#NEVER TOUCHING ITALIAN BOOZE AGAIN

[perfectly-clear-from-here]

not me purposefully getting off my face drunk just to write this house party chapter realistically. downing another can solely for research purposes.

[ladylilithprime]

53+66 Casaraph? (Maybe with a side of 93?)

53. Mutual Pining

66. It’s Not You, It’s My Enemies  

934. Hair Brushing/Braiding

Sequel to Stand and Deliver

THERE WAS NOT enough booze in the world to make Sam Winchester be able to forget Hell once the wall around his memories broke. While he had never once doubted the level of trauma that Dean carried from spending four months (forty years) down in the Pits, three on the racs and one under Alistair's tutelage, it had never really sunk in what that meant.

And then a man in a black Italian suit with a disdainful sneer had found the brothers at a rest stop in Oklahoma and touched two fingers to Sam's forehead and the world had shifted on its axis as Sam's definitions of "pain" and "eternal torment" were forcibly redefined.

The good news, Dean said, was that Sam had only been down in the Cage for a little over a week before he got pulled out. The bad news, which Sam refused to tell his brother, was that time spent in the Cage wasn't the same time dilation of ten years to a month as the Pits-- it was more like a century to a day, meaning Sam had been at the limited mercy of Michael and nonexistent mercy of Lucifer for just over a thousand subjective years.

The human mind, Sam knew from one of his long-distant psychology courses at Stanford, was not equipped to handle having memories for anywhere near that long, barely managing sixty to eighty years before things started to blur together with less and less coherency. Whatever barrier had been placed in Sam's mind to protect him from those memories, flimsy as it was in the face of indistinct nightmares he never fully recalled upon waking, it had still kept him blessedly sane and allowed him to function for six months topside before it was broken and everything surged to the fore all at once.

It became readily apparent in those unblocked memories that one thing Lucifer and Michael could agree on was that Sam was the cause of their imprisonment if not all their troubles. He forgot how to speak English for a while, trapped in a section of memories where, in a rare act of cooperation, Lucifer and Michael together had "taught" him Enochian. (He briefly recalled a moment of being glad that Michael seemed to prefer to use Adam as an on-tap battery rather than releasing him as Lucifer had done to Sam so that his little brother wouldn't be subjected to the same treatment before the pain and harsh drills made him forget who Adam was.) He had tried to hold onto his memories of his life by singing Hey Jude for a while before Lucifer cut out his tongue and then carved out his vocal chords for good measure to make him stop, and he didn't try again after he had healed.

That had been before Lucifer had gotten bored with purely physical tortures and ripped Sam out of his body. Ironically, that had been the moment that Michael hesitated, seeing Sam's soul without the shroud of his (demon blood tainted) body, and had begun to argue again. This did Sam precious little good, because he was still separate from his body and so both body and soul were subjected to the spillover of Archangelic battle in a confined space meant to house only one of them. Michael was stronger with Adam's soul to bolster him, but Lucifer was infinitely more creative and depraved, and Michael often had to retreat to heal and recover which allowed Lucifer to turn his renewed frustration and anger on Sam once more.

"Sam?"

He knew that voice, though he couldn't remember how. It wasn't Dean, because Dean hadn't spoken to him since his angry yelling when Sam stopped being able to respond in Englsih to him.

"Oh, Sam... what did Bartholomew do to you?"

The voice was nice, really. Sam couldn't see past the blur and blinding from the latest flare up of Hellfire in his blood, but the voice felt calming, cool without being the icy cold of Lucifer's Grace that burned worse than Michael's fire. The Grace that touched him felt cool as well, like the distant memory of water, but even that gentle touch scraped harshly over his flayed raw soul and his throat ached when he whimpered involuntarily. How much had he been screaming?

"Well? Can you fix him?"

That was Dean, gruff and impatient, hiding fear behind anger. He really wasn't all that much like Michael as far as Sam could tell, but then Sam's experience with Michael was rather limited in scope if not time.

"I'm sorry, Dean. This is far beyond my ability to fix. It may even be beyond the abilities of the Rit Zien. He will need the aid of Raphael."

The calming voice sounded so sad. Sam wanted to reassure the owner of the voice, to tell them that whatever was wrong would eventually be okay, but he could barely focus enough to hold himself mostly still so as not to injure his physical body with the thrashing of his soul attempting to evade a pain that clung to him too tightly to escape.

"Raphael. The douche that exploded you that time who we trapped in holy fire?"

"....Indeed."

"Son of a bitch!"

Oh, Dean was angry again. That wasn't good. Sam tried to keep himself still even as his body fought the conflicting desires to run and to hide, only too aware with that hazy part of him not consumed in agony that he was in no shape to do either, even if nothing was physically wrong with him beyond his whole being. At least now he had a better idea of who the calming voice and gentle water Grace belonged to, even if it was hard to make the connection in his current state.

"Thought you two were fighting a civil war up there."

"We are. That does not mean that we are necessarily fighting each other. The situation is... complicated."

"Will he help?"

"If I can get a secure message through to them... yes. Normally I would suggest prayer as the most direct and uninterceptable method, but I would not subject Raphael to what you call prayers, and Sam...."

Well, that was something.

Archangel Raphael, beloved Healer of Heaven, to thee I pray, Sam recited mentally around the lancing stabs of pain from remembered punishments whenever Sam had forgotten himself in the Cage and dared to pray to anyone but Lucifer. Bartholomew has attacked and broken the barrier that kept my memories of Hell at bay. Castiel believes you are the only one who can help me, and that you will if only a secure message can reach you. I don't know if you're even willing to hear a prayer from me, but Castiel is right to be wary of asking my brother to pray....

There was a rush of displaced air and the flutter of massive wings, followed quickly by a shout from Dean and the cocking of a gun.

"Dean, stop! This is Raphael!"

"Thought you had to get a secure message to him... her... whatever!"

Apparently Raphael had changed vessels since the last time Dean had seen the Archangel.

"Sam prayed to me. Bartholomew did this?"

"So it appears. Sam prayed to you?"

"Yes. Quite remarkable. I know not of any others who would have the strength and cognisance to do so while in such a state."

"You gonna do anything about that state he's in besides stare at him?"

Hoo boy... One of these days Dean would hopefully learn not to be beligerent and antagonistic towards super powerful beings whose help he wanted. Personally, Sam blamed their Dad for insisting that anything not human was a monster. Even if angels as a whole weren't like Pastor Jim had always told them, it just felt like a sensible precaution to be polite to the beings that could smite you out of existence.

"If you will refrain from shooting at me."

"I will take him elsewhere if I find that he cannot behave himself."

While Sam was distracted trying to figure out how to laugh at that comment without either moving or breathing, another brush of foreign Grace reached out to him in conjunction with a gentle touch to the top of his head. This Grace felt like gale force winds, gentling almost immediately to barely a soft spring breeze when he not-flinched from the contact. He felt it as that breeze swept through every part of him, finding every damaged cell and literally breathing new life into them before sweeping inward to the ragged filaments of his ragged and tattered soul.

Oh, Samuel... Please believe that the cruelties visited upon you by my brothers were wholly undeserved.

Well, I did trap them both in the Cage together so they wouldn't destroy the Earth and humanity...

You did. And I find that I cannot fault you for it. Let go, Samuel. You need not carry this pain any longer.

I don't want to forget...

It is not the knowledge I ask you to release, dear one. Only the anguish through which it was imparted.

How?

Like this....

Later, when he had the time and space from his hovering brother to really think about this moment and what Raphael was showing him, Sam would be both awed and incredulous at the way the Archangel peeled away layers of malignant energy and remnant corrupted Grace from the flayed filaments of his soul with more precision than any human surgeon could have managed and then patiently guided Sam through the process of reweaving those soul filaments into a more cohesive and ordered whole that stretched out tiny tendrils to each newly healed cell and more fully connected his soul and body into one symbiotic unit. At a thought, Raphael directed Sam's attention to the remnant blocks within his mind laid down by first Azazel and then Ruby with their blood and cleared them away, then helped him build up better walls of his own without any foreign elements in their structure to cause weaknesses. When both Sam and Raphael were satisfied that Sam's body, mind and soul were all wholly his own again, Sam felt Raphael withdraw their Grace and remove their hand from his head.

A breath in. No pain. Sam opened his eyes and looked up into glittering dark topaz eyes that still held the faintest glow of Grace. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome, Samuel," Raphael murmured, rocking back on their heels, and stood, giving Sam an excellent view of their current vessel's shapely legs and soft curves beneath the sensible skirt suit. A slender hand reached out to him, palm up, and he tried not to blush as he accepted the hand up.

"Guess Dean couldn't behave himself after all," he mumbled, glancing around the interior of Rufus's cabin and finding a distinct lack of both Dean and Castiel.

"Castiel suggested that if Dean required an outlet for his energy then perhaps he should acquire suitable food for you to eat once healed," Raphael explained, lips twitching up at the corners when Sam's stomach obligingly rumbled in hunger. "He declined Castiel's offer of transport, insisting on utilizing your vehicle to go into town and that Castiel come with him anyway."

"Dean finds angelic flight to be... discomfiting," Sam explained, a bit sheepishly. "Probably psychosomatic given how much he hates flying in airplanes."

"Perhaps," Raphael agreed. Then they sighed, expression turning regretful. "I will need to depart before they return. While heinous and unwarranted, Bartholomew's attack on you has provided me with the opportunity to come and tend to you as I meant to when you were first raised from the Cage, but also provided a potential avenue of investigation for the root of the continued corruption in the Host."

The Archangel looked genuinely upset at not being able to stay long enough to see Dean and Castiel return, and Sam was quite sure it wasn't Dean they wanted to see again. "War sure makes a mess out of personal relationships sometimes, huh?"

"Indeed," Raphael said. "I will be most relieved when Heaven is truly at peace once more."

"If you ever need a break, feel free to come back down to visit," Sam offered, adding casually, "And if Cas happens to need a break around the same time, well, we can just call this place neutral territory, yeah?"

"Devious," Raphael pronounced with a smirk that still managed to look pleased. "I shall keep your offer in mind. Likewise, should you be attacked again or otherwise have need of me, do not hesitate to pray. I assure you that I will always choose to hear your prayers."

They reached up and touched Sam's cheek - no flare of Grace, just a light caress - and then, in a flare and flutter of wings, they were gone, leaving Sam alone to wait for Dean and Castiel to return with food so Sam could let them know about the offer he had made.

He had a feeling that Castiel would be making more time and excuses to visit in the future.

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author’s note: it’s getting interesting here ;) enter prince charming Sugu-kun to save the day.

IX.

https://youtu.be/uhoiqVPmURE

Satoru was afraid of making a move, least he tipped you over the edge and made you bolt; he didn’t want that. Swallowing hard he looked into your eyes… God… he had missed your beautiful E/C eyes so much. Waking up every morning without you by his side, without you kissing him awake cause he was going to be late for work… again. Your absence had left a literal infinite void in his heart that he was unable to fill.

“I know I don’t deserve anything from you Y/N, but I love you and I cannot give up on us… We said forever when we got married. And I want that… with you” speaking from the heart was not something Satoru ever did. He always preferred to cover any emotions with inappropriate jokes and double entendres. But he knew he couldn’t play his stupid games, not with you and most certainly not now.

You pulled away in that moment, as if his touch was burning you. He allowed it, doing his utmost effort not to pull you back in. His hands itched resting at his sides, missing the warmth of your body.

|||

It was you and me, it seemed to last forever

The way you taste and I still remember… the sounds we made.

|||

“It would have been nice if you felt that way before you decided to ruin this marriage. Where were those promises of forever when you fucked someone else?” You asked piercing his eyes with yours. He cowered under your glare. Satoru had never been on the receiving end of your wrath and now he understood why most people chose (wisely) to not mess with you. Every single one of your words was chosen carefully to cause the most damage. At the same time… what hurt the most was that you were right.

“Leave and don’t ever come back… you and I… are through…” Satoru noticed how you avoided calling him by his name, he hated it. As if uttering his name would leave a bad taste in your mouth “Y/N…” he whispered pleadingly when you took another step away. But this time he didn’t have the courage to stop you as you disappeared inside your apartment and locked the door behind you.

|||

I bet you wish you had me back! Another chance to gain it, just like that. The best you ever had.

|||

Satoru was fucked.

—————

The next morning Suguru’s plane landed. JFK international airport was as busy and chaotic as one would expect. After collecting his luggage he made his way to a cab giving the driver your current address.

He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink during the trip, his mind swarmed with all the possibilities of what could be happening right now. Satoru didn’t play fair and of course… you loved (probably still love) the lucky bastard.

With a sigh he decided to focus instead on the city going by through the cab’s windows. It wasn’t the first time he was in New York and his mind was much more occupied torturing him instead of appreciating the landscape.

After 40 minutes, Geto stood before a very nice and modern building located in the upper east side called Hawthorn Park. You sure knew how to live in luxury. He approached the doorman and let him know his name and that he was here to see Miss Ekaterina Petrova to which the kind looking old man responded by using his intercom to contact you. Geto was soon granted access and guided to the elevator.

The elevator doors opened on the 21st floor, he walked to the door of your apartment which was already open and you were waiting for him. His smile fell once he noticed you have been crying “oh Kitten” dropping his luggage on the spot he surrounded your body in his arms “I’m so sorry…” one didn’t need to be a genius to know Satoru had found you.

You both moved inside your apartment. Settling on the spacious couch you buried your face on Suguru’s lap as you cried. He stroked your now darker strands of h/c hair without a word exchanged. He knew you needed to let it all out. After what seemed an eternity you sat back up. Suguru gently dried your eyes.

“He was here last night…” you whispered in a raw and scratchy voice, result of your endless hours of distress before his arrival “he told me he loved me, that he left Sookie” scoff “and hear this… he left her because the baby wasn’t his!” Talk about karma at its best. Suguru already knew that but he was surprised to hear Satoru had come clean about it to you “He probably thought I would fall for that! But I didn’t” you added firmly.

Suguru was proud of you. He knew how hard it was for you to resist Satoru but you stood tall and proud when it mattered the most. “What do you want to do now?” Where you planning on moving again?

-

“I’m not leaving…” you said looking into Suguru’s liquid amber gaze. You couldn’t help but notice once again he had such pretty eyes, like a cat. You’ve always liked them, specially when they looked at you with such tenderness. You have missed him dearly during all this time.

“I can’t keep running away from him; I mean… it’s obvious he won’t stop and I… I am tired of molding my life to adapt to his whims. I’m staying here whatever happens. Sugu… I got the part for the Swan Lake!” You added remembering you haven’t talked to him during the last week and so he didn’t know about your latest accomplishment.

Geto’s eyes enlarged before a huge smile split his handsome face and his massive frame engulfed you in a tight hug. Of course he knew everything about ballet, he was your best friend after all. This was huge! Probably as big as making it in the ballet world meant “I’m so proud of you Kitten!” He said excitedly kissing your temple. Maybe not everything was as bad as he thought.

You were upset, it was true. But then again you were not prepared last night. Satoru had taken you by surprise. Now… you knew he was here and more or less knew what to expect from your soon to be ex-husband.

“Thank you Sugu…” you stopped and pulled back just slightly to look into his eyes from your height. He was a very tall man compared to you “I missed you” you said with a bright smile to which Geto replied with one of his own before pulling you in again for another hug “I missed you too Kitten” stroking your back softly Suguru decided he was happy to be here… with you.

-

https://youtu.be/3oSXqLgoSq4

|||

She's given up, been holding on for way too long

She's had enough

He's coming home again

But it's too late 'cause she won't stay with him

|||

The sunshine hitting his face was what woke him up. With a grunt Satoru rolled over on his side only to fall unceremoniously from the couch where he had passed out last night. The last thing he remembered was warping back to his hotel after you left him on the roof. The memory of you, turning your back on him and walking away squeezed his heart in a painful grasp.

Alcohol was never something he was attracted to, he liked to keep his brain constantly alert and stimulated. It served a purpose of course, it kept his infinity barrier on at all times, even when he was asleep. But last night he hit rock bottom. He didn’t care anymore…

As soon as he got back to the hotel, hopelessness made a home in his chest, sitting heavy on his heart. Walking to the fully stocked bar placed on the corner of his suite he opened a bottle of whiskey. He started slow since most everything was too bitter for his taste, so he went through the process of trying every single bottle until he found something to his liking.

Two hours and about fifteen different shots of everything he decided to settle for a bottle of Amaretto, some fancy Italian liquor made of apricot kernels. It was sweet.

Everything else after that was blur. Moving his sore body from the floor he forced himself to go to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help ease his misery. Peeling off his clothes the smell of booze clinging on them made Gojo cringe. He decided to brush his teeth before showering. Looking in the mirror he couldn’t recognize the man starring back at him. He was a mess.

|||

Are we just ghosts out in the night?

Are we just waiting for a light that doesn't shine?

Are we just faking or is this real?

'Cause I don't know how to feel

Are we just ghosts now, you and I?

|||

Last night he had been so desperate, so hopeless and broken hearted. That’s when it hit him… his wife didn’t hurt him, she didn’t cheat on him (unlike himself), she didn’t do anything to him and yet he was feeling as if the world was collapsing around him. He lied, cheated and fucked up everything for them both.

Guilt…

Unadulterated, burning and suffocating guilt was consuming him. He felt bad before but it wasn’t until last night that he grasped the concept that Y/N didn’t owe him anything at all and that HE didn’t deserve it anyways.

The plan originally had been to get back in your good graces by doing penitence, submitting to your every whim and desire by becoming your devoted slave for as long as you would have it. He never even considered the possibility that his wife DID NOT WANT to forgive him in the first place.

He thought you left to give him a lesson, that you would eventually come back to him after he had a taste of what it was like to lose you.

But even after you both shared such a searing kiss, so passionate that every cell in his body was humming, aflame with desire you still managed to walk away from him as if it meant nothing to you.

What good did it do to him to be the strongest when he couldn’t even protect his wife… from himself.

After showering, changing clothes and ordering every sweet pastry and desert from the room service menu Gojo stopped to rethink his strategy.

What?…

Did you think he was going to stop there?

Absolutely no, love!

If anything, your rejection had only fueled his need to get you back.

“Time for plan B” sighing he pulled out his phone it rang a couple times before someone answered “good morning Mrs. Mazzo, this is Gojo Satoru. I’m going to need you to forward to me Miss Petrova’s rehearsal schedule…”

—

“This is really good!” You hummed happily after swallowing a bite of your steak. Suguru sat across from you at Keens Steakhouse, with a grin he watched as you indulged yourself in what you called your ‘cheat meal’ of the month. Being a professional ballerina was a tough and demanding commitment that controlled every aspect of your life, from how you train to what you eat. Despite it all, Geto knew you always found a happy balance that worked just fine for you.

Seeing your big smile made his heart jump in his chest, you were as beautiful and alluring as the day he met you. If only he had told you he liked you before Satoru did. This question kept him up at night, playing all sorts of scenarios in his mind. If he had taken the first step… would things have been different? Would you have ended up together? Married? Shaking his head he tried to focus on what you were actually saying. Deviating his thoughts to that kind of scenarios was dangerous. He also didn’t want to push it when he was perfectly aware you were still healing; he wasn’t a low life piece of shit to take advantage of your vulnerability.

But when you smiles at him as if he was the only thing in your world, when you held his hand across the table, playing with his finger, his throat felt dry and tight.

“What do you think Sugu?” Your curious and expecting eyes caught him like a deer in the headlights “I’m sorry Kitten, I was distracted. Could you repeat that please?” He asked with an affable smile.

You chuckled and stroke his hand softly “you look tired, did you sleep at all in the plane?” He shook his head “no, I didn’t. I never can, it’s uncomfortable” he hid on purpose the true reason why he hadn’t been able to sleep “come on Sugu! Let’s go back home! I bet you are tired” you said offering him a sweet smile.

After paying your bill you walked the few blocks back home. Suguru of course would be staying with you in the spare room of your penthouse. Holding hands while you talked to him about the activities the city had to offer, your schedule and how you intended to fit the time to do some tourism with him. “You don’t have to bother Kitten, I know you are busy enough with your job, I will be fine” he insisted.

You stopped on your tracks and stood in front of him, pouting, making him chuckle. You looked every bit the kitten he knew you to be, all bothered and moody “no! I want to spend time with you too you know! I haven’t seen you in so long! I’m not going to waste this chance!” You insisted to which Suguru threw his hands up in the air “I surrender Kitten! Do with me as you will” you giggled and then blushed. “Uh… eh… ok! I will!” He took your hand again and you both resumed your walk.

-

Satoru warped to the roof top of the building adjacent to yours, the lights were out in your apartment and he couldn’t sense your presence inside. You left? Where did you go?

Before a second though he warped inside your apartment but he saw all your stuff was still there, maybe you went out for groceries or something?

After a few minutes sitting on your couch he decided to wait for you on the street so he could see when you got home.

(Almost an hour later)

Oh… he wasn’t ready for what he saw.

“That mother fu….” Satoru grinds his teeth watching you walk down the street holding onto Suguru’s hand while talking distractedly. From his hiding spot in front of your building he closed his hands in a tight fist.

Well, this complicated things… a lot more.

————-> Chapter 10

———————————-

@sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

[bangtanpromptsfics]

moonflower.

dialogue prompt #6: “It's 3 o'clock in the morning”

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationships, fluff

word count: 1,550

warnings: making out

summary: a 3am walk in the city with your boyfriend

a/n: got this inspiration from an instagram reel and I wanted to transfer that entire feel into this one shot. hope you guys enjoyy and please drop feedbacks it really boosts motivation!! p.s as soon as I completed this, butter official teaser was released SOOOO EXCITED!!!

masterlist

“It's 3 o'clock in the morning”, you take a breath in and resume kissing him, hands tangling in the locks at his nape.

“I know”, he rasps, pulling back to bring your foreheads together, taking a moment to immerse the image of your swollen lips and cold skin of your face “It'll be fun baby”.

You don't know who exactly started kissing. Jungkook came back from his night shift not long ago and he expected you to be asleep. But he was beyond happy to catch you peacefully listening to music and waiting for him, paying attention to arbitrary details of the city still alive below. What began as a welcome kiss soon turned into a brief makeout-session, the first press of his lips against yours truly reminding how much you missed Jungkook throughout the day.

And during small breaks of catching each other's breath, he suggested for a night walk, much like a date since he had been too busy this week.

“Okay”, you huff, still feeling your chest squeezing together to get the normal breathing rate. A smile tugs at his lips and with one final smooch he leaves you to change your clothes into something safe enough for walking through the cold night.

Maybe it's because you had been with Jungkook for so long that you basically adapted a lot of his fashion sense and little habits. When you step out of your small shared apartment, you both look like members of a punk band, all black and leather.

Jungkook smiles down at you, remembering how much you have changed, it felt like you grew bored of colors as well, much of your aesthetics going monochrome at this point. There was a time Jungkook even went worried about it, thinking you were somehow adjusting to him. But you reassured him that he was all the color in your life you needed.

Jungkook interlocks fingers with you, squeezing palms together as he leads the way down stairs.

“Where are we going exactly?”, you ask, an obvious curiosity he hasn't clarified yet.

“I don't know really. We'll figure that out”.

He always had a way with words which made you warm and curious at the same time. You just smile in return and wrap your hands around his leather clad arms and walk along.

You liked this. Dates with no particular destination to be in. Just strolling till your legs are tired, eating street food, getting coffee together or studying at the public library because your apartment is located at a not so silent heart of the city.

And you liked Jungkook very much too. It sometimes feels like lopsided that it demands to overflow from underneath your skin, and sometimes when you are making love to him or cuddling his head close to your chest, you believe he feels it too.

It hits you all of a sudden that you never shared those three words. Never ever uttered them in this two years of relationship and you question them now. Totally random of a realisation just like the day you woke up in a cold sweat accepting to self that you have to confess to Jungkook.

The first place you stop by is a heavily packed food truck selling korean food. It's a usually visited one so Jungkook ask for the customary meal, fire noodles. His favorite of street foods not because there wasn't anything better, he just adored your blush flushed face when you are done.

“Babe?”, he tears open the ketchup and squeezes the content with his chopsticks while watching you, “you good?”.

Apparently you had spaced out, still fueling on the thread of thoughts from earlier. You ground yourself to the present in a jolt, “I'm alright”. You give him a nervous smile.

Jungkook pulls his chair close to yours so that your arms and knees are touching, your skin growing hot despite not touching your noodles yet.

“What are you thinking about hm?”, he demands to know, but not intimidating you more than the point. He busies his hands mixing the ketchup into your noodles instead.

“I love you Jungkook”, you blurt, eyes planted on a random spot on the ground waiting for an outcome.

“And you realized that now baby?”, he chuckles, watching you all shy. He places his noodles from his lap to the table in front to fully face your direction.

“I love you too baby, so much. And I've said that so many times before, when you are sleeping, or when you were not listening. I think I was not as brave as you”, he confesses.

Your chest swells in warmth knowing he had always told you this. You peck his nose and dig into the food, finally able to feel the hunger settling down.

Content with the late night meal, you begin to stroll again after Jungkook laughs and cups your flushed red face. You always hated spicy food as a child but then this is another one of those quirks you caught up being Jungkook’s girlfriend.

“Where do you wanna go baby”, he asks, feeling lost of a trajectory for the date and now you are equally lost too, dwelled in the fact that he will lead the night.

“I don't know”, you state and at the sight of a specific place you continue, “wanna get some drinks?”.

Jungkook immediately giggles, “We both know you lose your mind over half a glass of rum love”.

You knit your brows together for a pout, “Well then you can carry me back home can't you? That would be romantic”, you press yourself to him for no apparent reason.

“Carry you all the way home?”, he muses, holding your whining head softly on his palms while pecking your forehead.

“C’mon Koo then why do you workout for three hours all day? Make some use of your muscle”

“Oh I make plenty use of these muscles and you know it”, he teases back and you smack his arms in response.

After a few very cliche comebacks you both agree to drink the night away. Good thing that Jungkook had a good tolerance to alcohol among you two. Carrying his drunk body single handedly for a smaller human like you would be a tedious task. The math was correct here, and so you start slurping your glass of whatever cheap whiskey they had.

You were enjoying all of this, truly to the core and to the point that you swore there is nothing better to life than this. But Jungkook always felt otherwise.

You see, you are not a rich couple. Just normal millenials who go to college supported with scholarships and debts to pay, several part time jobs and a very low key life where you prioritise your expenses and plan finance together. A couple who has not went on classy restaurant dates in glittery tight fitting dress, or even a sundress and expensive suits. He always wonders about the things that could make you happier and maybe one day he can afford that Italian restaurant you once said is really nice because your sister was proposed by her husband there. You'll look so beautiful in a dress and he can't wait to allure on that.

“Koo?”, you slur, already feeling consciousness leaving your body, “What are you thinking about now hmm?”

He smiles faintly at you swirling his drink and bringing it to his lips to think upon the answer a bit.

“Nothing babe. You look so beautiful right now”, he says.

And immediately you search for a reflecting surface to check yourself out, and that's because you're drunk. Your more sober self usually ends up processing a lot of butterflies at the pit of your tummy.

“I am!?”, you beam, finally able to see a very blurred something of your bummed out face with hair falling over and maybe there's even a little dried drool at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah”, he giggles, scooping you up in his arms for a tight hug, “Let's get home shall we?”

“Carry me pwese”

“C’mon love”, he helps you climb on his back for a piggyback ride, “I'll carry you”.

You tug your limbs a little tighter around Jungkook, he pats under your thigh to loosen up so he can walk. He listens to random mumbles you are whispering to him and he smiles occasionally, carefully paying attention to everything.

“I love you so much sometimes I don't know what to do with myself”, you say and Jungkook stops dead in his track to process the words a bit.

His skin turns red which you can't see and probably you wouldn't mutter such things on your sobering. And he is glad. Glad to know that you are content with what it is. His mind stirs around, his own set of booze blazing the thought further.

“Why did you stop Koo? You tired? Should I carry you?”

“You love me that much?”, he asks, completely dodging your questions.

