#went and read the last chapter and yep there it was

[kimboo-york]

The thing that annoys me the most about Jiang Cheng antis is that they are so pushy about it.

Yes, I'm talking about fic that bash on him and/or make him a villain which are not tagged at the very least with "not Jiang Cheng friendly". 🤨

By and large they are obsessed with trying to shove their hate down the throats of anyone who doesn't agree with them, and I just don't understand that. What are you really trying to accomplish?

You do you, haters. I honestly do not care about how much you hate a fictional character. I am 100% not invested in changing your mind. Go in peace!

But damn, stop trying to ruin my fandom joy.

[evansbby]

𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, minors dni, dark, noncon, dubcon, daddy kink, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, controlling behaviour, cum play, jacking off, lingerie kink, dom/sub dynamic, frat party setting, asshole fratboys, ari levinson mentioned lmao.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you run into steve at another frat party. this time, it's in his territory. (alternate continuation of chapter two of wicked games, but this has ZERO impact on the wicked games story. again, this does not affect the plot of the original wicked games timeline, it's just a fun little detour, a completely separate story if you will. you can read this without having read wicked games).

“Can we leave? I’m not really in a party mood,” you frown, tugging at the hem of your dress and regretting how short it is. It’s deep purple and form fitted, with a hemline that sits right below your butt. You’d thought the sexiness of it would help you get more into the spirit of things since Wanda had insisted on dragging you here tonight, but clearly that hadn’t worked. 

“Don’t do this right now, Y/N. We need to be seen at these events if we want to be popular.” Wanda smiles and waves into the distance as if she’s recognised a friend. Despite the fact that this is a St. Jude’s party and you know as well as she does that everyone here is a complete stranger to the both of you. 

You wrinkle your nose, “Well, I don’t really care about being popular–”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Wanda’s eyes dart around the very crowded, dimly lit basement of the frat house as if looking for someone. 

“But we don’t know anyone at St. Jude’s!” You tug at your dress again, feeling more insecure than ever. 

Tonight was originally planned to be a girl’s night – and you’d already picked out a movie, laid out the facemasks and bowls of popcorn, and pulled on your comfiest pyjamas only for Wanda to show up to your dorm in a slink black dress and strappy heels, telling you there was a frat party at the rival college that the two of you just couldn’t miss, and that she was giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.

“Yeah, but this morning I overheard some cheerleaders, and they said Curtis might be here.” 

Oh. Of course. Now it all made sense. Ever since the night of the last frat party the two of you had been to, the one where Wanda had slept with Curtis Everett… Well, ever since then she’d become a teensy bit obsessed with him. And that was also the same frat party where you and…

“Wanda! If Curtis is here then Ari will be here too! I don’t wanna see him!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Relax. I also heard the cheerleaders say that Ari went back home for the weekend. Sharon Carter was all upset about it, because apparently he didn’t even bother inviting her and she hasn’t met his parents yet. But anyways, keep an eye out for Curtis, would you?”

“Okay…” Begrudgingly, you scan the room. A part of you is happy that Ari is out of town, because it makes it easier not to think about him, knowing he’s miles and miles away. Out of sight, out of mind - that was going to be your motto when it came to him moving forward.

“Looking for someone?” 

The deep voice feels like velvet against your ear, and you inhale sharply at the familiarity of it. Your whole body starts to buzz when you feel a warm hand press against the small of your back, the stranger’s touch brimming with confidence as he easily turns you around. 

You’re faced with a chest. A big, muscly, expansive chest covered in a grey shirt that’s deliciously tight against it. Slowly, you peek up at his face. Blue eyes. Cocky smile. Handsome. Angelic.

“Steve!” you breathe, relaxing at the familiar face, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, casually grabbing your hip and squeezing it, “Well, considering this is my frat house, it would be weird if I wasn’t.”

Your eyes widen, “It is?”

“Yep. Thanks for coming over, sweetheart. I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you after that party.” He winks. And you have to admit - he looks good. All six foot six inches of him, looming above you with that charming smile on his face, that smile being one of the only things you remember from the night you’d last seen him, where he’d been such a gentleman and dropped you home after everything that had happened with Ari.

He’s got a backwards baseball cap on his head, but tufts of his blonde hair peek out from underneath, and his blue eyes sparkle as he watches you, as if he knows you’re checking him out. And unabashedly, he does the same, his pink tongue licking over his lips as he drinks in your body, his hold on your hip tightening. 

“I…uh… yeah,” you feel self-conscious, tongue-tied after the embarrassingly long amount of time you’ve just spent checking him out. “Thanks for giving me a lift home, by the way. I was super drunk.”

He nods, the glint still in his eye, “I should be the one thanking you for that cab ride.”

You blink, “Thanking me? Why?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. And oh, he’s so intense! That’s another thing you remember about him. How his eyes felt like they were boring holes into your very soul.

Finally, he smiles. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. You looked so cute and helpless, I knew I had to step in.”

“Hey! I wasn’t completely helpless…”

He laughs, “A damsel in distress if I’d ever seen one, and…” he pauses, bringing his thumb up to stroke your lip. Oh, he was so forward too! Considering you’d only ever met him once before and there’d been nothing sexual between the two of you. “Do you remember what I told you that night?”

You shake your head, half in a trance by how he’s just touching you so openly. Except you don’t really want him to stop.

“I told you that if you were my girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside a party like that one. Or this one, for that matter.”

You purse your lips, “Fine. I’ll leave then.”

Steve chuckles, encircling both his arms around you as if he owns you, “Too late. I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night.”

“B-But I’m here with Wanda…”

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend. She brought me here, and–”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my house and you’re here with me now. Okay, baby?”

He strokes your cheek and says it so sweetly, that the controlling nature of his request doesn’t even sink in for you. No, you’re way too distracted by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the confidence in his smile as he yanks you closer, till your chest is pressed up against his, and an embarrassing squeak escapes your lips. 

“I…uh… Steve, I…”

“Say okay,” he commands you, “you don’t have to think so hard when you’re with me, sweet girl. I promise I’ll take care of you just like how I did last time.”

“Uh… I… o-okay…I ju–”

He smirks, “Cute little tongue-tied baby. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

At that moment, Wanda reappears, a mildly annoyed look on her face. 

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for Curtis? What do you think you’re doing–?”

She stops short, her eyes widening when she sees you’re not alone.

“Wanda, this is the guy I met the other night–”

“–Steve Rogers,” Wanda cuts you off, beaming up at him, “What are you doing with Y/N?”

Steve blinks, “Why would I not be with Y/N?”

She looks you up and down, and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn her eyes flash and narrow, “Uh, you know she’s with Ari Levinson, right?”

Your jaw drops - why would she say that? She knew you’d vowed never to speak to Ari again!

But Steve looks completely unperturbed, and he lazily throws his arm over your shoulders, yanking you into his hard chest. And you know it’s a display of ownership - he’s been doing it the moment he saw you tonight after all. And it should bother you, but it doesn’t! Oh, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t!

“You know what, Wilma? I think I saw Curtis outside by the pool.” He flashes her that charming smile that you thought was only reserved for you.

Your best friend’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely there.”

“Thanks, Steve!” She sidles up closer to him, accidentally bumping you out of the way – well, you hope it’s accidental. She strokes his chest, her manicured nails scraping against his shirt, “Would you show me where the pool is please? This place is so big, I couldn’t possibly find it on my own.”

A sudden fire ignites inside you, burning its way up to the surface of your body alongside this weird feeling of… well, you don’t really know. But you stand there, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction unfold in front of you.

But Steve remains by your side, “Up the stairs and outside the sliding glass door on your first right. You won’t miss it.”

“I’ll come with you, Wanda,” you try to shake off Steve’s heavy arm. You don’t really want to leave him, but it’s only right that you go with your best friend.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. I can see you’re busy.” And she’s off without another glance at you, but she makes sure to brush past Steve as she goes, despite the fact that there’s enough room for her to not have to do that. 

Steve snickers, “That’s your best friend?”

“She’s drunk, I think. Usually she’s a lot friendlier…” your voice trails off as you watch her leave the basement in a hurry. “Is…uh… is Curtis really up there? By the pool?”

Steve smirks as he grabs your hand and tugs you to the stairs, “If that bald-headed fuck was anywhere near here, I’d personally kick him out myself. Now come on, let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Steve’s room is neater than you’d assume a basketball player’s room in a frat house to be. Not that you have anything to compare it to since Ari had never invited you into his room. But this one is muted, grey, minimalistic with some basketball memorabilia scattered around. 

He’d wasted no time in getting you alone up there, practically half-carrying you through the crowd of people and up the stairs, his grip on you tight and confident. As if you’d been his girl all your life, as if it was a concrete fact that you belonged to him tonight. And it’s like your body was too entranced to even put up a fight to stop him.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Good thing I got you out of there before things got too rowdy,” Steve shuts his bedroom door behind him, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock. And you know you should feel more alarmed than you actually do - but it’s Steve! He wasn’t like Ari Levinson - he was nice! He could’ve taken advantage of you at that last frat party, but he hadn’t! The only person who’d taken advantage of you that night was Ari.

You could trust Steve.

“Do your parties usually get super rowdy?”

“For babies like you, yes.” Again, he unabashedly stares at your body, at your bare legs accentuated by your high heels, your tight dress that hugs your curves, the dip of your cleavage and the way it rises up and down as you breathe shallowly. “As I said before, I don’t want you down there. Not where they can all see you.”

You wrinkle your nose, “No one was looking at me. I’m from a different college, no one here even knows me.”

His muscular arms wrap around your waist with that same charming confidence, as if he’s known you way longer than he actually has. As if he knows you won’t pull away. How does he know that?

“You’re more innocent than I thought, baby girl.” To your shock, his hands press flat against your thighs before moving upwards, straight up under your dress to cup your bare ass cheeks. You gulp, yet remain rooted in place as he gently squeezes the soft flesh. “Skipping into a frat house looking so fucking sexy, and thinking no one’s gonna notice you?”

“Well, I didn’t skip…”

“You may as well have,” He presses his hard crotch against your front, and he’s so much bigger than you that you can feel his boner digging against your midriff, and it sends jolts straight down to your core. There was just something so hot about him being so big, you being so much smaller, him calling you innocent, him being so forward and unpredictable… It actually reminds you a bit of… NO. No, don’t think about him!

“And guess what?” Steve whispers in your ear as he gently walks you backwards to his bed. 

“Wh-What?”

“I’ve rescued you from not one, but two parties now. You owe me.”

You squeak as he sits down at the edge of his bed and pulls you on top of him. Till you’re perched on his lap like a baby, your butt on his knee and your legs draped across his beefy thighs.

Steve smirks, “Comfy?”

“I think so,” your mind’s frazzled, and your body is buzzing with heat. When did it get so hot? Now, he’s pressing his lips against the nape of your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your body in a way that has you shaking on his lap. Oh, it was too much, it was–

“Look, you have another varsity jacket!” You blurt out, pointing at the familiar blue and white jacket draped over his desk chair. Exactly the same as the one he’d given you the night of the other party. “I still have to return the one you gave me.”

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You keep it, baby girl. It looked cute on you.”

You duck your head, the compliment making you shy. Somehow, him calling you cute had a way bigger effect on you than him calling you hot, “Really?”

He pushes your chin up with his pointer finger, and it’s all these little touches that he’s administering so casually are getting you so hot and bothered, so worked up on the inside in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you. No one’s ever made you feel like this except for one other person…

He licks the shell of your ear, “Yes. I liked how big it was on you.”

“It wasn’t that big…”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay fine, it was pretty big. But that’s not my fault, you’re literally a giant!” You giggle when he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It’s ticklish but it also feels kind of good.

“You like that I’m so much bigger than you?” Nonchalantly, his finger dips down to hook the hem of your dress.. 

“Well, uh, I don’t not like it…”

“Answer properly.” 

It’s crazy how casual he is, yet at the same time so quietly demanding, so dominating, so in control. How quickly he’s switching from charming and sweet to intensely serious. But it makes you want to do whatever he’s asking of you. 

“Yes,” you squeak, too shy to look into his eyes except he has hold of your chin and is able to keep your gaze locked with his. “Yes, I like it.”

Steve relaxes, “Good girl.”

The compliment makes you feel nice, and you sit there in his lap basking in it for a while. You don’t even notice him hiking your dress up higher and higher, till he snaps the elastic band of your thong. 

“Cute panties.”

“Hey!” Hastily, you push your dress back down, a part of you snapping out of whatever spell he’d cast on you since the moment he’d dragged you up here, and you shoot him your fiercest look. Which only serves to amuse him, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. 

“Does the bra match?” 

“You-You can’t just ask that!” 

“I just did. Now answer.”

His brashness should get to you, but for some reason all it’s doing is getting you wet. He was being so inappropriate, and yet it’s like you’re being held prisoner by your own body, which seems to love how he’s touching and petting you right now. How he’s demanding you answer all his questions, how he’s essentially ordering you around. 

“Actually, I have a better idea, baby girl. I think you should show me.” He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, running his tongue over his lips. His skin is pale, but his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. And oh, he’s so handsome! It makes you want to listen to whatever he says…

“Show you?”

“Yes. You’ll take your dress off and show me what you’ve got on underneath, won’t you?”

“I will?”

Steve smiles easily, smiles like he’s having the most normal conversation on Earth and you’ve just said something funny. “Of course you will. Because you like listening to me. It makes you feel all small and cute, having someone like me be in charge of you.”

Your jaw drops, and yet… Oh, why does him saying that make your core throb?! And you know you shouldn’t… but maybe it would be okay if you did what he asked just this once? After all, he just wanted to see if your underwear matched. There was nothing untoward about that, was there?

A part of you knows you’re being delusional, but you’re also pressing your thighs together subconsciously. As if just him talking like he’s so in charge is getting you so hot and bothered, so turned on. And a bigger part of you, the hornier part of you, can only focus on how big he is, how in control he is, how small you feel in his lap, like you’re his baby and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants with you, and you’ll just let him.

“Stand up,” Steve orders, “Let me see you properly.” 

It’s comical how quickly you scramble to obey him. As if the you who’d arrived at this party feeling bored, irritated and out of place has been replaced by a girl controlled by lust and want, her body betraying her as Steve taps into your most submissive inner desires, and you can’t help but listen to him. 

He nods in approval when you stand between his legs.

“Good. You’re so hot, baby girl.”

“I am?” You beam, despite the fact that you knew you looked good the moment you’d put this gorgeous purple dress on earlier tonight. Despite the time crunch Wanda had put you under, you’d still managed to look more than presentable. And now, a part of you wonders what Ari would think if he saw you—NO STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. JUST STOP.

”Yes, you are. Now take your dress off.”

“B-But Steve…”

“Do it.”

Cheeks burning, yet pussy throbbing at the same time, you unzip your dress. Trying to make your breathing sound less laboured, you keep your eyes on his. Only because his gaze is so intense, and you’re afraid he’d object if you looked away. 

The dress falls down to pool by your feet, and you stand in front of him in your lacy black set, with high heels to match. Steve inhales deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks you up and down. And oh, you feel so awkward yet at the same time so turned on when you see that dark look of lust in his eyes. 

“Twirl. Slowly.” He grabs a bottle from the side of his bed, unscrewing it and taking a gulp. You catch a glimpse of the Grey Goose label, vaguely wondering why he has a bottle of vodka stored beside his bed, and how you didn’t know anyone to just drink it straight up like that - no mixers or anything. 

You twirl for him, concentrating on not tripping in your heels. You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, and yet your movements feel sluggish out of nervousness. But you hear a low whistle behind you, before the feel of his large hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Fuck, look at that cute little baby ass in those panties. Get back on my lap,” he growls. But before you can climb back on, he raises his hand to stop you, “Put my jacket on first.”

“Wh-What–”

He slaps your ass, pushing you in the direction of his desk chair with his varsity jacket draped over it. You gulp, slipping it on carefully. And it’s gigantic on you, the sleeves too long and the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. But Steve only licks his lips, beckoning you over once more. 

“It’s a bit big,” you bite your lip.

Roughly, he yanks you back into his lap, catching your lips between his in a searing kiss. Kissing you like he’s obsessed with you, and your eyes widen as he deepens it, sinking his teeth against your bottom lip carnally. As if he wants to eat you up, and his hands are all over your body, slipping underneath his jacket to touch your bare skin. 

“You’re so sexy, baby girl,” he breathes after he’s had his fill of kissing you. But even then, he pecks your lips between words, and you jolt in his lap when his thumb brushes against your erect nipple through the lace of your bra. He smirks against your mouth, “And you know it, don’t you?”

“No,” you lie, because the way he’s looking at you with such dark, almost carnivorous eyes… Oh, it makes you feel like the sexiest girl in the world!

“Of course you do. That’s why you wore this hot little lingerie set.” He snaps the strap of your bra against your skin and you yelp. “It looks so sexy on you, baby.”

“Thanks!” Most of the fancy lingerie you owned had been bought for you by Ari, but this was one you’d treated yourself with. Which was just as well, because there was something unspeakably awkward about sitting in the lap of one man wearing bra and panties bought by another man.

It was also funny how different Ari and Steve’s tastes were. Ari almost exclusively wanted you in pink or white sets, always something super girly and sweet and innocent. Steve seems to be the complete opposite, with how his eyes are glued to your black lingerie now.

Steve takes his baseball cap off, perching it backwards on your head. Another mark of his ownership, and yet your frazzled mind doesn’t have the capacity to think much into it.

He dips his head, licking a stripe down your cleavage. You gasp, automatically gripping a handful of his hair. He grabs your breasts, pushing them together against his face and nuzzling, licking and nipping as if he’s starved. Pushing the cups of your bra down, he latches on to your nipple, sucking on it roughly. You moan, and it eggs him on, he presses you forward, taking your whole breast in his mouth and sucking hard, covering it with his spit like he’s marking you as his property.

“Such pretty tits,” he mutters, flicking your nipple with his tongue, practically bullying it till it’s hard enough to cut glass, and you’re mewling because it’s so sensitive. But that only eggs him on, and he bites down on it like he’s starved. “Want me to fuck your tits, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs devilishly. It was crazy how angelic he looked compared to how filthy he was being right now!

Again, he pushes your breasts together, licking down your cleavage like he’s obsessed, a wicked smile on is face when he finally comes up for air. “Every party I’ve seen you at, you’re always wearing some cute little dress that barely covers anything, like you’re some sort of goddamned tease. Tell me, baby. Are you gonna be a tease tonight?”

Meanly, he pinches your nipple, chuckling when you cry out. Your brain is too fried to answer his question properly, and so you just whimper.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it, doesn’t force an answer out of you like how he’s been doing all night. Perhaps too distracted by your chest, his head dips back down. His hands are ruthless, so big, rough and calloused from basketball. Squeezing your tits like they’re just toys to him, like your body is his to play with, and he knows exactly how to touch you, almost as if he’s done it before.

“S-Steve,” you feel lightheaded with pleasure, amped up at how carnal he’s being. How he’s not holding back at all, how he’s acting like he knows your body despite this being the first ever time the two of you have hooked up. How is he even doing that?

“Is that what you call me?” Steve comes up for air, flashing you a warning look before switching to your other breast, flicking your overly sensitive nipple with his tongue and making your breath hitch.

“Daddy,” you moan, finally letting go of any inhibitions you had left. You rut forward, rubbing your panty-covered crotch against his thigh. And oh, the denim of his jeans feels heavenly, and for a moment, you get a strong sense of dejavu that almost knocks you out of your lust-fuelled haze. Almost.

“That’s right, rub your little pussy against me. Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing. I noticed last time too.”

Huh? Last time?

“Fuck, didn’t expect you to fall into my lap again tonight, baby girl,” He kisses up your neck, holding his varsity jacket against you because it’s so big it’s slipping off. “Can’t believe you just showed up at my house looking like sex on legs with your cute little doe eyes in your tiny little dress. Did you really expect you were gonna walk out of here in one piece, baby?”

“I…uh…nngh!” You moan incoherently, hardly registering what he’s saying as his teeth clamp down on your neck, and he bites and sucks at the sensitive nape, making you squirm in his lap.

“You thought you could stumble into my party looking like a clueless little baby and not expect to end up in my bed?” He bounces you on his lap roughly, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure, the action sending thrills straight to your pussy. You rut against him in response, growing more desperate and delirious by the second.

“D-Didn’t know this was your house,” you pant, breathless from the way he’s kissing and fondling you, playing with your body like you’re just his toy and nothing more.

“Bullshit,” he breathes, “you wanted to see me again, didn’t you? After that night? You couldn’t forget, could you?”

“I–”

Your voice dies in your throat when Steve suddenly grabs your panties and yanks hard. They rip instantly, and you gape at the tattered lace in his hand. He brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like you want to get fucked,” he mutters, his voice deep and thick with lust, his eyes pitch black and intense as ever.

Sure enough, your panties are wet in his fist, and you can smell your own arousal on them even from a distance. Hell, you feel your wetness seeping down your bare thighs, staining his jeans and again you get a fleeting sense of dejavu, like this has happened before. And a hazy, dream-like memory flits through your mind, just for a moment before it’s gone, and you’re snapped back into the present.

Steve, without breaking eye contact for even a second, takes your panties into his mouth, sucking on them while you watch him with wide eyes. He grabs your hand, pressing it on his hard crotch. You squeak, it felt big and almost… alive under his jeans with how it was throbbing under your palm.

“So sweet, baby,” he breathes, “I missed out on tasting your little baby cunt last time. She tastes just as sweet as I imagined.”

Last time? You’ve barely wrapped your head around what he’s just said, but his face is so devastatingly handsome in that moment, so angelic and yet there’s a darkness in his eyes that cuts through it. Makes him look like an angel hell bent on playing his wicked game, and you’re more than happy to be his pawn.

“Steve–daddy, please. I need… I need–”

“Take daddy’s cock out,” he commands, his voice deep and guttural with raw lust. So gruff, so to the point, and it makes him even more attractive in your eyes. Powerful and in control. In charge of you. Using your body for his own pleasure. Fuck. You were so far gone down the haze of lust, there was really no coming back from here.

Steve takes your hand and pushes it past the waistband of his jeans, and presses it against his huge, hard cock. And oh fuck, it feels so fat and throbbing under your dainty palm, so big like it was capable of ripping you apart and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Just touching his hot, rock-hard flesh makes you rub your pussy against his thigh once more, pleasure jolting through your veins in anticipations.

You take it out, a low whimper escaping your throat because of how red and angry and big it looks. Oh fuck.

Steve pushes something into your hand, and it takes you a handful of seconds to register the lace of your black panties. Your pretty, tattered panties that he wraps around your hand before pressing it back on his fat dick.

“Jack me off, princess,” he orders you, his voice all velvety sweet and charming again, and it’s crazy how quickly he’s switched back to that now. “Show daddy what your pretty little hands can do.”

He hisses when you start pumping him, moving your hand up and down and the lace of your panties snagging against his smooth, rock hard cock. And he can’t keep his eyes off it, how your fingers don’t even wrap around half of his fat length.

“I-Is this okay, Stevie?”

SMACK.

“Daddy! Sorry, I meant daddy!” you cry out, your ass blooming with pain after his huge palm cracks down on it warningly.

“Mm, sweet sexy little baby girl,” Steve murmurs, watching intensely while you jack him off with your black lace panties in your hand, running them up and down his thick cock. “Jerking daddy off with your hot little panties that you wore just for me, right?”

“Didn’t-Didn’t know you were gonna be here!” You squeak out, regretting your decision to be truthful immediately when his hand cracks down on your bare thigh in another sharp slap.

“Say you wore your sexy little panties for me.” He bits down on your shoulder, tearing the skin with how hard he does it. As if he can’t help it, and you cry out in pain and yet you’re still feeling so much pleasure from rutting against him, chasing your own high while at the same time serving him and doing what he wants you to.

“Wore them for you,” you whine, bucking your hips with more frenzy now. The way he was speaking to you, oh it was getting you so fucking turned on and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was making your brain melt, only the submissive part of it reigning over every other rational side, and you pant when your clit catches against the denim of his jeans. “Daddy, please. F-Feels…feels…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos at you, voice dripping in condescension. And you feel so small, almost like a delicate little fairy in the domain of a literal God. That’s how powerful and big he looks to you in this very moment, like you’re at his mercy and you’d do anything for him. “You like jacking me off, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I – I…”

You’re talking gibberish, and desperately chasing your own pleasure as you continue to rub against his leg. And yet you look down at his dick, how fat and thick it is, how it makes your hand look so tiny. How he’s got you jacking him off with your own lacy panties, how he’s watching it so intently and you can feel his cock hardening even more, if that’s even possible.

“You like my cock, princess? Like how big it is?”

“Yes!”

He grins devilishly, “You want it inside you, baby?”

Your jaw drops. He wouldn’t, would he? Oh, would you let him? Right now, your lust-crazed mind can’t find a single reason as to why not.

“I’d fuck you so good,” he whispers beguilingly into your ear, like he’s the devil himself persuading you to do something that you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing. But why not?! It wasn’t like you had a boyfriend! Ari had made that crystal clear! “Bounce your cute little pussy on my big daddy dick till you pass out on top of me. Would you like that?”

You whimper once more as his hand reaches down between your legs, and you gasp when he spreads your sopping folds. Now, you can feel the rough denim of his jeans even better, your engorged clit practically crying as it throbs uncontrollably. The rough pads of his fingers rub against it rhythmically, and you grind back up against his hand, humping it like you’re nothing more than a bitch in heat.

“Answer me,” he slaps your pussy hard, the squelching sound echoing across his bedroom, mingling with your scream of pleasure which only eggs him on. Again, he slaps you down there, and then another time. Till you’re quivering and crying and humping blindly against his palm, spreading your arousal all over him.

“I’d like it!” you cry out, a part of you ashamed with how easily you’ve given in to him.

“Mm, you know you’d have to be carried out of here after I’m through with you,” he says, manhandling you on his lap, dragging you back and forth on his thigh and creating the most delicious friction you’ve ever felt. “Not that I’d ever let you leave, baby girl. I’d keep you under my wing, in my bed because that’s where you belong.” He gives your ass another harsh slap that has you howling, “Say it. Tell daddy where you belong.”

“I-In your bed,” you manage to get out, feeling like you can hardly string a sentence together because all you can really focus on is the intense pleasure that’s building up inside you. “I…I belong in your bed, daddy, I don’t… I can’t… I…oh!”

Your release takes you by complete surprise. You squirt everywhere, on Steve’s cock, his shirt, and some even lands on his face. He smirks, swiping his finger over his cheek and sucking on it, his eyes glinting darkly. So dark and with such hunger, almost like he wants to eat you.

“Sweet little princess pussy,” he murmurs while you melt in his arms, unable to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaking like crazy, and he hugs you tightly against his chest, although one of his hands covers your own, ensuring it stays pumping his dick no matter what state you’re in. “She tastes so sweet, baby girl. How is she so sweet yet so naughty at the same time?”

Despite everything, his dirty talk has you feeling sparks down there again. Oh fuck.

“Steve, I–”

“Nobody told you to stop, princess,” he says darkly, bouncing his leg underneath you and causing you, in turn, to bounce on top of him. Your poor, sensitive pussy, still reeling from the remnants of your strong orgasm, “Get back to it. Hump your little pussy on daddy’s leg until I tell you to stop.”

Knowing you’re weak to the point of almost passing out, he’s got a firm hand clamped on your own, and he starts making you jack him off again. Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, your black lace panties rubbing alongside. The sight alone gets you going again, and once more you feel a spark of pleasure down there.

The party’s going on in full swing downstairs, heavy music blaring and yet all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting and moaning. His sweet voice uttering the dirtiest of things into your ear as you both masturbate each other. And it’s so raw, so primal, how you writhe on top of him like a goddamned animal, how he’s got the most carnal look in his eyes as if he’s a beast and you’re a lamb and he’s about to devour you.

He kisses you, and it’s so sloppy and animalistic, and you’re shocked at how desperately your lips work against his. How his hand wraps around your neck, how your fingers card through his hair. He spits into your mouth, biting and sucking at your lip till you taste the metallicity of your own blood. Or his. You’re not too sure.

The air is hot and thick with sex, and his dick twitches in your hand, so ready to blow and that’s when his fingers squeeze around your throat.

“You ever gonna walk into a party unattended ever again?” Steve grunts, pinching and bullying your throbbing clit like he owns it.

“N-No!”

“Damn right. Where do you belong, baby girl?”

“In-In your bed, daddy – oh-oh my!”

You squirt again, and this time, Steve follows suit. You watch, entranced, as he blows his load. Streaks of hot, white cum land on your hand, your black panties, your stomach, your face, everywhere. And you cum so hard, you can feel your pussy cramping with how intense the pleasure feels, waves of it radiating through your very being, egged on by Steve who keeps rocking you against him, muttering profanity under his breath as his thumb circles your poor, overwhelmed clit.

“Good girl,” he says after a few moments, looking like he’s barely broken a sweat as he pats your cheek. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. I needed that.”

And you watch with wide, glassy, fucked out eyes as he takes your poor, tattered panties, the ones you’d used to jack him off, now drenched in his thick cum. He brings them to your mouth, prodding them against your lips.

“Open, baby,” he commands softly. And you do, and to your shock he places the panties in your mouth, a smirk on his face, “Suck.”

You suck Steve’s cum from your own panties, unable to get over how hot your poor, frazzled, cock-drunk mind is finding this debauchery to be. He tastes salty, manly, and you feel so submissive, so under his mercy as he watches you suck like a good, obedient little baby.

“That’s right, swallow it all,” he murmurs, “You like that, don’t you? You like being a little cumslut baby?”

 You whimper out a quiet “y-yeah” and he nods in approval, finally taking the lacy fabric out of your mouth, holding it tight in his fist. “I’d make you put ‘em back on but…” His voice trails off, and he chuckles as he throws your poor, torn panties somewhere on his bed behind him.

All you’re able to do is sit on his lap like a little doll. And he’s not even done with you, still fondling and touching your body, squeezing and hugging you close like you’re a doll and you can’t get enough. He’s particularly enamoured by his cum staining your stomach and chest, and he gathers some of it with a swipe of his finger.

“Does your baby cunt want some?” Steve asks devilishly, and you gasp, again just watching as he puts his hand between your legs again, this time opening your folds and spreading his cum into your poor, sensitive pussy. “Look at that, baby. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it right up.”

“Steve, I…”

“Shhh, baby girl. You don’t need to say anything.”

You’re thankful for that, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. Oh, you hadn’t expected all of this! Hell, you’d been forced to come to this party against your will, and now… Oh gosh, how had things come to this? How did you even feel about it? How–

The bedroom door is thrown open. You yelp, holding the big varsity jacket around you as you turn around to see a burly basketball player standing by the entrance. Steve growls at the intrusion, holding you closer against his chest. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Sorry for interrupting, Cap, but they’re all here. The St. Andrews’ assholes. Everett, Drysdale, Levinson… He’s looking for her, I think he knows she’s here.”

What?! ARI WAS HERE?! Oh, how dare he?!

Steve picks you up and places you on his bed before getting to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath. “He knows better than to fucking come here.”

Shakily, you try to get to your feet but to no avail. Your legs are still shaking. “M-Maybe, I should–”

“Stay right here.” Steve says, an air of finality in his tone that indicates he means it as an order with zero objections. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

THE END! guys!! I'm literally so insecure about posting this. Idk, I just feel like lately I've lost my mojo, like my writing has lost it's spark? But I pushed on because I wanted to get something out for you guys. And honestly?? BRO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO END IT bc I wanted this story to continue bc WDYM ARI IS HERE?!?! I wanna see the confrontation lmfao!

But anyways, just to be crystal clear - THIS IS JUST AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DRABBLE! It has nothing to do with the original wicked games story! That's why I wrote Steve here like how he is in chapter two of wicked games, and NOT like how he is in chapter 3 and 4! He's gone through a lot of character change and development in the original fic, but I didn't want to show that here! THAT IS IT'S OWN STORY HEHE. i know yall get it but i'm still reiterating lmao.

ANYWAYS. what did you guys think??? PLEASE PLEASE let me know! feedback genuinely would mean the world to me. I'm so fucking insecure about this fic it's like I've forgotten how to write!!

BUTTT. as usual here are some questions (you don't have to answer them, you can write whatever feedback you want but just in case hehe)

1 - HOW WAS THE SMUTTT??

2 - Do you think they would've gone all the way and had sex had they not been interrupted??

3 - How did Ari even know she was at this party??

4 - Opinions on our fav gal Wanda in this chapter?

ANYWAYS i love you guys, thanks for sticking by me and supporting my writing especially lately when there hasn't been many updates. LOVE YOU. pls lmk what you think!

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Written in the Stars-Ch. 27

Word Count- 5.6k

Warnings- SMUT- SHITTY SMUT MIND YOU I’VE NEVER WRITTEN IT BEFORE SUE ME, ****Bloodplay kind of??????****Mentions of burns, mentions of burning bridges, swearing, making out, nudity, sexual thingies, !!!!!!ELIJAH!!!!!! 

A/N- Ya I’m going to hell. This is so bad. I might delete. We all know Elijah gives off Daddy vibes so I want none of you hoes messaging me and telling me his actions are out of character in this chapter. Got it? GOT IT!? 

A/N- for those who don't want to read the smut I wrote where it begins and ends!

Elijah’s pissed. 

He’s like really pissed. 

I’m screwed.

-10 Minutes Earlier-

“You burnt down a bridge?”

“Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I was going to do that.”

I blow out a breath as I glance from Finn, Kol, and then Rebekah. 

“Um, not me,” I gesture to Sage, “We.”

Sage deadpans a look at me and I give her a shrug. 

