#(over the summer — past tense of ‘read’)

[kbagraces]

Let it Happen - LN4

Lando Norris x singer!gf

summary: dating rumours always followed the pair but despite both of their status’ they liked to keep their private life private… until a certain someone’s private instagram gets hacked

a teensy eensy bit based on Let it Happen by Gracie Abrhams

not proof read as always!

Mornings like this were true bliss for you both. Both your lives were faced paced, loud and demanding, though you wouldn’t change it for the world, you craved the serenity of silence sometimes.

His face was pressed deeply into your crisp white pillows, soft snores leaving his slightly parted lips. The screams of fans and demanding nature of your job felt so far out of touch in these moments.

The covers stopped at the base of his torso his toned back on show, adorned with loving scratches from your antics the night before. You hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks due to him finishing his last race before the summer break began and you being chained to the studio finishing up your final touches to your second album.

Your fingers traced the loving marks upon his back, softly so he wouldn’t be disturbed, God knows he needed the rest. You noticed his face twitch to which you retracted your hand, hoping you hadn’t woken him.

Unfortunately you had.

He opened on of his eyes to look at you before mumbling, “why did you stop?” His voice deep and strained as he was still half asleep.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” You smiled at him, he turned over on his side his body now facing you, his arm reaching to your waist before pulling you into him your face slotting into his neck as he rested his chin atop of your head.

“I was waking up already, my love. It’s so freaking bright in here.”

You smiled at his comment, he always complained about the sheerness of your curtains, the sun almost always being the thing that caused the two of you to be drawn out of your slumber.

“The sun brings me good energy I’m not changing them.”

“We’ll have to compromise when we get our own place” his chest vibrated as he spoke. You were slightly taken aback. You were so head over heels in love with Lando but you hadn’t ever spoken about moving in together. Granted you assumed it would happen one day but you hadn’t spoken about such thing yet.

“Don’t freak out.” He said pulling away from you slightly, to look you in the eyes now. He knew you too well. He knew about your past and how you’d jumped into relationships before, moving too quick, getting caught up in fantasies that only left you hurt and alone.

You were closed off when Lando met you, God did he have to put the work in to prove he wasn’t going to mess you around like the boys before. But that was the difference between him and them, they were boys, he was a man.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re freaking out.” He chuckled, as the wideness of your eyes contradicted the calmness of your tone.

“It’s going to happen. We won’t rush but it’s you and me forever now. Whenever you’re ready of course but don’t fight it, let it happen.” His hands stroked your fallen piece of hair from your eyes to behind your ear, his hand cupped your faces pulling you in, a gentle comforting kiss upon your lips.

He almost felt your dismay leave your body as you became less tense as a result of his touch. Your body always betrayed you, he just had a way of making everything seem okay.

Your life was stressful but Lando made every noise and distraction quiet with the simplest of touches and the kindest words.

Your domestic bliss was interrupted by the shriek of your phone, your alarm blaring notifying you it was time to get back to reality.

“What are you going to do whilst I’m at the studio?” You queried as you stood at the foot of the bed, pulling on your favourite pair of jeans.

“Absolutely nothing.” He smirked as he finally sat up in your bed. It was his first full day off from work. His phone was finally allowed to be on Do Not Disturb, he had two weeks of silence before he had to get back to training.

You hummed in response, you wish with everything you could just lounge around with him all day, but unfortunately your life couldn’t stop just because he was back. You had an album to finish.

“Can I swing by later?” He was really testing the waters today. Your relationship was sacred and you did all you could to keep it out of the public eye.

There was whispers here and there, but they went as quickly as they came. Your biggest blip was when you attended the Miami Grand Prix this year.

You two were doing so well, to the outside world you just seemed like any other celebrity attending the race for sponsorship deals and relevancy as the rumours of your sophomore album were hitting the news as you were practically living in the studio.

All was fine until Lando crossed the finish line, winning his first ever race in F1. You let him celebrate with his team initially, knowing if you got too close you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from telling him how immensely proud of him you were.

But your composure went out the window the second you saw him on the top step. You were stood in the crowd below, tears pooling in your eyes, you were in awe of him and that’s when the picture was snapped.

It circulated for a while, lasting longer than the whispers of before. But like any thing in the modern age, it got overtaken but some bigger news about the latest affair in Hollywood.

“Please y/n. I just want to see you doing what you’re best at.” He begged, you appreciated his support, you were convinced he was your biggest fan.

“Maybe another day Lan. Not yet, I’m sorry.” You saw his face waver, he wouldn’t pressure you, but his disappointment was far from hidden, it was clear.

“I’m sorry.” You offered, “another day I promise.”

You kissed goodbye and set on your way leaving your boyfriend to ponder about your LA apartment.

———

You were sat on the studio floor, cross legged. Your notepad before you, lyrics written messily across the pages. Words written, erased and rewritten, you just couldn’t get the thoughts from your head to paper. You were getting increasingly frustrated with, this song. You had the initial idea and it had to be perfect, it was the final song of the album and it had to be perfect.

“Y/n go home, you’re going to drive yourself crazy.” Your producer sighed to you, he believed the album was perfect the way it was. It was so ready to be released he was unsure why this idea you had couldn’t wait for another project.

You raised your hand at him, mumbling some words, jotting them down and erasing them once again.

“Argh!” You were close to tears as you threw your pen across the room. Why couldn’t you just get the words out.

“Y/n! Home!” Your producer demanded, you were getting nowhere, you both know it. A broken pen he could deal with but at this point he feared you’d start going for his equipment.

You sulked the whole way home, the words in your head needed to be sung, they just couldn’t flow like the usually do.

Lando was perched on the couch as you skulked through the front door. He noticed the slouch in your shoulders and the frown etched on your face.

“What’s wrong?” He sat forward on the edge of the sofa, his legs apart. You sat on the floor beneath him, your head fell onto his lap as you sighed.

“I can’t get this done. I’m so close. I’m so desperate to get this final song perfect that it’s anything but perfect I can’t do it, I can’t do it.” You repeated, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t want to cry this is so silly. But I need it to be perfect.”

He bent down kissing your forehead, before lifting your chin off his thigh to look up at him, your eyes glazed over, lips slightly wobbling.

“You don’t have to be strong here my love. Let it happen.”

——

Lando arose to the sound of your phone ringing. You still passed out on his chest your eyes still puffy from the outpour of emotion and stress you had been bottling up.

He picked up your phone, curious to see who was ringing at the crack of dawn.

Lillian (PR) 11 missed calls…

Oh.

The phone rang in his hand again, he slid from beneath you, you needed to rest. Perhaps it was a good thing Lillian was ringing about. He walked into the hallway, closing your bedroom door behind him before swiping to answer the phone.

“Y/N thank God!”

“Sorry it’s Lando, she’s still sleeping.” Your PR team was obviously aware of your relationship, they were the first people you told when you decided to keep the relationship under wraps.

“Actually you might be better to break the news to her,” her tone serious, concerned.

“Her instagram has been hacked,”

That’s not too bad Lando thought.

“Her private instagram, the photos of the two of you are plastered all over the internet. We’re attempting to do damage control but with the magnitude of both your fan bases it’s almost impossible. Ordinarily a relationship leak is not something to be too concerned about, but we know her views on it, we fear it’ll delay her progress.”

Lando wanted to bite back, their concern not being for your well-being as it should but for the delay of the album which will be the funding for their lives this year.

“Ok I’ll tell her, just do what you can.”

With that he hung up, unlocking your phone to check what had really been leaked.

There was photos of your first date, photos of you in the McLaren paddock, photos of the two of you at your sisters wedding almost everything you had every captured of your journey together was on the instagram, there was no escaping this. You couldn’t even deny it was Lando. It was there in colour for the world to see.

He checked the comments on some of the reposts,

username1: wait they are actually so cute together

username2: who is he though? not good enough for y/n

username3: she’s not as pretty without make up…

username4: omg new parents! mum & dad is that u?!?!

The responses mixed, the sound of your door opening pulled him from his scrolling.

You laughed blissfully ignorant at the sight, Lando stood randomly in your hallway, snooping through your phone.

“What are you doing out here? Having a snoop? Making sure I haven’t got 20 other boys on the go.” You laughed at yourself, one he didn’t reciprocate.

“Lan?”

“Don’t freak out.”

“Every time you say that I freak out, you’re already freaking me out!”

He turned the phone towards you, your private moments with him on display the world.

“No, no, no”

“It’s okay, my love it’s fine. The reaction is pretty good, Lillian called the team is working on it, but I’m afraid they’re out there now. But maybe it’s a good thing, we can be us without hiding?”

“It’s not about hiding Lan! It’s about protecting.” You shouted, you weren’t shouting at him, he knew that, you were shouting out of frustration.

“Come here.” He exclaimed reaching his hands out for you to take, when you didn’t move he grabbed them from the intense grip on your phone, sliding the device into his pocket and bringing your empty hands together between his.

He planted a loving kiss on your hands, “I promise you, this will all die down and we can be us again, we can still be private, it’ll still be ours.”

Your eyes filled of doubt, you wanted nothing more than to believe him, but as soon as your previous relationship became public they crashed an burned, each for different reasons but there was a theme to your previous break ups.

“Hey.” He snapped you out of your thoughts once more, a skill only he had. “It’s not going to happen again. I’m not doing anywhere. I’ve told you, you’re my future. It’s us two forever whether it’s just between us or us and the whole world. You have to trust me, I love you. Sometimes you just have to let things happen.”

———

yourusername:

the ones you haven’t seen…

My brand new single “Let it Happen” will be releasing in two weeks. A little taster of my sophomore album, “The Secret of Us” !!

@landonorris just for you i let it happen ❤️

[yogurtkags]

❝ DISTANT DESIRES ❞ — miya atsumu (18+)

cw. MDNI, f!reader, timeskip!atsumu, established relationship, pet names (baby, princess, darling), fluff to smut, sexting, sending risqué photos, teasing, phone sex, masturbation, language, dirty talk, not beta read word count. ~ 2.3k synopsis. atsumu’s away and misses the way you feel against his skin before a big game.

shutting down and closing your laptop, you push yourself up from the uncomfortable desk chair, groaning as you twist and turn, popping your neck and back as you stretch the tense muscles. another day at the office, done and dusted.

you switch out your fluffy fox office slippers for the black slingbacks you came in, walking towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows to take in the scene before you. the sun has set, the moon slowly coming out to play — it’s a friday night, groups of friends and couples alike take the streets to celebrate the end of a busy work week. city lights shine over the crowded roads, hustle and bustle illuminated by the vibrant colours of osaka’s nightlife.

you’d be one with the crowd below if not for the fatigue of crunch time seeping deep into your bones, it’s been one hell of a day, a week even, you’ve lost all concept of time, feeling a little more drained than usual without your love here.

the msby black jackals have a series of away games in tokyo, so naturally, atsumu’s been away for the past couple of days, and you miss him dearly. you understood why he had to go, it just didn’t make sense for him to make the commute everyday and waste precious time that could be spent resting, even if it meant still being by your side. it doesn’t make you miss him any less though, you’ve never been apart from him for more than a day since he asked you to move in with him two summers ago, and you feel it even more so now that he’s put on a ring on your finger.

casting one last look at the files and mountains of paperwork, you sigh, packing up your things and swinging your tote over your shoulder, preparing to finally leave the office. the rest of the floor is empty and the lights are dimmed, pretty much everyone in the building has already left for the night. honestly you were too busy to even notice, feeling stressed is an understatement with multiple deadlines looming.

bzzt. bzzt. your phone buzzes as you’re exiting the main elevator and walking to your parked car— 2 new messages from tsumu ♡

tsumu ♡ : hi princess tsumu ♡ : i miss you

just his name alone is enough to perk you up and put a smile on your weary face, spreading a warmth in your soul, like a fireplace crackling to life in a chilly cabin up in the northern mountains in the dead of winter.

me : hi baby me : i miss you too :(

climbing into the driver's seat, you allow yourself to sink into the leather seats, quickly shooting him a message that you'll be driving in case you take a while to respond and that you'll text him when you get home, getting the car started and heading home.

in the meantime, atsumu's sprawled out on his back over the plush ivory sheets on his queen bed, fresh out of the shower after practice and dinner with the boys, lazily toying with his phone while staring at the ceiling. he thinks the bed's much too large for just him alone, still defaulting to laying on his side of the bed — it's a force of habit that comes with living together, missing the warmth of your embrace and the scent of your strawberry vanilla shampoo lingering on what would've been your pillow.

he knows you’ve been slaving away at work while he was gone, you’re usually home by now but if you’re only just leaving the office at this hour, you’re probably clocking voluntary overtime just to clear as much off your plate as possible. you never liked bringing work home anyway.

he hopes you’ve been taking care of yourself, not that you don’t normally, but you tend to get stuck in your head sometimes when you’re busy and pushed to the limits. regardless, he always worries, despite you telling him that you’re a big girl and can take care of yourself, that he shouldn’t worry his pretty lil head about you.

atsumu thinks he has a growing distaste for away games. they usually mean that he has to be away from you, meaning he’s a tad bit more grouchy than usual, a bit more snappy, much to the team’s chagrin. there’s no point searching the stands for you when you won’t be there, no you to kiss him good luck before lining up, no you to dick down the night before for some fun, overnight loving and a good night’s sleep.

well, lady luck seems to be on his side because little did he know, you’d be coming home to find a very exciting parcel sitting at your doorstep.

you on the other hand, are slightly puzzled. strange, you didn’t receive any delivery notifications, but you won’t say no to a haul. who knows, it might just be what you need at the end of a shitty day, a little retail therapy doesn’t hurt nobody.

stepping out of your shoes and leaving your coat hung by the door, you bring the cardboard box up on your kitchen counter, carefully slicing it open with the first knife you could find. with a gasp, you lift up the contents of the box to find a very lovely set of lace lingerie. i forgot i ordered this.

in a burst of excitement, you immediately bring the dainty piece of fabric to the bedroom, peeling off your black pencil skirt and white button up. putting it on, you stand in front of floor length mirror, hands lightly tracing over the fine details of patterned lace in admiration. it’s beautiful, hugging your figure in all the right places, and you happen to know someone who would love it even more.

flicking on the light switch of your shared walk-in closet, your eyes zero-in on a green shoe box sitting in the corner of the room. it’s tucked away, no one’s ever really needed it, the contents being kept more so for nostalgic purposes, but you’re really hoping what you’re looking for is still in there.

kneeling down to open it up, you come face to face with atsumu’s high school jersey. inarizaki’s #7. perfect, just what you were looking for.

with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you put the jersey on. atsumu’s definitely grown larger and more buff in the several years since high school, but he wasn’t by any means small to begin with, the dri-fit material hanging loose on your frame and ending right by your upper thighs.

it unfortunately no longer smells like him, having been kept away for that long, but just a little spritz of his perfume should do the trick. it’s a far cry from having him here with you but it’ll do for now.

crawling into bed and getting tangled in the soft sheets, you raise the hem of the jersey just to tastefully expose your skimpily clad lower half, arching your back just a little and angling your phone to snap a photo. you’ve definitely taken more risqué photos in the past, for sure, but given you were both apart, much farther than just a short drive, you know this will be enough to set him off, leaving just enough room for imagination.

less than a minute after you hit send, your phone rings with an incoming call and checking the caller ID, sure enough, it’s atsumu.

biting back a smile, you feign innocence, propping your phone up between your ear and shoulder, picking at your manicured nails as you lean back against the soft pillows, “hi tsumu, everything okay?”

“come on, don’t play coy with me now baby, with my jersey too? you know exactly what you’re doin’.”

he is, as always, so so easy to rile up.

with a giggle, you egg him on, “i just wanted to show you what came in the mail today, isn’t it pretty?”

“it is, looks ravishing on you darling. you know exactly what i like don’t you? it’s in my favourite colour too.”

atsumu hums in delight, bringing the phone closer to his mouth and voice dropping barely above a whisper and muttering out the next few words, “though i must say, i think it looks better on the floor.”

you can’t help but bring your bottom lip between your teeth, sinful thoughts begin to run through your mind about what the night entails if this carries on. making sure he can hear your pouting through the phone, “mhmm but you’re not here to undress me, strip me of my clothes one article at a time.”

atsumu pictures you in your shared bed, mind conjuring images of you slowly peeling off your clothes, nipples perked as the cool night air hits your skin, peeking through the sheer lace fabric. he was already sporting a semi hard on, the beginning of an erection provoked by the delicious photo you sent earlier.

he can’t help but reach a hand down to touch himself over his boxers, letting out a desperate and breathy whine that you recognise all too well, “s-shit— baby, please, just help me out here.”

your eyes widened, breath hitching in your throat at the realisation, a wave of pleasure going straight to your heat.

breathing out an okay, you wiggle into a more comfortable position, bringing the collar of his jersey up to your nose and taking a deep inhale of his fragrance, closing your eyes and letting his voice and your imagination do the work for you.

your hands trail down your sides, pulling the delicate panties aside and letting your fingers brush against your clit, folds already glistening with arousal from the mere thoughts of atsumu laying in his bed, naked skin glazed with a sheen of sweat and pleasuring himself to pictures of you.

"talk to me, baby. can you describe to me what you’re doing?”

“touching myself, rubbing my clit.” you gasp, “feels good.”

“yeah? good girl, apply a little more pressure and when you’re ready, put a finger in for me?” he shakily breathes out, "i bet ya look real pretty right now."

you do as you’re told, clenching around your finger, his simple praise shooting straight to your core. oh how quickly the tables have turned, from taunting him to eagerly following his instructions without any second thoughts.

you can almost hear the wet sounds of his hand spreading the precum over his length and his strokes over his cock gradually increasing in speed, his voice breathless and broken,"that's it baby, slide another finger in?”

“that’s my good girl. imagine it's my thick fingers in your pussy right now." you moan at the delicious sensation, eyes squeezed shut as you pump your fingers in and out of your cunt. he hasn't been gone for long but you miss him so much, in more ways than one.

“i miss you so much, miss being inside you, your pretty face when you’re moaning my name, hmm?”

reaching up and rolling your nipples through the thin lace, you moan, “i do, i m-hah, miss you too tsumu!”

at this point, days worth of stress melts away as you chase your release, mind overwhelmed with pleasure as the saccharine voice of your lover leads you to an orgasm.

“i can’t wait to get back and fuck you for real, just doesn’t feel the same without you.” it’s almost like his phone is on his pillow right next to his face, sweet moans and groans tumbling out of atsumu’s mouth, straight into your ears, almost like he’s right here with you caged below him, breathing into your neck.

despite the distance, he feels so close, almost like he can touch you if he just reached forward, “keep going baby, don’t stop.”

your orgasm is building much faster than you initially anticipated, pleasure ripping through you as his wrecked voice and whimpering pushes you closer and closer to the edge as tears line your closed lids and threaten to spill over your cheeks.

“a-atsu!” you cry with urgency, grinding your sensitive bundle of nerves into the palm of your hand, barely holding on to the cusp of release. “atsu i’m gonna—“

“come on, let go f'me pretty.”

with a high-pitched cry, your body stiffens and the coil in your abdomen finally snaps, squeezing tight and releasing all over your fingers.

atsumu pictures it all too well, your muscles contracting under soft skin as you cum to his encouragement— that was the last push he needed and he’s letting out a string of expletives and sharp moans, sinking into the pale sheets as his release sputters over his stomach and lower abdomen.

the both of you lay in silence for a few moments, catching your breath as you come down from the high. you hear some movement through the phone, presumably atsumu cleaning up the mess he made on himself, before collapsing on the firm mattress again.

"man, i wish i could hold you and kiss you all over your pretty face." you can even hear the pout in his voice, heart clenching as you yearn to kiss it off his handsome face. all you can do at the moment is hum in response, wrapping your arms around a pillow and tucking your face into his jersey that you still had on, inhaling the scent of his perfume now mixed with your sweat, pretending that he’s here in bed with you.

regardless, you’re spent, the post-orgasm sleepiness paired with the long day you just had hitting you all at once and your eyes flutter shut, softly mumbling with a tired yet satisfied smile, “i love you, atsumu.”

“i love you too, princess.” atsumu sighs in quiet longing, “i’ll see you soon okay? be back before ya know it.”

bzzt. bzzt. just as he’s about to drift off into slumber, his phone buzzes with an unread message from kiyoomi in the adjoining suite next to his— 1 new message from omi-omi

omi-omi : next time you’re calling your fiancé and beating your meat, please keep it down

notes. @atsumou surprise >:) was listening to snooze - sza while adding the last touches reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[inkdrinkerworld]

High Hopes 3

part one part two

cw: reader comes from a very tense and abusive home, verbal abuse, allusion to physical abuse, bad sibling relationships, fluff, angst, Remus is a sweetheart and the best almost bf ever

wc: 7.5k

Remus: On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be if I said I found out your birthday passed and got you a gift?

You read the text as you’re exiting your class building and frown. Your birthday passed just after the new year, and you hadn’t told Remus because you hadn’t even been in the country. 

In lieu of an answer, you call him. Remus picks up on the second ring. 

“What did you get me?” He laughs down the line and you feel your stomach twist into knots. 

“Hello to you too, princess.” Since the Summer weekend sleepover thing (you’d still not decided what to call it), Remus had decided that was your new nickname and as much as you pretended to hate it, you loved it more than the others. 

“Hi Remus,” you breathe, eyes on the street as you cross and begin the walk back to your apartment. “What did you get me?” 

You can just tell he’s shaking his head. “It’s a present, why would I spoil that surprise?” 

“Because I’m impatient?” You rebut quickly. The walk back to your apartment is short, but the lingering winter makes it feel never ending. 

It also doesn’t help that you’d chosen style over cosiness- you’re in a long sleeved baby blue dress and a pair of boots that barely lick past your ankles. 

“I’m at your apartment, dove. I’ll give it to you when you get here.” 

Your eyes widen at the same time your heart constricts. “Remus, I’ve got like ten minutes left on my walk back!” 

As easily as he suggests anything to you, “Do you want me to come get you? It’s minus four right now.” 

“No, that wouldn’t make any sense,” you hear his car start. “Remus Lupin, I’m serious, I’m like one street away.” 

“So I’ll cut your walk short,” The engine roars across the line. “It’s cold, baby.” The fondness in his voice and his sparsely given ‘baby’ is what makes you stop. 

“Fine,” you try to sound much grumpier than you are and fail. “I’m at the coffee shop on the left.” 

Ten seconds later, Remus is there; his grey car collecting droplets of fine snow. 

“Hi,” you say as you slide in the passenger seat, your hands rubbing together making Remus frown. 

“And you wanted to finish the walk.” He flicks on the heating as he turns and goes back where he came. 

“How did you find out about my birthday?” You ask, fiddling with your bag to get out your water bottle. 

“Marlene mentioned that you wouldn’t be able to spend it with her this year and I asked when it was.” 

You hum, “It’s a little inconvenient having your birthday just after the new year,” Remus looks at you funny. “I like winter, don’t get me wrong, but a spring birthday would’ve been ideal. Like maybe in March.” 

He rolls his eyes, pulling into your parking lot. 

“How do you know when mine is?” He asks, helping you out of the car and then grabbing a bag out of the backseat. 

“Sirius and James talk a lot. Your gift is currently in transit.” 

Remus’ eyes shoot up, “When have you been hanging out with those two?” The ‘without me’ is implied and you look at him with a sly smile. 

“Jealous, Remus?” 

He tuts, figuring you out immediately. “You’re not winding me up, princess.” He holds the door open for you as you walk in and Remus sighs as he gets a whiff of your newest perfume. 

The couple of times he’s been to see you since the start of the semester, you’ve been wearing this intoxicatingly creamy vanilla perfume that has just a touch of something spicy to it that has been driving him mad. 

“Why would I be winding you up?” You toe off your boots and then look at him. “I’m gonna take the fastest shower known to man, but there’s food in the fridge and cookies in a Tupperware somewhere on the counter.” 

Remus shakes his head, setting his shoes beside yours. “I’ll wait for you, take your time.” 

You’re out of the bathroom in twenty minutes, in a matching jewel blue set of loungewear and a pair of socks. 

Your hair is tied back exposing a tiny tattoo behind your ear that Remus wants desperately to kiss. He’s on his laptop when you get out, typing away at what you assume is his book.

Remus doesn’t go here, he’s got a fancy writing degree already and he’s got an editing gig that he tries playing off as no big deal- but it is. 

He’s on ‘vacation’ though- meaning, he’s been on sick leave for the last four days so he can spend your first week back at school with you. Not that you know he’s been using his sick days for you. 

“Is roti okay? My mama dropped off some this morning.” Remus has yet to meet the old woman, but the fondness that overtakes your tone lets him know she’s at least half as lovely as you. 

“It’s perfect, dove. What do you want to look at?” He sets about finding your newest psychological thriller- Hannibal- and then makes his way into the kitchen to help you. 

“How was your day? I forgot to ask.” You mumble as you crack the ice into glasses before Remus pours some soda into them. 

“It was alright, got a couple more pages done of the book and then got high with Sirius.” 

You smile, a quiet smile that Remus thinks is going to stop his heart. “How was your classes?” 

You groan, “Long, boring and even longer.” He chuckles, leaving you to bring the glasses while he brings both plates to the living room. 

Remus sits in the corner of the sofa, he isn’t as slick as he thinks he is for sitting with a clearer view of the front door than you have. 

You appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. 

“Can I open the gift first?” Remus watches you with a rapt curiosity. He thinks you’re akin to a kid on Christmas- eyes bright, and hands shaking as you practically bounce in your seat. 

“Yeah baby,” he can’t help the sticky affection that slowly coats his words- an affection that only grows and spreads like warm honey. 

Remus watches you carefully tear the wrapping paper off the gift, his lips quirked just so as he watches your jaw drop. 

“You didn’t,” you murmur, shock and disbelief in your voice as you pull the wooden box out of the wrapping paper. 

“Open it,” the box in your lap is walnut colored, carved with spirals, flowers and dots and divots. The carvings are coloured in bright reds, oranges, yellows and some pinks. 

The lock resembles an ancient rusted clasp lock and as you unlatch it and reveal rows and stairs of chains. 

“Remus,” your voice is all clogged up and your bottom lip trembles and Remus wonders if he’s overdone it. 

“Yeah?” Your fingers trail along the crystal chips on the chains and you find your heart has cracked open. 

“This is the loveliest gift I’ve ever gotten,” the words are whispered into the air, your dinners cold as you take in every single chain in the box. “They’re for my glasses, yeah?”

“They are, pretty girl.” 

Silently, you close the box and put it to the side. “Thank you,” you blink and your tears tumble down your cheeks. His hands reach to wipe your cheeks gently. 

“You’re welcome.” You climb into his lap, Remus’ hands hold your hips. 

“You know you’re the first person since Marlene to get me something thoughtful?” 

Remus knows it’s meant to be a flippant comment, but his heart breaks for you. 

“Dove,” your heart clenches. “You’re breaking my heart.” His hands move up to cup your cheeks.

“I don’t mean to,” you say softly, shrugging one shoulder but Remus sees past the nonchalance you’re trying to exude. He doesn’t understand how someone as lovely as you has been treated so weirdly. 

He gives you an out though because he doesn’t want to push and push and push, “C’mon princess. Eat your dinner.” You take it and your plate as you press play. 

Remus notices you don’t move out of his lap but only smiles when you turn and start eating. 

“You’re staying the night?” You ask after you’ve both finished your dinner. 

Remus inhales, “What time is your first class tomorrow?” 

You pull away from him a little, “Eleven,” you have a hopeful look on your face that makes his answer easy. 

“Yeah I’ll stay the night.” 

You smile so big Remus thinks his heart stops. 

Then you get serious, “Wait, how do you feel about sharing the bed?” You ask the question softly, and Remus frowns. 

“I’ve shared the bed with you before, dove.” 

You shake your head, “I have a um,” you stumble for the words. Remus smiles. 

“A stuffy?” He asks quietly and you nod, nibbling away on your bottom lip. 

“Yeah a little yellow duckie,” Remus’ smile only widens. 

“That’s sweet, dove.” 

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He shakes his head. 

“How come I didn’t see it when we were at the other house?” He asks, his thumbs caressing your thighs. 

“I put him back in my suitcase, and I felt really bad about it too. I left it unzipped a little,” Remus kisses your temple as he chuckles. 

“You’re the sweetest fucking thing in the world.” 

Changing the conversation, “Do you want chai?” 

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up, “You have chai or do you need to make it?” 