“Yes. So much”, you kiss his cheeks, pressing down harder then usual to prove your point.

He is convinced you are the one who has a way with the words. You say things which brings him to his knees and you remain so oblivious to it.

“Let's get you home”, he states through a smile.

Thank you so much for reading!! ♡♡

Original Content of ©bangtanpromptsfics

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter seven | crab society

a/n: this chapter is so long, i had to split it right in two (i also had to post something; i don’t like going more than a few days without an update)

“Hang on, Joey—let's get some warmth into you.”

Joey shivered and trembled under the blanket as he took to the front seat next to Frank. He kept the sunglasses over his face to guard his eyes from the glare of the snow outside. Sam slid into the back seat next to Charlie, who put his arm around her to keep her warm even though the car's idling brought enough heat to comfortably ride. Frank turned the dial on the heater and they were met with a strong blast of warm air. They drove off the side of the road and began towards the main freeway. Within time, the Binghamton skyline emerged through the windshield; Frank turned his head in Joey's direction: all Sam could see was the crown of curls upon his head.

“How you feelin'?” Frank asked him. “You getting enough warmth?”

“Yeah,” Joey replied in a flat monotone. His shoulders shook under the blanket; he shuffled his feet on the hard floor.

“It's alright, man, we're almost there,” Charlie assured him, even though Sam could tell they were a ways out of town. The snow capped trees lining the sides of the road made her think of gingerbread and sugar plums, to the point it made her teeth itch. He looked over at her with his eyebrows raised up into his bangs.

“Are you warm?” Charlie asked her in a low voice.

“Getting there,” she confessed with a shudder of her shoulders. Frank peered into the rear view mirror for a second, and then again for another few seconds.

“How 'bout you two birds?” he called to them as they passed a few signs pointing to Syracuse.

“We're getting all kinds of cozy back here,” Charlie replied.

“Speaking of cozy...” Joey started but his voice trailed off. Frank looked over at him for a split second before he switched lanes.

“What about being cozy?” he asked Joey.

“All the time I was tryin' to get to the nearest pay phone, right?” he cleared his throat. “An' when I got there, I was thinkin' about cannolis.”

“Oh, man,” Frank's face lit up at the sound of that.

“Cannolis straight out of the oven—all for me, y'know?” He turned his head towards Frank, such that Sam could make out the mischievous look on his face. “I was thinkin' of stoppin' over here for a bunch of cannolis for my parents.”

Charlie turned back to her.

“You ever had fresh cannoli out of the oven?” he asked her.

“I don't think I have,” she confessed.

“You'd know if you have,” he said.

“Yeah, you'd know,” Frank called back to her. “Crafted by like—mine and Charlie's grandmother, or Joey's grandmother.��

“My grandma would make hers right from scratch,” Joey elaborated; he adjusted the blanket over his shoulders and he snuggled further down in the seat. “I remember she had this little bottle of vanilla she brought over from Italy. There was just nuthin' like it.”

“Our grandma does, too,” Charlie added.

And then it all clicked.

“I'm a California girl in the same car as three Italian guys,” she remarked.

“Yeah, you are!” Frank laughed out loud. Joey laughed along with him and then he shuddered again.

“God—God damn it,” he muttered.

“It's warm in here,” said Frank with a knitting of his eyebrows.

“I know, but—I can't get warm, though. It's horrible.” Joey shuddered and rubbed his hands on his upper arms.

“Get this old boy some liquids,” Charlie declared as they spotted a welcome sign on the side of the road.

“I want some cocoa,” Joey said as he tugged on the blanket again.

“With marshmallows?” Sam asked him with a bit of a smile on her face.

“Ooh, yes! Those little tiny marshmallows the size of my thumbnail. And maybe a glass of scotch after that.”

“Hot cocoa and then booze?” Frank was stunned. “Jesus Christ, Joey.”

“At that point, you might as well have some Irish coffee,” Charlie remarked. Sam wondered if they would in fact have a drink together later there in town; she was a year away from being able to drink in public.

“It's a little early to be drinking, too,” Frank added as he changed lanes again. “I'd like a little bit myself at some point, but I think we should at least wait until noon to indulge a bit.”

“Well, that's just kind of the day it is today, though, Frankie,” Joey insisted. “My car broke down and now I'm gonna miss my parents when I promised them I'd be there. I need a drink.”

“I'm sure you can find a way to get a hold of them,” Frank assured him as they took the next exit into the downtown area. “You got a hold of me.”

“Yeah, but I used the last of my change on it, though.”

“I can help,” Charlie assured him.

“Yeah, me, too,” Frank added.

“I'll try to, too,” Sam chimed in.

“See? You've got people looking for ya, Joey. Don't sweat it.”

Within time, they rolled into the cozy downtown part of Binghamton and Frank pulled up to the nearest coffee house there on the main block. Joey kept the blanket wrapped around his little body as the four of them strode inside for a round of hot cocoa and some other things. Sam huddled next to Joey there in the far corner of the room, but she never touched him; she had left her journal in the car. He took off his sunglasses and set them down on the table in front of them. Charlie had disappeared into the back of the coffee house for the bathroom and to search for a phone.

“My friend might have hypothermia a little bit,” Frank told the barista behind the counter.

Joey turned to Sam and a few disheveled strands of inky black hair fell down over his forehead towards his large brown eyes. She eyed the tip of his nose, which was almost perfectly straight. Complete with the heavy woolly blanket over his body, he actually resembled to a little Native American boy hailing from the Great Lakes area.

“I wish there was something I could do,” she confessed to him.

“I'll be okay,” he promised her with a small smile on his narrow face. “Thank you, though.”

She lowered her gaze to Joey's legs, which jutted out from underneath the hem of the blanket. She recalled what Aurora had told her about his checking her out when they were in the room together about to eat breakfast. She examined his knees and his lower legs: the dark denim of his jeans accentuated the delicate shape of his legs. He was nice and thin, not too thin but elegant and lovely; even from underneath the blanket, she could make out the sinewy shape of his thighs. They were tight and toned but not overly so, and they tightened up even more as he huddled down even more against the warmth from the heater vent over their heads.

Frank strode over to them with a cup of hot chocolate in either hand for the both of them. Joey reached out from the under the blanket for the cup on the left, while Sam took the one on the right. He was eager for a sip; Sam took a second look to find a few of those little marshmallows at the top of the chocolate.

He set the cup down for a second and he shuddered again.

“I can't get warm—like internally,” he confessed.

“Just drink the cocoa,” she told him in a soothing voice. “Drink it up slowly.”

Frank had returned to the counter for a poppy seed muffin for himself. Charlie emerged from the back of the coffee shop.

“Joey, there's a phone over here,” the latter announced once he was within earshot.

“Okay...” Joey took another sip and shuddered again. He then looked at Sam out of the corners of his eyes. A couple of inches of clearance separated the two of them. A voice in the back of her head told her to put her arm around him to keep him warm, much like how Charlie did that for her in the back seat. But he kept on sipping at the cup of hot chocolate, and that time, he did it at a slow pace much like how she advised him.

She blew on the top of her cup and took a sip for herself. It was warm and soft, and the marshmallows added to it to keep her warm. She looked across the table at Frank, who picked off pieces of his muffin and slipped it into his mouth. Charlie took a seat next to him and ran his fingers through his black hair.

“You didn't get something?” Sam asked him.

“Nah. I'm good.” His cheekbones filled out and the cleft in his chin accentuated when he smiled. She returned him a smile as well. Even after having lived in New York for not very long, she clicked with Frank and Charlie as if she had known them both for years. But then there was Joey, the man on her left and a blind spot of sorts.

She turned her head to him to make out the shape of the curls on his forehead and the side of his head. His skin was smooth and even silken in appearance; she had no idea if he was even welcome to the feeling of an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm.

“How're you feeling?” she asked him in a low voice.

“Still cold,” he replied without changing his expression. He took another sip of hot chocolate and that time he sipped down one of the marshmallows. “Hot cocoa's good, though.”

“Oh, yeah.” She turned to Frank. “How's that muffin?”

“Little dry. But—” He shrugged. “—it was all they had there in the case.” Sam turned back to Joey to look at his hair again. Little tight tendrils made up his bangs; stray locks jutted out from the side and crown of his head. She could run her fingers through his hair and feel the tightest of curls: she wondered about the tightness of the roots down at his scalp. Those curls looked silky and coarse at the same time.

She knew it would be a challenge to draw, and perhaps one with black ink.

“So you wanna get cannolis still?” Frank asked him.

“Nah—I think I'll help my grandma make some when I get to their place,” Joey confessed at a reluctant rate.

“Your grandma's still alive?” Sam smiled at that.

“Yeah, she's—kinda old, but yeah. Nothin' beats her cannoli, anyway.” He took another sip of hot chocolate, albeit a larger one that time. He let out a long low whistle and held the cup down to his chest. He was hiding something. That cold stony demeanor hid something from the rest of the world. She could sense it; she could see it in his eyes.

Sam took another sip of hot chocolate and downed a few of the marshmallows all the while. There was a way in there.

But there was Frank and Charlie right before her. Perhaps she could separate the drawing of them from her sketchbook: the pages were perforated after all. Or she could find another piece of paper for the drawing of them.

Once he had drank down half of his chocolate, Joey stood to his feet and, once he fixed the blanket around his body, he rounded the side of the table. Charlie gave him a bit of change; once Joey thanked him, he ambled across the floor towards the other side of the room. He looked like he was carrying a cape as he made his way over to the phone behind the counter. Frank and Charlie gazed on at her.

“So—what'd you do with your journal?” Frank asked her.

“It's in the car.” She squinted her eyes at him. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He showed her a little smile, and his two front teeth shone in the lights of the coffee shop. He had star's teeth, even as a struggling musician. She returned to Charlie, who sat right across from her.

“You got any more sex stories?” she asked him, which brought a laugh out of Frank. Charlie's face flushed with embarrassment.

“I'm afraid I don't,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Although when Jaws came out, Frank and I stood in line at the theater to see it and we saw these two lesbians making out on the other side of the street.”

She gasped at him.

“I was like ten,” said Frank in a low voice. “He was—how old were you, Charlie?”

“I was twelve,” Charlie answered. “Yeah—” He cleared his throat and glanced about to make sure no one was eavesdropping; they were the only ones there in the coffee shop as the barista had disappeared into the back room. “—you and I got exposed to sexuality at a young age. We watched it happen from across the street.”

“I couldn't get it out of my head for like a week,” Frank added as he put in a few more bites of muffin into his mouth. “These two women on the other side of the street making out with each other and you and I looked at each other in shock.”

“We didn't tell our parents, either,” Charlie continued with a brief glimpse over at Sam.

“I mean, there was just no way we could,” Frank admitted once he swallowed down the bites. “Like, how do I say to my mom—and how do you tell your sister—that we saw two gay women together like that? We saw actual porn in broad daylight together!”

“It was something that we experienced as like pseudo brothers. I couldn't get it out of my head for days on end.”

Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. She was at a loss for words but she knew she could find her way with the two of them and that photograph Frank had lent with her. Joey surfaced from the counter, still with the blanket wrapped around his body and still with a disgruntled look on his face.

“How'd it go?” she asked him; he returned to his seat and set the cup down on the table. He huddled down next to her, still a few inches next to her.

“My father was like, 'well—it's not the first time I've lent you money to do something, son.'” He sighed through his nose and bowed his head.

“Well, at least he's willing to give you some for gas,” Frank pointed out as he stuffed the remainder of the muffin stump into his mouth.

“Yeah, but...” Joey's voice trailed off.

“But what?” Sam asked him.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” he said almost under his breath. He downed the rest of his hot chocolate right there. She turned to Frank and Charlie, who glanced at each other with looks of concern on their faces.

“We were also talking about Irish coffee earlier, and now I'm wanting some,” he confessed.

“It's not even noon yet,” Frank remarked.

“Yeah, I know.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together. He was definitely hiding something.

She downed the rest of her hot chocolate and the four of them stood to their feet in unison.

“So what's gonna happen?” Frank asked Joey as he adjusted the blanket around his body.

“Well, my dad was gonna go out anyways,” he explained in a low voice, “—he's gonna swing by here and take me to the gas station up the street here for me. He's bringing a gas can with him, too.”

“How you feeling?” Sam asked him as she handed him his sunglasses.

“A little better—the cup of cocoa definitely helped a bit. But it's gonna be a little while before I can fully feel warm, though.” He clutched onto the blanket with one hand as he opened the sunglasses with his mouth and then slipped them on over his eyes.

“You guys can go back to the City if you'd like,” he said.

“Well, we gotta at least keep you company, though” she insisted.

“Nah, that's—that's real kind of ya—” He raised his eyebrows from behind the mirrored lenses. “—but he told me he'll be here in like ten minutes.”

She turned to Frank, who shrugged his shoulders at her, and then to Charlie, who hovered closer to her with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweat pants. She swallowed and nodded her head.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Stay warm, okay?”

“Of course,” he said with a little glimmer of a smile at her. “I'll see you guys soon.”

She wanted to crack that cool demeanor if no one else did already. Frank and Charlie led her back to the car, and in turn left Joey there alone in the coffee shop in anticipation. As she huddled down in the front seat next to Frank once again, she looked on at her journal upon the dashboard.

“I hope he's gonna be okay,” she confessed aloud.

“He will,” Frank assured her as he fired up the car again. “He's an upstate boy who's half Italian and half Iroquois Indian. He might look like a little guy but he's tough, though.”

“He was a hockey player before he showed up with us,” Charlie added.

“Really?” Sam peered over her shoulder at him with her mouth agape.

“I dunno the full details but yeah. When our producer brought him down from this town way upstate called Plattsburgh, he told us he played hockey pretty much most of his life.”

“And I think it's just cold getting to him, too,” Frank pointed out; he reversed the car out of the spot and then he almost drifted to the driveway. “I know I'd be miserable if it were me in his position. Car broke down right before you get to civilization and you use your last bit of change on a lifeline, and you totally freeze your ass off waiting for them.”

“Doesn't he have other friends, though?” Sam asked them.

“Oh, yeah. But I guess that—since it's still kinda early and it's a little out of the way—he thought we—or at least, I could come and get him.”

“It also builds a relationship with us, too,” Charlie added.

“Yeah, he is the new guy after all,” Frank recalled as they rolled out of there and returned to the freeway. “Or maybe he did call up a friend of his, and they couldn't come, and we were like a last resort of sorts. I dunno—like I said, I think the cold was getting to him. He wasn't his usual bright and plucky self.”

“He did use his last bit of change after all,” Charlie pointed out. “He's kinda anal about spending a lot of money.”

“We are, too,” said Frank.

“Kinda have to be,” said Sam.

“Yeah, right! We kinda have to be when we're still just starting out and there's not much to work with.”

They drove past a tailor shop, one with red blazers on display in the front window, and she flashed back on that dream she had had the night before. She could only recall the man next to her in the water as they held onto the nose of the plane together, and she could only recall the look of fear in his eye.

They reached the onramp and they sped up the freeway, back to the cut off and the way back to New York City. Another few hours and a few hours whereby Sam thought about what to put into that journal, which she had eventually lay down on her lap to keep the heat coming out of the vents. The three of them sat in silence all the way down to Monticello, when Charlie finally spoke.

“I think Scott wanted to tell me something.”

“Something about what?” Frank called back to him, which he accompanied with a glimpse in the rear view mirror.

“I dunno—just something about something.”

“Something something something?”

“Something something something, exactly!”

“Care to share?”

“Can't.”

“Why not?”

“I just can't, Frankie.”

“Why? We're related and we're in the same band together. We should be able to share secrets with each other. We shared Spreading the Disease with Sam here, and we kept the whole lesbian thing between us for almost ten years.”

“Scott just doesn't want me talking about it yet,” Charlie tersely said.

Frank fetched up a sigh and he glanced over at her.

“Alright, fine.”

Sam frowned at that. They were related, and so close in age that they passed off as brothers. She could sense it: they fought like brothers, and yet they kept it at bay because of her being there in the passenger seat. She glanced down at the journal on her lap and she stroked the hard cover with the pads of her thumbs.

Within time, the Twin Towers emerged from the gray sky, and the rest of the skyline followed suit.

“I'm sure Scott'll understand that we had to rescue Joey,” Frank said with another sigh.

“Yeah, it's gonna be—it's gonna be a while before we get there,” Charlie added.

Indeed, the freeway brought them back to the Bronx and they meandered their way through the heart of New York City. It was a little trip in and of itself, even with it being a stretch of freeway that led them all the way down to Manhattan. Frank took the next exit and they reached that familiar block. Sam wondered if Aurora was in at work that day, and she thought about having another round of pho with her at some point.

They hung a left and that rehearsal space entered their view. Sam looked around for Aurora's car anywhere on the block, but it was nowhere to be seen. She did recognize Scott sitting on the front step: he was wrapped in a black leather jacket, snug denim jeans, and those big black Doc Martens, and he had hunched his shoulders against the cold of the day. They parked at the curb right in front of him. Charlie climbed out of there first to talk with him; Sam followed suit, and then Frank.

“We had to rescue Joey,” Charlie told him.

“From what?” Scott chuckled.

“He ran out of gas outside of Binghamton,” Frank joined in, “and he didn't really elaborate much, but we can only assume that he called someone and they couldn't come, so he turned to us.” Sam huddled next to him, and thus the three of them congregated before Scott there on the front step.

“Brought the girl along, too!” he proclaimed with a grin and a raise of his dark eyebrows.

“Yeah, I just happened to be there when he called,” she shrugged, “I didn't wanna be alone, either.”

“So, what'd you wanna—tell me?” Charlie asked Scott.

“Huh?”

“You know—that one thing you wanted to tell me.”

Scott's eyes darted about, and then his face lit up.

“Oh, that!” He stood to his feet and he led them into the building. Frank shut the door behind them, and he and Sam stood side by side on the edge of the room.

“Apparently we got finished with the recording process ahead of schedule,” Scott explained as he strode up the hallway, “like way ahead. Jon told me we've got to do something the studio time. So I brought a surprise for you guys—” He ducked his head into the room there at the end of the hallway, and he said something. He leaned back out so the guy could come on out of there.

“Dan!” Charlie declared.

“Dan?” Sam asked.

“Dan!” Frank said.

“Dan,” Scott echoed from down the hall.

He was like a tall lanky version of Scott: a round faced boy with a thick head of jet black curls, and eyebrows as wide as a frozen fish stick over bright eyes. He wore a heavy dark sweater and snug leather jeans. He raised those eyebrows at her as if he was taken aback by her.

“Our old bassist Danny Lilker,” Scott announced; “Danny, that's Sam from California.” He ducked into the room there.

“Bright and sunny California.” Dan's voice was gentle and smooth. “What brings you to New York City?”

“A new chapter in life,” she said; Charlie disappeared into the room closest to them. “That's cool! I know what it's like to start over.”

“That's—what I've heard.” She glanced over at Frank, who fiddled with the zipper of his puffy jacket. “So what's gonna go on here?”

“I dunno. All I know is Scott said he had an ace up his sleeve and one that he wanted Charlie and some other guy named Bill to join in on together.”

“Bill,” Sam echoed.

“Bill—Milano, I think is his name? I dunno, that's what Scott told me. He knows more than I do.”

Scott emerged from the back room with a composition notebook tucked under his arm. Dan turned around to look at him.

“Seeing her,” Scott gestured to Sam, “and knowing that she's gonna do the whole art thing—it gave me an idea to make my own art.” He opened the journal to show her the drawing on the first page: a large grotesque skull looked to be made of splinters with deep set bulging eyes, a partially burnt cigar jutted out from its mouth, and a dark green army helmet atop its head. Underneath the skull read: “Sargent D. I'm not racist; I hate everyone. Speak English or die.”

“Wow,” she remarked, unsure of what to believe.

“I scribbled this down after I lay down the guitar tracks,” he explained, “I showed it to Charlie and he laughed and was like, 'dude, we should do something with that!' Told Danny about it and he had the same reaction. We started throwing around the name Storm Troopers of Death and he decided to come along.”

“So we're gonna do this?” Dan asked him.

“Yeah—if Charlie's gonna be onboard with it, anyways.”

“I'm in!” Charlie himself called out.

“So what's this mean now?” asked Sam.

“It means tacos,” Dan teased her. “Nah, it means we gotta get our asses back upstate 'cause that's where the recording studio is. And where another buncha demo tapes called Crab Society are—I'll explain it later. You can come along if you'd like—that is, if you're not doing anything.”

“I'm not doing anything. So we're gonna say hi to Joey again.”

“We're gonna say hi to Joey again, yes!”

[vostara]

Hypnophobia — 02

zwei — dear lucifer, don’t pull your hand back now

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “I happen to be in desperate need of money.”

word count: 2.7k+

 title inspiration: dear lucifer - spiritual front

Only one pair of eyes (mine) proofread this due to some personal issues delaying my writing schedule. Please forgive any grammatical errors that I have sadly missed.

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

01 | 02 | 03 | ... series masterlist

The standard room at the Chicago location of the Continental is simple, but elegant. When a guest walks into their temporary home, they can expect a large plush bed covered in dark gray and white sheets. Walls are painted a soft ivory. Gray curtains are draped in front of wide windows, allowing guests the ability to block out the light pollution bleeding in from the streets and the other buildings. When they enter the bathroom, they are greeted with spotless white marble, dressed with glistening gold trimmings. And on the counter they will find at least three white towels, folded to a crisp perfection. A white clawfoot tub, with an attached shower head, rests against the wall farthest from the door.

In room 1431, this sleek elegance is tainted by various cosmetics scattered on the floor. Many of the items are used to hide the permanent darkness that has settled in the space beneath the eyes, as well as the reoccurring bruises that disrupt the skin. Some items are used to reintroduce life on dull cheeks. And a handful of products are designed to provide a perfect seductive pout.

Beatrix sits on the bathroom floor, in the center of her organized chaos. Her focused gaze is settled on the large gold ring adorning her right hand, the same one she had taken from Luca’s corpse. The ring is almost immaculate. Its perfection ruined by a small scuff right at the edge. Luca had taken great care in maintaining the item’s integrity.

After one last lingering glance, Beatrix gets up from the floor. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and frowns. In an attempt to bring some volume back to her hair, she runs her fingers against her scalp and gently ruffles her hair at the roots. She then smoothes down the fabric of her fitted black dress, buffing away the wrinkles that had formed. Finally, she reaches for a pair of rectangular emerald earrings and secures them in place.

Beatrix leaves the bathroom and approaches the bed, where more items had carelessly been thrown. She pulls on a long navy coat and closes it shut with a tie around the waist. She slips the Camorra ring off of her finger and reaches for a slim black clutch. The woman pops it open, double checking that her purse contains a spare berry lipstick and a pocket knife, and then drops the ring inside.

~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrix enters the Red Line train to Howard. She heads to the back of the car and takes a seat. The crowd is on the sparse end, for a typical Friday night. Many of the usual party-goers have opted to skip the bars and rely on the booze they’ve hoarded in their apartments.

“This is Harrison.”

The doors ding as they slide open. Several passengers enter the train, including a man with tanned skin and neatly trimmed facial hair. He is sporting an all-black ensemble of tapered slacks, a large coat, and a collared shirt that doesn’t quite cover up the rose tattoo on the left side of his neck. A large oval cut sapphire, set in the center of a gold ring, is on display on the middle finger of his right hand. Without sparing a glance at the other passengers, the man turns and heads toward the back of the train.

The doors ding once again and slide shut.

“Jackson is next. Doors open on the left at Jackson.”

The man slides into the seat next to Beatrix.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A few moments of silence pass, while the man quickly examines the other passengers. There are small clusters of people preoccupied with loud conversations. Those riding the train alone have earbuds glued in to block out the constant buzz of the CTA.

The man breaks the silence. “Any trouble with that boyfriend of yours?”

“Things didn’t quite work out.” Beatrix responds. “I figured it was time to move on.”

“You keep any memorabilia?”

Beatrix opens her clutch and pulls out the gold ring. “Just a small trinket.” She holds the item out to him.

He turns his head towards the object and takes it out of her hands. The man brings the ring close to his face and examines it. He hums softly and then places the ring in the pocket of his coat. “I’m sure he didn’t need it,” he remarks.

Silence follows.

“The client is growing impatient.”

Beatrix turns her body to fully face the man. “Eli, this isn’t some entry-level contract. It takes time to get through all of the red tape.”

Eli smirks and raises an eyebrow. “You wasted much of that time sleeping with the wrong person.”

The woman swallows. “I misjudged his commitment.”

The man hums and slightly nods his head. “I told you to forget about the little guys, didn’t I?” He frowns. “I told you to head straight for the man in charge.”

“I was trying to establish a safety net.”

Eli chuckles, “When has a safety net ever been useful? When have you ever gotten through anything completely unscathed?”

Beatrix doesn’t reply.

“Can you handle this assignment?” He turns toward Beatrix and stretches his right arm to rest it behind her on the seat.

Silence.

Eli continues, “This isn’t your usual… task.”

“Why bother handing it to me, if you think I won’t cut it?”

The man smiles. He lifts his left hand and tucks a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear. “I didn’t think you would take it.”

“This is Jackson.”

The train doors slide open.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A group of drunk teenagers stumble onto the train. A tall blond male cackles a laugh, before beginning a tale for the entire train to hear. The doors slide shut behind him.

“This is a Red Line train to Howard. Monroe is next. Doors open on the left at Monroe.”

“You’ve just been so,” Eli pauses, “boring, since Paris.”

Beatrix breaks eye contact and shifts her attention to the salt stains on the floor.

Her companion leans in and whispers in her ear. “Where did my vicious Killer Bee go?” He teases.

Her response is instant, a warning. “Don’t call me that.”

Eli laughs and pulls away. “Touchy, touchy. Why does dear Izzy get all the fun? Even when I’ve known you far, far longer than any of your other so-called friends.”

Beatrix shifts her gaze back to Eli.

“I think it’s a perfect name for a girl like you. A cute little play on words, yeah?” He places a finger underneath her chin and tilts her head up slightly. His thumb rubs across her bottom lip, smudging the lipstick. “Wear sapphires next time.” He comments. “I like it when you’ve got some blue on.”

“This is Monroe. Thank you for riding the CTA Red Line.”

Eli releases the woman and stands up. “I’ll be in touch.”

He walks off the train.

Beatrix releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Lake is next. Doors open on the left at Lake.”

~ ~ ~

Assuming that one has befriended the right people, finding Santino D’Antonio is far from a challenge. It isn’t often that the son of the man leading the Camorra goes unnoticed. Even those outside of his niche in society tend to stop and spare a glance towards him. It’s almost more difficult to ignore him: a finely-tailored gentleman, whom is flanked with a herd of well-dressed bodyguards.

The problem has never been whether Beatrix could find Santino. She knew exactly where he was, just moments after she first accepted the contract.

No, the problem was gaining a private audience with the man. The problem was initiating a conversation that doesn’t rouse a permanent suspicion throughout the duration of their relationship.

From her seat at the bar, Beatrix had a clear view of the Italian man, dressed in his perfectly tailored three-piece navy suit. His black curls are tamed on top of his head. And a gold Camorra ring was being illuminated by the flashing lights. With one arm propped on top of the dark leather booth, he takes a sip of red wine. Though Santino has a deathly bored expression on his face, he still exudes an air of arrogance to him.

On the other side of the booth is Angelo Ricci, an up-and-coming member of the Romano crime family. He frowns and slams his fist on the table. The man shouts something, but the blaring music drowns out the noise.

Beatrix sighs and takes a sip of her Shiraz.

By this point, the men had been in a heated discussion for over an hour. It appeared that no one was making progress in this negotiation, nor would they arrive at an agreeable compromise within the next hour.

Once again, Beatrix takes a sweeping glance at the small army of bodyguards that are loitering the areas surrounding the booth. Her eyes settle on the only woman in the bunch. The woman’s dark brown hair is cropped short and parted on the side. She is dressed in a tailored black suit, identical to her colleagues. Her shirt is buttoned all the way to the top and finished off with a black tie. Her hands are crossed in front of her, allowing Beatrix a glimpse at the tattoos marking her skin.

