#what actually happened was i answered the door looking ugly and worried

[waspalisades]

this is what i imagine my neighbor was hoping would happen when he knocked on my door to ask me out at 2 in the morning:

when i open the door, i'm looking cozy but still hot, like maybe wearing one of those cute little pj sets with a crop top and shorts, but i threw a little sweater on over it or something. maybe wearing slippers, but it would be better if they were knee high socks. or thigh high socks. my hair is in a messy ponytail that is not an actual messy ponytail. i look happy to see him when he says "hey, neighbor," like maybe i was just waiting for this to happen after chatting with him a couple times and smiling and laughing at his compliments. i say hey back and ask whats up, and he gets a glimpse of my house through the gap in the doorway. behind me paused on the tv is a really cool movie, one that shows i have taste but also know how to have fun. my decorations are random bits and bobs, but thoughtful and fairly grown-up. at this moment, he also realizes i smell really good, and it snaps his focus back to my eyes, tilted up at him curiously.

"oh, nothing, i just wanted to know if you would maybe wanna go to waffle house with me in the morning."

i smile and shoot back, "you came over here at 2am to ask me out? to waffle house?" without missing a beat. he would laugh a little, a bit nervous, but still hasnt lost his cool.

"yeah. i could hear you were awake, too. and i was already thinking about you, so i figured it was worth a shot." he sticks his hand in his pocket and leans one shoulder against the doorway, just a little bit in my space. "so, you wanna go?"

i lean against the doorway from the other side, letting him get a little more in my space, and the sweater slips a bit off my outside shoulder. the swatch of skin he can see there makes him stir. "that sounds like fun. we should get breakfast." i drop my glance quickly over the rest of him, and while i'm not looking at his eyes he can steal glimpses of my chest, starting to prick into pinpoints against the fabric of my crop top from the breeze. "but you didnt come over here this late if you just wanted a date."

he says nothing, plays cool and lets my eyes wander him. my sweater slips off my other shoulder.

"did you?"

and at that point the fantasy stops being anything but the different positions from the last porn he watched, which are definitely exactly what i would be willing to do with a strange man who came to my door in the night. no flaws in this logic whatsoever

[byechristopher]

pleaseee a fic where chris and reader meet for the first time (she's lowkey sad or some shit like that idk) and he's all starstruck by her 😞

lucky you.

–CHRIS STURNIOLO FLUFF.

Author's note: hey y'all. I got the idea from this lovely anon (thank you for the request!🤍) and combined it with something that actually happened to me. Fate truly works in mysterious ways – so take this long, sappy story (based on true events, pft). I hope you like it! Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: long, sappy fluff. Very slight angst if you squeeze, but nothing crazy. Very long, didn't proofread!

My mom used to always say – "that's life; when one door closes, another door opens". And if I still lived in the same house with mom, she'd know; I haven't seen an opened door in a long while. It is unfair but it is what it is and I had no intention of succumbing to tears in the solitude of my nightly despair.

Seated on the chilled bench, I instinctively drew my knees towards my chest in a desperate bid for warmth. The sheer elegance of my black tights, though adorning my legs, proved futile against the biting cold. Unfazed, I refrained from complaining; after all, they were my cherished favorites. Mascara was most likely smudged from my previous ugly crying, yet I ignored it, taking solace in my sweater's embrace.

Leaning my head against my knees, my fingers absentmindedly engaged with the laces of my shoes – a subconscious act of distraction. In the midst of this self-imposed solitude, a sudden exclamation pierced the quietude.

"Shit!" I heard a voice, someone angry. The mysterious guy threw his hat on the pavement and scoffed, his hair nearly as messy as mine. His gaze shifted towards me, a thorough assessment from head to toe, "care if I sit next to you?" he asked quickly. Without much ado, I responded with a nonchalant shrug. I didn't care, I had way more things to worry about.

I could feel him rummaging through his pockets, trying to find God knows what, he seemed upset, anxious, "want a cig?" I didn't see him, but I saw his extended arm in front of me. I don't think he was looking at me either.

"Sure." I murmured under my breath, taking a cigarette from him half-empty packet.

"Why does life have to be such a fucking bitch?" I chuckled in response, treating it more as a statement than a question. Offering another shrug, I watched as he scanned the area, likely in search of his lighter.

"If I had the answer to that, I'd probably murder this bitch." I chuckled, he chuckled too.

He held the lighter in front of me and only then did I turn my head to look at him – he was definitely not what I expected to see from what I've heard. While I didn't dwell on it for long, it seemed he did, as seconds passed without his lighter igniting. His intense pale blue eyes remained fixed on mine, and I briefly removed the cigarette from my mouth.

"Hello?" was my mascara that smudged that I scared the guy? He hasn't uttered a word.

"Oh.. sorry." he shook his head, as though attempting to shake off the reverie that had consumed him in the past few moments in his own world, "I just.. didn't expect you to be here?"

"Well.. I'm pretty sure we haven't met before. So how come you didn't expect me?.." I was confused.

"No, I mean.. you are very beautiful." he almost whispered but I caught that, and if I was just a little disconnected from reality, I probably would've blushed.

"Oh. Thank you." my lips turned into a thin line – I put the cigarette back into my mouth, grabbing his lighter instead.

He chuckled, "and I thought I didn't know how to take a compliment." he took his lighter back, taking a puff of his own cigarette.

"Don't you hear like a thousand compliments on a daily basis?" with my knees still pulled up to my chest, I embraced them tightly, resting my head against the comforting curve of my legs.

"Hm. And yet this was the best compliment anyone has ever given me." he placed a leg on the bench, just so that he'd be able to have his whole body face me.

I couldn't help but laugh, "yeah, I'm good at giving things. Not receiving."

He nodded, his hat still on the ground although he didn't seem to care, "understood.." he smiled and wow, he had a nice smile, almost contagious, "a fellow people pleaser, nice to meet you. I'm Chris."

I reciprocated with a nod and a quick smile. My name slipped off my lips swiftly, echoed by him, and I couldn't help but notice how much better it sounded when it rolled off his tongue.

"Will I ever see you again?" he looked me dead in the eye.

"Probably not." I pursed my lips, looking back at him.

He nodded as if he understood and dropped his burnt cigarette to the ground. Chris grabbed his hat and got up, offering another smile, "I believe in fate."

"I don't." I teased, smiling.

"You probably should." he shouted, already far away from me to speak normally.

What an interaction.

It had been quite a while since said interaction. Not that I thought about the guy a lot, but he definitely was in the back of my mind. Even when I was outside, he'd still cross my mind every now and then, like a nice, distant memory.

I chuckled as I gulped down my whiskey – the music was too loud for my own liking but it was a Saturday night and it'd be a pity if I stayed home once again; my friends begged and I actually like hanging out with them. I watched as my friends danced with each other, not too far away from me, as I rummaged through my purse to find the money so I could pay and leave.

"Fucking.. shit.." I cursed under my breath, turning my phone's flashlight on because the lights in that bar were bright as fuck, but apparently not enough to actually help me see.

"D'you need any help?" I heard a somewhat familiar voice shouting behind me. I turned around and my eyes widened when I saw him.

"I.. you!" I was beyond surprised, to say the least, because I was truly convinced I'd never see him again. Not because I didn't want it; but because I had enough on my plate already.

"Shit.." he whispered, and if I wasn't already looking at his lips, I wouldn't be able to know what he said, "..see, I told you fate works in mysterious ways."

"This was just a coincidence." I convince myself.

Was it, though?

"This was no coincidence and you know it.." he grinned and I let my eyes travel down his body for a few seconds – he looked best in black, ".. I need to see you again.." he muttered.

"Well, it seems you will indeed see me again." I smiled.

"Does that mean you'll give me your phone number?" he grinned and I saw his eyes do the same thing mine did to him; check me out.

I hummed, "..hmm.. no. We'll see if fate actually works." I smiled.

"You can't be serious.." he tilted his head, looking at me in disbelief, "I found you again, how can I leave when I don't know if I'll ever see you again?"

"You said you believed in fate."

I found him undeniably attractive and intriguing. However, at that moment, I realized I wasn't emotionally equipped to entertain the idea of liking someone or embarking on dates. The weight of my personal struggles loomed large, and I couldn't shake the fear that if he discovered the extent of my problems, he'd likely reject me. Hence, I concluded it was better to distance myself now rather than risk inevitable disappointment later on.

It's not like I'd see him again.

Truly, it's been more than a month since I last saw him; I did think about him way more often than usual but he still remained a nice, distant memory. A memory that was in the past and would never be in the future.

"Yo, we're leaving already? It's 2AM." my friend whined, although we were already walking down the stairs, toward the exit, with our jackets on and bags in our hands.

"No, love, we're just taking our fucking bags for a little walk." another friend replied, rolling her eyes and I couldn't help but laugh at their bickering.

Immediately after departing from the bar, he made his way out of the restaurant located directly beneath it. You have to be fucking kidding me.

"You.." he whispered, his eyes widened.

My mouth hung open, my eyes as wide as his; I really couldn't believe it this time. This couldn't be a coincidence, right?

"What.. are you doing here?" there was nothing else that could leave my mouth at that time.

"I work here.. now, you can't tell me this is a coincidence." he walked closer to me, although still keeping a distance to be respectful.

It definitely wasn't but I was still in the same mood I was back then.

"I can't tell just yet." I teased him; deep down I wished I could give him way more. But I knew I couldn't.

"Don't.. tell me.. are you not gonna give me your phone number? Again?" he chuckled in disbelief once again. I nodded.

"He better be a murderer, bitch; that's the only valid reason for you not giving him your phone number yet." shit, I completely forgot that my friends were literally behind me, staring at us; they knew nothing about this.

"Stop." I whispered to my friend and I don't think she heard me but she definitely saw the expression on my face.

"Please?" he said and I almost gave in when I saw those eyes.

I have always been self-destructive but this wasn't it, this time. It was realistic, right? I really couldn't do this; I knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with my lifestyle so I was just doing me a favor by saving myself from possible heartbreak. Right?

"I promise you now; if we meet again, I'm opening up to you. Fully. My phone number, my likes, my diskikes." I gave him a teasing smile, which he seemed happy to receive.

"Pinky promise. Now. I trust fate but not you." he chuckled and so did I.

"But you trust my pinky?" I laughed but he seemed serious, despite his playful stare. I sighed, still smiling, wrapping my pinky around his, "..promise."

This would probably never happen. It's fine.

This time, I really thought about him; dreamed about him even. That was very unlike me but it happened either way. I seemed to be doing lots of things that were unlike me lately – like going to this bar again. I wasn't going to see him but I was hoping to.

The whiskey was cold against my lips, my black dress hugging my hips as I sat down on the couch.

"Third time's the charm."

No.

I turned my head and saw Chris speaking to the friend group that were sitting next to ours; I saw them getting up and leaving, Chris replacing them.

"Oh God.. what did you tell them?" my grin was wider than usual, I really wanted to see him after all.

"That.. I needed to sit next to you. And that it was a matter of life and death." he smiled, taking a sip of his own drink.

"You're crazy."

"For you." he said, searching for something.

Before realising, I saw his phone in front of me, signaling me to dial my phone number. And of course, I did.

"So. Start. Tell me everything."

"Do you have free time?" I tilted my head, still looking at him.

"For you? Always." he chuckled.

I cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes to make sure he wanted to kiss me as well. And as soon as I felt him leaning towards me, I placed the softest kiss on his own soft lips.

"Take me home?"

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Last cbf soap thought (for now 😉)

Seeing each other dressed up for the first time. Maybe to a date, wedding, etc.

My thought is like in the movies when this is the first time the friends are seeing each other in a more than friends way 😍🥰 it generally sparks Jealousy, lust, and just kick starts the feels!!!

oh man yesss. Where they both realize "wait...i might be in love with my best friend."

Johnny doesn't knock when he enters your house. He's there so often he has a spare key so it's like he lives there anyway. You wouldn't know he was there if he hadn't called out to you because you were in the bathroom putting the finishing touches of your makeup on your face.

"Was thinking we could-what's going on?" His eyebrows knitted together as he takes in your face.

"I'm going on a date!" You beam at him but he doesn't smile back, in fact his face pulls into a scowl.

"A date?"

Jealousy immediately began to fester. A date? Like an actual date that might end up with a kiss on your lips that wasn't from him?

Your eyebrows knit together from his tone and you give him a look.

"Yeah? Matt asked me to dinner." You explained and his scowl grew worse.

"Matt?" He exclaimed. "He used to cheat off you in bio."

"I don't know what that has to do with anything."

It didn't have relevance but he was hoping that maybe it would deter you from the date. He was trying to come up with something bad about Matt to get you to not go on a date with him. What if you found out you really like him and then suddenly started dating him?

There was no way Johnny was going to stop being friends with you just because of Matt.

"He was dating one of The Mean Girls a couple months ago." He tried but you shrugged as you pushed past him to go to your room.

It was glaring red flag, he knew you knew that but for some reason you were being stubborn. Is he really going to be that much more fun that Johnny? He really doubted that...

"It's one date." You called out to him from behind your closed door as you got dressed. "And like a real date too."

Johnny huffed and crossed his arms. Were none of the outings you both had together enough? He could argue that they were dates...but you didn't see him like that and he wouldn't say that to you.

You opened the door and his face softened.

"How do I look?" You asked, hopeful for his answer but for a moment he couldn't think.

Fucking beautiful. Stunning. Like you deserve the world and everything good in it. There were no words to describe it other than the feeling of warmth.

Johnny was far too deep in love to answer you truthfully.

"If I said ugly would you stay?" He said seriously and you rolled your eyes.

"Seriously?"

"What if I wanted to hang out with you tonight?"

"We can after my date!"

Johnny went to protest but you began to push him down the stairs and towards the backdoor. He fought against you but you were adamant that he leave to the point that he almost felt a little hurt you were kicking him out of your house.

"Just go home! I'll text you when I get back and then we can do whatever you want." You told him, struggling to push him towards the door and scoffed.

"As if I'm gonna let him bring you back home. What if he asks to come inside?"

"John!"

"Fine!"

Johnny spent the next three hours sulking in his room at home. Between checking for your messages and ranting to himself about how stupid it was that you were going on a date with someone else, he was starting to worry why it was taking so long.

What the hell was going on?

"That's it." He huffed and called you, not caring if he would be interrupting your date.

"Hey..."

Oh no. He knew that tone. You've been crying.

"What happened?" He's already rushing to get back to your house as soon as possible.

"He didn't show."

Bastard. The next time Johnny sees him...it didn't matter. He just wanted to be with you right now and comfort you instead of think of the asshole who stood you up.

"I'll be there."

"Okay."

Before long Johnny was walking up to your bedroom. He knew where to find you, hidden underneath the covers of your bed clutching your bunny for comfort.

He didn't hesitate to lift the covers and crawl in with you. To anyone else this would look romantic but for you and Johnny this was just second nature. Both of you lost count of how many times you accidentally and purposefully shared a bed together.

When he found you in the dark, he pulled you close to his chest and gave you a firm squeeze.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and you let out a shaky breath.

"Thanks for coming back." You sniffled and he tightened his hold on you.

"Always, bonnie."

The two for you stayed silent for a while, just basking in the comfort of each other. Johnny couldn't feel happy that you date didn't go as planned even if he had been against it, not when you were so upset about it not happening at all.

Instead, he wanted to make you happier than Matt ever could.

"You wanna go get food somewhere?" He offered, pulling the blankets off yours heads. "Can eat in the car or I'll take you to a fancy restaurant."