You shake your head, a tired smile that’s a little teasing, “Jamie dropped it off for me when he came to see Lils.” 

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up even farther, “Jamie?” 

You giggle, “Yeah, s’what you guys call him.” 

Remus is a little indignant, “Jamie?” He repeats and you laugh even more. 

“Are you jealous, Remus?” 

Your hand reaches to the nape of his neck, twisting the sandy brown hair there as he deliberates. 

“Of James getting a nickname?” He asks and you nod, letting your fingers scratch his scalp a little. “No dove,” Remus fights the shiver that threatens to climb his back. “I’m not even a little jealous,” 

He leans into you, your noses bumping. “Why not?” Your breaths mingle as you lean even closer to Remus. 

“Because,” his hand cups your neck, his thumbs punching your chin upwards. Your chest heaves, “You’re already breathless and I haven’t even kissed you yet, princess.” 

“Please.” 

Remus smirks, wicked and impish. “No,” you whine and Remus almost rethinks his answer. “Go heat up your chai, pretty girl.” 

“You’re no fun,” you hop off his lap and head to the kitchen all the while Remus chuckles, his head against the back of the cushions as he watches you flit about the kitchen. 

-

The next time Remus sees you it’s after possibly one of the worst days of your life in a long time. Everything had gone wrong and there’d been a pit in your stomach all the way to your apartment. 

Just as you were about to walk in, your phone rang and without looking, you answered it. 

“Why does that boy keep going to your apartment?” 

You pull the phone from your ear and curse softly when you see, ‘Devil’s Right Hand,’ displayed on the screen. 

“What?” You really don’t have the energy today. 

Your father doesn’t seem to care though, “The boy. The one with the grey car.” 

As if you’re ten and not a grown ass woman, “Because we’re friends.” 

Simple, succinct and it would’ve been sufficient for any other regular parent. 

Your dad is anything but. 

“And he doesn’t leave till the morning? Do you think I’m an idiot?” 

The ‘yes’ in your brain wants so badly to slide off your tongue. You manage to bite it back. 

“I don’t understand the problem. I’m an adult, I can do as I please. You don’t even pay for the apartment, Mama does.” 

You hear the low simmering anger in your father’s tone. “Your grandmother gives you too much leeway.” 

You roll your eyes, “I’m not in the mood for a fight, was that all you wanted to know?” 

“Girl, watch your tone, it’s not a long drive to your place.” 

You shiver at the threat. “Can I go please? I have coursework to do and I’ve got exams to prep for later this week.” 

“Oh sure, coursework. Come home this weekend, your grandparents are at the house on Sunday.” 

Your body sags as you hang up the phone, the backs of your eyes burn with exhaustion. 

With a sigh, you unlock the door and get into your apartment. 

You don’t even bother to change or sit still, instead you just jump straight into your work; hours pass before your phone rings again. 

This time, it’s Remus.

“Hey,” he doesn’t like your tone, or the way you sigh the word. 

“Hi dove, I’m outside.” 

You’re relieved when you see him. He looks warm and cosy. His hair looks pillow soft and his sweater is a faded yellow one against the brown of his corduroy jeans. 

“I brought snacks,” he says, jingling a plastic bag in his hand.

You don’t smile quite as big as you normally would’ve and Remus frowns. “Long day?” He asks as he steps in, kissing your forehead when you nod. 

“Yeah, I’m just finishing up my coursework and we can have dinner.” 

Remus waits for you, busying himself with plating up dinner- leftover Chinese food from yesterday. 

“C’mon baby,” he murmurs, rubbing your back as he sets both plates on the coffee table and starts the tv. “Have some food and then get back to it if you like, but I need you to eat.” 

You look to argue, but he’s not commanding you. He’s not demanding anything from you, he’s nudging you to look after yourself. 

For a moment, you get stuck in just looking at him and your mind whirs. Remus is unlike anyone else in your life- he doesn’t take, he doesn’t shout and make threats, he doesn’t force you into a box or anything of the sort. 

Instead, he gives you room and watches you, watches you be yourself and encourages you to be yourself. It makes you emotional for a minute, the back of your throat burning as you come to the realisation. 

 “Coming,” you whisper, Remus’ eyes track your movements, and he smiles a little when you sit right up beside him, your forearms brushing. 

Dinner is quiet, little conversation here and there because Remus can tell you’re exhausted. 

In that sense, he washes up the dishes while you shower and he tidies up the living room before double checking your door is locked. 

He’s pouring hot water over the tea bags when you come out of your room, dressed in the softest look pyjamas he’s ever seen. 

“Oh you look cosy, princess.” You go bashful under the lovestruck tone to his words, walking into the arms he has open. 

One hand goes to the base of your neck, holding firm as his other hand squeezes around your back. 

“Tired?” He whispers into your hair and you hum. 

“I can have a cuppa though, not that tired.” 

You barely make it halfway through your cup before your eyes are closing and your head is lolling onto Remus’ shoulder. 

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, setting his cup down and sliding his hands under your thighs and around your back. “S’okay dove,” he coos as you stir, your nose brushed up to his neck as he walks to your bedroom. 

“Stay,” you mumble as he sets you down and Remus smiles. 

“M’right here dovey, not going a place.”

Remus wakes up to you moving around in bed, your legs kicking and your body thrashing. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice cracking from sleep. “Dovey,” he mumbles, his hand rubbing your arm. “Baby wake up.” 

His nose brushes your cheek, hands shaking your shoulder a bit as your tossing worsens. 

“Wake up dove,” he whispers, stroking your neck. 

“Remus?” Your voice shakes, eyes open wide as you try to get your bearings.

“It’s me baby, I’m right here.” Your heart is racing as you sit up, Remus following suit. 

“Sorry,” you whimper, brushing your cheeks as you feel tears fall. Remus flicks on your lamp and his eyebrows thread together.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” He tucks you into his side. “Wanna talk to me about it?” 

His hand creeps under your shirt, his knuckles dragging up and down your spine. 

“Was just a dream,” you whisper, not quite sounding yourself. “A bad dream.” 

Remus nods, “Yeah, it was just a dream, pretty girl. Your pulse is pounding though, babe.” He can feel the harsh beat of it against the knuckles on your back. 

You shut your eyes, reliving the scenes in the dream vividly. 

“It’s a recurring thing,” you start, letting yourself be comforted by Remus’ hand on your back and the faint scent of his citrus soap. “I’m little again and my dad is blue mad, breaking glass and screaming in my face.” 

You take a shuddering breath and Remus tries his best not to react with his body. 

“I was about ten or eleven I think, by that time our relationship wasn’t salvageable. I can’t even remember what he was so upset about but I always seemed like the perfect target. ‘Specially when I started telling him off for being mean to my mum.” 

“Baby this was real?” You nod, Remus lets himself for a moment, imagine little you stopping grown adults from arguing and he feels his chest tighten at the thought. 

“He tried coming at me and mum with a piece of the glass. It was just a mess. The fight only stopped because our neighbours came to get me.” 

He feels your tears wet his shirt, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’ve started shaking again. 

“You’re alright baby,” his words sound like a promise whispered into your hairline. “You don’t have to go back to that, I swear you don’t.” 

“I think the reason I had a nightmare was because he called earlier. Said to come home on Sunday and that he knew you were staying over.” 

Remus can’t stop himself from stiffening then. He hates the frustration and defeat in your voice. 

“Do you want me to come with you on Sunday?” The offer is as easy as the breath he inhales. 

You look up at him, eyelashes wet and stuck together, lips and cheeks swollen from crying. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Remus smiles- a sad smile. 

“You didn’t ask,” he kisses your nose. “Think about it okay? I won’t be offended if you say no, pretty girl.” 

You nod and tuck yourself back into him. 

“Do you think you can go back to sleep or do you wanna watch something?” 

You think for a long time, “Will you hold me till I fall asleep?” 

God his heart really is breaking. Who could hurt you? 

“Till you wake up, dove.” 

Remus wakes up before you do, his arms still wrapped around you, and you’re more on his chest than on the bed. 

His mind wakes faster than his body, racing with thoughts of little you and the things you’ve lived. He finds that you hide it well. The hurt, the pain, the everything. One look at you wouldn’t reveal that, all anyone would see is a rich girl living with her parents and doing whatever she pleases; but under the surface? 

You’re so like everyone else, but so singular that it stops his breath a little. 

You don’t have class today, so he decides quite quickly that he’s letting you sleep in. The only thing you have to do is finish the last bit of your coursework and then Remus thinks a day doing your favourite things- shopping for books and having tea- is in order. 

He also wants to start breakfast, you’d mentioned a couple nights ago that you’d been craving blueberries and he’d had a hankering for pancakes. 

Remus tries moving out from under you but your fist closes around his shirt and he stays put. 

Breakfast can wait a bit. 

“Remmy?” You wake shortly after, the sunlight peeking through the curtains tickling your eyes. 

“Yes, dove?” His hand is stroking your arm, his blunt fingernails dragging slowly makes it hard for you to open your eyes. 

“Time is it?” You stretch as he reaches for his phone. 

“Just gone past ten,” you settle right back into his chest with a sigh. 

“Can you wake me up again at eleven?” You ask at the same time Remus asks, 

“Do you wanna go out for breakfast?” 

You hum, “What’re we having?” 

A yawn tears apart his answer, “Blueberry pancakes? Or bagels? Either or, I don’t mind.” 

“Are you making pancakes?” He can already tell where the question is headed. 

“Yes, do you have everything for them?” You nod then you shake your head. 

“Except the blueberries.” 

Remus pulls you and the covers a little closer. “Want me to go in to the grocery and get them?” You shake your head. 

“I’ll settle for whatever fruit I’ve got in the house.” Remus tuts. 

“Would you prefer blueberries?” He asks, his fingers dancing across the nape of your neck. 

“Yeah,” that’s all he needed to hear. 

“I’ll make you some tea and head out,” Remus isn’t allowed to slide out from under you, your thigh on his hip pins him down.

“You don’t have to,” you say bashfully, an intense guilt that’s completely unnecessary creeps into your voice and Remus has to slide his hands to your neck and push your chin up under your jaw. 

“You’re not inconveniencing me, pretty girl. I’m getting them, coming back here and making pancakes and then we’re going either to the beach or the bookstore.” 

You shake your head as best as you can with Remus holding your jaw. “You don’t have to do all of this just because I had a bad dream.” 

He tuts, “I want to take care of you. I’ll just be fifteen minutes.” 

You nod, accepting your defeat in the argument. 

In the time Remus is gone, you find yourself going through photo albums and reminiscing on the days when things were a lot easier. 

You stop on a picture of you and your grandmother and you sigh. Grabbing your phone, you dial her number. 

“Hello, Mama?” Your voice wavers as you speak. 

“Yes, Bebo?” You smile at the sound of her voice. Instantly, you feel like you’re being swaddled in her arms and like your troubles are eased. Your home name falling from her mouth with such familiarity also makes your chest ache. 

“I’m having trouble,” you say honestly. “I don’t know how to forgive anymore.” 

She sighs, you can hear shuffling in the back and things knocking about and then you hear your grandmother’s voice. “Bebo, you don’t have to forgive everybody.” She says, and you sniffle. “Not everyone needs that, or deserves that.” When you don’t answer she worries. You and your grandmother have an insanely close relationship, summers were spent in her back garden and on the beach near her house. She knows you as well as you can know any person. 

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you lunch.” You take a minute to consider and know in your heart of hearts that she would be on her way if you said yes. 

“No,” you take the conversation to a different direction quickly. “Are you coming over on Sunday? Dad said.” 

You can hear the smile in her voice, “Yeah, I miss my grandkids, Bebo.” 

You’d seen her just three days ago but it feels like a month ago. “I miss you too, Mama. Would it be weird if I brought someone for dinner?” 

She gasps, always one for a good bit of gossip. “Like a boyfriend? Bebo, I’ve been waiting for this!” She sounds so excited that the image of her smiling wide behind her glasses warms your heart. 

“You don’t think dad will make it a thing?” 

She puffs out air, “Your dad would make the sun coming out a thing if he wanted to. I need you to not live your life according to him, Bebo. He’s my son, but he’s a little shit and he doesn’t rule you or anyone else.” 

You sigh, chest shaking under the weight of your withheld thoughts. 

“Is that why you don’t want me coming over? Your boyfriend is over?” You giggle, feeling weirdly like she’s right beside you as you tuck your phone between your cheek and shoulder. 

“He went to get blueberries because I wanted pancakes, and he’s not my boyfriend, Mama.” She scoffs, you smile. 

“But you like him and he’s nice?” 

“Super nice, like tooth rotting nice. And he’s really gentle and calm too.” 

You can see your grandmother’s smile, and find yourself doing the same. Even more so when you hear the knock on your door. 

“You deserve nice, gentle and calm, Bebo. I’m sorry I couldn’t have kept you kids for longer.” 

“Mama,” you gasp the words as you look through the peephole and find Remus standing there with the groceries. “You did and are doing enough. You’re not in charge of his actions, he is.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow as he sees your glassy eyes as he steps into the apartment. 

“I know Bebo, I know.” 

“I gotta go, but I’ll call you to let you know if I’m coming okay? If I am, would you bring,” she cuts you off. 

“Of course I’ll bring you coconut fudge Bebo, I’ll make it on Saturday so it doesn’t get stale.” 

Remus starts about the kitchen, but you can tell he’s intrigued about the conversation- or at the least, who you’re on the phone with. 

“Thanks Mama, I love you.” You see a little smile break out of his face even as he faces away from you to measure the flour. 

“I love you too Bebo, go enjoy your boyfriend.” You laugh scandalously and hear her chuckle before you hang up. 

“How’s your grandma?” Remus asks as you come into the kitchen and sit on the counter near him. 

“She’s good. I called her to talk about the nightmare but I kept getting too sad so we just talked about other stuff.” You swing your feet as you watch Remus mix the wet and dry ingredients. 

“Is she also going to dinner on Sunday?” He poses it conversationally, because it is but he also wants a feel for who’s there at these dinners. 

You nod, stealing a blueberry from the carton. “She’s always there. I think she comes because she knows if she’s there my dad will be in check for the whole night;” you smile when you eat the blueberry and find it’s sweet. “She’s pretty scary when she needs to be.” 

“I don’t doubt that, dove. You’re the same way, can tell there’s a little fire behind all that niceness.” 

You roll your eyes, “Whatever you say Lupin,” Remus sets your griddle on and oils it as it heats up. “Would you really want to come on Sunday?” 

He pours three pancakes on, “Unless I have to do something strange, then yes I want to come.” 

“If I told you that there was an initiation process that everyone’s super anal about, that would be a deal breaker?” Remus looks at you wide eyed and then notices your poorly hidden smile. 

“You’re a menace.” He says as he flips the pancakes, another raucous laugh bubbling out of you. 

“On occasion.” Remus stacks three for you and reaches for the syrup in the cupboard above your head. “But Mama, my granny, will probably badger you about your ‘intentions’ and whatever else.” 

You thank Remus for the pancakes with a kiss on his cheek. “Eat,” he says, cutting your pancakes for you, making you smile. “I can handle badgering. But I should warn you, I don’t hide anger well.” 

You wave off his concern. “Oh he won’t be out of line, Mama keeps him in check. And I just ignore him anyways.” Remus doesn’t like the way you shrug like your dad being a prick is no big deal, but he decides you’ve shared enough for the day. 

You don’t start eating till he makes his own stack and switches off the stove and that makes him smile a little. 

“Do you have a preference for the beach or the bookstore?” He asks in between bites of breakfast. 

You think for a moment, “Can we go to the bookstore? There’s a couple books I want to check on.” 

Remus nods, not really caring where you go, just that you do something you like. 

-

You decide against Remus joining you, not sure if you’re ready for him to see the circus that is your family. 

Your Mama is on the front porch, sipping what you know is coffee as you get out your car. 

You send Remus a text, Made it. I’ll let you know how it goes. 

His response is immediate, My offer to come get you is always on the table, princess

“Where’s your boyfriend?”She asks, standing to hug you.

“Told him that it might be too much, didn’t want to scare him off.” You try to sound as chipper as possible, but your grandmother knows you. 

“He’s not in control of you anymore, Bebo. You can’t give it to him.” 

You nod, diverting the conversation. “How’d the fudge turn out?” 

You have a couple bricks with her and your older brother in the garden out back before they’re ready to serve dinner. 

There’s a quiet stillness that covers the remaining winter, the coffee and coconut milk fudge just enough to make it seem like the tranquillity could last forever. 

“Mama said you have a boyfriend?” your older brother asks, protectiveness and amusement in his tone as you look up at him wide eyed and shocked. 

“I told her he’s not my boyfriend. Not yet.” 

“She really wants him to be. He made her pancakes and he spent the night.” You tut at your grandmother’s gossiping. 

Your brother smiles, “I’d like to meet him sometime, you look happy again.” You just nod, scared that you might say something that gives away how much you really really like Remus. 

“Dinner’s ready,” your mum comes out on the porch, giving all three of you a soft smile before going back in. 

Dinner is great until the round-the-table questions get to you. You’d avoided it for a couple courses, but it appears your luck is out. 

“How was your coursework?” Your dad says it like it was an actual lie, you don’t miss the vile amusement in his tone, like he’s waiting to catch you in a lie.

“Lots of reading, but I think I got above 85 which is great considering this professor is known for failing students for less than 75.” 

Your dad isn’t satisfied. “What was it about?” 

You stiffen in your chair, you don’t like the implication that you’re lying. “Capital punishment, recidivism and how the two coincide.” 

Your mum can tell your dad is still not pleased, so can your grandmother and she sets him right with a look. 

“Do you need her professors to start running their coursework topics through you? Are you going to call the school next because you disbelieve everything?” 

The table is tense as your grandmother and your dad have a stare off- not that she’s at all concerned about him. 

Your younger siblings feed off your dad’s energy, their own question hot and ready and aimed at anyone with answers.

 “How is it fair that she moved out?” And “Why does Mama pay for her apartment and not just tell her to move back home? It’s silly how much she’ll do for attention.” Or “Maybe if she just came home dad wouldn’t be so upset?” You can’t even get a word in, stunned silent as you realise this is how they see you.

It’s when your younger brother and sister say, “You always make it about you, you’re Mama’s favourite and that pisses us off. Dad doesn’t like you because you think you’re better than us, and it would all be better if you just made a clear decision- do you want to be in the family or not?”, that your breath quickens at their words, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. 

The part that hurts is that they’re too young to know all the things that have happened, they don’t get why it’s so hard for you to sit here even on bi-weekly Sunday dinners and play nice with your dad.

Your food suddenly loses taste when your dad sends an evil smile your way, your stomach rolling.

They don’t understand that you’ve taken their beatings, that you’ve suffered horrid treatment just so they wouldn’t have to.

“Either way, we don’t care. I think we’d be better off without you if I’m honest. All you do is mope and complain, you wouldn’t even have half the shit you do if it wasn’t for dad. He’s not the monster you make him out to be.” 

Your older brother cut them glares, “Enough! You don’t speak for this entire table, find somewhere else to be.” They scamper off, your brother doesn’t even give your dad the time of day, he looks at you immediately. 

“Go take a walk, Bebo.” He’s the only one of them that likes you, the only out of three siblings that actually knows you, that knows what this is doing to you and you’re grateful for it. 

Mama sparks into heavy, brash Urdu, all of it aimed at your father who more than deserves it- these are his spawn. 

You try to think through your feelings, try to sort them into neat and tidy boxes but it just winds you. 

You can't take deep breaths, they’re all shallow and sharp. Your chest aches, a concave feeling to it as you worry about the sharpness of your breath. It only worsens your ability, your breathing even shallower and you can’t seem to stop the cycle. 

You reach for your phone, pulling up a breathing video and trying your best to follow it, your breathing evening the longer you follow along. 

When you can inhale fully, you call Remus. You need him. 

He picks up on the second ring, “Hi, dovey. Everything okay?” 

“I think I should’ve let you come.” Your voice sounds ragged, like you need to cry and Remus’ skin prickles. He wishes he was there too. 

“Need me to come up there?” You debate it, you really do, and maybe if you didn’t feel like such a shitty person right now you would’ve said ‘no,’ but you need Remus and his sound mind and advice. 

“It’s a thirty minute drive.” you say, hearing things rustling in the back and Remus moves the phone from his mouth as he calls to someone. 

“I’m heading out, text me if you need anything.” Then the phone is closer. “Just had to tell Siri and Jamie. I’m on my way, princess.” 

“Drive safely, Remmy.” you sound so sad, Remus wishes he could just apparate to you now. 

“I’ll see you soon, baby. Stay somewhere safe, yeah.”

Tears gather in your eyes at how easily Remus could tell that you were frightened, that you’re in need of some place soft to land. God, you can’t wait for him to be here. 

The front door opens, your older brother coming out on the porch with a heavy sigh. 

“You have to tell them Bebo,” he says softly and you shake your head. 

“Why? So they can think I’m just lying to make him look bad. I’m okay with this arrangement.” 

Your brother takes a seat on the porch swing and pats a spot next to him. 

“Are you actually?” You inhale, thinking it over for a brief moment. 

“It hurts, of course it does. But I used to be mean too, this is them being mean back.” 

Your brother rolls his eyes, “It’s not like they’re ten. They’re sixteen and they’re horrid.” You take your spot next quickly- like if you chance a slow moment the tears will come. 

“But just to me. You get to be the best sibling they have, while I’m the problem black sheep sibling who can’t help but be macabre.” 

“You’re not macabre. You know you’re not. You just lived some dark shit to spare them and it’s time to stop. They can handle it.” You wish you could do it, it might make things easier, but you’re scared. 

“Maybe next time, it’s too charged in there now.” You sigh, head touching the back of the swing. “Do you think I’ll ever have their love?” The tears stream down your cheeks anyway as you think about the idea, as you hear their words rattle around your head. 

Your brother sighs hard, not sure if your siblings would ever wake up from your dad’s spell. Instead of saying anything, he guides your head to his shoulder. “Take a nap, Bebo.” 

“Remus is coming soon. Would you wake me when he gets here?”

“‘Course, Bebo.”

Your grandmother comes out right after you fall asleep, touching your sticky cheek with a weathered hand. 

“They’ll break her, you know. They’ll break her spirit and she won’t hold back anymore.” She sounds sad, like she can see it happening already.

“Mama, she won’t break.”  your brother says, reaching for her but she bats him away. 

“She’s not like you. You brush it off, she can’t. It weighs her heart. Every time she leaves here she looks so sad, so heavy and cracked. I can’t see her crack again, do you remember it?” 

Tears fall down her cheeks, but she doesn’t try to wipe them, she just stares at your sleeping form. 

Your brother sighs, leaning on her shoulder as she sits on his other side. “I remember,” he says quietly, the memories of you being withdrawn dancing behind his eyes. “Her boyfriend is coming here.”

“Really?” She asks and your brother nods. 

“She told me to wake her up when he gets here.” 

Mama smiles, “I’m glad she called him.” 

Remus arrives about forty minutes later, your brother sitting beside you about to shake your shoulder when Remus steps out of the car and shakes his head. 

“Let her sleep a little,” your brother’s confused by his request. 

“She asked me to wake you when you get here.” 

Remus smiles despite his anger. He’d stewed all the way to your dad’s house, wondering if you’d be hurt, if you’d not find a quiet place and the argument would keep going. 

He didn’t know what he was walking into, and finding you asleep is much more welcome than the sadder visions of his brain. 

“Would you tell me what it’s all about? Or what sparked it all today?” 

Remus sits on the floor near the foot of the swing, his hand holding onto your ankle as he looks to your brother. 

It’s clear to him, your brother, that Remus cares about you. His eyes haven’t strayed from you for more than thirty seconds, always coming back to rove over your face like he’s making sure you’re still there and still okay. 

Your brother hesitates- he’s never spoken about this with someone outside of the family. “They have warped perceptions of her; our younger brother and sister. They think she’s ungrateful and just doesn’t come home to get dad riled up- she doesn’t come home because they don’t know what she’s done so they didn’t have to get the dad we got.” 

Remus frowns harder, his thumb rubbing a circle on your ankle. 

“And she doesn’t want to tell them?” There’s no judgement in his tone, just curiosity. 

Your brother shakes his head. “She doesn’t think they’d believe her at this point. I’m always trying to talk her into it, but I think it runs a bit too deep to dredge up just like that.” 

Remus nods, eyes fixated on you as you sleep. “Will she want to tell them goodbye?” 

Your brother smiles, “If you leave without meeting our grandma, I think she’ll never forgive you for leaving without her ice cream.” 

Remus laughs, nodding as he stands. 

“You should wake her up first, I’ll go tell Mama you’re here.” Remus waits till your brother walks off into the house to sit beside you. 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but sometime later you feel Remus’ hand on your cheek, thumb a little calloused as it rubs at the apple. 

Only he wakes you up this gently. 

“Princess, wake up. Miss your face.” 

“Hey,” your eyes peel open slowly, a little smile spreading on your face. 

Remus’ smile is small, but not forced. He could never do that with you looking up at him- especially with your sleepy eyes. 

“Was the drive okay?” 

He chuckles, it’s belated that you notice you’re alone with him on your front porch. Your brother’s car is still parked outside and so is your grandmother’s. 

“Yeah it was, pretty girl.” 

Remus kisses your forehead, his hand holding your face even though it’s a little sticky with your dried tears. 

“Your brother went to get Mama.” He says softly, letting you twist your body so you were leaning into him. Your entire front body was pressing against his ribs. 

“I’m so tired, Remmy.” Your voice cracks as you speak, Remus can’t bear it. He hates it that you’re this sad. 

“I know baby,” his words are whispered into your hairline, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he feels the quiet tears soak his shirt. “We don’t have to stay here any longer than you want to.” 

You sniffle and nod, letting Remus pull you further into his lap so he can hold you. 

“This is Mama,” you hear your brother’s voice and the light steps of your grandmother and then feel Remus lean forward. You assume he wanted you off his lap, but his hand anchors your hip to his as he shakes the older woman’s hand. 

“Remus.” He introduces himself and she smiles. 

“You’re handsome,” you laugh when you catch Remus’ cheeks flushing. “I have your ice cream here, Bebo. He won’t come out, locked himself away in his office.” 

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I’m ready to go.” Remus nods, taking the tub of ice cream for you, letting you climb off his lap before standing. 

“Give me two minutes, baby.” You kiss his jaw as you go, the car keys in your hand.

“She’ll be okay right?” 

Your brother smiles at Remus, Mama frowns. 

“She’s a fighter.” He says but Mama shakes her head. 

“She might not have any more fight left in her.” 

Remus knows what she means to say. He remembers how Sirius had been, the brave faces and attitude to hide how sad he was. He looks at the car and spots you with your head against the glass. 

“Just be patient with her.” Mama says and Remus nods.  “She’ll tell you everything soon enough. She looks at you like you individually hung the stars.” 

Remus blushes again, not really knowing what to say. 

Your older brother pats his shoulder and goes inside, “I think I’ll head out too.” He goes to his car, but not before stopping at Remus’ and giving you a kiss to your forehead. 

Remus frowns, “Does everyone disperse after they fight like this?” He asks your grandmother, not wanting to push but trying to understand. 

“Bebo can’t take more of this, you’ll see. I set him straight, he leaves her alone for months and then starts over. It’s like a cat and a mouse- always prodding and slapping and poking until the mouse has had enough.” 

“And the mouse does what when they’ve had enough?” 

Mama smiles, like she’s holding out just a sliver of hope that it will happen. “Revolt.” 

Remus gives her a hug and makes his way to the car. 

As soon as he opens the door, you smile. Tired lines all over your face as your eyes barely open. 

“Wanna stay over?” You ask, cheek smushed to your shoulder as you look at Remus. 

“How abouts you come over to mine? I’ve got fluffy blankets,” Remus kisses that spot where your forearm and upper arm meet. “Oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip cookies,” a kiss to your shoulder, right on the beauty mark. “And I’ve got all your favourites on dvd.” 

The last kiss is right on the corner of your mouth, chaste and sweet and it makes you smile even more. 

“Sirius and James won’t mind?” 

Remus rolls his eyes, “They’ve gone on their own lover’s retreats today.” Wrong, Remus kicked them out the second he’d hung the phone with you. 

“Okay, but can we stop by my place to get my stuffy?” 

Remus chuckles, “Course we can, dovey. That way we’ll both have clothes at each other’s place.” 

