#drag’s mom…………passed down her cheekbones at least

[rawbiredbest]

Sergei’s parents have some Gomez and Morticia vibes. They’ve both been ruthless to get to where they are but they love each other dearly.

[thedeathdoctor]

Kinktober Day 5: Blood Play

Blood Play - Halloween: Michael Meyers x Reader

Guardian Demon

Tw for Breaking and Entering, Being held at gunpoint

It was ten past two in the morning when you pulled your 2003 Altima into the driveway. Fucking Steve. Ever since he had started as manager, your store had been pathetically understaffed. He never stuck around past four and never saw how long closing duties took. It was just you and Allison now, because “we don’t really need three people in here when we don’t get that many customers, anyway”. 

You shoved your work apron into your purse laying on the passenger seat before dragging yourself out of the car. Everything felt heavy, and your keys dangled limply in your hand. A thought resurfaced in your weary head: the pothole you had hit on your way to work because the assholes wouldn’t let you merge over to avoid it. It sounded expensive, but you had managed to get home, so you just gave a quick glance at it. You weren’t much of a car person, and it was dark; you’d look at it again in the morning. 

Leaning against the peeling paint of your side door, you fit the key in the lock, and found it unlocked. What? Maybe you had forgotten to lock up when you rushed to work this afternoon. Henry had called out for the third day in a row, and they had called you to come in earlier to cover for him. You didn’t want to, but you had to. The shitty washer that came with the unit had broken, and your landlord had refused to take care of it because clearly you had misused it in order for that to happen. A contractor had come out to fix it yesterday; the work was expensive,  he unsettled you in a way you couldn’t place, and in the middle of it all Steve called to ask where you were. He seemed to forget how you told him, to his face, three times, “I won’t be in on Wednesday, do not schedule me,” and still his chicken nugget sized brain forgot and expected you to come in. 

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind of the work fuckery from your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. It took up enough real estate in your head as is. 

Snacks. 

You dropped your purse on the mess of mail that covered your kitchen table. It would be sorted later. For now, you took your phone with you and rummaged through the cabinets, finding the box of Goldfish you had bought Monday. You padded into the living room, settling down into the couch. Though you lived alone, you had slept here for the past few nights on account of clutter spread over your bed. Well, it was mostly organized. Monday you had found the least sketchiest laundromat in your fifteen mile radius for the three weeks of laundry built up while you fought with your landlord. After all, there was a finite amount of times you could handle rewearing your work clothes before the thought of having to pay for laundry became begrudgingly tolerable. 

The waist of your pants cut into your waist, and you stripped them off and threw them towards the stairs with a growl. Your bra was next, and soon you were comfortable in your tank top and underwear. It had also been an embarrassing amount of time since you had vacuumed the floor, so your socks stayed on to keep your feet clean. 

“Honey, if you ever need help, I can always come over and clean with you. It’s really no problem for me.” 

Your mom’s voice reappeared in your head, kind and soothing. Truth was, you needed help, but couldn’t bring yourself to accept her offer. It was out of mercy. You didn’t want her to come over and see for herself how you, her precious daughter was really doing. She worried for you enough as is, and anyway, you were doing just fine, no need for her to see the bottles that frequently piled up in the yellow bin next to the door or the refrigerator that didn’t hold much excluding the condiments on the door, or the condition of your bathroom sink. You spared her the worry she would feel if she knew. Anyway, you could handle it, all you needed was another day off to take care of everything, two at max. 

Turning on the tv, you chose a random episode of Criminal Minds to watch to distract your brain. It had been your comfort show since you started watching it in 2011, and it filled the otherwise quiet space of the house. You apathetically ate a handful of Goldfish before folding the box back up and letting it drop on the ground. That wasn’t it. Occasionally, lights drifted across the interior of your house, headlights drifting in from the living room window as the occasional car passed by. 

A loud crash shocked you awake from the doldrums of half-sleep. Your eyes shot open as your heart revved from 0 -100, realizing that the sound came from upstairs. Fuck. There were footsteps now. Scrambling to find your phone to call 911, your heart sunk as the screen flickered to life for just enough time to blink its “low battery” icon at you before giving up. You did have a .357, but one too many nights with the bottle led you to disassemble it as much as you could and shove the pieces into a shoebox at the back of your closet, if only for your mom’s sake. 

You listened with bated breath as the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and began to descend. Every single muscle in your body did not reply, even as your mind screamed for you to run. You were frozen to the couch. 

A man, partially dressed in a dirty work coverall tied around the waist at the bottom of a grimy undershirt strode aggressively over to you. A black ski mask hid his face, but you could see his eye twitch as he raised the Glock in his hand to your face. His voice was strained and rough as he questioned you.

“WHERE ARE THEY??” 

“Where is what?” 

You didn’t have much of value at all, the most expensive thing that you had to your name was the Altima sitting outside and that was only $6,000 when you bought it a few years ago. 

“PILLS, SMARTASS. DON’T LIE TO ME. I SAW THE EMPTY BOTTLES. WHERE DO YOU KEEP THEM?” 

Oh. Truth be told, you didn’t have any left. All you had ever really taken was your Adderall XR and Zoloft. The empty Adderall bottle sat pathetically on your dresser, reminding you of the last time you had been able to afford the copay the pharmacy demanded. As for the Zoloft, well, your psychiatrist would keep refilling it as long as you kept showing up to her regular appointments, and the spontaneity of work had made it damn near impossible to keep an appointment with her. So it had been at least a few days since you had tried to taper off of them yourself. But you were unmedicated and well beyond tired, so you responded rather dumbly. 

“I don’t have any more. They’re gone. Sorry.” 

He didn’t react well to that, gritting his teeth and kicking over a folding chair that left a rather large hole in the drywall. Your fucking landlord would have a field day haranguing you for those damages. 

The side door that you had taken care to lock swung open violently, knocking over the bottles perched on the top of the pile in the recycling bin. Heavy footsteps strode through the kitchen and another man appeared behind the first intruder.

“HEY WHAT THE FUC-”

He was cut off as he was violently disarmed, gun clattering to the floor as a blade slashed through every tendon in his arm. Then, his body flew across the room and crashed head first into the Walmart bookshelf and the few books you had left with a horrific crunch. He was crumpled in a way that no human should ever be, and still the other man kneeled and plunged his knife between his ribs, ventilating his body as you would a frozen microwavable meal. And then slowly, stood up and turned to face you. 

He was impossibly tall, looming over the man who had tried to rob you; like him, he was also dressed in a coverall, bluish grey and relatively cleaner aside from the blood splashed across the front. His head was covered too, by one of those rubbery Halloween costume masks that people wear and pretend to be a serial killer or something. Matthew, or maybe Michael? You glanced over at the mutilated corpse at his feet, and the real, actual knife in his hand, still dripping with blood. You didn’t think he was pretending.

You cowered in the corner of the couch, your knees pulled up as close to your chin as possible, shaking uncontrollably. He walked closer to you, stretching out his free hand, and for some reason beyond your understanding, you took it. Your legs trembled like those of a newborn fawn, but you stayed up, mostly due to his hidden strength. Together, you both made your way over to the dead body, letting you collapse to your knees next to it. He dipped the tip of the knife into the man’s blood and brought it to your face. A scream died in your throat as he grabbed your jaw and steadied you as the blade traced over your forehead and cheekbones, painting you with the blood of his kill. On your stomach, he marked you with a simple “MM”. Michael Meyers. You were his. 

When he was done, he pressed you to the floor on your back and stripped you of your tank top and panties with a few quick flicks of his knife. His hands worked the jumpsuit zipper down as he shed his clothing and towered over you. He stroked his cock lazily, enjoying the look on your face as you realized that he wanted to put it deep in you. You were his and he was going to consummate your partnership, right here, right now.

He spread your legs and kneeled between them. It had been a while since you last had any kind of sexual encounter, but the patch of curls was of no consequence to him. Blood slicked his fingers, and you were surprised how expertly the pad of his thumb found your clit, kneading you to orgasm in spite of the horror you had just witnessed. Perfect.

He teased you, running his fingertips up and down your vulva until your hands urged him to get on with it. That was a mistake. He snapped your hands together and held you firmly by your wrists with his free hand. Punishment for being too impatient. Two fingers found your entrance before suddenly plunging into you as deep as they could. Your gasp satisfied him and he returned his thumb to your clit as his fingers pistoned into you at a punishing pace. 

The second orgasm crashed through your body, your arms weakly trembling against his fierce grip as you screamed out in pleasure. When your eyes returned to him, the submission he saw drove him mad with desire. He gripped your hips so hard, you were sure that you would see bruises in the morning, and slid you onto his cock, hissing softly as he entered you. God, he spread you apart like no one ever had before. 

You weren’t the most petite person in the world, but to him and his strength, you may as well have been. He slammed you against him, your thighs stinging as they met his hips, fucking you as if you were a filthy toy, a cocksleeve for him to use as he wanted, whenever he wanted. He paused for a moment, sliding his hands up under your back and supporting you with his arms as he stood up, still inside you. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, feeling the muscles in his torso and ass flex against you. His hips thrust up into you as he held you up in the air, gravity working alongside his powerful body as he ravaged you. Moans dribbled from your mouth as most of your upper body went limp. The back of your head crashed against the wall, but you didn’t care, your body was flooded in ecstasy as you came over and over, writhing in his arms and twitching helplessly around his cock. His fingernails dragged long, deep scratches along your back that smeared and stained the wall with blood as he pressed you against it, his breaths deep, panting, heavy with lust. 

Time lost all meaning to you as he broke you down to a sopping, quivering mess in his arms. It seemed he was intent on folding you in half and pressing you against the wall before his breaths hitched and pulled you as close as he physically could to him. His hips bucked involuntarily as he came deep into you, filling you with copious spurts of his cum. It took on a pinkish tone as it mixed with the blood from earlier, dripping from where your hips met. You were spent, falling asleep before he had let the both of you fall ever so gently to the floor, letting you rest on top of his chest. 

[ml-typhonverse]

Character Appearances

While I still haven’t figured out Andie, I do have relatively set ideas for how most of the other characters look. So, I’ll post them now.

Will is the tallest of our heroes, barely below six feet at the start of the story and gaining a couple of inches as the year passes. He has some muscles at the start, as if he doesn’t exercise regularly, he tends to turn gaunt thanks to an early life with poor nutrition. Lots of peanut butter sandwiches for Will until he figured out how to safely use an oven and stove.

His skin is tan and his hair is a dark auburn color with a mild curl. He keeps it short, but it goes almost to a buzz cut when he’s Sabotage, to help keep it hidden under the hood. His eyes are hazel leaning towards brown, and of course go green when he transforms. Will’s teeth are also a little bit crooked even after getting braces, and his hands have plenty of small scars.

Daniel is short, barely taller than Trisca as Kermes and he’s the shortest of his friends. He’s Korean-American and looks it, which meant he had to deal with a lot of confused questions from kids assuming he’s Chinese or Japanese. He’s...sort of gotten used to it. His hair is neatly cut and combed and a true black, with eyes just as dark, though that changes when he transforms. He wishes he had sharper cheekbones and shorter lashes, because his mom tends to coo at him about them.

Sam is mixed race, with an African-American mom and a Native Hawaiian dad, with skin lighter than her mom’s and darker than her dad’s. She wears her dark brown hair long and curly, occasionally braiding it down when she has the time in the morning, which she rarely does. She’s the tallest of the girls in Andy’s group, helped by a love of high heels. Her eyes are dark brown and she has a birthmark on her upper right arm shaped sort of like a lima bean.

Meg is tiny and toned, thanks to a lifetime of exercise. She’s white, with dirty blond hair that she regularly dyes with different streaks of color. Teal and electric blue are her favorites, mostly on her bangs. Her eyes are grayish blue, and her nose is crooked due to at least two and a half breakages during sparring. She sees them as a badge of honor, her mom hates it. Meg also has multiple ear piercings and would like an eyebrow piercing if her mom would let her get one.

Robbie is the least in-shape of the group, with a bit of a belly. After becoming friends with Meg and the attacks start, he starts focusing on getting in shape enough to at least try to outrun a sentimonster. His hair is a golden blond and really wavy, which means Robbie tends to try and flick it out of his eyes or use hair clips on it. His eyes are blue and he has a bunch of freckles all over his body. He’s also almost as tall as Will which means he can use Meg as a headrest if he’s feeling particularly daring.

Dylan is African American, with wild curly hair and light brown eyes. He’s the tallest of the guys as well, though most of it is leg so he tends to be a bit clumsy if he doesn’t watch where he’s going. Lucas is in between Daniel and Dylan, with curly light brown hair and gray eyes and a skin tone that leans towards vampire pale if he isn’t dragged out into sunlight regularly.

[nbrook29]

hiii, number 35 for the dialogue prompts. hope you'll have a wonderful day ✨

158 for Sobbe, I can swear that at some point in a AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES context Sander said this to Robbe, but I can't prove it sjjsjsjsjjsj

120 + 160 😋💜

1 for Sobbe! I've been listening to the song 'let's get married' by Mitski and it's soooo them, and maybe you get inspired by it too if you write this lol. Have a good day/night 💕💕

154, 28, 18, 9, 2 (just the ones u want❤)

30 for Sobbe 🧡🧡🧡 

Hi y’all! I managed to compile all of these prompts into one 8k fic, I hope it’s okay 🙈 It’s too long to edit on tumblr so I’m posting a link to ao3 and a snippet of it below 💛

Also, I super appreciate all the comments in the tags and stuff ❤️

The dialogue prompts involved:

158. [text] Living alone for four weeks has given me unrealistic expectations of pantslessness

30. “Did you do this on purpose?!”

28. “Stop pinning this on me! You started it!”

2. “Do you want me to leave?

120. “Your hair is so soft…”

160. [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

1. marry me

35. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”

LINK ---> hold all my cliches on the tip of my tongue

***

When Robbe enters the downstairs bathroom on a Saturday afternoon, it already looks like a mess, and they haven’t even started. The sink is full of various utensils and bottles thrown in there haphazardly and he looks around, his mouth quirking a little at how the place is currently the perfect representation of Sander’s chaotic energy. It’s probably for the best his mom is far, far away on another continent and doesn’t have to encounter this because she’s an orderly woman compared to her artist of a son, and it’s quite possible she would get a stroke seeing this.

And that’s even before they undoubtedly turn this place into a battlefield with their bleach shenanigans. 

“Ready?”

Sander passes him in the doorway, accidently brushing his shoulder and shooting him an expectant smile. He’s carrying a wooden stool in one hand and a large chocolate chip cookie he’s happily munching on in another. He must’ve changed out of his black hoodie because now he’s wearing his “creative hours” white t-shirt, stained with a palette of intense colors that barely washed out in the washing machine. The cut off sleeves reveal his arms, and the tanned skin is contrasting so nicely with the whiteness of the material that Robbe’s gaze lingers a little on his lean tricep, taut when he puts the sturdy looking stool down.

“I was born ready,” he replies with feigned confidence that makes Sander arch his left eyebrow.

“Oh really? What happened to you being hesitant about this?”

“I realized you’re gonna look hot either way, bleached blond or bald, so there is no wrong outcome here, really.” Robbe smiles innocently, but his eyes are anything but, mischievous glints dancing in those big brown irises and it’s a look on him that never fails to make Sander’s fingers itch with the desire to have his way with him.

They have work to do though so he resorts for a cheeky comeback for now, knowing it’s going to tint Robbe’s cheeks pink right away.

“Are you talking about your secret fetish again?”

And there it is, a pretty flush spreading on those cheekbones chiseled by god himself and it’s super cute, even when followed by Robbe’s indignant scoffing. Sander absolutely adores that even over a year later there are still things he says that can make him blush and he already mourns the future days when it no longer happens and Robbe gets immune to his cheesy jokes. But, at the rate they are going so far, it’s not going to happen anytime soon.

Thank god.

“I don’t have a baldness fetish, jerk!” Robbe gives his shoulder a half-hearted push, flustered. 

“Right, right, I forgot, I am your fetish.”

He’s expecting another shove but instead, Robbe’s features morph into a private little grin, his gaze dropping to Sander’s lips as he twists his fingers into his t-shirt, bringing him closer to seal their lips together for a few magical seconds before pulling back with a loud smack, laughing a little at Sander’s dazed but intrigued face.

Then he slaps his butt cheekily, effectively pulling him out of his reverie and leaves Sander wondering where that beautiful innocent and sweet boy he fell in love with almost a year and a half ago went. The beauty and sweetness is still there but the innocence flew out the window a long time ago and Sander feels pretty responsible for this glorious corruption, oh yes he does.

“Okay, let’s do this ‘cause otherwise we’re gonna be here till Monday.” Robbe points vaguely at the compiled accessories and then resorts to watching Sander mixing the developer and bleach together, occupying himself with reading the instructions on the bottle. He scrunches up his nose as the chemical smell irritates his nostrils and he’s honestly starting to feel sorry for Sander’s hair.

Once the mixture is ready and Sander is perched on the stool with an old towel around his neck, Robbe buries his fingers in his brown strands, loving the feeling of silkiness when he combes them back, making sure to scratch a little at the scalp.

It always makes Sander’s eyelids droopy, and the soft groans that leave his mouth when there’s a scratch at a particularly sensitive spot pull a giggle out of Robbe.

“I swear you were a cat in the previous life.”

“Probably, yeah,” Sander agrees in a soft voice that tells Robbe the skillful ministrations of his fingers are currently putting him on cloud nine.

“Oh my god, baby,” he moans, rolling his head slowly back and forth, and Robbe can see a shudder going through him. “If I’d known your hair bleaching assistance comes with a free head massage, I’d have recruited you sooner.”

His entire body visibly relaxes, Robbe’s magical fingers erasing every bit of stress that accumulated through the day with a practiced precision. “I swear, those fingers of yours were the god’s gift to humanity,” he pauses, his eyes searching for Robbe’s in the mirror as his lips stretch into a smirk. “Well, or at least a gift to me.”

Robbe indulges him because how could he not when Sander’s being so sweet and putty under his hands, so he doubles his efforts, receiving the cutest little purr at some point. 

“Your hair is so soft,” he marvels, combing through it with awe. “I kinda hate myself for what I’m about to do to it.”

“It’s okay, Robin, my hair forgives you.”

Robbe lets out a woeful sigh and reluctantly disentangles his fingers from the strands. “Okay, now after I said goodbye to brown, let’s get it over with, shall we?”

[paranetics]

hiya could you do a kiadam for 17. and 22.? if your not too busy. thanks !!

17.  “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…” 22.  “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

He’s completely minding his own business, being friendly with his physics textbook, all pressed up against the end of the bookshelf in the library, successfully having a love affair with headache-inducing math equations, when Mira ambushes him.

“Hiya,” she says, suddenly right in his face.

“Aisghls!” he gurgles, in a completely manly way, thank you. She sits back on her heels and laughs at him, loud and mocking. He scowls at her.

Her braces are blue now, matching the streaks in her hair. She looks nice, he decides, all neon green and blue. The loudness of her wardrobe suits her -- she’d be strange to him if she ever tried to tone it down.

“Oh, man, you should’ve seen your face.”

“Fuck you,” Kai snaps, smoothing out the pages of his book. “I am busy learning how to destroy the AP Phys exam. Stop being a distraction.”

She pouts at him. “Come on, you're seriously not still mad at me about the ceramic pig.”

“I’m always going to be mad at you about the ceramic pig,” he says primly. Then he sighs, unable to resist. “What’s up?”

Her smile turns bright, and his heart does that familiar little stutter. Kai has always, always loved her. Sure, she’s Adam’s best friend and has inclinations more Reeve-based, but there’s always going to be something about her that just catches him in the right spot. He’s over it now, and he has erm, other areas of interest, but she’ll always be special.

“Nessa’s having a party--”

“Ugh,” Kai interrupts.

“--with alcohol--”

“Double ugh.”

“And cute boys will be there,” Mira wheedles, whipping out her best puppy-eyes.

“I don’t care,” Kai says, shuffling away from her and looking back at his textbook. The particles will... he reads.

“Adam will be there,” she tries. Obvious trump card. Goddammit.

He cuts his eyes toward her, calculating. She’s grinning, triumphant, confident that she’s got him. He groans internally, because it’s either that he goes to this party and enjoys at least twelve percent of it, or Mira and Adam will wake him up from a dead sleep sometime in the AM, drunk and needy.

Part of his resistance is a lie, he always likes parties. He doesn’t like Vanessa, but she’s Reeve’s friend, and by proxy, Mira’s friend. He can pretend to like her for one night, especially if he gets to hang out with people. What can he say, extroversion. It’s a disease.

It’s just, recently, there’s been this trend. It’s like he’s been cursed.

Kai pretends to think about it.

“Fine,” he grits out.

“Yay!” Mira says, standing up and doing a little celebratory wiggle. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and unlocks it. “I’ll add you to the group text. Also, I want Reeve to drive me so you’re taking Adam alone okay bye.”

“Huh,” Kai says as she speed-walks away from him. “What? Hey!”

But she’s gone, vaguely eucalyptus-scented-shampoo left in her wake. Alone? With Adam? Fuck.

His phone buzzes.

-

Group: party 🎉🥂🥳🎊 time

mirakat added humantorchkai to the group

abeaverdam: Oh he’s coming?

lochnessa: Damn I didn’t know he left his house anymore

mirakat: ya i cornered his ass in th library

mirakat: hes a total slut 4 skool

mirakat: kais my bitch tho lol so ya hes comin

mirakat: dam hes drivin u

abeaverdam: Is that ok kai?

humantorchkai: yeah

humantorchkai: when?

lochnessa: Friday.

-

Kai’s late to first period on Wednesday, which Reeve notices, and bugs him about for ten minutes straight. He rolls in twenty minutes after the bell, wearing the clothes he left on his bedroom floor, all rumpled up and disorganized, and without a note. He drops into his seat and makes it approximately two minutes before Reeve leans over, into his space, and starts the interrogation.

“Oh my God,” Kai says to the ceiling. “For the last time, my alarm didn’t go off.”

“My Spidey-senses tell me you’re a liar,” Reeve says, and seriously, what does Mira see in this complete dork? He’s so nosy.

Kai drags his gaze from the ceiling to stare at him. “I think your janky-ass ‘spider-sense’ needs a psych eval.”

Reeve crosses his arms and sniffs at him. “Rude. I thought we were friends.”

“We are--” Kai scrubs his hands through his hair violently, frustrated. He catches the smirk on Reeve’s face. “Hey! That doesn’t work on me anymore. I’ve evolved.”

The smirk doesn’t leave Reeve’s face.

The truth is, Kai’s late because he had a nightmare. Or a wet dream. Depends on your definition of either thing. It’s been reoccurring pretty consistently, and Kai always wakes up from it breathing hard, adrenaline in his veins, and a hard-on. Today just happened to be shittier, and he couldn’t get back to sleep right away, so he overslept when his alarm went off.

It’s pretty much the worst, been happening for almost a month, and Kai is slowly losing his mind. But. whatever, the important part is this: he’s with Adam, and Adam kisses him. They could be in space, or in a submarine, or whatever Kai’s subconscious feels like cooking up. They could be anything, pirates, elven rebel warriors, it doesn't matter. In every dream, Kai’s with Adam, and at some point Adam leans over, the smell of Hennessy whiskey on his breath, and kisses Kai.

It’s why Kai’s been so rigid lately, avoiding his friends and refusing to go to parties, because of what happened Last Time he’d gone.

Mad Libs! Fill in the blanks, Sherlock.

He’s so totally, totally, totally screwed. And no one is allowed to know, not even Reeve, who knows Adam’s a flirty drunk and that Kai’s pathetic, and hasn’t even told anyone any of Kai’s other secrets, because this? This is world-ending levels of FUCK.

So, when the bell rings, Kai basically sprints out the door to avoid Reeve.

-

Group: party 🎉🥂🥳🎊 time

speedyskeet: should i bring da weed

reever: ohhh shiiiit hell yeah

lochnessa: No LSD though

speedyskeet: :O

speedyskeet: um ok MOM

reever: wtf ness

reever: psychedelic rights!!!

speedyskeet: let me get us fkd up!!

mirakat: wait didnt we hav 2 call an ambulance 4 coop last time u brought more than weed to a party

mirakat: or was tht a different school

speedyskeet: .........

speedyskeet: ok so im assuming edibles and my bong right

-

Kai takes his lunch to Mr Tucker’s room.

Mr Tucker is the APUS history teacher for the senior class, and he is the only non-STEM teacher that Kai likes. Mira is also his favorite student, so he lets them eat lunch in his room. It’s better than fighting for a spot in the crowded cafeteria, and Kai likes hiding from the rest of the student body.

Adam, Reeve, and Mira are sitting at one of the table groups when Kai walks in with his plate of chicken nuggets, Vanessa and Skeet nowhere to be seen. They’re probably getting high in the parking lot.

Mr Tucker is scrolling through youtube, his computer desktop displayed on the projector screen.

“Why’d you look up Nyan cat?” Kai asks, tilting his head as he watches Mr Tucker scroll.

“It’s stuck in his head,” Mira pipes up, helpfully. 

Mr Tucker grunts confirmation and apparently selects the version he likes. Reeve groans when it starts playing, slumping forward over his tuna salad. Mr Tucker picks up his normal vegetable-based salad, his bushy mustache wiggling in that way that means he’s smiling.

Kai sits next to Reeve, across from Adam. Mistake, Kai realizes too late. Big mistake. Because now they have to make eye contact, and Kai’s belly catches fire at the memory of drunkAdamhe’sKISSINGMESOMEONEHELP when he looks down at his plate of chicken nuggets. It’ll be obvious on his face in a few moments, he’s never been able to fight off a blush well, and then there’s going to be Questions. Capital-Q Questions.

But Reeve’s talking about, like, whatever drama majors talk about, and when Kai chances a peek up, Adam’s not looking at him. So.

Kai can’t help it, okay? He’s creepy. Sue him. No wait, that’s not-- ugh.