A few moments pass, before the female guard’s gaze shifts away from Santino and focuses on the spying assassin.

Beatrix straightens her posture and allows a small shy smile to appear on her face. She lifts her glass, as if to make a toast, and then downs her remaining wine.

The woman reveals a small, but flirty, smile. Barely a moment later, she shifts her attention back to her boss.

As Beatrix sets her empty glass on the bar, she watches Angelo finish off his Bourbon before getting up. He once again shouts something at Santino, before storming away. His guards briskly take off after him.

Grabbing her clutch, Beatrix stands up and makes her way towards the booth.

Just as she approaches, a large body blocks her path. One of Santino’s bodyguards. “Where you heading, miss?” He questions.

Beatrix paints her face with a warm smile. “I’d like to speak to your boss, Signor D’Antonio.” Her voice is laced with a false sweetness, highlighting the underlying threat.

The guard glances behind him.

Santino’s gaze shifts from his wine glass and onto Beatrix. After his eyes do a quick scan of her body, he directs his attention to the woman Beatrix had just interacted with. “Ares,” he calls.

The woman’s eyes dart to the man.

He motions for her to approach.

Within the blink of an eye, she’s by his side, ready for his instructions.

Santino makes eye contact with Ares and says something to her. Ignoring Beatrix, he turns back to his glass of wine and takes another sip.

Ares nods and approaches Beatrix. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reaches for the woman’s clutch and opens it. Seeing the knife tucked away, she pulls it out and sticks it in the back pocket of her pants. She hands back the clutch, and then begins to pat down the woman. She runs her hands along Beatrix’s ribs, waist, and hips, before reaching a hand up the woman’s dress to check the inside of her thighs. Her hands glide across the woman’s soft skin, before coming in contact with a discrete thigh holster. Quickly, she pulls out the dagger that had been secured to the assassin’s left thigh. Ares shoves the dagger in her jacket pocket, as she moves to stand up again. Finally, she hooks a finger on the front of Beatrix’s dress and pulls it away from her body. After making sure no weapons are tucked into the cleavage, she gives Beatrix a wink and then lets go of the dress.

Beatrix approaches the booth and slips into the spot that had been previously occupied by Angelo. After setting her clutch to the side, she places her elbows on the table and leans her chin on top of her clasped hands. “I finally get to meet the Santino D’Antonio.”

“And who am I meeting?” The man responds, his speech thick with an Italian accent.

Beatrix smiles. “At the moment, no one of significant importance.”

Santino makes an annoyed tutting sound. “Are you here to play games? Miss Nobody.”

The woman tilts her head and frowns. “You can call me Beatrix.”

“What does Beatrix want with me?”

“An opportunity.”

Santino blinks.

“Mr. D’Antonio, what are you doing here?”

The man shrugs his shoulders. “Drinking a glass of wine.”

“Typically, you enjoy your wine in places much nicer than this shitty bar full of dancing drunks.” Beatrix shakes her head. Her lips are pulled upwards, forming the smallest of amused smiles. “You’re not here for the wine.”

The Italian man swirls the wine in his glass. “Have we met before?”

“Santino—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Signor D’Antonio.”

Beatrix pauses. “Signor D’Antonio, I know the Camorra don’t visit Chicago, as much as they used to. You undoubtedly have power here, but not enough to warrant the frequency of your visits. I know that you’ve been having meetings with Angelo for several months now. And I know that those meetings don’t appear to being going well for either of you.” The woman leans back in her seat. “I think that you and I could share a mutual interest. I have a pretty good feeling that an alliance with the Romanos is not your goal, is it?”

Santino takes a sip of wine.

“No,” Beatrix says, “I imagine you feel that the Romanos are mere peasants, compared to you. All they have is a fallen empire. A pile of bricks they’re hoping to rebuild into something,” she turns her head to glance at the crowded dance floor, “not quite as pathetic. And now they’re trying to kiss your feet and beg you for help, but they’re too proud to do so without forcing you to compromise.”

The man doesn’t respond.

“As much as you’d love to, you can’t get rid of Angelo yourself. Nor can you be openly involved in sending somebody, outside of your circle, to do it for you. Because even though you believe the Romanos to be worthless, their name still holds value, respect, and loyalty from enough of the right families. Families that could retaliate, should you make the wrong move.”

Beatrix chuckles.

“Now,” she continues, “I’m certain you would be able to sway these families back onto your side. It would be easy, right? You just need to be your charming, charismatic self. Throw a few parties. Get them drunk off fine wines and distract them with pretty women who are willing to do anything for a buck. You might even promise these families a big lump of money, a favor, or even your loyalty, though that would be nothing more than false and fleeting. But really, would you want to do all of that work, over a situation that’s just a mere headache?”

Santino places his glass on the table and leans towards the woman. “Are you here to propose a solution?”

Beatrix smiles and leans back onto the table, closer to him. “I know that you’ve got plenty of money to burn. And I happen to be,” a pause, “in desperate need of money.”

“What do you gain from this deal?” The man narrows his eyes.

“I don’t care about your petty mafia games, Santino. And I also don’t care much for Angelo.” The assassin blinks and straightens her posture. “I care about financial opportunity, and I want to snatch it up before the next guy comes along.”

As Beatrix reaches into her clutch, she notices all four of the guards tense and reach for their guns. Without flinching, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and sets it gently on the table. “Consider my proposal. And should you be interested, return my lipstick to the Continental.”

She snaps her clutch shut, stands up, and turns her attention to Ares. “Hang on to my knives, won’t you? I’m sure they’ll find their way back to me somehow.” She winks.

Beatrix spares one last glance at Santino, before making her way out of the bar.

A/N: hello~ thank you so much for reading chapter two! if you liked what you read, please consider a quick reblog to share my work. i’m just a small blog with a small following, so every reblog truly helps me reach out to those who might enjoy my work.

if you would like to make sure you don’t miss any future updates, consider following this blog and/or my twitter @ VostaraFics. if you truly need to make sure you don’t miss any updates on this fic, please message me and i’ll tag you every time a new chapter is uploaded!

extra info! i am releasing writer’s notes, which are posts where i reveal (minor) canon details that didn’t make it in the final cut, alternative scenes that got scrapped in the writing process, and my general thought process while creating this series. you can check out the notes for chapter one here. notes for chapter two will be posted tomorrow.

anticipated release date for chapter three is may 23rd.

[breanime]

This Is My Idea (Part Two)

This is a combination of Logan’s POV and a continuation of the original story that you can find HERE. (See, I still love my Ben Barnes boys even though I’m falling in love with Danny Pino characters! haha!)

Warning: STEAMY

*gif not mine*

Logan would never forget the summer when you were both 16. After years of being forced to spend time together, Logan finally admitted to himself that he had feelings for you. Real feelings. Truth be told, he’d actually softened up towards you the first time he met you—he hadn’t wanted to be there, and neither had you, but he liked your spunk and how you never stopped giving him crap about you speaking more languages than him. He realized his affections towards you were more than friendly when he started getting jealous of the damn waitstaff you flirted with. And when you started to fill out? When your hips became a little more womanly and your smile coy?

Man, he knew he was gone.

Logan used to fantasize about kissing you while in board meetings with his father, used to wonder what your lips tasted like, and how you would feel in his arms. He used to lay on his back in bed, hard as a rock, thinking about your smile and that little laugh you did when it was just the two of you. Used to put his hand in his pants, eyes closed, and whisper your name until he had a handful of his own cum. He was horny 24/7—he was a slave to his hormones—but he knew his focus on you wasn’t just a temporary thing. He liked your personality just as much as he liked your looks. He liked talking with you and spending time with you, so much so that he broke his own self-opposed rules and reached out to you during the school year; he couldn’t wait until the summer to speak with you. But even that wasn’t enough for him, as selfish and impatient as he was...

So he worked out his sexual frustrations with someone close by.

The night Logan lost his virginity, he’d been extremely drunk. The girl had been eyeing him all school year, and it was as easy as asking “when do your parents get home?” to get her to take her pants off. As they kissed, Logan thought of you, imagined your lips in place of hers. He blacked out her face as they undressed, tried to imagine what you would look like with no clothes, if you would ever allow him to strip you like this, touch you like this, kiss you like this. He remembered closing his eyes tight when the girl went down on him, breathing heavily and pretending it was your mouth around him. He wondered what kind of noises you would make, and the thought made him even harder. When he first slid into her, one hand over her mouth to keep the illusion of you sharp in his mind, he felt a wave of pleasure followed by a surge of guilt go through him. This was wrong. He’d always imagined his first time would be with you, whispering how he felt about you in the crook of his neck as the two of you made love and holding you after. This was very, very wrong.

And so, naturally, he did it again.

And again. And again, and again, until sex became a mixture of physical pleasure and emotional guilt for him. It didn’t matter if he was with a guy or girl, he thought of you all the same; imagined kissing your shoulder like he did with the guy who worked at the leather shop, or licking into you like he did with the girl from 6th period—every encounter was peppered with your image, punctuated by his memories and fantasies of you, and every encounter left him feeling shamed and disgusted with himself when it was over.

It felt like cheating, and Logan knew how you felt about cheating—how he felt about cheating. Logan Delos was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them.

So he turned to booze, keeping himself socially lubricated as often as possible—especially when he was sleeping around. He still talked to you on the phone, just not as often as he had before, but he made an effort to keep the sound of his guilt out of his voice. He was going to tell you, of course—he had to. But he wanted to put it off for a while longer, wanted to bask in this in-between time before he broke both of your hearts.

You were more beautiful than ever when you came for the summer. You walked with a kind of confidence now that Logan found more than appealing, and he knew for a fact that you’d been on dates and kissed a boy by now—a fact that he was stupidly upset about. He couldn’t be around you. He wanted to touch you and kiss you and caress you and corrupt you. He wanted to devour you. He was sure everyone could see, despite his attempts to remain casual. Logan was not a subtle person, and so he ran from you. If you walked in a room, he walked out, he tried to avoid being alone with you, but it was so hard because being alone with you was all that he ever wanted.

So he got drunk. He got drunk and sat in front of your room, wallowing in his own self-pity and self-hatred while you were out shopping. But then you came home, looking like an angel and frowning over him, worried. He tried to be gentlemanly and help you with your bags, but he knew his intentions were selfish: he just wanted to be around you. You led him into your room, and he couldn’t help but look at your bed and picture himself on it with you underneath him—God, he wanted you so bad.

And then you kissed him, and it was so much better than he’d ever thought it could be. You were warm and firm and sweet and perfect. Logan held you to him, wanting nothing more than to stay suspended in that moment with you for the rest of his life.

But he knew better.

When you pulled back, eyes bright and smile brilliant, he knew he couldn’t keep lying to you—and omitting the truth was lying. He opened his mouth and told you that he’d slept with someone—a “few someones”, actually, and he watched the light dim in your eyes. Logan had never hated himself more than he had in that moment—and he harbored a lot of self-loathing. You’d kicked him out of your room, the hands that he always imagined running down his bare skin pushing on his chest, pushing him away. He tried to reason with you, tried to explain that the sex had meant nothing, but it was no use. You slammed the door in his face and told him you were done with him.

It was radio silence for a while after that. Logan still wrote you letters and sent you texts, both because it was expected of him by both of your parents and because he missed you so damn much, but your replies were short and obligatory, and Logan could practically feel the coldness coming off of them. But slowly, you began to warm up—just a little. You eventually wrote back with more than just the charm school outline (“I’m well, and you? How is your family? The weather has been quite nice out here.”) and even answered when he called you to bitch about Juliet and William. The two of you were nowhere near as close as you had been, but Logan was grateful for the little you gave him. To him, it was much more than he even deserved. He decided that he would swallow his feelings for you and just be your friend. He was too selfish to back away from you completely; he needed you in his life, however minimal it could be, but he knew he’d lost his shot with you. Your parents wanted the two of you to get together to merge companies, but they’d get over the disappointment one day. Logan had quit trying to win his father’s approval, all he wanted was to be close with you again—in any capacity.

So when he heard you were in town, he left work and rushed home immediately. He had no plan, no idea what he was walking into, just the one simple thought of: “I have to see her.”

Logan was at a loss for words when he saw you, lounging by the pool reading a book. You had graduated from beautiful to drop dead gorgeous. His mother had told him you were thinking of moving out to California for school, and he was hit with an image of you waking up in bed next to him, the California sun beaming down on you and illuminating the air around you like a halo. He almost lost his footing from the strength of that fantasy, and so he had to put his hand on the doorframe to steady himself.

“Hey,” he’d said.

“Hey,” you’d said back.

You talked a little then, and Logan could feel his heart pounding as he stared at you. He felt like a kid again, in awe of you, and he wanted—needed—you to know that what he felt for you was more than just lust or a passing fancy. It was real.

You were talking about college, and all the applications you’d filled out. “I’ve heard back from a few of them,” you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal that every viable university wanted you as a student.

“Of course you have,” Logan had said back, a grin spreading on his face, “They’d be crazy not to want you.” His heart was pounding so loud, he could barely even hear himself over it, but he had to say it. You had to know. “I want you.”

“That’s not funny, Logan,” you had frowned, and Logan wanted to kiss the frown off of your face.

“I’m not joking.” He linked his hands together and leaned forward, eyes staring into yours. It was now or never. “You know, all these years knowing you, I… I’ve always thought you were the best. I mean, I liked you from the first time you gave me shit for not speaking Italian,” he smiled, “I don’t know when seeing each other stopped being a chore and started being something I looked forward to every year, but it did.” He took a breath. “And I know that I don’t deserve you, I never did, but, Y/N, I want you to know that before… those other people…it really didn’t mean anything, and I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip. And true to form, you tried to be rational, saying that you had no claim on him—a ridiculous statement, really—and that you had no reason to be mad at him.

“But that’s the thing,” he said back, “I want you to have a claim. You’re the only person I’ve ever really cared about and that kiss… Y/N, that kiss… means everything to me. You see the real me, you know who I am, and you call me out on my shit, and…” He ducked his head down before looking back up at you. He had to say it. You had to know. “I think I’m in love with you. I know I love you, but… But I think I’m in love with you,” he laughed bitterly, “And I know that. I’ve known that since we were 16, but I was too much of a pussy to admit it…”

“Logan,” you felt breathless, “what are you saying?”

He put a hand through his hair, still smiling nervously as he spoke. “I’m saying that I love you. And that I want you and want to be with you.” He flattened his hand on the table. “You’re the only one I want to be with. You’re the one I’ve been dreaming of my whole life, and,” he swallowed, “I know I’m a mess, and a dick, and a jerk, but… I’ve grown up,” he met your eyes, “and I want to show you that I’m serious about you. About us. If you’ll let me…”

He almost passed out from happiness when you said you loved him back, and when you kissed… Logan could have died a happy man then.

The day the two of you moved into your apartment off-campus, Logan had been on cloud nine. You had told your parents you wanted to live on your own, without their help, and they’d reluctantly agreed, but Logan had made no such promise. With his added income, you were able to buy a bigger apartment that was closer to campus than you’d originally planned, plus you had Logan’s car and your own for transportation. Neither of you had any idea what it meant to be in a committed relationship—both sets of parents were a hot mess, at best—but you did know each other, and the transition from childhood friends to boyfriend and girlfriend was very easy. You knew Logan well, and he knew you, and it was easy to go apartment shopping and have little dates and kiss and tease each other.

But you hadn’t had sex.

You stayed at the Delos’ while you and Logan looked for apartments, but you slept in your own room and he slept in his. You kissed, and touched, and Logan was always hard by the end of your little make out sessions, but you hadn’t taken things any further, and neither had he. He wanted you, of course, wanted you so bad he ached, but he wouldn’t push you. He was lucky to have you as it is, if you never wanted to cross that line with him, however difficult that would be, he would honor what you wanted.

Logan was putting the last of the glassware away in the kitchen while you walked around the apartment, checking to make sure everything was in order. He’d never imagine he’d be so happy, with you. He reached up to push a bowl back into the cabinet and paused when he felt your arms around him. He looked down at you, a grin on his face. “Hey.”

You smiled back. “Hey.” Your smile widened when Logan turned in your grasp, slipping his hands around your waist. “I think that was the last of it.”

“And to think, you wanted to hire movers,” he teased.

“I thought you’d be too delicate for all the hard labor,” you said back, “But you surprised me, princess.”

Logan scoffed at the nickname. “I let you be the knight one time, and it goes straight to your head.”

“Because I was a kickass knight,” you countered, still hugging him. Your eyes shone when you looked up into his. “I love you, Logan.”

Logan was glad that you were holding him, because he was sure he would have floated away if you weren’t. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Logan leaned down and kissed you, his tongue sliding into your mouth easily, making you moan. He felt his dick twitch at the sound and your proximity and tried to pull back a bit to give you both some relief, but you only moved closer. The kiss deepened, and Logan was approaching full salute now. One of your hands found its way into his hair, and you pulled lightly at the strands. Logan humped into you involuntarily—he was a sucker for having his hair played with. You moved your head, changing the angle of the kiss as Logan’s hand went to your ass, the other firm on your back now. Logan felt a familiar desire well up in him: his want, his need for you was overwhelming in its strength. He groaned into the kiss, and Logan knew he was one kiss away from devouring you.

“Baby,” he gasped out, pulling back a bit, “I—” His words were drowned by another kiss, and he sighed against your lips. You were gonna be the death of him.

“Logan,” you whispered, mouth still on his, “I was thinking…since this is our first night here…maybe we should…christen the apartment.” Logan’s eyes went wide as you grinned. Your hand slipped down between the two of you, and you pawed Logan through his pants. “…I know you want to.”

Logan groaned again, his head falling onto your shoulder. You had no idea how right you were. “We don’t… We don’t have to,” he bit out, trying to keep composure, “That’s not… not why I…”

You turned and captured his lips in another kiss. “But I want to.”

Grinning, Logan bent down and picked you up, and he was rewarded with your giggles. He slapped your ass as he carried you from the kitchen, through the living room, and into your shared bedroom. He dropped you onto the bed, falling on top of you with a laugh. He kissed you, soft and slow, reveling in the feel of you under him. “You sure about this?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded up at him. “I’m sure.” You bit your lip, a nervous habit that Logan found adorable and irresistible. “Are you sure?”

“I love you, Y/N,” Logan said seriously, ignoring the throbbing between his legs, “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and I want you. I really, really want you,” he added with a slight chuckle, “but I don’t want to rush you. If you want to wait, we can wait.”

“Thank you, Logan,” you said, smiling, “I know you will. But I don’t want to wait anymore.” You rolled your hips up into his, and you both moaned. “I can’t wait anymore… Please.”

It was the please that did it for him. He descended on you, kissing you harshly as he pushed his hips into yours. His hands trailed up and down your body, slipping underneath your clothes and touching your warm skin, caressing every inch of you that he could.  He wanted to make it good for you, wanted to take his time, and so he took care to undress you, kissing your exposed skin as he helped you shed your clothes, swallowing up your breathy sighs and soft moans, stroking your skin as you lay beneath him, allowing him this temporary possession of your body. Your skin was warm and soft under his touch, and his lips chased his fingertips as they danced down your body. You, in turn, helped him out of his clothes as well, and his body felt electric everywhere you touched him. By the time you were both naked, exposed and open to one another, you were both breathing heavily, staring at each other in a comfortable, emotional silence. You were both trembling with desire when he pulled back up, hovering over you with his eyes as black as night. He’d hardly even touched you, and yet he felt as though the two of you were already one. The caution he took with you, and the patience you met him with, was far more intimate than any of his past hookups could have ever hoped to be.

“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth, pressing his body down onto yours, “I love you so much… I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Logan…”

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he ordered gently, “Let me touch you…”

You obeyed quickly, opening your legs and sighing when Logan ran two fingers against your wet folds. “Oh,” you gasped, eyes closed, “oh, Logan…”

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he whispered into your neck, fingers slowly pushing into you, “God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long…”

Your hands were in his hair again, and you kissed the side of his face, moaning as his fingers curled inside of you. “M-me too,” you sighed back.

Logan turned and kissed you again, mouth on yours as he fingered you slowly, bringing you right to the edge before backing off again, swallowing your moans and kissing your pouting lips as you begged him to keep going. As if he’d ever stop. He was determined to make you cum before he pushed inside you, and he moved his mouth to your ear. “Gonna make you cum,” he promised, “I want to feel you clench around my fingers before you clench around my dick.” He kissed the side of your face as you whimpered. “Fuck, I want to taste you.”

“Yes, Logan, please!” You gasped out, arching your back and pulling his hair. “I want your mouth!”

“You can have anything you want from me, baby,” he promised, kissing you once more before crawling down your body, “I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He kissed your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, rolling the hardening bud against his hot tongue. “Always have been,” he murmured as he moved to your other breast. “Always will be.” He kissed down your body until he got between your legs, both hands on either of your thighs, keeping them spread apart for him. He groaned when he first licked into you, both from the taste of your sweet wetness as well as from the sensation of you pulling his hair. You were delicious, and he licked into you greedily, sliding two fingers into you as he licked and sucked around them, trying to taste as much of you as he could. You were moaning like crazy now, and Logan could feel the slickness of his own pre-cum on his thigh as he fingered you and licked into you.

“L-Logan!” You called, one hand in his hair now and the other clenched in a fist pressed against your mouth. “I’m gonna cum!”

He hummed into you, slipping a hand between his legs and grabbing hold of his cock, stroking it harshly as he continued eating you out. “Cum,” he rasped, mouth open against your clit, “Cum for me, baby. Please, please, please…”

You came, a wordless scream coming out of your open mouth as your body shook. Logan held you steady with his one hand, the other pumping his eager cock as he swallowed your orgasm, licking up every last drop. He was staring at you when you came back down, his dark eyes wide and unblinking.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice low and deep.

“Logan,” you sighed back, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I’m ready.”

Logan pushed into you slowly, trying to allow you to adjust to his size. Your eyes were closed again, mouth open as you moaned at the feel of him inside of you, but Logan kept his eyes trained on your face, memorizing every detail, every change in expression so he could remember what you liked. You felt incredible; better than he’d imagined with all of his extensive fantasies. You wrapped around his dick perfectly, and he knew then, more than ever, that he had been born to be with you. The two of you moved together slowly, taking your time to find what the other liked, keeping a slow pace as you rocked into each other. Logan rolled over so that you were on top of him, and you put your hands on his chest—just like you’d done so long ago when you kicked him out of your room—and looked down at the man you loved.

There was still so much that needed to be said between the two of you, hurdles that needed to be jumped, milestones that had to be reached, but in that moment, neither of you were scared of that. Neither of you were worried about the future. If anything, you were looking forward to it. Forward to more days like this, kissing and touching and loving on each other, giving each other the love and affection you both deserved. Logan let you roll him on top again, and he wrapped his arms around you. He never wanted to let you go. He would never let you go.

It was hard to tell how long the two of you laid there together, connected with him fully inside of you, mouths on one another, sighing and moaning and whispering each other’s name. When you came—again—you called out his name, and Logan saw stars as you clenched around him until he came, too, your name coming off of his lips like a prayer.

It was only after you’d both orgasmed that Logan closed his eyes, his arms wrapped around you, and your head on his chest.

“I love you,” he said, his voice hoarse and low, “One day I’m gonna marry you—and not because our fathers said so or because it’s what’s expected of us, but because I’m in love with you.” He opened his eyes and looked down at you, his perfect embodiment of love. “I fuck up a lot of things,” he continued before you could interrupt, “I do, that’s the truth. And I’m gonna say or do something that’ll upset you, I know it—but I will always do my best to be the man you deserve, Y/N,” he promised, “I know I’ve got a lot to learn, but I love you, I’ve loved you for most of my life, and I’m gonna do everything I can to be worth your love.”

“You are worth my love, Logan,” you said back, “Even though it took you forever to learn Italian…”

Logan laughed, cuddling you closer and kissing the top of your head. He looked forward to days like this for the rest of his life, holding your naked body to his as he told you how much he loved you, the sound of your laughter bounding off of the walls and ricocheting straight into his heart. He looked down at you and kissed you again, and in that kiss he knew that you were his past, his present, and his future, and he was damned lucky to have you in his arms, in his bed, and in his life. He laughed, thinking about your future, and you looked up at him curiously.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, looking up at him with your angel eyes.

“I was just thinking,” he ran his hand up and down your back, “the story of us, how we got together, is going to sound like a fucking Disney movie to our future kids.”

“Our future kids?” You asked, smiling.

He nodded, kissing you again slowly. “Our future kids,” he repeated, “and our kids will grow up knowing their parents love each other as people, not as business advances,” he said, “Our kids will know, when they see us together, that what we have, what we are…is the real idea of love.”

You laughed, kissing him again, and Logan held you close. You didn’t know it then, not the way Logan did anyway, how right he was.

But you knew that you loved him, and that he loved you back. And that was more than enough.

*******************************************************************************************

I hope you liked it! Please, please, please let me know what you think. You guys know how I love feedback!

Tagging these lovely folks from part one: @life-is-a-melody @belladonnarey @sssilverssserpent @damalseer @woodlandreads @songtoyou @shameless-pope

Taglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @suchatinyinfinity @fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @elanor-of-imladris @songforhema @lucielandss @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @themadhatter92 @realduckvader @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @teacuplotus @iaintnofurry @thesumofmychoices @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @whovianayesha @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @starkrobb @marauderskeeper @charlylama @thesandbeneathmytoes @gollyderek @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @ms-delos @something-tofightfor @banditthewriter  @binbons-is-theloml

[angelaiswriting]

Bullet | Arthur Shelby x reader

[original picture: pinterest]

✏️ Pairing: Arthur Shelby x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: Y/N –  the one woman Arthur fell in love with during the war and vowed to marry, the one woman he gifted a bullet with his name engraved on it. He thinks she’s a ghost, a hallucination made up by the cocaine burning through his system, but she’s real, she’s there. And she still loves him. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: I love Arthur so much (I mean, you’ll probably read me saying this about them all hahaha but this bby must be protected), so I’m super scared and nervous about this story. Let me know what you think of it! And if you want to be tagged or submit requests, inbox me, loves.

✏️ Beta-read by: @sweetvengeancee

✏️ Warnings: talks of war and of a cock being sucked :) + kinda sad i guess in some parts? + hopefully what I pray is fluff

✏️ Word-count: 3,688

London was shit – or that’s what Arthur Shelby thought of it: a shithole full of shitty stuck-ups. It also was, nonetheless, a shithole full of possibilities if he wanted his family’s business to have a chance at expanding its horizons. 

When he was high on Tokyo, though, the city changed its face: it showed a mask it usually didn’t wear and the alleys were brighter, and the Italians felt less of a nuisance now that Arthur’s brain was jumping up and down in his head, pumping excitement even to his fingertips.

It was the white powder’s doing, of course, there was no doubt. It fogged up his mind and, at the same time, it made him feel invincible. But the certainty was, all he needed to fall in love with the city was a stripe of coke on a silver plate and a rolled banknote. After that, everything took on a glimmery façade he would never get tired of. Everything shimmered like the lights on the mirrors of the Eden Club he and his brothers had torn away from Sabini’s wop hands and it was a dream.

In the orange-y lights of the dying day, with the sun setting behind the houses on the horizons, shitty London felt like a fairy tale. And, for once, he was happy to be there – to be far away from the demons that had started stalking him since the accident. ‘The accident’ had a name, of course, that of a young boy roughly Finn’s age, but he never thought of it – never allowed himself to think of it – never allowed his mind to pronounce that name with the same whispering sound of flying bullets.

War, killings, young boys dying in a boxing gym… Tokyo took all that shit, all those nagging memories, and it kicked them out of the window as it closed the door of his past for a while.

And when that exhilarating sensation of freedom and adrenaline started mounting inside him, sending his every cell into override, he somehow thought of her. She was always an unexpected memory, one that reminded him of an impossible promise he had made almost five years ago in the muddy trenches clawing France like worms in a corpse.

He never allowed himself to think of her when sober, but when high, when that feeling of invincibility blinded him, she came back – sweet smile, sweet eyes, even sweeter hands as they washed the blood away from his chest. Words that felt and dripped like honey from her lips.

