” he carried on. “We couldn’t have operated the way we did without them but they were so young. It’s always been my responsibility to look after them but it was my decision to include them in everything that nearly killed Gordon.”

“The important thing to remember is that Gordon is fine and you’ve done the best you could with the situation you were in,” Cat interjected, hoping to relieve at least some of the guilt that he was so obviously feeling. “Yeah, maybe your dad would have done some of it differently, but that doesn’t mean that anything you did was wrong. You’ve brought Gordon and Alan up to be amazing young men, and your dad will be so proud of you for that.”

“But how can I even look at him?” Scott continued, not giving any indication that he’d registered anything she’d said. “I was the one that called off the search. It’s my fault that he’s been out there for so long.”

“Scott, no,” Cat exclaimed, grabbing his hands for the second time that evening, jolting him back momentarily from where he had been drowning in his regrets and forcing him to look at her, shocked at the agony that she saw in his eyes as they met hers. “I’m not letting you talk like that. None of this is your fault.”

“But if we’d kept looking maybe we’d have found him sooner. He wouldn’t have been alone for so long,” desperation filled Scott’s voice as he spoke, waves of guilt continuing to roll over him despite clinging to the anchor that Cat was offering him.

“You couldn’t possibly have found him any sooner than you have,” Cat continued, relentless in her logic, keeping a firm hold of his hands in a desperate attempt to keep him grounded. “You were following the evidence and from what you’ve told me, absolutely nothing pointed to anything other than it being an explosion. You couldn’t possibly have known what you do now any earlier.”

Scott remained silent, his thoughts whirling as he processed what she’d just said. He’d told himself the same things as she was now so many times that he’d lost count, but when the panic took over, he found it wasn’t enough. Perhaps she was speaking the truth, his brain supplied. If she was saying it too, then maybe it was true and he hadn’t just abandoned his father for 8 years, alone in the darkness of space?

“Yeah, I do know that,” he admitted after a pause that made Cat nearly pass out with worry, finally allowing himself to believe what deep down he knew was correct. He sagged slightly as he breathed deeply, blinking away tears that clouded his vision as the panic that had been threatening to overwhelm him abated a little. “I should have tried to find the escape capsule before now though. If I’d done that, then maybe we could have tried to rescue him sooner.”

“I understand why you’d feel like that, but remember that when you were making all these decisions, you were grieving,” Cat reminded him, unwilling to allow him to start second guessing himself again.  

“I know. It’s just a lot to get my head around, that’s all.” Now that he was thinking a little clearer, Scott was left exhausted and stripped bare, unable to hide anything else from her.  “I’ve lost track of the number of ‘what if’ scenarios that play out in my head every night. I don’t even know what to expect when he’s back. I mean, Alan and Gordon were so young when it happened. How’re they going to adapt to having him home?”

He paused again, this time reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious bid to soothe himself.

“What the hell are we going to do if the worst happens and we don’t find him?” he continued quietly as he dropped his hand back down, allowing her to take it in hers once again. “I was there, Cat. I had to fly home alone. Leaving without him and going home, knowing that he wasn’t following behind me was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and since we found out he might’ve survived, I relive it every single day.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice as he met her gaze, the devastation he’d felt during that flight written clearly in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it again,” he added, his voice so small that Cat struggled to hear it.

Cat’s heart broke for him. Knowing that there was nothing she could possibly say to reassure him, she scooped him up into her arms and pulled him into her, feeling him bury his head into her neck as she held him tightly, his previously unshed tears wetting her collar.

Lying safe and secure in her arms, Scott finally allowed himself the release he had needed for so long and he clung to her as all the conflicting emotions he had been struggling with since the discovery that their dad might still be alive poured out. He’d been holding everything in for so long that it had become second nature to him not to burden anyone with it, especially his brothers.  

In Cat, he had found someone with whom he knew he could be completely himself with, and would never judge any moments of weakness. He knew he could always talk to any of the other inhabitants of the island, and he frequently confided in Selene when things got too hard to handle alone but there was something different about opening up this time.

Everyone on the island was fighting their own demons about the impending rescue, and he had no intention of adding to their worries. Having someone who was entirely his and not already supporting one or more members of his family gave him the confidence to be completely vulnerable.

He could hear her murmuring calm words into the top of his head, the sound of her voice caressing and soothing him. Still needing the sanctuary she was offering, he continued to cling to her as she shifted into a more comfortable position for them both, her grip on him relaxing slightly as he felt her starting to card her fingers through his hair, the sensation making him sigh with relief.

Gradually, Cat felt him start to relax, tense muscles loosening and hitched breathing evening out to a calm, regular rhythm again as sleep overcame him. Despite being trapped underneath him, she had no intention of disturbing his much-needed slumber and she quickly made her peace with the fact that she was likely to be there for the long haul.

Still stroking his hair, she looked down at him, relieved to see how peaceful he looked, the worry lines and tension that had been so obvious in his face since he had arrived now smoothed out.

Thinking back over the last hour, her heart ached for him and everything that he was shouldering. She had known from their calls that there was more going on in his head about the rescue than he was letting on. But, whenever she’d asked if he was OK, he’d brushed her off and, even if he hadn’t, she’d never imagined that his fears could run so deep. The more she thought about it, the more she was glad that he had held back and allowed them to have the conversation in person as not being able to comfort him would have been a torture she thought would have ended with her marching up to Parker and demanding he take her to Tracy Island immediately.

As the minutes ticked by, the high emotions of the evening began to take their toll on her too, and she found her eyes closing, sleep overtaking her just as it had Scott.

****

A strange chiming and the sensation of Scott launching himself off the sofa awoke Cat with a start. She didn’t remember dozing off but she supposed she must have done as she rubbed her eyes blearily, trying to work out how much time had elapsed.

“Come in Thunderbird 5.” Scott’s voice cut across the room, simultaneously silencing the chime and answering the question of what it had been in the first place.

“Hope I’m not disturbing anything,” John commented with a raised eyebrow, his holographic form taking in Scott’s tousled hair and crumpled shirt, “but Brains brought forward the test and it’s all looking good. I know it’s your time off but if you want to be back for when he’s finished analysing the results, you’ll need to think about leaving.”

“F.A.B. John, thanks for letting me know. I’m on my way,” Scott signed off, excitement coursing through him that they might finally be in a position to launch.

As soon as the projection of his brother disappeared, Scott turned back to Cat, simultaneously excited at the news of the test and disappointed that he couldn’t stay and properly enjoy his time with her now that he was feeling better about everything.

“I’m sorry,” he started, taking a few hesitant steps toward her, suddenly fearful that after his outburst earlier she would be somehow reluctant to let him go.  “I know we’ve not had long together but I need to go for this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she soothed, closing the gap between them and slipping her arms around his waist, enjoying the closeness as he pulled her into him. “You absolutely don’t need to apologise. You need to be there for this. If you even thought about staying I’d call you an idiot and kick you out the house, so don’t even suggest it.”

“You sound like Selene,” Scott grumbled, his smile giving away his true feelings about the similarity between his best friend and his girlfriend.

“Well, she’s clearly a wise woman,” Cat smiled. “There’s a reason why you’re so close to both of us.”

“Thank you,” Scott said quietly, leaning down and giving her a small kiss.

“What for?” Cat was genuinely confused, wracking her brains for anything she could have done that would have warranted thanks.

“For understanding. Not everyone would,” Scott explained, beyond grateful to her for making all of this extraordinary situation so easy on him.

“You don’t need to thank me. Even seeing you for an hour would have been worth it and we’ve had way longer than that tonight,” Cat replied earnestly, holding his gaze as the blue depths in his eyes took her breath away, leaving her feeling lightheaded and giddy.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” he grinned, very much enjoying the flush that had appeared on her cheeks, his pulse quickening as their eyes remained locked together.

“A few times, but I’m always happy to hear it again,” Cat smiled, more than happy to feed him the line that she knew he was waiting for.

“You’re amazing. And wonderful. And I’m very, very lucky to have you,” Scott confirmed, punctuating each statement with soft kisses that sent shivers up Cat’s spine.

“Well, I’m very glad that you think so,” she said, pulling away from him and breaking the moment before it could turn into something that would make him very, very late back for the results briefing. Releasing him from her grip, she glanced around the living area, checking quickly for his belongings. “Now, have you got all your stuff? You didn’t bring much did you?”

“Nope, I travel pretty light,” Scott smiled, trying to make light of the situation as he grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and crossed over to the door before turning to say goodbye.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Cat desperately didn’t want him to leave. Knowing that he was going into danger every day was one thing, but this was something else and the fear of what would happen on the rescue held her paralysed where she stood, desperately wanting to cross the distance between them but finding herself somehow unable to move.

“I guess so,” Scott agreed, similarly pinned in place by the reality of the moment.

A slight twitch of a muscle was all it took and they slammed together, clinging desperately to each other, neither sure who had moved first. Unaware of anything but his need for her, Scott tangled his hand in her hair, pulling her head back and crushing her lips with his own as he tried to imprint every second into his memory.

Her lips were firm beneath his and she moaned as she returned the kiss with feeling, making him clutch her to him even tighter. She tasted vaguely of the wine she had drunk at dinner, but underneath that, she was just undeniably her and that was the most comforting taste in the world to him.

Pulling back, flushed and breathless they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. So many words flooded through Cat’s head. So many things that she longed to tell him, things that scared her but that she didn’t want to leave unsaid.

“Scott? I….” Cat tailed off, losing her nerve mid-sentence and immediately hating herself for her cowardice before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Come back? Please. No matter what happens, just come back.”

It was as far as she was prepared to go to acknowledge how dangerous the rescue could be. They both knew what was at stake, that much was clear, but the time for talking had passed now.  

“I will, I promise.” Scott pulled her into another fierce hug, kissing the top of her head as determination flashed through his eyes.

“I’ll come back. No matter what happens.” He echoed before pulling back and dipping down to kiss her gently, deepening the kiss as she responded, as she pressed herself against him.