Kai studies the contours of Adam’s face while he’s not looking. His high cheekbones and his sharp chin. His heavy eyebrows that are shaped perfectly (”Ugh, you’re so fucking gross,” Reeve had said when Kai had voiced this thought aloud. “His eyebrows? I think you need to ask him out. Get it out of your system.”) and his eyes are that warm shade of brown, almost gold, soft and kind.

His hair is longer now, and errant curls flop over his forehead and around his ears. Kai watches the long line of Adam’s throat when he tilts his head back from the force of laughing at something Reeve said. Kai’s transfixed by the inviting stretch of dark skin, entertaining a thought of leaning over and just biting down so it’s not his fault he doesn’t see it coming when Reeve violently jabs him in the rib.

Kai jumps. “Ah! What the fuck?”

“Language,” Mr Tucker says in the toneless inflection of someone who doesn’t really care but responds on reflex. He’s now scrolling through Seasame Street videos.

Reeve shrugs, unrepentant. “You were gone there, dude.”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, eyebrows raised in polite curiosity. “Planet Zenon gone.”

Kai ducks his head. “I’m, uh, stressed about AP physics?” he tries.

“Uh-huh,” Reeve says, “and are you asking us to confirm that for you?”

“Leave him alone,” Mira interrupts mildly. “Only, like, a hundred people a year get above a three on that exam.”

“Wow, how is that class still funded?” Adam asks.

“Elitism?” Mira guesses. “Maybe it’s like, a torture thing. Like, a test within a test.”

“What,” Reeve says, “like, if you pass you can become a super-secret spy?”

“Or I can, like, do another Chernobyl. Or I’m allowed secret access to government secrets. Ooh, maybe they’ll tell me the moon is a projection into the sky.” Kai says, warming to this idea.

“Then how would they explain waves?” Reeve asks.

“Uh, giant wave pool,” Kai answers.

“Hot take: the world is in a giant wave pool,” Mira grins at him.

Adam blinks almost in slow-motion, the sweep of his eyelashes against his cheeks, a smile growing on his face, and Kai is once again caught like a fly in honey. Just like that, all the saliva is gone from Kai’s mouth, and he’s completely lost the thread of whatever’s happening around him.

Okay, so, recap: totally, totally, totally screwed.

-

adam: U sure you’re ok driving me?

kai: dam i swear its fine

kai: i’d say something if it was a problem

kai: my parents have been trying to kick me out basically every weekend, this’ll make them so fucking happy

adam: Lol

adam: [A stock photo of two white parents sitting on a beach towel in a tropical location, smiling adoringly at each other. In the blurry background, a toddler with similar skin color and hair is being attacked by a seagull.]

-

“There is a PROBLEM!” Kai announces, flopping heavily onto his bed, tossing an arm dramatically over his forehead. Mira doesn’t even look up at him.

“Hm?” she says from the floor, knees drawn up to her chest, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. She’s looking more at her iPad than at him.

“Oh my God,” Kai groans. “You don’t even care. I’m nothing to you. You enjoy my suffering.”

“Die white man,” Mira says tonelessly. “I’m trying to beat my old high score in Tetris. What’s your damage.”

“I have nothing to wear on Friday,” Kai moans, pained.

“What? Why do you even care? Your regular clothes are fine.”

“Oh my God, Mira! It’s a party,” Kai breathes the word like its holy, a precious thing nestled in the crook of his tongue, not to be defiled by people who wear school clothes to special events. “And I want to get hit on.”

“I’ll hit on you,” Mira promises. The iPad makes a wah-wah-wah sound. She sighs, setting it aside and looking up at him, expression thoroughly unamused, clearly blaming him for her high-score loss.

“I did not do that,” Kai says. The blood’s started rushing to his head, so he sits up and blinks away the black spots as they dance in front of his vision. “I just wanna be hot,” he whines. 

“Okay, so, wear that stupid blue button-up with the tigers on it, and the black skinny jeans. It brings out your eyes,” she elaborates. “And tucked-in button-ups are hot on dudes. Oh, and--”

“If you’re gonna Queer Eye me, I swear to God,” Kai complains.

“Will you just... I was gonna say you should wear a tiny bit of eyeliner. It’s like, accentuating your features or some shit.”

“Why should I trust you?” Kai asks playfully. “I’ve never seen you go anywhere near a make-up in my life.”

Mira shrugs. “I saw it on Instagram. Anyways, Reeve said I have ‘good bone structure’, what does that even mean?”

“That he’s an idiot and I can’t believe you’re into him?” Kai ventures. Mira glares at him, so Kai leans back on the bed, rolling his eyes up to the bedroom ceiling at the glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars that have been there since he was seven. “Okay, okay. He was probably trying to compliment you, but since he’s a robot sent by aliens to infiltrate the earth he did it in a really bizarre way.”

Mira perks up. “You think?”

“He said ‘good’.”

“What should I say back?”

“Erm, that you’ll have his babies?”

Mira throws one of her glittery highlighter pens at him. It bounces off the center of his forehead and onto his lap. He laughs, picking it up and tossing it back.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe say that you like his bones, too.”

Mira takes out her phone.

-

adam: [A picture of a pina colada sitting on a kitchen counter in a pool of sunlight.]

adam: Winky face

kai: you could just like, use the emoji keyboard instead of typing it out

adam: Don’t make me frowny face

-

Kai spends fifteen minutes messing with his hair in the mirror. He gels it sticking up, twists his mouth critically at his reflection, and wets his hands to wipe it out. Nothing’s working for him today. It’s just one of those things, his clothes seem to hang off him awkwardly, and nothing looks right.

He makes a sound of frustration, and his mom pokes her head into the bathroom.

“Oh,” she says. “I thought you were going to a party?”

“Mom,” he growls. “I’m getting ready!”

“Hm.” 

She pushes the door all the way open, surveys him from head to toe, and reaches over to run a hand through his hair, leaving parts sticking up in her wake. Kai looks in the mirror. Now, instead of awkward ‘trying-too-hard’, he looks artfully tousled. He unbuttons two top buttons of his tiger shirt, and messes with the collar to make it look like someone had grabbed it and reeled him in for a kiss. He grins at himself.

“That’s better, I think,” she says.

“Thanks Mom,” he says, shuffling past her and out to the hallway.

“Limit yourself to three drinks!” she calls as he stuffs his feet into old converse. “If you get too intoxicated to drive, spend the night! Just text! Don’t forget to wear condoms and--”

Kai shuts the door in her face.

His car is a silver Prius, owned five times prior to him. The interior always smells a little bit like shamrock shake and in the winter requires a prayer and three engine turnovers to start. Kai loves it.

He pulls up to Adam’s street and texts without looking that he’s close. He parks in the street, and jogs up to Adam’s front door. He raps his knuckles on Adam’s door, the red one with caterpillar decals, and a blue handprint on the doorknob.

Adam throws open the door. “Gimme a sec, gotta grab my jacket.”

He’s wearing a white shirt and Kai’s favorite jeans of his (do Not judge him, okay, liking your crush’s ass is basically a given and is no longer considered a sin under the New Testament, so really Kai’s not weird for liking this pair of Adam’s jeans because it accentuates his butt.), the ones with rips in the thigh and at both knees, because Adam lives reckless and dies reckless.

He jams his feet into vans and grabs the heavy olive jacket off the coatrack and follows Kai out to the Prius.

“You look nice,” Adam says, offhand. Kai feels how hot his face immediately gets and hopes it isn’t ugly, sometimes his blushes look like a rash.

“Thanks,” he says, rubbing his neck, right hand fumbling for his keys.

They slide into their seats, and Kai is hit with the violent-sense memory of Hennesy whiskey, and dark streetlamps, and Adam’s soft voice and brown puppy-dog eyes imploring Kai, look at me. Look at me, please. And. And.

His phone buzzes.

“Oh, Vanessa wants us to pick up some soda,” Kai says through the rock in his throat.

“Ooh, ooh. Cherry 7-Up, Jarritos Lime, uh like, a ton of Mountain Dew... and Coke! We’ll need Coke,” Adam rambles as Kai pulls away from the street and heads toward the local general store.

-

mira: WHERE

mira: R

mira: U 

mira: 2

mira: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kai frowns at his phone. They’re in the check-out line, waiting for their turn with about three tons of soda on the conveyer. Kai’s got a fifty dollar bill from his parents, because they’re stupidly open-minded, but he’s still gonna make Vanessa pay him back. Adam’s inspecting the tabloids, making comments about all of the covers and whatever he thinks about them.

kai: WE’RE

kai: FUCKING

(Not sent !) kai: GETTING

(Not sent !) kai: DRINKS

mira: FUHDUK WHATTTT!!!?????????

Kai groans.

-

The party’s already alive by the time Adam and Kai get there, music thrumming against the walls of the house, the glass panes of the windows shaking with the vibrations. Weighed down by plastic bags full of drinks, and a little bit anxious, Kai fumbles with the door handle three times until Adam reaches over him and opens it.

The crowd is huge. He didn’t even know that Vanessa and Skeet knew this many people. There’s a wall of heat that hits them when they step inside, the difference between the inside and outside must be a solid ten degrees. Most people are crammed in the living room, near the speakers, where a sort of impromptu dancefloor has evolved. There are plenty of people lining the hallways, sitting on the stairs, and spilling over into the other places of the house. 

Vanessa has changed the lightbulbs to fuschia, cobalt, and teal colors, so the house looks almost like a club from a TV show. There’s this haze over everything - and, yep, definitely Skeet’s weed - that makes it seem smoky and mysterious. Adam kicks the door shut behind them as they begin to navigate the crowd.

Skeet’s leaning against one of the walls, talking to a tiny girl with piercings and too much eyeliner. She tosses her head, her hair flying up like a halo for a moment, luminescent in the multicolored lights of the house, and leans closer to Skeet. She’s holding a red solo cup, Skeet’s holding weed, and Kai’s arms are starting to hurt from all the soda.

“So, your, like, real name is Skeet? What kind of name is that? I mean, like, who does that to their kid?” she’s asking, valley girl accent and everything, even twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Skeet shrugs, unbothered. “My parents are hippies.” he spots them, then, and lifts his joint in a get over here gesture. Kai and Adam shove some people to stand in front of him. He grins. “Oh, dudes, nice. You got drinks. I wasn’t sure if you would, since Mira told us that you, uh, made a pit stop.” he waggles his eyebrows.

Kai groans, flushing.

“Uh, yeah,” Adam says, lifting up his bags. “for drinks? Hello?”

Skeet leers, grin stretching bigger. Kai scowls. He’s going to eat her one day, all Hannibal-Lecter style.

“Where is Mira, anyway?” he cuts in before Skeet says anything weird. “Where should we put the drinks?”

“Oh, just, you know,” Skeet makes a vague gesture with his hand that doesn’t really mean anything. “I think I saw her in the kitchen?”

“Thanks,” Kai mutters, shoving through the crowd and deeper into the house.

Mira and Vanessa are leaning against the sink, Reeve’s standing at the counter, completely covered in bottles of alcohol, thumb and forefinger at his chin like he’s surveying fine art. 

“Oh! You made it! I hate vodka without coke,” Mira says, striding forward and grabbing the bags from Adam.

Kai followers her back to the counter, and shoves the receipt into Vanessa’s limp hands without looking at her. Together, Kai and Mira start to set up the drink line, stacking up all the empty red cups at the edge of the counter as they try to make sure all the soda and alcohol are equally accessible. How Skeet even gets this stuff... he shudders to think. 

Kai waits until Adam and Reeve have wandered out of earshot to lean into Mira’s space. Vanessa had vacated the premise the moment it looked like any physical work would be happening, so he doesn’t worry about her particular brand of nosiness. He takes his phone out of his pocket and tilts the screen so she can see it.

“My texts didn’t send,” he tells her in a low voice. “We weren’t actually, you know.” he flushes violently.

Mira shoots him a grin. “No, I guessed that something had happened. It was just funny. You look nice.”

He smiles at her, genuinely, which means his gums are probably showing. She looks nice too, in her little black dress with a flared skirt and combat boots. The neon green streaks in her hair glow in the weird light of the house.

“I like your outfit,” he says. The din in the background is starting to grow. More people have probably showed up.

She nods at his jeans. “Cuffed jeans. The true mark of a bisexual.”

Kai nods very seriously. “I can’t leave my house without announcing every aspect of my sexuality to the entire world.”

Adam’s talking to a group of people at the other end of the kitchen, his smile is blindly white in the pink light, skin pitched a shade darker, a stark difference against the glow of his white shirt. Staring, unable to look away, Kai steals Mira’s cup and takes a swig. It’s straight vodka, so Kai coughs immediately when it hits his tongue.

Mira laughs at him.

-

Group: party  🎉🥂🥳🎊 time

speedyskeet: do any of u know anyone named travis montery

mirakat: no

lochnessa: No

abeaverdam: Nope!

humantorchkai: no

reever: nah

speedyskeet: fucking L lmao

speedyskeet: im kicking this fool out then

-

Kai’s wandering around, pleasantly buzzed from two Cherry 7-Ups with a tiny bit of vodka, looking for any familiar face. Mira and Reeve had abandoned him pretty much straight away, he’d left Adam alone in the kitchen, and he’s actively avoiding Vanessa. 

He stumbles around, moving his shoulders a bit in time with the music, his body gone languid and loose from the heat and the alcohol and the atmosphere.

His phone beeps at him again. He really hopes it's not Skeet checking with them before he bounces a guy again. It’s just Mira, he sees, when he’s fumbled his phone out of his back pocket. He has to squint to read in the pink light amid the thrumming bodies of people all around him.

Eventually, he escapes the crowd and heads down the stairs to the “game room” and finds another living room, with a soft white carpet and a couch in front of a big flatscreen. There’s a group of about a dozen kids, plus Kai’s friends, sitting on the carpet in a circle by the couch, with a beer bottle laying on a Monopoly game board. Kai blinks, the lights here aren’t fun colors, and everyone in the circle raises their arms and cheers when they see him.

He walks over to them. Mira grabs his arm and begins to drag him onto the carpet beside her. The group begins to chant.

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!”

Oh, no fuck, Kai thinks, beginning to resist Mira’s grip on his arm. His drink is sloshing about, and Kai holds it away from his shirt and pants as he tries to reverse his crouch and pull his arm back. Skeet reaches up and confiscates the cup, downing the rest of it in one go.

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!”

But he’s buzzed and his coordination is spotty, so when Adam reaches out with his hand and spins the beer bottle, Mira tugs once, hard, and Kai crashes onto the carpet, and the bottle spins,

and spins,

and spins.

And points the neck straight at Kai’s disheveled spot in the circle.

So, let’s revisit that cursed theory, shall we?

Kai looks at Adam, and Adam looks at him. He’s got that dopey half-smile on his face, and his pupils are blown wide, iris a thin gold ring around them. Kai knows when Adam’s drunk, or blackout, and he’s tipsy right now, just like Kai. And... oh no. But the kids in the circle are jeering, giggling delightedly.

“Uh,” Kai says.

Adam licks his lips, and Kai tracks the movement of his tongue helplessly. His eyes are moving on Kai’s face, like he’s cataloging everything, like he can’t keep them still. Kai’s mouth is very, very dry, and he misses having the cup in his hand.

“So, uh,” he says, and the tension buzzes even harder. “Is this, like, a kissing thing?”

Skeet grabs him by the arms and manhandles him up. Reeve and Vanessa grab Adam and start frogmarching them down the short hall toward some rooms and closed doors.

“No,” Skeet says, “This is more like a seven minutes in heaven thing.”

“Wait,” Kai says. Skeet reaches past him and opens a door. “Wait.” Skeet pushes him in, and Adam follows behind. “Wait.” The door clicks shut, then there's a clunk, then the sound of something heavy being pushed against the door.

Kai tries the knob, but it's locked. He jiggles it, but his muscles won’t cooperate and yank hard enough. Adam could probably break it open, but Kai has the vague thought of Vanessa’s parents and property damage, and underage drinking.

“Guys!” Adam yells. He pounds on the door with his fist. “Guys! This isn’t funny!”

But they don’t answer.

Evil. Mental note: make sure your friends aren’t evil next time.

“Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while,” Kai sighs, giving up on the door.

They’ll just have to wait out the seven-minute sentence. It’s simultaneously worse and so much better than the alternative. This way, Adam won’t have to kiss Kai if he doesn’t want to. But also: he won’t have to kiss Kai if he doesn’t want to. It’s a testament to how drunk all of them really are.

Kai turns, presses his back against the door, and slides down it, pulling his knees to his chest, wrapping his hands around his shins, and resting his cheek on his knee. He surveys the room. It’s small and dark, Kai doesn’t have the wherewithal to search for the light switch, but from what Kai can see it looks like a guest room no one ever uses and has accumulated with old junk. There’s a tiny window at the opposite wall that leads up to the lawn. Adam groans and drops onto the ground beside Kai.

The night is clear the moonlight is touching the window and peeking into the room. Adam’s shirt is glowing against his skin from the moonlight, his eyes a bright point in the semi-dark of the room. Kai locks eyes with Adam, and the tension from earlier crops back up tenfold.

This situation is... stupidly pointed. Kai’s pretty sure Reeve is the only person in the world who knows Kai thinks Adam is kinda hot, but he’d also have to be massively stupid to ignore the strain in their friend group lately.

Adam’s looking at him the way he does right before he reaches out to touch Kai’s hair, or brush his fingers against Kai’s freckles, or leans over to kiss Kai’s cheek. He’s looking at Kai like a hungry man, like he’s about to make the stupidest decision of his life and never look back. Kai can feel the pull of that look drawing him in, the temptation to run his hands against Adam’s chest, touching his shoulders or his mouth.

So Kai does the only thing he can think of.

“What did you think of that new Hey Arthur episode?”

Adam blinks at him. “Uh. You mean that kids show?”

Kai bites his lip and nods vigorously. 

Totally. Totally. Totally screwed.

-

reeb: [A video of Mira on the dancefloor among a huge throng of teens. The song in the background is completely drowned out by people attempting to sing along drunkenly. She’s grinding against Vanessa, who’s wearing Skeet’s sunglasses and drinking a mimosa with a cocktail umbrella in it.]

(Not sent !) kai: let us out of here!!! its been like 15 mins!!!! guys!!! dam’s phone is dead!!!!!

(Not sent !) kai: goddamn it COME GET US

(Not sent !) kai: NOTHING IS SENDING!!

reeb: lol wya we cant find dam either

(Not sent !) kai: YOU LEFT US IN THE BASEMENT

-

“Ugh,” Kai says, flopping back down onto the pillows beside Adam. At some point during their imprisonment slash debate on the ethics of twenty-three seasons of the same children’s cartoon, they’d moved from the floor to the twin bed. “I’m pretty sure they forgot about us.”

“Well, it’s been like thirty minutes. And they’re drunk.”

Kai’s starting to sober up. He has to pee, and his mouth tastes like cherry coughdrops. He stands up on the bed, bouncing a bit on the mattress. He reaches up and touches the seam of the window and the sill.

“What are you doing?” Adam asks, trepidation in his voice.

“Uh, escaping?” Kai says.

Kai presses his foot onto the upside down elliptical that’s propped precariously against an old wardrobe. He puts some of his weight on it, testing. Satisfied that it won’t give, Kai lifts himself up onto it, closer to the window, and pushes against the glass pane. The window opens out suddenly, making Kai wobble. The wardrobe groans.

“Careful!” Adam barks.

Kai glances back at Adam, his worried eyes watching Kai from the bed, sitting up on his knees in a half crouch. Kai sticks his head out the narrow window, then his shoulders, and manages to drag himself up and out.

He turns back around and offers his hand to Adam.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll help you out.”

Adam climbs up onto the elliptical like Kai had, reaches his right hand to Kai’s left and uses his left to leverage himself closer to the window. The wardrobe and the elliptical make that sound again, like they’re scraping together.

“Hurry!” Kai says, afraid of the whole makeshift apparatus falling apart. Adam’s left palm slaps against Kai’s right and Kai pulls.

The elliptical falls over as Kai yanks Adam up, a great big crash resounding in the room they just escaped. Kai’s momentum and Adam’s weight makes Kai step back once, then twice, then his footing goes and he sprawls onto his back, Adam on top of him, in one big undignified heap.

Adam looks down at him. He looks more sober, too, like he hasn’t had much to drink. Kai should really be pushing Adam off of him. Or trying to sit up. But his hands are on Adam’s waist, and Adam’s looking at Kai’s face like he can’t quite look at anything else, and Kai cannot, for the life of him, break this moment.

Adam’s hands are on either side of Kai’s face, boxing him in. His breath puffs against Kai’s mouth over and over as he breathes shallowly. His eyes flick all over Kai’s face, and Kai’s thinking kiss me, please so hard he’s pretty sure NASA catches the brainwaves.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” he says, voice soft and vulnerable, like Kai has the power to hurt him with whatever Kai says next.

Kai’s hands tighten on Adam’s waist. He’s thought about this a lot. Like, a stupid amount. Who doesn’t daydream about confessing to your crush? But Kai cannot dredge up any words to say. He’s dry, completely dry, and he can only think about how good Adam’s weight feels on him. He dips his eyes to Adam’s mouth and thinks This is where I kiss him, right? and Adam’s eyes slide shut as he leans in, towards Kai, and Kai loses his mind.

The backdoor opens, the sounds of the party spilling out into the night air, pink light washing over them. Adam scrambles off Kai so fast that he’s pretty sure he breaks the world record for speed, and stands up.

Kai props himself onto his elbows and squints at the silhouette in the doorway.

“Vanessa?”

“Oh my God, there you guys are!” she leans back into the house to yell, “Guys! I found Adam and Kai! They were fucking around in the backyard!”

“Hey!” Adam snaps indignantly. “You locked us in the basement! We had to escape!”

Vanessa rolls her eyes at them.

-

adam: hey uh

adam: sorry about what i said when i was drunk lol

adam: i didn’t mean it

-

Kai turns his phone off and stuffs it into his bag, frustrated. He hadn’t meant to not talk to Adam all weekend, he’d just needed to think things through, and then his dad had asked him to help paint the deck, and he’d had to finish up some code for robotics and time had kinda slipped away from him without really meaning to.

He hadn’t meant to ignore everyone else, either, but they weren’t in a Situation with Kai on Friday night, and he’s not in love with them, and they didn’t seem to mind so much. 

Kai had spent all weekend staring at the texts, in between being too busy to answer them, but he can’t figure out what to say back. He’d gotten them Saturday morning after the party, probably because he hadn’t stuck around long enough to be left alone with Adam again.

Kai had left because.

Well, because.

Because he feels played.

Is that it? He can’t tell. He just feels so hollow about it. Adam doesn’t mean to, Kai knows that, but it still feels like he’s being led on. Adam has kissed him once while black out and almost kissed him while tipsy and flirts pretty outrageously, and it’s all too much for Kai’s head, which is designed for building robots and lying to his English teachers.

So at lunch, instead of going to Mr Tucker’s room, he lets Freddie from Calc drag him to the auditorium to help build the drama department’s Spring play set.

He’s not avoiding anyone. He’s just... helping his friends.

Fuck.

-

reeb: ok i give

reeb: wtf is going on

kai: ?

reeb: don’t “?” me mfer

reeb: adam is sulking n shit and u’ve been sorta MIA

kai: i’ve been busy, sorry

kai: i am the captain of a team u know. its not personal. i’ll hang out with you guys soon

reeb: spidey sense says there is something u are not telling me

kai: i really do think your spidey sense is actually overactive bladder syndrome

reeb: [An image of the caveman spongebob meme.]

-

He’s in the library, sitting in his favorite spot nestled in the bookshelves, brow furrowed over The Great Gatsby, his English journal, the notes Hannah lent him, and the Sparknotes page for the novel, surrounded by every color highlighter and pen, just trying to get his homework done, when Adam ambushes him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, out of nowhere.

Kai jumps, sending his highlighters and books flying. Adam is standing above him, eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed. He looks a little bit light a superhero, all righteous indignation at injustice, his muscles buldging slightly. You’re dead. Goodbye. his brain supplies.

“Holy shit,” he says, gathering his stuff back up slowly. “You scared me.”

Adam’s eyes soften. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

Kai shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

The silence hangs there as Kai avoids his gaze, reshuffling Hannah’s notes back into their correct order. He’s lost his page in the book, so he opens it to the middle and starts looking for the correct page number. There’s no sound in this corner of the library except for Kai’s over-loud breathing and the turning of pages.

Go away go away go away, Kai prays, wanting the world to end so he won’t ever have to face this moment. He thinks about the echo of Adam’s voice in his memory, Kai, look at me, the feeling of Adam’s weight in his lap, the ache Kai feels when he looks at Adam, and wishes that he could just stand up and run.

Adam clears his throat. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says again, only this time it comes out more like a question.

Kai keeps his face as blank as possible, schools it into something politely curious unlike the shattered glass mosaic he feels like. “Am I?”

Adam rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says haltingly, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I shouldn’t have... come on to you like that. It was inappropriate, and we were both drunk. And I didn’t mean it.”

Kai looks at him for a long moment. He can feel it, a rock on his chest, crushing him. He feels the ball in his throat, the hot prickle against the backs of his eyelids. “I know,” he says eventually. His voice comes out steady, even though he feels like he’s falling apart.

“So... we’re cool?”

Kai forces himself to nod. “Okay.”

“Really? Because I still feel like I fucked up somewhere here.” Adam takes his hands out of his pockets to open them, palms up, like he’s pleading. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.”

And it’s now or never. As much as Kai abhors the idea of talking about his feelings in the school library at 4 PM, as much as he wants to just lie through his teeth and stitch this all back up into one big internal bag of FUCK and pretend like nothing happened, he’d be leaving Adam hanging, and Kai’s not a dick.

He takes a deep breath. Then another one. He tries to channel his internal Reeve, but decides against it because Reeve’s kinda an asshole.

