#chapter one hundred and fifty-five

[renee-writer]

Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-five

AO3

He is loath to leave his family. Daniel loves his baby sister to their relief. He knows Jenny and Asha will take excellent care of the children and that they have lots of support. Still…

 

Abigail has changed since she was born just a week ago. How much more will she while he is gone?

 

Asha sees the look on his face. “I know. I don’t want you to go either. But, you must. Because there could be other Kitty’s out there that need a large family. More Tara’s that need understanding. What has been built here is special.  A family out of strangers, for the most part. We will be okay.”

 

“You are a wonder, Asha. You always know what to say. I will just miss you guys and Daniel, so much.”

 

“We will miss you. I will tell them about you every day. Daniel won’t forget and Abigail will know, who their daddy is.”

 

“Kitty, I have to go away. But, I will come back. Tara and Nora will be here with you. Mary and the others. All the children. I have to go because there could be another little girl hidden away that needs finding.” He holds her on his lap as he tells her goodbye. As with the other children, she sits up. Unfortunately, that is still all the progress she has made. No eye contact. No response to even shows she hears.

 

“Daddy bye bye?” Asherah inquires.

 

“Aye, just for a little while.” He can’t really know that but feels better saying it aloud. “Daddy is going to hunt for people.”

 

She frowns and tilts her head. “Kitty?”

 

He grins and picks her up. “Just like Kitty. Mam will see to you.” He hugs her close. Leaving her and Heather is incredibly tough. Their mission is important though. Finding Kitty and her caregivers changed the nature of what they were doing.

 

“You will be the braw lad I know you are and look after mama and Naomi?” Murtagh asks his son.

 

“Aye papa.” He stands as tall as he can. At four, he is growing into a real person. Murtagh hates to waste a moment of it.

 

Mary, holding Naomi, tries to smile. He needs to do this and she needs to be brave so he can.

 

They set out an hour later.

[dduane]

A homebrew Iliad project

I've been fiddling with this for a long time.

Backstory: I've been dabbling in various depths of the great wine-dark sea of the ancient Greek classics since I was about seven or eight. (Might have been earlier, but I have no data to confirm that.)

I know Greek mythology like the back of my hand. (...Insert here the inevitable sound of Scotty whacking his head into an Enterprise bulkhead.) I know... a lot. And—leaving all the other stuff I know about that no one here is gonna care about one way or the other—I've read the Iliad and Odyssey probably about twice a year for the last fifty years or so. Or maybe more.

To my grief, I don't have enough classical Greek (or good enough Greek of any kind) to do any kind of respectable new translation of the work. That's far beyond my scope, or my level of scholarship. But I can sure as hell do... a retelling? A restatement? I have a number of favorite translations to use as guides, and the Perseus digital library... and, you know, dictionaries. And I'm not afraid to use them. :)

...And I'm a storyteller, and have no shame about the possibilities inherent in going where lots of others of my tribe have gone before—in restatement or in fiction. So let's just call this "a homebrew version of a work that hasn't been out of 'print' for thirty-five hundred years" and leave it there. (Is this ὕβρις? Yeah, seems likely enough. Whether this is going to be a manifestation of the downfall of the Greeks, or of the Geeks, remains to be seen.)

Anyway: my plan is to start publishing books (i.e., chapters) of this homebrew Iliad in the Fic Foundry writing website that will be opening up at last sometime over the next couple of months. The first few books will be open-access: after that they'll go subscription. They'll come out at irregular intervals (because there'll be paying work going on as well. [resigned sigh: So what else is new.])

When starting a project like this it seems like it might be wise to, in a general way, set out the goals.

Ease of accessibility. Lots of people have never read this story, or have experienced it only in one kind or another of paraphrase. (Yeah, well, here comes another one.) For maximum accessibility, I think this means what I want to do is a prose retelling. Nor am I going to get too hung up on anachronisms in the prose style. I'm reaching for the around-the-campfire sound, a little; or the story told after dinner, in episodes (and let's not throw the beef bones at the bard, she's doing the best she can).

Fidelity to the source material. This is an old, old story that both ascends to surprising heights of feeling and amazing depths of cruelty. There are things in it that some modern readers are not going to like at all: particularly the graphic gore and violence of what is repeatedly described as "the world's greatest war story". But these aspects of the Iliad, and the frequently callous, cruel and misogynistic understructure of its story, come with the territory of the original. I will in appropriate ficcer's style add trigger warnings where I think they're needed.

Completeness of the story. The temptation is always going to lurk for an adapter to decide what's important and what can be thrown out. I'm hardly immune. But it's my intention to leave the structure as intact as possible. Some people will disagree with my choices. (shrug) People have been disagreeing about ways to handle this work for centuries. What'll a few more be, among friends?

...So that's the plan. When this material starts to be ready to appear online, I'll let people here know where they need to go to access it. And after that... we'll see how things go.

I'll start this story as its first tellers did, and ask the Goddesses of epic storytelling to stand by me and lend a hand telling this one. At the end of the day, it all comes down to one angry young man: Achilles, only son of King Peleus. Achilles was completely possessed by a bitter rage that brought a whole host of troubles down on the great army of the Greeks. That unquenchable fury sent many a strong man’s soul to the Underworld, and left their bodies feeding the dogs and the vultures, while Heaven’s intentions moved inexorably on toward the Gods’ final goal...

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j. black

chapter five, full moon

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: i have’t been able to stop writing LOL im having too much fun. especially loved writing the pack n leah (leah apologist forever sorry not sorry)

prev. series masterlist! next.

You have always loved Jacob Black.

But Jacob Black has always loved you.

Since the moment he met you, he knew. You were it. The one. And his crush on you? It was never really a secret. Everyone knew.

Billy knew first–long before Jacob even figured it out himself. He saw it in the little things: the way Jake would bolt for the first aid kit whenever you got a papercut, how he gave you the last bite of his sandwich even when he was still starving, and how he made a fool of himself dancing and singing off-key just to hear your laugh.

Billy rooted for you both in his own quiet way. He was there through everything–the good and the heartbreak. He noticed the way Jake flopped onto his bed and kicked his feet in the air like a kid after seeing you, saw the corner of his mattress cluttered with balled-up tissues from the day you told him you were moving to the few months that passed after you were gone.

He was never afraid to share his feelings with his dad, but this–this part of him, the part that loved you–was different. It felt too raw, too big. Too real.

Jacob Black was brave. Braver than most. He adapted to his phasing and new lifestyle faster than anyone expected. He faced monsters–real ones–without hesitation.

But losing you? That was what scared him.

And when you left, when the two of you went from inseparable to one hundred fifty miles apart, it almost broke him. Any further and he was sure he would’ve snapped. It was like some part of him had been ripped out and he didn’t know how to get it back.

Then you came.

The moment you walked down the hallway and looked at him for the first time in over a year, he felt everything crash over him like a tidal wave. His arms ached to you again. But when your eyes met–just for that moment–every system in his body misfired. Then lit up. Then misfired again.

And then he imprinted.

On you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He thought he was prepared, thought he understood what imprinting meant. He didn’t expect it to be you. He didn’t even think it could be you. But he didn’t want it to be anyone else because no one else was you.

You had always been his everything. Now, you were his everything and nothing at the same time.

He needed you in ways he didn’t understand. He needed to see you. Hear your laugh. Feel your presence. It was all-consuming. Steady. Terrifying.

So he didn’t tell you.

He acted normal–or tried to. Even when everything inside him felt like it was shifting again, he thought keeping the truth from you was the right thing to do–at least for now. That keeping you away from the supernatural part of his life was protecting you. But maybe it was just protecting himself.

Things in Forks had been quiet lately, which was the only reason he had so much time to spend with you. But tonight? Patrol had picked up again and it seemed it would for the next couple days. Now, he’s rushing through the trees, pounding the damp earth beneath him as he shifts back and heads towards Emily’s.

You’re still on his mind. Always.

The porch light is glowing softly when he reaches the house. He opens the door and steps inside, shaking the cold from his limbs.

“How was patrol?” Emily calls from the kitchen.

“Quiet. Easy,” Jacob replies, a little breathless. He snatches a muffin from the counter and drops into a chair, stretching out his legs. “Need help?” he asks with a grin, even though he already knows the answer.

Emily gives him a look. “Not from you. Trying to avoid setting this place on fire tonight.”

He laughs around a mouthful of muffin as the rest of the pack filters in–wet footprints, muffled voices, and the usual chaos.

Paul groans and throws himself on the couch. “Dude. If I have to hear your inner monologue about her one more time–”

“You could phase out, you know,” Jacob mutters.

“I did. For like, five minutes. You were still thinking about her. Constantly.” Paul throws an arm over his face. “I swear, it’s like background noise now. Vampire, trees, squirrels, Jacob, Jacob, Jacob, her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her socks.”

“They were mismatched,” Jacob mumbles.

Embry chuckles. “He’s got it bad, bad.”

Leah, who’s been leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, raises an eyebrow. “Honestly? He’s been more himself with her back than he’s been in months.”

That quiets the room for a beat.

“Dinner’s ready!” Emily called out, cutting through the low murmur of post-patrol silence.

Instantly, the kitchen erupted into chaos—the shuffle of chairs, the scraping of plates, the bickering and teasing as the pack surged toward the table. Except Jacob. He stayed quiet, eyes down, mechanically loading his plate but barely tasting anything.

After dinner, everyone filtered out in different directions—Paul and Jared arguing over something dumb, Embry stealing another muffin on his way out, Quil making a joke about Sam’s “dad voice” before disappearing into the trees. Jacob lingered, collecting plates and stacking them neatly. Emily gave him a small, grateful smile as she took them from his hands.

“Thanks, Jake. You’ve got good manners for a wolf,” she teased gently, patting his back. “Go get some air.”

He gave her a nod and slipped outside.

The porch was quiet, soaked in moonlight. Sam was already out there, leaning against the railing, arms folded across his chest, eyes cast up at the sky like he was waiting for something.

A full moon. Ironic.

He hesitated for a second before walking over. They weren’t close—not like he was with Embry or Quil. For a long time, Jacob resented Sam. Thought he was a cult leader. Thought he stole his friends. But then Jacob phased and he started to understand. Started to see Sam in a different light. Maybe not a friend, but something like a quiet leader who carried more weight than he let anyone see.

Jake stood beside him without a word. The air was crisp, the breeze soft. Cicadas buzzed in the dark, their song a low, steady hum.

Sam spoke without looking at him. “You know, when I first phased I thought I was losing my mind.”

Jacob didn’t say anything, but he listened.

“I was the only one then. No one to talk to about it. No one to warn me. I thought I was broken,” Sam continued, his voice low. “Eventually I got a handle on it. But then I imprinted. And that was harder.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, eyes flickering on him. “On Emily.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. On Emily.”

He let the silence stretch.

“I was still with Leah,” he said, voice heavier now. “And I loved her. I really did. But imprinting doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care about timing. Or history. Or who gets hurt.”

Jacob looked away, jaw tight. He’d heard the story before—but hearing Sam admit it, here, in the quiet, made it more real somehow.

“I fought it. Every day. For a long time,” Sam said. “Because how do you look someone in the eye—someone you hurt—and tell them it wasn’t your choice? That your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore?”

Jacob swallowed. “Do you regret it?”

Sam finally looked at him. “No. I love Emily with everything I have, but the pain it caused? I’ll always carry that.”

Jacob was quiet for a beat. Then he muttered, “I don’t feel guilty.”

Sam tilted his head, waiting.

“I’m just… scared,” Jacob admitted, voice rough. “It’s not just a crush anymore. It’s like—she’s in my blood now. Every second I’m not with her feels wrong. Like my skin doesn’t fit. But I don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have a choice. I want her to pick me. Not because of some supernatural magic, but because she wants to.”

“That’s the thing about imprinting,” Sam said, thoughtful. “It doesn’t erase your personality. It doesn’t make you perfect. It just binds you. Makes your soul certain, even when your head is a mess.”

Jacob let out a short breath. “My head’s more than a mess.”

Sam cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Suddenly, the screen door creaked behind them.

“Okay, seriously?” Paul’s voice rang out. “Can you two stop brooding out here. Some of us are still getting hit with your feelings at full blast, and it’s starting to mess with my appetite.”

Jacob groaned. “You eavesdropping?”

“We’re psychically linked, not eavesdroppers, genius,” Paul shot back, walking out onto the porch. He looked at Jacob, crossing his arms. “She likes you. Seriously. It’s kind of gross how cute it is.”

Jacob looked down, shoulders tense. “You don’t know that.”

“Okay, Romeo. She texts you first. She looks at you like you’re the sun. And you think we can’t tell? You’ve been howling about her in your head for weeks. Every little thought you have about her since you phased. I swear it’s like being trapped in a Nicholas Sparks movie.”

Quil leaned out the door behind Paul, muffin in hand. “He’s right dude. She’s into you. She always has been.”

Embry’s voice drifted from inside. “We’ve been placing bets. I said you’d crack by next week. Paul’s got Thursday.”

Jacob buried his face in his hands, groaning. “You guys are the worst.”

Sam laughed quietly and clapped him on the shoulder. “They’re not wrong. I got Sunday.”

Jacob didn’t reply, but his heart beat a little louder in his chest.

He still wouldn’t tell you. Not yet. But he was thinking about you. And the thought of you thinking about him too? That scared him more than anything else because it meant hope.

And hope, for Jacob Black, was the most dangerous thing of all.

[eden031]

First meetings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Jack Abbot x intern!female!reader

Warnings: angst, death, crack (a patient has a cola bottle in his rectum), Jack Abbot using dark humor to cope, mentions of porn (like once), some fluff at the end, patients being nosy, bad innuendo, the betting pool in the Pitt is going wild, medical inaccuracies, maybe a bit cringe worthy at some points (probably)

Summary: When an uneventful shift filled with bad humor and overheard conversations turns into something more tragic Jack makes sure that his intern doesn‘t break.

A/N: Listen people, I don‘t know what possessed me when I wrote this, it felt like a fever dream but we are moving in the right direction, I think. Please forgive me for the heavy angst in the end of this chapter, the beginning is very cracky and I honestly don‘t know why I wrote it, but it was fun to write and I had a good laugh while writing it sooo… Also this was barely proof read because I had to rewrite it like ten times.

“Alright, fifty bucks that they already fucked,” Ellis sounded way too enthusiastic about this for her to not stop and listen in on the conversation. Halting in the hallway just short of the door to the break room she continued to listen, an IPad for charting in hand.

“You seriously think so?” Olsen sounded mildly astonished at the high bet or maybe depending on who they were talking about the pairing and circumstance. Bets on the staff's personal life were common and she always found them to be rather interesting, already having won over five hundred dollars because she had bet on Nisa dating one of the day shift security guards for over two months.

“Yeah,” Ellis sounded annoyed, “You don’t know shit Olsen, you are always sick for the saucy moments.” Ellis snorted. Suppressing a giggle of her own she leaned against the wall, not wanting to disturb the two residents in their apparently heated discussion.

For a moment she looked around, trying to see if anyone was seeing that she was just standing in front of the break room being nosy. Luckily it was a quiet night and not that many people were running around.

It was fun listening in on these kinds of conversations then to guess who this was about. Right now she was not sure, thinking that maybe it could be about someone from day shift, she was not sure who else they would currently be betting on.

“I mean…” Olsen trailed off for a moment, like he was trying to prove that he still caught some interesting interactions, “I saw him basically hovering over her at some point,” he sounded mildly defeated.

“Yeah, that's why you bet that they knew each other before. I was there for the damn REBOA and had to witness an interaction that basically felt like some weird medical kink soft porn.” Ellis sounded so proud of placing her bet, for a moment she frowned. The only REBOA that had been placed in the last few weeks had been by her. Her brows furrowed, they were not talking about her, at least she hoped not.

“Jesus,” Olsen groaned. A pause, some clinking, probably mugs being shuffled around.

“Yeah, and he is totally looking at her boobs every time she comes up to talk to him. And checking out her ass every time she walks away.” Ellis’ voice was slightly more quiet this time as she spoke. “Never thought I would see Abbot looking at someone like a kicked puppy, but here we are,” a heavy sigh came from Ellis.

An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach, just hoping that they were not talking about her and Abbot, because if they were she would actually start questioning her own sanity. She had been so careful, trying to make sure that no one realised how badly the man affected her.

“But she is an intern, when do you propose they even met?” Olsen sounded almost offended as he spoke.

Deciding that she did not want to hear the rest of the conversation she started heading towards the nurses’ station again, the IPad clutched tightly against her chest. Her face felt hot as she placed it back on the rack, staring up at the board, looking for something she might actually be able to handle on her own for the moment. Humming softly she tapped her foot as she scanned the board, as her eyes found a patient with her name written next to it a pleased sigh escaped her lips.

Rubbing her forehead she glanced over to the room, Josie leaving it with a small smirk on her lips, head shaking. Grabbing a pair of gloves she started heading in the direction of the older nurse.

“Josie!” she called out, jogging towards the nurse. A smile on her face she nodded towards the room the patient was in.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” she grinned slightly as she saw the gloves in her hands.

“Did you get everything for Mr. Hill ready?” she asked as she nodded towards the room of the patient she had just assumed to be Mr. Hill.

“Yes,” she laughed, shaking her head, “If you are curious: this time it was a cola bottle,” Josie still shook her head slightly.

“I am assuming he fell on it while changing?” she asked carefully, having to suppress a laugh as she saw Josie roll her eyes.

“Of course he did, but at least he is in a good mood,” Josie shrugged, “At least in a better mood than most patients that come in during this hour,” she sighed, “I already gave him a low dose of muscle relaxant and set up everything you need to get that bottle out, just call me if you need any help,” the older nurse gently patted her on the shoulder.

“You are an angel,” she smiled as she walked over to the room, pressing open the glass door, then stepping behind the curtain. Mr. Hill was an elderly man, in his seventies, he was a widower, one of their regular patients in the ED at night and truly an angel. Even during a horrible shift Mr. Hill was able to put a smile on the faces of the people that treated him.

“Well good evening Mr. Hill,” she smiled as she greeted the man, a blanket was placed over his lower body and a bright smile already on his face.

“Good evening, darlin’! And how many more times do I have to tell you to call me Richard?” He gave her a glance that made her laugh, shaking her head she put on the gloves. Usually when she started working with a patient the events that had occurred previously washed from her mind and she was completely focused, though right now it felt like her mind was overshadowed by the conversation between Ellis and Olsen.

“Mind if I take a quick look?” she asked, pointing at the blanket, Mr. Hill laughed and nodded, already knowing the procedure. He propped up his legs, quickly she glanced under the blanket nodding slightly she put the blanket back down.

“Looks like it’s wedged in there pretty good,” she gave him a scolding look, she was not sure how many times they had already given him the talk of not putting certain objects in certain places. However, apparently he was not really listening to what they were telling him.

“Yes…” he trailed off for a moment while she grabbed the ultrasound to make sure that there was no internal bleeding.

“Are you alright darlin’?” He looked mildly concerned as she started prepping everything for the ultrasound.

“Of course, Mr. Hill,” she gave him a small smile, “Why wouldn’t I be?” she laughed putting some of the jelly on his belly, sitting down to perform the ultrasound. It startled her that he had realised that she was still a bit preoccupied with the conversation she had overheard.

“Well, I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with that pretty doctor of yours?” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. She only raised hers at that, moving the ultrasound over his belly while she looked at the screen.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Hill,” she laughed softly as she continued to check his abdomen. The issue with Mr. Hill was that for a man his age the man was perceptive, always seeing everything and almost being as informed on the gossip of the ED as Perlah and Princess.

“You know who I am talking about,” he wiggled his brow again, “I am old, not blind, I can see the way you look at the man,”

That made her pause in her movements, feeling heat rising to her neck and face. She tried to stay focused on the task at hand, finally having finished from all angles she started wiping away the jelly from the older man’s belly.

“I still don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Hill,” she gave him a breathy laugh. “Good news is that I can’t see any bleeding right now, so you know the drill, bottle out, wait another hour or so, check for bleeding again, wait for the muscle relaxant to wear off and then you are free to go” she explained, trying to shift the topic of conversation away from the man in question.

As she was preparing to lube up the bottle the door opened and she heard a familiar pattern of footfalls approaching from behind her.

“Everything alright in here?” Abbot spoke in a gentle tone, she could feel him standing behind her, the warmth of his body hitting her back, though she knew he was not touching her. Glancing over her shoulder she felt her throat constrict slightly as she realised how close he actually was. He was hovering over her shoulder, looking at the bottle of lube in her hands.

“Splendid, Dr. Abbot.” A big grin came to the face of Mr. Hill. She sighed, shaking her head as she lifted the blanket slightly. Swallowing harshly she grabbed one of the tools and began distributing the lube around the cola bottle, thanks to the muscle relaxant this should be done fairly quickly.

“And your assessment?” Abbot asked, she could feel his burning gaze on her as she continued to work.

“Should be done in good time, though this time around I would wait a bit longer with the discharge since the cola bottle is not the usual caliber of…” she paused, knowing that theoretically everyone knew what Mr. Hill was up to with these things, but he never actually admitted to it. “Well, objects he falls on,” she cleared her throat. Continuing to distribute the lube around the bottle.

“Alright, Mr. Hill, I am leaving you in her capable hands,” Abbot sounded mildly amused, she heard him turn around.

“I bet you know best, Dr. Abbot” Mr. Hill sounded like he was teasing Abbot, she let out a choking sound as Abbot’s steps halted for a brief moment, before they continued. As she heard the door close she shook her head.

“You are impossible, Mr. Hill,” she shook her head, carefully grabbing the part of the bottle that was luckily still on the outside. She gave him a look, “You know the drill.” she spoke, feeling the bottle move slightly, she pulled on it carefully, trying to apply too much stress.

“I simply told him that he knows what’s best,” he winked at her, speaking in a break from the gentle pushes. She held onto the bottle, they had already been able to get it over the enlargement. It would only be a bit more before it would be easier again.

“You know very well what you did there,” she gave him an annoyed glare. Within the next few moments the bottle was freed and she placed it on the tray.

“Alright, Mr. Hill, how are you feeling?” she asked as she started taking off the gloves, scooting backwards.

“Much better, thank you, dear,” he gave her a small smile. As she got up from the chair she gave him a smile.

“A nurse will be in to check on you soon, in an hour I will do another ultrasound to make sure that there is no bleeding.” she explained. “Also if you feel any lightheadedness or discomfort press the call button so someone can come and check on you, alright?”

“Yes, yes, I know how this works,” he gave her a smile as she left the room, shaking her head as she headed back to central. Mr. Hill had his nose up in everyones business, he knew everything and everyone, sometimes she wondered who his inside source on the hot ED gossip was, usually she would say it was one of the nurses, but it could really be anyone, especially of the night shift where everyone was kept awake by gossip, coffee and spite.

“So,” Josie slipped up beside her, the older nurse looking curious, “How did everything go with Mr. Hill?” she asked.

“Everything went well. I think the man should stop with these shenanigans, but otherwise I think he should be fine. There was no bleeding when I checked and there was also no blood on the bottle, so I just hope that he will be okay.” she sighed. “And he of course has his nose in everybody’s business,” she sighed, shaking her head as she rubbed her face.

“Ahh” Josie laughed slightly, “While on the topic of being in everybody’s business, I know it is none of mine, but mind telling me why Tommy’s been in such a good mood lately?” leaning against the counter Josie grinned slightly.

A snort left her lips as she nodded, a small smirk growing on her lips.

“Yeah, cause he is getting laid,” she answered, a loud clicking sound came from behind her, though she did not turn around, probably just something that had fallen over.

