#what if i buy a plaster cast of him and put him in the bathroom.

[kebriones]

Drawing Antinous while preparing for the art school exams has left me with mental scars istg

Sitting in the small dirty studio, I gaze up at antinous. He sits heavy on his shelf and the light hits him from the side. Good shadows for drawing. Bad subject. Too pretty, too rounded, hard to measure correctly. His features too specific but also too vague to be captured properly in messy charcoal. I lift the needle, i count. I count again and again. Distance from nose to brow, brow to curl. His jaw has no edge for me to hold onto. I try to replicate the youth that's right where the underside of his chin connects to the neck. A little too far down and he looks chubby. I erase, count again. I draw lines in my mind connecting this spot and that spot, invisible threads struggling to contain the form.

Stop. Take a break. Stare at him.

Squint.

"Remember who he is. What this statue and every statue of him was made for.

The foolishness of man. You see yourself in Hadrian, as you saw yourself in Marcus Aurelius when reading his words. Blessed be these Roman emperors for reminding us we all are and have always been, brothers. The same lost, pathetic creatures, holding onto notions with a might that doesn't fit such fragile beings.

Antinous is a man-made god. The most proper god of all of them. Not a god that comes and asks for love, but born of it. Born of obsession, born of devotion, born of endless selfishness. Without any lie or holy book to cover the truth. A god of humans if there's even been one.

You rub your brow, run the blade down the charcoal again and again. Someone just like you made those sculptures, so logic says that you can in turn draw them. Antinous too. You simply have to have faith. Put one line after the other Pray to him, pray that his gaze on the paper will be as it is on the plaster, that you can get the precise angle of the tiny smile on his lips. Get back to the drawing and measuring, the worship."

[allforyoumylovely]

If anyone’s interested, here’s a little fluffy something about how I imagine Robbe and Sander spent the night yesterday after all the birthday celebrations 💕

In a pool of late August sunset

The upper lid on Robbe’s right eye has 122 eyelashes. The other has 117. Sander counts them over and over while Robbe sleeps off the last remnants of his hangover on his chest, damp-haired and warm and sweet-smelling of apples and soap from the shower. Last night, his lashes were cast in dark neon red, framing his brown, almost black, shimmering eyes. Right now, they’re fanned out across the top of his cheeks, golden, the very ends nearly transparent in the patch of buttery evening sunlight that pours over Sander’s couch.

Sander absentmindedly runs his nails over Robbe’s scalp and smooths a hand up and down his spine over the old Bowie shirt that Robbe has claimed as his own. In response, Robbe unconsciously burrows deeper into him, letting out a deep, contented sigh in his sleep, and something squeezes behind Sander’s ribs. Robbe hasn’t been very talkative today, has mostly just been lying curled up against Sander’s side, sleeping, eating junk food, and then sleeping some more.

This angel-like boy with slack, parted lips and slightly pink cheeks squished against Sander’s sternum couldn’t possibly be a bigger contrast to the boy he was last night.

At the club, Robbe was all heavy eyelids, pretty cheekbones in the flashing lights, and sweat-glistening collarbones under a too-big t-shirt. As a joke, the boys had bought him a tacky, gold birthday tiara with the number 18 on it which Robbe had happily worn askew on his head along with bright, loose smiles on his rosy lips that Sander – lovesick and possessive – had kissed and kissed and kissed on the dance floor and at their table to the boys’ groans and complaints. Whenever and wherever he could get his mouth on him, he did it, the bottle of liquor in Robbe’s hand hitting his shoulder blade when he threw his arms around his neck.

Although Robbe had insisted on buying his own alcohol – “I’m eighteen now,” he said with equal parts wonder and nonchalance, “I can buy whatever the fuck I want” – he could easily have left his card at home and still get plastered; girls and boys offered him drinks and shots left and right the whole night. Sander didn’t blame them, though; if he and Robbe weren’t together, he would more than likely have done the same thing, hoping to get those Bambi eyes on him for just a few moments.

Robbe knows he’s beautiful. It’s evident in the way his eyes shine like new stars; it’s in the poise of his shoulders and his every movement, easy and natural. Sander doesn’t have to remind him, but he does anyway. Every day. And he’s bursting at the seams with pride at how Robbe has settled into himself, at how secure he is in who he is now at eighteen compared to his melancholy and miserable but equally as sweet sixteen-year-old self.

Of course he got offered drinks. But when the seventh person approached Robbe, Sander had enough, his chest flaring and burning, and he latched onto Robbe’s neck, taking great delight in Robbe trying to politely decline their offer while he, calculated and devilish, put his tongue and teeth to work, showing them exactly who this boy belonged to.

As Robbe’s coordination started to leave him, so did his filter. “I want you to fuck me in the bathroom,” he told Sander with a boyish bluntness and a kiss-slick, raspberry red mouth while hanging off his neck, nipping at his bottom lip, drunk and loose-limbed and stumbling to the bass-heavy music. And Sander had taken that as his cue to get him home.

When they finally sank into Sander’s bed at four in the morning, stripped of their clothes, teeth brushed (which Robbe did in slow-motion with his eyes closed, taking forever), Robbe whispered, pouty and soft, ”Can we make out for a bit?”

Carding his fingers through his tangled hair, Sander leaned into him and pressed his smile against Robbe’s, tasting and licking and swallowing all his pretty little sounds, but never taking it any further, just keeping it languid and sweet.

Smiling at the thought, Sander brushes a finger over a crimson smudge on the side of Robbe’s neck just below his earlobe, gently pressing into it. The light finds its way to the freckles scattered on the bridge of Robbe’s nose and over his cheekbones, little grains of brown sugar. When one starts to fade, Sander has noticed, another always appears. He finds new ones every day.

As he slips his finger under the chain around Robbe’s neck and places the angel over his own heart, Robbe’s groggy, brown eyes – always a different shade: maple syrup, dark chocolate, honey-gold with sprinkles of stardust – find his.

“Hey,” Sander says, pushing a few locks of hair away from his forehead.

With a sleepy groan, Robbe stretches the best he can in Sander’s hold and clears his throat when no sound comes out as he tries to speak. “Hi,” he whispers.

Sander gives him the glass of water on the coffee table when Robbe hoists himself up a bit and makes a grabby hand at it. “Feel any better?”

Gulping the whole glass down, Robbe nods and collapses back down on Sander’s chest, a hand sneaking under the hem of his shirt. “I’m never drinking again,” he pouts.

“But it looked like you had a good night,” Sander smiles.

And Robbe looks up at him again, droopy-eyed and hoarse and cute. “The best night. Thank you for celebrating with me, baby.” He throws his thigh over Sander’s hips and Sander follows the line of lean muscle with his palm. “But…”

“But what?” Sander mumbles, their mouths brushing as Robbe creeps closer.

Dropping his gaze, a bashful little smile spreads on Robbe’s face, and Sander hooks a finger under his chin, tilting it back up. “But you didn’t fuck me,” Robbe finally says.

“Ah,” Sander smirks, tracing the curve of Robbe’s bottom lip that is almost as soft as he is between his thighs, his other hand already disappearing beneath the waistband of his underwear. “You want that?”

“Yeah,” Robbe exhales when he feels Sander dragging their hips together in a teasing roll.

And Sander flips him around on his back and splays him out over the couch cushions, pushing up his shirt and peeling down his sweatpants, kissing his lips, knees, stomach, hipbones. He has reached for him, he has held him, he has had him like this at sixteen, at seventeen, and now at eighteen; his honey-tongue that he has memorized the shape of; his gold-dappled eyes sweeping over his features; his tender hands on his waist and jaw. And Sander gets a glimpse of it: the rest of their lives together, celebrating birthdays, their shirts tangled up in their laundry, napping in a pool of late August sunset before having lazy sex on the couch.

He is made of nothing but love for this boy, and right there in the fading light, trapped between Robbe’s legs, when the world around him only consists of bright white, and his pulse is a fluttering mess, and every muscle and tendon and cell is shivering, Sander presses his mouth to his safe place, the warm crook of Robbe’s neck, and knows that he’ll still have home there in ten, twenty, fifty years.

[gloryofluv]

Order Up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 5

Well, I guess Alex is going through the motions. I am really starting to love how well-rounded this is getting. Flirty fics are fun, but they always need heart and perseverance!

Chapter

1 - 2- 3 - 4

Fuck. Why did she do that? Alex wanted to toss her phone but knew she couldn’t afford a new one yet. Memories. Social media keeps track even if you don’t. She was bundled on the ground of the bathroom she just cleaned and sobbed.

All she wanted to do was look at this real estate agent that Lucifer texted her. She glanced down at the picture of her and her mother while she was getting dressed for prom. Would she be upset that she was thinking of selling their home? Would she be proud? She felt so fucking alone.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and she stuttered on a breath. Fucking get it together, girl. She wiped her face and nodded. “I’ll be out momentarily,” she said in a cheery tone.

Breathe. Stand up. Bitch, buck the fuck up, you’re at work. Alex listened to her inner dialog, turned on the water to the sink, cleaned her hands and face, and fixed her makeup. After she was satisfied, she picked up her tool tote and walked to the door with a plastered smile.

Solomon was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Alex,” he said with a curl to his lips.

“Hey, Sol, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Not horribly. I’m a bit stuck on this formula, but it’s bound to come to me,” he voiced while walking in step with her.

She rocked her head and shifted at the entrance to the counter. “Let me just go put this away and clock out. We can chat a minute after I’m off the clock.”

He rocked his head and leaned on the wall nearby. “Want to take a walk with me?”

She tilted her head and hummed. “Maybe.”

“Good, I’ll order, and we’ll head to the park.”

“Oh, good, we’re taking a walk to the park?”

Alex glanced over to see Satan wander over with his tea and pastry bag. “Oh, hey, Satan. I didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head and gestured to his messenger bag. “I was grading pages.”

Solomon crossed his arms before touching his chin with his fingers. “You want to join us?”

Satan rocked his head. “A little fresh air would be great.”

“Okay, let me just go finish up,” Alex smiled and walked to the back of the shop. Well, it was quite the variation, but after how interesting her Sunday had been, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. She turned to the computer after putting the tote away and clocked out. Shaking out her body and taking off her apron and hat, she rolled her neck.

There was something to be said about the smears on her uniform. Alex stripped off her overshirt and straightened her purple tank top, and pulled out her ponytail. After checking her face in the mirror and reapplying a few touches on her eyeliner and lip gloss, she was ready.

Better. Alex smiled and collected her bag before marching to the front again. Solomon and Satan seemed to be in a discussion about the book in Satan’s hand. Their hand gestures only confirmed the estimation as Alex walked over to collect her drink.

“Hey, babes,” Jess hummed. “Do you think you could do me a favor and take my Friday shift, and I’ll take your Saturday one. It's closing, and I have a date.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yeah, I can. You never ask me to trade, so they must be pretty hot,” she teased.

Jess smirked and rocked her head. “Yeah, Mr. Macchiato, who comes in the evenings.”

“Nice, well, I hope you have tons of fun. Text Jordan and let him know, alright?”

Jess beamed and blew a kiss. “You’re a lifesaver for my social life, hun.”

Alex waved and met up with the two intellectuals holding their beverages. “I’m just saying that Dickens wasn’t as extraordinary as we make him out to be,” Solomon huffed.

“Oh, no, we’re on about Charles again?”

Satan laughed and shook his head as they walked out the door. “Just Solomon’s primary dagger.”

“Solomon, do you just enjoy debating?” Alex asked.

Solomon smiled and shifted his head from side to side. “Occasionally, but so does Satan, so we have a mutual understanding never to take it to blows.”

“I think the Brontë sisters are probably a staple for every woman,” Alex added to the conversation.

“And men,” Satan nodded.

“Very true, but we need to selectively decide what mannerisms are dated in order to value the interpretation,” Solomon voiced.

Alex smirked and raised her hand to her chest. “'Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!'” She paused after the quote and laughed. “Imagine declaring equality to a man who was higher in rank and stature than you in that time. The dated behavior is only setting.”

Satan let out a stream of hearty laughter. “Oh, Alex, I would have loved to have you in my class today. There was a sexist animal who was definitely in need of a strong female to set him straight.”

“My little Jane isn’t very plain,” Solomon chuckled and waved his hand.

“No, she isn’t,” Alex laughed before sipping her iced tea.

“I was referring to you,” Solomon hummed.

Alex smirked at him and shrugged. “I do pretty well, I suppose.”

Satan cleared his throat, drawing Alex’s attention to her left. “So, you realized that half your customers are my brothers.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yes, I was informed of that by Belphegor in a rather creative way.”

“I heard,” Satan laughed. “We all live together.”

“So I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Interesting dynamic,” Solomon voiced. “All seven of them together.”

“They also throw some ridiculous parties,” Alex said and then waved her free hand in a circle. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know you live across the street,” Satan snorted with a smug smile. “I’ve known longer than Lucifer.”

Alex gasped as they walked on the sideway in the park. “What?”

Satan chuckled and rocked his head. “Yes, I knew from Jordan. I was the one to buy his motorcycle.”

She shrieked and gasped. “Oh! That’s why I’ve seen it around the cafe.”

Satan wagged his eyebrows. “So yes, I’ve known for about four months. He pulled it out of your garage and brought it over. When I asked why he moved, he told me about your circumstance and why he was torn, but family comes first.”

“It does,” Alex smiled. “His mother was great to me when my parents died. She practically lived with me for the first six months. Then Jordan moved in, and he got me a job at the cafe. He’s always been like my big brother. So when his dad got injured at work and couldn’t work, I told him to move home to help.”

“How did you both meet?” Solomon questioned.

“Oh, that’s a funny story, actually. So, in middle school, he was a grade above me, and I was super shy. He saw me being harassed by some asshole. He stepped in and smoothed the situation. I was so shocked he was able to do so without violence. Jordan took me to the bathroom, cleaned me up, and told me that the only bitches in our life are the beautiful bitches we can be, so I needed to learn to walk like it. From then on, he just started pulling me into his antics,” she explained and laughed while shaking her head.

“You were shy?” Satan questioned.

Alex stopped drinking her tea and nodded. “I actually am in general. I took his advice to heart. I’m friendly and enjoy people, but I don’t have very many people I consider close with.”

“Is this why you aren’t dating anyone?” Solomon questioned.

Alex narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Solomon smiled.

“Wait, I really find this fascinating. You aren’t close to any family?” Satan asked.

Alex shrugged and hummed. “My aunts and uncles all live in different parts of the country. I was an only child, and now that my parents aren’t here, the only people I see are Jordan and his parents. Jordan’s sister left for a university across the country two years ago. I see them probably once a month.”

“You live alone? Like no one ever comes to knock on your door or calls your phone?” Satan questioned with a scowl.

“Well, I won’t be living there much longer,” Alex sighed. “I have to sell the place, so I’ll have to clear it out in the next couple of weeks. The financial officer, my parents, left in charge, said that the funds wouldn’t cover the expenses this next year, so it would be a good idea for me to sell.”

“Hm,” Solomon murmured. “I could help.”

“No,” Alex shook her head. “It’s time. I don’t need handouts, Sol. I appreciate it, but no.”

“Why do you feel like you have to do everything alone?” Satan asked as they rounded the outside of the park.

Alex breathed and shook her head. “It’s such a long story.”

“Your parents?” Solomon voiced.

This analysis was cathartic in a way, and Alex felt this heavyweight being pulled from her shoulders. “Well, yes and no. I was telling my mother before she passed that I was thinking of taking a year off to go with my boyfriend at the time to travel the world. She was so supportive, even though it would put my education in jeopardy. When they died, he bailed with some other girl, so I kind of just stopped relying on others.”

Satan tutted and exhaled. “To be an idiot teenager who couldn’t handle grief. I’m sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age.”

Alex smiled and shrugged as they made their way back to the cafe. “I’m pretty good. I have a degree. I’ll have a decent nest egg to pay for my schooling for an even better education and my best friend. I’m doing pretty well.”

“I have an intrigue before we conclude our adventure into your life,” Solomon hummed.

Alex tilted her head as she grinned at him. “What’s that?”

“You are strong without someone, but it makes it so much richer to share your heart with others,” Solomon declared.

“Says the man who has done his fair share of that,” Satan snorted.

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Satan, don’t cast stones in glass houses.”

“You have been married three times now,” Satan snorted.

News. Alex raised her eyebrows. “Three times? Aren’t you like barely forty?”

“I resent that,” Solomon scowled. “No, I am not. However, marriage and love are difficult measurements in a formula very few understand. I’m difficult.”

“I actually like that about you,” Alex laughed.

Satan scowled as they stopped at the sidewalk near the cafe. “You enjoy that he’s difficult, but you won’t text me?” he questioned with a sly smile.

She puffed and pulled his phone from his bag’s pocket. It was sticking out and available. Alex then went to his keypad, dialed her number, and pressed the call. Her phone soon rang, and she hung up.

“Now, you have my number. Stop trying to make me do all the work, you pushy professor,” she snorted and handed his phone back.

Satan was grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Solomon handed her his phone, and she groaned but did the same exact thing. “If you both call me all the time, I will block your number,” she teased.

“If you need any help with your house, please tell me,” Solomon nodded. “I am quite organized.”

“I will,” Alex smiled.

Solomon tossed his cup in the trash and smiled before walking to his car. Alex watched him wave and climb inside before driving off in the silver vehicle. Satan shifted and tilted his head when she turned back to him.

“Did you want to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll cook,” Satan offered.

“Just because we’re temporarily neighbors does not mean I’m a booty call, understood?” Alex questioned.

Satan snorted and straightened his shirt. “You’re far too interesting to blow on a booty call, Alex.”

“Just had to make it clear. I would take your offer for dinner, but I’m actually exhausted. Diavolo came in for a coffee tasting, and I hosted it. Since then, I’ve just been drained.”

Satan rocked his head. “Well, I’ll ask tomorrow then,” he smiled and shrugged. “You’ll eventually say yes,” he chuckled and walked over to the motorcycle.

Alex smiled and observed as he slid on his helmet, waved, and climbed on the bike. Bad boy, professor. Pretty sexy. That tickled her to no end. He pulled out with a roaring shift of gears and headed in the same direction she needed to go. Home. Even if it was just for now.

@rsmrymnt-tea @otome-scribbles

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Burned Chapter 20

The static in his head overwhelmed everything. His throat was raw and burning, as though he'd gargled nails. His chest was heavy, as though there was an elephant sitting on him. He was just a disembodied torso, floating on a wave of heat in the ocean. The water supported him, and he floated on his back and stared up at a totally black sky.

Above the static, he could hear soft crying.

"Big brother..."

But the voice receded behind the static. Water lapped at his cheeks, raindrops he couldn't see landed on his face, and he frowned, squirming.

He could feel small hands grabbing his flesh arm, and he looked down into the water and panicked, terrified it'd be those tiny black hands of truth pulling him through the gate again...

But as he thrashed, the hands receded, and he was back to floating on a sea of black water and staring up at the dark sky. He frowned, suddenly aware of the dull aching in all of his limbs.

He stifled a moan- his arms and legs felt as though they were full of pins and needles.

There was that voice again, pushing the static aside.

"Please open your eyes!"

He groaned and turned away, trying to push the voice away and gather the static back up. It wasn't pleasant, but it was something to dull the throbbing in his head...

"I'm scared!"

There was so much fear in that voice, he froze for a moment, before he was letting go of the static in his hands and swallowing, taking a deep breath and fighting through the pain, hurrying to get to that voice... Someone needed his help.

He opened his eyes and gasped, breaking out in a fit of coughing that left his eyes watering and already sore chest burning.

"Big brother!"

Elicia was still clinging to him, and he struggled to sit up to he could cough up a mouthful of black ashes from his mouth.

Slowly, recollection came trickling back to him.

Babysitting. The fire. The bathtub, the crawl space- the darkness all around them. They were still in his little dirt igloo, and the house was probably still burning. It was still hot. Or was it? He didn't know, he was dizzy.

"Elicia-" he was surprised by how raspy his voice sounded. "Are you alright?"

Elicia nodded, though she was still crying and sniffling, her teary eyes wide. "I thought you died! I thought I was stuck in this cave and I was gonna die too!"

Ed had no idea what to say to that, so he simply pulled the girl into a hug. It's what Mustang would've done for him.

Elicia dissolved into small, hiccuping sobs.

His soot covered hand came up to rub small circles on her back.

"I know, Elicia, It's been a bad night. I know." he soothed. "But you've been really brave- your dad would be proud..."

"Really?" Elicia looked up at him with watery eyes. She was close enough that he could see the tracks of soot-free skin from her tears.

"Yeah, really. We're almost home free. We just have to wait until the fire gets put out- then our dads will come get us..."

"Mustang is your daddy?" Elicia asked, looking surprised.

Maybe he was delirious from the exhaustion. Yeah. That was it. "Yeah. He is. And he's looking for me. Bastard." he couldn't help but smile at the last word, though he could feel the static starting to creep into his head again. He pushed it back.

"Elicia- can you help me sit up?"

Small hands- Elicia's hands, not the tiny black hands of the gate that showed him heaven and hell, eternity and nothing- Elicia, dammit- helped him sit up. The action left him more than a little winded, and he tried to calm his trembling and sweating. His chest burned- every breath was like sandpaper in his lungs. He tried to ignore the wave of nausea that washed over him. But clearly something wasn't right with his body- he was too exhausted to even consider tunneling out of this mess with his alchemy.

Even if the energy it took to perform the transmutation didn't leave him unconscious, he doubted he'd be able to make a stable tunnel with his head throbbing the way it was. That would be ironic- surviving the fire only to die buried in his own tunnel.

No, it was best to just sit and wait here.

Elicia had her sooty fingers in her mouth and was chewing on them- she was nervous.

"Come here, Elicia. Sit on my lap for a little while." he could at least distract the girl.

"It's dark here. I don't like it." Elicia did as he said, climbing into his lap. Ed swallowed down a groan of pain as she jostled his sore body. His legs hurt, but mostly his back was on fire... Still, she didn't need to know that.

"Yeah. It is dark. But if you just close your eyes, then it's not so bad, because its your dark." he was too tired to make sense now.

But Elicia closed her eyes anyways. Her fingers had fallen out of her mouth, and she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

"Just be still for a little while, Elicia. Maybe when you wake up, your dad will be here."

"Mmmhmmm." Elicia nodded eagerly at the idea, though her eyes were still closed.

Ed listened in the darkness until her breathing evened out and she was asleep, before he coughed as quietly as he possibly could, wincing at the pain it caused.

This was odd. Sitting in the darkness, calmly. He wasn't one to sit and wait for help. But he was in no state to do anything to get himself out, and he trusted his family would be here for them soon.

In the back of his mind, the normal Edward- irrational, impatient, scared, having to do it all alone- shouted. Do something! Get out of here! They won't come for you You have to do it yourself, nobody is gonna come save you! Get up! Fight! Don't give up!

He wasn't giving up. He wasn't. But he'd realized- at some point, when he'd woken up in his room to find Roy asleep in a chair beside his bed at the Colonel's house- that he was no longer alone. He didn't have to do this on his own. He wasn't strong enough to save himself right now- but he didn't have to be. Because they would.

Roy Mustang hated rubble. He hated it. Despised going through charred beams- normally even seeing the remains of a house fire or arson scene was enough to set him into a week of sleepless nights, with ashes he couldn't wash off his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed and the smell of burnt hair that never left his nose.

But tonight- well, he went through wreckage like a fish in the sea, not caring how it stained him, dirtied him- Ed was in there somewhere. He had no time to be afraid.

If Ed had been on the first floor, he'd have most likely been able to get out of the home. Which meant that since he gotten out- they'd most likely been trapped somewhere on the second floor.

Roy forced himself to breathe- he ignored the smell of burnt wood and fabric, simply realizing that he was breathing and appreciating that, even though at the moment it didn't feel like it- he WAS in fact breathing, and so that hammering of his heart in his chest and feeling of not being able to breathe was his head lying to him. He had no time for this. Ed needed him.

He closed his eyes and envisioned the floor plan of the Hughes' home in his mind. He'd rarely been upstairs, but he'd helped Hughes move a bed up there when they'd moved in, so he knew the rough layout of the bedrooms and the one bathroom upstairs.

Ed had probably been in Elicia's bedroom, putting her to bed.

Roy moved through the wreckage, which was over his knees at some points, and stood below where Elicia's bedroom would've been- had been- two hours before. Something caught his eye, and he knelt down, sifting through the burned wood and tiles, pulling out a partially burned piece of cardboard. It was half charred beyond recognition, but on the unburned part, Roy could make out half of a 'Chutes and Ladders' game boards.

Roy's heart started to beat faster, if that was possible. He cast the gameboard aside, continuing to dig through the rubble. But there was nothing- no burnt hair, no burnt flesh...

Even if they'd been burned, Ed's automail probably would have remained- or at leas thte metal would have melted. But there was nothing. They had been in this bedroom, but they'd fled- probably when they'd realized there was a fire.

You couldn't make it downstairs, it was an inferno. The second floor was being burnt... where did you go?

Roy strode to where he'd seen the hallway. There weren't many options- a small closet, Hughes and Gracia's room, an office... Or the bathroom.

Roy scanned the rubble critically. It was up to his knees at most points- the burnt metal skeleton of springs that had once been the couch laid twisted at one point, but towards where the bathroom had been, the wreckage was higher, nearly piled up to his waist...

Did you hide in there? Turn on the water and try to buy yourself some time?

He was scaling the pile of wreckage now, pawing through it carefully until he stood on top of it. Over most of it, he caught a hint of white- a clawfooted bathtub? It'd fallen down from the second floor.

And there was water in it.

Roy tripped on something and stumbled, nearly falling. He looked behind him, brushing aside the pieces of burnt wood and plaster to see what looked to be hardened dirt... that was covered in transmutation marks. There was a hole in the floor- or what remained of it, anyways. And from beneath it, the crawl space, there was a small dome of dirt projecting upward- like someone had made a little cave to try and keep the rubble and heat off of themselves.

"Ed! Can you hear me!?" He was filled with strength he didn't know he had, picking up a heavy beam of wood and casting it aside. Hughes and Alphonse had heard him, and they raced over as well to help.

"He's in there! I can see the transmutation marks! ED! Ed, are you there!" They'd nearly uncovered the top of the dome, now, and Roy looked around. "I need some chalk."