“Hold that thought,” he told her with a rakish grin as he tore himself away. “I’ll be back to finish it as soon as I possibly can.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked through the door, letting it click softly shut behind him and leaving Cat not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way): Epilogue [6/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~1.8K. Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

~~~~~

A/N: We’re at the end! I can’t believe it. Thanks again to the @captainswanbigbang​ mods, to @thejollyroger-writer​ @snidgetsafan​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ for all their help, and to YOU for reading this whole thing! I’ve loved all your lovely comments.

Enjoy this soft little epilogue - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They go… everywhere. They crisscross the country without any particular route in mind, sometimes doubling back to see landmarks Emma suddenly remembers from her elementary geography class, sometimes simply blowing where their whims might take them. They see Niagara Falls as Killian planned, becoming drenched in the spray, and make sure to ride down to the southwestern deserts as the weather turns cooler again to marvel at cacti and the Grand Canyon. 

(Killian grumbles about the heat the whole time, especially the way it dries up every inch of moisture in his body “like a dead leaf, Swan, I’m serious, I might as well just crackle into little pieces — why are you laughing at me?”)

(She laughs at his pouting the whole while, especially since this particular jaunt was his idea in the first place. He plays it up a little, just to hear the sound.)

They see everywhere in between, too. Killian particularly enjoys their excursion through Yellowstone, finding a certain kind of peace in the stillness of their surroundings. The sky is so big in this part of the country, wide open and all around them. At night, stars practically litter the sky.

(Killian finds himself sleeping better these days. The dreams still come — he’s not sure they’ll ever stop, no matter how happy he is — but they’re less frequent with the warmth of Emma’s body by his side to lull him into peaceful rest. The stars aren’t his constant companion anymore; Emma is instead.)

They drive Route 66, just to say they did it. They pose in front of the Golden Gate Bridge for strangers to take their picture with a second-hand Polaroid camera. They swing through Chicago, the crowds an utter nightmare but the awe on Emma’s face pure magic. There’s hardly a corner of this country they haven’t touched, putting more miles on the motorcycle than Killian likes to think about. Every one of them is worth it.

(She tells him she loves him in a little town in Kansas. He can’t even remember the name of that rest stop, but he’ll never forget the rush of pure joy surging through his veins.)

Emma sends postcards to her family back in Storybrooke from every major attraction, and even a few attractions that aren’t. Killian is assured that David in particular will enjoy the card from the Corn Palace in Iowa, though he also assumes that must be a joke. They call, too, as much as they can, Emma becoming just as much an expert in the ritual of long distance as he is. Though Belle may have planted the crazy, wonderful idea in his head in the first place, she was surprisingly hesitant when Killian first called to tell her the news that he had a new travel partner.

“And you’re sure, Killian?” she asked in that softly worried tone she’s perfected. “I know you really like this girl, but what if that changes? What if things don’t work out between you? What if she wants to go home?”

(It’s touching, really, the motherly concern, like he’s just another one of her kids who needs to be protected from pain and bad decisions. It’s just that Killian doesn’t think that Emma qualifies as either one.)

“Then we’ll figure it out. I’m not making her do anything she doesn’t want to, and I won’t start either. This is up to her as much as me,” he’d replied. “But for what it’s worth? I’ve got a good feeling.”

“If you’re happy…”

“I am.”

Emma and Belle talk later — he can’t quite remember if it was on the next call, or the one after that. What Killian does know is that something must have been settled between the two, as his cousin now asks warmly after Emma and he makes sure to pass the phone along. 

He’s writing again these days, too; there’s something to be said for the right inspiration. It’s not much, of course — he’s not a prodigy, just a man trying to express himself in some small way on the page. It’s a compulsion, to find a way to capture the way she looks in the freedom of the mid morning light on the back of his motorcycle and the way he feels watching her. Words will never be enough, but he’s already mailed two notebooks to Belle for safekeeping and has almost filled a third.

Today, they’re in Florida — at the beach, just like Emma yearned for during their first real conversation. As much as so many things have changed, Killian still is wary of the sea. He’ll let the tide wash over his feet for Emma’s sake — anything for her, truly, and she knows not to expect him to submerge more than his ankles — but most, he’s happy to sit in the sand and watch the way Emma beams in the sunlight, still his own angel. 

The sunlight catches more than just her smile, now. He’d bought the ring in St. Paul and barely held out for two days before proposing, almost two months ago now. The ring itself isn’t anything particularly special — a small diamond set in silver. But for all the ways that his life has been entirely upturned, Killian still places a good amount of stock in that symbol, that Emma wants to be with him forever. Maybe it’s silly; after all, they’ve driven from coast to coast and back again in the last year, and spent nearly every moment together. It’s hard to get closer or more committed than that, and it makes any ceremony seem almost superfluous. 

Still. When he looks at her, sees her joy and all the ways she makes his life better… he wants. And he’s lucky enough that she does, too.

(He still can’t quite believe that she said yes. He’s still a mess of a man, even if he’s trying, even if he’s better. Inexplicably, she loves him anyways.)

Emma scoops up her shoes and starts walking back to his perch on the sand, tendrils of hair whipping around her head where they’ve escaped the messy braid he’d helped her twist that morning. “God, that sure is something, isn’t it?” she laughs, collapsing onto the pearly expanse.

“Everything you dreamed of?” he asks, tugging her closer into his side. Emma flops her head dramatically onto his shoulder at the movement, right where they’ve learned she fits perfectly against him. 

“And then some,” she sighs. “You were right, it’s so different from home — from Maine. It almost doesn’t look real. But then you get in the water, and it’s just the same. The tide comes in the same way, even down here. I don’t know, I suppose it’s a little comforting.”

Killian just hums and leans down to drop a kiss on Emma’s head before they lapse into a thoughtful silence, watching the birds circle and the waves roll in and out. It’s picturesque; frankly, he’d even say beautiful. He doesn’t regret the visit in the least.

But Emma had said home, and he can’t stop thinking about that either. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought about it. As much as Emma has loved finally seeing all the places she’s heard and read about, he knows she misses her family, the short but frequent phone calls proof of that. Emma loves him, and she’s loved their adventure, but there’s unbreakable strings tying her back to Storybrooke. To her home.

It’s not Killian’s home, not truly. He hasn’t spent enough time in the little town to form that kind of attachment. But he wouldn’t call any other place home, either, and Storybrooke is as good a place as any if he’s got Emma in his life. She grounds him — soothes that itch to always move until he finds someplace — or rather, someone — worth sticking around for. After months of the open road, it’s maybe time for this phase of their adventure to conclude, and another one to start.

(Besides, she ought to have her little hodge-podge family at her wedding. He wants to give that to her, after all that she’s given him.)

“I’ve been thinking about that lately,” he says casually, trying not to make it all seem like quite as big a deal as he knows it is.

Emma hums a questioning note back to him, though mischief sparkles in her green eyes. “What, about the tide? That seems… odd.”

“No, you ridiculous creature,” Killian replies, rolling his eyes for good measure. He knows she’s teasing, after all, even if he did technically set her up for that. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this has been enough. Maybe it’s time to go home.”

Emma jerks her head up to stare back at him blankly, evidently shocked by the suggestion. “Home? You mean to Storybrooke?”

“Aye. I know you miss it, and… I just think it might be time.”

“Oh, Killian, we don’t have to stop on my account. I’m fine to keep going,” she protests.

“I know. And it’s not… I’ve loved this, but I don’t need to keep going the way I once did. If you have more places you want to see, we’ll go see them, and I’ll be happy just to be there with you, but I’m not… this idea isn’t all because of what I think you might want. It’s for me, too.” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts; he feels like he’s not expressing things quite the way he wants to. “I shouldn’t assume though. I suppose I thought… I know you miss your family, but do you want to go home?”

Emma heaves a heavy sigh and stares out at the sea. Killian grants her the space to think; this is a turning point, he knows, and he’d never want to rush her into anything she doesn’t want. He barely hears her when she finally does speak, her soft admittance carried away on the breeze. “I do,” she tells him. “I love this, and I’m so glad we’ve seen all that we have, but… I think I’d like to settle, a little bit. Especially if we’re getting married. A little house and a pretty ceremony… I know Storybrooke isn’t your home, though.”

“It isn’t,” Killian admits, “but it could be.”

“Just like that?”

“Don’t you understand, Emma?” he asks. “You’re my home. Wherever you are, as long as I’m with you… I’ll be home. Whether that’s on the back of the motorcycle or in Storybrooke or on the moon. I’ll always be home with you.” He leans in to seal the sentiment, brushing his lips along Emma’s and letting her deepen the kiss when she sneaks her hands behind his neck and into his hair. She’s always been willing — eager, even — to take the lead, and Killian is still happy to let her. 

“I love you,” she whispers when they break apart, foreheads still touching as they breathe the same air. “You’ve given me the world, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Swan.” A blind man could hear his smile in his voice. “Now let’s go home.”

Together — all the adventure he needs.

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @spartanguard​, @scientificapricot​​, @snowbellewells​​, @welllpthisishappening​​, @tiganasummertree​​

[mitchiemoo]

Close Up-Part 2 (Johnny Joestar x Reader)

Summary:  You are an upcoming, young actress, starring in your first major film. For publicity, the studio suggests you begin a relationship with your co-star, British thespian Diego Brando. Reluctantly, you agree, and soon find yourself at odds with Johnny Joestar, former Hollywood star. After losing his career and the use of his legs, Johnny offers to help you achieve fame but cautions the price. Is it really the fame you want? Or something else?

Warnings: Explicit Language

Word Count: 3,360

Part 1

Dating Diego Brando had its perks.

It had been little more than a month since you and he started dating, long enough for you to acquire a taste for the finer things wealth and status could provide. Expensive restaurants, glamorous parties, exclusive events, it seemed like nothing was too good for Diego. At first, it was overwhelming. Before every important event, he lavished you with elegant dresses and designer shoes. You tried to protest but Diego insisted, claiming you were now a part of his carefully cultivated public image. “All they know is what we choose to show them, darling.” He said. “They’ll never know the real you.”

If you were honest, sometimes it felt like you barely knew the real Diego. You were supposed to be his girlfriend, but you knew nothing about his personal life, his hobbies outside of acting, or even his family. In front of the cameras, he played the role of doting boyfriend so well that you almost forgot this was all part of some publicity scheme. His charisma as an actor was undeniable but as a person, he was cold and distant, sometimes even awkward.

At first, it seemed your fear of being defined by this relationship was coming to fruition. Just a day after the fundraiser, pictures of you and Diego together appeared all over social media with articles like “Brando’s Mystery Girl” and “Who is she?” Your Instagram followers practically doubled over night and when you walked onto set that day, a pair of studio executives greeted you enthusiastically. Apparently, the studio heads were very pleased with your relationship and commented on how smart you looked together. You had smiled politely and thanked them before heading to your dressing room to get into costume.

This was supposedly for your benefit, but it felt like you were reduced to glorified arm candy. On the red carpet, you’d smile at the cameras and feign interest in what Diego was saying to the reporters as you clung to his arm. Occasionally, they’d ask what designer you were wearing or how filming was going, but mostly you were ignored in favor of your British boyfriend. So you were ecstatic when the studio managed to book you a solo interview with talk show host, Panacotta Fugo. This was your chance to really show off your own charming personality and cement yourself as a rising star.

The ultimate “fuck you” to Johnny Joestar.

You hadn’t forgotten his hurtful words and arrogant demeanor. At least Diego dressed up his arrogance with politeness and snark. Johnny clearly didn’t care who he insulted. His words echoed in your mind every time you practiced your lines or smiled into a camera and it made you hunger for fame more than the vintage wine and stately mansions ever could. Diego had whetted your appetite, Johnny stoked it into full blown hunger.

You really hoped you didn’t run into him tonight. It was Steven Steel’s 54th birthday party and Diego received an invite, courtesy of Steven’s young wife, Lucy. Even if Johnny was there, the mansion and its crowd were so large you could probably hide in plain sight and never cross paths. That was one thing you hated about these Hollywood parties. It felt like you weren’t nearly famous enough to mingle with most of the people there. Small talk was painfully awkward, and most of the time you were happy to let Diego dominate the conversation.

Currently, you were standing in the living room of the Steel mansion, clutching a cold drink and listening to Diego passionately explain the differences between a utahraptor and a velociraptor to a very confused Lucy Steel. Frankly, you weren’t sure how the subject of dinosaurs came up or where Diego learned so much about them. You zoned out partway through the conversation. It was hot and loud, and your feet hurt from standing all night. At least you weren’t in heels. For a leading man, Diego was shorter than average and very self-conscious about his height. All the shoes he bought you were either flats or had a two-inch heel. Not that you minded. Especially when you went to events like these.

Lucy, bless her, seemed to notice your red face and tired eyes. “Oh, are you alright?” She asked, touching your arm. “You look faint, do you need to sit down?”

You nodded weakly. “Yes, please. It’s very hot in here.”

Diego wrapped an arm around your waist. “Do you need to go home, love?”

“No, I’ll be fine if I can sit somewhere quiet for a bit.” You croaked out.

Lucy tugged you out of his embrace and led you through the crowds and down a maze of hallways. How could someone live in a place so large? Did she ever get lost? It was just her and her husband, why did they need so much space? What if you couldn’t find your way back to the party? She turned, suddenly, and pulled you into a small sitting room with two couches, a glass coffee table, and some paintings on the light-colored walls.

“Please, sit down. I’ll let in some air.” Lucy said, scurrying over to one of the windows to the right. She was so sweet.

You sat down on one of the couches and pressed your glass against your forehead. Why did people stop carrying fans with them? “You don’t mind if I take off my shoes, do you?” You asked her.

“No, not at all. I took mine off ages ago.” Had she? You weren’t paying attention. Most of your mental energy was diverted to acting like you were enjoying yourself. You set your glass down on the table and slid out of your shoes. Much better.

“Stay here as long as you need to. I have to get back to the party.” Lucy said, apologetically. "It was nice meeting you."

“Oh, I’m sure Diego’s dying to finish his paleontology lecture.” You told her.

She failed to suppress her giggles. “He’s so devoted to you. You two make such a good couple.”

You resisted the urge to scoff and forced out a smile. Sometimes you forgot how your relationship appeared to others. Wholesome and loving, far from the pragmatic business deal it really was. You’d take it as a compliment. “Thank you, we’re very happy together.”

Lucy disappeared around the corner and you were left alone. You sighed and tucked your legs up underneath you. No one told you fame was lonely. It was isolating, being on the brink of stardom, knowing this role could make or break your career depending on how you marketed yourself. Were you really ready to tackle this interview all on your own? You’d been telling yourself this was what you wanted but would you know what to do? You desperately needed guidance, someone who understood what it was like.

“Oh, hey.”

You looked up and locked eyes with the last person you wanted to see tonight.

Johnny Joestar.

Shit.

Who invited him? Your heart pounded in your chest and suddenly the room felt like it was 100 degrees. Out of all the rooms in this place, he had to pick this one? And how had he managed to sneak up on you like that? A scowl crept onto your face and you moved to pick up your discarded shoes. Time to leave.

“Wait,” He said. “I’ve been lookin’ for you all night. But it’s hard to maneuver crowds in this thing.”