You tut, clipping on your seatbelt as Remus turns over the engine. “You’re not getting your sweater back, Remus.” 

He only rolls his eyes as he pulls out of your dad’s yard, tipping his chin to the ice cream tub. “Will that be okay on the drive?” 

You nod, “Yeah, we can have some with the cookies tonight.” 

[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[ariestrxsh]

𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, praise, unprotected sex, public sex, sex on church grounds, risky sex, creampie, religious kink, blasphemy, desecration of religious imagery

📝 author's note: 📝 here are parts one, two, and three. 💖 please use discretion and don't read this story if it will offend or disgust you.

✍️ Summary: ✍️ Matt can't wait until after church. He must have you now. Even if it's in the parking lot during Wednesday night service.

𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚, ✮⋆˙𐙚ྀི༘˚

coming down part four

It was a warm, cloudy Wednesday night, and I was waiting in my red sundress for Matt, my new boyfriend, beneath the oak tree outside of church. I nervously bit my lip as I searched for any sign of him. He was running late, and pretty much everyone had already shuffled inside by now to hear the sermon.

Finally, I saw his car pull into the lot as the summer sun was setting, and I noticed his driving was slightly more erratic than normal. He nestled his car all the way at the back of the lot where I could barely see it, and when he got out of his car, I could tell his demeanor was tense. He approached me with a sense of urgency, and instead of saying anything to me, he grabbed my wrist and started pulling me to the parking lot.

"Matt. What are you doing? Where are we going? What about service?" I started firing questions at him. He abruptly stopped, yanked my wrist, and held his face a few inches from mine. "I need you. Now," he whispered in a serious tone. "Need me for what?" I asked. "I need your pussy. I need it wrapped around my cock," he demanded.

"What about church, Matt? Won't God be angry with us?" I couldn't hide the concern in my voice. "I'm your God now," his eyes darkened with lust, and he continued dragging me towards his car with his hand tightly gripping my wrist. I couldn't help how much it turned me on to have Matt treat me in such a way.

He threw me up against his car and bent me over the hood. I gasped as I felt him poke me in my backside with his hard member. I listened as I heard his belt unbuckle and his pants unzip. He lifted the skirt of my dress up and moved my panties to the side. "Right here? What if someone sees?" I asked nervously. "Serves them right if they're skipping church," Matt laughed as he shoved his cock into my hole.

I sharply inhaled and let out a soft moan as he started to rock his hips back and forth. I loved the feeling of him stretching me out while he fucked me. It didn't take long before Matt's strokes became mercilessly rough. Any worry of being seen or heard fled my mind as I immersed myself into the religious experience of being railed by Matthew Sturniolo.

"You're such a good fucking girl. Letting me use your pretty pussy whenever I need it," Matt grunted into my ear. Suddenly, I felt Matt's cock pulse as he delivered a few more hard thrusts, and he came inside me. "Oh, Matt. Please don't stop. I'm not done," I whimpered as he pulled out of me. "Don't worry, princess. I'd never leave you unfinished. I just wanna get a better look at that pretty pussy of yours," he smirked, spinning me around so that I was facing him and lifting me up so I was sitting on the hood of his car. He shimmied my panties down past my thighs and my ankles until they were completely off of me.

"Spread it open for me, princess," he told me. I opened my legs gingerly and hesitantly used my fingers to spread myself open for him. He stared down at my hole, clenching around nothing and leaking a mixture of both of our fluids. I couldn't believe that Matt had me exposing myself like this in the church parking lot, and I couldn't believe how sexually charged it made me.

"Shit. What a good girl you are. You follow my commands so well," Matt praised me. He sunk himself back in between my parted legs, and I hooked my arms under his while he enveloped me in his hold. I clawed at his back and tightened my legs around his waist as he skillfully penetrated me. He kissed my forehead and cradled my head in his arm to keep it from hitting his car while he whispered "good girl." Even when he was rough with me, he was so gentle. Despite his mischievous smile, his dirty sailor mouth, and his unconventional church practices, no man had ever made me feel so loved or safe.

"Oh my God, Matt," I moaned out in desperation. I didn't ever use the Lord's name in vain, but it had just slipped out of me without my permission. "What was that, princess? I'm a god?" Matt chuckled breathlessly while he slammed his cock into me with incredible speed. I couldn't control the words he ripped from me. "You are a god, Matt!" I cried out as I lost myself in a divine stream of consciousness and I felt my pussy throb while I finished all over Matt's rod. "Good girl, that's what I like to hear," Matt responded softly while he slowed the movement of his hips.

"Should we go inside now?" I asked Matt, blushing and tugging down my dress to cover myself, suddenly becoming self-aware about the fact that we were in public and on holy ground. "Not just yet, angel. I'm gonna give you one more thing to think about until I see you again on Sunday morning," Matt growled.

He opened up the back door of his car, sat on the seat with his body turned towards me with his hard cock still out and said, "come sit on my lap, princess," he smirked at me and bit his lip. He helped me onto his dick by holding me by the hips and slowly lowering me down onto him. I used the open car door to balanace myself. I loved all the new angles we were exploring today. Every time I thought, there's no way the sex can get any better, he'd outdo himself and blow my mind with a new kind of sensation.

Matt bounced me up and down on his lap with incredible vigor and stamina, and he held my waist to keep me in place. I didn't have to do any work except stabilize myself, which was becoming increasingly hard as I felt a quivering in my core. I knew this feeling. I was gonna cum again. I shut my eyes and fully relaxed into the way Matt thrust himself into my pussy, leaving it sore and bruised, but also completely satisfied. "You're a god, Matt. You're a god," I whispered over and over again like it was the only sentence I knew.

We both finished at the same time. I clenched around him rhythmically while my nectar seeped onto him, and he filled me with his seed once more. "Oh fuck," he whimpered. We slowed down the cadence of our bodies harmonizing with one another, and we slowly came down and caught our breaths. Matt gently lifted me off of him. He zipped up his pants, and he pushed his sweaty hair off his face, flashing me a cunning smile. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes were soft and captivating.

He opened up my car door for me to get in. "Let's get you to my house and get a shower running for you, princess," Matt suggested while he shut my door and came around to his side. "What about chur- wait, you mean we could have gone to your house this whole time?" I asked him, sucking in my lip, embarrassed by the public lewdness we'd just displayed. "I couldn't wait that long," he devilishly grinned at me, starting up his car.

taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sturnzluv @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sofieeeeex @alizestvrnss @hot-gothic-b1tch

[ckret2]

✨⚠️ Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone ⚠️✨

If you're new here, this is one of those "human Bill in the Mystery Shack" redemption fics, you know the drill: Bill illegally escapes death via reincarnation; the Shack crew imprisons him til they can figure out how to kill him; but they won't, because Bill's gonna make friends with them and literally everybody else in town. Whether they like it or not.

Featuring!! The slowest redemption arc you've ever read; "human" Bill that doesn't decide being trapped in an alien body is fine; show-style episodic plot structure; individual plot arcs for characters you've never even cared about; so canon compatible we even include the dang coloring book; and so TBOB-compatible over a year before TBOB came out that I'm considering taking up a position as the Oracle of Delphi just so Apollo stops barraging me with dodgeballs.

New chapter every Friday, 5pm CST! Yes, that includes this Friday!

For art, doodles, upcoming scene excerpts, and posts about characterization & plot plans, see my #bill goldilocks cipher tag. For the fic itself, the first few chapters are on AO3, but tumblr's 60 chapters ahead:

⛓️ 1 Part 1. Bill returns, in a bedsheet toga.

⛓️ 1 Part 2. Bill tries to murder the Stans & Soos (with time travel).

⛓️ 2. Dipper and Mabel save the day (with time travel).

⛓️ 3. A tense evening as the Pines prepare to get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 4. Plot twist: the Pines physically can't get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 5. The gang goes to a diner at 3 a.m. for hostage negotiations.

⛓️ 6. Bill escapes from Theraprism. [NEW!!!]

⛓️ 7. "How'd Bill get here" flashback; plus, entering his new prison.

💇‍♀️ 8. Bill gives himself a haircut and depression.

💇‍♀️ 9. Bill & Ford grudgingly have a sincere conversation; regret it.

📓🔺📓 TBOB BOUNDARY: Everything above this line has been edited for 100% compatibility with The Book Of Bill and posted to AO3! Everything after this line has not been edited... so it's only 98% TBOB compatible. 📓🔺📓

💇‍♀️ 10. The kids decide Bill won't ruin their summer. Also: Pacifica!

🧚 11. Mabel gives Bill the most beautiful makeover ever. (It's not.)

🧚 12. Pacifica advertises Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula. Bill wants it.

🧚 13. Pacifica refuses to share; the twins discover its side effects.

🧚 14. Mabel wins Bill's eternal friendship with arts & crafts.

💭 15. Bill, Ford, and Dipper have nightmares that are Bill's fault.

💎 16. Ford has a fun day with Mabel but everything goes wrong.

💎 17. The day goes right again thanks to healthy communication.

🎥 18. Mabel's Guide To Local Animals, co-starring Bill Cipher.

🧊 19. Wendy snoops into the weird things happening in the shack.

🧊 20. Wendy meets the weird thing (it's Bill).

🎂 21. Stan & Ford's birthday party! Bill gives evil gifts.

💭 22. Bill "helps" Dipper's nightmares; no one knows his motive.

👁️ 23. Bill's ex is back in town and nobody's happy about it.

👁️ 24. Everyone's even less happy to learn Bill has a sex life.

🧿 25. Mabel and Bill make friendship bracelets! :)

🧿 26. The Pines take Bill to the mall. He wears terrible things.

🧿 27. Bill breaks Mabel's heart (and panics to fix it).

🏳️‍🌈 28. Bill talks his way into going with Wendy to Rainbow Club.

🎃 29. Bill contacts the Henchmaniacs on Summerween morning.

🎃 30. Costume making. Mabel pries into Bill's past, with crayons.

🎃 31. The Trickster's pals trick-or-treat; and Bill terrifies Dipper.

🪮 32. Dipper & Mabel make a poppet to control Bill.

🦷 33. Stan takes Bill to the dentist. In handcuffs.

🦷 34. Dentist & tooth fairy attack. Stan & Bill are still handcuffed.

🦷 35. Bill & Stan reach a painful understanding and stop the fairy.

🛁 36. Anime night; and Mabel makes Bill do community service.

🛁 37. Bill plots escape and runs into Wendy. Dipper panics.

🛁 38. Bill has the worst and stupidest day of his afterlife.

🌅 39. A cultist finds Bill; Bill tries to re-recruit Ford.

🚙 40. Gideon broadcasts car commercials; invokes Bill's wrath.

🚙 41. Bill apologizes for bullying Gideon. lol no he blackmails him.

🌕 42. Bill tells Dipper secrets of the universe; predicts an eclipse.

🌖 43. Gravity is disappearing; Ford and Fiddleford investigate.

🌗 44. Ford & Dipper drag Bill hiking; Bill faces his death.

🌘 45. Ford demands answers Bill can't give as totality looms.

🌑 46. Totality. Bill decides whether Ford lives or dies.

🌒 47. Bill feels rotten but finally explains the eclipse.

🌓 48. Bill has a complete mental breakdown.

🌔 49. The gang limps home. (Plus: a second dimensional eclipse.)

💿 50. Bill finally processes that mental breakdown.

💿 51. Dipper and Mabel try to remember the Axolotl's poem.

📖 52. The gang reads Flatworld. Bill isn't thrilled.

📖 53. Mabel tries to get Bill to talk about his home world.

⚛️ 54. Dipper, Ford, and Fiddleford do paradox physics.

📖 55. Mabel learns college-level geometry.

📖 56. Mabel & Bill have fun; Dipper & Ford prepare for murder.

💀 57. The execution of Bill Cipher.

💀 58. Everything you wondered about how Bill escaped.

💀 59. Everything you didn't wonder about how Bill escaped.

💀 60. Everything you never imagined about how Bill escaped.

📙 62. Soos vacuums the attic (wow exciting)

📙 63. Soos decides how he feels about Bill's treatment.

📙 64. Fixin it with Soos: home redecorating!

⛓️ 6. If you read ch 6 before TBOB, go read it again because I wrote a new ch 6!

🎥 65. The gang makes plans for the night.

🎥 66. Dipper's Guide to the Fremont Nightwigglers

🎥 67. Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers

🎥 68. The aftermath of everybody pulling all-nighters.

🏖️ 69. Beach episode! The Pines fish! Bill tans!

COMING SOON:

🏖️ 70. Bigfoot, Agent Powers, and the cool teen gang.

I SWEAR TO GOD THIS BETTER BE COMING NEXT:

🪐 61. The Axolotl Finds The Second Dimension's Corpse.

This post was last updated September 22, 2024! If you're seeing this post as a reblog and it's been a while since then, check back on the original post to see if more's been added!

[strawb3rrystar]

Confessions with wild flowers.

Pairing: Teen! Scott Summers x Teen! Fem! Xavier's daughter! Reader

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend under the shade of an oak tree.

Warnings: Mentions underage smoking, not proofread

Word count: 2.2k

✰Masterlist

Scott sat under one of the big oak trees on the school grounds, trying to find peace despite the prominent pounding of a headache taking a toll on him. He dealt with them frequently, popping a few pills back and waiting until they kicked in. So, here he sat, picking at the wild flowers that grew from the ground. Some would call them weeds, others would say it's part of the world's natural beauty. He twirled the stem of the flower idly in his hand, so caught up in his own world that he didn't hear your footsteps approach him.

"Don’t." He immediately says once he notices you, maybe a bit harsher than he actually means. His posture relaxes a bit, but he’s too in his own head to apologize. His fingers tighten around the unfortunate dandelion he had picked, and he looks like he’s about to blast a hole through the ground with how hard he’s glaring at it. "Your headaches are back, aren't they?" it didn't take a genius to know when something was wrong with Scott. When a guy who is usually so friendly and outgoing towards the other students turns sour, you can tell he has a problem.

"How did you know?" Scott replied, a bit defensive. The question caught him off guard, and he immediately stiffened again. He hadn’t even been able to turn around yet to see you, and he hadn’t even told you about his headache. Granted, they happened so often, that it wasn’t unlikely that you just knew. "Because you're usually never alone like this," you answer, and he was silent for a few beats then let out an exasperated sigh. Scott was a bit embarrassed that you saw right through him. He had chosen a more isolated spot, but of course, you had noticed. You were too observant for your own good, and was always somehow always able to see right through him. No matter how hard he tried to hide.

"Can’t get anything past you, huh?" He asked, rhetorically. But as dense as you were, you shrugged out a response "I am the professor's daughter after all." Scott snorts, because yeah, he supposed you were right. You were Xavier's daughter, and the two of you were so similar. He turns back to you, a bit of a smirk playing at the corner on his mouth, which is rare for him at a time like this. "You saying you somehow got all of your Dad's mind-reading powers, too?" He teases you. "No. I didn't get any mind-reading powers," you reply, stepping closer to him.

Scott's shoulders relax a bit as you step closer to him. Despite his tense mood, he can't help but be at least somewhat comforted by your presence. He even moves over slightly, making a spot for you beside him. "Good. I don’t think the world would survive if you got mind-reading powers, too," he jokes. You sit down beside him, sinking into the soft grass below "I just got his wicked smarts and wittiness."

"Smarts and wittiness is a pretty powerful combination," Scott points out, with a shrug. He’s still crushing the wildflowers between his fingers, though he’s relaxed more the longer he’s been sitting with you. "Could probably take over the world pretty quickly if you wanted." He teases, because there’s no doubt in his mind that you could take over the world if you wanted to. "Yeah, right." You roll your eyes playfully, not taking him seriously one bit. "I’m serious. Nobody would be able to stop you. You’d get away with everything. You could commit a multitude of crimes. Murder. Robbery. Maybe even arson. Hell, you could probably even kidnap." He replies, even though he knows that you're much more honorable than that.

"Jeez. You're making me sound like Pietro now," You scoff, shaking your head. "That’s an insult, honestly. You’ve got a far better moral compass than that guy, and you’re much less annoying." He retorts, a chuckle leaving his lips. "True, but at least the guys got a good stash of weed." You smile, gazing off at the other students playing tag in the open land. Scott rolls his eyes, because of course the guy is selling weed. "So that’s how you know him." Scott says dryly "Does your dad know you’re stealing weed from Pietro?"

"My dad can read minds, of course he does." you respond, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "He just told me to be safe," you shrug "I think he was doing way crazier shit in his teens than we are." Scott snorts because he had no doubt in his mind that Charles had done some wild stuff in his young adult life. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Charles had once been a young man, with interests and hobbies and vices like anyone else. "Oh god, please don’t do anything that the professor did in his youth."

"I won't, I won't." you raise your hand in defense. "Good." Scott says firmly, but the smile is back on his face.The two of them sit in silence for a few moments. And Scott can feel his mood and his headache starting to slightly ease, just a bit, now that you're here. He lets out a long breath, and he’s not crushing the remains of the flower as hard anymore. "I guess it's good you can’t read my mind." Scott says finally, half-teasing. "Hm? Why?" you question, quirking a brow at him.

"You’d get annoyed by how often my mind changes." Scott half-jokes. But it’s not really a joke. Scott changes his mind and overthinks things so often that it would get annoying pretty quickly, judging from the few times he’s accidentally projected his thoughts to Charles. "You’re probably better off not knowing what’s going on in my brain. It gets pretty dark in there."

He lets out another breath, and he stops crushing the flower in his fingers entirely. Then he turns to look back at her directly. "You…you said something after our last mission. Remember?" You hum in response, nodding along. Scott takes a moment as he tries to formulate his next words, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of how close you two are sitting. He glances down at the inches of distance between your legs. "Do you remember what you said?" Scott asks finally, glancing back up at her, almost hesitantly. "No, I don't." you answer.

Scott thinks for a second, silently cursing at himself. You probably either a) doesn’t remember it at all, since it meant nothing to you, or b) do remember it, and is trying to save him from the humiliation of remembering. Scott wasn’t sure which would be worse. He almost just decides to drop it and let the conversation pass on, but a moment of courage overtakes him, and he just bites the bullet and says it anyway. "You…you told me that I deserved better. Do you remember that?" Your response was to press your lips together and look away from him "Yeah.. I do.."

There’s a part of him, a voice in the back of his head, that tells him to stop this conversation now before he humiliates himself. But that bit of courage he’d grabbed ahold of is still there, and Scott pushes it aside for the time being. "Why did you say that then?" He asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "Because.. You don't deserve the burden that your eyes cause." You explain, unable to make eye contact with him. Scott’s brain scrambles for a moment, and he suddenly feels butterflies stirring in his stomach. No, no, he just had to be misreading this. That’s all. There was no way that you actually meant that. He swallows, and the words that come out of his mouth are a bit awkward and forced, and he knows you will be able to tell. "That’s…that’s not the only thing you said."

"What else did I say?" you ask. Scott’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and he feels like he’s going to be sick, but he swallows down his anxiety. He can’t afford to chicken out now. "You…you said that I deserved someone who could make me laugh." Scott responds, looking straight at you. "Oh, right.." you mumble, he swallows again, because suddenly his throat feels like the Sahara Desert. He forces himself to keep his voice even, and he finally says the words that have been on his mind for so, so long. "And then you said…you said I deserved someone who could love me, despite it."

"Yeah, you do." Scott’s heart beats faster, because you said it so easily. So matter-of-fact, like it’s such an easy concept for you. Like it’s just been there, the whole time. "Do you actually…" Scott mumbles, his head feels fuzzy as you turn your head to look at him. He swallows, throat still feeling like sandpaper, heart beating out of his chest. "Can I.. uhm.. ask you a question?" you nod your head. He takes a deep breath, and this is it. This is the moment. This is where he either jumps off the cliff, and falls, or doesn’t. "When you said all those things…about me deserving better and being happy with someone…did you mean…you?"

"Maybe," you answer, biting your lip "Unless you like someone else.." Scott pauses for a moment, because he wasn’t expecting you to be so direct. He was expecting some half-answer, for you to give him a hint maybe. But you're as blunt as your father. He shakes his head, because he definitely does not like anyone else, and he’s been completely obsessed over you for a long, long time. "No. No, I don’t." He says firmly, causing you to blink in surprise. You didn't expect him to be so honest.

Scott suddenly has the insane idea to reach out and grab your hand, so he does. He reaches over, and his fingers brush against yours, and he gently picks up one of your hands up with his own. "It’s only you," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Your eyes widen slightly "Really?" He gently brushes his thumb over your knuckles, hesitantly he laces his fingers through yours. Then he nods, and he’s looking at you almost shyly. "Only you," He confirms. His heart is still beating faster than his brain can process, and Scott doesn’t think he’s ever felt this nervous in his entire life.

You lean a little closer to him and in a moment of bravery, he dares to bring his other hand up to rest on your cheek. He turns to face you fully, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are. your hair smells good, he notices; it’s sweet smelling, but not in a completely feminine way. More like a summer rain and spring flowers smell. And soon he can’t think of anything but how much he wants to kiss you right now. "Scott," you whisper, grabbing his attention. He exhales, very much so out of his comfort zone. For once he can’t plan and strategize his next move. He just has to go for it. But, he doesn’t really care about that anymore. "Can I…" His voice is soft "Can I kiss you?"

"Please do." You answer, your words send a wave of relief over him. And as if he was about to go into battle, he suddenly gains a rush of confidence. With the hand that’s still holding your face, he gently tilts it up towards him, and he leans down, his face so close to yours. "Please, tell me if I’m a shitty kisser." He mutters against your lips before closing the distance between them. You kiss him back, placing your hand on his chest. Scott immediately feels like this is what he’s missing for his entire life. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, but in a good way, and all the noise in his mind goes quiet. For the first time in he can’t even think, he just feels like he’s home. Your eyes squeeze shut as you lose yourself in the moment.

Scott deepens the kiss, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He presses his body against yours, he can feel you grab onto his shirt and he’s suddenly addicted. You pull away a second later, gasping for air. Scott actually lets out a huff of a laugh, because he isn’t used to feeling this breathless, like he’s just run a hundred miles nonstop. "See? I told you I was a shitty kisser." He grins and teases, in a slightly shaky voice. "The worst." you reply, chuckling a little. "Shut up," He mutters, pressing a kiss to the skin just under your jaw.

You ruffle his hair a bit "You know.. I got a blunt in my room." Scott laughs again, because you guys could not be two more contrasting people. "Of course you do. Why am I not surprised?" He shakes his head playfully. "Come on," you say "Let's get high and makeout for a while." He has a million reasons as to why it’s a bad idea. He should be in his room, going over the training regimen for tomorrow, catching up on paperwork, looking for any news or threats Xavier should know about. But he doesn’t care about any of that. He’s suddenly feeling reckless. He stands up and offers his hand down to you "Sounds like a plan to me."

Star's notes -> Should I make a part 2 where they get high (and have sex)?? Anyways, on my third day of school as of posting this and I am very tired already

(Requests are open!)

Taglist -> @theweepingvulcan91 @boogeysmoth | Join the taglist

[penvisions]

sweetening the deal {by the grit of sandpaper}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Summary: Tommy Miller asked you to take his place beside his brother on patrols, and you're determined to not let him down even if you're far too awkward around the older Miller you don't know very well.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: canon typical language, pining, requited unrequited feelings, joel is so soft in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, joel miller's body needs its own warning, tooth rotting fluff, mostly joel pov, SET BEFORE THE FIRST CHAPTER

A/N: dear @copperhalfcent submitted a drabble emoji as part of the final chapter celebration and of course i got carried away, what a bummer, huh? here's this for y'all to enjoy until the final chapter comes out! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

A rather loud crack of cartilage startles you, your gun aimed toward the direction Joel approached you and the horses from. He had dismounted to check out the small wisps of smoke with an urgent but quiet request to remain behind.

“Just me ‘n my bad back.”

“Should soak in some hot water when we get back.” You say as you lower the barrel, turning your attention to the tittering horses. You miss the way his eyes darken at the image of you covered in nothing but scented bubbles flashing in his mind. It was the middle of summer, your shirts having given way to tank tops that gave the man more than a glimpse of the swell of your breasts glistening with sweat. His hands twitch at his sides, his own gun secure over his back, pistol nestled in the holster at his hip.

“Afraid that won’t do much at my age.”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

“I’m far older than you, you can’t be more’n forty.”

“Tommy’s got a few on me, but he said you’re not much older than him?”

“I’m fifty-seven, he’s about fifty. Even older with a birthday comin’ up soon. More’n a few years, actually.”

“Oh. Well, I always did go for older guys.” And fuck if his cock didn’t twitch and his stomach didn’t swoop at the implications of your words. You must’ve realized they were uttered aloud as you spin back to face him with a twisted face, heat tinging the tops of your ears and your chest rising with a deep exhale of an apology he didn’t think was necessary.

“Shit. That was wildly inappropriate, Joel. I’m so sorry.” The worry in the lines of your face, the few wrinkles he could see around your eyes made his stomach swoop again. You were so god damn expressive once he got you talking, something relatively new as you both got used to being around each other, reading each other’s moods.

“No need to apologize, we all got our preferences.”

“Still, you-you’re…I’m just gonna shut up now.” He could hear the clack of your teeth as you snap your jaw shut, tense at what he figured you thought was too forward of a conversation with someone who you interacted with only a few times a week. But he frowned, not liking the way you interpreted their easy-going patrols that had begun to develop into something he would call genuine friendship.

“Nah, is okay. Filters are for people who actually say inappropriate stuff. You’re fine, Olive.” He watches the way you begin to lead the horses down an overgrown path, falling into step behind you. Something that paired with the smoldering fire he had found keeping his eyes and ears open to those responsible. “When’s your birthday?”

“I’m a winter baby, which is ironic because I don’t like the cold.” His eyes trace the same line a drop of sweat as it makes its way from your braided hair and down the back of your neck. The increasing heat not seeming to bother you as it did so many others who had the relieve of central air in Jackson.

“Not a fan either, being from Texas we didn’t get much of it.” Joel realizes he hadn’t told anyone of his past other than Ellie in…god knows how long. You were smart though, no doubt picking up on the twang his voice carried, the particulars of it telling of his past just as much as his answers to each new question. But he was willing to share it with you, something about you softening the edges of the walls he had built up around himself. Of wanting to find out what you had in common and what you didn’t.

“Do you…like sweets?”

“Huh?” Even if he were privy to the innerworkings of your mind, the question would still have caught him off guard, doubly so since he wasn’t.

“Uh…sweets? Like cake or tart or even muffins?” Nervous, he realized, you were nervous around him sometimes. But it was so unlike the rest of the town, nervous as in worried about accidentally offending him or saying the wrong thing, not nervous he was going to throttle them. He had done his best to work alongside Tommy, to appease Maria and the council, to show them that he was committed to turning a new leave and abiding by their way of life to ensure he and Ellie had a place to call home. It had been a rough couple of months, but you sure as hell sweetened the deal.

“Wouldn’t say no to ‘em, but never went out of my way to get any for myself.” The question of who he would go out of his way to get them fore glints in your eye, but you purse your lips and refrain from another question. He rather likes betting against himself to see if you would ask the many he sees cross your face. Your brow was twitch just before you did, if you allowed yourself. Your lips would twitch if you didn’t, like you were holding back the words springing up in your mind.

After a rather awkward first couple of patrols, he had realized the set of his face may have come across as uninterested. But you were so sweet, so quiet and he found himself wondering about you beyond the bubble of time you shared while out on patrol. Tommy had barked a laugh when he asked how long you had been here, the glimmer of teasing only a younger sibling was capable of lighting up his face. Longer than him, he had said. Which meant you had to have been a part of it for a while.

Time passes and his birthday is suddenly something Tommy makes a point to stop by the house with a classic yellow cake covered in chocolate frosting.

Figured you for a simple man, so a simple cake seemed the safest bet. Hope the day is good to you, Olive.

The note attached to it was inscribed with beautiful, looping writing. Tommy had remarked that you were the go to baker for cakes, even if the requests were made at the mess hall where he learned you were one of the cooks behind the scenes. Each new piece of you he learned making him want to know more. With the thought to thank you next patrol, he accepted the cake and his brother’s company.

Ellie had made him breakfast before school, but he had remained inside all day, busing himself with cleaning and carving to ignore the memories the date always brought up. But that evening, he smiled over a small dinner with his brother as they cut into the cake almost immediately after. Glad he had opened up to you and to find that you thought of him as much as he was beginning to think of you. He would return the favor by bringing coffee, something he was learning was a commodity few had a steady supply of. A branch of his own to let you know he didn’t think you were being too forward in any capacity.