“Why did you burn down a bridge, Y/n?” 

I turn back towards Finn who seems bewildered.

“We,” I gesture to Sage again, who rolls her eyes, “Burned down the bridge and the bridge’s sign because Sage found out that the wood that created both was made from White Oak…you know…the same White Oak that could kill the lot of y’all.”

“Pardon?”

I turn to Kol who is looking at me skeptically.

“The last of the white oak was burnt down over a millennium ago. We made sure of that.” 

“Brother, it’s true,” Bekah says, “I was going to burn down that bloody bridge myself tonight.”

“How is this possible? How do you know this Rebekah?! And why did you keep it to yourself!?” 

Klaus yells at his sister after being silent for the first time in his life. Elijah on the other hand, who is leaning against the staircase behind him, hasn’t made a peep.  

I eye Rebekah warily and side-eye Sage who side-eyes me.

“The Salvatores!”

I quickly yelp out trying to help Rebekah from having to admit that she had a threesome with both Sage and Demon.

“Yep. I was snooping as I usually do and overheard Damon asking the Mayor about some records about the town's bridge and such. And then Sage here did some digging, the same digging I’m sure Bekah did,” I nod to Bekah who is nodding along with me, “and then that’s when Sage found out from Damon and some records he has at the boarding house that the bridge is made from White Oak.”

I finish my dialogue off with an almost convincing smile and look at the vampires around me. Rebekah gives me a soft smile and nods, agreeing with me, Kol still looks skeptical, as does his Hybrid brother, Finn looks confused, per usual, and Elijah…hasn’t looked away from the wall in front of him in the past 5 minutes. 

Everyone is silent.

“This is the part where you guys say thank you,” I give them an awkward toothy smile.

“Thank you,” Kol yells sarcastically, “Thank you for what?! For one, you burnt down an entire bridge on the ramblings of a vampire that wants to kill our family, and if that’s not bad then you went and burned down an entire bridge…without me. Who do you think you are?”

“Watch it,” Klaus snarls at his younger brother. 

“Who am I?!”

I begin to march over to Kol with my finger pointed and Klaus walks in front of me, stopping me.

“Easy, Astin Min,” Klaus tries to calm me down but I shove past him.

“Who am I? One, I’m the one who just burnt down the thing that would kill you and your entire family. Two, I’m also the one who some weird ass fate thing decided that I’m supposed to carry the souls of your brothers?! AND to remind you all if those two,” I point towards Klaus and Elijah, “were to die, so do I! So if you’re having a fit about me burning down a bridge, literally shut the fuck up because it’s self preservation.”

I rub a hand over my face in exhaustion.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

I take my hand off my face and look at Finn, who is frowning at me, “I’m all good, Finney. Just past my bedtime and incredibly exhausted and not in the mood for that,” I point a finger at Kol, “Right now.”

“What the hell did I do?”

I roll my eyes at Kol’s comment. 

Klaus sniffing the air catches my attention, “Yes, I know. I’ve got to take a shower to get this gas smell off of me.”

Klaus takes a quick stride over to me and grabs my shoulders and his eyes frantically look over my figure, “You’re hurt. Where?”

I try to shrug his death grip but he just holds me in place, “I just got a little burnt from a stray flame. Nothing bad.”

Klaus’ eyes darken, “Where Y/n?”

I shrug off my loose sweatshirt and show him the not so small burn that runs across my upper forearm. 

“Ok, yikes,” I breathe through my nose as I process how it kind of actually stings like a bitch, “Not so little.”

Klaus releases a growl and he quickly goes to bite his wrist but I stop him, grabbing his hand. 

“Nope. Every little booboo I get doesn’t need your blood.”

Klaus narrows his dark eyes at me.

“Y/n, to be honest with you, the little “booboos” you always have aren’t as little as you think they are,” Rebekah comments with a judging look.

“You’re being delusional,” I scoff. 

“Were you not shot?”

I gasp at Finn’s words.

“Phineas, I told you that as a secret.”

Finn frowns and mumbles an apology. 

“Secret? You quite literally told me that 30 minutes ago,” Sage raises an eyebrow at me.

“Yes and?”

“We met 40 minutes ago.”

I suck on my teeth. Oh. 

“Wait, you got shot?”

I side-eye Kol, “No.”

I hear Kol mutter something but I don’t pay attention as I watch Elijah shake his head and walk back up the staircase, his left hand gripping the bannister as he goes. 

“All of you leave,” Klaus’ voice booms, and I nod and begin walking towards the door.

“Bloody hell, luv. Not you,” I feel him grab my hand and pull me back towards him. 

I hear Kol mutter something again before leaving the room, Sage and Finn both look at me and Sage sends me a small smile before looking back up to Finn with stars in her eyes. Finn stops for a moment before me and raises his hand. He pauses it midair, as if he’s not quite sure of his movements, but then he places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“Thank you, Y/n. You’ve given me something I’ll never be able to thank you enough for…but I will try to repay you for this.”

I smile at Finn, “All in a day's work, Phineas. No need to thank me.”

Finn lifts his hand and spares his brother a fleeting glance before leaving the room with Sage in tow. 

“Bloody hell, everyone in this family is so dramatic,” I look over Klaus’ shoulder to where Rebekah is leaving the room. 

“Good night Rebekah,” I call and she waves her hand.

“I should probably go check on Elijah,” I say to Klaus, and begin to move past him, but as I graze his shoulder, a gasp escapes my lips as I’m whipped back around and Klaus’ lips are pressed onto mine. 

It takes me a moment before I process what’s happening, but after a second I’m drowning in Klaus’ lips. I reach my hand up and run my fingers through Klaus’ dark blonde hair and suck in a breath as I feel Klaus’ toungue fight its way into my mouth. I don’t put up a fight and open my mouth slightly more to grant him leeway. He uses this opportunity to sink his tongue into my mouth and massage my tongue with his. I feel Klaus’ hand lower from my upper back down towards my ass and it doesn’t take him but another second to use his big hand to squeeze it, making me gasp.

“Fuck,” Klaus takes his toungue from my mouth and uses his teeth to pull on my lower lip.

“You’re perfect.”

I feel the tips of my ears warm at his comment and I use all my strength to shove him slightly back.

“You’re distracting.”

Klaus’s blue eyes are no longer dark, instead they have a small shine in them that makes them look similar to a small pond in springtime. 

Klaus leans down to meet my eye level, “You seem to like how distracting I am.”

I fight back a smirk, “Shut up, Mutt.”

Klaus smiles at me. Not his usual smirk, or his annoying ass snarl, but an actual smile. 

“You should do that more,” I point to his face and his eyebrows furrow.

“Do what?”

“Smile.”

Klaus smirks, “I do smile a lot.”

I shake my head, “Nah, you smirk a lot. Like you’re doing right now. I mean an actual smile. You have a pretty one.”

My comment seems to have taken Klaus aback and he clears his throat, “I am not pretty.”

I smirk at him, “Oh yes you are. You’re so pretty.”

I don’t give him the chance to rebut my statement as I lean forward and place a quick kiss to his warm cheek. 

I quickly move past him and head towards the stairs where Elijah went. 

“Thank you,” Klaus’ voice comes from behind me. 

“For calling you pretty? Anytime,” I turn over my shoulder and wink at him and he rolls his eyes.

“No. Not for that. For burning the white oak and protecting myself and my family.”

I shrug, “All in a day's work.”

—

I release a shaky breath as I knock on Elijah’s door. I hum to myself as I wait for a response and it takes another moment before I hear a low, “Come in.”

I grab the nob and gently open the door. I’m not quite sure why I’m being so cautious. I’m not scared of Elijah by any means but I just have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. It’s been there since I saw him make his way up the stairs earlier. 

I open the door and step in. I glance around the dimly lit room, and a smell of leather, bourbon and something earthy fills my nose. 

“Elijah?”

“What, Y/n?”

I whip my head to see Elijah exiting from an adjoining room. His suit jacket is off and his white button up is rolled up at the elbows. I watch as he walks behind a dark wooden desk and sits down in a maroon leather chair. He grabs a glass bottle of some dark liquor and pours it into a glass. 

I continue to watch silently as he downs the glass in one go and then begins to pour himself another. 

“Are you alright?”

Elijah holds the glass in his hand as he leans back in his chair. For the first time tonight he finally meets my eye.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His normally calm gaze his gone and replaced by a look I’ve never seen on him before. It unsettles me. I’m not sure if in a good way or bad.

“You left quite quickly,’’ I say softly. 

Elijah is silent for a moment, giving me more time to glance around his room. Dark wooden bookshelves line the walls from corner to corner, filled with hundreds of books that appear to be of all ages. A grand stone fireplace is at the forefront of the room, and a small couch is planted in front of it, and a king-size bed with dark blue bedding is to my left. All of it is so him. So, Elijah.

“Hmm.”

Elijah’s hum almost sounds sarcastic, which makes me raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What?”

Elijah looks back towards his drink and mixes it, “How's your burn?”

I eye the red burnt skin on my arm and then slit my eyes at Elijah.

“It’s fine. Why do you ask?” 

My answer seems to have amused Elijah because he huffs out a laugh and then downs the rest of his drink. 

He puts the glass back down so hard I’m surprised it didn’t shatter.

“Why do I ask? Why did I ask?!” 

Elijah runs a hand over his face and then undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. He stands up from his chair and places his hands atop his desk and stares at me. His dark brown eyes are black in this light and I notice the frantic ticking in his jaw. 

Oh.

He’s pissed. 

“Elijah…did I do something to make you mad?”

I take a small step into the room and Elijah’s eyes mark every move I make. With Klaus there were many moments where I felt like the prey and he the predator, but never with Elijah. Not until now. Something about the way his left index finger keeps tapping his desk, his clenched jaw, and his dark eyes make me feel like he could pounce at any moment and I wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

“Did you?”

Again his reply comes out almost mocking and if I weren’t dealing with a ticking time bomb right now I’d probably yell at this bitch.

“Elijah, if I did something to make you upset I need to know what that thing is before I can apologize,” I try to reason with him as I take another cautious step forward.

Elijah tilts his head, “And if I said I didn’t want your apologies?”

Ok. Now I’m getting annoyed.

I shrug, “Then I can just leave you to be in your mood and we can talk tomorrow when you want to discuss things like adults.”

Elijah’s lips twitch into a dark smirk, “Like adults? Really? And who exactly here is an adult? You?”

I frown at Elijah’s tone, it’s something cruelly sarcastic and for the first time since meeting Elijah I realize I’ve never seen him this unnerving. And I’ve literally watched him murder people. 

“Why are you being like this?”

Elijah moves his hands off his desk, stands to his full height, and begins to move from behind his desk. I watch with bated breath as he comes around the desk to stand in front of it. He leans back against it, using his arms to hold himself up and places his right leg over his left. If someone were to walk in right now, it would almost appear that he was relaxed or casual, but as soon as they’d notice the gleam in his dark eyes, they knew they’d have been mistaken. 

“Come here,” He says simply. 

I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head, “What? No. You don’t get to just beckon me after being rude.”

“Y/n, come.”

His tone leaves no room for argument so I do what he says. God I’m a little bitch. 

I take a few steps forward and eye the man in front of me, Elijah watches my every move like a hawk.

I stamp my feet into the ground and pretend to bow, “Happy now.”

Elijah narrows his eyes, “Don’t be a brat.”

I choke on my words at the tone he uses to say “Brat.” God Damnit. Wait.

Am I turned on right now?

No. 

No?

Definitely not. 

I think…

“I am not a brat,” I counter.

Elijah raises an eyebrow and then raises his hand and uses his index finger to call me closer.

“No. If you want to be fucking face to face you come over here,” I finally stand my ground. 

Not thinking he would actually listen to me, you could imagine my surprise when he pushes himself off the desk and practically stalks towards me. My mind pretty much goes blank as he comes to stand so close, the tips of our shoes are touching. 

We’re both silent as we stare back at one another. Or more so I slightly glare at him while he accesses me.

“Do you know how irresponsible you were tonight?”

I frown, “Excuse me? What the fuck do you mean irresponsible?”

“I think it would be in your best interest right now if you watched that mouth of yours. I’m already fighting back every thought in my mind to not punish you for the actions you’ve made tonight. Those nasty words coming out of your mouth are not easing any of those thoughts.”

Punish me? Who the fuck is this guy and where is my sweet blushing Elijah?!

“Elijah dude, I think you just need to chill out, alright?”

Elijah’s upper lip twitches and I realize I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Number one, Gemæcca, I am not your dude. So stop referring to me as such, and number two, I will not “chill out” especially after how childish you acted tonight.”

Alright fuck this guy. 

Oh, I’m sure you want to freak. 

Shut up!

“Is this about the fire? Is this why you’re being such a dick right now?”

My language seems to piss Elijah off even more, “I’m being a “dick” right now because my mate seems to have no sense of self preservation or thought.”

I clench my hand over and over again to not start throwing punches with this bitch. 

“What did you just say to me,” I bite out.

“I said I was done with dealing with you, just throwing yourself into stupid and idiotic situations when your life is too fragile. Niklaus may get proud and turned on enough to swallow your tongue in our foyer at the thought of you putting yourself into danger like you did tonight,” Elijah leans down so our faces are a mere few inches apart, “But I assure you, I do not.”

Oh so he heard that. Oops. 

“Well, maybe I let Klaus stick his tongue down my throat because unlike you he doesn’t treat me like a child, Elijah. Ever think of that?”

Elijah narrows his eyes at me, “I do not think of you as a child. But, when you make childish decisions that put you into harm's way-”

“I can make my own decisions, Elijah!”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you always fucking should!”

Elijah’s booming voice shocks me and makes me step back. 

He must’ve realized he went too far because his face drops slightly, and he rubs his hand over his face again. 

“Elskan I-”

“No, Elijah, don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing to you, how sorry I am that you had to end up with such a childish annoyance as a mate. Sad and poor Elijah,” I fake a frown and then go back to glaring at the man. 

Elijah’s face darkens and he closes the gap between us and before I can react his hand is grabbing my lower face, “Your existence has never and will never be an annoyance to me. Do you understand that, Y/n? Never. Do you not realize the decisions you make don’t just affect you but everyone around you? If something were to happen to you, if you were to,” He releases a harsh breath, “If you were to die, do you not understand the pain and ruin you would be leaving behind? What of Theo? What of your friends? What of Klaus or I?”

Elijah uses both of his hands to push my face closer to his, “Y/n, I need you to understand this, if you were to perish…I would not survive it,” Elijah clenches his jaw and shakes his head as if just the thought of me dying is too much for him to bear, “Do you know I’ve already decided what I would do if something were to happen to you? I would make my brother dagger me in my heart and put me out of my bloody misery because leaving in my mind and being cursed by that bloody dagger until the end of time would still be an easier burden to bear than having to wake up every morning knowing that I would never lay eyes on the love of my life ever again.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until Elijah’s thumb brushes away a stray tear.

“So yes I am mad, Y/n. I am enraged that you do not realize that every fleeting decision you make, every wound you collect,” He grabs my arm and makes me look at my burnt skin, “Isn’t the most horrifying thing to me. When I saw you walk in smelling like smoke, and burnt skin, I couldn’t bear it. I can’t bear it. Never in a thousand years have I felt the type of pain you bring me.”

I stare wide-eyed at Elijah and don’t speak. I don’t speak because I truly, for the first time in my entire life, have no idea what to say.

Elijah must realize this because after a moment of silence, he leans down and places a soft kiss right next to my lips, he leans back slightly and looks at me, and I lean back into him. Elijah leans down again but this time kisses my lips. He leans back after a moment with a clenched jaw. 

“You smell like my brother.”

I reach my hand up and run it along his face, “Then make me smell like you.”

*start of smut*

In a flash my body is moved so my back is pressed to Elijah’s front and his mouth is attached to my throat. I release a low moan as Elijah's teeth graze my neck and I angle my head so he can have better access. He takes this opportunity to run his tongue along my throat and this is when I feel his sharp canines graze my skin.

“You can,” I turn my head to look at him, which was honestly a mistake because the crazed look in his eyes is making me feel things I don’t even think I felt while reading Fifty Shades. 

Elijah shakes his head, “Did I not just talk to you about wounds?”

I shake my head, “You can heal me after, do it Elijah. I want you to.”

Dark veins appear under Elijah’s eyes and I reach out to run my finger over them, making Elijah release a low groan. Elijah pulls me in by my hair and smashes his lips to mine. A fast movement later and Elijah has his hands on my ass and my legs are wrapped around his neck as he carries me to his desk. 

His mouth is still on mine as he swipes a hand over his desk and everything on it goes flying off. I hear glass breaking, which turns my attention, and I go to say something, but Elijah sucking and kssing my neck makes my mind go blank.

“Holy fuck,” I feel myself clench my legs together but am blocked by Elijah’s frame.

I feel Elijah’s smirk before I hear it, “Language, Elskan, or I’ll stop.”

“Oh God, please don’t.”

Elijah places another kiss to my neck before looking back up to me. It takes me only a moment to realize he’s checking to see if I’m alright.

“I said you could, Lijah” I stretch my neck so he has more room.

Elijah slowly nods his head and begins to press more gentle kisses to my neck but as I feel his fangs graze my neck, I release a deep breath. Not another second goes by before I’m closing my eyes in pain, from the sharp searing in my neck. I release a shaky breath but oddly enough the pain starts to change into…something more pleasurable after a moment. Don’t get me wrong it still hurts like a bitch but with the mix of Elijah’s sucking, his toungue cleaning the wound, and his hands: which have now found themselves massaging my underwear line, all of it is so…fucking good.

Elijah licks up my neck once more before standing back and staring at me.  I feel a cold liquid run down my neck and I watch as a line of dark crimson blood flows from my neck down over my chest and through the valley of my breasts, staining my white pajama top. And holy fuck I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.

I look up to Elijah…I stand corrected. The blood was the second hottest thing, because the look on Elijah’s face right now, a look of pure depravity, is definitely the hottest thing that I have ever laid my eyes on. 

“Poetry was created to describe women that look like you.”

Elijah’s words come out rushed and breathless as he runs his eyes over my body, as if he can’t believe he’s seeing me like this. And honestly if you told me 20 minutes ago I’d be bleeding on Elijah’s desk all hot and bothered I’d laugh in your face. But right now all I want is this man between my legs and his lips on mine. 

Never thought I’d say those words either.  

Elijah takes a step towards me and but stops as he sniffs the air.

“What?”

Fuck right now would be a horrible time to forget deodorant. 

“You smell like gasoline,” Elijah says darkly.

“Oh…sorry.”

“Take your shirt off,” He takes a step forward and I notice the dark look he had on his face from before is back.

“Take my…”

“Your shirt. Take it off.”

Elijah’s words come out simple and harsh and without even thinking about it I grab the hem of my night shirt and pull it over my head and toss it behind me. 

“Good girl. Now the pants.” 

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Excuse me? You do it,” I say bewildered.

Elijah quickly steps forward and within a second he fucking RIPS my sleep short into two leaving my sitting on his desk in my fucking bra and undies.

“Elijah, I meant you take off your pants!”

Elijah leans back and his eyes slowly make their way down my body and oddly enough I don’t feel an ounce of shame. Usually when it comes to my looks and body there's always that voice in the back of my head telling me that I’m too ugly or too much in some places but right now, right here with Elijah I don’t hear that voice. All I can focus on is the man before me who is looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“I much prefer you without pants than myself,” Elijah remarks and I use my foot to push him slightly.

We stare at each other for a moment before Elijah gets a gleam in his eye and he leans down to press a soft kiss to my cheek. He then kisses my lips, then my neck, then the valley between my breasts taking the moment to swipe a finger over my blood and painting it across my chest, he then presses that hand onto my chest and pushes me so I’m laying flat on my back, I stare at the ceiling as I continue to feel Elijah plant kisses over my stomach. I feel his hand grab my ankle and I lean up on my elbows to watch as he places a chaste kiss to my inner ankle. 

“What are you doing,” I give him a tilt of my head, and a nervous smile.

Elijah smirks and I watch confused until he drops to his knees in front of me. 

Oh. 

OH!

“Elijah, what are you doing?”

A squeak leaves my mouth as Elijah grabs my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the desk. 

Elijah places a kiss to my inner thigh, “I want to show you just a fraction of how you make me feel. Can I?”

Fuck we love a man that asks for consent.

“I’ve never…I mean no one's ever…,” I gesture towards down there hoping he gets the idea and Elijah’s eyes darken. 

“I’ve guessed.”

I don’t really take offence to that because I quite literally scream “VIRGIN.”

“You don’t have to,” I shake my head. 

Elijah gives me a bewildered look, “Trust me, Elskan. The image of me between your legs is something that has haunted my greatest dreams and nightmares since the moment Rose-Marie brought you to me. This will be more of a gift to me than it will be to you. I give you my word.”

All I do is nod, because HOLY HELL.

“Words Elskan. I need words,” Elijah chastises.

“Yes. Um, yes, please.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Elijah’s mouth presses itself to my clothed core. 

“Holy shit!”

I throw my head back onto the desk as I feel Elijah swipe his tongue over my core through my now very soaked underwear. I let out a sound I didn’t even know I could release as I feel Elijah’s tongue take one more swipe, starting from my clit to my hole. 

I loud snap and a wave of cold air against my cunt makes me realize Elijah just ripped another piece of my clothing. I go to chastise him, but go fucking blank in the mind as I feel Elijah finger run itself through my folds. 

“Oh fuck, Elijah,” I breathe out through shallowed breath.

“You’re doing so good, Elskan. Smell so fucking sweet. I bet you taste even sweeter.”

Elijah’s words only make me close my eyes and pray that any of my dead ancestors are not watching this sinful act.

Like he’s been starved his entire fucking life Elijah dives his head into my core and swipes his tongue everywhere. 

My eyes roll to the back of my head.

“I was right,” I hear Elijah say to himself, “Just like nectar.”

Elijah doesn’t give me a second to adjust because the next thing I feel is his thick finger enter my throbbing hole. 

“So tight, so perfect,” Elijah says as he massages my inside with his finger and- 

“OH FUCK!”

Elijah’s finger curls inside me and if every Smutty book I’ve read is true then I’m pretty sure he just hit that spot. 

Elijah fucking chuckles! And then dares to enter another finger. I let out a breath of pain at the sudden tightness but release a breath of pleasure as Elijah leans down and begins sucking on my clit. 

A tight feeling builds in my lower gut and I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Elijah…I-”

“Let go for me Elskan, I want to see you cum on my fingers.”

Elijah’s nasty mouth, literally, is all I needed to hear before an unbearable wave of pleasure flows through me and I feel my whole body tighten.

“Elijah!”

I throw my head back onto the desk in exhaustion as my lungs fight for breath.

I feel Elijah presses a soft kiss to my center, making me squirm from sensitivity. 

“You did so well, My love.”

*End of smut*

I absentmindedly nod as I feel Elijah pick me up bridal style. I open my eyes as Elijah places me carefully on my two shaking feet. He presses a soft kiss to the side of my face before walking over to a white claw foot tub. Oh. We’re in his bathroom. 

I watch half naked and kind of self-conscious now as Elijah turns the tub on, and adds soap, making the water bubble up. 

“Come,” He reaches out his hand for me to take and I fight the urge to crack a joke at his words. He gives me a look which I’m guessing means he already knew I was going to tell a joke. I take his hand and slowly dip down into the warm water.

A low hiss escapes my mouth as my core touches the water and I feel a sharp pain. 

“You might be sore for a little while,” Elijah comments as he comes to sit beside me. He reaches his hand to the latch of my bra and I nod giving him the okay to take it off. As he slides the bra straps down my arms, he places feather like kisses to my shoulder. 

“Was I too rough,” His words come out hushes as if he’s afraid of my answer. 

I shake my head, “No,” I lean down into the water so the bubbles come up to my upper chest, “You were good.”

Elijah chuckles, “Just good?”

I shrug playfully, “I’d give you a good 7.5.”

Elijah lets out a loud laugh, “Oh really? I must have misheard you because I thought I heard you scream out my name over half a dozen times. My mistake.”

I use a sud-covered hand to shove him. 

“How is it that I’m completely naked and you’re still dressed in head to toe Versace?”

Elijah shrugs, “Is that a problem?”

I lean forward and start undoing his buttons, “You could at least lose the button up.”

Elijah smirks but still agrees as he undoes his top leaving him in a wife beater.

Elijah takes a glass from beside him and fills it up with water before pouring it over my hair. I lay back and close my eyes as Elijah makes work with shampooing my hair, his fingers massaging circles into my scalp.

“Feels. So. Good.”

—

My eyes open briefly as I feel myself being carried again.

I look around confused for a moment before I hear Elijah’s voice.

“Go back to sleep, Elskan. Everything’s alright. I’m right here.”

Hmm. 

I like the sound of that. 

[kannady]

do you remember me too?

pairing: sylus x mc reader

synopsis: love and deepspace was a newfound obsession of yours. you installed the game shortly after sylus was released as a love interest. it'd be safe to say he was the reason you installed the app. however, finals week was approaching and you had to say goodbye to your favourite game. not for long, ofcourse. but you decide to login for the last time to check the new event.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: hey everyone! im going to get busy in a couple days so updates might be slow, but ill try my best. not much, its a pretty simple chapter. lemme know what you think!

check out all chapters here

Chapter Seven

"Of course, but I need to make sure he senses the urgency of my situation."

Nodding to herself, your sister started clearing the mess, picking up the scattered markers and loose pages, while you sat down and waited. You weren’t expecting him to come running that very instant. It was late, after all. But you were getting anxious now. Had you been too harsh? Too rude to someone you technically didn’t know?

You were still unsure about your next move or anything that you had done up until now. Sure, you’d get to meet five of your most favorite men, but you couldn’t shrug off the feeling that things were only going to get worse for you now. You tried to stay optimistic, but it was almost impossible considering there was an enemy lurking nearby.

Sighing to yourself, you got up, bid your sister goodbye, and went up to bed. Lying down, you couldn’t help but mentally go through everything that had happened that day. You could confidently say it was the most festive and hectic, yet the best day of your life.

You were in the Love & Deepspace universe! You got to meet Zayne, Caleb was your best friend, Xavier was your neighbor, and Sylus was presumably keeping an eye on you. You were yet to meet Rafayel, but you were just as excited for him.

Contrary to what you’d assumed, you fell asleep just as you went to bed. Now that the initial excitement had worn off, you were suddenly exhausted. You didn’t know exactly when you fell asleep, but you woke up more refreshed than ever. It felt like one of those days where you didn’t have anything to do. No classes, no exams, no chores. Just a day to do anything you liked.

After washing up, you decided to change since you’d fallen asleep in the same clothes. The closet was pretty basic, nothing too unique. After all, you weren’t a Hunter yet.

Your eye caught a black hoodie folded neatly in one corner. It had a distinct smell to it. Lavender, jasmine, and a hint of vanilla. It was perfect.

"She actually has great taste in colognes."

You paired the hoodie with baggy jeans and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Seeing everyone seated at the table, it looked just like any other day. Your father was reading the paper, your sister was scrolling on her phone, and your mother was flipping pancakes. Perhaps she heard your steps. Without turning toward you, she asked, "Two for you, as usual?"

"Yep!"

You slipped into the chair next to your sister’s. She looked at you with a smile, but it died down as soon as she saw the hoodie. Instead, it was replaced with a mischievous smirk.

"Someone’s missing Caleb today." You turned toward your father, who was eyeing you from above his glasses. Smiling, he turned his attention back to the paper. You cluelessly glanced at your sister, who whispered, "That’s Caleb’s hoodie."

"Oh."

After breakfast, you helped your mom carry the dishes to the kitchen. "So, how’s the exam prep going?"

What exam? You had no idea, and it wouldn’t be wise to ask.

"It’s great. I’m probably gonna revise most of the day." After sorting out the dishes, you hastily went up to your sister.

"What exam was I preparing for again?"

"The Hunter’s Association licensure exam."

"And when is it?"

"May 14th."

Today was April 13th. You had one month. One month to prepare for something you had no idea about. What even was in that exam? Thinking about it was making you more anxious. How exactly were you going to do this?

Thankfully, your study desk had the answer. Placed neatly on shelves were books about Wanderers and Protocores, past exam questions, model papers, and then heaps and heaps of notes. The more you looked at it, the more frustrated you got, and the more you wanted to cry. It was hopeless. Maybe you could give the exam next year?

Sighing, you grabbed a random book and started going through its pages until a certain illustration caught your eye. It was a Wanderer with blue wings, a purplish tail, and a sleek black body. It almost looked like a dragon. Tracing your finger over the text, you read, "Polar Wyrm."

On the next page was the illustration of a similar Wanderer, only red and orange. "Ignis Wyrm."

Intrigued, you started going through the pages. Each Wanderer looked familiar. "Oh my god, I remember fighting these!" You excitedly squealed as you grabbed another book. "Protocores are unique substances dropped by Wanderers after they are defeated. They can be—I know what a Protocore is!"

You were on cloud nine. How could you forget? You had played the game. You knew what Wanderers were, how to defeat them, and the ideal weapons for each. Taking a deep breath, you carried all the material to the bed and went through every single page. Most of the stuff you already knew. And the rest? You could do the rest in one month.

And so days went by while you were merged in books. Life had gotten too boring. It felt normal now. The only abnormal thing was perhaps learning about Wanderers. Due to your hectic schedule, you’d almost forgotten about Sylus. He hadn’t replied back. You didn’t come across the twins again, nor did you see Mephisto following you around. You weren’t even sure if he’d gotten your message. Although the exam kept you busy most of the time, you still felt uneasy in this new environment. You were tempted to go into the N109 Zone yourself, but you weren’t that stupid. You’d get killed in an instant considering how you hadn’t had any physical training yet.

A month had gone by. You’d given the exam. It was easy. Of course, you studied for it, but you’d had a different way of knowing everything. Even so, it all worked out. A week later, the results were announced, and you passed. Your parents threw a small celebratory party in your honor. As guests arrived, you lingered by the door, thanking each one.

But your real reason for standing there was waiting. Waiting for Sylus, Mephisto, even a black feather would have been enough at that point. You just couldn’t understand. Why follow you around if he wasn’t going to respond? Actually, why follow you in the first place?

"He’s not going to come, honey. And you know that."

You turned to see your mother standing beside you, looking out into the darkness. Then, she turned to look at you, and you could see the worry etched on her face.

"Who?"

"Caleb. You know the academy keeps him busy."

You almost spit out the tea you were sipping. Why would she think you were waiting for Caleb? Was it because of the hoodie? You had worn it again. It was soft and smelled incredible. You had to give him that. But that was it.

"I wasn’t waiting for him. At all." You tried to sound as convincing as you could. Even though you weren’t lying, you had a feeling she wouldn’t believe that. And you were right.

"Ah, young love! Just you see. You’d be the first one he visits as soon as he gets back from Skyhaven." Smiling to herself, she made her way back to the guests while you stood there, processing what had happened.

Once all the expected guests had arrived and it was clear he wasn’t coming, you closed the door and retreated to the living room. The party was typical. Relatives quizzing you about the exam, comparing scores, then veering into politics. The moment the conversation shifted away from your academics, you seized the chance to escape. Too boring. Or maybe you were just too young for it.

Ting! Ting!

Your phone vibrated. It was a low battery notification. So, you headed upstairs to plug in the phone and touch up your makeup. As soon as you entered your room, you were met with a cool, light breeze on your face. The window was open, and the curtains were rustling. You could swear you’d closed it.

Shrugging, you plugged in your phone and sat at the vanity. As you were reapplying your lip gloss, your gaze fell upon a box on your bed. Confused, you turned around and spotted a black gift box tied with a red ribbon. There was no question about who sent it. You knew. But why did he send you a gift? Was it a congratulatory gift?

Slowly, you crept toward the bed and picked up the box. It was heavier than you’d imagined. You couldn’t even attempt to guess what it was. It was too heavy and big to be his credit card, not big enough to be a bouquet, and definitely not some letter.

Slowly, you untied the ribbon. Taking one last deep breath, you took the lid off. Inside the box, nestled in black velvet, lay a pistol. Pristine, almost glowing under the dim light. Its steel was mirror-bright, untouched by fingerprints. The grip felt strangely warm against your skin, like it had been held moments before. There were no scratches on it, whatsoever.

Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist!

tags: @zenbutnotreally, @godoffuckedupcats, @noxus123, @madam8, @agustdxjiminx, @liz9898, @lemonn015, @tearydamsel, @diegojeanne, @alyssac9, @dummiebunny, @acesgarden, @bigclownshoes, @sylusgirlie7, @roseyjean, @poptrim, @pillarofsnow, @rxelarailuj, @brekkers-whore, @one17, @cchiiwinkle, @babyx91, @mourning-into-dancing, @yuhuahuaaa, @stxrrielle, @tapiokay, @glassandhoney, @animelover18, @paper--angel, @plzdonutpercieveme, @coffeedragonhobbyist, @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme, @harbingers-lullaby, @sleepykittyenergy, @syluslovesicker, @solmanel1

[delicatebarness]

You Need Me Now? | Chapter Three

Summary: It's the night of the First Responders Family Fund, and Miss Stark looks a little green. Also, there's a Morgan Stark Cameo

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts Specific Spoilers | Jealousy | Smut | Dom/Sub Themes | Spit | Oral (M Receiving) | Semi-Public

Word Count: 2326

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: The amount of hours I have spent working on this chapter is uncalled for, and I haven't proofread this, but... that's what @lanabuckybarnes is for ♡ - Please leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue; this is just as much yours as mine. - B

You Need Me Now: @carrotlove | @seenthroughmia | @stell404 | @imaginecrushes | @lilulo-12 | @sebbymybaby21 | @rattyfishrock | @danzer8705 | @troubledsoul-black | @sexyvixen7 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @athanasiascourtesy | @baw1066 | @gh0stdyn | @mrsnikstan |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

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Outside the First Responders Family Fund—Washington, D.C.