"ED! Ed, can you hear me!?"

"Elicia! Daddy's here!"

"Brother! Are you in there!?"

"They're here big brother!" Elicia shook him, and Ed grunted, gasping in pain, before he looked up. He could hear the muffled voices of Roy, Hughes, and his brother outside.

He allowed himself a small smile.

"We're here!" he tried to call, but his voice was hoarse and weak.

Elicia looked at him with concern.

"Go over and yell. They'll get through soon."

"DADDY! DADDY I'M HERE!"

"Daddy! Daddy I'm here!"

Hughes legs gave out from under him, and he fell to his knees in the rubble, hearing the small voice. "Elicia! We're coming to get you, Daddy is, I promise..."

Roy hurriedly finished sketching the freehand array on top of the dome with chalk. He was no geological alchemist, but he'd studied it vaguely years ago... He slammed his hands on the array, and in a flash of blue light, the hardened dirt crumbled to dust, giving a view of the small cave within... And a small, soot covered Elicia.

"Daddy!"

Roy reached in and grabbed the girl beneath the arms, pulling her out and handing her over to a waiting Hughes, who smothered her in kisses.

"Ed? Are you in there?"

Ed had managed to get to his feet- the dome he'd created wasn't very big, and he had to walk hunched over, but he made it to the hole in the wall and looked up at Roy expectantly. The only part of the boy's face that wasn't covered in soot was his golden eyes, and even they were dull with exhaustion. Still, Ed cracked a small smile at the sight of him, his white teeth looking unnaturally bright in contrast with his sooty skin. "Took you long enough, Bastard." he said hoarsely.

Roy offered his hand and the boy gratefully took it, and Roy pulled him up from the hole onto solid ground.

Ed stumbled for a moment once he was out, but regained his balance, though Roy regarded him with concern.

"And then big brother made us get in the tub, an' he broke the toilet, and the tub fell through the floor and made a big splash!" Elicia was regaling Hughes, who'd handed her off to Gracia and was wiping his eyes.

"Are you alright, brother?" Al asked, soulfire eyes gazing at Ed carefully.

"Yeah Al, I'm-" Ed paused, doubling over as a hacking cough shook his frame. He spat a mouthful of black soot onto the ground and wheezed for a second, before straightening up and giving his brother a shaky smile "Fine."

"We're going to the hospital." Roy said, no room in his voice for argument.

"No!" Ed protested hoarsely.

"You can hardly stand." Roy said, onyx eyes looking at the boy critically.

"I can hardly stand for this bullshit any longer, you mean." Ed said, wiping his chapped lips. "Do you guys have any water? I'm thirsty."

"No, but we'll get you some- at the hospital." Roy said firmly.

"I'm fine!" Ed protested.

"Then walk to the car." Roy pointed.

"Okay, fine you grumpy bastard..."

Ed took two steps before his legs gave out.

"Brother!"

"Ed!"

Roy said nothing, simply catching the boy as he fell and nodding. "That's what I thought. How 'fine' are you again?"

"I don't wanna stay at the hospital!" Ed's voice bordered on whining, proof of just how tired the boy was. He looked up at Roy desperately "I want to go home!".

"I didn't say we'd stay, Ed." Roy said, expression softening. "But we at least need to get you looked at. Then we can go home."

"We should probably go as well, with Elicia." Mrs. Hughes pointed out.

Ed realized, for the first time, that the Hughes were here.

"Oh shit."

Everyone paused.

"Hughes- I, uh... I'm really sorry about the house. I mean, it burned down, but I didn't burn it down, but you guys left me babysitting for one night and your house burned down... I'm sorry." Ed lowered his eyes as though he were ashamed.

Hughes burst out laughing.

Ed looked up, surprised at the outburst, and Hughes stepped over, placing one hand on a seated Ed's shoulder while the other was wrapped around Gracia and Elicia.

"Ed- I don't give a damn about the house. Everything that's important to me is right here."

As always, coffee is appreciated! https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

Friends in Low Places

Part 2: Tourist Trap

Rating: PG

Count: 2666

Summary: A few days after the events of Tremors, the trio stops for a bite and tour of a roadside attraction. Or: Juliette makes an excellent choice, and Zeke makes a bad one.

-------------------

“Afraid she’s never gonna be the same after a shock to her suspension like that.” Zeke sighed, patting the side of the truck as he came around. Juliette and Roscoe sat on the tailgate, boxes and bags of their belongings pressed against their backs.

“Is it real bad?” Juliette said through a mouthful of cheese-steak, brows creased.

“Well, it’s not good, but we’ll get by.” He shrugged and leaned past her to grab his own sandwich.

Juliette swung her feet, marveling at the sweeping height of the pines around them. The smell of ceders heavy in the air. They were parked in a gravel lot with nothing but half-rotted blocks of wood to mark the spaces. Back around the bend, toward where they came in, was the little food stand where they had grabbed their lunch; a weather-stained building with just two windows to order from and three friendly, stocky folk tending it. In the other direction was their next destination.

A building made of logs almost black in color, with a steep roof and its name up in gaudy, blood-orange lettering; Twinkle Cove’s House of Terrors. ‘Terrors’ had a dripping effect that had clearly been added later. It might have been a home once, but the windows and doors had since been replaced with dark frosted glass. The inside of the door was plastered with fliers for other local businesses.

Once they were done eating, Zeke led the group to join just one other small party in the lobby, ditching their trash in the can outside. A gust from the AC swept over them at the threshold, making way for the faint smell of dust and taxidermy. Lights over each display cast heavy shadows to hide the seams on the tackier fakes. Floor vents rattled in the corners.

Zeke removed his sunglasses and let them hang from his shirt collar, grinning all the while. Usually he tried not to make comments about Juliette’s stops, not wanting to influence her choices, but he loved this hokey shit and could make no secret of it.

The counter to their left was manned by a spindly fellow who reminded Zeke of a harvestman; those tiny, long-legged spiders. Dressed in a clean black suit and cloak, gloves and bowtie a rich sanguine, topped off with too-big silver cufflinks and a swirl in his hair. He acknowledged them with a nod and a flash of pearly-whites.

The three of them split across the room. Juliette went for the counter, its glass case holding an array of trinkets. Gems inset in gargoyle claws, decently realistic rats, wands and supposedly cursed objects.

Zeke himself made a round of the room, looking over the displays that you got for free. A passable piece of taxidermy claiming to be a were-badger, crafted, as far as he could tell, from a honey badger and a red fox. A tuft of brown hair that almost looked burnt, kept behind glass; the plaque described it as a trophy from an encounter with the local woodland witch. Several unsettling mannequins he couldn’t get a good look at, since they were occupying the small family also in the lobby.

Roscoe went to peep down the hallway to the right, which was cornered off with a single strip of velvet rope. When they went to lay a hand on it, the man at the counter tutted and called out in what was surely his stage voice, “Folks if you would just gather here, I’d be glad to sign you up for our grand tour!”

Juliette side-stepped over in front of the register to be first in line, a cheeky smile on her face. The man returned her a smile that crinkled his eyes. Zeke joined her shortly, and it took no time at all the register both parties.

Thus the lot of them gathered in front of the rope divide, the man in charge standing before them with his shoulders braced and hands twisted together. It was hard to tell if the posture was part of the bit, or genuine nerves.

“Hello, hello, I’m your host and owner of all these terrible delights, Terry!” He stumbled over his script with an appreciative laugh when a couple of them cheered. Moving the rope aside, he gathered himself and continued, “Stay close behind me and don’t touch anything you aren’t willing to… get attached to.”

With that and a menacing laugh the tour began. Through the first narrow hallway, with concerningly real cobwebs in its crooks and crannies, past an alcove leading to a bathroom and an office, they took a left-hand turn into a room even darker than the lobby.

As their host briefly explained; “Certain items can be damaged over time in bright lights. No flash photography, of course.”

There were the staples of places like this; traces of Bigfoot and hair of the moth-man, hooves of unicorns even. More interesting was a purple checked hood, dropped by the flatwoods monster - the holes in front lightly singed from the intense light of the creature’s eyes. Surprisingly life-like stone statues of woodland critters, victims of a basilisk. The basilisk itself, even, or a depiction of it.

“Even the corpse is dangerous!” Terry proclaimed, a finger held sternly in the air, “Not suitable for display.”

To his credit, Terry seemed genuinely enthused about each and every piece. But his clear favorite, in the final room, was most impressive of all.

This room was smaller than the others they had passed through, holding only one display. Hidden behind a heavy satin curtain, deep red and lightly dusty. Terry crossed the room with a twirl of his cape, his hands almost seemed to tremble as he reached for the thick braided cord that would pull back the curtain.

“Parents, please hold on to your children.” The party of strangers obliged for the hell of it. Juliette made a point of scooting away from both Zeke and Roscoe.

Terry yanked the cord and revealed a dark, hairy, humanoid figure. Vaguely canine in the face, with great black horns that scraped the ceiling. Hands that weren’t quite hands, but not quite paws either, with jagged, broken claws. Roscoe leaned closer, mouth open slightly. The thing’s fur was as black and fluid as ink, eyes shimmering unnaturally bright for the dimness of the room. Surely, it had to be a sort of projection, but search as the eye might, they could not find the subtle tells.

“The grand prize that no doubt drew you to this place, the lesser demon slain by our very own local monster hunter, Paul Anderson!” Terry shook like an excitable dog.

The younger of the two children there reached out. When their fingertips brushed its bent knee, a single second shattered into a thousand. The beast’s head snapped down, teeth barred in a growl. It staggered forward, knocking over the rope divide. The children shrieked and all seven of the guests scrambled backwards.

Zeke’s hand snapped to his side automatically, instinctively going for his revolver. Thankfully, it was still in the car, so the situation would escalate no further. Terry was absolutely howling with laughter.

He crowed after the little family, who were already back in the previous room, “All in good fun, all in good fun, that’s the one that keeps them coming back!”

Roscoe clutched their heart, despite being blank-faced as ever, aside the raised eyebrows. Juliette tugged at her braid.

Zeke spat out the scare and laughed. “Aw, okay, you got us. That’s pretty damn good. What’s that, animatronic-?”

Terry didn’t even let him finish, moving out of the room, “I’m afraid that’s all there is to see for now! But we always have more attractions coming, if you’d come see us again in the fall…!” His spiel continuing as they returned to the lobby.

With a little distance, everyone was in good spirits about it, though the younger child was a bit huffy in denying that they’d been scared. The family argued briefly over whether to buy anything before ultimately leaving empty-handed. Juliette gently bullied Roscoe into buying her one of the cursed spoons from the display case. Roscoe cast a meaningful glance back at Zeke before taking her outside.

Business concluded, the register rung - an old fashioned thing - and Terry came around the register again. He cast a wary, sideways look at Zeke as he went to set the rope barrier back in place. “Something I can help you with?”

Zeke sidled up next to him with a few casual, swinging steps, put on a sloppy, side-ways kind of smile and a bit of concern on his brow. He clicked his tongue and looked around the lobby as he spoke, “Awfully bold of you to be flauntin’ it like that these days. Pretty neat setup you got going on, though. How’s the monster-hunter involved?”

When he actually turned to look at him, Terry was frozen stiff, breathing in quick, shallow breaths. Zeke held up his hands, any humor dropping from his expression.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I’m not-” the rest of his words were forced out in a gasp as Zeke threw himself aside. He turned back to find a comically large axe splitting the floor where he had just been standing. His gaze shot up to Terry’s face, wide-eyed, unreadable.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He held out a hand even as he crawled backwards toward the hall. Terry shook his head rapidly, fists clenched in his cape.

“That’s what they all say!” Shadows shot up to swallow the light from outside, crept up the walls like thousands of spiders to dim the overhead lights. Terry jerked his arm out dramatically, “That’s what all of them said!”

The weight of those words came into focus quickly; the three grotesque mannequins, their horrified faces looking as though they’d been covered in clay, came to flank Terry. Their bases scratched the floorboards, following as he moved into the hall after Zeke.

Zeke did all he could do; scramble to his feet and try to put distance between them. The options for where he could get it were severely limited; continue on down the hall, into the bathroom, or the office. Zeke didn’t fancy being cornered that quickly. He backed away, still holding up a single pacifying hand. The walls cracked and splintered on either side of him, oozing viscous void from their wounds. Lightbulbs screamed, formless things flitted through the edges of his vision.

“Listen, I’m not here to start anything,” Steady words that simply bounced off his pursuer as they made it into the main display room, “It’s not like that, I’m not with those bastards.”

“I won’t be lied to. I won’t be taken that easy.” Terry spat. The jackalope in the case to his left sprung to life, flailing and trying to bite through the glass, dead eyes flashing. Zeke’s eyes flitted around the room for his next move.

The room dimmed further and suddenly silver flashed in Terry’s hand. A simple, smooth blade. Something clicked together in Zeke’s head, but there wasn’t even time for it to form as a whole thought before Terry threw.

Zeke’s arm shot up in defense, but to no avail. A glass display teetered as he staggered back against the wall. Pain coursed through his ribs - far less than it seemed like there should be. Ragged breaths drew through his teeth as he saw but couldn’t feel the blood pooling up under his fingers. Something that sounded like stomping was lost at the edge of his perception, overtaken by static.

Everything in the room distorted and flickered, twisted and turned sickeningly, lights searing bright before settling back into normalcy. And then it was gone; the knife was gone, both flesh and fabric mended. He palpated the spot just to be sure.

His gaze shot back up to where Terry stood shaking, eyes glistening. The mannequins were gone. And over Terry’s shoulder, he could see Roscoe, an indecipherable mess of guilt and pain and concern on their face, their hands laid on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry - I don’t like to do it so quickly.”

“He stabbed me!” Zeke objected to the apology, hand still on the spot where the knife had been.

They couldn’t really disagree, so they just grimaced and tilted their head.

Zeke pushed himself upright. “Can we please just talk now?!”

“Are you going to take me in, then?” Terry’s voice was small. Frightened. He swallowed and said more insistently, “All I can do is scare people, I’m no good to you. Just parlor tricks.”

Zeke did his best to steady his voice, “No, I tried to tell you, it’s not like that.”

But with his only defense disabled, the fear split him anyway. “Then what?! What do you want?!”

Something like guilt made Zeke’s temper flare, “I just - wanted you to know you got fucking caught! That somebody who knows something about conduits is going to see through you if you keep this up!” Zeke turned on his heel, away from the palpable tension in the room.

Terry did nothing to cut it; he stayed stock still, looking at the ground until he finally slipped to his knees. Roscoe backed away a step.

Zeke put a hand over his mouth and sighed through his nose, trying to ignore the tiny adrenaline tremors still coursing through his arms. He turned back with a suspicious squint.

“If it’s all just tricks of light then how did it hurt?”

Terry looked over to the jackalope display, conspicuously fingering the hole where his cuff-link had been, “I mean, objects can be disguised…”

Zeke’s face felt hot. Had he really reacted so dramatically to something so small? Fear had a power all its own.

“The hunter - you asked about the hunter, Anderson,” Terry twisted his hands together, “He- he caught me. And said… said I could use him as part of the story…”

The subtext settled neatly beneath the silence, like dust beneath a sheet.

“You wanted to talk, that’s where I am. He hasn’t imposed much and it’s been good for business. So what do I do?”

Many questions compounded into one. None that Zeke had the answers to.

“What do I do?” He repeated, shoulders drawn in.

Zeke opened his mouth, but all that came out at first was another sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t-” He walked past them into the hall on autopilot. He needed out of this suffocating place.

Roscoe picked up for him, knelt down next to Terry and produced from their vest a light purple business card. “The best we can offer is somewhere to run, if it comes to that.”

Terry took the card like it might come alive and snap at him.

Zeke heard the two continue to talk, softer now, but didn’t tune in to what else was said. Then Roscoe’s hand was on his back, leading him outside.

The light of day was blinding after the all-consuming dark Terry imposed, every bit of metal or particularly bright rock boring into him. Zeke breathed deep the smell of ceder and hot stone as he put his sunglasses back on.

“Coulda gone better.”

Roscoe laughed and put their hands on their knees. “It was not one of your better showings… I’m glad you’re in one piece.”

“Two pieces, but yeah.”

They laughed again as they straightened up, letting their arms hang loose. “But are you okay?”

“Okay as I’m gonna be. Feel kinda stupid.”

“Normal, then.”

Zeke punched their arm, smirking anyway, “Asshole…”

Across the lot, Juliette was hanging out the window, arms crossed on the edge.

Zeke looked to Roscoe, but from the corner of his eye, he could see movement in the lobby. Inside, Terry quickly looked away, the card still in both hands, face drawn. Zeke sighed. “Put it in the Rolodex… I think we’ll be back.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Heathers | Sweet Pea

A/N: Part three! 

Act one - Act two 

Words: 2622

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Warnings: angst, fighting, cursing

Act three: Fight For Me 

Another day, another rehearsal. Today, we’re mostly revising the things we’d already done. Like Beautiful, Candy Store and Freeze Your Brain. Mostly Candy Store since Cheryl didn’t know we’d changed the choreo a little to have both of Cheryl’s and Toni’s in there. “Thanks a lot, Y/N,” Cheryl had attacked me viciously. “Don’t blame me, Cheryl. You should’ve been more professional.” Sweet Pea had glanced back at me with a smirk on his face, agreeing with my statement. The redhead scoffs, but then focuses on my mixed choreo anyway. I could tell Betty and Veronica had a lot more fun on stage since I did the number with them the other day. It’s fun to see everyone getting better every single time. “Let’s take five, guys, and then we’re doing Our Love Is God,” Kevin tells us when the Heathers have finished their Candy Store rehearsal. “Hey, Y/N,” I hear Sweet Pea’s voice behind me as I’m searching for my water bottle in my bag. “Hey,” I greet back when I’ve found it and stand up straight to face the tall Serpent. “I think I could get some pointers on Meant to Be Yours and I am Damaged. Would it be okay to rehearse together tonight?” I can feel my face heat up as a smile finds its way back to my face. “Yeah, sure! Your place or mine?” I ask and sip from my water. “Mine, if that would be okay? My auntie is dropping off my little cousin after school and I need to watch him for tonight,” he explains. “He’ll probably be in bed when you arrive though.” He adds it quickly as though that would be a reason for me not to come. I love watching children. And I love it when guys are good with kids too. Due to the gender roles and double standards, you wouldn’t think guys were good with kids and only women are meant to be gifted in that department. “Oh, that’s fine. I don’t mind. I’ll swing by after school? We could order some pizzas for dinner?” I suggest, making it an entire date. His eyes widen a little at the realization. “If I’m giving you some pointers, I’ll probably be there all night long,” I say in a teasing tone, and it makes him chuckle. “Yeah, after school it is,” he nods and gets to his spot so we can start rehearsing Our Love is God. I’m reminded of Friday night when we were at Pop’s and I’d started singing it softly, only to him, and then he’d continued singing. That was one of my favorite moments I’d ever had with a co-star. “Yeah-lo?” Archie says as Kurt Kelly on the other side of the stage, holding a vintage telephone horn to his ear. “Hi, Kurt. It’s Veronica… how did you guys know it was always a fantasy of mine to have two guys at once?” I ask in an innocent voice as Sweet Pea snickers beside me as JD. “Wow, uh… Lucky guess?” he exclaims, punching Reggie in the shoulder. “Well, if you want it to come true, meet me at the cemetery, at dawn,” I say and then hang up the horn. Archie does the same as he looks at Reggie in absolute merriment. “Free pussy!” he yells, and Reggie suddenly mirrors his expression. “And we don’t even have to buy it a pizza!” Reggie exclaims excitedly and the two boys fist bump, saying “Punch it in!” before heading into the wings, laughing, leaving Sweet Pea and I alone on the stage again. “We can start and finish wars We're what killed the dinosaurs We're the asteroid that's overdue The dinosaurs choked on the dust They died because God said they must The new world needed room For me and you” Sweet Pea and I sing the lines together, moving towards the center of the stage, staying close to one another. Then, Sweet Pea turns me, so I face him, and he keeps his hands on my hips while mine grip at his long trench coat. “I worship you I'd trade my life for yours They all will disappear We'll plant our garden here” Then I echo, “Plant our garden here,” after which we leap into a couple of “Our love is God”. I’m weirdly comfortable in Sweet Pea’s arms. I’ve only met him a couple of weeks ago when we started rehearsing and only really got to know him a bit better on Friday night. It does freak me out a little bit. But for now, it’s only a benefit to our acting performance that I feel this comfortable. I listen to him sing as I’m kneeled down next to Archie, who had been ‘shot’ first, as he’s keeping Reggie at gun point. For some reason, he looks hot when he’s about to fake kill somebody. He then ‘shoots’, and Reggie falls on the floor. “What the fuck have you done?!” I shout at him and get up from my spot on the stage to walk over to him. In the process of doing so, I slip on one of the boys’ shoes as they had to strip for this scene. I prepare for the fall, but it never comes as a hand grabs me by my arm and holds me up. When I turn my head, I’m face to face with Sweet Pea, who simply keeps going like a true theater professional. “I worship you I'd trade my life for yours We'll make them disappear We'll plant our garden here” Then, we leap back into the Our Love is God’s until the song finishes and Reggie and Archie get up again from their death-spot. The others from the cast in the audience, applaud for us, even Cheryl who didn’t used to do that last week or even earlier today when we did Freeze Your Brain. “Are you okay?” Sweet Pea then asks when he finally lets go of my arm. “Yeah, I just tripped over a shoe,” I reply with a smile, “Thanks for saving me though.” Sweet Pea opens his smiling mouth to say something back, but Kevin interrupts him. That’s also when I get snapped into real life again and out of my bubble with Sweet Pea. “That was amazing! Let’s do Blue now, and then we’ll wrap up for today,” he says, “Anyone who isn’t in this scene can go home if they want.” Sweet Pea turns his head to me, his face in a pained expression. I give him a smile. “You can go. Just text me your address and I’ll come over when we’re done here.” He nods his head, grabs the pistol prop from me and puts it in its place, so I can do the scene with Veronica, Betty, Archie and Reggie. I was kind of hoping I could go home with Sweet Pea instead. The ride on his motorbike on Friday was so amazing and so freeing, that I’d give anything to do it again. There was just something about holding him by his torso and feeling the wind whoosh on my face – I was wearing his helmet, so no wind through my hair. Or maybe it was just being so close to him that made it so much fun and easy. Oh no…

Sweet Pea had texted me the trailer number he lived in at Sunnyside, so I drove my car there and parked just in front of the park before getting out. Just as I shut my door and locked the car, I hear smacking and grunting and groaning. With furrowed brows I walk towards the sound, only to find Sweet Pea fighting some Ghoulie – another gang we should definitely steer clear from. Rumored cannibals. “Hey!” I shout and run up to the two. “Stop it! Stop it right now!” I yell, capturing both the boy’s attention. Sweet Pea’s face is almost covered entirely in blood and it pains me to see him like this. “Ah, Sweet Pea, don’t tell me this is her…” the Ghoulie says with a bemused smile on his face. “A Northsider, really? Out of all the people… I—” before the guy can even say another word, Sweet Pea lashes out and his fist hits the Ghoulie’s jaw, sending him to the ground. “Holy shit!” I yelp, bringing my hands up to cover my mouth. “Sweet Pea, come on!” I grab his arm and pull him away from the Ghoulie. Reluctantly, the tall Serpent backs off and follows me to his trailer. “I can’t believe you fought a Ghoulie,” I mumble as he unlocks his door and lets me in first. “Where’s your first aid kit?” he points to the door on my right, and when I walk through it, I find myself in the bathroom. It’s small. Really small. I doubt you could even move in here when there’s two people inside. Without judging it any further, I open the mirror-cupboard and grab the small red box with the cross on top. If this isn’t it, he needs to sort out his life. “How was the rehearsal?” he asks, hoping for the subject not to be his fighting. “Don’t,” I reply curtly, “Don’t pretend you’re not nearly bleeding and bruising to death, Noah.” I use his real name to get the point across right while wetting a gauze with disinfectant. “Don’t call me that,” he sneers, then hisses when I dab the wound on his forehead from the Ghoulie’s ring. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.” I sigh deeply, then grab another gauze since the first one is now covered in blood. He hisses again as the wet gauze comes into contact with the injury. “It’s not that bad.” “Why were you fighting that Ghoulie? And where is your cousin?” I ask two questions in one go. “My cousin’s in my bedroom, playing a game on my phone. I was just going out to get some apple juice for him from the supermarket when I bumped into the Ghoulie. He started bashing me about the musical and …” he trails off a little before adding, “you…” “So, then you decided to punch him in the eye?” I ask whilst covering the wound with a plaster. “Don’t give me shit about this right now, Y/N. Everything kind of hurts and I’m really regretting doing it all.” My lips pull into a pained grimace as I start on his bloody knuckles. I can’t really tell if it’s his blood or the Ghoulie’s. Maybe both. “Could you…” he starts, but then stops. “Never mind, it’s going to sound stupid.” I stop what I’m doing and look up at him instead. “No, tell me. Nothing you ever say would sound stupid. Anything Reggie says, however…” I trail off suggestively and earn a chuckle from the boy. “Just tell me, Sweets.” I encourage him before going back to cleaning his knuckles. “Could you sing for me? It always soothes me when you do,” he asks sheepishly, and when I look up again, he’s staring at his hand in mine. I take a deep breath before leaping into the first song that pops into my head. Which is also vaguely appropriate for this situation. “Hey, Mister No Name Kid So who might you be? And could you fight for me? And hey, could you face the crowd? Could you be seen with me and still act proud?” I glance up at him, shooting him a small smile. “Hey, could you hold my hand? And could you carry me through no man's land? It's fine if you don't agree But I would fight for you If you would fight for me” I bandage up his knuckles then, whilst still continuing the song. “Let them drive us underground I don't care how far You can set my broken bones And I know CPR” He chuckles a little at my suggesting expression, just as I would during the show.