You rolled over to look at him. Your eyes were bloodshot and puffy as you stared at him with uncertainty while he gave you a soft smile.

It's not like it was the first time you two had ever eaten dinner together, but something about this felt different. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart flutter and those pushed down feelings from when he kissed you last year came back.

Why would you ever want to go on a date with someone else when you loved Johnny?

"I'm a mess."

"I think you look pretty."

You scoffed and he chuckled, pulling you into his chest again. You buried your face in it, letting a few more tears fall before you took a deep breath.

"I don't care where we go."

You're just happy it's with him.

[spectersgirl]

hi! can you do one where harvey and the reader had a thing and it ended badly and they end up in court against each other or something like that? maybe they end up together after all? thanks!!

Loveeee flexing my angst muscles!

Ready for a Battle

Harvey Specter x Reader

-------

"You've gotta be fucking kidding" you muttered under your breath as you read over the paperwork for your latest case, noticing the attorney on record listed just so happened to be Harvey Specter. You'd dated a few years prior, but the ultimate killer to the relationship was that you and Harvey were very similar in stubbornness, causing you to fight and argue more than spend any actual time together.

You'd been lucky enough not to cross paths in all the time you'd been a lawyer since the breakup, but it seemed that your luck was running out. You placed your head in your hands in frustration, sighing before getting back to work on preparing for your case.

A few days went by of normalcy before you heard a knock on your office door, and they didn't wait to hear you answer before entering.

"Harvey, you know normally people knock to get permission before coming into a room." You said dryly.

Harvey smirked before striding to your desk, leaning on the corner before looking around appreciatively.

"I knew you'd tell me no, and I wanted to see this fancy corner office they gave you."

"Not too bad, huh? Don't worry, I'm sure Jessica will give you one soon enough." You replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"I have one of my own, I just wanted to see how much better mine is than yours."

You rolled your eyes at the cockiness, setting the file you'd been focused on aside, finally giving the man your full attention.

"Is there something I can do for you, Harvey?"

"No, but you can do something for you. You can settle this thing so it doesn't get ugly in court."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to pull. "Since when do you care about things getting ugly?"

"Since I noticed you were the attorney of record on this case. I don't want to see you get hurt." He replied, a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't identify.

"I think I can manage. Plus, it's not like it wouldn't be the first time you've seen me get hurt. I'm ready for a battle. Now, if there's nothing else, you can see yourself out. I've got a case to prepare. "

He paused for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sharpness of your tone, before shaking his head and heading for the door.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Y/N." He said before opening the door and leaving you to stew in your own thoughts.

The verbal banter continued throughout the trial, each argument met with a counterargument, every objection with a swift rebuttal. The tension between you two was undeniable, the courtroom atmosphere simmering with unspoken history.

Days turned into weeks, and the battle intensified. You won the case, barely, based on a technicality that you were thankful Harvey didn't catch during discovery. He'd come to your office later that day, clearly pissed about the verdict. The energy in the room turning nothing short of intense the moment he stepped foot inside. The arguing began immediately, the two of you throwing jabs left and right until Harvey took it one step too far, making it personal.

"You always were too blinded by your own stubbornness and ego to ever see the truth," Harvey retorted, his voice carrying an unexpected edge.

The words hung in the air, a sharp sting piercing through the facade of rivalry and through the high you'd had from winning the case. It was a line crossed, a jab that hit closer to home than intended. The hurt flashed across your eyes, and anger surged within, a tempest of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

"MY ego? MY stubbornness? You're one to talk, Harvey. You know why this didn't work out all those years ago and you know it wasn't all my fault. At least I never let my arrogance overshadow my competence," your voice, usually composed, held a hint of hurt.

Harvey's facade wavered, regret immediately swirling in his stomach as he realized the depth of his words. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry,"

But the damage was done, the rift between you widening with each passing moment. His apology hung in the air, sincere yet inadequate in the face of the pain it had caused.

It was later that evening when yet another knock interrupted the silence of your office. As you turned, Harvey stood in the doorway, a mixture of determination and vulnerability on his face. Without a word, he crossed the room, closing the space between you. His gaze was unwavering as he reached out, his hand cupping your cheek gently. You couldn't move, and you hardly breathed as he began speaking.

"I messed up. I messed up today when I got pissed and opened my mouth, and I messed up years ago by letting you walk away. I know that now, I guess I always have but I couldn't admit it. I can't let you walk out of my life again." Harvey's voice was earnest, devoid of the usual brashness.

Before you could respond, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a tender yet passionate kiss, one you'd been craving since the moment you left him all that time ago. In that moment, words became irrelevant as the depth of his regret and affection poured into you through the kiss.

As you pulled away breathlessly, the weight of the moment hit you both.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, I... I shouldn't have done that, that wasn't fair to you. I just-" He stammered, but you stopped him with a gentle hand to his chest.

"Don't. Just come here" You replied, pulling him in once more and guiding his head down to yours for another kiss. You felt him smile as he ran his hands down your sides.

"I always hoped you'd come back." He whispered against your lips..

"I fought myself every day to not come running."

"Wish you would've"

"Me too"

[nomoreusername]

Smile

Newt x gender neutral reader

Summary:When Newt notices you hiding your smile he quickly makes everything better again.

I looked into the little piece of broken glass as I thought about what they said. It was only meant to be a joke. I wasn't supposed to actually believe them.

But I did. I've been looking at my reflection and seeing what it looks like when I smile. Despite not caring about their words at first it seemed to be nothing short of true now.

My smile was ugly. It was far too toothy, too wide, too much. I've been trying to find a way to fix it, trying to change it, but nothing was working. It was still so hateable.

That left me with one desperate option. Avoid smiling as much as possible. If I do I try to hide it behind my hand. It looks ridiculous, but apparently so do I when I grin.

"Hey,"Newt said, walking in. I shoved the piece of glass under my bed.

"Don't you know how to knock?"I snapped, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.

"Not with you,"He pointed out. That was true, but right now I can't stand anyone seeing me. Practicing how to smile is a hard thing to explain. Especially, to him.

"Out,"I instructed, pointing at the door. He was visibly confused as he left. I guess I would be too.

"I wish I could fix this,"I sighed, pulling out the broken glass one last time. If only.

♡ - - - ♡

I nodded my head as Minho kept telling his story. It was admittedly kind of funny. I felt myself start to smile but managed to stop it just in time. I covered my mouth with my hand just in case it happened again.

"Are you alright, love?"Newt whispered in my ear.

"Yeah,"I shrugged, leaning back. He didn't look convinced. If anything he looked more concerned. He can't be though, right? I technically haven't done anything bad or wrong.

"Hey. Follow me real quick,"He whispered again, standing up. We slipped away from everyone without a word. Nobody seemed to notice.

"Where exactly are we going?"I asked as we walked away from the others.

"Just trust me. It'll only take a minute,"He promised. I wasn't sure if I believed him but didn't stop walking.

Eventually, he turned by the cliff and sat. He looked back at me expectantly. I joined him.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"He asked, looking at the sunset.

"Extremely,"I agreed.

"It's enough to make anyone smile,"He added. I didn't say anything this time.

"It always made you smile. How come you aren't?"He questioned. I fixated on the ocean below me to avoid looking at him.

"Y/N, how come you don't smile anymore?

"I do,"I mumbled.

"Barely, and anytime you do it's not yours. I want to see you smile from ear to ear."

"Why?"I asked before I could stop myself. I cringed at my words and wished I could take the back.

"Why? What do you mean why?"

"Why do you want to see me smile?"I whispered.

"Because I like seeing you happy, and I know you're happy when you wear that bright, perfect grin."

The only sound for a while was the crashing of waves against rocks. What was there to say?

"You don't think your smile is perfect, do you?"He asked quietly. I didn't say anything which was an answer in itself.

"Y/N, do you remember how we met?"He asked out of the blue.

"Of course I do. You were the third person up in the Glade. I helped you out of the box and showed you around,"I reminessed.

"And do you remember how scared I was at first?"

"Yeah. Alby and I were worried you were never going to leave the box."

"And I might not have. There was one thing though, that told me everything was going to be okay,"He stated, pausing so I was left with a burning curiosity.

"What was it?"I wondered.

"You. You held out your hand and flashed me that brilliant smile. Suddenly, everything was okay because you were there. I didn't even know my name, but that if someone could have such a genuine smile I would be okay,"He admitted.

I looked at him and searched his face for any sign of a fib. Then, I realized who I was sitting with. Newt's a lot of things, practically all of them incredible, but a liar is not on the list.

"See? There's that contagious smile,"He remarked, making me recognize that I was practically beaming. It's so hard not to when I'm around him.

"Now don't you ever hide that amazing smile again. Good that?"He checked.

"As long as I have you then yeah. Good that,"I agreed.

"Good. Do you want to go back to everyone else?"He offered.

I didn't say anything as I placed my head on his shoulder which was another silent answer.

Right there I was perfectly content in that one simple moment. It was just the sunset, me, and the one person who never fails to make me smile.

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - time traveler billy

Everything happens so quickly that you don’t have time — at first — to realize how odd the situation is. The man’s clothes make him look like a refugee from a Western, and everything about him, from the curl of his hair to the way he stands marks him out as someone…different, somehow. Not to mention, of course, that he’s standing in the middle of the street, looking about as out of place and freaked out as a squirrel dropped into the middle of the ocean. 

But even if you could put your finger on it, you don’t have the time to consider what makes him so strange. 

First, you’ll have to get him out of the path of the oncoming car. 

You have, in point of fact, never actually tackled someone before, let alone someone who seems to be quite a bit taller than you and undoubtedly heavier. But you take your best shot, leaning in and diving at his waist, hoping to make him fold like a lawn chair. Maybe it’s just the shock, or maybe you actually find the right angle — you have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. You manage to knock the guy sideways, both of you stumbling toward the safety of the sidewalk as the car screeches past, the driver laying on his horn. 

You watch as the guy flinches at the noise, actually clapping his hands over his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s praying with all his might that the noise will just stop. Fortunately for him, the car turns the corner up ahead, and the sound of the horn fades as it goes. You watch it go, wondering absently how long Speed Racer is going to keep honking, and then you look back at the guy whose life you’ve saved.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a stupid question, considering what little information you already have, but you don’t know what else to say. The guy lowers his hands and squints at you, staring as if you’re the one dressed like an extra from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. “Hey — are you alright?”

He shakes his head, more like he’s trying to chase away a bothersome gnat than answering you. 

You’re starting to worry that he’s hit his head, although you can’t see a cut or a bruise on his temple. Now that you’re looking at him properly, it’s really rather difficult to keep from noticing how…well, how hot he is. It’s probably — definitely — inappropriate to even think about it, you’re well aware, considering he’s either injured, intoxicated in some way, or just going through it, but you can’t ignore the fact now that it’s quite literally staring you in the face. 

His eyes are large and blue, framed by thick, dark lashes as long as your pinky finger, set above a strong, straight nose that reminds you of a Greek statue, as perfectly sculpted as if it’s been made from marble. His lips are astonishingly full, his jawline and cheekbones each as defined as the dictionary, and you think there just might be the shadow of a dimple in his chin. And he’s tall, too, topping you by nearly a foot, his broad shoulders tapering to an angular waist. You realize, belatedly, that you’re staring, but then again, so is he.

“Are you okay?” you say again. “Is there something I can do for you? Someone I can call?”

He swallows, giving another shake of his head. “I don’t…I dunno where I am.” 

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice brings to mind sage brush and sunsets, the smoke that swirls over a campfire as it crackles with life, warm and husky, with a twang that makes you think of the bite of whiskey. 

“Okay,” you say, and without thinking about it, you take his hand. It feels natural, like trying to guide a lost child, or trying to make sure you don’t lose him in a crowd. As soon as his palm touches yours, you feel a shock race up your arm, and you have the strangest sensation of a door closing, separating one moment from the next as definitively as an axe splitting wood. 

His fingers curl around yours, his expression almost pleading. 

“Okay,” you repeat. “Okay. Just…come with me. I’ll help you.”

You can tell, if not just by the expression on his face — half-hopeful, half-bracing, as if he’s expecting a blow to fall any second — that he’s not used to asking for help, especially not from strangers. It makes your heart hurt just a little bit. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, and you’re softened — or maybe melted — by the way he smiles at you, shy but appearing more heartened than he did just a moment ago.

Then another car whizzes by, and he winces like someone has taken a shot at him. He ducks down, his eyes so wide that they look like a pair of full moons, their cornflower centers the only source of color in his face. “The hell is that?”

You stare at him. If he didn’t look so terrified, you’d think he was joking. But if he’s not joking, then he’s either on an incredible cocktail of drugs, or he’s from that weird isolated cult town in The Village. “It’s…it’s a car,” you say. 

“A car,” he repeats, as if you’ve just told him the secret to life in Mandarin. 

“Yeah,” you say. “You know…a horseless carriage.” 

For some reason, this seems to impart some understanding to him, but you can tell he’s still plenty freaked out. “Carriages don’t go that fuckin’ fast!”

You try very, very hard not to laugh, but god, it’s hard. You’re having to draw on nearly every ounce of compassion you have. It helps that, really, he’s not wrong. Not that you’ve ever ridden in a carriage, because you’re not Keira Knightley in a period film, but you don’t think they’re capable of speeds like that. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, “you don’t have to worry about getting into a horseless carriage with me. I hate driving.” 

Now that it’s just the two of you standing on the sidewalk again, the road mercifully free of cars, he seems to relax a little, at least enough to consider your words. “Well,” he says. “That’s something.” 

Not entirely sure where to go, you decide the police station is as good a place as any. It might be a little Hallmark movie of the week, but maybe someone has already filed a missing persons report on him. With that thought, it occurs to you that you need some information first. 

“Do you remember your name?” you ask.

The look he gives you indicates he has never been quite so offended in his life. You can’t help but laugh this time. “Well, I don’t know!” you say. “You don’t know where you are, you’re walking around here looking like a puppy at the start of an ASPCA ad — maybe you’re suffering from some kind of amnesia.”

He doesn’t look any less nonplussed, but something about your laughter has loosened the muscles in his face. He smiles at you. You try to ignore the way your stomach flips to focus on his answer. “Billy,” he says. 

You fight the urge to repeat his name, rolling it around in your mouth like candy. “Come on,” you say, his hand still in yours. “We’re not gonna get anywhere just standing here. Do you trust me?”

He smiles again, though this time with a bit of a razor’s edge to it. “Not like I got much choice, honey,” he says, and then pauses, softens. “Yeah. You’ve been nicer to me than most people would’ve, findin’ a stranger in the middle of nowhere, actin’ like he’s been dropped on his head. I wouldn’t have blamed ya if you’d run the other direction.”

You have no idea why, but what springs from your mouth before you can help yourself is: “I couldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a minute. His gaze feels as physical as a caress, and just as intimate. If not more so. You both do and don’t want it to stop. 

“Come on,” you say again, at least in part to break the silence. “Follow me.”

The two of you start walking, following the weathered gray slabs of cracked, uneven concrete that your small town calls a sidewalk as it winds its way into town. 

After a few moments of quiet, he says, “You never told me your name.” 

When you introduce yourself, he smiles again. “That’s nice,” he says. “Pretty.”