“I just... wish you did,” Kai says eventually. If he wasn’t himself, he’d slap him. Adam stares at Kai like he’d just spoken another language, like he’d just spat out part of a puzzle to piece together.

“Wish I did... what?” he asks slowly.

“Mean it,” Kai grits out, the words dragged from him. He feels ridiculous. This is stupid.

“Mean...?” Adam says, like he’s stupid. Kai scowls at him.

“Do you remember the St Eve’s party?”

Adam shrugs, looking helpless and confused.

“I drove you home that party. I drive you home every party. And every time we’re alone, you say that you like me, that you want me to go inside with you, that you think about me all the time,” Kai’s stomach is churning and Adam looks like he’s about to faint.

“I didn’t...”

Kai can’t hear him say it again. “And I know that you’re just drunk, and that’s just what you’re like when you’re drunk, but I just... I just wanted it to be true so bad. Part of me kept driving you home because I wanted you to be like that with me, part of me just wanted to pretend. But then you kissed me, and I just...” Kai makes a helpless gesture with his hands.

Adam licks his lips. He’s breathing a bit hard.

“...Fell apart,” Kai finishes.

Adam’s looking at him, wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look, pure panic. Kai’s fucked it up, ruined their friendship, destroyed their friend-group, and will probably be unable to look anyone in the eye for a very long time. 

Adam didn’t want to hear this. Kai should’ve just lied, shut it all up and let himself wither up inside. He should’ve avoided Adam harder, or refrained from falling in love with him in the first place. He should’ve just dated Jesse when she’d asked and made himself get over Adam.

 “How long?”

Kai blinks. “Huh?”

“How long have you wanted...?” he shrugs.

Ah. The million dollar question.

“Officially? Middle of junior year. If I’m honest with myself? Probably since middle school.”

Adam’s mouth opens and closes nonsensically. Kai asks God to strike him down, just so this can end, just so Kai can go back to trying to figure out what the fuck is up with Gatsby and Jay, just so Adam will stop looking at him like that, like Kai’s killed his puppy.

Adam drops to his knees in front of Kai.

“Okay. Since freshman year. And I’m a liar. I did mean it. I kept thinking, you know, maybe you’d like me back, because I could see you looking, but I just couldn’t make myself say anything. And I meant it. I mean it. I do. I want to kiss you.”

Kai swallows. He’s feeling that dangerous thing again, like there are snakes in his chest, or his feelings are in a bucket that’s about to overflow.

“Okay,” he squeaks out.

Adam leans down and fits their mouths together. It’s chaste, and Kai’s lips are a little bit chapped, and he didn’t close his eyes, but when Adam pulls back Kai smiles so hard his mouth hurts. 

And he leans up to kiss Adam, insistent, insistent, tasting Adam without Hennessy whiskey (and he does taste fantastic), and something electric happens to Kai’s spine when their tongues touch. He feels like he’s going to burn up, burst into stars, create a fissure in the earth that goes down to the core, or all three at once.

Adam licks along the roof of Kai’s mouth and yeah - that’s the one thing he’d like to never, ever, ever forget.

He’s about to be totally, totally, totally screwed. 

-

Group: dandilyin hoes MFERsssss!! skeet DONT CHANGE CHAT NAME

mirakat: omfg

mirakat: k & a suckin face in library

mirakat: [A blurry creeper picture of Kai pressed against the bookshelves, Adam leaning over him. Their silhouettes are blacked out against the sunlight streaming in through the window, so they almost look like one body. It’s taken at an angle and half of a wooden shelf is in frame.]

speedyskeet: arent they in this GC too

lochnessa: Lmfaaooooooo

speedyskeet: they r gonna see this.....

reever: WTF ADAM’S INTO KAI???

reever: ?????

lochnessa: What planet do you live on

speedyskeet: fuckin jesus christ reeb

locknessa: Literally no one knew KAI was into Adam. EVERYONE KNEW ADAM WAS INTO KAI

reever: WHY AM I THE LAST ONE TO KNOW STUFF

mirakat: s2g i tld u this whn we were @ fortescue’s u nvr listen 2 me

-

“I hate them all,” Kai announces.

Adam looks up at him from where his head is pillowed on Kai’s thighs, Pride and Prejudice held aloft. 

“Don’t worry, I set all their ringtones to Maroon 5.”

send me a ship + a prompt and i’ll write you a drabble!

[bigasswritingmagnet]

When History Comes Calling Ch 3/14

artwork by the incomparable @snuffes​

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: Teen

Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Minor medical stuff, flashbacks, panic attacks

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

-----

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, for the second time. “You don’t want the anaesthetic?” 

“Topical is fine,” he said, patiently. 

Huerta Memorial had held up surprisingly well, given the circumstances. From the scoring and burn marks around the main doors and windows, there had been enough trained biotics to hold off the main invasion force. He would have thought would indicate a fairly unshakeable staff, perhaps with a jaded “do your worst I’ve seen it all” outlook. 

It was rather irritating to find that this one, at least, was extremely shakeable.

“But… you do understand that this procedure is very invasive. It will be extremely painful.”

Vondur gave her a steady look, mentally rolling his eyes at her dramatics. It wasn’t that invasive. A minor incision, do whatever it was they did to disarm and disengage the device, remove it, stitch him back up. He had sat through worse with nothing but medigel and something to bite down on.

“They didn’t use any anaesthetic when they put it in,” he pointed out. The nurse blushed, her blue cheeks turning purple. 

“I-I just meant that it would be more comfortable… wouldn’t you rather not live through it again?” 

How to explain that he did not want to be unconscious and helpless on a table while people cut him open, even voluntarily. That fifteen years of dealing with the lowest, darkest parts of an already corrupt and bloody society had taught him how dangerous vulnerability could be. That even here, even now, he could not risk the slightest chance that he might be recognized, and that if he was, he would need to be able to defend himself with his full faculties. 

How to explain that he was afraid of not being able to run. 

Instead, Vondur said nothing, just met her gaze evenly until she nodded and went back to her clipboard. 

“Topical it is,” she said, and walked away very quickly. 

He’d been expecting to be taken to a surgical suite, but there weren’t enough to spare. Several of the bedrooms had been converted into sterile makeshifts, and apparently this procedure was so invasive it could be done with a handful of staff and one surgeon. 

They put him in a paper gown and sat him backwards on a chair that wouldn’t have been out of place in a tattoo parlor. There was a slight pinch of the needle as the nurse applied the anaesthetic. Vondur took a deep breath and found the moment. 

He didn’t feel the scalpel, just a pressure on the back of his head. Hardly anything. Compared to getting it put in-- 

Find the moment, stay in it. Memory, especially that memory, would make this far more unpleasant than it should be. Vondur opened his eyes to regard his surroundings, and saw a ghost. 

His body went rigid, every muscle clenching at once, his heart and lungs freezing in his chest. 

Keris. 

If he had ever dared to imagine what she might have looked like if she had survived, it would have been very like the woman limping down the hallway. The softness of youth was gone, replaced by a sharp jawline and high cheekbones. The too-red hair matched the stubble on his head. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes from this distance but when she turned--

find the moment find the moment find the moment

--his hands tightened on the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the padding--

--couldn’t be her, couldn’t be, impossible--

--to look at the man beside her--

find the moment find the momentfindthemomentfinditfinditfindit

--her lips curled into a sardonic smile, one eyebrow raised--

--the doctors and nurses talking rapidly, hands on his shoulders, his lungs weren’t working he couldn’t breathe--

--he’d seen her body, seen her die--

FIND THE MOMENT FIND THE MOMENT 

--the doors were not soundproof and though the ringing in his ears threatened to deafen him he heard a voice calling for Commander Shepard--

--and Keris turned to answer. 

 Vondur fell. 

The darkness caught him. 

    The soccer ball danced between his feet as he swerved around his friends, eyes fixed on the goal. Morgan and Griff were bearing down on him, fast. There was no need to check over his shoulder before he feinted, and the two boys darted right as the ball spun behind him. Like an arrow, Keris shot past him. Griff tried to change direction and smacked right into Morgan. 

The goalie moved to intercept. Keris grinned, gaze locked onto her target, and passed the ball left. Kiryn caught it and before anyone else could catch on, the ball hit the net. 

Cheers and groans resounded around the playing field as Keris and Kiryn bumped fists. 

“I thought we agreed not to let them play on the same team anymore,” someone complained.

“How do you guys even do that?”  

“Twin power, baby,” Keris said. Kiryn mimed a mind exploding, complete with sound effects. They laughed, and Kiryn choked on the taste of ash. A column of smoke began to rise on the horizon. What was going on? A fire? Should they tell someone? Call someone? 

It was already too late. 

He was crouched in front of the window in the living room, no longer tasting the ash in the back of his throat, or hearing Tara’s muffled sobs, or Nial’s patient, urgent attempts to get out a distress signal. He was aware only of the gun in his hands, the targets in his sight, and his sister’s presence beside him. 

They worked in perfect rhythm, one firing while the other’s gun cooled down. They did not need to speak. He was sure their hearts were beating together. 

Kiryn always thought that there should be foreshadowing when terrible things happened in real life. An innate sense of foreboding. Grey skies, nervous animals, a sick taste on the wind. The universe should give a warning.  

A lazy, sunny Saturday should not end with blood, and fire, and death. It should not happen so fast. 

A low, sharp whistle began, growing louder and louder. A missile, coming in fast. Dad lunged to cover Tara, Nial stared in dumbfounded shock at the ceiling, Kiryn grabbed for Keris’ hand, he heard her say his name, frantic and frightened and the world exploded into fire and pain.

Rubble all around. Sparking wires. Burnt flesh. Kiryn tried to sit up, but something heavy was pressed against his back. His eyes tracked what he could see. Mom was slumped over, eyes open and empty, blood at her mouth. A hand too badly burnt to recognize protruded from the debris. He turned his head until he saw a flash of red. Keris, lying unmoving just out of reach. 

“Keris,” he rasped. He dug his hands into what remained of the carpet and tried to drag himself forward, fingertips straining. “Keris.” 

She wasn’t breathing. Her hair had fallen in front of her face and it lay still, unstirring. 

“Got a live one!” 

“Kill it. More trouble than they were worth, the rats.” 

“No, bring it. Sell it to the ring, let them feed it to something nasty. At least we can get something out of them.” 

Hands gripped his shoulders and he was being lifted up, dragged away, leaving Keris behind. Still he reached for her, hand outstretched and empty, trying to touch her even as she faded into darkness.

“Keris.”  

[tenderlyrenjun]

away we happened

summary: leaving jaemin to deal with math problems and renjun’s problems, jeno accompanies his parents to a gala in japan, and he gets the rare opportunity to see a ghost. ↛ ↛ ↛ rich boy!jeno x rich kid!reader ↛ ↛ college au, rich kids au, mentions of food, secret rendevous, might do another part for jaemin but idk yet ↛ word count: 1.8k

spin off from the rich truth: part four

"You’re not supposed to be back here.”

Jeno slowly sets down his phone, starting with the speakers then gently cupping his fingertips behind, on the camera. He looks at the second intruder, his now accomplice, and his jaw starts to close again, preventing the half-chewed gyoza from falling off his tongue. His other hand, which hid under the small, square bamboo plate, moves every non-essential item from his person so that he can adjust his tie and re-button his suit jacket. Jeno returns his glasses on the bridge of his nose, now needing to aid his vision for the far away beauty at the secret entrance of the kitchen. Well, this place is not really a secret, but he likes to think it is, otherwise his parents would find him ditching their colleagues at yet another vaguely important. And it is not like he has no reason to ditch - Jaemin, notoriously bad at math, is working, back in Korea, on their physics worksheet, alone; his parents stole him away at a bad time. Though, as he takes a look at you, dressed in some well-known designer evening wear, he knows that coming to Japan was not a mistake.

“You’re not supposed to be here either,” Jeno tells you, straightening up. His toes tap inside his black oxfords, hesitating to take the first step forward. And he does not, instead choosing to challenge the situation, as if you would betray him again and expose this place, this rendezvous, to his parents.

You roll your eyes, gliding further into the kitchen, now that the penultimate appetizer tray has left with the last of the champagne. Taking note of Jeno’s cutlery, you assume that he sequestered the remaining bits of food so that he could hide away back here until the announcements began. After all, it is a ritual you two share, no matter the continent. And consequently, you relax into your shoes, heel clicks translating into acoustic waves; Jeno thinks, probably still caught up by his international texts to Jaemin. You mute every sound, turning off his phone ringer first then slide onto the counter, face-to-face: an effective way to provoke his attention. The little paper bowl of soba noodles look the most delicious, you deem, and they make their way into a neat pile around Jeno’s remaining gyoza pieces, accompanied by a few extra cucumbers from the other dishes.

“The speeches are going to start in twenty minutes,” you reveal, passing the plate back into his hands. You pick up some utensils and dip it shallowly into the mini-mountain, then feed yourself a bite and pass it onto Jeno. “You ... We should leave here soon.”

Your torso turns away from him, allowing you to grab a nearby by napkin. It feels soft between your fingers and you yield back to Jeno while staring at the little paper cloth. Do you wipe his mouth too? Or have you lost that privilege, from all the distance that has separated you two? That distance seems so small now, as he watches you and you refuse to look into his eye, despite all the intimate acts you keep initiating.

Once your body feels too warm, burning bluer than his suit, your leg shakes toward the ground, foot dipping below your outfit’s lowest hem. And even though he duplicated your introductory accusation, Jeno does not want you to leave. He brings his palm up your thigh, onto your waist, repositioning you chest to chest, face to face, still on the counter (where appetizers belong). You ball the napkin into your hands before discarding it to the side, where your gaze follows, but he brings you to look at him with three little words:

“Don’t go yet,” he asks of you, eyes downcast at his fingers toying with your satin material, suddenly losing all of his confidence. He can feel your stare bouncing trough to crest to trough, your hands and his acting as pivotal nodes. His eyes though stand an amplitude taller, right under yours, at an origin neither of you can muster the courage to wave through.     

"Why?” you copy his tone. He peeks up, shoulders tugged forward by your disposition as a smile tugs towards him. You keep in a personal bubble, but not annoyed when he breaks it, hands coming up your arms until you whisper a little taunt: “Scared that I’ll snitch?”

“Like you did last time?” he mimics you.

And you roll your eyes again, hand grazing his chest as you push him away. The second you detach from him, he grabs your wrist, staying true to his request. His grip is loose enough for you to truly leave if you want, but small enough to make an impact. So you indulge him, slipping your fingers between his, pulling his hand into your lap. 

“Last time,” you reminisce out loud, “you almost got me in trouble with my parents.” 

Jeno’s head falls, dangling chin against chest. His hair looks overly gelled, you notice then scan down his face. Something you will never forget, and particularly fall in love with over and over, is his smile - it sneaks into all the corners of his profile, across his eyes, raising his cheekbones, freeing his lips. And ever so enamored with bringing that beam, or at least some variation of it, back into his face, you stroke his bangs away, like opening curtains to the sunshine. Jeno perks up, his eyes finding yours then closing as he leans into your hand.

“But seriously,” you alert him, almost reminding him of Renjun’s soft voice when he is annoyed - it essentially tells him that you have spent too much time apart. When he opens his eyes again, the warmth of your palm unmasking his face, he sees you staring out the circular window on the kitchen’s main entrance. “We should get going.” You turn back to Jeno, retreating your hand and jumping off the counter, standing closer than the width of a magazine. “Remember the charity gala? Christmas 2018?”

Jeno trails your fingertips, nodding his head back into your palm. “Of course. You threw me under the bus because your parents hadn’t found us yet.”

“Yeah,” you confirm, trailing off.

A few social events ago, when you were addicted to your phone and lavish trysts, consumed by fighting for popularity at an international school in Germany that Jeno had never heard about until then, you wandered into the back room as it functioned like a closet for the toy donation and attendee’s coats. You kept staring at your phone and it only riled Jeno up, having met up with him earlier than usual. It felt weird, he recalls, because he gets to know you through all your social media updates and the infrequent FaceTime calls from a different timezone. He wanted your attention - handing you champagne glasses filled with cider, doing dumb dances to make you laugh, pulling out toys from the bins so that you would at least look at him instead of whoever the fuck Yangyang was. All his tactics were so effective, even the one where he poured his beverage into a water gun and stained your trousers, just under the knee; that you literally lost your phone that night. The two of you ended up giggling loudly until someone leaned in; Jeno thinks it was you and you think it was him, and the only thing either of you can implicitly agree upon is the illustrative glow on each other’s faces. Then his mom came knocking around and stumbled on the two of you before dragging Jeno, mouth stained red and jacket around your shoulders, out by the ear. His mom was going to tell your parents about how you were a bad influence on her son, but you told her that it was his idea to wander about prior to the actual start of the gala, even citing one of secret rendezvous points that you knew she was aware of.

“Can’t believe you ratted me out,” Jeno marvels, his tone light, without malice as he stands more upright. “You know that she capped my bank account and sent me to Kumon?”

Ah, of course you know that. It was the first reason he mentioned when he finally caught the time to talk to you, just before this semester started. You never forget a detail about him.

“Hey,” Jeno calls at you, his hand drifting toward your cheek now, repeating your actions onto you. His opposite hand braces against the counter thickness, almost to keep balance before you two head out into separate worlds again. He smiles though when you lean into his touch, clasping your hands at his lower back. His grip loosens as you tilt your head back, shaking your hair free, but ultimately, you return to his embrace. “You’re like a ghost most of the time.”

“How can I be?” you implore him, staring up in his eyes. Your hands travel up his chest, smoothing over the lapels, until you wrap around his neck. The urge to taunt him again goes suppressed as you focus on how handsome he is in this moment. And with the way he guides you, guides your conversation, you feel comfortable and curious, bouncing to the tips of your toes to meet him closer. “You see me online all the time.”

Jeno’s hand raises outside your arms, and his finger draws on your hair strand, springing it playfully a few times instead of answering you, almost like giving himself time to respond. Usually he would do this at the gala with some sparkling wine or at a dinner with a glass of water, and like you, he tries not to forget the little illustrations about your life, but then again ...

“It’s not the same,” he answers you, “and you know it.” By now the first announcer can be heard outside, which means the silver platters will interrupt their brief tête-à-tête - god, does it always need to be so short, because ... “I miss you.”

Your eyes glisten at him apologetically, and he tells you that it is okay, holding your face intimately in his hands. You bend into his embrace, wrapping your fingers around his. He continues soothing you, as if taking turns with you in a silent conversation, rubbing at your cheeks with his lone thumb, the only appendage free from your grip. It seems symbolic, since the two of you always have one foot out the door - almost literally in this case. You turn your head, looking out the window one more time before referring into Jeno one last time.

“I’m sorry.”

[clnriswood]

ARCHIE ANDREWS X READER

Big Little Town: Part Three

a/n: last chapter before things move to rd high and it’s not so smooth sailing! i hope you enjoy this kind of calm before the storm fluffiness! as usual i am so excited to write this and cannot wait to continue! don’t forget to request if you want to be on the tag list.

tag list: @my-soul-is-the-moon

X

What she woke up to the next morning was far worse than any sound an alarm could produce. What she woke up to was Archie Andrews standing smugly in her doorway. He wore grey sweats and a sleeveless dark blue lightweight mesh shirt, his auburn hair slicked perfectly up and the whites of his teeth flashing as he looked down at the girl. Sunbeams leaked from between her curtains and down upon him like he was some ethereal being, which didn’t help.

“Oh my god?” she said, opening one eye groggily.

“Said I was gonna help you move,” Archie smiled, doing his best to refrain from laughing.

The girl rolled over to peer at her alarm clock, “you didn’t clarify it’d be at nine in the morning.”

Archie clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “your mom promised me doughnuts, which-” he grinned sheepishly, sauntering towards her, “you’d know if you hadn’t run away last night.”

“Archie,” she groaned, throwing one of her many pillows at him and watching as he caught it, only to send it hurdling back at her.

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” she grumbled, sitting up in bed and bundling her sheets around her front.

“Well,” he shrugged, reaching towards her bedside to lift up a chipped cream colored mug, “I figured the coffee I made would make up for it.”

“You came in here before?” she said with surprise as he approached her bed, towering over her.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I didn’t want to wake you up but your mom told me I’d have more luck than her so I came back and, well, here I am.”

Archie sat down beside the girl, sinking into her many quilts and placing the cup between her outstretched palms.

“Archie Andrews, watching me sleep?” she winked playfully, taking a sip of the extremely mediocre hot drink.

“Archie Andrews, watching you drool,” he clarified.

She spat her coffee into the mug in surprise, lowering it slowly and raising her embarrassed eyes up to his sparkling chocolate ones timidly. Archie pressed his tongue knowingly into the side of his cheek as she set her drink down.

“Liar,” she scoffed.

“I could prove it” he challenged, folding his hands in his lap and lifting one leg lazily onto her bed.

“You couldn’t unless you came back to my bed again,” she shrugged, the words coming out so quickly she didn’t register how awful they sounded.

Archie clearly did though, for he raised his brows, replying, “is that an invitation?”

Her face fell, skin burning as she jeered, “never in a million years, Archie Andrews.”

Archie’s lips split as he chuckled at her, unmoving when she shoved him. His glittering chocolate eyes flickered back and forth over hers, coaxing them into doing his bidding. And sure enough, she couldn’t help but mirror that smile, his god sent dimples making her heart do laps around her chest. Feeling her cheeks flush, she threw the entire blanket over her head and commanded him to leave.

“Why, are you hiding something awful under there?”

In reality she wasn’t hiding anything but her embarrassment and a set of pj’s she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in front of Archie Andrews, so--

“Yes. My bottom half is a giant crab,” she decided, her voice muffled under the sheets.

Archie snorted, defeated as he rose from the bed, “okay, (Y/N).”

She heard him lean down by her and pick up her mug, the faint slurping noise indicating he’d taken a sip of her drink. Not one second later she heard the boy spit back the liquid in protest.

“Oh my god that’s disgusting.”

. . .

The rest of the day was long, hot, and productive. All in all it took about seven hours to get everything done, partially because her mother had so many keepsakes, and partially because of the helplessness of both girls. Quite likely, though, it would’ve taken another seven without Archie’s strength and doughnut fueled perseverance. While he’d exchanged playful banter with the girl in passing, between the heat induced fatigue and her mother constantly hovering, there was little to no bonding between the two. When they finally finished, the girl took a victory lap surveying the house. It was like an urban home decorating hoarder had taken residence in their house. There were a number of light rugs, wooden tables, decorative lamps, and potted plants scattered around the house, giving it that feeling. Her own room felt kind of empty, comparatively. Well, it had the old headboard, some scattered greenery, the large antique mirror, and a creaky table stacked with dusty books, but there was no personality to it. There were no photos, no school tokens, no awards or cards, and no sign of, well, meaningfulness.

“What do you think?” Archie asked her from her doorway, startling the girl who stood staring into her room.

She turned around, hair catching on her lip as she faced the auburn haired boy who stood with his arms folded neatly over his muscular front.

“Um,” she shrugged, moving her hair aside, “it’s fine.”

Archie raised his brows in silent questioning.

“It’s lacking meaning,” she shrugged in dramatic admittance, swinging her hands up into the air. “I know that sounds ridiculous, there’s just-- it’s just-- this could be anyone’s room, you know? There’s nothing in here that tells you about who I am, not that anyone cares, clearly” she sighed.

“Hm,” Archie nodded with a nod and a thoughtful frown.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but chose to keep it to himself.

“Hey,” he decided, “in time.”

She pursed her lips with a stiff nod, “in time.”

The boy stepped closer timidly, trying for a nervous smile, “until then, I promised you some fun.”

She half sighed half laughed, eyes struggling to keep hold of his distracting large brown ones.

“C’mon,” he insisted. “Sun’s gonna set soon so we better get out now.”

“Yeah, why?” she puzzled.

Archie bit his cheek with a sweet smile, “so we can catch footballs and you can tell me about your life before it gets too dark. Like old times.”

She scowled, “Archie Andrews.”

“Yes?” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth in a frustrating smile. “C’mon? For old times sake?”

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” she protested.

She indicated at her dress choice, which was simply an oversized grey tee and ankle high ruffled baby blue socks that stuck up from her dirty white shoes.

“As opposed to?” he played along with a half smile.

She frowned at the redhead, “full body armor and a helmet.”

“Shut up,” Archie snorted, grabbing the girl by her wrist and dragging her helplessly protesting self down behind him.

“I don’t like sports,” she grumbled, unable to break free from his grip which she was fairly certain took about five percent of his total strength. “No, correction, I can’t do sports.”

Archie just let out a short airy laugh and pulled her past her bemused mother downstairs and onto the front lawn. The sun was at that phase where it was pre-setting time, meaning it was just hot enough for a faint slick of sweat, but not enough for a total pass out. Also, the rays of light were a brilliant gold color that bathed the two in a warm glowing haze. The grass squashed under her feet as Archie quickly retrieved a football from his porch and went jogging back to the unamused girl who now had pulled her long hair into a high ponytail that suited her well. Archie seemed to think so, at least.

“There you go,” he flashed a pleased smile, which dazzled gorgeously under the sun, “you’re… it suits you.”

She pressed her tongue against her cheek in a wordless nervous reply, eyes glazing over the boy’s broad form and the translucent sheen that had built attractively on his skin. His long locks of fiery hair were still slicked in a perfect shape, his large hands pulling at his thin blue shirt in an attempt to air out his chest a little. He frankly looked too good and it was annoying. The girl huffed out in annoyance, bending down and sliding two fingers in the mud beneath her feet while Archie watched with mingled confusion and amusement. She stood back up straight, outstretching her muddy fingers and stomping over to him as he went stepping back with a full laugh.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), absolutely not,” Archie crinkled his nose.

“Oh absolutely,” she said, grabbing him by the wrist this time.