“Well, whoa You can punch real good” I place a soft kiss on his bandaged fist. “You've lasted longer than I thought you would So hey, Mister No Name Kid If some night, you're free Wanna fight for me?” The next thing I do is grab a salve that I know also works for bruises. So, I put a dollop on my finger and begin to softly massage it into the spots that are already bruising and turning blue. “If you're still alive I would fight for you If you would fight for me!” My hand lands on his cheek and stays there as I finish the last high note. For a moment after, we stay like that; staring in each other’s eyes with my hand on his cheek and panting a little from the endeavor of singing.   “Thanks,” Sweet Pea whispers, and I catch him glancing from eyes to my lips. This can’t happen. I need to stay professional in this. So, I cough and snap both of us from our trance. “No problem. Let’s rehearse now, shall we?” I say and reach for my bag to grab my script. “Let’s order some pizza first, I think Jordan might be hungry or getting bored. Or both,” he chuckles a little while grabbing his phone to call the closest pizza joint. “Hey, why don’t we play some games with him instead of rehearsing? We’ve done plenty of it already and we can get back to it tomorrow. Let’s just babysit your cousin for the night, keep him entertained.” He nods his head with a smile and dials the pizza guy first before getting Jordan. The rest of the night, we spend playing games, eating pizza, and finish by watching one movie with Jordan together before we put him in his bed. “Will you be here again next time I stay here, Y/N?” Jordan asks when I tuck him in bed with Sweet Pea towering over me from behind. I smile at the little eight-year-old and push a strand of his long, curly hair out of his face. “I can’t promise you that, big guy. But I’ll try, okay?” He nods his head in response before wiggling down a little and snuggling into his pillow. “Shall we watch one more movie, and then I’ll get going.” “Or you could stay?” the tall Serpent suggests with a sheepish grin on his face. “Sweets, I—” before I can finish my sentence, he’s already cut me off. “Come on, Y/N. Please, stay?” he steps closer to me, and places his hands on my hips like he does so many times during the musical. “Besides, Jordan will love it when he sees you at breakfast?” he tries, hoping the mention of his way too adorable cousin will win me over. It does. My willpower isn’t that strong. I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine.” Sweet Pea lets out a ‘yes’, “But we’re watching Heathers the movie tonight.” I point my finger at him as if telling him that would be my one condition to doing this. He nods his head in agreement, and the two of us settle on the sofa as I text my mother I’ll be staying over at Margot’s. If she finds out I stayed over at a Serpent’s house, she will kill me, and him. Even though I have a ‘I don’t care’ attitude towards them, my parents do not share the same morals. So, the rest of the night is spent like that; cuddled up on the sofa whilst watching Heathers until both of us fall asleep. I didn’t think I would have so much fun with Sweet Pea or feel so comfortable around him. It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s that it scares me a little.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

stay with me

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Prompts: 1. “Stay with me.” 31. “I can’t do this without you.” 33. “Let’s give these fuckers a show.” 39. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: language, blood, violence, fluff and angst

PLEASE READ: I haven’t mentioned anything in the fic but the idea is that instead of getting married Tilde and Eggsy broke things off after the events of the Golden Circle. The reader is the new Merlin who has been dating Eggsy for a couple of years

A/N: actually super proud of this one, so I hope you guys enjoy!

What the fuck were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you gazed up at the monstrous mansion from your seat in the limousine, its size dwarfing you, making you feel even smaller than you already did. How on earth were you going to pull this one off? 

The mission was supposed to be simple. Eggsy went undercover to gather intel, you hacked the location’s mainframe remotely from the Kingsman HQ, and together you would stop the bad guy from executing whatever diabolical plan they had dreamt up. Same as usual. You had hoped Eggsy would even be home in time to salvage your date night which had so rudely been delayed by William Bates, Kingsman’s latest Bad Guy To Beat. 

Unluckily for you, however, Bates was also a tech genius, that being how he made his fortune which he was now using to fund his evil masterminding. Which is why, instead of being able to hack his system remotely, as you normally did as Kingsman’s new Merlin, you were having to go undercover with your boyfriend to access his mainframe manually. With the power of coercion on your side, you should be able to get the biometric scans you need while Eggsy gathers the intel you need to shut down Bate’s boy’s club that are supposedly going to take control of the UK government. How exactly they thought they were going to do that, you didn’t know. All you knew was that your complete lack of field experience and minimal hours of training had not prepared you for this scenario at all. 

“You ready, love?” Eggsy asked you from his seat opposite you in the limo. His strong, unfaltering gaze grounded you, taking your brain away from the enormity of the mission at hand. 

You were two very capable agents. Eggsy especially. You had complete faith in him. But you knew, right now, you needed to be someone he could put his faith in. The mission comes first, you reminded yourself. So you exhaled slowly, putting your anxieties aside. “Let’s give these fuckers a show,” you smirked at him, referring to your cover.

His smirk in return was immediate. “That’s my girl.”

As soon as he opened the limo door, the Eggsy Unwin you knew was gone, replaced in the blink of an eye by billionaire, Robert Hudson, looking to buy into this boy’s club of Bates’. He helped you out of the limo and then you walked, arm in arm, up to the security guards posted at the grand double doors of Bates’ home, where he tonight was hosting his charity’s annual gala. A front for inducting rich, like-minded extremists into his little group. 

“Hudson, party of two,” Eggsy smiled politely at the guards, exuding confidence from his every pore. 

The security guard, a large bald man with an expressionless face, looked down at his tablet for all of two seconds before he looked up again, surveying the area. “Welcome, sir,” he said as he and the other guard moved in unison, opening a door each to grant you entrance to one of the most lavish scenes you had ever witnessed in person. 

You worked hard to keep the awe from your face, knowing Arabella Hudson should be well used to the kind of scene before her. Gorgeous gowns and bespoke suits littering the grand ballroom, framed by stunning floristry and lit by glittering chandeliers. Normally, you would grab the first flute of champagne you could find and make Eggsy twirl you around the dance floor to the sound of the live orchestra posted in the back corner of the room. But today, the two of you walked towards the sea of drab billionaires calmly and cooly, finding hands to shake, needing to identify the people who had the information and connections you required to get this mission rolling. 

It was over an hour of talking to various celebrities, politicians and the wealthiest members of society before your host, William Bates made an appearance. He made his way down the grand staircase carefully, extremely aware of the attention that his entrance had grabbed. He walked hand in hand with his husband, Thomas Bates, whose elegance and grace was so severe one might think he was actually floating down the marble steps. 

Inwardly, you rolled your eyes. What kind of a self-important prick thought he had to be fashionably late to his own event? Nevertheless, you plastered what you hoped was a bright smile on your face and joined the other guests in applauding the hosts as they made their entrance. 

“So,” Eggsy continued the conversation he was having with the middle aged Irish gentlemen beside him, who positively reeked of old money, “I assume he’s the man to talk to about this…” he paused, for effect, “gentlemen's club I’ve heard whisperings of.” 

The Irishman smiled slowly, understanding the meaning between the lines of his words. Eggsy had been working his usual magic to charm this oblivious pawn in Bates’ scheme, and he had very easily created the impression that he would be the kind of person to buy into whatever it was they were planning.

To your surprise, you seemed to be a natural at acting the part and aiding Eggsy in gaining the trust of the corrupt wealthy you were rubbing elbows with. Even Eggsy with his years of experience struggled to keep the admiration and pride out of his eyes as he watched you, nailing the undercover operation. 

“He sure is,” the Irishman confirmed, accent thick. “I’ll take you to see him myself. We could use more members like yourself,” he commented cryptically. 

That was how you found yourself, another hour later, approaching William Bates, the Irishman leading the way. “William, I’d like you to meet my new friend, Robert Hudson, and his gorgeous wife, Arabella.” 

“How do you do?” Bates greeted as he shook Eggsy’s hand. 

The two of you fawned over the magnificence of the gala, paying your respects to the host before the Irishman couldn’t help but interject in your small talk. “Will, I think Rob here is a prime candidate for your little side project.” 

“Well, if you keep bringing me great candidates it won’t be so little,” Bates jested cheesily, clearly trying to maintain a cover. 

“From what little I’ve heard of this project I developed a great interest. I’d love to be able to discuss it with you further and hopefully get involved,” Eggsy lied.

“That is just excellent,” a grin crept over Bates’ face, clearly eager to induct more extremists. “I’m not going to lie to you, I did a bit of reading up on you and I think you would be perfect.” You bit back a smile, the idiot had found the digital trail you had left for him to find Eggsy and contemplate him as a new recruit. “I’d actually love to discuss it now, if you don’t mind?” 

Eggsy cast his eyes down at you, feigning a questioning glance for permission. You gave him a reassuring smile and the smallest of nods. “That sounds great.” 

“Phenomenal! You two, follow me,” he began to turn, leading you out before Eggsy interjected. 

“I prefer not to involve my wife in business actually.”

My wife. For a split second, you forgot the extreme stakes of the situation you were in, so taken aback by what Eggsy had called you. Obviously, it was just for his cover. Nevertheless, there was a deep longing in your chest. You were quite sure you wanted nothing more from this life than to be Eggsy’s wife. To be with him for life. 

As quickly as the thought entered your mind, it went away, realising you were going to be on your own from here on out. Panic seeped through your chest, burning up within you. Despite your emotions, you maintained a neutral expression.

“Go enjoy the party, darling,” Eggsy spoke directly to you now. “I’m sure I won’t be long gone.” 

With that, he sent you one of his dazzling winks only you could see, and he followed Bates away from the party and down a heavily-guarded corridor. You were officially on your own. 

As discussed, you mingled for a while longer before you excuse yourself from the conversation you were in to go to the ladies. Your precaution in avoiding arising any form of suspicion by making your exit at the same time as Eggsy was largely unnecessary, seeing as the majority of the guests were far too intoxicated at this point to even take note of you. 

“Excuse me?” You approached one of the guards barricading the corridor Eggsy had just disappeared down. “I was wondering if you could show me the way to the bathroom?” As you spoke, you placed the faintest of touches to his arm, as though to grab his attention. In actual fact, you were placing a small clear patch on his bare skin, imperceptibly using concentrated, fast-acting toxins to make him extremely susceptible to charm. In less than twenty seconds, he would be doing whatever you asked of him. It was of your own design, and you were extremely proud of it, to say the least.

Within ten minutes, your big dopey security guard was placing his hand on the biometric scanner to open the control room, with two bodies at your feet. Not exactly ideal, but you didn’t have the time or the patience to patch up every guard you came across so the two guarding the door had to go. 

You didn’t even get a ruffle your skirt until the door to the control room opened, to reveal three men, two in charge of surveillance and two in charge of firing the many weapons Bates had hidden throughout the mansion to eliminate any threats. Clearly, this little team weren’t two quick on the uptake since none of them had managed to take up arms to defend your little raid of their workplace. 

“Shoot them, Ben!” You instructed your brand new personal bodyguard, as you fired your own weapon, concealed as your bedazzled clutch just as Eggsy’s gun was often concealed in a briefcase. 

Seeing you as the weaker link, the third of the men who was yet to be shot charged you, knocking you to the ground. “Oof!” You exclaimed, the wind completely knocked out of you. Without a single word from you, Ben had shot the man straight in the head, the toxin working it’s magic of instilling a sense of loyalty toward whoever was instructing them. 

You sucked in a deep breath from your place on the floor, the pain it brought already informing you that you may have a cracked rib or two. Ben offered his hand, which you took appreciatively. God you missed your office at HQ.

‘U ALRIGHT?’ Flashed across the display of your glasses, Eggsy having subtly typed the message out with his eyes from wherever he was, clearly having been watching your camera’s streaming.

“I’m fine, Galahad, just focus on your end of things,” you adopted your usual objective tone which Eggsy was so used to hearing from you on missions. 

You didn’t have to see him to know Eggsy was fighting off a scowl, hating when you referred to him by his code name. He liked to say he hated how professional you were when it came to your work life, but truly, he loved your unwavering passion and commitment to Kingsman. Even if that translated to you insisting on keeping your private and professional lives separate.

Eggsy, as he followed Bates through a series of secret doors, let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding as he heard you through the comms. He had faith in you and your abilities as a Kingsman, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried out of his mind with you in the field with him for the first time. 

“Alright, I’m in,” your voice rang out through the comms once more. “I’ve got your back, Galahad.” 

Your words filled him with a sense of ease as he walked closer and closer to what was possibly an extremely dangerous situation. He knew you would always be there to get him out of hot water when he needed it. 

“I know all this secrecy and security measures might seem a bit excessive, Robert, but what I’m about to tell you is highly sensitive information,” Bates began his spiel, completely oblivious to the fact that Eggsy’s glasses were recording everything he said. “As you probably know, up until a few years ago I was working on a political career of my own, using the influence I ascertained from my business’s success to try and make a difference in this country. I quickly learned that I was going to be able to change shit all. Too many right wing conservatives in my way voting down everything we tried to put forward,” he shook his head, Eggsy through his research identifying that he was clearly a man scorned by the oppression he had suffered as a gay man his whole life, absolutely desparate to make changes. “But then, just as I was about to give up, I was hit with the greatest inspiration there ever was,” a smile crept onto his face as he paused dramatically. “Valentine.” 

Eggsy sighed internally, wishing for the love of God that the influence of that man would just die out already. 

“To see someone come so close to changing the world for the better. That was… life changing,” there was a glimmer in Bates’ eye, which quickly disappeared as he continued on. “Obviously there were flaws in that plan, however. Leaving so many like minded people to die who would so clearly follow in his leadership. But the way he took action to make change. That was groundbreaking,” he smiled wide, looking to Eggsy now for some kind of input. 

“I agree completely,” Eggsy gave Bates what he was looking for. “But what action could we possibly take?” 

Somehow, the smile on Bates’ face grew even wider, mania spelt out all over his face. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, placing his hand upon the biometric scanner on the wall behind him. 

At first, Eggsy thought he was just looking at an empty room, but quickly realised he was entering an observation room as the wall made completely of glass around the corner came into view. On the other side of the two way mirror, was rows upon rows of beds in a warehouse sized room a flight of stairs below where they stood. Each bed was occupied, each occupant appearing to be deceased as they laid face up, completely still with their arms by their sides. The only indication that they were alive came from the machines hooked up to their brains, displaying their brain waves as they slept.

“It may not look like it, but you are looking at the greatest army in history,” Bates explained. “Each soldier you see here is dormant, their minds made, by my scientists, to be extremely pliant. Each one of them is awaiting programming, which will be sent directly to their brains through those computers,” he pointed to the brain monitors. “My programming will make them the most obedient, most highly trained soldiers alive within seconds. Ready to overthrow the government of the United Kingdom at a moment’s notice.”

“Already working on a reversal program,” you notified Eggsy through your comms, having discovered the information Bates was divulging through a quick skim of his files. 

“Who are they?” Eggsy questioned. 

“The homeless, the poor, the isolated. People that won’t be missed when they disappear. All right wing conservatives,” smugness oozed from Bates’ reply. “All the people who agree with those standing in the way of making the changes this world needs. LGBT rights. Climate change prevention. Free healthcare. And with more help from people like you, Robert, we won’t just be making these changes here, we can make them on a global scale. All you have to do is enter your money into the pool of funding and you too can be a part of our little, gentlemen’s club, as we like to call it.”

“A gentlemen’s club that rules the world, eh?” Eggsy joked.

“Precisely.” 

From your position in the control room, you snorted. “Great thanks for the complete confession, dickhead, that’s going to playback well in court,” you laughed quietly as you typed away, working at lightning speed to finish the program which would set Bates’ victims free of any control he had over them. 

The rest of the conversation became white noise to you as you worked furiously, knowing the time Eggsy was buying you by chatting with Bates and inquiring further into the logistics was limited. 

“Okay Galahad,” you spoke once more, ten minutes later, “the program is complete. I just need you to get Bates back to the party before I send the program to the computers so he doesn’t notice that anything has gone awry before the feds arrive.” 

“Why don’t we go back to the party and celebrate over a bottle of champagne? I’m sure your other guests are missing you,” you heard Eggsy follow you direction over the comms. 

For a moment, you couldn’t believe your luck. Your first field mission.  A taped confession. All of the offenders all piled into one gala, drunk out of their minds completely oblivious to the fact that they were ten minutes away from arrest. Enough evidence to prosecute them all ten times over already sent. 

Luck, of course, was not actually on your side. Little did you know, as you were patting yourself on the back prematurely, a guard was approaching the control room door to swap positions with one of the guards who now laid on the floor dead. In your haste to get to where you were needed most, behind the keyboard, you had forgotten to instruct Ben to clean up his mess. 

The lights throughout the entirety of the mansion flashed red as the guard raised the alarm. Through the surveillance screen to your right, you could see the people around Eggsy go on the offensive immediately. “Ben guard the door!” you screamed, needing to protect both yourself and Eggsy simultaneously.

As soon as you yelled out, the door to the control room was open and Eggsy was into action as he started to fight off the guards he was surrounded by in the most heavily guarded area of the entire building. Ben was scuffling with the guard who had called the code red behind you as you worked furiously to lock the door to the control room and bar anymore guards from interfering with you. At the same moment the door slammed shut, a gunshot rang out. 

Without thinking twice you grabbed your clutch-pistol, as Ben’s dead body fell to the floor with a thud. You were quick to turn and fire a shot straight between the man’s eyes. Just about as quick as he had been in shooting you straight through your abdomen. 

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, body curling inwards as you clutched the wound. 

“Merlin?” Eggsy questioned across the line, even as he fought off the guards from every side. 

You stared down at the crimson seeping through your dress, ears ringing with shock. 

“Merlin, I could really do with some back up right now!” Eggsy yelled across the comms, not having registered the meaning of the commotion on your end of the line. You said nothing in return, writing in pain in the chair which was quickly becoming soaked in your blood. “Y/N I can’t do this without you!” He spoke your true name, desperation evident in his voice.

His words struck something deep within you. Eggsy Unwin, the love of your life, needed you. No gunshot wound was going to stop you from saving him. You barely felt the pain as the adrenaline began to pump through your veins once more. Within seconds you have access to the guns hidden within the walls of the corridor Eggsy was in, and you were firing away at anyone who dared try and harm him. 

As soon as all immediate threats to Eggsy were eliminated, you moved onto the next largest threat. William Bates running for the hills to find the nearest computer so he could launch his program and have an army at his disposal. 

As he ran, you found the nearest gun in a corridor nearby and locked sights on your target. Bates crumpled to the ground with a tremendous scream as a bullet shattered his right knee cap. You smirked, despite yourself. 

You glanced back to the surveillance displaying the party where all the guests were convening. The alarm and red lights had ceased, and while some were sober enough to realise that they should be on their way before trouble arrived, the majority were so drunk they just continued as they were. Despite your slip up, most of the criminals would still be brought to justice immediately. 

So with what little energy was left in you, you hit send on the program you had just designed. Within thirty minutes they should regain consciousness, with their free will and identities still in tact. 

You slumped in your chair, breathing out a sigh of relief. The mission was complete.The world was safe. Most importantly to you Eggsy was safe. You watched as he approached Bates, propping him up against the wall, finishing the mission the way he loved most, rubbing salt in the wound with witty remarks. 

You smiled to yourself, forgetting everything but your love for Eggsy in that moment. That is, until you glanced down at your abdomen once more, remembering yourself and what exactly might be happening to you. 

“Eggsy,” your use of his first name grabbing his attention immediately as you spoke softly across the line. “Eggsy I’ve been hit.” 

With your words, Eggsy’s blood ran cold. No, he thought to himself, body kicking into gear before his brain did, turning and bolting back down the way he came. No no no no no.

A notification flashes across his glasses display that Kingsman’s personal medical team has been alerted and are on their way to the scene.

It doesn’t take him long to find you, remembering the route exactly from when he had been watching you to ensure you got to the control room safely. When he arrived, the door, to his dismay, was locked. 

“Babe!” He yells, voice so much more desperate than it was not ten minutes earlier when he had begged for your help. “Babe open the door!” 

The moment of silence between his plea and when the door opens seemed to stretch on for an age. Eggsy needing to get to you in this moment more than he thinks he’s needed anything in his entire life. The sight he’s met with seems to fill his lungs with ice. You, slumped in a chair, covered in your own blood. 

“Eggsy,” you cry, your fear finally catching up with you, allowing tears to leak from your eyes. 

He’s at your side in a second, ripping his jacket off and scrunching it into a ball to use to place pressure on the wound.

“Eggsy, it hurts so fucking bad,” you sob, overcome with the pain. 

Eggsy swears he feels his heart physically splitting in two, watching you in absolute agony with no power to stop it. The only power he had, was to hopefully take away some of your fear. “It’s all going to be okay, babe. The paramedics are on their way and they’re going to fix you up. They’ll make the pain stop, I promise.” 

As he consoles you he takes hold of your body and lowers you to the ground, allowing you to lie down and providing himself with better ability to slow the bleeding of your wound. The movement causes stars to dance before your eyes, and black dots start to cloud your vision. You shut your eyes, hoping to make it stop. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Stay with me now darling. You have to stay awake,” he tries to maintain a calm tone, knowing the last thing you needed from him right now was panic, no matter how strongly he felt it. 

“Why?” You ask, tears ceasing, head so groggy from blood loss you begin to lose sight of sense.

“Because,” Eggsy fights back tears, “I have a really important question to ask you. And if you go to sleep you won’t be able to give me an answer.” 

Neither of you take any note of the sound of the feds arriving, raiding the charity gala and arresting everyone on the list of names you had sent them. 

“Oh Eggsy…” you smile dreamily, blood loss officially making you delirious. “I think we both know my answer is a yes.” 

Eggsy allows a single tear to fall, the bitter-sweetness of the moment becoming too much for him. “Agent Galahad?” He hears one of Kingsman’s personal paramedics call from down the hall. 

“Hurry up!” He turns and screams in reply. 

When he turns back to you, your eyes are closed and your face is completely void of expression. 

“Y/N?” he asks, hoping for you to reopen your eyes. “Y/N!” he shouts, as you fail to do so. Your complete lack of response breaks down his walls, and he begins to sob over your body as the paramedics burst into the room. 

In a matter of seconds he is pushed away from you, a medic taking his place in putting pressure on the wound. Another medic, takes your pulse, checking to see if there was any life left in you. 

The world slows. An hour seems to pass before the medic says a word. Eggsy is sure that he’s lost you right up until the medic says, “She’s still with us,” giving everyone the go ahead to start work on you to make sure it stays that way. 

Naturally, the Kingsman paramedics were some of the best, so as quickly as they had arrived, they were taking you away, already starting work on a blood transfusion to make up for your severe blood loss. Anytime a Kingsman went on a mission, the medical team had plenty of the agents’ blood on standby, for situations exactly like these. Eggsy had lost too many agents in his time as a Kingsman, so when he and Harry worked to rebuild following the wrath of the Golden Circle, he ensured there were as many safety nets available possible. 

Even as they moved through the chaos that the gala had become, guests being arrested everywhere, the medical team continued their work on you. Eggsy was pushing the stretcher himself, ensuring you were getting as much attention as humanly possible. Sadly, there was only so much they could do until they got you into surgery. 

Before he knew it, Eggsy was loading you into a medical truck and being instructed to sit in the front seat. Away from you. 

“Bullshit-” he began, before he was quickly interrupted. 

“We need the room, Galahad. Do you want to waste precious moments arguing or let us save your girl?” One of the lead medics snapped.

Without a word, Eggsy jogged up to the front seat of the truck and got in. He sat for a moment, fist quickly finding its way into his mouth to stop himself from crying again. Swiftly, he chose to channel his emotion into anger instead. 

“Fuck!” he yelled, removing his fist from his mouth and smashing it onto the dash. 

He should have never left you in the field alone. He should have asked another agent to come to protect you. To ensure nothing like this happened to you. He made the wrong call and he knew it. 

Now, he had no idea what was going on with you. He couldn’t hear a sound coming from behind him over the sound of the siren wailing, ensuring they had the fastest path possible. Your heart could have stopped mere inches behind him and he would have no idea until he stepped out of the truck. 

This thought stuck in his mind, ricocheting around through his brain up until the moment he stepped out of the truck again, scared to death of what might have happened to you in the mere minutes since he last saw you. When he did see you, it was like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. Immense relief. You were still alive. You were still with him. 

But then, all too soon, you were gone again. Swept away to a private room for surgery, leaving Eggsy alone in an empty corridor. The second you disappeared behind the doorway, Eggsy fell to his knees, drained. He had asked to go into the room with you, but one of the medics had quickly replied, “Yeah because having your patient’s boyfriend doesn’t add any pressure when you’re performing surgery.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m her fiance actually,” he mumbled to the closed door.

It was the longest night of Eggsy Unwin’s life, as he sat there in the hall, awaiting either the best news of his life or the worst. It was an hour before Harry arrived, offering him a hug, which, for the first time in Eggsy’s life brought him no comfort whatsoever. Harry brought with him a couple of chairs, and a glass of water, Eggsy not realising how much he needed it until he had downed it in two gulps. 

There were few words spoken between the two men. Harry knowing nothing he could say would be of any help to Eggsy in this moment. Nothing would save him from the dark thoughts he was drowning in, picturing a life without you in it. All he could do for him, and for you, was be there. 

By the time the head surgeon stepped out three hours later, Eggsy felt as if he had aged a decade. Nevertheless, he was quick to jump to his feet, eager for information. 

“Merlin’s surgery has gone well,” he said, removing the weight of the world from Eggsy’s shoulders. He lifted his hand to his mouth, tears of joy springing to his eyes immediately. “There was a bit of internal damage, but luckily nothing to her major organs. We’ve managed to stop all internal bleeding. From here on out, it’s just about avoiding infection and ensuring she heals properly.” 

“Can I see her?” Eggsy asked, eyes glistening with hope in addition to the tears. 

“Of course,” the surgeon stepped aside, allowing Eggsy through. “She should wake up in the next thirty minutes.”

Eggsy stepped forward, towards the door before stopping in his tracks. He turned and wrapped his arms around the surgeon,whom he had met all of three times, hugging him tight. “Thank you so much,” he spoke, patting him on the back before pulling back. 

Much to the surprise of all men present, Eggsy started to jog down the hall, away from the girl he had been dying to see for hours. 

“Eggsy where are you going?” Harry called after him. 

“I have to grab something before I see her, I’ll explain later!” Eggsy called back, joy finally making its way back into his voice. 

The first thing you became aware of, as the effects of the anaesthesia wore off, was the feeling of two warm hands holding your left one. Before you were even fully conscious, the first thought to enter your head was that Eggsy was here. The knowledge filled you with a sense of ease as your eyes fluttered open, as though you were awaking from a pleasant nap and not a major surgery. 