You crossed your arms. “What do you want? To humiliate me again?” You asked. He wouldn’t catch you off guard this time. If he started throwing insults, you’d retaliate with your own. At least, that’s how it went when you thought about it in the shower.

Johnny looked down at his lap and ran a hand through his wavy blond hair. “About that. I wanted to apologize for what I said at the fundraiser. It was completely out of line and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

Your expression softened a bit. He was…apologizing? You didn’t think someone like Johnny ever apologized. This definitely wasn’t in your shower script.

“I know this doesn’t excuse my behavior, but I’d been drinkin’ beforehand, and Diego brings out the worst in me. Seeing you with him made me mad ‘cuz I think you could do so much better.” He continued.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you basically said I didn’t have ’star material.’”

“You don’t.” He said bluntly. “But you have potential, which is why I wanna help you.”

“I don’t want your help." You stated. "I forgive you for what you said at the fundraiser so don’t insult me further by saying I can’t do this on my own.”

“I’m not insulting you. I’m speaking from experience. Right now, you’re in a dangerous spot. What happens if Diego breaks up with you tomorrow? You haven’t established yourself yet so say good-bye to the fancy parties and red-carpet events. You’d lapse back into obscurity.” Johnny said.

“I’m more than just arm candy, you know. Next week I have an interview and Diego won’t be there.” You told him.

“Who’s it with?” Johnny asked.

“Uh, some guy named Panacotta Fugo.” You replied. “I mean, he’s not exactly Mariah Bastet but he has a decent following.”

Johnny’s brows furrowed. “Ain’t he on that really intellectual show where they talk about ‘the deeper meaning’ of films? I heard the guy’s a real Jekyll and Hyde. Super nice one minute and the next he’s rippin’ out your throat for using the word ‘less’ instead of ‘fewer.’”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. I can be very charming and intellectual.”

“See, this is what I mean.” Johnny said. “Doesn’t matter how charming you are. Interviews aren’t like acting, you don’t get a script. If you freeze under pressure or can’t think of a good answer, you’ll flounder around up there and make a fool of yourself.”

“How hard can it be? It’s a tv interview, not a master’s dissertation. All I have to do is answer a few questions about the movie, tell a few little stories, and look nice.” You knew what you were doing. You'd seen plenty of interviews before.

Johnny sighed and reached inside his dark blue suit jacket. He pulled out a pen and a paper napkin and started writing.

“What’re you doing? I don’t want your autograph.” You said.

Johnny shook his head and muttered something under his breath. He returned the pen to his pocket and wheeled over to you. “Here.” He held out the napkin. “It’s my phone number. If you change your mind, call me. No judgement.”

You searched his face. It was still set in a hard scowl but nothing in his expression suggested any sort of malice towards you. His eyes practically pleaded for you to take it. Was this his way of making up for his behavior at the fundraiser? A part of you wanted to accept. Johnny had been in the business a long time; he knew what he was doing. But your pride wouldn’t let you accept. You wouldn't be satisfied with success unless you were the sole reason for it.

“I said I don’t need your help. Keep it.” You said, hardening your expression.

“Christ, woman, take the damn napkin.” He replied. “I wanna help you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanna make things right between us.”

“Fine.” You snatched the napkin from his grasp and grabbed your shoes off the floor. You couldn’t be in the same room as this man anymore. “The interview is at 8 o’clock Saturday night, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll be watching. Good luck.”

You stood up and brushed past Johnny. His eyes followed you out of the room, shoes in one hand, napkin clenched in the other. You weren’t sure whether to burn it or trash it. Burning it would be more dramatic, but Johnny himself belonged in the trash. You weren’t a charity case and didn’t Johnny himself say no one in the industry really cared about you. He’d eat his words. Or you’d eat yours.

-

You were surprised to learn the green room wasn’t actually green.

Instead, the walls were an off white, beige color and the floor tiles were made of linoleum. You were seated on one of the two black leather couches, anxiously fiddling with the plain gold bracelet around your wrist and bouncing your leg. There were a variety of drinks available, both hot and cold, and although you were thirsty, you didn’t want to miss your cue to go on-stage because you were in the bathroom.

Your eyes were glued to the tv screen in the corner of the room. It was tuned into commercials now which meant you were due to go on at any minute. Despite reassurances from both your agent and Fugo himself, your stomach was tying itself in knots. You weren’t intimidated by Fugo, who was very proper and polite despite his eccentric fashion sense and scholarly demeanor, nor were you worried about the crowd. You were worried about yourself. This was all you. You couldn’t just look pretty on Diego’s arm and let him lead the conversation. If you came off as aloof or empty headed, nothing would save you.

“We’re ready for you, miss.” One of the stagehands poked his head in and beckoned for you to follow.

With a shaky sigh, you stood up, glanced in the mirror on the opposite wall, and smoothed the creases of your dark skirt. Just breathe, you told yourself. This was no different from being on set with Diego and the director. There were just a few more cameras and a whole lot of extras.

You waited just off stage as the studio lights turned on and Fugo faced the cameras. “Welcome back, everyone.” He said coolly, adjusting his collar and straightening his tie. “Our next guest is a Hollywood newcomer. Starring alongside Diego Brando in one of the most highly anticipated movies of the year, please welcome…” Fugo announced your name to the crowd and the stagehand nudged you out onto stage.

You were greeted by a round of applause as you made your way across the stage to the empty armchair beside Fugo. He greeted you with a small smile and a strong handshake. “It’s so nice to have you here.” He said.

“Thank you for having me today.” You replied, settling into the chair.

“So, this is your first major movie role, correct?” You nodded. “How are you dealing with all the new attention? What’s it been like for you?”

You bit your lip as you tried to formulate an answer. “Oh, it’s been difficult to adjust but I’m lucky to be surrounded by supportive people.”

“That’s important. You need people like that to keep you grounded.” Fugo shuffled the papers on his desk and you visibly relaxed. If all the questions were this easy, you could totally handle this. “Phantom Blood is one of my favorite novels. Robert E. O. Speedwagon weaves such a compelling narrative and Norisuke Higashikata is such a revolutionary director, I’m very excited to see how he’s going to adapt the pervasive themes of social inequality and classism. Can you tell us about that?”

What.

You thought this was a typical Victorian love story with supernatural elements. Classism? Social inequality? Sure, Elena’s love interest, Dorian, is a poor tailor who leaves her to seek fortune in India and his rival, Jonah, is a wealthy merchant who deals in exotic goods, but you certainly weren't aware of any major societal commentary. There were vampires, for Christ's sake.

Your silence prompted Fugo to clear his throat and ask another question. “Are you a fan of the book too?”

You laughed, nervously. “Well, I was supposed to read the book in high school, but it was super long, so I just used SparkNotes to pass the quizzes.”

Dead silence. Your heart sank and the laughter died in your throat. Why wasn’t anyone laughing? Usually anecdotes like that got a huge laugh out of the crowd and showed how endearing and relatable you were. This had the complete opposite effect. Now you looked like a vapid, lazy, slacker who didn’t care about the source material at all.

Fugo looked genuinely offended. “You’ve never read the book?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“Well, I, uh.” You tried to stutter out an explanation. “Th-the, um, writing was hard to follow, and the author kept going off on these weird tangents that didn’t have anything to do with the plot.”

“Those ‘tangents’ are part of the stream of consciousness narrative that Speedwagon as an author is so known for.” Fugo stated. “How are you supposed to faithfully portray Elena as a character if you haven’t read the source material?”

Your heart was pounding in you ears and you felt sick to your stomach. Fugo was making you feel like a complete idiot and you were proving him right. What were you even supposed to say? You couldn’t bullshit or make something up, he’d know. You took a deep breath and swallowed. Calm down. Stuttering and blurting out incomplete sentences would only make things worse. “As an actress,” you started. “I feel like an adaptation of any work should be able to stand on its own without having to access the source material. It should be judged by its own merit as a film, not by how well it adapts the book.”

You wrung your hands together in your lap as you watched the gears in Fugo’s head turn. “Of course, changes will have to be made.” He said. “But at what point does it cease to be an adaptation and instead take on a different identity? If the characters have the same names but wildly different personalities, can they really be considered the same characters?”

“I-I don’t know.” You were practically shamed into silence.

Fugo was still talking. “Say, if you wanted to adapt a Shakespeare play, let’s say Macbeth, and instead of being strong-willed and clever, Lady Macbeth was a passive character who wasn’t invested in her husband’s plot to take over Scotland or he was a content courtier with no ambitions.” Suffice to say, you hadn’t read that book either. “Isn’t your co-star, Diego Brando, a Shakespearean trained actor? What would he think?”

He was probably enjoying this. You could practically see him propped up in his bed, wearing a smoking jacket and a smug look on his face. He was probably drinking some expensive red wine that cost more than your rent and the next time he saw you; he’d chastise you for going off script like this. Diego claimed you weren’t ready for something like this when you’d told him but said he wouldn’t stop you from doing it if you were determined. Maybe you should've listened...

Tears welled up in your eyes. No, you wouldn’t cry. Not on camera. But the lump in your throat was right there and if you answered, you knew you’d lose your composure. Hadn’t you been humiliated enough? You just wanted to go home and die.

Your saving grace came in the form of one of the producers. He turned Fugo’s attention away from you and pointed at his watch.

His mood changed so fast it gave you whiplash. “Time for a commercial break everyone. Our next guest will be on…”

As soon as the lights dimmed, you rushed off stage and back to the green room to grab your things. That was a train wreck. A complete mess. You sneaked out the back door and hailed a cab. The tears were falling freely now, and the cab driver gave you a sympathetic look as you choked out your address. At that moment, you were questioning your whole career.

You reached into your purse and fished out a tissue. You went to wipe at the tears before you noticed how thick it was. It was a napkin and there was writing on it. Oh. You completely forgot about that. In blue ink was a number and a name.

202-555-0797

Johnny Joestar

You swallowed your pride and dialed the number.

-

Tumblr doesn’t seem to like me. Maybe it’s because I’m new but my posts never seem to show up under the tags. Oh well. I update this story on Ao3 every Friday night if you wanna check me out over there. Thanks for reading!

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors 

Word Count: 5K words

Chapter 14 - Harry IV: The Camden Raid (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Harry Potter, Ernie MacMillian, Savage, OC 

Warnings: Racism, Slightly graphic violence

The relatively busy tube almost entirely emptied as it stopped at Tottenham Court Road station, with the eclectic carriage of muggle tourists of all colours and creeds emptying out to enjoy the shopping opportunities on offer.

The commercial London street had much darker connotations for Harry himself.  He vividly recalled the destruction that had been caused when they had encountered Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle in that dingy café during the aftermath of Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Sometimes he wondered how many deaths that the two dark wizards had been personally responsible for after they were defeated that night.

He knew deep down that the three of them had made the right moral choice to show the men mercy, that to kill them would have sunk Harry, Ron and Hermione to the Death Eater’s level – but that didn’t stop him from playing devil’s advocate in his mind.

Dolohov and Rowle were both stone-cold killers and the three of them had inadvertently let them go on to wreak more havoc on the wizarding world. It killed Harry to think that this may have led to the deaths of Tonks, Remus, George or any of the others that ultimately lost their lives.

The former and possibly more dangerous of the duo was at least now safely behind bars, but the erratic Thorfinn Rowle was still at large and possibly in cahoots with the other five missing Death Eaters.

It was two of those missing Death Eaters, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, that had led Harry and the eight other magical passengers onto the Northern Line service that evening. As the scattering of muggle passengers alighted the carriage Harry could once again see the other two groups of three Ministry staff huddled together throughout the train.

The furthest to Harry’s group at the rear of the carriage were Femi Wakanda, dressed in a flamboyant, yet still quite practical purple gown and Neville, in a comfortable looking grey hoodie, both gripping a hand onto the bars above their head, whilst the considerably shorter Conrad Proudfoot could only reach a bar that was many inches lower below his colleagues. Wakanda and Proudfoot seemed to be having a hushed conversation, as Neville remained silent, with a deep and thoughtful look in his eyes.

Harry had at first thought his pureblood friend had just felt a bit uncomfortable on what would possibly be his maiden muggle tube voyage, but then he remembered the obvious connection and extra investment that the sole son and heir of Frank and Alice Longbottom would have in this mission.

The closer trio, at the front-facing side of the carriage, was the attractive young muggle-born witch Farzana Badwal, alongside the foreboding figure of Robert Williamson and his flustered young protégé, Ernie MacMillan, who certainly was feeling quite uncomfortable on his first trip on the London Underground. He had not at first grasped the concept of holding onto the bars to keep your balance, so as soon as the train had departed Charing Cross he had been violently flung into Farzana -  who had wasted no time in giving him a stern telling off, with many muggle strangers quietly laughing nearby.

Rhea Savage and Josh Morris, who Harry was grouped up with, had both also laughed at Ernie’s mishap, much to his horror. Savage and Morris were both muggle-borns themselves so were no doubt more up to speed with using non-wizarding transport – and indeed, also wearing non-wizarding clothes, as they both blended in fairly well with their respective leather and denim jackets.

Josh Morris looked particularly sharp as he wore his faux-wool collars up, with a low cut white t-shirt underneath it that showed off his muscly frame. His fingers were adorned with several eye-catching rings, the most noteworthy of which was in the shape of a golden eagle. Harry had even noticed a couple of the young female muggle tourists eyeing him up, although Josh himself had been completely oblivious to them.

“So… since we have a few more stops and some time to kill, tell me, did you see much action in New York?” Rhea probed, as she shot her brawny colleague a slight wink as they each sat down in the now vacated seats.

Harry recalled in his mind the time that Ron had commented on the wacky designs and patterns on muggle public transport – and his horrified reaction when Hermione had said that it was primarily only to help hide the dust and the dirt.

“Erm… well there was the odd bit of bother here and there… but nothing massively exciting, I spent most of the time floating between the Transport and the Magi-… the Creatures department,” he quickly corrected, as he remembered they were still in the presence of a few muggles scattered about the carriage.

Harry was pretty sure though that even with Josh’s belated amendment that there was no such equivalent department for ‘creatures’ in the muggle government.

“Guessing they thought I’d want to avoid too much action given I’d transferred from Britain,” Josh continued. “Still, it could’ve been much worse if Kingsley stuck to his original plan to send me home to Manila. It would’ve been nice to see my parents a bit more, but man, way too many…”

He silently mouthed ‘dragons’ to the two of them.

“…causing all kinds of shit all of the time. It’s crazy how lapse the Filipino Ministry are about them, it’s a different world out there, man!” he said as he enthusiastically gestured his hands about whilst talking.

Rhea scoffed slightly, as the train briefly stopped at Goodge Street, as the last of the muggle passengers remaining on the carriage left the train.

“That’s great Josh, but I wasn’t talking about that kind of action…” she replied, rolling her eyes at him as the doors slammed shut and they began moving again.

Josh burst out laughing as soon as he realized what she had meant.

“For fuck sake Rhea!” Josh jeered.

“What?!” she replied in a mock incredulous tone. “An attractive fashionable bloke like you with a nice British accent and those muscles, you must have had all of the American witches queuing up for a go like you were Harry Potter or something!”

Harry laughed awkwardly as Josh sniggered slightly at Rhea’s remark, with the muggles now all off the train it seemed that they could now speak more freely.

Rhea crossed her legs, putting her right over her left, as Harry caught the outline of a brightly coloured Holyhead Harpies tattoo that was partially on display through her ripped black jeans, which were tucked into a well-worn pair of purple doc martens boots.