Outside the event was spectacular. The Center glowed with golden light, and camera shutters. Red carpet stretched wide beneath your gold heels, velvet ropes flanked either side, and a queue of sleek black cars. Your shoulders were peppered with cool evening air kisses as you stepped aside from the crowd.

You pulled your phone from the clutch bag you chose for the event, scrolling until you spotted a specific name, and hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Suddenly, Morgan’s face appeared, her messy hair framing it, the screen casting shadows across her features. “You said you’d show me!” 

“I am, Maguna,” you smiled, flipping the camera around. “Look!” 

You panned the camera slowly across the entrance, letting your younger sister see the theatre of it all. And of course, the massive banner that hung above the doors. 

Morgan’s face lit up. “Whoa! Is that Dad?” 

The banner rippled in the breeze. A full-length print of your dad, Tony Stark’s, silhouette in the classic Iron Man suit, Arc Reactor designed to seem like it was lit up, and text along one side of the banner, reading: Honouring NYC Heroes. 

You flipped the camera back to yourself, spinning so the banner was behind you. “It sure is! He’ll be everywhere tonight, Bug.” 

“As he should be!” she announced proudly, but her smile faltered quickly. Her freckled nose wrinkled. “Do you have to go in now?” 

“In a few minutes, yeah. I just wanted to show you before you went to sleep.” You adjusted the spaghetti strap where it dipped off your shoulder. “I miss you, Morgan.” 

Morgan smiled, her eyes heavy with tiredness. “I miss you, too. And you look really pretty.”

You laugh. “Us Stark’s scrub up well, don’t we?” 

“Yep!” She fell back, her head hitting the pillow. You took a few extra minutes saying your goodbyes and wishing your sister the sweetest of dreams before ending the FaceTime. 

Slowly, you tucked your phone back into your clutch. The gala lights flickering as you let go of your last thread of comfort. 

  You took a slow, deep breath as you turned toward the center. And with one careful heel in front of the other, you walked alone into the pantomime. 

The warm air was filled with the scent of perfume, polished marble, and a lot of champagne. Chandeliers cast golden rains across the room, and everything glittered. There was music, a string quartet drifting in waves. 

People turned as you entered, taking their prying eyes away from the displays of your father’s past. They were already whispering, taking double-takes as you passed. 

You didn’t look at them.

Your eyes found the centerpiece instead—the Avengers Tower ‘A’ glowing at the heart of the hall. Your feet moved on their own toward it, stopping when the entire letter came into view. 

You weren’t the only one drawn to it. Mel—who you recognised as Valentina’s assistant—stood just ahead. She gazed up at the letter like it meant something. Her dark dress, covered by the matching suit jacket, caught bits of gold from the light above. Her hair was pinned back into a low ponytail, her posture proud.

A familiar figure stepping into view caught your attention—Bucky.

The same sharp suit you’d helped him into—and hoped to help out—was still perfect. Every line straight, every button in place. But it was the relaxed, confident way he carried himself that made your breath hitch.

Mel turned toward him, but you couldn’t make out the conversation over the music and the murmur of voices. But you didn’t need to. You saw it in the way Mel tilted her head. The curve of her smile.

The way he smiled back.

It wasn’t the usual practiced, tight-lipped smile he gave to the cameras or strangers. This was softer, warmer.

You didn’t mean to keep watching. 

But you did, and your eyes stayed locked onto them as Bucky reached into his jacket, pulling out a business card. Handing it to Mel, his fingers brushed against hers. A subtle, slightly lingering touch. 

Mel’s brow raised, amused. Or maybe, intrigued.

Your stomach sank.

You weren’t jealous. 

Not exactly. 

But the shift hit you hard and fast. You blinked, dragging your gaze from them. A server passed as you turned slightly, and you snagged a glass of champagne from their silver tray. Giving the man, who couldn’t have been much younger than you, a quick nod.

After swigging the shimmering liquid, you looked back at the ‘A’ that once adorned your home. 

Bucky was gone.

And Mel—Mel has begun walking straight toward you.

With a breezy smile, Mel approached with her tablet and notes tucked neatly to her chest. Her walk was measured, confident. 

But so were you.

Your spine straightened, champagne flute held delicately between your freshly manicured fingers, expression neutral. Mel had a few inches of height on you, and so you didn’t look up to meet her gaze.

“Hi, Miss Stark!” she called out brightly, a little too brightly.

You smiled, taking another swig of champagne before replying. “Melissa… was it?” 

For a moment, the brightness in her expression dimmed. She didn’t correct you—she couldn’t.

“That–That’s right,” she recovered quickly. “It’s an honor to be here tonight. Seeing parts of history.” 

You hummed, taking the last sip of champagne from the glass. “I’m sure it must be,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “Is this the first event Val has you monitoring?” 

Her smile twitched. “I wouldn’t stay monitoring per se, more like keeping her on schedule for—”

“Ah,” you said, cutting off the sentence gently. “The assistant.” 

A pause of silence settled between you, but only for a second before Mel spoke again. 

“I was speaking with Sergeant Barnes,” Mel turned her head back toward where she had stood with Bucky previously. “He’s very kind.” 

Your brow arched. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” 

Mel blinked, and you watched as the tip of her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek.

You took a step forward, barely even half a pace, and she had leaned back slightly. 

“He’s charming,” you added. Your gaze flickered to movement by the stairs, then back to her. “But you might want to be careful with that one.”

You smiled, letting that Stark confidence reach your eyes. “It was nice to meet you… Melissa.” 

And with that, you brushed past her. Your golden heels echoed softly against the polished marble floor, and you set the empty champagne flute on a passing tray.

You didn’t look back.

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Later in the Evening—Washington, D.C.

You stopped short at the landing, your eyes locking on him, and Mr Gary. Their voices hushed as they moved to a secluded hallway. 

You didn’t interrupt. Instead, you leaned lightly against the wall, arms crossed, just out of their line of sight. You didn’t hear much of what they spoke about. But one word did catch your attention: Assistant.

It was enough to tighten something in your chest.

After one last murmur from Mr. Gary, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. His footsteps were heavy as he didn’t spare you more than a passing glance. 

You waited until he disappeared behind another corner. But then, a strong metallic arm curled around your waist.

Bucky pulled you gently out of sight, back to where he and Mr. Gary had stood. Your back bumped against the wall, your chest heaving. 

He was inches away, brow arched, and looked down at you. “You need to get better at hiding.” His voice was low and dry.

His hand slid over the small of your back, resting against your hip. His hair was slightly disheveled now, you knew he’d been running a hand through it out of frustration. 

His jaw ticked. “You shouldn’t be up here.” 

“And you shouldn’t be gossiping in the shadows where anyone could find you, hear you,” you retorted.

A silent beat passed between you.

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time… you noticed a subtle hint of green and amber within the striking blue. 

“I saw you talking to her, and then I heard you talking about her,” you said, voice low. “Are you keeping information from me?” 

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes darkened. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb lingering on your bottom lip with his thumb. “Are you jealous, Miss Stark?” 

You tilted your chin. “No. I don’t get jealous.” 

Another pause.

The space between your bodies pulled you together, heat rolling off you and surrounding him in waves. When Bucky spoke again, his voice rasped.

“Liar.” 

His fingers trailed from your cheek to the base of your throat, wrapping around your neck. His touch was possessive, demanding. From anyone else, you would’ve felt threatened. But from Bucky—it was grounding. Submission, even.

Your lips parted, but you couldn’t find the words to argue. Or lie. Maybe you had been at least the tiniest bit jealous.

“I saw you watching,” he said. “Your whole body shifted when I handed her that card. You wanted to light her up.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“You wanted her to burn,” he growled softly. “And you still do.” 

Your brow furrowed, opening your mouth to speak again, but nothing. You couldn’t deny his allegations. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I like it when you get possessive,” he murmured, leaning in closer to whisper directly into your ear. “Almost as much as I like putting you in your place.” 

You inhaled sharply. Heat radiating through your entire body, collecting between your thighs.

“You want to be a good girl for me now?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for debate. He was instructing. 

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding slowly, instinctive. 

“Show me, sweetheart.” 

You didn’t realise you were moving until your knees hit the floor. Your dress pooled slightly around your legs. His jaw was tight, and his hunger bled through his eyes when you looked up, meeting his gaze. 

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he said. His metal hand rested against your cheek before he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm, the Stark heiress, on her knees for me. And, in the hallway of a fucking fund raiser.” 

You flushed. He was obscene, but so perfect.

The click of metal was loud as he slowly undid his belt. Blue eyes never left yours. Pushing down the zipper, he freed his already hardened cock. 

“Open your mouth,” he said.

You obeyed, head tilting up toward him. 

He watched you, unmoving, just taking in the sight of you. “Wider,” he murmured. 

Again, you obeyed. 

His hand cradled your jaw before leaning down slightly, without breaking eye contact. 

And spit. 

You didn’t flinch.

It was warm against your tongue, and you just let it sit there, waiting for your next instruction.

“Swallow it, sweetheart,” he softly ordered.

You did, before parting your lips again for him. Proving to him that you did as you were told. 

His eyes closed slowly for a moment, his jaw clenching. “Good girl.” 

Then, he pressed his tip against your lips. 

“Now,” he said, threading his hand through your hair. “Show me.” 

The first brush your tongue took against him made your lashes flutter. Your brain was already beginning to switch off as your lips wrapped around him, taking him deeper. 

He groaned in a low breath. “That’s it,” he praised, tightening his grip in your hair. “Use that mouth, sweetheart. Show me how you own me.” 

At first, you were slow. Tracing your tongue down every inch of him, your cheeks hollowing when your lips slid down and back up again. Just enough to tease. 

“Take all of me,” he warned.

There was a hiss through his teeth, his hand bracing the wall behind you. His hip began to rock, and you relaxed your throat, letting him push deeper. Fucking your mouth, relentlessly but controlled. Your fingers gripped the back of his thighs as you moaned around him.

“Look at me,” he groaned. 

Your eyes were glossy, lips stretched, and cheeks flushed as you looked up. Your throat vibrated, spurring him. 

“You’re taking me so fucking good,” he said, quickening his pace. “Fuck, I could come just from watching you.” His hips stuttered, and low, animal-like sounds escaped his chest. “God—just a little more, sweetheart,” he rasped, his thick vein pulsating against your tongue. “Just like—”

His hand gripped tighter, pulling your hair as he came. Spurts of his release hitting the back of your throat, and you took it all. 

“That,” he finally stilled, chest heaving as he loosened his grip on your hair.

You pulled back slowly.

His dark, intent gaze dropped to your mouth. Reaching out, his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, tugging it down gently. Another demand. Only this time, it was silent. 

You parted your lips, unashamed, and offered him the evidence of what you just did for him.

His eyes burned into yours, desire. “You’re going to be the death of me, Stark,” he gave you a low chuckle.

Still on your knees, your lips curled into a knowing smile. Then, purposely with unbroken eye contact, you swallowed. 

“And you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whispered back.

Bucky stretched his vibranium hand out for you, helping you rise to your feet. His other hand wiped a stray tear from your cheek before smoothing your hair, his fingers lingering for another moment. “Go freshen up, sweetheart,” he smiled, his voice low. “And then, say your goodbyes.” His gaze held yours before he gestured towards the rest of the function. 

Before you could respond, his arm wrapped around your torso, and his mouth crashed against yours.

He wasn’t soft or sweet. It was bruising, a deep reminder.

His forehead pressed to yours when he pulled back. “Don’t keep me waiting, we’re getting chilli dogs.”

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[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Death and the Fool

Chapter 2: The Ace of Pentacles--Upright

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Where the personification of Life believes she has no chance with Agatha Harkness after Death gets to her first

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Read on Ao3 here

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 |

Taglist: @hannah-0730 @loveshineslikethesky

“The Ace of Pentacles–Upright: Opportunity, prosperity, new adventures.”

__________

October 2026

The first thought that comes to your mind is not good. 

The house that stands in front of you looks just shy of completely mangled. The door has been ripped off its hinges, splintered into a thousand pieces. Outside, the flower box holds crushed shrubbery and chrysanthemums and the roof drain pipe is half way from completely falling off. 

You take a few measured steps forward and notice the mailbox is overflowing with mail. You sigh, roll your eyes, and continue towards the house.

Stepping through the door, you’re met with piles of splintered wood, and as you try to watch your footing, your eyes lock onto something familiar. Your heart lurches when your fingers touch it. The Triple Goddess pendant was all too familiar. You had known Agatha for over 300 years and she never once went anywhere without it.

You slip your nail beneath the clasp of the pendant. Inside is another familiar sight and you smile bitterly at the piece of dark hair before closing it again and dropping it in your pocket.

You can't see her, but Agatha’s voice is clear and distinct, and your chest warms hearing it for the first time in decades.

“Fine, I’m driving.”

There’s no chance of reacting when she rounds the corner as soon as the words escape her mouth.

You’re both frozen, staring each other down, and the kid behind her looks between yourself and Agatha.

“Hi,” he smiles, attempting to hop towards you. When he makes eye contact, something feels off about him. You recognize every single soul that walks the Earth. You create them from nothing, yet form them into everything. But this one, you don’t recognize. 

“I’m–” His mouth is forced shut and it looks almost as if his own skin is stretched over his lips. When a black squiggle paints itself over where his lips would be, you narrow your eyes at him.

Agatha reaches for a pair of scissors and cuts the rope from around the boy’s wrists, handing them to him, “Cut the rest of yourself free,” she sneers, “and go outside, you’re driving.”

He struggles to hop between the two of you, stumbling briefly on the wood chips, but managing to catch himself before he leaves for the grassy front yard. 

“He has a sigil,” you point out, watching him carefully.

“Yep. I’ve been calling him ‘Teen’,” she says. “He’s pretty insistent on not being a kid.” 

You turn your head to look back at her. “Rio said she ‘stopped by’.” You pause and look around at all the damage in the house–broken glass and china in the kitchen and more concerningly, blood on the floor. “It seems she left out some parts of her story.”

Agatha purses her lips, “Like trying to kill me?”

“Oh, I’m sure you enjoyed that, Aggie,” you sigh, leaning against the wall. “You were never one to shy away from a fight.”

Agatha’s stiff and cold demeanor didn’t falter, even at the nickname. “Why are you here?” she asks.

She’s so different from the Agatha you originally knew. The Agatha that would laugh at the stupidest jokes you’d tell her. The Agatha that would climb up a tree to scare you and Rio and laugh with that mischievous glint in her eye. The Agatha that would sing lullabies. 

Oh, how you miss the Sun.

“Just checking in,” you shrug. “Where are you driving to?”

“The last time I saw you–”

“You told me I’m too pure,” you butt in, remembering the memory that you aren’t too fond of. “You told me that I’d be corrupted by your ways if I did not leave. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you that night, Aggie–Unlike Rio, I can find any soul, anywhere, at any time without her necessary process. No amount of dark magic can hide you from me, Agatha, and you cannot corrupt me. You cannot corrupt Life.”

She’s quiet for some before she glances at Teen, who sits on the grass, clearly distracted by his phone. Agatha leans in closely, lowering her voice, “We’re walking the Road.”

You pull back, searching her eyes for any sign of farce, “You said you would stop with the Road bullshit, Agatha. What is he, sixteen?”

“Well that was before Wanda Maximoff drained me of everything and stole the Darkhold…besides, I’m just having him drive me around collecting witches for the coven,” she shrugs. Agatha grins as she watches you sigh, “Why don’t you join us, hon?”

“Excuse me?”

Agatha takes a pair of sunglasses and cleans them off with her shawl before slipping them over her eyes and smiling at you. “You’ll be here with Rio to collect their souls after I drain them anyway. Why don’t you have a bit of fun?”

You want to say no. You want to say no so badly, but you don’t. Instead, you groan. “Fine, but I’m not having that kid drive me around. I’ll stay here and…clean up.”

“Sounds good, doll,” she smiles–and, oh, how you love when she smiles, especially when it has that mischievous undertone. Agatha steps over pieces of the door and exits through the doorway. “We’ll be back soon!”

When the pair of them leave you’re left to your own devices. You look around the entire first floor, ending in the kitchen. You let out an exasperated sigh, Rio really did a number on this place.

By the time you finish cleaning the house, it’s three o’clock and Agatha and Teen still aren’t back. You aren’t usually the type to snoop around but you’re so curious as to how Agatha’s been living the last few years.

In the room off the left of the foyer is the sitting room Agatha came out of. Afternoon light creeps in through the curtains but the lamps provide a warm ambience as you take a lap around the room. 

You don’t recognize a single person in the framed pictures–there’s a bearded man with an older woman who looks to be his mother, a picture of three women, and a bigger picture with a huge group of people all wearing shirts that read “Bohner Family Reunion”. 

There are collections of records and Blu-Ray discs from the previous owner and you rifle through them–a colossal amount of classic rock and movies that you know a guy would try to man-splain to you when you tell him that you “just don’t get it”. 

On the partition wall separating the sitting room from the dining room, there are at least thirty pictures and pieces of paper covered in red ink. Upon further inspection, the pictures are nothing but daisies and patches of grass, and the ink on the papers are just random letters and scribbled lines. You think back to your conversation with Rio the previous night.

“She’s gone all true crime and thinks she’s trying to solve a murder. It’s kind of funny actually, I’ve been playing along.”

When you go upstairs that’s when you see the little touches of the real Agatha. The door to her bedroom is open and you amble in. Her bed is unmade and you’re not one bit surprised after having asked her decades ago why she doesn’t make it. 

“I’m gonna be sleeping in it again tonight, why the hell would I go through all that effort just to mess it up again?” she had replied.

On her nightstand is a ceramic bunny figurine. Closer to the bed is an empty wine glass with the smallest bit of dried red at the bottom, and beside that is a bottle of ibuprofen and a half-way read through book.

In her closet are all different decades of clothing–50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and the 2000’s. You find leg warmers and laugh to yourself, imagining Agatha Harkness wearing these brightly colored monstrosities over whatever workout fit she was wearing. Your favorite, however, is the 50’s and 60’s section. You can remember those years so vividly, going to diners with her and drive-in movies after she finished “walking the Road” again.

After closing the closet your attention is pulled to a chair across the room. You walk over to it and see there’s a pair of black boots, a folded white blouse with purple slacks, and a teal trench coat hanging over the back of the chair. On top of the neatly folded blouse is a small envelope with Rio’s familiar handwriting, reading, Agatha.

The sound of Agatha’s voice reaches your ears. You look at the clock and it’s almost four. You’re able to hear her voice clearly, snapping back a snarky remark when Teen asks her where she’s going. 

She’s in the doorway of her room quicker than you realize and when you turn around she has that sly smile that makes you weak in the knees each time. 

“The house looks good,” Agatha says, tossing her shawl and hat on the bed. 

“Thanks, who did you steal it from?” you tease.

“I don’t know,” she huffs. “Some guy named Ralph…or Randall? Robert? I don’t know. I–What the hell is that?” 

She walks quickly over to where you are and snatches the note from the folded clothes. After tearing it open, she scans the lines and rolls her eyes, balling the paper up and throwing it away in the bathroom.

“She does know your style!” you chuckle. You take the clothes from the chair and bring them to her, smiling softly when she glares at them. “Just put them on, Aggie. You want to look good when “walking the Witches’ Road”, don’t you?”

She looks at you, fighting herself before sighing, completely defeated. “Fine. But I’m not going to like it.”

“I don’t expect you to,” you smile, chuckling as she shuts the door in your face.

You have to remind yourself to breathe when Agatha steps out of the bathroom. She could wear a potato sack, a garbage bag, and she’d still be the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

“Right,” she huffs, looking at herself in a full length mirror. “How do I look?”

You could answer in a million ways. You could tell her that the way she has her hair pinned up makes you want to place a thousand kisses over the exposed skin. You could tell her that she looks so good you want to rip the blouse she’s wearing open and have her take you right there. That the way her hands adjust the collar of the jacket makes unspeakable thoughts fill your mind.

But you don’t say that.

“Good!” you say. 

She looks at you through the mirror, grins, and turns around. “Good?”

“Amazing!” you correct yourself.

“Amazing?” she repeats. “Hm…Thank you.”

You take a deep breath and let it out. “You’re missing something, though.” 

Under the curious eye of Agatha, you step closer to her and reach into your pocket. When you grasp the pendant of the necklace and pull it out she visibly tenses. But you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you move closer and reach around her neck, clasping it in place and adjusting it to lay beneath the collar of her blouse. Your fingers straighten out the pendant before pulling away. 

It’s quiet. 

Your eyes meet and you can see something in her soften. 

“Where did you find it?” Agatha asks quietly.

“Amidst the pile of door that Rio left behind,” you answer, letting out a quiet hum. “You’re not you without it and I know how much it means to you.”

“Is his–”

“Yes,” you cut in. “It’s still in there.”

She gives you a subtle nod. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, and you can almost swear you saw her eyes glance down at your lips. “You should probably get downstairs. Who knows what Teen is getting up to?”

Agatha scoffs, “Not much probably. Teenagers these days are too soft.”

Downstairs, you see Teen, who has set out what he calls “Pre-Road appetizers”. Over the mantel, he’s taped up a sign that reads “Welcome Coven”.

“I think it’s cute,” you shrug, watching as Agatha tears it down and huffs.

“No, leave it up,” a voice behind you says. “Really sets the mood.”

Teen breaks out into a smile and beckons her in. “Please, come in! Right, Agatha?”

“I don’t care, I mean whatever…” she mutters. Agatha seems mildly annoyed at this situation and you’re finding it hard to reserve a smile.

When Teen offers the new witch a “pre-Road appetizer”, she declines just to be overshadowed by another woman behind her.

“I don’t mind a lapsed expiration date,” she chirps, taking a bite of the expired granola bar. She pauses as she looks at the witch beside her, “High Priestess.”

“Jennifer Kale, potions,” she says.

“Lilia Calderu, divination,” the second one says. She narrows her eyes. “You’re bound.”

“And you need a chemical peel,” Jen retorts, much to Lilia’s dismay.

Behind them, a third woman appears and sighs. “This is never going to work. Your front door is missing.”

“Alice!” Teen exclaims with a bright smile. “How did you find us?”

“I’m an ex-cop,” she shrugs. “That’s gonna be my answer to a lot of questions.”

Impatient, and completely over the introductions, Agatha sighs loudly and claps her hands. “Okay!” she chirps. “We’ve got everyone! Let’s go!”

“Um, what about the green witch?” Jennifer asks.

Agatha scoffs. “Oh, we don’t need one of those! Let’s g–”

“Yes, we do!” Lilia insists.

“Green magic is arguably the most important of the skill sets needed for the road,” Jen says.

After more bickering, Agatha finally relents and leaves the house to retrieve the “green witch”. An awkward silence falls over the room as you all wait for her to come back, and it felt longer than it actually was.

“Okay!” Agatha cheers. “I’ve got our green witch! This is Mrs. Hart.”

A small woman stands beside Agatha, smiling as she greets everyone. “Oh, actually, it’s Sharon!”

You can see Agatha becoming visibly frustrated at the revelry, but she hides it (and not well) with an overly cheery smile. “Alright, let’s go!”

You and Agatha stand together with Teen in between you. You watch as the coven takes in their surroundings. Lilia strolls around, nosing around in the boxes on the shelves while Sharon, Jennifer, and Alice stand there awkwardly.

“Do you think we’ll need another car?” Teen asks. “I don’t think everyone will fit in mine.”

Agatha sighs, “You don’t drive to the Road, Teen. The Road is conjured. In fact, why don’t you go upstairs.” She turns him around and despite his protests, keeps pushing him toward the stairs. “Yeah, let’s getcha up there. Let the adults handle this.”

When he leaves the basement, Agatha turns to you, “Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t come down here.”

The sun is almost completely set when you and Teen make it upstairs. The dim lighting leaves an eerie glow around the house and it’s almost unsettling as you watch Teen explore the living room. When he gasps and picks up Agatha’s rabbit, there’s a twinge in your chest and it feels like you’re seeing Nicky for the first time again.

But your thoughts are interrupted when Teen drops the rabbit and slowly walks outside. You follow closely behind him, “What are y–shit.” 

Agatha had made sure your priority was keeping him from going back down into the basement, but that priority had changed. Now, as you stare face to face with the Salem Seven, your priority has changed: protect Teen and make sure they never reach Agatha.

You pull Teen back, “Get inside, now!” 

You can hear the faint sound of the ballad below the floorboards as you cast a protection spell over the vacant doorway in an attempt to hold them off. Teen pulls the nearest couch over and blocks the entrance. He moves to another room and it’s quiet–and you know that means nothing good. 

Teen’s scream from the other room makes you react before you can even think. You run to him, pulling him behind you just before one of the Seven can reach him. You cast another spell, sending one of them flying into the wall before you turn and run to find Teen.

You can hear shouting below you and just like that, it stops. You know what that means. This wasn’t the first time you’ve witnessed it. 

Teen’s screaming echoes through the house and you can hear him running towards the basement. “Agatha!” he shrieks. “Agatha!”

You run after him, just on his tail as he makes it to the basement. “Teen! Wait!”

“Is this the Road?” you hear him shout. “Is this the Road, because we should really get going!”

And now you’re nothing but confused. 

Is this the Road? 

The Road? “The Road” should be three dead witches and Agatha’s neighbor.

And then you reach the bottom of the stairs. 

You pause and stare at Agatha. The air feels electric and the very thought of the Salem Seven leaves your mind, because when you look up from the hexagon door, your eyes meet and you both share the same questions:

Where did that come from? And why is it here?

[alwaysthebiggerbear]

Somewhere Close To Me - 1: Emergence - Beau Arlen x Female Reader

Story Summary: Cassie knows Jenny has feelings for Beau, but she's almost certain his attentions are engaged elsewhere. ~ The story of you and Beau told through the eyes of Helena's favorite leading ladies. Chapter Summary: Cassie is trying to ascertain if movie night is still on but Beau seems a bit distracted.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Deputy Sheriff!Female!Reader; Beau Arlen x Female!Reader

Series Masterlist A/N: Something I wrote a long time time ago (back in '23 or somewhere around there) but never finished. I recently came back to it and decided to see it through. Warnings: none Word Count: 2126 dividers by @firefly-graphics

“So, are you and Jenny going to have another movie night tonight?” Cassie asked.

Beau shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. Not really the same without you, you know?”

The woman smiled and shrugged. “Cormac really wants me to hear his friend’s band play and I promised him I’d go tonight.” That and she knew Jenny was wanting some time alone with Beau. Cassie knew the blonde had feelings for their friend, though she wasn’t so sure the man returned those feelings. Beau had always been a bit hard to read when it came to the subject of women.

He went to answer her when something caught his eye over her shoulder, immediately claiming his attention. Her brows furrowed and she turned to see what had him so captivated.

Cassie watched as you made your way into the squad room, folder in hand. “Pops, you got that file I asked you to find?” Well, Beau had always been hard to read until you came along that is.

Poppernak nodded in response, holding it up for you to take. You plopped your file down on his desk and grabbed the one he was offering. 

“Thanks.”

“Yep.”

You immediately began rifling through the papers inside, reading something on a page, your brows lifting. “Gotcha,” you muttered.

“Got something?” Beau asked. 

“I think so.” You shut the folder and tossed it onto Poppernak’s desk. “Feel like taking a ride, Pops?”

Poppernak went to answer you when Beau spoke up, clearing his throat. “I can. I can ride with you. If Popcorn is busy, I mean.”

Poppernak studied Beau’s expression before turning back to you. “Uh, yeah. I mean, the sheriff can go with you if that’s okay. I have a lot to do here, so…” He gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“Are you sure?” You asked Beau directly. “I don’t want to interrupt.” You then turned a smile on Cassie. “Hey, Cass.”

“Hey,” Cassie greeted you back just as warmly. She liked you and she loved that Beau had yet another woman to keep him on his toes and his cheekiness in line. On the other hand, Jenny feeling the same way about your recent emergence in Beau’s life…not so much. 

Beau straightened up from leaning against the counter as if it had been on fire, and placed his coffee mug down. “Nope, all good here. Right, Cass?” He didn’t even wait for Cassie’s response before grabbing his hat from next to him. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

You scrunched up your nose. “I have to ride in that bucket of bolts again?”

“Hey! Be nice to Pedro. He’s carted me everywhere I needed to go for the last some odd years.”

“I know,” you groaned. “Don’t remind me. I remember melting into a puddle on the floor back in Houston when you made me ride around in that thing with no A/C and it was one of the hottest days of the year.”

“And you survived, didn’t you? Pedro may be an older model but he’s reliable. You got something against older, reliable cars, darlin’?”

Cassie exchanged a quick glance with Poppernak. The latter immediately dropped his gaze to his paperwork, hiding an amused smile, and the former bit her lip, trying to do the same. Not only had Beau just called you darlin’ like you professed to hate, but Cassie got the distinct feeling that Beau wasn’t just talking about Pedro in that last question.

You flashed Beau a bright smile, obviously choosing to ignore the darlin’ this time around. “Not at all. I just like to be comfortable. Meaning I don’t want to be bordering on heatstroke every time we go for a ride.”

Beau chuckled and slipped his hat on his head. “I doubt you’ll run the risk of that happening up here but fair enough. You want to drive then?”

Cassie’s eyes widened in shock. When Beau wanted to take Pedro, he drove. He never ever let anyone talk him out of it — not you, not Jenny, not even Emily. 

“Nah, I just like to give you hell every now and then. Keeps you from getting a bigger head than you already have, Sheriff.”

Beau smirked at you and looked like he was about to say something smart in reply, but then appeared to have thought better of it. “Well, if you’re done being a thorn in my side, why don’t we head on out?”

“You love it,” you teased, grabbing your jacket from the back of your chair.

Cassie watched as Beau’s gaze briefly dropped to the floor, a small smile on his face, before schooling his features as you turned back to him. He cleared his throat. “You got an address?”

“You have any idea who you’re talking to? Of course, I have an address. Now, let’s go. Bye, Cass. Pops.” Cassie gave you a wave as you spun on your heel and made your way out of the station.

Beau shook his head, chuckling, and went to follow you when Cassie stopped him.

“Hey, real quick before you go. Should I tell Jenny movie night is still on for tonight or no?”

Beau’s eyes were on you, watching as one of the attractive (and younger) male deputies stopped you and began talking you up. “Uh, yeah,” he said distractedly.

“So movie night is still definitely on?”

“What?” Beau’s gaze flashed to hers, brows furrowing, before turning back to you. “Sorry, I meant no. We’ll wait ‘till you’re free.” You laughed at something the deputy said and his jaw tightened slightly. “Sorry, Cass, gotta go. You have yourself a nice time with Cormac, you hear?” He clapped Poppernak’s shoulder on the way out. “Popcorn.”

He approached you and the deputy, and the PI watched as he told the younger man you both had to run down a lead, and he ushered you out the door before anything else could be said between you.

Cassie sighed and shook her head. Jenny was bound for more disappointment. As far as she knew, the blonde was expecting a movie night with just her and Beau due to the date happening with Cormac later that evening. But had Jenny just witnessed the little exchange between you and Beau, the little smile Beau had when you weren’t looking, the way his eyes never left you once you walked into the room, she would have known right then why tonight’s planned movie night wasn’t happening despite Cassie’s absence. 

Cassie wasn’t entirely sure what the story was with you and Beau other than what he’d told her, but it was more than obvious that Jenny was bound to get her heart broken unless she made a move to finally let Beau know how she felt. Not that she hadn’t been giving him every signal she could to let him know she was interested, as she’d told Cassie, but Beau was so hard to read. Sometimes he’d open up to Jenny, and then sometimes he’d shut down and she’d be closed right back out again. Cassie never had that problem in her own friendship with Beau, but then again, they were never going to be anything more than friends. That had been apparent since the get go, even before Cormac came into the picture.

Saying a quiet goodbye to Poppernak, Cassie made her way out to the parking lot herself. She truly felt bad for Jenny, knowing how deep her best friend’s feelings ran though she never voiced it. It certainly explained her overt hostility towards you since your arrival, though you didn’t seem bothered by it one bit. If anything, you seemed amused.

As she backed her truck out of its parking spot, Cassie got the distinct feeling that things were going to come to a head, and soon. Especially, if Jenny ended up witnessing something similar to what she and Poppernak had just seen. Madge, Cormac, Denise, the department, the whole town even could see that the sheriff had a soft spot for you. If Jenny didn’t make a move soon, Cassie was pretty sure that Beau would and it wouldn’t be what her former partner had been hoping for all of this time.

“Alright, so we take another run at the mother and I think…Beau?” Jenny waved a hand in front of the sheriff’s face.

His green eyes flashed up to meet her blue ones. “Sorry. Repeat that?”

Jenny shut the folder in her hands and gave him a smile. “What has you so distracted?”

He grabbed his football and Jenny immediately knew something was bothering him. “I’m not distracted. I’m just…wondering about some things.”

The blonde rolled her eyes in amusement and sat down on the edge of his desk, facing him. “Wondering about what things?”

He didn’t meet her eyes and tossed the ball from hand to hand. “Well, let’s say an employee, a female employee that is, she’s doing really well at her job and her boss, who happens to be a man, wanted to get her something to show his appreciation. Like say…flowers. Is that too inappropriate, do you think? Or would it maybe make her uncomfortable? Plus, people talk. Would they get the wrong idea and would that make her uneasy?” He mumbled the last part, the expression on his face morphing into deep concern.