Your eyes met Eggsy’s instantly, as though a magnetic force made it so. “There’s my girl,” his smile reached his tired eyes. 

“Hey handsome,” you croaked, taking in his appearance. Hair disheveled, still wearing his blood splattered suit (minus the jacket, of course), glasses tucked away in his pocket. Although he looked like an absolute mess, he still looked happy, riding on the high that the good news about your health had brought. 

“Oh my days. You gave me quite the scare there babe,” he forced a laugh, trying to conceal the trauma he had suffered through in not knowing whether or not you were going to make it. 

“I’m sorry,” you spoke softly, not buying into his attempt at a cover up and feeling the guilt more sharply than the wound. 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he reached forward with his left hand, stroking your hair, knowing all too well just how much comfort it brought you. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I’m not sure, did anything happen after I said I would marry you?” You feigned genuity in your line of questioning. 

His mouth dropped open in shock at your words. “I don’t quite remember asking!” He struggled to hold back laughter at your antics. 

“Then ask,” you challenge. 

“Well,” he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little red velvet box, “good thing I grabbed this before you woke up.” He opened the box, revealing the gold ring you would recognise anywhere. 

“Oh Eggsy…” you breathed out, gobsmacked at the magnitude of the gesture, “is that…?”

“The ring my dad proposed to my mum with? Yeah, yeah it is,” he smiled, “I asked her for it a couple weeks ago. Last night’s cancelled date night had been when I was planning on proposing.”

You placed your hand over your mouth, trying to contain the smile threatening to take over your entire face.

“But here we are instead. So, Y/N Y/L/N, my best friend and the love of my life, will you marry me?” He grinned, clearly already knowing your answer.

You removed your hand from your mouth to give him your answer for the second time that evening. “Eggsy Unwin of course I will marry you,” a tear slipped from your eye.

Somehow, he grinned even wider, taking your answer as permission to slip the ring onto your finger. Kissing your hand as the ring slid perfectly into place. 

“Well, darling, let my first act as your fiance be telling you that you are never going on a field mission again,” Eggsy joked.

“I really wish you would just kiss me instead,” you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I can do that too.”

[lost-eternity]

Match Up Requests: CLOSED Please read the pinned rules before requesting

Match up for: @ happythoughtfulstarfish

Okie dokie. I match you with...

Peter Parker/Spider man!

First of all, girl, you're very pretty :). Just thought that I would say that. Right. On to the match up.

Like, from appearances alone. You two would compliment each other so well. 🥰

With heels on, you'd most likely be taller than Peter Parker. 

Like. How dare you! He would do his best to one up you.

You occasionally catch him standing on his toes to try and match your height. And you look over at him like "???"

Cue mumbled excuses and awkward laughing

Then one day your heels go missing. And as you're looking around, you notice Peter is standing surprisingly tall. Upon further investigation you notice that he put on your heels. 

Would this guy actually steal your own heels just to one up you? He'll, yeah he would. It's all in fun and games though and he isn't too serious about it. 

But personality wise? Even better.

You are both serious nerds

It's not technically official but I head-canon that Peter Parker is a theatre nerd as well. I could just be Tom Holland seeping through but he gives off those theatre kid vibes.

You know how I mean.

He'd be wholly supportive of your hobbies. He would love to go and spontaneously buy random tickets to musicals on Broadway, even if you two don't get the best of seats. 

Just be prepared to watch a lot of cult classics with him.

Like. A lot.

Especially Star Wars. You two will watch those movies so many times. And every single time he will be dramatically (poorly) mouthing the lines along with the film because let's be real- he has all of the movie scripts memorized. 

He would also love to learn how to play an instrument from you. He'd be really bad at it. Honestly, he would be playing horrendously with this puppy-like jubilation that makes up entirely for his horrible pitch. It's adorable, really. 

Your morals also align perfectly and that works out very well because the both of you are incredibly stubborn and steadfast in your resolve. You both strive to see the best in people, even if it puts you in jeopardy. Critics would call it gullibility. But you would be able to keep each other in check.

Sometimes.

You would be a massive headache for those in SHIELD or anyone assigned to manage you.

I can imagine Peter roping you into one of his elaborate schemes after getting hyped on caffeine and the two of you raising hell together. With the best of intentions, of course.

Like, "no. You cannot kidnap an ice cream truck and drive it to the orphanage for the kids. That is called theft and that's illegal."

"I don't care if it will make the children happy!"

You both have an incredible drive to help others. Peter's just manifests in a way that is a lot more... potentially lethal. Whereas you are content enough to simply volunteer your time. 

Just. Don't ask to go with him on one of his super hero missions.

Trust me.

Peter has already lost people in his life. The poor boy would never forgive himself if he lost you as a result of his ineptitude on a mission. 

Don't put him through that

Because he is awkward as well, you two would do very well to motivate each other and encourage one another to step outside of your comfort zones.

Meet to new, make new friends

Honestly, you’d be perfect together

~

You probably met Peter's sophomore year of College.

It's a funny story actually. 

You volunteered with a charity service who was hosting a musical, "The Adams Family" The ticket revenue collected during the performances would be put to relief and conservation efforts in foreign countries.

Everything was extremely low budget. All of the cast members were volunteers and very few actually had much theatrical experience. 

But you did not mind too much. You were cast to play the role of Morticia. So no complaints there!

The venue you were performing in was actually lent to you for free. It was on a college campus, and the auditorium was actually decently sized.

The previous performances went off rather smoothly. The turn-outs had been decent as well, thankfully.  

It was closing night. Your final performance for the night. The audience was slowly filling into the room, that was when it happened.

One of the crewmembers on hair and makeup, completely new to the theatre environment actually asked out loud: "Wait, why can't we say 'Macbeth' again?"

Silence 

Dead Silence 

So quiet that the muted chatter of the audience could be heard from behind the heavy oaken doors of the female changing room.

The shit storm that followed would have been absolutely hysterical if everyone were not so panicked.

Those in the cast who actually had experience in theatre arts were whisper-shouting at the offending crewmember.

The others looked on, an expression of complete confusion plastered onto their brow

It's not like you could have sent her out to run around the entire college campus. You were on in 5.

Collectively,  you all decided to let it go.

It was just a legend after all.

"We'll be fine."

At least, that is what everyone told themselves. 

~

The night, surprisingly, went off without a hitch. There were a few technical difficulties with the lighting (the spotlight "affectionately" named Big Bertha refused to fully open its iris) and a few missed cues, but otherwise, the performance did not terribly fail as many feared. 

~

You and the rest of the cast were now hurriedly darting back from the bathrooms after intermission. It was a frenzied sprint around the back of the building to avoid the audience catching a glimpse of you. 

That was when you heard something that caused you to peel off the rest of the group.

It was this peculiar scuttling sound, followed by a darting figure.

You initially thought it was an audience member who had lost their way and turned down the winding path.

The narrow road itself was completely innocuous and actually just led to a dorm site. However, under the dark of the new moon, illuminated by few stray streetlamps, it felt kinda ominous. 

Having to remind yourself that you weren't actually in a horror movie, you continued down the path towards the figure, asking him if he were all right.

Then he stepped into the flood of light from a lamp, his movements kinda janky and angled.

This "person" was not a person at all. Rather it was a humanoid beast covered completely in rippling grey fur. Like 'Cousin It' jumped right out of the play and appeared on the street. But this wasn't your cousin. You knew the little girl who played him and she was much... much shorter. This thing cleared 213 centimetres! 

You wisely decided to run. 

And it gave chase, scuttling after you like some malformed beast.

So here you were, still in complete costume, being chased down the street but a Cousin It lookalike and screaming your lungs out.

You didn't get really far because Morticia's sprawling mermaid dress did little to help you move your legs. 

Cousin It caught up to you, a clawed appendage swiping against your ankles.

With a loud rip the dress tore and you fell. Pain flared through your elbows made contact with the grated pavement. 

Rolling onto your back,  you gazed up at the creature. Its purple fur glowing dimly under the backlighting of the street lamp.

For the first time you noticed its eyes, multiple gleaming plates meshed together to form one bulging eyeball,  like a fly or moth. Its mangy hair, overgrown and matted, reeked with a permeating stench you can only describe as rotting eggs. 

So maybe you were in a horror movie. And the horror movie was 'Mothman'... or maybe the curse of Macbeth was here and this creature was coming from retribution.  

Regardless of the reason, you did not have too long to think about it as the creature took a lumbering step towards you.  Then another... and a third... then it paused. 

It pulled against something, like a dog heaving against its leash. But it couldn't move another step 

"Stay where you are, Mothra." A trilling voice called. 

Blinking, you noticed a figure perching on the top of the lamp post, hanging upside down from a glistening web. Another web was attached around the creature's waist, preventing it from advancing. 

The blue and red was unmistakable. 

This was spider man! 

But why is he here? 

Cousin it gave a roar of complaint and swiped for the spider. He nimbly dodged out of the way, laughing the entire time. 

It was not long before he had Cousin It wrapped up in a thick cocoon of webbing, and was absently dialing something on his phone. 

You heard him mumble something about how much of a nuisance "A-Chiltarians" were. 

A-Chiltarians?

What was that supposed to be?

Spiderman seemed to notice you for the first time, and apologetically offered to escort you back to the play.

Which was practically ruined as intermission was over and no one seemed to be able to locate you

The audience was beginning to get antsy

To make up for lost time, Spider man grabbed you round your waist

Before you knew it, the two of you were flying 

Swinging from tree to lamp as you glided across the ground back towards the theatre. 

He dropped you off, literally dropped you, onto the stage, just in time for your next scene. 

You could hardly act through the confusion of WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO ME

The rest of the night, you were understandably preoccupied 

~

After the performance, the cast stood along the hallway, allowing the audience to meet and greet with them and pass out gifts.

A young man garnered your attention in particular 

With hazel eyes and mousy hair, he introduced himself as "Peter" and handed you a bouquet of flowers

And you find yourself looking at him like "Do I know you?"

He seemed rather apologetic for whatever reason and praised your performance 

Getting suspicious, especially after the events of that night, you had a feeling that he knew something he was not letting on to.

So you asked for his number.

And to your complete shock, he actually gave it

So. Over the course of one night, you were saved by the legendary spider man and got the number of a cute boy.

Maybe the curse of Macbeth is not so bad after all

[regolithheart]

Love In The Time of Coronavirus: Chapter Four

Summary: One pandemic, one lake house, and two people who loathe one another. Will they be able to survive the outbreak...and each other?

MASTER LIST

Read on AO3.

---------------

CHAPTER FOUR:

After putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, Cassian wiped down the kitchen island and headed upstairs for a shower. He could hear the water running all the way from Nesta’s bathroom and prayed that she hadn’t used up all the hot water. He wouldn’t have put it past her to do so, just to spite him. 

His lip curled, as he tucked away that bit of retaliation to use against her if she was getting too unbearable. Leave it to the universe to stick him in a house with the most infuriating person on the face of the planet and with nothing to arm himself. 

Cassian had been equally as annoyed as she was when she found out that they were the only two at the house. He had seen it through her car window as her body tensed with the news he’d only gotten two hours prior. He had seen her mouth a series of curse words—the same ones that he had bellowed at Rhys and Azriel on the phone—and it brought him a little bit of satisfaction.

She didn’t even have the curtesy to greet him when she had gotten out of her car and the way she looked at him with that ice cold stare had him second guessing himself. That was her power over him and he hated it. He hated that he had offered up his name as though they hadn’t met dozens of times, like they had never talked before or sat next to each other at dinner. 

He had regretted it the moment his name escaped his lips—jumped out as if on its own accord. And what was worse was the way she had looked at him afterwards, like he was simple. It had put him on edge and so he resorted to what he knew best, what he knew would ruffle her feathers and put him back on equal ground. As if that were ever a thing with Nesta Archeron. 

From the moment they had met—no, from the moment Cassian had laid eyes on her, he had lost any footing he had.

---------------

Fourteen Months Ago

Cassian drummed his fingers on the back-lit onyx bar and waited for the bartender to approach him.

“Whiskey Sour,” he said, grinning at the pretty brunette behind the counter. 

Her return smile was coy but Cassian caught her eyes linger at the skin beneath the unbuttoned top of his dress shirt. He winked at her before she turned to make his drink.

As he waited, he took a moment to look around the room. Rhys had outdone himself with his newest project—a bar and saki lounge in downtown Los Angeles. Although Cassian did think the onyx bar and crystal chandelier in the shape of falling sakura blossoms was a bit much, he had to admit it was the perfect place to host a New Year’s Eve party. 

“Your drink, sir,” the bartender said, placing the crystal tumbler on top of a cocktail napkin before nudging it towards him.

He wanted to laugh at the formality, but instead, he picked up the glass, tipped it towards her, and took a long sip.

“I didn’t peg you for a cocktail kind of guy,” a voice said. Its owner slid into the seat next to him and motioning the bartender for another round.

Feyre’s eyes were twinkling when he tilted his head towards her. 

“I’m pacing myself. The night is still young.” He winked at her and then downed his drink. 

Feyre rolled her eyes, but the turn of her lips showed her amusement. It didn’t last long, however, because she glanced down at her watch and began twisting it around her wrist. 

When the bartender came back, she had another drink for Cassian and two fingers of vodka for Feyre. Feyre nodded her thanks and knocked her drink back.

“Whoa there Archeron, you okay over there?”

“Fine.” She gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m just…a little nervous. Nesta’s coming and…”

Cassian laughed and placed a reassuring hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax. We’re all looking forward to meeting your sister. We’ve already met Elain and she’s great.”

Feyre let out a breath. “Nesta is not Elain. She’s—“

But what Nesta was, Cassian didn’t hear because the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on had just walked into the bar. Her golden brown hair was swept into a simple chignon and while everyone was dressed in sequins and ruffles, she was radiant in a simple black dress. 

Her eyes scanned the room and when they fell upon Cassian, she gave a small smile and began walking towards him. 

He straightened immediately, wondering how she knew him. That wasn’t a face he could easily forget and if she hadn’t been on her way to him that very second, he was sure his feet would have taken him to her on their own accord. She seemed so familiar, but he knew they hadn’t met before and he wondered if perhaps he’d met her in another time—another life.

Cassian swallowed when she stopped in front of him. 

No, not him. Feyre.

“Nesta,” Feyre said, getting out of her seat and hugging her sister. 

Cassian wanted to laugh.

Seeing the women side-by-side, it was unmistakable that the vision in front of him was Feyre’s sister. They had the same cheekbones and the same nose with the same dusting of freckles, but Nesta’s chin was sharper and more refined, and her eyes.

Feyre’s eyes were a shimmery blue that reflected confidence and a hint of mischief, but Nesta’s eyes…Nesta’s eyes were a storm of fire and ice and it almost hurt to look at. 

Before Cassian had a chance to introduce himself, Elain came up to them and encased Nesta in her arms, pulling Feyre in too. Looking at the three sisters, he felt his cheeks warm.

While Feyre was gorgeous, no doubt about it, Elain was stunning. With her soft features and doe eyes, Cassian had seen the way men looked at her—were looking at her now. He counted two of them at the other end of the bar, calculating their chances and it made him feel protective over her. 

But Nesta was breathtaking. It was the sort of breathtaking that hurt, like taking a big gulp of winter air. And surprisingly, Cassian found himself at a loss for words. 

When she finally looked up and saw him staring, her eyes narrowed dangerously and he almost took an involuntary step backwards.

Noticing who was at the end of her sister’s glare, Feyre released herself from the hug and reached over to grab Cassian’s arm, pulling him closer.

“Nes, this is Rhys’ friend, Cassian. Well, they’re more like brothers, really.”

“Hi there,” Cassian said, mustering up his most charming smile. He made sure to touch his tongue to his bottom lip and quirked the right corner of his mouth up to expose his dimples. It was his signature move and had yet to fail him. 

But there was a first time for everything.

Nesta’s eyes were quick. Flicking from his smile to his hair to his eyes and then the slightest fraction up to the scar on his right eyebrow.

In reality, it must have taken all of two seconds, but under Nesta’s scrutiny, Cassian felt like he had been sitting under an interrogation lamp.

When she finally spoke, it was slow and even toned. “Hello.”

Cassian’s smile felt plastered on his face and he waited for her to say something else. 

She didn’t.

He cleared his throat, readying to offer her a drink, but before he could do so, Mor bounded up to the group, crashing into him. He placed a steadying hand on her hip. 

“Hi! You must be Nesta. I’m Morrigan. Rhys’ cousin, but you can call me Mor!” Mor practically stuck her hand in Nesta’s face, her golden bangles clashing against each other as she did so.

Cassian felt the ice in Nesta’s assessment as she scanned Mor from head to toe and back up again, taking in the slinky red dress and gold hoop earrings as large as the bangles on her wrist. Her eyes snagged on the placement of Cassian’s hand. He let go immediately.

“I’m getting a drink,” Nesta said. 

It had not been an invitation. 

She gave each of her sisters a squeeze on the shoulder and turned to the bartender to order a gin and tonic.

Mor scoffed and pulled her rejected hand back to flip her blonde curls over her shoulder. She tugged on Cassian’s arm. “Come on, Cass. We should go save Az from Helion.”

He threw one last glance back at Nesta, now sitting alone at the bar, and allowed Mor to drag him away. 

Cassian had let Mor lead him around the party the rest of the night. They managed to rescue Azriel from Helion who proceeded to proposition all three of them and gave them a gravely chuckle as they shooed him away. He was nearly assaulted by Feyre’s friend Clare who had leaned in much too close to breathe her name into his ear. And he and Azriel had two saki bombs each, despite Rhys’ warning them not to. 

“That’s a brand new onyx countertop you’re slamming your shot glasses into,” Rhys had complained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, we’re breaking it in for you.” 

Yet all the while, Cassian found his attention honing in on Nesta. No matter where he was in the room and his proximity to her, he was able to find her with ease. It was a like a tug in his chest, as if he was a compass and she was true North.

It was a bit unsettling. He had never experienced this with anyone before. Especially not someone he’d just met and who had said one single word to him. He felt ridiculous. She had only said one word to him and here he was, unable to resist whatever spell she had cast on him. 

He did his best to ignore her, despite his wandering eyes. He saw Nesta talking to Clare and when the redhead nodded in his direction, he quickly turned away. He saw when Elain pull Nesta onto the makeshift dance floor and watched as she allowed herself a couple of sways and a twirl before blending back into the crowd. And he counted at least three men who had attempted to talk to her with varying degrees of success, but all eventually retreated, tails between their legs. 

All night he had watched her from across the room, with a sea of people laughing and chattering between them and not once had she looked in his direction. So it had come to a complete surprise to him when he sidled to the bar to order himself a drink and found her just on the other side, watching.

He would have offered to buy her a drink, but the gin and tonic in front of her looked fresh so he thanked the bartender after receiving his whiskey—not breaking Nesta’s eye contact—and eased into the seat next to hers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Cassian asked, taking a sip.

She shrugged, taking a sip of her own drink and cast her eyes over the room.

She wasn’t going to make this easy on him, was she? 

“You’re an architect, right? What do you—“

Nesta turned sharply to face him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Her beauty must have short-circuited his brain. “Girlfriend? I don’t have…” but then realization dawned on him. “You mean Mor?” He laughed. “Mor is not my girlfriend.” 

“But you’ve slept with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Cassian was incredulous. “I…how did…Not that it’s any of your business, but did Feyre—“

“Feyre didn’t tell me anything.”

Cassian simply stared at her. “How’d you…”

She smiled, but it wasn’t affectionate like Elain’s or spirited like Feyre’s. Nesta’s smile was shrewd and wicked. 

She shrugged again. 

“Maybe I’m a witch,” she said, picking up her glass. “Or maybe you’re not that good at hiding that dopey look on your face when she’s around.”

Again she left him at the bar, and again he was at a loss for words.

---------------

Eight Months Ago

“Ready? One, two, three.” 

Cassian grunted as he picked up Feyre’s cream-colored sofa.

“Got it, Az?” He asked, looking over the sofa’s arm to Azriel on the other end. 

“Where did Feyre get this thing? It weighs a ton.”

Cassian silently agreed as he gritted his teeth and tightened his grip. 

Cassian threw glances behind him as he guided them through the living room and kitchen, steering the sofa and Azriel between random boxes on the floor. He gave an irritated huff. 

In an attempt to avoid crashing into a gaudy green lamp, he miscalculated and backed right into the outside corner of the kitchen island. 

He hissed.

“You okay?” Azriel’s muffled voice came from the other end of the massive sofa, the top of his head barely visible.

“Yeah.” Cassian grunted, knowing he was going to see a bruise on his thigh the next day.

When they finally made it to the front hallway, Cassian swore.

“A little help?!” He hollered to no one in particular and hoped that someone could hear him from upstairs. 

Silence, and then the sound of thunderous feet came barreling down the steps and Feyre squeezed between the sofa and the wall to open the front door for them. 

Cassian was grateful that Feyre lived on the ground floor of her apartment building and the U-Haul she had rented was parked just outside. But for the fifth time that morning, he had wished she’d taken Rhys up on his offer to hire a moving company.

After setting the sofa down next to the growing pile of boxes, Cassian massaged the hip that had just rammed into Feyre’s granite countertop. 

“Remind me again why we’re doing this.” 

Azriel’s smile was full of amusement. “Because Feyre asked us to help and you can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“You’re one to talk!” Cassian swiped at Azriel, but his friend was too quick. “All I’m saying is where’s her boyfriend? It’s his house she’s moving into!”

Azriel’s chuckle was taunting. “What’s the matter? First the sofa is too heavy for you and now your reflexes are too slow.”

Azriel always knew what to say to get Cassian riled up and he swiped again, this time clipping Az in shoulder but with no real malice behind the punch. Azriel returned the jab and retreated out of reach.

Back inside, the hallway was empty. Azriel must have disappeared upstairs to bring down whatever boxes were ready. Cassian gave himself a minute alone, letting the air conditioning ripple his skin with goosebumps. Leave it to Feyre to choose the hottest day of the year to move into Rhys’ house.

On his way to join the others, Cassian swung by the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and stopped dead in his tracks. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, lazily turning a page in her book was Nesta. 

“Where you sitting there the whole time?” He asked her incredulously, feeling the throb in his hip intensify. 

Not looking up, she gave him a noise of confirmation.

“And you didn’t bother to get up and help? I almost broke my neck over an ugly green lamp!”

Nesta still did not look up at him. “What’s the point of those muscles if you can’t carry something heavy every now and then?”

Hot and irritated, Cassian grumbled through gritted teeth. “What’s the point of being here if you’re just going to sit there and be unhelpful?”

“I’m supervising. Making sure you don’t ruin Feyre’s security deposit.”

He hated the way she emphasized the word. He knew she was doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him, and so he retaliated the only way he knew how. 

Changing tactics, he walked towards her, taking long easy strides. “Wow, that book must be really interesting. What’s it about?”

Nesta didn’t answer.

When he was close enough to smell her perfume—a mix of roses and pears with a hint of spice—he saw her back stiffen the tiniest fraction, but if she were uncomfortable, he didn’t hear it in her voice.

“Do you even know how to read?”

Cassian’s grin was wide, delighted as his eyes landed on the page. “Enough to know that ‘Cassandra’s breasts heaved with want’ and that ‘her skin was alight with fire from the darkened look Victor gave her.’”

Nesta snapped the book shut, glaring at him.

“Tell me, Nesta. Does Victor’s darkened look make your breasts heave?”

The look in Nesta’s eyes was one of pure murder and knowing he’d at least won this round, Cassian strode out of the kitchen to join the others upstairs.

---------------

Six Months Ago

Cassian straightened his collar and allowed Rhys to hand him a flute of champagne. He grinned broadly at his brother and clapped him on the back. “Congratulations, man.”

Rhys’ eyes were twinkling. “Thanks. Can you believe it?” 

“That you managed to find someone willing to marry you?” Cassian grinned. “Never in a million years.”

Rhys’ chuckle was deep and when he looked up, Cassian didn’t need to confirm who Rhys was looking at with such adoration. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

He brought a hand up to his heart and Cassian humored him by turning his head towards Feyre. 

On the other side of Rhys’ expansive backyard, beneath fairy lights strung in the trees, Feyre stood with her sisters. 

Cassian watched as Nesta tucked a loose tendril of hair behind Feyre’s ear.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Rhys asked, his voice still dreamy.

Cassian knew they weren’t looking at the same Archeron sister, but he answered, “Yeah.”

In the nine months since Rhys and Feyre’s New Year’s Eve party, Cassian had seen Nesta a handful of times and with each meeting, she had managed to irritate him even more than the previous one. The last time he had seen her, they had such a heated argument over a game of Pictionary that Feyre had banned the game from ever being played again and even threw the box, contents and all, into the trash. 

Nesta had refused to talk to him for the rest of the night and he had decided then and there that her sole purpose on Earth was to drive him crazy. He vowed never to give her an inch if he wasn’t also ready to cede a mile and he would not let her take anything he wasn’t willing to give her. 

But sometimes, especially when he was caught off guard, just looking at her could make him go weak in the knees. 

That was the thing he disliked most about Nesta Archeron, how she always managed to throw him off balance, without even trying.

Thankfully, Cassian managed to avoid her all night. Even during dinner, Nesta had not sat at the head table as they celebrated Feyre and Rhys’ engagement. Instead, she had opted to sit next to her father, a couple of tables away. And when everyone took turns making speeches, she was noticeably missing. 

Not that he was looking for her. 

As the party wound down and Cassian suddenly found himself the only person left in the kitchen besides the caterers cleaning up, he poured himself a whiskey and headed to the back patio. He was surprised to see Nesta sitting on the edge of a pool lounger, looking out at the pacific ocean. He had assumed she had left much earlier. 

He couldn’t decide if he should join her or slip back inside unnoticed, but before he could make up his mind, his feet were already carrying him towards the pool. He hesitated, but sat down in the lounger next to her.

“Drink?” He offered lamely, knowing she wouldn’t accept it. 

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t ignore him entirely either, which was always a real possibility. Instead, she gave him a quiet look and returned to her vigil of the sea. 

“So I take it you don’t like speeches?” 

Cassian didn’t know why he couldn’t just stand up and walk away. Perhaps because it had been three weeks since he’d last seen her and while he told himself he was glad of it, he also couldn’t deny the irritation in his chest that she hadn’t said a single word to him, or even glanced his way, all night. 