Even more so when he noticed a third slice stolen from the platter it was delivered on the next morning, a card beside it from Ellie wishing him another year for her to tease him.

taglist: @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk @littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon

@keylimebeag @picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture @joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar @honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh @persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc @part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel @blueberrylemon7 @maryrhodalouandted @joelsdagger @fluff-lover

@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @r4vens-cl4ws @picketniffler @joeldjarin

[ultralightpoe]

Mistaken Hatred - Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: This was a request, but I might have accidentally deleted it! If this was something you requested sorry for the lateness! Idk what happened 

Word Count: 4748

Warnings: angst, aemond is a loud-mouthed asshole 

Description: Aemond is sure that you are enemies and stuck in a marriage of convenience 

Aemond could remember the days when you hadn’t hated him. 

You had both been young, far too young to understand the war brewing between your mothers or recognize any of the vile things that had been said. He could still smell the oils in your hair from all the times your would wrap your arms around him, still taste the strawberries he would steal from you as you both lazed under the weirwood tree together. 

He remembers his heart beating faster at every smile you would give him. 

But something had changed in the both of you somewhere along the way, and though he could not pinpoint a certain moment you became enemies he knew for a fact that he hated you just as much as you hated him.  

“Tell me, bastard, how does it feel knowing you will never live up to anything?” He sneered, watching as your eyes narrowed in on him. 

“Are you sure you even know who you are speaking to? Can you see out of that rock?” You snap back, giving a false cringe to his eye that makes him blush. “Aemond…… It’s me, it’s Y/n. You are speaking to Lady Y/n.”

  His jaw tenses in anger as you continue to tease him, rolling his eye. “I do still believe that you and your brothers owe me an eye….”

“An eye for an eye? What’s next? You take your mothers balls?” You laugh, walking past him in your riding leathers, making sure to hit him with your hair as you throw it over your shoulder. “Tell me how that goes will you? Always enjoyed watching you cry.” 

The day his father broke the news of the peace treaty Aemond could feel nothing but relief. A tension released as he had the greens and the blacks forge the peace treaty. His half sister, Rhaenyra, would get the throne and after her it would pass to her son. 

But there were things needed to ensure the alliance lasted past his fathers dying wish, a marriage for example. 

His brother had already been married of to his poor older sister, Aemond only feeling pity for his closest friend as she struggled to survive. His nephews had been arranged to marry the Velayron girls to ensure that peace, and his baby brother Daeron would still be in Olde Town until the end of summer. That left him…….and you. 

When Viserys made the announcement Aemond had already been looking to you, waiting with baited breath for you to argue. A wave of embarrassment already clinging to his being at the thought of you outright denying him. 

Not that he cared, you were a constant thorn in his side. 

“Tell me, do people ever make eye contact when they speak to you?” You snipe, sitting across from him at the septas library, smirking. “Would you feel better if I went cross eyed?”

“I would feel better if you left. Or if you and your siblings were finally taken from the world. ” He sighs, refusing to look up from the book he had grabbed for the day. “You have a terrible habit of absorbing all the energy and patience of a room.”

“Good to know I have such a large effect on you.” You laugh, snatching the book before he could process what you were doing. “Thank you.”

“I was reading that you bastard-”

“Oh here we go with the bastard- Aemond, darling, I look exactly like my mother. You have no evidence.” You stick out your tongue before moving to stand.

“Give the book back!” He sneers, launching for it until you hit his forehead with it lightly.

“I need it, you ghost. Go find a romance somewhere.” 

“I was reading it-” “I take precedence-”

“No you absolutely do not-”

“I do indeed, my matter is more important than yours.” You say it bluntly, with such a straight face that Aemond finds himself intrigued.

“What do you need it for?”

“I need it to impress a boy.” You smile, moving to leave. 

Aemond clenches his fist as an unknown feeling settles in his gut, watching you leave with his book. 

You hadn’t looked at him that day, but you hadn’t argued either. You merely stared at the floor in quiet surrender that had his jaw clenching. 

You were acting sad when it was him that was being thrown up like a fucking pawn? Would it really be so bad to be married to him?

Rhaenrya and his mother met in the middle of the throne room, hugging softly as all the children watched, you refusing to look up while you held your youngest brothers hand tightly. 

Jace and Luke stood on either side of you while Joffrey stood right by Daemon, who was holding young Aegon to his chest. 

“May our families join as one, once more.” Viserys smiles, the cue taken soon enough as everyone began to mingle. 

“Let us see the future lovers closer together!” The elder Aegon slurs, snatching your shoulder to drag you closer to Aemond. 

He takes a moment to slap his brothers hand away from your shoulder, shoving him back and mumbling “Don’t ruin this peace treaty Aegon.”

When he turned to speak with you it seemed you already disappeared, spotting you in the hallway with your stepfather Daemon arguing. 

The blistering heat seeped into his skin as his riding leathers seemed heavier with each step he took, hair beginning to mat to his neck. 

Aegons 18th name day was to be celebrated by a tourney, every knight lord and noble of the realm having traveled to compete or attend, including all the beautiful females.

Not that the last fact would ever matter to Aemond, who had been completely ignored by every female since he had his eye carved out as a boy. All except one, one constant pain in his side. 

“Lord Baratheon, this is my-.....this is Prince Aemond.” You correct yourself, a sweet smile laced on your features as you keep a hand rested in the lords elbow. 

“Prince Aemond! A pleasure to meet you!” The lord smiles, bowing slightly, giving Aemond the chance of making quick eye contact with you before the lord stands to his full height once more. 

“We’ve met…. My 13th name day, 3 years ago.” He says tightly, hands crossed behind his back as he turns to look away from the both of you.

“Right… the um…. The year that you….”

“The year my nephews tore out my nephew and you and your charming followers through dirt in it on my own name day?” He reminds, turning just in time to see a look of shock cross your features. You obviously hadn’t know, having been dragged back home to Dragonstone for your parents to marry in secret. 

“I…. must have been far too into the ale My Prince.” The lord lies, trying not to look irritated or embarrassed. “Lady Y/n was allowing me to escort her to the-”

“Princess Y/n.” Aemond reminds, finally looking to the lord. “Bastard or not her mother is the heir.”

“Aemond-” You snap, turning to the boy in a panic as Aemond laughs. “My lord, I do apologize-”

“So it’s true? You’re a bastard?” The boy snaps, eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. For a second Aemond gets a rush of irritation looking at how the lord was using his height as a weapon against you, taking a second to step between you two.

“I- Lord Baratheon, the words my uncle speaks come from anger and not truth- you must believe me.” You try to ease the situation and the lord gives you a skeptical look. “Let us get back to our walk, you were just telling me about the difference between dear and elk?” 

“Is that why you picked the book up the other day? To try and hide your half title from any suitor?” Aemond snaps, finally scaring off the other male as you whip to look at him. 

“That was not funny-”

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with the rest of your fucking bastard family?”

“What is wrong with you today?” You snap, turning to walk away but he follows.

“You are my problem, walking around just like your mother had.”

“What does that mean?” You whip around to glare, a smirk crossing his features as he finally pinpoints how to irritate you.

“It means you and your mother are whore-” A hand snaps across his face making his head whip back, a shocked look taking over. “Wha-”

“I suggest you fix your tone and implications the next time I see you. Prince.” You snap, storming off. 

You don’t make any eye contact at the wedding. 

Not when you slice your hand open as well as his, not when he rubs his bloody thumb over your forehead and you do the same to him. 

Aemond can’t do anything but stare. 

You had worn one of the finest gowns in westeros, hand stitched by 4 people to fully celebrate the union between blacks and greens. Your hair had been done into one of the most intricate braids he had ever seen, pearls and diamonds braided in. 

He mutters the respective words of the Targaryen wedding tradition before you do the same, leaning to touch your nose against his as told, finally looking at him. His heart stops in his chest as he attempts an easy smile. You ignore it. 

You sit by him at the feast, smiling at all the guests that had come to congratulate you both on the union and peace treaty. 

Though when once a particular lord comes up he feels your entire being tense as a faint recognition travels through him. 

“I congratulate the two on a blessed union, and I hope them well in the children department.” He mutters, head bowing as Aemond nods, trying to remember where he had seen the man. “Let us hope that Y/n carries the bastard blood to save her from the Targaryen curses with pregnancy.”

The room silenced almost instantly, everyone holding their breath as Aemond finally recognized the man in front of him. It was the lord from a couple years back, the one he had mocked your legitimacy to. 

“Hold your tongue Lord Baratheon-” His father snaps, casting a look to Rhaenyra who was holding her own stomach. 

Targaryen pregnancies were a curse indeed, for his fathers first wife had gone through multiple and the only one to come was Rhaenyra herself. 

“I wouldn’t worry about any future heirs , Lord Baratheon, it’s not my style.” Aemonds entire tone is tart, casting a side look to see you clenching your fist and biting your lip. 

You must have been embarrassed from the bastard comment the lord made, and for the very thought of being bred like a horse. Aemond hated the thought himself, he would not be providing an heir unless you yourself asked for one.

The lord is dismissed with a group of guards under the pretense of them taking him home, but Aemond knew that Daemon had already ordered he wasn’t to leave the grounds alive. The second the group disappears through the doors the festivities begin again and Aemond finds himself standing up when you do.

“Did you want to dance-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you slap his outstretched hand away. 

“I’m not feeling well. I shall be going to my chambers.” You reply, moving to walk past him but he stops you with a hand on your elbow. 

“People will talk-”

“Oh please. They have been fed enough gossip to last them months. Lord Baratheon implying that I am a bastard in front of the court and my new husband stating I was not to his taste? I’ve been made a laughing stock tonig-”

“I did not say you were not to my taste. I meant forcing an heir was not to my taste.” He rushes out, getting extremely defensive without meaning to. “When did you become so weak? I can remember multiple times where your tongue was as silver as a snake.”

“Or maybe I just finally realized that you were being serious all those times.” You seethe, hitting his shoulder. 

“And you weren’t?” He is absolutely dumbfounded. You two had been enemies for years? What could you mean you weren’t serious?

“I was a fool who thought we were jesting. And I soon realized that you were just a monster.” You reply cooly, finally making your escape and leaving Aemond at your wedding. 

“Don’t tell me, little princling, you don’t have any friends?” You giggle, coming around the thick tree to see Aemond hiding and reading. 

His eyebrows knot together as a scowl takes over, turning to you. “I hadn’t realized the brothel would be moving into the keep….. Please tell me they put your rooms far away from mine. Only the gods know what I could catch within dragon space of you.” 

“Mmmm. Thinking of ways to catch something are you? Want to ride-”

“What do you need, bastard?” He snaps, a heat traveling his skin as he watches something twinge in your features. 

“I was hoping we could discuss the other day,” You say, tone sounding all too serious. “When I slappe-”

“I remember quite well.” He interrupts, slamming the book shut. The same book you had stolen him a mere 2 weeks before. 

“It was a terrible reaction, I am aware. I just- well you see…. I was trying to impress Lord Baratheon for my moth-”

“Is there a reason I should care?”

“I’m trying to explain why I am upset, Aemond. So that I may apologize correctly” You sigh, looking completely puzzled. “I feel we crossed a line the other day and I had no idea-”

“Crossed a line? How so? It is well within my right to call a whore when I see one.” He snaps, standing so he wasn’t looking up at you. The sunlight perfectly framed your figure as he moved closer, waiting for your retaliation that never came. “What? Don’t you want to make a comment? Something humorous to go and laugh at with your lowlife wasteful siblings.”

“Watch your tongue-”

“Or what?” He snaps, stepping closer. You instantly shove him back with a hurt look. 

“You……this entire time you meant everything….” You looked absolutely torn, some of your hair falling out of your braid as you watch him. “I… oh how foolish I have been.”

You are storming off then, hands clenched as you march past Aegon and go to where your eldest brother waits for you. 

“RUN AND CRY TO YOUR FAMILY THEN! MAYBE YOU CAN TELL YOUR REAL FATHER ALL ABOUT IT SOON!” 

Jace whips around to charge at him and Aegon but you catch your brothers arm, pulling him harshly and muttering something under your breath before you both disappear from sight.

Before Aegon can make a snappy comment Aemond storms off, leaving the book under the tree.

Aemond doesn’t see you for three days after the wedding, but he doesn’t mind that, his brain is still trying to wrap around the confusion of your words. 

What had you mean that you thought it was all a jest, had you been mocking him for a reaction all those years? Had you not been trying to fight him? 

“Prince Aemond, Princess Y/n has sent a-” He snatches the note from the pageboy instantly, unraveling it to read the contents inside. 

‘Heading to Dragonstone to help with the rest of my mothers pregnancy. I will send word before I return.’

“Has she left already?” He asks, standing to get to the door and find your chambers, needing to talk to you before you left. Just to sort some of his thoughts out. 

“She took flight this morn, with her brothers, to follow their Princess Rhaenrya back home.” The page explains. “Left that in the room, maids brought it to me.”

A sigh escapes Aemond as he nods, heading out of the room to find one of his own siblings. He would send a raven asking for a word later, right now he needed to finalize some of the peace treaties issues. 

He was ashamed to admit he sat in the library and waited for you to come in just as you always did and bother him. He waited to start a fight with you, already thinking of insults that would keep up with your own. 

He pretended to read the history book he had snatched that morning as he listened for the door, trying not to seem too excited when he heard it groan. 

It had been a week since the day under the weirwood tree, and neither of you had gone this long without mocking the other. He was beginning to get an anxious feeling. 

“Prince Aemond-” His head snaps up when he realizes it’s not you, angry that it wasn’t your smug voice about to mock him. “Your mother has requested your presence-”

“Tell her I am busy.” He says quickly, turning to the door to make sure you don;t enter without him noticing. 

“She says that she will not let you hide in here all day. She says I must take you to her or the trai-”

“Fine.” He sighs, grabbing his sword and storming out. 

He sees a dash of y/h/c and straightens as he leaves, disappointment filling him when it was just a trick of light. 

Your mother had lost the babe, naming the child Aemma in honor of her own mother, and you had sent word that you would be staying to care for your mother in her time of need. 

That hadn’t annoyed Aemond, what had annoyed him was that you sent word to his mother and not he. 

“Page?” He calls the young boy as his mother stares. “Are you sure I haven’t received any news from dragonsto-”

“Just the one raven My lord. I accepted it myself.” The page says, bowing. Aemond feels a wave of dread and embarrassment fill him as he turns back to his mother. 

“Are my ravens not reaching there?” 

“As far as I am aware they are, dearest.” Alicent sighs, standing to rub his cheek.

“Please let my lady wife know I am patiently waiting to hear from her.” He sighs, teeth rubbing together as he leaves the room. 

“Is there any word on Lady Y/n?” Aemond asks one of the guards, trying to seem casual. “I have not seen her around the keep in a couple days.”

“Lady Y/n has traveled with her father to grab a dragon egg for her future sibling,” The guard explains. Aemond feels a wave of relief at the fact that you had been gone and not avoiding him. That is until, “They left this morning, Prince.”

“Why did she go at all?” 

“Princess Rhaenrya is due to labor soon and they were hoping her dragon would help find the eggs.” 

Rhaenrya was about to have her first child with Daemon, and as Targaryen tradition held the babe would get an egg, the only issue was the lack of eggs. 

There had been a dragon on the island eating all the unhatched eggs, the people beginning to call him Cannibal. 

“Will you notify me when they return? I believe she has a book of mine-”

“It is to my understanding Prince, that Lady Y/n will be staying at Dragonstone with the rest of her family.”

Aemond is at a loss for words, storming off. 

Another week had passed and Aemond had debated flying out to Dragonstone himself and demanding answers, but he quickly remembers that this is a marriage of convenience to you and he does not wish to look like a fool. 

King Viserys dies, and although he is minorly upset, Aemond is delighted that you will have to come back to Kings Landing. 

He waits for your dragon to land, watching you closely as you dismount the dragon and climb down the ladder you had, eyes meeting his instantly. 

He is ashamed to admit that his heart beat wildly as you made your way closer, wearing black for mourning. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Husband.” You say lowly, moving to walk by him but he turns to keep walking with you. 

“As I am yours, Wife.” He mumbles, trying to keep up with your quick pace. “I have not heard from you, I had assumed you to be dead.”

“I do know you wish me to see my father, how very thoughtful you have always been.” You mutter, words sounding venomous as you trail along the courtyard. 

“I was hoping we could discuss-” He could not understand why he was so nervous. What was freaking him out so much? “I must go and attend to my ladies at court, much to do before my mother's coronation.” You interrupt, strutting off and leaving him behind. 

He barely sees you at your mothers coronation, for you were standing with the rest of your siblings to watch closer than the rest. 

While you were watching your mother with wide eyes, Aemond could not drag his eyes away from you. 

His chest ached as he prayed for a chance to talk to you, just for a moment. 

You’re gone by daylight, Aemond asking for you and your father telling him you were caring for an issue left on Dragonstone. 

He is agitated at the news but doesn’t have time to think before Rhaenyra is asking him to fly to Winterfell. “Lord Stark is the final signature needed to back my coronation, I need a good rider to get there and back.”

“After that may I have your permission to head to Dragonstone.” He snaps, trying to keep his cool as Daemons head whips to look at him. “I wish to see my wife and I am aware that Dragonstone is not-”

“You are permitted.” Rhaenyra smiles, patting his shoulder before moving to where his mother stood. 

He does as told, heading to Winterfell on Vhagar to receive the final signature. He stays there for a week as they go over all the final details before a messenger races in, running straight for Aemond.

He doesn’t say anything as he tears it open, reading the contents inside over and over before apologizing to Lord Cregon and rushing for Vhagar. 

It takes nearly 2 days of flying before he gets to you at dragonstone. Landing Vhagar and jumping down from the saddle while racing behind a guard to get to you. 

He doesn’t waste time thanking the guard or waiting to be announced as he burst into the room, making you jump from where you are sat in a bed. 

“Aemond? You should be in Winter-”You begin to yell, moving to sit up. He crosses the room in three strides, softly pushing you back down as you look at him skeptically. 

“I received word that you and your dragon had been hurt.” He states, stepping back to check all the injuries while keeping his hands on your shoulders. “There had been a wild dragon?”

“I was merely trying to protect a batch of eggs.” You explain, trying to remove his hand. “It was fine, you should not have been called-”

“I should not have been summoned after my wife was nearly killed?” He snaps, confusion littering his face as he spots a familiar book on the nightstand. “I knew you stole it.”

“Did you honestly fly out here to accuse me of stealing a book?” You snipe, reaching for it before he can grab it. But you were slow from the injuries and he was already lunging for it. 

“I flew out here because I was terrified you would die-”

“And you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to celebrate it properly?”

“I was afraid that you would die. No snide comments were going to follow that sentence.” He states bluntly, sitting on the edge of the bed to peer into the book. “It’s still so odd to me that you picked this book to impress Lord Baratheon-”

“You think I took that book to impress that trout-faced ass?” You laugh incredusly, still looking nervous at his presence. “I took it to impress you.”

His head snaps up with a blush, smiling softly. “You took the book to impress me?”

“A terrible thought out plan considering I hadn’t quite realized you actually hated me. Did you ever consider that I had been talking you up to Lord Baratheon that day?” You mumble, looking away and messing with the cover of the bed. 

He lets silence consume you both as he flips through the book, stopping when he comes across sketches of himself, all extremely detailed. “D-did you draw these?”

“Awhile ago, yes.” You whisper. “The septa found the book and returned it to me that day-”

“You had been joking all those years, and I had been an ass.” He speaks, voice tight at the truth, watching your face.

“I never meant to offend you-”

“But I had. I had always meant to offend you while you were merely thinking of me as a friend. A friend that you thought was pretty enough to draw.” He states, fingers tracing over one of the sketches. “That entire time I had been a monster.”

“Aemond-”

“That’s why you avoid me now? Because I had acted that way?”

“I figured you’d still hate me.” You sigh, wincing in pain as you try to sit up. Within moments he has one arm wrapped around you torso for support, the other sitting in between your neck and shoulder. 

“How foolish and terrified I have been….”

“You should be in Winter-” You don’t get to finish your words, his lips coming to meet yours soft and slowly. 

You hesitate for a moment before kissing back, hands moving to his hair. 

“I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry.” He whispers in short moments when you both try to catch your breath before lunging back in for another kiss. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out as he pulls you closer, kissing you like a man possessed. He moves you gently so that he his kneeling between your legs and you are resting on the pillows, kissing your jaw with content. 

“I’m sorry..”

“So am I.” You mumble but he shakes his head. 

“I’m a fool. All this time I have wasted trying to hate you and you were merely reaching a playful hand out.” He sighs, kissing down your neck. “Forgive me, please princess, forgive your foolish husband.”

“Forgiven.” You whisper, pulling him back up softly. “It is all forgiven.”

“I do not wish for this to be a marriage of convenience. I wish for you, it’s all I have ever wished for whether I realized it or not. Please- Give me a chance-”

“Accepted.” You smile, pulling him closer and tugging him to kiss you. “You have been granted one more chance.”

He smiles, leaning down and dragging his own lips against yours in a possessive kiss, eye glinting in the soft light. 

Once you are healed he prepares Vhagar, watching you mount your own dragon carefully.

“You feel even the slightest twinge of pain and we head back-”

“Instantly. I know. You worry wart.” You laugh, hair blowing in the wind as he looks at you with a raised brow. “Gonna keep AN EYE on me, Lover boy?”

“Keep taunting all you want…..” He smiles, “You’ll pay for it all tonight, you old maid.”

“Old maid?!” You laugh. “That makes you a corpse!”

You take flight, leaving him to curse and push Vhagar to go, racing through the skies as you begin to track the wild dragon Cannibal. 

It wouldn’t be long before he would need to find a dragon egg for his child, and he needed to make sure there was an egg to procure.

“Come on grandpa! You’re slowing down!” You laugh, looking back to stick your tongue out at him. 

It takes him a moment to catch his breath as he smiles at you, and to think that he missed all of this by being a twit. But he doesn’t apologize again, knowing how you’ve come to hate it, instead he pushed Vhagar faster and calls “Loser won’t be allowed to finish tonight!”

You looked shocked for a moment before he has his dragon sweeping under yours and taking lead. “But considering how much I love you, dearest wife, I will consider giving you at least one orgasm.” 

He laughs and flies off, leaving you desperate to catch up.

(REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND WILL BEGIN BEING POSTED ON MONDAYS)

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AEMOND TAGLIST 

@Schniiipsel

@Sluttyaemond

@Lovelynerdytraveler

@Rosaryos

@Bbyhangman

@Winxschester

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@Valhallavalkyrie9

@Disturbing-love666

@Kittykylax

@Padfooteyes

@ultralightpoe

[star-wrote]

Daryl and reader’s first summer together ? Mood board or headcanon or whatever you like babes 😏🫶 I picture they’ve been together for the fall and a very long harsh winter, and the summer comes around and readers energy just starts to burst in response to the warmth and sunlight, and how that might look for them as a couple 🌻💛😁

Summer Lovin’

ao3 link

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Pre-Prison Era/After Farm Fell

A/N: tysm for the request love !! i adored writing this <3 also i’ve found that i struggle with staying in tenses so this switches from past to present tense :/ whoops

Warnings: typical TWD violence, poor mental health, fluff, angst

Word Count: 750

not my character | images from pinterest

Winter in the apocalypse sucks.

The group had been on the road for months now, grieving the loss of the Greene Farm; the loss of safety. Which also means the group was going through the harsh winter without a whole lot of warmth. Abandoned shacks and small campfires can only do so much.

You had been cold for too long, and you were sure that Daryl had grown annoyed with you complaining about your frozen toes when you huddled up against him at night.

Worst of all was your mental health. Obviously there’s always an air of depression, (it is the end of the world) but your thoughts were getting dangerously close to “hey let’s jump off that bridge!”

You didn’t want to burden Daryl, but after his gentle prying, you reluctantly agreed to tell him your thoughts. He did his best to reassure you, and he held you a little tighter that night.

Finally, the group had found the prison, a place that could be a forever home after the walkers get cleared. The weather had warmed up too over the last few weeks, and it was finally starting to feel like summer.

It was a pretty calm day, most of the group decided to relax for a day outside before trying to get into the prison. You recall passing a pond not too far from the prison walls. Deciding it was warm enough for a swim, you grabbed a blanket and your knife.

“Where are ya goin’ with that?” Daryl stepped in front of you, nodding at the stuff in your hands.

“Swimming. Wanna come with? I need a bodyguard.” You suggest while smiling up at him.

He grunts out what you have come to know as “yes,” and grabs his crossbow. “Ya sure it’s warm enough?”

You shrug. “Don’t care, I’ve waited long enough.”

He must’ve read your mind because he leads you out past the walls and to the pond that you saw while traveling with the group. You both quickly survey the area for walkers, feeling relieved after there seem to be none.

You strip down to your underwear and toss a smirk over your shoulder to a blushing Daryl, then giggle and wade your way into the pond.

Taking a moment to pause, you admire the sun reflecting off the water. You felt so happy in the warmth of the sun that you could cry.

Daryl watches from a distance, smiling at the peace and happiness that seems to be radiating off of you. He knew you had a tough time on the road during the winter. He was worried about you, but now he’s just glad that you’re smiling.

You swim and float around the pond for about thirty minutes, and then decide that you want to lay on the grass to dry off in the sun. You sigh as the warm grass envelops you.

“Come join me?” You smiled up at Daryl who was sat on a rock.

“Thought I was yer bodyguard.” He said while walking over to you anyway. He found out a long time ago that he couldn’t handle denying you anything.

You giggle as he groans as he lays down next to you. You start to cuddle into him but he gently shoves you away.

“Yer soakin’ like a wet dog righ’ now, dry off first.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, but comply. While putting on your t-shirt, you spot a patch of wildflowers and gasp. You run over to them.

This makes Daryl sit up immediately and grab his knife, anxiety filling his veins. He then sees that you found flowers and relaxes.

Walking over to you, he scoffs. “Scared me half to death, girl.”

While you were smelling the flowers, Daryl crouched down and picked one. He gently moved your hair out of your face and tucked the flower behind your ear. You blush and kiss his cheek.

“I’m glad yer feelin’ better. Was worried ‘bout ya.” He looked away for a moment, then back into your eyes. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

You felt your heart flutter. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hugged him tight and stayed like that for a while. You started to hum a song and swayed in his arms.

Daryl scoffs and loosens up so you can sway his body for him. “Whatcha doin’ girl?”

“Dancing with you, duh.”

He smiles and tucks his head into your hair. “Please never stop bein’ you, sunshine.”

[repentarium]

a waste of paint

read on ao3

“Just do your middle finger, Stevie, it’ll be, like, punk rock.”

“Right, because he is a beacon to anarchists all over the state of Indiana.” Max rolls her eyes, but Eddie is already tossing a tiny bottle to Steve. He tosses it back without looking at it. 

“You’re being a real spoilsport.” Eddie tsks at him and walks on his knees to sit at Steve’s feet. After a brief tug of war, he’s got Steve’s left hand secured and is using his teeth to unscrew the top of the bottle. 

“Waste of paint, man. I’m just gonna scrub it off.”

Eddie frowns at him smally, a tug down at the corners like he’s Thinking, like maybe he’s gonna shuffle back over to the girls, and Steve changes his mind with a sigh and shoves his hand closer to Eddie. 

El and Max are still over near the coffee table. Max is painting something rich and blue onto El’s fingertips and they’re chatting casually. Steve thinks it’s important they have this, something a little normal. El’s hair has grown out some since spring break, enough that she’s clipped a piece of bright plastic into it to keep it from falling across her face. She gets these headaches sometimes, and Max has glasses to help with her vision and a walking cast still on her left leg, but they’re here and they’re okay and they’re painting their nails. 

By the time he looks back down at Eddie, he’s finished a layer of golden yellow paint and his lips are pursed to blow gently across it. He looks up at him through his lashes and catches Steve looking back and smiles, and every part of Steve’s body is like electric-shock levels of tense.

And look, that’s normal , at least lately, at least for Steve. Normal to have to pull your eyes away from your pal, then look back as he starts painting again, the tip of his tongue poking at the corner of his lips just so in concentration.

All on the up and up, very above the board and even boring, maybe. A normal bodily reaction. Not a big deal. Cool as a cucumber. 