Arthur had never looked for her. She had been deployed just two months before the war came to its end and he had never seen her again. Despite the fact that she had taken his heart with her, he had never asked around, never made an attempt to find her in big, people-eating London where he knew she had lived before France.

And when he saw her there, walking on the footpath on the other side of the street, the gown of her white dress fluttering in the gentle early-summer breeze, he cursed the drug in his system for mocking him with such a hallucination. The rational part of his brain, however small it could be, knew that wasn’t her – she was just someone that looked like her but in his stoned state, the now dominant side of his drugged mind had somehow managed to bring the ghosts of his past back to life, giving them bodies made of flesh and bones and that ringing laughter that had made many a man smile in the infirmary tents even on their deathbeds.

“Oi!” He had forgotten John was with him and only re-registered his presence when that annoyed oi! brought him back to London, tearing him away from his hallucinations. “We should keep walking, Tommy wants us at the Club, keep a fucking eye on it an’ all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” were the only two words he was able to mutter as his head turned back again.

Her ghost had stopped to talk with a woman and right under the street lamp, she seemed to glow. Fucking Tokyo was one of the many things his brain thought of as he looked at her, so close and yet so distant, her image certainly just an echo of a past he had left behind and a future he never gave himself the chance to have.

For endless moments, anything but her lost meaning – Sabini, Solomons, his brothers, the boys back in Birmingham, London, the cocaine… There was only this woman and her uncanny resemblance to someone he had once loved – someone he had once had in his hands before life led her away – her and that bullet carrying his name on it, the strokes painfully carved in the metal of its shell as he had sat in the dark, waiting for his turn to go down into Earth’s womb, back into that godforsaken tunnel.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Impatient by nature, John had walked back to him and had seemed to be on the verge of giving his brother a nice slap on the back of the head when he stopped next to him.

The pavement suddenly felt crowded and small, closing in on Arthur the way the French tunnels always did. The air closed in on him like a too-tight shirt, stuffing his lungs with the smoke of cigarettes and explosives and of burning corpses and suddenly, the adrenaline seemed to clot in his veins.

“That woman looks like-”

It was both a blessing and a curse, to know that he was high on shit and that his brother wasn’t, but that both of them still saw the same ghost, shared the same stupor.

“Yeah.”

*

There were many things Arthur Shelby ignored. Or avoided. War, tunnels, water too stagnant, days too silent, hands too empty and too clean. And after that late afternoon in an unfamiliar street of the capital, the woman he had vowed to marry on a starless night that seemed to belong to someone else’s life had joined the mix.

It was… too much. She was too much. John might have seen her, too, two days before, but Arthur knew it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t. She had gone on with her life, had built herself a family in the safety of someone else’s arms, and he had wasted his one chance to be the man he had once hoped to become.

John had taken the cocaine away from him – Tommy’s orders, he was sure of that. We need you sober and we have no use for a weak Arthur and it’s fucking time you stop and blah, blah, blah – fucking blah.

What the fuck did they know?

What the fuck did Tommy know?

He had managed to shut the door on his past, hadn’t he? Well, fucking good for fucking him! Arthur hadn’t done that, he hadn’t managed to. Didn’t even know how to, nor where to start from, and the silence that would have followed such detachment from his past scared him more than the thundering of the artillery and the galloping of the cavalry. More than the never-ending stretching of the tunnel of his mind. Not more than the idea of that woman truly being her, truly having a bullet with his name engraved on it somewhere at home – nothing would ever be scarier than that.

Nothing would ever be scarier than to find out the one woman you have sworn you’ll one day marry is still here, so distant and yet so close, with the only part of you that truly matters still held tight in her fairy hands.

He only needed a little more whiskey, though, a little more rum. More cigarettes. More chaos in the Peaky Blinders’ brand new Eden Club. More women he could take on the couch of one of the booths – more women that could suck all those thoughts and memories and ghosts out of his fucking cock and leave him an empty shell.

“More whiskey!” His words were slurred when he slammed the expensive crystal glass down onto the polished surface of the counter, startling the barman that had yet to get used to how things were done under the new management. “And leave the fucking bottle.”

Words slurred, his thoughts were just as drunk, dripping burning alcohol everywhere, flooding his head with regrets he thought he had buried deep inside his mind, buried even deeper than the tunnels he had used to dig in that very past that still bit his ass every single day.

The plan for the night was only one: get shit drunk, so drunk he’ll just fall to the ground right then and there, on the waxed floor the wops had loved so much. And right there, on that surface that reflected the glimmery light of the crystal chandeliers hanging from richly-decorated ceilings, he was going to piss himself to sleep.

There was no poetry in it. There had never been, not in Arthur, at least. There had been just one occasion once, back in France, when the unthinkable had become possible: he had written a poem for her. For the woman he wanted to marry. He had compared her to the birds that still chirped in the rear of the army, to the silence of the night, to the breeze that welcomed him when he got out of the tunnels he dug. He had compared her to Bonney, the horse that shared Billy the Kid’s surname and that had won the last race Arthur had seen before being drafted.

He had compared her to things he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, couldn’t graze, couldn’t have. And maybe that poem had been the foreseeing of something that back then had seemed impossible. Unacceptable, even.

He was just about to grab the bottle of booze the barman had left and go find himself a nice, cosy, asphyxiating-like-a-tunnel place to pass the night when John leaned against the counter.

“What are you smirking at, huh, John-boy?” He wasn’t drunk enough for his brother’s shit and so, to help himself get closer to that point, he took a swig directly from the bottle. “Found someone to stuff?” He didn’t usually talk like that, Arthur. But tonight…

Tonight felt like one of those desperate nights in the tunnels, like one of those forlorn days when both sides of the trenches were one, unison chaos full of rata-tata-ta and bang, the swishing of the bullets flying everywhere. And men dying in no man’s land.

London had felt like no man’s land ever since that afternoon and he couldn’t wait to go back home, to Birmingham, to the smell of piss and dirt of Small Heath and to its streets swarming with life.

“Better.” John nodded, taking the toothpick from his mouth. His smirk grew wider as he reached forward for Arthur’s bottle. “There’s someone for you,” he said, turning his head to look at someone behind him.

“Yeah?” Arthur shrugged. He fought for the bottle for a good couple of seconds before eventually giving up. “Whoever the fuck it is, can go fuck off.”

“You wanted to marry her once, though. I doubt you’d want her to go fuck off.”

His brows furrowed and when he turned around, it was as though the outside world had slowed down, had gone quieter. It all lasted seconds – mere, stupid seconds – but he’d forever swear that it felt like much longer, that night, as all kinds of thoughts bombed his mind from every side.

Her ghost was there, standing in the entrance of the club, and she was staring right at him with those ghostly eyes of hers – with that ghostly smile of hers. She wore that smile like rich women wear jewels – diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds. Like amber, shining bright in the warm lights of the room.

“Is that…” His ears barely registered his own voice as he tried to ask that question, stopping in its tracks only when he realized that doing so would only mean spark his hopes way too high. He didn’t want to be Icarus, didn’t want to fly too close to the sun just to then fall. Didn’t want to delude himself too much and risk never being able to close the door of his past like Tommy had done. “Y/N.” Her name was a whisper in the din of the party, a prayer falling from a sinner’s lips.

But John had spent two days asking around, calling people, digging deep. “Yep.” That ‘p’ popped like a bubble and when he squeezed his shoulder in his reassuring hand, Arthur startled. “Why don’t you go catch up? I’ll take over here.”

*

It was all shy smiles and blushing cheeks in the booth Arthur had led her to. He had bought her a drink – gin, she had ordered – and had passed her a cigarette when he took one for himself.

He had never been shy, not even as a kid. Especially as a kid. Anything he wanted, he got – and he worked hard to obtain it, no matter what it cost or what the difficulties to get it were. But with her, it felt different now.

He had left her behind – whether willingly or not, whether he regretted it now or not. He had left her behind and had never done anything to find her, not when someone like her could have anyone she set her eyes on – poor or rich, city boy or country boy, old or young. With him she was… wasted, like rich horse tack on a workhorse.

“I was surprised when John showed up at my door.” Even her voice was just how he remembered it – sweet like honey, and just as thick. “Never had I thought I’d see you again one day.”

“I thought you were a ghost.” He was lost in his own world, Arthur, as he stared at her. Stared at the shining necklace lying on her cleavage. Stared at the fine line of her neck, at those collarbones he had once kissed.

Rough lips against tender skin, he still knew the feeling – like silk flowing against calloused palms, calluses grazing the watery material. She had felt like clean, cotton blankets on an early Sunday morning, when you wake up early to watch the sunrise knowing full well you have nothing – or nothing important – to do. She had also felt like freshly-brewed coffee when you need it the most, when sleep and wakefulness are playing tug-o-war with your mind and your body alike.

“What?”

“I thought you were a ghost,” he repeated, his voice now louder as he forced himself to meet her eye. “Two days ago, on the footpath. I thought I was hallucinating, that my brain had truly been fucked up by…”

He almost told her – almost told her about cocaine, about the shit he snorted and that made him see her everywhere. But he had stopped himself in his tracks just in time, had forbidden himself to talk about that with her.

Maybe another day.

She smiled, and it was one of the same smiles that had lit up his days when he had needed it the most. “So, how is life? John said you went back to Birmingham, that you’re in a better position than when you’d left.”

“Good, life is good.” He was nodding, his head manically bobbing up and down as he still tried to process it all – her, her much-sweeter perfume, her glimmering earrings, her fine, bare hands.

No rings, he noticed. No man. There had been one, though, he thought as her thumb brushed over her left ring finger. Once, there had been someone who wasn’t him, for he had never had the chance to give her a proper ring.

“We’ve… acquired this place, recently,” he added, gesturing at the ceiling with a hand.

There was amused suspicion in her eyes, but he didn’t indulge.

“Never enjoyed it when the Italians owned it,” she confessed. “Weird music and weird… patrons, one could say.”

He chuckled, inhaling the smoke of the until-then-forgotten cigarette still perched between his lips.

It was like being back in France, the day he had met her for the first time. He had helped bring a boy to the infirmary tents – badly wounded, one leg left on the battlefield, he had died the day before his nineteenth birthday. And she had been there, and she had held onto the poor boy’s hand for one whole, painfully-infinite night until he breathed his last just as the sun peeked from above the horizon.

She had sung for him – low, sweet voice laced with melancholy and nostalgia for what they had both left behind. Nobody had seemed to care that she was slightly off-key, it didn’t matter, not when that sad, Londoner song had felt like a mother’s caress as the whole tent went quiet.

“How’s life?” he asked back, leaning back against the wall, the tips of his fingers toying with his empty tumbler. “Did you ever marry?”

She smiled, a small, sad smile that brought him back to days forever gone. “I almost did, twice,” she admitted, downing the rest of her gin and taking a long drag from her cigarette. “The first time, it was during the war. I met this bloke, fell for him in the midst of the battle, got a bullet as a pledge of love.” She looked at him for a moment before looking away, putting out the cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table.

“Must’ve been one fucking bastard to let such a dove go,” he said.

“One fucking bastard indeed.” And she chuckled. She chuckled like bells on a day of celebration and it sounded like the end of the war, felt just like Tokyo coursing through his veins. “The second time,” she continued, “I thought it would’ve been the good time. You know? A nice and respectable man, ready to run as MP, a natural talent with children…”

That was exactly the kind of man Arthur feared. Not on the battlefield, of course – he feared nobody on the battlefield – but on the battlefield for a woman’s heart? That was when he stopped to think about what kind of man he was, what kind of man he had become. What kind of man he could be one day.

“What happened?”

“I was out looking for a wedding dress and as I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, I understood he wasn’t the man I loved.” She looked at him as though she was looking through him, as though she couldn’t exactly see him there, sitting in front of her – almost as though she was back there, trying on a white dress she would never wear, looking at a bride she would never be. “I did love him, I just…” She sighed, reaching for her handbag and fumbling with the latch. “Not in the measure I should have loved someone I was about to marry.”

He looked at her – looked at her trembling fingers, at her bare nails, at that scratch on her wrist – and he wondered how she had got it. Maybe a cat? Or maybe as she tended to the garden?

“The man I loved gave me something, five years ago.”

He didn’t recognise it, not at first, at least.

“He said that love is like a bullet, that it hurts worse when it pierces your heart. He thought it funny back then, so he engraved his name on its shell and he gave it to me as a promise of a future together. D’you recognise it?”

There, standing between her right thumb and forefinger, was the bullet with his name. The only meaningful and tangible thing he had been able to give her when he had had nothing else.

Arthur.

‘Arthur’ had pierced her heart, he realized as he looked at her. It had pierced her heart and left a hole behind, a hole he should have filled after the war but hadn’t.

“He never came, though,” she went on, setting the bullet down on the table. “For months I waited but he never came. And I never looked for him. Thought he had been just an illusion. Thought I could outgrow him. Thought that he would outgrow me.”

“God.” It was a whisper, a word that slipped past his lips as his forehead came to rest on the table. “He didn’t outgrow you,” he said then, reaching his arm out to hold onto her hand, but not looking up. He was scared that if he lifted his head, he would find her gone, vanished in the burning haze of the booze.

But she was still there, her thumb soothingly brushing the back of his hand. “I didn’t outgrow you either.”

It was then that he felt them – her lips on the tender skin of his wrist, light as rose petals and just as soft as he remembered them.

They had been soft on his lips, too, even when chapped, even when dry. They had been a balm against all the horrors he had seen, all the horrors he had lived – and survived. Their touch reminded him of sleepless nights spent making love under a forgiving sky and on an unforgiving ground and they had always been the start of something new, of a dream he wanted to believe could become reality.

“Do you think we could start from where we’ve left on?” She had leant forward and had kissed the shaved side of his head before winding her fingers through his hair.

He chuckled, a sound deep in his throat that shook off the gunpowder from the dark corners of his mind. “D’you think you could do that with someone who has never left the war?”

“I’d go to war again with you – for you. I’m not scared of it.”

Sooo... How is this? Are the characters in-character?

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf @flowers-in-your-hayr

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

(beyond) Space & Time

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit Summary: 

Peter Parker is a straight laced research assistant making his way through his Master's degree at Stanford in California. MJ insisting he head to a frat party puts him directly in the path of Tony Stark, an Italian Exchange student at Stanford on a basketball scholarship. Many cute things ensue.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030814

And to think – it all started at a party.

Peter Parker didn’t do a lot of things – he couldn’t walk by storm drains after watching Billy’s brother getting his arm ripped off It, there weren’t tomatoes in his house because he didn’t eat them, and most importantly – he didn’t go to parties. Spending most of his college career under the age of 21 gave him every opportunity to politely pass up people’s invitations out to bars for weekly cohort drinks, or to clubs to dance with MJ when she was feeling the need to get out and just move. The ability to control himself was very important – so important, in fact, he’d never drank a single sip of booze in his life. One story about a drunk driver and how they took his parents and that was it – the stuff didn’t need to be in his life. And yet – he still found himself outside of a frat house, his hands stuffed into his pockets in what he hoped to be an unsightly pout.

Since meeting MJ, Peter started to do a lot of things he didn’t normally do. There was something about the girl that said carefree and for whatever reason, Peter wanted to feel that whenever she was around. So when she plopped down on the edge of his couch earlier that day, Peter knew he was in for some trouble. Especially because he hadn’t let her into his place himself, she’d been trying different ways of breaking in for weeks now and today was the first time he hadn’t caught her in the act. “It’s about time, Peter Parker,” she said to him a little bit later, her arms crossed staring a hole through him. She mentioned the Pi Kappa Alpha party like that was a normally attended shindig for the two of them. Well, it was for MJ – but Peter never tagged along. He always had the excuse of being too young, or too busy, but neither of those held up now. Just last week he turned 21 and for the first time all summer, he did not have any research or teaching duties – so he technically was free for the evening. The idea of spending it around a mass of drunk college kids didn’t seem like the best way let it pass – but once MJ got an idea in her head, she couldn’t be stopped.

Which is why, two hours later, Peter found himself standing outside of Pi Kappa Alpha, dressed in his tightest pair of black jeans, a blue and red flannel, and red canvas vans – the look one a part of his everyday life, the one thing he would not allow MJ to have any control over whatsoever. No matter how many times she tried to pull a shirt from his closet or run her fingers through his hair, Peter did not relent. If he was being forced to attend this stupid thing, he was at least going to feel comfortable in his own skin. Besides, he knew he looked good – at least, he thought he looked good, anyhow. He figured, through all the chaos and drunkenness happening around him, there wouldn’t be too many people noticing the style (or lack thereof) of his outfit – there were bound to be better things to be worried about.

He tried to turn away only once, his heart was hammering too hard against the front of his chest, his blood pressure was surely much higher than normal, or even healthy. A hand on his forearm stopped him just before he convinced himself to start walking in the other direction. “Dude, you’ve got this. Go in, mingle – document the weirdness of the human population if you have to. Just – give it a chance, okay? Something tells me you’re going to have a lot more fun than you think.” MJ pinched his cheek and wrapped her own arm through his, the girl smirking in his direction. “Don’t make me drag you in there. You know I will,” she mumbled just loud enough for Peter to hear, her hand tightening on his arm. Peter shook his head and shrugged – that was his one chance, now he’d have to face the music.

That very music ended up being very loud, very bass heavy pop that Peter couldn’t ever remember hearing – though, his music knowledge was not vast, his preferences leaned much more towards heavy rock and acoustic covers. Walking into to the blast of all that bass made Peter stumble, his poor ears not ready for the overwhelming thump that would overtake them. Of course he’d eat shit two seconds into his first frat party experience – there wasn’t much else that could be more embarrassing. Yet, instead of hitting his face on the dirty floor – he hated to think about what might actually be on that floor – Peter smacked into the solid side of another, admittedly warm, human being. His breath caught in his throat, Peter both shocked and appalled by the sequence of events unfolding in front of him. After a second of getting his bearings, Peter felt a bit more capable of keeping his shit together. He looked up at his savior and his breath caught – what kind of person deserved to be that attractive?

The man standing before him had to be one of the most attractive people he’d ever seen. He couldn’t have been much older than Peter himself – his face still soft with youth, though dignified all the same. His chestnut hair was on the longer side, the strands swept into a messy swoop that should’ve felt disorganized, but didn’t – the style probably meticulously done, instead. His lips were turned up in a smile that brought the most endearing crinkles to the sides of his cheeks. Peter felt himself staring, taking in all the details of the person standing in front of him and couldn’t bring himself to care. If this guy was determined to look that good, he could deal with the consequential stares that were bound to ensue. He took another minute to catalogue all of the finer surface things of this stranger before he let himself make eye contact with his savior. “I um – thanks. For saving me,” Peter lamely supplied, his cheeks warm from the roaring blush that was savagely making his face redder by the second.

The handsome stranger didn’t get a chance to reply – MJ yanked Peter away swiftly, her hand tightening on his arm once she managed to get a handle on him again. “Do you know who that was?” MJ asked, her voice loud to be heard above the music still making his head swim. “No, I don’t think so – I would remember seeing him,” Peter replied stupidly, his head turning over his shoulder every few steps – the stranger still slightly in view, a smirk on his face. “That’s Tony Stark – Italian dude, star point guard, self-proclaimed heartbreaker. That dopey look you were giving him – that’s not good, Peter. He’s no good.” Her words held so much finality – but she couldn’t be talking about the man he’d just seen. There seemed to be so much in those dark eyes, a whole lifetime full of secrets in those depths. Peter instantly felt a connection – MJ couldn’t possibly right. “Are you sure? He looked so – devastating.” Peter mumbled out the word, his fingers moving restlessly through his hair while he did.

MJ didn’t have much to say after that – she snorted and let the topic drop. She’d been around him enough to know he wasn’t easily dissuaded – especially when something caught his interest. He wasn’t at school as a research assistant and aide for nothing – learning and finding out new things were a specialty of his. He looked over his shoulder a couple more times, but the guy had moved on. Peter shook his head and shrugged – maybe it was for the best, anyway. He let MJ drag him into the living room that was doubling as the dance floor and pull him into a cluster of people. Peter didn’t recognize the music, but it had a good beat and the past dancer in him got caught in following it. It’d been a long time since he let himself be this carefree. More than a couple songs past and Peter was finally ready to be doing anything other than sweating. Turning around, he noticed a lack of MJ’s presence and laughed to himself. He remembered a mention of Liz and getting a drink – she left him to his own devices, true Michelle Jones style.

The sweat sticking to his skin had him undoing another one of the buttons on his flannel, the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the material there drenched. Noticing his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, Peter walked back into what he hoped was the kitchen to find something to quench his thirst. The noise level seemed to have doubled in the short period of time between arriving and dancing – the whole place seemed to be thumping with the music at the front of the house. He thankfully got through the masses unscathed and spotted a punch bowl – his mouth watering just thinking about a soothing liquid. Grabbing the first cup he saw, Peter went to dip it into the punch when a hand stopped him – the grip was firm and sure, the fingers light in the way they dug into the skin of his wrist. “You don’t want to drink that,” the guy, his handsome stranger from before – Tony Stark – said to him.

“And why might that be? The purple of that punch is a real selling point,” Peter quipped back, his hands turning slightly, inadvertently giving Tony’s finger more access to his skin. It burnt – the length of pale skin stretching right under the press of Tony’s fingers. The man’s touch felt like fire – like hot rays of sun radiating on a hot day. “Because – you would be on your ass after a couple of sips. There’s so much alcohol in that – you’ll end up with your pants on your head and the whole night completely down the drain. Your pants look much better right where they are.” The stranger was pulling the cup from his grasp before he knew it, the fingers on his wrist now gone – though the ghost of their touch resided in the warm trails left there, his skin forever changed.

“Oh, well – thanks, then. I mean, again. For saving me. That’s twice now, stranger. What do I call you?” Peter asked, his mind supplying that this was in fact Tony Stark – but he felt compelled to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Many times, MJ imparted wisdom and not all of it was successful. Never before did Peter hope so much that this was the case. The brown eyes staring at him were so deep, filled with so much – there had to be something behind that, something worth finding out about.

He watched Tony look surprised, then recover quickly, his smile never fading. “I’m Tony Stark. Most people just call me Stark,” Tony answered his question, his hand shooting out between them. “And you, how do people refer to you?” His hand was warm and big when Peter met it with his own, his last two fingers were a little crooked and pressed against his own funnily – but they spoke of hard work, each pad Peter could feel covered in a rough callous. “Peter – Peter Parker. My aunt calls me Petey, but that’s because she’s terribly embarrassing,” Peter finally replied, his hand holding onto Tony’s a moment longer – a moment too long, probably – before letting go.

He dragged his tongue out to wet his lips and suddenly remembered the thirst – the dryness of his mouth from the collective excitement of dancing on a sticky floor and meeting one of the handsomest men on the planet was startingly hard to deal with, and a bit distracting. “Since that’s not fit to drink, can you point me to something that is? I just danced my ass off and I’m feeling a little thirsty,” Peter uselessly pointed to his mouth, his throat so dry – and did he mention how thirsty he was? Tony smirked and nodded, thrusting his finger over his shoulder for emphasis. “Yeah, follow me. I know where they keep the good stuff.”

It should’ve made him feel embarrassed, the fact that Tony brought him into the kitchen and poured Sunny D from the big container in the fridge into his red plastic cup – but it didn’t. He felt himself break out into a grin, a laugh bubbling from his chest. When their fingers brushed as Tony handed him the cup back, Peter held on for a second letting the heat intoxicate him once more. “Thanks, this is just what I needed,” Peter muttered, holding the cup up in cheers and downing more than half of it in a gulp. Holy fuck, that shit always tasted good. Peter felt Tony watch him, the man’s eyes climbing all over him – the stare recognizable, Peter himself so guilty of doing that time and time again. The other man was looking at him like something interesting, roving his eyes over all his parts and pieces – trying to make them fit. A sharp red flushed his cheeks at the thought – the silly thought that Tony Stark could find him interesting.

Tony topped him up and led him up the stairs to a second-floor balcony – the space thankfully empty and missing at least half of the pulsing beat of the rest of the house. The fact that they were alone was not lost on Peter. He was thankful for the break in all the craziness and honestly more comfortable than he’d been the whole evening. The summer was slowly coming to an end, but the sticky mugginess of the California night held fast – the heat probably sticking around until mid-November if they were lucky. Tony leaned against the wooden railing overlooking the ground below them, his drink dangling from his fingers. Peter watched him for a second before joining him, the Sunny D in his cup jostling when he rested his arms against the railing.

“Tell me about yourself, Peter Parker. What are you doing here in Stanford, California?” Tony said out of the blue. Now that they weren’t having to shout, he could pick up a tiny hint of an Italian accent, the lilt at the end of his words just barely there. His heart fluttered a bit when he first heard it – could the man get any fucking hotter? Disguising his inner freak-out, Peter took a drink to settle down before answering, the Sunny D truly a perfect beverage for the moment. “I’m here on a full ride scholarship finishing up my M.S in Cell and Molecular Engineering. I’m a research assistant and pick up classes whenever they need me to. I’m here trying to get smarter, Tony Stark. Why are you here? What is it that makes you tick?” Peter asked the question genuinely, his hands fiddling nervously with the cup in his hand, his eyes seeking out the other’s in the dark.

They locked eyes and Tony smirked at him – that particular facial expression an obvious regular for the other man. “I play basketball. I came here from Italy four years ago to start as point guard and learn all there is to know about American culture. I’m surprised we’ve never ran into each other before now. This’ll be my fifth year and I’ll be finishing up my M.S. in Biomechanical Engineering. Do you do research with Hess over in D-Building?” Tony turned his head to look at him fully, his eyes actually interested – those orbs so expressive, so willing to say what the man couldn’t. Peter felt himself getting lost in the stare, lost in the fact that this guy was not only amazingly attractive but smarter than hell – probably smarter than him, even. Biomechanics was no fucking joke. If he wasn’t already falling for the guy, well – he couldn’t deny that he was now.

“I do, yeah – I spent all of last semester over there. It was little crazy for a while, I was the only assistant and we were balls deep in the most labor intensive part of the research,” Peter replied absently, the man forgetting to rein in all the nerd – Tony seemed like the type of person who could keep up, or at least pretend to. He watched the basketball player huff out a laugh, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Yeah – actually, that was my fault. I was supposed to be there, but I ended up having some family stuff happen. I did most of this last semester back home.” Tony slumped his shoulders slightly, then shuffled a bit to press one of them firmly into Peter’s side. “Sorry about that, Petey,” the other man mumbled, his eyes boring into Peter like they wanted to dig down deep within him. The nickname sounded different on Tony’s lips and he wanted more than anything to close the distance between them. He could feel his chest hitch – the ghost of Tony’s breath barely catching the skin of his cheek. “It’s – you’ll just have to make it up to me, huh? You do all the dirty work this semester,” Peter replied, his words chocked off when he felt Tony leaning forward – the impending kiss happening – and then, not.

The balcony floor shook, and the door suddenly hammered open, a handful of people flying out into the space. “Fuck, here you are! There’s a fight. Ken can’t keep his shit together. We need you, Stark,” one of the guys said – his lanky arms gesturing wildly, all of the guys behind him nodding enthusiastically in agreement. Tony let out a huff – his fingers noticeably tightening on the beer bottle in his hand.  He looked over at Pete and shot him a sorry look, his thumb already gesturing over his shoulder. “Catch you on the flip side, Parker,” Tony threw over his shoulder while being passed and pushed through the door – six dudes vying for his attention all at once, the echo of voices the loudest sound of the evening. Peter kept himself turned until he couldn’t hear the thundering herd, his head spinning from the multitude of things that just happened all in the span of what felt like two seconds. Dipping his head, Peter let it hang between his shoulders for a second before pulling himself together, downing the rest of the liquid in the cup, and making a hasty exit.