Your stomach flips again, and you have to remind yourself that you don’t know anything about this guy, except — only just now — his name. The fact that he’s tall, gorgeous, and really does give off a hurt puppy sort of vibe doesn’t matter. And it definitely doesn’t matter that his smile spreads across his face like a sunrise coloring the sky with ribbons of pastels. He could be a serial killer, or if not that extreme, some kind of — 

The two of you are still, for reasons not entirely clear to you and probably not much clearer to him, holding hands, so you’re jerked out of your thoughts by the fact that he’s gone stock still. 

“You’re takin’ me to the sheriff?”

If the dread clinging to his voice like a weed choking out a weaker plant wasn’t bad enough, he’s frozen still on the sidewalk, looking at you as if you’ve…well, as if you’ve betrayed him somehow. The pit of your stomach turns to ice.

“The sheriff?” you repeat. You feel oddly, stupidly, disappointed. A guy with nothing to hide doesn’t act like this when someone brings him to the authorities. The disillusionment washing over you makes your tongue sharp. “Who the hell are you, Barney Fife?”

He frowns. “I told you my name.”

“Yeah, I — never mind.” You shake your head and let go of his hand. The bare skin of your palm feels oddly cold. “What’s the matter? I thought someone might be looking for you. Maybe someone filed a missing persons report.”

“I don’t think so, darlin’.” He glances at the police station again, his throat bobbing. A pause, and then, softly, like he’s making a confession: “Nobody left that cares about me that much. Unless they wanna cause me some hurt.”

You feel the strangest mixture of sympathetic and prickly, as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong by someone who has been directly and seriously hurt by your actions. “Well…” You clear your throat, trying to find the right words to defend yourself. “I mean, listen, what kind of hurt? Are you a criminal or something?”

One corner of his mouth tilts up in a bitter approximation of a grin. “Or somethin’, honey,” he says. “I got a reputation I never wanted and that I’m not proud of, an’ not one person reads about me in the paper or sees my name on a wanted poster—”

Wanted poster? But something about his fierce, stung expression keeps your mouth shut.

“ — ever gave a damn about the truth. About why I did all that stuff. I didn’t want to!” When his voice rises, equal parts angry and hurt, you can’t help yourself. You reach for his hand again. He takes a deep breath, his fingers grasping yours. “I didn’t want to do any of it. I just wanted…I wanted things to get better. Every time I thought they would, they just got worse.”

You know it would make sense to ask what he actually did, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to put the words out there. He looks ashamed and angry, but defiant, too, as if daring you to do it. Or, worse, to pass judgement. But you just press your lips together. 

“I wanted to go straight,” he says. “I wanted a good job for a respectable boss, so I could keep a roof over my head and food in my belly. Damn it, I just wanted some peace—”

When his voice breaks, you feel it in your chest, as if a fissure has opened up in your collarbone. Your own eyes burn, a reaction as instantaneous and out of your control as a burning red welt raising up around a bee’s stinger. It hurts you, to see him hurt, and you can’t even begin to explain to yourself why that is. 

“Well, I…I…” You fumble your words, not even sure what you’re going to say. But you know you have to say something. “I…okay, so, we’ll…we’ll go somewhere else. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks about as shocked to hear you say that as he was by the car burning rubber on the road leading into town. “You mean it?”

You swallow down the stupid feeling that you’re going to cry, and you nod. “Yeah, come on,” you say, and you hold out your hand again. He takes it. “We’ll go back to my place.”

He offers you another crooked smile, but this one is more surprised, almost tender, like you’ve shown him something sweet and unexpected hidden in the palm of your hand. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he says. “You don’t know me all that well. I’d understand if you didn’t want a strange man in your home.”

Forget not knowing him that well, you don’t really know him at all, but you just tell him, “I��m sure.”

Because you are. In what seems to be the theme of the day, you can’t explain why, but it just feels…safe. Despite the little Dateline-themed voice in your head telling you otherwise, you can’t ignore the certainty, heavy and inexplicable, that you’ve been here before. He’ll step into your apartment and feel at ease, because this isn’t the first time he’s been your home. It will fit like an old coat, comfortable and soft and easy. 

It’s insane, but you can’t turn your thoughts away from it. 

His fingers lace with yours, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckle. The way he’s looking at you, so intently, his gaze never wavering from yours, makes you feel as though you’re being turned inside out, exposed. The moment when he froze with fear as the two of you approached the police — sheriff — station seems distant in both time and space, like you’ve gone forward many miles and many years in time in the space of just a few minutes.

“No cars, right?” he says, his crooked smile widening. The word cars sits in his mouth like he isn’t quite used to the shape of it, but you’re so charmed by the fact that he’s trying to make a joke. That the two of you have a joke to share. 

“No cars,” you say.

You’re walking again. Now and again you pass other people, who look at Billy the way you must have looked at him when you first saw him — eyebrows furrowed, pushing down over their eyes, glance flicking over him as if a quick look will make any more sense than a lingering one. Billy doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care. He’s too busy looking around at everything else; it all seems to shock him to varying degrees, whether it’s the buildings around you, the streetlights and the power lines silhouetted against the sky, the concrete beneath your feet and the asphalt of the road running beside you. 

As another car zooms by, Billy lets go of your hand, dosey-do’s behind you, and takes your other hand. Now he’s standing between you and the road. “I don’t like those things,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “But I like you near ‘em even less.” 

Your apartment building is a brick rectangle studded with windows, a pair of double doors set in the middle at the top of a wide set of concrete steps. You lead Billy inside and he stops as you reach for the elevator button. 

“What the hell?” he says, again speaking under his breath.

You push the button, watching Billy’s face as the call button lights up. He flinches at the ding, looking around for the source of the noise; you squeeze his hand gently. You wonder again where the hell he came from, that every piece of modern technology seems to make as little sense to him as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. “It’s okay,” you say. “Just trust me.” 

Implicit in your voice is this: I won’t let anything happen to you.

He seems to hear your silent promise, or maybe the words you actually say are enough. Billy smiles thinly and nods.

When the doors slide open, though, he balks. “Are we supposed to go in there?”

“Yes. It’ll take us up to the floor my apartment is on, without us having to go up all those stairs.”

He swallows. “Okay.”

You step into the elevator and he trails after you with the air of a child who is expecting a switching out back. When the elevator starts to rise upward, Billy stares at you incredulously. “It’s okay,” you say again. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

He has a white-knuckle grip on your hand, and he jumps a little at the ding from somewhere above your heads as the elevator comes to a stop. When the doors slide open, he relaxes a little. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you confirm, and you lead him down the hallway. He waits while you fish your keys out and let yourselves inside your apartment.

As soon as the door closes behind you, Billy’s shoulders soften. You watch him as he looks around, feeling oddly nervous. As if it matters whether or not he likes your place.

Your building is old — you think from the 1920s or thereabouts, if you remember what your landlord said when she showed you the place five years ago — and it shows in the way it looks. Wooden parquet floors the color of honey are softened by rugs that you found at a flea market, a brown velvet couch slouching in front of a square, red-brick fireplace, framed by a mantle scattered with knickknacks. Billy smiles as he wanders over, picking up a little statuette shaped like a cat, wearing a collar of flat chips of glass.

“Cute,” he says, offering you another smile, and you feel inordinately pleased. 

His gaze roams around the living room. To his left, a doorway hung with a beaded curtain leads into the kitchen, and in front of him, a hallway runs to the back of the apartment, with your bedroom on one side and a bathroom on the other. His gaze turns back to the mantle, lifting to the wall above it, where a flatscreen TV is fixed.

“What is that?” he says, leaning forward to inspect this dim reflection in the screen. “A mirror?”

Despite yourself, a snort works its way out of your mouth, and he shoots you a wounded look. “Sorry,” you say, putting your hand over your mouth. “Sorry. No, it’s my TV.”

You have another, smaller one in your room, but you decide one television might be enough for him to deal with right now.

“A — a T…V?” he says, repeating the two letters distinctly, as if they have nothing to do with each other. “What’s that?”

Your lips part, and you stare at him for a second. “Billy,” you say. “Where are you from?”

His brow furrows, like he doesn’t quite understand what you’re asking. “Well,” he says slowly. “Most recently I’ve been livin’ in New Mexico. Why?”

New Mexico. That really doesn’t answer your question. “Where in New Mexico?”

His puzzled frown deepens, but he doesn’t ask why you’re pressing him. Maybe he figures you deserve to know, after saving his life and bringing him back to your apartment. “Lincoln, right now,” he says.

You don’t know much about Lincoln — or New Mexico, for that matter — but you don’t think it’s some reclusive community where they wouldn’t know about elevators or cars. 

The next question you have is crazy, totally insane, really — but you think you’ve seen doctors on TV ask concussion victims the same thing. And that’s definitely all it is. Because there’s no way this could actually be the problem. 

“Billy,” you say again. “What year is it?”

Now it’s his turn to huff out a laugh through his nose. “What year is it? It’s 1881.” 

You’re so floored by this statement that you blurt out, without much — or any — tact: “No, it’s not.”

He looks like he’s on the verge of arguing with you, but maybe everything hits him all at once. The cars, the technology he doesn’t understand, the very world around him that looks so different from what he’s used to. “What…what year is it, then?”

You blink. “2024,” you say. 

This time, when he laughs, there’s no humor in it, only a sharp incredulity. “You’re crazy,” he says, but without much heat. It’s almost like a plea, as though he’s offering you the opportunity to take it back. To say something that actually makes sense, because — and you have to give it to him, he’s not wrong — this doesn’t make sense at all.

And yet, unless he’s been severely brainwashes or he’s just putting you on, it’s also the only option.

“How did I get here?” he says, and he sounds — and looks — like he might cry again. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” you say. Then you reach for him, and even before your hands find his face, he’s moving closer to you. He holds onto your waist, like you’re a lifeline. “I don’t know. I don’t know how you got here, or why, but you’re not alone, okay? You have me.”

It doesn’t even register with you at first that this is an incredibly strange, if not downright dangerous, thing to say to someone you met not even two hours ago. Especially considering you’re saying it to a man who is bigger and undoubtedly stronger than you. But you don’t feel like you’re putting yourself at risk. 

Billy, though, says what you’re thinking, except he says it with a sense of wonder. It almost sounds like a prayer. “I don’t even know you,” he murmurs.

Yes, you do.

The thought seems to come from outside of you, as if someone has turned to a fresh page in your mind and written it there in their own hand. 

Billy says your name, still in that awestruck voice. It feels as though there is a web spun between you, gossamer-fine but indissoluble. The fact that he could be an honest-to-god time traveler makes more sense to you than the idea that you only met him today. 

“1881,” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“2024,” he returns. 

“How old are you?” 

“Twenty-two.”

“Oh,” you say, relieved. Although technically if he’s twenty-two and from the year 1881, that means he’s around 165 years old, but who’s counting? “Me too.”

He smiles, an uptick of the corner of his mouth that nonetheless makes your heart skip in your chest. You decide that you want his hands on you, always, his gaze on you, always, but then you remember something else you have to show him. 

“Come here,” you say, taking his hand again. You lead him down the hallway to the bathroom, the sight of which earns you another look at his stunned, disbelieving face. “Okay. This is my bathroom.” You point. “That’s a toilet.” You try to remember when toilets were invented. “It’s like…an outhouse. But inside.” 

Billy snorts. “I know what a toilet is.”

You hum. There’s that, at least. “This is definitely new,” you say, and you point to the shower. He nods. You have one of those with a glass door, which you — a little embarrassingly, now — have declared with decals of cartoon sea creatures, including a whale, a puffer fish, and a little scuba diver.  “Right. This a shower.”

You push the door open, reaching inside and turning the knob so the water comes pouring out. Billy jumps at the sudden noise and stares as steam fill the room. “It’s hot?” he says uncertainly.

“It can be,” you say. “If you twist this knob here, it can get cooler, though. But it won’t hurt you.”

“What do you do?” he says, peering at the shower. “It’s for bathin’?”

You nod. “You just…” You blush and gesture vaguely at his clothes, before gesturing equally vaguely to the floor. “And step in. There’s soap and shampoo for your hair.”

He smiles crookedly. “Are you tryin’ to tell me I don’t smell like roses, honey?”

You laugh a little. “I mean, well…”

He grins again before looking resolutely at the shower. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

You give him privacy, shutting the door behind you, though you hover nervously in the hallway in case he needs you. You’re worried about him slipping and falling, so you have to resist the temptation to press your ear against the door. Finally, you hear the water shut off — you’re proud of him for figuring out how to do that, without dousing himself in ice water or boiling himself alive — and you realize, just then, that you have to get him fresh clothes.

“Hold on!” you call through the door.

You hurry into your room and find an old college t-shirt that you “borrowed” from your dad, along with a pair of pajama bottoms that are advertised as unisex but absolutely swim on you at the cuffs, so you hope they’re long enough for him. You knock on the bathroom door, and when it opens a crack, you hold out the clothes while carefully turning your head away. “Here,” you say. “These should fit.”

“Thank you,” he says, voice muffled by the door, and then he takes the clothes and the door shuts again. 

You perch on the couch in the living room, waiting for him. The bathroom door opens fully, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam, and you smile encouragingly as you see Billy standing in the doorway. The pants do indeed fit, although the t-shirt hangs on him a little. 

“What did you think?” you ask. “Of your first shower experience?”

Billy chuckles, coming to sit next to you on the couch. You’re so aware of his proximity that it makes the air between you sing. There’s something about the sight of him, freshly showered and smiling, seemingly more relaxed now, that makes you want to lean into him. 

“It was nice,” he says. “Warm.” 

You’ve lost count of how many times today that it’s happened, but once again, he takes your hand. 

“Thank you for takin’ care of me,” he says softly. “You’re a sweet girl. I’m glad I met you.”

Coming from anyone else, being called a sweet girl would make you feel like a toy poodle. But coming from Billy, in his warm, molasses-slow drawl, it just makes you feel warm, like you’re bathing in sunshine. 

“I’m glad, too,” you murmur.

It would be crazy to kiss him right now, right? You know the answer is yes. You know that. Still, ever since the moment his voice broke outside the police station, you’ve felt…protective over him. More than that, you’ve felt connected. It’s as if seeing him break down, even if it was only for a moment, in turn broke down something between the two of you. 

You remember that sensation when you first took his hand, as if a door had slammed solidly shut between this moment and the rest of your life, and you think maybe there wasn’t so much of a barrier up in the first place.

Billy touches your cheek with the very pads of his fingertips, as if he’s afraid that you’re a bubble that will burst from rough contact. “What the hell?” he says softly, and you laugh, because you know it’s not really a question you’re supposed to answer. “We just met today?”

You nod.

“And some way or another, I’ve traveled…” A pause while he does the math. “140-odd years in the future?”

You nod again. 

“Alright, then,” he says mildly, and he kisses you.

It feels like the world turns inside out from a point centered around the two of you, spiraling and twisting outward until it forms again, entirely new, bigger and grander, humming and buzzing like a live-wire. Your hands grasping his shoulders feel like the only reason you aren’t just floating away, and the way he grips your waist makes you think he feels the same. You press closer to him, his arms encircling you as he pulls you onto his lap.

A hoarse chuckle comes from somewhere around the fireplace. “You kids usually take longer than this.”

You jump out of your skin, and before you can blink, you find yourself sprawled on the couch cushions, Billy on his feet in front of you. One hand goes to his belt only to grasp at the air. He scowls and brandishes his fists instead, and then—

“Old Moss?”

You sit up. “You know this guy?”

An old man has his elbow propped on the mantelpiece, a tattered hat perched on his head. He’s shorter than Billy, stockier, but their clothes are much the same, along with the weathered tan on their faces. The old man, though, has a beard covering the lower half of his face, spilling over his chest like dirty cotton. 