“Well, there was this one girl…” Josh began, as Rhea smiled enthusiastically.  

“Details! I need details, Josh,” Rhea snapped back quickly. “Do you know how many lesbian or bisexual witches there were in Paris? Nil-pwa, mon amie!”    

“Alright… alright, keep your hair on… so on this one assignment when I was in the Department of Transport I got chatting to this one chick, Kimberley, she was from Texas…”    

“Ooh, Kimberley from Texaaas!” Rhea ribbed in a mock Southern accent, which caused Josh to laugh involuntarily.

“Well you know me, I have a soft-spot for blondes, so we kinda hit it off from the get go and yes… she did love the British accent… we were seeing each other almost every other day after work at her place for well over a month and then one night…” he stopped mid-sentence, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“And then what?!” Rhea demanded, on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

“… and then one night her husband came home! Of course, she never told me about him now, did she?”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered.

“You can say that again!” Rhea added.

“And it’s not what you think. She wasn’t that sort of girl… well, not really. It was a pureblood arranged marriage type deal that their parents had set up, or rather, her parents had set up with him. He was this rich potion-maker, much older than her, almost old enough to be her dad…”

“Jesus…” Rhea mumbled with a disgusted look on her face.

“I felt a bit bad for her… but as you can imagine it went down like a sack of shit with him. It turned out he was reasonably influential at the MACUSA too… he was one of their biggest suppliers of potions in the entire country and he winded up being the main reason why I got transferred to the Creatures department outpost in Arkansas.”  

“Tough break, mate,” Rhea sympathised. “We’ve all been there.”

“You’ve been caught sleeping with a married woman too?” Josh quizzed back, with a look of real intrigue on his face.

“A lady never tells,” Rhea said in a faux-posh accent, as the train pulled into Warren Street and a group of three muggle-men, all armed with beers cans in hand, stumbled on board their carriage and started arguing among themselves.

“I’m fucking tellin’ ya Trevva, Hoddle ain’t got a clue. He ain’t got a bloody clue! How’s he not gonna take Gazza to the World Cup?”

said the shortest of the three men, before downing the rest of his can and belching loudly, which drew a rather disgusted groan from Farzana Badwal on the other side of the carriage. The man, who had a buzz cut and a poorly kept beard, did not notice her, nor did either of his friends..

“Don’t worry Mark bruv,” replied the tallest of the three, who was wearing a black baseball cap and slurring his words quite considerably. “He knows what he’s doing. It’s coming home!” he cheered, as he took a large swig of his own can of beer.  

“Ere chuck us anuvva Stella then Tel,” the short man with the buzz cut light-heartedly ordered the man in the middle, who had spiked up hair and was wearing a creased black shirt that was much too big for him.

‘Tel’ obliged and passed Mark, the shortest man, another beer, as the baseball cap wearing muggle, Trevva, began eyeing up Rhea, before his eyes eventually fell on Harry.

“What’d you reckon four-eyes?” he asked, before briefly stumbling as the tube hit a bit of a bump. “You think it’s comin’ home?”

“Oh yes… definitely,” Harry replied, as he attempted to not rise to the jibe about his glasses. He had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. Besides, they were on an important mission and the last thing they needed was any trouble with a group of rowdy drunk muggles, so he gave him the answer that he thought he would want to hear.  

“See it’s fuckin’ comin’ home lads!” Tel announced triumphantly to his two cronies, as he enthusiastically poured a large amount of lager into his mouth, spilling some over both himself and the floor of the train in the process.  

“What do you think sweet cheeks?” Mark said to Rhea, as he too started to eye her up.

Harry noticed that Josh no longer seemed to be in the jovial mood he had been in before. It was almost as if he was anticipating and preparing for some kind of trouble. The look on Savage’s face certainly suggested that there may well be some on the cards, although Harry was sure that the Head Auror would keep her cool.

“I don’t care much for football… and I certainly don’t care much for men who call me sweet cheeks,” she hissed, whilst giving the three of them a cold stare, before suddenly rising to her feet. Josh jumped to his feet too, with Harry following his lead.  

“HA! She’d be so lucky ehh lads?” Mark said, addressing both of his friends. “Ugly fucking greebo anyway. Off to go slit your wrists at the rock show are you, love?” he goaded, as Trevva and Tel laughed along, eyeing up both Harry and Josh as they did so.

Josh initially looked like he might rise to their attempts at provoking them – but Rhea shot him a fierce glare which kept him at bay.

“Aww, you not gonna defend your girlfriend? Must have a tiny pair of bollocks to go with that tiny little cock of yours!” Tel jested, daring Josh to react. Harry ran his fingers along the shaft of his wand through his jacket pocket, ready to use it as discreetly as he could should the time come.  

“Is there a problem here?” Williamson demanded, as the tall wizard came to their aide, presumably having noticed the commotion.

The large Auror towered over the drunk trio, even Trevva, the tallest of the three troublesome muggles, but they showed no sign of backing down – in-fact, Williamson’s arrival to the scene, with Ernie and Farzana in tow, only seemed to increase their desire for some kind of conflict.

“Who’d you think you’re talking to? Long haired cunt. Only problem here is your fucking barnet!” Trevva joked, which caused Tel and Mark to laugh too, although Harry thought the shortest of the three, Mark, did seem at least a little intimidated by the comparatively giant Williamson.

“Well, I say,” Ernie uttered in a dubious manner. “That is quite the insult from a man so insecure about his own haircut that he conceals it beneath a hat.”

“Ernie!” Robert berated under his breath, although Harry thought that for a moment Williamson had shown a slight smile and possibly even a fondness for Ernie at coming to his defence so quickly.

Harry thought he even caught a momentary grin from Farzana Badwal at Ernie’s albeit quite passé retaliation at the muggle.  

“You’ll be insecure about having no teeth in your fucking mouth in a minute you fucking toff,” Tel raged at Ernie, as he threw his now empty beer can aside and raised his fists for a fight.  

“Don’t worry about it Robert, they’ll be getting off at the next stop,” Rhea calmly instructed, as she saw the pony-tailed Auror losing his patience, with both Ernie and Josh also clearly ready for some kind of altercation, should it come to that. Harry felt more confident about Josh’s chances than Ernie’s and even his own should it wind up being one without wands.  

“Oh yeah, so who’s gonna make us get off then, you dirty goth slut?” Trevva asked incredulously, as his two friends stared the rest of them down in a quite antagonistic manner, as Josh and Williamson exchanged a quick knowing glance.  

“We’ll be at Euston soon,” Farzana said quickly, with a tone of frustration and impatience in her voice. “Let’s just confundus them now and be done with it.”

“You won’t do nuffink you blimmin’ paki!” Tel spat – and that was when it suddenly all kicked off.

Ernie MacMillan directed a punch at the much taller Tel as soon as the racist slur had left the muggle’s mouth. He stumbled slightly, but his friend Trevva soon got a strike of his own away, right into the former Hufflepuff prefect’s prim and proper face, sending him hurtling to the ground in a heap.

“You stay out of this,” Rhea ordered under her breath to Harry, as Williamson instantly jumped in to Ernie’s defence, as he sent a thundering right hand into Trevva’s nose, knocking him back a few steps, but surprisingly not down to the floor.

Morris laid a punch and a kick into Mark, who retaliated instantly by hurtling his half-empty beer can at Josh, splashing beer all over the muggle-born auror’s denim-jacket, whilst Rhea landed a heavy kick on Tel, who felt the full force of the half-French witch’s boot to his shin before she whacked him in the chin.

Farzana fought her way through and hit Tel with a vicious slap of her own as a receipt for his insult to her, before Willamson connected with another right hook to Trevva that did finally floor the tall baseball cap wearing muggle.

Harry jumped in to stop Tel from hitting Rhea, with the muggle’s knuckles slightly knocking into Harry’s head in the process. He felt momentarily dazed for a moment, before he heard a still-on-the-floor Ernie MacMillan yell “STUPEFY!” at the top of his lungs, soon after upon which a jet of red light hurtled into Tel, causing him to crash into the carriage door and down onto the floor.

Morris had a clearly defeated Mark pinned to the door, as the short man with the buzz cut looked absolutely horrified and in fear for his life having just witnessed his friend be knocked unconscious by magic.

The next station is Euston

“What in Merlin’s name has happened here?!” Femi Wakanda demanded, as she marched over with a concerned looking Neville and Conrad Proudfoot, who had rushed over from the other side of the carriage.  

Harry gave Williamson a hand pulling a slightly bloodied and dazed Ernie MacMillan back to his feet, as Williamson told Ernie off for using magic, before checking that his young trainee was alright and fussing over his injuries.  

“The muggles started it. Couldn’t be helped,” Williamson said quickly in Ernie’s defence, as an embarrassed looking Rhea pulled out her wand and started obliviating Trevva and Tel, as Morris did the same to Mark.

“All the same we’re on a tight schedule that doesn’t factor in fights with muggles or breaking the international statute of secrecy,” Wakanda grumbled, clearly unimpressed with the events that had transpired.

The train pulled into Euston and between Josh, Rhea and Harry they quickly managed to jostle the three muggles off of the train and onto the platform, as Williamson and Farzana began patching up Ernie’s face.

Wakanda used a voiceless spell to shut the carriage door as soon as the drunken muggles were off the train. Harry was not sure what type of magic she had used, but the electronic doors stayed shut even when several bewildered would-be passengers pressed the button on the door to get on.

“Luckily for us they don’t have any security cameras on these wretched things,” Wakanda muttered under her breath in a condescending fashion, as she shot Rhea a deeply unimpressed look.

Savage led the way as they made their way through the Camden Town underground station exit and into the night.

“BUY OR SELL FEEDER! FEEDER BUY OR SELL!” shouted a tall middle-aged white man in a thick black coat.

“FEEDER TICKETS BUY OR SELL!” bellowed another similarly dressed dark skinned muggle.

“There must be a gig on tonight,” Rhea noted to Harry and Josh as she guided them past without looking at the muggles. “They’re ticket touts. When a gig is sold out they sell tickets for it at double the price,” she added, with the sound of disdain and loathing in her voice.

“But how do they get the tickets if it’s already sold out?” Josh asked.

“They purposely buy a load when they go on sale specifically just to sell them on at a profit closer to the time,” Rhea replied.

“Is that even legal? To sell them on like that, just for a profit?” Harry enquired.

“No, not strictly speaking, but the muggle police don’t really bother enforcing it,” Rhea said. “I’m sure in the future when you can just buy and sell tickets on the internet it will cut these scummy touts right out of the equation though,” she added in a hopeful tone, as she checked behind to ensure that the other two groups were just behind them – they were, as Harry spotted a now blood-free Ernie MacMillan, with Williamson and Badwal making their way through the crowded Camden street.  

“BUY OR SELL FEEDER TICKETS! BUY OR SELL-

Harry spotted the next ticket tout abruptly stop his hollering, as he noticed a pair of muggle police officers dressed in the customary fluorescent yellow night-time wear. The muggle man calmly put his hands in his pockets and casually strolled off in the hope they hadn’t spotted him – and he was in luck, as they hadn’t.

The first two touts they had initially walked past at the station were not as fortunate though, as Harry looked behind and could see that they hadn’t notice the two coppers walking towards them.

“See look at that,” Josh began incredulously. “It’s so much easier for the muggle police. Those three drunk blokes would’ve never started on us if we were coppers.”

“Yes… quite,” Rhea added slightly absent-mindedly, seemingly caught in a deep-thought.

“BUY OR SELL TICKETS!” yelled a tall man with a deep voice directly ahead of them. “FALMOUTH FALCONS BUY OR SELL!”

The large figure stepped into the light and Harry instantly recognized him as Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Minister,” Rhea uttered formally, as Kingsley shot Harry a quick wink. They formed a semi-circle in-front of the Minster for Magic, with Williamson, Ernie and Badwal quickly joining, before Wakanda, Neville and Proudfoot formed in behind them too.

Harry saw Kingsley mutter something under his breath, but it was so quiet it was barely audible. His wand hand was still in his jacket pocket, so Harry guessed it must’ve been some kind of enchantment to stop passing muggles hearing what he was about to say to them.

“As I’m sure you’re all aware from your venture on the muggle underground,” Kingsley began, speaking quickly. “We’ve got an anti-apparation barrier secured in the area a mile wide in all directions. We can’t get in or out, but neither can they – and that’s all that matters. The Floo-network is on lockdown. Peasegood and Podmore are acting as air support, just in-case they have brooms and attempt to fly out.”

“Minister, surely you’re not going to be-

Kingsley interrupted the Head Auror with a heavy sigh of frustration.

“You will be pleased to know that I have heeded the Head of Magical Law Enforcement’s concerns that as Minister for Magic I should not be taking part in raids,” he said in an annoyed tone.

“Gawain is waiting for you not far from here, just keep walking straight ahead until you reach the phone box at the end of the road,” Kingsley said, before he gave Rhea a stern look. “I’ll be in the Mexican restaurant just across the street. If anything serious goes down you will send your patronus for me immediately… and that’s an order.”

“Yes Minister, sir,” Rhea replied swiftly, as Kingsley smiled a little, possibly still not used to being addressed as Minister or sir.

“I wish you all the best of luck,” Shacklebolt said, as he began to slowly stroll off in the opposite direction.

“And Rhea…” Kingsley barked, turning his head back round to face them all.

“Yes?” she replied confidently, although Harry sensed some nerves in her voice.

“Try not to take too long, girl! They’ve got 2 for 1 mojitos all night at this place. I can’t be duelling drunk at my age,” he sniggered.

“Just make sure you save some for us!” Josh shot back hopefully.

“You guys lock up those damned Lestrange brothers tonight – I’ll get you all so many mojitos that Proudfoot there will end the night puking up on another pair of Robards’ loafers!”

They followed the path that the pavement took them on for a few minutes in relative silence, until they reached the phone box and Robards revealed himself.

“Quickly! Behind me, single file,” he ordered, as Rhea formed a line behind their boss. Robards weaved through a back alley at a frantic pace that was as close to a sprint as he could manage, then led them out to a large opening by the lock.

“It’s that house over there,” he said quietly, pointing in the direction of a very derelict looking property about fifty metres away.

Harry thought it was quite generous to even call it a house. It looked more like a shack, not all that unlike the hut on the rock that Vernon had ferried them off to all those years ago.

“Took us a while to uncover it and make it visible to the naked eye. The muggles still can’t see it though,” Robards said. “It had some damn good protective charms on it. We’ve not breached the inner defences yet, so if they are in there they won’t know that we’ve found them yet.”

“Willamson,” he commanded.

“Yes, boss?” Williamson replied.

“Take MacMillan and Longbottom and secure the perimeter. You join them too, Proudfoot.”

Williamson and Proudfoot did as they were told without hesitation, ushering the two young apprentice Aurors along with them as they started casting protective enchantments around the nearby area as an additional defence.

“We’ll need heavy firepower to break the house’s defences,” he continued. “Savage. Wakanda. You’ll join me at the front. Badwal and Morris, you’ll act as cover.”

“Potter,” Robards muttered, as he put his hands into his worn-out woven woolly jacket.

“Yes,” Harry replied, eagerly anticipating his own orders from the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

“You’re on air support with Peasegood and Podmore,” he said sternly, pulling out what looked like a Cleansweep Eleven from an enchanted bag in his pocket.

Harry tried to hide his disappointment at what he felt was Robards trying to keep him out of harm’s way, but his boss seemed to have an innate ability to spot what he was thinking.

“You’re the best flyer we’ve got, son. Podmore’s not bad on a broom, but he’s no Harry Potter. Now get up there and sit tight,” he added, before giving Harry a firm pat on the back and heading over to the house with Savage, Wakanda, Morris and Badwal.

Harry did as he was told and got onto the broom and quickly ascended into the cloudy sky.

He saw what looked like Sturgis Podmore directly ahead of him, with another figure who he guessed must be Arnold Peasegood to his left.

The warm spring wind brushed against his exposed face as he flew up to meet them, before he banked left and turned to watch over the house like the other two were doing. Podmore gave him a nod of acknowledgement and Peasegood winked at him.

From where they were positioned they really did have a perfect bird’s eye view of the proceedings on the ground, as Harry could see Robards, Savage and Wakanda all armed with their wands slowly approaching the front of the house, with Morris and Badwal close behind them on either flank.

In the distance he could just make out Williamson and MacMillan setting up additional shield charms on one side, with Neville and Proudfoot doing the same on the other.