Archie very obviously let her do it. He could’ve sent her flying back with a flick if he’d wanted to, but instead he just swung his hips forward and his head back as she came in contact with his front, her free hand grabbing him by his sharply curved jaw and forcing his face closer to hers. In actuality, there was no way she could reach his face if she wasn’t on her toes and forcing his face down. Archie half protested half laughed as she swiped two fingers across his high cheekbones, leaving him classic football paint stripes on either side of his perfectly curvatured face. He blinked down at her, eyes shifting all over as he tried lamely to watch as she worked at him, unable to stop the dimples that creased his cheeks as he did.

“As long as we’re sticking to the old days,” she teased, holding him still and tilting her head with an impressed smirk.

Archie ran his tongue over his teeth with a laugh, “you remember that?”

“Course,” she scoffed, still on her toes and alarmingly close to the boy, their fronts pressed lightly into each other, her fingers still nimbly wrapped around his wrist, which he had yet to retract. “Archie Andrews telling me all about how he was gonna make quarterback in high school and how I’d do up his war paint for the games? How could I forget.”

Archie shrugged with an annoying smug about him, “and I did make high school quarterback.”

“Ew,” she scowled, releasing him and dropping back down to the balls of her feet, “really?”

“Really,” he said, dropping down to the ground and sinking his own two fingers into the mud.

“No,” she protested, but he was already back up and had her by her cheek, his one hand alone being strong enough to subdue her.

“And if I remember correctly,” he continued lowly, eyes dropping to focus on her face as he slowly dragged his cold wet index and middle fingers against her struggling cheek, “you were then going to cheer me on during those games?”

He finished one side of her paint, looking impressed at his work and grinning as he swiftly forced her jaw the other direction in his palm, bringing her chest up into his so he could access her properly. No, Archie Andrews power gripping her and looking like that while he smeared dirt on her wasn’t in any way driving her crazy.

“From the stadiums,” she growled in annoyance as he fixed up her other cheek with mud.

“Mm? You never mentioned that part,” he grumbled in amusement, finishing her up and gliding his hand beneath her chin so he could hold her there and look at her. He internalized something that made him smile, his chocolate eyes drinking her up as he added, “school year just started, you could try out for the Vixen’s.”

She stared up at him through long lashes and a pout, sun blazing into her eyes, her only shade being from the boy who towered over her, “never.”

He frowned, dropping his hand quickly and taking a step back so that they were an appropriate distance apart. Again, it looked clearly like he had something on his mind, but in typical Archie fashion, wouldn’t say it.

“I told you Andrews,” she sighed and took backwards steps, “not my thing.”

“Yeah?” he threw the football, smiling when she caught it. “What is? Tell me what I’ve missed.”

“Not much,” she admitted, taking another step back and returning the ball, “still music.”

Archie raised a brow, “good form for someone who apparently can’t play.” He took a step back, making each throw and catch a little harder. “Just guitar still?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, once again catching his throw and adding, “I’ve had practice, with football I mean.”

“Me too,” he said, “guitar playing, though. And who taught you?”

He stepped back, one hand quickly dragging through his auburn locks before refitting itself around the ball. He threw it again.

“Veronica mentioned that” she caught the ball, impressing the boy. “And yeah I did some sports at my old high school,” she admitted.

“Right. I’ve been playing guitar for years,” he replied, catching her throw, “and how was that?

“I’d love to hear you play some,” her lips twitched as she stepped back, half the garden now between the two. “And yeah, it was fine. Not my thing though. I just thought it could help me branch out, maybe make some friends.”

Her pony swung behind her as she threw the ball back, Archie easily catching it, “I’d love to hear you play sometime. And did that not work out for you?”

The grass flattened beneath her old white shoes as she jumped a little to catch the next throw, struggling a bit now. “No and no,” she replied.

“Why?” he said simply, catching the ball once more and sending it back her way, the two clearly enjoying this throw and catch talk that unsurprisingly came naturally to them.

She shook her head, barely catching his next throw, “No I’m too nervous for that, and no, I reinvented myself as the happy-go-lucky girl but it only lasted so long before word got out about why I’d actually moved and I went back to loner freak.”

Archie’s face fell as he caught her throw, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know how else to reply as he threw the football back to her, watching as she fumbled and lost the ball from her grip. She looked upset but unsurprised, eyes averting his as she exhaled pathetically.

“See Archie? I’m not that good.”

The sun was setting now, casting shadows along the curves of his saddened features, the light turning grey and the air quickly turning colder. The boy approached the now unmoving girl, reaching down and picking up the ball, placing it lightly into her faintly shaking hands. She accepted it, looking defeatedly up at his gorgeously narrowed eyes in silent question.

“How about,” he phrased softly, “you pretend this ball is everything that’s happened the last few years, and I’ll catch it. That way you don’t have to tell me anything else, you can just show me. And I won’t have to reply, I’ll just get it.”

He said it gently, and it was so reasonable and sweet she couldn’t say no, so she just nodded.

Archie gave a weak smile and stepped back, sprinting all the way up to the other side of the garden and awaiting the angry metaphor football. She thought about throwing it but decided against it, instead dropping the ball towards her feet and slamming her toes into it, sending the ball zooming so far through the air that Archie went stumbling back even further, his arms outstretched. That kick was good. That kick was for each and every person who made her feel outcast, for years of feigned happiness, resentment, depression, for her mom’s suffering, and for her dad, too. And there it went, hurdling against the grey sky and safely between Archie’s hands and into his chest. Her eyes burned a little, not knowing how to process whatever was happening. But seeing Archie there, holding all of her baggage and looking happy about it, made her feel a little less alone.

Archie tucked the ball under his large arm, heading back to her slowly. When he reached her he opened his mouth, then shut it. The sun was almost set now, shadows swaying round the curves of his face, his eyes looking dark under the dim sky.

“Did you want to stop?” he asked, eyes set forward on the girl.

She shook her head, “no. I want to hear more about you.”

They played like that, passing the ball back and forth, for another half hour. This time Archie did all the talking. She learned how he helped solve a murder, got pulled into the Lodge family scandals, and was almost murdered on multiple occassions. While under any circumstance this would’ve been overwhelming news, the way Archie calmly glided over each subject in a few minutes like it was completely normal gave the girl the sense that Jughead was being serious when he called Riverdale a cracktown. Finally, when it was too dark to continue playing comfortably, they stopped. There was just enough light out that they could still make out each other’s features.

“That was nice,” Archie’s lips twitched as he sauntered slowly over to her, adding, “it’s kind of late.”

She stared at him, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t certain if this was his cue to go but she sure as hell didn’t want it to be.

“Yeah,” she agreed lamely, “are you-- do you need to head back now?”

Archie tapped the football nervously, “I mean I don’t need to head back.”

She cleared her throat, “wh-- did you, did you want to head back?”

Archie scratched his ear in confusion, “did you want me to?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth nervously, “uh, well, I’m not tired honestly.”

He just stared at her with those big dark eyes, “me neither.”

Then they both just looked at each other like a pair of idiots, neither wanting to be the first to initiate something. Realizing this, the girl snorted, making Archie snort, making them both snort.

“Sorry,” she giggled, “would you like to come in?”

“Actually,” Archie said, “I was thinking you could come to mine?”

Why on earth that caused her stomach to drop to the center of the earth, she had no idea.

“Sure,” she smiled, feigning total ease.

“Sure,” Archie repeated, smiling against the near black of the night.

. . .

Archie’s room was cramped but cozy. There were dark blue painted walls that sloped into the ceiling, a faded carpet, navy plaid blankets layered thick on his bed, band posters, Riverdale memorabilia, pictures of his friends, and a guitar propped against his wall. It smelled just like his car; kind of that musty man cologne combination that weirdly mingled well. Archie even seemed a little nervous to bring her in, which was strange given that she felt like the intruder, and that she loved his room, which she told him.

“This is great,” she announced to his wall with a smile, turning to look at the fiery redhead who was slumped against his door frame.

“You think?” he said.

“I know,” she decided.

She walked over to the corner of his room, sinking down onto Archie’s bed and giving it a bounce up and down. It squeaked obnoxiously under her, making the girl stop abruptly and place her hands against her face with a laugh.

“Sorry,” Archie crinkled his nose, “that thing is a million years old.”

“So you’re saying our next adventure is going mattress shopping?” she joked.

Archie picked his guitar up gingerly and headed over to the girl, sitting on the opposite side of his bed with a smile, “next adventure?”

She felt her cheeks warm but played it off, “if you’d have me.”

Archie grinned lopsidedly, making her heart run circles, “I would.”

She nodded, rubbing her lips together nervously and changing subject, “what’re you doing with that?”

Archie looked down at his guitar, “I-- well you’d asked to hear me play, and I thought, maybe--”

“Of course I would!” she interjected, saving him from embarrassment.

Truthfully, she was way too afraid to play in front of him yet but was desperate to get a listen of his music, which she felt like he was very much aware of.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, folding her legs up onto his bed.

“Uh, I write some stuff,” he shrugged.

“Really?” she gaped, impressed.

“Yeah,” Archie swayed his head, “used to at least. I haven’t in a long time.”

“Oh,” she said, “well, play me something old then?”

Archie nodded, giving her a timid smile before moving his eyes down to the guitar, placing his fingers nimbly upon the strings and giving them a quick strum before starting his song. The last time he’d played she’d just taught him basic chords and a half of some beginner’s song from her old starter-book. What Archie played now, however, was nothing like that. Not only was he good, he was… incredible. His hands gilded masterfully over the instrument, never once faltering as he played out a beautiful slow song to which he hummed softly along to. And his voice. His voice was beautiful, or at least she gathered so from what he’d shown her. Archie got a little more confident midway through his song, raising his eyes to the girl and watching her as he played, not needing to look at what he was doing. Her eyes were narrowed softly with admiration, lips tilted upwards into a proud little smile. Seeing her dumbfounded reaction, he smiled a little too, and she could hear that smile vibrating around in the hum of his voice.

She didn’t want to interrupt but she couldn’t help but interject softly, “sing?”

Archie’s lashes fluttered nervously as he gave a little nod, opening his lips to let the final words of his song come through. For that part he kept his eyes down, too closed off to sing while looking at her. The voice that came out was like honey and butter; sweet, soft, and good. When he finished they both just kind of sat there in silence for a minute, with Archie waiting for his cue to look up.

“Wow, Archie,” she stuttered in awe, “that was--”

“I know it’s not much,” he laughed airly, rubbing the back of his hand against his temple.

“No,” she said, reaching toward him to put a hand on his knee.

The boy brought his large brown eyes up to hers slowly, lips set downwards, looking unfamiliar with her touch.

“Phenomenal,” she corrected him, giving Archie’s knee a squeeze as her lips split into a grin.

His eyes moved back and forth over hers like he doubted it, smiling adorably “really?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, scooting closer to him so that their knees touched, making Archie recoil nervously.

She was too absorbed in the aftermath of his song to even be phased by it at the moment, nor was she aware that she’d done it.

“Teach me,” she stated seriously, eyes steady on his. “Or just play with me, at least.”

“What?” he laughed a little, “you’re kidding.”

“No,” she shook her head frantically, “you’re just as good as me. Hell, you’re better. And you can sing? Are you freaking kidding me Archie Andrews?”

He looked so startled by her flattery that he didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“That was the first time I’ve touched my guitar in over a year,” he protested.

“Yeah and I’ve barely played mine,” she admitted with a frown, “so?”

She blinked at the boy with these big doe eyes, unintentionally, though it certainly had an affect on him. He opened his mouth to protest again, but seeing her, shook his auburn hair out with internal frustration.

“Okay,” he relaxed his shoulders, “fine.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing up on his bed and clapping her hands to her mouth with a huge smile.

Archie watched, unable to suppress his own amused grin, “it means that much, huh?”

She pursed her lips, giving a short nod and letting her lips fall, “I haven’t had anything to look forward to in so long, Archie.”

His eyes softened with sadness, “really?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Nothing really made me happy, and even the things that did I had no one to share them with.”

Her eyes swayed nervously over his morose expression, making her feel like a mood killer as she scooted further back away from him, their closeness now feeling intimidating. Suddenly a tight knot was forming in her chest, making her feel awkward and out of place next to him. But he seemed to see it, for he leaned forward, placing his own hand upon her knee to stop her from moving back.

“Hey,” he murmured gently. “Look.”

She huffed lowly, feeling stupid for the burning sensation that was clawing at her eyes and ignoring his request as such.

“Look at me,” Archie said again, forceful this time.

She did, and his eyes were so kind and understanding when she did that it physically hurt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been remotely emotionally intimate, and the idea of having someone to confide in was so foreign to her that it sent her brain into overdrive. Archie’s dark eyes bore into hers like he was trying to tell her something without words, and he lifted himself forward so that his legs were smushed tightly against her own. He set the guitar down on the bed beside him, his hands itching to go somewhere but remaining in his lap.

“Listen,” he half whispered. “Whatever happens at school this year, or at all in your life, I intend on being there for, okay?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, her teeth pressed hard against each other as she sucked slow breaths in through her nose, unmoving.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t before, when you left, I mean. I just thought maybe you didn’t want me to be. When you left last time, you just… you didn’t say goodbye.”

Archie’s eyes shone with hurt, but he continued on before she could respond, not that she’d know what to say.

“But what you said, earlier, about nobody caring? It’s-- It’s just wrong,” he said with frustration. “Because I do. I care. And I’m going to do everything in my power to be that person you can share your things with,” he said, tucking his lower lip between his teeth in thought, “I promise.”

She felt the knot unravel.

“Thanks, Arch.”

She hadn’t meant to call him by that. She never had before. It was always funny, lighthearted, ‘Archie Andrews’ she’d call him. But it just hadn’t felt right. And good for it, because judging by the twitch of his lips he’d liked it.

“And I know you have a lot of people who already would vouch the same for you,” she sighed pathetically, “but if it counts for anything, I promise too.”

Archie’s brows furrowed, something she’d said clearly not sitting right with him, but he held himself back.

“Good,” he decided softly.

“Good,” she repeated, struggling to maintain his thoughtful gaze.

Every microsecond looking at him added another layer of tension between the unspeaking duo, making the girl rise quickly from his bed after a few short moments.

“Well, I should head back,” she said.

“Right,” Archie replied quickly with a nod of his head.

“Big day tomorrow,” she fumbled nervously, “and then school Monday.”

“Yeah, of course,” he cleared his throat, standing up as well and towering over the girl.

She tilted her chin up to get a good look in his eyes, giving a short smile before nudging him gently with her shoulder so that she could get past. Archie turned his frame out to watch her walk away, his hands falling by his sides. She stopped a mere foot away from him, though, and turned back slowly to give him this pleading kind of look. He was wearing the same one.

“Is it--” she started nervously, letting out a stupid short sigh and closing her eyes, “is it okay if I hug you?”

When she opened her eyes he was smiling sheepishly, “um--”

“It’s okay if not,” she clarified, waving her hands forward, “in fact, no, nevermind. I’ll just go.”

She was halfway gone, waddling backwards out of his room when he stopped her.

Archie’s lips split, and he did that little tick where he ran his tongue over his canines with a grin, “it’s just, I uh, I smell.”

She stopped, feet freezing and nostrils flaring as she suppressed the instant urge to laugh, which failed.

“You smell?” she snorted.

“Stop,” Archie complained, his face glowering with embarrassment, “it was hot and we were outside and moving stuff--”

“Archie Andrews,” she laughed, “you really think I give a shit?”

His words stopped, and he crinkled his nose and scratched at his head, “Well Ronnie doesn't kiss me sometimes because I’m sweaty.”

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, pressing her tongue to her cheek and waiting in silence for him to figure out his own logic. She could tell by the drooping of his lips and posture that he’d gotten it. He pressed his lips together, nodding weakly.

“Yes,” he mumbled, “then yes. I would like that.”

He was so damn frustratingly adorable about it that her heart found itself once again rolling at the sight of the boy. Yes I would like that. What kind of cute shit was that? And now both of them just stood there like statues, neither knowing who was going to move first. So, after some thought, they met each other halfway, both moving kind of quickly to collide in the middle, like the faster they got there the sooner the tension would break. Archie crashed into the girl’s front, bringing his arms around her waist as she flung hers around his neck. The strength in his arms brought the girl off her feet and onto her tippy toes as she placed her nose into the crook of Archie’s neck. It was warm there, and sure enough smelled faintly of sun and sweat, reminding her of their many hugs from when they were preteens, most of which were therefore sweaty on both sides. In fact, the feeling, the overall feeling that came with their body placements and the sense of comfort that came with it, was unsettlingly familiar. Archie had always been taller than her, so he’d always held her like that so he could reach her better, he’d always lifted his chin so she could nuzzle into him whilst he rested his chin atop of her head, and he’d always given her a little squeeze of reassurance around the waist, like he was checking she was still there. He did all of those things now. And it was a feeling that she’d completely forgotten, but now, recreating it years later, sent the floor spinning beneath her feet. She desperately wanted to stay there, to move her hands to his hair, brush her thumb against his neck, anything, but she didn’t. Instead she took one final inhale, her eyes fluttering open as she dropped back down to the balls of her feet, watching as Archie opened his own eyes. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, so she told herself that the sort of enthralled expression he wore was mere coincidence and not his own internal revelation.

Having no clue what else to say given the obvious unease, she just said, “see you Monday,” and scampered off.

And that was it.

. . .

When the girl arrived home a short minute later, her mother had turned the lights off and headed to bed. It was so dark that the girl would’ve missed the piece of paper under her feet, if not for feeling it slide between her muddy white shoes and the porch. She bent over and picked it up with confusion, squinting as she looked down at the paper, where something was scrawled in messy handwriting. Soon after she felt her heart drop.

Your father was just the first.

Her blood rushed to her ears, heart so loud she could hear it. The girl gaped and whizzed around, staring into the empty streets to see no one and nothing at all. Her hands shook, fingers trembling as she crushed the paper between them and bolted inside, throwing the door closed behind her with a slam.

[trillian-anders]

chambers - viii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 4262

Description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

He was there. And you were staring at him. He mimicked the way you were sitting. Hand over your mouth, slumped in one of the two armchairs in your room. Legs crossed. You’d looked up from the laptop that now sat closed on the small table and he was just there. Staring. 

You wish you could say it felt scary. You should be scared. Was he a ghost? Was he haunting this heart that sat heavily in your chest? It was pumping the blood that now flowed through your body. Eric had said something right?

Head and heart intertwined. 

He was haunting you. In more ways than one. Your mind drifted to Bucky. A text that went unanswered, 

Wanda is missing. Are you okay?

No response. He did say there would be some radio silence but you’d hoped he was only saying that just in case. You’d expected, foolishly, to be replied to. It’d been two hours. Eyes were sore from attempting to hack into the files on the Avengers server. You were searching for Steve’s memory now, it’s not quite coming to you and is proving your endeavor to be very difficult. 

“Tell me how.” You stated calmly. The soldier stared back at you, not answering. But as you uncrossed you’re legs he did too. As you crossed the other leg he mimicked, almost as if you were him. You were looking in a mirror. A perfect replica. 

Hand removed from mouth.

Sat back. 

Staring. Not answering.

You bit your bottom lip in nervousness, fingers tapping against your knee and he did the same. 

Maybe you were crazy. Maybe this isn’t real. It’s possible. Who knows what all of those seizures had done to your brain. And now, while they didn’t show extreme symptoms, the shaking of your pupils and your slacken body in a memory was still a seizure. Just not as extreme. 

Zemo. 

It had to be fucking Zemo. 

You didn’t know him yourself, but Steve has strong feelings about the man. You recall the security camera. Bucky’s vacant eyes staring back at you. A gunshot to the camera. Then pain. So much pain. 

Tony.

Your heart panged. What a waste. The anger, the resentment, the stubbornness. You’d wished Tony could sit and talk to Bucky. A conversation they never got to have. Steve didn’t expect Tony to forgive Bucky. How could you? But Tony would have been willing to try. After all, how much Stark tech had killed peoples Mothers. Wanda was an example of that. And she liked Tony in the end, more importantly she forgave him. 

That’s what mattered.

“Steve,” You whispered, “Please.” A buzz. A reply.

I’m safe. Are you okay? 

“How old are you again?” Tony asked. A smirk on his face. You’d just met the guy. You’d just saved New York with this guy. Now you were watching him stuff shawarma into his mouth, taziki smeared on his lips.

“I’m 27.” Steve’s voice always sounded so terse. So formal. He didn’t get the joke. He never got the joke. It seemed like seconds later you were in a lab and Tony smirked, typing on what seemed to be glass. The buttons lighting up under his fingertips. Steve, you, sat awkwardly to the side. Watching him. 

“Okay lay your hands on there.” A flat glass surface next to the keyboard. You watched Steve’s large hands lay flat on the surface. His knuckles had scars on them. A freckle on the back of his left hand. But that couldn’t be right, you had a freckle in the same spot. The hands were scanned, a cool blue light passing over them. His hands flickering to look like yours for an odd moment. 

“Now your eyes,” Facing the screen you saw Steve’s strong jaw give away to your own, his cheekbones melting to yours, his eyes melting to yours. Until you were staring at yourself in the glass. Another scan. 

“You’re all set up Cap.” The tech genius smiled at you. Your heart clenched heavily in your chest, 

You were back. Blinking heavily. A shiver ran down your spine. The super soldier sat across from you silently. You slowly opened the computer back up, placing it on your lap before pulling the screen up. It came to you instantly. Overrides. Codes. Logins. Not even just yours, but Tony’s too. Had they been erased yet?

He nodded. Almost indiscernible. 

You typed in three quick words into the keypad. 

SGR—CLEARANCE LEVEL 0 

and files. So many files.

Steve was gone.

Bucky Barnes hated field work. Clint, he didn’t mind the sarcastic asshole, but right now he wanted to throttle him. A perp, the guy they followed from security camera to security camera, strapped down in a chair between them. They were waiting for him to wake up.

“You gave him too much.” Bucky’s voice growled, fingers hovering over his phone screen. Don’t double text, Sam had warned him before, makes you look desperate. But desperate how? You weren’t answering him and he needed an answer. Now. 

“If someone’s fat fingers hadn’t been covering the fucking side of the needle I would have known how much I was giving him.” Clint scoffed, taking a sip of the terrible motel room coffee. Bucky rolled his eyes. There had been a struggle, but in wrestling the guy down Clint had pushed the plunger down all the way instead of half. Now it would be at least another hour until he woke up. 

Why weren’t you answering him? He text you four minutes ago. You had to have seen it right? Maybe you were with Eric, but he hoped not seeing as it was now well after nine pm and you were usually sitting in the living area watching some sort of movie or reality game show on tv. But they were usually there for that. 

Peter.

He’ll text Peter. The spider kid will keep an eye on you. He draft a text, 

Watch her for me.

Simple. To the point. The kid replied within seconds, 

Y/N?

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes again.

Yes.

Peter replied,

Sure thing Sergeant Barnes. 

Good. Good. The kid will keep an eye and make sure Eric doesn’t cross a line somewhere. He wanted to do his own research on the guy. Sam has sent him a file not to long ago. One he scoured three times while the guy across from him slumbered on.

Eric was a first class Sergeant Master of the Marines. A Medal of Honor. Honorable discharge after the events of the blip. His story checks out. Wife is deceased. Passed away due to a plane crash, just like he said. New York City boy through and through. After the war he began working on bikes, he eventually got his house back where he now lives alone. He started going to the VA and volunteering at a homeless shelter on the weekends. The guy had a clean slate.

Too clean. 

Bucky was just as suspicious as before, maybe a little more now that he’s read the guys rap sheet. The man across from him started to murmur as your text came in.

I’m okay. 

Three dots. Then another text. 

I know about Zemo. 

The man across from him mumbled against the gag in his mouth. Bucky’s eyes dragging themselves from his phone to the man across from him, drool pouring from the corner of his mouth. Clint stood from his chair, sighing, placing his coffee on the table. 

“Alright,” He said, “Let’s get started.” 

What did Zemo want? You typed into the computer, the pass codes and areas to look coming seamlessly. Steve seemed to unlock something. Whether it was physical or mental you didn’t know, but you could do some serious digging now. 

King T’Challa was tracking down old members of EKO Scorpion. He’d found two today, living together somewhere in Africa. Tanzania? A safari mecca. Why would they have retired there? Were they really two Sakovians running a safari? They were currently being questioned but no news yet. 

Bucky and Clint had the other man who tried to assault you in custody. They were questioning him, but no news yet. 

Wanda and Sharon were still radio silent. You’d heard the Quinjet take off a few minutes ago and you were sure Sam and Scott were on it, heading out to the JCTC. You’d text her not long ago, Wanda. Asking her to respond. Please. Let me know you’re okay. 

Because maybe they ran into trouble, and maybe they’ll sort it out. You checked your phone again. No text from Bucky or Wanda. It was giving you anxiety. But there was nothing you could do about it. For now.

The morning found you exhausted, having spent most of the night waiting for updates to be loaded onto the private server. None came other than the notification that Sam and Scott had reached their destination. 

A text from Bucky had been waiting for you once you had woken up from four hours of sleep, a simple…

I didn’t want to worry you.

But you understood why they didn’t tell you. Not because they didn’t trust you, but for this exact reason. 

You’d always been very independent. Your Mom said as a child it was if you never even needed her. You’d always kind of found your own way, even as your heart began to fail. Maybe there was something in Steve, something in this heart, that was amplifying how you felt about this, and you knew that maybe you wouldn’t be able to actually fight Zemo yourself. Not like Steve could fight him. But you could help. 

If he wanted this heart he’d have to rip it out of your own chest. But he didn’t want the heart, probably. Bruce said you had some sort of watered down serum right? You could do all of the things Steve could but your body couldn’t recover. Would it stand to say that your blood could be taken, samples of serum, and recreated? Possibly. Probably. 

A mask was on your face, you were running on a treadmill in the lab, Peter Parker standing off to the side watching your vitals as Bruce poured himself another cup of coffee. The speed of the treadmill was steadily increasing. The little wires that are connected to the electrodes placed on your chest and temples bounced as you ran. 