He’s talked to Robin about it - well, he’s talked around it in Robin’s general direction, he hasn’t jumped off the diving board per se, which is fine because there’s nothing weird here. Anyway, he told Robin that he thought Eddie was really cool is what happened if you want to know the exact details, and Robin said ‘Yeah, I think so too!’. So that was like proof that it was normal, you know. Everyone thought Eddie was cool. 

Steve is a liar. He is lying to himself. He does that sometimes, and he’s trying to get better about it, but it’s easier to not understand something than to dig into all the messy feelings. So the nail polish? He could have removed it, he maybe should have, but it’s like a physical something-or-other, and looking at it, or catching it on accident from the corner of his eye, gives him that same electric jolt he gets when he catches Eddie looking at him from across the room, or when he realizes the bell over the Family Video door ringing is actually heralding his loitering presence. 

Anyway, he’s a liar, mostly to himself, mostly for convenience, but this whole nail polish thing is wrecking it, it’s making it harder and harder to lie about it, even in the comfort of his own thoughts. 

He went on a few dates with Marie Thomas the summer before sophomore year, and she was like a vampire. She’d latch onto his throat and chew and it wasn’t like he wasn’t into it, but the real secret thrill was that he’d then catch the little bruises she left on his neck when he passed by the mirror. He hadn’t really thought he should cover it up, didn’t get why it was weird or whatever until Carol noticed on a Monday and started calling him a slut. He’d just liked that it was a physical and visual reminder that he had felt something, that he’d had a connection with another person. He liked pressing his thumb against a bruise and feeling the little bit of pain and he liked the way the purple bled out past the collar of his shirt as it healed. He and Marie didn’t last much into the school year, but he thought about the bruises sometimes. 

So looking at the yellow of the polish on his finger for the next few days and feeling that same thrill, like some kind of weird neon sign that flashed and told him ‘Eddie was kneeling at your feet the other day, remember? He was looking up with big eyes through his bangs and blowing gently on your finger and he was real and it happened’ as if some sort of hot and heavy backseat-at-the-drive-in action happened when it was truly something boring in a room full of people in his mom’s living room? 

It’s almost the same thing, really, and that feeling makes it harder to lie . 

By the time the golden-sunshine-yellow paint is chipping off the tip of his finger, he’s spiraling into a real conundrum of truths. It’s a Wednesday, and he is late to pick up Robin for work because he honestly truthfully spent ten minutes looking at the fresh chip in his paint. He’d been wondering if that was Eddie’s little bottle, if he’d had yellow fingertips like this before, or if this was from the girls’ collection. He’d been wondering if, if he went to the trailer park, Eddie would give him a touch up. If he’d sit at his knees while he did, or if they’d sit across from each other on his bed at the new government trailer, legs crossed and hands held like highschool girls holding a seance. 

It took the phone ringing to shake him out of it, Robin yelling at him for not being there yet. 

So it was toeing into his shoes, snatching his keys off the counter, and speeding to Robin’s and then to open the store. Busy with his body but his brain still whirring around with honest-to-god honesty. He liked Eddie, sure, but he also likes Eddie, the way he’d liked Marie Thomas or Nancy Wheeler or any of the girls he’d gotten handsy with. Pants feelings. 

And, maybe scarier, heart feelings. His terrible idiot of a heart whispers to him about how brave Eddie actually was and how kind he actually was and how good he actually was, how he treated the kids and how he nearly died to save the town that hated him and how he’d carefully held his hand and taken the time to do two coats of paint and to blow across the tip so that the sunny color looked Just Right and smooth even though Steve had (out of his mind, maybe) said he’d just wash it off. Like he’d been painting something special, maybe one of the tiny creatures for his game, instead of an ungrateful little jerk of a guy. 

It all has him itchy, tapping one hand on the counter and staring at the other, the truthy yellow of it all, while Robin complains about the shitty movie she’d chosen to throw on the tv. He knows that she knows that he’s in his head about something, they basically share the same head, and he’s grateful she’s keeping it light and surface level so he can dwell and hiccup over all the sticky stuff. 

The bell over the door rings, and Steve’s head snaps up (with hope, he recognizes the fluttery little wings of it and it’s like a carrier pigeon with a notarized message, the  contents inside enough to make him gulp) and of course it’s Eddie, he’s always around, especially on Wednesdays when the store is at its emptiest. Steve swallows again when he sees him, forces out a ‘Hey, man!’ and holds his hands steady on the counter, palms to the glass.

Eddie looks good, of course he does, eyes and teeth bright and sparkling and his hair backlit by the late morning light so it’s like a halo. He’s fizzy with energy, like he always is, and he comes up to lean against the counter directly across from Steve. Close, like always. In Steve’s personal space, like always .

“Hey yourself, man .” Eddie smiles at him and raps his knuckles against the glass. 

“Thank GOD you’re here, Munson, my brain is leaking out of my ears and Steve has been brooding and just so boring all morning.”

“Unfortunately, my dear Buckley, I’m on a mission today. I’ve gotta go out of town to get something for Wayne’s truck, so I can’t stay. Just wanted to check in with my adoring masses, a tough tour, you know how it is.” He raps again, and Steve’s eyes fall to their hands, Eddie’s rings clacking together and Steve’s sweaty palms pressed into the glass just an inch or so away. “Broody, huh? Run out of your fancy-boy hair gel?” 

Eddie frowns with pomp and drama and tucks his head down to make Steve look into his eyes, and he’s looking through his lashes again, just like when he was painting his nails. It makes him clear his throat, and clear it again, and think about Marie’s bruise on his neck, wonder if Eddie would bruise him like that, if he would rather Steve mark him up, and then he’s looking at the long line of his neck and the way it slides into the curve of his shoulder before it disappears into the stretched-out collar of his once-black shirt. He clears his throat again , and then, as if Eddie can read his mind (God no, please), he looks down at Steve’s hand and taps at the nail polish. 

“You need a touch-up, Stevie, that yellow is just falling apart. It’s called Sun Day, you know, that color. Two words: Sun Day.”

Steve hums at him and looks back at his hands again. Feels the ghost of the little tap he’d touched against his nail. 

“ Anyway , my friends and fellow freaks, I am a little overdue on this old thing.” He struggles into some hidden pocket under the flannel tied around his waist, turning his shoulders enough that Steve feels like whatever spell he’d cast is maybe broken and he can breathe again. 

He presses the plastic case onto the counter with what Steve just knows he thinks is his most winningest grin, but it only works because it’s created this silly stretched-out grimace that Steve finds charming, okay, it’s silly and it’s charming. 

“Fine! Okay, fine, you got it, what fees?” Steve shakes his head at him, one hand finally lifting from the counter to run through his hair and the other finding home on his own hip. He hopes there isn’t some sort of sweaty mark on the counter but he can’t look to check without showing his cards. 

“My everlasting thanks, sweet Stevie.” Eddie bows low and backs up a few steps, turns around as Robin says goodbye, taps the top of the door frame as he leaves and shoots a wink over his shoulder back at Steve. Steve stares too long, raises his hand in a wave after Eddie is already out of sight. 

Robin is snapping up Eddie’s returned VHS to rewind it; you’d think with his friends cutting him so much slack with the rentals he’d be-kind-rewind them at least, but he never does, and the worst part is that Steve doesn’t even care. He’s fully complained to many a customer with his arms crossed pissily about rewinding their spoils, but for some reason Eddie’s disregard is just another Cool Thing about his Cool Guy Persona. 

Something about that’s the final straw. When it crosses his mind, he crosses to the front of the store and flips the closed sign, locks the door, and turns off the display lights. By the time he’s turned around again, hands in his hair and his heart pounding in his throat, Robin is looking at him with an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t seem panicked, but Steve is starting to feel panicked, so he comes around the counter to lean next to Robin and then slides down to sit on the floor. It feels right. It feels even more right when Robin slides down the wall across from him and kicks her scuffed up Converse against his sneaker. 

She’s quiet and watching him with big eyes. It’s uncanny. 

He has a few false starts, big breaths and an open mouth before reeling in whatever he was going to say and snapping his jaw closed again. 

Finally, after minutes of Robin just Looking and Steve floundering and feeling warm, he looks at his painted nail for courage and just spits it out. 

“I like Eddie. Like I think I want to kiss him and hear about his day and touch his butt and stuff.”

“God,” says Robin, “of course you do. Have you seen the two of you dancing around each other? It’s like you pinball from middle school crush to old married couple and back again.”

Steve sputters. “You knew ? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Like that wouldn’t have totally freaked you out. You had to figure it out in your own time.” Steve would bet she thinks she looks wise, but to him she just looks constipated. 

“Well so. So what do I do? What now?” He’s chewing on the skin of his thumb, not the one who is neighbors with the Sun Day, he’s got enough presence of mind for that .

“What do you mean?”

Steve sighs in frustration and then his hands are tugging at his hair again, elbows balanced on his knees. “Is he even. Does he. What if he doesn’t like me back? What if he does ?”

“Breathe, Steve. He definitely likes you, he just thinks you’re straight ‘cause of, you know.” She gestures vaguely at him. 

“So did I.”

“Yeah, uh. Are you, like, freaking out?”

“I… don’t know. It snuck up on me. I just. He painted my fingernail.” Steve flips Robin off to show off the sad and chipped polish. 

“Yeah you showed me. Multiple times.” She has a pretty unimpressed expression on her face for someone who is supposed to be helping him. “ That’s what made you realize you liked his dork ass?”

“I mean, it was a series of things, I guess. I don’t know.” He’s looking at his silly fingernail again. “He’s really good. Like better than anyone maybe.”

Robin is gawking at him. “That’s not how you talk about girls, Steve. You haven’t mentioned his boobies like, at all.”

Steve groans and slides sideways to lay on the floor, sprawled out and looking at the cobwebs fighting to cover the overhead lights. Gross. 

“I’m sure his boobies are lovely, Robs, I just… wanna spend time with him, and listen to his weird stories and his weird music and look at his eyes when he talks about all the things he likes. And. Maybe he’ll like me like that too, you know? Like maybe he’ll feel the same way one day and I’ll be able to look at him and just know .” 

“Ew, you suck, Steve.” But her face when he looks is soft and caring. 

“Should I like. Talk to him? No. I don’t even know if he’s. You know.”

“You won’t know for sure until you talk to him, but I wouldn’t encourage you to talk to him if I didn’t think he was safe. And also like completely obsessed with you. But even if he wasn’t! He’s a good guy and he’s a good friend, you know. He’s not gonna be weird about it.”

“Hmm.”

Robin puts a hand on his knee and shakes it side to side. “Look at us ! You basically said you loved me and I’m still here, and we’re even closer than ever.”

Steve frowns at her, but he knows she’s right. Eddie’s a good guy, that’s the whole point.

“I guess I’m gonna talk to him.” Even saying it out loud to Robin like this makes him nauseous, makes his pulse pound, but she smiles at him in encouragement. 

“Yes! A great idea. You can turn on the old Harrington Charm, maybe-”

A pounding at the closed door and a muffled voice interrupts her. They both scramble to their feet, and Steve sees old Mrs. Burke pressing her face to the door, talking through the glass and shielding her eyes from the glare. 

“Coming!” Robin yells and darts to the door, lets her in and flips everything to open again. 

“You’re supposed to be open!” Mrs. Burke gripes. 

Steve mutters a ‘yeah, yeah’ and lets Robin take over. He’s usually fed to the Mad Old Lady Wolves but Robin loves him and lets him go sit in the breakroom for five minutes while she helps her find whatever romantic comedy she needs so badly. 

That means he gets to sit on the ratty old sofa and stare at the walls and wring his hands because it sure doesn’t feel like it’s as easy as flipping on some sort of charm switch. He’s got indigestion thinking about it, actually. 

And okay, the whole ‘King Steve “the Hair” Harrington, Master of Charm and Suavity’ was… a little bit of a farce, actually. It worked for him, but from an outside perspective, especially lately? Let’s just say it’s a little lackluster. Nancy told him one time, giggling in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings, that the reason he was charming was because he wasn’t charming, just sincere. That was after he successfully(?) charmed her with shotgunning the beer by the pool and before the big breakup, so that means something, right?

When the bell over the door rings again (Steve’s ears are trained to recognize it) he gets to barge out into the main room and say “Robin, do you really think I’m charming or are you joking?”

Luckily there’s no one in the store again, and he just finds Robin between the aisles pausing her restock to look at him with wide eyes. 

“I’m being serious, I’m having a crisis.” he continues when she doesn’t immediately respond. 

“Steve, buddy, I hate to be the one to tell you this. You’re a total dweeb.” It’s delivered with the gravitas of a doctor giving a horrible diagnosis, and it feels that way to Steve. “But!” she continues quickly when his face definitely flashes with the fall and the crash, “I have incredible news for you! I personally mean that as a term of endearment and, maybe even better, everyone you know is a dweeb, and ? Best of all? One Eddie Munson is maybe the biggest dweeb that’s ever existed”

Steve is still frowning. It’s kind of a lot to absorb, that the common perception of yourself is so… unsmooth. 

“You’re very sweet, Steve, and everyone likes you. Well, mostly.” Robin stiffly pats his shoulder. 

“Should I like, buy a leather jacket or something?”

“Steve it’s June. Also I don’t think you need to pull a Sandy Dee. Actually, please don’t. Just, you’ve got your whole… thing… and it’s maybe a little uptight? But it’s your thing ! You don’t wanna change for a person, you know, you’d tell me the same thing.”

“I want him to like me. Suddenly. Very badly.” 

“That’s the nature of a crush, Steve-o. It’s evil.”

“I need to go lay down for a few days. Maybe this’ll blow over, like…” he thinks and snaps his fingers, “temporary insanity.”

“Oh, honey. It’s been a while I guess, what with the world always ending, but I don’t know if you can sleep this kinda thing off. You probably have to talk to him.” 

He stands and stares and thinks while Robin putters around doing menial movie store tasks around him. It’s hard work, standing and staring and thinking, especially when he’s interrupted to take care of customers, so really it takes him the rest of the afternoon and all the way up through quitting time. 

It’s like he blinks and he’s pulling into his driveway, no memory of dropping Robin off. He shakes himself and turns the engine off, stumbles up his steps and through the front doors with legs that feel asleep and a brain that’s still all fogged up. 

It’s not even an Eddie is a boy and this makes him Different kind of freak out; that’s not it at all, he’s somehow leapt straight past that like hurdles in track and is standing facing a brick wall of but he’s Good and maybe you Don’t Deserve This . 

Steve knows he’s a lot, see, and he falls hard and fast, and Eddie is fun and light and not weighed down with all the guilt and anxiety and bullshit Steve’s dealing with; Eddie has his band and his game and his friends and he’s going to community college and working part time at a garage in town and figuring his shit out. Steve is working at Family Video (still), floundering his 20s away with no hopes or dreams or friends older than teens, and he also almost got a significant percentage of them, including Eddie , killed. Very recently, actually. 

Like Eddie is a glowing light and Steve is a cold dark box that puts lights out. Like he’s become his shitty, empty house. 

He’s still standing in his dark entryway, breath kicking up into something that’s sure to be a real doozy of a panic attack, when there’s a firm and rhythmic knock at the front door. He eyes the bat leaning against the wall (in case of emergencies), then flicks on the lights and opens the doors to find Eddie standing there, arms weighed down with bags and a hand raised to knock again. 

“Hey Stevie!” 

“H-hey? Hey, Eddie! What’s, um. What’s going on?” He tries to channel coolness, suavity, leans against the wall next to the open door and doesn’t almost fall. 

Eddie pushes past Steve without being invited in, typical behavior, and slides his wares onto the counter in the kitchen. 

“I brought us a feast.”

“A feast?” Steve’s stomach grumbles, reminds him he skipped breakfast and lunch, only split marked-out snacks with Robin all day. “What’s the occasion?”

“Kinda you are.” Eddie is unloading takeout containers from what smells like some Italian place. 

“I’m… confused.”

“Your birthday!”

“It’s definitely not my birthday, Eddie.”

“No, but we’re celebrating it today because I don’t know when it is.”

“That doesn’t make, like, any sense, man, my birthday was in April.”

“No, that’s perfect! I was probably recovering from the whole near-death then, so. Birthday.” He grins cheesily at him and Steve feels like all of his insides are scrambling to leave his body via a new pathway up his throat. “I hope you like pasta!”

“I love pasta.” Steve manages to mumble, and his feet move him towards Eddie on their own, his eyes snoop on their own, his hands pull out a stool on their own. It’s like he’s haunting his own body. Eddie is mumbling song lyrics and pulling out plates and dishing out pasta and salad like he belongs in his kitchen, like he’s more at home there than Steve has pretty much ever felt, and that combined with his day of Thinking and the snare of the stupid yellow polish on his nail that has him still feeling breathless when he says, watery and all in a jumble: “Eddie I think I really like you. Please don’t make fun of me.” 

He feels the panic on his own face as he just pauses. He didn’t mean to just say that, and now Eddie’s stopped, still as hell and facing away from him, carton of breadsticks lowered to the counter. He tries to school his face (cool, suave) as Eddie slowly, so slowly, turns around and leans against the edge of the counter, as he crosses his arms in front of him, but he just knows he looks like he’s seen a ghost or like he’s on fire because he still kinda feels that way. 

“You okay Stevie? You look a little. Well, you look a little freaked out.”

“I just, ah. I just mean.” He sinks fully into the stool, grateful it has a back to catch him because otherwise he’d end up on the floor for sure. His knees are basically on strike. He’s so warm. He keeps clearing his throat. 

Eddie is still looking at him with worry making the line between his brows creep below his bangs. He turns again to run some water into a glass and slide it across the island to Steve, who grabs it and makes himself sip mostly for something to do with his hands. But now Eddie is leaning across the whole island, pushed up onto his toes for sure, pushing into Steve’s space just enough that he knows he’s blushing. It makes him feel ridiculous because this is just Eddie, his friend, one of his best friends. Eddie who, god bless him, has never had a firm grasp on personal space and it’s never really been an issue before right exactly now.

Steve’s talking into the glass and avoiding Eddie’s eyes when he says, “I mean. It’s. I don’t think. I just. You don’t have to say anything. I’m, like, working through something.”

“Hmm. Did you mean it, Steve?”

Steve gulps again. “Yeah. Yeah, I did, I mean. I do. Like you. Like more than a normal amount. And it’s okay if you don’t, and I’m sorry if that’s not…”

“Stevie, breathe.” 

Steve can hear the chuckle in his voice and it finally makes him look up, which was a terrible idea, actually, because now he’s stuck again, caught on looking into Eddie’s stupid beautiful eyes as he laughs at him. “Please don’t laugh at me. This is. A lot.” Steve feels small and tiny and miniscule and he wants to go hide under the covers like when he was a kid and his parents were yelling. 

“Sweetheart. I am not laughing at you.” Eddie’s voice is firm through the grin that’s still there, and he reaches out slowly like Steve is a startled horse and lightly - lightly - touches the side of his face. It’s like walking through a spider web in the park if the spider web was cotton candy instead. “Oh my god. Steve Harrington, you’re such a dweeb.”

“That’s what they say.”

Slowly, to keep from startling him any more, he’s sure, Eddie leans further across the island, hand still on Steve’s face, and presses a gentle, feather-soft kiss against his lips. It’s nothing, really, not even close to the kinds of kisses that led to hands or bruises, but it’s like fireworks catching on all his nerves and he can feel all his hair stand up. It’s like superpowers and swimming and drowning, and he knows a little about all that. 

Before he can get his brain on the same channel, Eddie is pulling away with a soft pat to Steve’s cheek. Steve makes a very sad noise at the back of his throat and he knows he’s pouting but Eddie has turned away already, is humming again and grabbing plates and saying “Let’s eat some pasta, babe. I’m starving.”

He watches as Eddie grabs plates, balances a box of breadsticks on an arm, asks him to grab the Cokes. Steve grabs the bottles on autopilot, cracks the caps open on the counter the way his mother would kill him for, and follows Eddie into the living room where he’s seated on the sofa, plate in his lap and pasta in his mouth. 

He’s got a numb almost-feeling as he clinks a Coke down in front of Eddie and takes his plate, sits stiffly. His brain is sloshing around as he eats his spaghetti. 

“How are you normal?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows over his Coke bottle. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

“I just mean. I guess I don’t know what to think. Usually people say something when you say you, well. Say you have feelings for them. Or…”

Eddie puts all his things down on the coffee table, no coasters, and curls his legs up onto the couch. 

“Stevie, I’m sittin’ right here with you. You don’t have to say or do anything, you know? I’m here, and I’m not goin’ anywhere. We can eat dinner, we can talk about it.” He shrugs a shoulder, totally not bothered.

They’re words, just words, and they shouldn’t strike him so hard, but his face feels warm and he still feels like his brain is spinning around, like he’s at sea. Eddie frowns at him. He seems to see how lost he is suddenly because in the next breath he’s taking everything away from Steve to put it next to his own stuff. He grabs his hands and tells him to breathe. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

“You are freaking out. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m fine, I’m just.”

“It’s okay not to be fine. I think you’ve given this all a little more thought than I thought.”

“I’m serious, I was serious. I even told Robin. I think I, well, I know… I like you a lot. Like in a way I don’t usually like guys.”

“Oh. Wow.” Eddie is looking at him, and now he looks like he’s seen a ghost. Hands gripped, seance-style. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie, Stevie, I kinda thought you were just trying to say I was your… pal.”

“So you kissed me on the lips.”

“Pals kiss! And okay, cards on the table I guess, I know I feel a certain way about you , that’s not news to me. I wanted to do that for years, since even before you saved my life. I just don’t exactly expect any kind of… reciprocity.”

“Like?”

“Like you’re not gonna look at me and see me the way I see you .” By the end of the sentence his voice has fallen to a whisper.

And, well. Now Eddie is looking away and blushing and Steve feels a little more balanced, feels like this is something he can participate in. Not so much confidence, but familiarity, a comfortable sweater. “It depends how you see me, I guess, but I’m a little obsessed with you.” 

Eddie lets out a loud laugh in surprise and tries to pull his hands back but Steve flips them around so he’s grabbing Eddie’s hands and keeping them safe. It’s like holding small birds.

“No, stop. I mean it.” He’s picking up steam, pulling out the things he was turning over in his head all day. He mirrors Eddie, knees touching knees. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Robin’s tired of hearing about it. Being around you is easy, you make things easy, like it gets quiet even though you’re loud as hell.”

“Shut up, man.”

“I won’t.”

“You’re not like, joking with me right? Because that happened sometimes in the hallowed halls of Hawkins High and gotta tell ya, not a fan. I’m not a good fighter and I like you too much to wanna hit you but I would be very sad , and-”

“Eddie, it’s not a joke.”

“-like, I just wanted to bring you dinner because it looked like you were having a bad day and we all know how that goes, and this is all feeling very weird actually-”

“You were so cool a minute ago, it made me think I was losing it-”

“-maybe I got into a horrible car accident and died and this is like the last firing of my synapses or whatever.”

“-but this is actually more of an Eddie response. Is this okay?” Steve is ecstatic, actually, this is going so well, way better than he thought, and he can feel the smile on his face as he reels Eddie in closer to him, as he plans to redo that kiss in the kitchen. 

“God, yes.” Eddie laughs, and then he shuts up as Steve presses his lips against his. 

And okay, it’s more teeth than it should be, what with all the smiling, and it’s a little garlicky from the pasta, but it’s Good in the way that all first kisses are but it’s Better because it’s with Eddie. 

By the time they get back to their pasta it’s cold but they’re still smiling and the little worried line between Eddie’s brows is gone completely. 

They’re laughing as they eat, and they’re laughing as they clean up, and they’re laughing as Steve stops Eddie at the door to pull him into another kiss, and it’s easy . 

When he goes to bed that night, he runs his thumb over the chipped yellow polish in the dark and he thinks wow, Robin was right , and he thinks oh no, Robin is going to be so annoying , but he falls asleep with a smile anyway. He has incredible dreams for a change, dreams where everything is all Sun Day Golden Yellow and cotton-candy-sweet and he has this dork of a guy next to him holding his hand.

It’s all pretty punk rock. 

-----

i have been on several work trips and am in the process of moving so i have been s l a c k i n g, esp here and on my longer fics, but i haven't abandoned them! This is an older short lil story i edited and posted when i couldn't sleep

xoxo

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"Need a hand?"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 5 prompt Also featuring Wild Guess prompt "Would a hug help?" from @timtwelve Pretty sure I read that there are bonus points for using the Wild Guess prompts ;)

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Crosshair, Wrecker Set after the finale, when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1355 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Crosshair struggles to manage a task one-handed. Wrecker is there to support him.

Crosshair swallowed a snarl as he pinned the jar of preserve between the counter and his hip, fruitlessly straining at the lid with his left hand. The angle felt awkward, his fingers clawing weakly at the smooth metal rim.

No matter how he tightened his grip it was his hand that slid along the surface of the jar, instead of the lid itself turning.

Glaring futilely at the jar, he slammed it back onto the counter so hard that the plate and cutlery he had laid out rattled.

He was still seething in the direction of his aborted lunch when Wrecker walked in. The big clone spotted his brother glowering over the unopened jar, greeted him with a cheerful question.

“Need a hand?”

The line of Crosshair’s shoulders went rigid. Then he spun, grabbing the jar and hurling it past Wrecker so hard that it smashed on the wall behind him, spattering the stunned man with jam and shrapnel slivers of glass.

“I don’t need your kriffing pity!” Crosshair’s voice rose in frustration even as it wobbled. “I can do it myself!”

Wrecker had flinched as the jar whistled past his head, but now he straightened. The immediate shock dropped quickly from his face, replaced by an anguished look.

“I’m sorry, Cross. I didn’t mean it. It’s just an expression.”

“Kriffing rub it in, why don’t you!” As if launching one projectile wasn’t enough, Crosshair grabbed the plate too and threw it in the opposite direction. By the time it shattered on the floor his attention was already elsewhere, sweeping the cutlery onto the floor with a clatter, then opening the cupboard door just to slam it again for the sake of making noise.

“Hey, hey, Cross!” Wrecker moved swiftly to intercept him before the fruit bowl and its contents could be turned into ammunition as well. Catching hold of his left wrist and ever-so-gently wrapping his other hand round his right forearm, he positioned himself in front of Crosshair, holding him steady as the sniper tried to turn his face away.

“Let go of me.” Crosshair’s voice was low and dangerous, but edged with the threat of tears he was holding back. “I don’t need your help. I don’t want it. I can do it myself.”

Wrecker cast a glance at the sodden lump of jam dripping down the wall, then returned his attention to his brother.

“I know that Cross,” he said, voice breaking with gentleness. “You’re the toughest person I know.”

He rubbed his thumb soothingly along the inside of Crosshair’s forearm, willing the tense muscles to relax. The longer he held on, the more the fight leached out of Crosshair, until he sagged his forehead against Wrecker’s chest. His shoulders were shaking.

“I didn’t ask ‘cos I thought you couldn’t do it, Cross,” murmured Wrecker softly, resting his chin atop his brother’s head so that his words vibrated through him. “I asked ‘cos I want to help.”

“I don’t want your help.” Crosshair’s voice fractured on the words. Then, a hiccoughing snuffle, “I don’t want to need help.”

Curling in on himself and pulling his arms free of Wrecker’s grip to cross them over his chest, Crosshair gulped as his body was wracked with involuntary sobs. His eyes were screwed tight shut, shoulders creeping up towards his ears as tension ratcheted through his trembling body.

Wrecker leaned after him hesitantly, but Crosshair had broken their contact and he wasn’t going to re-initiate it. Crosshair hated being touched at the best of times, and the only reason Wrecker had stepped in before was because he was scared his brother would hurt himself if he didn’t.

There was a loud squelch as a glob of jelly detached from the wall and fell under the inexorable force of gravity to the floor. Crosshair brought his head up, a forlorn look on his tear-and-snot streaked face as he looked at the destruction he had wrought. Then he coiled over his truncated right arm once more, left hand gripping the space just below where his right wrist used to be.

“You alright for a minute?” Wrecker asked, gentling his voice. “I’m gonna clean up the glass. ‘Fore someone hurts themselves.”

Despite his tears, Crosshair nodded. He leaned against the counter, letting it take his weight, and watched through watery eyes as Wrecker carefully moved around the kitchen, gathering broken crockery and mopping up jam and shards of glass.

Depositing the dust-pan filled with debris on the counter and rinsing his hands in the sink, Wrecker asked, “Want me to make you a drink?”