Without looking at him, Nesta answered. “No one cares what I think.”

The irony was delicious and Cassian grinned as he raised his glass to his lips. “That hasn’t stopped you before.”

She whipped her head to him, gaze as sharp and deadly as a dagger. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s ten years older than her? She was eight when he graduated high school.”

Cassian swallowed, the whiskey burning it’s way down. “They’re both consenting adults.”

She scoffed. “Typical.”

“Aren’t they?”

Nesta shook her head. “Feyre’s turning twenty-two in December.” Again, Nesta turned back to look at the ocean. “She’s still a baby.”

Cassian understood the need to protect those he loved. In college, he had broken an arm trying to break up a fight between his brothers and a group of drunk frat boys. And he still had the scar cut into his right eyebrow from an encounter with a bully when they were all fourteen. 

And maybe if Cassian were in Nesta’s shoes he would feel differently. But he had sat next to his friends all night—saw the love and devotion reflected in both of their eyes. He had even felt a tiny pang of jealously. But he knew Rhys, felt like he knew Feyre too, and Nesta was just wrong.

“They love each other.” 

He felt rather than saw her stiffen.

“Can’t you be happy for them?”

He thought he had managed to persuade her when she let out a small sigh, but that was just wishful thinking. He should have known that Nesta was never going to make things easy.

When she spoke again, her voice was hard.

“Go away.”

[let-it-raines]

Pitching a Tent ⛺️ (1/1)

Emma Swan does not want to go camping. Who even goes camping anymore when things like air conditioning, indoor plumbing, and the internet exist? Why would anybody in their right mind sleep on the ground instead of the softness of a mattress? David says that it’s an adventure, and while she doesn’t believe him those first few hours of trekking through the wilderness, she does once she drunkenly wanders into a British man’s tent in the middle of the night.

Created by the 2 trope game of | wilderness + awkward first meeting |

Rating: Teen (yes, I know, the innuendo in the title is not indicative of this)

A/N: Can I give one big shoutout to @galaxyzxstark for sending me the prompt  that created this story but also for literally brightening my day every time I see her tags underneath one of my stories? You are the best! Thank you❤️

And thank you to @captainsjedi for organizing @csseptembersunshine to give me the motivation to finish writing a lot of little things that I’ve been working on☺️

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells ​@tiganasummertree @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @idristardis @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 

-/-

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, bug spray, sunscreen, sleeping bag, whatever, whatever, whatever.”

Emma runs through the list that David sent her in email after email and text after text. It’s ridiculous. The man puts a ring on Mary Margaret’s left hand and all of the sudden he starts making her highly organized lists and reminding everybody of everything at all times. And by everybody she most definitely means herself and possibly Ruby, but since Ruby is dating Mulan, Mulan usually keeps everything organized for the two of them. So that just leaves Emma to be this mess of a person who is pretty much treated like David’s child instead of his friend.

They have a weird relationship, but it’s fine.

And she really does probably need packing lists sent to her two to three times so that she can make sure to pack everything and have time to buy what’s missing on the list. Or, like she’s done now, she can pack the morning of and be missing everything that she needs that she couldn’t find at the Wal-Mart she went to at three in the morning. Some very interesting people were walking the aisles – and she is including herself in that.

Getting hit on while wearing pajama pants with Santa Claus’s face plastered all of over them is not something she ever thought would happen and will probably never happen again.

But David and Mary Margaret have very oddly decided that they want to go camping as some kind of joint bachelor and bachelorette party, and Emma would much prefer a half-a-day thing where they spend the daylight hours wandering around in nature or canoeing and then sleep in a nice, air-conditioned cabin that has beds and indoor plumbing and a solid roof over their heads. But no, the soon-to-be Nolans have decided that they want to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor of a forest. Supposedly, it’s a beautiful place with a gorgeous lake and human-made campsites carved out, but Emma is not going to believe it until she sees it.

This is what happens when you don’t have parents to take you camping as a kid – you are entirely unprepared to live in nature for a little over forty-eight hours even if you do consider yourself a resourceful person like Emma considers herself to be.

“Dry shampoo,” Emma mumbles to herself, moving from her bedroom to her bathroom and grabbing the bottle before shaking it and spraying it into her hair so that her hair won’t be disgusting tomorrow. She’s going to pull it back into double French braids, but still.

David better be bringing snacks on this trip. She is not going to be able to survive without snacks.

Damn.

Why didn’t she buy pop-tarts when she was at the store this morning?

Probably because she was running away from the weirdos who hit on people wearing Santa Claus pajama pants in May.

Oooh, she needs to pack her pajamas.

(She really does need that list.)

Emma’s phone starts buzzing on her bed, and she lunges over her backpack to check it.

Ruby: Get your ass outside. It’s time to go.

-/-

Okay, okay, okay.

So maybe David and Mary Margaret were right about how gorgeous it is out here. Emma wasn’t sure at first, especially with the three-hour drive that it took to get to the campsite and the hour-hike through some pretty shady (literally and figuratively) woods, but once they got to their destination, she was definitely a little more open to it.

Or a lot open to it.

The air is somehow different out here, fresher and less saturated than the air of the city. There are no traces of gas or garbage or the intense crowding of people. Emma loves living in Boston, loves almost everything about it, but sometimes she can do without the crowds and all of the industrialization of the city. Walking out of the hordes of trees and into the open space of the campsite to see the sunshine sparkling down on a clear blue lake that stretches out over the grounds, ripples moving through the water as fish swim and birds coast in the sky, is now one of her favorite views in the world.

The lack of honking horns and people talking on cell phones is pretty refreshing too.

Emma could, however, do without the bugs that are buzzing around her despite the spray she’s soaked her body in and also do without the possibility of bears and snakes coming out of nowhere to attack her.

The random animals walking around terrify her. Obviously, she’s encroaching on their natural habitat, but this wasn’t exactly her idea, okay?

It’s surprisingly easy to set up camp, even if her tent gives her all kinds of fits that explain why it was under fifty dollars, and after it collapses in on itself for a fifth time, David sighs and sets it up for her. She swears that she is a resourceful person, that she could probably survive a little while in the wilderness, but that might be entirely too optimistic thinking with how the whole tent thing went. Nothing like a camping trip to humble expectations on how she would do if she ever signed up for Survivor.

Is that show even still on the air?

As soon as she gets internet service again, she’s finding out.

“Do you find the whole camping and joint bachelor and bachelorette party thing weird?” Ruby asks her as Emma lays out her sleeping bag, tucking her pillow inside so nothing gets on it during the day.

“I find it all extremely weird,” Emma huffs, twisting her head to look at Ruby who has been far too amused by Emma’s struggles today. “Except for the fact that they want to do this together. Two peas in a pod. I never thought the separate weekend trips were going to work out even though I was really looking forward to going to New York.”

“You and me both,” Ruby sighs, plopping down on Emma’s sleeping bag, “but I think this could be fun. I mean, ten of us, some beer, and the wilderness. What could go wrong?”

“As someone whose tent fell apart multiple times, I feel like the answer to that is everything. I have lived in Boston my entire life. I was not made for this.”

“You’ll adapt. I know for a fact that Mary Margaret brought things to make s’mores for you.”

“She did not,” Emma gasps, turning to face Ruby before sitting down on the ground too, a rock hitting her ass. Ruby nods, a smile on her face. “Did she really? God, I love Mary Margaret and her resourcefulness.”

“She also brought you hot chocolate.”

“Even better.”

“And I,” Ruby hums, reaching into the inside of her vest to pull out a flask, “brought whiskey and earplugs just in case all of the couples here get ideas that you, our little spinster, are not taking part in. I mean, you could, but I doubt you’d be quite so loud by yourself.”

Emma can’t help but laugh at Ruby and the smirk on her face. Anybody who brings their own flask of whiskey when they know that David, Victor, and Graham have brought an entire cooler full of drinks is a resourceful woman. And Emma can always go for some spiked hot chocolate. Well, not always, but it does sound nice for sitting around the fire tonight.

And the earplugs. She did not think about that. She doesn’t really want to.

“I love you for that.”

Ruby mock gasps, putting the flask back in her pocket before covering her mouth with her hands. “Don’t tell my girlfriend that.”

“Tell me what?” Mulan questions as she pokes her head to the inside of the tent.

“That I love your girlfriend,” Emma chuckles. She stands from the ground and brushes at her ass, the feel of the rock probably going to be imprinted there forever. “Obviously you have a lot to worry about.”

Mulan rolls her eyes. “I think I’ll be fine for about thirty-two different reasons on that front. Do either of you have a bobby pin? I’ve got this piece of hair that won’t stay back, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“I have a couple in my backpack, babe,” Ruby tells Mulan, not bothering to get up from the ground. “In the bag with my toiletries.”

“Thank you. You guys want to go hiking now that things are set up? I think our other option was fishing.”

“Hiking,” Emma and Ruby say at the same time. “Definitely hiking.”

-/-

“Is everyone wearing sunscreen?”

Mary Margaret has asked that question approximately seventeen times today, and while it has been very much appreciated, now that the sun is setting over the lake, everything cast in an orange glow, no one really needs it. At least, Emma doesn’t. What she needs is something to eat that’s not a bag of trail mix, even if that trail mix was really good. She would know. She ate the entire bag when they went hiking earlier, but they were out there all afternoon long.

She needed substance to survive.

(Okay, so she definitely wouldn’t last on Survivor.)

“Yes, Mom,” Emma teases, picking up her water bottle so that she can take another sip. “We have all protected our skin.”

“You say that like I didn’t save that pale skin of yours earlier by handing you my bottle.”

“True, true,” she sighs before getting up from her folding chair so that she can walk toward Mary Margaret and wrap her arm around her shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re the best.”

“I also brought you snacks. You probably love me for that too.”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been told of the s’mores and hot chocolate, and let me tell you, I can’t wait. It’s what’s going to make sleeping in the wilderness bearable.”

(That kind of sounded like a pun, but it really wasn’t…and now she’s thinking about bears.)

“I think it’s kind of fun. David and I go camping all of the time.”

“You guys literally stayed in a lodge with a spa the last time you went camping.”

“Semantics.”

“David,” Emma yells as her hip bumps into Mary Margaret to tease her, “when is the food going to be ready? I’m starving.”

“You are not actually starving,” David corrects, looking back at her from the grill that’s set up at the campsite. “You’re just in that state of Emma where you’re always slightly hungry.”

“What can I say? I like food.”

David laughs at her before turning around and flipping the hot dogs on the grill. She doesn’t even like hot dogs, but she can’t wait for these.

The rest of the night idles by, everyone beginning to get a little tipsy on beer or Ruby’s smuggled whiskey – definitely a lot of the smuggled whiskey for Emma – and as the sky completely darkens so that the only sources of light are the clear stars in the sky and the large fire that everyone is sitting around, Emma completely settles into being outside camping. This is actually the kind of thing she could get used to.

It’s definitely the whiskey and the s’mores talking.

Probably more the whiskey than anything, but she knows how to hold her liquor and isn’t that affected by it.

So maybe it’s the chocolate.

She doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day all that matters is that David and Mary Margaret are having a good time. This is their weekend, and to watch Mary Margaret have her head rested on David’s shoulder with content smiles on both of their faces is all that matters.

Emma’s not entirely sure if she believes in true love, especially not with her relationship history, but if anyone has it, it’s David and Mary Margaret.

Or, at least, they have a good love that they both choose to work every day for, and that is probably a better qualification of true love anyways.

Little by little, everyone trickles off into their tents. Graham and Belle are the first to go, followed by Ruby and Mulan, Ruby teasing Emma about using her ear plugs. Emma rolls her eyes at that, but when she goes to her tent, zipping it up so that nothing can get in – which is something she doesn’t even want to think about – she does twist her ear plugs before putting them in her ears so she can’t hear anything else.

Better safe than sorry, right?

-/-

The moment Emma’s eyes open, she notices two things.

Her head is killing her.

She really has to pee.

Like, really has to pee.

And after checking her phone and confirming that it’s only a little past three in the morning, Emma reaches over to grab her boots, stuffing her pajamas pants inside of them, and unzips her tent so that she can go find somewhere to pee.

Definitely not the weirdest thing she’s ever done at three in the morning but also not the most normal.

Victor, for some insane reason, has decided to sleep in a hammock outside, and since she can tell that he is very much awake doing whatever it is Victor Whale does while awake in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night, Emma uses the flashlight on her phone to wander into the woods to try to find a tree to pee behind somewhere Victor can’t see or hear.

If they do this again, they’re going somewhere with bathrooms. Emma is putting it in whatever unwritten rule book there is.

Her head is still pounding, the haze of the whiskey and lack of sleep definitely evident, but Emma manages to find a tree, pee behind it, and start working her way back toward the camp.

Only, which way was the camp? To her left or to her right?

Oh shit. Maybe it was neither left nor right and somewhere in between? What’s in between left and right? Straight? Yeah, definitely straight.

“You can do this,” Emma whispers to herself, giggling a little bit when she realizes that she is actually talking to herself.

Is it possible for Ruby’s whiskey to be spiked? Can alcohol be spiked with…more alcohol?

That’s too confusing to even think about it. Maybe she can’t hold her liquor the way she thought she could.

Left. Right. Straight.

Yeah, straight.

Emma trudges through the woods, having to avoid some limbs that she doesn’t remember avoiding the first time. And when did she even wander this far into the woods to begin with?

Damn Victor and his damn sleeping bag.

After what feels like walking for hours, Emma finally sees the opening of the woods back out into the campsite, and it’s just in time since small droplets of water are beginning to fall from the sky that has her putting her phone away in the waistband of her pants, wishing she hadn’t taken her bra off. It’s also what makes Emma hurry to her tent, quickly unzipping the entrance and stepping inside before zipping it back up and toeing out of her boots, thankful to be in the warm, dry enclosure of her tent, fully ready to go back to sleep before her head can hurt her anymore.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”

Okay, so her head is definitely deteriorating or something because that was a British man, and even if that’s what her GPS is set to sound like because she can’t figure out how to change it back to the default voice, she knows that it’s not what the voice inside of her head sounds like.

And the warm hand that she feels on her shoulder can’t be part of her imagination either.

Shit.

She’s about to die, isn’t she? There’s nothing like being about to die that sobers a person up enough to see that she is very much not alone in this tent, the dark shadows of a man skipping across her vision. And where is all of her stuff?

“Are you okay?” the voice says again, and then suddenly there’s a flash of light, a lantern being turned on, and things start to make so much more sense.

Kind of.

Because a grown ass man with black hair and what she thinks are blue eyes is sitting next to her blinking at her with his brows furrowed together and his lips parted. He’s also not wearing any clothes, but the moment she noticed the firm muscles covered with hair and the particular piece of anatomy that males possess (wow, maybe she’s still a little drunk if she can’t even think the word dick), her eyes glanced back up to his face even as her cheeks warmed.

What is happening?

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” Emma finally says, and the man simply blinks at her again.

“Why are you in my tent?”

“I asked you first.”

Wow. Real mature, Emma.

“You broke into my bloody tent.”

“I’m pretty sure this is my tent,” Emma sighs, and she does not at all watch as the man grabs a pair of boxers and pulls them on. “Or, at least, I thought it was. Is this not my tent?”

“No, lass,” he breathes, continuing to get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, “I don’t believe it is. Are you drunk?”

“Um,” she hums, reaching up to rub at her eyes just to make sure that she’s not hallucinating, and when her surroundings come back to her, she realizes that she most definitely is not.

This is most definitely not her tent.

Holy shit.

Where even is she?

“Shit,” she mutters aloud, standing up only to hit the wires that are holding the tent up, but none of that matters as she reaches down for her boots and stuffs her feet into them, quickly unzipping the tent and stepping outside only to trip on the entrance and stumble out onto the ground.

Face first.

Into the mud.

Because it’s raining.

She knew that. Of course, she knew that.

“Woah, woah, woah, lass,” the man sighs, his hands reaching under her arms to pick her up off the ground. This could not be any more embarrassing. It simply can’t. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my camp so I don’t get murdered by the man I apparently just barged in on.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

Emma blinks up at him as the rain pours down on the two of them, the power of it increasing with every second that she stands out here, and she might as well get pneumonia because she’s going to get murdered anyways.

Positive thinking for the win.

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“I guess you’ll have to trust me,” he sighs, a bright smile on his face that she can see under the moonlight. “How do I know that you’re not a murderer? You’re the one who broke into my tent, after all.”

Emma chuckles and starts shaking her head before reaching up to cover her face with her hands. Her entire body is going to be bruised tomorrow. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I don’t – I may be the slightest bit drunk and was in the woods because I needed a place to pee and I didn’t want to do it near my campsite because Victor was sleeping in a freaking hammock outside. I mean, who does that? He’s so weird, and he’s probably getting soaked in this rain right now and I – ”

There’s a tug on her wrist and suddenly she’s being pulled back into the tent of the mystery man, and if she gets murdered tonight, there’s absolutely no reason for her to regret eating four s’mores.

None at all.

(It was five.)

“W-what are you doing?” she hisses, little bumps rising on her arms as a cold chill settles over her.

“Love, as much as I am enjoying your rambling, I don’t enjoy standing in pouring down rain. We were getting drenched out there.”

“I am not your love.”

“Well, maybe if I knew your name, I could call you something else.”

This man is really attractive, and Emma still isn’t entirely sure that she isn’t dreaming.

“Emma Swan.”

The man smiles before reaching back to scratch behind his ear, a half smile on his lips. “Killian Jones at your service, milady. Now, Swan, you were saying something about walking away from your camp? You’re here with other people, aye?”

“My friends for a, like, super weird joint bachelorette and bachelor party.”

“Ah, well, that explains your state of intoxication. Though, I didn’t know that women were now wearing pajama pants with Santa’s face on them to bachelorette parties. That’s a bloody shame.”

“Ha ha,” she murmurs as she rolls her eyes. “Look, bud, these pants are super comfortable and warm except for right now because I’m covered in rain. Can someone even be covered in rain? Is that a thing?”

Thunder crashes down around them, a slow rumbling that’s followed by bright flashes of lightning, and now all Emma can think is that if she doesn’t get murdered, she’s going to die by lightning strike on her walk back to the camp she’s actually supposed to be in.

(Murder, pneumonia, or a lightning strike: the three most common causes of death.)

How does she even get back? Where in the world is she?

Killian clicks his tongue, and her head snaps away from looking at the roof of the tent to looking at him, and all she wants to do is slap the cocky grin off of his face. Or kiss it.

Woah, okay, that’s definitely the whiskey talking. This is not a romantic comedy. She’s not sleeping with the random man that she found in the woods.

Horror movie. It’s a horror movie. Not a romantic comedy.

Get it together, Emma.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and really wishing that she hadn’t taken off her bra because this guy can most definitely see her tits through this shirt. Then again, she saw his dick.

What a weird night.

“Well, I’m thinking about this little predicament we’re in,” Killian sighs, pulling his damp shirt over his head so that she gets a good flash of his abs and the trail of dark hair that dips into his pants before he’s throwing on a sweatshirt over his shoulders and all she can see is the messy shock of dark hair on his head. “First of all, you need to get out of those clothes. I have a flannel shirt and some boxers you can wear. I wish I had something different, but I’m afraid I’m going to need my pajama pants since I’ve soaked my jeans.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m leaving as soon as I figure out how to get back to my friends.”

“Stubborn lass,” he mumbles under his breath before digging through his bag and tossing the clothes at her. She catches them, and she’s about to protest once more when he turns around so that he can’t see her. “And you’re not going to get back to your friends tonight. You may as well wait the four hours until the sun rises, but it’s too dark and the rain is too bad for you to find your way back right now. I imagine you can’t be far, probably just across a little patch of woods, but you were obviously pretty drunk and could have wandered for a long time without realizing it. Have you finished changing so I can turn around now?”

“What? Are you a gentleman or something?” she huffs, pulling her wet shirt over her head before sliding the sleeves of the flannel onto her arms and buttoning it up.

Killian looks behind him, his eyes glancing up and down her body before he winks. “I’m always a gentleman, love.”

“Whatever.” Emma finishes changing clothes, balling up her pajamas and putting them in the corner with her boots as another bout of thunder crashes down around them. “Thanks for the clothes. And the shelter and not murdering me or whatever since I did kind of intrude into your tent.”

He turns around with a nod of his head, but instead of replying to her, Killian bends down and starts unzipping his sleeping bag, spreading it out and laying it on the ground. “Now, Swan,” he sighs, “I know you’ve already seen the family jewels, but I need to get out of these pants and need you to turn around. But you may sit down if you like.”

Emma does what he says, turning around before sitting down on the warmth of sleeping bag, and she very pointedly ignores the sound of his zipper being undone and the rustle of clothes being shed. If only she had those earplugs that Ruby gave her. Those would be pretty helpful right now.

Four hours.

Emma is going to be here for four hours until the sun rises, and she is leaving as soon as she can find her way back. And she is not going to sleep no matter how much it is calling to her. She doesn’t sleep over with men she goes home with at bars, and she’s not sleeping in the vicinity of a man who might be a murderer (even though she doesn’t really think that) who could have been out here waiting for someone to stumble into his tent.

Probably not the best plan.

Probably not his plan at all.

The sleeping bag shifts beneath her, and Emma feels the warm heat of a body next to her, and when she turns to the side, Killian has laid out on the blanket, his arms crossed behind his head, and his feet at the ankles. Is he about to go to sleep?

“So, Swan,” Killian starts, his voice as even as it has been this entire time, “you’re a bit of an open book to me, and I can tell that you very much think I’m going to murder you even though I should think that about you. I’ve not heard of many murderers who wait in tents for their victims to come to them. So, I figure we might as well get to know each other since I imagine there will be no going back to sleep involved here.”

Well, that was kind of a creepy reading of the mind.

Emma twists over on her side and mimics Killian’s position, kind of wishing she had a pillow right now too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Wandering in unknown woods while drunk is definitely topping the list of her worst drunk moments over that time that she asked every woman in the bar if they would be willing to braid her hair because her arms had turned into actual noodles…and then she asked everyone if they had noodles for her to eat.

She still kind of hates Ruby and Belle for allowing her to do that instead of taking her home.

“I’m not sure there’s much to know about me,” she finally tells Killian while light flashes outside.

“Nonsense,” he scoffs, hitting his elbow into her. “You seem plenty interesting. I mean, look at how much excitement you’ve already brought into my boring weekend with my mates. Liam could never be this exciting.”

“Who’s Liam?”

“My older brother. He’s in the tent next to us, is probably wondering why the bloody hell I’m talking to myself, and then down the way are Robin and Will. It was Liam’s birthday on Wednesday, and he decided we should go camping this weekend. So, my brother is just as crazy as your friends for wanting to do this. Though, I suspect maybe I’m a little more equip at camping than you are.”

“What the hell gives you that idea?”

“The fact that you are in my tent.”

“True,” she sighs, completely and totally ignoring just how good this guy’s shirt smells. And it’s also really warm. Warm enough that she doesn’t really want to give it up. “What do you do, Killian Jones? And are you British? You sound British.”

“That’s because I am.” Emma twists her head back to the side only to find Killian grinning at her with that cheeky smile and a raised brow that she imagines must be what he does when he’s charming someone. “I’m a writer, actually. I’ve got a couple books out now, nothing big or anything, but it pays the bills. As do the occasional articles I write. It’s…tough, you know, because sometimes my mind doesn’t cooperate and the industry sucks, but I love it. And I’m able to live in your country because of it too, which is a plus since my publishing company is American.”

Okay, so British dude whose tent she invaded is a writer. That’s honestly pretty cool, and she is most definitely going to look up his books when she gets internet back. Not that she’s going to tell him that. He seems to have a bit of an ego even if it is a charming one.

“Well, that’s fancy. Am I going to end up in one of your books?”

“Absolutely. I’m already plotting it in my mind.”

“Of course you are.”

“So, love, what do you do for a living? I need to know as research for my book.”

Emma laughs, twisting a bit on the ground to make herself more comfortable. “I’m a cop.”

“Badass, Swan.”

A little swell of pride swells within her. Damn right she’s badass. “I know. I’m usually not a bumbling drunk idiot crashing tents, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I can tell. You were too flustered for this to be your first time, and you know what they say, you never forget your first.”

“Is that supposed to be an innuendo?”

“Always,” he chuckles, waggling his brows across his forehead, and her stomach does this little weird twisting thing inside of her. “So, tell me about these friends of yours who are celebrating their upcoming nuptials in the woods.”

And that’s exactly how Emma starts weaving the tale of Mary Margaret Blanchard, David Nolan, and the weird, sickeningly sweet, wonderful love story that they have. She most likely gives a little too much detail, which she blames on the lingering effects of the whiskey-s’more hangover, and that tiny underlying fear of what exactly this situation right now involves. Obviously, there are no rules for her life in these odd hours between night and dawn, and when Killian doesn’t tell her to shut up, she takes that as a sign to keep going despite the fact that she has probably never talked this much to someone she has known for under two hours in her entire life.

Sometimes she doesn’t even talk this much to her closest friends.

That does something to her insides, twisting around her heart and either the large or small intestine, but Emma is easily able to ignore it as Killian asks her questions about her friends and shares little snippets of his own, reaffirming what she already knew about the fact that every single person on earth is at least a little bit crazy. If they’re put together in a group, however, the craziness factor multiplies tenfold.

Killian is thirty-two years old, though he says he sometimes feels much older than that, and honestly, she believes it with the way that he talks, all quick wit and flowery words that are laced with innuendo. It might be a British thing. She’s not sure. She’s only ever met one other British person in her life, and that was only for thirty seconds while he asked her how to get downtown.

But this particular Brit is charming and funny and has her laughing so much that her stomach hurts nearly as much as her head is really starting to with the hangover that’s really coming in. He reads, like, all the time, which makes sense for his profession, but he’s also one of those people who does in-depth research for his books by actually going out and doing the activity he’s describing. It sounds a little extra for her, but it’s apparently how he got into both kickboxing and sailing, as well as being able to mix a mean drink, and she can appreciate all of those things.

Kickboxing because she enjoys that, sailing because it seems kind of cool, and a good mixed drink because, well, that one is kind of obvious.

The conversation flows so easily, a natural progression that almost seems false in its genuine state, that Emma doesn’t notice that the rain has stopped pounding down on the tent or that thunder is no longer making her jump every few seconds. And she definitely doesn’t notice that sunlight is beginning to peek through.