“I…” Billy shakes his head, seemingly just as flummoxed — if not more — than he was before. “I knew him when I was a kid. He helped my family cross the country.”

The old man — Old Moss — chuckles. “I’m not Old Moss, son,” he says. “I took on this form to make you more comfortable. Otherwise you would have tried to wallop me, I bet, and that wouldn’t have been good for you.”

Billy stiffens, and he puts one arm behind him, to keep you behind him on the couch. “Who the hell are you, then?”

Old Moss (you don’t know what else to call him) shrugs. “A representative of the universe,” he says, waving his hand to underscore this grand sentiment. “My speciality is helpin’ lovers find each other in every lifetime.” 

A shiver dances down your spine. “Every lifetime?” you murmur.

“Oh, sure,” Old Moss says. “You two have found each other in every life since your souls first came into being.” He smiles crookedly. “Thanks to me. You’re welcome.”

Another grin creases his face. “This time, I thought I’d try things a little bit differently,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve never pulled one soul from a different point in time before. I wasn’t sure if it would work, to be honest with you.”

He grins again. “Judgin’ by the way you were treatin’ her face like an ice cream cone, though, I’m guessing it did.”

Despite yourself, you giggle. 

Out of the corner of his mouth, slanting a glance at you, Billy murmurs, “What’s a—?”

“I’ll get you one later. You’ll like it,” you assure him, and now you do stand next to him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, though, you kiss better than that.”

Old Moss chuckles. “You guys got any questions before I go?”

You think for a second. “How many lives has it been?”

“Mmm…” The old man tugs on his beard thoughtfully. “I’d say this is your…I dunno, I lost track. Somewhere around 200, I think, maybe a little north of that.”

Your hand creeps into Billy’s, and he squeezes gently.

“And we loved each other in all of them?” you say.

Old Moss’s expression is almost unbearably kind. He nods. “All of them,” he says.

Billy’s shoulder presses against yours, and you feel the contact from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Somehow, over 200 lifetimes of loving him doesn’t seem like a surprise. 

“An’ I…I get to stay here with her?” Billy says now. “I don’t gotta go back there?”

Buried in the snowy tangles of his beard, Old Moss’s mouth twitches. You can’t tell if it’s a smile, or if he’s trying to swallow tears. “Yeah, son,” he says. “You get to stay.”

Billy’s hand tightens around yours, as if he’s worried — despite Old Moss’s confirmation — that someone is going to take him away from you. You grip his hand tighter in turn. Like you’re going to let that happen.

You look over at Billy, and he turns his head to meet your gaze. You can see every one of those lifetimes in his eyes, caught in his gaze like snowflakes on his lashes, and you hope there’s going hundreds more, going on until the world itself ends. Nothing else will be enough. 

By the time you can turn your eyes away from him, Old Moss is gone. You look over at Billy again, and he grins at you. “I guess representatives of the universe favor Irish goodbyes.”

You grin back at him, winding your arms around his neck. “It seems like I’m stuck with you now,” you say, and he chuckles. 

“Seems so.”

He leans down to kiss you. The world turns inside out and spirals again — and again — and again — and…by the time it’s settled again, and Billy breaks the kiss, you think that you’d be happy if you spent this lifetime and each one to come just doing this.

“So…” Billy smiles crookedly. “About that ice cream cone?”

You laugh. There’s a thousand things to set him up with — how the hell does somebody get a Social Security number at twenty-something years old? — but you can figure that out later.

For now — 

“Let’s take you to get one,” you say. “And I’ll introduce you to the unbeatable combination of gummy bears and ice cream.”

“What are—?”

You laugh, taking his hand and rising onto your toes to peck his cheek. “Just trust me. You’ll love it.” 

[tiredmetalenthusiast]

To Start Anew (TF141xLATA!Reader) Ch.1

This was just a little thing that popped into my head! Like what if home gurl got left at the altar, took the honeymoon trip and met the 141 men along the way? The Kyle mentioned at the beginning is not our boy Gaz so don’t be alarmed! And to clear up any confusion LATA is just short for "Left At The Altar".

Warnings so far: Swearing, being left at the altar, unhealthily fast switch up from sad to mad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was supposed to be the best day of your life. Your dream venue was decorated to perfection, all the guests had shown up minus a few because of life and other things, and you understood saying you'd send them their gift bags and photos.

You stood in the room surrounded by your bridesmaids, mother, sister , mother in law Molly and sister in law Tara. The wedding would start in a few minutes and in that time you would never have believed the utter heartbreak you would experience.

A sharp, hurried knock sounds at the door, urgency and dread rearing their ugly heads. “We have an emergency!” came from behind the door and the best man, Jack, entered.

Your mother and Molly look at him as the others give worried looks, your MOH Hana gripping your hand. “He's not here. He's not answering his phone, his work doesn't know where he is.” Rage flashes in Molly's eyes, the woman had loved you the moment she met you and you'd never seen rage on her like this before.

“What do you mean ‘he's not here and you can't find him’?! The wedding starts in 20 minutes and you're just now telling me he hasn't been here the entire time?!” The woman is furious. Your mom and sister are furious. The bridesmaids and MOH are furious.

Finally, Tara decides to speak up, guilt eating away at her. “He's not coming.” Molly's head snaps so fast towards Tara, you thought it would break. “You'd best start explaining right now Tara, before the consequences become severe!”

Your mom and sister drag Jack further inside the room, cornering the two of them. The explanation breaks your heart, the pair going on about how he had realized he hadn't actually wanted to get married. Your sobs break the story and everyone looks at you with pity.

“Was there another woman? Was he cheating on me?!” You managed to get out past the sobs and now raw, irritated throat. “No! Trust me I checked through everything he owned! There is no other woman!” If anyone would know it would be Jack, the man was a tech wiz.

You nodded and dropped your head into your hands. “Well, best we go let everyone know there isn't gonna be a wedding.” Tears streaming down your face you barge from the room, party trailing behind you as phones are pulled out to make calls or send texts.

Hana quiets the band as you reach the altar, mic in hand. You take a deep, shaky breath. “H…hm…” You clear your throat as Hana brings you a cold glass of champagne and takes the mic from you.

“Hello everyone! I stand before you all to let you know that the wedding will not be happening. Kyle has decided he doesn't want to marry and has vanished. No one has been able to reach him.” The gasp from the crowd is so loud it muffles a new round of sobs. Whispers are quiet but the anger is not.

Your dad rushes to the altar to comfort you as Hana rubs a hand across your back. There are rude comments made about time and money wasted and comments made to console your crying self. The rude commentary was shut down by the bridal party immediately, especially after Becky punched someone and verbally ran them through, because they how dare they make an already shitty day worse.

The reception hall is opened as well as the bar. Your mother makes sure you don't drink yourself stupid as you wallow in your anguish. Hana and the other bridesmaids plop down around you, drinks in hand and bashing your now ex. “So, as it stands I would let him know it’s over.” “Yeah, and then after that you can hop on the honeymoon plane and relax in Italy! Drink some bangin wine, eat so much pasta you get absolutely sick of it! Maybe meet a nice Italian guy? Wink wink~!”

Hana rolls her eyes while the others smile and wiggle their eyebrows at you. You shake your head and give a small smile, pulling out your phone and bringing up Kyle’s number to begin typing. ‘Hey jackass, hope you’re enjoying wherever the hell you’re at. Sending this complimentary text to confirm that we are, in fact, over. Have fun and lose my number cuz I’ll be blocking your’s. Fuck you, sincerely your ex fiance! PS. I’m still taking the honeymoon trip.’

”Good on you dear. His father and I will be sure to tear him a new one should we be in contact.” “Thank you Molly. Don’t be a stranger and I’ll be sure to bring you and Terry something back from Italy.” “A bottle of sweet red would be lovely if you can find it!” You nod and block Kyle’s number along with blocking him on everything else. “What time is the flight?” “Oh, uh, like 7am tomorrow. I’ll be there for 2 weeks.” “Best get home and sleep then.” Your mom and sister gathered you up and got you to the room to change back into your normal clothes before heading home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @cumikering

[discopaddock]

SPIDERMANS! - CHARLES LECLERC

PAIRING: single dad!charles leclerc x reader

GENRE: fluff

WORD COUNT: 1,433

WARNINGS: missing child, crying

Yves Charles Leclerc always had been a pampered child. After his parents separation, his father focused all his attention on work, but also on his two little boys.

And because of that the boy wasn't happy at all. He didn't want new toys or new clothes, he just wanted his dad to spend some time with him, like play football together or go for an ice cream.

So that's why when they were in the shop, Yves ran away.

“Do you like Spiderman?” the little guy asked a girl, who was looking at two different figurines of that superhero. The girl turned her head to the side from where the voice was coming.

“He's nice. And you? Do you like him?” she asked, crouching down to small Leclerc.

“Nah. Only The Amazing one” he answered, making the girl laugh.

“Same here, my dear. The other series were boring, don't you think?” she smiled, when the boy enthusiastically nodded his head. “Big question to you, boy. Which one?” she asked, showing him two boxes with two different Spidermans.

“For who? You or…?”

“For my cousin, he's seven and a huge fan of Spiderman” she announced.

“This one. I have the same at home. A gift from my mum. It's my favourite toy. Dad doesn't like it. He thinks it's old and ugly and he always gives me new ones, but I don't like it, so he's mad. But just for a moment” Yves said like it was nothing unusual.

But for Y/N it was something unusual. Parents should never do things like that to their kids.

“Are you here alone?” the H/C girl asked, when she stepped in the cash register.

“I ran away. From dad” while saying that, Leclerc he threw up his arms, like it was something that kids are doing all the time.

“You did what?” Y/N and the cashier asked in union, which made the boy feel guilty. “You can't do things like this, boy. Your dad is worrying now” Y/N said, looking at Yves with a serious look. “What's your name?” the cashier asked the boy, who was about to cry.

“Yves Leclerc” he said with a small voice and the. started to cry.

The cashier issued a statement, that a boy called Yves got lost in the shop, but his father hadn't shown up, so Y/N and a shop bodyguard went to the mall security guard point with the boy, who was crying and glued to the girl.

So there was another statement about the lost boy that was widespread to the whole shopping mall and then small Leclerc finally found the big Leclerc.

“Oh, Yves,” Charles said, when he entered the security room with another boy, who looked just like Yves, but a little older, where Y/N was sitting with the boy and a lot of bodyguards.

The man was actually Yves' father – he had shown their identity cards, where were their photos, suremanes and Yves' parents' names, which were Charles and Juliette.

But the boy still didn't want to go with his dad and brother. He didn't want to let go of Y/N, which made Charles a little bit confused because as the girl said, she had never seen the boy before he caught her in the shop that day.

Finally small Leclerc went to his father, but after a long talk with the girl.

“For you, you brave kids protector” was said by the head of security, when a lollypop was given to Y/N. She laughed a little and with a thanks on her lips she left the security room.

L/N wasn't expecting three Leclercs in front of her, when she closed the door of the room.

“I'm so sorry that you had to stay with him. I didn't even realise that he wasn't around. I'm really sorry, I didn't want this whole situation to happen” the man said, hugging his son, who was now glued to him.

“No it's okay. Kids like to run away from their parents, so I'm not mad” the girl announced with a bright smile on her face.

“I'm sorry” Yves mumbled from his father's torso.

“It's okay, Yves. I'm not mad or anything. Just don't do that again” Charles said, stroking son on the back.

“I'm Léo” said the other mini-me of the man, extending a hand in greeting to the Y/N.

“Nice to meet you, Léo, I'm Y/N” she answered, shaking hands with him.

“Is there anything that I can do as thanks?” the father questioned. “No, I don't think so-” Y/N started, but then she looked at her watch and sighed resignedly. “If you have a car, then maybe give me a ride?” the H/C girl proposed. “I just missed my bus,” she added.

“No, no, no! It's okay! I have a car don't worry” the man laughed, adjusting Yves on his hip. “My name is Charles,” he announced with a smile on his face.

“Y/N”

“So I suggest” the man started. “Let's go to the car if you got everything from the shops”

“Um, I have to buy wrapping papers, but I can buy them tomorrow, I don't need it so bad today” the girl answered, when they were walking to the car park.

“It's not a problem. We can go to the shop” Charles said and headed to the shopping area. The girl bought a few wrapping papers with help from the two boys, who choose colours and patterns.

The father desperately wanted to pay for purchases, but Y/N did it faster with her phone in self-service checkout, where Yves and Léo helped her check out her purchases and had a lot of fun. And then they finally went to Charles' car and the man finally gave the girl a ride.

He shouldn't be so surprised about the city District, where the girl was living. It wasn't nice around and he never thought that a pretty girl like her and with good clothes would live in a place like that.

“So, it's here. Thank you” the girl announced, when Leclerc stopped his Ferrari. “Hey, Y/N, would you like working for me?” Leclerc asked, when she was handing a door handle. “If you have time, of course,” he added quickly.

She had told him that she was looking for a job that wouldn't collide with her studies at uni, when they were driving. So he thought that proposing to her a job to be the nanny of his sons would be okay.

And it was okay, actually. Y/N said yes to him and in the following week she started babysitting Léo and Yves.

They were really energetic boys, but she wouldn't mind. As long as they didn't tease her, it was okay.

She looked after them from Tuesday to Thursday, when Charles wasn't home. She was playing with cars with them, watching cartoons with them, eating with them and going for walks with them. Sometimes she let them sleep with her in one bed when they had a nightmare.

Y/N became their mother figure at some point.

Boys truly loved her. Even harder than their biological mother.

Sometimes Yves called Y/N "mum" but he quickly corrected himself. The girl announced that to Charles, who told her that he would talk to his boy.

“Charles I need to say that I won't be able to stay with boys in next two weeks” Y/N announced while she was putting on her jacket.

“You got into that project?” the man asked with a grin on his face.

“Yeah” she nodded.

“Congrats, Y/N! You should tell me earlier, we could go somewhere to celebrate it” he said, hugging her.

“No, it's okay, I just got the information like two hours ago. I was first person on the reserve list and now someone resigned so I got it” Y/N said.

“Congrats once again,” Charles said.

“Gotta go or I'll be late for the bus” she smiled, but Leclerc stopped her.

“I'll drive you home,” he said.

“But the boys-”

“Arthur will be there in ten minutes” the man provided and helped her to take off the jacket.

Arthur had arrived and next Charles drove Y/N home. When he finally stopped his car in front of her apartment block, he grabbed her head and kissed her. They drew apart and the girl's face was fully red.

“Sleep well, Y/N/N” he smiled and kissed her once again.

“You too, Charles,” she said and got out of the car.

masterlist

[kittonik]

Ours.

Look at these two machines bro

★ Pairings: cody rhodes x fem!reader, mjf x fem!reader (this is a oneshot but could turn into a full poly fanfic if i ever get the motivation to do so)

★ Warnings: swearing, smut, haven’t read over, angry cody grr, quickish writing of smut cos idk how to do shit in detail

★ Word count: 2161

Cody was going to do it. He was going to finally confess his feelings towards you. He had your favourite flowers in hand, feeling as confident as ever. You had been the perfect pair recently with random selected mixed tag teams tournament, and just the instant connection you two had outside of work.

He got to the door of your locker room and heard laughter coming from inside. One was obviously you but the other it was...

Oh, of course it was him..

Maxwell fucking Jacob Friedman.