“Seriously?” Josie raised her brow, “Who is the lucky lady? Or lucky lad?” She continued to pry.

“Yeah, seriously. Tommy finally made a move on Maise, I felt like the pining was going to crush me every time I walked into a room with the two of them.” she shuddered lightly, shaking her head. A small smile on her lips as she thought about the fact that her friends were really happy together. Josie snorted slightly as she shook her head.

“While talking about pining…” before Josie was able to finish her question Bridgit shouted from the middle of the nurses’ station.

“We got an incoming hit and run victim, ETA 3 minutes,” her voice carried through the ED.

“Shit,” she muttered as she grabbed a pair of gloves from one of the boxes, Abbot walked past her, already heading for trauma 1.

“Come on!” he half turned as she hurried along with him, grabbing disposable gowns from one of the dispensers she put them on, he tied her gown, she tied his, Olsen also joined them, already wearing his as well. Turning slightly she saw a bunch of nurses getting trauma 1 ready for the incoming patient. They headed outside to the ambulance bay, the patient being loaded off the ambulance as they arrived, she was already intubated, they were bagging her. A young woman, about her age, hair matted from the blood, makeup smeared as they pushed her inside. The EMT rattled off data as they placed her on the gurney in the trauma bay.

Pulling out a light pen she checked the pupil again, the EMT had reported that pupils had been reactive right after arrival, though they were sluggish.

“Extremely delayed pupil reaction,” she reported as she glanced over at the monitor, the blood pressure of the young woman was dropping rapidly.

“Shit,” Olsen muttered as he squeezed some of the jelly on the abdomen of the young woman, moving the ultrasound over her stomach. She put on the stethoscope, listening to the woman’s lungs.

“Good breath sounds on her right side, left almost no breath sounds,” she reported as she pulled off the stethoscope. Olsen moved the ultrasound up and towards the lungs.

“Hemothorax,” he simply said, cursing under her breath she looked over at Abbot who watched them work.

“Prepare to place a chest tube,” Abbot looked at her, she nodded and started to get to work, the shirt had already been cut. Around them the nurses were working relentlessly, quickly she prepared everything for the chest tube, Abbot walked around the table, standing beside her.

“You know what you have to do,” he simply said, she had already placed a chest tube under his supervision a few times in the time she had worked on the night shift. Moving quickly she made the incision, then placed the chest tube, the drainage began.

“Oxygen is going up, blood pressure is still dropping,” someone in the room announced. Olsen cursed as he moved the ultrasound around.

“Looks like a torn spleen,” he squinted as he continued to move the ultrasound head, “And torn liver, shit,”

Abbot stepped around so he could look at the ultrasound, an unhappy grunt left his lips as he shook his head.

“Alright, let’s try to stabilize her so that we can get her up to surgery ASAP,” he ordered, they gave her meds to try and stabilize her blood pressure along with more blood. As she looked up she saw Ellis and Shen running towards another patient being wheeled in from the ambulance bay, a little boy that looked incredibly pale. Tearing her gaze away from the boy she focused on getting this patient stable. Suddenly the weak but steady beeping went into a long single tone.

“She’s flatlining,” one of the nurses shouted. She moved quickly, starting chest compressions. The feeling of breaking ribs during CPR was bad, though this was somehow worse, CPR on already broken ribs that crunched with every push.

“Push an epi,” Abbot barked at one of the nurses. After what felt like hours Abbot took her place, another epi, then a pulse check, no pulse. Abbot was replaced by Olsen, another epi, they circled back to her, ribs cracking beneath the pushes. The nurse at the head of the bed continued to push the bag, for some reason watching the motion of the bag during CPR was calming. Another epi, another pulse check, still nothing to shock. More blood was being pushed, another check, Abbot stepped in.

“Check her pupils again,” he told her, she did. Her heart sank as she shone the light into the eyes of the woman.

“No pupil reaction bilaterally, both pupils blown” she reported. Abbot mumbled something she didn’t understand, looking at Tara who was bagging the woman to get an idea of what he might have said, she also just shrugged. Another epi was pushed, Olsen took over, at some point another pulse check. Still nothing to shock. This was starting to look hopeless. She wasn’t sure how long they were going at it, how much blood and how many epi’s they pushed. Suddenly there was something at the next pulse check, they shocked, and the heartbeat was back. Barely there, like it was only hanging on by a threat, then it was gone again.

Cursing they started over, she was really not sure how much time passed, but the chance of stabilizing that woman was almost zero, too much blood loss from the torn spleen and liver, the hemothorax, a large and thick bruise on her leg suggesting bleeding in her leg. Her hands pressed into her chest, sweat dripping down her back as she continued the CPR, a LUCAS would have been impossible with the mangled arm of the poor woman. It felt like time was flying by and slowing down simultaneously.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” Abbot’s voice cut through the haze of CPR, beeping and orders being called. “Stop compressions,” slowly she stopped, stepping back from the gurney, her heart hammering in her chest as she stared at the young woman laying on the bed. Her long blonde hair matted with blood, the long steady tone of the heart monitor.

Abbot called time of death, one of the nurses pulled a blanket over the body of the woman, taking a shaky breath she pulled the gloves from her hands. Everyone else doing the same, a solemn silence hung over them.

“Hurry up everyone,” Bridgit called out as she opened the door, “There are six other patients coming in via ambulance. All from a car wreck.” That set everyone in motion again, they pulled off the gowns, the woman was moved out of the trauma bay, probably in one of the rooms. She hurried around, getting a new gown and a new pair of gloves. Shen and Ellis looked like crap as they all met in the ambulance bay.

People were being brought in, apparently one of the victims died on scene, trachea slices through, drowned on his own blood, two were heavily wounded and the other three had moderate to mild injuries.

“Shen, Ellis you take the one with the head injury,” Abbot called out as the EMT’s began wheeling in the injured. “Olsen I need you to fix up these three, then come join us in trauma 1,” he looked at her, “We will take the other guy,” she nodded, emotionally preparing herself for maybe another loss.

This time everything blurred together a lot more. Blood everywhere, two open, displaced femur fractures that were bleeding so badly that the EMT’s had to put a tourniquet on them. The man was heavily sedated already, apparently he had been screaming and thrashing around when the EMT’s arrived. At least that was something. They moved quickly, he stopped breathing, they intubated the man. He started seizing, they gave him something to stop it so they could continue to work. Then another long beeping tone, Olsen joined them as that happened.

CPR started, her mind starting to play the Bee Gee’s ‘Stayin’ alive’ as she started compressions. It blended everything else out, the switch, she stood there, watching, waiting. Time seemed to slow as their attempt to revive the man continued. She was not sure how long they went on. Then another call, another time of death was announced.

The room began to empty, nausea settled in her stomach as she stared at the bloodied gloves. Two people were gone, from what she could guess the little boy had not made it, the patient with the head trauma also didn’t make it. Though from what she had picked up he had coded quicker than their guy.

Pulling off the gloves and the gown she headed to the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water. This was not how this shift was supposed to end, this was not how this day was supposed to start. She shook her head, taking a shaky breath. It had been a quiet shift, the kind of shift most people enjoyed, the kind of shift why people worked the night shift. Leaning against the sink she closed her eyes, feeling her head hammering, the exhaustion of probably almost three hours CPR catching up to her. Slowly she made her way out of the bathroom, hearing agitated voices from the nurses’ station.

“I swear I will never say it again!” Shen shouted. Glancing over she could see Ellis staring him down with an angry expression on her face. Everything around her was spinning and it felt like the sigh of the young woman her age on that table haunted her. Blood was pounding in her ears as she made her way towards central, trying to not let it show how exhausted she was.

“You fucking say that all the time! And every single time it ends in a disaster!” Ellis shouted back. It looked like everyone was on edge right now. Taking a shaky breath she thought that she should maybe eat something. Turning around she made her way towards the break room. Grabbing a granola bar from the counter she collapsed into a chair.

“Are you doing okay?” his voice was gentle, it came from in front of her. Glancing up she saw Abbot standing there, a solemn expression on his face.

“Not really,” her voice cracked, trying to hold in the tears as she looked at him. He looked at her. Slowly she opened the granola bar with shaking hands.

“Are you gonna share that with the elderly?” he asked, a hint of humour in his tone. She stared at him, she wanted to laugh, she really did but all that came out was a choked half sob half laugh as she broke it in two pieces handing him one.

“Thanks,” he began munching on the granola bar. She watched him for a moment, he looked up from the bar in his hand.

“You did great tonight,” his eyes locked with hers, his expression serious, though there was a deep concern etched into it. “Except for the part where you almost lost your pants,” his voice was teasing, another choked laugh escaped her. During the hit and run victim she had almost lost her pants while doing CPR, though Nisa had caught on and pulled them up, she had thought he hadn’t seen.

“Thanks,” she sniffled slightly, trying to compartmentalise, still it was hard. Death was never easy, it was never easy to accept. “And thank you for being the rock in the chaos of this ED,” she whispered softly. That made his expression shift slightly.

“My therapist thinks it’s the only time my brain quiet’s down,” he pauses, carefully moving his hand, he holds it out, palm up. “I hope that it won’t be the only time that it quiets down for the rest of my life,”

Staring at the offered hand for a moment she hesitated, not sure if she should accept, but the moment her hand met his it felt like she was anchored to this place, to this moment, not somewhere else, not back in the trauma bay, no right there, right at that moment, sharing a granola bar with Jack.

—————————

Tags:

@antisocialfiore @fudosl @smileykiddie08 @darksparklesficrecs

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Fifteen: You Know What Hurts? When You Don't Shut Up-

Prev/Next

A/N: Y'all ready for the Underworld saga! Trust me, I don't think you'll be prepared for what I have in store for "Monster".

Warnings: Basically the whole chapter is just Reader having a breakdown, so yeah.

Word Count: 990

Listen to: The Underworld

You held out a jar for Odysseus to pour half of the potion in. The liquid was thick, and when it sloshed around, you thought you could disentangle a few whispered words.

You shook your head. What a stupid thought. 

Walking along one side of the ship, Odysseus at the other side, you tipped the jar. The potion spilled out, turning the water a milky white.

Stalactites. Those were the first things you noticed. 

The water was glowing now, the only thing illuminating your path forward. You felt someone grab your hand and give it a tight squeeze. 

“Friends.” You snapped your head toward Odysseus, who now stood at the helm. “Circe’s instructions were clear. No matter what we hear, full speed ahead, until we find the prophet.”

Your captain gestured for you to come to his side as he continued, “my comrades, this land confuses your mind. So no matter who we find…” 

You jogged to where Odysseus was waiting. “Full speed ahead, until we find the prophet,” you finished.

Your captain gave an approving nod. “Good.”

And then the shrieks started.

You raised your hands to cover your ears from the horrible noise, yet the only thing your mind could seem to focus on was the howling.

Odysseus caught your wrist, looking deep into your eyes; you knew he could hear them, and that they were more unbearable for you than anyone else on the ship. He didn’t stop you as you curled into a ball.

“All I hear are screams,” you managed. “Everytime I dare to close my eyes.”

One of the cries had a recognizable voice, and you choked back a sob. Your little sister had died in a ranch fire- you could still remember the moment like it was yesterday, and not twelve years ago.

“I no longer dream,” you heard Odysseus say, but it seemed like he was far away from you. “Only nightmares of those who died.”

You rocked forward and backward slightly, tears streaming down your face as you practically relived the scene where Poseidon had drowned so many of your friends. “Nothing’s what it seems,” you wailed.

You were aware of someone’s presence next to you, taking your head to rest on their chest as they stroked your hair gently, murmuring comforting words. You relaxed as the sound of a beating heart anchored you to what was going on now, and slowly you turned your head up, catching a sight of Polites as he smiled down at you. He whipped your tears with his thumb, a familiar gesture as you leaned into his hand.

“This land confuses your mind,” he reminded you softly, as if trying to tell you that all the deaths you had caused were not your fault.

You burst out into fresh tears, sobs racking your body as you heard as clearly as Polities, “five hundred fifty-eight men who died under your command.”

Polites looked up from your face, eyes locking with Eurylochus. 

Polites pulled you in even closer, now positioning you so that your head rested in his lap. You went still. 

“All I hear are screams,” you mumbled, looking up at your friend despairingly. “Every time I dare to close my eyes.”

To your surprise, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I no longer dream. Only nightmares of those who’ve died,” he admitted. 

You slowly pulled yourself up into a sitting position and wrapped your arms around Polites. He decided right there and then that he wanted you to be the last thing he ever saw. 

“Nothing’s as it seems,” you whimpered.

“Nothing’s as it seems,” Polites agreed. 

The moment seemed to last for only a heartbeat before you pulled away.

“Waiting.” You didn’t have to strain to hear the voice. 

“That voice,” you murmured. “It can’t be.”

Yet there she was- Odysseus’s mother, your own mother figure, was sitting on the same old stool you’d offered her years ago to replace, time and time again, for the wood was splintering and rotting. Her white hair was the same color as the milky water you caught a glimpse of as you rose to your feet. 

“Waiting,” she said. You exchanged a look with Odysseus; he hadn’t moved from where he was standing next to you. 

“Mom?” Your captain’s voice sounded almost as broken as your own. 

“Waiting. Odysseus, Y/N, when you come home I’ll be waiting.” The old woman looked past you happily, focusing on a spot beyond your shoulder. “Even if you two are the last things I see, I’ll be waiting.”

“We’re right here,” you said softly, taking a small step closer. 

“Mom.” Odysseus waved a hand in front of her face carefully. “Can’t you see?”

“We’re waiting,” you and Odysseus uttered in unison. 

“I took too long,” you heard Odysseus whisper. 

“I’ll always love you.” You wanted to reach out, to tell her that you loved her too.

“We ventured too far,” you said, tilting your head away from your captain so he wouldn’t see that you were silently crying. 

“I’ll stay in your heart,” the old woman promised.

There was a long stretch of silence, the only haven you would have from the screams for a while.

“Bye, Mom,” Odysseus mumbled.

And then the howling was back, along with your pounding headache and heavy guilt that pressed against you.

“All I hear are screams!” Your words came out as more of a yell. You pressed your hands to your temples. “Everytime I dare to close my eyes!”

And then Eurylochus was behind you, taking your hands away from your head and massaging your temples with soothing circles instead.

This caused your voice to lower a fraction. “I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who’ve died. Nothing’s what it seems. But here in the underworld your past is always close behind.”

“Your past is always close behind,” you heard the rest of the crew echo. “Down in the Underworld!” 

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift

Summary: Saiki is forced to go to a New Year's party and Valentine's Day arrives, but at least he has (Y/N). (Honestly just a sappy chapter).

            How did I get roped into this? thought Saiki. Kaidou called my mom, so I had no choice but to go. My brother is home, so I don’t really want to be there, anyway, but being forced out is annoying. I’ll leave once everyone falls asleep. Saiki rang Kaidou’s doorbell. At least (Y/N) will be here.

            “Hey, Saiki,” yawned Kaidou as he opened the door.

            “You look tired.”

            “Come in. Nendou and (L/N) are already here,” said Kaidou, yawning again as he let Saiki in. “Sorry I’m yawning so much. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

            “I see,” said Saiki, following Kaidou.

            “Yesterday, I went to a secret meeting, the ‘Dark Committee.’ It’s held at the end of the year among the sixteen chosen ones,” said Kaidou. “It’s members are—”

            “You’re putting me to sleep.”

            The truth is, I was so excited about today I couldn’t sleep, thought Kaidou.

            What a child.

            “But don’t worry. I’ll stay up until midnight for the New Year’s celebration,” said Kaidou, opening the door to his room. “Come in. Nendou, (L/N), Saiki is here.”

            “You’re late, pal,” said Nendou. He also looked tired. He yawned.

            “Don’t sleep in my bed!” said Kaidou.

            “Sorry, I was up late playing games,” said Nendou. “Don’t worry, I can stay up New Year’s Eve.”

            You, too?

            “Hey, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling and waving. “Welcome to the party.” They laughed at the tired faces of Kaidou and Nendou.

            “At least someone isn’t tired,” said Saiki.

            The doorbell rang, and Kaidou went out to grab the next person. It was Kuboyasu, who was, like the other boys, very tired.

            “Sorry, I stayed up late. Since I was coming here, I had to take care of some things beforehand,” explained Kuboyasu, yawning and sitting down.

            “Take care of what?” exclaimed Kaidou.

            “New Year Biker Gang Brawl,” said Kuboyasu.

            “It’s not the new year yet,” said Saiki, deadpanning.

            “Can you schedule that type of thing?” said (Y/N) curiously.

            “Don’t worry, I can stay up for New Year’s,” said Kuboyasu, though the circles under his eyes didn’t inspire much faith.

            “All that’s left is Hairo,” said Kaidou. “Pretty unusual for him to be late.”

            As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang, and a tired Hairo was let in.

            “Sorry, I suddenly passed out,” said Hairo, bowing apologetically. He yawned.

            “You stayed up late, too?” said Kaidou.

            “No, I slept for eight hours,” said Hairo.

            “Then don’t complain! I haven’t slept at all!” said Kuboyasu.

            “Sorry,” said Hairo. “All I did was run fifty kilometers, practice swings three thousand times, and do five hundred push-ups and sit-ups each. I’m so out of shape!”

            “Go home and rest.”

            “Just considering that makes me tired,” said (Y/N).

            “But I will make it to midnight!” said Hairo.

            “Come on you guys, it’s New Year’s Eve!” said Kaidou. “And we still have five hours left.”

            “Don’t worry, this is important to us,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Yes,” said Nendou.

            “A piece of cake,” said Hairo.

            “We’ll keep each other awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Someone should keep Kaidou awake,” said (Y/N), watching his eyes slide closed even as he stood straight up.

            “Shun?” said Kuboyasu.

            Kaidou blinked and jerked awake.

            “You too?!” exclaimed the other boys.

            (Y/N) sat down next to Saiki, who sighed as he realized some ridiculous things were coming—hijinks always ensued with this group.

            “I fell asleep?” said Kaidou groggily.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all pass out,” said Kuboyasu grimly.

            “I might be able to leave pretty early,” said Saiki. He looked at (Y/N). “Do you want celebrate the two of us?”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Saiki and (L/N) seem pretty awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “No, I’m sleepy, too,” lied Saiki. He glanced at (Y/N). They shrugged.

            “That’s almost all of us!” said Kuboyasu.

            “If we mess up, we’ll all fall asleep and miss New Year’s,” said Kaidou.

            “Yeah, but we’ll have had fun together, and I think that’s what matters,” said (Y/N), unconcerned.

            “I think I’d just sleep through an alarm,” said Kuboyasu.

            “My parents are away on a trip to Hawaii, so they can’t help,” said Kaidou.

            “Three more hours,” said Hairo.

            “We can play cards to pass the time!” said Nendou, holding up a deck. “Let’s play old maid.” He handed out the cards. However, as soon as he began his turn and reached for a card, his eyes began to close, and he nearly dropped off.

            “Wake up! Not you too!” said Hairo. His head dropped next, even as Nendou opened his eyes.

            “I’m just resting my eyes,” he lied. “I’m up.”

            “Snoring while you’re awake is interesting,” chuckled (Y/N), leaning against the bed with Saiki.

            “I’m up!” said Hairo, head jerking up.

            “I’m going to splash my face with water! That’ll keep me up!” said Kuboyasu. A couple steps to the sink and he was nearly collapsing, though, the effort too much.

            “Wake up!” shouted everyone.

            This isn’t going well.

            “Two more hours,” groaned Kaidou as everyone struggled to keep their eyes open. “It’s almost the New Year.” He glanced at his friends and blinked tiredly. “Wake up, Nendou.”

            “Huh?” said Nendou, trying to open his eyes.

            “This coffee woke me up.” His words were confident, but Kuboyasu was staring at nothing with empty eyes. His coffee drippled down his shirt

            “I’ve overcome the worst now,” said Hairo, blinking furiously. “Hey, Kuboyasu!”

            “I passed out again,” groaned Kuboyasu.

            “I’m kind of impressed by how easily they fall asleep,” giggled (Y/N).

            “It’s entertaining at least,” agreed Saiki.

            “Time for some exercise! This will wake me out!” Hairo did push-ups, going up and down at breakneck speed.

            “That’s why you were tired to begin with,” pointed out Saiki, but he wasn’t going to stop him.

            “Look, it’s 10:30. Hairo’s bedtime,” said Kuboyasu, noticing the clock.

            “It’s definitely bedtime for him,” said (Y/N), watching the pushups stop abruptly as Hairo collapsed and began snoring.

            “Hairo, wake up!” said Kaidou, alarmed.

            “He isn’t waking up! Hairo!” shouted Kuboyasu.

            Nendou grabbed a bucket of water while Kaido and Kuboyasu shook Hairo, but nothing was waking him. Even being soaked in cold water didn’t change a thing.

            “I’m a little jealous of how well he’s sleeping,” said (Y/N).

            “We can’t wake him up at all,” said Kaidou incredulously.

            “You can’t break a habit, I guess,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Hairo is done for,” said Kaidou grimly. “At this rate, we’ll end up like that. I have an idea. One hours until midnight. What if we take turns sleeping? We’ll have fifteen minutes each.”

            “I guess with four people we don’t all need to stay awake,” said Kuboyasu.

            “Okay, let’s nap!” said Nendou.

            “Wake me up when it’s time,” said Kaidou, climbing into his bed.

            “Hold on!” said Nendou. “Why do you get to go first?”

            “Then we’ll decide by rock-paper-scissors! The winner goes first!” said Kaidou.

            “One, two, three…”

            Saiki—who played because he was being “tired”—won, of course. He lay down in the bed, and the others trudged dejectedly away.

            “Are you really going to nap?” asked (Y/N) curiously.

            “No.” Saiki sat back up pretty much immediately. “Check the other room.”

            (Y/N) peeked in and laughed. “They’re all asleep on their feet. They really need it.”

            “Let’s go and enjoy New Year’s,” said Saiki, putting on his coat.

            “I feel a bit bad that they’ll miss New Year’s, but we got to hang out, so I think it’s alright to leave them. Right?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes.” Saiki wanted to hang out alone with (Y/N) anyways. He took their hand and teleported them out. They ended up in a park that he knew would be empty.

            (Y/N) checked their watch. “It’s almost midnight. I wonder if there will be fireworks.”

            “Probably,” said Saiki.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to head back to your house? What about your parents?” said (Y/N).

            “What about yours?” said Saiki.

            “What do you think my answer will be?” said (Y/N) sheepishly.

            Saiki sighed. There was a reason his parents were bringing (Y/N) into their family (besides being his partner). “Kusuke is back for the day.”

            “Ah, that explains avoiding your family,” said (Y/N), chuckling. They watched the clock at the edge of the park click towards midnight. “But we’re with each other, so it’s not too bad.”

            “Not too bad?” repeated Saiki.

            “Don’t worry, it’ll be good soon.”

            “How?”

            The clock rang midnight, and fireworks exploded above in the air.

            “Like this.” (Y/N) smiled, held Saiki’s collar, and pulled him in for a kiss.

            Saiki could have sworn the fireworks were going off in his heart as he closed his eyes and kissed back.

            Okay. This is a good New Year’s.

            The clock continued to ring. It grew louder and shriller, and he furrowed his brow.

l

            Saiki sat up in confusion, his blankets falling off of him. He was still in his own room, and as he looked around himself, trying to establish his whereabouts, he noticed his alarm going off. It was still New Year’s.

            Was that a dream? he thought, confused. Phew. I’m not stuck at Kaidou’s for New Year’s Eve—

            He paused as a headache began.

            Oh, no. That wasn’t a…premonition. Was it?

            “Kuu!” called his mom from down the hall. “You have a call from Kaidou.”