Crosshair didn’t reply, other than to give a very small nod. He had his face turned away now, red-rimmed gaze distant and unfocused.

Wrecker filled a glass with chilled water and pressed it gently against Crosshair’s knuckles. It prompted Crosshair to release his grip on his right arm, folding his stump across his abdomen as his left gripped the glass and brought it shakily to his lips.

His throat bobbed as he drank, and even when he finished he kept the glass pressed to his mouth, swallowing thickly. A rapid series of blinks cleared the glaze of tears from his eyes, although his lashes were still damp.

“Don’t know why you’re here,” he muttered, not looking at Wrecker. “Waste of your time. You could be doing something better.”

“Nothin’ else is more important to me,” said Wrecker levelly, refusing to be perturbed by Crosshair’s negativity. “Want me to make you a sandwich?”

“I can do it–”

“–Yourself, I know,” Wrecker finished the sentence flatly. “But do you want me to?”

A sniff. “No. Not hungry.”

“Fine.” Leaning on the counter beside Crosshair, Wrecker rolled his neck until it clicked. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” came the angry reply, despair and self-loathing making Crosshair’s voice rasp even more roughly than normal. He dropped his head to stare at the floor, biting back more tears. “Everyone keeps saying they’ll help, but there’s nothing they can do. I’m useless. I can’t do anything. Can’t…” He trailed off with a ragged gasp, gesturing futilely at the mess of jam and glass in the dustpan. “Can’t even look after myself.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Crosshair’s breath rattled erratically as he tried to compose himself, in contrast to Wrecker’s deep, measured inhales.

Before he spoke, Wrecker tilted his face up and away, making sure not to burden Crosshair with his scrutiny.

“Y’know, it’s okay to stop and feel it once in a while. Feel sorry for yerself, or angry. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m better than that,” snarled Crosshair through clenched teeth.

Faced with his aggression, Wrecker lapsed into silence once more. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly not wanting to leave but unsure how to continue.

It was Crosshair who spoke next.

“If you tell Hunter I cried over jam,” he warned, “I will end you.”

Wrecker grinned as he placed a hand over his heart. “I won’t tell.” He turned, finally bringing the weight of his gaze to bear. “Feelin’ better?”

Crosshair sniffed. “Not really.”

“Would a hug help?”

Warily, Crosshair glanced up at him. His left hand cradled his right elbow, nursing his abbreviated arm. In the absence of a toothpick he chewed on his lip, worrying the skin until it split and bled.

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, cheeks flushing beneath his tear-bruised eyes. “It might.”

Without a word Wrecker gathered him into his embrace, arms gentle and so-careful around his slim shoulders. Crosshair might be nearly as tall as him, but at that moment he seemed small and vulnerable.

He didn’t return Wrecker’s hug. His arms were still wrapped tightly across his own torso, the self-soothing gesture layered under Wrecker’s. Wrecker seemed not to mind. He tilted his head to rest his cheek against Crosshair’s temple.

“Love you, Cross.”

Crosshair’s sharp exhale puffed against his chest. “Don’t know why.”

Wrecker rumbled a dismissive noise, arms tightening in a protective barrier encircling his wounded brother. “I jus’ do, Cross.” His words were a reassurance whispered into the space between them. “I just do.”

[herejusttosufferalong]

RE: Someone write me a fanfic of L jealous of N and JD. Plot could be N is not dating JD but L is worried she is. JD, like Nic, is quite touchy feeling, it seems, it would be hilarious to read a fic of him watching him touch her, hug her etc. OH OH maybe L reading the Deux pap pics and being angsty about it. two good fics plots. Come on, give to me, Rachels! Maybe something like... (not great, but let's scratch that itch)

Few days into S4 filming. N is in her trailer. L knocks on her door. Usually his knocks are soft, tentative, but N can't help but be startled by the force.

"Uhm is that you, L?", she squeaked.

"Yes..." the way he sounded was different too. She couldn't put her finger on it, sort of frustrated, but also laced with apprehension.

She unlocked her door and his face was hard to read. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw tense, and forcing a faint smile. He walked in tentatively. She didn't understand what was going on? Why was he here looking at her like that? It had been a long, hard day on set. Their relationship was different. Things seemed to take more time. Things had to be forced instead of flowing freely like in the past. She didn't entirely know why, but when she thought back to Summer, she experienced a pang of irritation that hinted at the source of their disharmony. He had his fun, why couldn't she? She was an adult after-all, and the sexual tension that had been brewing over 6 months touring needed to be released somehow. JD was the perfect escape. Witty, energetic, sexy. He knew how to push all the right buttons...

L stood in her trailer awkwardly, looking at the lino floor. "So... how was the rest of your Summer?" he began, looking up briefly to meet her eyes. It was the first time he asked about it. Before shooting, his texts were usually vapid and wholly work-related. Never personal like it used to be.

"It was fine," she admitted, nonchalantly. She saw him scoff and became instantly annoyed. What the fuck was he scoffing about? "What?" she probed in a huff.

"Just fine? By the looks of it, you were having lots of fun!" he blurted. It came out of him like verbal diarrhea. It had begun and it wasn't going to stop now. He was awash with rage as those photos came to mind. Of them together. He knew the minute he saw those photos something was going on. JD had that goofy smile HE used to make when he was in her presence. The image of his hands on her body flashed in his mind and he became incensed.

"Seriously N, with him? You gave me such a hard time for dating a younger person, and then you go and do the same thing? What were you thinking!?" his nostrils flared and his head looked like it was about to pop off his neck. He had never been so angry. His reaction was completely over the top and he was acutely aware of it.

N was as enraged as him. She watched him rant, clenching her fists, her eyes darkening. She stepped towards him and his energy dropped ten-fold. "What. was. I. thinking!?" she said slowly, teeth gritted. "Maybe I was thinking, shit, I should have some fun in my life, instead of always being the good girl? Always doing the right thing for the team, stepping up when required... then there's you, Mr I can't keep it in my pants. I had to sit there and watch you... watch you..." she stumbled, she didn't want to complete the sentence. Her eyes started filling with tears. He saw her distress, and couldn't help but mirror her feelings. He had no choice but to cut her off, stop her from wounding further.

"N I don't fucking understand. I wanted to pursue this. Pursue us. You said, 'Not right now. Go have some fun, continue the narrative.' I did what you said! I... I tried" he choked out, feeling completely vulnerable. She saw it, but she couldn't help but give him an extra serve of her wrath.

"I know what I fucking said, L. But why did you have to block me out? Go on living like I never existed? We never existed? And now you have the nerve to come at me with your jealousy? Are we still calling it professional or...?" she half-smiled, rolling her eyes with petty frustration. She saw his face drop. His visible sadness tempered her fury, and in its place came empty regret at her choice of words.

He couldn't believe how she was speaking to him. He had been miserable the last 3 months. Couldn't she tell?? His sadness began to shift into a well-tread emotion, one he knew how to express. Angst. SHE had put him through hell, and now she has the nerve to make fun of him? Degrade him. No, he wasn't having it. He was done listening to others and trying to do the right thing, but always getting it wrong. He was going to do things his own way.

He strode towards her, eyes fixed on hers, and a dark expression on his face. She stumbled back against the trailer wall not expecting his advance. He liked the effect he had on her, and suddenly the angst molded with something more, something from deep inside his fantasies. She shyly looked away not daring to meet his steely, denim gaze. His thumb and forefinger grabbed the tip of her chin and guided it forward, facing him. She scanned his face and was taken aback by his intensity. He was breathing heavily, quickly, and she couldn't help but breathe in rhythm. He looked at her eyes with careful consideration, then to her lips, full and soft, licking his lips unconsciously. Her lips parted as if having a mind of their own.

He whispered slowly, exaggerating each word, "Don't speak. I'm done listening. I'm done talking," once again, his eyes darted back to her lips, parted just so. He pressed his body closer to hers and gripped her wrists, pushing her further against the trailer wall. She let out a little noise, not quite whimper, not quite moan, his touch like warm tea steeping into her skin, flowing through her veins. His face dipped down and ghosted hers, lips hovering over lips, noses lightly grazing, breathing in soft pants. Electricity crackling between them. "I'm done playing games. I know what you want.... And I want to give it to you," he continued gruffly, thumbs stroking her wrists, feeling her pulse quicken. He looked at her eyes, searching for a reaction.

She gulped in disbelief, every bit of lust overtaking her body. She was his, body and soul, and she wanted to claim him too. He saw her eyes darken with impurity. He took his time, once again hovering over her lips, teasing her mercilessly. "Please..." she begged, breathless, starving. With a slight smirk, he lightly pressed his lips to hers, so softly, so slowly, it was almost torture. She leaned into the kiss, quickening the momentum, lightly sucking and pulling at his bottom lip. He let out a soft, guttural moan, not expecting her level of hunger, and unconsciously eased his grip on her wrists. She wriggled them free and her hands found their way gripping the back of his neck and stroking and tugging at his wavy, thick hair. One of his hands met the side of her cheek, guiding their movements and deepening their kiss. Her tongue brushed along his bottom lip begging for entry, and he obliged greedily, taking each other in with fervor. Months of buried sexual tension bubbling up to the surface, overflowing with heated anticipation. His other hand brushed down her breast, lightly down her side and along her hip, holding the curve and slightly pulling her forward. She pushed him back towards her bed, still peppering his mouth with greedy kisses. He fell back with a humph, both smiling like dorks at the sound escaping his lips. Her smile shifted mischievously as she settled on top of him, her knees straddling either side of his body. His hands gripped her hips and pulled her down onto his lap, unable to hide his growing desire. Her hands dropped to his chest to steady the ride...

Ok, I better stop there as this could get x-rated rather swiftly. But goddamn, do I like an assertive L. Respectfully, release the beast, sir.

Please link the next installment on your AO3 anon

💜🥃

[eddiestommy]

i saw this post by @shaunashipman and next thing i know i was writing this

(brand new, full throttle) touch me while your boys play grand theft auto

Bucktommy || 878 words || mild sexual content

Read on AO3

Truth be told, it wasn't Buck's fault, honestly. Mostly.

Since the Grant-Nash's house fire and Gerrard became the new interim captain, his 118 family had started a weekly brunch with a rotating hosting system (yes, that had been Buck's idea, thanks for noticing) but after Buck's first turn having them over everyone had agreed that his loft was too claustrophobic with everyone in it so Tommy (sweet, kind, loving Tommy) had offered his house with its big backyard patio with its built-in firepit and grill instead.

So over the summer his family all came together at Tommy's Spanish-style bungalow once every five weeks and really, it wasn't Buck's fault that over those weeks he had started spending more and more time there than in his own loft, sometimes only stopping by his apartment to get more clothes that would eventually end up in the dresser Tommy had built for him on the little workshop he had in his garage tucked between his Muay Thai setup and the car lift, and it really wasn't his fault that he had started thinking about the house as their home even though it was definitely too soon to be thinking like that.

If anything, it was Tommy's fault because that Wednesday morning he had spent forty minutes opening him up so thoroughly with his tongue and fingers that by the time he had finally slipped his cock in him his hole had given no resistance. And it really was Tommy's fault that he'd fucked him fast and hard, Buck's face and chest pressed against the mattress and his ass held up by Tommy's hands marking bruises on his hips, and just as he'd been about to come he had pressed his lips to Buck's ears and growled: "You're such a good boy for Daddy, aren't you? You're gonna cum from Daddy using your loose hole as a fuck toy, huh? Such a perfect boy."

(And really, what else could Buck do but cum so hard he passed out for a minute?)

All this to say that it really wasn't Buck's fault that later that day when he and Athena were washing and drying dishes in Tommy's cozy kitchen he remodelled himself a few years ago and Tommy and Bobby came in with more wine glasses and asked if they were okay washing them or if they wanted them to do it he had felt so comfortable and at home that he didn't stop to think before speaking.

He took the glasses from Tommy and said, "Don't worry, Daddy, I got it," like he would any other day they were together.

(That it took him five seconds in between saying those words and realising what he had just said in front of his dad and his wife was definitely on him.)

The moment he realised his mistake he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. All his blood rushed to his head and heated his face redder than it had ever been.

He barely registered anything else going on. Tommy's panicked stare and tense posture, Bobby's red face, Athena's laugh.

"I think you two can handle the rest of the dishes," she said in between laughs, walking past where Buck and Tommy were still stuck in place.

Buck refused to look up, maybe if he stared at the ground with enough determination a hole would open up and swallow him and he wouldn't have to deal with the fact that his captain and Athena now knew what he called his boyfriend when they were alone.

(And look, if it wasn't because Bobby heard him too he would be laughing with her. He wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't gonna tell everyone about it but what two consenting adults got going in bed was their own business. Still, there was a difference between embracing your kinks and having your father figure find out about it, there couldn't be anything worse than that.)

"I think," Tommy started in a tentative tone, "we can all agree to forget about this."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. And God, why was Bobby still here? Had Buck not embarrassed himself enough already? 

"Of course," Buck could hear the amusement in Athena's voice. "But if I'm allowed to say, Buckaroo, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You should hear what Bobby calls me."

(Scratch that. Thinking about Bobby having kinky sex was so much worse. That was his dad.)

And really, it wasn't his fault if Tommy laughed so hard at Bobby's bewildered look that he made Buck forget all about his own embarrassment

"Okay, no more talking," Bobby said. His face was so red it was a wonder any blood was still pumping in his heart. "This never happened. No one ever heard anything."

So really, it wasn't Buck's fault that now his dad knew what kind of names he'd been calling his boyfriend in the intimacy of their own home. And it really, really wasn't his fault he now could imagine the things Bobby called his wife when they were doing it.

(The way Tommy came so hard he blacked out from Buck riding him to the chant of, "Fuck, Daddy, you fill me so well. Love your cock inside me, Daddy" later that evening was entirely his fault, though.) 

[ameagrice]

Capsize

percy jackson x f!reader

chapter thirty-three: run, girl, run!

That night, you sneak up to the Big House again, when all is quiet across camp. The balls of light floating around the camp store allow you to sneak past without falling down the hill, grateful to see the lights of the house still on.

He must have been expecting that you couldn’t just get in bed and fall asleep with so many things on your mind. You climb the steps of the porch, and slide in slowly through the open doorway. It’s warm again tonight, the air is hot and humid, but inside the Big House it feels homely as ever, cool. Chiron stands, reading through an old and tattered book in his hands. He looks up when you walk in.

“Hi,” you say.

“It’s very late,” he replies, snapping the book shut. “You want to know if I’ve considered what you asked, don’t you?”

You nod. It’s not like you’d asked anything else. “But I want to know what happened to Chris Rodriguez, too. How Clarisse found him. Why he went down there.”

Chiron sighs, like he’s tired, and waves a hand to the couch. You don’t hesitate in taking a seat.

“It started after you left with Percy for the summer…”

You spend the remainder of the night flicking through all the books in the house, on Ancient Greece, the gods, Daedalus mainly. Chiron talks as you read, of how Clarisse blew up an entrance to the maze somewhere in the country, of how it simply moved a few yards away. He talks of Chris going insane from what he saw down there, from what Luke’s men had him do. Chris currently resides in the basement, the only place he feels safe enough without panicking to high heaven. He refuses to come out, but at least nothing can hurt him down there. Clarisse was scarred from the maze itself, and vowed never to step foot in there again. It makes sense—the few hours you were down there with Percy were creepy enough.

“I dreamed of Nico, and Percy did too. He’s trying to raise the dead, and someone is guiding or helping him or something,” you offer over a cup of hot tea and The Odyssey. You close the chapter on your mother. “He misses Bianca. Makes sense, but…he needs help.”

“The boy is troubled,” he agrees. “He has been led astray.”

“We can get him back. He doesn’t have to end up in trouble. You thought Percy was the only child of the Big Three who would make a mess of things. Then Thalia turned up, and left. But now there’s Nico; do you really want him running loose, led astray?” Chiron tilts his head. “We all heard about the ‘dangers’ of the children of those three. Although I really doubt Percy could wreak havoc. He misses his mouth when he eats pizza.”

Chiron laughs, but it’s missing something. Does he think of all your failures in the past? Is that why he doesn’t want you to go on this quest? You wouldn’t blame him, because all you’ve done so far is evade your own death and cause other people’s. Not directly, but your choices spurred theirs. At least that’s how it feels.

“I know you think I’m not right for this, but I need you to trust me.”

“It isn’t that you’re not right for this,” he deflects. “It’s that things in our world are getting worse, and sending heroes off to fight these battles have more risks than before. You know what happened to Chris and Clarisse. I’d like to avoid that from happening to anybody else.”

“Well, sometimes we can’t change fate. What’s meant to be is meant to be.”

It’s like you’ve shot him. He stills, blanching. Chiron recovers his expression quickly, and gives you a tense smile. “You should go, now. It’s been a long day for you.”

After breakfast, Chiron called a council meeting. You and Percy headed down together, chatting about what it could be. A distraction, obviously—you both knew what it would be about. You met up with everyone in the training arena, compared to the usual meeting at the ping pong table. Mrs O’Leary chewed on a giant dog toy, bounding around the arena as you discussed the fate of everything.

Juniper the tree nymph accompanied Grover, Travis and Connor sat beside each other, Charles Beckendorf and Silena, and Lee Fletcher, a son of Apollo. Quintus and Chiron, by the sword racks, led the meeting at first, passing over to Clarisse and Beckendorf for input.

Finally, they turned it on you. Clarisse, addressing you properly for the first time, demanded your thoughts. “What do you think about this?”

You inhaled, sitting up straighter on the bench. All eyes turn to you, listening intently. “I think Luke knows about the entrance to the Labyrinth, and he’s probably known for a while. Think back years ago to when Percy was poisoned; the monster came out of nowhere, and so did Luke. The maze moves—maybe he lost it for a while, hasn’t used it since. But he’s definitely trying to get back inside camp, now, using the maze. He was here longer than anyone, wasn’t he? He probably knows it like the back of his hand.”

“The cave entrance has been there a long time. Luke used to use it.”

You raise an unimpressed brow to Juniper. “You knew about this? And haven’t said anything?!”

Juniper’s youthful face turned green in embarrassment. “I didn’t know it was important. Just a yucky old cave.”

You see Chiron rub his hand over his forehead in stress, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—Luke’s been doing this under his nose for years it sounds like.

“She has good taste,” Grover defends.

“I wouldn’t have paid any attention, except…it was Luke,” she blushes further. You wave your hand in her direction, somewhat agreeing. Luke might have been good-looking, but he’s still a psycho.

Grover huffs. “Forget what I said about good taste.”

Quintus polished his sword as he spoke. “Interesting. And you believe this young man, Luke, would use the Labyrinth as an invasion route?” He raised his eyes to you.

“Definitely,” Clarisse came to your defence. “If he could get an army of monsters inside Camp Half-Blood, just have ‘em pop up in the middle of the woods without having to worry about the camp’s boundaries, we don’t stand a chance. He could wipe the place out easy. Probably been planning it for a while. He’s been sending scouts into the maze. We found one. You know…”

“Chris Rodriguez,” you mumble.

“Ah, the one in the…”

“The one in the what?” Asks Percy.

Clarisse glared at him. “The point is, Luke has been searching for a way to navigate the maze. He’s looking for something.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Probably Daedalus’s workshop.”

Percy shifted beside you. “The guy who created the maze.”

You hum in response. “He’s considered the greatest architect of all time. If the legends are actually true, his workshop should be in the centre of the maze. Except…the maze always changes so…where’s the centre meant to be. If Luke managed to find it, he could easily convince Daedalus to help him navigate his own creation.”

“The thing is,” adds Clarisse. “He wouldn’t have to stumble around watching for people or traps. He could navigate and go anywhere he wants safely. First to Camp, and then—well, Olympus.”

The arena turned very silent. Mrs O’Leary even grew quiet. Beckendorf straightened up on the bench, running a strong over his face. “Hold up. You said convince Daedalus. I thought Luke was—kicked off a cliff? Isn’t Daedalus dead? Shouldn’t Luke, in theory, be very dead?”

Your jaw drops. How stupid can you be? You chide yourself, looking at Chiron for some guidance. He’s watching you too, but doesn’t offer any sort of help.

“In theory, they both should be dead. Extremely, extremely dead. Uh—but Luke is not. Definitely not. And Daedalus…well, nobody really knows. People have said that towards the end of his life, he went down into his maze and stayed there. Others have said different. There are a lot of uh, disturbing rumours, stories. But long story short, he might still be down there.”

You’re aware of Travis staring at you from the other side, but you can’t bring yourself to look. You’ve barely spoke to him thus far, for being so caught up in everything. “We have to go into the maze. We have to find this workshop before Luke does. If Daedalus is alive, we can convince him to help us, not Luke. If, for some miracle Ariadne’s string still exists too, we make sure it doesn’t fall into Luke’s hands.”

“Why don’t we just blow up the maze?” Came Percy. “Block Luke off from the outside?”

You give him a gentle look. “Clarisse tried. The maze just moved.”

“It’s not so easy, stupid,” Clarisse snapped. “We tried in Phoenix. The best thing to do is to stop Luke from navigating it. Which means, we get down there first.”

“We could fight,” Lee said. “We know where the entrance is now. We can set up a line of defence and wait for the army to come through. We’ll be ready, waiting.”

“We will certainly set up a defence,” agrees Chiron. “But Clarisse is right. The best thing to do is for our side to move first. If they come through here…we won’t have enough to defeat them.”

You stand. “We have to get to Daedalus’s workshop first, then. Find Ariadne’s string, stop Luke from getting it.”

“But if nobody can navigate it,” Percy reached for your elbow, getting your attention. “What chance do we have down there?”

“I’ve been reading about it. I know more than we did before. We’ll be fine.”

“From reading about it?”

You clenched your teeth. “Yes.”

“That’s not gonna be enough.”

“It’s gonna have to be.”

“It isn’t!”

“Are you gonna help me or not?” You exclaim. You’re suddenly aware of everyone watching, listening to you argue. Mrs O’Leary violently ripped the head off her toy—EEEEEK.

Chiron cleared his throat. “First thing’s first. We need a quest.” Your heart stopped. “Someone must enter the Labyrinth, find the workshop of Daedalus, and prevent Luke from using the maze to invade.”

“Well,” Clarisse waved a hand in your direction. “We all know who should lead this. She’s got my vote.”

Much to your surprise, there was a murmur of agreement. Under the watchful eyes, you shift on your feet, hip to hip, uncomfortable, edging back to near Percy. “But you’ve done loads for this, too. You should be a part of it.”

Clarisse shook her head. “I’m not going back in there.”

Travis barked a laugh. “Chicken, Clarisse? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

She got to her feet, cheeks aflame, and visibly shaking. She pointed in Travis’s face. “You don’t understand anything, you hear me? I’m never going in there again.” She stormed out of the arena.

Travis sheepishly voiced, “I didn’t mean to—”

Chiron raised his hand. “The poor girl has had a difficult time. Now, do we all agree who should lead this quest?” Everyone nodded, every hand went up. You scarcely believed your eyes. Travis offered you a tiny hint of a smile, albeit a nervous one. Chiron, at last, turned to you directly. “Very well. My dear, it’s time you visit the Oracle. Assuming you return to us in one whole piece, we will discuss what will happen next.”

You’ve been up in the attic before. You spent the whole month before the summer break trying to get the mummy to talk to you. You don’t stop to offer assistance to Clarisse in calming down a frantic Chris in the basement, crying his heart out. Instead, you place your hand on the banister and trail up the four flights, to the attic where the Oracle sits waiting. You wind up the narrow set all the way to the top, an attic full of relics of years passed from heroes who passed through the same walls.

You walk slowly over the dusty floorboards, to the window behind the Oracle, and you watch for a little while the figures in the distant training arena, one figure in particular pacing nervously. Percy, pacing up and down the arena. You absentmindedly pull on the ends of your hair, before moving back and turning to the mummified girl, who seems to know what you want before you open your mouth. The room grew darker, and dark green fog spilled from the Oracle’s mouth. She came to life in a way you’ve seen only once before, this time just as scary as the last when she’d wandered out of the house. Her eyes open, dark, broken holes, and she spills the prophecy you’ve waited so long for.

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze,

The Traitor, the Dead and the Lost one raise.

You shall rise or fall by the Ghost King’s hand,

The child of Athena’s final stand.

Destroy with a hero’s final breath,

And may lose a love to worse than death.

Cheery.

You want to grab the nearest baseball bat and scream. The child of Athena’s final stand? Worse than death? Why, oh why, did nothing work out for you? Frustrated tears burn your eyes. You’re unable to stop them, a sudden fear at your line, undoubtedly. You find yourself lowering to the floor, where you sit for a while, trying to think. You can’t make anything positive out of this one. Somewhere downstairs, the floorboards creak, and you jump to your feet, dust scattering in the air. You wipe your hands across your cheeks ridding them of tears and give yourself a minute to calm down before you tear out of the attic, back down to the arena. You must look a little out of touch, or something.

“My dear,” Chiron says. “You made it!”

You find your spot next to Percy on the bench, collapsing heavily and stare at the floor.

“Well?” Asked Quintus.

Turning your head ever so, you look at your best friend, who sits wide-eyed and waiting for you to say anything. “I got the prophecy. So…I’ll lead the quest to find Daedalus’s workshop.”

Chiron scraped a hoof against the floor. “What exactly did the prophecy say, my dear? The wording is important.”

Taking a deep breath, “Uh…well—it said you shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze…the dead, the traitor and the lost one raise—”

Grover perked up. “That’s Pan!” He proclaimed. “It has to be!”

“With the dead and traitor,” Percy, ankle touched yours. “Not so much.” I’m here, his touch said. I’m listening.

“And? What is the rest?”

“You shall rise or fall by the ghost king’s hand, the child of Athena’s final stand.”

The murmur of excitement dropped. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Because you are the daughter of Athena attending.

“Hey, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions!” Silena urged sweetly. “You’re not the only child of Athena, it could be anybody!”

“But who’s this ghost king?” Beckendorf asked.

You had your suspicions, alright.

“Are there more lines?” Asked Chiron. “It doesn’t sound complete.”

That’s because it’s not. “Um, something about destroy with a hero’s final breath.”

“And?”

Feeling suddenly tired, you stand to make your point. “Look, I have to go in. I’ll find the workshop and I’ll stop Luke. I need help, though…” He must have expected it. Was that not why he was pacing, earlier? Percy’s bright eyes did not waver, set on your own. “Will you help me?” The last line worried you, but doing this without Percy worried you more. You didn’t think you could do it without him.

He didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

You smiled. “And Grover. You, too. You need to find Pan, and we’ll need your help.”

“I’ll pack extra recyclables for snacks!”

“Two companions,” assured Chiron. “Are you sure on your final choice?”

You nod. You want to take Annabeth, too, but you’re not risking more than three ever again. Not this time. Not when the prophecy talks of a child of Athena’s last stand. You won’t do it to her. “Mhm.”

“Very well. Let us adjourn. The members of the quest must prepare themselves. Tomorrow at dawn, you will enter the Labyrinth.”

You tried not to cry again, you really did. But the lines were going round and round in your head, and the sudden hurry to go make a new weapon was nagging, and you couldn’t find your spare flashlight, and packing your things made you doubt you could do this. Which was why when he called out from the doorway, you melted. You paused looking through the wall of books for anything that could help you along the way.

“Knock knock?” He tapped on wood.

You turn to him, putting down the books on the side. “Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you.”

“You okay?”

“Just trying to do some more research, find something useful. Just in case. But, uh, nothing can seem to agree on anything. So…yeah. I know a bit but I just feel like we need more.”

He closed the door with a small thud, coming closer. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry so much.”

It’s all you ever do. Does he know you’re always on high-alert? Does he know you’re overthinking?

You shift on your hip, rubbing your hand over your arm. “I wanted this so badly.”

Percy’s bright green eyes keep you balanced, and he smiles reassuringly. “I know. You’re gonna do great.”

You’re so grateful to him. “I’m just worried I’ve made the wrong decision. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. Or Grover.”

“Hey, we’re your friends. We trust you. We wouldn’t want to miss this.”

You shakily exhale, throat closing up. Uh oh. “It’s just…” you almost gag as the words get stuck. Percy’s smile fades, replaced with a concerned frown.

“What is it? Is it the prophecy?”

You gulp. “I’m sure it’s fine,” you utter quietly.

“What was the last line?”