Cody’s good mood dimmed he was going to lose you, if not already lost to that big dumb idiot. He didn’t really think of MJF this way, they were actually pretty great buds. The wave over jealously just quickly took over. He leaned in closer to try and hear what they were saying, but in the process he knocked his head on the door, causing Y/N and MJF to jump a bit before Y/N called out “It’s unlocked come in!!”

Cody quickly threw the flowers to the side trying to hide them, he didn’t want to walk in there with flowers if there was something going on between you two and MJF makes a fool out of Cody. Cody hesitantly open the door and walked in, putting on his best fake charming smile ever.

“Hey Y/N! … Maxwell” Cody said slyly. “Y/n I was wondering if you would like to go out for dinner after the show is finished?” He asked casually, trying not to pay attention to MJF staring deeply into his soul.

Y/N sighed. “Cody i’d love to but,” she looked to Maxwell briefly before turning back to Cody, “i’ve already got some plans.”

MJF smirked and Y/N slightly hit him.

“Oh. Oh yeah that’s fine. It was just a little offer you know, I know you’re a busy person. I’ll catch you around later, you too MJF.” Cody backed to the door closing it quickly and kicking the flowers he had dropped earlier.

“Fuck, you stupid fucking idiot fuck.” He said under his breath in an angry tone. He wanted you so fucking bad but he lost you to that clown. That ugly loud talking clown with a shit show of a fake tan.

He stormed out of the building, everyone looking in his direction, Kenny Omega chased after Cody briefly saying “Hey man you all good? what happened?” But Cody left him in the dust and Kenny easily gave up. Angry Cody was not someone to annoying any further. Heading towards his car, everything was so overwhelming, stressful, he felt like he was going to cry. He wanted the dream girl, but unfortunately his luck wasn’t on his side today.

Cody got in his car, throwing himself in angrily and started driving to his hotel. ‘I hate that stupid mother fucker.’ He mumbled under his breath.

He arrived at his hotel room. He slammed the door shut, taking off his jacket and tossing it to the side.

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out one of your flowers he was going to give you earlier. ‘Can’t believe I was going to give these to her, she probably thinks a gift of flowers would be pathetic.’

He crumpled the flower up and tossed it across the room. Leaving a stain on the wall he threw it at.

He walked over to the fridge to get out a beer, yeah alone drinking was pretty fucking sad but he didn’t care he had to suppress the emotions.

Grabbing the bottle he walked over to the couch, sinking down into it and looking at the TV screen. All this pent up anger and frustration over the past few hours, he thought maybe a drink or three could make him feel better.

Grabbing the can of beer in hand he took a long swig from it, then suddenly a phone rang he picked it up without even looking to see who was calling him.

“Hello?” he said gruffly.

“Hey it’s me! I heard you left the building pretty quick, I’m a bit worried, are you at the hotel?” Y/N asked. “Yeah just now” He answered with no emotion. Y/N ignored his tone and said “I’m coming right now, MJF too.”

Cody remained silent. She kept the phone on, expecting conversation, since she loved her and Cody’s chats. but he said noting the whole time and listened to her and Maxwell make tiny pathetic conversation as she drove over. “I’m almost here, i’ll knock twice and you have five seconds to let me in.” She jokingly said as she hung up the phone.

Cody sighed, turning off the TV and sat there on the couch feeling lonely, miserable, and useless. He thoughts started to wonder. The many amounts of alcohol getting to his brain. What would you be like in bed. What would MJF be like. Has you and Max already had sex. Did you give MJF the best blowjob of his life. Could Cody be able to experience that one day, hope in the near future. Have you got kinks, Cody sure as hell did, and just by looking at Max you could tell he does too.

Would you let Cody tie you up, and dominate you in every way possible? Would you allow him to spank your ass until you cried for more? Would you allow him and MJF to absolutely destroy the fuck out of you.

Cody finished his beer and threw it away, peeping down at his newly formed boner. “Fuck” he groaned.

He pulled his pants down a little so that he could access to his erection and stroke it slowly. He reached over to the table and grabbed another beer can, slamming it down onto the counter. Grabbing his dick again, wrapping his fingers around it, completely forgetting that you and MJF were going to appear at his hotel door in any minute. He breathed out a shuttered breath and imagined you, he needed you, your name came out of his mouth in whispers. He imagined your tight pussy clenching down on his dick and every thrust, he was right in the moment when he was interrupted by banging on his door.

Banging on his door harder and harder. “CMON CODY MANN” MJF practically yelled. “YEAHH We want to go clubbing it’s been a long day!!” You half sung. Cody stopped what he was doing, and just stared at the door running to the bathroom to quickly finish. That’s when MJF busted through the door yelling “HELLO! Oh shit, bro your whole dick is out. Shit it might even be bigger than mine.”

Cody was so out of it he just stared at Maxwell, not giving a shit about the situation.

Y/N stumbled in the room, “Max you can’t just break a door like that what the he-“ You stared at Cody your eyes slowly drifted down and landed on the holy penis. You blushed and looked away. “Sorry Codes- didn’t know you were busy…”

Cody finally covered up, looking between MJF and you, he smiled. The alcohol making him feel oddly confident 

“Are you two a thing? Because I was going to ask pretty little Y/N out today but I stumbled upon this- this- little fucking thing going on. So I stormed out to my car drove here, thought about some pretty hot things, and since i’m still hard I’d like to finish off the fucking job alright?” Cody walked towards the bedroom not looking back. It was a need, it was normal. 

“No Cody we aren’t a thing,” you called after him. “I was actually talking to Max for ideas on how I was going to ask you out.” You said shyly. 

Cody slowly turned and you gave him a smile and Max nodded. 

Cody looked like a puppy, his eyes gleamed with hope, but they tuned, turned to lust. 

“You asking me out doesn’t solve the erection problem though, does it sweetheart?”

Cody looked to MJF and smirked and nodded his head to your. Max smirked back and licked his lips, his hand graced your back and pushed you into the bedroom with Cody. 

Shit. You were going to have a threesome with the 2 most arguably hottest people you know and it got you so unbelievably wet. MJF shut the door behind you. and walked beside Cody.

You stood in front of them, Cody’s cock waving at you from his boxers, it’s tip dark red, with veins, big enough to put your thumb through if you wanted to. He let out a needy grunt as you reached out and started stroking him. It grew to full mast instantly again. MJF stepped up behind you removing your clothes and started to play with your breasts, rolling the nipples, and sucking your neck, leading to you letting out a soft moan, which could get anyone hard instantly.

You looked to MJF, who had removed his shirt and pants, revealing his thick uncut dick, that is only slightly darker than Cody’s, even with his pubic hair that covered it, it’s thickness was visible when it was standing straight up. He smiled as you pulled Cody into you and slid onto his cock. As he entered your body, you moaned louder and started riding him harder, Cody moaned as well.

Then MJF wrapped his arms around your waist and began to thrust into you as well, both of their cocks sliding easily into your tight pussy, stretching you until you start crying out. You couldn’t take anymore, MJF slammed into you , pulling out and ramming himself back inside of you, over and over until you could feel yourself nearing your orgasm, while Cody was maintaining his quick pace, you moaned loudly and leaned forward onto Cody’s chest and began humping him faster.

Cody’s and Max’s hands were roaming all over your body, their mouths sucking at any place they could. You were a moaning mess and you couldn’t help it. It was better than you ever expected. 

“Oh god y/n, I need to cum inside of you” Cody whispered in your ear. “Me too, fuck you’re so perfect, you’re ours” MJF groaned. Cody hummed in agreement. “We should do some sort of baby roulette, both cum, get her preggo, see who the child is.” MJF suggested becoming breathless. Your teary eyes opened wide, so fucking weird, but it surprisingly turned you on more.

You’ve never felt this way before, it felt good. You looked to MJF then Cody, they both had such huge smiles on their faces both thinking about the baby idea going through the pros and cons. They fucked you until you came twice, your walls clenched around their cocks, their moans were matching each other’s and they eventually came as well. You laid on top of Cody’s chest, as MJF was laying on top of you partially squished you, but you didn’t mind you felt safe both of them panting as they held you close.

“Wow, guys,” you exhaled. “That was intense. You guys really are amazing.” MJF laughed and nodded his head. “Yeah.” Cody agreed planting a big loving kiss on your forehead, MJF doing the same on the back of your head. 

It was nice and warm laying in between the two guys, but eventually MJF got up and you groaned at the loss of warmth and snuggled deeper into Cody while he rubbed circles around your back. 

MJF got a towel and started cleaning the mess you guys had created, you looked up and smiled, him smiling back. 

“So about the baby roulette thing..” He said proudly, but you just shooted daggers at him. Cody was kissing your neck, but you could feel him smirking. 

“Ok, haha, plan b it is, I will get it for you beauty” MJF awkwardly laughed. 

“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” You got up off of Cody, but that was a mistake as you plummeted to the ground groaning in pain. “Second thought, yeah you go get it.” The boys laughed, and you let out a small giggled but quickly stopped. 

“FUCK I HAVE A MATCH TOMORROW GUYS.” The boys kept on laughing. “ITS NOT FUCKING FUNNY YOU CUNTS, SHIT.” 

Cody picked you up and placed you on the bed. Both boys sitting on either side of you, both laying a hand onto your thighs, and rubbing up and down coming extremely close to your area.

“Don’t worry sweet, we’re all calling in sick tomorrow.” Cody winked to you, and MJF slowly lifted his hand up from your thigh, grazing his hand ever so slightly over your pussy making you jump a little.

What the fuck have I gotten into.

[sephirthoughts]

Do I even have to say anything about why I ship them? It just happened, and I still don't know why. XD

Ah, man, I think you can already guess who I'm talking about, but Reeve and that Haunted Hotel Bellhop? That's my weirdest ship so far.

That, or Daraen (Fire Embelm Awakening) and Cloud. For them it's just the vibes. Also, white haired protagonist who's haunted by an ancient evil falling for the blond guy who's haunted by a silver haired new evil is just funny to me. XD

i don't actually know what fire emblem awakening is even so reeve bellhop it is!! 😂

This wound up being…well, pretty much exactly as silly as I expected.

"Now, Ollie, it's not nice to pull off other people's bandages. No, no, don't put them in your—and they're in her mouth." Benjamin sighed, as he attempted to tug the long strip of cloth out of her hands. "Well now they're all soaked in your baby slime. How am I supposed to put them back on?"

"Pfffbbt bah gah bah!" Ollie argued, flatly refusing to relinquish her interesting new toy.

"Why don't you just leave them off," Nero suggested, from where he was lying on the couch. "Who are you worried about seeing you, here?"

Benjamin opened is mouth to reply, but Reeve and Vincent came downstairs, at that moment.

"Oh, hey, Benjamin," Reeve said, looking surprised. "You're really handsome, without the bandages hiding your face."

"Thank you," Nero answered, at which everyone looked at him. "What? We're identical."

"You're right. You're both very handsome," Reeve chuckled.

Benjamin was already holding Oliie in front of his face, like a human shield, so he didn't see Reeve look over at him, again, as he and Vincent went out the front door.

It was nice of Mr. Tuesti to say he was handsome, but he knew how ugly the blue-black darkness cracks in his face were. He'd scared enough kids and teenagers and full-grown adults to be fully aware of his hideousness, before the age of ten.

The cherry on top of that self-esteem issue sundae was when he'd been deemed too scary looking for the job he'd applied to. The job as a bellhop at the Haunted Hotel. Where part of the gig was literally scaring people.

His friend helped him put together his mummy-bellhop costume, which conveniently featured a lot of facial bandages, and his application was finally approved by management (with the additional caveat that he also had to wear contacts to make his cat-slit pupils appear round).

He didn't resent the bandages, though. They were his armor. People laughed and smiled, when he had them on, rather than averting their eyes or staring in horror. When they screamed, it was because he dropped out of the ceiling and spooked them, on purpose. It felt good to have control over how people react to you, after a lifetime of evoking terror, through no fault of your own.

"I approve," Nero said, apropos of nothing, after Vincent and Mr. Tuesti had gone.

Benjamin looked up. "Huh?"

"Reeve. I approve. You may date him."

"I…you…he…WHAT??"

"BWAH??" Ollie squawked, mimicking Benjamin's exclamation.

"He obviously likes you. He's a little old but he's hot, and he's a good person. Hence, I approve."

"I don't—Mr. Tuesti doesn't like me like that, are you insane?"

"Legally, clinically, and literally, yes. But that doen't mean I'm blind and stupid. That man is into you. It's a fact."

"What's a fact," Sephiroth asked, as he entered the living room.

"Reeve likes Benny."

"Hm." Sephiroth considered this for a moment. "I approve. You may date him."

Benjamin was absolutely beside himself. "What are you—I didn't ask for approval! Or permission! And I'm not dating anyone!!"

At that very moment, the front door opened and Vincent re-entered. Behind him, Reeve popped his head in. "Hey, Benjamin, could I talk to you in private for a sec?"

"Um, s—sure, Mr. Tuesti, I'll be right there."

Ollie staunchly hung onto the bandage, and not wanting to risk a tanrum, Benjamin gave up and handed her over to Sephiroth. Ignoring Nero's meaningful look, he followed Reeve out the front door.

Nero turned to Sephiroth. "I'll bet you a hundred gil—"

"No wager necessary. It's a certainty."

"Guh guh guh guh," Ollie burbled, cheerfully saturating the bandage with more drool.

Several long minutes passed, then Benjamin returned, and sat down on the floor, where he'd been, as if nothing had happened. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, till he couldn't sit still anymore.

"I'm going to the engineering expo with him, on Saturday, and he's taking me to dinner afterward. Are you happy?"

"Ha! He did ask him out!!" Nero gloated. "You owe me a hundred gil, Sephi!"

Sephiroth rolled his eyes. "I didn't accept the wager, and I agreed with you. Congratulations on your date, Benjamin. I hope you have a lovely time."

"It's not a date!" Benjamin insisted.

"What kind of dorks go on a date at an engineering expo," Nero chortled. "You and Reeve are two peas in a nerd-pod, aren't you."

"But it's just an activity and a meal. That's not a date. Is it?"

"An activity and a meal is generally considered a date, Benjamin," said Vincent, who had reappeared at some point.

"Bahbuh mabaga," Ollie put in sagely, offering Benjamin back his drool-soaked bandage.

"Thanks. I'll just…wash that first."

"If you're too nervous, I'm willing to disguise myself as you and serve as your substitute."

"You giant jackass, who are you gonna fool?" Nero scoffed. "If anyone's going on Benny's date in disguise, I am."

"No one's going on my date in diguise! I mean—not date!!"

"What's that? Benny got a date?" Cid's voice called, from the stairwell.

Benjamin sighed, dropping his head despondently into his hands. "Yes. I…I'm going on a date."

[cyanbugremix]

Surprise Hairdo - Stories of the Shaw Pack

Characters: Asher/Babe

CW: None; Fluff

Written in July 2023

Summary: Asher lost a challenge and surprises Babe.