            Saiki groaned, then he paused. He lifted his hand to his lips and smiled slightly. “Tell him I’m coming.”

            He wasn’t going to give up the chance for such a moment with (Y/N). He loved them, after all.

l

            “You were pretty eager to leave school today,” said (Y/N). They chuckled. “Does Café Mami have a sale going on or something?”

            “No, I have something to show you,” said Saiki, leading them towards his house.

            (Y/N) tilted their head curiously but smiled. “Alright!”

            They arrived at his house, and he led them inside and up to his room. He opened his desk drawer, cleared his throat, and turned back around. He held a small package wrapped in pink paper and a white bow.

            “Happy Valentine’s Day,” said Saiki.

            (Y/N)’s face lit up. They had given Saiki chocolate earlier, but they hadn’t expected anything. Saiki showed affection in other ways, not gifts typically, so this was a pleasant surprise.

            “Kusuo, thank you so much!” (Y/N) threw their arms around his neck, and he caught them while levitating the gift.

            “You haven’t even seen what it is,” said Saiki, confused.

            “I know, but it’s from you, so I’ll like,” said (Y/N), letting go with a grin.

            Saiki stared as (Y/N) said the best words he could possibly hear while they just turned away and opened the gift. They took the top off the box and smiled.

            “Oh my god!” They pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a little white cat with green glasses and a familiar collar with pink barrettes on it. It was Saiki as a cat. “So cute!”

            Saiki smiled slightly as (Y/N) hugged the cat stuffed animal. He had transformed into his cat from once in front of them, and he had never gotten so many cuddles from them. Obviously, they liked cats, so, Saiki had decided to surprise them.

            “Thank you, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling again.

            “Anything for you.” Saiki watched (Y/N) with a soft smile. Wow, he really did love them.

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[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.5k] Three weeks of no John B or Sarah and you're officially overwhelmed with grief and mixed signals, leading to an emotional outburst directed at certain blonde.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, mutual pining, grief avoidance, little fluff, mentions of low self-esteem/negative self-image, mentions of past non-con

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think this chapter is actually so soft and beautiful🥺 and I never really say this but I do think listening to the song on repeat as you read makes it one hundred times better.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THIS DAY MARKED THREE WEEKS SINCE YOU’D LOST JOHN B AND SARAH…And one week since JJ kissed you out of nowhere. Co-existing in your other presumed dead best friend’s house has been…odd, to say the least. You didn’t really know how to talk to JJ now, which was something you never thought would be an issue.

He’d been in the surf shack working on your car more than usual, without your company unfortunately. You’d been taking more small jobs just to get out of the house at this point. But barely talking to your best friend for an entire week while living in the same space was starting to take a toll on you.

And so was the kiss.

Did he mean to do it? Was it a spur of the moment thing? Did JJ have feelings for you? Ten thousand thoughts running around in your mind at once, driving you closer and closer to the edge of crazy. Your heart was telling you that the kiss was no accident — that it seemed too passionate and eager to be something he’d done in the heat of the moment. But your head was telling you that the kiss was an act of grief — something he’d done in a moment where his head wasn’t exactly screwed on straight.

That it was an honest mistake.

You didn’t know which part of you that you believed.

Or which part of you that you wanted to believe.

It was nightfall when you walked up the steps of The Chateau, bag slung lazily over your shoulder as you huffed out a puff of air, exhausted from your nearly ten hour long babysitting gig. Some couple needed someone to watch over their three kids while they went on a date. You should’ve known something was off when the mother was offering fifty dollars an hour, way over minimum wage — her three kids were more like a pint-sized trio of bats from hell. But you walked away with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket, so who were you to complain?

But even with fatigue and hunger weighing heavy on your bones, your heart still dropped at the thought of seeing JJ at the end of the day.

Sighing, you quietly opened the door of the home, throwing your bag on the sofa and letting the door close behind you as Marley immediately came charging, light paws feeling like punches on your thighs but you smiled nonetheless.

“Hi, pretty girl. How are you?” You cooed, scratching behind both of her ears as she wiggled against you.

Another set of footsteps rounded the corner, a freshly awoken JJ coming into your view. You coughed awkwardly under your breath, straightening out as the two of you locked eyes. “Oh, hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just glad you made it in before it got too late, one of the corner stores got robbed a couple hours ago.” He said, voice raspy and low from sleep as he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.

The two of you stood there awkwardly— JJ scratching the back of his head as you averted your eyes anywhere else, Marley’s panting filling the silence.

You took a deep breath, shoving your hands in the back of your pockets as JJ mindlessly nibbled on his lower lip. You took the opportunity to break the silence, the blonde seemingly having the same idea.

“Well, I’m gonna get ready for bed-”

“Look, I’m sorry-”

You both stopped talking, attempting to allow the other to speak. Small smiles broke out on your faces, the two of you looking down at your feet simultaneously. “This is awkward, if I’ve ever seen it…” JJ huffed out humorously. “Can we just…like, sit down and talk, for a minute?” He asked, his own words making him cringe slightly as he motioned towards the battered sofa.

You nodded, not saying a word as you plopped down on the piece of furniture, eyes on the floor as your hands held each other in your lap. JJ sat down oddly slow next to you. You expected him to try and create as much distance between the two of you as possible but surprisingly, he sat so close that your shoulders were brushing in the tiniest of ways.

The unexpectedness of it all had your brows furrowing, finding some kind of courage to look the boy in his eyes as he finally settled on the right words to say.

“...I shouldn’t have kissed you.” For some reason, the string of words made your heart tremble and your lips parted in surprise. They hurt more than you ever expected them to. Noticing your solemn expression, JJ was quick to clean up his statement, turning in his seat to look at you completely. “Not in the sense that I didn’t want to, no, God no.” He sputtered, hands moving around wildly. “It’s just that, with everything going on, I don't think that moment was the best moment to act on my feelings-”

He was cut off when you lurched forward, colliding your lips with his in the heat of the moment. In your haste and his surprise, the blonde accidentally bit your lip but you didn’t mind, never breaking the exchange. After a moment, you both seemed to settle into it — one of his hands sliding around your hip and waist to find a home on the end of your back, pulling you closer in the smallest motion. Your own hands cradled his jaw on each side, pulling him deeper into you.

You kissed that boy until you couldn’t anymore. Until your lips were swollen and wet, your head spinning as you pulled back and let your hands fall, sliding down the length of his neck and shoulders while his own hand slid back to rest on your thigh.

“...What was that for?” He asked in a whisper. He sounded breathless.

You simply gulped, tucking a small strand of hair behind your ear before speaking. “...When you kissed me, I felt something. Something I didn’t think I should feel while kissing my best friend. Because I never thought I’d be kissing my best friend at all.” You explained, elevating your gaze to meet his eyes. “And I thought to myself that I should feel repulsed. That the kiss should feel wrong. Right? But nothing about that kiss felt wrong.” You told him. “I haven’t been avoiding you because of the kiss, JJ. I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t been able to get the thought of kissing you again out of my head since it happened.”

“And now that you have?” He asked, eyes searching yours. “Now, that you have kissed me again?”

“...I’m struggling not to do it a third time.” You breathed out, eyes fleeting towards his lips for the slightest of moments. “I don’t know what this is. In my head, you’re my absolute best friend and I love you in that aspect but everytime I see you now, I can’t help but think about you in ways that I shouldn’t. So, if that kiss or this one didn’t mean anything to you, you’d better tell me now because-”

“Oh, it meant something.” He cut you off enthusiastically, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know you probably have no idea but that kiss meant everything to me.” He told you, edging closer on the sofa. “I’ve had this huge crush on you for, like, ever. Probably since I even knew what a crush was. But you know how I am…” He lowered his voice, avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t trust myself with you. Anytime I look at you, I see this ball of light around you and I never want it to go away. Or be the reason for it going away. With me and all my shit…”

“I don’t think of you like that.” You said honestly, a small frown on your face. “You aren’t some southside screw up or a charity case. JJ, you know that I don’t care about all that. I’m always there to walk through it with you, your life doesn’t define you, you know that. Or at least, you should.” You told the blonde, running a soft hand through his hair. “And I know that it may take some time for you to believe that for yourself but I’ll be the one to tell you it everyday until you actually hear it, as a friend or…whatever else.”

You reminded the boy, biting your lower lip in thought. “...That’s why you never said anything? Because you thought you weren’t good for me?”

He seemed to ponder on the statement before nodding, somewhat shamefully. “I mean, c'mon, look at you.” He scoffed, wide blue eyes looking at your face with so much adoration and purity that you never cared to notice before. “Someone like you doesn’t need to waste her life away trying to love someone like me.”

“I do love you-”

“Not in the way that I love you.” He blurted, pinching his eyes shut as he cut you off.

“...I could. But you’ll never know if you don’t let me try.” You told him. “I won’t sit here and tell you that I love you in that way because I really don’t know. But whatever I’m starting to feel for you is beyond a friendship and once I figure that out, who knows? But I also don’t want you to wait on me to figure things out if that’s not what you want.” You concluded, retreating your hands back to the comfort of your lap.

You don’t know how helpless you looked, but you made no attempt to hide the frown that you could feel on your face. You knew JJ was known as promiscuous but his ways seemed to have settled with everything that’s happened. Although the thought of him with anyone made your gut turn, you didn’t want to confine him within the cage of your emotional contemplation. You didn’t want to lead him on now knowing how he felt about you.

“Hey,” He started, a hand on your arm. “I will wait. And that’s my choice. If you decide that you want me, that you want this, then I will be here. I know my past actions are probably making my words seem like a load of shit right now, but weeks ago? When I was hooking up with half the island? I was under the impression that you and I would never happen. But now there’s a chance.” He spoke, laughing at the end of his sentence, the oddness of the action making your face twist. “Sorry, I just, I thought about somethin'.” He said, waving himself off. “I was talking to Bree one day, about you. I told him that the odds of you ever liking me back were one in a million. And he told me that a one in a million chance is still a chance, to which I told him that he was full of shit. But now…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“...John B knew?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. JJ rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think everyone knew, except you, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow, you being the one to roll your eyes this time. 

“...So what do we do now?” You asked, voice small.

JJ sighed, suddenly sitting up straighter in his seat and taking both of your hands in his own. “...As much as I want to make you my girlfriend, right here and right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think that we both need time to grieve and sort ourselves and I also think that you need time to explore your feelings more and make sure that this isn’t a fluke.” That was the most mature sentence you'd ever heard leave JJ's lips.

“A fluke?” You asked, mildly offended. “What does that mean?”

“Just that, I’ve seen how you can deal with grief. And not to twist the knife…are you okay with me talking about the…Rafe thing?” You clenched your jaw at the mere mention of his name, nodding stiffly in JJ’s direction, the boy drawing his lips into a thin line before continuing. “When that happened, you were still grieving. You kissed him because you were in a bad place and he was there and he ended up...taking advantage of that vulnerable part of you, right?” You hummed in agreement. “I am not at all blaming you for what happened when I say this. You didn’t deserve it and that asshole should be six feet under for what he did and, God so help me, I will put him there myself-”

“JJ.” You interrupted the boy’s rant, wanting him to finish his point completely. Huffing out a puff of air, he continued.

“I’m sorry. I just, I really hate that that happened to you. And I know it happened to you, not me but I want to kill him. Every day that I wake up, I just hope he's dead somewhere.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” You reassured.

“But all I’m trying to say is that, I don’t want to repeat that same cycle — taking advantage of your emotional state. I want you to be yourself again and be in the right space before trying to take this any further. And I want you to have no doubts and be completely sure.” You understood his point of view and his reasoning behind it. Nodding, you allowed him to finish his sentence. “So, for now? We can just figure things out, set some kinda boundaries, if you want.”

You thought about it for a moment, fingers drawing shapes on one of his hands. “...Just honesty. If you kiss someone, hook up with someone…” The words made your eyes twitch. “Just don’t let me find out from someone else.”

“Oh, I can promise you that I have no one else on my mind, especially now that I know I’m on yours, so there will be nothing to tell ‘n nothin’ to find out, m’lady.” He smiled, saluting towards you. “I’m all yours, even if you aren’t mine. Yet.” He winked.

It’d been weeks since you’d seen the goofy side of JJ. It was comforting. 

You giggled, bowing your head slightly. “I promise that I am solely focused on clarifying my feelings towards you and only you, blondie.” You returned the sentiment and the salute. “What about our friendship, though? Is it still a friendship?”

“Mmm….” He thought aloud, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Actually, you’re the smart one. What’s like a fancy, silly term for developing a relationship? Like getting to know each other but not dating, like the in between stage?”

“...We can say we’re in a courtship?” You suggest half-jokingly, shrugging. “But… does this also mean we have to stop kissing each other? 'Cause I kind of like that part.”

JJ faked offense, throwing a palm against his chest and gasping. “Kissing?” He asked, wide eyed and shocked. “We are pogues. And number one rule of pogues, is no pogue-on-pogue macking…Eugh.” He reprimanded playfully, fake gagging. You slapped his shoulder in response, a smile on your face as one grew on his.

“No pogue-on-pogue macking, huh?” You said, playfully swatting his arms as he did yours. “

“That’s exactly right, little miss lips-a-lot - Ow! Did you just pinch my nipple?” He laugh-shouted, holding his chest as your swatting ceased. “What are you? Six?-”

You took the opportunity with JJ's guard down to grab the nape of his neck and pull his face into yours, giving him one last hard, passionate kiss of the night, slightly biting his lip as you drew your face away from his.

“How’s that for no pogue-on-pogue macking?”

next chapter>

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.SVN Taglist; @esquivelbianca @fallingwallsh @calmoistorm @i-love-ptv @liability28 @rivaiken @sophiahristov @rafxcameronss @ldrvinyl @purplerose291 @boo22sstuff @heartsforandrewgarfield @coolgirl458 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @jujubeaz @ellobruv-blog @yourmumstoy @belle101200 @libertyybellls @c4ttheart @ihe4rttwd @redhead1180 @ditzyzombiesblog @spideysimpossiblegirl @sex-me-stiles @honeyiti @rafedrewandjjs @highformaybank @broidfk609

©loveharlow.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

Shanks—Buggy blinked, not believing what he was seeing—pouted.  “Can’t I get a kiss goodbye?” If someone had told him even yesterday that Shanks would become such a baby the second he was shown the smallest bit of affection… “You know what?  Fine.”  A delighted expression bloomed on Shanks’ face as Buggy walked back to his side.  Buggy smiled, laid a loud, wet kiss dead-center on his forehead, and pulled back to watch his face crumple.

@midydoof is as much of a menace as buggy himself. how am i supposed to go about my daily life while this art exists??

this part has had a few lines of new dialogue added to one scene; i realized as i was doing my edits that i’d dropped the ball on one of the topics of conversation buggy wanted to discuss in an earlier chapter, and this was a tidy way to take care of that loose end.

for any new readers: this is part seven of eight of the long, post-marineford part of this shanks/buggy series! this part is about fifty-five hundred words, and sees us through the usual morning after problems that come with people like shanks (captain of the ship, sap) and buggy (clown, idiot).

[scary-grace]

Anomaly (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Ever since he was rescued by All Might from All For One, Shimura Tenko's led a charmed life - except that he's a beta, in a society where alphas are privileged, omegas are prioritized, and betas are an afterthought. But when Tenko finds himself investigating a series of designation-swaps that have devastated the lives of the victims, he comes face to face with the terrible truths at the heart of society's placid, inflexible structure, and the enigmatic villain who's bent on exposing it all. The one they call Love's Executioner - otherwise known as, you. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1

dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapter 2

“Fifth Celebrity Wedding Called Off This Month: Hero couple splits, citing irreconcilable differences.” Tenko reads the title aloud, then shoves the newspaper down out of his face. “So what?”

“So what? It’s sad, Tenko-kun!” Toga looks scandalized. “They were getting married! They were going to be together forever.”

Alphas and omegas always act like breakups are the end of the world. Like being alone is the worst thing that could ever happen to somebody. Tenko doesn’t appreciate that very much. “Like I said. So what?”

“They weren’t just getting married. They were bitten up and everything,” Touya says. He’s been back from heat leave for a week and a half and he still can’t get that freshly-fucked look off his face. “That’s not just a breakup. Or a divorce. Breaking a mating bond is serious business. I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“I have to live in this world, same as you,” Tenko says. He glances at Touya, irritated. “Why do you guys give a shit whether Mt Lady and Kamui Woods break up?”

“Read the headline. It’s the fifth broken engagement this month, and they were all at the same wedding expo a few weeks back,” Touya says. That sounds familiar, but it takes Tenko a second to figure out why. “Rumor is, they all got their designations swapped.”

Designation-swapping isn’t an urban legend any longer. It happened to all four of the people Tenko’s source pointed out in Shiroiwa, and other people have come forward since with the same problem. There are almost five hundred cases, and those are just the ones who are admitting to it. The level of shame around this is enormous. Tenko’s talked to people cited for public indecency who were less humiliated than the people whose designations changed.

Then again, when alphas and omegas get arrested for public indecency, everybody knows it’s because of heats and ruts. Nobody knows why designations are starting to change.

There are theories, obviously. Midoriya, geek that he is, thinks it’s a new step in human evolution, just like quirks were a hundred and fifty years ago – something that will let humanity balance the numbers of each designation in the population rather than dealing with surplus alphas and insufficient omegas and too few betas to keep things stable. Other people, like Spinner and Twice, think it’s a disease. The prevailing theory among the top heroes and the HPSC is that it’s a bioweapon, although who has it and why they invented it is completely up in the air.

Tenko’s own theory is simpler, and it makes a lot more sense, which is why he brought it up during the first meeting about the growing crisis. What if it’s a quirk?

He got a ton of weird looks for that. That’s the first thing we looked at, Endeavor said. It was a dead end.

You sure? Touya looked up from filing his nails. How sure?

Every time Touya talks in a meeting, it shuts Endeavor up, which serves Endeavor right for apparently treating all his non-alpha kids like shit. He kept quiet, and Hawks filled in. Something like that would have popped up on the quirk registry. There’s nothing there.

Besides, quirks related to designations are extremely rare, Midoriya piped up. Quirks are an adaptation, a next stage of evolution to help humanity survive. A quirk that affects designation, and therefore reproduction, could imperil that. Less than a hundred quirks of that type are registered worldwide, and none of them involve changing designations.

That was the end of that discussion, even though quirks can develop late. Even though existing quirks can evolve or awaken into something new. Even though somebody with a designation-switching quirk would have every reason to lie on their registration form. Tenko can’t tell if everyone’s just stupid or if no one wants to believe that anyone would target designations on purpose. Like designations are some special, sacred thing that no villain would touch. Nothing’s sacred to a villain. Tenko knows that better than anyone. And of all the supposedly sacred things a villain could target, Tenko thinks designations are pretty fucking low on the list.

He’s also a beta, so his perspective on the whole thing is kind of skewed. “Do they have to break up just because their designations changed?”

Toga and Touya trade a glance. “Why would they stay together?”

“Uh –” Tenko feels stupid saying this, because it’s obvious to him and they’re looking at him like he’s lost it. “Because they love each other? Are you really saying it stops mattering if their designations change?”

“Maybe if it was a one-to-one swap – like, the alpha becomes an omega and the omega becomes an alpha,” Touya says, frowning. “Even then, though. They might not be each other’s type. Or it might be too weird to switch roles.”

“I don’t know if I could take being someone’s omega after I was their alpha,” Toga says. “These swaps, Tenko-kun. People can’t just shrug them off. Whatever this is, it’s ruining people’s lives.”

“I don’t want to say you don’t understand because you’re a beta,” Touya says, “but –”

“I don’t understand, because I’m a beta,” Tenko says. His phone buzzes with the staccato tone of a Hero Network alert, and he levers himself up from his desk. “Got it.”

Tenko’s alpha and omega friends have always said shit like that, and it’s always bothered Tenko, but in this context it’s even more frustrating. Alphas and betas aren’t the only ones affected by the swaps — whatever’s happening, it’s happening to betas too, and the betas Tenko has interviewed have been just as miserable with the swaps as the others. Tenko checks his phone, wondering if it’ll be another swap situation. Nope — just some alpha off their suppressants, triggering a bunch of other alphas, and they need somebody to respond who’s not going to get caught up in the mess.

No points for guessing why Tenko’s getting this ping. Betas make the fucking world go round. He accepts the assignment, grabs his support gear, and heads for the elevators.

When he gets there, he finds out he wasn’t the first choice to respond — another team of heroes, an alpha and an omega, were already sent to the scene, and they’ve made things even worse. Adding an omega to the situation to compete over was a disaster, and although the omega at least managed to lure the alphas out of the middle of the road, the omega’s now perched on a fire escape while half a dozen alphas, the other hero included, go berserk beneath him.

Tenko’s arrival on the scene is a nonevent. The alphas don’t even turn. Tenko looks up and addresses the hero on the fire escape. “What are we looking at here?”

“Seven alphas, all with canceled quirks,” Eraserhead reports. His quirk is active, and he looks pissed. “Of the alphas, only one is actually in rut, and is either off suppressants or refusing to control her behavior. The conflict started when other alphas attempted to subdue her.”

Tenko suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s Mindjack in the mix down there?”

“He shouldn’t cause trouble,” Eraser says, scowling. “I warned him to use his quirk, not an alpha command. Next time he’ll listen.”

“Keep canceling the quirks if you can,” Tenko says. Eraser nods. “I’m going to try to get the one who started it. The others should calm down once she’s gone.”

Eraser nods. “Mindjack will help you.”

Tenko's not going to count on that. He squares his shoulders, adjusts his gloves, and wades into the middle of the brawl.

If all seven alphas were in rut, someone would be dead by now. As it is, it’s more like a seven-way slap fight, with scratches and bruises but nothing worse. Although three of the alphas present are female, it’s immediately obvious which one is causing trouble. The wild look in her eyes tells Tenko she’s out of control.

And it’s not by choice. Tenko’s seen that look before, on the faces of kids who’ve had the misfortune to start their first heat or rut out in public. She’s not refusing to control her behavior. She doesn’t know how, and she’s way too old for this to be her first one. Tenko feels a spike of dread straight down his spine. This isn’t an alpha out of control. This is a victim.

With that in mind, fighting is the wrong response. Tenko leaves his hands open at his sides and speaks up instead. “Hey,” he says, and the alpha looks his way. Her right pupil is blown, but not her left, and there’s a trickle of blood running from her nose. “Hey. Eyes on me, okay? Let’s talk.”

“Can’t,” she stammers. “Can’t talk. Think. It feels — awful —”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tenko says. “Going from omega to alpha must be pretty rough.”

The alpha’s head snaps up. “You know?”

“I know,” Tenko says. “I can help you. Just come with me.”

“Bad idea,” Mindjack growls. He must not be totally out of it; he’s keeping the other alphas back. “She’ll jump you as soon as she gets a chance, even if you are a beta.”

“Why don’t you do your own job?” Tenko fires back. One benefit of being a beta — he can mouth off as much as he wants, and it’s not going to start any blood feuds. He refocuses on the victim. Not the perpetrator. The victim. “Hey. Don’t listen to him. There’s a way out of this, if you come with me. We’ll get you the help you need.”

The alpha turns partway towards Tenko — and then Eraser shifts around on the fire escape, drawing her attention back. That pulls the other alphas, too, and Tenko’s officially out of options for handling this without force. He catches the alpha in a control grip and starts dragging her backwards, through the rest of the group and towards the street. It’s a risk. He doesn’t know her quirk, and as soon as she’s out of Eraser’s line of sight, he’ll be vulnerable to it. But Tenko can handle himself. Getting this alpha out of here is the fastest way to turn the temperature down.