Jenny’s brows furrowed. “You want to get her flowers?”

“I didn’t say it was me,” Beau rushed out, his gaze snapping to hers. “It was a hypothetical.” She could see the faint tinge of pink in the tips of his ears as he quickly looked away, squeezing the football. 

A faint smile started to form on Jenny’s face but she bit her lip to keep it from spreading. “Depends. Is this boss and his employee already friends?”

He squeezed the football harder. “Maybe. What does that matter?”

She shrugged. “Because it could help keep her from getting the wrong impression.” 

Beau seemed to think on that for a second, slowly nodding his agreement. “Yeah.”

Jenny was just about to ask who the hypothetical was really about when he placed the football down on his desk and turned in his chair to face her, the concern back in his gaze. “What if she’s the type that doesn’t like getting flowers, though? What if they’ve always symbolized something bad for her in the past?”  

That was…oddly specific. “How could she think it’s something bad if it’s for appreciation of her doing her job well and it’s her favorite flower?”

A smile began to take shape on his handsome face. “Good point. Thanks, Hoyt.” He then seemed to realize something. “Oh hey, what’s your favorite flower, by the way? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.”

Jenny’s heart started to pound in her chest. If he was asking her and this boss wanted to show his employee appreciation but was worried about it being appropriate and what the impressions would be then was he… No, he couldn’t be talking about her, could he?

She gave him a warm smile. “Roses.”

“Of course, I should’ve pegged you for a roses type of girl,” he chuckled. “How many bouquets of those have you gotten as an apology over the years?”

“Not nearly enough,” she quipped.

Beau laughed and the infectious sound made her chest feel a little lighter. “Well, next time you have a date, I’ll make sure to pass that on to the lucky guy.” He gave her a bright grin.

She dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “You make sure that you do.” She hoped it was implied that she very much hoped that the next date she went on would be with him. Beau chuckled under his breath and shook his finger in her direction before getting to his feet.

“So, you want to take another run at the mom you said?”

Jenny made sure to smoothly stand up, laying her hands flat on his desk and leaning forward slightly, an encouraging smile lighting up her features. It didn’t hurt that this position helped her cleavage to show a little more. “I did.”

Beau gave a nod and grabbed his jacket. “Alright, let’s go.” He led a smirking Jenny out the door, who later watched as he excused himself to make a call. When she overheard him asking about different sizes of bouquets, she was more than confident that come tomorrow, a vase would be sitting on her desk. She decided right then and there that once she received the flowers, she’d finally take the bull by the horns and make a move. 

Jenny couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. Her patience and consideration of Beau in not trying to spook him or rush him into anything was about to finally pay off.

A/N: Part 2 coming soon...

[mormshaw]

I HAVE to address this MHA leak. This is getting out of hand. I think you guys may actually like this chapter if you pause and take a deep breath.

First, I rarely post about this kind of thing as I hate getting caught up in fandom drama- very few things take the enjoyment out of something quicker than people being pissy to each other (and to creators) because something didn’t go how you imagine.

BUT.

I need to say a few words in the defence of this new chapter, and I think there are a lot of really positive things going on that can be chalked up to character GROWTH and not character ASSASSINATION as everyone has been yelling about. Things that actually really tie up three really great characters in healthy ways, and in ways that also highlight the themes of moving forward and reaching out hands that the author has been pushing. I’m not going to address Ochaco’s growth here, which is also good, but I need to discuss the Baku-Deku stuff.

I’d like to preface all of the following with one important thing: when I read and watched MHA I never once incorporated SHIPPING into my enjoyment of these characters. It wasn’t the part of the text I was interested in. Did I think there were some cute moments between Izuku and Ochaco? Yep. But that’s about as far as it went for me. I also fully expected from day one that they would end up together because that’s how these kinds of stories in this genre go. I will also say that the character dynamics and growth between Izuku and Bakugo was something that is generally well done and a key aspect of why both those characters are so enjoyable for me-one of my favourite parts.

So, when I read these leaks, I actually found a bunch that I think tied up these characters really well.

I’m going to start with the big elephant-in-the-room one that everyone has been freaking out over. The: “Izuku would never turn down an offer to work in an agency with Bakugo that’s just so not him and he’s awful and I’ll never forgive him” thing that I just can’t…understand why people are angry about. This is a GOOD thing.

One of the things I actually sort of critical about in the INITIAL ending was that Izuku seemed like he still wasn’t putting himself first. One of the things that especially Bakugo KNEW to be the case about Izuku was he “never thinks of himself” and how self-destructive that was. We saw it time and time again- he was always sacrificing things for other people: his health, his time, even his QUIRK were sacrificed for OTHERS. He never put his own self-interest FIRST. He grew in strength, he grew and matured as a HERO, but part of saving people means also knowing how to save yourself.

The initial epilogue had this air of ‘he’s sacrificed something and he’s incomplete due to that’. Others (Bakugo and class 1-A) stepped up to help him fill that hole with the suit, and that thematically worked, but there was still a gap there for Izuku’s growth. I think this chapter completes his arc in the best possible way. Izuku did something purely for himself. He LEARNED that last lesson he needed to learn. AND he did it by ALSO helping Bakugo learn a lesson too.

Bakugo offers, in sort of a round about way, for Izuku to join his agency as a sidekick. He’s turned down other sidekicks because they thought he was amazing and wanted to be in his shadow. He wanted a sidekick that would say they would ‘surpass’ him. For Bakugo that has always been what he admired (and sometimes resented) about Izuku- Izuku wasn’t afraid to say that he would push himself to be better than Bakugo, and in doing so they both made themselves stronger.

But I’d argue that this rivalry was an endless cycle for both of these characters- not an opportunity for them to change how they saw each other. Izuku would surpass Bakugo and Bakugo would work to surpass Izuku on and on for eternity. Bakugo even mentions this in the hospital- that he hoped they would get to compete with each other “for the rest of their lives”. BUT that would also mean they would NEVER be more than rivals to each other.

When Izuku turns down Bakugo’s offer to be his sidekick, Izuku ISN’T saying “no, I don’t value you or what you did for me with the suit”. He’s saying, “I know what you did for me and I’m thankful for you, but I have to make my own choices separate from you.” Izuku is NOT Bakugo’s sidekick, or vice versa. They are adults that should have their own separate goals and lives. And, in a way, he’s also telling Bakugo, “you are your OWN person. You don’t need ME to be stronger. Keep pushing yourself forward on your OWN terms.”

And that’s the thing about Bakugo- from day one his growth has been DEFINED by Izuku. He’s pushed himself forward almost entirely because of how he sees Izuku, as a rival and, in some cases, as someone who he has to constantly try to live up to. That isn’t particularly HEALTHY. Bakugo sacrificed his LIFE to “catch up to Izuku.” Like, great acknowledgement of Izuku’s ability and moving on from being a bully, but not a physically healthy thing to do. There were a couple things about the initial epilogue that made me a little edgy because while Bakugo grieved the loss of OFA almost more than Izuku did (which was growth, and interesting growth), then worked tirelessly to get Izuku the suit, he did it because he wanted Izuku to keep being his RIVAL.

When Izuku turned down the offer to be his sidekick, but in the same scene also says he can’t wait to work as a hero again with his friends and see Bakugo MORE OFTEN as a guest lecturer in his Hero classes (which like, I don’t see why people are pissed about since that’s literally one of the biggest fanfic ideas people have been writing about since chapter 430 dropped), it actually shows how much more GROWN UP these two ARE. Izuku is acknowledging Bakugo as not only an EQUAL (not someone to chase after), but also a FRIEND. Someone he looks forward to seeing and working with. In fact, Bakugo saying “see you” isn’t a goodbye. It’s a PROMISE.

The panels of Izuku walking away are actual true character growth for BOTH of them. Izuku putting himself and his choices first, and Bakugo, for the first actual time in the ENTIRE SERIES feels like he doesn’t have to chase after Izuku. He can let themselves walk their own paths!

And, because the writing is actually better than you guys are giving it credit for, this choice actually does give them opportunity to still compete because Izuku will be on the chart now as an independent agent (because remember he’s not rejecting the suit and hero work, he’s incorporating hero work into a teaching career he’s ALSO grown to love and is good at). So now, as Izuku starts climbing the charts on his own (which he will because it’s Izuku we’re talking about), they can still push each other forward ANYWAY so like…that’s a GOOD thing. It’s like having your cake and eating it too, for BOTH of them.

Take off the shipper hats for a moment. And really LOOK at this scene. Is it kind of sad they won’t work together every day? Maybe. Does it mean they are growing apart and will never see each other? NO. They are closer than ever because now they are EQUALS and FRIENDS- neither is ahead of the other.

[hansrkive]

THE WOMEN OF HANNAM-DONG (C.SC — 18+)

CHAPTER 2 — AN HEIR TO A THRONE

The neighborhood of Hannam-dong, or as tourists would call, "the land of the rich", is a place where you can visit and relax. You would think, a small neighborhood like Hannam-dong wouldn't hoard any dark secrets. That everyone that lives there were innocent. Well you're wrong. In this small neighborhood, everyone knows everyone. If you think your secret is safe, you're wrong. They'll find out, whether you like it or not.

THIS BOOK HAS MULTIPLE CHAPTERS WITH THE POSSIBILITY OF IT BECOMING A SERIES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

౨ৎ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x song hyeri (afab!oc)

౨ৎ GENRE: angst, thriller, and murder-mystery.

౨ৎ TAGS: mentions of death, murder, gossip, blood, cursing, and more.

౨ৎ NOTES: check “the women of hannam-dong” masterlist here!

౨ৎ HYPERLINKS: pinned post, ko-fi, seventeen’s master-list, seungcheol’s master-list, and the women of hannam-dong chapter list.

౨ৎ WORDCOUNT: 1.06k for chapter 2.

“So, Hye-ri, how’s your work?” My cousin, Hong-seok, asked out of the blue. Making me turn my attention to him.

“It’s good. It pays the bills.” I said. It’s not good, Hong-seok. I hate my job.

“That’s good, you know. You’re doing what you really love.” He spoke. As if I would believe that he’s being sincere.

I simply nodded. After the brief interaction I had with Hong-seok, he immediately went on and on about his hobby. A hobby that is famous among old, weird, heterosexual men. Shooting. It was the straightest thing I have ever heard. For decades, the men in my family (except Jin-young, who said that shooting as a hobby was for boring old men) would always go to the town’s shooting range every Sunday. They either shoot cans or, if cans aren’t available, they shoot birds. Which is the most gruesome thing someone could do. So as the conversation took a turn, I looked at my mom and smiled. 

“How are you?” I asked, my gaze fixed on her.

“I’m fine, darling.” She smiled. I knew it was fake. My mother was never fine. But I nodded. Pretending that I didn’t know that she was faking everything.

“How’s Dad?” I asked, looking at my father, who was having a serious conversation with my Uncle Jae-dok.

“He’s still the same, my darling.” She said, forcing a smile as she looked at my father. “How about you? Are you in a relationship right now?”

God, that fucking sentence. A sentence I tried to avoid for the past several years. Two boyfriends. I only had two boyfriends since high school. The first one was Il-sung. He was that emo kid in our school. Then the second one was Nam-jun. He’s the guy you would a call a dumb jock. Other than those two, I never had the time to seek love or even flirt.

“I’m single, mom.” I chuckled. As I left my mother’s gaze, I quickly saw Seung-cheol’s eyes fixed on me. “Is there any problem with that?” I asked, the cow dying a second time as I roughly sliced it.

“Nothing,” he laughed. “I was just wondering why a beautiful woman like you is single.”

Are we in the 1970s? Last time I checked, it was 2023. “Did I hear that right?” I gritted my teeth.

“It was just a joke.” Seung-cheol laughed again, but this time, his eyes were fixated on mine. “I heard you were managing a firm in Busan?” he asked.

“Yep,” I say quietly. “It’s just a small one.”

As everyone at the dinner table conversed with one another, it felt like Seung-cheol and I were alone, just the two of us at this big table. My mother, who immediately noticed that my focus was solely on Seung-cheol, smiled and took it as a cue to talk to someone else. “What about you?”

“I freelance,” he said coolly. “Sometimes I work at my family’s business, sometimes I don’t.”

“Everyone, I’d like to thank each and every one of you who came here tonight. My children, grandchildren, and our closest neighbors.” My grandmother stood up and spoke, breaking Seung-cheol and I’s conversation. “As you all know, my husband and I are slowly retiring. We both want to enjoy our lives.”

“Do you think mother will finally do it?” Aunt Ha-neul whispered to my mom, a worried look washed over her face.

“I don’t think so,” my mother replied. “She’s too weak.”

The crowd went silent, listening intently to what my grandmother had to say. “That’s why over the next few months, you’ll see a new person in charge of every business we have. My children are not the only ones in the running — my grandchildren as well.”

“What?” Uncle Dae-won yelled, surprising everyone. “I can’t believe this. I worked hard to get that position, and you’re telling someone in their 20s can snatch that from me?”

As Uncle Dae-won stood up, my grandfather, who was trying to keep his cool, also slowly stood up. “I’m sorry to our guests, but if you’re not a part of this family, the helpers will escort you out.”

“I guess we’ll have to continue our conversation another time,” Seung-cheol smirked as he left the table, not waiting for a response.

After non-family members left, Uncle Dae-won and his siblings all yelled at each other, clearly angry at what my grandmother had said. My grandfather tried to calm everyone down, but failed miserably. Everyone aged 40 and up stayed at the dining table. I, on the other hand, left quickly and took my old sedan for a spin. As I stopped at a nearby coffee shop, I gently turned off the car and lit a cigarette to ease the nerves.

Smoke quickly filled up my car as the raindrops lightly tapped the glass in front of me. I tried opening the window, but much to my dismay, it was stuck. “Fucking hell,” I whispered, the cigarette hanging loosely from my mouth.

“Excuse me, this parking space is for paying customers only.” A staff member knocked on the glass. “Are you going inside to buy?” he asked politely, to which I replied with a simple ‘no.’ Embarrassed at the fact that I just got told off, I quickly turned on the engine and left.

“Where do I fucking go now?” I whispered. As much as I want to go back home, it’s probably a bloodbath there by now. My uncles are having a pissing contest on who should be the new chairman while their wives try to stop them from having a stroke or something that could kill them. “Hey Siri, call Ho-sook.”

“Hello?” Ho-sook spoke.

“Hey, it’s Hye-ri.”

“Oh, hey, unnie,” they laughed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at home to welcome you. I had to finish up some work.”

“It’s fine. Just be happy you weren’t there.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Halmeoni announced that she and Halbeoji are retiring.”

“Are you serious?”

I laughed, trying to suppress any more unsolicited information. “Yup. Be home by tomorrow and I’ll tell you all the details.”

“I’ll try, unnie,” Ho-sook said. “Mom said the neighbors were also there. That’s awkward if it’s true.”

“Yeah, the Choi family was there.”

“Oh, so you’ve met Seung-cheol, then.”

“You know him?”

“He introduced Yu-na to me,” Ho-sook said. “And who doesn’t know the infamous Seung-cheol?”

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems

Chapter 4. How Did It End?

Lionel/Reader

Summary: In 1989, an argument breaks out at Sinclair's wedding; in 1971, Lionel and Sinclair move to Cambridge to start university.

Word Count: 14.2k

cw: drug misuse (specifically cocaine), cheating

All chapters here!

Read on Ao3 or WattPad or the below the cut:

1989

You weren’t surprised to discover that Sinclair’s wedding was taking place at a vineyard. It seemed exactly the kind of unnecessarily extravagant place a rich person would hire out for a wedding.

You couldn’t help but wonder how much Natalie was contributing towards it. Between Helen’s millions and Sinclair’s millions, the Bryants had more than enough to fund the whole thing; you didn’t expect Natalie’s job as a secretary paid nearly as well.

The whole thing had Sinclair all over it. It was in a vineyard in France, because of course it was, and most of the guests, you discovered as you mingled, were people Sinclair knew. Relatives, co-workers, friends, friends of friends, partners of all the above. They all knew Sinclair somehow, and had either never met Natalie, or like you had met her only briefly in the shadow of Sinclair’s energy.

Not for the first time, you wondered what Sinclair saw in her. She seemed nice enough, and she was certainly pretty, but she wasn’t very interesting.

As you met more and more of Sinclair’s friends, you began to feel out of place, not because you weren’t rich - he had plenty of normal friends - but because you weren’t married. Sinclair’s last minute invitation had included a plus one, but you’d come alone, and you were feeling it.

You wondered if maybe this was, at least in part, the reason Sinclair had proposed to Natalie after only six months: all his friends were married. You heard countless stories about Sinclair being a groomsman; at 36, he was probably feeling like he was missing out by not being married. And Natalie, pretty and nice Natalie – she was good enough.

You hoped she really was good enough for him. Sinclair was one of the sweetest, funniest, kindest people you’d ever known, and you didn’t want him wasting his heart on someone he was settling for.

You certainly weren’t the only person who thought they were something of a mismatch. Numerous guests made comments about their strange pairing, and how quickly Sinclair had proposed.

“Has he had many girlfriends before her?” you asked one of Sinclair’s old university friends who’d introduced himself as Nigel. “I’m a bit out of touch, last one I knew about was Emily.”

“Emily!” Nigel exclaimed. “Now that’s a throwback. No, he’s had plenty since her. Poor thing, he was devastated by that one. Devastated by all of them, really, he throws his whole heart into every girlfriend he has.”

“I’m not surprised; he throws his whole heart into everything.”

Nigel nodded in agreement. “Aye, that he does. Right, let me think — so you knew Emily. That ended in third year — he was balls deep in his dissertation when she wanted him to be balls deep in her.”

He guffawed at his own joke.

“Oh, here’s the kicker though — two weeks they’d been broken up, he was still miserable of course, and she went and slept with his cousin.”

You choked on your drink.

“What, you mean Lionel?”

“Yep, nothing gets you over an ex like shagging his nearly identical cousin, I suppose. Well, after that was Clara. Then there was Laura, now Natalie. No, wait, there was Alex just before Clara. Anyway, I suppose this time he decided to lock Natalie down before anything went wrong.”

You grimaced. “That’s not really the reason to get married.”

Nigel shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Not everyone gets married for true love. Sometimes it’s enough love.”

The door to the ceremony room was opened then, and an usher announced that it was time to take your seats.

You’d been to a lot of weddings by now: like Sinclair, your friends around you were all getting married. And at every one, the ceremony room had had a groom’s side and a bride’s side. There was no such arrangement here: apart from the front rows reserved for family, anyone could sit anywhere.

You wondered if it was because there were very few, if any, guests for the bride’s side.

You decided to take a seat near the back. You didn’t know anyone, and you were a last-minute invite; you’d feel a bit of an imposter ingratiating yourself into the swarms of family and friends.

A figure appeared next to you, and although you were staring off into space, you just knew who it was.

Maybe you had a connection. Maybe you recognised his scent. Or maybe you just recognised the energy of a self-absorbed arsehole.

“Sinclair wants you to sit up front with the family,” Lionel said.

You reluctantly looked up at him.

Dammit. Why did he have to look so handsome in his three-piece suit?

You glanced up to the front of the room. Sinclair was hovering around the altar with his other groomsmen, but he caught your eye and waved you over with a grin.

“Alright, but he’s responsible if Georgina kills me.”

The corner of Lionel’s mouth twitched, as if he were trying not to smile.

“It’s been seventeen years, [Y/n]. She’s over it. Come on.”

You took a steadying breath, then followed Lionel up the aisle. Sinclair greeted you with a grin and a bear hug, as if seeing you at his wedding was the best thing that had happened all day.

“[Y/n], I’m so glad you made it! Here, you sit with Mum. Mum, you remember [Y/n], right?”

You turned to where Helen and Georgina were sitting, Georgina at the end of the row on account of her wheelchair, and a seat next to Helen left empty for you. They were both in their sixties now, but neither of them let that stop them looking absolutely amazing: they were both completely grey, and while Helen had cut her hair short, Georgina had styled hers into an elegant ‘do that had definitely taken hours.

If either of them held any resentment for you, they didn’t show it. Helen stood to greet you, and you found yourself pulled into another bear hug.

“Of course I remember you! I’m so glad you’re here, [Y/n]. I couldn’t tell you how excited Sinclair was when he told us you were coming. Come, sit, sit.”

She practically pulled you into your seat. The seat on the other side was empty, and you really hoped Sinclair wasn’t doing something stupid like putting you next to Lionel.

As Helen chatted away to you, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Lionel was standing with Sinclair, talking to him in hushed tones.

The three groomsmen were all dressed identically to Lionel, except that his pocket square was a different colour, denoting that he was the best man.

You smiled. Of course he was the best man. Who else would Sinclair have asked? He had more friends than you could count, but Lionel had always been his best friend.

To your relief, Lionel didn’t sit next to you; when the ceremony began, he took his seat across the aisle from Georgina. You ended up sat next to one of the other groomsmen instead.

Sinclair certainly seemed happy. But whether he was happy to be getting married to Natalie or just to be getting married at all, you weren’t too sure.

The wedding breakfast was, of course, extremely generous. Sinclair went all out on the food, and when he gave his speech, he used cue cards to stop himself going off on tangents, though you did see Lionel nudge him a few times to bring him back on track.

When finally the speeches were done and the food cleared away, it was time for the first dance.

Sinclair was very good at a lot of things, but dancing wasn’t one of them. They’d clearly rehearsed it, and you could see Sinclair’s brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on remembering the dance moves and not tripping over Natalie’s feet.

The song ended, and finally you were free of the formalities. You grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and practically ran outside, where several tables and chairs offered a reprieve and some ashtrays.

“Not sticking around to dance?” said a familiar voice as you took a much needed drag from your cigarette.

You turned and, sure enough, there he was.

“I’m not drunk enough yet,” you said shortly. “But I’m working on it.”

Lionel took an unoffered seat next to you. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers and looked at you.

“You know, if you’re going to be friends with Sinclair again, you’re going to have to talk to me at some point.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Lionel scoffed.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you expect me to say?”

“No, of course not,” Lionel said bitterly. “You had nothing to say that night either. No explanation, just… gone.”

You laughed. “I thought you were intelligent, Lionel. Did I need to explain myself?”

“After what you did to me? Yes! I gave you everything, [Y/n]! And I wanted to give you so much more! But you just… left. One word, that’s all you gave me. All our relationship came to was one bloody word. So, yes, a little explanation would have been welcome.”

You took a long drag from your cigarette and looked at him.

“Wow. All this time, I thought you knew. I thought it would be so easy for you to connect the dots. But you’re so fucking narcissistic, you probably don’t even realise you did wrong, do you?” You shrugged. “I’m surprised Sinclair didn’t spell it out for you.”

Lionel sighed and rubbed his temple, as if the conversation were giving him a migraine. “[Y/n]... I am not a man who asks for things. I take them. But I am asking you now to give me an explanation. Please.”

“Wow, the P-word. Did that hurt to say?”

Lionel slammed a fist on the table.

“Dammit, [Y/n]! I loved you! I fucking loved you and you didn’t even –”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me!”

There was a long pause as you stared one another down, both daring the other to break, but Lionel’s silence told you everything you needed to know.

You scoffed and sat back in your seat. “You’re not even trying to deny it,” you muttered as you put out your cigarette in the ashtray.

Lionel groaned and held his head in his hands.

“How the fuck did you know?”

“Sinclair’s not stupid. He knew something was up. You really thought you could have it all, didn’t you? You thought you could fuck around when he wasn’t there and he wouldn’t notice. You didn’t even try to be discreet, because why would there be consequences for your actions? And you’re such an egotistical arsehole that even now, after seventeen years, you still can’t figure out that you fucking around and my leaving you were connected!”

“Of course I thought about it, but I didn’t think you knew! I didn’t think Sinclair knew, much less that he’d tell you.”

“Of course he told me! He may be your cousin, but that doesn’t mean he’s anything like you. He has morals. He knew what you’d done and what you were planning, and he knew he had to tell me.”

“Fucking bastard,” Lionel cursed. “I’ll have him for this.”

“No, you bloody well won’t,” you said sharply, standing up as if to block his way. “None of this is his fault. You cheated on me. You broke my heart. And, yeah, maybe I should have spelled it out for you. I’m not squeaky clean in this. But Sinclair is, and this is his wedding, and you are not going to ruin it by blaming him for something that was entirely your fault.”

“We could have worked things out!” Lionel shouted. He was on his feet now too, towering over you, though you showed no sign of being intimidated by his height. “I knew it was wrong, so I stopped! I wanted this” - he gestured around him - “and everything that comes with it. I wanted to give you everything, to be loyal, to live with you and share my life with you. I realised that I couldn’t have it all, and so I chose you. I wanted to give you the world, I could have given you the world!”

“We don’t need anything from you, Lionel! Not your broken promises, not your money, nothing!”

He stared at you, brow furrowed. You shook your head, grabbed your drink, and stepped away from him as you took a long gulp of champagne.

Eventually, Lionel spoke.

“What do you mean, we?”

You turned back to him, frowning. “What?”

“You said, ‘We don’t need anything from you.’ Who’s we?”

“Me, I meant me – I. I don’t need anything from you.”

He approached you slowly, methodically, like – well, like a lion hunting its prey. You knew from the stern expression that you were fucked, and when you backed into the wall, you had nowhere to run.

“[Y/n]. I’m going to ask one last time. Who - is - ‘we’?”

“Me…”

“...And?”

You glanced away instinctively, but you steeled yourself and looked him in the eye.

“Our son.”

- - -

1971

After your Paris trip, you were hit with some serious post-holiday blues. Not only did you have to return to boring old England, but you missed being in a bubble with Lionel. You’d spent the entirety of Sunday in your hotel room, having sex and ordering room service, drinking and smoking, having sex again, and resting as much as you could before Lionel was ready to go again.

He hadn’t been exaggerating — he really was like a wild beast that had been unleashed. He’d been able to hold back before, when sex was just a fantasy, but now that he knew what it was really like, he couldn’t get enough.

And he was adventurous. He wanted to have sex on every surface possible. On the sofa, in the jacuzzi - which was a godsend when your muscles ached - and even, occasionally, in the bed.

You were, of course, very eager too. But he really seemed to be aiming for the fifty times a day that lions apparently shagged when they were in heat. And Lionel was definitely in heat.

“I’m going to buy my own private jet one day,” Lionel murmured to you on the plane home — first class, of course. “Then we can fuck in midair while I fly you around the world for romantic getaways. Where do you want to go next? I hear Italy’s very romantic.”

You went straight home after landing, as you knew your mum would worry if you didn’t, and on Tuesday you went back up to Windsor to see Lionel again.

“You should just move in, [Y/n],” Sinclair said as he greeted you with a bear hug, as if you’d been away for months, not days. “Lionel’s so grumpy when you’re not around. He mopes around like a lovesick puppy.”

“No, I don’t,” Lionel insisted. “Come on, [Y/n], let’s go upstairs —”

“Aww, c’mon, you guys just spent a whole weekend together, and you wanna run off for some privacy already? I’ve been so bored here on my own!”

Sinclair flopped down on a nearby armchair dramatically.

“And you want to leave me alone again!”

You laughed at his endearing antics.

“Alright, fine, let’s have some lunch first,” Lionel agreed reluctantly.

Sinclair cheered, whether for food or company or both, but he was too distracted by stuffing his face and telling you every thought he’d had since last week to notice that Lionel was getting very handsy with you on the sofa.

After pulling his hand away from roaming under your t-shirt for the third time, you made an excuse about needing the bathroom, and snuck away upstairs.

Lionel got the hint, and he followed you soon after.

“Christ, I thought he’d never let us go,” he growled as he tugged your t-shirt over your head. “I could have stuck my hand in your knickers and he wouldn’t get the hint.”

You giggled. Lionel pushed you backwards onto the bed and climbed on top of you, condom already in hand as he pulled your shorts down your legs.

“Those little booty shorts aren’t helping. All that thigh on display, just waiting for me to do this…”

He placed his hands on either thigh and pushed them apart, then growled with desire when he saw his prize.

You tried to be quiet, conscious that Lionel’s bedroom was right above the sitting room you’d left Sinclair in, but he had other ideas.

“What do you know? My bed squeaks,” Lionel laughed as he pounded into you hard enough for the bed to start protesting.

Your response was a garbled moan, and Lionel grinned. He loved it when he rendered you speechless. It was usually then that he asked you questions - how does it feel? Can you feel my cock stretching you out? Do you want me to slow down? - just to hear you trying to formulate a response.

You burnt through condoms like wildfire. Lionel had to buy a new box at least every week, and you just knew that he was so confident and smug when he returned to the pharmacy yet again for more condoms.

The summer ended far too fast. Lionel never ran out of fancy places to take you (when you managed to convince him to put some clothes on and get out of bed), Sinclair never ran out of interesting things to tell you about, and it was only when you physically saw Lionel packing up that it really hit home that he was leaving.

“You’ll come visit me, right?” you asked him for the umpteenth time as he tried to squeeze all of his identical white shirts into one box.

“Of course I will, chérie. I can’t promise how often, I’m sure I’ll have a lot of studying to do, but I’ll come back as much as I can.”

“Mmm, I don’t think your cock’ll let you stay away for very long,” you teased, coming up behind him to trace your hands over his shoulders as he continued folding shirts. “You’ll be going from fucking every day back to wanking every day, it’ll be torture.”

Lionel smirked.

“We’ll just have to make up for it when I come back.”

You tried not to cry when he left. You knew he liked to be stoic and strong, and he told you lions don’t cry. You were his lioness, as he loved to remind you, so you did your best to keep the tears at bay.

With many final kisses, hugs, I love yous and promises to call, you finally let him get in the car. You hugged Sinclair goodbye too, and he had no qualms about crying as he said goodbye to you.

It was three long, excruciating days before you had a phone call.

You almost fell down the stairs running when your mum told you Sinclair was on the phone.

“Sinclair, hi! How was the move? How are you? How’s Lionel? Is Cambridge boring? It’s totally fine if you wanna come back.”

Sinclair laughed on the other end of the phone. “Hello to you too, [Y/n]! I’m great, and Lionel’s great too! Sorry we haven’t called, it took ages to get the phone line installed in our flat. The guy literally just left, I called Mum first, then I called you. Lionel’s out, otherwise he’d be the one calling you, obviously, but I didn’t want you to worry. Cambridge is so fun! This first week is just social stuff, that’s what Lionel’s doing, he’s at the get to know you event for his course. Mine’s tomorrow. He misses you loads. So do I! I wish you could have moved with us, it would be so cool if the three of us were living together! Though we’d never get any coursework done I suppose, we’d be having too much fun. Lionel definitely wouldn’t. Do you want me to ask him to call you when he gets in?”

“Oh, yes, please!” you said, glad to finally get a word in. ”Mum said she’s gonna get a second phone that I can keep in my room since I’m gonna be using it so much. When do you guys start your classes?”

“On Monday! We got our timetables yesterday, we actually have one module together! Most of my classes are 9 o’clock starts, but I don’t mind, I like getting up early. It also means I have more time later in the day so I can do more societies! There are so many, I wanna join them all, but I don’t think I’ll have the time. I know Lionel wants to join the Future Leaders Society. That’s for people who want to be innovators, and we both know what his ambition’s like, and I bet he’ll make loads of connections. He said I should join too but it clashes with the Rambling Society, and I really wanna join that one. That’s rambling as in walking, not as in talking a lot, I don’t need a society for that, I know I do enough of it myself! Oh, wait, I think he’s just — hey, Li! Li, the phone’s working! [Y/n]’s on the line now, do you wanna talk to her?”

After a moment or two, you heard Lionel’s familiar voice, and just a simple “Hi, [Y/n]. Has Sinclair let you get a word in yet?” was enough to make you feel warm and comforted.

“One or two. How was your event? Sinclair said you were meeting people from your course.”

“Mmm, some very interesting people there… and some very uninteresting people. It’s a curious mix. Some are clearly only doing Business because that’s what their parents told them to do. I expect half of them will drop out by the end of the year.”

“Leaving only the best still in it, I suppose?”

“Exactly. I’d wager there’ll be no more than ten left next year, mark my words, and I’ll be top of the class, of course.”

“It’s not a competition, Li.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, everything’s a competition. I compete to be the greatest, Sinclair competes to be the loudest, and you compete to be the sexiest. We’re all winning, of course.”

You smiled and glanced around to make sure your mum wasn’t eavesdropping from the corridor again.

“I miss you,” you said quietly. “I keep thinking about you. Sleeping alone in my bed sucks.”

“I miss you too, chérie,” Lionel said in a low voice, similarly making sure Sinclair wasn’t eavesdropping. “Wanking into my hand’s just not the same anymore.”

You giggled, blushing. “Lionel! What if Sinclair hears you?”

“Oh, please, like he doesn’t do it too. I have to go, love, I really need a shit —”

“Charming.”

“— and I think Sinclair will burst if I don’t tell him how this event went soon. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay. I love you, Li.”

“I love you too, chérie.”

“Tell her I love her three!” Sinclair called out in the background.

You laughed.

“Tell him I love him four.”

Lionel sighed. “Sinclair, she says she loves you four.”

”Yay!”

“I can’t believe I’m sharing a flat with him,” Lionel said, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, love.”

“Bye.”

Lionel called you again at the weekend, and you could tell by his voice he was hungover. He must have really drunk a lot to be hungover since, apparently, lions don’t get hungover.

Your mum got the second phone installed a few days later, and you were able to call Lionel with some privacy. He and Sinclair both already had lines in their bedrooms, and when Sinclair was out at his morning class and your mum was at work, Lionel called you with a very naughty idea.

“You want me to what?”