Your mind was racing just as fast as your legs were pumping. After this, after this test you’ll check again. You’ll go on and see. Maybe Bucky has text you again. You’d asked him for an update, hoping he’ll give you one. Then you’ll stop by to see Eric for a little bit. 

“Alright, the cool down.” Bruce said, Peter tapped a few keys and the treadmill began to slow. It was specially designed for the super soldiers. Reaching upwards of 60 mph. Today you did half that, 30 mph, with seemingly no ill side effects. Your legs burning as a normal workout would. You chugged a bottle of water, stepping off the treadmill as results showed on the screen. Bruce leaning over Peter’s shoulder to look at them. 

“How are we looking?” You asked as you caught your breath. Bruce nodded, 

“Looking good, are you feeling any pain at all?” You kicked one leg out and then the other while Peter carefully removed the electrodes. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” 

“This is so weird.” Peter laughed. You gave him a weird look, “Just like…” He stuttered, “You getting all of these enhancements from this heart y’know? Like before you couldn’t even live a normal life, and now you could run 30 miles an hour.” You smiled at the kid, 

“For sure.” He smiled back, placing the electrodes down and turning back to Bruce. 

“Lunch time?” He asked. Bruce nodded, still typing into the computer. 

“I’ll be down in a minute.” 

The swelling in Eric’s face was almost completely gone. He was set to be discharged tomorrow, then life would go back to almost normal. He was filling out an application to be a field agent. A recruit. He seemed hopeful.

“Is this really something you want to do?” You asked him, sipping on a cup of hot tea. He nodded, typing a few more keystrokes. 

“You never really leave it.” He says, “I did two tours, now I sit around and listen to people criticize me because their car keeps making the same noise after I fix something else. I want to make a difference again.” Your phone buzzed on the table beside you, Bucky. Eric’s eyes were on you intently as you read the text, 

Zemo is probably still here in NY. Stay on compound. 

Your thumbs hovered over the keypad, before typing a quick reply.

Okay, have you heard from Sam? 

Three dots, then they disappeared. Three dots again.

Not yet.

Was he lying to you? You sighed heavily, 

“Everything okay?” Eric asked you. You nodded, not looking up from your phone debating whether or not to answer. You had to get back into the computer logs. You darkened the screen, slipping the device into your pocket. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You smiled, Eric shifted uncomfortably in his bed, nodding seriously before submitting the application. 

“I think this will be good for me.” He said softly, “I’ve been lost since Jess died.” His wife. “Maybe this will help me get that structure back.” He looked at you with soft eyes, “Maybe it’ll help me finally move on.” A hand placed over yours and his calloused thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand. You lay a hand over his, 

“I hope so Eric.” He raises your hands to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of them. A knock on the glass and you looked up to see Peter gesturing towards his watch. The break was over. The heat on the back of your neck increased, not knowing how long Parker had been outside of the hospital room. 

“If you’re not too tired tonight,” Eric began. “Maybe you can come down here and we can have dinner together?” A grin, dimpled cheek that made your heart skip a beat. 

“Sure,” You smiled, standing from the chair, “I’ll see you in a little bit.” 

Sharon Carter was resourceful. The CIA agent turned Avenger confidant likened herself to her great Aunt in that way. Peggy taught her to be resourceful. “Men will underestimate you because you’re a woman, take that to your advantage.” Always. It was an unspoken plan, once what was supposed to be an interrogation turned on its head, that the two women would let themselves be captured. 

Maybe they’d be lucky enough to be taken to Zemo. If there was a threat of death or injury they’ll rework the plan then, but for now they were just being held in the cell that the impersonator once occupied. Sitting. Waiting. Watching the impersonator, a bald man ones the subordinate soldiers were calling Markus. 

Markus, was on the phone. 

His eyes drifting back to the glass cage the two women sat in he spoke quickly in Zemo’s native tongue. Wanda was able to pick out bits and pieces, she knew he must have been talking to Zemo. Partially about their capture and partially about what to do next. He seemed… nervous. 

“What is he saying?” Sharon asked, mouth imperceptibly moving, quiet, hushed. Wanda stopped her pacing, focusing in on what Markus was saying to the person on the other line. 

“He’s asking if he should relocate us,” Wanda said, “Or if we should be terminated.” Her hands gripped her elbows tightly. It wasn’t as if the two women couldn’t get themselves out of this situation. They had been radio silent for almost 24 hours now, Sam would surely be on his way if he wasn’t already. But that aside they were more than capable of taking out the five henchmen. Guns or not. But when would be the right time? 

A glint in his eye and he turned back to face the two women, signing off, “Hail Hydra.” And ending the call. Wanda’s brow furrowed. Hydra? There had been little to no sign of the organization since the fall of SHIELD ten years ago. Was this what Zemo was doing? Rebuilding? 

“We gotta get out of here.” Wanda stated calmly to her friend. Sharon looked up at her from her spot sitting on the bed and nodded. 

“It’s time to go.” The whole building went dark, the soldiers letting out a yell in shock. The building’s alarm lighting coming on. A red glow around the ceiling and floor as a shield spun out from the doorway, immediately knocking two men on their asses. Sam’s wings tight against his back, the red and white uniform stark in the dark room, he caught the shield and placed it on his back. Scott grew full size knocking another two down as the cell door hissed open. Markus backed himself against a wall, fumbling for the gun his counterpart dropped. Wanda quickly reached out, red tendrils wrapping around his body and flinging him unconscious across the room. 

“Took you long enough Cap.” Sharon breathed, stepping down from the cell. Sam pressed a button on the side of his mask, the front peeling back from his face. 

“Thought you had it handled.” He looked around the room where Scott was linking the goons up with electromagnetic handcuffs. 

“We were just about to break loose.” Wanda defended, “He was on a call with Zemo.” She gestured to the man she was now pulling back towards them, pulling the phone from his pocket. “It seems as though Zemo is bringing back Hydra.” Sam’s joking demeanor suddenly turned serious, taking the phone from Wanda’s hand he turned it over in his palms. 

“I think it’s time we have another meeting.” 

“Do you miss them?” Peggy asked. Her head on your chest, fingers playing idly with the buttons of your sleep shirt. It was a silky thing. One she’d bought from Macys and had SGR embroidered on the pocket. You really didn’t like them, seemed a little too old fashioned when you were used to sleeping in joggers and no shirt at all. Your large hand grabbed hers, wedding band shining on your finger. 

“Every day.” Steve’s timbre filled the quiet room, “I missed you though.” He shrugged, “I was going to miss someone either way. It just… this is what I always wanted.” Wasn’t it? Her soft lips pressed to yours, red lacquered nails scratching at your scalp as you deepened the kiss. Lips parting to breath she said, 

“Do you regret coming back?” Silent for a beat. And then another. 

“No.” But it felt like a lie. 

It had only been two days since you’d seen him. Two days without Bucky. But once you’d heard he was coming back to the compound, that there was another team meeting your heart began to race in prospect of seeing him, hands trembling as you stepped off the treadmill the next morning. Everyone had gotten back last night. Wanda made a quick appearance in your room, just to tell you that she was okay and that you had nothing to worry about but you knew when she was lying to you. 

You had a lot to worry about. But your main worry was hacking into the video and audio feed of the conference room during their meeting later. 

“Hey.” It was like music. The raspy voice, the soft notes reaching your ears. You were still huffing a little, 35 mph today. His large figure stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. The scruff on his face hadn’t been touched in a couple days and it sent a shiver down your spine. You bit your bottom lip,

“Hey Sergeant Barnes!” Peter smiled and waved from his seat in front of the monitor, “How are you today?” Bucky looked at him strangely, 

“Uh… fine. Thanks.” Eyes moving back to you.

“Hey,” You smiled, walking over to him and immediately pulling him into your arms. He stiffened before slowly relaxing, wrapping his arms around your waist in return. “Are you okay?” You whispered. He nodded against your shoulder, 

“M’fine.” A little sway side to side. A cleared throat behind you, 

“Hey Buck.” Bruce waved as the two of you parted awkwardly. Bucky stuffed his hands in his pockets, giving the green giant a nod.

“How’s she doin’ Bruce?” Your heart skipped a beat and you tried to quell the excitement of his actual concern for you. You didn’t pay attention to much else in their interaction. The super soldier’s hair was too distracting. He needed a haircut. Maybe not a shave, but definitely a haircut. It was growing too long on the sides. His blue eyes met yours and you shake your head slightly to keep yourself from staring. 

Chill the fuck out Steve. 

You rolled your shoulders back trying to release some tension in them. “I’ll see you after the meeting?” He asked, going to leave the room. You nodded in response, 

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat, “I’ll see you then.” He gave you a strange look, smirked and then left. A deep sigh leaving your chest as you looked back to Peter and Bruce who were pointedly looking at the monitor, “So what’s next?” 

“So Zemo is trying to bring back Hydra?” Bucky asked, a chill down his spine. His left arm suddenly felt very tight. The nerves and gears locking up. Wanda sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. 

“It looks that way.” Sam paced the front of the conference room. 

“What could they possibly do?” Scott asked, “They’d have to start all over infiltrating different organizations and--”

“They could have had sleepers already.” Clint offered. “An organization that big had to have a backup plan.” Bucky’s eyes darted around wildly on the desk, trying to recall anything that could be useful. His eyes snapped up to the surveillance camera, eyes attaching to yours through the screen. You wondered if he knew what you were doing or if it was just a coincidence. They continued on,

“I’m going to keep investigating what is going on here in Tanzania,” King T’Challa’s voice ran through the room, his hologram off to the side of where Sam was standing, “It would be foolish to believe that these associates have nothing to do with the revival of Hydra.” Sam nodded, agreeing. 

“We have a couple of people here to interrogate, five to be exact.” Sam nodded to Bucky and Clint, “What did you get from your guy?”

“He was approached via video call, he said he never saw Zemo face to face.” Clint looked to Bucky before continuing, “Considering he doesn’t have fingernails at the moment I feel inclined to believe him.” Sam groaned, rubbing his temples before beginning to pace once more. 

“We’ll interrogate these guys, see what we can get.” Sam started, “Hopefully one of these leads will take us somewhere, in the meantime--” 

The screen behind him fuzzed, as did the screen on your laptop. It seemed to flip through different channels, before settling on one. A man. In a purple mask. He wore a dark coat and what looked like leather gloves. 

“Zemo.” You breathed. The eyes. You remember those eyes. They stared into yours, no Steve’s, as he said there was a flaw. A bit of green in the blue of your eyes, if you remember correctly. 

“Hello Y/N.” He addressed you directly, “I hope all is well and you’re feeling better.” He shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable. “I’m going to give you something you want and in return I will get something that I want.” You brought your hand up to your mouth, unsure of what he’s about to say, 

“You see, your life hasn’t been easy hmm? Your parents are poor, you’re swimming in debt in the medical bills that bankrupt them. This thing you’re doing right now, where the Avengers are taking care of you, how long do you think that’s really going to last?” His eyes were dead on yours. It made you very uncomfortable. Like he knew exactly where you were in the room as you placed the laptop on the coffee table and began to pace, maybe he did,

“I can make all of it disappear.” He offered, “And all I want from you is a little meeting. I just want one vial of your blood and I will change your life forever.” You could feel your heart stop. Blood rushing through your ears. “They don’t care about you.” A pit opened up in your stomach. “As soon as they make sure that you’re not going to die they’ll drop you right back off in your shitty little apartment to be forgotten forever. This is your chance to make a difference, to do something extraordinary for the future of mankind.” You stopped pacing, watching the screen with your cold hands on your face. 

“You could change everything, just like I could change everything for you.” He leaned forward, getting closer to the screen. “I’m looking forward to hearing from you.” The call cut out and Bucky burst through the door to your room, staring at you in silence for a minute, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know what to do. What the fuck just happened?

“Y/N.” He panted, you could feel the seizure coming on, strong this time. But you didn’t feel your body hit the floor, because it didn’t. Bucky wouldn’t let you. 

.

.

.

taglist//  @nutellakirb​ @witch-of-letters​ @torntaltos​ @emotionallysalty​ @an-lover​ @lbuck121​ @albinotigerpython​ @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky​

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (1)

A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my new and long time awaited series - Summer Nights. Please read every necessary information in the INDEX of the story (warnings, summary). Do not forget that the fic is quite mature and might contain some obscene stuff (i.a. alcohol and sexual items). I’ll try to post each chapter regularly (like one per week?) however as it sometimes turns out - I can be unreliable in that matter ( ;

Words: 2.6k 

Warnings: coarseness, poverty problems, swearing, alcohol and sexual items (or rather mentions of them?), reference to arranged marriage   

Tags: @okaydraco @idkatee @paradigmax @winnsmills @war-sword

You turned your gaze away from a computer screen and looked yearningly out of the window on the chaotic streets of Paris.

At that time of day, the city seemed to teem with life, especially in the summer season when many tourists came over to visit the town. You could notice a variety of cultures among crowds of people. They gathered and filled in restaurants, eating and laughing, and chatting with each other.

So how, for God’s sake, did you deserve to be at work today?

The thought of scrumptious spaghetti and a glass of red wine made you feel frustrated. And cloudless, wonderful weather waiting for you outside did not make it any better. You imagined yourself laying in a bikini on the sandy beach with ‘Vogue’ magazine on your laps and Pina Colada in your hands. Or bathing in warm ocean water with sun rays smoothly tanning your skin.

These visions caused a dreamy smile to appear on your face.

However, as soon as you scooted over in a fantasy world, the poke in your shoulder brought you back to reality. You turned your head to the side to see your co-worker and best friend, Chloe. She was crouching next to your chair with her piercing gaze studying your face attentively.

Chloe was a gorgeous woman, and you could easily say that she could break more than one heart. She had big, blue eyes and long, blonde curls falling on her slim shoulders. She had full, pink lips with a Greek-type nose and prominent cheekbones that highlighted her beauty. Her figure was feminine and slender with ample bosom, flat belly, and long legs.

There had been many situations when groups of passing-by boys stopped her in the middle of the pavement, scanning her body up and down with boisterous whistles and comments of a sexual nature. Although you had always tried to stand up in her defense, she never really cared to bother much, just shrugging it off.

“Are you alright?” She narrowed her eyes doubtfully. “You look like a walking dead.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled amused, bitting your cheek. “No, I’m actually fine. Just a little bit dizzy, but don’t worry about it. ”

“For sure? You know, if you take a nap at work, I might be the first person to know about it.” both of you chortled slightly, and you rested your elbows on the armrest. Chloe’s phone started to buzz in her purse. She took it out, muted it down, and eyed you again.

“Anyways. Why are you leaving so early? It’s just four o’clock, and I thought you were ending your shift at eight.” You peeked at the watch on your hand and arched your eyebrow suspiciously at her. Now it was your turn to interrogate her.

“Well, I took a day off,” she informed you. “I’m having a date with Louis today. We meet at six, and he takes me to some fancy restaurant. Of course, he didn’t want to tell me the exact location, mentioning something about ruining the surprise. You know him..” She rolled her eyeballs playfully with a meaningful sigh and an unambiguous smile plastered on her face.

Louis was Chloe’s boyfriend, but also one of your closest friends. You couldn’t say he was the easy-going type of person, and when you first met him, you had presumed his behavior to be a little bit too ‘self-centered’. However, after many years of acquaintance, you had learned that he was rather desperate to drag attention on himself and impress others, with you and Chloe included.

“Lucky. I’m stuck in here for a night shift,” you complained, leaning on the chair's backrest and letting a small groan out of your mouth. It was the third time this week you had to stay at your job for night time. And that wore you out.

“Again?” She frowned.

“Unfortunately...” You grimaced, glancing at your friend with a corner of your eye. “My father hasn’t paid the bills again. I’ve to earn some extra money…"

"Can I-"

"I know you want to help, but please, let's not think about it," you cut the conversation out. Your face started to get warmer, so you lowered your head as not to show your embarrassment. You trusted your friend with all of your soul but still more than felt awkward when it came up with family topics.

Chloe remained silent and smiled supportively, tightly gripping your palm. You appreciated her ability to understand people’s emotions and her tact of how to respond to them.

“I really have to go, Y/N. Call me if you needed any help.” Chloe stood up and went to the backroom of the reception. She put on her coat, wrapping her green bandana around her neck, and then slightly pecked your cheek. She walked over to the exit and, for the last time, turned towards you, waved in the bye, and left the hotel.

You gaped at the place where Chloe had just disappeared, slowly letting out your breath. After a while, you switched the laptop back on and decided to occupy yourself with reading. Clicking on the ‘iBooks’ application, you selected a book - ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’. Maybe, at least that could help you take your mind off things and spend some of your time while visitors weren’t around. You opened the first chapter of the novel, but soon after, you heard someone entering the room again.

Lifting your head, you beheld an elegant woman with a younger boy by her side. You assumed them to be a family, considering their striking similarity in appearance. Also, they distinguish themselves from their surroundings with their peculiarly sophisticated garments and unnaturally pale skin.

The woman smiled at you kindly and approached the reception desk. You got up from the chair and reciprocated the gesture.

“Bonjour madame. Comment puis-je vous aider?” you asked and saw a confused expression painting on the woman’s face. She furrowed her eyebrows for a short moment and cleared her throat.

“Mm… Hello. Do you speak English?” she asked hesitantly with a language accent that informed you instantly of her origin. Many guests of the hotel usually arrived from different parts of the world, which had let you acquire the skill of guessing their probable nationalities.    

“You’re British I see,” you noted, grinning. “Of course I do. Welcome to Paris! How can I help you?”

“We have a reservation under the name Malfoys.”

Nodding in understanding, your fingers swiftly started to tap the keyboard of the computer. You entered in the search engine of hotel’s guests with surname ‘MALFOYS’ and found a booking for two people.

“Could I check your ID cards first, ma’am?” you asked and saw her rummaging in the bag. Meanwhile, you started to prepare every necessary paper for her to fill out.

“Here it is,” she finally stated, and you reached over for the documents. You noticed the woman’s foot nervously tapping on the floor but decided to ignore it.

“Thank you,” you said while surveying everything. “Okay, so - Narcissa Malfoy, apartment number 354 - Presidential Suite. It’s on the fourth floor.” You laid the keys with ID cards on a counter top. “And Dra- Dra…”

“Draco. It’s Draco Malfoy,” the boy spoke up for the first time, and - by the tone of his voice - you could already judge that he wasn’t the friendliest type of a person, to say at least. You moved your gaze on his figure, and your eyes met with his stern glare, which sent unpleasant shivers down your spine. He was sitting on one of the lounge chairs located in the room, twisting a carved stick in his fingers. Quickly realizing that you stared at the object, he hid it in his pocket.

You giggled nervously and shook your head.

“Yes. Draco Malfoy. I’m sorry for my oversight.” You blushed profusely and tried your best to pretend that your pre-momentary blunder did not affect you anyhow. You took a second key from a shelf and placed it next to the first one. “Room number 355 - Royal Apartment. Although, it on the fifth floor, which means not located nearby your mom's one, sir."

“No problem for me.” Huffing, he got up from the armchair and walked over, grabbing the keys. His expression still evinced the arrogance, but now you had a chance to examine his appearance more closely and perceive his unparalleled attractiveness. His platinum hair suitably contrasted with grey irises, and the sharp jawline with his muscular body made your knees weak.

Just great...

“If there is anything you needed, please let me know,” you proffered and forced a smile, wishing it didn’t look so fake as it felt. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” said Narcissa, sauntering away with her son following shortly after. You took a last peek at Draco and saw him sending you an unpleasant look before leaving the lobby.

* * *

Narcissa with Draco entered her spacious hotel room. She began to look around the space, smacking her lips in delight. After that, she sat gingerly on her bed and discretely ran her fingers through the bedding set so as to verify its fabric. Draco knew and was accustomed to his mother’s atypical habit of checking the quality of things before using them.

She patted a place next to her, encouraging him to take a seat. He just pressed his lips into a straight line and only shook his head.  

“Draco, let’s talk,” she started, grunting.“I think you should - at least - consider being tolerant of those muggles. I know it is a tough period of our lives, after the war...” Narcissa shuddered at the reference of that event and her eyes filmed over a little. “But it is time to move on. Wizarding World is not going to be this same for many years. That’s why for this vacation, I wanted us to come to the place that could let you dispose of redundant memories and experien-”

“Dispose of memories?” Draco cut her off and huffed, leaning flippantly against the wall. His voice was very tight and harsh.“How do you think I could possibly get rid of them? Maybe Dark Mark on my forearm would help me solve that issue? Or Obliviate spell would be a solution?”  

At once, the blood was boiling in his veins. He didn’t blame his mother for decisions of the past, but he could not stop himself from snapping. A recollection of tortures he had had to perform on others, of tortures he had had to bear himself, of incurred deaths he had seen… and committed. That wasn’t a fleeting thing to forget.

Narcissa took a deep breath and ignored her son’s snarky comment. She decided not to give up with the plan of their conversation for this evening. So and so, he had to finally hear the truth, right?

“I and your father with Greengrass family established that by the end of this year, you are going to propose to one of their daughters.” She gazed at him, partly expecting the next outburst of emotions. Although Draco’s ears began dangerously reddening, she assumed the silence was a non-verbal acquiescence for her to continue. “You do not have to worry about arrangements for the nuptials, nor about other wedding cases. Everything is going to be organized. And I deeply believe that marring one of those beautiful girls might bring a state of contentment in your life.”

Draco gulped down his saliva and fixed his eyes on the floor, his face expressing wrath.

“I’m sorry mother, but I’ve no idea how marrying a person who I’ve hardly ever talked to could make me any happier.”

“Dear, me and Lucius did not fall in love at first sight either. Nevertheless, we accepted the unusual plight that we were put in, and then we got accustomed to leading our new, joint lifestyle,” she explained, carefully choosing her words. “And I am aware that it must be hard for you. So and it was for me. But now, I could not imagine it to be any different.”

“Well then, if you felt this same way as I do right now, please tell me why are you expecting this same from me by imposing the marriage? Why can’t I choose someone to fall in love with?”

Good point. 

Narcissa seemed to be momentarily speechless by his question because there was an awkward, uncomfortable pause for a long moment. Draco sniggered loudly and turned away to leave, but before doing so, his mom’s voice echoed in the room again.

“Love is only a matte-“ she took her last try to argue, her tone rather desperate.

“I don’t care!” he yawped, turning the knob and slamming the door behind him with a violent bang.

Draco headed over to search for a bar where he could abreact the minute-ago conversation. The tension of his body was unbearably upsetting, and his heart was pounding aggressively in his rib cage. His fists clutched tightly, knuckles becoming white and teeth clenched.

Fuck his parents.

Fuck them with their shitty ideas.  

When would be a time for him to be able to determine his own opinions about matters in his life? Or rather, the doubt is - would there ever be that time?

Before he knew it, he found himself in this same lobby where he had been an hour ago. As he walked over to the recently encountered receptionist, he spotted her writing something vigorously on an odd, square box. As to not arise any suspicion, he decided to act casually and hide his enticing interest in this particular... object.

Soon enough, you noticed the blond-haired boy and realized it was the man from earlier. A bump formed in your throat, and you fought a sudden urge to run away. Instead, you just set your phone aside and lifted yourself up, all your muscles refusing to do this same activity for the thousandth time this day (‘Is this some kind of aerobic or what?!’).

“Is there something I could help with, sir?” you asked with a smile, trying to remain calm, which was an exceptionally intractable task in this boy’s presence. Maybe as an effect of tiredness, it was hard for you to compose, but you did not like it a bit. 

“Yes, actually.” At least he took his best effort to be polite. Although a horrible exasperation, as if something pained him, still convulsed his features. “I wondered if there was a place where I could have some Firewhisky or so?”

‘Firewhisky?’ you thought. ‘Is it some kind of British dainty?’

“Well, for sure I haven’t heard of heating up Whisky before,” you joked, attempting to lighten things up. However, his glare gave you a hint he was definitely not put in a mood for such things.“But there is a pub where you could have a drink, sir. It’s on the opposite street, so all you need to do is to cross over a road.”

Draco nodded. "Oh, and one more thing." He reached over to the inner pocket of his sable jacket and took out an ornamental envelope with an old-fashioned red seal on the top of it. "If the woman who I was with before starts looking after me, hand her over this letter, could you?"

You didn't know where an uninvited rush of interest hailed from, but the mystery-insatiate part of your brain screamed out at you to play along with his cards to winkle out more information. "What if she asks me questions? Shoul-"

"Bend the truth. I only ask you to do one thing for me. Don't reveal to her where or when I went. I gave you the envelope and disappeared out of your sight. Understood, muggle?"

You didn't grasp the last part of his sentence; the one concerning --mugel? meagul? megull? -- but you could bet it meant to be an insult. Swallowing your suspicious hunch, you put on a sympathetic smile. "Sure can do, sir. Hope you have a good night out."

"Thanks. Later." And without any other word, he strode away.

[spaceskam]

our fainted thrill carries on (10/13)

warning: sexual themes/content and violence

ao3

Michael could see how shaken up Alex was after he snuck up on him. So much for starting in a good place.

“So, what’s so important?” Alex said, lowering himself onto the bed. Michael didn’t feel welcome there, so he stayed standing and tried to focus on not pacing. It was hard considering his mind was full of all the shit Jesse Manes had told him.

“I had a drink with your dad,” Michael started. Alex had a visceral reaction to that, leaning back and staring up at him in something akin to horror. 

“You did what?”

“I wanted to get information for you,” Michael explained, “So I went over there to get him to tell me about M.V.C. and he told me that the Camerons that are still active are dangerous. Like, extremely dangerous.”

“And you believe him?” Alex scoffed. Michael squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to order his thoughts.

“It was so weird, Alex,” Michael said, finding himself pacing despite the attempt to stay still, “He was, like, nice to me? And he almost seemed like he actually gave a shit about you staying safe.”

“Then we know he’s lying,” Alex filled in. Michael shook his head.