Sure enough, her quirk kicks back in as soon as they’re around the corner, and because Tenko has shit luck, it’s an electricity quirk. He gets a pretty bad zap, at which point she does exactly what Mindjack said she’d do and jumps him. Tenko knows this happens — and that some people fantasize about it — but it’s never happened to him before, and he hates it. It’s an effort to keep his temper in check long enough to subdue her, and the rage sticks with him even after he’s handed her off to the EMTs with instructions to take her to the hospital where they’ve been collecting every victim of a designation switch.

Tenko knows it’s not the former omega’s fault. She’s apologizing to him through the mask as they load her into an ambulance, and he waves her off, says it’s fine. It’s not fine. It’s not her fault, but it’s not fine, and after he’s gotten back to Might Tower, he spends half an hour in the showers, scrubbing every trace of alpha pheromones off his skin.

By the time he’s out, word’s spread, and the omegas have gathered. “You okay?” Touya asks. “It happens to all of us, but the first one’s the hardest.”

“It’s okay to be mad,” Midoriya says earnestly. “People will try to tell you that they can’t control it —”

“She couldn’t.”

“But that’s just alpha apologia,” Magne says. “They have a responsibility to take their suppressants and control their behavior, and if they’re not doing that —”

“She couldn’t control it. Her designation got swapped,” Tenko says, and all of them — including Monoma, who was just opening his mouth — go quiet. “Omega suppressants wouldn’t do shit to help with a rut. And it’s not like anybody who showed up was actually helping calm things down. If your stupid friend Mindjack hadn’t tried to alpha his way out of the problem —”

“People who’ve been swapped don’t have ruts or heats,” Monoma interrupts. “Maybe she was lying.”

“I saw what I saw.” Tenko’s starting to lose patience. “The designation swaps are complete. People sprout new anatomy or lose what they had before. Why wouldn’t they pick up the hormonal shit to match?”

“It’s possible we haven’t seen it yet because we haven’t had anyone under observation long enough,” Midoriya muses. Then his face falls. “Or that the ones who go into rut or heat are the ones who don’t survive.”

That’s probably more accurate. The omega-turned-alpha Tenko faced wasn’t exactly having a good time. Tenko’s tired of talking about it. “Take that one to All Might. Or somebody else,” he says. “I’m taking a nap.”

Tenko tries to sleep, but he can’t. It’s all so stupid. Stupid that he’s angry, when nothing bad happened to him, when it wasn’t her fault. Stupid that nobody has an answer yet for why this is happening. Stupid that Eraserhead and Mindjack made things worse and not better. Tenko keeps trying for half an hour, then sits up and goes researching.

He looks up the victim. Or the perpetrator. Or — whatever. Thinking about it too much makes Tenko’s skin crawl. According to the arrest record, she’s forty-seven, with two kids and a husband, and she lives in Aomori prefecture. Aomori. There hasn’t been an outbreak of designation-swapping in Aomori. Tenko checks twice to make sure.

Maybe she traveled through somewhere where there’d been an outbreak. A file hasn’t been built for her yet, but Tenko knows how to track someone via social media, and there’s nothing in her social media that puts her further south than Tokyo. Every single outbreak has occurred in the south. If this is a disease, where did she pick it up? If it’s a bioweapon, how come nobody else in Aomori has been swapped? The options narrow by half in Tenko’s head — his theory, or Midoriya’s. Maybe Midoriya’s right and it’s a spontaneous mutation, the next stage in human evolution. Or Tenko’s right, and someone did this, is doing this. Who?

Sensei. The thought pops into Tenko’s head, and Tenko kicks it away. It’s not Sensei. Sensei’s long dead, and this kind of thing isn’t his style. Sensei said he wanted destruction and that’s why he needed Tomura, but Tenko’s had a lot of time to piece himself back together since All Might saved him, and he knows that what Sensei really wanted was control. He couldn’t get control of the current system, so he needed it destroyed. This villain, if it is a villain, isn’t destroying the system like Tomura was supposed to grow up to do. They’re — Tenko doesn’t know what they’re doing. He decides all at once that he wants to be wrong about this. Maybe it is a mutation, like Midoriya thinks, and they’re all just going to have to adjust. It’ll suck, but humanity will get it together. They always have before.

Tenko puts his phone down and tries to go to sleep again, but just as his eyes are getting heavy, his phone starts going berserk. It’s the Hero Network, and when Tenko picks it up, he finds that the screen of his phone has gone completely red. A warning is flashing in the center, one Tenko’s never seen before on his phone or All Might’s: HOLD POSITION UNTIL OTHERWISE STATED.

The door to the lounge bangs open and everyone piles in — heroes, sidekicks, support staff. Spinner dives for the remote to turn on the TV, while Twice and Midoriya forget to check if the couch is clear and sit down directly on Tenko. Tenko swears at them. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We don’t know,” Midoriya says. He’s actually wringing his hands. Tenko wants to kick him and tell him to get it together. “We’re grounded. Every hero in the prefecture is grounded.”

“It’s not just us,” Touya reports. “Hawks is down in Kyushu right now and he says they got the same order. Every hero in the country is supposed to stay put. They say they’ll yank the license off anybody who tries to do something without their say-so.”

“What do they think we’re going to do? We don’t know anything,” Monoma says. “Spinner, the TV —”

“I’m working on it, okay?” Spinner hollers. “I — okay, here we go —”

The announcer is one of Magne’s favorites, and on the other side of the room, she fakes fanning herself. But the announcer’s not on-screen for long. The broadcast immediately cuts away to a panning shot of a city’s downtown. The streets are completely empty. The traffic lights are still changing. The billboards are still flashing. Nothing’s been damaged or destroyed, but the city’s still silent. Tenko feels a weird surge of foreboding. It only gets worse when he glances up at the corner of the screen and realizes that the shot is live.

The announcer’s voice breaks in over the footage. “This feed is coming to us live from a NHK helicopter crew flying over Kyoto City, where a shelter-in-place order for citizens designated alpha and omega was issued late last night. We have just received word that the order has been expanded to cover the entire prefecture.”

When was the last time an entire prefecture was locked down? Tenko barely has time to think of the question before Twice asks it, and Midoriya and Touya are already answering: “Never.”

“I have a statement,” the announcer continues, “released moments ago by the HPSC. I will read it aloud. The HPSC requests that all citizens remain calm at this time, and apologizes for any confusion and fear that have resulted thus far from our silence. Based on video footage and survivor testimonies from the mass casualty incident which occurred in Kyoto last night —”

“The what?”

Tenko’s not the only one to speak up, but he and everybody else gets shushed by All Might, who’s just entered the room. The announcer’s still reading. “We are able to confirm that the reported changes in designation are the result of a quirk, and that the quirk in question is being wielded with malicious intent.”

It’s quiet for a second, or however long it takes Tenko to realize what just happened. “A villain,” he says, and everyone looks at him. “I fucking told you!”

It’s a villain. Tenko didn’t want to be right, but he is, and it’s a villain. A really sick, twisted villain to think that this is something that’s okay to do. Unless he doesn’t know what it’s doing to people — but how could he not know? Tenko thinks of all the headlines he’s seen over the past six months. Divorce rates going up, suicide rates going up, no cure or relief for the people who’ve been switched. To him it was just a random collection of events, but the villain who did this would know exactly what he was looking at. And he must be okay with it, whoever he is. Or else he’d stop.

The announcer is still reading the HPSC’s statement, which has devolved into reassuring everybody that the heroes are on the case. Which is bullshit. The heroes are grounded. “This isn’t right,” Midoriya is saying uneasily. “They’re saying the suspect is still in Kyoto and everywhere else is safe, but they don’t know that. They don’t even have a sketch or a description.”

“They have to have caught this freak on CCTV. How do they not know who he is?” Touya asks. “Putting out a statement like this is stupid. They’re just going to scare everybody.”

“Maybe everyone should be scared,” Toga counters. She looks worried. “I want to know what they mean about the mass casualty.”

“One moment,” All Might says, and everyone goes silent. All Might’s looking at his phone. “The HPSC is distributing the footage from the CCTV cameras in the entertainment district, where the mass casualty event took place. Each agency is receiving the footage from one camera. Our assignment is to comb through it and see if we can find anyone who might be the suspect. No suspicion is too trivial to investigate. No one — not one hero in the country — moves on this until we have a photograph and description of the suspect.”

“Why not?” Twice asks, but everyone’s splitting up to their desks to start work. “We know where he is, kind of. Why can’t we go looking?”

“This villain is not like other villains,” All Might says. He looks disturbed. “He does not care about publicity or credit for his crimes. Above all, he cares about his ability to continue committing crimes, which means he’s patient. If we react without thinking, he could go to ground again, and we’d be unable to catch him.”

“If that’s his thing, doing a mass casualty in a major city seems like — not very smart,” Spinner says. “We weren’t even close on figuring out what was causing the switches. Why tip his hand like that?”

Tenko knows. “Because he wants us to know it’s not an accident. That somebody’s doing this,” he says. Midoriya’s face is white. “He wants us to be scared.”

If Tenko was an alpha or an omega, it would probably work. He’d be terrified of a villain who could upend his entire life with no hope of recovery, so terrified that he’d be temporarily paralyzed. As it is, he’s just pissed. “That’s not going to work on me,” he says. “I’m not fucking scared. He screwed up by doing this. Let’s make him pay. It’s his turn to be scared of us.”

Tenko makes eye contact with his friends. Spinner and Twice are nodding, and although the alphas and omegas are looking nervous, he can see Midoriya’s expression hardening fast into resolve. Touya’s not far behind. “Let’s get this done,” Tenko says. He heads for the door — and doesn’t make it. All Might catches him, and everyone else vanishes without looking back. “Hey. What’s this for?”

“Your presence reassured the others,” All Might says. “Such reassurance is more convincing from a peer than from me. I wanted to commend you.”

Tenko crosses his arms over his chest. “And?”

“And,” All Might continues, “I wanted to give you a heads-up. The HPSC is preparing their response, and due to a perception of the switches as less traumatic for betas than for alphas or omegas —”

“Once the villain’s identified, they’re sending you?”

All Might shakes his head. “Most likely, Tenko, they’ll be sending you.”

It makes sense when Tenko thinks about it. With society scared shitless, the HPSC can’t risk something happening to All Might, and the country’s really light on beta heroes. Tenko went the traditional hero-training route, which means he’s got more experience than Twice or Spinner, and because he can’t use his quirk on an opponent without doing serious damage, he’s gotten really good at subduing people hand-to-hand. Tenko’s a good fit for this mission.

And at the same time, there are alpha or omega heroes who are even better at capturing someone than Tenko is. More visible heroes who have an intimidation factor, who could potentially cow the villain into surrendering. It doesn’t have to be a beta who takes this guy down. But the HPSC is hedging their bets. A hero getting switched and subdued mid-battle is a disaster. It matters a lot less if it happens to a beta.

Tenko can’t think about that right now. He needs to focus. It won’t matter who the HPSC wants to send to fight the villain if they don’t know who the villain is.

Everyone’s hard at work, hunched over their computers, scanning the video feed second by second. They’re working with a three-hour block of footage from one camera, the duration of the mass casualty incident plus half an hour on either side, and everybody’s been assigned a five-minute window to study. Tenko’s window is right in the middle of the incident, 11:55 to midnight last night. He’s watched it through ten times already without finding anything.

Nobody in the footage stands out. It’s a gang of people partying, spilling out of clubs and into the street — and as soon as they hit the street, the dominoes start to fall. Tenko can see when the swap kicks in for each of the victims. There are a lot of victims. Tenko counts thirty in his window alone. But just like with the other clusters, in Shiroiwa or at the wedding expo, not everyone gets hit. The villain is selective about victims. You can’t be selective with a broad-spectrum emitter quirk. Tenko’s willing to bet that the villain’s quirk functions by touch.

For a quirk that activates by touch, there’s no better place to collect a ton of targets than a crowd. If Tenko was a villain who wanted to kill lots of people at once, he’d plant himself in the middle of a crowd and start walking with his hands open at his sides. But people would notice him, just like people should be noticing the guy who’s touching everybody. There should be a ripple effect in the crowd as everybody turns in search of the guy —“Holy fuck,” Tenko says out loud.

Everyone sits up in unison. “Did you find him?” All Might asks.

“No. But I know why we haven’t,” Tenko says. “The villain’s not a guy. It’s a girl.”

Tenko sees lightbulbs going off over everyone’s heads, and he’d feel pretty superior about that if he hadn’t only figured it out about six seconds ahead of everyone else. “It has to be a girl,” he says. “The quirk’s touch-based. That’s the only way to account for the selective spread. But if there was a guy in that crowd just touching everybody —”

“People would be freaking out. Guys don’t get to just touch everybody,” Touya says immediately. “And if it’s a girl, she’s probably an omega. Even with suppressants, I know when there’s an alpha in my space. An omega would barely make waves.”

“People would probably want an omega to touch them,” Toga adds. “Tenko-kun, you’re a genius!”

“I just had the thought. Somebody else probably has, too.”

Apparently not. When Midoriya spreads the word on the Hero Network, it’s the first anybody’s heard of the idea that the villain in question is female. To be fair to everybody, it’s not like there are a ton of female villains. Female criminals of both designations, yes. Female villains of either designation, no. Even Spinner, the biggest villain nerd at All Might’s agency, can only name a handful. And he can’t name even one villain, male or female, alpha or omega or beta, who’s managed to bring the entire country to a standstill without committing a single murder.

“It really proves that it’s not about the relative power level of a quirk, but how you use it,” Midoriya says to Tenko while they’re taking a mandatory break from scanning the footage. “Designation-swapping is a very weak quirk, and it’s got basically no utility —”

“Except in porn!” Twice announces.

“Yeah, except that.” Midoriya’s face is turning red. “But as a weapon it’s extremely effective. Based on our interviews with the victims, a swap to anything but beta is instantly debilitating. The change in sensory input can’t be coped with. And when people switch to beta, they usually go into shock within 90 minutes. She hasn’t killed anybody because she doesn’t have to kill anybody. There’s never been a supervillain like that before.”

“A supervillain?” Touya raises his eyebrows. “That’s jumping the gun, don’t you think?”

“Not when you look at how many victims there are,” Toga says, frowning. “Her count was in the hundreds before Kyoto, and —”

“Those are just the ones we know about,” Tenko and everybody else fills in. Toga glares at them. “We know.”

“Even if we forget about that, there’s the money thing,” Spinner says. “We get in big trouble if we stop traffic at one intersection for an hour. Remember that presentation about all the money that loses? Shutting down a whole prefecture is a million times worse.”

“Fine,” Monoma grumbles. “She’s a supervillain. Where’s her sense of drama? Supervillains are always dramatic. That’s how we catch them.”

Sensei was a supervillain. He was definitely dramatic about it. “Just wait until the press gets ahold of her,” Magne says. “If she won’t give them drama, they’ll make it up themselves.”

It turns out that the villain gave a little bit of drama, drama Tenko and the others couldn’t catch because their camera feed was at the wrong angle. The spot goes to Best Jeanist’s agency instead, for noticing the hands with dyed-red fingertips making contact with every victim, proving Tenko’s hunch about a touch-based quirk. After that it’s just a matter of finding a shot with a good view of the villain’s face, and using data from all the camera angles to give an estimate of her height and weight. Once that footage comes in, it’s hard to imagine that any of them failed to guess that she’s the villain. Long, blood-red hair, red-tipped fingers, completely black eyes? Villain. Obviously.

Tenko feels weird about that. People have told him he looks like a villain before. He knows people have told Toga, too, and Spinner and Magne have gotten all kinds of shit for their appearances. Then again, none of them are on camera switching people’s designations. The villain looks like a villain because that’s what she is. Tenko studies the grainy image of her face and starts getting his head in the game. He’s looking at a supervillain. It’s his job to take her down.

<- Chapter 1

taglist: @babybehh @shigarakislaughter @atspiss @deadhands69 @baking-ghoul @f3r4lfr0gg3r @boogiemansbitch @minniessskii @handumb @dance-with-me-in-hell @agente707 @lvtuss @warxhammer @issaortiz @shikiblessed @evilcookie5 @cheeseonatower @aslutforfictionalmen @koohiii @lacrimae-lotos @stardustdreamersisi @xeveryxstarfallx

[ladykailitha]

Yellow Daisies Epilogue Part 2

This is the end, two weeks after Valentine's Day. Oof. And this is the longest chapter I've every put out because I refuse to cut it up and prolong the ending longer than I have to.

We have the next five anniversaries (and a little bit of their lives as they age). Also minor angst in seven and eight.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Epilogue Pt 1

~

~ 6. Iron Jasmine- Unconditional Love

Their sixth anniversary was in London. Like actual fucking London. Steve couldn’t believe it. He had traveled with his parents, because they couldn’t leave him behind until he was old enough to fend for himself, so of course he had been to places like LA, Chicago, New York and even sunny sojourns in places like the Bahamas and the Caribbean. But his dad didn’t like foreigners, mostly in general, but he really hated Europe.

It wasn’t until he got older that he realized it was because of how they treated the working class, Thatcher not withstanding. He liked her the way he liked Reagan.

So Steve seeing London for the first time was incredible. Eddie and Steve did all the tourist-y things like see the Tower of London and the London Museum of Natural History. But they also did things like visiting old graveyards and taking in a play at the Prince Albert Royal Theatre. They saw ‘The Phantom of the Opera’.

Steve would have called it a mistake with the way that Eddie played up the Phantom role, going so far as even buying a cape and mask, but for one key thing.

That silliness was exactly why he loved his partner with all his heart. He even almost managed to walk off with one of the Tower ravens if the bird hadn't escaped.

After a nice dinner at the Savoy they went for a romantic walk along the Thames.

“Your flowers are back at the hotel,” Eddie murmured. “But I didn’t want to give them to you at dinner, new places make me itch between my shoulder blades.”

Steve nodded. He knew. They couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that a place wasn’t homophobic and just preferred to keep that between the two of them.

“That’s okay,” he said with a smile. “I understand. I get to have a piece of you that no one else does and yeah it’s scary now, but it won’t be always be this way.”

Eddie’s answering smile was a little fragile and that was okay with Steve. He would keep all of fragile moments so that no one could use them against him.

“So what’s the theme this year?” Steve asked with a grin and bumping their shoulders together.

Eddie snorted. “I’m surprised you don’t have the next thirty years memorized.”

Steve shrugged. “I like not knowing so that I can be amazed every time. Like I know it’s silver for twenty-five years and gold for fifty.” He shrugged again. “The rest though? I leave to you.”

Eddie’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“The next bunch are almost all different metals,” Eddie explained, talking happily. “All except year nine which is pottery, but I have an idea for that one. So since they’re metals, I thought I’d learn how to make flowers out of the different metals.”

“That’s awesome!” Steve enthused. And it was, too. There were a couple of years that Eddie couldn’t make them himself and Steve could tell that it bothered him a little. So that one skill would produce so many years really made Steve happy.

“This year is iron,” Eddie said smiling broadly. “Now, iron is a little hard to work with if you aren’t a blacksmith, so I fudged it a bit with steel. Which is technically eleven but there are a couple of years that double up, so I figured I’d change up the flower.”

“I can’t wait,” Steve breathed.

They got back to the hotel and laying on the bed were the steel flowers.

Steve gasped when he saw them. “They’re beautiful. What flower are they?”

“Jasmine.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Unconditional love?”

Eddie kissed him deeply. “Right in one, my clever boyfriend. Because that’s how it will always be, okay?”

“Okay.”

~ 7. Copper Carnations (they oxidize to green)- Gay Love

Steve couldn’t believe it had been seven years since he rocked up to Eddie’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers and a hope. Now Eddie and he were world travelers, and all because Eddie made it big with his band.

They had been through it all, the highs and the lows. Steve had to stay out of the spotlight for the most part because there weren’t any metal stars who were gay and Eddie had been told to stay firmly in the closet.

So all he would say in interviews was that he was in a committed relationship and then ‘no comment’ after that. So sometimes tabloids and other entertainment media would pair Eddie off with one woman or another.

One week it would be an up and coming starlet, next it would be some popstar. Steve snorted over that one. As if Eddie would date someone who liked pop music. He would whine about it having no soul and that it was basic.

But with the press hounding him night and day, it was hard for him to break away enough to spend time with Steve. Those were the worst days in Steve’s opinion. Eddie’s too, if he was honest.

But Eddie had flown Steve out to a private beach in Hawaii for just the two of them. Eddie even hired an actor to play him going about New York to throw them off the scent.

It was nice.

Steve had gotten up early to sit on the shore and watch the sun come up over the Pacific ocean. He had put out a large beach towel and pulled his knees up to his chest as watched as the sky went from black to blue to red and orange and finally the sun came up and sky settled on a deep blue, so unlike the almost grey skies of LA or New York.

Just as the sun was about to fully come up over the horizon, Eddie came out with a picnic basket and sat down next to him.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, giving Steve a kiss on the cheek. “Wha’cha doing up so early for?”

Steve turned to him and smiled. “I just wanted to see the sun come up. It’s not often we get to do that anymore.”

Eddie looked over at the sun and then back to Steve. “No. I wish you had woken me up though. I would have joined you.”

“I know,” Steve said softly. “But you just looked so cute, sprawled out like a star fish, I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

Eddie huffed, but wisely said nothing about his starfish status, instead opting to get out all the things he prepared for breakfast. There was chopped fruit and yogurt, granola and orange juice and a little vodka if Steve felt a little daring.

About half way through their beach side breakfast Eddie pulled out of the flowers from the basket. Copper carnations.

Steve recognized the flower from all the carnations he had given to Claudia over the years. But why carnations?

“Are they meant to be yellow for copper?” he asked in confusion. Yellow carnations meant rejection and disdain. His lip started to wobble.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you know what copper’s most defining characteristic is?”

“No,” he said softly, his voice small as he took in the flowers in his hands.

“It turns green.”

Steve looked up at Eddie in surprise.

“Oh!”

“It takes awhile,” Eddie continued. “But I promise you, when those flowers turn green, I will come out and I will tell the world you are mine.”

“And how long does it take?” Steve asked breathless. “For them to turn green.”

“Usually about five years,” Eddie said with a half shrug. “It can take up to thirty though.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Then here’s to the next thirty years, babe.”

Eddie brought their lips together and kissed Steve tenderly. What he didn’t tell Steve was that there was a way to speed up the process and if they weren’t green by the flowers’ fifth year, he was going to dumping them in a solution of vinegar, ammonia, and salt. There was no way he was going to wait thirty years to come out.

~ 8. Bronze Tulips (orange)- Appreciation and Truest of Love

It was two days before their anniversary and things were not going well. Eddie had agreed to a European tour even though Steve had asked for them to be home for their anniversary this year. London and Hawaii had been nice, but they had a whole ass mansion they never used because they were gone all the time.

It resulted in the biggest blow up the two of them had ever had. There was even full on screaming. That was yesterday. It was Valentine’s day and he was alone in this big ass mansion he never wanted. Eddie was somewhere in Germany or Austria or something.

The Sunday tabloids had been filled with Eddie going out with this hot rocker in leather hotpants and ripped t-shirt. They had screamed about that too. Especially since Eddie refused to tell Steve who she was. Only the repeated phrase of ‘I’m not cheating on you.” But no other explanation.

He called Robin and Dustin and begged them during each of his calls with them to tell him that it was all in his head that Eddie was pulling away.

Dustin’s “Ehhh...” was not helpful and neither was Robin’s, “It only feels like he’s pulling away because he is far away.”

He sat there looking at all the flowers Eddie had got him over the years. He brought all the different vases to the long dinning table and just stared at each one, his hands shaking and his lower lip quivering as recount each flower and their meaning.