You squeeze your eyes shut before the tears can hurt anymore, and without any thought, you hold your arms out to him. And he comes right to you, just holding you. He’s warm and a solid figure in a shaky world. Percy’s hand awkwardly pats your back, and you can’t help the way you squeeze your arms around him.

“Hey,” he mumbles. “It’s—it’s okay.”

You’re shivering. He smells soapy, and cotton fresh, yet distinctly boyish. You shove your face into his shoulder and hope he doesn’t feel the tears soak in his shirt.

“It sounds weird,” you muffle into his shirt. “But I know this is right. I need you and Grover with me. It feels right.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” he sighs. “We’ve had plenty of problems before and we solved them all, right? We can do it this time too.”

“This is different. I don’t want anything happening to you.” You slip up. “Or to Grover. Or me.”

“Try not to worry so much,” he pats your back a final time. “We’re gonna be alright. We’ve got each other.”

When you finally part, Percy avoids your gaze, trailing his fingers across the maps laid out across the table you stand beside. “About your prophecy…the line about a hero’s last breath—”

You wipe your nose. “You want to know which one of us. I don’t know, Percy.”

“No, something else. You didn’t give us the last line, earlier. Hero’s breath should rhyme with the last line. Was it something like—did it end in death?”

You stare with hot eyes at the book on the table. “You should go, Percy. Pack your things. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He stands quietly for a moment, before putting his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” he says. “Just…try to sleep. See you tomorrow.” And he leaves you standing there to think about what you’ve done.

It’s easier said than done. You manage archery that afternoon, and news spreads pretty quickly of what’s coming tomorrow. Annabeth brings you back some food from dinner, and helps you pack your bag. Your siblings wish you good luck, Malcolm saying he’ll pray for you. Annabeth provides you with an extra flashlight, and then Clarissa, which makes three. You don’t know how long you’ll be down there, she says. It makes your stomach churn even more. You set out your outfit for tomorrow and pack a good few. The brief time in the maze the other evening was cold, so you lay out a pair of jeans, a tee and a jacket.

You lay in bed that night and raise your hand to pull back the curtain above your head, watching the stars. It might be the last time you ever see them.

When morning comes, you find yourself gearing up to go, after breakfast, backpack over your shoulders, accompanied by Annabeth past the cabins and into the woods, where the entrance last was. People had set up tents and would take it in turns to watch over the entrance, should anyone come through. Percy and Grover already stood waiting when you turned up, Chiron and Quintus standing with terse smiles.

“Good morning!” Chiron tried to be upbeat, but you couldn’t help the nerves. You couldn’t even smile. “You’re all here, at last.”

You want to tell him you’re shaking to your very core with nerves. You don’t.

“Take care,” Chiron offered. “And good hunting.”

“You too,” Percy nodded.

You follow after Percy and, after a few brief words from Chiron, a goodbye from your friends, and a last look at the woodlands, you find yourself facing the darkness.

“Goodbye sunshine,” said Grover miserably. You trudged forward after Percy, dropping down into the eery space that was the uninviting maze. “Hello rocks…”

It’s not unfamiliar in feel, only in…sight. Where the walls were brick last time, and cool to the touch, they’ve changed to smooth stone, dewy and threaded with hanging vines. Under your feet, tough ropes of them tangle and lead down the pathway.

Beside you, Percy breathes out slowly. You hear Grover’s teeth chattering, and your flashlight provides a good look at your billowing breath in the cold hall. You’ve inside, now, fully—the opening above has disappeared, closed up, and your friends are gone. You’re alone in here, the three of you, and already the claustrophobia is suffocating.

“Alright,” you start, sounding more positive than you feel. “Anyone have any suggestions, first, or can I just lead the way?”

“Lead the way!” Grover prompted. “Because I haven’t any idea what we’re doing.”

“That’s lovely, Grover, thank you for that.” You take the first step in the darkness, voice echoing. You shine your flashlight around, doing a quick circle of your surroundings.

“Oh, damn, it’s like something from a horror movie.”

“And thank you for that, Percy,” you smile sardonically. “Keep your eyes peeled for any clues.”

“This isn’t the crystal maze,” he laughs.

“I think I’ll give you over to the monsters personally.”

You really tried to keep your place in the maze. Left, left, straight on, down the slope, left again…you only got about a hundred or so metres before you were hopelessly, completely lost. Nothing looked at all as it had last time, as if you’d entered a completely different part of the maze. You backtracked following your memorised turnings, but stopped at a dead-end; the maze had changed completely in such a short amount of time. It was scary, and you could feel anxiety threatening to swallow you up, suffocating with every turn. Because not only were you terribly lost with a jittery Grover humming a tune every five minutes, but you’d forgotten about the threat of monsters around every corner, and the possibility of getting split up down here.

“So, new idea,” you voiced. The three of you stopped for rehydration, the tunnel growing warmer the further you walked. “I say we stick to the left wall. That way we aren’t getting split up, and we’re not losing contact with the wall itself, so it cant physically change.”

Percy nodded, raising his hand to your head and dunking you in light spirits. “Good idea.” He quickly lost his sense of humour when, shortly after voicing the brilliant idea, the left wall literally fell away, the bricks disappearing as if they were never there. “Well then.”

You kept walking the long hallway, changing from that of a metal container to a red-brick chamber, with holes in the ground every few steps. It was like playing a dangerous game of hopscotch, except you really didn’t want to relax. At the end of it you entered a round room, with eight different tunnels open and looming branching off the main circle you found yourselves in. Behind you, you watched with your own eyes as the entrance changed from red brick to yellowing, floral wallpaper and rotting wainscoting groaning quietly. Queasiness irritated you. You ran your hands through your hair with a stressful sigh.

“Which way did we even come in?” Grover hummed uneasily.

“Just go back. Turn around the way we came.”

Except, now it had changed, everything blended into one, a huge confusing mess, and nobody could decide on what to do or where to go. You swept your flashlight over the eight tunnel archways, like train tunnels, but none of them offered any differences…at first glance, anyway. Finally, you closed your eyes and stopped the flashlight—opening your eyes, you’d stopped the light on the left-middle tunnel. “That one.”

Percy entered your line of sight, looking unsure. “How can you be so sure?”

You shrugged. “Deductive reasoning.”

He gagged on a laugh. “So you’re guessing?”

Readjusting your backpack, you nodded to the tunnel and took off. “Just come on.”

You’d never do anything by chance again. The tunnel soon got so low and cramped that the concrete walls pressed against your shoulders your hips, bent over and trying not to hyperventilate. Unfortunately, Grover wasn’t doing the same thing. His erratic breathing happened to be the loudest thing in the tunnel.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” he whispered. “Are we nearly there yet?”

You had to admit that you were getting fed up with it as well. Percy remained quiet and composed—once, he smacked his head on the ceiling and bit back a series of words.

“We’ve been down here, like, five minutes,” you offered. “Calm down.”

“Why would Pan even be down here anyway?” He rambled. “I mean, look how dark it is! This is disgusting. What does the god of nature want with a place this dank? This is the opposite of wild!”

Just when the tunnel became so narrow you were about to call it quits, it spilled open into a huge room full of old mosaic tiles in golds, reds and blues, like something from an old Greek book in the Big House. And it was Greek—upon closer inspection with the tiles closest to you, they showed a myriad of images of the gods: Aphrodite in a white chiffon, all done up pretty; your mother in battle, wearing all gold; Ares in feast, at a table drinking dark wine. You leaned in closer, running your fingertip along the pictures.

“This is beautiful.” You straightened up. The ceiling, though dirty and dark, glittered in gold and silver, and an ornate three-tier fountain sat empty in the middle of the room.

“What is this place?” Asked Percy, tilting his head back to look up. “Ancient Greek?”

“Looks like it. Kinda reminds me of Olympus, the last time we were up there.”

“Before you guys came to camp,” Grover joined you, looking around. “We went up to Olympus in winter, before the solstice. Only the grounds but…it was amazing. Looked a lot like this.”

“How can it be here, though?” Asked Percy, “it’s so…out of the blue.”

“The labyrinth is like a patchwork blanket. It grows itself, decorates itself—it doesn’t end.”

“You’re making it sound like it’s alive.”

“It basically is, Percy. Look around.”

“Can we stop talking about it being alive, please?” Begged Grover. A groaning noise came from the tunnel before you. “Oh no,” he moaned.

“Alright,” you said, “onward.”

“Down that way with the noise?” Grover grimaced.

“Exactly that way. Things are looking older so…maybe that’s the way to Daedalus’s workshop. Since he’s old and…whatever. Shouldn’t the workshop be in the oldest part of the maze?”

Logically, it made sense. Literally, it didn’t. The maze didn’t abide by any rules of thumb. The maze soon went back to playing with you (and your sanity) as it turned into modern caves decorated in spray paint, and then a restaurant-esque room full of gleaming mirrors. Every few feet, the maze changed, the tunnels shifted, and the floor beneath your feet turned from cement to metal and back to cement again. Through a wine cellar Dionysus would adore and out into a basement, you were slowly losing your mind. It didn’t matter how much you backtracked or memorised, the maze just didn’t care, and kept changing, changing, changing. At one point, standing in a wooden warehouse, you could have sworn you heard voices on the floor above, but then again, you’d been down here for far too long.

The first skeleton you found appeared far too quickly for your liking.

“Oh, man!” You waved a hand in its direction. “Should we consider this a marker? We’re so far into the maze we’ve got dead bodies?”

Grover gagged. “Milkman!”

“What?”

“A milkman,” he reiterated. “They used to deliver milk.”

“Thank you, Mister. Obvious,” Percy smirked. “But that was like…a million years ago. What’s he doing down here?”

You shrug. “Some people just wander in and get lost. Like us, I guess. Some probably come exploring on purpose and never make it back. In fact, like a bazillion years ago the Cretans sent people in here as sacrifices.”

Grover gulped. “He’s been down here a loooong time.” The skeleton’s hands were frozen clawing at the wall, like he’d died being dragged. “And it smells of monsters down here, too.”

“Well, they’re probably everywhere down here.”

“Yeah…sure smells close, though.”

“We can’t just abandon ship, guys,” you try, “we need to head deeper into the maze. There’s definitely a way to the centre, we’re just going about it the wrong way.”

Percy cleared his throat, prompting your attention. “Maybe there isn’t a right way,” he suggested with a shrug. “I mean, it is a maze, and you said it’s always changing. Maybe the workshop moves with it?”

You hum, and try hard not to think that he might be right. “Nah. We’ll find it. We’re close to something; I can feel it.”

You could, in actual fact, feel the upcoming challenge the way your demigodly instincts always helped you to, like a weird feeling up your spine, a lingering over your shoulders. Your stomach was tightening just as you crawled through a metal air shaft, and came out…

In the tile room. Again.

Getting to your feet with a groan, aching from the constant ducking and diving, you almost yelled in anger.

“We’re just going ‘round in circles!” You yelled and span in one to get your point across. Percy came up after you, casually at first, and then Grover. Percy paled. Grover shrieked.

Spinning on your heels, you weren’t the only ones in this room anymore. You screamed, scrambling to shove yourself behind Percy, back-to-back. You fumbled around for your dagger.

A Greek hero, or what was left of him, sat at the fountain. He wore old armour, bronze and gold, only it was rusted with something you didn’t want to think about. His gold-blond hair lay messed and thick, like he couldn’t stop pulling on it. He lacked an eye, a wound, and looked like he’d been in agony for a very long time. The stuff of nightmares, honestly. A Greek horror.

The personification of struggle.

Percy stiffened at your back. His hand raised and caught your forearm, fingers tight around you, shaking.

“Come on!” A voice like honey drawled, though it was thick with sadness and triumph together. “You guys…what are you doing? You’re going through wrong way, you know. Turn back.”

You couldn’t turn back. You’d already made that mistake. He was trying to confuse you, that’s all. His voice grew louder and more aggressive, more persuasive, and got closer. You tried to block him out, and slow your heart rate. In your mind, you thought of all the songs you loved, humming the lyrics.

“Hey!” You heard Percy. “Leave her alone. Leave us alone.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Riptide was drawn. You really hoped you didn’t have to fight this guy. Though he was obviously an old spirit, or an old and minor god, you didn’t doubt he was powerful. Being down here was a nightmare enough without having to fight.

“Poor thing,” he drawled, like you would a hurt puppy. “Weak, bitter. But persistent. Only hurt lies ahead, you know? You can turn around, now,” he called your name. Percy’s fingers danced along your arm, a distraction. Being under fire made your skin crawl, and the aggression in the hero’s tone had brought on an anxious stomach ache.

Percy raised Riptide. Just when you thought you were done for, a scalding light filled the room, like a floodlight had suddenly appeared. Your heart skipped way too many beats; Grover raised his hand to shield his eyes. When the light died off, you kept your eyes shut.

“Are you causing trouble for these heroes?” A woman’s voice called into the terrible scene. You slowly unclenched your jaw, opened your eyes slowly, and shifted to peek around Percy’s shoulder, ever so slightly inching so you didn’t see the bloodied Greek. She stood tall and proud, beautiful brown curls the colour of chocolate dancing down her spine in a long braid threaded with gold ribbon. The plain, white dress she wore turned to rainbow when she moved, and you thought of oil on a river, the way it moves under sunlight, shimmering. Her milky skin was flawless, and you had the sudden feeling that you knew this woman, somehow.

His voice, mellowed now, shook. “No, milady!”

Liar. You exhaled shakily.

“I see,” she crooned. “Well, you’ll let them be on their way then, yes? You’ll leave them be, from now on? Leave these heroes to me. You’re creating unease.”

The woman turned to face you, Grover and Percy, and made direct eye contact with you first. She smiled, and it was like taking a chill pill, a strange and sleepy calm that washed over you. Whether the boys felt it too, you couldn’t say, but you were glad of it. The anxiety fell away, your heart slowed, and you became aware of the grip you had taken on Percy’s jacket, at the base of his spine, scrunched between your fingers.

“You must be hungry,” she nodded. “Come. Sit with me, let’s talk.” She waved a perfect hand, and the room came to life. Candelabra chandeliers lit in warm yellow, and the dirt fell away from the room. The fountain sprung to life, trickling water, and a pretty table and chairs set appeared waiting, the length of the table filled to the brim with sweet sandwiches cut in small triangles, and tiny plates holding delicately decorated chocolates.

You didn’t realise you’d gotten so hungry. How long hadn’t you eaten for? Time passed so different here, it could have been a whole day, or two. Grover got right to pouring the lemonade, adorned with fresh strawberries, gulping it down like he’d never taken a sip of it before. Understandable, in your eyes.

Gradually, you unclenched your stiff fingers from Percy’s jacket, hand falling away. “Who are you?” He asked, approaching the table.

You didn’t sit like the boys, but instead reached for a sandwich, and then another, and another, and another. Standing opposite each other, you blinked as she spoke with pretty, gentle eyes.

“I am Hera,” she smiled. “Queen of Heaven.”

Ah. That’d be the familiarity, then. Godly hierarchy. You didn’t feel unnerved up close to her, but so much more relaxed than before. She took the pitcher of lemonade from your still-shaking hands with the gentleness of a mother, and you didn’t even stop her from pouring you a glass. You thanked her quietly, and she reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked, lacking formality. Hera hummed softly, before snapping her fingers out of the blue. Instantly, you got cleaned up—your hair fixed itself without effort, feeling cleaner and less sweaty, tied back in a low bun. The dirt abandoned your clothes. The sweat and dirt cleaned off of your face.

“I came to see you, naturally,” she replied. The boys at the table shared a look.

You frown heavily. “I thought—I didn’t think you really liked heroes. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

Something changed about her, but you struggled to place it. She waved a perfect hand. “Oh, water under the bridge! Because of the little…spat, with Hercules? Goodness, so long ago. I had so much bad press because of one little argument!”

You wouldn’t call attempted murder an argument, but hey-ho. You can’t stop the words flowing out of your mouth. “Didn’t you try to kill him, though?”

Hera laughed, though it wasn’t funny at all. She flicked an imaginary piece of dust from her dress. “Oh, dear, no. Greek myths, am I right? Hercules was my husband’s son by another woman; my patience ran thin, I’ll admit. But Zeus and I have come out the other side, we have an understanding. Especially since that last incident.”

Percy choked on his sandwich, red in the cheeks. You bug-eyed him, a warning. Hera dropped her hand from your hair where she’d been, dare you say it, admiring you. It wasn’t uncommon—your family’s friends and even strangers commented on your luckiness. You wanted to call it more of a curse.

“You mean when Thalia came into the picture?” Percy just couldn’t help himself. Hera’s eyes turned frostily on him.

“Ah, Percy Jackson, isn’t it? One of Poseidon’s…children. As I recall, I voted to let you live at the Winter Solstice. I hope I chose correctly.”

She turned away, like Percy wasn’t worth her time, and her eyes shone like she’d hit diamonds on you. It wouldn’t be a good idea to shy away from a goddess, any of them, never mind Hera, so though you didn’t particularly like the attention or extra care that she wasn’t providing the boys, you didn’t move away. Who knew what dire consequences she’d send your way? Grover spied you looks every few seconds, like making sure you were alright.

A sunny smile plagued her. “Anyway, I bear you no ill will, my girl. I appreciate the difficulty of your quest. Especially when you have old Greek troublemakers to deal with. Brave girl.” Brave, though you hid like a child.

“Why was he here?” You shoved a chocolate in your mouth. “I felt like I was dying.”

“Hmm, he likes to do that. The minor gods…they enjoy causing trouble, scaring young heroes. The minor gods, you three must understand, have always despised the very small roles they play. Some I fear have little love for our Olympus, and can easily be swayed to support the rise of my father.”

Kronos. Luke’s new best friend.

“We have to watch the minor gods. They give lip to Olympus, and yet—”

“That’s where Dionysus went!” Exclaimed Percy. “He was checking on the minor gods.”

“Indeed.” Hera stared at the fountain. “You see, in times of trouble such as these, even gods lose faith. They put their trust in the wrong things. Petty things, should I say. They stop looking at the bigger picture and turn selfish. But I’m the goddess of marriage; I’m into persistence and perseverance. You have to rise above the arguing and chaos. You have to keep your goals in mind, demigods.” Spoken like a proud soccer mom.

“What are your goals?”

“To keep my family together, of course! The Olympians. Right now, the best way to do that is by helping you—the ringleader of the quest! Zeus does not allow me to interfere too much I’m afraid, but once every century or so for a quest I care deeply about, he allows me to grant a wish.”

Like something from a Disney movie. You’re Cinderella, and she’s the fairy godmother.

“A wish?”

“Before you ask it, darling, let me give you some advice. I know you seek Daedalus. His labyrinth is as much a mystery to me as it is to you! But if you wish to know his fate, you should visit my son at his forge. Daedalus was a brilliant inventor, there has never been a mortal Hephaestus admired more. If anyone would know about Daedalus’s whereabouts, it’s Hephaestus.”

You consider this carefully. For anything, you could wish anything at all. But…

“How do we get there, then?” You ask. “That’s what I wish for. I want a way to navigate this maze.”

Hera’s shoulders drooped, and she looked disappointed. “So be it. But you ask for something that has already been given, I’m afraid.”

You blanch. “Huh?”

“The means is already within your grasp!” She spared a look over her shoulder…at Percy. “With him. Percy knows the answer.”

This time, you run cold. Unimpressed, you offer another, “What?” Percy sits up straighter in his seat, fumbling like a fish out of water.

“I do?” He panics.

“But you’re not telling us what it is,” you pry, being careful. “That’s not fair.”

Hera shook her head of pretty hair. “Getting something and having the wits to use it are two different things, darling. I’m sure your mother would agree.”

The floor vibrated as thunder rumbled from high above, reverberating all the way through. “That would be my cue,” Hera beamed. “Zeus is very impatient. Think on what I have told you,” she aimed at you, “locate Hephaestus, and the rest is smooth sailing! You’ll have to pass through the ranch I think, but don’t stop, and use all the means at your disposal…however common they seem.”

She pointed across the room, where two doors had appeared. They flung open, revealing two dark corridors.

“And one last thing,” she clasped her hands together. “Try not to run into any more troublemakers. The minor gods are unlikely to give you an easy time, and, well, I won’t be back. Farewell, my heroes. And good hunting, as they say!”

She waved a hand, and turned into a puff of white smoke. The food and the table disappeared, Grover and Percy falling off of imaginary chairs. The fountain stopped running, the walls turned grimy, and the room became dark again.

All that aside, you were pretty mad.

“What sort of help?…”

“Well,” said Grover. “She said Percy knows the way. That’s something at least.”

You round on your friend, whose cheeks are pink. “But I don’t!” He protests. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Honest.”

You sigh deeply. “Alright. Whatever. Which way now, then?”

“Left,” said Grover, getting to his feet and hurrying along to the entry. “Because I hear something big coming from the right.”

Percy caught your wrist in his hand. “Left sounds good. I vote left.”

Together, you disappeared into the dark corridor.

AYO what do we think of this one then? Honestly I got a bit stuck, but I think it turned out alright. I had to replace Janus with my imagination (though after the day I’ve had it’s LACKING) because he creepy fucker scares me as much as the cat in the hat does.

taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx

@rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress

@distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky

@emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @tojismassivemantiddies

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m

[ltbarnes]

‘Tis the Damn Season

Stark U #6

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, you’re too drunk, you’ve basically avoided Bucky and Steve for six months and the last person you’d want to meet at this party just happens to be yelling in your face. The panic attack is inevitable, really.

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: so much angst, past SA, alcohol, talk about violence, Christmas celebrations, things finally start to happen, kissing :)

A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates and to those who don’t, I hope you have a good few days anyways <3 This is the first I’ve posted since July which is awful of me so sorry

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You didn't see them all summer. The day after your last exam was over, you bolted back to your hometown and spent the entire summer selectively ignoring messages from Bucky and Natasha and Steve and Sam asking what you were doing and how your summer was going and maybe you could all meet up and go somewhere and—

It's December now, and every goddamn day since June you have been trying to figure out if what Bucky said to you when you were sick was a fever-induced hallucination or if he really, actually, said that he wanted you to take his last name someday. It made you panic, because the entire spring term you tried to convince yourself that your feelings towards them were batshit crazy and any inkling to them feeling the same was a delusional reach, grasping for crumbs that in reality were just friendly gestures. And then he says that.

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie."

So, yeah...things have been weird. Three months have passed since classes started and none of you want to mention what happened right before summer break. Actually, with each day passing you feel more like maybe it was just a hallucination or a very vivid dream, because both Bucky and Steve act like it never even happened. Bucky even had his mouth latched onto some blonde sophomore at a dumb, stupid frat party on Halloween. You went home right after and cried for two hours. But it's not hard to conclude that even if there was some spark or connection or anything beyond friendship with either of them before summer, it has died out completely.

The subject will probably never be broached. You're too scared of confrontation and definitely too scared of revealing unreciprocated feelings for that to happen. The slightly tense atmosphere in the loft is entirely your fault—your lack of communication with anyone in the group during the summer has made them a little confused, you guess. You mostly spend time in your room, giving excuses of studying and talking with parents on the phone and 'I'm just tired, sorry'.

Spending too much time with Natasha scares you too, because she reads you so well and you don't want her to know how hurt and unhappily in love you are. She'll try to do something about it and then Steve and Bucky will catch on and then you will end up rejected and labeled as crazy, because who the fuck falls in love with two people?

That doesn't mean you've managed to avoid her. Living in the same apartment as her definitely makes that hard, but just the fact that she won't let you makes it impossible. Last week she even broke into your room when you had it locked, because apparently she knows how to pick a lock open in under ten seconds. She absolutely knows something is off, but so far she hasn't brought it up.

Natasha is the sole reason why you're now standing in the backyard of some rich kid's house just off campus, surrounded by smoke from cheap cigarettes and fairy lights hung up between the trees and one too many shots of vodka in your blood. It's December utterly and thoroughly—there's snow on the ground but people still haven't accepted the fact that wearing their short dresses and tank tops without jackets does not work anymore. Ice drops hangs from the tree where you stand, listening to Natasha talk with a drunken girl looking for her phone.

It's fun, sure. Not the worst party you've been to and not the best either. You talked to the girl you've been sitting next to in History class earlier for almost twenty minutes. Got free vodka. It's Friday and you don't have any exams to study for. None of that makes you forget that things aren't the same.

"Nat. Nat." You poke her shoulder repeatedly, obnoxiously probably, until she glances over her shoulder with a slight glare.

"What is it?"

"I'm gonna get 'nother drink. Inside," you tell her, pointing with your thumb towards a hedge even though it was meant to be the door. Natasha seems to understand anyway.

"Okay. Don't wander off too long. And come back here right after."

"Yes, ma'am." You give her a half-assed salute before turning around, swaying slightly in your step. It's the uneven and slippery surface of the snow-covered ground, you tell yourself.

There's a lot of people here, is what you note as you push yourself through the seemingly endless crowds of the living room. You kind of hate that they haven't played a single song you like and if Steve was here he would agree, because he doesn't listen to any music made after the internet was born. Bucky would then make fun of Steve and you would laugh and everything would be right in the world. Instead you're pressed to kitchen drawers of a dark kitchen, cheap vodka mixed with soda running down your throat.

The kitchen is crowded too, but either way it's a respite from whatever the hell's going on in the living room. Jumping up and down and calling it dancing (you were doing the same the hour before). You're too drunk to be miserable about everything happening in your life this entire term and much too drunk to feel the absolute atrocious taste of your drink.

In half an hour you will probably throw up and tomorrow will be spent nursing a horrible hangover, but those consequences seem insignificant right now. You just keep thinking about the image of Bucky shoving his tongue down someone's throat that wasn't yours. It was heartbreaking. That he's not here is a good thing, because you'd either witness the same thing again or actually bring it up to him, and that's much worse. God knows it's only a matter of time before Steve does the same thing.

Someone pushes into you, forcing the liquid from your cup to spill from the confines of the red plastic onto your dress. It's black, so it doesn't really matter, but the alcohol still seeps through the fabric until it reaches your skin.

"Shit, fuck—"

Your hand tries to somehow dry your dress by fanning the fabric, which obviously doesn't help very much, and the paper towels placed on the counter in front of you escape your drunken mind completely.

Fresh air and icy winter winds are the only options, so you push through and stumble into people on your way outside. It takes a lot longer than it should. You can't really see much considering the dizziness and darkness inside, but somehow, magically, you are eventually dragging your way towards Natasha who stands in the same place as before.

"Nat. Natty—I spilled. Look."

The black dress with the now wet patch is lifted towards her by your hands, highlighted for her to see. You sway as you tell her.

"Jesus, you can barely stand straight," Natasha answers with a stabling hand to your shoulder, shaking her head to herself instead of focusing on the very urgent fact that you spilled on yourself.

Natasha turns to the girl she's talking to, saying something you can't bother to decipher, before stepping aside with a guiding arm around you.

"We gotta get you home before you embarrass yourself for real," she mumbles underneath her breath.

"I heard that," you whisper, a loud hiccup following. Whoops.

She rolls her eyes, fishing her phone up from her pocket.

"Who—who you writing? To?" you ask, slightly aware that your sentences lack correct structure but not really caring. As long as the message comes across, right?

"I'm texting Steve. I can't drive and you sure as hell can't."

Even in your state, panic instantly sets in over the mention of his name even though you live in the same goddamn apartment.

"Nooo. No Steve."

Your hand grasps for her phone. Nat pulls it away from your reach much quicker than you can comprehend.

"Yes Steve. You're a mess and he's the only one with the patience to take care of this level of drunk. I don't care that you're avoiding them for some stupid goddamn reason," she tells you.

"Nat," you whine. "He can't see me. I spilled!"

She just glares at you. "I swear to god, Y/n...nobody cares that you spilled your drink. I can't even see it."

"I'm so drunk!"

"Yeah, I know. Just—just stay here, okay? I'm going to get you some water so you can sober up by the time your precious Steve comes for us."

Natasha is heading inside before you can process her words. Waiting in place for a few minutes turns into an eternity in your mind. She should know better than to leave you unattended and then expect you to stay—really, it's her own fault. You will accept no blame if Nat gets mad at you for going inside again. It's cold and you need to go to the bathroom. Also, you're mad at her. Telling Steve to come get you? That's just...embarrassing.

Once again you're shouldering your way past people on about the same level of intoxication as you. There's a bad remix of a Christmas song playing loudly. Makes you wanna punch whoever's phone is connected to the speaker. The bathroom is so, so far away. It's something the architect of this house should've thought of before he put it at the very end of this long hallway you're currently making your way through, but clearly he didn't have you in mind.