“Nah, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t kill me, didn’t even threaten me. Hell, we had whiskey together.”

“Should I call Kyle to come make sure he didn’t poison you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t believe you even went to him. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Michael didn’t have a good answer to that. Was he trying to get himself killed? That was awfully reckless of him. But, no, he was just doing it for Alex. He needed information for Alex. For them both. 

“Look, there’s some information that we just can’t get if we don’t talk to him. And I wanted to get that for you,” Michael tried, shrugging a shoulder. Alex shook his head, rubbing his face and his eyes drifted to the camera monitors. He looked so tired. “Let me just tell you what he said and then you can go to sleep and we can discuss logistics of it all tomorrow.”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows at him and rolled his eyes, but he leaned back into the pillows.

“Okay. Tell me.” 

-

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Alex watched confusion cover Kyle’s face as he looked down at his t-shirt and jeans. He seemed to have missed the memo that they were going to a club. Alex rolled his eyes, leaning back towards the mirror to touch up his eyeliner. He’d tried to keep up with recent makeup trends, but he admittedly had to redo the exaggerated wings multiple times to make them even.

“Clothes?” Kyle said.

“You do know we’re going to a club, right?” Alex asked, looking to make sure it was even enough. Then he broke out the highlighter. “I know you’ve got a pretty face, but you have to at least try.”

“I would wear this to a club,” Kyle said. Cam snorted from the other side of the room where she was trying to pick out her own outfit. She’d brought a couple of different options, trying to decide just how unassuming she wanted to appear.

“This is how we know he’s gotten by on his looks,” Cam noted, shedding herself of the maxi-dress she’d tried on and reaching across to get the floral sundress Alex had suggested. It was effectively unassuming while also being short enough that it wouldn’t cause a problem if she needed to kick someone’s ass.

“Well, what should I wear?” Kyle asked. Alex turned to face him, trying to brainstorm for him.

“How attached are you to the length of that shirt?”

After an extra thirty minutes involving cutting off the sleeves and bottom of Kyle’s shirt, covering his cheekbones in highlighter, and Alex finishing his own look, they decided they were okay. Alex had gone with a loose button-up, leaving it only half-way buttoned and pairing it with tight jeans and messy hair. His goal was to attract attention and he had to triple check to make sure that he’d actually be able to do that looking like he did.

“Okay, wait, why do you get a full shirt?” Kyle asked. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Do you want people buying you drinks or not?” he asked. Kyle stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Thought so.”

“Also we need you not be assumed by the straight girls in attendance that you’re open to them,” Cam chimed in, securing half of her freshly curled hair back in a clip.

“But the guys flirting with me are okay?” 

“Love the confidence, Valenti.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Alex said, “But you’re less likely to forget what’s going on to flirt back.”

“Like I would forget what was going on,” Kyle scoffed, “My eyes are going to be on you only, Alex.”

“Romantic,” Alex teased, lightly touching his chest as he walked past to give himself one last check in the mirror. Cam reached out to mess up his hair a little more before rubbing her thumb over his slightly over-grown facial hair. “Should I shave?”

“No, you look hot,” she praised, nodding in approval before pushing on Alex’s cheek to make him face Kyle, “Doesn’t he look hot?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Kyle said. Alex huffed a laugh and stepped out of their grasp. “Is your leg good, though? Like, are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex promised, “Took precautious painkillers just like the doctor prescribed.”

“Good.”

Despite the fact that he was going to seduce Cam’s cousin for information, this still managed to feel like a normal pre-game with his friends that he never really got. It made him feel normal for once. He liked that.

“Show me that picture of Casey again.”

-

“Okay, wait, back up.”

Alex touched his forehead and sunk a little into his pillows. He looked tired and worn out and in pain and Michael couldn’t help but fidget watching him.

“Are you okay?” he asked before he could hold himself back, “Do you need medicine? I can go get your painkillers if‒”

“No, stop-stop moving. Sit down, I can’t focus when you’re pacing,” Alex instructed. Michael blinked once and then obeyed, sitting at the foot of the bed. He’d just info-dumped, reciting everything Jesse Manes had told him about the history of the Camerons and their involvement in M.V.C. “So, it was created to combat Project Shepard? We were right about that?”

“Yes.”

“But then, what, the Cameron involved was a double agent?”

 “Um, not quite?” Michael said, trying to find the right words, “Basically, M.V.C. was run by the youngest son of each family, hence the symbol being three men. It was Eugene Manes III, Manuel Valenti, and Charles Cameron. They believed in change, I guess? I think they wanted to work from the inside and try to help the aliens. But then Charles, like, fell in love with one, but she didn’t return the favor.”

“Your mom?” Alex clarified. Michael shifted uncomfortably and shrugged a shoulder. He wasn’t 100% sure, but… Well, he had to assume it was true since why else would she trust a note from him? If the shoe fits, right?

“He got angry that she didn’t want to be with him, so he decided all aliens were trash and turned on them which is how they got discovered in the barn. Jesse said that he basically started telling anyone who would listen that they were all conniving seductresses, so you couldn’t trust even yourself around them,” Michael said, shifting against. Alex gave him that stern look that made him stop. “He taught all his kids that, so now the entire active Cameron branch is basically murder hungry for aliens and anyone they think might be under their influence. Worse than your dad.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why my dad and Flint both have the tattoo. What’s that about?” Alex asked.

“I didn’t ask,” Michael admitted, “If I had to guess, it’s more about what they think it means than what it was intended to mean.”

“So if my dad is so aware of all of that, how could he still hate aliens? If he had this information, why does he want an alien genocide?” Alex wondered. Michael shrugged.

“Superiority complex? Narcissism?” he filled in. Alex sighed and nodded, rubbing his face again. He paused as he covered his eyes, breathing hard and steady as he sat there for a moment. His body slowly started to relax before he jolted back to life and lifted his head. Michael frowned. “You’re tired, you need to go to sleep.”

“No, I’m fine,” Alex insisted, sitting up a little straighter, ”Look, we’re going out this weekend to go meet the active Camerons, so we’ll figure out just how bad they are.”

Michael’s eyes went wide. “What? No. I just told you they’re dangerous.”

“Everything’s dangerous, Guerin. You also gave me reasons why we need to dismantle them even more,” Alex pointed out, “If this is even true. I don’t trust my father or anything he says. For all we know, he’s lying to us.”

“Fine, then I’m coming with you,” Michael insisted. Alex shook his head.

“You just said they’re murder hungry for aliens and who they influence. You come, you get us all killed,” Alex said, “Look, you warned me. I’ll be on high alert.”

“I have a bad feeling,” Michael said right back. Alex huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, I always have a bad feeling. And when I have a good feeling, it turns out to be bad all along. So trust that I can take care of myself,” he insisted.

Michael frowned even more, feeling a little too stuck and a little too helpless. He clenched his fists and tried not to make it too obvious when it seized up.

Alex noticed.

-

“There’s so many people!”

“It’s a club on a Saturday night, did you expect it to be empty?”

“I don’t know!”

Alex huffed a laugh and held onto Kyle’s hand so they wouldn’t lose each other as they made their way to the bar. He weaved through people with ease, catching eyes as he passed. He couldn’t deny that that felt nice. As great as being wanted by Michael Guerin could feel, there was always something so exhilarating about catching the eye of a stranger. They knew nothing and had no reason to give praise through pity‒it was purely aesthetic appreciation. Teenage Alex could’ve benefited from a lot more of that.

He pulled Kyle to the bar, the man seeming far more giddy than he should be as Alex ordered them drinks.

“You think there’ll be a drag show?” Kyle asked. The bartender laughed.

“Wrong night, baby,” he said, patting Kyle on the hand as he handed him a drink. Alex rolled his eyes at the vague disappointment on his friend's face.

“We’re here for a reason and you’re already getting distracted,” Alex told him, leaning closer to his ear so people didn’t overhear. Kyle nodded in understanding.

Alex took a sip of his drink as his eyes slowly started scanning the crowd. He needed to find Casey Cameron and then syphon him for information all while being cautious. Because he promised he would be cautious. As if Michael fucking Guerin had any room to talk about being cautious.

“So, you and Guerin made up, then?” Kyle asked. Alex tried to keep his face neutral. The last thing he wanted was to be off-putting.

“Depends on what you mean by made up.”

“Well, he went to your dad for information for you and you accepted the information,” he pointed out. Alex rolled his eyes.

“He slept with me knowing that I misunderstood what he was feeling and then told everyone I was a liar because I didn’t tell him about a piece of glass that was pretty unimportant. It’s gonna take more than that to get back to where we were,” Alex explained.

“But you are expecting to get back to that point?”

Alex sighed, “We’re trying this new thing where we’re adults and try to talk things through. We had a setback, but we’re still dismantling a government conspiracy together and he managed to apologize in under 36 hours. Progress.”

“Make him work for it,” Kyle insisted. Alex nodded and then closed his hand around his wrist.

“Yeah, I will, but is that him?”  Alex asked, nodding towards a blonde man with a bushy beard and long hair that was dancing with another man in the middle of the floor. 

“Looks like him,” Kyle agreed, “What’s the plan?”

“We dance, I get his attention. Once we go to the back, give me ten minutes, if I don’t come out, come after me.”

“Got it.” 

Alex tugged on his arm.

“C’mon.”

Alex pulled him to the dance floor, keeping his eyes on Casey. He only took his eyes off him for a moment to make sure Kyle was comfortable with dancing with him before going back to the youngest active Cameron. He was 23 and bold and Alex had to play into his own strengths if he was going to get anything out of him. And, well, he was going to get things out of him.

He pulled Kyle’s hips against his, moving to the music as he kept his eyes on the other man. From prior experience, he knew he’d be able to get his attention if he stared long enough and pushed enough to make him want him. It’d worked before. Countless times.

Alex turned his face into Kyle’s just a little, nose grazing his sideburn as his fingers drifted over his neck. His eyes stayed on Casey, waiting to catch his eye. When he finally did, Alex smiled and continued staring at him. Casey grinned right back and cocked an eyebrow in interest to which Alex gave a little nod.

“This tickles,” Kyle whispered.

“Couple more seconds,” Alex promised. Kyle disguised his nod by turning his face into Alex’s a little more. Alex felt a strange, impulsive spike of interest burn in his stomach, but he ignored it as he kept his eyes on Casey and his challenging looks. Then Casey just kissed the man he was dancing with, eyes still on Alex through the whole thing. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” Alex instructed carefully, eyes again double checking that this was okay. Kyle didn’t even question the request, pressing his lips to Alex’s in a relatively chaste kiss. It was almost cute.

Alex curled his fingers around his neck, kissing him back at the same level of innocence as he tried his best to lure Cam’s cousin in with his best pair of ‘fuck me’ eyes. It seemed to work as Casey let go of his dance partner with a soft laugh, shaking his head at Alex. Score.

He broke the kiss as Casey started moving towards him, ending it with a kiss on the cheek and a silent promise that they’d talk about it later before Casey pushed between them and took over Alex’s attention. Alex gave Kyle one last look, seeing him a little red faced and dazed before he nodded and went to go find a place to watch over from afar. It was all Alex needed to dance a little more intently against his new partner.

“You’re a tease,” Casey accused, voice deeper than he expected it to be. Alex huffed a laugh and slowly moved his gaze from his lips to his eyes. Casey seemed more interested in him than he had in his first partner and that felt like a win in a couple different areas.

“I’m a lot of things, but I wouldn’t say that,” Alex told him. That fire lit behind his eyes and he licked his lips. 

“So you follow through?”

Alex grinned and bit down on his lip, leaning in closer as hands started roaming over him. This was too easy.

“Do you even need to ask?”

-

“Did he do something to you?”

“No.”

“Then why does it still hurt? I thought Max healed it. Did you get an x-ray done?”

Michael shook his head, pulling his hand into himself. Alex eyed him and he shifted under his gaze.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Do you have more on the other subject?” Alex asked. Michael didn’t, so he stayed silent. “Exactly. So let’s talk about why you went to my fucking dad’s in the first place.”

“I wanted to get information for you,” Michael said, shrugging slightly, “I felt guilty and I didn’t wanna come apologize again empty handed.”

“Usually that means flowers.”

He shrugged and tried to muster up a smile. “We were never really the flower type.”

“We could’ve been,” Alex said carefully, “I thought we were headed that way.”

Michael sighed and looked around the room, trying to find his words. It was much easier to present him with information or to be antagonistic than it was to admit his wrongs out loud. No wonder they had so many problems for so long.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up, I should’ve just talked to you about what was bothering me,” Michael admitted. Alex shifted against the pillows.

“And I’m sorry for keeping it from you. It… it felt unimportant in comparison to everything else and then I was scared that if you had it, you’d leave to get away from the important things. It was selfish of me to not realize that it was important. Important to you, to your history. I’m sorry,” Alex said. Michael’s eyes only then realized that the piece was still sitting on the bed, trying to taunt them but palling in comparison to the hold Alex always seemed to have on his attention.

“And I’m sorry that I called you a liar in front of our friends and, fuck, I’m so sorry that I let us kiss and have sex with my mind like that. Yeah, sex has always been a distraction, but a distraction from the outside world. Using you to distract myself from you was…” Michael huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head, “And apparently I’m a genius.”

“I’m not gonna say it’s okay,” Alex admitted, “That really hurt me. I can’t just go back to the way we were that fast. I know I fucked up, but that…”

“Was wrong, I know,” Michael said, taking a deep breath, “But I want to make it up to you. Show you that I love you. Because I do. I love you, Alex, and I’m so sorry for not treating you like it.”

“I love you too.”

“I know,” he said quickly, “I know that. I thought you didn’t and you were lying for a while, but I… I know now. I know you love me.”

Alex cracked the smallest smile, nodding his head. He looked so tired.

“I’m sorry for not showing you it the right way,” Alex said. Michael nodded. They stared at each other for a moment too long before Alex held out his hand. “Good talk?”

With a laugh, Michael accepted it and shook it.

“Good talk."

-

It’d been a long time since Alex kissed someone with a full beard, but he made it work despite how itchy it was. Besides, there was nothing that screamed success quite like being pulled into the backroom of a club.

“God, get out of these jeans,” Alex said, trying to play it off like he wasn’t heading straight for that tattoo. He’d admittedly practiced getting on his knees and back up again more than a few times to make sure this would work. If things went 100% perfect, it would.

He unbuttoned Casey’s jeans and pushed them down, pressing sloppy kisses everywhere as he got on his knees in the most graceful way that he could. Getting back up would be difficult, but he could use his body as leverage. 

“What’s this?” Alex asked, slowly stopping his kisses as he saw that uncanny three-man trident on his hip. He rubbed his thumb over it, looking up to Casey who seemed over the conversation before it began. But, truly, Alex felt like he had more power than the man with his pants around his knees. “Never seen anything like this before. Does it have a meaning?”

“Family thing,” Casey filled in, “Now are you gonna get to work or are you just here to chat? What happened to not being a tease?”

Alex flashed a smile and pretended to get back to the task at hand. He actually had no interest or intent to do anything, but he could always lie. He just needed a little more information.

“What kind of family thing? ‘Cause it kinda looks like a symbol to one of the zodiac signs. Are you all tauruses?” Alex asked. Casey sighed.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Oh, so, it’s a matching tattoo with an ex-boyfriend?” Alex asked. Casey looked down at him, eyes narrowed at the accusation. 

“What’s your name again?” Casey asked. Alex reached his hands out to touch his thighs in a soothing manner, wanting to sway his mind away from any straying thoughts that Alex might not be who he said he was.

“Alex,” he answered honestly. Alex learned young that a lie worked best when it was close to the truth.

“Last name?”

“You really wanna know that?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow. He hoped Kyle was right outside the door. “Didn’t know this was something more than hookup.”

“It stopped being a hookup when you started running your mouth, what’s your last name?” he demanded, starting to pull his jeans back up.

Alex slowly started to steady himself so he could get to his feet.

“Truman.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

Before Alex could get to his feet, he was pushed backwards onto the ground. He looked up at him with wide eyes, still trying to play the part of an innocent misunderstanding. Really, he was trying to gauge how easy it would be to get Casey on the ground with him. He couldn’t get to his feet fast enough, but he could definitely put up a fight if they were on the same level.

“What the fuck?” Alex asked.

“That’s not your name.”

“Yes, it is, you dick.”

“You must think I’m so stupid,” Casey said, “Or that the makeup and the aging and the facial hair would distract me. Or, fuck, the hookup would distract me. I’m trained, Manes. More trained than you were.”

Well, that had actually caught Alex off guard. Were the active Camerons just given a fucking family tree of people to attack? Alex stared at him, wondering if he should deny it or if he should just accept he was caught and fight.

He realized denial was never his strong suit.

“Funny you’d think that,” Alex said, using his prosthetic to slam against Casey’s legs. It was just heavy enough and metal enough to throw him off balance, sending him to the floor.

Alex quickly locked his legs around Casey’s, rolling on top of him and putting his hand on the other man’s head to hold it against the concrete ground. 

“I didn’t wanna get violent,” Alex said, “I just wanted to know what you know.”

“Fuck off. I don’t trust Manes Men.”

“Sure,” Alex laughed, “Which is why you wanted to fuck one.”

Casey went still for a moment before he quickly bucked his hips, throwing Alex off balance. Alex didn’t let him go as his back hit the floor. Instead, he hooked his arms beneath his and wrapped his legs around his waist. It was a pretty stupid move, but it kept him from being able to stand up or even really roll back over.

“Just tell me what you guys are up to and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Like I believe that,” Casey said, “You’re a spy.”

“Now you’re just giving me too much credit.”

Casey threw his head back, hitting Alex in the nose just enough to get him to loosen his grip. He tore Alex’s legs off him and started climbing to his feet, taking an elbow to the side of the head. Alex used him as leverage to get up too, moving as quickly as he could and managing to steady himself before Casey could fully reorient.

“Just tell me,” Alex said, ducking out of the way as Casey swung his fist instead. Alex threw one back and actually hit.

They fought for what felt like a few minutes but was probably only about 30 seconds. He just needed to buy time for Kyle to get there and then they could get the fuck out. Clearly, the Camerons weren’t big fans of the Manes and weren’t keen on sharing any information.

“I’ve been told stories about you,” Casey accused, face bleeding as he tried to fight the headlock Alex had him in, “We all have.”

“Like what?” Alex asked, trying not to let go as Casey used his body to slam Alex into the wall in an attempt to get him to let go.

“The youngest Manes boy,” he said breathlessly, “Fell into the trap of one of them. Thought you’d smartened up since you hadn’t caused a scene. Looks like they were wrong. You’re just as fucking deadly.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Alex said, tightening his grip as anger coursed through him. How much did they know about Michael? Did they know his name? His face? If Alex let go, would they go after him? “I’m deadly. But it has nothing to do with them.”

Alex swung him around, slamming his head into the brick wall and effectively knocking him unconscious. He didn’t bother sparing him another glance as he headed towards the door, needing to get to Kyle so they could get back to Roswell before shit hit the fan. It seemed they may have stirred the pot in a cold rivalry.

When Alex opened the door, however, five huge men were standing there and blocking his way. None of them were Kyle; all of them seemed to be too aware of who he was. Alex swallowed harshly and took a step back, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Live free or die trying, right?

-

“So, uh, you mind if I…”

“On the couch,” Alex told him. Michael nodded, accepting the compromise easily and letting go of Alex’s hand slowly. “You’re always welcome. Even if I kinda want to throw you in the trash sometimes.”

Michael snorted, “I guess you could have worse desires. Goodnight, Alex, please sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Michael.”

Michael stood up and started to walk towards the door, but he was stopped by Alex calling his name again. When he turned around, he saw him holding out the piece to him. Michael reluctantly took it and closed the bedroom door behind him.

He was going to do better.

[reivenesque]

Mission Objective CH4

In light of the great fun we had trauma we suffered because of the latest episode and this horrible wait we will have to sit through, I thought what better way to take out mind off Jay’s pain by reading more of Jay’s pain, right? Also, aptly titled chapter for this story and our lives at this point though.

Chapter 4: The Wait

The wait was like counting down the seconds of eternity. Will lost count after the first three hours or so but still the wait brought no news from the operating room.

The last time he managed to tear himself out of his dark thoughts; out of the dark memories of fights between him and Jay that he’d never be able to apologize for – the fear of losing the only brother he had and one of the two family members he had left; remembering the grief brought on by his mom’s death and the way it tore their family apart – he noticed Nat still planted firmly at his side. The fire-fighters had left which was understandable, they all had their own jobs to do – it wasn’t like their entire world had stopped because of what happened, though he noticed Gabby and Brett still hanging around. Gabby was pacing up and down the length of the room while Brett sat silently, slumped over the chair with her chin resting on a fisted knuckle.

Hailey was there too, as was Detective Olinsky. Sergeant Voight, Kim, Antonio, Atwater and Ruzek had gone to Jay’s apartment with Casey not long after Jay was taken to the OR to find out whatever they could about what happened.

Once in a while Detective Olinsky would walk over, place his hand on Will’s shoulder and tell him in a soft, calming voice that Jay was going to be okay; that he was too stubborn to die that way.

He recalled Jay saying the exact same words to him the last time he found himself in a room waiting for news about a loved from the OR.

He appreciated the sureness the older man had in those words, almost like the idea that Jay might not pull through wasn’t even a possibility to him. Will could see how much the detective understood the kind of person Jay was and how much he cared about him, and he understood why Sergeant Voight asked him to stay around, his calmness was like a balm that was infectious to everyone around him.

Mrs. Goodwin stopped by from time to time, as did Maggie and some of the other hospital staff; the people who knew Jay; some who’d even been helped by him at one point or another. It was heart-warming to see the care and concern people were showing, even those he didn’t expect to know his brother at all.

Will knew he needed to get back to work. He was still a doctor. He still had patients to treat. It wasn’t like the world stopped turning just because Jay was hurt. But he just wasn’t able to drag himself to his feet. He couldn’t imagine not being there where Connor stepped in through the door to deliver the news – whatever it might turn out to be.

Jay could die.

The voice was like an echo repeating incessantly inside his brain.

Another hour passed before Ruzek and Atwater reappeared without Voight but with his father in tow.

Will felt bad that in the chaos he hadn’t even thought to call their father to let him know what had happened.

He managed to drag himself to his feet when his dad noticed him sitting there and headed immediately in his direction.

He’d only managed a soft, “Dad–” before he found himself half smothered in his father’s chest when the man pulled him into an unexpected hug.

It took him a few second to process the situation before he finally managed to get his limbs work; lifting his arms to circle around his dad’s torso and burying his face in the man’s shoulder. He did then what he’d never done with his father his whole life.

He cried.

And in turn, his father did what he’d never done with any of his children their whole lives.

He hugged him, comforted him and told him everything was going to be okay – that Jay was going to be okay.

And for a minute, Will felt like he was a little kid again believing wholeheartedly that his father knew everything and that his father could do anything. In this case, he trusted that Jay was going to be okay, just because his father said he was going to be.

He vaguely remembered turning to Detective Olinsky when he walked over again and asked him if someone could try and get a hold of Mouse to tell him what happened. He was Jay’s closest friend – he knew and understood Jay better than Will probably ever would – he deserved to know. The detective told him that Sergeant Platt had been tasked to inform him.

He noticed the rest of Intelligence slowly returning one by one, Sergeant Voight stopping to grasp him comfortingly on the shoulder before he found the rest of the team standing huddled near the far end of the room. But other than that, everything else and everyone else that passed through the waiting room during those long, terrible hours was an indistinct blur in Will’s mind.

Until the moment Connor stepped in through the door.

Then it was like everything coming to a halt and into focus immediately and at the same time. The change was so abrupt it almost knocked Will to the floor but he managed to keep himself upright, finding his feet in one swift move and headed towards Connor before anyone else even realized he was there.

His expression betrayed nothing about the direness of the news he was bringing. He looked pale and tired but nothing about his body language looked defeated which Will desperately grasped onto as a good sign.

He reached out to grasp Connor’s shoulder the exact moment the man reached out to grasp his in return.

“He’s alive,” said Connor before Will could even open his mouth to ask – to beg for good news. Immediately Will felt the relief flooding him, driving the breath from his lungs and causing him to double over. “He’s alive,” said Connor again to the rest of the people convening on him. “His condition is still critical and he’s not out of the woods just yet, but he is alive.”

Will managed to straighten up and keep himself upright, turning around to find Hailey’s sobbing figure doubled over behind him. Immediately he reached over and pulled her into a tight hug.

“He’s alive,” he said, words of assurance repeated to both Hailey and himself. “He’s alive.”

The first thing Connor said turned out to be the only good news in what seemed to be an almost infinite checklist of bad, because once he started listing down the extent and the grievousness of Jay’s injuries, Will could do little to suppress the bile that rose up into his throat at the sheer imagery of the suffering Jay went through at the hands of the monster that attacked him.

“The bullet missed most of his vital organs but punctured a lung and the hemopneumothorax was further acerbated by his broken ribs. Ironically, the bullet itself was also what kept him from bleeding further into his lung. The knife wound however managed to do damage to his kidney and small intestines which caused some internal bleeding. We were able to repair the damage to his intestines and save the kidney but we have to keep a close eye on it for the next few days to prevent infection.

“I don’t know how long he was left to bleed out, especially with the injuries he’d suffered, it’s honestly a miracle or a testament to his strength that he was able to hang on until the paramedics  got to him,” explained Connor, reaching up to pull off the surgical hat and absentmindedly folding it up. “He also suffered a mild concussion; contusions to the face and neck, possibly from the assailant coming up from behind him; a broken wrist and broken metacarpal bone of his left hand – the bruising and injuries to both knuckles indicates that the attacker didn’t get out of this unscathed. Plus a couple of broken ribs, a mild fracture of the cheekbone and a hairline fracture of the clavicle and a hell of a lot of external injuries and bruising.  Your son’s one hell of a fighter, Mr. Halstead,” said Connor, addressing the older man standing just behind Will.