He picked up the yellow daisy. The one that had started it all. Attached was the original note: ‘I will love you until the last petal falls.’

Steve tugged at one of the silk petals, vaguely wondering if it could be plucked off.

The phone rang and Steve ignored it at first. But then on the seventh ring he got up. He picked it up on the eighth.

“Hello?” he said dully. He hoped it wasn’t someone selling something. He had gotten a lot of those kind of calls lately and he really didn’t need that right now.

“Ste-ie!” Eddie said.

“You’re breaking up,” Steve said with a frown.

“So-ry, I -st nee-d to he-r you- vo-ce.”

“Eddie,” Steve said a little louder. “I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I can’t –ay. Can’t –t – see y– aga–n. I– t– soon.”

Then the line went dead.

Steve looked at the phone for a moment or two and then let out a sob. Did he just get broken up with? On Valentine’s day no less?

He didn’t understand what Eddie was saying, but it didn’t sound good. He set the phone back on the cradle and slid the floor.

He looked up at all the flowers on the table, all the years of promised love and devotion to have it all ripped away from him.

He wanted to be angry. To yell, to tear, to destroy the flowers Eddie had given him. But he didn’t even feel sad in that moment. He felt numb.

~

Eddie bounded through the front door. He had tried to call Steve back several times but the call wouldn’t go through. So his manager did the smart thing and put him on a flight back to LA immediately. But thanks to horrible layover in London due to a storm in New York, he arrived just after midnight on the 16th.

He was surprised that none of the lights were on. But considering had badly they had been fighting lately, he knew he was being optimistic about that. Wayne had called him every synonym to idiot in the book when he took this tour instead being home with Steve.

But he had taken the tour for Steve. He was so close to being able to retire and the label wanted one more tour before they all went their separate ways for a while. The goal was two years, but it might be longer if the burnout stuck around for longer than they planned. But everyone was on board with doing the last tour so that they could actually rest.

Eddie paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. There weren’t any lights on up there, either. He was about to check out the kitchen when he heard faint sobbing from the front room. It was then he noticed the flickering light of a TV screen.

His heart sank. He had suspected that Steve didn’t understand he was coming home for their anniversary, but now hearing the faint sobs, it was clear Steve’s mind had gone the absolute worst direction.

He set his suitcase on the floor and quietly dashed up to their bedroom. He dug around the back of their walk-in closet until he found it. Eight bronze tulips.

Eddie gathered them up and dashed back downstairs as quietly as he had come. He opened the door and sure enough, there was Steve curled up on their sofa, tissues strewn everywhere, bottles littered the floor, and piles of half eaten take-out were on the coffee table.

He set the flowers on the armchair and scooted the Ottoman over to the sofa. He gently lifted Steve’s head and whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here now.”

It took Steve a moment to realize who it was before he launched himself into Eddie’s arms, his sobbing taking on a relieved quality.

Eddie wrapped his arms around his boy and held him tight whispering over and over that he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Finally when Steve was calm enough to talk, Eddie wrapped himself up in him and they cuddled on the couch.

“It sounded like you were breaking up with me,” Steve admitted shyly. “But I couldn’t reverse dial an international call.”

“I know, Stevie,” he muttered, kissing the top of his head. “I was saying that I needed to hear your voice after that big fight we had and that I was coming home as soon as I could.”

“The tour!” Steve cried and he bolted up right. “Are you going to get into trouble for that?”

“No,” Eddie said, taking his face in his hands. “Because we all needed a break. We were running on empty so badly that we were barely able to stand up straight, let alone play our instruments.”

“Oh.”

Eddie kissed him gently on the nose, each cheek, his forehead, and then finally his lips. “I’m not going anywhere. Not for a really long time.”

“Do you mean it?”

Eddie nodded and then got up. He grabbed the flowers and handed them to Steve. “Eight, like with year four, one for every year we’ve been together.”

“Tulips?” Steve said, cocking his head to the side. “Is the metal what the color is?”

Eddie nodded. “Bronze for orange. No tricks this time, I promise.”

Steve didn’t have to say it. It was written all over his face. It was perfect for this year. Appreciation and the truest of love.

And as Steve showed his own appreciation by kissing the hell out of Eddie, Eddie knew that they would make it through any storm as long as they had each other.

~ 9. Pottery Vase (with a bird of paradise painted on the side)- Joyfulness

Eddie had spent almost every day in the first couple months after that fateful flight home in Steve’s pocket. And Steve ate up every moment. There wasn’t an interview he had to go to, or an award show Steve was forced to stay home for, or a studio session with long hours. Eddie was all Steve’s and they talked about it. With Wayne getting on age, they wanted to move closer to him so that they could be within easy distance if he needed anything, so they settled on moving to Chicago.

It was far enough away that they would have their own space but close enough that it would be a day drive or a quick flight and they would be there in a flash.

The house they bought wasn’t as big as their LA home or even Steve’s childhood home. But it had a heated pool, rooms for all their friends and comfortable space.

This was Steve’s dream home.

Even better they moved in the fall instead of the dead of winter, so by Christmas they were completely settled in and had all their friends over for New Years.

Eddie had gotten Steve into painting and himself into pottery as something they could do together but separate as the classes were at the same time.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays they would drive down to the rec center and go their respective classes.

It had been rough for Eddie the first couple of week because of the publicity. But once it settled down that Eddie was just a regular Joe, the class continued as normal.

By February Eddie could make the vase he wanted for their ninth anniversary. Then he got the brilliant plan to have Steve paint a flower on it before having it fired.

Steve thought long and hard about which flower to do. It was usually Eddie who picked the flower, but this time they were doing it together.

“It’s a ridiculous sounding name for a flower,” Steve hedged. “But I think its meaning fits this year a lot.”

Eddie smiled up at him. “Come on, baby. I live for the ridiculous.”

“It’s a called a bird of paradise and it means joyfulness.”

“It’s perfect, Stevie.”

So Steve painted the flower on the vase and then they pressed each of their hands on either side of the flower on the vase. Eddie’s left hand and Steve’s right.

Then when it was done baking and cooling, they took it home.

Steve took out one flower from each of the previous eight years and added the daisy. The rest of the flowers were still in their own vases around the house, but this one was the center piece at their table.

The proof of their love.

~ 10. Tin Daffodils- New Beginnings

Ten years. Steve couldn’t believe it. It had been a whole decade since he walked up to Eddie’s house and handed him the bouquet that would change both of their lives forever. And in those ten years their little family has grown.

Max and Lucas got married and had a sweet baby girl. Dustin and Erica got married, which was a surprise to everyone but Steve. He had been there for the their first adventure together and he hoped to be there for all them. Mike and El broke up for good and it took Will having a steady boyfriend to get his head out of his ass a realize who he wanted along was his best friend. El was still living with Hopper and had no plans to settle down in the near future.

Robin had moved around the country, first New York, then San Francisco, before finally growing roots in Seattle. There she met a nice woman named Emilia and they had moved in together just last year. Nancy and Jonathan also split up, but they remained friends. Jonathan had gone to NYU with Robin and learned a lot about himself before moving to California with Eden and Argyle. Steve was pretty sure they were in a ployamorous relationship, but he hadn’t wanted to pry.

Eddie’s bandmates had spread out over the world. Gareth had to Wales to learn about where his grandparents had come from. Jeff went to New York to write musicals. And Brian was writing music for Hollywood blockbusters. They still got together every couple of months to hangout and discuss the future of Corroded Coffin and each time it was unanimous that they not bring it back together. They still were struggling with the affects of burnout from being on the road.

Wayne had finally decided to move in with them in Chicago and was happy to putting around in their garden for the rest of their days.

For their anniversary Wayne was going back to Hawkins to visit friends so that Steve and Eddie would have the house to themselves.

Steve was making the dinner and Eddie was providing dessert. They way they moved through the kitchen was like dancers in sync. A perfect ballet of just knowing where the other is going to be after ten years of being together.

Steve was making manicotti and Eddie was making white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. When they were done, Eddie popped the cheesecake in the fridge and they sat down to eat. Just happily chatting and enjoying each other’s company like they had the last two years. It had been healing for them.

Then they settled in front of their TV and watched cheesy rom-coms until they laughed themselves sick.

Then Eddie brought out three things, his flowers, the cheesecake and a small envelope and set all three down on the coffee table in front of them.

Steve picked up the envelope. “What’s this, Eds?”

Eddie plucked that from his fingers. “Not yet! That’s for last.” He picked up the flowers first and handed them to him. “Tin is much easier to work with then the other metals, so I made daffodils.”

“New beginnings?” Steve questioned, cocking his head to the side. “What new beginnings are we gonna have, sunshine?”

“You remember my manager, Archie MacDonald, right?” Eddie asked chewing on his bottom lip.

Steve smiled. “Of course I remember. I might have had too many hits to the head, but I can remember someone who has been a major part of your life for almost as long as we have been a couple.”

“Well,” Eddie said nervously. “Archie used to be Angie and he got pregnant. He can’t get an abortion with back alley’ing it. So he asked around to see if anyone wanted the baby.”

Steve’s eyes immediately starting tearing up. “They’ll let us? They’ll let us have the baby?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, pressing their lips together. “They’ll let us have the baby. Everything has been taken care of, all you have to do is go in tomorrow and sign the papers. He’s already signed documents that he is relinquishing rights to the baby, so no matter what happens, it won’t be staying with Archie.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and pulled out a picture from the envelope. “Technically is not an it, the baby is a she.”

He handed the picture over to Steve and he took it gingerly. There in his hand was an ultrasound showing a healthy baby. A healthy baby girl.

“Is this real?” he asked, his voice quaking. He didn’t mean the picture exactly, but all of it.

“Yeah, babe,” Eddie said pulling Steve in for a hug. “It’s all real. It’s not the six you wanted, but it’s a start. The baby is due in June.”

Steve let the tears of happiness fall. At the age of twenty-nine he was going to be a father. He looked up at Eddie with such adoration, Eddie just had to kiss him.

“To new beginnings, honey,” Eddie murmured. “You got any ideas on what you’ll want to name her?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “Heather Amelia Munson.”

“Why Heather?” Eddie asked, not because he didn’t like the name, but because he had a feeling it meant something to Steve.

“White heather means protection,” Steve explained, “and wishes come true. Protections so she gets all the help from the universe she can from being our kid and wishes come true, because she absolute is.”

Eddie chuckled. “Fair enough. And why Amelia?”

Steve just shrugged. “It just seemed like a fairy tale name and I wanted something connected to you, too.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Little Heather would be born to a world that still didn’t know Eddie was gay and living with his life partner. But just eleven days before their eleventh anniversary, Rob Halford of Judas Priest came out as gay. Eddie had a brief meeting with him and then on their anniversary announced it to the world with green carnations, lavender, and pink hydrangeas.

The meaning was there for all those that knew where to look. And as with Halford, Eddie and Corroded Coffin’s fans rushed out to support them.

Then on their thirty-eighth anniversary they were legal wed. Wayne had lived to see it, but passed not long after. At their wedding all their friends and their families were there. And all three of Eddie and Steve’s kids. Heather, Valerian, and Daphne. Val as his friends called him was their first test tube baby. He was used using Steve’s sperm and his name meant readiness. Daphne was their last and used Eddie’s sperm, her name meant sweets to the sweet. Little Daphne was only ten, while Valerian was thirteen and Heather, sixteen.

They lived happily ever after.

~

Tag List: COMPLETE

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[xxladystrengthxx]

Bianca waves the other two girls over to where she and Vega are standing... "...twenty-five years into the future; how old will we be then?”

“One-hundred and fifty-seven,” Yoko responds without hesitation.

The siren rolls her eyes. “Not you, granny. Div, how old will you and I be?”

Divina licks her lips as she does quick mental math. “Forty-three.”

“Exactly. Forty-three, old enough to have teenagers,” Bianca confirms. “So, any guesses as to who this tiny, gothic werewolf Addams might be?”

“Aunt Yoko,” the vampire repeats in realization. “Holy fucking shit.”

—

Or, a spell gone wrong brings Wednesday and Enid's daughter, Vega Addams, to the year 2025. She and her best friend Sora enlist the help of some familiar faces (and a hand) to get home without revealing her true identity to the teen versions of her mothers. Original characters by @barblaz-arts.

Chapter 1 posted! Enjoy. 🖤

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

 Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate. 

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans. 

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 15: A Prelude of Power

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Nyra's mind is an island and a figure from the past who resides there, helps.

Word count: 6k (Enjoy!!)

Warnings: Erotic fantasy in the beginning, sexual assault (not rape) at the end.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Mor was in a dimly lit room. A long mirror caught her eye and she saw herself wearing her favourite lingerie. Red and lace. A silhouette was behind her, walking towards her. Mor’s breath hitched when the face of the person was revealed in the reflection. 

“You’re beautiful.” Nyra whispered into her ear and then turned her face. “Isn’t she?” That question was directed at someone else. “Turn around for me.” Mor trembled and did as told. 

Nyra Archeron was a fucking fantasy come true, wearing black panties and a sheer robe. Mor stared at those round breasts and the hard nipples. She whimpered when Nyra took a step backward. And another. 

Mor remembered that playfulness from when Nyra had flirted with her during dinner and now it had changed into something sensual. But what had changed? Was it Nyra’s tone, the way she carried herself, the way she touched and teased?

“Please.” But Mor didn’t even know what she was begging for. 

“Desperate, too.” A voice from her right spoke. Nyra laughed and Mor looked at the one who had just spoken. 

Nesta Archeron lounged on a couch, the curve of her hip being prominent as she lay on her side. She had a glass of wine and the table near her had a bottle and a book. Nesta rose with her trademark grace and walked closer. Her robe was opaque—a deep red if Mor had to guess the colour. But if her next guess was correct, there was nothing beneath it. 

Nesta brought her wind glass to Mor’s mouth and she drank. A few droplets escaped her mouth and trailed down her mouth, down her neck to her left breast. A hand was now around her waist and she was tugged towards Nyra who leaned in and gently licked the wine as much as it was still on her face. 

Mor ached all over. She wanted their hands and lips on her body and she wanted her chance to worship them. 

“What were you begging for, sweet thing?” Nyra’s voice was as light as her touch. 

“Please.” She begged again but still not knowing what she even wanted. 

“Are you already senseless?” Nesta’s mocking voice began. “Even without starting?” She wore a cruel smirk and the red painted on her lips had a sharpening effect. 

Nesta removed that robe and confirmed the truth behind Mor’s suspicions. She was naked and glorious. Nesta’s hand came to her cheek, her thumb caressing it almost lovingly. The hand moved to her nape and ascended to her scalp. It descended and touched the tips of her hair. “Your hair is soft.” 

Nesta’s other hand came and her fingers traced the band of her panties. Her thumb found its way inside and began caressing her hip. Mor was already breathing heavily, hands clenching at her sides. “Do you want us to touch you?” 

“Or do you want to touch us?” Nyra asked. Mor really could not take her eyes away from Nyra’s lips. She wanted to kiss her. 

A knock on her door brought her back to reality. She was in the townhouse, in her room staring absentmindedly at her study table where writing instruments and papers lay scattered. Writing unsent letters to Viviane was a very masochistic way of coping that she’d started nearly fifty years ago. 

Presently, she was supposed to be writing another letter but instead had begun fantasising about the Archeron twins. Another knock on the door gained her irritation. She stood up, marched towards the door, and opened it with unnecessary strength. 

Cassian stood there, a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand. “Need some company?” 

Mor could’ve kissed him but she doubted he’d appreciate that. Especially with his fuming desire for Nesta Archeron that was undoubtedly a mating bond slowly weaving. 

Guilt crawled around her neck like a snake, hissing at her. Condemning her for desiring Nesta. For desiring Nyra. Both females with mating bonds leading to the two people who deserved to be loved the most. And here she was, stashing away her lust for the twins only for more of it to be formed. 

Guilt made Mor allow Cassian into her room. The urge to forget it made her drink. And by the time she had woken up sometime in the middle of the night, Cassian had already left and she had been tucked in. 

Mor wandered around her own room like a ghost. Not understanding how Rhysand could collaborate with Keir and Eris at the same time. The view from the window, Velaris—her home, was now a heartbreaking one. Mor sank to the floor right there and mourned like everything had already ended. 

The next morning, Morrigan had donned her mask. A red lipstick, jewellery, a red dress and she walked like a queen to the nearest bakery and bought a few sweets. Rhys had found her and they talked. She even bought some for the Archeron twins knowing that they had a sweet tooth. She returned to the townhouse just in time to see Azriel have his breakfast as he read a few papers. A few letters were on the dining table. 

Neither of them spoke to each other as Mor opened them and began reading. From the insignia of each court on the envelopes, she knew these were the responses from Day, Dawn, and Winter. Azriel had finished his meal and left wordlessly when Feyre walked in. 

“You look like a team of horses trampled you.” The words were out before Mor even realised. She was supposed to be angry at Feyre. At her High Lady for the performance she had orchestrated with the High Lord last night. 

“Good.” And Feyre snatched her pastry. Mor did not like that but she ignored it and summoned a plate of carved melon.

“What’s that?” Feyre asked. Mor looked at her and did not know who she saw. Was this her friend, Feyre, or the High Lady of the Night Court? How different were these two people?

“The first of the High Lords’ responses.” Mor did not care if she sounded too sweet. Or sarcastic. 

“That pleasant, hmm?” 

“Helion’s came first this morning. Between all the innuendo, I think he said he’d be willing to. . . join us.” 

“That’s good—isn’t it?”

Mor shrugged her shoulders and then briefed her on the contents of the responses. After the talk about the responses, Feyre spoke. “About last night-”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing.” The following conversation was a lie—Mor knew it was. Feyre was new to all this and a lie from Mor would probably help her ease into this. Pretending to be fine, pretending to be tough about her father and Eris—life was always going to demand a facade instead of her true self. 

**** 

The healer, Madja, had visited to check Elain. Nesta did not like her conclusion—to have Elain’s mate sit down with her to help her. Madja had also recommended a physical examination of the three sisters to ascertain their reproductive health since one of them had already started bleeding and they were the only Cauldron-Made fae in existence. 

“Call another healer.” Nesta demanded, not wanting Lucien anywhere near her sisters.

“Not if you’re going to bark them out of the house.” Feyre retorted.

“Call another healer.”

“Would you try it?” Feyre was now looking at Lucien who only looked awkward at the ongoing sisterly spat.

“Don’t you even attempt-”

“Be quiet.” Feyre snapped. Nesta blinked, her surprise evident. Feyre inhaled once, trying to calm herself down. “The mating bond helps. It helped me. It is helping Nyra. It can possibly help Elain.��� 

“The bond is not helping Nyra. Azriel is.” Nesta mumbled, remembering her twin who was upstairs with her painful cramps. She looked at Feyre and breathed in to calm herself. 

“You know well it is not the mating bond I have an issue with.” Nesta spared Lucien a withering glance and he had the decency to look ashamed. 

“He will try. And if he doesn’t find anything amiss, we’ll consider bringing another healer.” Feyre had offered a compromise Nesta begrudgingly conceded to.

Feyre, Lucien, and Mor arranged tea while Nesta went to invite her sisters downstairs. She entered the room and saw Nyra sitting on the window sill, reading. Elain was simply staring outside. Nesta closed the door behind her and cleared her throat. “We’re having tea downstairs.” 

And that was all that she could manage. Elain rose, nodded her head, and entered the bathing chamber. 

“Very awkward of you to invite us for tea.” Nyra made a face that clearly demanded an explanation from Nesta. Once she received her explanation, Nyra seemed unimpressed. “I don’t really know if we should trust him. He seems like the type of person who’d kidnap Elain.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Nesta suddenly felt that the idea of Lucien kidnapping Elain was a little far-fetched. “Wait, what?” 

“Well, he sided with Tamlin when the imbecile chose to turn to Hybern for allegedly saving Feyre. Then there’s the family issues since he had to flee Autumn and Spring. We know he’s in Night for her so I mean. . . and he’s only here because of the mating bond, not because he ever knew her before this. So. There’s probably a good chance he could steal her away because clearly, there’s no one else here he’d care about.” 

The only reason why Nesta had been so distrustful of Lucien was that he was complicit in what happened in Hybern. The possibility of what could happen next was not one she’d considered. 

****

Tea time was awkward. Mor had prepared the herbal tea for her and Nyra was for it to cool down. A cushion was on her lap and she was curled at Nesta’s side. 

It started off as a silent tea drinking session. Nyra watched Mor and Feyre who looked too serious. Nesta was stoic but the moment Elain swiftly set down her teacup and rose, she shot to her feet and Nyra’s head that had been tucked against her side fell on the sofa. 

Nyra blinked, her upper body rising from falling to the bare sofa so swiftly. She stood up and by the time she was nearing, Lucien was already apologising. 

“What did you do?” Nesta was no different than a warrior wielding her blade. 

“Nothing.” Lucien said to her and then turned to Elain. “I’m sorry if that unsettled you.” 

“It felt strange.” Elain spoke as she walked towards Nesta. She walked past, halted at a space between her older sisters, and then looked back at him. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” 

“I’m sorry.” Lucien’s apology had the value of dust in Nesta’s eyes but the lady of silver flames turned around when her sister began speaking. 

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.” Nyra closed her eyes and squeezed Elain’s hand. 

Nesta joined them, masking her frustration and devastation. “What can we get you, Elain?” 

“Sunshine.” And the three sisters left for the garden in the back. Elain sat next to the flowers while her older sisters watched from a distance from the doorway, flanking each side while leaning their shoulders against it. 

“What if she’s not. . . mad?” Nyra began. Nesta looked at her and waited for her to continue. “What if. . . whatever power she got from the Cauldron is showing her something?” 

Nesta looked quite unimpressed. “I have no idea what you read in those horror novels of yours.”

Nyra clicked her tongue. “Think of it like this. You and I can see certain things with our power. Something that our normal vision does not allow us to see.”

“We have. . . forms within us.” Nesta found it difficult to articulate what their power truly was. “Beasts, perhaps. But Elain. . .”

“Have you ever tried looking at Elain with that power?” Nyra asked. 

“No.”

“Then I guess it’s high time we did.” And before Nesta could say anything, Nyra’s eyes glowed like gems. Under the sunlight, her gaze was divine. Nesta wondered how different were the blue of Nyra’s eyes and Azriel’s siphons and if it was a poetic coincidence. “Oh.”

Nesta watched her twin’s eyes dim and the Archeron blue reappeared. “Well, she is bright.” 

“Bright?” Feyre’s voice joined in, her head now on Nyra’s shoulder. The youngest wrapped her hands around Nyra’s waist and pressed her palms against her belly enough to give Nyra some relief.

“Blindingly.” Nyra placed a hand on Feyre’s cheek and began stroking it absentmindedly. Shadows curled around her fingers, effectively taking her hand away from Feyre as the dark strands began playing with her fingers. 

“Blindingly bright.” Nesta mused. “No form?”

“A silhouette of a woman covered with many eyes.” Nyra looked a little disgusted. “Very much like a character from a horror novel.” More shadows gathered near her waist.

“Horror novel?” Cassian spoke. The sisters turned around to see three Illyrians watching them. “Is that what you read? I thought you shared Nesta’s preferences.”

“Do you want me to recommend a few horror novels?” Nyra’s eyes shone with wild mischief and she looked at Azriel who waited for what she would say next. “One of them features a seemingly courageous Illyrian general who once visited a library and-”

“All right. We get it.” Cassian grumbled.

Rhysand tucked a few stray hairs behind Feyre’s ear and stood behind her. 