"Fuck! Watch where you're going, asshole," some girl seethes at you as your shoulder nudges against hers. A nudge is an exaggeration—you brushed against it at most. She's probably an aggressive drunk, that's all.

You don't answer, instead fumbling for the door handle to what you believe might be the bathroom. Some couple is making out in here, the girl with her ass planted on the edge of the bathtub and the guy nearly devouring her face. Doesn't look very pleasant, if you're honest.

"Out. I need to pee."

Your hands find their way to their shoulders, ushering the lovesick pair out of the room without much protest from either of them. They're still making out as they walk out.

Despite your less than sober state, you manage to remember to lock the door after they leave. Some of the mascara that previously inhabited your lashes has moved down to rest under your eyes. You rub it away, smudging it slightly, but it just makes you look a little more like one of those cool girls you always see on campus. It will do.

You kind of want to throw up, but decide against it. That hasn't happened since you were a freshman, and you'd like to keep it that way. Staring at yourself in the mirror occupies your time in the bathroom instead, swaying slightly with your hands placed on the cold sink. If Steve saw you now he would be so disappointed. At least you imagine he would be—that fatherly look on his face as he tells you how you need to be more mindful with your alcohol consumption. Did you even watch who poured your drink? Never go anywhere alone at a party. Especially not a frat one. You know better than this, Y/n.

Steve's imaginary voice is interrupted by someone banging on the door, shouting for you to hurry the fuck up. It's been over ten minutes, but to you it just feels like three, and Natasha has been looking for you ever since she returned to the garden with a glass of water in her hand and no one to give it to. It's not her banging on the door, unfortunately, but instead a dickhead guy who has no patience. Can't a girl spend some time alone in the bathroom doing nothing anymore?

The guy glares at you as you push the door open, stumbling out into the crowded hallway while paying him no mind. It's dark save for the red LED-lights plastered on the walls, making it feel like a seedy dive bar instead of a seedy house. You don't see much.

"Hey! Hey, you—the girl with the black dress!"

Someone pushes their way past the people talking and making out and leaning against the walls, shoving through them as he searches for your attention. Of course, you don't really think it's you he's after. Half of the people at this party are wearing black dresses.

A clammy hand finds purchase on your shoulder, halting you in your less than gracious steps and turning you around with ease. Head tilted back, gaze running upwards until they settle on the face of a quite attractive guy. He doesn't look pretty happy to see you. You're not very happy to see him either.

The blood drains from your face, stealing away all that alcohol-induced heat within a second as his curly hair and green eyes look down at you with that same contempt he had when Sam dragged him away from the kitchen almost a year ago. You had hoped you never had to see him again. It was a naive thing to wish for.

"Y/n, right?" he asks bitterly. You don't answer, but he takes your silence as a yes. It was probably a rhetorical question anyway. His slightly crooked nose was perfectly straight the last time you saw him. His face is committed to your memory, burned in to taunt you on sleepless nights and everytime an unknown man walks a little too closely when you're out alone. "Your little boyfriend broke my fucking nose. You know that?"

Another rhetorical question. Definitely more threatening. Might be the tight grip he has on your arm too. Either way, his mere presence has apparently stripped away your ability to breathe normally. It feels like you've been running to the point of nausea, dark spots dancing before your eyes as he shakes you in attempt to get an answer.

"You ruined my fucking reputation. For what? I barely touched you. Such a sensitive fucking bitch, going around telling everyone that..." His voice trails off, ushering you into a quiet corner when he realizes people are staring. "Got nothing to say now, huh? Been so good at running your fucking mouth before, haven't you?"

"Let me go," you whisper, voice wavering. You don't sound assertive at all, instead weak and fearful. It's what you feel, as an upbeat, slightly bad cover rendition of "All I Want For Christmas" booms through the house. Girls shrieking in excitement over in the living room reaches your ears. You would have joined them if you weren't currently cornered by the guy who assaulted you in your own kitchen a year ago.

"No, we're going to fucking talk. What the fuck were you doing, going around saying shit like that about me to everyone?"

"I...I didn't..." Your lips part between words, breathing out shakily, trying to articulate sentences long enough to make sense. Why can't you speak? Why can't you even think?

"You didn't what?" he seethes. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that? Acts all innocent and hides behind her friends. My nose is fucking crooked forever because of that fuckhead you sent after me."

Is it the alcohol that renders you this goddamn useless? There's just tears springing to your eyes, unable to say anything in defense of yourself. Can't even walk away.

He pushes you against the wall, knocking the breath out of you. To other people it probably looks like you're hooking up. At least that's what you hope they think, because otherwise you want to wonder why no one is intervening.

"Joshua, please let me go," you tell him again, even more pathetic this time. You're crying now, curled in on yourself in attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

"Fuck, you're so—"

"She told you to let her go."

The assertive, familiar tone booms through the hallway. It doesn't really, can probably only be heard by the people around you, but it feels like it when Steve's tall figure pushes through with hasty steps towards where you and Joshua stand, followed by a glaring Bucky with his jaw clenched so fucking tightly. A sob of relief is drawn from your lips, muffled by the back of your hand.

Joshua steps back instantly. Kind of funny to think that he's so scared of those two, and sad to think that he only respects a 'no' when it comes from men.

"Nice nose job," Bucky speaks up, pointing at his own nose as he stares at Joshua's crooked one, courtesy of the damn good punch he managed to land with his left fist all those months ago.

"Fuck you," Joshua growls, taking a step forward in attempt to appear more threatening or something. He doesn't really succeed—both Bucky and Steve towers over him in both length and build, unrelenting in their stance. As if they're stone walls keeping out the enemy.

Steve rolls his his eyes, shaking his head with a sigh. "Just get out of here. Don't go near her ever again, you hear me? Bucky's glad to fix your nose otherwise. Break it right back. Can't promise the result will be very good, though."

Bucky stands slightly behind Steve, raising an eyebrow in Joshua's direction that tells him there's not even a trace of a lie in the blonde giant's statement.

"You—fuck this." Joshua throws his hands in the air, aiming the most distasteful glare over his shoulder in your direction, before pushing past Steve and Bucky with a shove.

Your body instantly deflates, the tension melting off your limbs as you close your eyes and lean back against the wall. Gentle, firm hands instantly reach your cheeks, your arms, searching for any trace Joshua might have left behind on your body.

"Hey, hey. Y/n, are you okay? Did he touch you? Sweetheart, look at me."

Bucky's voice draws you out of the anxious, panicked state you slipped into, fluttering your eyelids open to see his worried frown and an equally worried Steve looming behind him. Wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes greet them, pupils dilated from the alcohol.

"Y/n, are you hurt? How long have you two been talking?" Steve adds, looming over you in such a way that his large frame blocks out any of the colorful lights plastered on the walls.

They already know you're drunk—Natasha was the one to call them here to get you, after all. Maybe your silence and obvious intoxication makes it clear to them after a couple of seconds that an answer from you is a few minutes away, a few miles of distance from this foggy, packed house. Nothing more is said or requested from you. Instead your trembling form is led away and out into the biting cold by gentle hands belonging to your friends. Even your slight shock can't shield you from freezing your ass off as soon as you get out into the fresh air again, teeth beginning to chatter within the second step on tightly packed snow.

"What the—where the hell have you been? I swear to god, Y/n, I was gone for two minutes! I've been looking for you everywhere!" an angry Natasha yells, running perfectly towards the three of you down the slippery lawn to where Steve is currently helping you into the backseat of his car.

"Nat," Steve says, giving her a pleading look that silently tells her it's not the time for a scolding.

"What? I told her to stay put when I went to get her a glass of water and she just disappeared out of nowhere. Slippery motherfucker while drunk, I swear she'll be the death of me—"

"Nat," he repeats, sternly this time. In that tone only he masters, silencing even the most eager tongues with a single exhale. "She met Joshua. And she's not okay. So please, leave your yelling for tomorrow and get in the car."

Steve holds the passenger door open, gesturing for the seat beside Bucky. He's turning the key, letting the car warm up properly while he clutches the wheel tightly. Natasha's irritated frown turns into a concerned one, nodding silently before slipping inside. Steve closes the door shut behind her.

You lean your head against the frost-covered window, fogged up by your breath two inches away from it, and close your eyes. Steve leans over you, reaching for the belt and fastens it over your torso. You forgot. He never does.

It's no surprise, doesn't startle you despite your absentminded state, when his warm hand cups your cheek, turns your head to face him. Soft, blue gaze and ridiculously long lashes. It's nothing but contrasting against the clouds released from your mouths with each breath—warm, concerned...loving? Maybe.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, thumb rubbing over your cheek.

You nod. "Yes. I am now."

Bucky puts his foot on the gas, turns on the blinker, and pulls away from the curb, out onto the streets. It's nearly soundless. The usual rumble from wheels against road is cushioned by the snow.

"This was a mistake. Sorry, I can't—" Sam gags, moving his head out of the bathroom before returning his presence within a few seconds. "You're a real shitty guard, Nat. Why'd you let her drink this much?"

All four of your roommates are gathered in the bathroom, surrounding you as if you're a newly born lion cub in a zoo, while you puke your guts out into the toilet. Steve is kneeling on the floor beside you, a comforting hand rubbing your back, while Bucky sits a few feet away with a glass of water in hand, ready for whenever you need it.

"Fuck you. You weren't there—she was like a goddamn ghost, just slipping away everytime I blinked. Looked fucking everywhere for her. 'S not my fault," Nat answers, residing on the floor of the shower in lack of space.

"Not true," you murmur in answer, your voice echoing off the ceramic surrounding you.

You're pretty much done throwing up, it's just the exhaustion following that's keeping you slumped over on the bathroom tile. Your hand stretches out in Bucky's direction, reaching for the glass of water that's gulped down within a few seconds.

"Careful. Gonna get sick again if you do it this fast," Bucky says, unable to help himself from brushing away the stray drops of water running down your chin.

The gesture is nothing new from him. He did it when you were sick all those months ago too, and you haven't forgotten it at all. His thumb gently rubbing over your skin as if you're precious, something deserving of gentleness, is engraved into your mind. You're thankful for getting most of the alcohol out of your system, because you might not have remembered this moment in the morning if not. Fuck it if you forgot the way his pupils widen just slightly, as if he didn't mean to, as if he couldn't help himself.

"I'm fine," you whisper in answer, clearing your throat. "Got it all out."

"Good." Steve's hand moves up from your back to your head, stroking it for just a second before withdrawing his touch. "Let's get you to the couch."

"I don't wanna go to the couch. Wanna be in my bed." You're pouting. Maybe there is some trace of alcohol left in you.

"Steve and Buck will feel much less like creepy stalkers if they stare at you sleeping on the couch instead of hovering around your bedroom all night like a bunch of pervs," Natasha speaks up. A snort follows after, as if it was a joke and not a statement. Definitely tipsy too, despite unwilling to admit such a weakness.

Steve raises a reprimanding eyebrow Natasha's way, telling her to shut her mouth with just his gaze. She smirks in answer.

"Don't listen to her. A fucking liar," Bucky remarks, but there's still some form of amusement in his expression. He can't even deny the statement—he is going to watch over you. Doesn't really matter if it's in the living room or in your bedroom. "Now let's get you up. C'mon."

With a push from your arms against the cold tile, you're standing on two legs again. Steve is hovering his hand near your back, ready to support if the vodka decides to topple you over. But you're fine—just tired now.

For ten minutes it feels things are back to normal again. On the living room couch, nestled in between them, your head leaning on Steve's shoulder as a stupid Hallmark Christmas movie plays on the tv. Sam and Natasha are in their rooms sleeping, and for a few moments you forget why you kept your distance. Everything would have been good if this is how the night would end. If Steve didn't have to address the past six months.

"I've missed this. With us," Steve whispers as he strokes your shoulder absentmindedly, like it's second nature to him to have his hands on your skin. "You've been so distant lately. For months, Y/n."

The room instantly becomes tense enough to make you nauseous. A clearing of your throat, an attempt to sit up out of Steve's hold and away from this conversation that you'd much rather avoid is futile—it's instantly stopped by Bucky's hand on your chest that pushes you right back.

"No," he says sternly. "You're gonna sit right here, sweetheart, and tell us why you've barely let us see you since fall term started. 'Cause it's sure as fuck not something I take lightly. Why have you avoided us?"

You look away, shaking your head to yourself as you try to talk yourself down. You will not break. You will not confess a single thing. You are going to act like everything is fine and you are not currently freaking out being sandwiched between the only two men you would gladly be sandwiched between under different circumstances than this.

"What are you even talking about?" you answer meekly. It's clear as soon as the words come out of your mouth that no one is falling for your innocent act, not even sweet, naive Steve. Then again, you're doing a particularly bad job. "Both of you think I've been distant?"

"Cut the bullshit, Y/n. If we've done something wrong, just say so." Bucky bites his cheek, glancing down for just a second, but it's enough to let his vulnerability slip. He's hurt.

A wave of guilt instantly washes over your body, an unusual feeling. During all these months of avoiding any interaction with Bucky and Steve besides the necessary ones, you didn't think that they'd actually mind your absence that much. They might not be hopelessly in love with you like you are with them, but they're still your friends. Friends miss each other.

"Or if it's something personal, you can tell us, you know? Is it anxiety, or are you feeling generally low, or...?" Steve chips in, trying to drown out Bucky's accusatory tone.

"No, no...I'm not depressed, Steve. And none of you have done anything wrong, I promise," you say hastily, shutting down their concerns as quickly as possible while trying to buy yourself time to come up with an excuse. "I just...needed some alone time."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Sassy man. "Bullshit again. You've spent a bunch of time with Natasha. Sam, too. It's us you're avoiding." He points to himself and Steve with his hand. "It's been almost six months, Y/n. What the hell's your problem?" He pushes himself off the couch, standing up and blocking your view of the tv. It's as if his frustration is all contained while sitting down.

"Bucky," Steve scolds, glaring up at his friend. He's not appreciating the tone at all, that's for sure.

"There's no problem, Bucky," you tell him, shaking your head. Trying to dismiss this entire conversation before you reveal too much.

"No! Y/n, I'm going fucking crazy! This is the first time you've even let me touch you in half a year!" Bucky yells, a pleading tone in his voice that breaks your heart just a little. Because it's true. You have barely even hugged since June. You've barely talked for more than five minutes at a time.

"Don't yell at her, for god's sake, Bucky," Steve adds, his hands on your shoulders and ready to get up from the couch any second.

"What the hell's going on with you, huh?!" Bucky continues, ignoring Steve's statement. His eyes are solely focused on you, void of the usual softness. There's just anger. "Cause if you can't stand us, then tough fucking luck. I can have your fucking things moved out by tomorrow for all I care. Can move right into Walker's dorm. Bet he'd accept you with open fucking arms if you get to your knees and—“

The drop of your heart down to your stomach can almost be heard, an echoing, hollow sound. You're sure of it. Bucky shuts his mouth, as if he realizes what exactly was about to come out of it. What is not even a second of silence feels like a whole minute, before Steve shoots up from his seat beside you and grabs Bucky by the collar, rattling the whole room with the force in which he nearly tackles Bucky against the wall with. The tangy taste of iron starts to fill your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. There's tears lingering in your eyes but you can't hold them back, not anymore.

"You don't fucking talk to her like that, you bast—"

"I love you! It’s ‘cause I fucking love you guys!” you yell, a pathetic sob marring the words. “So I’m fucking sorry that I’ve avoided you two but I’m trying to get over these goddamn—these feelings, but I can’t, okay! I can’t!”

The bitter delivery is punctuated by the sleeve of your sweater wiping away the tears furiously, cutting Steve off and drawing both of their wild eyes towards your figure now standing up, just a minute away from a complete breakdown. You don't even process the fact that Steve cursed. It would've been teased about endlessly in any other situation.

"I will go. I'll leave if that's what you want," you seethe with a voice so unsteady that it's almost unbearable to listen to. "But I don’t hate any of you. I don’t, and I get why you’re mad. But fuck you, Bucky. Fuck you for saying that.”

More tears fall. It's futile to wipe them away when they'll be replaced the second after. You want to say more, hit Bucky where it hurts, but you cannot get the goddamn words to form on your lips. Opening your mouth and closing it again, shaking your head, comes before hastily walking towards your room and locking yourself inside without giving them a chance to answer.

As soon as the door is slammed shut, your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the sobs. Sinking down to the floor as if you’re in a movie, forehead resting against your knees. The rate of your heartbeats could be considered dangerously high, but you just blurted out a whole love confession for two of your roommates in the midst of a fight. How the hell could everything turn to shit so quickly? Half an hour ago all of you were joking around in the bathroom, and now you're not sure you have the courage to face any of them again.

It's a rash, impulsive decision fueled by anger and betrayal and shame, but you rush over to your closet and pull out an overnight bag that's soon filled to the brim with enough things to last you a few days. You're crying the entire time.

When you pass the living room again, Bucky isn't there anymore. But Steve is. Barely a glance his way is spared, with hasty steps heading towards the hallway. You remind yourself of a furious toddler when you angrily put on your jacket, stick your feet into your winter boots. The bag is slung over your shoulder, hand resting on the door handle.

"Don't go. Y/n, please don't leave."

Steve stands at the other side of the hallway, a broken down expression on his pretty face.

"Bucky went out of line, but he didn't mean it, I swear. He's just too prideful to admit it," he continues. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "Please, honey. It’s Christmas Eve. It won’t be the same if you’re not here tomorrow.”

"I just need some space," you whisper, brushing away a stray tear with the sleeve of your jacket. You’re so embarrassed and hurt that you can barely look him in the eye. "I can't be in the same apartment as him right now."

Steve sighs, looking about ready to just throw you over his shoulder to get you to stay. But he won't do that. That's not Steve. So instead he glances down to the floor, shaking his head to himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly. “The thing about—you said you loved us. Did you mean it?”

It takes a few seconds before you nod tentatively, sniffling and keeping your gaze on a spot past Steve. He doesn’t say anything.

Steve gathers courage enough to walk up to where you stand by the door, grabbing your cheeks with his hands, thumb running over the tear-stained skin gently. For a few moments, he just looks at you. Loud thoughts running amok in that perfect head of his.

“Nothing I say right now will do my feelings any justice, so I’m gonna save any big speeches for tomorrow. But just…stay. It’s 2 am, it’s freezing out and you’re still drunk. I don’t want you out there on the streets alone. I need you to stay, even if it’s only for your own safety. Don’t have to talk to any of us if you don’t want to.”

His words makes you nod automatically. All it took was his hands on your skin and the flicker of hope his words ignite in your chest, and you conceded within a second. No hesitation left in that exhausted body of yours. He‘s not saying outright that your feelings are requited, but it doesn’t feel like a rejection either. He doesn’t seem disgusted by your confession, by the knowledge that you’re in love with both him and his best friend.

“Good girl. Let’s just—let’s get you to bed, okay?”Steve tells you, squeezing your shoulder gently. With your confirmation in form of another silent nod, he nestles the bag out of your grip and takes off the jacket from your torso.

The bed feels so soft and warm and comforting when you lie down. Steve tucks you in. It’s achingly sweet and you don’t really deserve it after avoiding him and Bucky like that for so long, but he looks out for you nonetheless.

“Steve,” you whisper, drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “I’m sorry. For being so distant.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were scared,” Steve answers. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Get some sleep. You’ve had a tough night, Y/n.”

The softest of smiles grazes your lips, puppy eyes gazing up at Steve. Your wonderful, caring, perfect Steve.

“Are you alright? It must’ve been hard meeting Joshua again. And what Bucky said, it…it was far from okay.”

“I will be,” you whisper.

He nods, observes your face for a few seconds. Leans down to press a kiss to your forehead—what kind of college guy even does that? And then he leaves the room, turning the light off behind him.

You’re woken up by a red headed, crazy woman sitting on top of you over the sheets, shaking your shoulders.

“Wake up, fuckhead. You’re gonna open the presents I got you,” Natasha urges, grinning down at you as you blink your eyes open, groaning.

“Fuckhead?” you ask, a tired chuckle from your lips as Natasha climbs off the bed.

“Yes. Don’t like it, huh?” she teases. “C’mon. The guys are already waiting.”

With slow steps and a loud yawn, the slightest trace of a hangover plaguing your body, you drag yourself out into the living room. Around the ugly, little tree that Sam insisted on cutting down from the campus gardens last week (he almost got arrested by the security guards) the three boys sit. Your gaze falls to the floor, scratching the skin right above your lip nervously, once Bucky looks up at you. Can’t really read his expression, but you figure you’ll lay the fight aside for the day. It’s Christmas, after all.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve says, urging you to sit down next to him right there on the carpet. You offer a soft smile, and an even softer ‘Merry Christmas’ back. You’re still unsure about yesterday. Despite there being no rejection from either of them, the uncertainty is kind of killing you. A pit of anxiety rests in your stomach, an uneasy feeling corrupting every cell as you sit down on the floor next to Steve.

Not even ten minutes later, the living room is drowning in a sea of wrapping paper. Natasha went overboard with the gift shopping this year, it seems like, but her absent father is also some kind of Russian oligarch or something so she tends to use up as much of his money as she can. You’re not complaining.

The special edition of The Hobbit, signed by the director of the movie, that you managed to get on eBay and cost you a fucking fortune is received with a whispered ‘thank you’ from Bucky. He holds it in his hands tightly, staring down at the book without a word, and you don’t know if he’s happy for it. Maybe he’s not happy with anything touched by you at this moment. He hasn’t gotten you a gift, it seems like, or maybe he threw it in the trash and burned it yesterday.

Steve got you three books that he’d heard you say you wanted months ago, and a dainty silver necklace with a bee pendant hanging from it. “You know, uh, I usually call you ‘honey’ and I thought it was a little funny, maybe. But I can exchange it if you don’t like it. It’s no problem,” he had said, even though there were tears of gratitude in your eyes. Your arms were thrown around him a second later, hugging him tightly as you thanked him profusely for the most thoughtful gift.

Now you’re leaning your back against the couch, still on the floor, watching as Sam and Natasha are tinkering with his new Nintendo Switch that he got from her (overboard with the gifts, as previously mentioned). He’s so happy it almost makes you zoned out as you watch his childlike excitement. It’s nice to see the two of them so calm and sweet with each other too. Usually bickering and getting on each other’s nerves all the time otherwise.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

Your head tilts back, looking up at Bucky standing nervously in front of you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. There’s a deep hesitation within you, a pride that wants to say no and remain in your angry state forever without confrontation. But it’s Bucky. You hate this animosity between the two of you, the tension. Despite being pissed off and hurt and afraid that he doesn’t want you, you can’t say no, so you nod and push yourself up to a stand.

Bucky closes the door to his room behind him gently, clearing his throat and looking at anything but you. A sigh comes out of his mouth, shaking his head, before he parts his lips to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. What I said was disgusting and unforgivable and so fucking out of line. You didn’t deserve that at all. So out of proportion to what I was mad at you for,” Bucky says, running the palm of his calloused hand over his face.

“It was,” you answer honestly. There’s no use in denying that what Bucky said was stupidly hurtful. He nods, looking away from your gaze.

“It made me angry thinking that you ignored me, because at first I didn’t know what I had done, you know? And then I thought for a few months that me and Steve had been too overbearing and that you tried to keep your distance because you thought we were annoying or something. But that’s not the case. I should’ve known better by now than to think that you would do anything to purposely hurt us.”

You gulp, nodding, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “I didn’t know that you guys thought I had something against you until last night. Obviously, you…you know now that’s not the case,” you tell him, embracing yourself with your arms. “But last night, Bucky, I…you hurt me. I know you were angry, but saying those kind of things isn’t okay.”

“I know that. God, I know, Y/n. I’m so sorry. It was fucking childish of me, retorting to saying that Jo—“ Bucky shakes his head, hands coming up to tug at the roots of his hair. “And it felt stupid giving you that present in front of everyone, so now you think I didn’t get you anything, too, and—“

“You got me a present?”

“Yes. Of course I did, Y/n. But I saw how much Natasha had bought and that necklace Steve gave you and my gift felt stupid in comparison to that. Just didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone,” he says, a little awkwardly. A little boy giving his mother a drawing he made in kindergarten, he reminds you of.

“Bucky…that doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you have gotten me. I’ll like it no matter what if it’s from you.”

He shifts in his place, contemplating something, before picking up a sweater on his bed, revealing a wrapped present hidden underneath. Bucky took the gift from the pile without anyone noticing before, throwing it into his room so no one would see.

With a tentative hand, he reaches it out to you. Doesn’t watch as you unwrap it, instead biting on his thumbnail. You reprimand him for it, and the hand returns to his side.

“Is it a book?” You run your fingers over the cover, a hardcover with nothing on it. Blank.

“It’s a photo album. Shit, it’s stupid. I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking about ready to snatch it back, but you open the first page up before he has a chance to.

A picture of you, Natasha, Sam and Steve on the first page. It was taken last year in November. You’re all running after one of Sam’s model planes, fall leaves singling down from the sky. It’s a beautiful picture.

“4 grown idiots running after a kid’s toy - November 12th, 2022”

“It’s just pics I’ve taken with my phone, so it’s nothing artsy or anything, but…uhm.” Bucky runs his hand through his short, brown hair.

You flip the page. You’re looking out through the kitchen window, the sun shining through and casting shadows over the room and your figure curled up on the chair.

“Angel in the sun - March 25th, 2023”

A soft chuckle is drawn from your lips, resisting the urge to run your finger over the photo, but you don’t want to smudge the blank paper. On the same page there’s another picture of you with your arms around Natasha’s shoulders, nearly wrestling her to the ground with the force of your hug. You look so happy.

Bucky looks nervous as you glance up from the photo album at him. “Know it’s not much, but…yeah.”

A loud huff of hair escapes Bucky as you throw your arms around him. It takes a second or two for him to hug you back, but he soon has his chin resting on top of your head, arms around your waist.

“I love it,” you whisper, holding onto him tightly enough to constrict his breathing.

“You do? I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

Your grip around him releases, arms coming down to your sides so you can take a step back and look him in the eyes. “This is everything, Bucky,” you say softly, feeling a lump in your throat that can turn into tears any second. “The fact that you took the time to make this for me is just…it’s the most thoughtful thing ever. And these pictures are so beautiful, Bucky, and just the thought of you sitting down and glueing them onto the page and writing captions and—“

His lips against yours. Oh god. Oh my god, Bucky has his lips pressed against yours. Gentle hands hold your jaw, his head leaning down to compensate for the height difference, and Bucky Barnes is kissing you with urgency and desperation.

The shock is enough to make you unable to return the kiss. He seems to take your surprise as rejection despite the fact that you literally yelled ‘I love you’ in his face last night. Bucky steps away and takes his hands off your skin, running his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, don’t know what the hell came over me, I—“

On your tiptoes, fingers grabbing his sweatshirt to pull him closer, and you nearly smash your lips against his to shut up any of that doubt he carries. It’s not a graceful or very romantic kiss, but by the sound akin to a very mild growl that comes from Bucky and his hands sliding down to your waist to pull you closer, you guess he likes it anyway.

It doesn’t last more than 20 seconds. A harsh knock on the door to Bucky’s room interrupts it, forcing you part from his lips and get down from your tiptoes again.

“What the hell are you doing in there? C’mon! I’ve made goddamn Christmas brunch!” Sam yells, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips as your forehead meets Bucky’s chest.

With a soft smile, nothing said, you back away from Bucky. Slipping out of his room and leaving him there all flustered and semi-hard from a 20 second make-out session. The first ever between you, though. He thinks it’s pretty understandable.

As Bucky follows you into the kitchen, sitting down at the table by Steve, he leans towards his best friend and whispers into his ear low enough to make anyone else unable to hear.

“I kissed her, Stevie,” Bucky says with a shit eating grin on his face. “I finally fucking kissed her.”

The blond man turns his head enough to look over at Bucky, the red flush of his cheeks and ears enough to tell anyone what’s been said.

“Are you serious?” Steve asks.

“I kissed her and she kissed me back, I swear. I gave her that photo album I’ve worked on for weeks. She said she loved it, Steve.”

“I guess it’s my turn then, isn’t it?” Steve answers, a shy smile on his lips as the two of them watch you sit down opposite of them at the table, glancing through the window out at the heavy snowfall. Natasha puts a newly toasted bagel on your plate.

“Go get our girl, Stevie.”