----  

The last few days that remained of the summer went pretty quickly after that. Peter got himself caught up with the last few things he needed to turn in for his summer school class and spent the remaining days of complete freedom sitting in his boxer-briefs watching Netflix and eating whatever takeout he could acquire that day. His last year of his master’s program was going to be a rough one, he knew that. His advisor prepped him for all of the duties he’d need to carry out to finish his thesis and research responsibilities. He wanted to get into the doctoral program at NYU so much and needed his last year to go flawlessly. Which meant being lazy wouldn’t be an option – so he wanted to take advantage of getting to sit around in his underwear while he still had the chance. Of course, he didn’t get to dodge MJ for very long after the party – the woman demanded he discuss his conversation with Tony Stark in detail, many, many, many times so they could dissect it.  She still seemed a bit weary, his reputation so loud across campus, but he could see her starting to warm up – the warmth in Peter’s voice was a hard thing to ignore, he knew that.

It shouldn’t have surprised him then, when he walked into Hess’s research lab the first day of the semester to find a smiling Tony Stark sitting at the open desk across from him. Peter couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips when those well calloused hands waved at him in greeting, a goofy smile on the other man’s face – the look absolutely contagious and too powerfully cute for its own good. Pete deposited his sling bag on the floor next to his chair and settled into it – his body relaxing in the familiar territory. Funnily, the lab, school even, felt way more like home than the small apartment he had to himself. Lazy days were never not enjoyed – but he missed the lab way more than he cared to admit. “How’d that fight end up turning out?” Peter asked, feeling settled down enough to take on whatever Tony had to throw his way. “Terrible, I’m afraid. We had 6AMs for the rest of the week. You’d think they’d learn – but they never do,” Tony said, gesturing around him, his hands running through his hair more than once. Oh boy, Peter thought to himself – he was in a lot of fucking trouble. His stomach felt fluttery and hot, like butterflies were trying to fly away from the molten lava of his insides. Tony Stark just might be the death of him if a simple exchange like this made his brain turn to mush.

They settled in to work not long after that, Peter pleasantly surprised by how much Tony knew and how proficient he was in just about everything they did around the lab. The lost year didn’t make much of an impact, something Peter begrudgingly had to admit that he was happy about – having to train someone new and keep up with all the work poured on so much anxiety over the summer, but Tony was the perfect lab partner – the fact that he looked absolutely adorable in lab goggles didn’t play into that decision, either. After that first day, Peter hoped more than anything that this would continue, and Tony’s presence would be the key to some ease in the homestretch of all the hard work he hoped to culminate into something worthwhile for him and the rest of the world. It was satisfying to know his instincts were right, that despite what Tony wanted people to see, there were things he couldn’t hide. Things like his huge brain and quick wit, his soft disposition and cute natural habits.

When they finished up for the day, Peter was surprised to feel Tony keep up with him as they walked out of the lab, the man a touch shorter, but obviously used to striding with people much taller than him. “Since we’re going to be at this all year, we should probably exchange numbers – get to know each other a little bit,” Tony said after a minute, his hand reaching out to stop Peter before they got further down into the swell of students. Peter turned to face him, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re absolutely right, do you like coffee or tea? This is critical to the survival of our partnership.” Peter spoke with a laugh in his voice, his hand reaching out to grab Tony’s phone. He luckily had it open, so he put his number into a text and sent it to himself. “I like coffee, as black as you can make it. Does that pass your little test?” Tony got out after a minute, those dark eyes watching him much like the last time together – curiously, trying to absorb as much as they could. “Sure did. Hess is stingy about his coffee supplies. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to kick your ass for all the sugar,” Peter winked before turning away from Tony, his next class starting in less minutes than he now had to get there.

Halfway through his class, his phone buzzed, the same number from before flashing on his screen. He shook his head and tried to ignore it, but the second buzz had him pulling it out of his pocket. Saving the number first, Peter finally let himself glance over the messages.

Tony Stark [1:21PM]: First, why do you think you can kick my ass? Tony Stark [1:22PM]: Second, is it weird that I want to see you try?

Peter stopped himself from laughing with a sharp hand over his mouth. They were in the middle of something he covered in his independent study last semester, so he felt familiar enough with the material to slack off a little. He watched for the professor to turn back towards his materials before looking at the text, his smile bright in the reflection on the screen.

Peter Parker [!:25PM]: I’m good at physics. I’ll just use all your jock force against you. Peter Parker [1:26PM]: Nope. I think you like me. I bet you want to see me try lots of things.

His cheeks colored, the obvious flirtation staring him in the face – those texts probably the boldest he could ever remember himself being. His thumb hovered over the send button, Peter having to force himself to actually press his finger down. He let out a soft breath and let his eyes roam around the classroom. There wouldn’t be any more paying attention to the lecture. Any concentration left was not currently anywhere near his brain. A finger tapped against the top of his screen while he waited impatiently – the little dots popping up the biggest tease, the scariest and most exciting thing he’d experienced in a while. He felt the vibration this time, the movement of the phone kick starting an errant beat of his heart.

Tony Stark [1:31PM]: Hello, fellow smart guy, here. I’ll just use your big head against you! Tony Stark [!:33PM]: I can’t deny either of those statements. The thing I really find myself wanting you to try is going out with me – how do you feel about that?

The surprise of those words had Peter looking around wildly – the man assuming that everyone else felt that shift in the universe, too. They all looked at peace, though, the mass either diligently taking notes or staring out over the vast edge, completely overtaken by that spacey feeling of not paying attention. His mouth felt a little dry, his body’s natural fight or flight reactions becoming increasingly annoying. Luckily, he remembered to put his water bottle in his backpack that morning before taking off, Peter pulling it out with triumph to take a couple long swigs. With his tongue less like sandpaper, he looked back at the screen – his eyes bulging seeing the last text again. Would wonders ever cease?

Peter Parker [1:39PM]:  You wish. Either way, the point is moot. You have the least interesting coffee order. Peter Parker [1:40PM]: I feel like that might be something I’d be up for trying. What did you have in mind?

He forced himself to turn the phone over and ignore the three buzzes that shook his table slightly for the rest of class. Which, luckily, turned out to only be another ten minutes. If anything was going to happen, and there was no one there saying (or wishing) that something would happen – but IF something did, Peter already knew he couldn’t let anything get in the way of school. His being able to pay the rest of his schooling and finish relied solely on his performance. That couldn’t flounder, no matter what happened in his personal life. A little serious for the first date, he thought to himself, but necessary – totally necessary.

Impatience had him pulling the phone from his pocket when he got out of the building and into the fresh air, the renewed sense of freedom washing over him in a lot of ways – the wind in his hair feeling good for once.

Tony Stark [1:50PM]: Or the most interesting. When I tell people about it, it’s always a conversation starter. I’m either the most boring person or the smartest. However you want to look at it. Tony Stark [1:51PM]: How do you feel about physical activity? Tony Stark [1:51PM]: Hiking, specifically.

He couldn’t hold in a chuckle, Tony’s scenario obviously one the man encountered, probably more often then he cared to admit. There were so many things to this guy, this guy who was so insanely charming and funny, a guy who was a huge nerd wrapped up in cool guy skin. Peter doubted many people got to see this side of sports star Tony Stark – the public used to something a little more cool and a lot less normal and geeky like the man seemed to actually be. It made sense, though. From what he’d seen, Tony liked to leave an air of mystery around himself, keeping people on their toes half of the fun for him. Not so much with Peter – but he was a lot smarter than most people.

Peter Parker [1:55PM]: Only you would take constant opposition as a conversation starter. You’re something else, Tony Stark. Peter Parker [1:56PM]: I like physical activity. & I’m originally from Queens, hiking is a luxury. I’d be game. I’m sure there are tons of this pretty place we’re living in I haven’t seen yet. Peter Parker [1:57PM]: Will you be feeding me, also? I have a hefty appetite.

Tony Stark [2:01PM]: I am, you’re right. I’m sure I’ll prove that over and over again the more we’re together. Tony Stark [2:02PM]: I’m assuming that’s your wordy way of saying yes. Windy Hill Open Space Preserve is a good hike and a cool view. Do you have class tomorrow morning? We could catch the sunrise. Tony Stark [2:04 PM]: Of course. I know the best breakfast spot.

Peter Parker [2:10PM]: The more we’re together. I like the sound of that. Peter Parker [2:11PM]: I should have known you were a morning person. I do, but not until the evening. I can do a sunrise. We’ll beat the heat, too. Peter Parker [2:13PM]: Breakfast is my favorite. Good call, Mr. Stark.

Tony Stark [2:17PM]: Yeah, me too. A lot, actually. Tony Stark [2:18PM]: It’s the quietest part of the day. Reminds me of home no matter where I am. I’ll pick you up. Tony Stark [2:20PM]: I’m going to remember both things in this text message. Keep that Mr. Stark in your pocket for later.

The text exchange filled the rest of Peter’s walk back to his apartment. His cheeks were burning from the mixture of affection and heat from the stupidly gooey smile he’d been unable to detach from since this whole thing started. He couldn’t remember the last time a text message made him feel the way he did, or when he’d sent more than a handful of text messages to another human. MJ preferred the phone and Aunt May was one of little words. She always kept their check-in conversations brief. Peter figured she would miss him too much if she let herself spend too much time with him – the distance was a lot for them both.  He set the phone down after snorting at the last text message – a heat in his belly starting to pool, all of the drips into the core of him branded with Tony Starks name.

----

Making sure they saw the sunset meant waking up around 5AM. Along with going out with another human person, Peter couldn’t place the last time he got up before 8AM. He flourished in the later hours of the day; his brain ripe for the picking right around midnight – the many research papers he’d written in the middle of the night a testament of that. The alarm blaring surprised him and the second time he hit snooze, he hastily remembered he needed coffee if he wished to be a functioning person before Tony got there are 5:30. Peter blinked the sleep from his eyes and threw himself into the shower stall, hoping to whatever was up there that a little hot water on his head would jump start his system. He allowed himself a couple minutes of just standing there, his eyes closed, the warm water hitting his skin making the flesh prickle. He ran a bar of soap hastily over himself and got out – his head a little less fuzzy, though his body didn’t feel any less tired. The beauty of the Nescafe had a steaming hot cup of coffee in his travel mug in no time, his eyes on the iWatch on his wrist – a sense of triumph overcoming him when he saw he had two whole minutes to spare.

Most of his physical activity came in the form of walking to and from campus and the boxing classes he took ever Friday night. Getting lost in the rhythmic thump of his fists on the bag kept him going some weeks and the safety he felt from at least knowing he could smack the fuck out of someone helped him cope with being on his own so far from home. Needless to say, he probably wasn’t nearly as athletic as Tony, but could probably hold his own. Lost in his thoughts, he startled when he heard the knock on his door, Peter seriously surprised he didn’t get the usual ‘I’m here’ text treatment that most people their age were accustomed to. Fiddling with his pockets, Peter check to make sure his epi-pen was there before grabbing his keys and backpack. It was now or never.

Peter wondered if he’d ever stop feeling taken aback by the way Tony looked. The man had a goofy dad hat on his head, the man decked out in all sorts of Stanford issued shit – the stupid tree on his hat making the thing look even more tacky – endearing to the fucking core. “Hey, Pete,” Tony said, his voice rich – the early morning obviously not a problem for the athlete. “Hey yourself. The bright eye, bushy tailed thing should piss me off, but with that goofy ass hat on, I can’t make myself be mad at you. I just want to chuckle and poke your cheek,” Peter supplied, his hand pressing briefly to the apple of Tony’s cheek. “You shouldn’t be allowed to look this good so early.” Peter pulled his hand away with a soft brush of the pads of his fingers over the arch of Tony’s cheekbone. He didn’t get to pull his hand away, though – Tony catching it with his own, a kiss being pressed to the meat of his palm. “I’m just happy to see you.”

He shook his head, the other seriously too damn cute for his own good. They quickly settled into the Jeep Wrangler – the top missing and bracketed with a rack obviously well used if the scuffs on the surface were to be believed. The wind in his face on the highway kept him from drifting back to the edge of sleepy. Tony didn’t talk much, the sounds of his voice carrying when he’d pick up a bit of the song to sing or make a quip about something they drove by. Pete kept himself pressed to the seat and enjoyed – the view of the surroundings passing them much more interesting without so much of the car blocking his view. It was still pretty dark, the dusky glow around them adding to the mystery of all of this – the mystery of Tony and what was in store for the two of them. The preserve came into view right when the sky started to lighten, the pinks mingling in the darkness, a purple overtaking the horizon where the sun would sit in the next little while. Tony hopped out first, the grace of the move keeping Peter’s attention more than he cared to admit. He clumsily got out of the car, the seatbelt holding him captive for a second longer than he would’ve liked.

The trailhead opened up and led to a couple different pathways around the preserve. Tony shouldered him to the right, the path thankfully more paved than not – a fact his ankles were more than a little happy about. They seemed to be two of a handful of people navigating their way around, so they held back a little bit to put some distance between them and the others. “Tell me more about Italy. I did a semester abroad, but we didn’t get to spend much time doing anything other than going to class. I never got to Florence like I wanted to,” They were slowly making their way to a spot they could see the entirety of the sky, their shoulders brushing every couple of steps. “My mother grew up on one of the Phlegraen Islands in Naples. We moved back there to be with my grandparents when it was 4. I spent many summers on the water, helping my Papa fish and run his business. I got into travel basketball to see more of the country and then it led me here. I’m a dual citizen, my father, who I don’t know, lives in New York – so I’ll probably stay here after college, but Italy will always be home.”

Peter let Tony’s words wash over him, the details slotting into place, creating the picture he’d been slowly painting of the other man – each new thing he learned making him like that look more and more. “That sounds like another world. I grew up in Queens with my aunt – I went to a science focused magnet school and competed on the scholastic bowl team. The most exciting thing to happen to me was getting into Stanford – the world is a lot bigger than my little neighborhood. There’s no bodegas around here, though – I hate having to ride into Palo Alto just to get milk.” Peter felt himself rambling and ended with a smile, his cheeks red with a blush not just from the physical exertion. They’d been hiking for a while, though – he could feel the distance in his calves. Like he was reading his mind, Tony lead them to a small little clearing, a collection of rocks the best makeshift seats they could’ve stumbled upon.

Tony handed him a water bottle, their fingers brushing on the exchange. Pete could feel his cheeks heat a little more, his eyes drooping slightly with a rush of lust from the touch. The sneaky caress of a crush he couldn’t help made his heart beat a little faster, too – the thought of more touches from the other something he could totally get behind, even this soon after getting to know each other. He was no blushing virgin – he knew want when he felt it. Taking a big gulp of the water, he stared over Tony’s shoulder at the sky getting lighter by the minute. A part of him wished he had an artistic bone in his body – the vision of Tony’s silhouette being outlined by the rising sun deserved to be documented. Quickly, before he could spook the other man, he pulled out his phone and took a picture – the serene look well worth the middle finger he got when Tony noticed what he was doing. “Sorry, too good a view to miss,” Peter mumbled, his eyes trained on the soft smile in the picture. What a beautiful fucking human.

Those now familiar calloused fingertips against his knee pulled his focus from the picture, eyes instead narrowing in on the breathtaking look on Tony’s face. There wasn’t much time between noticing Tony’s gorgeousness and getting kissed, Peter completely blown away by both things – the kiss more so than anything. “You look really fucking cute when you get lost in your head,” Tony mumbled, a couple of the words formed on his lips. Pete didn’t try to stop his eyes from slipping shut – his entire body felt on fire, he needed a second to get his shit together. The feel of those lips on his again had him blinking – a look of mischief in Tony’s eye when he pulled away. “I like you, Peter Parker.” His calloused fingers wrapped around his own, their hands tangling together seamlessly. That sunrise was one of the best ones he’d ever seen – the thumb rubbing circles on his skin having absolutely nothing to do with it.

Their hike back down was as uneventful as the way up. The only change was the way their hands didn’t break from each other – Tony timing his strides to match perfectly with Peter’s. It didn’t make sense, feeling this carefree with someone he barely knew, yet – it was easy, and who was he to look easy in the mouth? His fingers tightened, squeezing Tony’s with a small look of affection sent his way. “When does basketball get busy for you? I think I’d like to watch you play. I’ve honestly never been to a game,” Peter filled the silence easily. “Games start up in November. The practice season is pretty much here, though. We’ll start our stupid lifting schedule next week, actually.” Tony let his hand go when they got to the car, the other entering into his space to press a kiss to his cheek. “I would like it very much if you came to watch me play, Petey.” The words had their desired effect, his skin broke out in goosebumps – his breath hitching at the feeling of those goosebumps moving down his neck, across his back, and along his arms.

Pete let the ease of the drive calm him down some, his mind hoping from place to place trying to take all of the things from this morning and remember them – to package them up nicely and deposit them into the room he opened with Tony Stark on the door. He let the lull of Taking Back Sunday and Tony butchering the lyrics relax him back into the seat, the edge of sleepy catching up to him now that he’d used all the adrenaline from earlier. The comfort between them was tangible, thriving in the small space of the Wrangler’s cab. A hand on his leg woke him up, Peter unaware of how long they’d been driving. Looking around, he felt a little confused about the suburban nature of their destination. “This is my house. I make the best breakfast. I assumed you knew what I meant when I said that,” Tony added, his eyes soft, the brown orbs roaming over him like he’d gotten used to in the past couple of days – taking him in.

It turned out to be the best breakfast ever, too. He’d been slightly surprised to see Tony’s place to be on the right side of tidy – the most mess coming from the drafting desk that held all of Tony’s school things. Peter couldn’t claim to be quite as clean and felt a bit of pride unfold in his chest. His instincts were proving right. Soon, Peter watched from a bar stool as Tony prepared a frittata and peach-strawberry smoothies, the two of them sucking on the sugary drinks while the egg dish cooked in the oven. “Where’d you learn how to cook?” Peter asked, his lips puckering with an oncoming brain freeze. “My ma – she can make anything taste good. Said you just needed to put yourself in it and it’ll be amazing. The older I got, the more she divulged her recipes, but she always claimed that was the secret,” Tony pulled the food from the over while he talked, the man obviously comfortable in the confines of the elegant marble counters.

They did the dishes side by side, Peter drying the plates Tony handed him assembly line style – the other man didn’t like to use his dishwasher if he didn’t have to. The comfortability between them made the transition from the kitchen into Tony’s bedroom pretty seamless. Peter honestly couldn’t remember how they got from their perch against the sink where Tony first kissed him to the comfort of the huge California king, the mattress way better than the hand-me-down Queen he sequestered from his last move. The how’s and why’s quickly didn’t matter, the press of Tony’s firm chest against his own becoming overwhelming – there wasn’t any more room for another thought in his brain. The nerve endings of his skin felt like they were on fire – Tony’s hands on him moving with an urgency that spoke of exploration and excitement. His stomach tightened when Tony found a ticklish spot and dug into it, the weight of his body pinning Peter to the bed surprisingly attractive. The giggles slipping from his lips were less than stellar, but he figured Tony didn’t mind – the other man’s laughter matched his own, the sound surrounding them in the quiet of the night.

Peter finally understood what it felt like to have those calloused fingers wrapped around him, Tony settling their hips together when the pass of Peter’s precum dripping dick against the length of his thigh was too much. Watching Tony throw his head back distractedly and let out a broken moan just about brought Pete to his knees – the vulnerability in the action mesmerizing, pulling him in as the seconds passed. The grip of Tony’s hand around them both was tight, the slide made easy by the copious amounts of fluid leaking from Pete’s tip. Each time Tony rubbed against the underside of the head of Peter’s cock, a moan left his lips – the pitch of it needy, even in his own ears. It didn’t take much, the whole morning of build up making it hard for either of them to hold on. Pete tumbled over first, his hands gripping tightly to the other man’s slim hips – fingers digging in enough to bruise. Tony followed over and in the rush of it screamed out Pete’s name – the sound of it burned into the long-term storage of his brain.

The kiss pressed on his lips outside his place about an hour later promised more to come – Tony’s hands lingered a little too long to make it feel like their encounter was anything other than the start of something. Peter leaned against the doorframe of his first-floor apartment, eyes watching with amusement and affection as Tony skipped the last few steps back to his car, the smile he threw over his shoulder at Peter speaking volumes.

----

Seven months later found Peter standing between the stands of Tony’s last home basketball game. Maria Stark is clinging to his arm, the woman just starting to recover from the bad fit of health Tony went back to Italy for all that time ago. Her grip on him is tight, but Peter figured that was out of motherly affection just as much as necessity. She wasn’t there for very long – the woman very busy with the small seaside restaurant she managed and unable to be away for an extended period of time. Their time spent together leading up to Senior Night consisted of home cooked meals, lots of wine, and a mixture of an embarrassed Tony and an over the moon Peter. It seemed as if Maria lived to embarrass her son, the magnitude of his smile in her presence only rivaled when he spent time with Peter. They played several hands of Spades to fill the time between dinner and when Maria would check out for the evening. She’d taken to Peter in a way he’d never experienced before – like the mother he never had, maybe. Her fingers squeezing his forearm had him ducking down, looking at her curiously. “My boy – he’s good, isn’t he?” The pride in her eyes was infectious, Peter feeling the secondary effect of it – his chest clenching from the bittersweet nature of this. Not playing last year lessened his chances of getting drafted in the NBA – if they didn’t play well during the tournament, these could be the last few weeks of Tony’s basketball career.

The many talks they had about the future over the last few weeks consisted of plans with and without the league in mind. The most pleasurable piece for Peter was the fact that Tony seemed to have every intention of factoring him into each of his plans – many of them ending in a joint apartment, in a joint life. “He’s great, Ma. I don’t know anything about basketball, but I’m smart enough to know that he scores baskets and looks good doing it. Tony is – he’s amazing,” Peter gushed, his eyes glazing over at the thought. He felt Maria’s fingers squeeze him again, her lips finding his cheek. “I like you, Peter Parker.” The familiarity of the words made him laugh, his arm wrapping around her. “Thanks, Ma.”

The whole Senior Night ceremony wasn’t really a ceremony – things moved quickly and felt a little rushed, but the look on Tony’s face when he and his mom walked him across the court was priceless. There were many things that could be said about Tony Stark. He liked ketchup on hotdogs but not mustard. When he made macaroni, he preferred to use cream cheese instead of milk to cream the noodles. If he drank too much wine, he snored like a pig – and when he woke up from snoring like said pig, he clung to Peter and complained about a headache for hours. Many things people weren’t privy to, those intimate details sole property of Peter Parker. The rest of the world knew him for his basketball prowess and for the first time since meeting him and watching him excel on the court – Peter understood. This was home – just as much as the lab they shared or the booth they sequestered in the back of Moe’s – the court gave Tony something. He felt himself tear up when Tony took his final bow at the end of the game – the echoed “Stark, Stark, Stark” in the gym louder than Peter could remember it being all season. He let his fist pump in the air – the rush of giving Tony this letting him give into the pointless practices of the sports world.

His eyes were a little glassy when he met him outside the locker room a little while later. Peter could tell tonight was an emotional one. They were on a winning streak and it looked like they’d be heading forward in the tournament. No more games would take place in this gym, though – Tony talked about it most of the week, how important the win tonight would be. When arms wrapped around him and Tony’s face tucked into his shoulder, Peter wasn’t surprised – he simply held him tight and pressed a kiss to the sweaty mess of hair on the side of his head. “You did great, baby,” Peter whispered, the arms that wrapped around his waist tightening at the words, his neck a little wet. The moment didn’t last long – his teammates were there, he needed to give a couple of interviews – but the need for comfort won out and Peter was glad to be there for it, glad to be the one who could provide it for him.

Their relationship over the past few months blossomed quickly. They were pretty inseparable after that first morning together – between the lab and all the early morning or late-night dates, they were together constantly. Tony’s schedule as an athlete was pretty grueling and forced him to be gone for long periods of time – but they made it work. Peter grew to love the sleepy look of Tony’s face when they fell asleep together over FaceTime, or the teasing remarks he’d hear from Nick, Tony’s travel roommate, the next morning when Tony woke up with Peter still on the line. MJ gave him mad shit about how cute they were and still didn’t quite trust Tony, but Pete didn’t care – things were moving well between them, they were working things out about the future, and in less than ten seconds – Tony would be a retired college athlete.

His efforts throughout the game were enormous. Peter got to watch all the games throughout the tournament, the complex blessedly an hour’s drive away – one that Peter made effortlessly in Tony’s Wrangler. He watched his boyfriend score in the double digits each of the last three games, and rank amongst the top three in rebounds and assists, too. They were rolling on a streak and winning without much effort. This last game played much the same until the last five minutes. One of Stanford’s key centers fouled out and completely turned the tide of the game – no matter how good Tony’s efforts were. After scoring 32 points, Peter figured Tony wouldn’t mind going out losing on a performance like that. When time ran out, the notorious “Stark, Stark, Stark” sang out around the gym, despite being dominated by fans that were not there to see Stanford play.

Tony snuck Peter into his hotel room later that night, the man excitable the whole time they were out celebrating and now, even more so – his hands insistent, driving Peter crazy. He bribed Nick with the promise of breakfast the next morning so he and Tony could have the room for the night. His boyfriend was on fire and Peter wanted to take advantage of the happiness of the situation. Maybe if they clung to how good it felt, Tony wouldn’t have to let the sinking feeling of what next settle into his stomach. Peter wanted to replace that with heat, the kind that boiled hot and burned like fire – strong enough to consume them both if they were to let it. Tony’s lips were on his neck, Peter fumbling with the card he’d taken from Tony’s hands after the man tried to get the door open and couldn’t more than a few times. He totally understood now, the fine motor skills in his hands falling apart with each touch of Tony’s mouth to his skin. He let out a triumphant huff when the door clicked open and they fell through it – Tony’s arms wrapping around him tight to keep him upright.

He didn’t waste any time kicking out of his shoes and pulling off his socks, his eyes following Tony, Peter watching as Tony did the same to him – after all the time, it still felt a little funny to be studied that way. Like he was a puzzle that kept having pieces added to it – like if Tony didn’t continually do research, collect data and form new hypotheses, Peter might not continue to exist. His hands moved under Peter’s shirt, fingers exploring the planes of his skin before moving up a little, fiddling with both nipples – satisfied that his touch could still drive Peter mad. Tony raised the shirt not long after that, his hands skimming up the long planes of Peter’s sides until it was up and over his head. His boyfriend didn’t let him touch him yet, Tony pulling his own shirt off after that – their chest coming together when he pressed himself back against Peter. His hands were hot on his skin and overwhelming, Peter struggling to keep up – his own hands wrapped uselessly around Tony’s neck to keep him close.

His feet left the ground a few minutes later, Peter too wrapped up in the kiss to recognize the hands on the back of his thighs or the pressure of Tony picking him up. He pulled away from Tony then, chuckling into the skin of his cheek. “I love you like this – strung out, wanting,” Peter mumbled, his words clinging to Tony’s skin with the humidity collecting around them. His boyfriend’s lips pressed more insistently against his neck, tongue peeking out to wet the skin before his teeth dug in – his hips thrusting down against Pete’s to seek some friction. Their pants and briefs joined their shirts on the floor moments ago, his skin still on fire so much, he didn’t even notice the garments were gone. A moan slipped from his lips, though – the feel of Tony’s cock sliding against his own reminding him where he was, what he was doing, who he was wrapped up with.

Peter’s face pressed into the mattress a couple orgasms later, his fingers grasping the sheets below him in a vice like grip. “Fuck, Tony – I need you. I’m ready, I’m ready.” Peter was rambling, his words mumbled into the skin of his arm, the air, the universe around him. “Fuck, please.” Peter’s muscles were pulled tight under his skin – all of his energy being pulled from him lick after lick, with ever thrust of Tony’s finger, with every scrap of the goatee he’d been growing over the season against his sensitive skin. He felt raw and exposed, completely undone beneath the man who already swallowed his cock down once, then thrust against him until they both came apart together. The man who was worshipping his ass with his tongue – making him fall apart little by little. Peter meant to be the one giving Tony this – to distract him from whatever fall out would come from being done doing the thing he loved the most. It became pretty clear early on that Tony needed this control, though. The tight grip and inability to let Peter do any of the work speaking louder than anything else. Tony couldn’t control what was happening next, but he could control Peter – at least in this context.