“How are the cramps, Nyra?” Azriel asked kindly. Nyra turned to him and then looked at Feyre’s hands pressed to her belly, then looked at him and shook her head.

“Horrible as usual. What have you mischievous marauders been up to this morning?” Nyra asked and Cassian looked dramatically offended.

“We brought cake.” Rhys announced. Nyra visibly brightened only to grimace again at another wave of abdominal pain. Feyre pressed rubbed Nyra’s belly in soothing motions. Cassian was standing behind Nesta and Azriel was in between his brothers. And somehow, they could still see outside where Elain sat looking at the clouds and then at the flowers. 

“Continuing our earlier conversation, so she’s not. . . insane?” It pained Nesta to say the word. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Nesta looked a little relieved at Nyra’s words. “She’s an Archeron. We’ve all got that bit of insanity within us.” Nesta’s relief turned into disbelief and she wasted no time in smacking Nyra’s arm, carefully avoiding Feyre. 

“You know what I mean.” Nesta hissed. A laugh from Cassian and she was already glaring at him. The general promptly shut his mouth. 

“Thank you for the supporting evidence.” Nyra gave Nesta a cheeky smile before she turned to look at the skies, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “I think she sees a lot of things. With all those eyes.” 

“A seer?” Azriel spoke. Nyra turned to him immediately. The shadowsinger saw her eagerly waiting for him to explain. “There have been records of people being able to see what’s happening elsewhere. Sometimes, into the future.”

“What about what she just said?” Rhysand spoke, completely unnerved. “Twin ravens, one black and one white—was it?”

“We’re twins.” Nesta remarked. “But ravens?”

“What if it’s just about a couple of birds?” 

“Should we be alert against birds?” 

“I really don’t like the way she said it.” Feyre’s arms around Nyra’s belly tightened. In return, the older sister brought her fingers to the younger’s cheek. 

“Will a library have any records about seers?” Nyra looked back at Azriel. 

“Maybe. I myself heard about them from the inmates.” Azriel’s reply had piqued Nyra’s curiosity enough that she stood straight, turned to her side and leaned her back against the doorway. Nesta repeated the same action and Cassian suddenly became more alert.

“Inmates?” Nesta asked. 

“There’s a Prison. The Bone Carver is one of the inmates.” Rhysand was the one who spoke and mentally granted his permission to his brothers to answer any questions the sisters may have no matter how confidential the information was. 

“The one who wants the mirror.” Nyra whispered, watching the shadows and moving her fingers to play with them. 

“Dear Amren was an inmate.” And the twins looked at Cassian with wide eyes when he’d revealed that bit of information. Nesta remembered something about that from last night and Nyra remembered something about that from what Nesta had told her. 

“You revoked her sentence?” Nyra asked Rhys. 

“She escaped.” And Cassian repeated the events of the previous night with greater detail and focused on Amren. Nesta had not understood much of it since she was entirely new to the world of fae. Any questions the twins had were immediately clarified by the males. 

“And now you want this Bone Carver out?” Nyra looked between Rhysand and Feyre.

“He’s a death god, if the legends are true. Having him on our side would be a huge bonus.” Feyre replied. 

“But if he has to give something up to exit the Prison, would he remain as powerful as he is inside the Prison?” Nyra questioned. Feyre opened her mouth and then closed it. 

“I don’t know but we need him regardless.” Cassian answered. “Every soldier is valuable. If they can even make a scratch on the enemy, we’d have a valuable asset.”

Nyra hummed and looked at the sky again and then at Elain.

“She seems lost.” And that was as pained as Nesta could ever sound.

“Do you think she’d notice if it rained?” Nyra mused. She raised a hand and waved it once, her fingers moving deftly. And even the sunny skies of Velaris obeyed her and light rain fell. 

“And she doesn’t even notice.” After a few seconds, Nyra commanded the rains to desist with another hand movement.

“Do you now have control over changing the weather?” Azriel asked. Nyra blinked at him, her head tilting to the side and his stupid shadows began announcing how adorable she was. As if he didn’t know that. 

“It’d be embarrassing if only my emotions controlled the weather. I’d like my will to have equal importance.” Nyra replied and then looked at Elain sitting outside, basking under the sunlight she’d said she needed. 

“The Bone Carver wants a mirror which once belonged to the Weaver, who happens to be his twin sister.” Rhys reminded. 

“Sounds vaguely familiar.” Nyra mumbled to herself but Rhys had heard her. 

“How is it familiar?” The High Lord pushed. The glare he got from his mate and his brothers hadn’t deterred him in his pursuit to question the lightning-wielder.

“The Cauldron gave me information. I barely managed to evade it but they’re all in my head, waiting to be sorted and studied.” Nyra let her head fall on Feyre’s shoulder. “I could sort and study something.” 

Rhysand’s eyes glowed but Azriel was the one who spoke, his voice like the morning mist—cool and fresh. “You want to do that?” 

“Yes.” She replied softly. “I need something to distract me from my own head.”

“Please stop whenever it gets uncomfortable.” Azriel wanted to take her in his arms and take her away from everything. Away from war and death gods and give her peace. He wanted her to smile freely, to live freely. But she wanted to do this. And he really couldn’t say anything against her. 

“I will.” She smiled, a little tired. “Feyre?” 

“Hm?” Feyre was currently hugging her sister. 

“Does this mirror have a name?” 

“The Ouroboros.” 

“Catch me if I fall.” And everyone standing there would. Nyra’s eyes glowed and she entered her own mind. And the shadows supported her weight to the extent Feyre could not. They transported Nyra and laid her down on the sofa. 

Her mind was an island surrounded by storms. The island had a house. The house she had been born in. The house that had been lost with their riches. And instead of it being decorated with the familiar furniture, the inside of it had many shelves and many piles of books and things and scrolls and papers on the floor. 

The shelves were marked and Nyra took her time arranging them according to her own sorting system since such a mess was unacceptable. 

Hours must have passed. She’d realised that most of these were information from her past lives and that there was information from seven of them. There were others but the records related to them were not much. One of the seven was a master of magic. Another was a warrior. Another, a scholar. And she perused the Scholar’s books. This person has accumulated the most knowledge. And there it was, the Ouroburous. 

Nyra read the information and then looked around her. She had sorted nearly all books of the magician’s and the warrior’s lives. The scholar’s knowledge would take a good amount of time she did not think she had. And then there was a song. 

A young girl’s voice. 

She saw the silhouette of a girl running from the corner of her eye. Her wings were noticeably familiar. 

Nyra chased the girl and saw that her wings resembled an Illyrian’s wings. The girl looked back and her eyes were closed. She had a very familiar appearance. And then after a turn, she stopped. She turned around fully. And Nyra was shocked at seeing the cruel slash on her neck. Blood still oozed from it but none of it had spilled on the floor. Her wings were brutally slashed and blood flowed. 

She couldn’t have been over sixteen. The girl with closed eyes walked forward, extended a hand with a book. Nyra took it and continued to look at her. “Say hello to them.” 

And the girl vanished like she had winnowed away. Into the night, stars, wind, and shadows. Nyra read the book and that remained the only record of the girl she sorted for now. She exited the house and now looked around for an exit. 

A thread was now on her left hand, on her ring finger. Red, very loose, and wrapped multiple times around that finger but it was there. Nyra wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before but she held the thread with her right hand. 

The thread led to a forest she had not seen before. She was sure the forest had not been there before but this was her only clue for now. Nyra entered the forest and the air of cedar and night chilled mist encompassed her. She breathed in and felt calm. 

Nyra suddenly had the urge to sit down and take  a nap. She continued to walk despite yawning multiple times. And then she stopped at a lake. She spotted a rock and sat on it. Nyra was tired and she closed her eyes to focus on breathing and suddenly, her senses were clouded. 

Nyra woke up, lying on a sofa and with Feyre by her side. She slowly willed her upper body to rise. Someone was immediately behind her with a glass of warm water and another hand on her back, gently helping her sit up straight. From the scarred hand that helped her drink the water, she recognised Azriel. The shadows were swimming around her in a worried frenzy. 

“Breathe.” And if an incredibly beautiful male were to tell you to breathe in an unbelievably deep and seductive voice, any rational female might have a heart attack. And Nyra’s heartbeat increased and she couldn’t even drink the water properly. 

Now, let it be known to the readers that Azriel usually does not assist anyone in drinking water. So when he did this for Nyra, he went blank as his  thumb made contact with her lips. Lips that were wet because she was drinking water from a glass that he was holding for her. Here, Azriel knew he could go mad. He could go feral over this touch but he wouldn’t. He shouldn’t. Even when she sat there with her back towards him. Holy gods, Nyra’s lips were soft. Azriel felt ravenous, like he had to drown in her essence. 

“You were unconscious for seven minutes.” Feyre told her. Nesta’s figure was coming closer and she immediately knelt, a hand on Nyra’s cheek. Elain was behind her. She took one look at the scene and then retired to the bedroom. 

“How are you feeling?” Nesta asked, clearly worried.

“I feel like I’ve woken up from a very long dream. And I’m tired.” 

“And mentally?” Rhysand asked, also kneeling down. 

“I feel. . . clear. Like I’ve enjoyed the first breeze of the world. It’s exhilarating.” And then she looked around. Cassian was eagerly sitting at the edge of his seat, observing her. Feyre was sitting on an ottoman just adjacent to the sofa. Azriel was behind her, supporting her back because he somehow seemed to know that she would lose her strength any second now. Amren and Mor were at a distance.  

“Oh, I have much to tell you.” Nyra began. And then she moved her legs to place them on the ground. Azriel’s hand remained on her back. 

“The Weaver brought a lot of things with her from her own world but the Ouroboros is different because she made it after she came here. By the time she was confined to the Middle, she had lost it. She summoned a huge snake that quite literally fell from the sky, trapped it, and crafted that mirror that would reveal a person’s true self. The mirror’s power is related to the snake itself and not the Weaver.” 

“That is dangerous.” Nesta mused.

“How so?” Feyre asked.

“People are fearful of their own minds and hearts. They never want to acknowledge every single part of them at the same time.” Nesta explained. Silence descended in the room as everyone contemplated the gravity of Nesta’s words.

“I do not recommend you looking into that mirror.” Nesta announced, looking at Feyre.

Before the Cursebreaker could protest, Nyra spoke up. “I second that.” 

“Not you too.” Feyre felt a little betrayed at the lack of support for her decision even when she knew that it stemmed from concern.

“What are you so upset about?” Nyra began reprimanding. “If you can’t handle what you see, you’ll go mad. The steward said it. Morrigan confirmed it.” 

“This is a necessary sacrifice.” Feyre spoke determinedly. 

“Then we’ll face the future without it.” Nesta argued. 

“You’re too emotional about this.” Cassian began. 

“Death is one thing. Madness for eternity is another.” Nesta rose. 

“I am more familiar with death, Nesta Archeron.” And Nesta did not know if he was referring to death or her. He took her hand and squeezed it. Nesta watched him, her expression impassive but his impact on her made her sit once again.

“You’re our High Lady. You’re supposed to sacrifice us.” Morrigan spoke from the doorway. 

“I’m your High Lady which is precisely why I will be putting myself forward first.” She looked at Rhysand, fierce and unwavering. “Our Court before anything.” 

And Rhys honestly did not know if he wanted to smile at his High Lady or kidnap his mate to safety. She was a mirror right now, reminding him of how he’d persevered for forty nine years in Amarantha’s bedroom. 

He let out a wry laugh. “And this is precisely why you’re my mate. My High Lady.” On bended knee, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. They gazed at each other, not as mates or lovers but as rulers of the Night Court. 

Nyra cleared her throat, dispelling the awkwardness that had settled among others. The two of them looked at her. “Did I interrupt your passionate prelude of desire? I do not apologise.” 

Cassian let out a laugh. And behind her, Nyra felt Azriel’s tremors of concealed laughter. A quiet sense of contentment settled in her soul. 

“The three of you have no duty to our Court. You shouldn’t involve yourself any further in this war.” Amren spoke for the first time since this surprise meeting began. 

“You seem to forget.” Nesta began, her voice deathly calm. “We’ve been involved from the very beginning.”

“The first act of war is not always bloodshed and weapons.” Cassian closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands with elbows propped on his thighs. “And the first act of this war was when Hybern kidnapped the sisters of the High Lady of the Night Court.” 

“No.” Everyone turned to Rhysand who was less than pleased to speak further. “The first act of this war was when that bitch threw her party all those years ago.” And Rhys continued. “This might sound so selfish and arrogant of me but-” 

“It’s not.” Nyra interrupted. “Acknowledging what happened is not selfish or arrogant of you. And if you choose to do that, then I choose to support you through it.” Nyra declared. Azriel watched his brother, his High Lord, and nodded at him, agreeing with Nyra. 

Rhysand found the people around him brace themselves to offer what Nyra had. He knew it hurt for them to even think about it and it hurt him too. He’d cried an embarrassing number of times in Feyre’s arms after sex, and sometimes even postponed sex because of it. 

And maybe Nyra would never know what her words meant to him but he would never forget. The High Lord of the Night Court only kneeled for his court and his mate. And kneeling before Nyra was beginning to have the same meaning.

Rhysand took a huge gulp from a glass of whiskey and cleared his throat. “So, we are better prepared for the Ouroboros.” He nodded at Nyra. “Better prepared for the wall.” He nodded at Nesta. “News from our spies.” He looked at the Spymaster. “The armies.” He turned to his General. “Hewn City and Eris.” He spared the Third a glance filled with regret. “Any assassinations of bloody hunts.” The Second raised a glass of blood. “And everything at your disposal if you choose to get the mirror.” He looked at the High Lady.

Rhysand let his body drop on the sofa behind him. “We’re so fucked.”

****

Of course, they were fucked. Despite a possible seer in their midst, none of the supremely powerful fae in the Night Court were prepared for Hybern’s infiltration while Feyre took her older sisters to the library for research. 

Their conversation was turning into the deeply personal and emotional kind when the three Archeron sisters felt a ripple in the air. They stopped speaking and analysed their surroundings. Faelights in the library flickered. Feyre grabbed both of her sisters and made a run for it downwards. 

Darkness bloomed and two males stepped out of it, one with dark hair and the other light haired. And then there was a breath of blue faebane dust. Nyra waved a hand and the wind followed her to divert the dust away but she hadn’t been quick enough. Some of it still managed to reach the females and they felt their power be locked inside their bodies. 

Nyra felt her power roar like a beast in a cage and she knew the moment the beast would free itself, she would do absolutely nothing to restrain it. The males looked at her twin with intent. 

“We’re the king’s Ravens. His far-flying eyes and talons. And we’ve come to take you back.” They addressed Nesta. “And you.” They turned to analyse Nyra. “Your power would be very useful to us.” 

Nyra encouraged the beast within her to slam against the prison so suddenly enclosed in. It was suffocating for her and she was beginning to breathe heavily. She heard Feyre say something and one of them say something back. She only comprehended that she and Nesta were to be taken away. And hell if she allowed someone else to make choices on her behalf when she still had her sound mind. 

Nyra only focused on unleashing her power. She knew she could control its damage as long as she identified who was to be harmed. She’d done it before when she had target practice with it. To harm only what she intended. The priestesses, the books, the furniture—all of it would remain safe. If only she could. . .

A feminine hand grabbed her and pulled her into a run again. Her skirts were a nuisance but Nyra hadn’t really considered the possibility of an abduction in the safest place in the Night Court. Her legs tired easily due to the general lack of exercise. Feyre was saying something. Something about running ahead towards the light. But Nyra had looked back and one of the Ravens appeared in front of her. 

“Run!” And despite Feyre’s pleas, Nesta did not run. Nesta’s gaze was singularly focused on the enemy who had grabbed Nyra’s wrist tightly. The beast within her roared. She could hear another roar—Nyra. 

Nyra did not like being startled or grabbed and she certainly did not like the way this disgusting male dug his nails into her wrist enough to hurt. She struggled against his hold and his grip tightened. 

“Nyra!” Nesta shouted but she couldn’t focus. Nyra could only see this male and his revolting smirk and his dirty gaze.

“You smell delicious.” He had thrown that nauseating remark that brought out the worst of her imaginations. A certain darkness enveloped the area at that moment. Nyra’s power thrummed. Just a bit more. But the queasy feeling of this male and his intentions made her genuinely afraid of something. His face neared her neck and he breathed in. 

“I want to know how good you’ll feel on my cock.” The male’s other hand grabbed her waist and she froze as her breasts were against his chest. Nyra’s mind was completely blank. Her muscles and everything that hinted at her status as alive was failing her. She closed her eyes tightly. “Look at me!” The male grabbed her chin harshly. 

“Nyra!” Her sister’s cries were one thing. And the looming sense of darkness was another. Between the two, she felt disgust and fear and helplessness. 

Focus. A voice sang behind her. Focus! The male’s nails finally made Nyra’s wrist bleed. And the suffocation was decreasing. Focus! The voice yelled at her. The prison around her power had begun shattering. She continued to slam against it, the bleeding on her wrist being the first crack. Lightning erupted from her wrist and struck the male entirely. His grip was no more and Nyra released herself to stand by Feyre’s side. 

Feyre seemed to be muttering something. And Nesta. . . her rage had taken over. And despite her power still being trapped, death ruled the air around them. Nesta placed herself in front of Nyra, her flames beginning to rise. 

Greetings, Conqueror of the Cauldron. The same voice greeted her again. There was something behind her. Something that raised the hairs on her skin. It was different from Azriel’s shadows. Azriel. She wanted his shadows. She needed his shadows. She needed him. Nyra had her arms around herself and she felt the male’s repulsive touch against her 

Nyra felt herself crack. Her wrist burned with the touch of the male who’d threatened to rape her. She needed Azriel. Azriel.

“You filthy bitch!” The other male roared at her as he supported his companion, the one on whom she had released her power. The skin of his face had peeled away to reveal burning flesh. Clothes were charred and torn and he was a phantom now. His voice made her flinch. Azriel. Lightning roared at her wrist from where she had bled but it was too weak. 

Azriel. 

A blinding light pushed them away. Apologies for the delay. The voice behind her solemnly spoke. She didn’t like this. She didn’t want to be surrounded by the unfamiliar darkness of whatever this creature was. She wanted Azriel and his shadows. 

Azriel. Her chest was heavy. Was she forgetting to breathe? Her vision was already blurry. Oh gods, she’d die like this. With the touch of this monstrous male imprinted on her body. Azriel. 

Shadows swarmed around her skirts, ascending faster than ever before. They wiped away her tears and a figure was walking towards her. She took a step forward. And another. And another and stumbled, falling into the arms of the male she trusted the most. 

****

A/N: @moni-cah @julsgrace thank you for your feedback. it means everything and much more!! hope you enjoy this chapter!! ✨✨💜

@feerique always and endlessly, i'm grateful. ✨✨💜

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @impossibelle @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @judig92 @bunnyredgirl @sh4nn @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kattzillaa @ronnieglennn @wallacewillow0773638 @forgiveliv @justdreamstars @donttellthecats @cat-or-kitten @jojodojo02 @wandas-dream @evylynny @weasleyreidstyles @stqrgirlies-blog @why4anne @acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @macimads @footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites @lilah-asteria @5onedirection5 @hanitastic @sevikas-whore @krowiathemythologynerd @myladysapphire @freyagallileaevans @azrielrot @rcarbo1 @i-am-infinite @latinxbipride @moni-cah @fantanbietsson @julsgrace

****

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You and König attend a holiday party.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, vague racism, heat (omega verse)

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: Omg....Hi guys......it's me.....hey.......I am alive. This chapter is defiantly geared more towards my poc readers. Theres some angst that i'll revisit in a later chapter. Some comments are made. You'll see. Anyways, I can't promise I will be posting super consistently but I will definatly try to post more then I have been.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Five:

Your editor droned on about deadlines and writing engines as you ate some soup König got you earlier. You can hear the desperation through the computer screen. You'd be lying if you said you were listening. They'll get the pages when they get them, with you, no money. König sat on the couch waiting for your meeting to be done. 

“I'll get the next chapter done, Frankie.” You said.

“You promise?” He was almost teary-eyed.

“Yes, I promise.” 

You hung up and closed your laptop while sighing. You got up and walked over to your giant Alpha. You outstretched his arm, inviting you to cuddle. You obliged plopping yourself on his lap and resting your head on his chest. The November winds were seeping into the atmosphere slowly. You didn't mind. That meant the holidays were coming. 

“The 141 is having an early holiday party. Everyone goes on leave one week into December, so we celebrate early. Would you like to go with me, Schatz?” 

“Oh yes, that sounds lovely. When is it?” You asked delightedly.

“This weekend. It's a dressy event.” 

The weekend was in four days. You haven't done your hair or dressed up in a while. You'd want a new dress for this especially with the cold, but you supposed you could make something work. As for your hair, it was time to hit up a YouTube tutorial for some ideas. König seemed to sense your internal struggle. 

“We can go shopping today, I need a button-down shirt.” 

“You don't have a button-down?” You asked a little amused. 

“Never needed one.” 

“Huh, well I also want to get my hair done. But, I've never been to a stylist here.” You started searching for braiders in the area, and to your surprise, there were some. 

The prices were comparable to ones in the US so that gave you some comfort. König looked over your shoulder browsing the different styles along with you. Some he has seen and others he hasn't. He chimed in with some styles he thought would look cute on you every so often. 

“Oh, she has an appointment available tomorrow.”

“Book it, I'll take you.” 

“I can take myself it's alright.”

“Nein. I'll take you.”

You grumbled a bit at his stubbornness but gave in. You booked the appointment and placed your deposit. 

“How much is it?” König asked.

“Um, all together with the deposit, one hundred fifty euros. I was also gonna tip but I forgot Europe doesn't do that.” 

König replied with a 'hmm' and tapped away on his phone. Your phone dinged and you checked the notification. 

'König has sent you € 150,00' 

“Kö, You don't have to pay for this.”

“Why shouldn't I? You are mine, You want it, I like it when you look beautiful, so I pay.” He said simply.

König had a habit of paying for everything. You liked it but it made you a little uncomfortable. This wasn't how you'd be treated back in the States. Whenever you mentioned it, König would always rant about how American men were cheap and lazy. He also would mention how he has more money than he needs so spending it on you is fun. König loves to see your little face light up whenever he buys you something sweet, or a piece of jewelry you were looking at. He told you to get dressed for the shopping trip and you obliged, making sure you were bundled up for the cold weather. 

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

The two of you opted to shop for König's clothes first. Finding clothing that fits him nicely is a challenge with how tall and muscular he is. There were some stores specifically made for big and tall men that you went into first. One store only had bright floral patterned shirts and loosely fitting dress pants. Neither you nor your Alpha liked that. The next one had some nice boots in his size. They were a fancier version of combat boots. Finally, you found a simple black button-down shirt and slim tapered dress pants for him. You made him try it on before leaving the store.

 My god...You had to keep yourself from drooling. The pants hugged his waist perfectly, and the shirt was just tight enough for you to see some muscle peeking through. König smirked at your reaction. 

“You think this will look good with my sniper hood?” he asked. 

“What?! You're gonna wear your hood and cover-up that gorgeous face? No way.”

“I don't show my face to anyone on base, Schatz.” 

“Hmm, well you look good in anything so... I guess.” You pouted.

König got dressed and paid for his clothes. Nearby there were a few boutiques with dresses. You wanted something nice, but not too fancy. You didn't want to overdress. König was patient with you as you browsed a bunch of stores. Eventually, you found something you liked. It was a midi deep purple knit dress. It had elegant sleeves and looked like it could be dressed up or down. Perfect for a cold night. König sat on the bench of the fitting room as you tried it on. You came out and twirled giving him a full view of the dress. 

“So?” You asked.