But Killian does, and when he brings it up, disappoint washes over her.

Why in the world is she disappointed that she has to go back to her friends? And her clothes. And oh God, her toothbrush. Her breath is probably awful right now.

Her clothes are still soaked through, so Killian insists that she can keep on her measly borrowings from him, and so looking like the most ridiculous person in the world wearing an oversized flannel shirt, boxers, and a pair of hiking boots, Emma steps out of the tent only to come face to face with three other men all sitting around a firepit drinking coffee.

“Damn, Jones,” one of them whistles, “I knew you knew how to pick up women, but doing it out in the middle of the woods is damn impressive.”

“Shut up, Scarlet.”

Ah, she thinks, so that’s the Will she’s been told about.

And the one with blue eyes and curly hair is likely Liam so the one remaining is Robin.

“Lads,” Killian continues, walking toward the fire and grabbing a canister sitting on the griddle before pouring what looks like coffee into a mug, “this is Emma. Emma and her friends are camping somewhere nearby. I’m thinking across that patch of woods since she mentioned a lake. But Emma, here, was a tad bit intoxicated last night – ” At this he hands her the cup of coffee, and she is even more thankful for him “ – and got a bit turned around when she was relieving herself. And then the storm started, so she stayed with me for a bit. Though nothing untoward happened. On my honor.”

Her cheeks heat at that, but she ignores them and takes a sip of the coffee, also ignoring the fact that she probably just burned her tongue and also that there is absolutely no creamer or milk or sugar in this. But caffeine is caffeine, and that’s all that matters.

“Hello,” she croaks out, waving her hand in the air at the three of them. This is about ten thousand times more awkward than barging in on a naked stranger last night. Oh shit, she really did that. “It’s nice to meet all of you. Thanks for the coffee.”

“That’s a nice outfit you’ve got on there,” Liam laughs, shaking his head the slightest bit. “I trust my little brother is telling the truth when it comes to him being a gentleman last night.”

“Younger,” Killian quickly corrects, looking between she and Liam. “I am your younger brother, and yes, as I told you, I was a gentleman.”

“I mean, he was alright,” Emma teases as her eyes squint up at the rising sun. “He didn’t give me his pillow, I saw his dick, and he wouldn’t stop talking, but other than that, he was great.”

Liam, Robin, and Will all break out into laughter that has her shoulders straightening a little bit and her confidence rising as she arches her brow at Killian. He looks both affronted and impressed with his parted lips and raised eyebrows, and that’s exactly what she was going for there.

“I thought you said you were a gentleman, Killian,” Robin laughs. He puts his mug down on the ground and wipes away at his eyes. “How did she see your dick if you were being a gentleman? Were you pitching a tent…inside of your tent? Talk about inception.”

“Alright,” Killian sighs over the laughter of all of his friends – and her too – before he wraps his arm around her shoulder in a touch that very literally might send all of the lightning strikes from last night down her spine, “I think I should probably help Emma find her friends before they start missing her, and I fully expect the lot of you to have cooked breakfast by the time I get back, yeah?”

“You can have some peanuts and whatever you catch in the lake.”

“You’re awfully cheeky for it to be so early in the morning, Will,” Killian sighs, squeezing his hand against her shoulder.

“I got a great night’s sleep last night. Unlike you, obviously, because you look like shit.”

“That’s all on Emma.”

“Hey,” she scoffs in protest even if she knows that it’s true. “You could have gone to sleep.”

“And run the risk of you murdering me? Never.” He cocks a smile at her, one that’s slanted and boyish and probably charms all of the girls Will was teasing him about, before tilting his head back toward the woods. “You ready to go, Swan?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, taking one more giant gulp of coffee, “I guess I am.”

With her phone – still without any kind of signal because apparently they are in the most remote place on the planet even though Boston is less than three hours away – and her wet clothes in hand, the two of them start trekking around the perimeter of the woods so that Emma can figure out where in the world her friends are. She knows that she definitely came through the woods, and Killian’s got a pretty good idea of the area now that it’s sunlight outside, so they should be able to find it.

Hopefully.

How far can someone really wander while drunk?

That seems like it’d be a really funny question to google. The answers would be something else.

“So, your friends are interesting,” Emma says, trying to think of some kind of small talk. It’s not awkward walking in the woods, but she can still feel the lingering effects of Killian’s hand on her shoulder and figures talking might make it go away no matter how illogical that is. “Well, friends and brother.”

“They’re a bunch of assholes who I didn’t think would be awake,” Killian sighs, holding up a stray branch for her to walk under, “but I do love them.”

“That’s how all friends are, I think. At least, I think so. If not, we’ve surrounded ourselves with the wrong people. Then again, I kind of think I can be an asshole sometimes, so I probably deserve asshole friends.”

“You? An asshole? Never.”

“I feel like we have not known each other long enough to mess with each other like this.”

“Then what the hell is it you were doing back at my campsite with my friends?”

“Valid point,” Emma laughs before stopping in her tracks to try to see if any of this looks familiar. It all just looks like…wood. And leaves. “Do you know where we are?”

“Aye. We need to keep going straight. I think the rest of the campsites are out on the other side.”

“Whatever you say. I’m still not entire convinced that you’re just leading me into the woods to murder me.”

Killian barks out a laugh, his head thrown back, before he places his hand on the small of Emma’s back and gently guides her forward. “Swan, I promise you that you are going to make it out of this situation alive.” “Whatever you say, Jones.”

They idly chat as twigs and leaves crunch underneath their boots, and even though Emma knows that it’s been at least a fifteen-minute walk (damn, drunk Emma), it surprises her when the two of them walk through a clearing of the woods and the familiar sites of her actual campsite come into play.

Okay, so Killian’s tent doesn’t at all look like hers.

What the hell was she even thinking?

Obviously, she wasn’t.

“This you, love?”

“Yep,” she sighs, looking over at David and Ruby sitting by their firepit with mugs in their hands before turning around to look up at Killian. He’s smiling, that crooked one, and his messy hair has at least two leaves in it. Camping is really not for everyone, and they’ve still got another day of it. Hopefully tonight she won’t wander into a random man’s tent. “This is me. Thanks for not murdering me.”

There’s a subtle shake of his head, those lashes landing against his cheeks, and the smile stays there. “You are ridiculous.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah,” Killian mumbles while his hand reaches up to scratch at his scruff, “I do. You are surprisingly quite the charmer.”

“I don’t think it’s surprising at all.” Killian laughs at her shrug of her shoulders before swaying into her space, the toes of his boots knocking into the toes of hers, and her breath hitches at the touch. “So, thanks for helping me find my way back. I promise I won’t barge into your tent in the middle of the night. Though, you should really think about wearing clothes. Just in case and all.”

“Just in case,” he repeats, and Emma fills a chill run down the back of her spine at the dark tone of his voice. “Or, you know, you could. I don’t think I’d mind. You do have to give me my clothes back.”

Her eyes roll, but her heart flutters all the same. Emma is not the type of girl to meet a guy and immediately hit it off. There are too many things in her past, too many bad relationships that have burned up in flames, but she’s not committing to life here. She may not even be committing to anything at all. It was a weird night, and she might as well let it roll into a weird, wonderful morning.

“I think I’m going to have to keep them.”

“Huh, then maybe I’ll have to stumble into your tent in the middle of the night to get them back.”

“I’ll make sure I’m dressed again in my Santa Claus pajama pants.”

Killian laughs as his head dips so that his lips can tentatively press against hers. He’s as unsure of everything as she is, which makes a hell of a lot of sense considering how weird this situation is, but Emma responds to the kiss, slowly moving her lips against his as her hands move up Killian’s arms, gripping onto the soft material of his sweater as Killian’s hands thread into her hair, familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar shivers covering her body as soft lips move against and with hers.

What a few hours.

What a damn good kisser.

Emma pulls back, not entirely sure what kind of pacing is going on here or what she should do, and she laughs when she remembers that she hasn’t brushed her teeth and probably has awful breath. Then again, so does Killian.

Obviously the height of romance.

“Why are you laughing? I don’t usually have women laugh at me during a kiss.”

“Well, that’s because you’re not kissing women who probably have bad breath and smell like a forest.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Emma pulls back and slaps his chest, which really only makes Killian waggle his brows across his forehead, the confidence coming off of him in waves.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Only a little.”

“Or at lot.”

“Definitely a lot,” he laughs before kissing her cheek and squeezing her hip. “Do you want to go to dinner with me sometime? Preferably when we’ve both had the opportunity to shower and brush our teeth. A proper getting to know each other.”

“Can we go somewhere with air-conditioning?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles.

“Then yeah,” Emma sighs, pressing up on her toes to kiss Killian’s cheek, “we can go to dinner sometime. You can also come back to get your clothes sometime today.”

“You going to see if you can google me before that?”

“Damn right.”

Emma steps away then, walking backward to the camp and waving Killian away before turning around to walk between the tents where Ruby and David are sitting with their jaws practically on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” David starts.

“Who the hell was that?” Ruby continues.

Sighing, Emma sits down on the folding chair and looks at her friends. “Man do I have a story to tell you guys.”

-/-

Killian and his friends join their group for dinner later that night, but the dinner with brushed teeth and styled hair – plus that ever-important air-conditioning – comes a week later in Boston.

Killian is her date for Mary Margaret and David’s wedding two months later.

Two years later, they get engaged in a tent with Emma wearing her Santa Claus pajama pants and Killian wearing his boxers, but she insists that he takes them off, for authenticity and all.

And the story of how they met most definitely ends up in one of Killian’s books.

It’s a murder mystery.

[crazy4dragons]

After the Party (Modern AU)

Like my work? Buy me a coffee and help me get to my conference next summer! https://ko-fi.com/crazy4dragons

Slightly NSFW. Set in my Like Heaven universe.

...

“I didn’t even drink that much,” Astrid slurred, collapsing onto Hiccup’s bed.

“You just threw up all over my floor,” protested Hiccup. “And all over yourself.” He quickly poured a glass of cold water and pressed it to her lips.

Sipping the water, she placed a hand against her aching head. As Hiccup drew the glass away, she kicked off her heels and struggled to stand. “Gotta get a shower,” she mumbled, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress.

“I got it.” Hiccup let out a worried sigh as he undid Astrid’s zipper and helped her step out of the soiled garment.

“I didn’t even hook up with anyone,” complained Astrid, casting a blurry gaze towards her matching bra and panties.

Hiccup laughed. Astrid was his best friend, and as much as she wanted to embrace what people like to call the full college experience, he knew she wasn’t one to jump into bed with someone she just met.

“Do you have a tub? I need to sit.” Astrid trudged over to the bathroom.

“You’re so wasted,” Hiccup mumbled, shaking his head.

“I’m not that wasted,” argued Astrid. She struggled out of her undergarments and tossed them onto the floor.

Hiccup’s eyes widened. He’d seen Astrid in a bra and panties before, but never naked. He forced his gaze away from her bare butt.

Slightly conscious of her state, Astrid crossed her arms over her breasts and continued into the bathroom. Hiccup heard the water begin to run, a sign that she was safely in the shower, and took the opportunity to clean the floor.

“Hiccup?” Astrid called, just when Hiccup told himself that her shower was taking too long.

“Yeah, Astrid?” he responded.

“I need a towel.”

“Of course.” Hiccup grabbed a clean bath towel from a hook by his bed, then softly rapped on the bathroom door.

“Come in,” Astrid mumbled.

“But you’re naked.”

“I don’t care.”

Hiccup slowly twisted the doorknob to reveal Astrid sitting In the shower, hugging her knees to her chest. The water, which had turned cold, still streamed over her, rolling off her pale skin and plastering her hair to her shoulders.

He turned off the water and held out the towel. As Astrid reached up to grab it, he struggled not to stare at the crinkled nipple that peeked out at him.

“You’re my best friend,” Astrid slurred.

“Hey, let’s save the sentimentalism for tomorrow.” Grabbing Astrid’s hand, Hiccup helped her to her feet. Outside of drawings in sex-ed books and sex scenes in movies, he’d never seen a girl naked before. And yet here was Astrid, standing before him with not a stitch of clothing. He wanted to be respectful, but he couldn’t help scanning her body as he helped her out of the shower. “Careful not to slip,” he urged. He pulled his eyes to hers, but not before noticing her soft curves and the neatly groomed curls between her legs.

“My head hurts,” she moaned.

“I know.” Hiccup draped the bath towel around Astrid’s shoulders before grabbing the hand towel from the sink and squeezing out her hair. “You need to sleep it off.”

“Don’t look.” Suddenly remembering she was naked, Astrid cocooned herself in the towel.

Hiccup laughed. “Get to bed.”

Despite her belated efforts to stay modest, Astrid shuffled out of the bathroom, dropped her towel by Hiccup’s bed, and snuggled beneath the covers.

“Hey, don’t you want clothes?” Hiccup asked.

“Hmm?”

“Clothes.”

Astrid shook her head.

Sighing, Hiccup tucked the covers around her. “So where am I supposed to sleep? I can’t get in bed with you while you’re naked.”

Astrid didn’t reply.

He turned off the bedside lamp, kissed Astrid on the cheek, then changed into comfortable clothes and climbed into Fishlegs’s bed. Thankfully, Fishlegs had gone home for the weekend, so the room was all Hiccup’s. And now it was Astrid’s as well.

“Hey, Astrid,” Hiccup said eventually.

“What?”

“Don’t make a habit of this.”

Astrid simply nodded in acknowledgement.

…

When morning came, Hiccup opened his eyes to find himself lying in Fishlegs’s bed, with a naked Astrid occupying his own. Struggling to suppress the bulge in his sweatpants, he shuffled over to her and tugged the covers over her breasts.

“Hmm?” Her eyes cracked open.

“Don’t move,” said Hiccup. “I’m getting you clothes.”

Ignoring his instructions, Astrid sat up and put a hand to her forehead. The aching wasn’t as strong as it had been the night before, but it was still there.

“I told you not to move.” Hiccup shook his head as he approached Astrid with one of his t-shirts and a pair of clean boxers.

Astrid opened her mouth to ask why, but then glanced down to see her bare breasts. Blushing, she dove back beneath the covers.

“I wanted you to get dressed last night, but you were too wasted to care.”

Astrid groaned. “What happened? Did I have sex with anyone?”

“No. We went to the twins’s party, you got really drunk, I brought you back here, you puked all over my floor, then you got cleaned up and went to sleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen again. It’s not good for you.”

Astrid nodded.

“Now get dressed.” He handed her the clothes.

Hugging the covers to her chest, Astrid sat up. “How much did you see?”

“Did I see?”

“You know. Since I’ve apparently been naked.”

“Well, Astrid, considering I had to help you out of the shower last night, I uh…I kind of saw everything.” He looked at the floor.

Astrid blushed, this time deeper than the last. “So you saw my…” She gestured to the area where her thighs met.

“I swear, Astrid, I tried not to look.”

She tugged the t-shirt over her head, then reached beneath the covers to slip on the boxers. “Well, it’s better you than anyone else,” she decided. “Just…”

“What is it?” Hiccup sat down beside her and brushed her hair, still damp from her shower, out of her face.

“Promise me things won’t be weird. And promise me that we won’t talk about what happened last night. At least for a while.”

“Nothing will be weird. And we don’t have to talk about it.”

Astrid breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Hiccup.”

“Not a problem, Astrid. After all, that’s what friends are for. Now how about some breakfast?”

[sissytobitch10seconds]

For Superlove 2/2 Mpreg! Steve is also excited for Belly casts and maternity clothes, to build the nursery, buys stuff for the baby, has Pinterest boards, baby books and what not.But sometimes he also gets really hormonal and moody and clings to Tony like a koala and wants constant attention and cries when he doesn't get it. Tony is always concerned and sees to his every need , even buys grocery himself for Steve and has constant heart eyes for Steve and his baby bump. Continued...

(PART TWO)So, I’m splitting this one into three parts on my Tumblr, since the ask in is three parts. You’ll be able to find the entire thing on Archive!

This part was a bit harder to complete because I wasn’t sure what the scenes should be specifically. They kind of ended up being background mentions with greater scenes, but I made sure to include them all!

They had just finished with the normal part of the prenatal check up. Tony had the prescription for vitamins tucked somewhere in his suit. Steve had fully checked out and was apparently progressing just fine from the outside.

The blond was sitting on the examination table in one of those flimsy hospital gowns that they used for check ups. Every now and again he would squirm uncomfortably as he had an entirely full bladder. He almost breathed a sigh of relief as the sonographer opened the door and entered.

“Nice to meet the two of you,” she grinned widely after introducing herself. “I take it that this is your first baby and first ultrasound?”

After they had nodded she went on to explain how everything worked and what they should expect. She had Steve lay back on the examination table and then inserted the small machine that would allow them to see and hear their baby.

Steve grasped his husband’s hand as he stared nervously at the screen, waiting for anything to happen. He took in a shaky breath when she placed the doppler on his stomach, allowing them to hear the rhythmic swell of noise that was their infant’s heartbeat. “Is that really…?” he whispered, in a state of disbelief.

“That's the heartbeat, and this is the baby,” she pointed to the screen where she had finally managed to get the hazy black and white to level out a bit. There was a large shape with the static inside of it and then a small, pea sized object almost in the middle of that.

“Holy shit, that’s our baby,” Tony gasped, his eyes wide with shock and realization.

“Tony, that’s our baby,” Steve whispered and nodded. He placed a hand over his mouth as he took in a shaky breath and turned to stare at the screen. He took in every ounce of the shape that he could while also straining his ears for the heartbeat.

“Everything seems to be progressing right,” the sonographer chirped as she printed them out some pictures.

The blond ex-superhero almost felt like sobbing when they had to turn the lights on because their session had ended. He was allowed to go change and pee in the bathroom just down the hall. When he returned, she talked to them a little bit about the baby and assured them that everything sounded right.

They left the appointment with the pictures of their tiny baby, more excited than they had ever expected to be. When they got home, they discussed how they were going to tell the team and decided to wait until they had reached the second trimester just in case something happened.

---

Tony grabbed another piece of the cloth from the glue-y white solution, placing it on top of Steve’s stomach. He was still without a baby bump, which left the only sign that he really was pregnant as the disappearance of his abs.

“Jesus, that’s cold!” Steve exclaimed, almost shying away from the strip.

“Language,” Tony teased.

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” he asked, leaning his head back against the chair behind him.

“Are you ever going to stop reacting to it? Because until then I don’t think I’m going to drop it,” he replied easily.

“You’re ridiculous,” he complained.

“You married me,” Tony reminded him gently. He got up and washed his hands off so that the plaster was only under his fingernails. “You wanna watch a movie while we wait for it to dry?” he asked.

Steve nodded eagerly. Tony helped him up carefully so that they didn’t disturb the plaster and brought him to the living room. They sat together on the couch while watching whatever movie they could agree on that night.

The timer went off about halfway through, signifying that the plaster had dried and they could take it off. Tony kneeled in front of Steve, peeling it off of him. “What’s the point of this, again?” he asked.

“I want to be able to see the progression of the baby bump. We’re going to do this every ten weeks because it’ll seem like nothing is really changing to us, but we’ll be able to see how big I get with these,” Steve grinned as he watched the rest of the plaster fleck off onto the hardwood below them.

“This another thing you found on those Pinterest boards you make every night before bed?” Tony asked with a teasing smirk.

“The belly casts were, but the every ten weeks thing was my idea,” he replied proudly.

Tony put the cast down on the floor and then got up next to his lover, kissing him sweetly. When they pulled back, he placed his forehead on Steve’s, “You’re so cute.”

---

“Are you sure that this is how you want to tell the team?” Steve asked as he watched his lover work. Tony had the two newest pictures of the ultrasound on the table in front of him, and was trying to get the best picture of them with the older ones and a pregnancy test they had kept.

“Yes. I don’t want to have them all over because who knows what their reactions might be. This way they’ll be destroying their own furniture,” Tony nodded. When he finally got the picture he plopped himself down next to his lover.

“It just feels a little impersonal,” Steve sighed, placing his head on Tony’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms lazily around his husband’s waist and let himself enjoy the feeling of closeness.

“It’s not impersonal,” Tony defended. “Okay, maybe it is a little impersonal, but the baby is kind of a personal thing, and I want to just keep it between us. This is a good middle ground where we tell people but we keep them at a distance.”

“You have a problem sharing,” the blond looked up at his husband slightly.

“Well, a lot of the things that I tried sharing got forcibly taken from me so you can’t really blame me for being a little hesitant about the baby,” he replied quickly.

“I know, Tony,” he lifted his face up and kissed the other man’s cheek just as Tony sent the announcement to the group chat. They both settled in to watch the chaos unfold with their friends.

Tony and Steve did another belly cast when Steve reached twenty weeks, where he was already growing a firm bump. Neither of them could keep their hands away from it, just happy to feel the baby in any way possible.

---

While they hadn’t had any symptoms like morning sickness or cramping, they found out that even a super soldier wasn’t immune to mood swings. Luckily, he avoided anger almost always and focused on being overly clingy and sad to happy. Currently, he was stuck in the former of the two.

“Hey Tony?” Steve called. He was camped out in the living room at the moment, putting his feet up. His ankles were a bit swollen and sore from his morning run with Sam, where he now had to jog along with the other former soldier due to the size his baby bump was getting to be.

“Yeah?” Tony hummed in reply, happy to get an excuse to finish with the paperwork early. He had been taking full advantage of the pregnancy as an excuse to get out of his work a bit early.

“Could you mix some of that cherry ice cream we got last time we went shopping with the hot sauce Rhodey brought over?” he yawned.

“Hot and cold? Kinda predictable there with the cravings,” Tony chuckled. He pushed his chair back and got up to go get the requested items.

“It’s not for me, it’s for the baby,” his husband replied quickly.

Tony just chuckled as he opened the freezer to get the icecream out. He winced when he saw that the place where the carton was now occupied by cold, empty air. “Uh, babe, I’m going to have to go to the store and get some more,” he shut the freezer and walked to the entryway where they kept their coats.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whimpered, tears forming in his eyes and threatening to fall.

“Baby, you just asked me to go and get you hot sauce and ice cream,” Tony chuckled as he shrugged on his coat.

“But I want you to stay and cuddle with me and the baby,” Steve whimpered. Tears began to roll down his face at a terrifying rate. Tony quickly removed his coat and rushed over to his lover, cuddling up next to him.

“I’m here, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” Tony murmured, pressing his lips to the blond’s forehead.

Steve tucked his head under Tony’s chin and wrapped his arms around the other man. His bump laid on top of his husband’s stomach. Tony placed a hand on the bump while the other one gently held Seve’s shoulder. The billionaire had no idea how he had fallen so far from where he used to be. He used to sleep with one person a night and never look back, but now he was bending to the every whim and need of a single person. He wouldn’t change it for the world, he smiled to himself.

---

When they got to thirty weeks they held a baby shower with the rest of the team. Natasha had come over early and decorated the living room. The rest of the team, including Sam, Pepper, and Rhodey, with a special appearance from Maria Hill, filtered in when the clock finally hit two.

Maria was helping Clint and Pepper with Steve’s newest belly cast while Rhodey, Sam, and Bruce were helping move furniture out of the spare room and into a storage room next door. They were going to paint the room today and then let it dry before they went and put together the baby furniture. Steve had allowed them to do that much while getting them to promise that he would be able to decorate it to his tastes later.

“I’ve had a couple of my friends get pregnant, but I never really realized how big they got,” Maria hummed as she smeared more of the sticky plaster over the bump.

“I’m amazed that my skin even stretches this much,” he replied, his cheeks turning a bit pink. He felt as though he had let his figure slip since he had gained a lot more weight. He was nowhere close to unhealthy, but his face, ass, hips, thighs, and almost everything else about him had definitely gotten fuller.

“I think that pregnancy suits you. Way more than it would me,” Clint chuckled.

“Do you know what you’re having yet?” Pepper asked, steering the conversation away from bodies, just in case it would result in a pregnancy mood swing breakdown.

“No, we’re going to find out here with the cake,” he replied with an excited grin.

Some of the people in the nursery finished their part in painting and came back to enjoy the snacks and chatting. Several of them had brought small gifts, mostly just stuffed animals like the ones that they had as kids or onesies themed like Ironman and Captain America.

Eventually, time ticked later and later, leading them to when they were going to cut the cake. Tony brought it out of the kitchen where he had been storing it, placing it carefully down on the table. He stood proudly next to his lover with a hand on his hip, watching as Steve cut into it.

He removed the slice of cake and placed it onto the plate in Tony’s hand. Both expectant parents stared down at the bright, baby blue coloring of the vanilla cake.

“We’re going to have a boy? That’s amazing,” Tony beamed, throwing his arms around his lover to kiss his lips.

“We’re having a boy!” Steve cheered as he wrapped his arms around his lover and kissed him back.

They got cheers from their chosen family and friends. They eventually separated and answered a few questions about names before they gave out cake. They opened presents and talked until around seven, when they all went out to eat at their favorite restaurant.

When they got back to the house, Tony and Steve were both exhausted. The blond fell asleep almost immediately, leaving Tony to do the cleanup and finished putting the nursery furniture together for his pregnant lover.

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Kiss It

Title: Kiss It

Pairing: erasermic

WC:3k+

Rating: Teen

Notes: I was tagged in the “Favorite fic” game where everyone gets to vote on which of my fics I should write a continuation of and Ice It was the winner! If you haven’t already read that fic, you’re going to need to in order to get the full story. Please go check it out here. This was a lot of fun. Thank you for choosing Ice It!

Read it on ao3 here

Kiss It

The doctor's visit goes about as well as Shouta expected it to, getting Hizashi there, on the other hand, went much differently than he ever thought it would.

Every other time Hizashi had turned up hurt after patrol, he'd given the other man his bed and slept on the couch, needing to put forth no more effort than dodging some half-hearted teasing from the voice hero. After their shared confession in the bathroom that evening, though, Shouta hadn't thought twice about offering to share his bed. If anything, it had made him wonder just how sincere all those other mumbled, exhausted requests from the blond had been.

Could he have had this sooner? Months ago? Years ago?