“You heard me. I want you to put your hand in your knickers and tell me how wet you are.”

“Not very, I just woke up… and you’re not here to wake me up with your wandering hands.”

“Mmm… we’ll soon change that, chérie. You’ll just have to be my wandering hands for me, won’t you? Let’s see… I usually start with touching your tits. I love feeling your nipples growing hard in my hands. Do you think you can make them hard for me?”

Lionel wasn’t the only one calling you regularly; Sinclair called often to catch up. Sometimes you felt like you were getting a university education by proxy when he rambled on about what he was learning on his course, although you didn’t really understand most of what he said. What you were more interested in hearing about, and what Sinclair was very happy to change the subject to, was a girl called Emily he’d met at one of his societies.

With no Lionel around to distract you, you became bored very quickly, so you asked your dad for more hours. He was trusting you more and more, and when he began scheduling you to open the cafe at 5 o’clock in the morning, you found it easier to stay at his the night before, rather than commuting in from Winchester — and so you found yourself spending half your nights at your mum’s house and half of them at your dad’s.

They weren’t the only parents vying for your time. Helen and Georgina had apparently decided, as Lionel’s girlfriend, you were the stand-in for their sons at the parties and events they were always going to. You couldn’t say yes to everything, as much as you wanted to — there was no way you could go to a fundraiser or whatever it was (you were never really sure) in London the night before you had to open the cafe at 5am – but you were always happy to attend when you could.

You were busier than you’d ever been. You had a full-time job now, working more hours in a week than you would have spent at school a year ago, and you had managed to find yourself caught between four parents in three different places — your mum in Winchester, your dad in Basingstoke, and Helen and Georgina in Windsor.

So when Lionel’s calls became less frequent, you didn’t notice at first. You were busy, and so was he. Even Sinclair was calling you less, busy as he was with the five university societies he’d finally settled on, and of course the girlfriend he was so in love with.

Christmas break finally came, though your dad reminded you every time you mentioned it that there was no such thing as Christmas break, and in fact the cafe would be busier than ever at Christmas with all the shoppers about. He wasn’t cruel, though; he let you take the weekend off when Lionel and Sinclair came home.

It was snowing harshly the day they were due back, and you spent the whole day worrying about their drive home. Georgina and Helen had the heating on and the fireplace crackling, and you were drinking them out of their hot chocolate, but you didn’t feel truly warm until you saw Sinclair’s car coming up the driveway.

You rushed out to meet them, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you ran as fast as you could without slipping over. Sinclair had hardly turned the engine off when Lionel was climbing out of the passenger seat, looking adorably grumpy in his big winter coat, and within moments snowflakes began landing in his soft blonde hair.

His grumpy expression quickly melted away when he saw you. He grinned, and you practically jumped into his arms.

“There’s my girl!” Lionel said with relief as he embraced you. “Oh, chérie, I missed you so much. Come on, upstairs, let’s fuck.”

You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully as he set you back down in the snow.

“Keep it in your pants, mister. At least let me say hello to Sinclair first.”

Sinclair was wading through the snow around the front of the car, his eyes barely visible between the hat pulled low and the scarf wrapped around his face. He waved at you, then promptly slipped and fell.

“Oh, no! Sinclair, are you okay?” you gasped, trudging over as quickly as you could to help him up.

“I’m okay!” came Sinclair’s muffled voice somewhere beneath his scarf. He finally stood up straight and pulled down his scarf to give himself some air to breathe. “Hi, [Y/n]! You wouldn’t believe how crazy the motorway was. I thought I was going to crash, like, ten times! But we made it!”

With a grin, he wrapped his arms around you as best he could considering his many layers.

“I’m so cold, though! Have Mum and Georgie got the fire going?”

“Yes, get yourselves inside, it’s freezing out here!”

The three of you carefully made your way into the house, treading carefully so as not to slip (again, in Sinclair’s case). A couple of the housekeeping staff were taking Lionel and Sinclair’s suitcases inside, and the boys both groaned with relief when they passed the threshold and were met with warm, central heated air.

Helen and Georgina came over to greet their sons, and Helen fussed over Sinclair’s inability to go more than a few feet in the snow without falling flat on his face.

“Hot toddies all around, I think,” Georgina decreed. “Come on, let’s get you two by the fire.”

Within minutes, you were all gathered around the fireplace with soothing hot drinks in your hands, Lionel and Sinclair sitting closest to the fire as they defrosted from their long car journey, and through chattering teeth Sinclair gave a blow-by-blow account of each near-crash they’d experienced, and the two actual crashes they’d seen.

Your hand was in Lionel’s, your chair pulled up close to his so you could rest your head on his shoulder. As Sinclair rambled on, every now and then, Lionel squeezed your hand or kissed the top of your head, and even occasionally managed to get a word in to contribute to the story.

When finally Sinclair finished his story and moved on to talking about his new girlfriend, Lionel decided it was time to unpack his suitcase. You stayed downstairs a little longer to watch the entertaining show of Helen quizzing Sinclair about when she was going to meet his girlfriend, then decided to make your way upstairs to check on Lionel.

You found him in his room, suitcase nearly unpacked, though the thought of finishing it was immediately forgotten when you walked in.

“God, finally, I thought you’d never come up here,” Lionel growled with relief. He dropped the socks in his hands and crossed the room to pick you up by your hips and twirl you around to deposit you on the bed, causing you to squeal with laughter.

“Clothes off, now,” he demanded, his hands already on his belt. “I have waited way too long to fuck you again.”

“Hey, you’re the one who never came home to visit,” you pouted, though of course you obediently pulled your jumper over your head. “You promised you’d come home for weekends, and you never did.”

“I know, chérie, I’m sorry. I could never find the time. But I’m here now, and I am going to remind you who you belong to.”

You shivered a little in the cold when your clothes were off, but Lionel quickly warmed you up when he pushed you onto your hands and knees on the bed and swiftly entered you from behind.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Lionel growled as his cock slid up your walls. “Perfect… fucking perfect…”

He gripped your hips firmly and wasted no time fucking into you hard and fast, as if he had to make up for the last three months.

Your hands clenched into fists as you held on uselessly to the bedsheets. There was no use trying to get any sort of purchase; the only thing keeping you in place was Lionel’s firm grip on your hips, pulling your body back towards him with every passionate thrust.

He was grunting with every thrust, and occasionally between grunts you heard a moan of your name. He must have known when your orgasm began to build, and being the arsehole that he was, he pulled out, leaving you hanging — but not for long. He flipped you onto your back and climbed on top of you, the promptly began fucking you again.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” Lionel growled between gritted teeth. “I want to watch as you come undone. I want you to know that you’re mine.”

“I am yours, Lionel,” you promised. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he promptly dipped his head to your neck to pull at the skin with his teeth. You whined at the sensation, and he looked up at you, grinning proudly.

“Yes, you are. My fucking lioness. No one could ever — ever compare to you. Fuck. You take me so fucking well. [Y/n]…”

He was like a man crazed. His hips were pounding into you, his fingers gripping your shoulders like you were his lifeline, and his lips and teeth were grabbing at every inch of your skin they could reach.

“I love you, Lionel,” you moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair and he moaned right into your ear.

“I love you too, [Y/n]. I love you. I fucking - nngh! - love you so much.”

Your orgasm was building up again, and this time, he was going to let you have it. He heard your moans increasing in pitch, felt your walls squeezing him, and he just continued mumbling words of affection into your ear as his cock kept pummelling in and out of your desperate, hungry cunt.

“That’s it, good girl - good girl, cum for me. Cum around my cock, chérie. Mhm, that’s it — Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect…”

You cried out his name as you came, and when he followed shortly after, your name sounded more like a roar.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, and the cold air stung against your sweaty skin. After a few moments, he shifted and pulled out of you to discard his condom in a nearby bin. He wrapped you up in his arms and took you under the duvet to cuddle, his lips ghosting your skin as you both laid there, content, warm in each other’s arms and in the afterglow of sex.

“Lionel… how would you feel about not using condoms?”

He didn’t respond at first. He just laid there, his arms still around you, though you felt a stillness in him.

“I don’t want kids,” he said firmly.

You shifted to prop yourself up on your elbow and look at him. He was looking at you with a frown, trepidation written all over his face.

“I was thinking I could go on the pill. I really… I really want to feel you properly, Lionel. I want to feel your skin against mine… and I want to feel you fill me up when you cum. Don’t you wanna know what it feels like raw?”

Lionel looked you up and down hungrily. “Yes, I do. Fuck, I do. I want nothing more. But…” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s too risky. I think it’s safer if we keep using condoms.”

“Okay,” you said, a little dejected. You’d really thought Lionel would jump at the idea.

“I’m sorry, chérie,” Lionel said softly. He pulled you back in close to him and kissed your forehead gently. “But I really don’t want you to get pregnant, and I’d be too busy worrying about it to enjoy it. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, babe,” you said. You kissed his shoulder and looked up at him with a smile. “I just thought you’d like it, but if you’re not comfortable, that’s okay. I just want to make you happy, Li.”

“Oh, you do,” he said earnestly. He stroked a sweaty strand of hair away from your face and smiled. “You have no idea how happy you make me, chérie. I love you.”

You kissed him, and though you intended it to be a gentle peck, he apparently had other ideas and kept his lips firmly pressed against yours.

You lazily threw a leg over his hips, intending to make out for a bit, but you felt something very familiar resting against his stomach.

You broke the kiss and giggled. “Again? Already?”

Lionel grinned with pride. “I’m always ready for you, love.”

“Mmm, clearly. Alright… but it’s my turn.”

Lionel opened his mouth to question what you meant, but all he let out was a groan when you adjusted your hips and sank down onto his cock, ready to ride him until the bed gave out.

- - -

The Christmas holidays went by far too quickly.

Your dad was right: there was no Christmas break at a cafe. But he was your dad first and your boss second, and he’d survived the Christmas period without you, he could do it again. Despite your insistence that it was okay, he point-blank refused to schedule you in for more than a few shifts a week.

You spent almost every day with Lionel, and it was like he’d never left. You spent a lot more time indoors than you had in the summer, not nearly going out as much, but neither of you had any cause to complain — it was just an excuse to spend longer in bed. When you did go out for some fresh air, somehow you gave Lionel cause to throw a snowball at you, and a snowball fight erupted, though a truce was quickly called when Lionel managed to pin you down in the snow and pepper you with kisses instead.

Christmas Day was unlike any Christmas you’d had before. In the past, you alternated Christmases between your parents, and it was always a small affair with just the two of you. This year, you were told in no uncertain terms that you would be spending Christmas with Lionel and his family — and so were your parents.

Your parents, who hadn’t actually seen each other for years, not since you became old enough to travel between them yourself. Your parents, who hadn’t met Lionel yet, and now they were going to meet the whole gang in one fell swoop.

They were civil with each other, but not friendly. They didn’t really talk to each other directly, you noticed, and sat as far from one another as they could. Lionel charmed them, and Sinclair entertained them with his endless stream of interesting facts.

Yours weren’t the only divorced parents in the house that day: Sinclair’s dad was there too.

“This is really weird,” you said to Lionel quietly once you had a moment alone amongst all the conversations, drinks, cigarettes, games and more drinks. “My parents, Sinclair’s parents…”

“We just need my father and we’ll have the whole set,” Lionel said casually as he lit up a cigarette. “Good thing he’s not here, though. I’d probably punch him in the face.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Lionel shook his head and tucked his lighter into his pocket.

“Not a peep. Let it stay that way.”

Christmas Day was one thing; New Year’s Eve was another.

You thought you’d been to some insane rich people parties already, but New Year’s Eve was on a whole other level. Helen and Georgina hosted, as they did every year, and the party was apparently so insane that they’d never let Sinclair and Lionel attend before as they were underage; they’d always gone to a party at a friend’s house.

Even with all the time you’d spent at the mansion, you’d still never managed to explore every single room, and tonight, every single room was in use. Every guest room was made up, every random room that had no apparent purpose filled with rich people drinking, dancing and doing drugs. Marquees in the garden hosted even more revellers, and you were sure at one point you saw Harold Wilson snorting a line of coke.

You loved a party just as much as any other eighteen-year-old, but this was a lot. You hardly saw Helen and Georgina, as they were playing the roles of hostesses, and when you lost Lionel in the crowd, that was when you started to panic.

You looked for him everywhere, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as you were considering calling a taxi to take you back to Basingstoke, you heard something between a sob, a moan and a retching sound coming from behind a bush.

You followed the sound to investigate and found Sinclair kneeling in the dirt, his head buried between two ferns as he fertilised the soil with the remnants of his dinner.

“Sinclair, hey,” you said softly, kneeling down next to him to rub his back gently. “You okay there, mate?”

“No,” he groaned, his head still between the ferns.

With apparent great effort, Sinclair came out from within the greenery and sat back on his bum.

He looked awful. His face was pale, his eyes half-closed, and his wet face indicated he might have been crying too.

“Did you drink too much?” you asked, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

Sinclair shook his head.

“Did you… take something else?”

He nodded.

“As well as drinking?”

Another nod.

“Sinclair, please don’t tell me you took coke.”

“‘Kay, I won’t,” he said miserably.

Who on God’s green earth would possibly think it a good idea to offer Sinclair Bryant cocaine? He was already vibrating with energy most of the time, adding cocaine would probably give him a heart attack. Add alcohol as well, and you were just glad you’d found him conscious in the bushes and not dead.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” you said. You put Sinclair’s arm over your shoulder, put your arm around his waist and tried to lift him. “Crikey, you’re heavy. Come on, you gotta help me out here.”

Sinclair’s response was a garbled moan, but he at least managed to push himself to his feet with your assistance. You readjusted your grip on him and did your best to drag him back towards the house, his feet stumbling along the way as he did his best to walk.

He tried to talk to you, but at some point between his brain and his mouth the words turned into mumbled nonsense. You, meanwhile, tried to get him up the stairs, but he decided that the middle of the staircase was the best place for a nap and tried to curl up to sleep.

You tried to drag him to his feet, but he was a useless lump.

“Sinclair, you can sleep in your bed! Come on, it’s like, thirty seconds from the top of the stairs to your bedroom.”

You tried to pull him along the floor, but he was still too heavy. You weren’t quite drunk, but you’d had enough to drink that your strength was not at its peak.

“Sinclair, c’mon, please,” you begged. “You need to get to bed.”

“‘Sokay, I can sleep here,” Sinclair mumbled.

“Emily’s waiting for you in your bedroom, don’t you wanna see her?”

His eyes shot open then and he looked up at you.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Emily. Come on, let’s go see her, okay?”

Sinclair nodded and, with the help of the bannister on one side and you on the other, pushed himself to his feet.

“Thought she was in Cardiff,” he mumbled, his ability to formulate words apparently now rejuvenated after his short stair nap.

“No, she’s here,” you lied. “She’s in your bedroom, so let’s get you there, okay?”

Sinclair smiled happily and nodded, letting you guide him down the hallway to his bedroom door. He tried to open the door, and when he couldn’t get in, he moaned sadly, like a wounded puppy.

“She locked me out!”

“No, Clair, we locked our bedrooms to keep guests out, remember? Where’s your key?”

He reached into his pocket and grinned victoriously when he pulled the key out. He tried to put it in the lock, but it wasn’t until you placed your hand over his and held it steady that he managed to get the door unlocked.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary, and within a few steps, Sinclair was face-down on the bed.

You took the key out of the keyhole, closed the door behind you, and locked it again.

Finally, a moment of peace.

“You said Emily was here!” Sinclair grumbled.

It was a short moment.

“Yeah, well, I lied. I had to get you off the stairs. What if you threw up all over that carpet? You wanna explain that to your mum?”

Sinclair, who was now sitting up on the edge of the bed, folded his arms like a petulant child.

“I wanna see Emily.”

“Emily’s in Cardiff, Clair. You’ll see her really soon, I promise. Now, let’s get you into bed. Do you think you’re gonna be sick again?”

Sinclair shrugged, still sulking.

You sighed.

“Alright, fine. Let’s just get you into bed. Where do you keep your pyjamas?”

Sinclair pointed at a chair in the corner, which had a pile of worn clothes on it, including a set of pyjamas, which you retrieved for him while he tried his best to take his shoes off.

“Here, let me do that,” you said. You put the pyjamas down on the bed next to him and knelt down to untie his shoes. “You get your shirt off.”

Sinclair was quiet while you untied his shoes and slipped them off, and when you looked back up at him, he was still fully clothed, his arms folded protectively over his chest.

“Sinclair. Shirt. Off,” you said firmly.

He shook his head. “Can’t let other girls see me naked.”

You scoffed and shook your head incredulously. “Sinclair, first of all, this is the least sexy situation I’ve ever been in. There’s a high chance you’ll throw up any second, and if you do, I’m sitting right in the firing line. Second, I’m not other girls. I’m [Y/n]. Lionel’s girlfriend. Remember?”

Sinclair looked at you properly, and seemed to recognise you suddenly.

“[Y/n]! Yeah, you’re [Y/n]. Lionel’s [Y/n]. He loves you loads, you know.”

You smiled. “Yes, he does, and I love him loads too. And if he were here, he’d also be telling you to get into your pyjamas, so how about we give that a go?”

Sinclair nodded and started trying to unbutton his shirt, but his drunk and high fingers had lost all dexterity. He whined in frustration, so you took over, and to your relief he let you kneel in front of him and unbutton his shirt without complaint.

“[Y/n], do you think it’s too early to tell Emily I love her?” Sinclair asked as you continued working on his buttons.

“Do you love her?”

Sinclair nodded enthusiastically. “I do, I really do! I think I wanna marry her one day.”

“Well, it’s never too early to tell someone you love them, if that’s what you really feel. But marriage — it might be a bit early for that.”

“Lionel wants to marry you.”

You froze and looked up at him.

“…What?”

Sinclair nodded, grinning with excitement. “He does! He’s not gonna propose yet but says he wants to marry you one day. Ohmygod, maybe we could have a double wedding! You and Lionel, me and Emily. Wouldn’t that be so fun?”

“That’s… not something to think about yet,” you said firmly. “It’s too early for me and Lionel, and it’s certainly too early for you and Emily. Right, shirt off, pyjama top on. Reckon you can do your trousers yourself?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

“Good. You do that, I’ll find a bucket or something in case you’re sick again.”

You went into the bathroom and spotted the bin. You tied up the liner and took it out, leaving the bin empty and ready to catch any last bits of dinner Sinclair might have left to bring up.

Back in the bedroom, Sinclair had managed to get his pyjama top on and was lying on his back, his eyes closed, apparently having given up halfway through unbuckling his belt.

“Jesus, Sinclair,” you sighed. “You’re like a giant baby.”

You put the bin down by the bed and reached down to unbuckle his belt for him.

“Please don’t let Lionel walk in right now,” you muttered as you loosened his fly, trying carefully to avoid even lightly brushing against his boxers.

Sinclair’s eyes snapped open when you reached for his waistband.

“I can do it!” he insisted.

“Okay,” you said, raising your hands in innocence. “You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can take your own trousers off.”

You stood up straight and looked away as Sinclair tugged his trousers down. They went flying past you in the vague direction of his clothes chair, and you heard some more fumbling as he finished putting his pyjamas on.

“Done it!” he announced proudly.

 You turned back to him, and sure enough, Sinclair had managed to get into his pyjamas almost entirely by himself.

“Well done, Clair. Now to get into bed. Can you do that?”

“Oh, I’m an expert at getting into bed!”

He stood, pulled back the duvet, and practically dove under the covers. You laughed as he pulled the duvet up to his neck, leaving only his head resting on the pillows with a contented smile.

“Very good, Sinclair, well done,” you laughed. “Now, the bin’s here in case you need to be sick again. How are you feeling now?”

“Sleepy,” Sinclair replied, his eyes already closed.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to crash. And please don’t ever take cocaine again, okay? You are the last person in the world who needs a stimulant.”

“Sleeping,” Sinclair said insistently.

“Okay, sleeping. Good night, Clair.”

“Night, [Y/n].”

You took his key and locked the door behind you as you left. You managed to find some water in the kitchen and brought it back up for him, leaving it on the bedside table for when he woke up. Not wanting anyone to disturb him, you locked the door again and pocketed the key, making a mental note to let him out in the morning if he didn’t have another key in there.

You were just thinking about going to try to find Lionel again when you were suddenly grabbed by the wrist by a figure moving at twice the speed of a normal human being and dragged down the hallway to Lionel’s room, where your kidnapper practically barrelled into the door to open it before throwing you face first onto the bed.

The door slammed shut, you heard a key turn in the lock, and you barely had time to turn around when Lionel was pouncing on you. His kiss was hardly a kiss, and more a very enthusiastic attempt to get his saliva all over your face.

“Lionel, what —”

“Need to fuck you,” he growled desperately, his hands already fumbling with his belt.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you for ages.”

“Downstairs. Legs, open, now.”

Before you had a chance to obey, Lionel grabbed your knees and pushed your legs apart, forcing your skirt to bunch up around your waist. He growled and pushed your knickers aside with one hand while the other lined his cock up with your entrance. He was about to thrust into you when —

“Lionel, condom!”

He swore in frustration and practically threw himself across the mattress to wrench open the bedside drawer and pull out a condom.

Lionel had been wild and passionate since that day in Paris, but as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, you realised this was something else. He was like a man possessed — or a man on copious amounts of cocaine.

You sat up and took Lionel’s face in both your hands, forcing him to look up at you from where he was trying to roll the condom down his shaft.

You looked in his eyes. The usually amber iris was hardly visible between his dark, wide pupils and the red of the bloodshot whites.

“Lionel, how much cocaine have you taken?”

“None.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Okay, fine, two lines. But I’m fine, chérie, I swear —”

“Don’t you chérie me. I’m not fucking you if you’re high.”

Lionel groaned in frustration. “I’m fine, really. Come on, let’s just do it, it won’t take long —”

He wrapped his arms around you and rolled you back onto the bed, kissing you sloppily again as he tried to align his cock with you again, the condom still only half rolled down.

“Lionel, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to fuck you like this.”

He groaned again, but he pulled away.

“I’m so fucking horny, [Y/n], I’m about to burst!”

“Then have a wank, but we are not having sex right now. I’m not aroused, it’ll hurt, and you’re not thinking straight.”

“Gah, fine.”

Lionel yanked the condom off his shaft and tossed it aside. He took his cock in his hand, and you’d hardly had chance to sit up properly before he came, his seed launching into the air by a few centimetres before landing on the bed.

“Would have been better in your cunt,” Lionel grumbled as he wiped his hand on the sheet.

“Yeah, well, too bad. Was it you that gave Sinclair coke?”

Lionel’s head snapped up to look at you with a frown.

“I’d never give Sinclair coke, he’d have a heart attack. Why, has he taken some?”

“Yeah, I found him outside mid-crash, vomiting in the bushes.”

Lionel swore loudly and tried to get up, but his trousers were still halfway down his thighs, so he ended up falling on the floor with a thump.

“He’s fine, he’s asleep,” you said as Lionel tried to stand up again. “I got him into bed, despite his best efforts to sleep on the stairs.”

Lionel paused trying to do up his fly.

“…He’s alright?”

“As he can be. He’s got water and a sick bucket. I even managed to keep him awake long enough to get him into his pyjamas, though I did feel like I was dressing a giant baby.”

Lionel sighed with relief. He finished doing his trousers up and began pacing around the room frantically, running his fingers through his hair.

“If I find out who gave Sinclair cocaine, I am going to fucking throttle them,” he swore. “Some fucking idiot probably thought it’d be funny. Fuck! I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“You left me alone too.”

Lionel stopped his pacing and looked at you.

“Did I? All I remember is I lost you in the crowd, the next thing I knew I was in the sitting room with a rolled-up tenner. I don’t even remember… my mind’s blurry…”

He pinched his nose and furrowed his brow as he tried to put the pieces together, but it didn’t help that the drugs were still coursing through his system and his brain was moving too fast to stop and think.

“Li, can we stay in here for a bit? The party was getting a bit much for me anyway, and you’re probably gonna crash soon. I don’t want to have to drag you up the stairs like I did with Sinclair.”

Lionel laughed at the thought of you dragging a half-asleep Sinclair up the stairs. He looked up at the clock on the wall, and through his blurry, drunken vision he could just make out that it was 11.40.

“I hope I don’t pass out like Sinclair before 12. I want that New Year’s kiss.”

You smiled.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll go and get you some water and something to eat. You stay here and… I don’t know, run around in circles until the drugs wear off. We’ll have our New Year’s kiss, and by the time you crash, you’ll already be in bed. Unlike Sinclair, who crashed in a bush.”

Lionel nodded, and you could see by the way he was twitching and shifting his weight from foot to foot that he was still feeling the effects of the cocaine he’d taken, although the insane horniness seemed to have washed away when he came on the bed.

As you stood up from the bed and pulled your skirt down, you glanced at the stain he’d left.

“And if you’re feeling up to it, maybe change the sheets while I’m gone. I don’t fancy sleeping under a jizz-stained duvet.”

1972

A few days into the New Year, it was time for Lionel and Sinclair to go back to Cambridge. You didn’t bother holding in your sobs this time, and Lionel gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his gloved hand as you hugged him goodbye.

“There, there, love. We’ll be back before you know it. I promise I’ll call you as much as I can.”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I love you, my brave lion.”

He grinned. “And I love you, my fierce lioness.”

Lionel pressed a firm kiss to your cold lips and turned away to climb into Sinclair’s car. You turned to Sinclair and gave him a big hug.

“I’ll call you too, [Y/n]!” Sinclair promised. “And I also love you. Platonically. I don’t have a cute pet name for you, though.”

You laughed and pulled back from the hug. Despite the cold, and despite the sorrow at saying goodbye, he still shone with energy.

“Well, then, I’m going to call you a golden retriever,” you decided, “because if a golden retriever were to stand on its hind legs and turn into a human, I’m pretty sure it would just turn into you.”

Sinclair’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “I love that! Okay, we need to go, I want to get there before the sun goes down. Bye, [Y/n]! This has been the best Christmas break ever with you around. Thanks again for looking after me at New Year’s, if it weren’t for you I might have still been in that bush the next morning! Oh, and make sure you tell your parents I said bye, it was so great to meet them at Christmas —”

Sinclair was interrupted by the sudden honking of his own car’s horn. You both looked over and saw that Lionel had leaned over to the driver’s seat to slam his hand down on the horn.

“Sinclair, stop hogging my girlfriend and get your arse in the car!” he shouted, his voice slightly muffled by the car window.

“Go on, Clair, get going. Have fun talking Lionel’s ear off for the next two hours.”

Sinclair laughed and gave you one last hug. Lionel honked the horn again and kept his hand pressed firmly down until Sinclair had opened the car door and sat himself down.

You took a few steps back to give them some space to drive off, and with one last wave, they were gone.

Spring went by excruciatingly slowly, but at least you were busy. In late January, your dad opened a second branch of his cafe in Reading, so he was spending more and more time there, which meant leaving you to open and close the Basingstoke cafe on your own — so much so that he officially promoted you to assistant manager.

Sinclair and Lionel did come home for Easter, but it was over far too fast. You couldn’t get away from work as much now that you were assistant manager, and the boys had to prepare for their exams soon, so you only managed to see Lionel fleetingly. Easter came early that year, so they were due back at university before their birthdays, which meant you didn’t even get to celebrate with them.

Eventually, summer came around, and they came home. You managed to take some leave from work so you could spend time with Lionel, who was even more excited to see you than ever before. Helen and Georgina’s birthday party marked a year since you’d officially called yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, and Lionel was actually humming to himself as he got dressed for the party.

“What’s got into you?” you asked with a laugh as you emerged from the bathroom, having finished your make-up, and heard his humming as he stood in front of the mirror.

“Nothing. I’m excited for the party, that’s all.”

“You explicitly told me last year you hate your mum’s party, that’s why you invited me, to make it bearable.”

Lionel shrugged, but he was still smiling as he adjusted his bowtie.

“I have a good feeling about tonight, that’s all.”

“Hmm, I don’t know… I think you know something I don’t.”

Lionel turned to you with a cheeky smile and pulled you into his arms.

“All I know is that I love you, chérie, and if you don’t know that, I’m not sure what else I can do to prove it.”

You giggled and batted his chest playfully. “You charmer, you. Well, whatever you’re avoiding telling me, I’m sure I’ll find out in due time. Now, I promised Sinclair I’d help him choose the wine from the cellar. Why he wants my opinion, I have no idea, but I’ve learnt not to question him.”

“Because asking him one question inevitably leads to a long-winded answer?”

“Precisely. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“Alright. I love you, [Y/n].”

“I love you too,” you said with a smile. You leaned up to kiss him, then left to go and meet Sinclair in the wine cellar.

You’d been in the wine cellar only a few times. It was a strange place, completely cut off from the rest of the house, and when you closed the door behind you, it was easy to forget there was an entire house above you.

Sinclair hadn’t got a headstart, apparently. The wine was all still untouched, and he was pacing back and forth, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey, Clair. I’m here as promised. Not sure why you want my help with the wine, though, I know nothing.”

He froze when he saw you, his eyes wide in alarm, as if he hadn’t been expecting you.

“[Y/n], hi. Um, I lied. I don’t need your help with the wine. I need to talk to you… privately.”

You frowned and looked at him curiously. Whatever it was, it was clearly causing him great distress. You approached him and took his hands in yours, stopping his nervous fiddling with his shirt.

“What’s wrong, Sinclair? Is it something to do with Emily?”

He shook his head.

“No. No, not Emily. It’s about… Lionel.”

“Lionel? What about him?”

“Maybe… maybe we should sit down.”

Sinclair led you to a corner of the cellar and you both sat down on the small sofa you hadn’t even noticed before. It faced a low table, which you suspected was for tasting the wines to choose the perfect vintage.

Sinclair’s shirt sleeves were the next victim of his nervous fidgeting. He was leaning forwards slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the floor, as if what he had to say was written down there somewhere.

“It’s two things, actually. One he doesn’t know that I know, and the other… he told me, but he made me promise not to tell.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t —”

“No, I have to,” Sinclair insisted. “I have to. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. He’d probably say I’m betraying him by telling you, but… I’d be betraying myself more if I didn’t tell you.”

“Sinclair, you’re scaring me,” you said in a quiet voice.

He sat back, took a deep breath, and looked at you. The devastation and fear in his eyes had every worst scenario running through your head.

“Lionel’s been cheating on you.”

Your stomach dropped. You felt like someone had wrapped a fist around your heart and squeezed it tight. You didn’t even know what to say, what to think… your first instinct was to refuse to believe it, to insist Lionel would never do that to you. But another voice in your head told you that it explained a lot of questions you had been asking.

You’d told yourself he was becoming distant and calling less because he was busy with coursework, but if that were the case, why was Sinclair able to find the time to call you more regularly than your own boyfriend, when Sinclair’s timetable was much more hectic?

And you’d never understood Lionel’s reasoning for refusing to stop using condoms. You could go on the pill, you’d offered to several times, but he’d always said that he wanted to use condoms regardless. Because he didn’t want you to get pregnant, he said, but the pill was just as effective.

“How do you know?” you asked after a long moment of silence.

“I was suspicious for a while. He’s been acting weird all year, but I always put it down to adjusting to university, to missing you, to going out too much. The first thing that made me think something was up was when I was taking the bins out and I went into his ensuite to empty his bathroom bin, and I saw used condoms in there. I asked him about it, and he said he — he wanks into condoms to save on mess. I believed him.

But after a while, I started noticing a pattern. I always empty the bins on a Thursday, because the bin men come on Friday morning, and I would see the condoms on the top, like he’d just put them in there. Then there was a bank holiday, so the bin day changed, so I emptied it on a Wednesday instead, before I went to play cricket. And there were none in there. I thought that was weird, like he was wanking weekly, on a Wednesday. Who schedules that?

And then I had an awful thought. What if he was using them every week at the same time… because he was seeing someone every week at the same time? Specifically, while I was at cricket. I thought there was no way that was true. He loves you, he wouldn’t do that to you. But then he said something. We were at the pub with some mates, you know, boys’ banter. And he made a joke, he said, ‘I wank every day and that’s still not enough.’ But I thought that couldn’t be right, because I always found the condoms on the Thursday, and there were only ever one or two. Not that I counted, but the only other things I ever saw in there were empty loo rolls and beard hair. You know, they stood out. I’d have noticed if there were seven.

And so I… I decided to investigate. To see what he was doing on Wednesdays while I was at cricket. One of the guys on my course does photography as a hobby, he likes to sit in trees and photograph birds. So I asked him if he could try and see into our flat.”

Sinclair reached into his jacket pocket with a trembling hand, and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“He gave me a few pictures. Some of them were - um - more explicit. Far more of him than I ever wanted to see. But this one showed enough to prove what was happening without, you know, showing too much. You don’t have to look at it, I just thought if you wanted proof…”

You snatched the photo from Sinclair’s hand before you changed your mind.

The sound you made then would haunt Sinclair for years to come. It was the sound of his friend’s heart breaking, of all your hopes and dreams for a future with Lionel smashing to the ground.

Sinclair’s friend had a good camera. It was Lionel, alright. Your boyfriend. He was sitting naked on the sofa, an expression on his face you’d seen many times — one you thought only you had seen. A naked woman was kneeling in front of him, her head in his lap, and his hand was on the back of her head.

“I’m really sorry, [Y/n],” Sinclair said quietly.

You shook your head, eyes still glued to the photo, as if looking at it longer would make it stop existing.

“Not your fault,” you said, your voice cracking slightly.

“I should have said something… shouldn’t have believed him about the condoms.”