Can be found ✨here on Ao3✨, written by moi (cyan_bug37 on Ao3)

~~~~

Their phone rang and a familiar name popped up as the caller. Babe knew that Asher knew he wasn’t supposed to call them at work, other than during their lunch break. Was it an emergency? Wasn’t he supposed to be busy hanging out with the pack? They did have a pack meeting today. . . Did something happen with Christian?

They answered their phone.

“Babe.”

“Asher?” Babe responded, confused as to why Asher sounded so serious

“I need you to promise me, you will still love me when you get home.”

“I– What do you mean? What happened?”

Asher repeated, ignoring Babe’s questions, “I need you to promise me that you will still love me when you see me at home.”

“You didn’t burn our apartment down did you? Are you ok?”

“No, the apartment should be fine.” Asher finally answered. “But will you still love me?”

“I love you when I don’t even see you. Of course I will. What is this about?” Babe pried more. They looked around the office to see if anyone was listening. Most people had earbuds in and weren’t paying any attention to their call.

“Good. Love you!” Asher suddenly cheered up. And that ended the call.

Babe sighed and put their phone down. They had another two hours before they could head home, and see Asher and whatever he did.

--- Babe pushed open their apartment door. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. . .

“Ash?” They called out. They heard a door unlock and out walked Asher, wearing a towel on his head. But the rest of him was dressed.

“Did you take a shower? Nevermind–” They realized they were getting sidetracked. “What was about that call today? You can’t just be overly serious, calling when you aren’t supposed to call, and not have it be an emergency.”

Asher looked to the side and awkwardly smiled, “A funny story–” He then gazed at Babe. He could tell they were concerned and probably didn’t want a really long explanation. “But, uh, you should just see it.”

Asher yanked the towel off his head and Babe saw colors. So many colors. It was like his hair went on a trip to cotton candy land and then fell into rainbow candy. His hair was dyed lavender, with different streaks of pink, blue, yellow, and green.

Asher worryingly looked at Babe. They were just staring.

“Babe? You said that you would still love me,” Asher said to break the silence.

Babe met his eyes again and then walked over with a small smile on their face. They reached up to his hair and brushed their fingers through it, still entranced by the color.

“This is so– how the hell did this happen at a pack meeting?”

Asher laughed, “We had time after the actual meeting, since everything important happened in the morning, and Milo challenged me to a wrestling match. The loser would get their hair dyed. I figured that it would be fine, I normally can beat Milo, but the guy had some new moves and caught me off guard. . .”

“And you lost. Which resulted in your hair having a rainbow barf onto it,” Babe finished.

“Sorry, Babe. I know how much you liked my natural hair,” Asher apologetically smiled.

Babe chuckled and shook their head. They wrapped their arms around his neck, staring into his eyes. “You should know that I love you however you look. I was surprised about it, because I hadn’t expected my mate to look so colorful compared to when I saw him this morning– but you're still just as handsome.”

“You think so?” Asher hopefully scanned their eyes.

“Yes,” Babe smiled and kissed his nose. “Your hair is amazing. Whoever dyed it, did an amazing job.”

“I’m so glad,” Asher slumped his shoulders in relief. “I normally don’t worry about, y’know, how I look, but this hair color is a bit much. I like the purple, though.”

“I think it looks cool,” Babe leaned into his lips, Asher planting his on theirs. They broke away from the kiss after a moment. “Even if it was ugly, I would still love you, because I love your personality and I love sharing life’s moments with you. Hair changes neither of those two things.”

“You’re the best, Babe,” Asher grinned and wrapped his arms around them again, squeezing them tighter.

“Ok,” Babe coughed out and patted his shoulder. “You’re hugging me to death.”

“Sorry,” Asher released his grip and laughed. “I just wanted to show you how much I love you.”

“You can show me how much you love me later. I want to get out of my work clothes first,” Babe replied. Asher dropped his arms and let them walk to the bedroom.

Babe froze before they disappeared too far down the hall. They looked back at Asher. “Wait–”

“What?” Asher looked confused.

“Did you dye your– uh, wolf form as well?”

Asher grinned, “Our wolf fur doesn’t take well to hair dye. I tried it once before.”

“When?” Babe frowned at the new information.

Asher walked over, grabbing a hold of Babe’s shoulders with a cheeky grin, “I'll tell you after you get changed.”

Asher guided Babe to the bedroom door. Babe turned around and kissed his cheek before entering the bedroom, quite excited to hear about why he tried dyeing his fur.

~~~~

As always, I have no ownership or rights to these characters, stories, or franchises. I write this to appreciate the content Redacted ASMR/audio makes. Anything I write is not official in their stories, other than using moments from the original story line. I make no profit from this.

Please don't steal.

[miheartsedthings]

Part Eight

SFW ModernBily x FemReader

Summary: You don't know why Billy is always insisting you don't going around Hawkins at night by yourself. That is, until something horrible happens...

Warnings: ANGST, mystery, anxiety, censored f-slur, verbal abuse

Words: ~3,000

I am SO excited for this chapter, we're kicking off a little story arch that I feel like it gonna be so fun, I'm already have a blast writing it. Let me know what you think in the comments!

“I can't do this anymore.” 

Your eyes are clouded with tears, the pain in your expression makes Billy regret every wrong turn in his life which has led him here. Which has made him this person. He tries to tell you this but the words come out all wrong. He scoffs. Too hurt to keep the accusation out of his tone.

“So that's it? You're giving up?” 

Your pain is doubled. 

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. 

His throat twists closed, and as he watches you leave he wishes he could chase after you, but his limbs won’t move. 

This is the nightmare he has after returning home. He wakes up with a sheet of sweat along his brow, heart bruising against his ribs. It takes a moment to realize it hadn't actually happened. You hadn't left him. 

Yet. 

The morning is cold. A gray spring. Indiana-dreary and not worth the trouble of getting out of bed. It's you that pulls him up. The need to see you, to stave off your inevitable breakup however he can. This need drives him through his morning. He checks his phone for you and instead finds Tommy Hagan’s sent a picture of himself throwing up a ‘hang 10’ sign with his tongue sticking out. He’s shirtless and beside him is the naked ass of a passed-out girl. Billy rolls his eyes. Max is loud in the other room, she's a rowdier kid when Neil leaves town. She plays her music louder and stomps around. Now, Billy can hear her stomping toward the bathroom and rushes to beat her there, knowing if he loses she’ll hold him up an extra hour.  

They clash in the hall, she with her oversized headphones and her tangled red mop of hair sitting like a mangled bird’s nest on top of her head, he in his boxers with a towel under his arm. 

“Hey!” she whines as he wedges into the bathroom ahead of her and slams the door. Billy hears her go whining back up the hall and he knows what’ll happen next. She’ll go complaining to Susan about him, who will then come padding down the hall in those ugly slippers Neil got her the first Christmas they spent together. He cranks the shower and already she's there, knocking insistently. 

“Young man,” she calls. “It's ladies first in this house.” 

Her voice is too brittle for the command she tries to summon.Try as she might she can't muster Neil's authority, and Billy rushes in under the spray of hot water. It's just as well. Even if he came out now Neil would still hear about him shoving into the bathroom in the first place. He's fucked so he might as well get clean. Susan knocks until Max gives up and stomps away. 

After that, the morning gets easier. He's able to focus on the rest of his routine, letting the comfort of clothes he feels good in and taking care of his appearance distract from the sour undercurrent of worry about your relationship. 

Morning.

He wrote. But that was nearly half an hour ago already. Why haven't you answered? The thought was a plague. Had he been too rough with you the night before? He realized far too late that he'd forgotten about the condom. Could that have pissed you off enough to make you stop speaking to him?

“Are you running a fever?” 

Susan asks this from her end of the dining room table just as Billy is going to the fridge. She's sitting there with her stupid, concerned guidance counselor look and her stupid oversized coffee cup covered in ladybugs between her thin fingers. 

“No.” He answers dryly, already annoyed with her and her daughter. He chugs half a protein shake and checks his phone. Still no word from you. “We're gonna be late,” he says, trying hard to soften the edge in his voice. 

Susan shrugs. 

“Don't you think you go in a little early? I mean, you know you don't have to have breakfast there. I'd cook for you guys if-” 

“It's cause he picks up his girlfriend every morning.” Max, her long wet hair drips onto the floor as she comes in. He glares at her, hating the mention of you, the knowledge of you by her and her mom. Max avoids his eyes, gathering things for a bowl of cereal. 

“Oooooh,” Susan coos, raising her brows “a girlfriend. My goodness, that's-” 

“We're going to be late.” He says again. You'll be left waiting at the gas station and whatever anger you're already feeling will be doubled by the time he reaches you. What will he even say?

“Oh,” Susan's cheeks are flushed and she's smiling as she stands, she gives Max an apple, shushing her complaints. “Come on, hun. Don't make the girlfriend wait.” 

She says this with a cheeky grin and wink that makes Billy a little nauseous, though he hates her less at the same time. It's always like this with Susan. She's annoying and useless most of the time and then she'll do something kind. It's just enough to keep things civil while Neil is away. Maybe if he stayed away things could be better. Maybe something close to nice. But whatever, Billy doesn't have time to think about it. He rushes out the door with Max grumbling behind him, her skateboard under her arm. 

Max goes for the front seat and Billy glares at her over the hood of the car. 

“No fucking way. In the back.” 

She rolls her eyes and obeys, sliding to the back door. Her sneer makes Billy that much angrier. What? Did she expect him to make you sit in the back? 

In the car, he plays thrash metal in an attempt to drown out his thoughts. Every few minutes he checks his appearance in the rearview mirror and each time he finds a new thing to fix. A lock of hair out of place, a smear of protein shake on his lip. Fuck, how'd I not notice what a mess I am this morning? He thinks. 

“Your hair looks the same every time you touch it, ya know.” Max says, speaking loud to be heard over the music. 

“Shut up.” he answers. “And don't say shit when she gets in here.” 

She huffs again, slumping back against the seat with her arms crossed, grumbling something under her breathe. Something in Billy's stomach tightens and his neck goes hot with anger. Everything someone tells this kid is a problem. She feels wronged by everything just like the dramatic little twerp she is. But she's so spoiled she can't even see it. What would happen to Billy if he'd sat there with that look on his face while his dad drove? He saw a vision of his dad's reddned face twisting back to look at him, eyes full of fire, asking him if he'd hurt his feelings in such a mocking tone that it stung. 

“Is the little f****t gonna cry?” His dad would say. 

He'd be mocked halfway to school, the other half his dad would complain about him and his mom. She who he blamed for turning his son into a pussy. Billy would have to just sit there, knowing better than to say anything. He'd force his expression neutral, force all the hurt inside. He had to behave or he wouldn't survive. But this kid sits there huffing and puffing over being told to shut up. Just that, as if it's such a big deal. 

Spoiled. Brat. 

By the time Billy and Max arrive at the gas station you’ve been waiting fifteen minutes and his stomach sinks to see you aren’t there. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, heart racing. He goes to his phone, still no message from you. “Fuck, fuck!” he hisses, throwing his phone into the passenger seat. His whole body goes warm and his leg starts bouncing. What the fuck is he gonna do? Just then, you emerge from the gas station with a smile on your face. Such relief floods over him that it almost makes him lightheaded. He tries to breathe evenly, tries to be his normal, unaffected self even though he was just on the verge of catastrophe. 

God you look good. 

You’re just wearing jeans and a band t shirt, but you’ve styled it, tucked it in and added a belt with a big silver buckle. You wear bracelets and earrings and your hair is doing that magic only you know how to pull off. Besides, your ass looks amazing in those jeans. You hop in and the cabin fills with the warm sugar smell of you and you’re smiling at him. He can finally breathe. 

“Hey,” he says, turning down the music.

“Hey,” you lean over and kiss him and then you notice Max in the backseat. You laugh a little in surprise. “Oh, hey Max.” 

Max offers a tight smile and turns back to the window. Goddamn brat, of course he didn’t mean to ignore you if you spoke to her. He’s about to say something about how rude she’s being but you stop him. 

“I got you something,” you say, and before he can guess you pull a little dangly thing from behind your back and hold it up between you. It’s a keychain of a little teddy bear in a biker jacket. 

“No shit,” Billy laughs, taking the little bear into his fingers. 

“Its a ‘thank you’.” 

He looks at you, then. More than a little surprised to hear that. What the fuck has he done to earn a ‘thank you’?

“For what?” He asks, trying to keep his tone level, keep it all inside. You smile wider. 

“You know,” you say softly, suggestively “For…comforting me.” 

He realizes you’re talking about the night before, and its almost unbelievable, the weight that falls away. All that worry from the morning, all that fear that he’d messed up in what he’d done to you the night before. It’s like antidote to a poison. For a moment, he’s at peace, you’ve done it again, somehow. He grins. 

“Of course,” he says, “That’s what I’m here for.” 

On the way to school, your hand is on his knee. He almost doesn’t want to bring up the thing about the text messages, it feels so needy, but it’s gnawing at him. Finally, as he lets Max out of the car and continues into the parking lot, he asks about it as nonchalantly as possible. 

“Oh, you messaged me?” You ask, innocently confused. You pull your phone from your bag and find it completely dead. “Ah, damn.” you mumble. “I didn’t plug it in last night.” 

Another cool rush of relief. He shakes his head, chuckling. 

“You’re kind of an airhead, you know that?.” 

You frown. 

“Can I borrow your charger?” 

One more day. One more morning and things are still alright. But for how long? How long can he keep this up? 

Billy finally seems calm, until a text comes through from Max saying she won’t be needing a ride home later. 

Wouldn’t wanna get in the way. She adds. Billy is seething over this message when he shows it to you.

“The little shithead,” he calls her. 

“She’s 13, of course she doesn’t wanna ride around with her brother, she wants to be with her friends.” 

This only makes Billy red in the face. The two of you are just walking into the building and you’re hoping to turn the mood positive again before you have to part ways. 

“That doesn’t fucking matter,” Billy says, “If I don’t keep an eye on the little brat…” 

You take his hand and kiss it, shushing him before he can get to the part about his dad’s anger. Afterall, Neil’s anger is inevitable.

“She’ll ride home with us,” you promise, though you have no control over this, “It’ll be fine.” 

The two of you have reached the hallway outside the cafeteria and he leans with his back against the window. His shoulders sag and you can see him wishing he’d had a cigarette before coming inside. You loop your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a hug. 

“Three more months,” you whisper, reminding him how much time stands between you and graduation. “Then you’re all mine.” 

He softens, despite himself. His nose against your neck, his hand on your hip. If only he could stay like this. It’s then that a teacher passes, instructing the two of you to ‘Leave some room for Jesus.’

Billy lets out an aggravated chuckle, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Where the fuck are we?” He groans. 

“Not in California.” 

“That’s for fuckin sure.” 

“Not yet, anyway.” 

He looks at you, and you’re struck once again by the beauty of his eyes. Tired as they seem. 

“You meant that, huh?” 

“Of course I did. You’re gonna teach me how to surf, remember?” 

“Gotta learn to swim first.”

“That too.”

You go quiet, looking down. 

“Hey, I really mean it, by the way. Thanks for last night. I didn’t know how much I needed that.” 

His throat tightens. 

“I mean, my pleasure.” he says, trying to seem unbothered. “You didn’t care about the…the condom, thing?” 

You make a face, a half smile, half grimace. 

“Yeah, about that…can I ask you for a favor?”

“You can try,” 

The old rebuttal pops out automatically. 

“Could you…would you take me to the clinic later? I’m gonna get a pill.” 

Oh. He didn’t expect the little pang of hurt in his gut. He remembers the time he thought you were pregnant and all that hope. He shrugs. 

“Sure. You feelin okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that the sooner you take it the better so…might as well do it today.” 

Billy agrees, yet he’s sad at the same time. Three more months. You pick up breakfast and the two of you sit eating and talking about whatever comes to mind. Homework assignments, the time you’ll spend on the beach this summer. Camping trips and the possibility of cookouts with your family. Birthday parties. All that theoretical beauty and happiness in your shared future. It puts the two of you at ease. You aren’t thinking about Nancy, and he isn’t thinking about your inevitable loss of love for him. You’re just there, together. 