“Damn right he is,” said his dad and Will wondered if he was imagining the tearful pride in his father’s words when he said it.

“Can we see him?” asked Hailey, pulling away from Will and straightening up, brushing the remaining tears from her face.

“You can,” said Connor though Will could sense the hesitancy in the way he said it. “However, like I said, his condition is still critical and very unstable. We’d like to keep him in medically induced coma for at least a few days to allow his body to rest and so that we can keep a closer eye on his injuries and decide our course of action from then on out.”

Will felt his stomach sink. He knew Connor said that Jay’s condition was serious but a drug induced coma meant life support and ventilators and the chance that Jay could just as easily die and somehow he wanted to believe that Jay was on the path to recovery and not just… lingering. He was a doctor. He knew how fast a patient’s condition could all of a sudden take a turn for the worse. Not to mention the additional risks of being dependent on the machines to stay alive.

The fact that his brain associated the impersonal term of ‘a patient’ with his brother unnerved Will deeply and he cleared his throat to distract himself.

“What’s the long term prognosis?” He asked instead, willing to mask the worries of a brother with the professionalism of a doctor because he couldn’t manage to be both at the same time in that situation.

Connor exhaled. “Long term? – Good. He didn’t suffer any major neurological or spinal injuries as far as we can tell, though we will have to wait for him to wake up to be able to know for certain. However, the knife came pretty close to hitting the lumbar spine, which is what the attacker was probably aiming for. Short term however… I’m not going to sugar-coat it – the next forty-eight hours are going to be the most critical, if he pulls through that, I have no doubt that he’ll make a complete recovery.” Will didn’t miss the way Connor said ‘if’. But he knew Connor was nothing if not pragmatic when it came to his patients and doing his job so he didn’t take it personal. Connor however must have noticed his reaction because he added; “But despite going through what he went through, he still managed to hang on and I don’t doubt that there’s still some fight left in him.”

Connor’s eyes were on him when he finished and Will mouthed a sincere thank you to the man which was reciprocated with a curt nod.

They followed Connor up to the ICU floor; him, Hailey at his side, Nat trailing along a little ways behind, her arm around his dad’s elbow and the rest of Jay’s team trudging along bringing up the rear.

They always made exception for the police and fire-fighters when it came to hospital rules, it was just something unspoken between the medical staff knowing the kind of job they did and the way they put their lives on the line day in a day out for the job.

Sergeant Voight was oddly quiet through the whole ordeal, Will noticed the absence of his voice yelling out commands or reprimanding someone for something they’d done and he remained quiet as he followed a few steps behind the rest of the team as they made their way towards Jay’s room.

Even being a doctor, Will’s second least favourite department in the entire hospital was the ICU (the first was the morgue). People there were always the sickest of the sick and they went there either to get better or to die, it was never anything in between.

Will didn’t think he could ever prepare himself enough to see Jay in that condition and all the macabre thoughts running through his mind during the journey wasn’t helping any. He didn’t know whether it was a brother’s intuition but somehow he just knew which of the similar looking rooms belonged to Jay before he was even anywhere in the vicinity, but he took no measure of comfort in being right when Connor stepped right into the room and disappeared behind the curtain.

Will found himself subconsciously slowing his steps, causing Nat to almost run into his back when he all of a sudden stopped just shy of entering the room.

He could already hear the beeping of the heart monitor and the steady hissing of the ventilator even from the distance and it did nothing to steel his nerves or calm his thundering heart.

“Will, you okay?” Hailey asked, but the lump in his throat prevented him from giving her a coherent answer.

He just managed a muted nod, swallowing hard and stepped right into the room without thinking about it. If he stopped to reconsider, he feared he might actually turn tail and run because he was terrified.

And he was right to be so because the reality – actually seeing Jay laying there in the cubicle in the ICU surrounded by machines keeping him alive, wires weaving in and out of his figure that all of a sudden seemed way too young and much too still; looking at the breathing tube down his throat and the machine that was breathing for him that all of a sudden seemed so intimidating; it was a sight he never could have been able to prepare himself for.

Jay’s heart was beating, but that was the only indication that he was still even in there. He was lying half propped up on the raised bed, his battered and bruised chest rose and fell mechanically with every pump of the ventilator. His lower half was covered by a white blanket and a hospital gown was half draped over his chest and shoulders, shielding the bandages and worst of his injuries from view but still Will could tell that it was bad. He could see the chest tube snaking out his side and the myriad of wires and tubes leading to and from nearly every visible inch of his body. His left hand was wrapped up securely in a dark splint that extended from midway up his arm to the tip of his ring and pinky fingers, propped up on a small pillow at his side. Although Connor said that he’d suffered no damage to his spine, he had on a strict neck brace, Will knew it was just as precaution because he might have suffered injuries to his neck and to keep the breathing tube from shifting around and damaging his throat, but the sight was gut-wrenching and terrifying.

The only part of him that wasn’t injured or obscured by tapes or wires or tubes was his forehead and Will went for it immediately the moment he stepped up to his side. He reached over to run his fingers through his brother’s hair, stiff from the blood and sweat, and planted a kiss on his forehead. He paused for a moment to just stare at Jay’s face, hoping against hope that he’d somehow get a sign, a twitch, eyelashes fluttering – anything, to let him know that his brother knew he was there, that somehow Jay could sense him being there.

But Jay’s eyes remained closed, his eyelashes dark against the stark whiteness of his cheek and he didn’t stir even a little. Will knew what he wanted was impossible – Connor had said that they were keeping him sedated; he knew Jay was in a drug induced coma and was likely to remain that way until his condition improved and the doctor side of him told him he was dumb for even hoping for something so ridiculous. But it was the brother side of him that was in control of his emotions at that moment. How could it not be? Jay was his only brother and he loved him beyond words.

He could hear a few people cursing behind him just as the sight of Jay came into full view of the rest of his team.

Hailey walked around the bed over to Jay’s right side and reached over to take his hand in hers, mindful of the crisscrossing lines and the clip on monitor on his finger.

“Jay, I’m right here. We’re all here,” he said, resting his forehead against his brother’s. He sensed his father stepping up beside him and watched as he gently, more gentle that he ever thought his dad was capable of being, placed his hand over Jay’s splinted hand that was resting on the pillow.

“Yeah, Jay,” said Hailey, sniffling and using her other hand to wipe away the tear trickling down her cheek. “We’re all here for you. You just… you just fight this, okay, we know you can.”

The rest of the team stepped up to surround the bed, Detective Olinsky walked over to where Hailey stood, reached over to circle her shoulder with one arm and the other reaching over to cover her hand that was grasping onto Jay’s. Kim, Atwater and Ruzek stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the bed. Will saw that Ruzek had his arm around Kim’s shoulder in comfort. Antonio hadn’t approached, only turning his back and pacing up and down the short length of the room like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Will noticed Sergeant Voight standing apart from the rest of them. He had his hands in his pockets and was chewing the inside of his cheek almost obsessively. The look on his face wasn’t one Will could decipher but even he could tell that it wasn’t anything that boded well for the person responsible for doing this to his brother.

Glancing down at Jay, watching the rise and fall of his chest and subconsciously synching his own breathing with his brother’s, Will couldn’t help but think that he wanted bad things to happen to the person who did this to him. He wanted the person to pay for what he’d done. He wanted him to suffer – the way Jay had undoubtedly suffered for who knows how long.

He both wanted to know the details and wanted to remain oblivious to the imagery of it, but then he remembered what Casey had said about finding him handcuffed in the bathroom – hurt and in pain and left to bleed out and die alone.

He wanted the person responsible for causing his brother that kind of pain to feel every single bit of it. He wanted him dead and if nothing else, he knew that he could count of the sergeant to make it a reality.

The whole room was silent but for the intermingling of sounds of the myriad of life support machines that surrounded Jay’s bed with everyone taking in the sight of their injured teammate and friend and undoubtedly sharing the exact same thought as Will.

After a while, Sergeant Voight cleared his throat, grabbing the attention of the whole team who turned to look at him; all of them with a renewed drive and intensity in their eyes. The sergeant said nothing, only nodding towards the door, indicating that he wanted everyone to gather outside Jay’s room.

All of them filtered out hesitantly one by one until it was only Hailey and Sergeant Voight left with Will and his dad. Hailey didn’t blink the entire time she stood there staring at Jay’s lax face, almost like she was expecting the impossible to happen just like Will. Eventually she gave up, leaning down to plant a whisper of a kiss on his cheek and staying in that position for a moment longer, whispering something into Jay’s ear that Will couldn’t hear. Eventually she too stepped out to join the rest of her team.

Will looked at the sergeant who hadn’t moved a muscle; his eyes were locked onto Jay. He stood so still the entire time that when he finally did move it was like watching a wax figure all of a sudden come to life. He stepped into the spot Hailey had vacated, reaching over to grasp Jay’s shoulder. His grip was firm but careful; his thumb massaging around the hollow of Jay’s collarbone like it was both an offering of strength to Jay and as a measure of comfort for himself.

“We’re going to get the son of a bitch that did this, Jay. I promise you that. I won’t let him get away. I won’t let him do this to another person, you have my word.” Will couldn’t help but notice the sergeant’s already gravelly voice sounding thick with emotion. After a moment, the sergeant’s eyes glanced to look at Will and his dad and he repeated the same words to them.

Will swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat before he could even think of answering. “You just get the person who did this, sergeant – just… just get them.”

The man nodded and with one last lingering glance at Jay he walked out, patting him on the shin one last time before he left.

Will didn’t know how much time passed between Sergeant Voight and his team leaving him and his dad alone with Jay, but the next moment he was snapping out of a daydream he didn’t even realize he was having in a chair he didn’t even know was there in the room and it was just him and Hailey sitting there listening to the steady beeping sound reassuring them that Jay was still alive.

“Your dad went to get coffee. He asked if you wanted any but you didn’t answer,” she explained.

Will’s muddled brain was still unable to piece together a coherent thought, much less process any of what was being said. “I thought you left with the team?” he asked instead after a moment and unable to find anything to add to her statement.

“We’re taking turns staying with Jay, just so that someone will be able to let them know immediately if something happens and so Jay knows that we’re all here for him.”

Will could only nod. He admired the loyalty and the love all of them had for Jay and for each other. It made it easier to accept that his brother was putting his life on the line every time he stepped out his door knowing that he had these people watching his back.

“Did you manage to get hold of Mouse?” He asked after a while.

“He wasn’t anywhere that could be reached by phone, but I think Sergeant Platt left a message with one of his superior officers.”

Will nodded. There was little more he could do at that point, about Jay, about Mouse – about anything.

“Hey, Will?” He looked up at Hailey but her eyes remained focused on Jay; both her hands holding onto Jay’s, her cheek resting on his bruised knuckles. “He’s really going to be okay, right?” she asked, her voice sounding small and fearful, unlike the straightforward and fearless Hailey he’d come to know.

Will readjusted his position in his chair, leaning over to rest his elbows on the edge of the mattress and reaching up to stroke Jay’s hair with his right hand. “He is,” he said, trying to sound much more assured than he felt on the inside. I hope so, but that last bit he didn’t say aloud.

Jay was the one with the tough fight ahead of him and there was little more they could do beyond being helpless spectators. All they could at that point was wait.

tbc.

Read on A03

[eddie-boii]

Never Let You Go (part 9/14)

Fic info: Both Eddie and Stan live because I do what I want. Multichapter.

Rating: Teen and up (may change). Language.

Pairings: Reddie, Benverly.

Ao3 link: here

Summary: The Losers prepare for a wedding. Here’s some fluff before the wedding happens. In this house, we love and appreciate Audra and Patty.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

*

Richie awoke to a pillow slapping his head and a pleasant greeting of “Wake up, fuck-face!”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Richie groaned, rolling over in bed and burying his face deeper into his warm pillow so as to ignore the tiny hypochondriac man currently trying to force him out of bed. A brief glance at the window told him it had snowed overnight, and he’d much rather stay in his cosy bed than venture out there.

“Come on, asshole, today’s the big day!” Eddie said, pulling the sheets off of Richie magician-style before immediately releasing a sound not-unlike one of those rubber chicken dogs toys and clapping his hands over his eyes. “Where the fuck are your clothes?!”

“Why the fuck would I wear clothes when I was supposed to be sleeping alone?!” Richie said, finally dragging himself out of bed to slip on a dressing gown and smirking slightly at Eddie’s red face. 

“Are you decent yet?”

“Morally?” said Richie. “Hard to say.”

“Do you have clothes on, dipshit?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Yes, Eduardo, you can look again without gagging.”

“Why would I gag?” said Eddie, finally lowering his hands, and Richie swallowed the urge to make a blowjob joke.

“So what brings you here this morning, my dear spaghetti?”

Eddie scowled at the nickname. “Maybe because this is my fucking assigned room, jerk-off.” When Richie raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes. “Bev kicked me out and your presence is requested to help the bride prepare for her special day,” he explained, fluttering his fingers about sarcastically as though disgusted by the romantic notion of it all.

“Well why didn’t you just say, spaghetti-bear?” said Richie. “You mind giving me some privacy while I shower and get dressed first? Unless you wanna get all steamy with me?” he added with a wink, grinning when Eddie’s face flushed red once more even while he wore that adorable scowl.

“Whatever, asshole, I’m going to help Ben get ready.” He retrieved one of his many suitcases - the one containing his suit - and made his exit, leaving Richie to get ready for the day.

Nobody could say Richie didn’t make an effort to look nice; he’d had a haircut a few days ago, and now he actually shaved and put on deodorant after his shower before putting on his fanciest outfit: jeans and a tuxedo t-shirt.

“Don’t all fawn over me at once, ladies,” he declared as he flung open the door to Bev’s room to find Stan, Patty and Audra all fussing over Beverly’s hair and makeup.

“Nope,” said Stan, taking one look at him. “You are not wearing that, no fucking way.”

“Bev said I could wear whatever I wanted!” Richie protested as Beverly tried valiantly to hide her grimace.

Stan gave him a deadpan look. He walked over to a suitcase and pulled a suit bag from it, shoving into Richie’s arms. “Go change.”

“Why do you have this?” said Richie, frowning down at the bag. It was black and opaque so he couldn’t see what the garment it held looked like.

“Because I knew you’d try to pull some shit,” said Stanley. “Go. Change.”

“No offence, Staniel,” said Richie, eying Stan’s bird-patterned tie, “but I don’t trust your fashion taste.”

“I picked it especially for you,” said Stan, and shook his head when Richie looked even more apprehensive. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

Richie wasn’t convinced but went into the en suite to change anyway. As soon as he unzipped the bag, he grinned. He’d never doubt Stan again.

“Now you’ll really have to try not to fawn over me, ladies!” said Richie, grinning widely as he stepped back out of the bathroom all decked out in a suit, except this one wasn’t boring and black like all the ones he had to wear to red carpet events that he hated so much; this one was colourful and patterned with bright flowers all over, not unlike his favourite Hawaiian shirts. The shirt underneath was black, but Richie didn’t care as it made sure the whole look wasn’t too over-the-top. He looked pretty hot if he did say so himself. “You really outdid yourself, Stan-the-man!” he said, pulling Stan into a tight hug.

“You’re welcome, Trashmouth,” Stan laughed. “Patty helped me pick it out,” he added, and Richie gave Patty a big hug too, momentarily distracting her from doing up Bev’s hair.

“You actually look really handsome,” said Bev, looking him up and down.

“You sound surprised,” said Richie, feigning offence.

“More handsome than usual,” Bev rectified. “That nightmare outfit actually suits you.”

“It does scream Richie, doesn’t it?” said Stan.

“Alright, I think we’re done here, hon,” said Audra as she made a final sweep of blusher across Bev’s cheekbone. “You want any makeup doing, Richie?”

Richie blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. He joked about that sort of thing a lot - a way to detract attention from the fact that he really was a huge ‘fairy’ like his school bullies always said - but Audra seemed completely serious. Richie hadn’t really considered actually indulging in feminine things now that he was out and proud without making it a joke.

“Uh,” he said, “what kind of makeup?”

Audra tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I reckon you’d look really hot with some eyeliner and painted nails.”

“Careful you don’t make Eddie have a fit,” Stan murmured, and Bev snorted as Richie shot them both a glare.

Audra didn’t seem to hear as she was too busy retrieving a bag containing about a hundred little bottles of nail varnish. “Wanna pick a colour?” she said, passing Richie the bag.

Richie perched on the edge of the bed and shuffled through all the bottles, marvelling at just how many colours there were. He contemplated picking a pink that matched some of the flowers on his suit, but decided to play it safe and pulled out a plain black instead.

Audra took the bottle off him and sat beside him on the bed, pulling his hand into her lap. She filed down the jagged edges first - courtesy of a nail-biting habit Richie had never managed to get rid of despite his mother’s wishes - then opened the bottle carefully. Richie stayed perfectly still, watching the little brush sweep over his nails one by one.

“Wow, you actually got Richie to shut up and stay still,” said Stan. “We should’ve made you an honorary Loser sooner.”

Richie flipped him off with his free hand but was careful not to move the one Audra was working on.

“It’s part of my charm,” Audra said simply, not looking up from what she was doing.

“All done, Bev!” said Patty from across the room, and Richie looked up to see the finished result of Bev’s makeover. 

Her makeup was done to perfection thanks to Audra and her movie-star expertise; her eyeshadow blended expertly across her lids and the colour bringing out the green in her eyes, her eyeliner perfectly neat and even on each side, her cheekbones highlighted expertly and her lips painted a pretty pink. And her hair was flawless, pulled back in a loose bun bordered by a braid that had been woven around little silver flowers, wavy strands of amber locks falling free to frame her face.

“You look gorgeous, Bev,” said Richie.

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Bev, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “And thank you, girls, you did amazing.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” said Patty, smiling softly. “You make such a beautiful bride.”

“Yeah, I’m only, like, ninety per cent jealous right now,” said Audra and Bev laughed. “Alright, handsome, don’t touch anything while that dries,” she said to Richie as she finished painting the last nail. “Now, let me see what I can do about eyeliner.”

“Ooh, I think your hair might be long enough to braid,” said Patty, coming over. “Can I?”

“Suddenly I’m eight again and acting like a doll for my sister and her stupid friends,” said Richie, but he didn’t protest as Patty grabbed a brush and some hair ties.

“You love it,” said Bev and Richie just stuck his tongue out at her.

Stan had to run off to take a phone call before Richie’s makeover was complete. He stood in front of the mirror admiring Patty and Audra’s handy work. Thankfully, Patty hadn’t gone too overboard with the braiding, and Richie didn’t match a certain photo his mom had on her fridge depicting him with about twenty bunches and bows in his hair and glittery eyeshadow all over his face. This look was far more subtle.

“You look like a Viking-emo-hippy,” said Bev. “It shouldn’t work but it does.”

“I look hot as fuck,” said Richie humbly.

“Twenty-bucks says Eddie pops a boner,” Bev whispered not-so-subtly to Audra.

“You’re on.”

“Will you please stop with the fucking bets,” said Richie. “Or at least let me in on them, I bet I could make big money.”

“You wish, sunshine,” said Bev.

Stan reentered the room a moment later, a frown creasing his face. It must have been serious because he didn’t even look twice at Richie’s makeover.

“Uh, Beverly, don’t freak out, but we have a problem.”

“Oh no,” said Bev, paling instantly. “What is it?”

“There’s been a lot of snow overnight and the minister can’t make it,” said Stan.

Beverly stared at him. “What?” she cried, her voice cracking with panic as she grasped Richie’s arm for support and Patty rubbed her back comfortingly. “We can’t have a wedding without a minister!”

“Bev, it’s going to be fine,” said Stan, holding out his hands giving her a calming look. “I can perform the wedding, my father made sure I was ordained.”

“But we’re not Jewish,” said Bev, still far from calm. “Can you still do it? Is that going to be a problem?”

“I’m not a Rabbi, it’ll be fine,” said Stan and Beverly gave a great sigh of relief before rushing into his arms and giving him a tight hug.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said emphatically before pulling away so as not to smudge her makeup. “Oh no, but who will walk down the aisle with Mike?”

“Don’t worry, babe,” said Richie. “Your man has two hands.”

“God, this wedding is just getting further and further away from traditional,” sighed Bev.

“Did you expect anything less?” said Stan.

“Good point.”

“You better get going, babe,” said Audra after checking her watch. “You don’t wanna be late.”

“We’ll see you at the second ceremony,” said Patty. She hugged Bev then gave Stan a quick peck on the lips. “Good luck.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Audra, giving Bev’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “That is one good-looking hunk you’ve snagged yourself.”

“And so respectful,” sighed Patty dreamily.

“I’m standing right here,” said Stan.

Patty soft smile turned into a grin, her eyes glinting mischievously. “No one can beat my man’s sweet little behind,” she replied, reaching her arms around her husband. He yelped suddenly, his face turning red, and Richie realised she’d pinched his ass. He couldn’t blame her.

He gasped dramatically. “You married a girl with a wild side, Stanley!”

Stan shot him a glare but Patty winked at him.

“Oh, he’s got wild side too.”

“Patty!” Stan squawked, and Patty giggled, reaching up to kiss his nose.

”See you later,” she said, then she linked her arm with Audra’s and the two made their way out of the room.

Stanley was still blushing and Richie nudged him playfully. “Man, I really wish I’d been at your wedding.”

Stan rolled his eyes at him but then looked at the ground, his smile falling slightly. “Me too,” he said softly.

Beverly moved forward and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re all together for this wedding at least.”

“Yeah,” said Stan, looking up at her and smiling. “You ready?”

Bev returned his smile a little shakily, wringing her hands together. “As I’ll ever be,” she replied.

They all bundled into thick winter coats, obscuring most of their outfits for the time being.

“We’re really doing this outside?” said Richie, eying the garden through the frost-flecked window which had become a winter wonderland overnight.

“For the aesthetic,” said Bev, giving him puppy-dog eyes. “And for me.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Richie.

“Shouldn’t take long,” said Stan. “Then we’ve got the second ceremony inside where its warm.

“Can’t wait,” said Richie. “This better be fucking spectacular in the meantime.”

“I hope so,” said Bev. She stepped between them and took their hands. Richie squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, smiling up at him, nervous but… Excited. Really excited.

“You’re about to marry Ben,” Richie whispered, and Beverly nodded, unable to speak, but her eyes were bright and glistening.

The words still didn’t feel quite real. Everything that had happened, everything they’d been through, and here they were. Alive. Two of his best friends in the world getting married. Only a year ago, weddings to him were just boring events he attended for the benefit of the press. Just turn up, smile, eat the free cake and leave. But he hadn’t had real friends back then, or at least, he hadn’t remembered them. He’d spent twenty-seven years with a pit in his chest he couldn’t seem to fill and no idea how it had gotten there. But now, standing here holding Beverly’s hand with Stan, preparing to go meet the others, he felt whole again. Finally. He may not have remembered the Losers for those twenty-seven years, but he’d missed them so much more than they could ever know. They were more than just friends to him; they were soulmates, all of them. Their absence had left a huge gap in his life, but now they were back, and he was never letting them go.

Beverly sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She squeezed the hands of both the men either side of her tightly, drew her shoulder’s back, and they all turned as one to face the door. 

“Ok,” she said. “I’m ready.” 

Richie smiled down at her. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go get you married.”

*

Previous Next

[wendyhamlet]

Third time’s the charm

I blame @bittenred (not that I’m complaining lol)

Inspired by @magimagali ‘s amazing art:

http://bittenred.tumblr.com/post/178706387018/magimagali-seven-minutes-in-heaven

~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone find a spot! Hunk scoot over. Lance! Could you grab my phone?”

He turned to where Pidge had motioned and grabbed her phone, joining the circle of his peers sitting on the floor. “Here ya go.” He said as he handed it over, his eyes flickered to her right, daring to glance at Keith while he was distracted.

He took a sip from his bottle, his neck shifting as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. Condensation glistened on his lower lip, and Lance watched, transfixed as Keith dragged his teeth across it to catch the droplets absentmindedly.

He’d gotten taller, and broader. Backpacking across Europe for the past year with his mom must have been a good workout.

“Lance, finish that bottle off so we can use it.”

Keith’s gaze, redirected by Allura’s comment, flickered over to Lance, their eyes met for a moment, but Lance looked away quickly, cheeks flushing at being caught staring.

He downed the last of his beer and set the bottle down on its side in the middle of their circle. “Alright, who’s first?”

“You might as well.”

He shrugged, needing something to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t keep looking at or thinking about Keith.

Reaching forward, he gave the bottle a good flick, watching as it spun around and around, slowing and finally stopping. On Keith.

The circle all cheered and hooted, laughing at the look on both young men’s faces.

“Time for a new rivalry, who’s the better kisser?” Hunk said between chuckles.

Lance shot an unamused look at his best friend, his cheeks flaming as he stretched across the circle and placed the quickest of kisses against Keith’s cheekbone. “There, who’s next?”

As the game continued around the circle, Lance chanced another quick glance at Keith, having avoided looking at him when he had kissed him, knowing he would have lost the nerve or done something stupid.

Keith was watching the game, laughing when Pidge kissed Allura’s nose. He had a flush of pink across his face, like the last hints of a sunset. It was probably just from the alcohol he had drunk.

“Okay Keith, your turn.”

He spun the bottle, body language relaxed, idly watching the light catch the glass as it slowed to a stop.

Lance felt his heart skip, staring at the neck of the bottle which was pointed directly at him. The noise of the others blurred into static as he lifted his gaze and met Keith’s across the circle. Why was he so hard to read? His expression was neutral, the only hint of what he was thinking being the slight downward angle of his left eyebrow. Also why did he have such great eyebrows? Lance Focus, you’re not in middle school.

“Second match means you’ve gotta kiss on the lips this time.”

Keith rolled his eyes at the giddy proclamation. “Whatever.”

“Whose idea was it to play this anyway?” Lance asked indignantly, his voice cracking slightly.

“Yours, now hurry up and kiss each other or you’ll have to do it French style.”