You scoffed. Fucking condoms. No wonder he was so insistent on using them. Well, at least he was keeping you safe from STDs while he fucked other girls.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I asked my mate to go back the next week and see if he could get a picture of her face. And he did, but… it was a different girl.”

Your fist clenched, and the photo became crumpled in your hand.

“...A different girl?”

Sinclair nodded, his eyes wide with trepidation, as if worried what you might do next.

“A different — what, does he fuck a different girl every week?!” you shouted, throwing the screwed-up photo on the floor.

It was one thing if it was another girlfriend. If he’d fallen in love with someone else but didn’t have the guts to break up with you, that was one thing. But if it was different girls, that meant he was just shagging them, and that made it worse, because it meant that putting his dick in something wet was more important to him than you were.

“I don’t know, [Y/n], I’m sorry, we broke up for summer that week so I wasn’t able to ask my mate to go back.”

“Did you confront him about it?”

“No, I’ve not told him that I know. I wanted to speak to you first. I thought you should decide what to do.”

“But you came home weeks ago! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I’ve been trying, but it’s so hard, [Y/n]. I kept changing my mind whether to even tell you or not, and whenever I did decide to tell you, I couldn’t get you alone. You’re always together. And you’re so happy together, I didn’t want to upset that. But when he told me about tonight, I knew I had to tell you.”

“Tonight?” you said with a frown. “What about tonight?”

You knew it. There was something Lionel wasn’t telling you. Something that was making him excited for a usually dreaded occasion…

“He’s going to propose.”

The fist that had gripped your heart earlier seemed to squeeze even harder.

Lionel was going to propose. He was going to get down on one knee, in front of everyone, and ask you to swear your fidelity to him, when he’d spent the better part of the last year sticking his cock in a different woman every week.

You stood up and prepared to storm out, but you heard Sinclair calling after you.

“[Y/n], wait —”

You paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at him, tears in your eyes.

“Thank you for telling me, Sinclair. You did the right thing.”

You left before he could convince you not to.

- - -

Sinclair usually dreaded his mum and Aunt Georgie’s birthday party, for all the reasons Lionel had told you last year. But this year, he was dreading it more than ever before.

He couldn’t get you alone again. He wanted to ask you what you were going to do, but you were nowhere to be seen, and he knew you hadn’t said anything to Lionel, because he was still buzzing with excitement for his grand proposal.

Everyone was in on it and, not knowing anything about what Sinclair had told you, Helen and Georgina were excited too. They both adored you, and they were sure you’d say yes.

Sinclair adored you too, of course. He wanted you to be his sister so badly. Okay, technically if you married Lionel you’d be his cousin-in-law, but Lionel would always be his big brother in Sinclair’s mind, so as far as he was concerned, if you married Lionel, you’d become his sister-in-law. And in some ways, he already saw you as his sister. You were definitely so much more than just his cousin’s girlfriend.

That was what had made the whole thing so difficult for him. He’d promised Lionel not to tell you about the proposal, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if he let you be proposed to in front of all those people without knowing the truth.

He hoped you could work it out. He certainly hadn’t told you in order to break you up. But you had to have all the facts before you made such a life-changing decision.

When his mum and aunt started herding guests into the main entrance hall, Sinclair knew it was time. He tried to find you, but among the crowd it was impossible. He didn’t catch a glimpse of you until you, he and Lionel were being herded up to the landing that overlooked the room.

Lionel had planned it all meticulously. Sinclair stood with the two of you on one side, his mum and aunt on the other. They quieted the crowd and Aunt Georgie spoke as if she were about to give a speech. On cue, Sinclair moved over to stand by his mum, leaving you and Lionel alone.

Georgina announced that Lionel had something to say, and suddenly all eyes were on the two of you. This was it. Your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world, the person who’d betrayed you so utterly that looking at him now just made you want to cry — he was about to propose to you.

In front of everyone. Sinclair, Helen and Georgina, who’d taken you in as their own. Extended family, friends and friends of friends, they were all gathered together, all listening attentively as Lionel addressed them.

“A little over a year ago, just before the end of term, I had my future planned out. I was going to go to university, get a first class degree in Business Studies, and become a great businessman. I’m still doing all those things, of course; watch this space.”

A polite titter came from the crowd, and Lionel flashed a grin.

“But I hadn’t accounted for one thing. I hadn’t considered that one day, I’d sneak out of college for a smoke and find a strange girl I’d never seen before trying to peek into the windows.”

He looked at you with an amused smirk.

“I know what you’re all thinking — no, it wasn’t the boys’ changing room.”

Another polite laugh from the crowd.

“It was the Art classroom. You see, we had some original Monet paintings on display, and she wanted to see them. So I, never one to deny a beautiful woman in need, helped her sneak in to see them.”

Yeah, and you won’t deny any woman in need of dicking down, you thought bitterly.

“She left before I managed to get her number, but with the help of Sinclair here” — he gestured to his cousin, as if anyone was in doubt who he was — “I managed to track her down. She, it transpired, had been looking for me too, and was only too happy to let me take her out for a drink. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Lionel turned his attention fully to you. You were trying to keep your face blank, but you had no idea how you were coming across, only that Lionel was undeterred.

“[Y/n], despite my assertions that it was impossible, you really have tamed this lion. I have every intention of becoming the great man I’m destined to be, but I can only do it with you by my side.”

The crowd gasped as Lionel dropped to one knee. Somewhere, you heard a camera clicking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He opened it to present you with a sapphire-encrusted ring, and in another version of events, you might have marvelled at how beautiful it was.

“[Y/n] [L/n]… will you marry me?”

His speech was still ringing in your head. I had my future all planned out… I’m never one to deny a beautiful woman in need… I managed to track her down… I’m destined to be a great man.

It was all “I” and “me.” It was all him. His life, not yours; his plans, not yours. Most of the people in the crowd didn’t know you, and nothing Lionel had said had told them anything more.

It wasn’t about you — and maybe it never had been.

You took a steadying breath.

You loved him. You hated him. You didn’t want to break his heart. He’d already broken yours.

You only had one thing to say before you turned and left.

“No.”

- - -

1989

“Our… son,” Lionel repeated slowly. “You were… you were pregnant.”

“I didn’t know then. I only realised a few weeks later.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then!” Lionel exclaimed sarcastically, waving his arms in a wild shrug. “It’s not like you had my phone number or my address. It’s not like I was trying to call you for weeks afterwards. It’s not like you could have fucking told me!”

“Would it have made any difference? I didn’t want you in my life, and you made it perfectly clear you didn’t want kids.”

“Just because I didn’t want to be a father, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have! You had no right to make that decision for me, [Y/n]! I mean… Christ. How old is he now? Sixteen? Does he even know?”

“No. He knows who you are only because you’re famous. He has no idea I ever even knew you, let alone that you’re his father.”

“Does Sinclair know?”

“Sinclair? No, why would he know?”

“Well, he knew about everything else apparently.”

“No, Sinclair doesn’t know. I cut off contact with him too. It fucking sucked, because he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met, but I couldn’t bear to look at him, not when he looks so much like you.”

Lionel collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands.

“Christ. I can’t believe this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not on the birth certificate, so you don’t have any responsibility for him. If something happened to me, he wouldn’t show up on your doorstep.”

“But we used condoms!” Lionel said with a frown, pulling his hands away from his face to look at you, bemused. “We always used condoms.”

“Condoms break,” you said with a shrug. “Even your fancy ones.”

Lionel swore. He stood up again and began pacing around, running his fingers through his hair. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of you, you were being watched from a window, although your argument was muted to your observer.

“They’re really going at it,” Georgina said with concern. “Maybe we should intervene. I know Sinclair wanted to get them talking, but I don’t think this is what he hoped for.”

“He’s your son, George, you might be better equipped,” Helen replied, leaning over her sister’s head to peek outside.

“You know I want to, but I’ll feel ridiculous trying to calm him down when I’m all the way down here now. I know it’s his day, but maybe we should send Sinclair.”

Helen glanced over at her son, who was currently trying to balance chatting away at some friends with stuffing his face full of food from the buffet.

“I think you’re right. We just need to make sure nobody follows him outside. Tell you what, I’ll get the microphone and keep everyone distracted. You get him outside and guard the door.”

“Deal.”

Within minutes, Sinclair had abandoned his conversation and his plate of food, his aunt was parked in her wheelchair in front of the door, and his ears were being subjected to one of the worst arguments he’d ever heard.

“YOU JUST SAID I MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, SO WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”

“IT WASN’T YOUR CHOICE TO MAKE, [Y/N]!”

“What the fuck is going on out here?!” Sinclair demanded. “This is my wedding! It’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life! Why are you having a bloody screaming match?!”

“Tell him, [Y/n]!” Lionel said to you with a sneer. “Tell Sinclair the truth. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Sinclair? Considering you didn’t tell me for seventeen fucking years why the only woman I’ve ever loved rejected my proposal in front of our entire family!”

Sinclair held his hands up innocently. “It wasn’t for me to tell! Wait – tell me what? Is there something else?”

Lionel stared daggers at you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“I have a son,” you admitted. “We – we have a son.”

Sinclair’s jaw dropped. He looked between you and Lionel like you were playing tennis.

“Wait – you mean you and Lionel have a son? Li, you never told me –”

“That’s because I didn’t fucking know, you nitwit!” Lionel snapped. “You wanted to know why we’re having a bloody screaming match – that’s why. Because [Y/n] just told me that we have a bloody son.”

Sinclair stared at you as if you’d just grown an extra head. “Well… what’s his name?”

You laughed and shook your head.

“Lionel hasn’t even asked that yet, and it’s the first question out of your mouth.”

“You didn’t ask his name?” Sinclair said to Lionel with a frown.

“I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know anything. This isn’t changing anything. Clearly, [Y/n] thinks they’re getting on just fine without me, so they can continue that way. I don’t want to know his name, his school, his birthday, nothing. What I would like to know, however, is why my wheelchair-bound mother is sitting in front of the door like a fucking bouncer.”

Lionel pointed towards the door; through the window, the back of Georgina’s chair was visible.

“She’s making sure nobody follows me out here. So we could have a private conversation.”

You sniffed and stood up straight.

“I’m sorry, Sinclair. You’re right, this is your day. I ruined your mums’ birthday party in ‘72, now I’m ruining your wedding day. I should leave.”

You went to walk past him, but Sinclair placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, [Y/n]. I thought if you and Lionel talked, you could work things out. At least put the past behind you.”

You shook your head.

“Sinclair, you’re sweet. But this is too messy to just talk it out. Um, but before I go…”

You took both his hands in yours and looked at him seriously.

“I know my opinion doesn’t matter, and you can make your own choices, and I might be totally wrong about this. But for what it’s worth… you can do so much better than Natalie.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Bye, Clair. I really hope you prove me wrong.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond, and you didn’t give Lionel a second glance. You opened the door back into the reception, and Georgina moved her chair out of the way. You locked eyes for a second, and you hesitated.

“Georgina… I’m really sorry I ruined your birthday. Would you tell Helen for me? I’m – I’m gonna go, before I ruin this wedding too.”

Georgina didn’t say anything, so you left.

You were at the reception desk, waiting for a staff member to call you a taxi, when Sinclair came jogging up to you.

“[Y/n], wait!”

“Sinclair…”

“Just… one thing. Would you tell me your son’s name? I know Lionel doesn’t want to know, but I’d really like to, if that’s okay with with you. And maybe one day, if he does want to know… I could tell him. So he won’t have to bother you.”

You smiled. How was he always so sweet? It was his wedding day, you’d just blown up at his cousin and told him you didn’t like his new wife, and he was still concerned about you.

“His name is Cole.”

“Cole. Cool! Cool Cole, ha ha. Um, I don’t suppose we can still be friends, can we?”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, Sinclair, I’m sorry. I want to be… and maybe one day we can. But you’re too close to Lionel.”

Sinclair nodded his head sadly. “I understand. Well… it was nice seeing you again, [Y/n]. Despite the argument, I am really glad you came. If you ever need anything - and if Cole ever needs anything - just come find me, ‘kay?”

You nodded. Sinclair kissed you on the cheek, and with a sad smile, he turned back to the party.

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XVIII)

Chapter 18: Work Song

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

We’re starting to escape the angst here!

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 3806

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew was getting a little better every day.

He was getting up without too much difficulty these days. His sleep schedule was a mess, but he was getting some work done. He went to see his parents three times a week, saw his brother often too. He went for a swim every morning and a long walk every afternoon. Sometimes he watched a good movie, spent some time reading. He made sure to avoid being in the same room as you, and had declined some friendly gatherings because of it, but he couldn’t claim to regret this decision.

He was getting better. You were still the first thing in his thoughts when he woke up, the last image printed on his eyelids when he fell asleep, but it was a torturing routine he had grown accustomed to by now.

It was like living with your ghost. The memories of you spending time with him in all his most familiar spaces. His house, his favourite spot to swim, his favourite walks, the pub you and your friends always went to… All familiar, but with an empty space constantly by his side.

Today, Andrew was hurrying out of his house. It was still early in the morning, too early for him if he were to be honest, but his best friend could not be waiting for him on his wedding day.

Despite the sadness that usually tainted his days since that night, Andrew was excited today. Happy and excited. He secured his guitar case at the back of his car, and drove to Sam’s house. He wasn’t surprised to find your car already parked there, but it was alright. Of course, you would be there, it was planned, and known. Andrew had sent you a text the previous night, the first form of communication since your ‘talk’ at your house, asking for both of you to keep the interaction to a minimum so that the wedding would go smoothly. Sam and Daphne were the most important today, and you and Andrew could go your separate ways for good after today.

It took you an hour to answer with a short and polite message agreeing with him and promising to remain ‘professional’, as you had put it.

Andrew was both relieved and pained by that answer…

He knocked, and Sam opened the door in the span of mere seconds.

“Jesus fucking Christ, thank God! You’re here!”

Before Andrew could say a thing, Sam was grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Rings?”

“In my pocket.”

“Spare shirts?”

“In the trunk.”

“Your suit?”

“In the car. And yours too.”

“Guitar.”

“Yep, that too!”

“Your weird drinks for your throat? I swear to God, I will skin you alive if you lose your voice before singing for our first dance.”

Andrew rested his hands on his friend’s shoulders as well.

“Sam, I have everything. Don’t worry.”

“You double-checked?”

“Triple-checked. I have everything. It’s going to be just fine.”

Sam started to giggle, tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m getting married today.”

“Today,” Andrew nodded.

“Fuck’s sake…”

“You’d better let me in so I can help you get ready and you aren’t late to church.”

“Right, you’re right.”

They hugged before Andrew would come in, tight and emotional and full of happiness and excitement.

He was moving towards Sam’s bedroom when you appeared. You were walking out of the room, a bag in your hand. You were still wearing casual clothes, planning to change before the ceremony. You froze, but quickly recovered, offering him a polite smile.

“Hi, Andy!”

“Hi,” he answered with the same neutral smile.

“I’m getting out of both your and Sam’s way! I was picking up a few things for Daphne.”

“Of course. Is she alright?”

“Excited. Terrified. In pure bliss.”

“Same as Sam, then?” Andrew chuckled, and you nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

You nodded in silence, and Andrew bit his tongue before he could ask you how you were, or tell you how beautiful you looked today…

“See you at church, then,” he smiled and you nodded, taking it as your cue to leave.

He stared as you disappeared through the door.

But then Sam was reappearing, babbling about some stressful detail that was insignificant. Andrew smiled, and patted his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you ready. Or she’ll never say yes to such an ugly mug.”

Sam and Daphne were married.

It was official. They had both cried, had said yes (Sam was too excited and answered I do before the priest was done with the question), had exchanged rings (that Andrew did carry all morning and for which he checked approximately 2982 times if they were indeed in his pocket), had kissed, had walked out of the church, and finally it was time for the big party.

The eating and the partying were planned outside, under tents that were set in the parc of a large property the couple had rented for the occasion. It was spring, and unusually warm. A clear blue sky with only a few cotton clouds drifting by, and the weather remained that way through the beginning of the evening, as the sun was setting and the moon was slowly appearing in its crescent rise.

The speeches were spoken by a very nervous Andrew and then by you; and you both managed to perfectly balance emotion with humour and embarrassing anecdotes.

The dreaded caterers did an amazing job, that was complimented by the two mothers, and Sam threw a thumbs up at Andrew before starting to eat.

Andrew was sitting next to Sam, and you were next to Daphne, as best man and maid of honour. And Andrew was grateful for it. He wasn’t sitting next to you, and he managed to splendidly avoid talking to you during the day. Still, he could hear your laughter above the loud cacophony of the guests. He couldn’t help but steal glances in your direction every once in a while too, you looked too beautiful in your emerald dress for that.

Andrew pushed the thought away, focusing on the happy conversation that was unfolding around him, forcing a smile.

He hated himself for still wanting you this way…

But Sam and Daphne were happier than ever, and it was all that mattered, truly. They were ecstatic, laughing and smiling constantly, and stealing kisses whenever they could. And it was almost bearable then, the knowledge that you were sitting right over there, and that if he stood up and took but a step, he could hold you close once again.

Pathetic…

When Sam got up to invite everyone to gather outside for a dance, it was Andrew’s and Alex’s cue to get ready. There was a little wooden stage outside the tent as well as a wooden dancefloor, with lights hanging above the space, lightbulbs turning the atmosphere into something magical, cliché and terribly romantic. White flowers were decorating the stage, and hanging from the poles supporting the lights too. With the sky full of stars and the crescent moon above the trees, it was a sight worthy of a magical wedding.

Andrew was soon ready, all plugged in, guitar in hand, with the mic high enough to reach his lips. Alex was right by his side, sitting at the tiny electric piano. He gave Andrew a nod when he was ready, who cleared his throat to announce the first dance of the married couple.

“Daphne and Sam have done me the absolute honour to ask me to sing for their first dance. Erm… thank you again, to both of you, this is genuinely the most important event I’ve ever had to perform for, so… get ready while I try to get rid of most of the stage fright.”

Chuckles shook the crowd that had gathered in circle, right at the edge of the wooden dancefloor. Andrew tried to slow down his heart, take a couple of deep breaths, focusing on the moment, on the task at hand.

“Erm… if you guys are ready, erm… this is Work Song.”

He looked over at Sam, who offered him a nod in return. He had tears in his eyes, and Andrew had to look away, feeling his throat tighten with emotions. And he couldn’t have that now, not when he needed to sing. The first claps were played while Sam and Daphne were moving to the centre of the dancefloor, and they were both a sight to see, under the quiet lights.

Andrew was getting emotional again right before singing, and he looked for a distraction in the crowd as he started the first verse.

He noticed that many were mouthing the words, but not daring to sing. There were too many fond smiles for that, while Sam and Daphne twirled and swayed together, sometimes a little clumsily but with grins making their cheeks ache in the best way.

Andrew allowed himself to look at his friends again for the first chorus, and he kept his gaze on them despite the tears he had to blink away, and the depth that settled in his voice. By his side, Alex was being perfect, as per usual, they didn’t need to look at each other to be in rhythm. They had played this song too many times for that. Muscle memories perfectly combined.

He had to look away again, though, we he caught Sam whispering an ‘I love you’ in Daphne’s ear…

The second chorus was soon gone, and Andrew was trying to calm his nerves, to stay focused on the present, when he caught a silhouette dressed in emerald…

He almost missed a word when his gaze touched yours. And then it was impossible to look away. He blinked, but couldn’t do a thing about it.

You were so beautiful under those lights, under the moon, in this dress that suited you perfectly, for that song of love and devotion that spoke of feelings you sparked within him. He meant the words as he sang them to you. Despite how much you had made him suffer, despite all that you had done… he meant the worship he put in his words when he aimed them at you.

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

He saw your lips quiver, the way you blinked and how your eyes shone a little brighter. He wondered if you were struggling against tears too, the way he was.

And he meant it. And it was fucking killing him, and he wasn’t sure you deserved it after breaking his heart, and he wasn’t sure he deserved you at all… but he meant it. He meant it and he was ready to cry at how much he still loved you. Over a month of trying to get better at functioning on his own, and you were shattering his whole world in just a glance…

That didn’t sound fair at all…

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He saw the tear rolling down your cheeks, he struggled to hold back his own. Still, he sang the same words again, like a promise, like a prayer, like he was begging for you to see that he meant it, that if you gave him another chance, he would probably take it.

Would he? Anyway, you wouldn’t offer it to him. You had been clear. That’s what the voice in his head kept on repeating, and yet there you were… standing and crying and staring at him with pain in your eyes, a feeling he wished he could have banished forever from your life.

Christ, he loved you still… and he would have done anything, even conquer death, for you…

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

The song died out, Andrew’s fingers knew when to stop playing. He was shaken back to earth by the loud cheering of the crowd, and by your form disappearing as you walked back to the tent in a hurry.

He turned to Sam and Daphne, who were kissing and beaming and glowing while the dancefloor was being flooded with their loved ones. Alex and Andrew gave a small bow, before leaving the stage, the guests cheering for them.

Andrew needed to see you. He needed to find you…

There you were… you were walking out of the tent again, aiming for the grass that stretched beyond the tent and towards some trees, further down the small park. You had something in your hand, he didn’t know what it was.

He wanted to follow, but he was almost tackled over by Sam instead, as he hugged his friend too tightly.

“Thanks Andy! That was perfect! Thank you!”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a chuckle, while Daphne was hugging Alex too.

“No need to thank us for that. It was an honour, truly,” Andrew smiled.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

“No, no, no…”

“Andrew, it’s my fucking wedding! I want everyone dancing!”

“I hate dancing. I don’t do dancing.”

“Tonight, you do. Come on.”

Andrew looked in your direction, but you were gone.

He heaved a sigh.

“One dance. I do one dance, and that’s it.”

“Yes, yes! Perfect, come on!”

Andrew played along, dancing with Daphne for a song. His friend tried to hold him back when he moved away, but then Alex popped out of nowhere.

“As any of you seen Y/N? I wanted to borrow her charger for my phone, she said she’d give it to me after the first dance but… can’t find her anywhere.”

Andrew’s face fell, worry making him frown.

“Have you called her?”

“Tried to, but her phone is in the tent, and she isn’t.”

“I’ll go look for her.”

“Maybe she’s inside…”

“No, I saw her hurry towards the thicket over there,” Andrew shook his head, pointing at the bundle of small trees and bushes, barely visible in the distance.

There was no light in that area. Without your phone as a torchlight, you might have fallen, hurt yourself, fell right into the arms of a complete psychopath… and you had no way to call for help. Not with the loud music that was being played.

“I’ll go look for her. Alex, can you check inside the house?”

“Andrew, she’s been gone for five minutes…”

But when she looked up at the worry on his face, Daphne fell silent.

“Alright, you go, both of you.”

“Text me if you find her,” Andrew told his friend, who merely nodded and hurried towards the mansion.

Andrew bolted in the opposite direction, his long legs devouring distance in the blink of an eye. He jogged across the grass, passed the trees, turned on the light on his phone.

He looked around but couldn’t see you.

Panic was starting to rise in his chest, get a grip on his heart and make his lungs ache for air.

“Y/N!” he called.

No response, he called again, louder this time.

“Andrew?”

He spun around, and there you were…

On the other side of some hawthorn tree. He heaved a relieved sigh.

“For fuck’s sake! Y/N, what are you doing here?!”

“I… what are you doing here?”

He texted Alex quickly, before approaching you. His tone sounded angry, even though he was simply scared.

“I was looking for you, obviously! What the fuck were you thinking, huh? Going off like that, on your own, in the dark, without your phone! Anything could have happened to you!”

“Andrew, I’m right next to the party, at my best friends’ wedding. I’m safe, it’s alright.”

He groaned in annoyance, or perhaps it was simply relief.

“You can go back to the party, I’m alright.”

“You can’t stay here on your own…”

“Why not? I’m alright.”

But Andrew stubbornly sat next to you.

“I can’t let you stay here on your own.”

“Andrew…”

You heaved a tired sigh, while he was setting his phone so that both of you were enlightened by its light.

“You’re alright? What’s going on?”

He finally noticed the way the light was getting caught in the glass of a bottle of champagne.

“Y/N?”

“I want to be alone…”

“Then come back to the tent.”

You looked up at the sky to hold some tears back.

“Hey… why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

You merely shrugged, but you were properly crying by now.

“Hey… hey, stop crying… please, Y/N…”

He didn’t think. When Andrew wrapped his arms around your shaking frame, when he cradled the back of your head in his large hand to pull you close to his chest, when he shushed you softly… he didn’t think. You were crying, you looked so upset… he had never seen you so upset before. You spent several minutes sobbing in his arms, shaking, despite the way he soothingly stroked your back.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, calm down… Christ, Y/N, calm down…”

Slowly, the tears subsided. You were holding onto his vest like your life depended on it.

“My head is spinning,” you blurted out.

Andrew took a look at the bottle. It was half-empty, and he had no doubt it wasn’t your first drink of the night.

“Champagne will do that to you.”

He kept you close even if you were calmer now. You sniffed, buried your face deeper into his chest. He merely tightened his hold on you.

“You’re okay? Feeling better?”

You slowly nodded.

“You want to tell me what happened? Why you’re so upset?”

He was surprised as you laughed.

“Not really, no.”

“Alright… We should get back there.”

But despite his own words, he didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he closed his eyes, tried to precisely carve in his memory how it felt to hold you: the sound of your breathing, the softness of your hair, the silk of your dress, the warmth of your body against his, how your frame fitted so perfectly into his embrace…

“I’m sorry you were worried. I just wanted to be on my own,” you apologized in a quiet voice, it still sounded a little hoarser than usual because of your sorrow.

“I panicked a little bit. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry.”

“I think… I might throw up…”

“Right… let’s get you inside, then. Come on…”

“No… no, stay. Please, stay…”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No! No… please, Andy. Just another minute…”

“If you throw up on me, I will get my revenge.”

“Turning me into a vampire?”

“I’ll haunt you after I’m turned into a ghost.”

“Stalk me, you mean.”

“Haven’t you noticed how much of a creep I am already?”

You sniffed once more, and he tried to look at your face to see if you were crying again, but you were hidden in his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Andy… I’m so sorry about everything,” you whispered against his heart, but he caught your words loud and clear, despite the music coming from the party.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” he whispered back, bending to press his lips to the side of your head. “We should go back. Your plus-one must be looking for you.”

“A plus-one? You have a plus-one?”

“Me? No… no, I came alone. I’m talking about you.”

“You didn’t see that I was alone?”

Your words were slurred with alcohol, but they sounded genuine, vulnerable too.

“Erm… no… I… I like… tried to avoid you all day, in case you haven’t noticed. That includes not looking in your direction.”

You let got of his vest completely. He expected you to move away, but you didn’t. It felt like you had gone limp in his arms.

“You can’t even look at me anymore…”

You started crying again, and Andrew cursed at his clumsy words.

“No, I mean… you… We’ve agreed to stay out of each other’s way, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.”

“I didn’t come with anyone.”

“Okay.”

“I fucked up… I fucked up, Andy, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, look… let’s just…”

He looked up at the night sky, in an attempt to hold back his tears. His throat had tightened, he let out a long exhale, trying to focus on the shape of the incomplete moon, the stars that shone brightly, the happy song that was being played, he couldn’t remember the name of it. Anything to try and not crumble in your arms there and then. He had to keep it together.

“Let’s… let’s not talk about this now, okay?” his voice was soft, mainly because emotions were making it hard for him to speak. “We’ve already spoken about what happened. We just… like… We just need to move on now, yeah?”

But you shook your head.

“I fucked up. I fucked up because I was terrified. I was so fucking scared of letting myself have feelings for you… I was so scared of being too lonely when you’re away, of not being able to cope with your absence, with how much I fucking miss you every time you leave. And I was scared you could meet someone better, someone who could follow your lifestyle in a way I couldn’t and then you would have dumped me and…”

You heaved an exhausted sigh, while Andrew was remaining motionless, trying to process what you were saying.

“I should have never thought about this arrangement. I should have never accepted that stupid date. I should have never pushed you away.”

You spoke again after a short silence. Your next phrase knocked out all the air from his lungs.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you… God, I’m so sorry, Andy…”

He couldn’t answer to that. He couldn’t react to it either. He couldn’t process what your words meant…

Besides you were drunk… very drunk… this… this was a mistake…

“Let’s get you inside, Y/N, okay? Come on, now.”

At long last, you let him help you to your feet, and with his help you were able to walk back to the tent. Some members of Sam’s and Daphne’s families were staying at the mansion for the night, and there were still a few empty rooms available. Andrew got a key, and safely helped you to a bed. He took off your shoes, made you lie down, tucked you in. The time it took him to come back with a glass of water to put on your bedside table, you were fast asleep.

He took a moment to watch you like this, hair a mess of locks stranded on the pillow, looking peaceful, even if your crying was still visible. He gently brushed your cheek, dropped a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then he was gone.

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 5

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 5 - What Now?

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.2k

AO3

Chapter 4

You didn’t go to Quantico today. Not that anyone would notice your absence besides Prentiss and that was fine by you. Let her stew while you figure out what you want. A difficult task since you had no idea what that was without someone telling you what to do. You rarely had the lead on your mission purpose. You could tell Brian what happened to gain some professional advice but decided it is best to keep it to yourself. Think things through for a bit before reaching out. And you were glad that the section chief didn’t contact you.

Not that you were expecting it. Prentiss wasn’t one to make amends so quickly, especially when she felt she was in the right. You respected her motivations for team preservation, but the woman went about it completely wrong.

You were not kind, either. But she provoked you, wouldn’t budge, and too fucking proud to admit she was wrong. You didn’t regret anything you said to her and probably continue being a petulant ass if she contacted you.

So here you were at the Botanical Gardens, sipping coffee from a to go cup you bought at the café, and casually stroll around the exhibits. The fragrance that you greedily inhaled was intoxicatingly calming. There was barely a sound, too, since it was a weekday and you were happy to learn from the cashier that there were no school trips planned for today. For a short time, you can pretend to have the place to yourself as you round the long rectangular pool in one of the exhibits far from the entrance.

Natural light filtered through glass ceiling, illuminating large trees hugged by well-manicured flowers. Wooden benches were tucked between large potted plants, the same ones that were placed around the pool, though on opposite ends were long planters with bright pink flowers that easily caught your eye.

You pause roughly a foot away from the pool and close your eyes, listening to the gentle laps of water hitting the edges. You could almost forget about yesterday’s argument. Eyes still close, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and take a healthy swallow while slipping a hand into your jean pocket …

… and felt your phone buzz.

You enjoy pretending nothing was wrong for a moment longer before opening your eyes and pulling the phone free from your back pocket. Should you take bets as to who was messaging you?

To your surprise, it was Rebecca. Did she know what happened?

You take another sip and unlock your phone to read the message,

Wilson sent 1043: Hey! Drinks this weekend?

So, she didn’t know.

Interesting.

A pang of guilt made your stomach ache thinking how the falling out with Prentiss would affect her if you didn’t go back to working with the BAU. The AG went to bat for the two of you when she didn’t have to.

Bailey would love it if you backed out and could resume causing trouble for the team. You couldn’t have that, but you equally couldn’t have Prentiss treating you like shit. Why you didn’t want to make any hasty decisions until you distance yourself further from the time of the fight and figure out what you wanted.

Whitlock sent 1055: Sure. Let me know when and where. Tara going to be there too?

Wilson sent 1057: Yep. We want to hear how things are going.

You sigh and look up at the large leaves hanging over your head.

Whitlock sent 1100: Sounds like a plan

No need to drop any major bombshells until you know what was going on.

Wilson sent 1101: 😊 Great!

And you have a couple of days to figure it out.

Today should have been a good day for the BAU. Tyler Green was apprehended before he could use the kill kit, but it was a clusterfuck of a joint task force with Domestic Terrorism. The BAU had gone after Green and Rossi had refused to call JJ and Luke back when ordered, which pissed Bailey off. But the deputy director had a sniper in place that he failed to mention to them. So, they were all in the wrong and kept secrets from one another since the two divisions didn’t trust either side. Everything settled into place with no casualties, but the fallout was intense.

Bailey’s press conference announced to Sicarius that they were on to him and right after it was over, fired Rossi as unit chief. He then ordered Prentiss to install a new team leader that would report directly to him. So of course, she said fuck that and would work two jobs. He wouldn’t approve of anyone currently on the team, and she wouldn’t approve of anyone else since Bailey would immediately try and manipulate the new member against them.

Emily would always protect her team.

Then a few hours ago, the case grew interesting as the team deduced that Green was Garcia’s informant. He never had any intention of setting off the bomb, already neutralizing the kill kit. The disgraced army veteran was attempting to lure Sicarius out by infiltrating his network so he could kill him for murdering his sister.

One saving grace for Emily is that everyone was on high alert today that no one questioned where you were. She didn’t offer any insight, either. Not that she had any.

You didn’t show up for work and she received no contact from you, nor anything from Langley. Not like she was going to poke that hornet’s nest. Until the issue of you and the contract came up, Emily had real work to do.

Which was a ton of it. More files and paperwork had exponentially piled up on her desk in a matter of hours. The long hours at work were about to double.

“Hey, Emily.”

She looks up with a tired smile towards Rossi as he approaches her desk. “Dave.”

“What a day, huh?” He sits down, folding his hands across his stomach.

Emily partly snorts as she leans back in her chair. “That’s being kind.”

His lips slightly turn upwards to acknowledge the severity of the unspoken truth of the BAU leadership shake up, but he was here for another reason. “You know, I was hoping to speak to Whitlock today.”

“Oh?” she gave away nothing but polite curiosity as to why Dave was interested in you.

“Wanted to finish our conversation from yesterday, but she never came in.” He studies Emily intently.