“You reckon those bastards are in there?” Peasegood pondered to nobody in particular.

Podmore didn’t respond, instead rolling his eyes slightly as he appeared to want to silently focus on the mission at hand.

“Life in prison’s not good enough for those scumbags,” Peasegood continued. “Sooner we catch ‘em, the sooner they can go the way of their master.”

Suddenly there was movement on the ground.

“EXCINDO TUTELA!” came the distant cries of Robards, Savage and Wakanda, as blinding bolts of blue came flying out of their wands and crashed into the front of the house.

Harry could not tell if they had broken the inner defences of the property, but Robards sent a probing bolt of yellow sparks, which seemed to go straight through the front door unopposed.

Gawain raised his arm and ushered the others to follow him onto the porch, before he stopped abruptly just outside the door, with his wand pointed out cautiously.

Harry heard an odd flickering type noise.

It almost sounded like the noise a golden snitch would make when it was fluttering around in the nearby vicinity.

He adjusted his ear slightly and thought that it rather sounded like a ticking kind of sound, like the one a muggle alarm clock might make.

It looked as though Savage and Robards were having a heated discussion about something on the ground, with Robards waving away whatever it was that Rhea was saying to him.

“Anyone else hear that weird ticking sound?” Peasegood enquired. “Almost sounds like a bomb or something-

“OH FUCK!” Podmore yelled, as Harry saw Josh Morris suddenly barge past both Savage and Robards, thrust them out of the way and loudly cast “PROTEGO!” at the top of his lungs.

The initial explosion of the bomb almost threw Harry off of his broom.

He scrambled to cling onto it as shards of debris and smoke came flying up into the sky at random.

Harry ducked and dived on instinct alone as his glasses became fogged up and he lost all of his senses.

His ears had been deafened by the great sound that came from the detonation and all he could hear now was a migraine inducing ringing noise piercing into his ear-drums.

As he slowly gained his composure he flew out of the now thick, black smoke and plummeted to the ground as quickly as he could.

He could just make out the figures of Podmore and Peasegood who had just landed themselves.

Harry pulled up alongside them as they rushed to survey the damage.

The derelict house that had once stood in-front of where they were standing was now nothing more than a pile of fiery rubble.

Harry saw an uncharacteristically weary looking Gawain Robards in a heap on the floor.

He was covered in black smoke and debris, but he was still breathing and alongside Peasegood and Williamson who had now rushed onto the scene they helped pull him up.

Robards coughed heavily, possibly having inhaled a lot of smoke.

“Don’t fucking worry about me,” he wheezed, taking a deep breath before coughing again. “Where are the others?!”

To their right Badwal and Ernie had spotted Wakanda and were slowly helping her rise to her feet. She looked like she’d injured her left leg when she’d fallen to the ground, but other than that she did not look too bad, although her once vibrant violet dress was now a shade of dusty, dirty brown.

“Savage!” Podmore cried loudly, as Neville and Proudfoot helped him magically elevate a large pile of wooden debris which looked like it was once the front door.

The door had shattered into several pieces and seemingly crashed straight into the Head Auror, striking and then trapping her onto the ground, although aside from a few cuts and bruises on her face she looked relatively unharmed in the grand scheme of things.

“Where’s Josh?” was all she could muster, as she too coughed heavily, having probably also inhaled a lot of smoke in the blast.

Harry helped the others as they used wingardium leviosa and other charms to quickly lift the fallen remains of the property to try and find Josh Morris amongst the wreckage.

It took a few minutes to find him, but Harry knew they must have located Josh when he heard Rhea cry out in horror.

Morris lay flat out on his back in a huge pile of blood, eyes closed, with his left arm laying prone and clearly broken.

Yet, it was his right arm that had taken the most damage in the explosion – as it lay five feet away from him, no longer attached to his body.

The flamboyant golden rings still sat on the fingers of his severed and crimson-soaked right hand, with the golden eagle staring directly up at Harry.

Podmore was the quickest to reach his fallen colleague, as a distressed Savage froze up in fear for her friend.

Sturgis put his hand out and reached down towards Josh’s neck, softly feeling around for a pulse.

“He’s still alive…just… but we need to get him to St Mungo’s… now!”

[twothumbsandnostakeincanon]

hey remember three hours ago when I said we should have more abortion fic WELL GUESS WHAT

“Ugh. Ughhhh. Ughhhhhhhh.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Everything alright, darling?”

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Chris turned to look over now too. 

“Sweetheart?”

Stiles rolled over on the couch, revealing a distinctly queasy face. 

“I’m never going to be done with this flu. I’m going to be sick forever.”

Peter’s brow furrowed more deeply, reaching up to rub at Stiles’ feet as Chris came to crouch by Stiles’ head to check his temperature. 

“I thought you were feeling better,” Chris said, a question in his voice.

“I was, for most of the day, but just like the last few nights, as soon as I finished eating dinner it was like Kill Bill sirens going off in my stomach.” Stiles reached up to rub his eyes. “I’m still so fucking tired, too. Peter give me the bite so I don’t have the flu anymore.” 

“I can’t,” Peter said as he focused on pressure points that would hopefully help. “I’m not an Alpha and you said I’m not allowed to murder for power without getting permission first.” 

“I give you permission. I give you permission to murder anyone you want if it means I won’t feel like barfing anymore.” 

“As co-leader of the permission board, I’m pulling your authority to give permission,” Chris said, running a soothing hand through Stiles’ hair. 

“Based on what?” Stiles replied, trying to sound indignant despite lacking the energy to make it work.

“Altered state of mind due to illness.”

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” 

A few minutes later, Stiles gave in and just went to bed early, declaring his body to be, “Too full of shit fuck and bastard to be conscious.”

Peter and Chris heard the bedroom door close from the living room. Chris glanced at Peter, finding his expression tense. 

“He’s been pretty nauseous for the last week,” Chris said quietly. “More tired too.” 

Peter looked back at him, lips pursed. 

“He’s been saying that he thinks he needs a new binder too, because his chest hurts lately.” 

They both looked at each other, silent for a few moments. 

“How many times did he get up to pee during dinner?” Chris asked, even though they both knew the answer.” 

Peter swore under his breath and then got up, grabbing his keys. 

“Clearblue?” he suggested.

“Early Response,” Chris countered. “I think he’s still a couple days off from a missed period.” 

Peter swore again and then left the house. 

__________

Stiles took the stick into the bathroom the next morning with an eye roll. 

“It’s just the flu you guys. You’re being ridiculous.” 

“Just humor us, baby,” Chris said, chivying him into the en suite. 

Five minutes later, Stiles walked out of the bathroom, brow furrowed. 

“Two lines means not pregnant, right?”

That was Not Right. 

Stiles sat in the middle of their king sized bed, stunned. Chris was on the phone, rescheduling all his meetings for the day, and Peter was making a list of every cure for morning sickness (or in Stiles’ case, evening sickness) that he could find. Eventually Chris finished and hung up, bringing the motion and sound of the room to a standstill. 

Everyone looked at each other silently for a moment. 

“Oh goddamnit,” Stiles burst out, hopping off the bed and making a beeline for the bathroom again. “I haven’t even had anything to drink yet today!” 

Chris sat on the bed with a huff as they waited for Stiles to finish. He and Peter eyed each other warily, both unsure of how to begin the conversation.

Once Stiles came back, he climbed back up on the bed between his two boyfriends and clapped his hands once, rubbing them together. 

“So! There is… an embryo. Living in me. Living a little embryonic life. It’s already been a zygote, a morula, and a blastocyst. I think there are some other stages between that and embryo, but you’ll have to forgive my lapse in memory, because apparently I’m fucking pregnant oh my god.”

Chris and Peter both reached over to hug him, ending up with everyone dragged down into a cuddle pile in the middle of the bed. Stiles was breathing a little too quickly for comfort, but he wasn’t shaking and he wasn’t crying- just repeating oh my god oh shit oh my god under his breath as he tried to calm down. 

“How do we even figure out whose it is?” Stiles wondered out loud. 

“Does… that matter?” Peter asked slowly. 

Stiles shrugged as wildly as he could while pressed between the two others. 

“I don’t know! I’ve never done this before! I don’t know anything! I don’t-” He bit his tongue, cutting off any more words for a moment before he continued. “I feel like… what happens next isn’t just my decision, is it? Whoever- whoever’s sperm won the marathon should have like. Some input. Right?”

Chris cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“Well. It’s your body. Even though one of us, uh…”

“Knocked you up,” Peter supplied helpfully. 

“-Well, yes. Even though one of us did that, it’s still going to be your uterus, and your morning sickness, and your possible gestational issues, and your possible dysphoria, and your labor and delivery-”

“Yeah, yes, alright,” Stiles cut him off, breathing a little faster again. 

Chris spoke more quietly as he said, “It’s about whether you want to be pregnant, or do any of the things that come after pregnancy, Stiles.”

“I don’t,” Stiles blurted. 

It was like the balloon of tension in the room had been popped. 

Everyone sighed in relief. 

“I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want kids. Not right now, maybe not ever? I don’t know, but I definitely don’t want this right now.” 

“Oh thank God,” Peter said. “I don’t either.”

Chris leaned forward and kissed Stiles on his forehead. 

“Then we’ll support you.” 

“What about you?” Stiles asked nervously. 

“What about me?” Chris asked back, eyebrow raised. 

Stiles rolled onto his side so that Peter was draped over his back, peering over his shoulder to look at Chris too. 

“Well,” he said. “Of the three of us, you’re the only one with real parenthood experience. Do you… I don’t want to make it sound like I’m suggesting a replacement daughter, but is that something you want to do again someday? Is it something you think about?”

Chris was silent for a moment, not really looking at anything as he tried to organize his heart into thoughts. 

“Being a father was the most important thing in my life,” he eventually said. “Which is exactly why I’m sure that if you don’t want to be one, then you shouldn’t be one. If I did have another child, I would love that one as much as I loved Allison- but it’s not something I’m looking for. It’s not something I need. It’s an idea that scares the shit out of me, if I’m being honest.” Stiles sagged in relief, and Chris’ eyes crinkled in a smile as he leaned forward to kiss his forehead again. “We’re all fine, Stiles. Everything is going to be fine.” 

Stiles grabbed Peter’s hand as he wiggled forward, bringing him with him to condense their snuggle sandwich closer to Chris. 

“I guess I’ll call Planned Parenthood then,” Stiles mumbled into Chris’ chest as Peter quietly rumbled at his back. 

“The one you went to when you were looking into hormone therapy?” Peter questioned.

“Yeah, they’re chill, and I think they do in-clinc abortions on Wednesdays. Or like, every other Wednesday? Maybe one Wednesday a month?” 

They called, and scheduled the procedure for the first available appointment in three weeks. 

(On a Friday.)

They used the rest of their morning to cuddle, and plan what Stiles was calling “Yeet the Embryo Day.” 

It wasn’t until they got up for lunch that Peter said, “Technically, you were right last night.”

A crease appeared in Stiles’ forehead. 

“Right about what?”

“We’re not married. Your body is full of bastard.” 

__________

Three weeks later, Stiles was propped on the couch with his head in Peter’s lap, feet in Chris’ lap, and a heating pad on his own lap. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” Peter asked, stroking the skin on Stiles’ neck as he drew some of the pain away. “I can’t help too much otherwise we might miss the signs of complications.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said, voice a little drowsy. “I’m okay anyway. My cramps aren’t too bad. Honestly,” he continued with a pointed look at Chris, “my hip hurts more than anything else.” 

Chris rolled his eyes with a crooked smile. 

“I apologize, again, for my blood type.”

“Whatever, Mr. Rh positive,” Stiles shot back. “We were almost out of there. The procedure was over! But noooo, someone had to bring up that I’m O negative-”

“I’m O negative too,” Peter said smugly, happy to be on the “not my fault” side of things. 

“Exactly!” Stiles exclaimed. “You might have been the one that got me pregnant! We don’t even know that the embryo had Chris’ weird little supply of A positive blood-” 

“Stiles, you said yourself that you don’t know whether or not you want to have kids someday,” Chris reminded him. “The RhoGAM just prevents your body from automatically attacking any future embryos, okay? Just in case.” 

“They let a nursing student give me the shot, Chris.” 

“You could have said no.” 

“I didn’t want to be rude!” 

Chris just leaned over to give him a kiss.

“What if we replace the boring bandaid with a Batman one after your shower?” 

Stiles immediately brightened up. 

“Yeah! God. It’s so good we’re not having a baby. More Batman bandaids for me.”

[kerfufflewatch]

Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

--

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks. 

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee. 

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him. 

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself. 

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him. 

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through. 

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think. 

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most. 

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined. 

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates. 

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all. 

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals,  he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to  Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear. 

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food. 

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. 

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that." 

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose. 

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely. 

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry. 

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored. 

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

[bigskydreaming]

So I’ve been going through all my old Scrivener files and rounding up all the various fics and updates I’m planning on queuing up to post during the month/however-the-fuck-long I’m bedridden after surgery in a couple weeks. Which includes Teen Wolf as well as Batfics, FYI. 

Anyway, came across this old WIP that I never ended up posting because I ultimately thought it felt too similar to both Where Wild Things Are and Lightning Crashes, just in different ways....not enough that any of them were derivative of each other, but enough that I wasn’t super inspired to continue writing it because the vibe I was going for with it, I was already getting from writing those other two fics.

But I still liked it and think there was some good stuff there, so what the hell. Here’s an opening from a never-planning-on-finishing-it Scallison AU, where things diverged from canon right after the Hale fire six years pre-pilot, and there was a different-from-canon McCall pack at war/trying to survive Peter’s pack in its attempts to stamp theirs out. 

The Scallison part starts out in the vein of the ABC show Revenge, where Scott’s initially just trying to keep an eye on the hunters in town/figure out where the Argents land in all of this, but then, y’know. The feelings happen.

Anyway, it was chock full of my favorite TW writing tropes - runaway/long lost Scott, pack politics, side characters turned main characters, scheming, double-dealing, Scott Is A Goddamn Genius and No I Do Not Accept Constructive Criticism On This Matter For It Is Wrong....you know, my usuals.

I did have a pretty extensive outline/summary for the rest of the fic and my plans for it, that I can post if there’s any interest in reading that and seeing where this was going. *Shrugs* Just let me know.

WHAT THE FIRES LEFT BEHIND

Scott McCall came home on a Tuesday.

For Allison, that didn’t mean much at first.  Her only context for the mass text was the bemused quirking of Lydia’s lips and a rather underwhelming ‘Huh.’ Then a shrug and a flick of her hair, and her best friend by default returned to ruffling through the Macy’s clearance rack with a vengeance.

“Awful. Grotesque. Needs to be set ablaze, immediately - ”

Allison nodded to herself and bore continued witness to Lydia’s evisceration of every hack designer of every fashion atrocity present, though sadly, the novelty of that had long since worn off. It was 7 pm on a school night. They’d been scouring the mall for something to meet Lydia’s approval for three hours already, and Allison did have trigonometry homework she could be torturing herself with instead, so….

Tough call. Hard choices had to be made. Allison steeled herself for battle and called Lydia Martin on her bullshit.

“Why are we here again? You hate Macy’s, and you absolutely despise clearance items.”

“I know that, and you know that.” Lydia emerged from a forest of polyester blouses wearing a look of disdain that had a ph level that would put any acid in the school’s chem lab to shame. “But I’m trying to see if I can find something here to start a trend with anyway.  Call it…a social experiment.”