Lance spluttered, feeling his ears burn from the intensity of his blush. Before he could protest the rules, Keith had slid forward across the circle and pecked his lips, barely making contact before moving back to his seat.

Forgetting how to breathe for a few moments, Lance fought the urge to touch his lips, very very determined to avoid looking at Keith at all costs. Before he knew it it was his turn to spin again, and desperate for any kind of distraction, he spun.

If there were any gods out there, they either really loved him, or really really hated him.

“Third time! Time to play seven minutes in heaven!”

Lance couldn’t even hear what he was saying but he knew he was protesting, arguing the rules and trying to convince the others that they had agreed against the seven minutes in heaven rule.

Despite his best efforts, he and Keith ended up herded into the hallway closet and left alone in the dark.

“Forcing a guy back in the closet, not cool guys!” He called, pounding his fist against the door a few times for emphasis. Huffing, he turned around and let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, looking at Keith. “Sorry.”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You know we don’t actually have to do anything in here, right? Just wait for the seven minutes to pass.”

Lance was grateful for the dim lighting so Keith couldn’t see him blushing. “I know that! Just...you know, everyone will talk.”

“Since when do you care what people think?”

“Well, I don’t really, just...I don’t know.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Keith spoke up. “Are you okay?”

Lance looked up, frowning slightly. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Just, you seem...different.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s, you know, more-” He uncrossed one arm and gestured at Keith vaguely. “-grizzled.”

Keith smiled slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Grizzled?”

“You know what I mean. You’ve just changed a lot in the past year.”

“I guess so…”

Silence again.

“So, how was it? Reconnecting with your mom?”

“Good.”

More silence.

Keith idly looked through the contents of the closet they were in, slowly making his way closer to Lance in his exploration. “How long do you think it’s been?”

“I don’t know. Maybe three minutes.” He watched Keith run his fingers over a stack of towels. “Having fun?”

Keith chuckled, the sound warm and cloying. “Just a little bored.”

Lance tried to think of something to say, but he kept coming up short. When did conversation between the two of them become so difficult? They used to be able to talk for hours on end, even if they argued, at least they were talking. This weird distance between them was unbearable. Things just hadn’t been the same since he left.

“So I bet Europe was pretty cool, I’d love to travel some day, I mean I’ve been to Cuba to visit family and stuff but it’d be cool to see other places too. And your mom seems pretty cool, not that I’ve talked to her much but she looks like a badass and was really nice and-”

“Hey Lance?”

He stopped rambling and looked up, realizing they could see easily eye to eye. Was Keith a little taller than him now? “Yeah?” His brain short circuited as Keith leaned forward and pressed his lips against his.

His eyes widened and he found himself holding his breath as Keith stayed there for a long moment before pulling away.

“You talk too much sometimes.”

Letting the breath he had been holding out in a rush, Lance blinked and reached up to touch his lips. “What the hell was that?”

Keith shrugged. “A kiss?”

“No shit Sherlock, I meant why the hell?”

Shoulders hunching defensively, Keith shot back quickly. “Why? I don’t know you tell me, you’re the one who’s been sending signals.”

“What? Since when?” Lance protested, knowing damn well since when.

“Okay look, nevermind, just forget it, okay? I’ve had too much to drink tonight anyway.” Keith said, stepping back, his walls visibly closing back around him.

“No, you don’t get to do that, not again.” Lance said, feeling the rush of emotions he’d been holding back overwhelm him, crashing through the fragile barrier he had built. “What the fuck, man? You can’t just do something like that and then say to forget it. How am I supposed to forget it when I still can’t forget the fact that you left?”

Keith softened. “What?”

Lance felt his throat go tight, determined not to cry, not in front of him, not when he was finally getting to say what he had been wanting to for over a year. “You left. We were a team, we were friends, and you left. Like, yeah I get that you had stuff to do and then you reconnected with your mom and everything but you can’t just-” His voice broke for a moment and he paused, letting his head and heart settle. “The way we left things, it wasn’t good. And I had no way of contacting you, no way to smooth things over. Hell, I didn’t even know where you were most of the time.”

“I...I didn’t-”

“No, you know what, it’s fine.” Lance took a deep breath. “I just needed to say that, I’m over it.”

“I’m not.” Keith finally looked him in the eye, and the emotion there was raw and vulnerable. “I’m not over it.”

“What- what do you mean?”

Keith opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, and growled in frustration, running a hand messily through his hair. “I’m not good at-” he gestured vaguely “-this. I just...fuck it.” He grabbed Lance’s tie and pulled him forward, kissing him hard.

Lance was taken off guard, hands held out at his sides, stiff and trying desperately to stand his ground and stay mad because god it had hurt when he left. But Keith was here now, with him, and he was so so warm.

He folded like a petal in the wind, his hands moving to hold Keith’s face, brow furrowing as he pressed back against Keith’s advances, his frustration and hurt finding release in the feeling of his fingers in Keith’s hair, the weeks and months, hell the years of pining confessed in the movement of his lips.

Keith pulled back slightly, barely leaving room to breathe between them as he frowned, forehead rubbing against Lance’s. “Wait-wait...what about you and Allura?”

Lance’s nose bumped his as he shook his head. “It didn’t work out, we were both trying to get over other people.”

“Sorry.” Keith said, trying to find sincerity in his heart, he was lying if he thought he wasn’t happy that things didn’t work out.

“It’s fine, just- kiss me?” His eyes were glowing, staring at and through Keith, pulling him in like a siren calling a sailor to his death, and there was nothing Keith wanted more than to drown in that gaze forever.

He was soft this time, gentle kisses placed against Lance’s mouth, tracing his Cupid’s bow with delicate reverence. Lance parted his lips and let out a sound that turned his blood to magma, slow and impossibly hot, burning his skin and spreading heat through his veins with every short breath he exhaled against Keith’s lips.

“Keith…”

Fuck, his name on Lance’s tongue was the final note to pull him in, the water closing over his head as he sank in deeper and deeper. His lips trailed from his lips down to his jaw, teeth scraping the sharp ridge there before moving to the delicate skin of his neck, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the race of his pulse thrum beneath his lips, the way his fingers curled tightly into the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed him there long and slow.

“Keith.” Lance dropped his head back, granting Keith full access to the slender expanse of his neck.

Keith found a stretch of skin that made Lance moan, taking his time to explore the area carefully and commit it to memory, his fingers working to loosen the tie at his collar and pull open his shirt to reveal more alluring brown skin.

Lance’s hands were insistent and relentless in his hair, combing through the thick strands, curling and pulling, pushing it back from his forehead. Keith could lose himself to the feeling of Lance’s fingers against his scalp, sparks lighting in the wake of his touches.

Moving back up, Keith looked at Lance’s lips, bitten red and glistening, like a fruit ripe for the tasting. Hungry, he devoured him, a groan bubbling from his chest as Lance coaxed his lips apart and explored with his tongue, his hands moving from his hair and down underneath Keith’s shirt, eagerly exploring bare skin.

Blinded suddenly by the light in the closet flicking on, Keith tore his mouth from Lance’s and turned to the door.

Reluctant to release him from his grip, Keith kept both arms firmly wrapped around Lance, left hand boldly resting very low on his back.

Before the others could say anything Keith temporarily released Lance to slam the door shut and say abruptly. “Your watches are fast.”

Lance, ruffled, flushed, and grinning from ear to ear, laughed. Full bellied and genuine laughter that had Keith feeling overwhelmed by the softness he felt for him.

Smirking, he crossed the closet’s small floor space and wrapped Lance back in his arms, fingers drawing slow circles against the skin exposed on his lower back, drinking in the way it made Lance shiver and push tighter against him.

“Now. Where were we?”

[saitamasshoe]

Ambrosia Ch. 1

It wasn't unusual to experience rain in her realm, though it wasn't a particularly good sign. She eyed Charon, his eyeless sockets pointed forward mindlessly, staring down the dark river in silence. Hades sighed, using the book she'd been reading as a makeshift umbrella. Of course if she liked she could stop the rain, but she preferred to let nature take its course. The underworld rarely saw anything other than icy winds, why not let it change for once?

The Styx wasn't fairing as smoothly as it usually did, and though her trip to the surface was to be brief she doubted it was going to be pleasant and the unusually harsh waters seemed to reinforce that belief. The old boat groaned as it was knocked side to side, though the silent ferryman paid no mind, rowing in somber silence as the shore came into sight. If she squinted, she could just barely see Penthos and Hypnos, stationed eagerly at the dock. The souls being ushered in were restless, jittery and fearful. Something must have gone horribly wrong on the surface today, which would explain the rain. Hades hadn't seen this many souls since the Trojan war- for which her lovely cousin had yet to apologize for.

Hades straightened out her himation, the dark, wooly fabric feeling almost suffocating now that rain had seeped into the shoulders of the fabric. She sighed, gathering her things as she stepped onto the rickety dock, the worn wood creaking ominously under her weight.

"My lady." Penthos and Hypnos bowed, unbothered as Hades handed off her personal effects and stretched, bottom sore from the uncomfortable boat ride. She eyed the two nymphs curiously, "The souls are restless today." She commented, noticing how Penthos seemed to wither under her gaze.

"There was a flood, my lady." Hypnos yawned, eyes sunken in discomfort. "Many were lost."

"Ah." Hades nodded, "Sister is having quite a time, I suppose. Have you readied my chariot?"

Penthos nodded vigorously, mussing her tunic as she clasped her small hands together, "Yes, my lady! Who would you like to take you to the surface?"

Hades halted her, "I will go by myself today."

"But my lady, you shouldn't have to-"

"I don't mind." Hades smiled, waving the fretting nymph toward the crowding souls as she pushed through the masses, wayward souls clearing a path for her as she climbed into her flaming chariot, pale face illuminated by the blue fires of the underworld as the chariot sped forward, the chill of her realm at her back as she went.

Wind whipped through her long hair and blonde waves whipped against her cheeks. She wondered when the last time she'd been to the surface was, how many centuries ago? How much time had passed? What would it look like?

The morning sun was hot on her pale skin, it felt strange to her, foreign. The air was thick with the scent of lush forests. She couldn't see any human settlements, not yet at least. Though this far out in the wild she doubted she would. When was the last time she'd seen a living human?

She scowled, mussing again with her himation before opting to remove it entirely. The surface was much hotter than her realm, and it was a pain to continue to adjust the heavy garment. She dropped it into the chariot, sighing as the warm air washed over her bare shoulders.

"Fantastic." She hummed, she wasn't far now. She stopped her chariot, opting to walk the rest of the way. She wouldn't want to stumble upon a human collany and cause a scene. She'd seen enough of that with her siblings. The last thing she wanted was to add to her work load.

He didn't catch a lot of eyes. The wood nymphs got curious from time to time, but with his mom being the way she was, they knew to keep their distance. As for humans- well, they didn't often get close enough to take a look.

So when he found an exceptionally new set of eyes watching him from the forest, he was obviously curious. What he hadn't expected, of all things, was the startled set of green eyes that had met his without hesitation- so definitely not one of the forest nymphs.

She was lithe and pale, with long, wavy blonde hair, wrapped in a deep purple tunic that fell to her ankles, and above all else-incredibly out of place. Her curious staring soon turned sharp as she stepped from the shadows of the treeline, coming to stand before him, towering him in his crouched form.

"You're far out from your homeland, nymph." She stated with darkened eyes, tilting her head in curiosity as she knelt down to get a better look at him, entranced by his dark hair, pushed back from his face. His tunic falling carelessly over his shoulders as she examined his face. He hardly looked like any nymph she'd seen in these parts, perhaps she'd been mistaken.

"And you are?" The dark-haired man questioned, brow quirked as he grabbed his woven basket and stood, brushing off his pale tunic and staring down at the blonde.

Hades brows drew tight as she eyed the man. Certainly a nymph would know who she was. So perhaps this was a human? Her shoulders squared a bit as she stepped back, gathering her thoughts. She wasn't certain what had caught her attention in the first place. Perhaps it had simply been a time since a man had warmed her bed. The idea made her grimace. She was hardly a blushing babe caught by the first set of high cheekbones she saw. Straightening out her tunic she turned away from the man, ignoring his words of protest as she brushed past.

Well, of all the reactions he had expected, that certainly wasn't one of them. He watched her trudge through the thick foliage, unable to stop the small smirk that quirked his lips as he caught up to her, keeping in step as he examined the agitated look she shot him- something about it thrilled him.

"Let's try this again," He smiled, "my name is Kore, and yours?" He questioned, noticing the small twitch from the corner of her mouth. He wondered what a smile would look like on her tight features. It would certainly be a sight.

She glanced over at him, something strange swirling through her eyes as she viewed him. "What kind of creature are you, Kore?" She challenged, eyes dragging over him in a way that sent chills down his spine, excitement danced at his fingertips in the way she said his name. He hadn't heard a woman say his name in that tone before, he'd certainly like to hear it again.

"What kind would you like me to be?" He quipped, brows wagging mischievously at her exasperated sigh, though he was proud to admit he didn't miss the amused sparkle in those haunting green eyes.

"Well, you don't seem to be a nymph." She said, seemingly in her thoughts as she tapped her chin, "I doubt you're a human. Nor do you seem to be one of Zeus's little hellions. So why don't you tell me, Kore?"

The way she said his name left heat rolling around his abdomen, "I am Kore, god of spring."

Her brows shot up and she sighed, dragging a hand down her face in lament before she halted and jabbed a finger toward him, "Demeter's son, right?"

He paused, unshaken by her downtrodden expression, "Is that a problem?"

"You have no idea." She muttered, waving dismissively at him, "You better get going, that mother of yours isn't going to be happy when she sees you talking with me."

"She's not too happy to see me talking with anyone." He smirked, "Though you don't seem scared of her like the nymphs, so are you going to tell me who you are?"

"Scared of Demeter? No. Scared of hearing her endless screeching when she sees me cohorting with her precious son? Yes." She scoffed, shielding her eyes from the sun as they entered into the grain fields of his homeland.

"So we're cohorting now?" He smiled, Hades was loathe to admit it but she was becoming quite accustomed to his cheek and his little smirks. So rarely did anyone challenge her, with words or otherwise.

"We were, now that's over, as it should be." She smiled, eyes bright with amusement as she took in his upturned brows.

"So, it's safe to assume you're another god, to be so brazenly wandering into my mother's turf, so all that's left is which one… Athena, maybe?"

"Nope."

"Artemis?"

"Not even close."

"Aphrodite?"

"Now you're just being insulting."

"Then who?" He laughed, "There aren't too many female gods."

"Don't you know what they look like?" Hades laughed, caught by the whirlwind that was Kore and his playful antics. She found him every bit as mischievous as a nymph, with nearly as much unrivaled cheek and confidence as any human man.

"I don't get out much." Kore responded, something unsaid and heavy in his tone as his footsteps slowed. "We're nearly there."

"That we are." Hades nodded, tone heavier as she adjusted her tunic for the last time, "This is where we say goodbye." She added with more weight than she had intended.

"You won't even give me your name?" He questioned, voice much smaller than he intended it to be, it seemed he'd been more starved for socialization that he thought he was.

"Is it that important to you?" She questioned, grimacing slightly.

"It's basic niceties, I told you mine so you tell me yours, yeah?"

Hades looked to the field of grain, then back to the man beside her. What would he think of her when he learned the truth? Would he be afraid, sickened?

"Kore, would you like to attend a party with me this evening?" She questioned, lips suddenly dry as she eyed the dark-haired man, noticing the way his brows shot up as he swayed on his heels.

"My mother would certainly dislike it… so I'm in." He smiled, that confident drawl back in his voice, something Hades found very alluring.

"I have to go speak to your mother, it'll be brief. You stay here and I'll come back to take you, alright?" Hades smiled, something new and most certainly dangerous in the man's eyes as he plopped down onto the lush grass.

"I'll be anxiously awaiting your return. Does it count as a date if I don't yet know your name?" He quipped, tone airy and light as he watched her disappear into the grain, echoes of her bemused laughter the only reminder that she had once been there.

[tonguesanndteeth]

Tongues & Teeth Chapter: 4

Jasper waited across the street from the little coffee shop on the corner. By now it was too dark for anyone in the cafe to see his face. He was early, but Teddy was already inside, seated at a table by the window with her nose buried in a book. It wasn’t like him to keep a lady waiting, but Jasper took this opportunity to study her, if only for a moment. 

Her flaxen hair hung long and straight down the length of her back, her eyelashes casting delicate shadows across the planes of her cheekbones. Whatever she was reading must have been captivating, or perhaps confusing, as he watched her eyes dance across the pages intently. A little dimple appeared between her eyebrows when she focused. The emotions pouring out of her were unreadable.

Jasper crossed the street, the late November air frozen and still. A bell rang as he opened the door to the shop. It was a cozy, hole in the wall kind of place with old wooden walls and green subway tile. There weren’t many people here this time of night and Teddy’s head snapped up at the sound.

She smiled at him as he walked in, and it was breathtaking. Only his inhuman eyes could see it, but the light glinted off her teeth and threw a dazzling eight color rainbow.

“Sorry I’m late, ma’am,” he said, striding over to her table. Their table.

“Don’t be, cowboy. I was early.” 

Jasper tried to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Should I be offended by that?” he chuckled, taking a seat.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” she said, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and feigning a swoon, “My very own southern gentleman, I do declare.”

“Definitely offended.”

“What, you don’t like my Scarlett O’hara?” she teased.

“I suppose it could grow on me,” he smirked, no longer working to keep the natural twang out of his voice.

Teddy smiled and looked away, taking a sip of her coffee. But when she looked back at Jasper her brows knit together. He felt a wave of confusion roll off of her.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, eyeing him over.

He silently cursed himself, he’d forgotten to wear a jacket. His body didn’t register the arctic temperatures, but still, he needed to dress as though it did. Humans tended to notice little things like that.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, hoping she’d drop the subject.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she reached across the table to touch his hand. Instinctively he moved to pull it away, but she caught it in her grip. Teddy inhaled sharply through her teeth and dropped it immediately as if she’d been burnt. 

“Fuck, Jasper, you’re freezing.”

“Really, it’s nothing. I have poor circulation.”

And by poor, he meant non existent.

“Bullshit. Here, drink this,” she said, pushing her cup of coffee towards him.

Jasper grimaced at the black drink in front of him. Human food was even less appealing than the herbivores, at least those had a heartbeat.

“I’m serious,” Teddy said firmly.

Jasper sighed and took the mug in his hands. If anything, holding the hot ceramic would warm his fingers to a semi-human degree, should she try to touch him again.

He looked at the soft ring of pink that her lipstick left on the rim of the cup. He wondered if he’d be able to taste her.

Bracing himself, he took a small sip.

The drink was hot and acrid on his palette, but he skimmed his tongue over her lipstick stain and his mouth was washed in her flavor. It was slightly waxy from the makeup, but round with notes of smoke and peppermint. Jasper shuddered slightly.

“Thank you,” she said with an approving nod, “now your hypothermia won’t be on my conscience.”

Jasper rolled his eyes and pushed the mug towards her.

“Nah, you keep it. If I drink anymore I’ll be up all night.”

He bit back a comment about not having slept in a century and a half, something told him she wouldn’t find it as funny as he did. Instead, he set his gaze on the book she’d put aside.

“What were you reading?” Jasper asked.

“Oh, that? Nothing, just notes.”

Her tone was too casual. Jasper could sense an evasiveness in her aura.

“What about?” he pressed, settling a blanket of calm over them. Jasper had never used his powers on Teddy before, and he wasn’t proud to do it now, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Teddy sighed and the tension melted away from her shoulders.

“It’s just where I write when my mind gets too full. Sometimes it feels like my thoughts turn into these sharp, twisting puzzles. Getting it out on paper helps though, I can rationalize the mess a bit better. I-I don’t usually tell people this.”

She shook her head as if to clear a daze.

Jasper was slightly taken aback. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He’d always known that Teddy felt things strongly, processed life differently, but hearing it in her own words was a wholly other thing. Was that what she had been experiencing the first time he’d sensed her mind? When he’d felt it lashing out with a powerful and shattering force?

“How do you endure it?” Jasper asked.

She shrugged.

“You find ways to cope. I wasn’t always a smoker, you know.”

“And that helps?”

“It helps enough. Plus it’s cheaper than knocking back a xanny every few hours.”

Jasper wasn’t entirely sure what a “xanny” was, but it sounded stronger than cigarettes.

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.

“Don’t be, everyone’s got shit. I’m sure you do.”

“What makes you say that?” Jasper asked, quirking an eyebrow. She was right, he did have ‘shit’. A lot of it. But he was curious as to why she thought so.

Teddy shot him a scathing look. 

“Jasper, have you looked in a mirror? You look like a goddamn Kalvin Klein model. Nobody’s that pretty and okay on the inside.”

He barked out a laugh, surprised at her choice of words, but also the weight of their accuracy.

“It’s that easy to see through me, huh?” he grinned.

“Crystal clear, unfortunately. You look like you’re ready to throw yourself off a bridge half the time.”

She wasn’t far off the mark. Being in such close proximity to humans, to her, could be torturous. If only jumping off a bridge could solve that problem.

“We’ve both got issues in the coping department, I’m afraid.”

“Well,” she grinned crookedly, “cheers to being two of a kind.”

Jasper smiled sadly in return, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with his pinkie finger. He was contemplating forcing down another sip just to taste her again.

“Tell me something,” he said after a moment.

“What?”

“Anything. I just..want to know you,” he admitted.

She flushed deliciously at his words, blood pooling in the thin, clear membrane of her cheeks. Jasper clenched his fist roughly under the table, marble skin pulled taut over his knuckles. He didn’t let himself breathe until the blush faded.

“I’m a vegetarian,” she offered after a moment of consideration.

“So am I,” Jasper said, amused.

“Really?” she laughed, “I would’ve pegged you as a meat and potatoes kind of guy. Red blooded American and all that.”

“Oh, believe me, I used to be,” he said wickedly.

“What changed?”

“My family. When they adopted me they showed me a new way of life. More humane.”

“You’re adopted?” she asked.

He nodded.

“My parents died a very long time ago. I was on my own until Carlisle, my father, found me. He gave me a home, siblings, endless patience. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”

“Wow,” she breathed, processing his words.

“What’s your family like?” Jasper asked.

Teddy’s expression turned sour.

“Dysfunctional.”

“How so?”

“I mean, I guess my childhood was pretty normal. My parents got divorced when I was seven and I stayed here with my mom. Which was, spoiler alert, a big mistake. My dad moved to Nevada, owns some shitty motels now, I think. I see him every couple of years. I don’t even know where my mom is anymore.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

“Nope, and I don’t really care to. She was in and out of rehab too much to keep track of after I moved out, it’s just better like this.”

He could sense her sadness as it rolled off her body.

“Maybe I should have asked you about your favorite color instead,” Jasper said regretfully, he shouldn’t have poked at such a sensitive topic.

Teddy rolled her eyes at him.

“I’ve never been very good at small talk anyway. But, for the record, my favorite color is white.”

“An interesting choice,” he mused.

“Hey, no judging! It’s a nice color. I’m sure yours is something stereotypical like blue.”

Jasper was torn. If you’d asked him a minute ago his favorite color would have been red, the rich iron pigment of her blood. If you’d asked him again he might have said green, the electric shade of her eyes. Or possibly rose, the hue of her lipstick smudged on the rim of a porcelain mug. But he couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he just smiled and said:

“Ya got me.”

“I knew it,” she smirked.

Jasper noticed that the already sparse coffee shop had emptied considerably, the young woman behind the counter beginning to clean up for the night.

“It’s getting late,” Teddy sighed.

He sensed something like disappointment coming from her.

“May I walk you home?” he asked tentatively.

The disappointment disappeared.

“You may,” she smiled.

The two of them exited the warm cafe, the frigid winter air soaking through to their bones immediately. Jasper felt nothing, but Teddy shivered and pulled her coat more securely around her shoulders. He frowned to himself, upset that he could offer her no warm embrace to take the chill away.

She fished around in her bag for a moment before producing a lighter and a fresh pack of Marlboro Reds. Apparently she wasn’t picky about brands. She lit one swiftly, inhaling deeply, and then let it go in a gust of smoke and frozen air.

“This way,” Teddy said, walking down a side street.

She offered the lit cigarette to Jasper, which he accepted, falling into step beside her.

He took a drag and held it in his chest, watching as the breeze whipped Teddy’s hair around her face. They walked in silence for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth.

“Do you think the stars know that they shine?” she asked absently.

It was a rare, cloudless night. The sky was an impossibly inky black and studded with stars like white diamonds. 

“Maybe,” he mused, “but they might be happier if they didn’t.”

“That’s true,” Teddy sighed, “things seem so much easier up there. No worries, no responsibilities.”

“But we get a much better view.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, meeting his eyes.

They approached an old, but well maintained apartment building, and Teddy stopped.

“Well, this is me.”

There was a beat of tension between them. Jasper felt the pull of emotion coming from her. It was small, and cautious, but it was the unmistakable feeling of desire. He had to work very hard to keep his mind in order as he realized this.

He wanted to do something reckless. He wanted to kiss her. It was a terrible, horrible idea, but it tempted him almost more than her blood. For as strong as Jasper was, he needed to be equally as gentle. He could stroke a soap bubble with his finger and leave it unharmed if he issued enough control. Teddy was just as delicate. Silk over glass. Breakable. 

She looked up at him with her wide, clear eyes, and he felt himself lean in. Her pulse quickened and his mouth pooled with hunger. He’d never been this close to a human’s without intent to kill before. The scent of her blood seared its way through his throat and dizzied his head. 

With all the pressure of butterfly flapping its wings, Jasper pressed his lips to the supple flesh of her cheek. He wanted to linger there, overcome with the sensation of her warmth, but the thirst ripping its way through him was too powerful.

“Goodnight,” he whispered as he pulled away.

He turned and began to walk back down the street.

“Goodnight, Jasper,” he heard her say quietly as he slipped into the night.