She doesn’t look away and says nothing to confirm or deny what he said.

“Her desk is clean,” he supplies after motioning over his shoulder towards the couch. “No Diet Coke bottles.”

Emily wouldn’t have guessed your soda addiction would end up being the clue to your absence.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” he presses.

She licks her lips, tapping pen in hand lightly on the desk as she struggles on how to begin.

Rossi chuckles at seeing her inwardly battle on what to say. “Wow. That bad?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It was.”

“What was the argument about?”

Her face scrunches up as she takes a deep breath before explaining. “Not trusting her.”

His brows raise with admonishment.

“Oh, don’t do that. I have every right not to,” she argues firmly.

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that there’s absolutely nothing substantial on record about her.” She shakes her head with contempt. “You know she had legal trouble?” Rossi shakes his head that he didn’t. “That’s how she knows Wilson. Helped her out of it.”

He fans his hands out unconvinced. “And?”

“She admitted her file’s sealed and she did nothing wrong. That she made the right call in the field.”

“Every member of the BAU has been in trouble at some point or another in similar circumstances. Legal and otherwise,” he says with the tone of a wise, patient, parent. “And we’re not aware of any significant reprimand, otherwise why retain a high rank in the CIA.”

“Yes, but I know all of you. I don’t know her.”

“Hotch didn’t know you when you joined. Yet here you are.” He gestures around Hotch’s former office. “Section Chief.”

She remains unconvinced, face hardened with mistrust.

“Come on, Emily. Even you were given the opportunity to prove yourself. Why can’t you afford the same arm length courtesy?”

That is the question, isn’t it? Why doesn’t she like you besides the overall mistrust. Again, there were a lot of similarities to your careers that she should have some sympathy towards you and your situation. But it’s difficult to shake your reasoning for helping Wilson with this immense favor of the BAU budget resolution.

“It’s the stipend. Or the amount of the stipend that unburied us,” she admits carefully.

“Ah.” He smiles. “Too good to be true?”

“Yes,” she nods. “And why does she even has that much to use? Whatever happened was big and I don’t want that drama effecting the BAU.”

“Wow. Emily, with all due respect, that’s very hypocritical of you after what happened wi-“

“Don’t you dare.” She swivels the chair to face him fully. “Don’t you dare compare what happened with Doyle with her.”

“Why? Because you have nothing to compare the drama with?” He scoffs as she nods in affirmation. “Why does it matter?”

“Because Bailey’s still breathing down my neck trying to disband the unit and is clearly finding new creative ways to do it since the budget is no longer an issue.” She rests her head against the high back chair, staring at the ceiling.

Dave stiffens in the chair. “Emily, what exactly happened with you and Whitlock?”

She pensively pulls her lips together as she closes her eyes. “I may have admitted … that I only cared about her because of the money.”

Rossi could not help the surprise look on his face. “Emily, no …”

She sighs and opens her eyes, a hint of regret etching into her words. “I was angry after she joked about being the BAU sugar mama. Everything after that went to shit.”

He was starting to get tired of Emily speaking around what actually happened between the two of you. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have no idea if Whitlock is still on board.” She raises her hand futilely at her office door. “She left, probably for good. Which means our contract with her is null and void.”

“And the money we were hoping for …”

“… doesn’t come,” she finishes soberly.

“And you didn’t think to contact her to see where she stands in all of this?”

“Oh, it did cross my mind,” she answers ruefully. “I just haven’t. And to be fair, the shit we dealt with today made it a low priority.”

Rossi wasn’t sure how being in exorbitant debt would be a low priority if the expectant help wasn’t coming. “And now?”

She finally shifts her gaze towards Rossi, lost. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, you do,” he chides as he stands up. “You just need to apologize.”

You were glad that the sports bar, Buddy’s, was still around to enjoy the football preseason despite the Bears not playing tonight. You were a true fan of your hometown team. Thick and thin, you bitched and cheered after every play during a Bears game, loyally critical. Perhaps you should be a tad loyal to the Commanders since you lived in the D.C. area when off mission, but you honestly didn’t care. You were happy to enjoy any game that was playing on the screens over the bar counter.

Right now, the Giants were playing the Patriots in a close game as you sat at the bar nursing a Stella on draft with a bowl of gumbo. Brian still didn’t know of your indecision, though you did end up feeling a twinge of guilt after watching the shitshow of a press conference Bailey held earlier today.

He was such a fucking tool, broadcasting that the FBI was on to Sicarius and taking full credit of capturing the unsub in Allaband Park. There was no way that the operation was a success without the BAU there and even you knew that Prentiss was just in the background to show that everyone was playing nice.

You briefly wonder if you could have helped the team, or more accurately, would have been allowed to help the team today if her majesty could get over her mistrust of you.

At least Brian had texted to check on you after hearing of Green’s capture.

Dad sent 1534: You ok?

Whitlock sent 1603: Yeah I’m good

Dad sent 1632: Glad to hear it.

You made sure to allow enough reasonable time before responding to make it look like you were busy after the capture, and to answer truthfully without being specific.

“Oh, come on!” You gesture at the screen when a defensive lineman wasn’t covered and sacked the Giants quarterback.

You didn’t really care who wins but you would always call out stupid plays, and that was one major fuck up. As the Giants took a time out, you went back to your gumbo and felt the counter vibrate twice, indicating a message was received. You had missed who it was from and go to unlock the screen …

… and drop your spoon in the bowl in shock.

Overlord sent 1932: I’d like to meet up and discuss last night.

Never did it cross your mind to think that you’d get a text from Emily fucking Prentiss.

You’re motionless as you stare at the screen, hands resting on either side of your meal and the phone as you consider the offer. Let alone that there was an offer so soon. You pinch your brows before you pick up the phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

You write out several replies to get the smartass comments out of your system.

Fuck off

New phone, who dis?

Make sure when you come the pole’s dislodged from your ass

Now you wanna talk?

Oh I’m so relieved that the queen wishes to make time for her lowly servant

Are you drunk?

Each one was deleted, and Emily was probably wondering why it was taking so long for you to respond if she saw you were constantly typing a reply.

And what was going to be your real one?

You swallow down several gulps of beer, decision made.

Whitlock sent 1946: Sure. Come to Buddy’s. Know where it is?

You were tired of Prentiss having the home field advantage and if she really was earnest in wanting to speak, she would come to you.

Overlord sent 1949: I do not

Must not be her scene and thinking back to her office, there was no sports stuff displayed there, unlike the glimpses of Cubs gear in Rossi’s office when you walked by.

Whitlock sent 1950: I sent you the location

Overlord sent 1952: Got it. See you in about an hour

You fought the urge to send, ‘It’s a date!’, and simply set your phone aside. You were proud of yourself for behaving and flag the bartender over, immediately handing her your Platinum American Express card. “Start a tab, will ya?”

The blonde bartender that had been working your side of the bar counter took it with a smile. It accentuated her stud piercing above her lip. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Oh! And do me a favor?” Your eyes were alight with mischief that made the woman pause. “When you see a grumpy looking woman dressed like a Fed walk in, bring her a glass of your best red.”

It took Emily ten minutes to find a parking space, not expecting a sports bar to be this busy on a Thursday night. At least the five minute walk was pleasant with the light breeze and night clear enough of cloud cover to enjoy the bright crescent moon hovering in the sky. It was off center, reminding her of the Chesire Cat’s grin. Which then reminds her of you and your antics.

Ugh. Please don’t be an ass tonight.

As she enters, she immediately spots you, recognizing the suede jacket of yours hanging over the back of the bar stool to your left. She guesses it is to save a spot for her. As she approaches, she takes in your relaxed appearance, causally watching the game and sipping at the glass of beer you cradle with a hand on the counter. You had your hair pulled back in a loose braid that rested against a black tee and wore jeans that were fraying at the end that covered the top of brown work boots.

Before she even had a chance to greet you, a glass of red wine appears on the counter next to you. She catches the bartender and you sharing a knowing look before she disappears to take care of someone else.

“Hey, Prentiss.” You turn to remove your jacket and place it back where it belongs behind you.

Emily shrugs her long coat off and hangs it over the back of the chair. You couldn’t help but notice how out of place she looks. It wasn’t the clothes, no. There were a lot of suits that end up relaxing at a sports bar - throwing back some beer and cocktails as they yell at the screens in joy or contempt. It was why the beer and cocktails menu were long and the wine list short. And it was why Prentiss got a basic cabernet sauvignon while you got many drafts on tap to choose much to your delight.

She sits beside you and gestures to the drink. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” Your face scrunches together in repentance. “Consider it an apology for basically calling you a functional alcoholic.”

You take a sip of your beer while watching highlights from the game. The Giants had won by a field goal.

Prentiss nods as she takes a sip from her glass. She makes a light face of approval at the taste of the wine. “Ironic offering this to the maybe functional alcoholic.”

“Touche.”

You both grow silent, Prentiss trying to recover from the peace offering she was drinking and the fact you apologized first. It was commendable to be the bigger person when Emily was in the wrong.

“Do you normally come to places like this?” she asks carefully, seeing where you two stand right now in this conversation.

“Nah. Just didn’t want to be at the apartment doing the same thing.” And you didn’t need to cook, which was a bonus.

“You like,” she gestures to the screen and awkwardly asks, “football?”

You found it cute she was trying.

“I’m not a die hard fanatic, but I enjoy the game a lot.” You finally turn to look at her. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

She shakes her head no and meets your gaze. “I am not.”

“Of all sports, right?”

“That would be right.”

You both stare at one another for a few moments before you shift in your chair to lean against the counter, resting your elbow on top to prop up your head. “If it helps to shake off some of my mystique, I’m a Bears fan. You probably don’t understand how sad that it is, but it is. My team sucks but I’ll always root for them.”

That jibe made Emily relax, even making the curves of her mouth turn upwards just enough to realize what you were getting at. “So, you’re saying you’re loyal?”

You nod. “I am. To those who treat me right.”

Emily takes a long sip of her wine to marinate on the accusation she deserves. You wait her out, watching Emily pay attention to commentary and statistics she doesn’t give a shit about on the screens across from you.

“I shouldn’t have referred to you as a means to an end.” Her hands rest on the base of the wine glass, steadying the drink as much as her own words. “It’s difficult for me to …”

You watch as she chews over what to say.

“… for me to trust you.”

You inwardly sigh and drop the arm holding your head up. Your body went on the defense, as did your tone. “Yes, we’ve been through this …”

“It’s not without reason,” she supplies quickly, but not rudely, as she cuts you off.

“I agree. But you dehumanized me,” you reply bitterly. “I was basically your money whore.”

“I didn’t …” But Emily pauses, realizing the joke you made was not your usual smartass retort, but a self-deprecating comment of how hurt you were.

She remembers you saying that you hide your trauma with humor, and what you just said admitted to a painful past of being underappreciated or undeserving.

“Stop profiling me, Prentiss,” you warn, eyes pleading.

She backs down and nods. “I’m sorry. It’s defensive most of the time in situations like this.”

“Okay, that I can understand. Social shit isn’t my forte either. Especially through all the bullshit we’ve been through.” You hold up your hands on the immediate defense as Prentiss starts to look suspicious. “And I mean generally. I’m not talking about any specifics. But people like us, with the shit we’ve done and lived through, have intense self defense mechanisms and shitty coping skills that we see everything’s a threat until we get to understand one another.”

“Ah,” she slowly nods. “Yes. That’s very true.” Then she narrows her eyes at you. “Why couldn’t you be this reasonable last night?”

“Why did you have to be a bitch?” you counter.

“Fair point,” she chuckles and looks aggrieve. “I was painfully informed I was as such earlier today.”

“Hence the text?”

“Mhm.”

“Well … good.” You down more of your drink as Prentiss does with hers, both avoiding the unspoken question - were you staying with the BAU?

Though as you watch the section chief, you see a shift in her facial features. A harden look as she comes to a decision inside her head.

“How about we start over.”

“Like, how?” you found this perplexing.

“Like this.” She turns on the stool and holds a hand out before you. “Hi, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding yesterday. I’m Section Chief Emily Prentiss.”

Your eyes go wide and look down at the olive branch. You could hear Brian’s voice reminding you that you never quit on anyone and why you shouldn’t start now.

So, you take Emily’s hand and squeeze it. “Special Agent Y/N Whitlock. Nice to meet ya.”

She lightly smiles before releasing your hand, but she starts to dread the roguish look you're directing towards her. “What?” she questions slowly, draping her arm over the back of the bar stool.

“Nothing bad, I promise.” Your smile disarms her as you notice she was genuinely concerned this would degrade into another misunderstanding. “I know you don’t know me, and I can’t say much, but to start this partnership off better, how about you get to ask me one question, and I promise to answer it to the best of my ability without joking around.”

Her lower lip protrudes with consideration. “All right.” She takes a hefty swallow of wine and sets it down to look you directly in the eyes. “How did you join the CIA?”

“Fuck,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can’t say.”

You watch as the tiny bit of the wall Emily had taken down starts to build right back up. The shift in her brown eyes makes you feel miserable. “Wait!” you urge. “Please. I really can’t say, and that’s the truth. But I can offer something related to it.”

Emily becomes intrigued. “Go on.”

“Brian Korogoth recruited me.”

“Brian … Korogoth?” she repeats back for clarification.

“Yes.”

“The current Director of the CIA?” she stabs the counter with her index finger for emphasis.

“Yep.”

“That Brian Korogoth?” Emily needs to ask it again to make sure she was hearing this right.

“To be fair, he wasn’t that when I met him, but … yes.”

It took a few minutes for Emily to digest this new information. She had briefly worked with Korogoth when she was in JTF-12 before the Doyle case. He was an intelligent and calculating man. A natural leader. He liaised between JTF-12 and Interpol to track down members of the Armed Islamic Group* in Great Britain when a string of car bombings had occurred.

“Wow. Okay then.” She blinks a few times in realization and feels a newfound respect for the woman before her.

“I should have probably led with that when we first met to save us from all the bullshit between us, huh?” you say, as if reading her thoughts.

She laughs, an honest laugh, that echoes quite lovely over the din of patrons. “Probably, yes.”

You hold up your glass and offer Prentiss a bright smile. “To starting over?”

Emily didn’t hesitate in reaching for her wine glass to clink it against your drink. “To starting over.”

*Also known as the GIA

Chapter 6

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

Taglist:

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven

[lunaatthezoo]

Tarot + Chocolate | Chapter 1

Chapter 1 is here 🥹 I am so excited to share this new fic with you all. HUUUUUUUGE thank you to @ater-love who literally came up with the idea behind this fic, and has let me bother her endlessly with headcanons and snippets and questions and random thoughts. It has been so fun brainstorming this together. And thank you to @bexdrawsbooks who beta read this chapter for me and who is also letting me constantly talk her ear off about ideas and concepts and reading random passages I send her at all hours 😭

I hope you love this first chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts.

Chapter 1: Truth or Dare?

Summary: Azriel struggles to forget Elain, while Elain struggles to remember Azriel.

CW: Mentions of parent death, mentions of childhood trauma.

Preview:

The next morning, Sunday, Azriel did as he had resolved to do. He woke up early, went to the gym in his building, and tried to sweat out the remaining liquor. He returned to his condo and showered before he made a protein shake for breakfast. He was just finishing up some laundry when Cassian called him. 

“Yep?” Azriel asked his brother, who wasn't really his brother but was as close as he had ever had. 

“Rhys and I are coming over,” Cassian answered. Azriel raised an eyebrow even though it wouldn't be seen. 

“Did we have plans?”

Cassian grunted over the line. “No, but you owe us after last night. You promised us a truth or dare.”

Azriel groaned. “I'm thirty-five. I'm not doing a truth or dare.” 

“No, no, no,” Cassian protested. “Last night you called me and made me drag your drunk ass and some random stranger to your condo for you. So you could fuck. And you know what you interrupted?”

Azriel ran a hand over his face, shame flooding him. Cassian took his silence as a no. 

“I had a woman’s pussy inches from my mouth.”

Azriel frowned down at his phone. “Then why the fuck did you say yes?” 

His brother laughed roughly over the line. “Because you called so many times I thought it was an emergency! And then you promised you would do anything if I did you this one favor. So Rhysie and I are coming over to see you keep your word on that.”

Continue on Ao3.

[m1ster1e]

paper airplanes.

tadashi hamada x reader

★You finally get to attend your dream school at SFIT in San Fransokyo. It seemed like a dream come true with a wide city to explore and new friends at your side. But they always say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover and boy did San Fransokyo have the most deceiving appearance

tw-depression, injuries, vigilantism. characters are all college aged adults (minus hiro). san fransokyo looks cute but is basically gotham. angst, fluff, romance.

afab! reader plus she/her pronouns!!

chapter [1]

Chapter 2: First Day

You laid there for a minute before rolling out of bed, the cool air of the room raised goose bumps along your skin as you left the warm confines of your comforter.

The gentle jingle of your phone's alarm jolted you awake. The soft music ever so slightly grating at the hour it went off in.

For a second you wondered why you had agreed to go out to a cafe at a relatively early time on the weekend, right after spending the day prior traveling and unpacking luggage, but you knew once your day started it wouldn't be so bad.

After finishing your morning preparations you met Lily in your shared living space. She adorned a pastel sweater over a white tank top and handmade beads draped between the two belt loops of her jeans. On her right hand was a small collection of silly bands and a variety of rings covered several of her fingers. The colors of her outfit shined brightly against her warm skin and mismatched clips in her hair held back heaps of dark curls.

"You ready?" She asks as she grabbed her hand painted tote bag and stood up from her seat on the couch, "I think if we go now we shouldn't have too much of a hard time with lines".

You nodded and collected your belongings as well, leaving the comforts of your dorm to join Lily in her ideas for the day.

Fortunately there were multiple bus stops in various places around campus, allowing you and other students to better navigate the city. Your student ID doubling as a bus pass also makes the journey just that much simpler.

The two of you made your way to the nearest bus stop, chatting lightly about your classes and plans for the semester. When the bus arrived, you both boarded, flashing your student IDs to the driver before finding seats near the back. The ride was smooth, and you took in the sights of the city as you traveled.

After a short ride, you arrived at the stop nearest to the Lucky Cat Cafe. Stepping off the bus, you were greeted by the lively atmosphere of the neighborhood, filled with various shops and restaurants. The cafe itself was charming, with a warm, inviting exterior and a sign that read "Lucky Cat Cafe" in bright, friendly letters.

As you walked in, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods welcomed you. The interior was cozy and inviting, with wooden chairs and tables, colorful artwork on the walls, and a counter filled with an array of tempting treats. You and Lily found a table by the window and sat down, eager to enjoy your morning together.

The menu was posted online so you were able to browse options without awkwardly standing in front of the counter, a true blessing as you didn't feel like standing in the way of people attempting to put in their orders.

"I think I know what I want, what about you, Lily?" She nodded and grinned, her eyes scanning the menu on her phone.

"Yep, I think I'll go for the matcha latte and a croissant. What about you?"

You glanced at your own phone one last time, making sure of your choice. "I'm thinking of getting (order)."

With your decisions made, you both approached the counter, confident and ready to place your orders. The barista turned around, and you recognized him instantly as the guy who helped you find your dorm. His warm smile made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey, welcome to the Lucky Cat Café! What can I get for you today?" Tadashi asked, his friendly demeanor putting you at ease.

You exchanged a quick, surprised glance with Lily before placing your order. "I'll have (order), please."

"And I'll get a matcha latte and a croissant," Lily added, her eyes briefly flicking between you and Tadashi.

As Tadashi started preparing your drinks, Lily leaned in and whispered, "He seems really nice."

You nodded, watching Tadashi skillfully handle the various machinery. "Yeah, he does, he actually helped me out the other day."

Once your drinks were ready, Tadashi handed them over with a smile. "Enjoy! Have a great day."

You and Lily found a cozy corner table, settling into the comfortable chairs. As you sipped your drinks, you couldn't help but steal glances at Tadashi, who was now attending to other customers with the same genuine warmth.

"I want to make video games, really, I know whatever about job security but...honestly, that's just what I want to do. Right now I'm in computer science but with a focus on game design." You folded in parts of the napkin as she continued. "After graduation I'd like to go to SFAI and learn more about the artistic side of games, y'know, so I'm more well rounded."

"So," Lily began, her eyes twinkling with curiosity, "What made you choose SFIT?"

"Well I chose SFIT because of how many different pathways and options there are, I want to learn a lot of things from a lot of places, and I felt like SFIT was the best for that. What about you?" You asked, and began fidgeting with the paper napkin on the table.

Her explanation was unique from what you've heard from other students at SFIT, and you wondered if that played into her acceptance. "SFAI? Our rival? That's actually a pretty cool take. What made you want to get into game development?" At this point you were almost done with your masterpiece as you folded even more of the napkin.

"I don't want my life to be boring, if I'm going to work a nine to five until I die I would at least like to be happy doing it and making video games just fits that for me. What about y- oh, you're actually pretty good at that." She referenced to your napkin turned airplane.

"Oh, yeah, I learned the best method I think from a high school physics class, now they're just a fun way to pass time." She grabbed the napkin and examined it, "It won't fly good because it isn't made of paper, but still looks kinda neat," you added but she threw it at you anyway, just for it to fall short on the table.

"Yeah, you're right, but it is still pretty cool." She giggled as you balled up the napkin in preparation to toss it.

As you and Lily finished your drinks and pastries, you noticed Tadashi approaching your table with a friendly smile.

"How was everything?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"It was great, thank you," you replied, returning his smile.

Lily nodded in agreement. "Yeah, the matcha latte was amazing. We'll definitely be coming back."

Tadashi chuckled. "Glad to hear it. If you ever need any recommendations or help around the city, feel free to ask."

"Actually," you said, seizing the opportunity, "do you have any suggestions for places to check out?"

Tadashi thought for a moment, then mentioned a nearby park, a popular bookstore, and a few other interesting spots. As he talked, you couldn't help but notice the genuine enthusiasm in his voice.

"Thanks, Tadashi," you said. "We'll definitely look into those."

"No problem," he replied. "Here, let me give you my number. If you ever want a local's tour or just need some help, don't hesitate to reach out."

He handed you a small piece of paper with his phone number scribbled on it. You felt a flutter of excitement as you took it, carefully tucking it into your pocket.

"Thank you," you said again. "We'll definitely keep that in mind."

With that, he gave a small wave and returned to the counter. You and Lily gathered your things and headed out of the café, feeling a little more at ease in the bustling city.

The bus ride back to campus was filled with light conversation and laughter as you and Lily shared your thoughts on the café and Tadashi’s recommendations. Once you reached your stop, the two of you walked back to your dorm, the campus now alive with students going about their day.

Back in your apartment, you both headed to your respective rooms to relax. After changing out of your street clothes you sank into your bed, enjoying the softness of your comforter after the busy morning. Taking out your phone, you decided to text Tadashi to make it easier for him to add you to his contacts.

"Hey Tadashi, it's (y/n) from the Lucky Cat Café. Thanks for the recommendations! :)"

You hit send and placed your phone on the bedside table, feeling a sense of anticipation for his response. As you settled into your room, you reflected on the quiet day, content with the promise of new connections and the anticipation of what was to come.

Y'all I'm so sorry for ANOTHER short chapter with low amounts of Tadashi, we will get there TRUST! Plus, I just moved, it's finals week, I'm changing my major, work week for cheer started, I have new projects at my job, and overall am absurdly busy lol so please be patient with the quality and quantity of my writing so far. I don't like setting up the beginning of a story so it might be slow until I get to the parts I'm excited about.

If you have any recommendations or ideas please lmk!! I would love to hear from everyone :) ♡

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

<- Previous Next ->

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Word Count: 7,003

Read on AO3

Chapter Fourteen: There Are Many Things That I Would Like to Say to You (But I Don't Know How)

“Holy shit, Baker.”

Holy shit, indeed.

The hum of the bar roared around them; karaoke started up in the corner, someone howling the opening lines of a Shania Twain song off-key, but it all blurred to static where they’d tucked themselves away. The far end of the bar was quieter, half-lit, mostly abandoned, and just loud enough to let them pretend they weren’t talking about the kind of thing that had pulled the floor right out from under her feet for the better part of a month.

Beth traced a finger around the rim of her untouched whiskey glass. Dana hadn’t so much as flinched as she listened, letting Beth talk from the beginning to the bitter end to the now; that strange, heavy now that Beth still hadn’t figured out how to carry. Her mouth was dry. Her chest felt hollow. And still Dana hadn’t moved from where she leaned forward on her elbows, watching Beth like she was trying to see the whole shape of her through the splinters.

“You sure that isn’t a Hallmark movie?”

Beth huffed a laugh. It sounded like it came from someone else. “If it is, then the screenwriter’s a goddamn sadist.”

Dana took a slow sip from her drink, then set it down gently. Her tone was mild, but her eyes were razor-sharp. “Does anyone else know?”

Beth shook her head once. “No. Just you.”

Dana’s brow lifted slightly. Beth went on, voice even, but quiet.

“Hasn’t exactly been something we’ve gone around announcing.”

Dana nursed the last of her drink, turning the glass slowly in place, condensation pooling beneath it. Her silence pressed in around them. It wasn’t judgmental. Just…dense. Measuring. Calculating. Watching Beth like she was waiting to see if she’d blink wrong.

“And when Abby came in that day…?” she asked carefully, voice barely above the buzz of the bar.

Beth stared at the ice in her glass, slowly melting, refracting the amber like stained glass. Her finger drew another slow ring around the rim.

“First time I’d seen him since,” she said finally. She clicked her nails against the glass and nodded. “Yep. You’ve got the gist of it.”

Dana let out a low breath, barely a whistle. “That son of a bitch.”

Beth looked up finally. “You’re tellin’ me.”

“Have you two talked about it?”

Beth shook her head. Her fingers trailed the rim of her glass, slow and idle, like she was drawing a circle she couldn’t step out of.

“Not yet,” she said finally.

Dana tilted her head. “Why the fuck not? Pretty big elephant to try to ignore.”

Beth gave a weak laugh, but it didn’t stick. She looked down again, like the answer might be scrawled in the water rings left on the bar. Dana stared at Beth across the narrow corner of the bar, the noise of the others dimming around them. She had that look on her face; tilted head, lips pursed, the one she used on residents when she knew they were hedging a diagnosis. Once upon a time, she would have sworn that they taught that look in nursing school. She was still fairly convinced of it now.

Beth felt it. That weight of waiting; of someone seeing straight through you and letting you squirm anyway. She took a sip, then set the glass down with too much care, like it might break and shatter if she let it fall too heavily. Like she might.

“I thought we’d never talk about it,” Beth said finally. “Honestly, D… I really believed that. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again; or at least stopped keeping up the hope that I would after a while. I spent years telling myself it didn’t matter. That I was over it. That what we had wasn’t real. And then I’d catch myself rewriting the ending in my head. Over and over. What I’d say if I saw him again. What he’d say. Sometimes I was calm. Sometimes I was furious. Sometimes I didn’t even let him speak.”

Beth’s jaw tightened. “But now that he’s actually here, now that we’re sitting at the same damn table… I don’t know a single word of it. I look at him, and I’m eighteen again. No script. Just… knots.”

“And he never told you why?” Dana asked.

“Nope. Isn’t that just the kicker of the whole thing?” Beth exhaled sharply, a bitter laugh trailing behind it. “At least with Russell, I knew what it was. I came home from work, seven months pregnant, and found an intern in our bed. That’s simple math; add betrayal, subtract a marriage. No closure needed. No second-guessing. Just packed up my shit, left, and filed for divorce the following week.”

Dana’s brows lifted slightly. She’d heard that story before. The lie about being stuck in surgery so he didn’t have to come to her OB appointment; just buying time while he fucked a girl less than half his age on sheets she’d slept under the night before. She hadn’t screamed when she found them. Hadn’t cried when she pulled the door shut and he followed her out into the dark driveway with nothing but excuses and deflections as to why it was her fault; how this would somehow make their marriage better. When that failed, he just got ugly. Said he’d never wanted this life, you know. She was the one who wanted to get married. That he was nearly fifty, for Christ’s sake, Beth. He was too old for all of this, for fatherhood. So the logical next step? Lure another wide-eyed intern into his bed the same as he had her and hope for a different outcome. 

She hadn’t blamed the girl; she was sure he sold her the same pretty lies Beth bought from him before she slammed his fingers in her car door and told him to go to hell. The bastard hadn’t even had the decency to show up for his own daughter’s birth. She went into labor a month early, terrified and alone in a hospital bed across the country from her family, while the fetal heart rate kept tanking. He was in Aspen with his girlfriend. Apparently, it was selfish of her to ask him to come when Kendra or Carly or whatever-the-fuck her name was hadn’t skied fresh powder before. I’ll be there in the morning, he’d told her. 

He met his daughter when she was two weeks old. Didn’t see her again for four months. By the time Abby’s first birthday rolled around and he didn’t show up, she finally told him to stop bothering. ‘ Just send your check, Russell. You’re off the hook. Stay the fuck away from her.’

Beth went on, her voice quieter now. “And even Russell, the piece of shit he was, he still had the courtesy to give me a reason. Told me a man has needs. Said I’d let myself go while I was pregnant, with his child, mind you. But he said it. Blunt and cruel and clear.”

She took another sip, but the whiskey had stopped burning some time ago. “But Jack? Nothing. No blowout. No betrayal. Just… silence. He left, and I got to fill in all the blanks myself.”

Dana looked down, thumb circling the rim of her glass. “Maybe he didn’t think he had the right.”

“Maybe,” Beth said with a shrug. “Or maybe I just wasn’t worth staying for.”

Across the bar, Jack glanced up at the sound of Robby’s laugh. His gaze found hers like it always seemed to. Unflinching. Familiar. Beth returned it with a tight-lipped little thing and looked back down at the name scratched in the counter.

Dana followed her line of sight, then back again. “You ever think maybe you let those eighteen-year-olds off the hook? And let the grown-ups have the conversation?”

Beth croaked out a laugh, but her throat tightened. She shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to hear the grown-up version.”

Why not?” Dana asked, something softening in her tone.

Beth shrugged. Her fingers toyed with the condensation on her glass, chasing a droplet down the side before she swept it away with a finger. “Because what if it’s worse than what I've let myself believe?” she said finally, voice low, like it might break if she raised it any higher. She swallowed down the tremor and propped her chin on a fist, turning to meet Dana’s eye. “What if the grown-up version still thinks I wasn’t worth sticking around for? I’ve spent years asking myself why. Why Jack. Why Russell. And there’s always a common denominator to all of it. The answer always circles back to me.”

Dana watched her, eyes steady. Then, gently, “You really think that’s what he’s been trying to say with those eyes he keeps making at you?”

Beth looked down, jaw tight, like she could shove the emotion back where it came from if she just stared hard enough at the bar top.

Dana let out a quiet scoff and leaned back, glass in hand. “You two aren’t hiding things as well as you think, Red.”

Beth huffed out a half-smile, all breath and no warmth. “That obvious?”

“Did you not sit there and listen to you two with the rest of us? Painfully so.”

Beth chuckled before they lapsed into silence. She finished what was left in her glass, the ice clinking against her teeth before she set it down with a soft thud. 

“Closure’s a myth, you know,” Dana said softly, more matter-of-fact than anything else. “People like to act like there’s this perfect full-circle moment. That if you just get the right conversation, the right apology, the right goodbye, it’ll all make sense. But that’s not how people work. They’re messy. They leave loose ends.”

Beth finally spoke, voice low. “I know it sounds ridiculous.”

Dana looked over. “What does?”

Beth shrugged, eyes locked on her hands, still wrapped around the now-empty glass. “Being this torn up about a boy from high school.”

Dana arched a brow. “Beth—”

“No, I mean it.” She shook her head, gave a soft laugh, small and self-deprecating, like she was already bracing for how it would sound out loud. “I’m a grown woman. A mom. I’ve been married, divorced, built a whole life for myself. I’ve seen shit most people can’t even spell. And yet the second I saw Jack, it was like…” She trailed off, breath catching. “Like no time had passed at all. Like I’m…” 

“Standing on that porch all over again?” Dana finished gently. Beth nodded. The bartender caught her eye and dipped his chin toward her glass, already going for the bottle before Beth shook her head tightly and he moved on to the next patron with a nod.

“He wasn’t just some boy I dated, Dana,” she continued, almost like she didn’t trust herself to stop once she did. “He was it. He was the best friend, the boyfriend, the stupid loud truck in the driveway every day. I couldn’t say my own name without someone adding his after it. We did everything together. We didn’t make plans with each other, we made them as each other. He practically lived with my family during the summers. Went to Montana with my dad and brother every year and worked at my grandparents' ranch for two weeks like he was one of the grandkids. Shit, our boss would check with me about Jack’s schedule before even bothering to ask him, because he knew Jack would just tell him to check with me anyway.”

Her voice softened. “He spent every holiday at our house. Came on every family vacation. My dad taught him how to hunt and fish right alongside my brother like he was just another one of his boys. And, well, I guess he taught him a lesson like one of his boys too, from the sound of that story.”

Dana smiled gently as Beth gave a small dry laugh.

“For a while, we really thought that was it,” Beth said, her voice quieter again. “That we’d go off, have our little adventures wherever the Army sent us, and then come back. Settle down, buy a house near my parents. Maybe buy out the garage we worked at. Have a couple of kids, get a dog we can’t stand.” She smiled faintly, but it didn’t last. “Simple. Happy.”

The next laugh was sharper. “It was dumb. We were kids. But it didn’t feel dumb then. It felt inevitable. And then one day, he was just… gone. No fight. No warning. Just gone.”