“Hmm.” Allison nodded again thoughtfully. Briefly, she considered mercy. But she had just wasted three hours of her life. And mercy wasn’t really the Argent family way. 

She pulled the trigger. “You sure its not called Daddy cut your spending limit?”

Her melodrama-prone friend threw her hands up as if to express the whole world had gone mad and nothing made any sense. “It’s like he’s not even trying to buy my affection anymore!”

Allison coughed into her hand to smother a giggle. Being able to so easily rile up her friend when all others’ attempts dashed themselves harmlessly upon Her Majesty’s porcelain mask of perfection? Still her favorite sport next to archery. But certain social norms must be respected. One didn’t openly mock a friend in such obvious distress. She quickly changed the subject. For Lydia’s sake, really.

“So who’s Scott McCall?”

Lydia paused midway through working herself up to a truly tickets and popcorn-worthy rant, thrown by the sudden segue. “What?”

Allison waved her phone, flashing the mass text Danny had sent out to pretty much everyone in the Beacon County zip code.

“Scott McCall’s back. He just walked into the Sheriff’s Station. Stiles saw him himself,” she read out loud. “Who’s Scott McCall?”

“Oh. That.” Lydia tore her horrified gaze away from a leopard print mini-skirt and shrugged. “He’s this guy from our class who disappeared seven years ago. You know that Dunbar kid’s stepmom, Melissa? It’s her son.”

“Wait, seriously? And he’s our age? How have I never heard about this before?”

“I don’t know, Allison,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Maybe because normal people don’t talk about things that depress them? It was a long time ago anyway.”

“I can tell it had a real effect on you,” Allison said, with just a touch of acid herself.

“I’m in the midst of a personal financial crisis currently. I’ll care when its over. Besides, its not like anyone has any details yet. Pointless gossip is for the peasants.”

“So what happened anyway?” Allison asked. Lydia shot her a look and she smiled innocently. “What? I’m comfortable with my peasant status. And I’ve lived here almost two years now and never heard a word about this. How can I not be curious?”

“Well this was an utter waste of time,” Lydia said under her breath as she gingerly replaced a sequin-studded monstrosity back on the rack, seemingly preoccupied once more. Or possibly just flat-out ignoring her. 

The menace of the malls then raised her eyes to the ceiling as if despairing at the world at large, heaved a sigh that was practically a soliloquy unto itself, and ran her fingers through her hair in some kind of ritual of self-composure. 

Once she’d observed the proper formalities for conceding her quest was officially a failure - at least, Allison was pretty sure that’s what she was doing, though she’d rather not commit to that, given that some of the intricacies of her friend’s habits still eluded her grasp - Lydia finally slung her purse over her shoulder and set off towards the exit with an imperious wave of her head. 

It was only when her brisk walk stalled out while waiting for the garage elevator that Her Highness deigned to address the lowly commoner’s curiosity. 

Allison just sighed internally. She’d long since made her peace with her friend’s little power games. They were entertaining as often as they were exasperating, so it was sort of a pick your battles type situation, and Allison preferred to err on the side of not waking the beast beneath Lydia’s deceptively dainty exterior.

“You know about the Hale fire, right?” Lydia asked.

Allison nodded. It wasn’t an everyday topic of conversation by any means, but it had come up at least once or twice since her family moved to Beacon Hills two years prior. Talk of the tragedy had even made an appearance in her own home, in a couple of muffled shouting matches between her parents that she’d only caught bits and pieces of.

“Yeah, my Aunt Kate actually lived around here back then. That was the fire that killed that whole family, right?”

“Right. So it was pretty much right around that same time. Scott went missing just a few days after. A lot of people even wondered if there might have been a connection, there were rumors the fire was arson, I don’t know. It was a whole thing, and we were only ten at the time, you know? Anyway, Scott’s dad was this hotshot FBI agent. There were search parties for like two months, but they never found a body or anything. Most people eventually figured it probably had something to do with one of his dad’s cases.”

“And now he’s back,” Allison prodded when Lydia lapsed into silence. The smaller girl just chewed on her lower lip, staring at the wall of the garage almost pensively.

“And now he’s back,” she echoed with a distracted nod of her head.

“That’s....interesting,” Allison offered tentatively. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the mood that had fallen over her friend, like a spell had settled upon her the moment she’d actually stopped and reflected on her memories of the events in question. 

It seemed somewhat conspicuous to her that Lydia made no mention of who Scott was beyond just the victim of some strange small-town mystery, and so she was uncertain just how cautiously she needed to tread here. Had they been childhood friends? Mere acquaintances? Something else, likely as baffling and unexpected as most things about Lydia Martin tended to be?

But the born and raised Beacon Hills native just shrugged one shoulder listlessly and twirled a strand of strawberry-blond hair around a finger.

“It’s something,” she said at last. The elevator arrived at their level with an almost cheerful-sounding ding that was at odds with the somber mood they stood draped in. Lydia shook herself, a full body kind of motion not unlike a dog drying itself off.

“Are you coming?” She tossed over her shoulder at Allison, sounding almost exasperated, as though she hadn’t been the one just standing there staring at the wall for a good ten seconds after the elevator doors had slid open.

Allison sighed and shook her head, but she held back any retort and instead simply followed her friend down into the lower levels of the garage. Now was not the time to pursue...whatever that whole thing had been, just now. 

Lydia Martin had just unwillingly displayed an emotional reaction in front of another person. It was too dangerous to prod for further weak spots in her armor without letting at least a day or two pass first.

The self-styled Queen of Beacon Hills had relieved commoners of their heads for lesser offenses than that.

[thatscalledtoughlove]

Didn’t Want to Fall in Love - 4: The Wandering Traveler

The final class on Friday afternoon left me in desperate need of a drink. Unfortunately, Tony had arranged for another date with a girl he’d met on one of his several dating apps, leaving me without a ride. I considered asking Justin if he wanted to accompany me to a fancier restaurant for dinner but realized that after what I’d done to him the week before, it would seem too much like a date and might give him the wrong idea.

         And so, I decided to take the ten-minute walk from my college campus to the pub I’d gone to with Paul on our first date. A sign hung right above the door, made of dark oak wood. The Wandering Traveler, a building older than my great grandparents with the furniture inside helping to prove this fact. Underneath the name of the place it said it’d been established in 1896. At least the food itself had been modified over the years.

         A few heads glanced up when I walked in, immediately looking back down at the drinks in their hands once they saw a young woman with a scowl. I’d mastered the expression during my teenage years, learning quickly that people tended to leave me alone if I looked angry at all times.

         After I’d ordered a simple rum and coke, I took a seat at the end of the bar, checking my phone for messages I knew wouldn’t be there. To my surprise, I had one from Justin and two from Tony.

        Justin asked if I wanted to meet up for lunch on Monday between classes, while Tony promised to be home before midnight. He’d finished class by two, giving him just enough time to go home and get ready for his dinner date at six. I’d been at the school until ten to six and hadn’t noticed his texts until thirty-five minutes after they’d been sent.

         I messaged back that he didn’t have to worry about me and joined the other patrons of the bar in staring into my glass.

         “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The voice took me by surprise, nearly making me spill my drink.

        A familiar face smiled back when I looked up, the warm brown eyes one of the only pleasant memories from my date on Monday. “Yeah, go for it,” I said, downing the rest of my drink. I winced at the burn of alcohol at the bottom. I’d learned over the years that very few people drank because they enjoyed the taste.

         “Hey, you’re the woman from the other night, aren’t you? You had a date with the guy who basically told me to screw off.” He smiled when I looked at him, shrugging his coat off and setting it on the stool to his right. I felt terrible when I realized I’d forgotten the waiter’s name.

        It took a lot of effort to even smile. “Yep, that’s me.” When he continued to stare, I realized he must be waiting for me to introduce myself properly. I turned my whole body to face him and extended a hand. “I’m Izzy. You’re Zeke, right?”

         He laughed, taking my hand. Once we let go, he shook his head. “No, but you were close. It’s Zachariah. Zack for short. It’s nice to have a real talk with you, Izzy.”

         “Shit, I’m sorry. Names have never been my strongest skill. So, what’s your story, Zack? What brings you to The Wandering Traveler if you don’t have work?”

        “I don’t really know anyone here, so I tend to spend most of my spare time checking out different parts of the city. All my family and friends are up north.” He motioned for the bar tender and ordered another rum and coke for me and one for himself. “What about you? Was that guy from the other night your boyfriend?”

         I nearly choked on my drink laughing. “Paul? No way. He was a one-time deal. My best friend is out on a date and I had a long day, so the most logical thing to do is get a drink.”

         We lapsed into silence for a few minutes. My phone received a message halfway through the silence, but I chose to ignore it. If Tony had something important to tell me, he would call. And Justin always took hours to answer, so he could wait.

        Although I had no desire to speak at the moment, I figured it might be interesting to learn more about this waiter who sat beside me sipping on his drink. Neither of us seemed good at making friends. Maybe we could build a friendship on that unfortunate similarity.

         “Does that mean you’re from Canada?” I asked, keeping my eyes trained on my glass. It was the second of many more drinks to come.

          Zack cleared his throat, seemingly surprised that I wanted to continue the conversation. “Sure am. I moved here just a few months ago. I had a hard time trying to find a job, so I was lucky enough to see the hiring sign outside two weeks ago.”

         I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You moved here before securing a job?”

        His face didn’t turn red, despite him looking embarrassed. “I’ve never been one to really think things through before taking action. My older brother says that’s going to be my downfall someday, but then again I’m not the one who moved to an entirely different continent.”

        “Sounds like running off to other countries runs in the family.” I had no idea how to react to a stranger telling me about his life. I’d always thought these kinds of encounters only happened in cheesy romance films.

         Zack grinned, another laugh slipping out. For some odd reason, my heart picked up speed a bit. I looked away again. The pub would fill up some enough with more people looking to release the stress of the week. Hopefully it didn’t get as busy as I’d seen it on other nights.

         “Tell me about yourself, Izzy. I feel we’ve talked about me enough. What’s the story with you and your date from the other night?” He ordered more drinks, and I accepted the next one with a polite smile, thanking him.

         “We met on Tinder,” I said, already embarrassed just admitting it. “Which wasn’t my idea. I have my best friend Tony to thank for that one. He pressured me into signing up for online dating.”

         More people had come in since we’d started talking, their separate conversations joining ours, the volume of noise in the room steadily increasing. The drinks continued, Zack and I quickly losing track of who bought who the next one. Neither of us seemed to mind.

         We stopped mid-conversation again, downing a few more rum and colas before the drinks started to change with every new order. After I’d lost count, he turned back to me, apparently still remembering where the conversation had left off.

         “Wait, so are you in college or something? How old are you?” Zack looked better when his hair wasn’t smoothed down with gel. It looked so soft I wanted to reach out and touch it.

        I resisted the urge, forcing a nod as another drink appeared in front of me. “I’m in my third year right now. And I’m turning twenty-two in September. What about you? What made you want to move to this boring old city?”

         He pushed his glass away, resting his elbow where it had previously been. “I dropped out of university after one term. It just wasn’t for me. And I don’t know, I wanted to experience adventure in a different country, but I didn’t want to go too far away. I’m also turning twenty-two in September. On the eighteenth.”

        An obnoxious laugh slipped through my lips and I slammed my hands down on the bar counter. “No way! I’m four days older than you!” We both started to laugh, deciding to move to a table to order some food to balance out the amount of alcohol we’d had.

         The food tasted a lot better after I’d had numerous drinks, and I found myself revealing more and more about myself to Zack as the night went on. He didn’t seem to mind, telling me stories about his life back home in Canada.

         Apparently, he came from a small town in central Alberta, but had gone to a university in British Columbia, where his family moved when he was sixteen. Just like me, he’d never experienced a real relationship and hadn’t had his first kiss until the summer after he’d dropped out of university, after a brief encounter with a girl at a concert.

         I confessed that I’d shared my own first kiss with Tony, and that there had once been a time briefly after that where we considered getting together. A secret no one from our group of friends knew except the two of us. Yet, after not telling another soul for five years, I somehow felt comfortable enough to share it with this man I hardly knew. Or maybe it was just the buzz I felt after over an hour of drinks.

         “What is your greatest fear?” Zack asked after downing another drink, his cheeks flushed. “Everyone has one, so you can’t say you don’t.”

         It took a minute for me to think about one, after I’d spent so many years telling myself I had nothing to fear anymore. After a long pause, I sat up straight and made eye contact with him. “Love.”

         He raised an eyebrow. “Love?”

         “Mhhm.”

         “How can your greatest fear be love?”

        I sighed, slouching in the booth. Even Tony had never heard a real explanation from me why I feared relationships so much. “If I tell you, do you promise you won’t laugh at me?”

         Zack pressed one hand to his heart and held the other up, as if taking an oath. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

        “Okay, well, I used to think of nothing else besides love. I spent every waking hour reading romance novels or watching movies with the cutest couples. Everywhere I looked, I saw love. Then, one day, I realized that that kind of stuff just doesn’t happen in life. And it crushed me.” I noticed him watching me and suddenly felt too exposed. “That’s it, I guess.” He didn’t need to hear the rest of the story.

         “There has to be more to it than that. People don’t just start to fear love for no reason.”

         I waved him off, deciding that this would be my last drink before I switched over to water. “Well, it happened to me.”

        Zack leaned on the table, his face inches away from mine. I could tell from the glimmer in his eye that he was well on his way to a hangover in the morning, just like me. “Want to know what my biggest fear is?”

        Shrugging, I downed the rest of my drink: another rum and coke. The burning had long ago stopped, replaced by a constant warmth that radiated from the inside out. It was the best part about drinking. That buzz I got once I overcame the initial sting.

         “I fear not finding love.” I raised an eyebrow and he laughed. He had the kind of laugh that made people around pause. The guffaw that, the moment you heard it, you had to laugh even if you had no idea what was so funny. “I mean, we live in a society where your very identity revolves around relationships. How many friends you have, the number of people you’ve kissed or slept with, we’re nothing without other people.”

        The conversation seemed to be headed in a serious direction, but I was so far gone I no longer cared. I sat up straight, resting my elbows on the table and leaning into them. “That, my friend, is bullshit. No one defines us but ourselves. Are you seriously telling me a person is nothing but their relationships?”

        “Seems like it to me. Just take a look around at the world today.” He swept his hand out to the tables around us as he said this, nearly knocking his glass off the table.

         I laughed, grabbing it and placing it near the wall to my left. “You’re wrong. You are what you love, not who loves you.”

         “That’s some real philosophical thinking. Did you learn that in school?” He finished his drink and motioned the server over.

         “Nope, it’s from a Fall Out Boy song.” He frowned, turning back to look at me, and I laughed. “It’s a pretty great song. You should look it up. Save Rock And Roll.”

        Zack nodded, though I had a feeling he would forget all about this conversation by morning. If either of had another drink, I was certain we would end up on the floor of the pub passed out.

         When the server came to our table, I requested two glasses of water, ignoring the protests that came from Zack. He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout when I glanced back at him.