Sleeping together was nice, comfortable and warm in ways his bed had never felt before. He'd drifted off thinking he could get used to this, that he never wanted to go back to anything before this. He’d felt satisfied with each breath he took, laced with the light scent of his green tea shampoo mixed with the lingering lavender and vanilla that always seemed to envelope Hizashi’s body. He’d even enjoyed the little creaks his bed frame made when the other man moved, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that impossibly, that night had really happened.

Waking up had been a different story. The bags of ice he’d placed on Hizashi’s bruised leg had melted, leaving a cold, damp spot on the sheets. The heating pad beneath the voice hero’s aching back had turned off automatically, thankfully, but the cord was twined around Shouta’s hand and wrist. To top it off, somehow, the injured man had wrapped himself around Shouta in his sleep, and by Shouta's own arms and legs tangled in among the blond’s in return, he wasn't the only guilty party.

This had led to a rather painful extraction for both of them, Shouta's ears ringing for a good half hour afterward and Hizashi rubbing tenderly at his chest the entire ride to the hospital.

After a lengthy series of x-rays, and a bashful grin from Hizashi that almost looked like he was proud of the 4 broken ribs the doctor pointed to on the light up screen, they'd been sent back with some painkillers, bandages, a cast and crutches, and a rather forceful recommendation for bed rest. The doctor had said Hizashi was lucky, that the modifications to his body’s internal structure, namely, the extra cartilage that allowed his chest to expand beyond normal when he pulled in air for those powerful shouts, had likely saved him from organ damage.

Shouta had been concerned, making a note to drag Hizashi to a doctor immediately next time this happened, no more playing nurse with an overused and under stocked first aid kit in each other’s bathrooms.

Hizashi had scratched at the baby blue cat Band-Aid over his nose and asked about replacing it for stitches, hardly even paying the idea of a punctured lung any mind, despite it being a rather vital part of his job.

They thanked the doctor and headed out. They'd make a trip to Recovery Girl on Monday to see about setting up a healing schedule to shorten Hizashi’s forced bed rest by a few weeks, but for now, Hizashi seemed happy to spend a few days doing nothing, a nice change of pace for the overwhelmingly busy hero. Shouta had to admit he was a little happy himself. He might have put up a stink about playing Hizashi’s caretaker in the past, but he’d never truly minded it. It usually meant taking some time off himself, and being able to be close to the other man in ways he couldn’t when they were still keeping up their facade of just friends.

After last night, they hadn’t even discussed if Hizashi would be crashing at Shouta’s place until he healed. There was a silent understanding when Shouta helped the other man into the car and opened up a water bottle from the case he kept in his trunk, handing over one of what would probably be many painkillers over the next few days. Hizashi thanked him and leant his head against the window, watching without question as Shouta turned right, rather than left, out of the parking lot.

The blond had yammered on about plans to decorate his crutches and pointed to where he wanted Shouta to sign his cast while it was still being plastered onto his leg. It seemed a bit pointless to Shouta, knowing full well that the cast wasn’t going to be on for the full month the doctor had recommended, but if doodling on the plaster made Hizashi happy, well, then who could blame Shouta for running into a store on the drive home to buy some markers?

When they pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex, he helps Hizashi stand up and makes sure he has a firm grasp on the crutches before shutting the door and trying not to hover too much as he slows his gate to match Hizashi’s speed. They make it to the front door without incident, though Hizashi’s playful smile he’d been wearing all day at the hospital has dropped off completely by the time they’re indoors. A few drops of sweat are gathering along his hairline and Shouta is glad he offered this morning to pull the long strands into a ponytail for the other man.

Hizashi leans heavily against the entranceway wall while Shouta helps slip off his one shoe. When he straightens up, Hizashi’s eyes are closed and he looks exhausted, eyebrows pulled together, breathing through his mouth in short little gasps, probably trying not to aggravate his ribs too much.

“It’ll take a little bit for the pills to kick in,” Shouta says, pulling his sleeve over his hand and using it to dab at Hizashi’s temple. The blond opens one eye and nods slightly.

They’d both been heroes long enough to know plenty well that painkillers never worked as fast as you wanted them to.

“Come on, let’s get you on the couch,” he says, taking the crutches from Hizashi and propping them on the wall, pulling the other man into his side like he’d done the night before, and half-carrying him over to the living room. This seemed to be a bit easier on Hizashi’s chest.

Shouta lays Hizashi down across the cushions and wishes suddenly that he’d listened all those times the self-proclaimed “design expert” had said he needed some throw pillows.

“I’m going to grab some pillows from the bedroom, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…”

Shouta gives him a small smile and Hizashi’s eyes are barely open at this point, but they curve up into little crescents to match the tired stretch of his lips anyway. Hizashi’s hand moves into a thumbs up before his fingers flatten out across his stomach like the movement had taken the last bit of energy he’d had to spare.

Apparently that high he’d been riding from last night had run out.

That’s fine, Shouta thinks. He would be perfectly happy just letting Hizashi rest.

By the time he comes back out in the living room with his arms stuffed full of pillows, the heating pad, and the fluffy blanket Hizashi had bought him for Christmas last year, the other man is already passed out. His jaw is slack, a small damp spot forming on his shirt where his chin is tucked awkwardly against his shoulder. Shouta snorts and sets everything down on the floor as quietly as possible, and then channels all those years of stealth training to carefully slip a pillow beneath Hizashi’s head without disturbing him. The sleepy man lets out a little hum as he settles into the plush material and Shouta smiles, brushing some of his long hair away from his face.

He’s not really willing to risk sliding the heating pad under Hizashi’s back, knowing that’s bound to rouse him, so he flips the switch on the cord and lays it over his upper chest instead, along where he remembers the click of the doctor’s pen as it tapped against the x-ray display. He pulls the blanket overtop and stands back up, happy with his work.

Shouta eyes the space by Hizashi’s feet. He really wanted to try and squish in next to him, snuggling into all that warmth, far better than his sleeping bag, but this would have to do. If the way neither of them had said anything about Hizashi going back to his place was any indication, he’d have plenty of time to get close to the other man later tonight.

For now, well…

For now, placing Hizashi’s legs overtop his own, and leaning his head along the back of the couch was suitable.

It doesn’t take long for Shouta to drift off too.

---

“Shouta...Shouta...Shhhouuuutaaaa…”

He blinks awake to the sound of someone calling his name, the dim overhead lights in his popcorn ceiling slowly coming into focus as the words get clearer.

“Mmm?” Shouta grumbles.

He feels a light tapping against his lower stomach and looks down to see Hizashi’s good leg poking at him where they’re both still settled on his lap. He turns to see the blond pouting, hair mussed from sleep, with strands of it pulled out of his ponytail, and eyes a little squinty, as if he too just woke up, despite his pleading tone that says he’d been waiting for quite some time.

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” Hizashi whines. “And my everything hurts.”

Shouta looks at the small digital clock on his bookshelf. They’d napped for a number of hours, and he’d passed out before he’d had the chance to set a reminder to give the injured man his next dose of the painkillers the doctor prescribed.

“Sorry,” Shouta says, running a hand through his hair as guilt seeps in. “I should have woken you up to give you more meds.”

“What happened to ‘sleep is the perfect medicine’?”

Shouta quirks his eyebrow, says, “Does it feel perfect right now?”

“No, it feels like I need to brush my teeth and I’m starving, Shouta.”

“Doubtful,” he retorts, but leans over Hizashi’s legs, careful of the cast, to grab his cell phone from where he’d left it on the coffee table. “Takeout?”

“Delivery.”

Shouta snorts, saying, “Are you paying that fee?”

“I can’t be left alone, Sho, I’m injured. What if I had to go to the bathroom and fell on the way and you were out getting food while I was suffocating on the carpet, unable to push myself up?”

“You could turn your head.”

“I broke my neck on the way down.”

“I’m not sure you deserve to live if that’s how you die.”

“Shouta!”

They both burst into a fit of laughter, Hizashi holding his sides and groaning as he tries to stop his giggles from affecting his broken ribs. Shouta wants to stop laughing, stop egging him on, but trying to stifle himself just makes tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He tries to turn his face away and cover his mouth as Hizashi yells, “stop! S-stop! Shouta! Pfff Sh-Shouta” through his laughter.

By the time they’ve both calmed down, their faces are flushed pink and Shouta’s smile is nearly as big as Hizashi’s.

“Okay, delivery.”

They make it about halfway through dinner before Hizashi’s painkillers kick in and he quietly tilts over from where Shouta had positioned him to sit up to eat, and rests his head on Shouta’s shoulder. Hizashi looks up at him, big green eyes still shining under droopy lids, and blinks slowly, each one seeming to take just a little more energy than the last.

“Ready for bed?” Shouta asks.

“I could stay up longer…”

“I’ll lay down with you,” Shouta says, and he’s surprised how easy this all is, how seamlessly their friendship is transitioning into something more, as if this was the way it was always supposed to be. As he slips his arm around Hizashi to rub soothing at his lower back, further lulling the other man into slumber, he still can’t believe it.

“I’ll read or something...or knowing me...I’ll probably just fall asleep too,” he admits, shrugging.

Hizashi smiles against his shirt and nods. His hand moves up off the couch to fall onto Shouta’s thigh. Two little pats, and then, Hizashi says, “Sounds perfect to me.”

---

Hizashi does a remarkable job keeping his exuberant voice hero personality dialed up to 10 while also sporting a full cast, crutches, and several bandages on his face. He shoots every single staring student a staggering smile, and impressively manages to keep his pain to nothing more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth and a little extra grip around his crutches. Shouta stays beside him, giving each kid a glare after Hizashi’s grin to encourage them to move along faster.

He didn’t like the way Hizashi’s right shoulder was starting to shake beneath all that leather.

They finish off a conversation with a 3rd year boy who somehow doesn’t get the hint even with Shouta’s harsh stare, just a few feet away from Recovery Girl’s office, and Shouta has never been so relieved to slide open those doors and get that instant waft of sterile cleaning chemicals.

Hizashi limps in behind him and he closes the door, the blond letting out a heavy sigh as he makes his way to the closest bed and gingerly lowers himself down.

“I was expecting you’d be here a little earlier than this,” Recovery Girl says, twisting around in her chair before hopping down and grabbing her cane. She makes her way slowly over to them, giving Shouta a sweeping full body glance he doesn’t deserve on her way by. He hadn’t done anything reckless lately, but he can’t blame her, he was by often enough that it was likely a habbit at this point.

She stops in front of Hizashi and clicks her tongue, lightly tapping his cast with her cane.

“So what’s first, then, hmm?” she asks. “I looked at the x-rays your doctor sent over. I think we should start with the ribs, but if the leg is giving you more discom-”

“My face, please,” Hizashi interrupts.

Shouta has to do a double take.

He and Recovery Girl say, “What?” simultaneously.

“I want you to heal my face first, if that’s alright with you?” he asks again, taking off his glasses.

Recovery Girl raises an eyebrow and Shouta frowns.

“Hizashi, a few stitches aren’t a big deal. You should have her heal your ribs, you can’t make it down the hall without breaking into a sweat,” Shouta says.

Hizashi just smiles at him, soft and tired. His eyes are half-lidded in a way that makes Shouta’s chest tighten.

This was dangerous.

They’d only been romantically involved for maybe 72 hours and he was willing to give Hizashi whatever he wanted.

Shit, gotta remember not to spoil him.

Recovery Girl sighs and reaches out for Hizashi’s collar, tugging him down a little rougher than necessary, probably just to get the wince she knew would be there from his jostled chest to prove her point. He leans down and she pushes up on her tippy-toes, kissing his forehead, and Shouta watches the purple bruises around Hizashi’s lip and nose and eye all start to fade away.

It was a stupid request, but she’d done it anyway, snipping off his stitches and wiping away the adhesive from the bandage on his nose. When Hizashi swayed a little too much in response to the quirk-enhanced healing, she told him to come back in two days to start chipping away at the rest of his injuries.

“No more vanity-healing, you hear?” she’d said, giving his cheek a pat with her hand.

They’d thanked her, Shouta promising to drag Hizashi back, and headed back down the long hall. Hizashi was almost entirely silent, his movements a bit slower, but a little smile stayed fastened to his lips the whole walk through U.A, and into the parking lot.

It’s not until Hizashi is situated in his seat and Shouta shuts the car door that the voice hero comes to life, immediately turning toward him, cheeks dimpled by his large grin, smile lines forming around the corner of his eyes. Shouta narrows his own eyes, looking at him suspiciously, and reaches out with the intention of gently pushing the other man back against his seat, concerned that the way Hizashi is turned toward him would be uncomfortable for an uninjured person, let alone someone still nursing broken ribs. He doesn’t make it that far, though, as Hizashi’s hand wraps around his wrist to stop him, guiding Shouta’s arm down to the middle console between them. He maneuvers their hands and Shouta is a little surprise how easy it is for his fingers to find the gaps between Hizashi’s. It’s been maybe 5 seconds since they’d entered the car and now they’re holding hands.

It’s hard to believe it has only been a few days since Hizashi came stumbling into his apartment and knocked over every expectation, and every semblance of reality Shouta had built up in his life.

Wasn’t it that same morning that he’d stared a little too long at Hizashi’s lips when the other man said his daily “see you later, Eraser” as they waved goodbye after classes had ended for the day? Wasn’t it that same drive home, in this same car, when he’d paused at a stop sign for a bit too long, thinking about calling Hizashi and seeing if he wanted to hang out that weekend, wanted to sit on his couch with a good foot of buffer space between them that Hizashi would inevitably invade, just to drive Shouta and his crush a little bit more insane?

Hadn’t he written this off the same day that Hizashi made it all happen?

Now he’s holding hands with his best friend and somehow feeling like he’s the breathless one.

“Hiz-”

“Kiss me.”

Shouta’s eyes widen, his mouth still open, and Hizashi’s name fallen off his lips and somewhere into the space between them.

“W-what?”

“You promised,” Hizashi says, and his fingers press into the back of Shouta’s hand as his grip tightens. “You said when my lip was healed, you’d kiss me.”

Hizashi’s other hand moves up to his mouth, where he peels off the butterfly bandages that had been holding his split lip together, the ones they’d traded the cartoon cat one for when they’d gone to the doctor. Shouta watches as his skin is revealed again, a light pink hue of a freshly healed wound, but no more blood, no scratches, no scabs.

Hizashi makes a kissy face, his mustache twitching above his upper lip.

Shouta laughs.

Hizashi’s perfect, freshly healed lips start forming a pout, but Shouta’s not about to have that, not now, not when everything is new and warm and his heart feels full in a way it never has before. So he let’s go of Hizashi’s hand and he moves it to the blond’s face instead, cupping his cheek, letting his thumb run over that soft, smooth skin, and watching Hizashi’s green eyes glisten in the sunlight streaming in over Shouta’s shoulder through the car’s window. He leans in and his lips find Hizashi’s, fitting together so seamlessly, like this was where they were always meant to be. He closes his eyes and moves his hand around to the back of Hizashi’s head, pulling him in closer, tilting him back a bit as he deepens the kiss.

Hizashi lets out a happy hum and Shouta feels one of the other man’s hands grip the hem of his shirt, as the other lands on his thigh.

It must only be a few seconds, but Shouta swears the whole day passes in that moment.

When they pull back, Hizashi’s grin has returned in full force, and if Shouta was a man of more words he might tell him that he looks perfect, stunning even, because both of those things are true.

Instead, he smiles back at Hizashi, stroking his thumb along the blond’s cheek one more time, and says, “Promise kept.”

[sherlockfanficwriting]

Greg Lestrade “Seeing London Part 1″ (x reader)

Hi, guys, this is my first story. I don't really know how to work Tumblr too well haha, but I'm trying. Please send me requests or if u wanna collab on stories lmk. I love the sherlock cast and I would love to keep writing imagines or fanfics with them! 

(Y/N) - your name 

(Y/HC) - your hair color 

You wake up from a not so comfortable sleep in one of the best hotels in London. You squint your eyes, adjusting to the gloomy light pouring in from the window. You stood up and looked outside in London. Taxis flooded the streets. People walked by on the sidewalks. The sun tried to show itself from behind the clouds. You groaned. You’ve never been here before, but a job opportunity swept you away. A detective at Scotland Yard. 

You sighed. “What would they think of me?” You said to yourself and walked to the bathroom, freshening up. Your soft (Y/HC) colored hair loosened up in soft curls. After you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you looked at yourself in the mirror and tried to smile. Although you were awfully nervous and have been for the past few months, you never gave yourself time to appreciate your features, both physical and mental. Your medium naturally colored pink-red lips turned into a wide smile. You admired your (Y/EC) colored eyes for they were in fact beautiful. Your skin with a slight golden tan was soft. You turned your face to the side, revealing a semi-sharp jawline. Your body was athletic from your high school years. (you were quite a sporty person. Your arms folded on the outside curve of your waist. You looked deep into your eyes and focused. This job was important to you. You were smart, smarter than anyone else you’ve been told. You can do this. 

After mentally sustaining yourself, you opened the hotel closet. You packed enough clothes for how long you would be staying in London (if you were sure about the job) and you wouldn’t hesitate to buy more clothes at the shops. You ran your hand along with the shirts and pants and decided on a black colored pair of palazzo pants and a tight cream-colored shirt to tuck underneath with a black blazer. The pants hugged your waist but flowed as they went down. You looked at the shoes you brought. Five heels, 3 flats, and one pair of sneakers. You decided on a pair of black heels. You stood in front of the mirror, making sure you looked more than perfect. You put your hair in a loose low ponytail, allowing your curls to be partly free. You grabbed the perfume on your nightstand and sprayed some on your wrists, neck, hair, and a tad on the rest of your body. It was a soft smell but it invigorated anyone who was nearby, including yourself. First impressions were everything to you, especially today. You grabbed your cell and the black crossbody purse and put it on. You swiftly walked out into the hallway. Anyone that passed by could feel your confidence and stamina. You were ready. 

The front doors to the hotel shut behind you. You looked up at the tall buildings and to the taxis in front of you. It wasn't like this at all back home. You were from the coastal country and you loved it. The quietness, peacefulness. The sea and grass and mountains. You started to miss it but snapped out quickly. You couldn't be sentimental, not just yet. You stepped out from near the doors and to the street to call a taxi. In less than 5 seconds, one came hauling towards you. 

You stepped inside and said, “Scotland Yard, please.” 

“Yes, miss,” the man said. 

The taxi sped past the buildings and made sharp turns everywhere. You haven’t gotten accustomed to London yet and couldn't imagine driving by yourself. You would get lost without question. The taxi stopped in front of a tall beige-colored building. 

“This is it, miss,” he said. You thanked him, paid, and stepped out. You stepped in front of it. The building let off a cold vibe to you, but of course, it would. It's new. You watched as many people left and went into the building. They looked like robots. A coffee in each of their hands. They carried either a purse or a briefcase. Many were on the phone, either shouting or loudly speaking. It didn’t remind you of yourself. 

“This is what people turn into,” You thought. 

You checked your watch on your wrist. 7:10 am, it read. You were early for the meeting at 7:30, but it was good. You walked in the bunch of people coming in and out and got your game attitude on. You didn't know how many other new detectives there would be, but you had to impress and do well. You slipped your frame in between two people as they walked in the door. The interior was quite beautiful, but you couldn't stop and admire it. You walked straight, not knowing where you were going. A skylight illuminated the whole floor. There were about five floors of offices. The bigger ones had glass walls. The bottom floor had couches, chairs, tables, and a front desk. You walked to it and saw a man typing away. He was dressed as any detective would. He had glasses and dark attire. Some stumble was on his face. 

“Excuse me?” You said. 

He lifted his head and met your eyes. Not saying anything for about 5 whole seconds. You looked down, this has happened to you more than once. You smiled at him and he shook out of it. 

“Sorry, miss, not my most...f-focusing morning. How may I help you?” A wide smile was plastered on his face. You smiled back and shifted through your pockets getting out a notecard that was mailed to you when you heard you got the job offer. 

It read - Greg Lestrade 202

You showed him the card and he nodded approvingly. “New detective, I see?” he asked.

You nodded. “I see. You want to go up to the second floor across the hallway over there - he pointed - and then meet this man named Jake. Well you see he might not be here today, so you best go to the left,” he spits out. His British accent seemed to make him talk even faster. You didn't understand him at all. 

“But - wh,” you tried to ask, but his attention was directed to another person who spoke loudly to him. You sighed angrily and checked your watch. 7:13. You’re okay. You have enough time. You started walking to the elevators, to go to the second floor, which was the only thing that made sense to you. The doors opened and you pressed 2. As soon as they opened back again you hurried out. You walked along the hallway, peering into the offices. Everyone was at silent work. You walked alongside a glass-walled office and saw a man sitting on the desk, chatting away. Judging from his outfit and desk, you assumed he was a secretary or something of that sort. You knocked the glass door and let yourself in. 

He looked at you and said, “I’m gonna have to call you back.” You walked closer to his desk. 

“Hi, I’m (Y/N). I was told to come up here by the front desk.. for Jake. He would take me to Detective Lestrade.

“Oh, you see Jake is not here today, but I’m in for him. I’m Anderson, its nice to meet you.” He extended a hand to shake and you did. His grasp was firm and he seemed very cordial. 

You smiled at him. “Do you happen to know where he is, sir?” A light blush colored his cheeks and he bumped a few pencils off his desk. 

“Oh, p-please call me Anderson. Sorry about that. You’re from America?” he asked as he walked to the door, motioning you to come. 

“Yes, I am,” you politely responded. 

“Oh, very nice. America is a beautiful country!” The two of you walked down the hall and made a right turn to a large office. You could judge from the half glassed wall. You saw a man facing the other side on his chair. Papers flooded his desk and he sat, writing away. 

“Here he is,” Anderson said happily. “Good luck.” He knocked on the door not once, but twice. 

“Come in!” An angry British accent screamed. Anderson opened the door and you stood behind him, not yet visible in the door frame. 

“Uh- Detective Lestrade, one of the new detectives-”

“They’re here already? Well, christ can’t they follow time orders? Surely they won't be on my team,” he said, not even looking at Anderson. 

Anderson coughed as he stepped aside for you to walk in the door. Lestrade looked up, and he stuttered something ineligible. He dropped his pen and knocked a stapler off his desk. 

“I’m sorry, i- uh didn't mean that. At all. I’ve just been so busy and didn't - w. I uh didn't-,” he stuttered badly. You could tell he was nervous and something else..from the slight blush of his cheeks. 

“I understand Mr. Lestrade,” you said assuringly and smiled at him. 

“Oh, so you’re American?” He smiled widely and nodded. “Don’t get too many of them in here, really. Oh and please don’t call me that, call me Greg.”

You looked down, embarrassed. “I will, Greg.”

He kept staring at you as if he were amazed at something. You looked back, smiling. He seemed charming. His salt and pepper hair was messy but fascinatingly. He looked put together, but charmingly messy at the same time. It was awkward, but you kept smiling at him. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you said, extending a hand. 

He broke out of his trance. A pair of firm rough hands grasped your soft skin and lightly shook it. 

“Were there any other detectives with you?” He asked. 

You shook your head. “I didn't see anyone. Were there supposed to be a lot?” 

“Eh- just a few, but I’m going to send them to work with my other colleagues. I don’t want more than one person working with me,” he said and typed away on his phone. You stayed silent, trying not to smile. You were going to be working with a senior detective all by yourself. 

“Done,” he said. “So you were -,” he was cut off from a phone ringing. 

He picked it up, “What now?” His voice was urgent and powerful. “I’m over there in ten,” he said and stood up quickly. 

“(Y/N), you’re coming with me.” He lightly grabbed your shoulder in a hurry out of the door. He lightly jogged and you were barely able to keep up in heels, but you managed. You clutched your purse as you ran slightly behind him, unaware of where you were going. You soon reached another exit and Greg ran to the end of the sidewalk, calling for a taxi. A taxi rushed to him and you stood next to him. He held the door for you to get in and then sat next to you. 

“337 Chapel drive,” he told the driver. The taxi sped off and Greg texted someone on his phone. You stayed silent, looking out the window. 

“(Y/N), do you know Sherlock Holmes?” he asked. 

You shook your head. “I don’t, who is he?” 

Greg laughed. “Oh, you’re gonna like him alright. He’s a detective..but not like us. He doesn't work at Scotland Yard, but he’s much better than all of us,” he told you.

You looked at him. He stared directly in your eyes. This whole time felt slightly awkward between you two, but you tried to embrace it. Greg seemed great, after all, he was your boss. “He seems very nice,” you said. 

Greg chuckled. “Not everyone would agree to that. Just don’t let him get to you.” 

You nodded. “What was that supposed to mean? You thought.

The car slowed down and you hopped out with Greg. A line of townhouses ran down the side. Greg walked to the nearest one and went up the oddly built stairs, almost tripping on them. There was almost no space between the steps and the doors and he cradles the railing and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He knocked hard. 

He looked down at you and said. “Don’t be nervous. Show me your best skills, (Y/N)”

You smiled at him and swallowed.  You were ready. You were smart. You thrived in places like this. 

The door swung open and almost knocked Greg down. You almost fell backward but caught the railing before. He didn't even notice and sped inside. The houses musty smell ran up your nostrils, causing you to scrunch up your nose. It was dark inside and you could barely see Greg. 

“Sherlock!?” he screamed. 

No answer. 

“Sherlock!?” he screamed louder. 

“Back here!” A deep voice spoke loudly from afar. You couldn't tell where. 

“I’ll get some light,” you said and walked to the door. You tried to open it, but it was stuck. 

“It won’t open?” Greg asked. 

You said no and tried to open it again. It seemed like minutes went by. 

“Greg?” you spoke.

No answer. Great. This was your first day and you’re stuck in a dark house on a case about god knows what. You almost tripped on the foreign objects on the floor, but somehow managed to steady yourself. 

“(Y/N)?” Greg called out. 

You tried to walk to his voice and bumped into a person. Strong arms steadied you and felt your chin. 

“It's me,” you said. 

“At least I found you, I can’t find anything else..must be a door or,” 

A door swung open near the two of you and bright light poured on the floor. A tall man with dark curly hair stood in front of it, motioning you two in. 

“Expected better from you, Lestrade,” he said with a deep British accent. 

“A hidden door, really?” he asked. 