Suddenly, you’re looking down at your breakfast and your stomach turns, just a little twist of nausea. 

“Ugh,” you push your plate away. 

“You alright?” Billy asks. 

“Yeah, ate too fast, I guess.” 

You’re in third period when an announcement comes over the PA system instructing all teachers to bring their classes to the auditorium for an emergency assembly. Your classroom is immediately buzzing with energy as people excitedly whisper about what’s going on. You overhear a dozen theories: a teacher being fired over misconduct, a shooting incident at a neighboring school, but it sounds like no one knows for sure. You text Billy. 

Assembly?

Fuck if I know. 

The student body thrums. What could be so urgent as to warrant an emergency assembly of the whole school? Was there going to be ripple effects for the rest of us? In those tense moments as you all moved as a herd towards the auditorium, anything seemed possible. The school was shutting down, the mayor had decided to visit later in the afternoon, aliens had landed. The theories kept coming, mixing with the everyday dramas of the high school population. You spot Nancy on your way into the auditorium. She’s with her Biology class, talking close with Lauren Haysack and Jenny Garrett. You imagine yourself approaching them through the crowd, and in your mind’s eye Nancy forgives you the moment she sees you. She smiles and links elbows with you, bringing you into the circle. 

Of course, you don’t go over. You look away, and then Sydney Wells asks you what you think is happening and you make up something simple. New fire codes, something stupid we really didn’t need an assembly for. But hey, at least you’re not in class. It takes a while for everyone to find a seat, and even after they do the principal and guidance counselors mill around on stage whispering to one another. The principle looks worriedly over the mass of faces, the hum of voices filling the space. His cheeks are bloodless and slightly sunken. 

Finally, a door opens and seemingly all at once the students look back to see Sherrif Hopper making his way toward the stage. You look around for Billy then and spot him on the other side of the auditorium, two rows from the back. He raises his brows, in mock seriousness. 

Look out bad guys, Barney Fife is in the building. 

You grin, but when you look up to the stage again all the joking falls away. A few teachers have joined the others on stage and their faces have each grown grave. They look out over the rest of us with apprehension and pity, as if taking one last look at our innocence before it leaves us. You lean back in your seat, watching Hopper join the others and share more quiet exchanges. You wish they’d just come out with it. 

Finally, Hopper and Principal Drisk stand at the podium, Principal Drisk in front, papers in his hands. 

“Alright, settle down, everybody, settle down now, there’s something…something important we need to discuss here. Quiet down.” 

The crowd slowly hushes, anxious to learn what’s going on. The Principal wets his lips and glances at Hopper. 

“We’ve asked Jim Hopper here to help…put you kids at ease but there’s some…well, there is no easy way to say this. Some of you may have noticed…one of your peers has been missing for quite a while.” 

Whispers crackle through the crowd, heads swivel around, suddenly all of you are taking stock of each other, wondering who isn’t here. Is he out sick? No I thought she had a doctor’s appointment. I just saw him yesterday. Hopper takes over at the mic, his gruff voice drowning out the rustling. 

“I don’t want anyone to panic,” He says, “We’re looking for Molly Kellerman.” 

Your heart sinks at the name, remembering it instantly. The girl Billy had been with the other night. You see her face in your mind, the wild auburn waves, the perpetual blush, the undeniable symmetry of her lending her a simple beauty. Her mascara and lipstick-smeared face at the party. Your stomach turns again. The crowd is still simmering with hushed voices and Hopper is still speaking over them, telling you all to stay calm. You look to Billy, but he doesn’t look over, he’s stone-faced, staring at the stage. 

They’ve turned on the projector and put up an image of Molly, a recent one from some family event. She stood beside a woman who must’ve been her mother, sharing the same face. It felt odd seeing her like this when you’d hardly known her, had only felt an odd pang of jealousy towards her because of the incident the other night. Now here you all were peeking into this private moment in her life, all because she was gone. Someone had stolen her. A chill rushes up your spin and you sit straighter. 

“She was last seen leaving a party a few nights ago, that would be April 2nd.” 

Another drip of ice along your back. That night. She’d stormed past you with tears in her eyes and you hadn’t given it a second thought. Now she was gone. Someone had intercepted her then, at the party or out in the street after. 

“What did I tell you about wondering around this town at night?”

You wrap your arms around yourself, which is when you notice a few nearby eyes looking at you. They knew about you and Billy and Molly. You hadn’t cared that they knew, until now. Now that they’re looking at you and looking at Billy in a way that makes your skin crawl. Sydney leans in close to you.

“Did you know?” She asks and you shake your head. 

“No. We didn’t know.” You say it loud enough for a few others to hear, but it feels like pushing against a tide. It does nothing and even Sydney seems unsatisfied with your answer. You swallow around a lump in your throat. 

“If anyone has any information, anything at all about that night or about Molly, please call the Sherriff’s office. You can be anonymous, you’re not gonna get in trouble. We just wanna get this girl home to her mother.” 

Hopper tips his hat and steps away from the mic, the principal returns to it but the room has filled once again with incessant chatter. He tries again to quiet the crowd, but nothing works. The many voices raising together into a thick hive of sound. Anxiety and morbid curiosity boiling over into a relentless energy. All the while, you stare at the picture of Molly next to her mom. Maybe you’ve never really looked at her until right then.

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[blood-choke]

hiiii… i wanted to ask more about this particular val scene where mc and her talk about that portrait and mc is a bit stuck on the word husband and wants val to know theyre not a man. can i ask what inspired that type of convo? i wanted to know if it’s something you’ll touch up on again? is this underlying feelings mc had before their entombment… worried that val sees them as a man just because mc is masc? cause i know that’s kind of broader discussion in the lesbian community iirc….. was that why you wanted to incorporate it? this ask has so many questions LOL but basically i wanted to say i was intrigued and it did made me think more on those type of dynamics (thinking back to those resources you rb’d a while ago that go more into depth about diff things in the lesbian community)

oh boy get ready for another long-winded answer from me!

a lot of the feelings mc has about their gender are inspired by Leslie Feinberg's work (mainly Stone Butch Blues)

Feinberg was someone who lived & passed as a man for years of hir life, and wrote a lot about the complexities of hir gender and what it was like being a "gender outlaw."

there was actually a scene in particular from sbb that kinda put the kernel of an idea in my mind that led to this narrative of the mc feeling overshadowed by Standard and anxious about being perceived as a man. it's towards the end of the book when Jess (sbb's protagonist) meets Ruth (a trans woman that Jess falls in love with)

Jess offers to help Ruth carry groceries up to her apartment, and Ruth takes this the wrong way & is offended, partly because she thinks Jess is a man.

One Saturday afternoon I found her clutching two huge bags of groceries and fumbling with the downstairs front-door lock. I pulled out my key.

“Here, let me.” She didn’t say thank you. She hurried ahead of me on the stairs.

“Can I help you carry those?” I offered.

“Do I look weak to you?” she asked.

I stopped on the stairs. “No. Where I come from it’s just a sign of respect, that’s all.”

She continued up the stairs. “Well, where I come from,” she called out, “men don’t reward women for pretending to be helpless.” Once I heard her apartment door close I kicked the stair in anger and frustration.

later, after they get to know each other better, they have this interaction:

I laughed and picked at my salad. “Do you know if I’m a man or a woman?”

“No,” Ruth said. “That’s why I know so much about you.”

I sighed. “Did you think I was a man when you first met me?" She nodded. "Yes. At first I thought you were a straight man. Then I thought you were gay. It’s been a shock for me to realize that even I make assumptions about sex and gender that aren’t true. I thought I was liberated from all of that.”

I smiled. “I didn’t want you to think I was a man. I wanted you to see how much more complicated I am. I wanted you to like what you saw.”

i think the inspiration here is quite obvious, hahaha. i figure anyone that's read sbb can sense the similar through-line here in my work. though the conversation between mc and Valentina has a much different tone.

there's another scene later as well after something happens to Jess and she has to have her jaw wired shut. she's working at a new job and is unable to speak, and she's also passing as a man at this job. she overhears some of her female coworkers talking about her and they refer to her as a "creep" and speculate that she's always watching one of them. Jess overhears all of this and then walks out of the job, goes home and pulls the wires out of her mouth herself:

After I was sure I’d gotten the last piece of wire out of my gums, I rinsed my mouth with whiskey and then drank the rest of it so I could sleep without remembering how Marija’s words had stripped me of my humanity.

butches & gnc women still face this kind of dehumanization; compared or likened to men in a derogatory way, accused of being "heteropatriarchal," the predatory stereotype of the fat ugly lesbian, and on the other side they're also hypersexualized, especially online and in queer spaces. butchphobia is a specific kind of misogyny that hits from all sides, even from the people that are supposed to be a part of your community. and this attitude especially effects trans women and women of color, who are already experiencing all of these things due to transmisogyny and racism.

i also really wanted to use this to touch on the kind of gender essentialism that we see in a lot of these cis feminist discussions - to these women at this job, Jess had committed no real crime other than being quiet and being the “wrong” kind of man. something about this scene has always stuck with me and really bothered me, but it's hard to put into words; on one hand i can admit i have probably been one of those women who made some kind of similar remark about a man i barely knew, but i've also been someone on the receiving end, too, because of the way i look. the mc in blood choke is put into this box, but they can't fit in, as someone who has been on both sides and doesn't really understand where they belong because of it; how can she stand beside Valentina or Hana or Clear when they might see her as a perpetrator, someone who can't be trusted? how does this mindset harm both the women and the men of the council and everyone in between? how can we break this cycle?

one of the films i mentioned recently when talking about the character designs was The Same Difference, which is specifically about the Black lesbian community and the discrimination within that community based upon gender roles (though this is not something limited to just the Black lesbian community)

a lot of the women in that doc talk about the boxes they're put in as AG or stud lesbians - they can't have their hair long, they can't wear makeup, they can't do this or that, they have to be aggressive and hard or else they're not real studs. they discuss stud on stud (or butch4butch) and how other lesbians look down on those types of lesbians, as well as the disdain for bisexual women for "betraying" the community. it explores the way misogyny and the patriarchy still oppress these women and forces them into this restrictive gender role despite their refusal to adhere to the other role originally assigned to them, and the way racism specifically intersects and exacerbates it for Black lesbians. there's a stud that's an exotic dancer and wears a weave, and a lot of other studs have a problem with this because a weave is "a female thing." another section follows a pregnant stud, and how the community shuns her for that, because she "dresses like a man and acts like a man" so why is she getting pregnant when she should be "the man"?

mc doesn't remember how they felt before entombment, but waking up they feel this need to prove themselves - both in that they are hard and aggressive like a butch should be, but also in that they want to be this person for Valentina or Clear or Hana (or all of them) that is safe and comforting. but they aren't sure how to do that when the world perceives them as this one specific thing - as a husband, as Standard, as a man, specifically this man who hurt Valentina.

of course we've already seen this to not be true of the companions with the last chapter as the mc learns more and spends more time with everyone. but this is kind of the foundation of where this whole idea came from. it started with my novel & i chose vampires for that story & this one because there is a long history of lesbian vampirism (and also because it's sexy) but there's this "curse" that both Hana & Valerie talk about in their respective stories, the first one being the racism she's had to face, the transphobia, along with this alienation and perception of lesbians as predatory and conniving and aggressive, as vampires, which i just think really lends itself to expanding upon these issues lesbians & trans women face both in general and within the community.

anyways if you want to read more i suggest Stone Butch Blues, which you can get for free on Leslie Feinberg's website, as well as S/he, by Minnie Bruce Pratt, available on the internet archive, Gender Failure by Ivan E. Coyote & Rae Spoon also on the internet archive, and you can rent The Same Difference for $10 on vimeo.

[ducks-and-stuff]

Wings

Trigger warning for blood

Grian no last name provided opens the door to the sheriff’s bedroom at 8:25pm with a slack jaw and something unreadable darting around his eyes.

He’s not supposed to be there- obviously, because no one invited him and there’s no big teasing Jimmy get together but the Hermits are visiting and he opens the door and-

Jimmy Solidarity is stood in the middle of the room, mid-anxious pace, with two ugly feathered things that should definitely not be there according to the established lore protruding from his back.

Grian’s hand is still wrapped around the brass doorknob.

The window is still open.

Grian does not have mixed feelings about the snow.

“Jimmy you’ve-“

He begins because someone has to and, finally- finally looks up to meet his eyes

“Got wings”

“No”

Jimmy says on instinct, and because that is most obviously a lie even for his standards,

“Maybe”

Grian inches forward rather than responding. Softly padding across the floor while gently flapping his own multicolored apendeges in intrigue and Jimmy backs away.

It’s understandable, he reasons, because Grian is being weird and nice and a multitude of other out of place things that they should chuck in the garbage along with the bandages. It’s understandable, except Grian pauses and trills softly, something Jimmy recognizes it as something along the lines of ‘you are totally cool and alright and safe with me my dude’ and Jimmy doesn’t say anything back because he isn’t and doesn’t speak bird.

He doesn’t back away this time either, when he gets closer, when he runs his fingers along the not-feathers completely transfixed and mumbles,

“They’re beautiful”

Which is only a little weird because Grian is usually known for his good taste when it comes to things like builds and details and color pallets. “oh Jimmy these are beautiful!”

and Jimmy doesn’t say much, because he doesn’t know which exactly of the million of things he should say in response to that:

‘They might be evil’

Is to confusing

‘stop touching them’

Is not the type of thing best friends say to each other.

‘they aren’t wings idiot- I know that they have feathers and all but- don’t look at me like that I don’t- I don’t know what they are, and it scares me, and I think they might’ve been a gift or a curse or something in-between but you weren’t around to ask and sometimes when you look at me like that it scares me’

Is maybe a little bit too honest, so Jimmy doesn’t say anything, and Grian asks about a washcloth.

I- what?”

He responds, Grian slowly pushes him down onto the mattress in the middle of his room. The mattress is connected to a bed by the way and everything it’s just-

“a towel”

Grian repeats, studying him carefully, like he’s the one doing something wrong here instead of the guy who goes around breaking into other’s houses.

“you- the blood Timmy, and the pain you- you just grew wings.”

“What?”

The only sane person in a hundred meter radius repeats, and before he has the chance to explain that, ‘oh no don’t worry the blood he’s currently drenched in isn’t actually his’ Grian takes the time to incorrectly figure what has happened is that his best friend has gone into some sort of wing related shock.

“Hey Tim, Tim look at me, it’s going to be alright, okay? I know this might be a lot right now but trust me, we’re gonna get you all taken care of, want me to call Joel or someone for you?”

Except Joel would laugh because he doesn’t know Martyn’s stupid canary joke had been rooted in some sort of truth this entire time. So, ‘no’ would be the answer there, probably, because Jimmy is the guy who smiles and can take a joke and deals with his very concerning problems all alone.

“I’m going to call Joel”

Grian decides after he is given no answer which is a fair thing to do, even if it really doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m going to call Joel, and then we’re going to get you a towel okay? Just- sit tight, alright, I don’t- you- you just grew wings Jimmy!”

and it’s all a bit frantic when he first says it, except then he pauses, and smiles, and repeats:

“you grew wings!”

Like this is something they’re all excited about. Like Jimmy hadn’t been twenty and almost gone and completely and entirely alone when it happened, and the window isn’t open, and Joel isn’t coming over to laugh at him.

Grian never notices the binding in the garbage. Jimmy doesn’t point it out.

Nobody is supposed to have mixed feelings about the snow.