When he eventually slipped inside, Peter was up on his knees, his hand fisting his cock in time with the thrust that started off slow and steady and quickly got to a point where Peter couldn’t remember his name, or why the fuck he hadn’t cum yet. Tony’s chest was plastered against Peter’s back, his name a never-ending chant falling from his boyfriend’s lips – each thrust pulling them closer and closer to the edge. The squeeze on his hip told him Tony was about to cum, the man’s grip like a vice, the many bruises on his skin over the past few months a result of this very instance. Peter sped up his hand to time his release with Tony’s. The fact that they were in a hotel room not keeping Tony from shouting, or Peter from grabbing the headboard and rocking it back into his grip hard. Tumbling down into the mattress, Peter felt a sticky-sweaty hand wrap around him, and a kiss being pressed into his head before he let a sudden sleepiness drag him under.

Waking up later, Peter groaned from the crustiness and shook Tony awake. They hobbled into the shower together, sleepily cleaning each other off and stumbling back to bed. They didn’t bother getting dressed and slipped under the covers together, Tony pulling him in close. “I love you, Petey. Thanks for being here. Tonight, and all the other nights. You being here makes all this just a little bit easier.” The words were whispered, his lips forming some of the words against the skin of Peter’s neck more often than actually speaking them. “I love you too, Tony. I wouldn’t have been anywhere else. I don’t want to be anywhere else.” He turned his head enough to press a kiss to Tony’s lips then settled back down, his body relaxing into the warmth of Tony wrapped around him.

----

In the end, Tony didn’t need to end up worrying. He put his name into the draft and signed a contract with the Brooklyn Nets in the third round. Peter got to kiss Tony before the other man got up and accepted his hat – the smile on his face one the rest of the world wouldn’t forget any time soon. The last couple of months in the lab were bittersweet, the concept of Tony having his dreams come true amazing – but their partnership ending a thing neither of them were looking forward to.

It didn’t matter, though – Peter’s work on his thesis had several doctoral offers coming his way – NYU’s Physics department winning him over after showing him just how good their resources were. It didn’t hurt a single bit that he’d been right where Tony was – able to be his one-man cheering squad and that shoulder to lean on when things got to be too much. He didn’t think about what the little bit of fame for Tony would be like, or how the cameras would affect him when the world realized who Peter was to Tony. The only thing that mattered was the man himself and if chasing down this dream was what he wanted, Peter would be there for him.

They jointly presented their research at the Physics symposium a couple days before graduation, the pair playing off each other well – both men so insanely brilliant that they had people at the booth the entire day – many asking questions and asking for business cards. The whole thing was a success and the best possible way to close that chapter of their lives together. He didn’t think coming into this year he’d be ending it with a steady boyfriend a surrogate mother, and a one-way ticket to New York – but crazier things happened every single day.

The selfie they took before walking across the stage at graduation lit up his background when they touched down at the airport, the 18-hour flight long and bumpy – but totally worth it. They were spending the next three weeks in Italy and Peter’s tour guide was a native to the land. His list of places to go grew throughout their flight, all of his reference books filled with scribbles and underlines – Peter so read up on all things Italy, he could probably give the factual tour himself. He couldn’t wait to explore the lands like a native, and sail on Tony’s family ships. The promise of fresh from the sea fish made his mouth water already. Tony leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder and watched while Peter scoured the books, the man pointing out things here and there, adding his own little stories when the time called for it. When he’d fallen asleep, Peter leaned his head against him and kept researching. A text from his Aunt May waited for him, but he ignored it – his brain scrambled from all the traveling and excitement coursing through him. They were finally in Italy and Maria was waiting to take them back to the Stark family home.

Their first night was filled with the best wine Peter could remember tasting. He didn’t think it could get any better, but every vineyard they toured and learned about topped the next. Each place was beautiful and gave a different view of the Italian countryside. Tony’s childhood home was right by the coast, so they were awoken by the sounds of birds and the sun in their eyes bright and early. They travelled inward and toured the wineries – trying all the food and pastries they could while they were at it. For the first week, Peter couldn’t remember what day it was – the wine, pasta, and cheese going straight to his head.

Every time Tony looked at him, Peter fell more in love. Watching the man interact with his family and smiling adoringly at his Nona was stupidly heartwarming. Tony would never be able to keep his cool guy reputation if his teammates saw him interact so easily with these people – the people that meant the most to him. They already gave him mad shit about the way Peter could make Tony melt like ice cream on a hot day. If only they could see the blush that overtook the man’s cheek when Nona gave him a kiss on the cheek.

One of their last days on the island found them alone on the deck of his late Papa’s boat – the ship gently rocking back and forth. They were tangled up on a small blanket, sipping on some of the wine Peter deemed the best out of everything they tried, Tony’s hands running idly through the longer curls on the back of his neck. “This has been fun, right? Getting to know where I’m from?” Tony asked, his hand still moving rhythmically, Peter so relaxed it took him a second to answer the question. “Of course. This has been the most fun I’ve ever had. Probably in my whole life. Just Italy is beautiful. Italy with you – it’s better than I ever could have dreamed. Thank you for bringing me here,” Peter replied, his lips pulled into a soft smile. “I love you, Tony. I love getting to know you, too.”

Tony sat up a little, a nervous look on his face. Quirking his eyebrow, Peter sat up, too – most of his body weight still leaning against Tony. The several glasses of Prosecco they’d been nursing throughout the afternoon made him feel lazy and Tony’s warm chest was like a siren’s song. “Good, I wanted to introduce you to my family – introduce you to more of me. You’re so important to me, Peter. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Honestly, I don’t want to start this next chapter in my life without knowing you’re going to be mine forever – you being in those stands, being there for me – that’s all I want.” Peter watched him fumble around behind his back until he sighed softly, a box in his hand a second later. “Marry me, Pete. Please, make me the happiest man on this earth – be my husband.” He popped open the box where a white jade and sterling silver ring was laying. “Will you?”

Peter could feel how wide open his mouth was, jawing hanging from its hinge. He never questioned the certainty of their future – Tony was it for him. He’d known that from the second he realized just how much of a favor Tony did him that first night they met. Tony cared about him in a way that he’d never felt before – like he was a precious cargo, something to both protect and treasure. They fit and that’s all Peter ever wanted. Marriage hadn’t crossed his mind, but the instant he saw the look on Tony’s face, he knew it was the right thing. The thought of having Tony as his husband unimaginable but so decadently enticing he could do nothing else other than blurt out “of fucking course, Tony.” The other man laughed at him – the sound coming from deep within his chest. The ring slid on easily, the fit perfect – as if Tony would allow for anything else. He brought the ring to his lips and pressed a kiss against it, the feeling of it cool against his skin, the weight of it new and exciting.

They came back sunburnt and happy – the two of them slowly going about docking the boat and making their way towards Maria’s place. When they celebrated later on, Maria pressed a kiss to his cheek and welcomed him to the family – her arms wrapping tightly around him. It felt nice, Peter finally feeling good about his place in the world.

And when Tony wrapped his arms around his waist later that evening, Peter leaned back into him and sighed – the shoe fit, the love was real. The start of forever with Tony was well within reach on the horizon. They were happy – and that’s all that mattered.

[jay-and-dean]

Captive Chapter 1 : Blue Death.

Gifs not mine 

_Dean x Reader_

Summary : 

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

____________________________

Future warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Violence, blood, pain. This is pretty dark actually. Character death. Swearing. Dean being the bad guy. Reader being the villain... Everyone being quite bad.

***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

___________________________

1. Blue Death

            The knife enters the hunter’s flesh in one flowing movement and the tall man looks so surprised for a second. His large hand comes to my shoulder and he looks at me in the eye. Aware of how dangerous he is, even wounded ; I take a step back, taking the blade with me.

 “Sam !” says the British men of letters and I turn toward him with snake’s speed.

He shoots on my direction and I avoid the bullet at the very last moment, but it lodges itself inside the tall hunter’s stomach.

Looking at my attacker -skeptical because he just risked his partner’s life without a hint of hesitation- I wrap my arms around his neck from behind.

“Ketch…” says the bleeding hunter, falling on the ground like a dying wild beast.

I send his gun flying far from us and climb on his back. The men of letters nails dig into my skin while I choke him with all my strength, screaming my lungs out to focus my energy on him. He tries to bang me on the wall behind us but I’m used to pain and I resist, coiled like a constrictor, even with the muffled sound of my rib breaking.

            The lack of oxygen finally makes him weak and he falls on his knees. I scream even louder, compressing his throat more. His hands let go off my arms and he starts shaking.

            The injured hunter tries to get up but fails, groaning and pressing a hand on the open wound I made on his side. The man under me passes out and I let go off him, knowing he’s not dead. My head is spinning from pain and shock. I look at his lifeless form and take my head in my hands.

“Raaah ! FUCK !” I yell, looking around to think.

I kick the unconscious man’s body and hear something break inside him, a bone maybe. My ribs hurt so much I could faint, my heart is racing with rage and fear.

            How did they fucking found me ? I was so careful. Shit ! I’m going to run again, start from scratch once more.

“Fuck you hunters !” I shout, half panicking.

            I take a deep breath and the long hair man seems surprised again. I spit blood and whine, holding my aching chest. Bending painfully I pick my knife and lift it above the man of letters. When he sees me hesitate, the hurt hunter speaks :

“You don’t have to kill us” he says weekly.

“Of course I do…”

“Still… you don’t seem to want it.”

“Shut up ! Fuck you !” I say before putting my knife away.

            I take a big bag and untidily put a few things inside it. The hunter starts to shake, his hands in his own blood, his shirt drenched in thick vital fluid. A knife-deep cut in his side and a bullet a few inches from it.

When I’m about to go through the door, I hear him try to crawl to God knows where, like he needed to do something, anything, even if he’s already doomed. This man is a survivor and I can’t help but admire his will to fight. He crawls toward his gun and I could just leave before he reaches it, but I go to him and take it before he can touch the cold metal.

            I take the bullets out and throw them far from him, giving him the gun back, and he takes it, like that was all he remembers at the doors of death : how to hold a gun. Given his height and weight -I’d say 210 or 220 pounds- and the speed of the blood loss… I say he will be dead in half an hour. There is absolutely no chance anyone finds him here.

            I look at him and he stares at me, like a formidable noble lion looking in the hunter’s eyes. He struggles to breathe, his large and strong body fighting against exhaustion.

But he gives up suddenly, letting his head fall on the wooden ground. One menacing enemy gone, this should be a good thing… I sigh, and take a bottle of medical alcohol I have in my closet.

I kneel beside him and he looks at me with a great confusion behind the agony in his pupils. I press on the wound and he winces, I pour a large amount of alcohol on the cut then on the gun wound and he almost faints.

“If I slow the bleeding and prevent infection, someone may find you before it’s too late” I mutter, hating myself for taking so much risk. “You can’t go after me.”

Before I can find a bandage, he passes out and the door bursts violently.

Another hunter, also tall and strong, is aiming me with his gun, an extraordinary rage burning in his dark green eyes. An old but robust man with a machete and a blond woman in a cop outfit, also aiming a gun at me, follows him.

This is it. This is the end. I lower my hands and stay on my knees, closing my eyes to wait the sound of the bullet that will end me forever.

Finally.

 Dean’s Pov 

 The doctor says Sammy is in a coma, he lost too much blood and even if he wasn’t stabbed on any vital organ, nor shot in his lungs, this is not good. His body started to shut down for good.

But that is when Cas said he couldn’t do anything that I truly panicked. He put his hands on Sam’s wounds and nothing happened. No bright light or miraculous waking.

So here I am, sitting next to my brother, a heavy pain on my stomach, despair on my throat. He seems so little, covered in hoses and machines, strangled by tubes on his nose and on his mouth, needles stinging his pale skin everywhere.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, that was a simple case, that was a simple stab, a simple bullet. Sam Winchester can’t be gone like this. Ketch said we’d be back by Monday…

“Dean, we got the girl” Donna says entering the room, and something hits me. “We don’t know what she is, so we used every protections and spells we know.”

“What if this is why…” I say getting up, thinking hard. “What if Cas inability to heal him is linked to what this bitch is ?”

             I enter the dungeon, clenching my fists. Here she is, tied up to a chair in the middle of the large pentacle, her head down, hair falling on each side of it. Sam’s blood is still covering her and I have to swallow hard not to put a bullet between her eyes right now.

“What are you ?” I growl.

She doesn’t answer, keeping her glare on the floor.

“Oh so you’re not going to answer…”

I lift my arm and punch her face with full force, surprised by the lack of resistance her body opposes me. It’s like she doesn’t have any of that supernatural strength evil creatures usually have.

            She spits blood and clenches her fists. For a second, her weakness surprises me enough to make me waver. But then I see her dark eyes turn blue, an unnatural light blue that remembers me of the monster she is ; so I punch her again, this time in her stomach and she almost faints, coughing and spitting a lot of blood.

             When Ketch talked to us about the return of The Blue Death, I never imagined it had the form of a girl, nor I asked why “Blue” was in her nickname. And I know now. A fucking urban Legend among hunters, the death sentence itself, the monster that only tracks down hunters.

            We tracked her for four months, following a trail of bodies, hunter bodies. Now I wonder how she could have killed so many of them without super strength, because she killed all of them hand-to-hand, with knifes mostly, or just strangling them like she did with Ketch, before shooting and stabbing my brother.

When Ketch woke up, he explained us that she shot Sammy before stabbing him, like a coward, and that she straggled him. They are lucky to be alive. She never left survivors before.

            When he came to us for help to get rid of The Blue Death for good, he said she was hunter greater danger, and I remember smiling, thinking it was probably exaggerated. I believe him now…

            French, German and Italian Men of Letters tried to stop her years ago but she slaughtered most of them, now she’s here to decimate American hunters. I should have listened to him more carefully, Sam and I were reckless and I’m paying the heaviest price for it.

            I’m not doing the same mistake twice, I won’t underestimate her.

            I’m going to break her.

 Reader Pov 

             The pain is unbearable but I’ve known worse, worse than unbearable. If my body wasn’t able to heal a little better and faster than human’s one do, I would have died a hundred times already.

            I think my jaw just cracked, every inch of my face is hurting like crazy, and my broken ribs are now displaced. I can’t breathe properly.

            I should have ran, let this tall long-hair hunter die, run for my life as always… left the country.

           I thought America would be a fresh start, since Men of Letters disappeared here, but it is always the same : BMOL convinces or pays hunters to track me down and my life became Hell again after only six months of my exile.

           I’m used to run, I’m used to loneliness and anonymity. They sentenced me to eternal misery when I was still a child. When they killed my mother, my human mother, to take me. When they tested me, trained me like a slave soldier, when they made me kill so-called monsters.

            The monsters are not always the one you think, and most hunters are dumb, ruthless, fanatical, alcoholic, violent morons. The one beating me right now is no exception, I can smell the booze on him and I can tell by the way he hits me that he is used to violence…

            I just wish he would kill me already.

            The dark is relaxing and I try to concentrate on my broken ribs to fasten their healing, but one of the countless warnings around me seems to have an effect on me, unexpectedly. I’m exhausted and at some point I think I pass out.

            When my eyes open they meet incredibly green ones, highlighted by the red around them. The hunter is squatting in front of me with a stern face.

“What are you ?” he asks again.

Even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t tell him.

I stare back at him and study his face : This motherfucker is beautiful, probably full of himself too, conceited, convinced to be some kind of hero. His jaw is clenched by hate and I wonder what bullshit BMOL brainwashed into this empty suggestible charming head.

“You think you can keep silent, huh ?” he says with a dangerous smile. “You’re messing with the wrong guy, honey.”

With that he stabs my thigh, making me cry out in pain.

“So you have a voice…” he says.

“Fuck you hunter” I whisper as loud as my aching lungs allow, an unintentional smile on my lips.

“You are going to tell me what you are…”

“Or what ? You kill me ?” I laugh sarcastically, coughing blood.

“You don’t fear death” he says. “But you run for months… I say you fear captivity” he rubs his neck. “I won’t kill you, I’ll let you rot in here forever if I have to.”

“I need to pee” I just say, hoping he will finally hit me too much, maybe kill me by accident, put me out of my misery.

He takes my face in his big hand, hurting my already broken face, squeezing so hard my heart races almost to the point of heart attack.

“You still think this is funny, bitch.”

 Dean’s Pov

             It’s been three days and she barely flinched.

Exorcism didn’t work, iron and silver neither. Salt just burned one of her wound, like it would have on any human. She opened her mouth to drink holy water, and no spell worked.

I arranged the dungeon into a cell, to be sure she understands she’s here for good, I need her to break. An iron collar keeps her on a chain-leach, she can reach a chamber pot and lay on the ground, that’s all.

           When I enter the room, she’s sitting on a corner, shaking and holding her ribs ; she hasn’t seen me this time. I stare silently at her : she almost looks like a normal girl, dealing with the most extreme pain and despair. She winces lightly, trying to cover the cut on her leg with a piece of fabric, obviously coming from her shirt. She’s different when she knows I’m here, : no cocky expression on her face now, only exhaustion and a hint of sadness.

“What are you ?” I ask, like everyday, making her jump this time.

“Hungry” she says with that smirk that makes me punch her.

“What do you think this is ? A luxury hotel ?”

“Well if you want to keep me alive, food is not optional” she smiles despite the cuts on her lips.

            I throw her a piece of bread and she looks at it, then at me.

“Not hungry” she says with scorn.

Rage makes me clench my fists. She’s manipulating me, confirming I don’t want her dead, that I need her alive, showing me how strong and determined she is by not eating what I brought her after three days of fast.

           I crouch down and take her hair in my fist, making her look at me.

“Listen to me, whatever you did to my brother, I’m gonna undo it, and you’re gonna die…” I start but a poorly hidden surprised expression on her face forces a pause.

“The tall guy is your brother ?” she asks.

“You already know that” I spit. “You aimed at us directly.”

“No” she simply says.

I search her eyes and something makes me wonder, something about her eyes.

“Yes you did.”

“I don’t even know who you are” she says.

She’s manipulating me again. I bash her head on the wall forgetting to restrain as the image of my dying little brother hits me in the guts, and I yell :

“YOU TRACKED MY BROTHER !”

She lifts her hand on her head and looks at her fingers, they’re soaked with blood. When she sighs, I wonder. That woman is so different from what I thought The Blue Death would be.

“Are you the Winchesters ?” she asks like it just hit her.

“You already know that…”

“Shit… Obviously” she says with a sour smile.

“What does that mean ?” I say, confused by her reaction.

“That I’m so fucking unlucky… Listen, I’m sorry for your brother” she says and I get up to hold back my fists because I know I could kill her right now.

I hate hearing her talking about him.

“He needs my blood” she whispers.

“What ?”

“Give him a few drops of my blood, it usually helps…” she murmurs, her head falling slowly against the wall as exhaustion hits her, her eyes slightly rolling inside her skull.

“Is it a trap ?” I ask with something childish in my hoarse voice.

“No…” she grumbles, letting her whole body coil on itself on the floor.

            Her head doesn’t stop bleeding. I’m afraid that punch was one too many. But I don’t have time to worry about her. I take a needle and jab her arm. Maybe she lied, I can’t take the risk to poison my brother. So I touch her bleeding forehead and carefully lift my finger to my lips, letting my tongue taste the metallic taste of her blood.

It’s the first time I touch her for anything else than hitting her, she flinches slightly and passes out. She’s actually pretty and I wonder what kind of monster can look so vulnerable when she stops acting so tough.

Her blood tastes so much like human blood, except something warm suddenly roams my body : Like a hug from a friend or a shot of the best whiskey. I suddenly feel like I had slept better last night and I’m less hungry and tense. My wounds don’t really heal, they just hurt a little less.

            I look at her now unconscious form in disbelief. Who is she ?

  Reader’s Pov

              I’m so cold my skin hurts, and I’m so thirsty my lips bleed.

            Fever.

            I knew this would happen, my wounds are infected and this is really bad. I haven’t ate for four days. I know I can survive a little longer than other people can.

Eight days without food and water, according to The Men of Letters. Fifteen days with only water, 140 degrees for a whole day, -31 for a whole night. Six days without sleeping, twice more volts than a human… I remember all their measurements. How could I forget ?

            But this is too much, and one of those warnings is still holding my body down. I shiver and try to get up to see if I can stand. I can’t. I fall heavily on the floor and swear under my breath, on the verge of tears. This is fucking unfair. Sometimes I just wish I would meet my father, know who he is, why he did that to my mother, to me…

             I lost track of time, but what I know is Dean Winchester never left me so long. Maybe he is never coming back. My blood must have helped his brother and now he’ll let me here to rot.

I start to panic, breathing quickly, I feel pure, painful fear hit my guts. I don’t even know where I am and I’m going to die slowly and alone in the middle of nowhere : my own worst nightmare, just because I couldn’t bear Sam Winchester to go through it. Shit.

            Please please please, come back. Hit me all you want, torture me, kill me. Just don’t forsake me like everyone did.

            The bread is rotting on the floor and I watch it with held back tears in my eyes. Cramps are tearing my muscles up, but I stopped reacting to them because there is no strength left to this kind of thing, I’m focused on breathing.

            The door opens suddenly. A young boy enters, a phone on his hand.

“She’s alive, Dean” he says looking at you with a sudden deeply pained expression.

“Good” says the voice in the phone. “Give her a glass of water, and something to eat. Don’t let her reach you, you hear me Jack ? Never.”

“Dean, something’s wrong, she’s shaking and sweating… I think she’s ill.”

“What ?”

“Dean… Are you sure she’s a monster ? She looks… I think she’s dying.”

“I’m coming back. Don’t get near her, Jack. You hear me ? Stay away, she’s dangerous. I’ll be there before noon.”

           The young man hangs up and sits on the floor. I can’t move, I can’t lift my head or talk to him.

“You shouldn’t have hurt Sam” he says.

I sigh.

“Are you ill ? How do you feel ?”

“Fever” I just whisper.

“What are you ?” he asks with an innocent voice.

And, in my fever disarray, I finally answer.

“I don’t know.”

             When I open my eyes, the light hurts me bad. A hand is on my head.

“She’s dying of infection, Dean” a familiar voice says.

“A bullet between her eyes and we put her out of her misery. End of the story” I hear the almost comforting voice of Dean answer.

Honestly I don’t have enough energy to care what they decide.

“She didn’t finish me off Dean, she even tried to heal me…”

“What ? Are you crazy ? Sam ! I just spent a week watching you slowly die after she stabbed and shot you ! Now what ? You want me to feel sorry for that thing ?”

“She didn’t shoot me…” Sam says pushing my hair to see the wound on my forehead.

“YES SHE DID !” Dean yells.

“Ketch shot me… How could you be so cruel Dean !” he changes subject. “Look at her ! This is torture and pure cruelty, we are not this kind of person Dean !”

“What ! I can’t…” his brother answers with so much anger in his voice I almost can see his pissed face in my head.

            Then there is only flashes.

Water in my mouth.

Water on my wounds.

The smell of alcohol.

Jack’s voice asking Sam if I’m a monster.

Sam answering he’s not so sure about that.

The cold easing.

The pain easing.

Dark then light.

Then dark.

Sam’s voice trying to catch my attention.

Dean yelling.

The smell of soup.

And Dean yelling again.

  Dean’s Pov

             Sam is still barely talking to me and I just can’t get over how pissed I am.

            With Sam taking care of the monster that almost killed him for good, Jack asking how she’s doing, Cas too, Donna calling Sam to talk about her… It’s like I was the monster. And If Bobby wasn’t there to suggest cutting her throat for good, I would feel like I was the one loosing my damn mind.

            My phone rings and I sigh, putting my glass on the table. I look at the name on the screen : Ketch.

Until now, I never answered his calls, because I was too busy trying to save my brother, but now I have questions to ask him.

“Ketch”

“Dean. I was starting to think she got you too. How is Sam ?”

“Better. He’ll need time to fully heal, but he woke up” I say looking at my glass.

“Oh… I see. And the girl ? Did you burn the body already ? I’m going to need a proof of her death” he says with a hint of badly hidden anxiety.

“She’s not dead. Sam insists in keeping…”

“WHAT !” he cuts me, making me jump and widen my eyes. “Dean you have to kill her right now. Listen carefully : You’re in danger, your brother is in danger…”

“I don’t know Ketch, maybe I have more questions to ask her, like did she really shoot Sam ? Because he says you did…” I grunt.

“Don’t be a fool. This creature is the most clever, dangerous thing I’ve seen. She’s messing with your heads. You have to kill her before she makes you lay into each other.”

I lower my eyes, thinking. At this moment Sam comes out of the donjon and looks in my direction. He has a tray in his hands and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right” I say. “I’ll have to convince Sam.”

“Screw convincing, you have to defend your family” he states.

I frown. Ketch doesn’t care about family at all, or about us for that matters. Why is he so impatient to see her dead. I mean, he lost a lot of colleagues from her hands but…

I just can’t think straight lately.

            A muffled sound catches my attention. Sitting on my bed, I listen carefully. What if she escaped ? Another sound. The clock says 4am.

            I get up and take the gun under my pillow, walking silently toward the dungeon. The door’s not perfectly closed, I push it with precaution and prepare to shoot her.

            She’s lying on the floor, bloody.

Ketch is sitting on her, beating her with full force. Her dirty clothes are ripped open, he carved something, an enochian symbol, on her chest. For a second I can’t move.

           Her head turns toward me and she sees me but doesn’t react, obediently waiting for death. Her eyes trigger something in me, and it’s like time was in slow motion. I lift my gun and her hands open on the side of her body as Ketch hits her again. He lifts his knife above her heart and mutters “I win. We win, Y/n.”

            I shoot him in the back. Twice. Thrice.

           His body falls on hers, shaking an instant and freezing completely. She closes her eyes, a tear rolling on her bruised face.

           Sam comes running, alerted by gunshots, followed by Jack. I just don’t move, not knowing what to do.

           My brother runs to her, kneels, and pushes Ketch’s corps aside. Looking at him I squeeze my gun and hear his voice saying she’ll rise us up against one another. Then I look at her bloody bruised form in Sam’s arm and I wonder how a girl so pretty and cute can attract so much violent hate.

           Sam takes his t-shirt off to cover her naked chest and the fabric becomes bloody. He looks at me.

“What happened ?” he asks, holding her.

“He was about to kill her” I just say muddled, looking at her pained face.

She clings to Sam, crying silently and, all of a sudden, that leash I tied around her neck seems so tight, I can almost feel it harm my own flesh.

***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx

(Tags are open)

[ccwastaken]

I. Hate. This. Venue.

Listen okay, I've played in a lot of places, but never before have I been somewhere that puts only sparkling water in the dressing rooms which, by the way, have no air conditioning, AND puts the stuff in the WATER COOLERS. What kind of HELLSCAPE did Rudy have us play in?!

It's bad enough I have to watch Scarlett rip through entire boxes of la croix on a weekly basis...

I would say the upside to this is that the leather couch in my dressing room is comfy, but considering I'm drenched in sweat and currently shirtless, it's not. I groan and peel myself off the couch (probably losing skin in the process) and slip my shirt back on. It's probably cooler outside, I reckon, so I leave the dressing room.

"Phew." Much cooler. Better.

"Well if it isn't the pinna per hamburgers." A smooth, Italian accented voice interrupts my thoughts. I grin.

"Carlo?" I move off the door and look over at him.

"It's been a while." He smirks at me. "How has it been?"

I can't help but smile back. The guy has an infectious smile, y'know? "I'm good," I stuff my hands into my pockets. "How's Koilee?"

"Good," he leans against the wall beside me. Our arms are almost touching. "How about Rita?"

"Same old same old," I smirk at him. "Still dragging me to movies at every opportunity."

"And the little one?"

"Tina?" I chuckle a bit. "Still a ball of energy. Rita was telling her off for drawing on the walls when I left."

Carlo laughs. "Sounds like my goddaughter." He murmurs softly. Our eyes meet, just for a few moments, and I feel my stomach lurch. Its always done that, since I was a teen. Carlo's eyes...they're mesmerising.

"Would you want kids, gioso?" I ask randomly. He smiles a bit at the nickname.

"...Maybe," he murmurs. "But I don't know if I could."