“Beautiful.” He motioned for you to come closer. When you did he placed a hand on your hip gingerly. 

“I can think of many things I could do to you in this dress.” He said quietly. 

“König!” You gave him a light slap on the arm and went back into the changing room embarrassed. 

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

The next day you started prepping for your hair appointment. You had to wash your hair but the stylist said she could blow-dry it for you. You spent about an hour washing your hair and another detangling it. König kept you company on the couch as you combed and sectioned it out. You sighed and slumped on the couch once you were done. Your arms were a little sore but you were glad you were done. You put your bonnet on to keep your hair neat and moisturized. You made sure you had your tip ready and a book to read while you got your hair done. König stood at the door watching you pace around the apartment gathering your things. 

The drive to the salon was quick and smooth. König gave you a kiss on the cheek before you exited the car. You opened the door to the building, and the smell of hair spray wafted into your nose. A tall woman greeted you as you walked in. Her hair was braided back into neat rows and her dark cheeks had a warm glow to them. 

“Are you my twelve pm?” She asked with a smile.

“Yes, I am, nice to meet you.” 

She guided you into a salon chair and got started. Her hands were quick, skilled, and gentle as she worked her way through your head of hair. In about two hours she finished. You admired your new do in the mirror and thanked your stylist profusely. König waited at a café down the street. You spotted him sitting peacefully at one of the outdoor tables, away from most other patrons. As you got closer he glanced up to meet and look at you. His eyes widened, taking in your new look. Although he had his mask on you could tell he was smiling under it. He stood up to greet you. 

“You look beautiful, Liebe.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead careful to avoid touching your freshly done hair. You giggled bashfully and returned his kiss on his cheek. 

The next few days went by quickly. You did some extra work and scheduled an editor meeting before the weekend. When Saturday rolled around, you were anxious. You wanted to make a good impression with your Alpha's coworkers. How do you act around military personnel? Your father never brought you around any of his military friends. As you got ready you just tried to keep an open mind and stay confident in yourself. Also, you will get to see Soap again. You slipped on your dress and spritzed a light mist of perfume.

You walked out of your room while looking through your purse to make sure you had all of your essentials. König was sitting on the couch but stood when he saw you. He was dressed and ready, looking over your form affectionately. You zipped around the dining room and kitchen making sure you had everything in order. König walked over to you, stopping you in your path. He slinked his hand around your waist pulling you out of your thoughts. He pulled you into his chest gently. 

“Relax, Schatz.” He purred. You looked up at him and gave him a nervous smile. 

“I think I left my wallet in my room. Do I need it? Should I bring a gift?” You rambled. 

König pulled your wallet out from his back pocket and handed it to you. He shook his head and gave you a small smile. His sniper hood was hanging haphazardly over a dining room chair. He led you towards the door swiftly grabbing it and opening the door. You followed him out reluctantly. 

The drive to the base was uneventful aside from your occasional worrying that was quelled by your alpha quickly. You can't help but feel more on edge than you usually would, but you can't put a finger on why. König pulled up to the massive, barbed wire-lined fence. A man in full military gear and a large gun strolled up to the window. You hadn't noticed that König out his hood in a while back. He rolled the window down and quickly flashed his ID to the soldier. The man nodded and waved his hand in the air. The gate slid open almost painfully slowly. König placed a hand on your thigh as he drove slowly through the base. It helped calm you for the time being. 

There was a large building with a few dozen cars parked outside. König Parked the SUV rather haphazardly a good distance away from the entrance. When you opened the door you heard faint music coming from the building and lots of voices and laughter. Your alpha lapped the car and met you on the passenger side. You started to walk towards the door but he stopped you.

“What is the matter, Schatz?” His eyes softly gazed down at you. 

“Nothing is wrong, I'm fine.” You said quickly.

“If you are uncomfortable, we can go.” He gently caressed your cheek., his scent enveloping your senses. 

“I'm ok, I'm just a little nervous.” Deep down you knew something was off, but you were confident you could get through this night. 

“Shcatz, You forgot your collar.” König said nonchalantly.

You gasped and your hand flew up to your neck covering your exposed scent glands. 

“Oh no! Why didn't you tell me? Now I'm gonna stink up a storm in there.” You turned around embarrassed and even more on edge. 

Your Alpha said nothing, he simply opened the back door of the car and pulled out a small black bag before closing the door. He spun you around by the waist to face him waving the bag in front of you. You glanced at him unsure before taking the bag. König gave you a small nod waiting for you to open it. Inside was a large square jewelry box. When you opened it it held the most beautiful gold metal collar. The one you looked at from the boutique a while ago. 

“König....” You truly didn't know what to say. Tears pricked your eyes but you quickly wiped them away and replaced them with a smile. 

“Thank you, Alpha.” You said while wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He held you close and kissed the top of your head through his hood gently. He pulled away and took the collar out of its box. He clasped it around your neck locking it with the provided key. It fit perfectly, you could barely tell it was there. König held the small key out for you to take but you shook your head. 

“Keep it safe for me Alpha.” You said giving him a warm smile. 

Although you couldn't see his face, you could tell he was happy you trusted him with the key. König held out his elbow for you to hold and led you towards the event. You were still nervous but you brushed it off, you had someone there to protect you. The large hall was buzzing with conversation. Most people were sitting around in large groups having conversations and others were at the bar. There were string lights hung all around the ceiling giving the place a relaxing atmosphere. König led you to the bar eager to get a drink. Parties are not you or your Alpha's natural element.

He ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for you. As you waited you glanced around taking in the different people. You were probably one of the very few omegas. You could tell who was military and who wasn't very easily. Some were still in uniform, others wore masks or dog tags. Some soldiers brought a plus one but it was a minority. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. You turned to see a familiar mohawk. 

“Hey! There they are!” Soap exclaimed pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. You could smell the alcohol on him. 

“Hey, soap.” You eked out while being squeezed. 

Soap turned to König and gave the large Apex a hug as well. König grunted, a little uncomfortable with the contact but patted his back affectionately. 

“We've been waiting for you two to get here, everyone wants to meet the Colonel's Mrs.” His Scottish accent was thick and slightly slurred. 

The bartender set your drinks down and you quickly scooped yours up and took a sip. Soap led both of you away toward a group of men. You lingered behind König slightly allowing him to greet the group first. Soap announced your name loudly sparing König of the burden. You waved shyly giving everyone a small smile. Everyone greeted you and your Alpha before returning to the conversation they were having. You were grateful the attention on you didn't last as you could sip your cocktail and listen to the drunken ramblings of the soldiers. 

As the night dragged on, you met various people. You chatted with Ghost a bit and met Captain Price, as well as Gaz. Though the drunker people go the more rowdy things become. You sat on a chair near the group, only on your second drink. Your Alpha was loosening up after four. Soap suggested they go out to the field and play football, challenging Ghost to a team match. The whole group along with some others from the party joined them outside. König glanced over at you. 

“Will you be ok if I join them?” He asked gingerly.

“Of course, go have fun.” You gave him a reassuring smile. 

You watched him follow his coworkers out of the door into the frigid night. You decided to hang out at the bar as your drink was almost done. Although the night has been fine so far there was still something nagging in the back of your head. You plopped down on one of the bar stools and ordered another drink. Good thing this event had an open bar. You scrolled on your phone for a while not noticing how fast an hour has passed. An Alpha sat on the bar stool next to yours sighing loudly. You didn't bother acknowledging him as many people have sat there in the time that has passed. 

“It's a nice night huh? Not too cold.” The guy said in a European accent you can't place. 

You looked up from your phone. “Oh, are you talking to me?” 

“Yeah, I am. So uh, are you a new recruit or?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I'm just a visitor.” You glanced back at your phone hoping he would leave you alone. 

“I've never seen an omega like you.” 

“An omega like me?” You looked at him puzzled.

“Yeah, you're so exotic. I thought omegas like you have to stay in your own countries.” He said while taking a sip of his drink. 

“Well, that's rude and extremely ignorant.” You scowled at him.

“Come on, it's a compliment. I mean I knew your kind your be spicy but damn.” He chuckled. 

You took that as your cue to leave. And you stood up from the bar your felt a tug on the crown of your head. 

“I mean, is this even your real hair?” He rubbed the hair he grabbed in between his fingers. 

You ripped away from his grip. “What is wrong with you?! Don't touch me!” You yelled. Everyone at the bar turned to look in your direction. 

“Relax, I'm just joking around.” The Alpha said trying to diffuse the situation. 

“You don't touch a random person's hair, who raised you?!” 

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder gently from behind. The Alpha you were confronting turned pale. 

“Schatz? What did he do?” Your Alpha asked lowly.

 You turned to face König anger still written all over your face. As angry as you were, you wanted this to be a teaching moment for this young Alpha. You turned back to the Alpha who was standing up now sweat forming on his face. 

“Nothing Alpha, this guy just needs to watch where he's going, right?” You eyed him carefully. 

“Yes! Yes, I'm very sorry miss.” He looked down at your feet. 

You looked up at König who seemed unconvinced. He was staring daggers into the young Alpha. You saw König take a deep breath closing his eyes while doing so. When he opened them he looked down at you.

“Time to go, it's a long drive home.” He placed a hand on the small of your back and led you out.

 Some people glanced in your direction as you left. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. You hurried to the car in an effort to get out of the cold. König opened your door for you and helped you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I forgot something inside, I'll be right back.” He said quickly shutting the door and storming back inside the building. 

You couldn't tell if he was about to torture that soldier or not. But you did what you could, if he gets in trouble it's his own fault. König came back out no more than two minutes later. As he started the car, you got cozy relishing in the heated air. 

“What did you forget?” You ask him.

“I had a project for Ghost, I had to tell him about it.”

“Hmm.” You responded, not buying it completely. 

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

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

König shook you awake gently. “We're home.”

You stirred and sat up stretching gently. You felt warm, a little too warm. Did you drink that much? You followed König into the apartment and kicked off your shoes at the door. That's when the cramp hit you. It was so painful it made you dizzy causing you to stumble. König caught you by the arm and ushered you to the couch.

“Schatz? You're burning up.” He laid you down and hurried to the kitchen.

You felt the sweat forming on your brow. Your heat had come early. You whined into the couch cushions trying to breathe through the dull achy pain. König brought some water and sat you up to drink.

“Why didn't you tell me your heat was coming?” he said concerned.

“Early...it came early.”

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[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Four

Pairings: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: did you guys know fifty dollars back in ‘66 was like five hundred dollars??? I didn’t and now I wish I never did. Anyway I kinda just wanted to explore more of Angus and Y/n relationship before the event of the holdovers. So a little backstory on this one. I maybe got carried away. Also this is a long ish chapter cause I have MAJOR exams to take so yeah :0 it might be while till I update again.

Word Count: ~7.5k

Enjoy!

Four Years Before - June 12th, 1966

Your parents had fled to Barbados for a destination wedding which they would follow with a cruise they claimed to deserve. Although it was one of those rare occasions where they had extended an invitation, you had declined. The prospect of being able to stretch your legs on the couch without worrying if you would be crushing some unknown guest, or to be able to walk into rooms without crashing into a waiter passing out shrimp puffs, was much more appealing. You had been left behind with fifty dollars for your fun fund, as your mother called it, and a kiss on the forehead. The nanny your parents kept on retainer would check up on you occasionally only to find you were much better at cleaning up after your messes and doing ordinary tasks than your parents. She’d leave after a few hours and then over the course of the first week she stopped coming.

You had prepared yourself for a month of solitude after Angus had announced he’d be spending his vacation at a tennis camp in Montauk. You must have been reorganizing your bookshelf for the third time that day (once by alphabet, then by color, and finally by size) when you heard a knock at the door. The sun had just begun to set, the sky colored a purple-blue, and you cautiously decided to take your fathers golf club. You dropped the club shortly after opening the front door to find not the face of Norman Bates but of your best friend. You scanned his tear-stained face. His eyes were glossy and his cheeks rosy, like when one stands in the snow and is attacked by the harsh winds that nip at your skin.

He collapsed into your arms, and you are quick to hold him steady. He was crouched over, having had a growth spurt a few months earlier, making it hard for you to look at him eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

It was the summer of ‘66, where paranoid parents were starting to believe rock music would possess you. Ironically, it was the year Pet Sounds came out and you couldn’t stop rewinding the songs on your turntable. And most significantly it was the summer you spent with Angus.

He broke the news through jumbled words and choked down tears. How his father had been placed in a Mental Health hospital and how taking him to camp was just an excuse to make sure he wouldn’t be there when the people from the hospital came to pick his father up. They had apparently come early, mixing the dates up.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” You asked, hugging his torso.

“No. I'm sure she’ll be coming to check soon though,” he sniffled, “She’ll probably try to drag me to Montauk anyway and say that ‘it’ll be good for me’.”

You kiss his curls, “What if you stay here?”

He lifts his head up, “I’m not sure she’ll let me.”

“I think she will,” you reassured, “I am a very good guilt-tripper.”

“You can try if you want. How much did your parent’s leave you anyway?”

“Enough for both of us, don't worry. Even if we run out, we could whip something up to eat.”

His eyes widened, “Let's stick to take-out.”

Your house was the first place Angus’s mother looked in, just like he had predicted. He hid at the top of the stairs, staying away from his mom's line of sight as she pressed you for his whereabouts. You had been truthful about how he wanted to spend the next few nights here.

“Are you serious? I’m not going to leave two fourteen-year-olds alone, unattended, unsupervised! God knows what you’ll get up to.”

“We’re not going to do anything!” you argued, “We’re smart enough to not light the house on fire and to dial 911, in case we happen to. Angus just wants to be away for a little while. You should understand why,” you glared.

She looked down, shuffling her heeled feet.

“Besides, you take him away now he’s just to keep coming back here,” you sighed, stating the obvious.

She cleared her throat, coughing as she nodded, “Fine. Alright. Uhm- just make sure he calls me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you do your best to stop yourself from slamming the door in her face. "Bye.”

“The coast is clear,” you shout to Angus who came barreling down the stairs, skipping the last few steps.

“Did she look mad?”

You shrug, “A little. But she'll move on.”

He hums, agreeing as his eyes flicker around the room. He’s looking at the house he must have been at least a thousand times, whether because you invited him or because your parents did. And for the first time in either of your lives… it was completely silent. …

That first night Angus slept on your bedroom floor on a mattress you had dragged from the guest room. You had only your lamp on, and your window was open just wide enough to bring in the refreshing summer air. You were reading a few pages of your book to Angus, and when you glanced down you saw his eyes beginning to close.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. You have a nice voice is all.”

“Thank you. You do want to go to sleep though,” you observe.

“Should I turn off the lamp?” He says almost immediately. He lifts himself up slightly so he can reach your bedside table and waits for your permission to turn it off.

“Yes please.” You settle deep into your duvet. You turn to the side that faces Angus and wish him goodnight.

A few minutes later he speaks up again in a whisper. “Thank you again. For letting me stay here. I'll be out of here by next week, swear.”

“If you could, I would want you to stay here your whole life.” He scoffs at your words as you lean up with the support of your elbows to stare him down. “I’m serious. I only wish I could live in a house with you. Except somewhere far away from here.”

“By the beach,” he adds.

“Yeah. On a beach so obscure they can’t even send us mail because no one will know our address.”

“Oh no. How would your parents ever send you the invitation for your debutante ball?”

“I guess they’ll just have to throw it without me.”

“Shame,” Angus sighs. “I would love to see you in a white dress.”

You pause and then crash down back into your bed. You admire the garland that hangs above you. It’s made of postcards your parents sent you during their many endeavors. In that moment you're reminded of them and turn to Angus. “Oh. About that. My mom told me to tell you to prepare to be my escort in a few years.”

“Already?!” …

You and Angus had fallen into a routine. He’d sleep way later than you, sometimes until noon, and you’d wake him when you got too impatient and hungry for breakfast. He’d stir and groan to the point that it was obvious he was faking before finally getting up.

You would carry what you could from your kitchen pantry onto the backyard patio and eat under the summer sun. It was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of fig jam, English muffins and sometimes pears from the tree that stretched over your neighbor's fence. Afterward you and Angus continued your day in the green grass. He would sprawl himself out on a picnic blanket and read a comic book, wearing shades that were on the verge of tipping off his nose. Meanwhile you would tend to your mother's garden. You’d put on her straw hat too, just to make it feel like you were with her.

When you were little, you’d pull the weeds out of flower beds as your mom pruned her lavender. It was her dearest plant, and she treated them so, regularly nursing it to keep it alive. She’d motion for you to come with her and pick up the shears from the gardening shed. Eagerly obedient, you did as she said, and you would work together until called for lunch. Your mother was always a vivaciously elegant woman, always knowing the right things to say and charming anyone she met. You often wondered why you hadn’t inherited her brilliance, the one that made her seem as if she was glowing in any room she inhabited. It was odd that she’d often claim her ability to converse was her greatest ability when the two got along best when moving in silence.

You did your best to care for the plant too. Before you mom left, she asked to handle their upkeep. You took your duty seriously, checking in on them every day until you saw one sign of disarray.

That summer was like playing house. And although you never admit, for the fear that he’d read too much into and freak, it was exactly as you had often dreamed it to be. June and July passed quickly, and you hadn’t even noticed it. You imagined a life where it could just be you two forever, away from your parents and outside of stifling Massachusetts.

You imagined a life in an apartment described as ‘quaint,’ by the realtor to disguise the incredible small square footage. You wondered if he would like to be in a city like New York or Chicago. Somewhere that was always busy, and the chirping of morning birds was replaced by honking cars.

By the time August had rolled around, you could practically hear the unmistakable sound of the school bell ringing in your ear, warning you of its proximity. Thoughts about the future had you asking Angus one bleary Sunday afternoon, “Are you nervous about starting high school?”

Angus was pushing you on the tire swing, trying to give you motion sickness by twisting the ropes of the swing and letting them untangle a second later.

“Not really. It’ll be like eighth grade just with more tests.”

“I guess. But aren’t you nervous about making new friends and stuff? What if we tangled ourselves into a web so deep that we can’t talk to other people normally.”

“Then I have done my job of keeping you to myself.”

“Haha,” you deadpan, “Seriously though. Won’t you miss having me to talk to?”

“Of course I will. But you’ll write to me and crap… right?”

“Of course,” you echo his words back to him, “You’ll visit me when you get the chance too, correct?”

“Eh. If I’m not busy.”

“Angus!”

“Yes! Obviously, I will.” He pushes you a little harder.

“I do want you to be more out there though. Don’t go sulking in corners like you always do. People would really like you if you let them talk to you for more than one minute.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother Y/n.”

“Seriously though. Did you notice we’re always addressed as ‘Y/n and Angus’ by teachers. Never just Y/n and never just Angus.”

“Yeah. But I like it. It’s like Bonnie and Clyde. You can’t separate them because then it sounds plain wrong.”

“Okay Clyde,” you roll your eyes. You stop swinging, scraping your shoes through the dirt until you are still.

“I’m giving us two weeks before we break down to each other over the phone.” You lose the hold you have on the tire swings and let them drop onto your lap. You simmer under the sun and enjoy the breeze that flows through your hair.

“Don’t go replacing me when you get to your school.”

“Don’t worry, you got a head start seven years ago. No one else will be able to catch up,” you smile teasingly. “Maybe I’ll find myself a boyfriend though. About time for the both of us, don’t you think?”

He frowns, “You don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Yes, I do. Everyone else does.”

“Since when do you do what other people do? I think you should stop talking to people who peer pressure you,” he flicks your forehead.

“Why?” You rub your forehead, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” You smirk.

“Gross! No! I was just kidding. Get a boyfriend, I don’t care.”

“You wouldn’t care if I got a boyfriend?” You look at him skeptically.

“As long as he treats you nice and shit,” he rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s just that we do everything together Angus. There are some things I would like to get over with that I can’t do with you.”

“Like what?” Angus wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Like hold hands and go to bowling alleys or whatever.”

“We’ve done that.”

“I like…kiss,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Oh,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So would you want to do that … now?”

“What!” You shout, leaping off the swing and walking a few steps away from him. “I’m not asking you to,” you clarify, shaking your head.

“No, but I would like to be over and done with it too… so maybe we should just…” He motions his finger between you two.

“Uhm,” you laugh, tilting your head, “Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be just to check it off the list,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Um, yeah, okay,” you move closer to him in small timid strides. “You lean in though. I read that the guy is supposed to do that in my mother's Cosmopolitan.”

“Right, right,” he nods eagerly, interlocking your fingers together. With hesitancy he leans his head down and pulls you even closer to the point where you are bumping your noses. You close your eyes, and it's like your brain begins to spin like those show wheels with choices on them. Your brain tries to land on a feeling but loops on endlessly. His lips are softened by the humidity, and you don’t even notice it is over until a couple seconds after he pulls away.

When you think back on it, it really was the most 'first kiss moment’ to ever exist. It was more of a peck, both of you were bright red and shortly after you were as stiff as statues. Not knowing what else to do, Angus clears his throat and removes his hands from yours to wipe them on his shirt. “So, uh, what does your mothers Cosmo say to do afterward?”

You let out a breathy laugh, “I don’t know. I didn’t read that far.”

…

Christmas Eve - December 24th, 1970

After that summer, when you shared a weepy goodbye and headed off to your own high schools, it was undeniable that something had shifted between you both. Even if it often went unspoken. Neither you nor Angus had brought it up, but on occasion you would acknowledge it. Like last night after leaving the auditorium to return to the common room and pick up the dishes, your eyes drifted to the TV where a cheesy kiss scene was happening on screen. The two of you shared a knowing look that said, “That’s not how ours went down,” before shutting the television off and helping Mary into a more comfortable sleeping position.

You tried not to dwell on the past, but it was hard not to when the only thing in your childhood that had always been good, always been constant, was Angus. Every time you looked into his eyes it was like the decade you had spent together flashed by in a sequence of blurs. All he had to do was breathe a specific way in his sleep to remind you of some obscure memory that had died but he had brought back to life.

This morning you felt like you were ten again and Angus was trying to steal your bread rolls at Thanksgiving dinner. Except today he tried swiping your bacon as you shoved him off playfully.

“Get your own Angus,” you say playfully.

“I’ll trade you for my toast,” he offers.

Rolling your eyes you accept, grabbing the bacon and shoving it in his mouth, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he says, muffled.

You munch on your toast and catch Mr. Hunhams stare.

“I see you two finally made up,” he comments with a sly smile on his face.

“Mm-hmm,” you cover your mouth with your hand as you chew and turn away embarrassed.

Mary joins you all a second later, emerging as usual with her coffee and a cigarette. She switches between eyeing the two men infront of her, “Why’d you two miss supper last night?”

Mr. Hunham and Angus freeze. “We went into town on, uh, some school-related business.”

“And you couldn’t call? You left me and Y/n out in the cold.”

“Yeah Angus,” you pout at him as he nudges your ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Hunham turned to you, “And to Ms. L/n.”

“No worries. Really. I had fun,” you smile up at Mary who pats your shoulders gently.

Danny, a man you had been introduced to a few days ago, enters with a mop and bucket. You wave to him which he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.

“Good morning, everybody.”

“Hi, Danny,” Mr. Hunham greets.

“Good morning. You can go on in and make yourself a plate,” Mary points to the kitchen.

“I just saw something funny,” Danny focuses onto your friend. “I walked into the gym, and somebody had vomited in there.”

Mary and you raise your eyebrows in sync.

“You don’t say. I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Hunham feigns surprise.

“Yeah, me neither,” Angus wipes his mouth as he speaks.

“I’ll look into that right away. Thank you,” he dismisses the conversation.