         “Why do you fear not finding love?” I asked, taking a sip of water once the two glasses arrived. Tony would not be happy when he discovered what I’d decided to do with my Friday evening.

         Speaking of Tony, I hadn’t bothered checking if he’d left any messages on my phone. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind for hours. His date would likely be over by now.

        Zack cleared his throat, pushing some of his blond hair out of his face. His eyes almost reminded me of whiskey. The comparison made me laugh, given our current circumstances, and I started to laugh. Several heads turned in our direction.

         “How can you not fear being alone forever? My ultimate dream ever since I was a kid was to someday get married and start a family.” He noticed the judgemental look I gave him and frowned again. “Okay, Miss Afraid of Love, what is your ultimate dream?”

        “That’s easy.” I set my glass of water down on the table and sat back, crossing my arms over my chest. “I want to own an art gallery. And sell my own artwork in it.”

         Now it was my turn to receive a judgemental look. I glared at him, opening my mouth to defend myself, when my phone started to ring. Tony’s name appeared on the screen, accompanied by a picture of him wearing a ‘bad boy’ outfit for Halloween two years earlier.

         Without excusing myself from the table, I answered the call, standing and walking a few feet away from where Zack watched with curious eyes. He motioned for the waiter again when he thought I wasn’t watching.

         “Hello?” I grimaced when I heard myself speak. “What’s up?”

        “Holy shit, Iz, are you drunk?” Judging by the sound in the background, I guessed he had just finished dropping off his date.

          Although I knew he couldn’t see me, I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not big deal, there’s plenty of people around.” My words sounded more slurred the more I tried to think of logical things to say.

         “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

         “I’ll be fine! Zack’s here with me.”

        Tony’s car started in the background on his side of the line. “Who’s Zack? Isabelle, tell me where you are right now, before I use the find my friend app or whatever it’s called.”

         He wasn’t exaggerating about it. Tony was the type of person to hunt down a friend if he thought they were in trouble or hunt down whoever hurt them if things took a turn for the worse. Especially when it came to me. Not that I blamed him, I had the tendency to get myself into trouble a lot.

         “Fine, I’m at The Wandering Traveler.” I could feel a headache starting to form and regretted that last drink. Well, I regretted the last three drinks.

         Someone honked a car horn on Tony’s side. “Stay in the pub, I’ll come in to get you. Do you hear me?”

         “Yes, Dad.” I started to laugh, thinking about when he called me Mom a few days earlier.

         Tony did not find it as humorous.

        “I’ll be there in less than ten minutes. Stay put.” And with that, he hung up. I sighed, turning back to the table where Zack still waited.

        “Who was that?” he asked, downing another glass of water. The appeal of alcohol seemed to have worn off for us both. “Your best friend?”

        I nodded, feeling completely sober for a brief second when I looked through my phone and realized I had six missed texts from Tony. It also happened to be quarter after midnight. I’d been here for six hours.

        As promised, Tony showed up a few minutes later, his face set in a scowl. When he saw me, he let out a loud sigh. “Come on, Iz, we’re going home.”

         “Why don’t you join us for a bit? Let loose.” I tried to grin, but my temporary giddiness was quickly fading. The thought of curling up in bed seemed great.

         “Hey, I remember you!” Zack’s voice rose above the rumble of chatter and everyone turned to him. He flushed red and sunk lower in the booth. “You’re the guy who picked her up the other night. I just wanted to let you know that it was no big deal. Totally my fault for not looking before I stepped onto the road.”

         The color drained from Tony’s face and he grabbed me by the arm. “We’re leaving. I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” He said this while looking at Zack.

        Resigned to the fact I couldn’t stay any longer, I mumbled bye to Zack and allowed Tony to guide me from the pub. We kept quiet the whole ride home. As we parked outside the apartment, my nerves started, and I glanced at my best friend.

         “Sorry.”

         He shook his head, turning the car off, turning to look at me. “What’s wrong with you? What would you have done if I hadn’t called? That guy would’ve probably taken you home!”

         “Oh, please, Zack’s not like that. He’s a nice guy.” I couldn’t say that with certainty, but my instincts told me it was true.

         “Whatever, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Tony got out of the car, slamming the door so hard it surprised me he didn’t shatter the window. “You know, you can be real dumb sometimes, Izzy.”

         I ignored the pain of his comment, having learned after over a decade of friendship that sometimes the best answer was to not answer at all. He would get over it in the morning. Tony wasn’t the kind to hold a grudge.

        He left me alone in the living room once we got inside, slipping into his bedroom without a word. I listened for the sound of steady breathing before moving to my own room. After I changed into some comfier clothes, I came back out and headed to the easel in the corner of the room.

         An unfinished painting from a week earlier remained. Not trusting myself to complete it in this drunken state, I set it on the floor and grabbed a blank canvas. I had no idea what I wanted to paint, I just knew that the jumble of thoughts in my head had to find some form of escape.

         Before I knew it, I’d created a mess of color. The painting was of nothing, but I sat and stared at it for a long time before moving, strangely mesmerized by my drunken creation.

         It wasn’t until Tony entered the room at six in the morning to tell me to go to sleep that I realized I’d left my backpack at the pub.

[junova]

Cloud Nine | Peter Kavinsky

Word Count: 2.1K+ 

Warnings: Very light make out sesh, slight mention of anxiety, angst, cheating. 

A/N: Hey guys! My name is Lae and this is my first imagine as I’m hopping on the Noah Centineo bandwagon. Let me know if you like this one and would like more. Request are always open. Happy reading! 

          This was definitely not how I would typically spend my Saturday night, but Stasia, my best friend certainly had other plans for us tonight. It was supposed to be a quiet night at my house, binging on popcorn and cheese puffs, but then her boyfriend called. As soon as she picked up the phone, I knew we were going wherever Ace wanted. I didn’t mind too much and Stasia seemed happy with Ace, so I never pushed. If I had known where we would end up that night, I would’ve stayed as close to my bed as humanly possible. Nevertheless, I sat in the backseat of Ace’s jeep, third wheeling once again.  

          “Stasia, did we really have to come to the lacrosse game? He’s here.” Y/N didn’t like to come to school events anymore, really. Partly, because my ex boyfriend was always apart of them, front and center. It was one of the reasons why I loved him so much, but now it was just goddamn annoying. “C’mon honey, he’s on the field it’s not like you’re going to see him. It’ll be fine.” 

         We continued to walked up to ticket booth, showing them our student passes before headed to find a seat on the bleachers. Thankfully, the game had already stared, so we didn’t have to endure all the pre-game nonsense. I respected the sport, I really did, but I didn’t want to see him lead the team out on their first playoff game with everyone screaming his name. Just wasn’t something I wanted to witness or be a part of anymore.

          I hated myself for spotting him immediately, even with his helmet on. His signature white compression, tights he wore underneath his shorts giving him away. Plus, he was the only one wearing them on the field, so it was easy for me to spot him. I tried to pay attention to the conversation Ace and Stasia we’re having, but here I was again, completely enthralled by him. He always had this effect on me, even when we were dating. I couldn’t believe he was my boyfriend and that he wanted me, he chose me. 

          He had been everything to me. He was my best friend who ended up being my boyfriend, but I hadn’t seen him since everything happened. Frankly, I don’t know if I ever wanted to see him. Yet, here I was at his dumbass lacrosse game, courtesy of Ace and Stasia’s need to join the rest of civilization. Although, being here, it made me wonder if I done the right thing. In the moment, it felt like I had all those months ago but seeing him again didn’t clarify any doubts I was currently feeling about him. 

          I watched as the clock winded down to zero, the ring of the buzzer filling the stadium. Everyone cheering loudly due to the win the lacrosse teams scored tonight. The spirits were at a high tonight, and it wasn’t just because of the stoners smoking their blunts. Maybe I could actually use one right now. 

          “You okay, babe?” Y/N looked over at her and gave Stasia a half smile, it was the best I could do given the circumstances. I knew I had zoned out for a moment, so Stasia was waiting for me patiently with her impatient boyfriend.c 

          “Stas, I think I’m gonna stick around for a bit. You guys don’t have to wait up. I’ll be fine.” She gave you a nod, knowing this wasn’t something she should push, before ushering Ace in the other direction towards the exit.

          As soon as everyone filled out of the field, that’s when I began walking towards the locker room before I even knew where my feet were carrying me.  I stood to the far right of the entrance, waiting for everyone to come out, knowing he’s always the last one to leave. I felt my palms begin to sweat, and my hands began to shake but I couldn’t back out. This was the closest I had come to confronting him in the months we’d had been apart. I needed to do this for me. A few moments later he came out of the locker room, and I couldn’t believe it was him. Right in front of me. His tall stature making me feeling incredibly small, insignificant even. 

          “Peter?” He stopped dead in his tracks, knowing that voice was only existed in his dreams now. You couldn’t really be here. You never were anymore. If he tried to talk to you, you always went in the other direction. Peter tried for a few months, but eventually gave up on being your friend again. You so clearly wanted nothing to do with him and he had to accept it. Although, he still found himself thinking about you from time to time. You were his first and he was yours, it was hard to give up something like that. 

          “Y/N? What are you doing here?” I wasn’t really sure what to say. I didn’t really know why I thought this was a good idea. I knew it wasn’t. If it included Peter and I, it never was. We tried to make ourselves fit as a couple so hard, but we just never did. 

          “I actually don’t know. Just, um, please forget you saw me here tonight. Cool? Thanks.” I tried to walk away from him, but he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards him.

         For the first time in months, I was looking at Peter and he was focused in on me and it felt suffocating. His hand had intertwined with mine, while the other left limp at my side. Peter’s curls fell perfectly on his face, still looked a little damp, but perfect nonetheless. 

            God, the way he was looking at me had to be intoxicating. He looked like a deer in headlights, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel prideful that I still had this effect on him or frightened I still did. The beautiful brown haired boy with wholesome brown eyes, looking down on me like I aligned the stars in the sky. Just for him, but we both knew I wasn’t that kind. 

          “Please, don’t go yet. I need a second with you.” I gulped, very fucking loudly or at least that’s what it felt like. My nerves already kicking in with the slight physical contact with Peter.

          Then, his hand left mine and I felt exposed in the cool autumn hair without his warmth until I felt his hands cupped my cheeks, and I felt warm again. Peter’s thumb slowly grazed my lip, which had to be quivering by now, but I was completely okay with it this time around. Slowly, he leaned down so his forehead was leaning against mine, shuffling his body closer to mine. My hands found his waist, wanting to feel secure while I’m with him a moment longer. It didn’t matter how long it had been or the issues we had with one another, he was my home. Whether it was platonically or romantically, it was the truth. 

          Peter was so close to me now. So close. I could hear every breath he inhaled, and feel every exhale. “Please, don’t leave me again.” My heart broke at Peter’s words, yet I said nothing. We just continued to hold each other, neither of us wanting the moment to end. Although, maybe Peter knew this wasn’t good for either of us, so he backed away, losing any contact we once held before.

          Peter stood there uncomfortably, the intimacy of the moment they shared suddenly hitting him. He knew he shouldn’t have been this close with you, especially not when he had a girlfriend.

          “Yeah, right. How could I forget? I should go, Peter. I’m sorry.” I walked away from him and I began walking home, alone and in the dark. Such a perfect fit in comparison to the rest of her life. Until, Peter ran up towards you, against all internal wishes you had for yourself and for him as well. 

          “Y/N, I can’t let you walk alone, in the dark at night. Let me take you home.” You knew he was right so you let him do just that. Here you were again, in Peter’s Jeep and you could almost smell her perfume lingering in his car. Every time you thought of her, you felt like you didn’t have a place with him anymore. She was his best friend and his girlfriend. What could you be to him? You had been replaced and as selfish as it sounds you wanted to be that to him again but reality is a real bitch slap in the face. 

          There you sat confused as ever when Peter’s hand found your exposed thigh, your short dress slightly hiked up. I looked up at him, but his line of focus stood with the road in front of him. I decided not to think anything of it as I faced the other window. 

          Finally, we arrived at my home, which was right next to Peter’s. Always so convenient as he would like to say. For some reason, we both still sat in the car with the engine still on. Maybe we didn’t want the night to end because when it did, I’d have to forget about this night entirely if I still wanted to maintain my sanity.  

          “I want to say something just in case I never get to say it again.” Y/N looked at Peter again, before slowly nodding her head, waiting for him to speak. Silently, scared of what he might say. 

          “You need to know I never meant to hurt you. The way it all went down wasn’t my intention nor was it the plan. I loved you, Y/N. More than I have loved anyone, and I fucked it up. I know that. I should’ve went to you about everything, but I went to Lara Jean and it’s so fucking messy, now. I made my choice and I know I should stick to it, but don’t I have the right to change my mind?” I shook my head. He’s just having a lapse of misconstructed judgement, and then this feeling will be over. He’ll be over me, and I’ll be the one that has to move on. Peter will be with Lara Jean, and I’ll be the one alone, once again. Setting the reset button all over again was something I was so desperately trying to avoid. 

          “Peter, just leave it alone. All three of us know, Lara Jean is the one you’re in love with. Let’s all do each other a favor and bury this in the ground and never dig it up again.” I never understood why Peter couldn’t just leave it, alone. I just wanted to leave it all in the past.

          I unbuckled my seat belt, turning to say goodbye to him, before I left the car but he had other plans. Before I even knew it was happening, he grabbed me by the waist, lifting me over to his side, so I was sitting on his lap.

          “Peter, what the hell is your problem?” There he sat, as he stared at me intensely, without uttering a sound. In the back of my mind, I had the itching reminder that the boy’s lap I’m sitting on has a girlfriend. I tried to remove myself from him by opening the door, but Peter just closed it shut again. Persistent as ever.

          “Fuck. You’re my problem. You always will be.” With that, he’s lips found mine and I forgot every thought roaming through my head. My fingers threaded through his curly locks, as I kissed him back with a passion I hadn’t felt in so long. He’s tongue traced my bottom lip, side to side, teasing for an entrance I wasn’t willing to give, just yet.

          Peter grabbed me by my hips, encouraging me to move them with his own. I immediately gasped out in surprise, his tongue slotting in at the moment of vulnerability. He kissed me as if this was going to be the last time, and I believe it would be. So, I was going to do something I’d only ever done with Peter. I don’t think it’ll ever feel right if I ever did it with anyon me else. This was the chance which was given to me and I would take. I would accept any consequences along with it.

          I pulled away from Peter for just a second, slipping off my lace thong, before stuffing it in the pocket of his gym shorts. Kissing him hard and fast, once again.

          Peter was now clear on exactly where this was going and part of him wishes this would end, for Lara Jean’s sake and for his own. He didn’t know if he could ever come back from this or how he would. There was a clear line he was crossing with Y/N and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it. 

          It wasn’t that Peter didn’t want to have sex with you because he really fucking did. You were the most beautiful person he ever had the pleasure of knowing, inside and out. You genuinely cared about people, and always put everyone’s needs before your own, but he had a girlfriend. Peter definitely didn’t want to make you feel like the other woman. It wasn’t who you were to him and he didn’t want to compromise who you were just because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Peter knew everything you stood for and it’s why he loved you so much. He would hate himself if he turned you into the other woman.  