The crack of the cue ball split the din of the bar, chased by a roar of laughter. Beth leaned her cheek against her clasped hands, swaying slightly to the opening notes of Wonderwall that sound like a memory wrapped in melody. Dana bumped her shoulder gently against hers, pulling her attention back.

“That kind of love doesn’t get erased just because time passed,” Dana said. “Doesn’t matter if you were eighteen or forty-eight. You know that. Shit, I met my husband when we were nineteen and I knew I loved Mitch before I turned twenty. If it mattered, it mattered.”

Beth swallowed, her throat tight. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It did.”

Dana’s voice was soft. “And now?”

Now?

Now it felt like something was unspooling inside her; slow and fragile and impossible to stop. Like she’d been holding her breath for years without realizing it, and one look at him had undone all the tightness in her chest. It was color where there had only been gray, bleeding back in golden and burning red at the edges. The kind of warmth that made you ache because you hadn’t realized how cold you were. She saw him and every part of her that had been packed away came rushing back, wild and intact and unbearably tender. Like it had just been waiting for permission. And it terrified her.

Beth looked down again, thumb tracing the rim of her glass. “Now I look at him, and it’s like I’m still that girl who used to write his last name in the margins of her notebooks and sneak him in while my dad was at work.”

Beth took a breath. “It’s not that I’m unhappy, or that I wish things were different. I could have dealt without all the bullshit, sure, but I love my life now. I worked hard for this. I earned every bit of it and became exactly who I wanted to be. I’ve built a good life. A damn good one. I’ve seen places I never thought I’d go, done work I’m proud of, and I got to do it all with my girl. She’s the best thing I’ve ever done, Dana. She’s smart and stubborn and brave and funny as hell and everything I wasn’t when I was her age. I wouldn’t trade a second of the last seventeen years—not for anything. That little girl is every dream I’ve ever had brought to life.”

Dana gave a small nod, a soft smile stretching her face. “She really is. You did good, Beth.”

Beth chewed her lip, hands wrapped around her empty glass. “And in all of this, I keep coming back to that. I’m a mother. I’ve got a daughter to protect. I will not let another man into her life who’s going to let her down. Her father did enough damage. I won’t be the reason it happens again.”

“You’re not wrong to protect her, Beth. That’s your job–that’s what us mamas do. And you’re damn good at it.”

“I can’t afford to be reckless,” Beth said firmly, shaking her head. “Not with her. Not with my baby.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Dana said gently. “But protecting yourself doesn’t mean you have to shut the door on something that might be good. You just... take your time with it. Let it earn its place.”

Beth gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Well. That’s the thing, D. There’s this…this piece of me that still remembers who I was before all of it. And with Jack… it’s like she’s right there again. Just under the surface. Like I never really put her down. Just tucked her away until it felt safe.”

Dana reached over and placed a hand over Beth’s. “Maybe she deserves some space, too. Doesn’t have to be all or nothing, babe. Maybe she gets a seat at the table with the woman you’ve become.”

Beth smiled at that, faint and aching. She leaned over and rested her head on Dana’s shoulder with a sigh. “You always were annoyingly wise when I needed it least.”

Dana grinned and rested her cheek on Beth’s hair. “That’s why you keep me around.”

From across the bar, someone called Dana’s name, half-laughed, half-shouted over the music. She glanced that way, then back at Beth, apology already in her eyes.

“Go,” Beth said gently, tilting her head toward the table. “You don’t need to sit around with my sorry ass.”

Dana didn’t budge right away. “You gonna be okay?”

Beth hesitated, her lips pressing together for a moment as she considered. She smiled weakly. “Ask me in five minutes.”

Dana gave her hand one last squeeze before standing. “You want another drink?”

Beth exhaled. “No. I need to drive home. You go. I’ll be behind you in a minute.”

Dana leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Beth’s head. “You’ve got this, Red. And if you need me to beat his ass, just give me the word.”

Beth chuckled and nodded, not trusting her voice. Then Dana was gone, weaving back through the bar crowd, her silhouette shrinking with each step until she disappeared into the mess of bodies and shit lighting. Beth stayed where she was, elbows on the table, chin resting against her knuckles for a moment. The song had changed. Something newer, but the feeling was the same. Laughter spilled from the back tables. Glasses clinked. The world kept turning like it didn’t know what had been pulled loose inside her.

She took a breath, slow and steady, and turned toward the table. Across the room, her eyes caught on Jack. He was leaning against the wall of the booth, half-listening to someone beside him. But when she looked up, he was already looking at her. He smiled, and it was simple. Soft. The kind of smile you didn’t think about before you gave it away. She smiled back, just as soft, just as instinctive. She turned away quickly before it could stretch into something else.

Back at the table, the younger staff was already gathering coats, downing last sips, and pulling out phones. Santos was laughing about the next place being louder and cheaper and more likely to get Javadi ‘absolutely hammered’ and ‘loosen Crash up a little’.

Mateo grinned and pointed at her. “You coming, Doctor B? C’mon. One more drink.

Beth shook her head with a laugh, already tugging her jacket back on. Jack’s eyes followed her as she reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “I think it’s past my bedtime, folks. I don’t trust myself not to tell stories I’ll regret in the morning if I keep drinking.”

Groans and playful protests rose up, but she was already reaching across the table, hugging Javadi in a tight squeeze and slipping a folded bill into her hand.

“Buy the first round on me, and stop giving your attention to boys who aren’t going to return it. You’re too good of a catch to be wasting your time like that,” she murmured. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Victoria nodded and squeezed her back. “Thanks, Doctor B.”

Santos and Dennis each got a discreet press of cash, too, along with a wink and a mock-stern, “Make good choices.”

They grinned and thanked her as she gave the table one last wave, called her final goodnights, and paused beside Mel just long enough to tuck a couple packets of LiquidIV into her bag with instructions to use them both before she continued to the bar to settle her tab. By the time she flagged down the bartender and gave her name, someone slid into the open space beside her.

“Not going to keep the party going?” she asked, eyes still on the receipt being printed.

Robby chuckled, leaning against the counter. “Some of us have to work tomorrow.”

“Oof. Rookie mistake.” She smiled, soft and a little wry.

The bartender returned with her check, and she reached for the pen. Robby shifted beside her, brown eyes fixed on her until the bartender handed him his own receipt.

“You need a walk out?” he asked casually, pen scraping against paper before he handed it back to the guy with a polite nod. “Heard you parked out in the back forty.”

She glanced over at him. He was being kind. Or flirty. Or both; she couldn’t always tell.

It was familiar. A question dressed in chivalry, nothing pushy, nothing overt. Just a gesture. But she’d been around long enough to know what might live underneath it. She’d had nights that ended like that; half-laughed goodbyes, the hush of a gravel lot, a hand brushing hers, the heat of something new distracting her from everything else for a little while. Those nights always stuck to a one-night standard. That was the deal. That was the boundary. You let it be enough. You told yourself it was enough.

She’d had her fair share of those nights. Hell, she met Eddie on one of those nights. She lost a patient the same night he had to fire his gun for the first time in years during a raid gone sideways. Her dead kid had been eight. His had been twenty-two. Just two people trying to sweat out the ache in their chests, letting the weight of the day melt into something physical. But she remembered waking up the next morning with his arm around her waist and his legs tangled in hers, his breath warm against the back of her neck, and a quiet, raspy “don’t go yet” murmured into her hair.

She didn’t always get that part.

It would’ve been easy to say yes.

It always was. That was the trick of it; the beginning was never the hard part. Just a nod, a smile, maybe a hand brushing his as they stepped out together before they parted ways and she slipped into her car alone, or was pressed against her car door by a body just in need of somebody. The decision came clean, wrapped in the heat of the moment and the comfort of knowing how it would end. That part never asked much of her. Not until the morning, when the light came in sideways and everything started to feel more complicated.

The yes didn’t require much, and for a second, she almost gave it. The yes was right there, tucked between her teeth while he watched her, close enough to feel like a decision waiting to happen. Easy.

Almost. Until something made her glance behind her. Heather was still at their table, laughing at something someone said as they stood around it readying themselves to leave, but her eyes weren’t on them anymore. They were on Robby, looking between him and Beth leaned against the bar with what remained of her drink in her hand. The flicker across her face was small, barely there, but Beth had worked enough shifts to recognize the moment someone covered pain with a smile and a sip of beer.

Beth offered Heather a small smile, soft at the edges in a way she hoped didn’t read as apologetic. Heather returned it with a quick, honest little wave, but her gaze didn’t drift far. Even as she turned back to Dana, her eyes clung to Robby in the way people do when they think they’re being subtle. Beth recognized it immediately; the quiet calculation, the glance you hope no one notices. 

Across the bar, Dana caught Heather’s gaze. She lifted her brows slightly and tilted her head just so, a silent question hanging between them. Before Beth could respond, movement beside her drew her attention. A presence settled close, warm and familiar. A voice, low and steady, gave the bartender a last name she didn’t need to hear to know. Her eyes flicked up without needing to fully turn.

Jack stood beside her, car key tapping idly against the bar, turned slightly in her direction like gravity had chosen her on his behalf.

And just like that, easy stopped feeling simple. Maybe it never really was. 

Beth shook herself from the thought and offered him a kind smile as she signed the slip. “That’s sweet of you, but I called an Uber. Gotta drink responsibly, right?”

His eyes flicked over her shoulder to Jack, then back to her, something knowing in the tilt of his head that she wasn’t sure he had meant for her to take notice of. Beth had to fight a groan. Good lord, how obvious had they been? He nodded, a little disappointed maybe, but still gracious. “Right. Good call.”

“Have a good night, Robby.”

“You too, Beth.”

She gave a final wave to the few still hanging around the table, caught Jack’s eye briefly from where he stood down the bar, then turned toward the door.

Beth stepped out into the cool night air, the buzz from her drinks softened by the crispness around her. She glanced toward the street, where her car gleamed softly under the glow of the streetlamp, almost too still and quiet after the noise inside. Maybe she should wait a bit; let the night settle, let the alcohol burn its way out of her system. Maybe even grab a bite before heading home. She wasn’t in a rush. The house would be quiet. Just her and the dog that hogged the covers.

She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, scrolling through nearby restaurants, only half paying attention to the names that flicked by. 

“Calling it a night already?”

She turned, surprised to see Jack stepping out behind her. The low roar of voices and clinking glass dimmed to a hush as the bar door swung shut behind him, leaving just the two of them in the stillness of the street. The quiet settled like dust. A sharp gust of autumn air funneled down the sidewalk, tugging at the hem of her jacket and ruffling her hair. Beth pulled her coat tighter and crossed her arms to keep the warmth in. 

“Not joining the bar crawl, I take it?” she asked, her smile soft but a little unsure.

Jack shook his head, hands tucked deep in his coat pockets. “One bar was plenty. Let the kids have their fun.”

“Oh, boo,” she teased, eyebrows lifting as she turned toward him. “How wildly uncool of you. Abby would be ashamed.”

Jack smirked, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Just gives her more to roast me for.”

Beth huffed a laugh, the sound breathy and surprised. “Like she needs any help. You should have seen the runaround I got over my outfit before I left. She’s ruthless.”

“Wonder where she got that from,” he said, tone dry.

Beth didn’t take the bait. Instead, she smiled and looked down at her shoes, toeing a crack in the sidewalk before glancing back up. She cleared her throat, looked away. “She made me promise to tell you she got an A on that paper she was telling you about. Wouldn’t let it go until I agreed.”

Jack’s smile widened, something proud tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah? That’s great. She worked hard on it.”

“She did.” Beth nodded, her voice quieter now. “She was really proud.”

“Well,” he said, soft and sincere, “you can tell her I’m impressed.”

“I will.”

Silence stretched between them again, comfortable but heavy. A car passed on the street behind them, headlights briefly throwing their shadows long across the sidewalk. Beth shifted her weight and glanced up at him again. Neither seemed in a rush to move. Cold air puffed around them in silvery clouds, and the bar behind them felt a thousand miles away.

Beth smiled, her exhale misting in the cold air. “Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah. It was.” Jack nodded, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “I’m glad you showed up. Even if you were late.

She rolled her eyes and looked away for a moment, trying to hide her smile, then back at him. “It was nice talking about all of that,” she said. Then added, softer, “The good stuff.”

“There was a lot of good stuff to talk about,” he agreed, eyes steady on her.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “There was.”

Jack hesitated, then asked, “Can I walk you to where your Uber is picking you up?”

Beth blinked, confusion flickering across her face for a moment. Uber? She hadn’t called an Uber. She frowned, thinking, then remembered what she’d said back at the bar; how she’d claimed to call an Uber to keep things simple.

“Oh… I haven’t actually called one,” she admitted, cheeks warming just a little. “Abby’s at a movie with some friends tonight, so I was planning to grab something to eat and sober up before I drive home.”

There was something knowing in the way his grin deepened, amused and approving. “Smart move.”

A pause settled between them again, neither one quite sure what to do with the moment. Jack finally gave a small nod toward the street. “Well… I’ll let you get to it. Got quite the hike to my car.”

Beth’s brow furrowed, and a curious smile played at her lips. “Where’d you park?”

“Lot behind the bakery on 5th.” He nodded toward her car. “Swapped mine out with yours when I moved you. Got lucky the spot was still open when I came back.”

She scoffed, still smiling. “I thought you said there was plenty of street parking?”

“There was,” he said, grinning like a kid who got away with something. “Once I moved.”

Beth shook her head, smiling despite herself. Of course he had. Of course he did. Beth rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered as she looked at him. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Night, Beth.”

He started up the street, hands back in his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold. She watched his figure retreat, his shadow stretching long as she stood there.  She stood still a moment longer, something tightening and then unraveling in her chest. That Girl stirred; the one who used to get her hopes up, who used to ask instead of waiting to be asked, and Beth didn’t shoo her away. Maybe there was still room at the table, she thought. Maybe she could still ask.

“Hey, Jack?”

He turned, halfway to the corner, framed in the golden wash of the streetlamp.

“There’s a pizza place a couple blocks from here I was going to try,” she called, her voice carrying just enough. She gestured loosely up the street, the motion small and a little nervous. “Would you… want to join me?”

There was a flicker in his eyes; hesitation, maybe surprise, something she couldn’t quite name, but then he smiled. “I’d like that.”

Beth felt a flutter start in her chest, light and unfamiliar. She tried not to notice it. “Me too.”

Jack walked back toward her, slow and steady, until he stopped just beside her.

“Lead the way, Baker.”

She smiled and turned, falling into step beside him as they headed up the street; quietly side by side, the space between them not quite touching, but not so wide anymore.

It was nice. Being beside him like that.

“You? In South Boston? No. Bullshit.”

Beth let out a startled laugh beside him, half a snort, half a gasp, and covered her mouth with the back of her hand like she could push the sound back in. “Yes! South Boston! I was at BWH for almost six years.”

Jack gave her a disbelieving look and shook his head, already grinning, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets as they strolled through the quiet park path. “I just—really can’t picture you working elbow-to-elbow with a bunch of Southies.”

“Excuse you,” Beth said, tipping her chin at him with mock offense. “I’m a half-Irish redhead. I fit right in. Once I figured out everyone just sounds like Mark fuckin’ Wahlberg giving medical advice, I was golden.”

Jack let out a laugh, sharp and surprised. “No shit, huh?”

The breeze picked up again, threading cold fingers through the trees, and Beth crossed her arms tighter over herself as they walked. The sidewalks gleamed faintly in the moonlight, the skeletal branches overhead rattling with the wind. Somewhere behind them was the pizza joint full of noisy undergrads and sticky counters where they’d inhaled two slices each. The food was long gone, but the warmth lingered; maybe from the laughter, or the company, or the way Jack’s hand brushed lightly against hers as they rounded a bend in the path. Neither pulled away. Whatever wall had stood between them earlier in the evening had quietly fallen, leaving something softer in its place.

“Dead serious,” she laughed. “My first week, I thought they were speaking a different language. I had this one triage nurse—swear to God, her name was Maureen—and she calls back vitals on a guy and goes,” She deepened her voice and adopted the thickest Southie accent she could muster, “Hey, Baker, this guy’s been yakkin’ since the Sox lost, right? We gave him some Zofran, but he’s still lookin’ wicked green. Tachy, BP’s wicked low, kid’s clammy as shit—might be, like, a total code brown, but I dunno, doc. Up to you. You wanna toss in a banana bag or just chill?’”

Jack let out a bark of laughter, throwing his head back. “Come on. You’re making that up.”

“I am not!” she insisted, eyes bright. “I just nodded and went, ‘Sure, got it,’ and then immediately asked someone what the hell she said.”

Still chuckling, he shook his head and started walking again. “You’re telling me you lasted six years in that chaos?”

“Thrived, actually,” Beth said, feigning pride. “I swear, someone once told me a guy had ‘bad vibes’ instead of listing actual symptoms. I had to translate everything twice; once from Bostonese to English, then to medical. I even started swearing more creatively.”

“That I believe. God, I forgot how funny you are,” he said, still grinning as they kept walking, shoulders brushing now and then. “And here I was picturing you in some tidy, serene little hospital.”

Beth smiled, gaze drifting upward to the trees overhead. “Not exactly. But… I liked it. It was a mess, but it was a good mess.”

They walked in a lazy drift, neither in a hurry. The sound of the city had quieted behind them into the occasional gust of wind and the low shuffle of their footsteps and scrape of dry leaves on the path. Jack glanced over at her, their hands just brushing now and then as they strolled beneath the haloed streetlamps. 

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked quietly.

“Sometime. It was loud and chaotic and a little unhinged, but… it was mine.” She glanced at him then, and there was something more layered in the way she smiled with a little nod. “But I like where I am now. I like this. I don’t know…it fits.”

They kept walking, slower now as the looped path curled back toward the street. Her car came into view up ahead, glowing faintly under the streetlight, polished white against the asphalt.

Jack nodded toward it, smirking faintly. “I thought I told you to never get a BMW.”

Beth let out a quiet scoff, amused. “I thought you told me you were going to write.”

“Ouch.”

“Uh-huh.” She grinned, but the stretch of it felt too tight on her cheeks. Unearned. The bit of humor she found in the jab faded quickly into the heavy quiet between them. They walked a few more paces in silence, the sound of their steps soft against the path. As they neared the edge of the park, something shifted in the air; less light, less easy. The warmth hadn’t vanished, but it had thinned.

“I wrote to you,” Beth said, almost casually, but her voice caught just enough to give her away. “Every week after you left. At first, anyway. Not sure if you ever got them.”

Jack’s gaze dropped. “I got them.”

She slowed, just a step, enough that he had to match her pace. Her voice was low but somehow, she managed to keep it steady. “Then why didn’t you ever write back, Jack?”

He exhaled through his nose, the breath fogging in front of him. “I didn’t know what to say. I just… was never able to find the words for all of it.”

Beth stopped walking. Not abruptly, but enough to plant herself there in the cold, in the question. She turned to look at him, but the look she leveled at him wasn’t angry when she crossed her arms. Just tired. Tired of carrying the part of this he wouldn’t touch. The wind cut between them and tossed her hair across her face, biting at her cheeks. She pulled her jacket tighter around her.

“I’m sorry would’ve been a good place to start.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once. It wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t nothing.

“You’re right.” He murmured. “It would have.”

They stood for a second longer, the hum of a passing car somewhere behind them. Beth took a step toward her car but didn’t get far. She hesitated, then turned back.

“That story you told earlier,” she said. “About my dad.”

Jack’s brows lifted a little, cautious.

Beth’s voice was steady now. “That’s not all he said to you. Is it?”

He looked at her for a long second before shaking his head. “No. It’s not.”

Beth crossed her arms, mostly for warmth, but also to steady herself. Her gaze didn’t leave his.

“So… tell me the real ending.”

They reached her car in silence, the curve of it catching the streetlight overhead. It glowed pearly white, the windshield fogged faintly from the drop in temperature. Beth slowed beside the driver’s door and turned, leaning back against it, arms still crossed, and waited.

Jack stood a few feet away, motionless except for the slow shift of his breath into the night air. He looked like he might bolt, which would just be par for the fucking course if he did. But then he didn’t. He stayed, and she did too. His jaw worked for a long moment before he puffed a sigh out into the cold. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“He asked me what my plan was. If I got you pregnant.”

Beth held back a laugh that barely cracked through her exhale. That sounded like her dad. Direct. No nonsense. She nodded, arms hugging herself a little tighter, watching as Jack stepped forward with a quiet groan, leaning next to her on the car.

“And I told him. Right away. Didn’t even hesitate. Told him what you said to me in the bathroom at work that day, after the condom broke in the truck and you were late and we were trying not to lose our minds. You remember that?”

Beth’s brows pinched just faintly. She nodded. “I do,” she said quietly. 

She pushed off the door and leaned against her shoulder to face him. She remembered it; the panic in her throat while they waited on the bathroom floor, three agonizing minutes on the clock. Her stomach had been in knots. Her fingers were shaking, twisting her hair until it pulled at the roots. Jack hadn’t broken a sweat. Not outwardly. But she knew better. He’d stepped out the moment she started to come apart, and returned with the notepad from her desk and a pen.

“Alright,” he’d said, sitting across from her, dropping the pad between them. “Lay it out for me, Sparky. What’s the plan?”

And she had. Rambling and terrified, she talked about finances and housing and how they’d tell her family. She must’ve made three versions of that plan, her voice quivering the whole way through. He listened to every single one. Didn’t make her feel stupid. Let her toy with his fingers while he checked her math and pointed out where she forgot to budget for diapers or rent. By the time he offered up a version of the plan that still let her finish school, even if it meant him taking on another job at night, her hands had started shaking a little less.

“I’m not taking that away from you,” he’d told her when she tried to argue. “Not because of something I did.”

The timer had gone off and she’d nearly dropped the test from relief. Negative. She’d cried as she dropped it in the trash. Cried harder when he wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her to his chest. He made some dumb joke about trying again in six years, teasing that he’d always liked the name Harrison. And she’d laughed, wet and wobbly, because in that moment, it felt like maybe they really could figure it out. Just a couple of kids thinking they had a damn clue about any of it.

Most days, he had been solid.

“I told him we’d get married. That I’d go full-time at the shop after graduation. That I’d figure it out; how to make it work so you didn’t have to worry about a damn thing. That I’d spend the rest of my life trying to prove I was good enough for you. For both of you. I think I even said I’d try to be someone like him.” He gave a rough, bitter-sounding laugh. “I remember that part real clearly. Because that was the moment he opened the door.”

Beth tilted her head. “And?”

“He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared ahead for a second. Then he leaned back, looked me dead in the eye, and said, ‘Prove it.’” Jack’s jaw flexed once, mouth twitching up into a smile as he huffed a laugh through his nose. “And then he kicked me out of the truck. Didn’t have to tell me twice. I just got out and started walking.”

Beth smiled faintly and looked down. The wind caught in the branches above, his breath slow beside her. She looked at him then and her eyes found his in the low dark, searching for something. Maybe the boy she used to know who had known how to make her safe on that bathroom floor when the world felt too scary, maybe the man who’d left, or some shadow between. Maybe just some proof that this hadn’t all been in her head.

“I loved you too, you know.”

They hung there for a moment, those words. Unsteady. A little fragile. Like she’d had to pry them loose. They hurt as they left her throat. Ached, twisted like they had rusted and warped over time. Not hollow, just worn down at the edges. Like they’d been turned over in her mouth too many times to still shine. And still, she gave them to him.

Jack didn’t look surprised, but she noticed the quiet shift in his jaw. His answer came with a small shake of his head, like it was the only truth he still knew how to say. “More than I probably deserved.”

Beth frowned at that. Not in anger, but something more exhausted at the weight of it. The old shape of that wound that seemed to rip right back open every time he’d knock twice against the window frame and crawl in already trembling. He’d slip under her sheets and hold her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. When he couldn’t stop shaking, and couldn’t fall asleep unless she was wound around him tight enough to quiet whatever was clawing at him from the inside. Her fingers in his hair. His head on her collarbone when he’d whisper I don’t deserve you against her chest like it was a prayer until she kissed his forehead and told him that he was wrong and exhausted and that she loved him bigger than all of that. 

She had. She always had. That was the thing she just couldn’t fold up neatly enough for him; he’d deserved her even then, even when he hadn’t believed it and she had to breathe it into him until he started to exhale it himself. They had deserved each other. She hadn’t wanted anything else.

“No,” she said, firm in a way that made it clear she’d said it before. Not out loud, maybe, but she’d said it before in whispers just the same as she did now. “You always made it sound like I was some test you were going to fail. Like I was something you had to earn. But I wasn’t. I never was. I was… I was just yours, Jack. That’s all there ever was to it. You knew that. I know you did.”

She paused and chewed her lip like she could bite back the words, watching him breathe like it physically weighed something in his chest. She shifted, arms still crossed, still cold. The air seemed to pull taut between them. Jack’s eyes flicked to the ground, then back to her. He looked like he might say something. But he didn’t. So, Beth kept going.

“I just wish…” She stopped herself. Started again. “I wish you would’ve told me that story.”

He swallowed and looked at her, and in the quiet that followed, something cracked; not loudly, not in pieces, but like a slow shift beneath the surface. Another gust sent dry leaves scraping across the concrete and pulled her hair from behind her ears again. Before she could reach to push it away, warm fingers brushed lightly against her face. He pushed her hair out of her eyes, fingertips rough against her cheek. Beth stiffened, wrestling with That Girl who still wanted to lean into his hand, before he dropped it. It didn't fall to his side immediately when he pulled it away, instead fixing the collar of the jacket before he finally brought his hand to his side.

“I should have,” he said, voice rough. “I should’ve told you a lot of things.”

“You should have.”

Beth’s words hung between them; not angry. God, she was so tired of being angry. She wasn’t even sure what she was angry at anymore; him. The way he left. The way he looked at her under the glow of the streetlamp like a memory of that boy who sat with her on the bathroom floor dipped in gold and made her want to feel anything but. Instead, it was just an ache. Like a bruise she kept pressing, hoping maybe this time it wouldn’t hurt.

The quiet returned, heavier now. She turned the key fob over in her hand, the plastic warm from her palm. The hibiscus flower key chain embossed with Kauai in yellow block letters jingled too merrily in the space between them, but she didn’t unlock the car. And he didn’t leave.

Jack shifted his weight. “So,” he said gently, “tonight then?”

The words weren’t a demand, nor were they even really a question. Just a thread he offered her to pick up if she wanted it; something soft tucked inside something brave. Her own words from the roof weeks ago echoed back and handed to her cautiously. Beth exhaled slowly and kept her eyes on his chest before she lifted them to his face.

Before she could answer, her eyes caught on something just above his pocket. A smudge of pollen or lint, pale against the dark cotton.

She reached before thinking. “Wait, hold still,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You’ve got something… right here.”

Her hand landed flat on his chest, warm and solid under her skin, and brushed the spot lightly until the smudge disappeared. Typical, she thought. He’d always been the messiest person she knew. She used to fix him without thinking; straightening collars before class, smoothing his hair with the same tenderness she gave to her own reflection. The Sunday mornings when her mom dragged them to church were worse. She’d still be rubbing something off of his cheek while they climbed the steps. Some things never changed, she figured.

When she looked up, she realized she’d stepped between him and the car door. Close enough to feel his breath warm on her face. Her fingers stilled against the soft pull of cotton, his chest rising gently beneath her palm. His hands stayed in his pockets, but she felt him tense under her touch.

He looked at her like he remembered everything.

Maybe he did. Those nights in her bed, wrapped in her arms, when she’d let him use her body as a landing place. The way he’d press his forehead to hers in the dark, touching her like it was the only language he knew to say he needed something. It never felt like those nights were about numbing or escape; they were something gentler. She hadn’t given herself to feel nothing; she’d given herself because it felt like everything. Like love. Because maybe it was. For her, it was.

Beth’s gaze dropped to his mouth. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding the bite longer than she should’ve, eyes caught on the soft mist of his breath between them and on the way his eyes traced her lips, too.

It would be so easy.

But easy didn’t feel so simple. It never had. Not where he was involved.

But god, she wanted it to. And right now? It did. It did feel that simple. It did feel that easy. Just That Girl and That Boy leaned against her car with her hands on his chest and hazel eyes on her like she was the only thing he could make out in the dark.

Couldn’t it just stay that way? That Girl asked. Just for a little longer? Please?

And for one impossible moment, Beth almost said yes.

Her pulse thudded in her throat. Her hand curled into the cotton of his shirt.

Then, slowly, painfully, she let go.

“No,” she whispered. “Not tonight. Not on a good night.”

Her voice cracked around the word good, like she was holding onto it a little too tightly.

“I just… I just needed you to know.”

He nodded. “Okay,” the word came out barely a breath. 

Beth offered a little half-smile and brushed her hand lightly along the front of his shirt once more, a farewell in the shape of something smaller.

“Okay.” She repeated, the whispered syllables feeling heavier than they weighed leaving her lips. 

His hand reached for hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, but he didn’t drop it from where it sat on his chest. That flutter returned behind her ribs, and instead of pushing it down until that hummingbird retreated, she welcomed the creature like a friend before she could even think it through.

Oh no.

“Goodnight, Jack,” she whispered.

His lips tugged up a moment before he squeezed her hand again and let it go. “Goodnight, Beth.”

She opened the car door, slid in, and closed it quietly behind her. She didn’t do her seatbelt, or start the engine, or open Audible to queue up her book for the drive home. Just watched him walk away in her rearview mirror, his figure growing smaller with each step until the dark swallowed him whole.

Her breath came out all at once. She dropped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, her head spinning in a way that had nothing to do with cheap beer and half-finished whiskey, the ghost of his hand still burning on her skin.

Uh-oh.

[luvsymai]

FAKE BOYFRIEND ; Shoto Todoroki

Chapter 5. SEE YOU ON SATURDAY!

Genre: Romance, fluff

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___________________________________

“So… see you on Saturday, then?” Todoroki asked you, scratching the back of his head.

After he had asked you about going on a date, which he had referred to as ‘day’, you had corrected him shortly afterwards, you two had an agreement to go out on Saturday this week.

“Yep! But… are you not going back to the dorms with me..?” You asked.

“No. I’m visiting the hospital today.” He replied.

“Ah, okay…” You didn’t ask for any more explanation from him, as you considered the fact that it might be too personal to ask him, and you two aren’t that close to be asking about personal matters.

“Do you want me to accompany you to the dorms?” He suddenly asked, which took you back.

“N-No! You don’t have to!” You disagreed, waving your hands profusely as you rejected his offer. He nodded slowly at your answer.

“Well, I’ll have to go now, Todoroki. Stay safe on your way to the hospital!” You waved at him before turning around to go back to the dorms.

Before you could even walk another step, someone grabbed your wrist, which made you stop in your tracks as you looked at the person confusedly.

“What’s wrong, Todoroki?” You asked, confusion written all over your face.

He looked hesitant, as he replied to you.

“Can I get your number…?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at what he said, but before you could open your mouth to reply, he spoke first.

“Ah, it’s so i can contact you.. I don’t have you in my contacts yet,” He explained, which made you let out a small “oh” as you felt slightly disappointed.

You found it weird. He can just go knock at your room, or you could go to his room. But then again, it was also reasonable at the same time.

You’ll need his number too, anyway.

“Yeah, sure,” You exchanged numbers, with him typing out his number on your phone while you typed yours. You saved your contact name on his phone as (Last name), with him doing the same.

“Okay, goodbye.” He gave you back your phone, and you gave his back.

“Bye!” You waved at him with a smile. You felt your smile grow as you saw him waving back to you.

“Bye.”

Once you reached the dorms, you went to your room. It was already six in the evening, so you decided to have dinner, and do your skincare after taking a bath.

While you were doing your skincare, your phone had a notification, which you glanced over.

It was a notification from Todoroki.

Todoroki

Where do you want to go on Saturday?

Your eyes widened and you panicked as you quickly washed your slippery hands, drying your hands with your robe afterwards. You completely forgot that you agreed to on Saturday with him a few hours ago, so you were surprised when he texted you. You opened your phone and replied to him.

You

What about you?? Where do you wanna g o

go*

You cringed at the text you sent him. It sounded way too casual for your liking, but you couldn’t do anything about it as your screen was slippery because of your half-wet hands. You saw the chat bubbles, indicating that he was typing a message.

You quickly exited the iMessage app and closed your phone, placing it on the counter as you slapped your cheeks.

When you heard the little ding! notification, you quickly glanced at the reply out of nervousness.

Todoroki

I don’t mind, anywhere you want to go.

You felt your cheeks heat up reading his reply. You opened your phone and typed a message to him.

You

do you want to go on uh

a picnic perhaps??

Todoroki

Picnic perhaps? I’ve never heard of that place before.

You weren’t sure if he was way too innocent for his own good, or if it’s just because you didn’t put a comma after picnic.

It’s probably the latter.

You

ah, i mean do you want to go on a picnic, perhaps?

sorry lol i made you confused.

Todoroki

Oh, I was joking.

I understood you the first time, I apologise.

But yeah, we can go on a picnic.

You chuckled. He sounded formal even when texting.

You

okay! ^__^

Todoroki

^__^ ?

You

It’s an emoji!

cute, right?

Todoroki

I guess so?

You felt awkward at his reply, biting your lip as you thought of a reply to him.

You

also, about the picnic, i’ll just prepare the food :D

we can go during lunch time. is that okay with you?

Todoroki

Yeah, sure

You

i’ll go to your room at exactly 11:30 am

Todoroki

You don’t have to, I’ll just go to your room instead.

You can text me when you’re done.

You

well, okay!

so it’s an agreement then?

Todoroki

It’s an agreement. ^__^

You felt yourself laugh at his text, quite surprised at the emoji he used.

He’s cute, alright.

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