I arch a brow. "Whaddya mean?" I lean my arm against the wall to face him better.

He shrugs, and doesn't say anything more. I frown.

"Gioso?"

"It's nothing, Marty," he looks at me with those gorgeous green eyes. "I'm just- thinking."

"You can actually do that?" I ask, feigning shock. "I had no idea you were capable of thought!"

He laughs, a sweet noise that makes him sound so...handsome. That's the only word I can think of to describe it. Making him laugh has always made me feel good.

"Seriously though-" he looks at me as I lean off the wall, standing in front of him. "You looked upset for a second there- you alright?"

He looks at me and sighs. "I don't think my partner could have a child." he says softly. I frown.

"You have a girlfriend?" I ask, surprised. He's never mentioned a partner before. I would've heard about her before, right?

"Marty..." When- when did his face get so close to mine? I never even noticed it, why's he getting so cl-

"M-MPHH-!"

OH.

HE'S KISSING ME.

THAT'S WHY HE GOT SO CLOSE.

My entire body jolts, skin breaking out in goosebumps. Part of me is screaming to get this crazy Italian off of me, but it's mostly unheard by my body naturally leaning into the kiss. Our lips knead together, softly at first, like Carlo is testing the waters, then rougher.

He falls roughly against the wall, pulling me with him by my hips. My hand is splayed out against the wall beside his face, or at least I think so. I'm too scared to open my eyes. My other hand is gripping his shirt tightly, whether out of panicky fear or neediness I'm not sure.

I feel one of his hands move off my hip and onto my shoulder. I'm pulled closer against him, our bodies touching. The hand on my shoulder has moved, and now it's gripping the back of my shirt.

My senses are going crazy. Carlo's kisses are rough and frantic, like he knows he's on borrowed time. I can smell him too. Strong Italian spices and ice cream. It's a weird smell- it makes me oddly hungry.

His head tilts up slightly, and I feel his tongue run along my lips. Without thinking I open my mouth for him.

His tongue is just as frantic, if not more. He tastes of oregano and something sugary. I fight against his tongue weakly, but I'm subdued pretty quickly. His hands move back to my hips and he hugs me against him. I shiver wherever I'm touched. His kisses and his touching is getting slower and more gentle, and I panic. He's going to move away from me- I don't know why but I don't want this kiss to end. I would rather die than stop kissing Carlo Romano.

Unfortunately, Carlo Romano seems to be uninterested in that idea, as he pushes me away from him. His cheeks are redder than Scarlett's hair and he's shaking. He slowly pulls his hands away from me and relaxes against the wall, panting for air. I'm out of breath too, and my face feels like it's on fire.

"Wh-" what am I even supposed to SAY to that?! My best friend just- kissed me! And I strangely enjoyed it- but still! He kissed me!

"That's why I couldn't have children." He murmurs in between pants. I stare at him.

"Bu-" I don't know what to say to him. "I'm- I'm not- y'know-"

"Gay?" He finishes for me. I nod.

"Yeah that. I'm straight-" of course I'm straight! I have a girlfriend, and a daughter! I shouldn't be kissing gu- I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND. I can't help but feel guilty. I've never kissed Rita like that- with so much intensity.

She'll probably be so mad if she finds out...

"Marty?" Carlo has stood up. He gently grabs my hand and I tense.

"I don't- I don't like you that way," I can't even bring myself to look at him. It feels like I'm breaking his heart. "I'm sorry." I pull my hand away from his.

He's silent, then simply nods. "...I understand."

I don't say a word, I just go back into my stuffy dressing room and collapse on the couch. My brain is a whirlwind of thoughts.

"He kissed me. Why would he kiss me? He's my best friend- we've known each other since we were in highschool! Does- does he like me...?" I hear a sigh outside the dressing room and footsteps. "Of course he likes me, why else would he kiss me?" I screw my eyes shut in frustration. "Rita will be so mad- how could I do that to her?! Not to mention poor Tina-" I stare up at the stains on the ceiling.

"He's probably drunk, that's why he did it." I think. Yeah- yeah! That's probably it! After all, the dressing room has a mini fridge in it, packed with sparkling water, soda and some cheap booze. I've only touched the soda but...some alcohol sounds great by now. I sit up slowly and walk over to the mini fridge. Yep. A shelf full of cans of some cheap stuff you'd only buy if you were a stupid dumb teen with a fake ID. Or Rudy.

I grab one, crack it open, and take a swig. "Eugh." Yeah I think that sums it up.

Thirty minutes, out of stress and thoughts that won't leave me be, I've polished off five cans, and I'm halfway through my sixth. So I'm more than tipsy when there's a knock on my door.

"Marty?" SHIT IT'S CLOVER FUCK OH NO NO NO I'M TRYING TO HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS HERE I DON'T WANT YOU HERE DARLING SISTER NOT NOW-

"Uh. Yeah?"

"Rudy and Scarlet said we can leave. Get your stuff."

"Sure." SHIT FUCK NO NO FUCK AAAAAA-

I climb to my feet, and promptly stumble back into the wall. "Oof-" definitely drank too much. And I can still taste Carlo in my mouth. Great. Hurriedly, I put my jacket on and clean up my hair. It might be enough to give the illusion that I'm sober. I walk out of the changing room holding my guitar case and look at Clover.

She looks tired, and hopefully not in the mood for talking. She looks me over and frowns. "You doing okay?" She asks. Fuck.

"Yeah yeah- fine...'m just tired."

Clover frowns again, then shrugs and walks past me. "C'mon." She says simply. Okay, that went fine. She's not suspicious at all.

I follow her to the parking lot, just in time to see Scarlett wave at us through the window of her red pick-up before driving off. Leaving me with Clover and her green sedan. I toss my guitar case into the back seat and climb into the front. Clover revs up the engine and we begin the longest, most awkward drive of my life.

"Did you see the Romano Quartet were there?" Clover asks. I suddenly really wish the passenger side door wasn't locked.

"Huh? Yeah." I decide not to mention Carlo.

"Yeah, Carlo came by my dressing room. He seemed bothered about something so I mostly talked to Bruna," she glances at me. "Do you know what was bothering him?"

"Me? No. Why would I?"

"Well you're his best friend." She says. "Did you even talk to him?"

"No." I really, really don't want to talk right now.

"Why not?" She looks at me again, confused. "You guys haven't seen each other since..."

"Since you got your job at the sushi place." I finish, my tone firmer than I wanted it to be. Clover stops at a red light and looks me over.

"Marty- what's wrong?" She asks. I don't answer, just stare out the window. "Bro?"

"It's nothing." I mutter to her. She doesn't say anything, just starts driving again. The world seems to shake around me and I close my eyes tightly. Fucking booze- why did I drink so much?

The car comes to a halt outside me and Rita's house. I glance at Clover, then climb out. I hesitate. "Get home safe, okay sis?" I say before closing the door. I grab my guitar from the backseat, then walk up the garden path. My head is swimming and walking in a straight line feels impossible.

I fumble with my keys until the door magically opens and stumble inside, steadying myself as the world turns. Ugh- why did I have to drink so much...?

"Marty?" I look up in surprise at Rita, poking her head out of the living room doorway. She grins at me. "How was the show?"

"It- it was fine." I completely forgot I'd been at a show. All I remember is being shoved against a wall and kissed like it was the end of the world. "Venue was weird but- that's about it." I walk slowly towards the stairs, past Rita.

"Are you okay?" She asks. I nod and brave the first few steps.

"Yeah just- tired."

"...are you drunk?" I look over at her. Damn- guess my shaky walking threw me off.

"Rudy dared me to drink a whole bunch." I lie. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"And you went with it?"

"I got $20." I say with a forced smirk. "Worth it."

Rita smiles at me a small bit. "Go get some rest, you big idiot."

I nod and slowly and carefully make my way up the stairs. I walk down the hall past Tina's room and into me and Rita's bedroom. I pull off my jacket and flop onto the bed. I shut my eyes and sigh, just processing everything that happened. "I have to tell Rita." I think guiltily. I roll over onto my side and curl up into a ball, trying to relax enough to sleep.

My mouth still tastes of fucking oregano.

[graequeen]

La Mia Ragazza Rockey Chapter 4

"Well that one was a no…" I said to myself as I crossed out the tutor position off of my list. It had been a week since I emailed my resume to them, and I had only received a response back from them earlier today. It was a formal response, or as formal as it could be, as it questioned the nerve I had applying to a job I didn't qualify for. They ended up hiring a college student a few days earlier, and had simply forgotten to notify the other applicants. 

          I've been running between job interviews, and the only thing I've accomplished was a well deserved work out. After all of the food and booze I've consumed over the past few weeks, I would still need to continue walking for another couple of miles. 

          At the current moment, I was sitting outside a Dunkin Donuts, enjoying my third cup of Iceed Coffee, which I knew I was going to regret later. My interview list had gotten shorter, with only two interviews left; both of which were at the mall. 

          "I thought I've past that point in my life where I would need to find work at a mall?" I asked myself depressingly. I figured I would be at a different part of my life at this age. The fact that I was currently considering working at the GAP, meant that I had hit a new low in my life. But money was money, and I needed a lot of it. 

          I felt my phone vibrate in my pant suit pocket; my short break was over. In order to make it to my next interview, I would need to walk 45 minutes. Thankfully I was wearing something comfortable: a dark grey pant suit with a pink blouse. I had on flats, and my hair was let loose into large curls. When this was done, I am going to buy Tony the biggest bottle of wine.

          I got up, and began making my way down Broad St. For the first few minutes, I remained focused. By the time I made it to the next block, I got distracted. I began looking through shop windows, and began to buy small snacks. I'm such a mess…

          As I crossed to the next block, I noticed a small child walking by himself. He had on a private school uniform: navy blue pants, grey jacket, white button up shirt with a navy blue bowtie. His reddish-brown hair was disheveled, as if he had just woke up. But it was his face that concerned me. His face had lost all color, and there was a blank expression in his eyes. There seemed to be something wet covering most of his head, and the top half of his uniform. It was as if something was poured over him. 

          'Was he being bullied?' I asked myself. The thought alone triggered back a flood of painful memories. By the end of the day, I was going to end up drunk and binge eating again. 'FUCKING GREAT!'

          This kid was gaining the attention of everyone around him. Some were concerned, but for the most part, they kept to themselves. Though I knew I had to go to the next interview, I couldn't help but follow him. I wanted to make sure he was ok.

          Once he hit the corner of the street, he turned to his right, and continued walking. It was a quiet street; not many shops, other than one pizzeria. I continued following him, making sure nothing happened to him. 'But how long can I follow this kid for…?'

          I began walking right next to him, hoping he would notice my presence. But I quickly realized I could have worn a space suit clown outfit; I was never going to get noticed by this kid. 

          "Hey kid, are you ok?" I asked softly. I guess I startled him, because he stopped and turned to stare at me with wide eyes. Before he could answer me, we were interrupted by a small group of boys. 

          "There goes the little bastard immigrant!" A boy yelled from behind us. There were four of them, looking as if they were in their last year of middle school. They were the definition of pretty boy, rich kids that ran their school. 

          The look on the other boy never went away; in fact, it looked like it got worse. His attention turned to his abusers. He began to shake at the sight of them. A large knot began forming at the bottom of my stomach. 

          The main bully began to waltz over to us; he didn't even bother looking at me. He figured I was not going to do anything. He was a brunette pretty boy, who came to my shoulders. There was an arrogant, cocky manner in the way he walked; it bothered the shit out of me. 

          "Who the fuck do you kids think you are?" I asked, stepping in front of the small child. The other boy looked at me, as if just realizing I was there the whole time. 

          "Move bitch!" The main kid said as he attempted to push me out of the way. Without thinking I grabbed his arm, twisted it, and pushed him back to his group. Apparently I used too much force, cause there were tears in his eyes. The other three boys had a look of fear as they saw their ringleader reduced to tears.

          "They don't make bullies the same way anymore, huh?" I asked out loud. "Why don't you punk ass kids get out of here before I show you some old school bullying." The group of kids looked at each other, back to me, before turning around. 

         "This isn't over tomato-face little bitch!" The ringleader said, before leaving with his cronies. They raced towards the end of the street before jumping into a black town car. I didn't get a chance to write down the license plate.   

          "I don't need your damn help!" The boy behind me grunted angrily with a heavy Italian accent. I turned around with a weird, annoyed face. I was not going to let this brat talk to me like that after I saved him.

          "Look here kid, I don't give a flying rat's ass if you asked for help, or not. I'm not going to let anyone get bullied in front of me." I said as I crossed my arms, giving him my best adult look. 

          "Wipe that look off your face grandma! I could've handled my own! I don't need help from other bullies!" He said as he attempted to walk away from me. I should've just left it as us, but for some reason, I couldn't help but interfere more. 

          "Look here you piece of slimy poop!" I said, grabbing the kid on the shoulder and redirecting him to a small table outside the pizzeria. Before he had a chance to protest, I forced him to sit. I looked at him eye to eye, making sure he understood how serious I was. 

          "I never said I was a bully...I just know how to deal with them." My voice began to shake a little as I repressed violent memories. "I just know how bullies work." 

          I grabbed a few napkins off of my small handbag, and drenched it with some water from my water bottle. I carefully began to wipe his face, trying to be as gentle as possible. He was clearly not happy about me touching him. His eyes showed a huge distrust in me, and if I was not careful of what I did or said, I'd lose him. 

          "One time, my bully kept me inside the girl's bathroom for the entire day. She kept beating my ass, and dunking my head into the toilet. I swear to this day, I cannot pass a public bathroom without feeling like there is still shit and piss in my hair. I think I got all of it out…"

          He laughed for a split second, before returning to a serious face. I broke through somehow, and I needed to make sure I kept it up. 

          After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "H-how old were you?" 

          "I was 16." I admitted in defeat. "My name is Jaz, but you can call me Rockey." I said, extending my hand. He took it with his after much hesitation. 

          "My name is Matteo." he said. 

[ain-t-bovvered]

14x13 (300th) Commentary

Special episode where a bunch of tired and caffeinated Europeans ( plus a sleepy American) scream together, and then die and try to get on with their day ( lol AS IF)

Hello and welcome:

@purpleskiesandcherrypies  (Nat)

@dean-winchesters-bacon  (Kat)

@waywardbaby  (Zee)

@ain-t-bovvered  (Giu)

1 2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

“Dad’s on a hunting trip- 

[shuts laptop]

Giu: It’s already a no from me

uuugh ok [opens laptop]

“-and he hasn’t been home in a few days “

Zee: That’s when I fell in love

Kat : I fell in love at “easy tiger”

Nat: He looks like a demon

Giu: he does

sign under the register: your baby daddy sitting in jail? Sell your gold and get bail. 

wow.

S: we are looking for the good stuff.

me searching for men

Kat : I need that wad of money, And the man attached to it

Giu: SAM

Zee : So done

Nat: Dean's done

Kat : That was so Jared lol

D.”No you didn’t”

Kat: Oh shit Dean. All sexy business

Giu: They not happy

Kat : FIRE

Giu: NOT THE HAIR NOT THE HAIR

[pauses video] TUMMY! [presses play again]

Giu: HE’S A BIG BOY

Zee : Turn his back to dean?

Nat&Kat: They always talk too much

Nat: he stole my line

Nat: PLAGIARISM

Nat: don't put that in

Giu: I’m gonna put that in

Nat: no

The smoke coming out the gun tho. I love that gun.

Zee : Put that down dean

Giu: Dean don’t touch things

In what goddamn dystopian fantasy a theater in 2019 show Beetlejuice? because I wanna live there.

Giu: I want that jacket. Doesn’t it look like the family business jacket?

Zee : I want that car,with everything in it

Giu: ...AND ON IT

Nat: I want that man

Giu: lol it’s like the Winchesters are some sort of the mean girls of town. 

The Campbell brothers are scary. They have two shotguns and a strange silver blade. 

I hear the tall one hair's insured for $. 

I hear the other one has a tinder account. His favorite music can be heard from miles before coming into town.

One time, they met god. And he stayed at their house. One time, they killed Hitler. It was awesome.

Kat : I WANT THE MEN

-” The Campbell brothers “  [sobs]

D:”Make it double”

Oh look the Family Business stuff again

S:” John Wayne Gacy cigar box” 

uh that’s not good. 

“Jack and Cass are out with Jules and her crew. When they’re back they can help us cataloging “ [already excited] 

D:” aWeSoME”

- “Where did they even came from? them or their weird sidekick with the trench coat” 

I love how before the boy Eliot talked about hearing stuff from the trunk of the car and I did not even bat an eye, because.....yeah...probably happened more than once.

Giu&Kat: Dumb bambi look

- Max:” It doesn’t mean they kidnapped bigfoot or whatever “

that could have happened too .

How did I miss all this gay vibes between the girls before?

Giu: anyway that is unrealistic, those girls would be drooling after those two.

Nat: Nah, they're too old for them

me at myself editing the commentary: they lesbian, bitch .

Nat: Max is trouble, isn't she

Kat: Don’t touch my baby’s car teen bitch

Zee : Why is sam so hot here?

Nat: BABY

- D;” No,no, no, no”

Zee : Oh the bitch did

Giu: THEY DED

Giu: DON T MOVE YESSIR

-S *thinks of the kids*

D: “Swear to God if anything happens to that car-” *thinks murder*

Giu: Meanwhile dean is having panic attacks

Nat&Giu&Kat: I don't wanna die. lol

Giu: TRIPLE PLAGIARISM

Kat: Stop Omg

Nat: We should stop

Zee : Look at those puppy eyes

- “So you want me to give you an underage girl’s address?” 

Nat: hahahahahahhahahahahaha i like that woman

D:”Marta, how’s that grandson of yours?”

“if you could help us out I would, I would really appreciate it”

“Please”

Zee : I’d melt

Kat: THAT TAP

Nat: I mean...helloooooo

Giu: There goes her values

Nat: I would tell him everything and more

Zee : Giuls the hand gif. Please and thank you

- you want my address too?

Kat: He’s putting the moves

Kat: Their lips are extra pink

-Yeah but like...I would have melt with Sam too honestly.

SKIP DAY!  aaaah the memories, we had skip days once a month.

Giu: OH NO

Zee : They dumb

Giu: i wouldn’t touch that creepy fuck teddy bears

Giu: can I slap some sense in those bitches

Giu: GACY FUCK NO

Nat: Baby, please tell me you're not hurt

Kat: BABY BABY

D: “ FBI everybody out” 

me : ....arrest me.

Giu: Sam: no fuck clown

Kat: Serial killer clown

Nat: Sammy, I think you need to get away

Kat: Best and worst thing ever

- D:” ‘Cause you love serial killers but you hate clowns” 

eh same .

Zee : look how happy he is

D:” Sam....today”

Kat: HURRRY UP SAMMEH

D: “....Hey! “

Nat: Dean Bean

Kat: Adorable bean

Zee: We’re damn good at why we do

Nat: They're going all dad on them

Kat: It’s hot

- S:” You sure don’t wanna call Mom here? or Cass?”

 D:” No because if it works , great, if not, why get their hopes up?”

Zee : Hello

Nat: JOHN

Kat: SHIT SHIT. SHIT Kicking their asses lol

Giu: My eyes are sweating

Nat: I got Negan vibes lol

? : “Don’t you move” 

[chills]

Zee : That’s another Daddy

Giu: HE LOOKS GOOD

J: “What in the hell”

J: “Sammy, aren’t you supposed to be in Palo Alto?”

Nat: Palo Alto. Oh god.

Giu: Good god [sobs]

J: “What happened to you?”  when did you stretch like that

Nat: It's 2003

Kat: It’s very difficult

J:”You saved the world?”

Zee : More than once

Giu: We died....more than once

Zee : Look at that precious face

D:”I think he’d be real happy to know you are finally here”

- Glad they mentioned Henry, I miss him.

S:” We are legacies because of you”

J.” I just wish that I had been there to see it”

Nat: Awww the look on Sammy

Nat: It fucking breaks my heart alright

D:”Non of this would have happened without you”

J:” It’s good, it’s fine. I went out taking out yellow eyes. That was the point. Get the thing that killed Mom”

Giu: im not ready for what.’s coming

Zee : Me neither

Kat: So much sobbing

Nat: What are you talking about. I'm not ready for the whole damn episode

Giu: STOP WITH THE MUSIC

Zee : Brace yourselves

- J [desperately softly]:” ...Mary?”

Giu: OH NO FUCKING JDM

Nat: Oh god NO

Zee : Oh fuck you

Giu: FUCK MY LIFE. FREAKING ACTING SKILLS.

Nat: FUCK OFF

Zee : IM SCREAMING HERE

Nat: THE BOYS...lol

D:” I’m freaking out”

No Dean, I’m freaking out. And I already know, looking at Sam face, what’s coming.

Nat: "I wanted this man"

D:” I wanted this since I was 4 years old”

I CAN T

Zee: One family dinner

Nat: NO DEAN BEAN PLEASE Sammy is right

Kat: He is but it hurts. So much

Nat: TAKE A KNIFE AND STAB ME

oH....Sammy and Daddy time. Can I skip?

Look at John fucking face!! he’s already so proud.

S:” Dean and I tried to make that once” [nervous laughter]

[John’s face falls] 

Zee : Here come regrets

J:”i...I remember “

Sam’s like...”you do?”

J: “ I screwed up with you a lot, didn’t I?”

The noise and expression and breathing Jared choose to made here is worth more than any words

Nat: GOD, SAM YOU PRECIOUS BEAN

S:” no, that’s okay”

J:”No, it’s not”

[me bathing into the holy light of jesus] yeeeees thank you 

Sam looks so uncomfortable.

J: “You didn’t have a problem talking about it before you left” 

ooooh John is trying so hard tho.

S: “..Dad...” [pauses like he can’t believe he can say that again]

me hitting myself : stop doing this to yourself bitch.

S: “ yeah...you know what? you did some messed up things”

S: “When I think about you....and I think about you a lot..[voice cracks]”

S:”I think about you on the floor of that hospital. And I think about how I never got to say goodbye”

Giu: fuck NOPE I’M OUT

Kat: *drags you back*

Giu: *fights it*

Zee: I’ll tie you down bitch just watch

Kat: I can’t i can’t I can’t

Giu: JARED STOP

Nat: FUCK JARED WHY ARE YOU SO GOOD

Nat: JARED STAHP

Kat: JARED IS INCREDIBLE

J: “Sam....[touches him]”

S: [gets almost scared when John touches him]

and now a change of camera so you can see more hurt

Nat: FUCK THIS I'M GOING OUT WITH YOU GIULS

Kat: I’ll tie you down

Zee: Can this fucking music just stop

Giu: CAN SOMEONE JUST GIVE ME MERCY? it’s 8:40am it’s too early for this

Kat: FUCK YOU JARED PADALECKI

Giu: STOP CRYIG

Giu: ahahahaahahhahahahaahah imma have a heart attack

Nat: SHIT NO FUCK THIS

Giu: Im forgetting english and spelling

J: “Son...I am so sorry”

Zee: That’s enough

Nat: YOU FOUGHT FOR US THAT'S ENOUGH

Giu: CLOSURE

Nat: what's english i'll start to groan in german soon

Zee: I’ll swear in Greek

Giu: I’m already gesturing in italian anyway

S:”Want some company?”

Nat: I get the booze you get the food, I want that bumper sticker

Nat: Why doesn't he remember?What the fuck is happening

Giu: The surnaaaame

Kat: YOU’LL SEE THE SHIT IT HAPPENING

Giu: THE FUCK

Zee : Blue steel

Nat: BWAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Giu: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

Never forget

Nat: WANNA BE TED TALK

Nat: PROFESSOR JARED

Giu: GOD BLESS KALE (Misha wrote that)

Kat: THE TURTLENECK

hot take: that’s Misha’s turtle neck

Nat: THE GLASSES

D:”No, no , it gets worse”

TEDTalk!Sam is an empty shell. I hate it.

Kat: THE SLICKED BACK HAIR

Giu: Lotta beheadings

Zee : Can Jared stop being hotter in this ep?

D:”Well, I’m cool but you are  ugh”

Giu: I saw enough doctor who to know what is Sam talking about.

S:” If all is different, then what else changed”

Giu: OH.

Zee : Oh no

Nat: Zach is also ugh

Giu: NO GO AWAY

Giu: HEY BABE

- GUESS WHO NEVER FOUGHT IN HELL AND RAISED SOME SALTY ASS FROM PERDITION???

Z:”Earth ...where you are always stepping in something”

I mean, he’s not wrong

Zee: Constantine

Nat&Zee: I don't understand that reference

Giu: SDEFAFANSBAKWBLENDP

Zee : Control yourself woman

D:”How are we gonna tell Dad?”

S: “How are we gonna tell Mom”

Nat: Why are the teens everywhere are they running out of extras? I can be an extra.... for love scenes

Zee : I can be a fly in the wall

Z:”I need to know who’s been messing with time?” like...I mess with time, that’s my thing, who’s stealing my job

Giu: SQUINTY BOY

Z:”This town is always been a little muddy for us”

Z:” he...murders you all”

Kat: Ugh I want to stab Zach in the face

oh jfc Cass is a fucking murder machine,kinda like the apocalypse world NO 

Nat: Zach, just shut the fuck up, will ya

Zee: I’m an angel of the lord AAAAAAHHHHHH

Zee : GIULS IM DEAD

Giu: IS IT BAD THAT IM AROUSED

Kat: WINGS

Giu: FUCK

Zee: THE ONLY LOGICAL OUTCOME.  Babe how dare you ?

D:”Cass? “

C: who’s this bright soul , oh no he’s hot.

D:”Cass, you know us”

C: I WISH.

C: “I don’t know you”

Kat: I DONT KNOW YOU

Nat: Ow...a stab in the heart

Giu: NO

Kat : Breaking my heart

- Oh look you can pin point the exact moment HIS heart breaks.

D:” Cass, don’t”

Giu: LAGO DI GARDA!!

Nat: THE GARDA LAKE? IS THAT AN EXPRESSION?

Giu: No , it’s where i live.

- The satisfaction of seeing Sam kill Zach. Sam enjoying it.

Kat: YAS SAMMEH

Nat: Cas, come on!

- I love that Sam is holding the blade to cut and not stab.

ok ok...honestly I’m enjoying this ok? in the sense that I missed seeing Castiel so strong and powerful , and this is as it should be. He’s an angel , a soldier, with eons of wars behind, he was a captain ffs, the Winchester, they can be as strong as you want but they are human. Even Zach was stronger than them, he was just stupid to fall for Sam trick.

Giu: PLEASE DON’T KILL THEM

Giu: please don’t kill Cass, please don’t kill Cass.

Kat: Dudes the bloopers from this scene will be epic

Nat: I SWEAR IF THEY DON'T SHOW IT

Giu: IM HAVING A HEART ATTACK

D:”Cass, Cass, stop it”

....bitch HE HESITATED , Cass hesitated , he just kept Dean there when he could have just snaps his neck with a bit of pressure.

Zee : Sammy to the rescue

Giu: OH THANK GOD

Us: We want Bamf Castiel back!

Writers: OK

Us: NOT LIKE THIS

Zee: Who needs a heart?

oh look, those plates have the same decorations as the cups we saw in older eps. WHY DO I KNOW THAT. 

D:”Egghead”

Nat: me vs. your mom that's not even a choice

Giu: JOHN

Zee : Mary is showing emotion

Nat: I know who i would chose

yeah ok...I would choose this John tho, not the one we started in 2005 .

Zee : Me too

Kat: I almost don’t hate her. She’s hurting so bad. But everything else would be fucked

M:” Sam I can’t”

me too Mary, me too.

Nat: that's the thing. she's hurting more about her husband than her boys

Kat: I said almost

-J:” I never meant for this”

Kat: No son

J: “My fight. It was supposed to end with me. With Yellow eyes”

Giu: AGAIN

J:” But now you- you are a grown man and I’m incredibly proud of you”

Zee : Look how proud

Nat&Giu: JOHN, STAY

Kat: He’s waited so long to hear hat

Nat: LET SAM BE INTERNET FAMOUS

J:” I guess that I hoped, eventually,you would...get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family.”