          Peter pulled away from you, detaching his lips from your for a moment. “Can we pause for a second?” I nodded slightly, thinking I did something wrong. Honestly, what had I been thinking? Peter would come back running to me when he had Lara Jean. She was perfect. They were perfect together. Yet, here I was again with him. Awkwardly, just sitting in his lap with my panties in his pocket completely exposed to him.

          “Umm, did I, uh, do something wrong?” I ran my finger through my hair nervously like I always did, before returning them to my lap. I knew I was being absolutely selfish in this scenario, but it was Peter. I couldn’t help it when it came to him. 

          “No, of course not. You’re perfect.” Peter cradled my face in his left hand, with his right arm around my waist. “It’s just, um, Lara Jean and I are still together and I need to figure some stuff out. Yeah?” I nodded my head, understanding the situation I had put us in. I needed to give him time to process everything that had happened between us and maybe I did to. This was Peter Kavinsky we were talking about. There was always strings attached, most of the time they were pulling at my heart. 

          Before, I could say or do anything I heard a loud knock on the door and I was faced with Lara Jean with a look that would kill as I sat on Peter’s lap with my thong hanging out of his shorts. 

Fuck, what had I gotten myself into. 

[lil-feenz]

This Christmas (MyDay Secret Santa gift)

a/n: wow, okay first off i haven’t written a fic in years so this was a #struggle so props to all of you writers out there doin ur thing! ur amazing and you are appreciated!

i wrote this for my secret santa gift for one of the world’s nicest mydays aka @parkjaeins ! it’s been so fun messaging you, and i’m really glad i got to know you a little bit! i hope you have an amazing christmas, and i hope this is slightly enjoyable! (im sorry i still don’t quite like the beginning and end so forgive me!!)

genre: holiday fluff, angst if you squint and do a headstand

word count: 2.8k-ish oof

summary: Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. However, being apart for their first Christmas left Janelle particularly reminiscent. (a.k.a. holiday facetiming with Jae)

characters: Jae x OC, 3rd person (I did write this specifically for my secret santa!)

Brrrrrrng.

“Huh.”

The ringing sound slowly seeped its way into Janelle’s consciousness, insisting its way through her concentration as her brain reached for a response. What was that noise again?

Brrrrrrrng.

“Oh.”

Janelle haphazardly leaned over the bowls and ingredients crowding the counter in an effort to reach her laptop. Smudging some residual flour on the mouse pad of her laptop, she ran her fingers over the device and pressed down to hear that satisfying little click, accepting the video call request.

“Hi, babe!” she called out hurriedly, dancing around her own feet to maneuver in front of her laptop. Catching herself in and out of balance, her body finally slumped onto the countertop, a lopsided smile decorating her face.

A scratching sound echoed in the kitchen as Jae shuffled around on the other end of the call. Janelle caught the sight of the dormitory in the moving scene displayed in front of her. “He must’ve just finished at the Christmas Eve concert the boys were having,” she thought.

“Hey, baby,” Jae drawled with a tired smile on his face, raising his phone to eye level now. “How’s it going?” A soft thump pushed its way through her laptop speakers as Jae unceremoniously flopped onto his bed, followed by the murmur of ”Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Pffft,” Janelle laughed airily at his antics. “I’m doing fine, just trying to finish up some things for our Christmas get-together.” Glancing down at her hands, she noted the dusting of dry ingredients surrounding her laptop and absentmindedly brushed it away with her fingers. “How was the show tonight?”

Jae quietly beamed, his face turning up towards the ceiling. “Man, the fans’ energy was great. I think it was a nice way to finish 2018 as a group and fans, we had a pretty good year together, y’know?” He reached back, ruffling his fluffy crop of hair. “I just wish you could’ve been there.”

A small sadness panged through Janelle’s chest. “I know, I do, too…” She exhaled softly. With Jae’s world tour, music show performances, and awards shows on top of Janelle’s studies and exams that all seemed to come nonstop the past two months, the pair only had digital representations of each other to find comfort in.

A thought dwelled in the back of Janelle’s mind: she knew long distance spells like this would be a reality when she chose to let Jae into her life, but she didn’t expect that the deep craving to be there with him would ache so thoroughly. Walking into a coffee shop reminded her of their first few meetings with him. Seeing dogs on the street reminded her of the time they puppy-sat for Dowoon when Janelle concluded that Jae was absolutely a Yorkie.

-

“A Yorkie?!” Jae choked while Janelle cackled. “How on earth am I a Yorkie?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t see it. Big personality, easily susceptible to getting clowned, sassy, territorial, suspicious of every noise, they’re, like, 18 cm tall, you’re 180 cm,” she listed off, checking off each thing with her fingers. “Yorkies absolutely fit the bill.”

“Okay, okay okay,” Jae hurriedly interjected, “but I protest. I’m more like a Great Dane, or something.” He was incredulous, and she could tell. This would be fun, and she knew it. “I am friendly, I am loving, I am large and in charg-” Unfortunately, he did not get to finish before Janelle’s laughter burst through the conversation.

“Please do not finish that phrase, oh my gosh,” she managed through her giggles, sitting up. She patted his knee gingerly. “The only thing you can claim from a Great Dane is you don’t realize how big you are.”

“I am offended,” Jae gasped, eyes wide and a hand mockingly hovering over his chest, “are you calling me fat?”

Suddenly, Janelle’s humorous expression dropped. She knew what was coming. “Jaehyung Park, don’t you dare,” she tried to warn, but Jae wasn’t one to back down from a joke.

“I am honestly HURT that you would call your warm and caring boyfriend fat,” he went on, progressively leaning further into her space on the couch, “I truly thought you appreciated my physique, you’ve never once complained about my cuddles, but I guess your true feelings are showing.” He continued blabbering dramatically as he used every bit of height he had over her to lay uncomfortably on top of her protesting figure. He turned onto his back as he tried to push her into the couch as she alternated between laughs and groans of discomfort.

“Jae, you’re really bony, you know that?”

“Yep.”

“So you know I’m very uncomfortable right now.”

“Yep.”

“So then what will it take to get you off of me, if you don’t mind?”

“Admit I’m a Great Dane.”

“But you know, you’re really acting like a stubborn Yorkie right now,” she commented, wiggling underneath him to free her shoulder of his spine pressing into her. He only pushed further. “Ow!”

“Or am I just an affectionate Great Dane trying to get some reciprocated affection?” he rebutted, turning his head to catch a glimpse of her struggling underneath the dead weight of his body.

-

“Hey, is something on your mind?”

Janelle snapped back to attention, staring at the image of Jae on her laptop. He was sitting up, looking at her curiously with a bit of worry coloring his gaze.

“Sorry, I just zoned out a bit,” she smiled meekly, widening the placement of her elbows, allowing her to fiddle with her fingers.

Jae gave her a knowing smile. He could read her like a book, no, like a score, watching all the thoughts swirling intertwining within her, conveying her thoughts and emotions in a symphony of signs: the light behind her eyes, the furrow and lift of her brows, the pull of her lips, the curve of her posture. “Damn,” he thought, “I’ve got it bad.”

“It’s okay,” he assured warmly, trying to lift the mood. He knew it was hard being apart for their first Christmas as a couple, but it was Christmas, for goodness sakes, and he wasn’t about to let Janelle be sad if he could help it. “So what are you doing for the fam?” he asked, hoping to bring about a lighter topic.

Janelle looked at the bowls, sugar, baking powder, and other items scattered about next to her. “Well, I’ve been trying to finish baking as much as I can for tomorrow’s dinner so tomorrow is as stress-free as possible,” she sighed, the hours of baking she’d done the past week catching up to her. “I realized a few days ago that I’d been so busy baking for everyone else that I forgot to plan what I’d bring to Christmas dinner, so I’m just making a batch of brownies.” Her eyes flitted over the half-done batch of batter she had been making when Jae called. The oven light let out a soft click to signal it was done preheating, briefly drawing her attention to the appliance. “I figured it’s a crowd-pleaser, so I couldn’t really go wrong.”

Jae threw back his head with a groan and a smile. “You’re making brownies? Without me to taste test? I’m jealous.” There was no doubt Janelle’s baking was popular amongst her family and friends, and Jae was undoubtedly a contender for her number one fan.

Jae watched Janelle turn back towards the camera and arch an eyebrow playfully. “You better watch that sweet tooth of yours, I wouldn’t want you going out to find a substitute sweet and finding a better baker than me,” she joked. “I can’t lose my number one customer.”

A fondness curled up inside Jae’s chest. He lolled his head to the side, squinting and shaking his head. “Never, babe.” A brief but familiar silence lapsed between the two as they alternated looking at each other and at their hands. Jae quickly cut in, “But for real, you’re going to save me some, right? I put it on my Christmas list, and I’ll be very sad if I miss out on that brownie goodness.”

Janelle chuckled. “Well, if I can figure out the rules for sending food at the post, then I might just make you a batch.” Collecting her measuring spoons and snatching the tub of cocoa powder, she scooped up the soft, brown powder and tapped it into her mixing bowl. She glanced at him through the camera mischievously, attempting an air on nonchalance. “But you might check under your bed in the meantime, Santa may have left something to make it up to you.”

Squinting suspiciously to hide his excitement, he lowered his arm and scooted off the bed.  Sliding himself to the floor, he rested on his knees and elbows, still clutching onto the device that held Janelle, nervously awaiting his reaction. Sure enough, a small box sat proudly amongst the clutter underneath his bed. “Wow, a bow and everything!” he tucked his chin in in a big, goofy grin. Janelle’s view of Jae was obstructed as he ducked to grab the gift.

“Nice ceiling, are those new lights?” she quipped, heart picking up a little as she waited for him to see the gift. Jae just snorted in response. She was actually quite nervous: had the gift made it in one piece? Was it the right one? She hadn’t laid eyes on it herself, rather, she had it shipped straight to South Korea, entrusting Younghyun to receive and hide the box in Jae’s room. Abandoning the mix once more, she looked on as the camera moved around dizzyingly until Jae righted himself into view.

“Aw, thank you, babe,” Jae cooed, examining the box in his free hand.

Janelle smiled, trying to egg him on. “You can thank me after you open it! Go ahead!”

He obliged, commentating with his stream of consciousness while setting down his phone to pry open the box. “Alright, alright, I’m going. I can’t believe this, who did you have to bribe to bust into my room?” he paused and shoved his head directly in front of his phone. “Was it Brian?”

“Jae, for the love of all that is good and sacred, if you don’t open that gift, I’m going to send all of your brownies to Wonpil and make you suffer, please open it!” Janelle threatened quickly, eyebrows shooting up to try and show some authority.

“You’re not intimidating, babe.”

“...shut up and open the stinking box.”

Jae continued on, ripping open the tape keeping the box sealed. Janelle shifted on her feet, waiting for any sort of reaction.

“Well?” she asked, only catching the tip of his head from the angle of the camera.

“Well, you need to tell Brian that he’s a crappy gift wrapper. He only put a bow on it,” Jae panned, holding the red decoration over the camera for Janelle to see. Janelle heard the final rip as the last bit of tape gave up its hold on the box. Shuffling. She gazed intensely at the shot of Jae’s forehead, the nerves in her stomach tingling. She studied the way his eyebrows pushed up, creating fine wrinkles in his forehead.

Jae was silent. Janelle hopes it’s the good kind of silent. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she cautiously asked, “Do you like it?”

The view on her laptop shifted again as Jae picked up his phone. She couldn’t read the look on his face, but she didn’t push any further. Jae sat against the side of his bed, organizing his thoughts, his jaw slack and his eyes clear. “Janelle, this is…” he left his sentence unfinished, opting to shake his head and look directly into the camera. “Thank you for this,” he swiveled around, snatching his pillow off the bed to use as a stand for his phone. He carefully set down the device and leaned it against the pillow until his cross-legged figure was in full view. Next to him lay the now empty brown box, and in his lap sat a brown leather bound book. He turned his attention to it, opening the cover gently, eyes roaming the title page that read “Memories” in black script. In it were pictures the pair had taken while they had visited each other, Janelle when she went to Korea in the summer and Jae when he pit-stopped for a day after the concert stop in Jakarta. Some were selfies, showing silly faces and surprise kisses, some were sneakily taken shots of Jae sleeping on the couch or low-angle shots under his chin. He slowly flicked through the pages, seeing pictures of the coffee shop where they first met in Korea, selfies of Janelle pouting with a small plushie Jae had given her before she left to start uni.

Janelle watched on, her chin resting on the heel of her palm, her weight balancing on one foot as she crossed her ankles, resting her toes on the cool floor of her kitchen. She felt a soft bliss as Jae scanned the photo book she had made for him, a compilation of their times together so they could reminisce. She knew how sentimental Jae was inside, and she knew how hard being constantly busy was, and if he missed her the way she missed him, the distance couldn’t have been easy on him.

“I just figured it’d be nice to start keeping something to help us along when we’re apart,” Janelle divulged, eyeing the screen before letting her eyes fall to the countertop.

“There’s blank ones,” Jae remarked, looking at his screen once more. His voice was soft, devoid of the usual playfulness typical of his tone.

Janelle bit her lip, an excited smile forming on her face. “Yeah, I left those for our future memories.”

Jae rocked backwards, hands holding his ankles, hitting the side of his bed in the process. He looked down at the book again, a smile brimming on his own face. “I love it, babe. This was very thoughtful, I really like it.” Making eye contact with her through the screen, he tried to convey as meaningful a look as possible. “Come, here,” he suddenly said, holding his arms out towards the phone, wrapping it and the pillow in an awkward hug.

Janelle laughed on the other end of the line. “Well, that didn’t last long, did it?”

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging, or else this’ll get really awkward.”

“It already is awkward, Jae.”

“It’s what I do best.”

Releasing a sigh ahead of a warm smile, Janelle obliged, wrapping her laptop a hugging gesture. “You’re crazy.”

“Right back at ya,” Jae drew away, smoothly dropping a wink. Janelle gagged in response.

“What about me? Any hints for my gift?” Janelle redirected, hoping to escape more electronics-as-middleman skinship.

Looking out at his room, Jae exhaled shortly. “I checked the postage tracking, but I think it got held up in customs,” he explained, “I knew I should’ve sent it earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Janelle hastily deflected the negativity pulling down on her boyfriend’s shoulders. “Anything is fine, I’m just lucky to have you,” she pressed her lips together to try and dispel any regret he may have been having.

“Janelle,” Jae began, “I think we all know that I’m the lucky one in this combo. Like, the fact that I even managed to meet you is a miracle in itself, so please, will you let me keep the title of ever-grateful boyfriend here?”

A roll of the eyes. A sarcastic smirk.

“Well, I guess, but where does that leave me, huh?”

“You win title of the most tolerant girlfriend to the most ridiculous man on earth,” he quipped.

Another eye roll. “Well, you’ve got that right,” she muttered jokingly.

“I’ll let that slide since it’s Christmas.” Jae got up from the floor, clutching the book as he waddled over to his desk.

“You love me,” Janelle swayed her shoulders to the side, leaning her head down until they met before she started to pick back up on her baking.

“You know it.”

Time slipped by as they continued to chatter about plans before ringing in the New Year. Janelle joked about kissing a random person at midnight on New Years Eve: sulking, Jae left the phone on his desk as he paced around his room. “That’s mean,” he pouted. Both of them knew that neither would ever do such a thing, and both trusted each other to not betray that.

After catching up with each other, Jae was fighting back the onslaught of sleep and Janelle was waiting for her brownies to finish baking. It was quite late, but neither party seemed to want to end the call. Eventually, Janelle’s conscience nagged her into encouraging Jae to go to bed.

“You need the rest, you shouldn’t sleep Christmas away,” she reasoned, swinging her legs from her perch on the countertop.

Jae whined, but relented. “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled sarcastically. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, talk to you later. Good night, Jae.” That little pang in her chest returned, wishing earnestly that she could be there with him.

“G’night, babe,” Jae grinned, crinkling his eyes and waving before her smiling face disappeared and a dark screen took her place.

Heaving a sigh, Jae propelled himself up from his bed, going to the bathroom to wash up before packing his toiletries.

Her Christmas gift was on his way.

a/n: WOW congrats if you made it through!! hope you enjoyed it, have a merry christmas!