You followed behind Greg and allowed your sensed to infiltrate the room. You saw a body on the floor with a man hovered over the body, inspecting it. Neither of them saw you walk in. The smell of the room didn't change except for the slight smell of blood. It looked like a living room. It was cluttered with a few antiques and picture frames. One large window allowed for the most light to pour in. There were no other windows in the townhouse. You looked around the room. A fireplace. A gun on the floor. A knife next to it. A torn down picture frame. A small hole in the wall. 

You smiled. You knew how this man had died..if that was what they were trying to find out. 

“Sherlock, how did he die?” Greg asked. 

Sherlock turned to him. He looked around the room. A bullet wound straight in the abdomen, but who did it? His eyebrows furrowed in and he looked in deep thought. You tried not to snicker, but a faint noise escaped you. 

Sherlock directed his attention to you and Greg looked at you too. You stared at them. 

“I know how he died,” you said. 

“Oh, really?” Sherlock said. His tone was snarky and his eyes squinted up. 

“(Y/N), you do? I-I mean, you were barely here,” Greg said. 

You tried not to roll your eyes at Sherlock. If he was supposed to be the smartest, then he definitely didn't look like it. Just by observing the room in a few seconds you had a good idea. You walked over to the body focusing on the wound and examining every other spot of it. Then you directed your attention to the other parts of the room. It was so obvious. 

“You want to know how he died or who did it?” You asked them. The man huddled over the body looked at you surprisingly. Greg stood with his mouth open, confused.

“Tell me both,” Sherlock said with his hands on his hip. 

“He didn't die from an abdomen shot, that was quite after actually. He died from an overdose. Pills to be exact.” You crouched to his body and opened his eyelids. “Pinpoint pupils. A painkiller. He was on a walker being this young.” You pulled up his pants. “Stitches along his leg, recent. Trauma, probably a mild car accident or something to that matter. His killer drugged him in his tea.” You touched the cup. “This wasn’t too long ago. You walked to the fireplace and examined it and the wall. The killer is a middle-aged man black hair recently married, but tensions are high because he likes to inflict pain on people,” you told everyone. 

Sherlock, Greg, and the man by the body looked at you. Sherlock laughed, “Is this some kind of joke? A woman murdered this man and not by painkillers I can deduc-,” you cut him off. 

“It was a man because there’s a burnt photograph of the dead man and a woman presumably his wife. He was jealous of probably nothing and killed this man. A sample of cologne is also burnt,” you said as you picked up a mini sample bottle in the corners of the ancient fireplace. You walked over to the body and showed him the short black hairs on the ground near it. “That’s his hair. They were fighting. It wasn’t too well because the man was already sedated, but he managed to anger this man in some way.” You stood up and looked at Greg. He stood in awe. 

“Sound right. Sherlock?” he asked. Sherlock looked around the room for 3 minutes before saying anything. 

“Yes. I knew it,” he said. 

Greg rolled his eyes, “Could you be any more jealous, Sherlock?” 

“I’m not!” he said. 

“He is too,” the man by the body said to you with a kind smile. 

“Well, (Y/N), I’m extremely impressed. I mean your skills are amazing. That was quite fast. Faster than Sherlock can ever and way faster than me,” he said. 

You smiled. Greg was nervously touching his neck and hair. “Why are you so nervous?” Sherlock asked. 

“Well I-uh, you know. I’m not,” he replied. 

“You li-,” Sherlock started. 

“Sherlock, stop it,” the man near the body said. He looked into his eyes very seriously and widened his own eyes. 

You walked out into the dark hallway looking both directions even though you could not see anything. You stared in a direction for a long time because you had a nervous feeling deep inside of you. You took a smell of the musty air and noticed a small trace of....cologne. Your heart dropped. You still stared in the corner for a while. Suddenly, a silver shimmer so faint, only the most observant could make out. You whipped your body back in the room. 

“I do know one other thing,” you said. 

Greg and Sherlock whipped their backs around and said “What?” in unison. 

“The killer is still here.” 

You walked out of the doorway and stared in the distance. Was it a gun? A knife. You weren’t sure. You guessed it was a knife from the type of shine it let off. 

“(Y/N)? Where? Get back,” Greg said. You did so, but you still maintained your stare into the distance. Sherlock and a short man emerged from the room. 

“I don’t see anything,” he said. 

“Me either,” the short man said. 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Greg called out.

Silence. You knew what was there. You slowly walked along the sides of the wall, silent enough to spook whatever was there. You walked slowly, careful not to trip on the objects on the floor. Greg slowly swung you around and tried to drag you back. 

“(Y/N), there is nothing there. Come on now,” he said, but you didn't listen. You knew you were near the corner and started to crouch down with your arms slowly extended. You could sense Greg behind you, but the more you walked, the more he walked back into the living room. You knew there was....something over here, but what? You could hear the chatter of everyone in the living room and heard your name a few times. They probably thought you were delusional and quite weird, but you didn't let that stop your intuition. 

“Hello?” you said softly. 

All of a sudden an arm wrapped around you and covered your face. You didn't try to speak, it wouldn't work. You felt something cold pressed against your neck. A knife. You knew it. He was here. Why? That didn't matter now. Your life mattered. What were you going to do? 

“You exposed me. They weren’t supposed to know someone else killed him. It was supposed to be suicide,” he said. Hot air breathed down your face as he tightened his grasp around you. 

Suicide? Was this guy dumb? Clearly was not suicide, even a moron could pick up on that. You tried to slip out of his grasp, but he only tightened his arm around your stomach. It hurt badly as if your ribs were crushing in. The knife pressed down harder on your neck, you weren't sure if you were bleeding, but it wouldn't surprise you. 

“(Y/N)? Come on back,” Greg shouted from within, but he didn't come out. 

You went crazy. You wanted so badly to be let free. You could hear their chatter still, they were so nearby, yet so far at the same time. You swallowed hard, you knew you couldn't stay like this forever. What was this man even doing? Obviously, he was going to hurt you and you were in a compromising situation, but the next few decisions you made had to be smart ones. You quickly jabbed his stomach, hoping he would fall back, but he didn't. You went crazy, trying to hurt him. The knife pressed hard on your neck. You winced momentarily. He suddenly grabbed you and faced him toward you. He was so strong and you were nothing compared to him. His hand was still over your mouth when suddenly he took it off and stabbed you in the abdomen powerfully. You screamed loudly, falling on the floor. You pulled the knife out quickly, as it made you uncomfortable. Why? Why did you do that? The man ran down the hallway. 

“He has a knife!” You managed to say loud enough for the detectives to hear. Suddenly you heard a gunshot and loud thud. You clenched your stomach, your hand was bloody and you couldn't see much. It hurt badly. The worst pain you ever felt in your life. On the first day? This? Was this it for you? 

“(Y/N)?” Greg screamed. 

“O-Ove,” you managed to make out. You heard quick footsteps come to you. 

“Are you okay?” He asked.  “I’ve been stabbed,” you said weakly. His grasp around you tightened as he searched you with his hands, stopping at your stomach. They were shaking. 

“Christ! Bloody hell! John?!” Greg’s voice screamed loudly. There was a hint of something you hadn't seen in him. Despair? Sadness? 

His strong arms picked you up and carried you to the living room. You saw Sherlock and John. 

“Bloody hell!” They screamed. 

“Kick the front door open, now!” Greg demanded. The two of them ran out and bolted the door open. Greg ran outside carrying you in his arms. 

“You’re going to be fine, (Y/N),” he told you. You looked into his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. He barely knew you and was crying over you. You saw your shirt. Thankfully it was black and hid most of the blood. 

Sherlock and the short man desperately called for a taxi and one came flying by. Greg quickly but carefully hopped into the cab and shouted at the man to go to the nearest hospital. 

“I think this is it,” you weakly said to him. You felt your whole body getting weaker by the second. More blood was pouring out of you and your eyes began to squint. You hoped this wasn't it. 

“No, no you’re fine! Drive faster for christ's sake!” Greg screamed. 

You closed your eyes. You were too weak. Greg nuzzled his head on your chest,  silently crying. You were peaceful now. You were still awake, but you were scared. But most of all you were at ease. 

[buzzedbabe]

Before I Dive... Chapter 24

“Is there a reason you bought the entire produce section at Sainsbury’s?” Richard asked on his third trip up the stairs with bags of groceries.

“You mean other than you taking your breakfast and feeding your co-stars yesterday?” Amy commented as she unpacked the bags. “You remember the picture you sent pouting with the empty container?”

“I didn’t realize they were my breakfast for the week,” he called from the stairway. He kicked the door closed as he brought in the last of the bags. “They were really good. I thought the others would enjoy them too.”

“I guess I should have been more specific,” she sighed, separating out cans of tomatoes from the fresh vegetables. “And I had to buy the stuff for spaghetti sauce. So yes, I made a new friend in the produce manager, but at Waitrose.”

“You know you don’t have to make me breakfast,” he said, putting away the vegetables in the crisper drawer. “We have caterers on the set.”

Amy handed him cartons of eggs to put away. “You don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying you don’t have to.”

Amy sighed as Richard’s arms wrapped around her waist. She wrapped her arms over his, leaning back against him.

“I want to. I can take care of you that way. It sounds stupid but I want to be able to do that,” she whispered.

Richard turned her in his arms. He lifted her chin when she wouldn’t look at him.

“I love that you want to take care of me,” he said. “I really do. But please don’t stress yourself out cooking breakfast for the entire cast and crew. What if we limit it to Jed and Kee?”

“Three people sounds more manageable,” she agreed quietly.

“Then they'd like a bit more veg if you could. Not that the ham and cheese cups weren't delicious.”

Amy laughed. “Oh really? I see how it is.”

“You see how it is, huh?” he asked as she turned back around. He pinned her to the counter with his body, kissing her neck. He felt Amy soften under him, turning her head back toward him.

“It will be hard to make your breakfast if you keep distracting me,” she whispered as he continued up her neck. “Then again,” she moaned, “the egg cups don’t really take that long to make.”

“And I might help you,” he whispered in her ear before gently biting the lobe.

“You will help me,” she said turning. Her lips brushed his as she locked her arms around his neck. “Because we still have to clean for tomorrow. And you get to clean the loo. And it needs to shine like the top of the Chrysler building.”

Amy laughed as Richard pouted, then squealed when he threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom.

“Richard, are you sure it's okay we're early?”

“Yes Mum,” he said, leading his parents up the stairs. “It is my flat.” He heard loud music coming from inside as he unlocked the door.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

He tried to hide his grin as he watched Amy dancing around, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. She didn't notice Richard and his parents come in, setting the table while her top knot bounced along with the music.

“Make it last forever cuz friendship never ends.”

Amy looked up at Richard's mother's chuckle. “Shit! You're early!” she gasped. She took off for the bedroom, freezing as the timer on the oven off. “Shit! Dessert!”

“Go,” Richard laughed, pushing her back to the bedroom. “It's my fault. I tried calling. Now I know why you didn't answer.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing his mother grab the oven mitts off the counter. “And it looks like Mum's taking care of dessert.” He followed her into the bedroom, cupping her face and kissing her. “You are so cute, I can hardly stand it.”

She smiled before pushing him out of the room. “Pasta. Now,” she laughed as he kissed her again, smacking him on the butt as he left.

His parents watched as he came back out and moved into the kitchen, taking a pot out and filling it with water.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled. “I guess we surprised her.” Richard glanced over at his parents who were looking at each other and back at him. “What?” he asked, putting the pot on to boil before stirring the pot of sauce next to it.

They all turned as Amy hurried out of the bedroom to the bathroom.

“I'll just be a minute,” she said before closing the door. “Richard, can you please switch to my classical playlist?” she yelled through the door.

His parents watched as he strolled over to her phone on the coffee table and tapped it a few times, turning off the Spice Girls for something more soothing.

“He's happy,” Richard's mom whispered to his dad. “Are you noticing…”

“I see it,” his dad replied.

“I'm also not deaf,” Richard said.

“But it's diff…” She trailed off as Amy came out of the bathroom.

“Mr. and Mrs. Madden, it's a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, coming over to shake their hands.

In the few minutes Amy had been gone, she had changed into a simple turquoise wrap dress that brushed her knees and let her hair down in loose waves. She'd skipped putting on makeup, not wanting to keep Richard’s parents waiting.

“Please, call me Dick,” Richard's dad said, shaking her hand.

“And I'm Pat,” his mom said, doing the same.

“May I offer you something to drink? Water? Some wine?” she asked, motioning for them to both sit back down at the table.

Both of Richard’s parents nodded as Richard grabbed the bottle of wine on the counter. They watched as Amy poured pasta into the boiling water and Richard reached around her for the corkscrew out of a drawer.

“So, Amy, how did you and Richard meet?” Pat asked as she happily noticed the smile never leaving her son's face as he uncorked the wine.

“We met at a coffee shop. I will admit, I thought he just needed the chair from my table. But he sat down and we started talking. Pretty soon, I had daily company for my afternoon coffee,” Amy said, stirring the sauce.

“And then, one afternoon, she asked me out,” he added.

“Yes, but it took me almost 2 months to work up the courage. And then you wouldn't let me pay even though I asked you out,” she teased, pinching his side.

“And I haven't let you pay yet,” he said, bringing his parents their glasses of wine.

“And were you aware of Richard's profession when you met?” Dick asked, taking his glass with a nod to Richard.

“Actually, no,” Amy said as she strained the pasta, blushing. “Not until the morning of our first date. Imagine my surprise when I stop for a few groceries and see his face plastered on the front of the Telegraph.”

She motioned his parents over to serve themselves at the stove before bringing a basket of bread over to the table. She waited until last to serve herself, then sat down next to Richard.

“It looks delicious,” Pat said, setting her napkin in her lap.

“Thank you. It's my family recipe,” Amy said, passing the basket of bread to Dick.

“Oh, are you Italian?” Dick asked.

“Nope,” Amy chuckled. “I wish I was though. Probably why I love this recipe so much. I think my grandma said my grandpa learned this recipe from the guys at the firehouse. He was a firefighter for over...gosh...40 years?”

“My dad was a member of the fire brigade. Did I ever tell you that?” Richard pointed out.

“I was always so proud of my grandpa. Even took him to show and tell once with all of his fire chief gear. Thought I was the absolute coolest.”

They all chuckled as they started eating. Amy smiled as Richard gently squeezed her leg.

“So why is it that Richard tells us you’ve only been together for a few months when it sounds like you’ve known each other for much longer?” Pat asked between bites.

Amy’s face fell a little as she remembered the night almost a year ago when her mother had frantically called her about bringing her father to the hospital, needing her to come home.

Richard reached over and took her hand. “Amy’s father took ill and she had to fly back to Chicago,” he said. “She’s only managed to come back to London a few months ago.”

“Yes, my dad ended up in the hospital. He’s doing much better now,” Amy added, answering the questioning look on Pat’s face. “But Richard and I kept in touch the whole time I was at home. And I began falling for him even then.”

Richard smiled at her, kissing her hand. “Me too. Little did I know, this one and Lily had also become good friends during that time. And that they worked out a plan for Amy to move to London. Amy was my birthday present this year.”

“I’m also going to school here,” Amy interjected quickly, not wanting Pat and Dick assuming she'd moved just for Richard. “For my Master’s degree in creative writing.”

“Seems half the time I see her, she's scratching away in a notebook or typing on her laptop,” he said, smiling at her.

“Hey, not all of us have such glamorous day jobs,” she teased, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Richard looked over at his parents, who were both quietly eating, but with grins on their faces. He glanced back over to see Amy blushing as she twirled pasta onto her fork, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

After Amy hugged his parents goodbye, he escorted them down the stairs to wait for the car he had called.

“So?” Richard asked, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

“So?” Dick said.

“So?” Pat echoed.

Richard laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to make me ask.”

“Ask what?” Dick said, smirking.

Richard took a long drag off the cigarette, shaking his head with a matching smirk.

“Ask when you’ll quit those?” Pat asked.

Richard put out the cigarette on the brick wall, exhaling away from his parents. “What did you think of her?” he asked.

“She’s lovely,” Dick said. “A good cook. Sweet girl.”

Richard turned to his mother, knowing she would give the answer he was looking for. She reached up and patted his cheek.

“This smile hasn’t left your face all evening,” she said, smiling.

“Earlier you said something about me being happy,” Richard said as the car pulled up. “What did you mean?”

Dick walked over and opened the car door for his wife.

“I think this is more than you being in love,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You’re just you. You know you can be yourself around Amy because she fell for you long before she knew you were famous. You're...content.”

Richard smiled, kissing his mother on the cheek. She hugged him before moving to get in the car.

“Please tell Amy again that dinner was lovely,” Pat said. “And I expect an email with that apple crisp recipe.”

“I will,” Richard said, closing the car door and tapping the roof of the car. He realized the smile was still plastered on his face as he headed back up to the flat. He locked up, turning to look for Amy.

“I’m out here,” she called from the balcony.

He grabbed his glass of wine off the table before heading out to join her. She had curled up in one of the chairs with her wine, a blanket around her shoulders. She smiled as he leaned down to kiss her. He sat down next to her, taking a sip of his wine. Her hand reached out to take his, sitting in silence, enjoying the brisk fall evening.

“I think that went well,” she said after taking a drink.

“Aye. My parents reminded me to compliment you on your dancing,” he joked, knowing her cheeks bloomed in the dark. “Spice Girls?”

“It’s good cleaning music!” Amy protested, turning to face him.

“I’ll take your word on that,” he chuckled, setting down his wine. “It really took you 2 months to ask me out?”

Her cheeks almost glowed in the dark they were so hot. She stood up and came to sit in his lap. Her arm wrapped around his neck, her fingers toying with his curls.

“Yes,” she said. “I was a bit intimidated to be honest.”

“Intimidated?” he said. “How am I intimidating?”

“It’s not that you’re intimidating. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we had built,” she said, leaning her forehead on his.

His arms wrapped around her waist. Her fingers continued playing with his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask what they thought?” he said.

“Can I make a confession?” she asked. She felt him nod. “I could hear you up here.” She squealed as he tickled her side. “But all joking aside, is what your mum said true? Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Content?” she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her again, hands reaching up to cup her face. Her fingers tangled with his curls as he deepened the kiss. When he finally leaned back, she took a minute to catch her breath.

“Gotcha,” she whispered, making him laugh.

His brow furrowed when she froze. “What?” he questioned.

“I just met your parents,” she whispered. “Oh my god.”

“You're just now realizing that?” he laughed.

“That's a big step, like two steps from marriage,” she gulped.

“What are the other two steps?” he asked, confused.

Amy blushed. “Moving in together and sex,” she uttered so quietly, Richard leaned his head closer to hers to listen.

“Aye. Those are big steps,” he teased.

“Did...did they like me?” she asked, looking at him hopefully.

He shifted when his phone vibrated. He chuckled as he read the text, turning his phone to show Amy the screen.

“Reminder to ask Amy for apple crisp recipe. You'll bring her for Xmas? I think Cara and Elle would love her,” Amy slowly read the text from Pat. “Oh God! Meeting your family?” she squeaked, burying her head under the blanket.

“Three steps then,” he laughed, kissing her head through the blanket. “And I agree. My sisters will love you too.”

“Well, I’m glad to know that. I hope they don’t mind if I stay under this blanket the whole time,” she giggled as he tried to climb under with her.

“Only if I can meet your family under this same blanket,” he replied when finally got his head under. “My niece and nephews might think it's a game. But you've done the hard bit, meeting my parents. I get to meet your entire family Christmas. Your parents, grandparents…”

“Grandma. I only have one left,” she interrupted.

“Your gran then, cousins, parents, nieces, parents, nephews, parents,” he rambled.

“You’ve met my sisters. Or did you forget already?” Amy laughed, kissing him. “And I told you that you're not paying for me to fly home.”

“Oh, I am though. It's a present,” he countered.

“I can't afford presents like that,” she frowned.

"Fine. We can start a payment plan,” he joked. He kissed her sweetly, cupping her face. “There’s your first payment. 999 installments to go.”

Amy laughed, pulling the blanket off their heads and wrapping it around both of them.

“So Lily is having a get together for Matt at The Box on the 27th,” she said, snuggling into Richard's arms. “I didn't realize I was 4 days older than Matt. I really am the old fart of the group.”

“You're not old,” he soothed. “Just more experienced.”

She scoffed, “I'm not even that.”

“Well then, The Box will be a real treat for you,” he chuckled. “What are we doing for your birthday?”

“Lily says karaoke party on the 28th.”

“But nothing the day of?” he asked.

“Just classes. Otherwise, I've got nothing.”

He squeezed her. “I'll make dinner. We'll just stay in since we'll be busy the following weekend.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she smiled as they settled in together.

Amy browsed the racks at the thrift store, growing more and more frustrated. Rocio hugged her from behind, holding down Amy's arms so she didn't knock over the rack.

“Hermana, is just a dress,” Rocio soothed.

“That I still can't afford. Oh and did I mention I have no idea what passes as acceptable to wear to The Box? And that Lily has decided we should all wear 80s clothes for my party? My credit cards are groaning in my purse,” Amy complained as Lily came back over.

“Oh stop. I'm buying and you know that,” Lily said, handing Amy a handful of different dresses.

“And I said I'm not letting you. I'm not some charity case,” Amy whispered, tearing up.

“I know that,” Lily countered. “And I'm not trying to make you feel that way. Part of your present?”

Amy nodded, wiping her eyes. “Things are just more expensive over here than I imagined. I need to find a job. A high-paying one, preferably. Do you think I could be a call girl?”

Lily slapped Amy's arm playfully. “No. And Richard wouldn't allow it.”

“Why don't you ask Richard for help?” Rocio gulped as Amy stared daggers at her. “What? I'm sure he would.”

“I'm not in this relationship for his money,” Amy gritted out.

“Hermana, I know that.”

“I'm not about to ask him for money I know I won't be able to pay back,” she continued, going into the fitting room. “I just need a job.”

“You need to be careful with your visa,” Lily said, continuing to browse the racks. “If you're here on a student visa, I think you can only work so much.”

“Great. And I bet that's like 5 hours a month. Lily, what the hell is this?”

Amy opened the curtain, revealing the short blue satin dress with puffy sleeves bigger than her head. Lily and Rocio giggled as Amy turned her head.

“I wouldn't be able to cross the street safely in this,” Amy complained. “Dear God, I never wore anything like this. I'm not that old.”

“You'd be fine crossing the street,” Lily laughed, “because you'd stop traffic.”

“Next,” Amy said, closing the curtain.

She handed out a bunch of prom dresses, waving them about until Rocio took them.

“Less prom, more Madonna,” Amy said from behind the curtain.

“Didn't you have to have enough money to live when you applied for your visa?” Lily asked, pulling out some more modern dresses for Amy. “Here, try these for Matt's party.”

“Yes, I had to prove income, but that didn't account for cell phone bills, books, how much I'd spend on my Oyster card and taxis, that emergency new cord for my laptop, going out with a bunch of celebrities, groceries for 2,” Amy listed.

“I'm paying you back for groceries,” Lily countered.

“He's not,” Amy mumbled.

“What?” Rocio yelled. “Hermana! You need to talk to him.”

“How do you have that conversation?” Amy asked, coming out in a red knee-length sleeveless wrap dress, holding the neck closed.

“Babe, I need grocery money,” Lily teased. “Pony up.”

Amy rolled her eyes at the blonde as Lily moved Amy’s hands, adjusting the neckline and stepping back.

“My bra is showing,” Amy argued, trying to cover up.

“Darling, this is tame for The Box,” Lily chuckled, pulling the front edge of the wrap open slightly. “Yes. A sparkly bra, some stilettos, and you're set.”

Amy turned to look in the mirror, Lily coming behind her and piling her hair on top of her head. Rocio giggled as she moved next to Lily and squished Amy’s boobs up to have massive cleavage. The three women laughed as Amy eased Ro’s grip slightly, cocking her head.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Now, make me a material girl. A material, ma-material, ma-material girl.”

“I thought you were ‘Like a Virgin’,” Rocio laughed.

Amy cracked up as Lily sang, “Touched for the very first time. Like a virgin.”

Lily ducked as Amy threw a shirt at her, looking guilty as the trio received dirty looks from the store employee.

Richard came in, smiling when he saw Amy engrossed in something on her laptop. She bit the edge of her index finger, her other hand scrolling down a webpage. He set down his bag and came and sat next to her.

“Guy Fawkes?” he asked, reading the screen. “Looking up stuff on Kit’s miniseries?”

“What? No,” she replied, coming out of her trance. “Lily was trying to explain Bonfire Night to me.”

“Oh ok,” he said nodding. “Kit has a miniseries about this coming out that weekend on HBO. Apparently one of his ancestors came up with the plot, but Guy Fawkes became the figurehead.”

Amy stared at the screen. Richard reached over and turned her head.

“What is it?” he asked. “You look troubled.”

“I am troubled,” she whispered. “I had no idea this happened.”

“Babe, it was over 400 years ago.”

“It's part of my history and I had no idea.”

“Amy, what are you talking about? Are you related to Kit?”

“No. But I am Catholic.”

“I'm not understanding.”

“It’s like being a Jew and only knowing something called the holocaust happened,” she whispered. “I knew about Bloody Mary and whatever. The fight over which religion England would have. But I had no idea the extent Catholics were persecuted here.”

Richard pulled Amy into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “You are the sweetest, most loving, big-hearted person I know.”

Amy tried to pull away. “You're picking on me.”

Richard held tight. “I'm not. You probably cry at those animal rescue commercials.”

“No I don't,” she muttered. “I turn them off so I don't have the chance to.”

Richard laughed, kissing her forehead. “Like I said, big hearted. No bonfires for you, I suppose.”

“No. Don't want to accidentally get pushed in on purpose.”

Amy looked over Richard's face as he laughed, loving the way his eyes danced and the skin scrunched up. She cupped his cheek, running her thumb over the ridges.

“Thanks for caring for a silly girl like me.”

“You're not silly,” he replied. “Crazy American, yes. Silly, well...maybe a little.” He caught Amy's wrist as she went to playfully smack him, kissing her fingers. “You make it easy to care for you.”

“Same,” Amy said, snuggling into his arms.

She bit her lip. She'd almost said “loving a silly girl like me”, but had no idea if it was appropriate or how Richard would react. Were they there yet? Did she love him? Did he love her?

She relaxed as she felt his lips at her hairline, listening to him reminisce about Bonfire Night. She knew in her heart they were in no rush. They'd already made it down a crooked path to end up in each other’s arms. Wherever the road continued, they were together.