Zee&Giu : I have a family

Nat&Kat: WE EAT

Nat: A man after my taste

Giu: AND MY POOR HEART

Zee : Too much silence

Kat: #awkward

Nat: #sad

Giu: #The last supper

Zee : Stahp

Kat: SHUT UP BITCH

J:” We can be grateful for this time we have together.”

Kat:  #AMEN

Nat: sounds like AYE MEN

Giu: ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT

Kat: Fucking Bob Seger

Giu: THEY DESERVE ALL OF THIS,ALL OF IT . MY BABIES

Kat: I WANNA KNOW THE CONVO

Nat: #DOMESTIC LIFE

S: “It doesn’t feel right to have all of this and have to throw it away and I know we have to.” S:” He just goes back to...to..being Dad”

-Oh honey 

Giu: Sam is panicking

Nat: Who would save the world tho

S:” I think it would be nice”

D:” yeah? I used to think that too.”

D:”For the longest time I blamed Dad. I mean I blamed Mom too,you know. I was angry”

D: “Why don’t send him further back , and let some other poor sons of bitches save the world?

oh...OH Dean is woke

D:” But there’s the problem. Who does that makes us? Would we be better off? Maybe. But I’ve got to be honest. I don’t know who that Dean Winchester is.”

D:”I’m good with who I am,and I’m good with who you are”

Zee : Does anybody else experiencing chest pain??

Nat: What's a chest. I can't feel anything below my mouth

Giu: what s a mouth

Kat: #too old for this shit

D:”Cause our life, they are ours”

Kat: BAWLING

Kat: THIS FUCKING MUSIC

M: “I hate this”

Giu: WE HATE THIS

Zee&Kat: My girl

-NOOOOOO

J:”I miss you so damn much”

Nat: #make it stop

Nat: fuck this

Kat: NONONONONONONONONONONO I

Giu: STOP IT STOOOOP

Nat: JARED CONTROL YOUR FACE

Kat: THEY BOTH NEED TO

Zee : Fuck this flips table

-What a soft hug omg I can’t. Why is John so soft , whyyyyyy.

Giu: I WANNA DIE

Nat: FUCK THIS

-Dean’s eyes are dead , he’s trying to be emotionless and I can’t deal with it.

Also Sam keeps throwing glances at Dean and it breaks me.

John looking at his sons is PAAAAIN.

J:” You two. You take care of each other”

S: “We always do”

Can I say that I expected some “Yes Sir” here and there and I’m so glad that there were none? Like...yes they grow up and they are their own men and I’m so damn glad. I would have hated if I heard them saying that.

Kat: GOOD TO SEE YOU DAD

Dean said that so softly I can’t

Nat: OMG

Giu: JARED FUCK

Zee : I’m gonna faint

Nat&Kat: I AM SO PROUD OF YOU BOYS

Giu: JDM FUCK U TOO

Nat: FUCK YOU ALL OF YOU

This ....Jared you fucking broke me here, you just ...can’t go and act like this and expect me to still be breathing .

Giu: JAY DON’T

Goddammit Dean still looks like he doesn’t wan’t to break but ...I can see it, your lips are shaking damn you Jensen.

Oh no here comes the hug of pain.

J:”I love you both so much”

why is Sam crying so much this season , JARED !

-oH NO DEAN SAID IT....DEAN SAID I LOVE YOU , I CAN’T , 911 HELP I CAN’T BREATHE

Nat: HEY, FUCK THIS SHIT I'M GONE

I’m so sick of seeing tears ok? And seeing John so emotional??? NAAAAAH FUCK THAT, I saw those tears falling . FUCK U

NOT THE WINK 

Zee : Can they all fuck the fuck off???

J:”Sammy...”

Kat: JENSEN FUCK YOU JARED FUCK YOU JDM FUCK YOU

Nat: TAKE MARY WITH YOU

Giu: dean your face

Kat: JENSEN BROKE ME

Dean looked like a little scared kid there and he just broke me once again.

Nat: THIS IS NOT RIGHT AND THEY KNOW IT THE WRITERS KNOW IT  I HATE THIS SO MUCH

Kat: Yeah but that one look. Fuck

ok Now....I wanted to make this gif so badly because it haunted me. This....This is when Sam break the pearl. The sound looks like it hit Dean like a bullet or something and I just ....look at him it looks like he wants to scream, his lips seems like they are spelling a soundless ‘NO’ or he just let go, because he wasn’t breathing until the sound ....I need a minute, I’m gonna throw up my breakfast. 

Bye John , I’ll miss you fiercely

aaaaand Dean looks like he’s dead again.

Nat: HEY GIULS Lebanon walk.

Nat I’m dead what do you want me to do? Call me if there is a ghost walk of Lebanon-

Also YAAAAAAS THOSE TWO ARE THE CUTEST

Nat&Kat&Giu: CAS

Sam looks relieved

Kat: OF FUCK THIS

Nat: Look at that phone

Giu: OMG NO

Nat&Zee&Kat: One hell of a dream

Kat: So much plagiarism

Zee : This music NEEDS to stop

Nat: NO WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS

Giu: THE FUCK

Zee : Can we have a “fuck” count ?

Nat: aWWWW...jACK

Nat: WTF JACK

Giu: Jack honey dont

Kat: WHAT ARE THE DOING TO BABY BEAN

Zee: March 7???

Nat: Yeah no

Writers: heya! we are gonna give you some sweet stuff for the 300th, y’all gonna hate it so much.

after credits brainstorm

Nat: SO GET THIS Did John remember? Did John know that the boys are happy and he spends the last of his days thinking about how he could get rid of Michael? Giu: What what . Oh fuck I sure hope so Nat: He saw that the boys were happy, that Mary came back. That's all he wanted . That's why it wasn't hard for him to let go and make the deal. Zee: I soooooo don’t need this rn Giu: im on board. Because he said that he had the strangest dream right? So since their life are fucked up anyway , what hurt could it make to look that shit up? Nat: He will remember but it's more like a vivid dream and he will do anything to fight for them so that's why it wasn't hard for him at all to save Dean, even though he can't defeat YED. Because he knows that his boys will save the world.  And still live. with an angel and lucifer's child.

.

.I have no word , and no answer of how I’m feeling right now.

.

.

If you want to get tagged in the future ones send an ask HERE or to @waywardbaby or a smoke signal, idk whatever I’m tired af.

TAGS: @supernatural-teamfreewillpage  @destiel-honeypie    @mariekoukie6661    @dragontamerm     @closetspngirl  @rainflowermoon   @mattiecat     @bunnybaby121115 @aliaitee2  @jacks-word-of-the-day   @4evamc    @dammitsammy   @legendary-destiel @winchesterprincessbride  @destielhoneybee  @castiellover20 

[bytheanchorarchived]

QUINN SPEAKS

‘ Right. Because I am very unfamiliar with the sensation of walking around town and knowing EVERYONE’s talking about you,whispering, laughing and pointing.’ “Stealing trophies and meddling with children’s dreams. What am I going to do with you?”

“I figured I’d give you a chance to be a stereotype jock, but as usual, I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I know this is frightening. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I get it, Rachel. I understand, being thrown off home, and being cut off, and being scared. I understand that. What I don’t get, and won’t, is Rachel Berry walking away form her dreams. You were ALWAYS the one that never gave up. When I went through all these changes to like myself, you were the only one that didn’t make me feel like I was finally pleasing to them afterwards. And despite everything anyone’s ever said to you, you never wavered on yourself either. THAT’s what I admire most about you, Rachel. You don’t give up. And you’re going to trade seventeen years of effort for a comfortable life in an office, now? Just answer me this,” - “Can you honestly tell me this will make you HAPPY?”

“if you count ending my first audition by slapping the director on the face as a highlight…”

“I figured I’d give you a chance to be a stereotype jock, but as usual, I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’d take being loved by a heartless ken doll any day, over being loved by a self-hating, selfish bitch with insecurity problems like you. How’s Brittany doing by the way? Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know.”

“... It’s actually admirable how you need to go back to something that happened almost FOUR years ago, to be able to get the upper hand. Not much else has happened for you since, has it? And while you’re at it, master props for being a lesbian who can only use SEXIST arguments to win a fight. A fight you started, by the way, with your crappy attitude.”

“prom is an experience everyone should enjoy.”

‘Don’t let anyone hear you say that. When men are stubborn it’s strength of character. When women are stubborn, we are seldom anything but moody.  Thoughtless and selfish. If we’re specially lucky.’

“ What happened to me. It changed me. And I was pretending it hadn’t. “

‘the day you find me at one of those bars, you might as well assume i have a tasteless twin.’ - ‘i CAN, however, take you to a lovely clean college bar, AFTER  we eat. How do you feel about italian, for the old times?? ’

‘I know what it feels like to have no one to turn to. To have to go through life changing moments and not be able to trust anyone, not even your body. It might not be the same thing. But if you’d like me to, I’d like not to let you feel that way.’

‘or she’s just wearing some kindergarten’s art project.’

‘the lengths some people go to attract attention simply for the sake of it, astounds me.’

❝Newsflash: I have never REALLY cared for your opinion, Berry.  And I am not about to start. You never needed me, before.  Why should you, now?? ❞

’Why that doesn’t SURPRISE me?? ’

❝That can be done. I hardly think there’s enough booze in the world to make any of these people appealing to me, but, for once, I agree with everything else. The music might be bellow us, and the beer dreadful, but we’re still us, and that means we can still make it into something flawless.❞

‘It is… An ability I seem to have,’ - ‘I don’t give up on the things I want.’

‘You’ll even pay like a GENTLEMAN?? My, my, now I know it’s my lucky night.’

“Thank you. For keeping my head-cheerio spot warm.                                  I’m SURE the girls appreciated your softer touch.”

“And that is why I INSIST on certifying that my girls get the best possible instruction. The last thing we need is another cry baby rocking the pyramid, and endangering all of us for boy problems. One should know how to properly handle their boyfriends on a short leash. It is, in fact, the only way to date.”

             “ LISTEN to me right NOW, Santana. You might be a GREAT cheerio                 but a cheerio that does not LISTEN to their captain is worthNOTHING.              Nothing. Do you understand?? You know very well, that I’m not only                 a queen b in Sue’s eyes. I fought my way TOOTH AND NAIL to get here                 and I will let NOTHING get in my way. I’m not sure what onEarth pos-                 -ssed you today but I don’t CARE. Get your act together.Dont. Force.                 Me. I DON’T want to lose you, but I WILL if you make me. You know                 that. So again. WHAT do you think you’re doing?? Whatever it is. DROP                 it. Alright? I don’t have the energy to deal with your mood swings right now.”

“Dear Lord, do you EVER stop talking?”

“What ISN’T magical about hot cocoa??”

                   “ Do you mind??  There’s something called a line.                       You’re overstepping it.”

                   “ For the first time in a long time, I am actuallyhappy.                        It might not be PERFECT, like your life. But I’d appreciate                        it, if you kept to yourself.”

“ If you’re certain that’s all you want. Sure. Why not?                    Just don’t take this as permission for anything else. Clear?”

                  “ Every day you make me HAPPIER for having broken up with you.                          It’s a talent, really.”

‘ Right. Cause I am very unfamiliar with the sensation of walking around town and knowing EVERYONE’s talking about you,whispering, laughing and pointing.’

‘ On the long run, people don’t care that you fell down on your face.’ - ‘They only care about how you get back on your feet.’

“ I used to be EXACTLY like you. Obsessed with popularity, The                         cheerios. You know what that’s gotten me? NOTHING. Not a thing.”

‘You’d be surprised.’ - ‘This time last year I was NO ONE. We all have our flaws. Some   of us are just that much better at hiding them.’

‘That’s not entirely true. They ignored me the moment my baby bump started to show. Which proves to show that status is just something that can be acquired. No one is born with it.Confidence is something you PROJECT. Keep your shoulders back, your chin up,” - ‘And walk as if you own this place. That’s all you actually need.’

“Well, I don’t cheer for the best liked player.             I cheer for the BEST player on the field. And sure, Finn was it last year             but that doesn’t mean things can’t change.”

               ‘ I’m NOT going to have sex with you. Been there,                      done that, and you know what?? Not worth it.’

              ‘ That’s enough for today. Maybe later you can                     have more. If you DESERVE it.’

‘Right. Because you were ALL there for me when I was drowning in hormones and trying to keep my perfect ass grades, while wobbling through this school and being shoved aside everywhere I went.’ 

[nowitsdarkfic]

hanging out with joey would include

First of all, he’d be really sweet to you. No strings attached, either—even if you’re a guy, he’ll be a darling to you. 

He’ll hold the door for you. 

He’ll tell you if that shirt looks good on you—he might even tell you if it doesn’t, because he was once caught wearing his mom’s leopard print top over leather pants, he KNOWS what ridiculousness looks like.

You guys probably met on accident, like he was standing next to you in the beer line and he overheard you singing “Oh Sherrie” to yourself and he thought it’d be a good idea to break out in song with you. Or you guys kept rubbing butts together when the walls of the concert halls got a little too tight.

He’s not really looking for anyone but he wouldn’t mind spending an hour or five with a lovely young lady such as yourself.

Don’t let his old stoney/resting bitch face fool you, especially since he’s had it since he was an adolescent. Even so much as saying hi to him is enough to coax a smile so bright, you would think the Indian summer is upon us.

He blushes... a lot, especially when you tell him he’s one of your favorite singers. You know, he’s like “me? No wayyyyy.”

Dirty jokes. Absolutely filthy and naughty, and to the point you wonder if he’s sure about not wanting someone.

He’s the kind of guy who’s a total gentleman but at the end of the day, he’s got a dick and he knows how to use it. 

There’s a little twinkle in those brown eyes when you least expect it but he knows he’ll make you laugh because he’s just that good.

Pizza. Penne with prosciutto. Coffee. Lots of coffee. He might even take yours if you don’t finish it. No booze: too many times Scott and Frankie threatened to leave if he didn’t put down the bottle.

You better be a music fan otherwise you have no business being there. So help me.

You play music, oh boy!!!

If you’re a drummer, he’ll suggest jamming with you. 

If you’re a guitarist, he’ll look at you all coy and ask for a lesson in a small voice.

He’ll do that but get uncomfortably close to your face and pucker his lips if you play piano.

You remember that his aunt likes to call him sassy and ho-oh-oh-oh boy does it show. 

You think he’s gonna be like “please...” and he’ll be thinking “bitch” before then and “get out” afterwards if they fuck up the set of Madhouse. Again. The boy likes to perform and play with his hair.

#geddyleeorbust

“The White Album on creamy vinyl is a surefire way to make me cream my jeans.”

When you guys are at that weird stage in which you’re not sure if he likes you more than a friend, compliment on his butt and see how he reacts to it. 

If he blushes and covers up, you’re not there yet.

If he giggles and says “nah”, it’s getting there.

Notice how he behaves with Charlie and Danny. You watch him put an arm around Danny’s shoulders and cuddle him like he’s a little teddy bear and you low-key want him to hold you like that.

He and Charlie like to shop around for vinyl, but something tells you that it’s all for you, baby doll.

His high-waisted jeans accentuate his legs and his hips so much you’d think they’re going up to ya-ya.

Ah, upstate New York. Even saying the name beckons a feeling of fresh fallen snow.

Take his word for it when he tells you to wear a coat and a sweater. 

Take his word for it when he tells you to watch your step, even if there’s nothing there, especially if there’s nothing there. Trust me, it’s upstate. There’s always something underfoot, even when there isn’t.

You ask him if his hockey mask really is made just for him and he dares you to put it on. He’s got those full cheekbones, that straight Roman nose, and those odd, almost gaunt dimples in his cheeks, good luck 🙃 

He wants to give you a dream catcher because they keep the nightmares away, and this is where you start to wonder if there’s something more between the two of you, like if he sees you as more than just a new friend to bring home to Ma.

You find he’s got about twenty different wristwatches and five identical pairs of black Chuck Taylors and yet he’s hardly got anything to eat. Except for pasta. He’s lousy with it.

He’s not a very good cook, but he tries, though. Oh, does he try—the other side of his heritage is Italian after all. 

But his hand shakes from the pressure of cooking for a guest and from the fear of legitimately setting a pot of water on fire, and so you assist him. 

You stand next to him and you make sure he has a rolling boil for pasta.

He puts his hands in the butt pockets of his jeans and you make out a lovely curve to his hips.

In fact, this is where you start to see him as... kinda cute. He’s trying his best for you even when he screws up, because he likes you

You remember that his butt is soft, and it’s kind of a weird thing to recall from when you guys met. Kind of.

He’s got back, as in baby got back—he is a Libra, you know. Libras are the kings and queens of the derrière.

You also remember his hair feeling weirdly soft, too, even though it’s so coarse.

And then that voice--oh, holy fuck, that voice! You could hear him sing the phone book and it’d be the hottest thing ever.

You look at his hips and you wonder if it’s subconscious on his part, like if he’s trying to flex for you.

As a matter of fact, you take a closer look at his sinewy arms and find that yes, he is flexing.

You start to wonder about his chest, and then his stomach, and of course, his thighs and the space between.

You examine the full shape of his thighs, prominent and striking on his slender body. Gosh, he’s so thin, but his hips and thighs are actually quite sensual. Voluptuous and healthily thick. Sexy, in fact. 

You think of touching them and kissing the insides of them. It’s a fleeting thought but it’s there. You think it.

No, no. You don’t wanna think about him like that. He’s not looking for anything and he’s just being kind to you.

But gosh. His thighs are tempting. He’s looking a little lush right now, too. Think about it: he brought you home with him, he’s been nothing but sweet to you, and most of all, you got to touch his butt!

And then he looks at you with those deep eyes and those sensual lips and says “you wanna put the linguine in or should I do it?”

And then you go ahead and do it for him because you don’t want his beautiful body splashed with boiling hot water.

He likes to eat. Well, you might’ve noticed that from before but HAHAHAHAHA you only saw the tip of the iceberg.

When he’s full, he gives his black hair a toss before he leans back in his chair and sets his hands on his svelte, slim tummy for a gentle massage. Something about it so comforting and... erotic.

He’s relaxed and feeling soft. He’s vulnerable.

Is he flirting with you? You don’t really know. But oh. my. god... you’re... finding him very attractive right now.

I mean, shit. You just had dinner together. And you know the old proverb: “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” He’s showing you his body in the most relaxed state you have ever seen.

He closes his eyes and sets a hand on the side of his face.

Okay, he’s definitely flirting with you.

You start to wonder what you would look like as a couple.

You start to wonder what he’s like in bed. The skin in his thighs... the skin... elsewhere.

“Lights on or off?”

Oh fuck. You’ve really fallen down the rabbit hole now. You just wanted an innocuous friendship but you find yourself feeling moist. He’s so tempting and you’re starting to feel hot.

It’s intense, especially when he offers you dessert.

Chocolate gelato.

(And FYI: chocolate is an aphrodisiac.)

He asks you for whipped cream on top of his. Let that sink in.

At one point, he offers you a bite of his and he feeds it to you.

A gentle groan emerges from your throat, especially when your eyes lock and he shows you the tip of his tongue.

Oh, no.

Oh... OH, NO.

Oh YEAH!

He asks you if you’re staying at one of the hotels in Oswego, and when you say no, he offers you to spend the night with him.

When the two of you finally do go to bed--he in his own bed and you on his nice comfy couch--you can’t help but think of him, laying there in bed with no shirt on...

And you wonder if he’s thinking of you... if you know what I mean.

And the next time you see each other, he’s still very friendly to you but he never goes any further than the simple platonic behavior of a friendship. 

And you wonder if your feelings are reciprocated.

You wonder if he’s feeling something for you but he’s just wary of telling you for... whatever reason.

Ruin the friendship? Wanting to stay true to his word? What the fuck.

In fact, it kinda drives you nuts (yes, that was intended). So many mixed signals but you can’t help yourself.

You look at his thighs some more and you want to touch them SO MUCH.

Indeed, you catch him looking at your chest. It’s a fleeting glance but he does it. You caught him in the act.

He starts acting odd, too: leaving things out, forgetting things, tripping on his words, getting flustered easily... so unlike Joey, what gives?

But remember what I said, though: compliment his butt and see how he reacts to it.

If he blushes, it’s not there yet. If he brushes it off, go for it, baby doll.

[theherondaels]

Two’s Company

New life year (22 whohoo!) means new update

There it is, the long-waited sequel of Holy Trinity! I dedicate this to my lovely birthday twin sky-girls

Have fun reading!!!

“Look who’s back!” Gastón exclaimed happily, having followed Matteo’s conversation with the girls intently. “Did you complete the dare?” Ramiro questioned, only caring if he could keep his ten dollars.

“New girl will be at the party. Just like her friends,” Matteo informed them pleased. True, it could have gone smoother, but the prettiest one was coming to the party. He was positive her read-headed friend would make sure of that.

Also, only an idiot would miss a party when you were personally invited by himself.

“Nice,” Gastón grinned widely. Ramiro handed the Italian his money over, looking not very happy. Matteo took it with a smug look on his face, putting the ten dollars in his left side pocket. “But why does she have to bring her friends along?” Ramiro asked irritated, it hadn’t been part of Matteo’s dare after all. “Oh, I know! She didn’t fall for your charm,” he said, grin a bit too spiteful. It was obvious he was sour because he had lost the bet.

The tallest boy rolled his eyes. As if. He was Matteo Balsano, the captain of the soccer team, he had all girls eating out from the palm of his hand.

“Well, me being my generous self I thought it would be only fair if you have someone on Friday too,” he then told his friends with a grin. “How selfless you are,” Gastón grinned back. “I call dibs on the blonde,” Ramiro said, eyes now on the three remaining girls.

“Whatever makes you feel better about losing,” Matteo hadn’t been able to swallow that taunt. Ramiro shot him a dark look.

“Hey, he still can lose the other dare,“ Gastón tried to cheer up Ramiro. The older curly-haired boy snorted.

“I won’t,” Matteo said, having no doubt about that, the smug grin on his face again, “No girl can resist me.” They always melted in his hands like honey. He knew the new girl would be no exception.

Just then he felt as if he was being watched, Matteo adverted his gaze from his friends to the group of girls a few metres away. He caught the new girl right on the spot. Matteo winked at her, feeling some pride when she looked away, cheeks turning red as strawberries.

Matteo licked his lips. He would have lots of fun on Friday.

~

Luna was very nervous. She just had adjusted her black skirt for the fifth time this evening. The material was a little shorter than what she normally wore, but her new friends had insisted to help her buy a new party outfit.

Now Luna knew it wasn’t Cancun, but the fashion here was a lot more revealing than to what she was used to. Her red top clung too tightly on her body, and she seriously hoped her parents wouldn’t see her in this. Luna gave herself one last once-over before grabbing her little black purse.

She almost tip-toed down the stairs, not wanting to get her parents’ attention. She had already made it to the door when she heard her mother’s voice behind her. “You’re going out?” Mónica asked surprised.

"Oh, someone from our year is hosting a party. It'll be mostly people from our year." Luna had never lied so much in her life. She hoped her mother wouldn’t notice her nervousness, but she didn’t need to worry, Mónica was concerned with something else at the moment. “Is this how they dress in Buenos Aires?” The Mexican really had the urge to pull her skirt down to her knees. "Nina lend it to me,” Luna lied again,” She’s going to the party too. Just like Jim and Yam.” A soft smile appeared on her mother’s face. “It's nice you found friends so quickly," she said. “Now go, before your dad sees you in this,” she added quickly.

Luna nodded, slipping on her ballerinas. Yam had wanted to convince her to buy some high heels too, but she had refused vehemently. Luna thought she walked like a baby giraffe in them, she didn’t want to embarrass herself at that party. Especially not in front of Matteo.

When doorbell rang, she was relieved to see that she fitted right in with her clothes. Luna greeted all three girls with a quick kiss on the check. "Let's see if their parties are really that good,” Jim grinned.

It took them almost a whole hour to get to Matteo’s house. After 30 minutes of subway they had to walk the rest. Maybe they would have been faster if Luna didn’t have to stare at every house. This neighbourhood was very fancy and Luna seriously wondered what his parents did for a living.

The house were the party was being held had been easy to spot, all lights were on and you could hear a bass beat. Yam walked towards the door, handle already in hand when Luna gulped loudly.  

“Don’t we need to knock?” she asked, shocked by her friends' lack of manners. “Like they would hear us with that music volume,” Jim shrugged beside her. “That’s just the way things are here,” Nina explained, but Luna could see that this whole situation didn’t sit right with her too.

Yam rolled her eyes, finally opening the door. Loud music hit the four girls. “Let’s find the living room,” the blonde said decisively, “I need booze after that walk.” They just followed the music, making their way through the crowd of dancing teenagers. Some were shamelessly making out, causing Luna to blush. Parties in Cancun certainly never had been heated like that.  

They still were on their way to the punch bowl when Luna heard a familiar voice behind her. “You came,” Matteo stated, no surprise in his voice. She stood dead in her tracks. Something told Luna to run, to ignore Matteo, but his voice had already lulled her in.

The brunette turned around. “Yes, my friends would have never forgiven me otherwise,” Luna said. “So, I’m not the reason you’re here?” he questioned, curiosity in his eyes. “Are you always this self-absorbed?” Luna couldn’t help but ask. Matteo began to grin. “It comes with the position.”

Luna didn’t say anything in return, she was a bit dazzled by that gorgeous grin. Matteo looked around the room, before adverting his gaze back to her. “Care to dance, new girl?” She didn’t even have time to say no, his hand was already around her wrist, dragging her to the dance floor. Luna turned her head around, green eyes searching for her friends. She spotted them on the red leather couch, drinks in hand, just in time to witness the high-five Jim and Yam exchanged. Even Nina's smile, who sat between them, was solemn.

Luna was thankful a fast-paced song was playing, there was a bit space between her and Matteo. Well, not that much. She doubted Balsano knew what the word personal space meant.

“So, what’s your name, new girl?” Matteo asked, after he had twirled her. Boy, could he dance. “Luna,” she said, proud of herself for not stuttering. “What a lovely name,” Matteo said with a smile. Luna literally could feel herself melt. Her common sense should have told her to get away from him now. He was obviously a player, but she didn’t move away, because he played her heartstrings like a guitar.

Not long after that the music shifted to a slow song. Luna groaned internally. Whether it was from frustration or agony she didn’t knew at this point.

Matteo somehow manged to get even closer to her, his lips only a breath away from her face. His hands found her way to her hips and Luna was sure she knew now what heaven must be like.

Dancing with one of the school's hottest boys (and in Luna's opinion he was clearly the hottest), wasn't how she had imagined her first Friday night in Buenos Aires.

And yet here she was, Matteo's hands traveling all over her sides.

The kiss came unexpected. His hand had been in her hair seconds ago and now his lips were perfectly aligned with hers. She felt his mouth forming into a smirk, when she didn’t pull away. Luna wished she could freeze time, she never wanted this moment to end. She didn’t even register the music anymore.  

As soon as Matteo’s tongue traced her under lip Luna backed away, suddenly aware again that they weren’t alone. Matteo didn’t seem to mind, a devilish grin appearing on his features at her low moan.

“I know somewhere we can go,” he whispered into her ear. Luna followed him without questioning, right know she’d jump of a bridge if he requested it.  

Matteo led her through the crowd. Luna’s mind was too foggy to even to think to look for her friends. She felt so light-headed, even if she hadn’t drunk anything yet.

A door was opened, and Matteo didn’t waste any time to close the gap between them. Every fibre in Luna’s body sang when their lips touched again.

Feeling bold, she mimicked his earlier movement with her own tongue, and by the sound Matteo made he really enjoyed that. Luna probably shouldn't be proud of that, but hell, she was. Just as Matteo’s hands had wandered under her top, the door was opened. Luna almost cried out of disappointment.

“Oh God. Sorry,” Gastón giggled, already closing the door again. “Get out,” Matteo yelled, followed by some words Luna didn’t understand. The younger boy’s Italian curse knowledge was way better than hers.

“Yeah, yeah. Two’s company, three’s a crowd,” Gastón cackled from the other side of the door.