“Mm-hmm. I see how it is. Trying to leave us out of your boy's club,” Mary tsks. Danny places the custodian supplies beside Angus' chair and walks away.

“Gross Angus,” you say, like it's his full name. You shake your head in disappointment. He nudges your ankle harder, shaking the silverware above. You fight back, beginning to use your hands as a defense. You two are soon in a game of tug of war.

“Knock it off you two! You are acting like fractious children!” Mr. Hunham scolds and stands up from his seat. Across the table, he tries to part your hands. “This is not how young scholarly men and women behave!”

You and Angus are too drunk on laughter to care. …

You and Angus are in a search for Mr. Hunham who stomped away upon realizing stopping you two was a fruitless cause. You intend to apologize; Angus intends to nod along as you speak. You follow the chatter you hear coming from the kitchen to find Mary replacing you as you as her sous chef.

“Hey that's my job,” you point at the potatoes Mr. Hunham is peeling.

“That’s the culinary industry for you. It’s cut-throat. You still want to be a part of it?” Mary peers over her glasses.

You run a hand through your hair, shrugging. “Um. Mr. Hunham?”

He stops his task, “Yes Miss L/n?”

“I want to apologize for my-,” Angus clears his throat, “Our behavior. You were right. It was very inappropriate. Emily Post would turn in her grave.”

“She certainly would. I accept your apology, however unnecessary. I understand it was that childlike spirit in you that is still intact that came out.”

You shoot him a quizzical look. “Uh yeah…”

Angus gasps behind you as he notices the tray of brownies on a table beside him.

“Brownies? God, yes. I want all of these.”

“Each of you just take one. The rest are for the Christmas party tonight.”

Angus snags you a brownie before practically chomping his down.

“What Christmas party? There’s a Christmas party?” He perks up like a dog being told he’s going out for a walk.

“Yeah, at Miss Crane’s house. I’m only gonna go for a little bit, show my face and say I was there. You know Miss Crane said she invited you too.”

“Who’s Miss Crane?” You ask, inspecting the brownie and wondering what Mary does so differently to get it to taste so good.

“School secretary,” said Angus with a full mouth. “Just one of the loveliest faculty members at Barton,” said Mr. Hunham at the same time.

A beat passed as you all noted the flustered expression that passed through Mr. Hunham face.

“Ah- anyways, she didn’t mean it. We were just making small talk.”

“If you don’t want to go, don’t go. I’ll take them.”

“Mary can take us,” problem solved, Angus thinks.

“Oh! Okay… so we are going! I packed a dress that’s been collecting dust in my luggage.”

“No, that’s not how it works. You’re under my supervision,” Mr. Hunham reminds.

“Okay, maybe it’s fine for you to sit around reading books all day, but I am losing my goddamn mind! Jesus!” Angus' suddenness makes you flinch. You avoid the flying brownie as he storms past you.

“Hey! Watch your mouth, young man. Not on Christmas Eve!” Mary yells after him.

“You, see?” Mr. Hunham points at his retreating figure. “I can’t trust him in a social situation.”

“Mr. Hunham, if you’re too chickenshit to go to that party, then just say so. But don’t fuck it up for the little asshole or his sweet little angel of a friend! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a party. What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hunham said so quietly you could hardly hear him.

“Shit. Now you’ve got me nervous,” Mary wipes her hands on her apron.

You’re still standing there until they hear you go retreat the brownie and throw it in a nearby waste bin. “I could replace those?” You laugh uncomfortably.

“That’s alright sweetie. I want to come out of this party with my reputation intact,” Mary winks.

“Ouch,” you clutch your heart jokingly. “So can I go get dolled up?” …

Someway, somehow, Mary had gotten Hunham to take you to the party. You got ready in the room Ye-Joon and Alex had occupied before. You hadn’t anticipated wearing anything fancy, so the dress you had was a relatively simple one. It was red which fit the Christmas theme well enough and ended just above your knees. You hoped Mr. Hunham wouldn’t make a big deal out of it like Ms. Orchard probably would. You wore flats and did your hair the best you could without products. Although you had managed to give it some more volume by using some leftover soda cans that had yet to be thrown out. It was a common hack all Janie Patrick School girls learned in their freshman year. It was practically a seminar, as the senior girls taught you how to roll them into your hair just right.

You waltz out of your room, feeling as fresh as a daisy and catch Angus shaving. You sneak up behind him, putting your hands on his shoulder and looking at him through the mirror. “What is there to shave Augie? You’re as clean shaven as a newborn baby,” you tease.

You try to check your makeup and feel Angus stiffen under your touch. You remove your hands and see him staring at you open-mouthed.

“What?” You panic. Had you screwed up your hair? Was your mascara too clumpy on your lashes?

“Nothing,” he gives you a once over as he gulps. “You just, you look, you… you look pretty.”

“Oh,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “Thank you. It’s just the makeup.”

“No, it’s not that. You always look pretty; I just never have a reason to tell you. But I can… today.”

“You look handsome everyday too…” you fidget with your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him bashfully. Quickly you take the razor from his hands, “even more handsome once you change. We’re going to be late."

You run back to your room and try to regulate your breathing. In the reflection of the fogged-up window, you admire yourself momentarily. You suppose you do look pretty tonight. …

You four travel in Mr. Hunhams rickety car. You awe at the town Christmas lights before arriving in front of what you assumed to be Miss Cranes house. One by one you all enter, lingering by the front door like wallflowers. You inch closer to Angus, self-conscious suddenly. You loop your arms together when Miss Crane enters to greet you.

“Oh, hi. Oh, you made it! Welcome,” she pauses to address you and Angus, “Aw hi!”

“I'm so glad you're here,” she tells Mary.

She laughs at the flattery and refers to the brownies, “Where should I put these?”

“Um, oh,” Miss Crane lifts the cloth draped over the tray and gasps, “Those, I’ll be putting on my bedside table.”

“Oh! You're a wicked woman.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she takes the tray off Mary's hands.

“Certainly a lot of people here,” Hunham comments, surveying the room. It is lively with Christmas classics blasting on the radio and kids running around playing tag. The entire house is decked out, almost looking like the spirit of Christmas had barfed out the decorations. Some adults take a swing of their liquor, others smoke, others do both as they chat.

“Yeah, yeah. Some family, friends from town. Only you guys from work.”

“That’s my mom on the couch,” She points to an older lady sitting by the silver and blue Christmas tree. Next to the woman dancing with her toddler who wears no pants. “Uh, that’s my sister Kathy and her son Marvin.”

As she continues to point out each invitee you wander with Angus further into the living room. He seems captivated by a snow globe on a mantel. He shakes it and watches as the snow falls around Santa. You too are enchanted by the sweet melody that plays from it.

“Angus!” Miss Crane snaps you both from your trance. Miss Crane stands next to a girl who appears to be around your age.

“This is Angus Tully. He’s one of our students at Barton. Angus, this is my niece, Elise,” she introduces.

“Niece Elise. Nice,” he glances at you, hoping you got the joke as Elise rolls her eyes at his word play. You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And is his friend Y/n L/n. She goes to the school across the lake from Barton. Janie Patrick’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” you stretch out your hand for her to shake. She does so awkwardly.

“And this is Mr. Hunham. He’s one of our finest teachers. History, right?

“Ancient Civilizations, yes”.

“And this is Mary Lamb. She’s the manager of the cafeteria.”

You don’t know why, but you start chewing your nails. A habit you had thought you had broken in the seventh grade. You bite down particularly hard every time Angus glances at Elise.

“Hey, why don’t you take Angus down to the basement and introduce him to our family tradition?” Miss Crane has a hint of something you can’t identify in her voice.

“Come on,” Elise tilts her head and hesitantly he seems to follow.

“Um. What about Y/n? Can’t she come?”

“Don't worry about that! I have someone I think she would like to meet,” Miss Crane nudges you forward.

“Oh?” you say worriedly.

Elise takes Angus away by the hand and distantly you hear him call out, “Wait what?”

“His name is Joseph Leery. He’s a freshman at Yale!” she gushes.

“Oh? Great? Go bulldogs? That’s the mascot, right?”

“Honey, save your charm for him!”

…

Angus descends downstairs. He repeatedly glances behind him, desperately searching for the remaining bits of your voice. “Um. Maybe I should go back upstairs? My friend Y/n doesn’t do so well with crowds so.”

“Nonsense! She’ll be fine. If I know Auntie Lydia, she’s probably introducing her to the Leery's son, Joe.”

“Joe?” Angus scowls at the name.

“Yeah. Family friend of ours.”

Elise leads him to an arts and craft table, full of scattered red, green, silver and white pipe cleaners. Glitter is spilled everywhere, and the kids take their time decorating their popsicle sticks.

“This is what you wanted to show me?”

“I grew up playing down here during my aunt’s parties. I think it’s kind of cool. There’s a purity to it. I mean, every child is an artist. The problem is remaining an artist when we grow up. Picasso said that.”

“Picasso’s cool,” Angus digs his hand further into his front pockets, “I saw Guérnica once. You know, the big mural, with the horse,” He tries to mimic it as best he can.

“Yeah, I know Guérnica. You really saw it?”

“Yeah. At the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It’s huge. My dad took me.” And Y/n too, he wants to say. Although if what Elise said was true, that Miss Crane fancied herself a modern-day cupid, then he figures he should try not to scare her off by bringing up another girl.

Although it's hard not to think of you when he thinks of his dad. His dad liked puzzles which you happened to have a plethora of that your parents had bought you to keep you entertained during long plane rides. This was before they trusted you enough to leave home alone.

In the winter you’d sit by the fireplace and lay out the puzzles of Monet’s Water Lilies. Then when the spring would offer you limited warmth, you’d all be found in the backyard of Angus’s house trying to piece together Van Gogh's Starry Night.

So many art inspired puzzles eventually had Angus’s father turn to you both and asking, “How would you guys like to see these in real life?”

That easter break had you three crammed into a yellow taxicab and enjoying New York pizza slices.

“Hey Guérnica,” she breaks through his nostalgia plagued mind, “You just gave me an idea,” she smiles.

…

Mr. Hunham stands by the funky-looking Christmas tree when he feels someone’s lips crash onto his cheek.

“Oh!” He says shocked. He feels as if he had just been dumped into a cold bucket of water.

“Mistletoe!” Miss Crane laughs, pointing at the little green and red plant that hangs on the ceiling. She hands him the Jim Beam he asked for earlier as she wipes the side of his face clean to get rid of any lipstick that might have been transferred.

“Yes, of course,” he laughs along, unsure of what else to do but to let her caress his face. “I didn’t you know you were quite the mastermind.”

Miss Crane tilts her head and motions him to elaborate

“Playing matchmaker for Mr. Tully and Ms. L/n.”

“Oh! Well, when Angus said they weren’t an item I figured they’d were itching for a chance to mingle outside of their little circle. I hope I didn’t overstep anything. After all I imagine they don’t get many opportunities to openly chat with people of the opposite sex! Dating is crucial in shaping character.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Mr. Hunham agrees, unsure if that is fact or fiction. He is awful at letting silence just be silence, so he does what he does best. Spew nonsensical facts.

“You know, it’s interesting. Aeneas carried mistletoe with him when he descended into Hades in search of his father.”

“Oh. Huh…” Now it is Miss Crane who is unsure of what to do with that.

“Um. Anyways. I like your tree. It’s really space age,” he comments and is hit slightly in the shoulder by her enthusiastic hand.

“I brought it to commemorate the moon landing!”

“Really? Wow.”

Miss Crane takes a sip of her punch, “So where is your family this Christmas.”

“Nowhere. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was young.”

“And your father?”

“Let's just say I left home when I was fifteen.” If Mr. Hunham had known this was what small talk topics had evolved into, then he must have been right in avoiding social functions all this time.

“You ran away?” She guesses.

“Worse. I got a scholarship to Barton. And from there, I went to college and never looked back.”

“But you did a little,” she points out.

“Hmm?”

“I mean you came back here.”

“Ah.” He really did not feel like being questioned so heavily tonight. Not to pat himself in the back, but he believes he's credible enough to label himself as a decent writer, able to handle the equal weight of a pen and his words with ease. But as a conversationalist, he figures even one of the dimwits in his Ancient Civilization classes have him beat.

“It feels kind of like home I guess,” he muses, “and I guess I thought I could make a difference. I mean, I used to think I could prepare them for the world even a little. Provide standard and grounding that Dr. Greene always drilled into us.”

Mr. Hunham can feel himself run out of breath, “But, uh the world doesn’t make sense anymore. I mean it's on fire. The rich don’t give a shit. Poor kids are cannon fodder. Integrity is a punchline. Trust is just the name of a bank.”

“Well…” Miss Crane tries to soothe him by running her hand back and forth on his arm, “look, if that's all true then now is when they most need someone like you.”

Mr. Hunham knows when he is being humored and told what people he wants to hear. He looks at Miss. Crane and for the first time in a while he is looked back at with genuineness.

…

Elise and Angus finger paint on a wide piece of blank paper. He’s mixing the colors, and they all tend to come out looking a sickly brown. Elise covers her side with an untainted red. She seems to be more into it than him as she incorporates real swirls and shapes onto their canvas.

“Am I doing this right?”

“There is no right or wrong,” she reassures. He feels her stare linger on him for a second. He is scared to look up. “Are you okay? You seem… gloomy.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. But, uh, tell me about this Joe guy.”

She looks at him suspiciously, “Why?”

“Just curious. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of him around my school is all.”

“Well probably because he graduated over a year ago.”

“So, he’s in college.”

“Yes. A freshman at Yale.”

“Yale!” He shouts loud enough for even the kids to glare at him for disturbing their fun. “Sorry,” he apologies to them.

“Would you say he’s cool,” he asks a millisecond later.

Elise tries not to laugh at his blatant desperation, “Yeah I would say so.”

“Funny?”

“He's basically Gene Wilder.”

“The dude from The Producers?!”

“Yes, and he was also a football quarterback.”

“What.”

“And valedictorian, and the heir to the Campbell Soup Company.”

“What the hell? Is this guy superman or,” Angus takes a minute to recognize the smug face on Elise. Finally, she breaks out in a loud giggle.

“Oh,” Angus sighs in relief, “You’re messing with me.”

“A little,” she says through fits of laughter. “Anyways if you’re so worried why don’t you go back up there?”

“I was just worried that he would try something. But technically he sounds alright.”

“Ah. So, you’re jealous?”

Angus rolls his eyes, “No. I’m a concerned friend.”

“I’m not sure about that. Concerned friends don’t start interrogating the girl they are on a hypothetical date with.”

She leans down to point at a glob of paint in the corner of the paper, “I think you even doodled her name.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, going over it and trying to cover it up along with his embarrassment.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like this was going to go be framed at the MET.”

“What are you implying anyway,” he narrows his eyes.

“You’re going crazy being gone from her for two minutes. What do you think I’m implying?”

Angus slumps his shoulders and admits what had been ignoring. It's like a message in a bottle he threw into the sea, desperately trying to avoid the shore. Even when it does reach land, the cap is tightly sealed, clinging on to the bottle and doing it best to remain unread. When it does pop open and the paper is unfolded, although it might be difficult to read, the message still exists. It still exists even though time fought so hard to destroy it.

“I do think about her that way. Sometimes. Then the rational side comes out and tells me that it's human nature for a girl and guy friend to think about each other that way.”

“Well, does she know you think about her that way?”

“No. Sometimes I imagine she feels the same, but you’d have to know her to understand why I’m so confused. She’s the most thoughtful, kind, and perfect person in the world. It's hard to tell if she’s showing that side to everyone or if I’m special enough for her to give me that treatment.”

“You know Picasso also said that ‘Everything you can imagine is real’.”

“Are you Picasso's biographer?”

Without missing a beat, Elise smirks and says, “Yes.”

Angus is up the stairs without having thanking her, too fueled by adrenaline to practice basic manners. He’ll have to tell Miss Crane to pass on the memo. He’s on the hunt for you but is yanked into the house's kitchen by a mysterious hand.

“Hey?” He asks, disoriented.

Danny is staring straight at him, with both hands on either side of his shoulder.

“I need you to find Mr. Hunham,” he orders. Angus looks past the man to see Mary weeping heavily into the sink. Understanding, he nods firmly and is back out the door.

…

Joseph Leery is not half bad. He’s kind of funny, clever and not a bad person to pass the time with. You sit in the back of Miss Crane's living room on a couch all to yourselves. He tells you how he’s majoring in English in hopes of becoming a journalist.

“What kind of journalist?”

“Investigative. I would love to be the next Upton Sinclair. Or Seymour Hersch.”

“Ew! The Jungle made me so sick for a week after. It was so gross.”

“I know but that's what made it so great. Exposing the meat packing industry probably put him on a few hit lists too.”

“Oh yeah definitely. So, then who are you planning to expose?”

He laughs, “I don’t know yet. Is there any chance you’re planning on becoming some corrupt politician?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. I’ll let you know if I ever do,” you giggle.

“What are you planning to do then?”

“Then? Um... Like as president? I don’t know. Fund schools-.”

“No,” he laughs harder, “I mean like with college and life. Do you have anything planned out?”

“Erm, not really. My parents probably want me to go to the Ivy Leagues and crap. I should have a plan, I know, but I guess I’ve been putting it on the back burner.”

“Why?”

You shift in your seat. “I have this friend. He’s sort of had this rocky life, not I haven’t, and I know it's stupid to mold your entire life to fit around one person’s but for him I would.”

Joseph sniffs and straightens his posture. “Sorry. Lydia didn’t mention you having a boyfriend.”

“No, I don’t,” you stress, “I just really care for him, you know. We’ve known each other for so long. He’s important to me.”

“Y/n have you ever read Persuasion?” he asked suddenly.

“Um, not yet. I know the gist of it.”

“Well, it's ultimately about regret, right? Anne spends eight years longing for Wentworth when she could have been with him instead, had she not given into pressures. The point of the novel is not to wait to love the person you’re sure is it for you.”

“Love?” You hear someone say above you. You look up to see Angus, his arms stiff by his side. He glowers at Joseph. You jump off the seat and on operating on some strange reflex you go to fix his shirt collar that has stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“What were you guys talking about?” he interrogates.

“Books. Why?”

Angus doesn’t buy it but ignores the gnawing feeling in his gut, “Mary needs us in the kitchen. Go ahead, I still need to get Hunham.”

“Oh…Alright,” you turn and wave to your brief companion. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah maybe,” Joseph lifts his canned soda as if to say cheers.

You walk on ahead as Angus loiters behind, silently scrutinizing him.

Joseph takes a sip from his coke and points towards the direction you disappeared to. “Your girl went that way man.”

Angus rolls his eyes but leaves, nonetheless.

…

Miss Crane and Paul are sitting next to each other, their drink half-finished. They can feel the red tinge on their cheeks and themselves becoming looser.

“Are you planning anything special for tomorrow?” Lydia inquires.

“No. Why? Are you having a…”

“No, I just thought maybe you’d be doing something special for Angus and Y/n.”

Mr. Hunham shakes his head and Miss Crane lets out a small gasp, “You should! Help preserve some of the magic. Angus may be a little difficult, but he’s still just a kid. So is Y/n. And life catches up to them so fast. Them,” she stares at her lap, contemplating. “Ha. Us!”

“You’re a very sweet person, Miss Crane,” he compliments.

Miss Crane melts, “So are you, when you want to be,” she quips, “and it’s Lydia.”

He enjoys the feeling of camaraderie between them. He feels a cool breeze at the back of his neck and the sound of the door opening.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Miss Crane gets up and moves past him.

Mr. Hunham turns in time to see a man take off his coat, a gift under his arm. A moment later Miss Crane is there to receive him with a kiss. Together they walk away, and Mr. Hunham is left alone. Once again.

“Mr. Hunham, could you come with me, please?” Angus nearly trips as he stumbles over to the teacher.

“Yeah, what is it?” He sighs as he gets up with a groan.

“Come on, it's serious,” Angus leaps away. Peeking at him at the corner to see is Hunham is following, “Come on.”

Mr. Hunham is dragged into the kitchen, where he spots Mary, crying quietly to herself. Danny is next to her. You’re across the room biting your nails and hinting at Mr. Hunham to do something.

“Mary? You alright?” he questions, even though he knows it's in vain.

“Just leave me alone,” She mumbles.

“Want me to take you home?” Danny offers, placing what he thinks is a consoling hand on her back.

“Back off! Back off!” Mary whisper-shouts, her hands shaking down in anger. Mr. Hunham shuts the door, giving her privacy if nothing else.

“He’s gone,” she erupts into full on sobs. The mask comes off and she’s no longer Mary, the woman who appears to deal with grief like it was nothing but a bump on the road. Instead, it's Mary, who lost a son and whose grief has entirely consumed her until she can no longer breathe.

…

Angus and Mr. Hunham support Mary on both sides, as they make their way to the car. “I was right. This is why I hate parties. That was a disaster. Total disaster!”

“Speak for yourself. I was having a pretty profound conversation. I was about to make some serious life altering moves,” he blurts, angry and unable to believe his window opportunity was slammed shut. He had an internal plan. That'd he’d whisk you away from stupid Joseph and ask you to dance, maybe lead you to a mistletoe and see where it goes.

“With whom? The niece? Are you kidding me? This poor woman is bereft, and all you can think about is some silly girl.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.”

“I’m not talking about Elise; I'm just saying this is the first good thing that came from being in this prison with you.”

“Need I remind you it’s not my fault you’re stuck here? Do you think I want to babysit you? I was praying to the God I don’t believe in that your mother would pick up the phone, or your father would arrive in a helicopter or a submarine or a flying fucking saucer to take you-.”

“My father’s dead,”

“Angus-,” he hears you say but he holds up his hand for you to stop speaking.

Mr. Hunham stops dead in his rant, “But I thought your father-.”

“That’s just some rich guy my mom married. Give me your keys,” he sticks out his hand.

“It’s unlocked.”

Furiously, Angus stomps away. You excuse yourself from the two adults before doing your damnedest to not slip on the ice. Flats at this time of the year were not your best idea.

“Angus,” you reach him, tugging at the back of his jacket so that he’ll slow down. “Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“The thing about your dad,” you mumble.

“The way my mom and Stanley talk about him, he might as well be don’t you think?”

“You don’t mean that,” you scold. “What happened? Are you really this mad about Elise?”

“No. Damn it. I don’t even like Elise.”

“Oh,” despite the circumstance, you can’t help but feel giddy. “Then what is it?”

“You seemed to be having a pretty good time yourself with Joe on that couch.”

“Joe?” You cross your arms. “You mean Joseph?”

“Oh great. You have a nickname for him.”

“Angus, Joseph is his legal name, that's the opposite of a nickname.”

“I don’t want to talk about Joe,” he says. You both reach the end of the block where Hunhams car is parked. In the distance you see them come closer, their feet crushing the white snow.

“You brought him up,” you massage your temple. You think back of the endless list of books you have read, or the many movies you’ve watched. You scour through the genres. You think of how Joseph managed to connect to life. You think of the rewatch of Cactus Flower with Mary. How envious Ingrid Bergman character was every time she saw Julian talk to Toni.

“Angus, were you jealous of Joseph?”

He stops his ongoing struggle with the car handle, finally prying it open.

“Were you jealous of Elise?” he asks you.

You frown and fixate on the pavement; your nails dig into your palm as your hands turn into fists. Deafening silence engulfs you before Angus exhales heavily. Before you can speak, Mr. Hunham arrives and motions for you to scooch over so he can open the passenger side for Mary.

“Sorry,” you apologize and get in the backseat.

“Straight to bed you hear me,” Mr. Hunham warns once you are all buckled in. “Enough theatrics for one day.”

“Mmhmm,” Angus responds, but all he is doing is looking at you.