Hiii, so this is like, an au of an au I guess? Like everything I’ve written so far on this site is snippets of the whole Jimmy and the Importance of Saying Goodbye story (I don’t know how to put things into like a section based on hashtags) and the backstory Jimmy slides to is definitely part of what happened but I don’t suppose this version of the present would be possible in that universe. I don’t know, Tumblr is a weird place. Also Joel would not laugh actually he would totally immediately panic and try to help.

[onstrangerthighs]

The Ugly Truth

Despite wishing her mother good night thirty minutes ago, Nancy’s eyes refuse to shut. Whenever she starts to drift off, she sees Barb crawling out from underground to blame her for what happened that night. Nancy would argue her case, but there’s no defense. She failed her friend. Barb hadn’t even wanted to go along in the first place! 

I’m going insane just lying here. Maybe some warm milk will calm me down.

She passes the bathroom on the way to the stairs. Mom’s not in the tub? I didn’t hear the water go off. Huh. 

The front door is open, and there’s the boy from Tina’s party who came speeding into Hawkins High School’s parking lot with his car radio on full blast. The boy Steve keeps staring at like a stunned fish. She’s shit with remembering names. Ben… something? 

Curiosity gets the better of her. She stays very still on the second step, ears and eyes peeled. 

Mom answered the door in her bathrobe? Nancy shifts her attention to Ben- no Billy, his name’s Billy. He seems… tense. Fidgety. 

“I’m Nancy’s mother.” 

“No.” 

For some reason, Billy saying that in a clearly sarcastic tone makes her mother twirl her hair and giggle, “Yes” like a schoolgirl with a crush. 

You’ve never acted this way with Dad. 

“Mrs. Wheeler.” 

“Um, I’m sorry, and you are?”

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.” He extends a hand for her to shake, and when she does, he puts his other hand over hers.

What the fuck is happening? Why aren’t you pulling away? 

“You must be here for Nancy.” 

“Nancy? No, no, no.”

One no would’ve done the trick. 

“Not my type.” 

Nancy snorts into her hand. 

“Uh… No, actually I am looking for my little sister Max. Goes by Maxine. She’s been missing all day, and, uh, to be honest with you, I’ve been worried sick, you know, so…”

“Oh.” 

You sound almost… disappointed. Why would you be, unless… No. Surely not. 

“I thought she was at Lucas’, but Mrs. Sinclair said your house is the…the designated hangout, so, you know… Here I am.” 

This has got to be the worst pretend pickup line I’ve ever heard. He’s got no interest in you, Mom. You know that, don’t you? 

Billy comes in, and if he notices Nancy lurking at the top of the stairs as he goes into the kitchen, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Their driveway is pretty dark this time of night,” Mom says, scribbling down an address for him. “So drive slowly.”

“Always.” He pockets the address and takes an extra bitter oatmeal cookie for the road. 

Under the kitchen light, her mother dies, and all she sees is Karen Wheeler biting her bottom lip as she watches him walk away, her eyes glued to his ass. 

Nancy doesn’t remember when her gun appeared in her hands, but her brain is surprisingly clear when she pulls the trigger. A bullet goes right between Karen’s eyes. 

Killing people is surprisingly easy when you see who they really are. 

Billy lies flat on the floor, hands cupped over his ears. 

“I’m not going to shoot you.” 

“You killed… your mother. God, Hicktown is fuckin’ crazy!” 

Boy, he really catches on quick. 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Nancy steps over Karen’s body and dials the number of Hopper’s secretary. She’s more likely to pick up than the Chief himself. “Hi, this is Nancy Wheeler. I need to talk to Chief Hopper. It’s important.”

She hears a grunt, and prepares the crocodile tears. Billy stares at her with a mix of awe and horror as her lower lip begins to tremble. “My mother st-started acting really strange. She turned the air conditioner down because she “liked it cold”. She-she loved the house being warm. Her voice came out all-all deep and empty. I looked into her eyes, and I knew my mother wasn’t…” she takes a shaky breath for added effect, then continues, “I knew she was gone. So I… I shot her. I don’t want to go to jail! I’m so scared, Chief.” 

“You did the right thing, calling me. I’ll stop by your house and take care of things, okay? Do you have anywhere else to go tonight?”

“I’m not sure. I-”

 Billy’s not on the floor anymore. His headlights are on. Crap.

I need to make sure he knows not to say anything. 

Nancy gets into the passenger seat and he sends her a dirty look. 

“You should really start locking your doors. It’s a safety precaution.”

“... I will keep that in mind. Now get out of my car.” 

“You said you were looking for your sister, right?”

“She’s not my sister.”

“But you said-” “I know what I said. Look, I’d prefer to forget everything said and done in your freakshow house, Wheeler.”

“Nancy.” 

“Fine. Nancy.” 

“I know where Max is.” 

“I’m not giving you shit in exchange for that information.” 

“Well I should hope not.” Has this sort of thing happened to him before?

“I know how to keep a secret. I just… why did you do it?” 

“We were always arguing. She never heard me. What pushed me over the edge was how she was with you. It made me want to puke. She should’ve stuck to her own age group.” 

Billy goes eerily quiet, hands gripping his steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. His shoulders slacken, and he unclenches his jaw to offer her a weary, appreciative smile. 

“Max is at the Byers’ house. Mike’s there, too. I can’t take him back to that house. He didn’t know… I don’t suppose you have room where you live?” Billy tenses up again. 

She takes that as a no.”

“I’ll be your guide to the Byers’. I’m sure Mrs. Byers wouldn’t mind us staying over.” 

He gives her a terse nod.

“Us includes you, Bonnie.”

Billy blinks several times, temporarily breaking out of his grim state. “Bonnie? Hold on, why the fuck am I not Clyde? Clyde’s a man.”

Nancy lets out a long sigh. “Do you actually care about that crap?”

“... No. I don’t,” he admits. “Bonnie has better hair anyway, so it fits.” 

“You think you’re funny, huh.” 

“I think I’m a fucking riot.” 

“Humor is subjective.”

“It was your joke!” 

****** “Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” 

Okay, now I wish I’d shot myself instead. 

“Nancy???” Steve exclaims, dragging his eyes away from Billy’s chest. 

So that’s why Billy took his jacket off. 

She snickers, shaking her head. Steve Alexander Harrington, you haven’t changed one bit. 

Billy seems to be glowing from Steve’s attention. Dorks. 

“What’re you doing here, amigo?”

“Yeah, I could ask you the same thing, amigo.” 

Oh, Steve, you’re not fooling anyone. 

“Looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here.”

Nancy awkwardly waves. I doubt they’re even aware I exist. 

“Huh. That’s weird. I don’t know her.”

“Small, redhead, bit of a bitch?”

“I heard that!” a girl yells from inside the house. 

“I wanted you to!” 

“You guys are going to wake up the whole neighborhood!” Nancy yells.

“I think we’re a little quieter than a gu- guy who’s bangin’ his wife.” 

“Are you two… friends or something?” Steve says, squinting like he’s come face to face with an impossible math problem. 

“Amigos in crime.” 

“You didn’t tell him any embarrassing stories about me, did you? Nance?” 

“Stories? What stories?” 

“It’s a school night. We should all head inside and get some rest.”

“Nance!” 

“Shut up, Steve.”

“Yeah, shut up, Pretty Boy.” 

“Keep the flirting to a minimum, there are children present.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “WHAT? FLIRTING?”

Billy cackles, slapping his knee, his face matching the color of his shirt. 

New hobby unlocked. 

*****

“Does Mrs. Byers have any grub around here? I’m gonna check the fridge.”

“Billy, I wouldn’t do that if I were you-"

“WHAT THE FUCK-”

[lucygxybaird]

time-traveler billy preview

author's note: i have a feeling this one is gonna be super long -- potentially multiple parts? - so i thought i would share what i have since that prompt has been sitting in my inbox since the dawn of time (sorry!!)

Everything happens so quickly that you don’t have time — at first — to realize how odd the situation is. The man’s clothes make him look like a refugee from a Western, and everything about him, from the curl of his hair to the way he stands marks him out as someone…different, somehow. Not to mention, of course, that he’s standing in the middle of the street, looking about as out of place and freaked out as a squirrel dropped into the middle of the ocean. 

But even if you could put your finger on it, you don’t have the time to consider what makes him so strange. 

First, you’ll have to get him out of the path of the oncoming car. 

You have, in point of fact, never actually tackled someone before. But you take your best shot, leaning in and diving at his waist, hoping to make him fold like a lawn chair. Maybe it’s just the shock, or maybe you actually find the right angle — you have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. You manage to knock the guy sideways, both of you stumbling toward the safety of the sidewalk as the car screeches past, the driver laying on his horn. 

You watch as the guy flinches at the noise, actually clapping his hands over his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s praying with all his might that the noise will just stop. Fortunately for him, the car turns the corner up ahead, and the sound of the horn fades as it goes. You watch it go, wondering absently how long Speed Racer is going to keep honking, and then you look back at the guy whose life you’ve saved.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a stupid question, considering what little information you already have, but you don’t know what else to say. The guy lowers his hands and squints at you, staring as if you’re the one dressed like an extra from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. “Hey — are you alright?”

He shakes his head, more like he’s trying to chase away a bothersome gnat than answering you. 

You’re starting to worry that he’s hit his head, although you can’t see a cut or a bruise on his temple. Now that you’re looking at him properly, it’s really rather difficult to keep from noticing how…well, how hot he is. It’s probably — definitely — inappropriate to even think about it, you’re well aware, considering he’s either injured, intoxicated in some way, or just going through it, but you can’t ignore the fact now that it’s quite literally staring you in the face. 

His eyes are large and blue, framed by thick, dark lashes as long as your pinky finger, set above a strong, straight nose that reminds you of a Greek statue, as perfectly sculpted as if it’s been made from marble. His lips are astonishingly full, his jawline and cheekbones each as defined as the dictionary, and you think there just might be the shadow of a dimple in his chin. And he’s tall, too, topping you by nearly a foot, his broad shoulders tapering to an angular waist. You realize, belatedly, that you’re staring, but then again, so is he.

“Are you okay?” you say again. “Is there something I can do for you? Someone I can call?”

He swallows, giving another shake of his head. “I don’t…I dunno where I am.” 

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, and his voice brings to mind sage brush and sunsets, the smoke that swirls over a campfire as it crackles with life, warm and husky, with a twang that makes you think of the bite of whiskey. 

“Okay,” you say, and without thinking about it, you take his hand. It feels natural, like trying to guide a lost child, or trying to make sure you don’t lose him in a crowd. As soon as his palm touches yours, you feel a shock race up your arm, and you have the strangest sensation of a door closing, separating one moment from the next as definitively as an axe splitting wood. 

His fingers curl around yours, his expression almost pleading. 

“Okay,” you repeat. “Okay. Just…come with me. I’ll help you.”

You can tell, if not just by the expression on his face — half-hopeful, half-bracing, as if he’s expecting a blow to fall any second — that he’s not used to asking for help, especially not from strangers. It makes your heart hurt just a little bit. You give his hand a gentle squeeze, and you’re softened — or maybe melted — by the way he smiles at you, shy but appearing more heartened than he did just a moment ago.

Then another car whizzes by, and he winces like someone has taken a shot at him. He ducks down, his eyes so wide that they look like a pair of full moons, their cornflower centers the only source of color in his face. “The hell is that?”

You stare at him. If he didn’t look so terrified, you’d think he was joking. But if he’s not joking, then he’s either on an incredible cocktail of drugs, or he’s from that weird isolated cult town in The Village. “It’s…it’s a car,” you say. 

“A car,” he repeats, as if you’ve just told him the secret to life in Mandarin. 

“Yeah,” you say. “You know…a horseless carriage.” 

For some reason, this seems to impart some understanding to him, but you can tell he’s still plenty freaked out. “Carriages don’t go that fuckin’ fast!”

You try very, very hard not to laugh, but god, it’s hard. You’re having to draw on nearly every ounce of compassion you have. It helps that, really, he’s not wrong. Not that you’ve ever ridden in a carriage, because you’re not Keira Knightley in a period film, but you don’t think they’re capable of speeds like that. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” you say, “you don’t have to worry about getting into a horseless carriage with me. I hate driving.” 

Now that it’s just the two of you standing on the sidewalk again, the road mercifully free of cars, he seems to relax a little, at least enough to consider your words. “Well,” he says. “That’s something.” 

Not entirely sure where to go, you decide the police station is as good a place as any. It might be a little Hallmark movie of the week, but maybe someone has already filed a missing persons report on him. With that thought, it occurs to you that you need some information first. 

“Do you remember your name?” you ask.

The look he gives you indicates he has never been quite so offended in his life. You can’t help but laugh this time. “Well, I don’t know!” you say. “You don’t know where you are, you’re walking around here looking like a puppy at the start of an ASPCA ad — maybe you’re suffering from some kind of amnesia.”

He doesn’t look any less nonplussed, but something about your laughter has loosened the muscles in his face. He smiles at you. You try to ignore the way your stomach flips to focus on his answer. “Billy,” he says. 

You fight the urge to repeat his name, rolling it around in your mouth like candy. “Come on,” you say, his hand still in yours. “We’re not gonna get anywhere just standing here. Do you trust me?”

He smiles again, though this time with a bit of a razor’s edge to it. “Not like I got much choice, honey,” he says, and then pauses, softens. “Yeah. You’ve been nicer to me than most people would’ve, findin’ a stranger in the middle of nowhere, actin’ like he’s been dropped on his head. I wouldn’t have blamed ya if you’d run the other direction.”

You have no idea why, but what springs from your mouth before you can help yourself is: “I couldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a minute. His gaze feels as physical as a caress, and just as intimate. If not more so. You both do and don’t want it to stop. 

“Come on,” you say again, at least in part to break the silence. “Follow me.”

The two of you start walking, following the weathered gray slabs of cracked, uneven concrete that your small town calls a sidewalk as it winds its way into town. 

After a few moments of quiet, he says, “You never told me your name.” 

When you introduce yourself, he smiles again. “That’s nice,” he says. “Pretty.”

Your stomach flips again, and you have to remind yourself that you don’t know anything about this guy, except — only just now — his name. The fact that he’s tall, gorgeous, and really does give off a hurt puppy sort of vibe doesn’t matter. And it definitely doesn’t matter that his smile spreads across his face like a sunrise coloring the sky with ribbons of pastels. He could be a serial killer, or if not that extreme, some kind of — 

The two of you are still, for reasons not entirely clear to you and probably not much clearer to him, holding hands, so you’re jerked out of your thoughts by the fact that he’s gone stock still. 

“You’re takin’ me to the sheriff?”

If the dread clinging to his voice like a weed choking out a weaker plant wasn’t bad enough, he’s frozen still on the sidewalk, looking at you as if you’ve…well, as if you’ve betrayed him somehow. The pit of your stomach turns to ice.

“The sheriff?” you repeat. You feel oddly, stupidly, disappointed. A guy with nothing to hide doesn’t act like this when someone brings him to the authorities. The disillusionment washing over you makes your tongue sharp. “Who the hell are you, Barney Fife?”

He frowns. “I told you my name.”

“Yeah, I — never mind.” You shake your head and let go of his hand. The bare skin of your palm feels oddly cold. “What’s the matter? I thought someone might be looking for you. Maybe someone filed a missing persons report.”

“I don’t think so, darlin’.” He glances at the police station again, his throat bobbing.  A pause, and then, softly, like he’s making a confession: “Nobody left that cares about me that much. Unless they wanna cause me some hurt.”