#That is most definitely the worst fucking birthday ever and has set the tone for the last ten years

[rahabs]

Definitely up there on the list of shitty birthdays. Between work being an absolute shitshow (including me walking in to 35+ emails and the knowledge that we weren't given the stuff we needed to cover our coworker effectively, a rush assignment that needed to be done EOD, and a bunch of other stuff), it was gale force winds, my building parkade was broken into, I'm running on barely any sleep, my birthday feeling like an afterthought the way my siblings' weren't, my dog shitting on the floor in protest for the first time in awhile and me coming back to clean it... I bought myself birthday cupcakes, which is probably a little pathetic, especially since it's not in my budget right now for takeout. I paid for the extra little happy birthday things to be put on them, but they weren't. I'm too tired for this. Just bone-weary.

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part two

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: swearing, sex toys, masturbation, sexual/suggestive themes, and yenno, mathew :(

↳ genre: angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+ minors dni*

↳ length: series; part one, part two (5.9k), part three, part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: listened to a lot of beyoncé for this one !!

note: part two’s here!! and i know it’s late for an update but i just wanna thank everyone for commenting on the first part 🥺 really glad that you guys liked it. reading your tags are everything to me it means a lot! happy reading <3 (gif used: mine)

You come out of your bedroom dressed and ready for work. Your handbag was slung over the depth of your forearm as you headed for the kitchen and the other, scrolling past emails on your phone, admittedly bracing yourself for the mess you know will eventually greet you.

To your surprise, what you see instead were Mat Barzal’s guns rippling through the jet black sweater he had worn last night. A memory that sent your mind to less than eight hours ago, before eventually landing on what happened shortly when the two of you had woken up.

“Thank god you haven’t burnt the house down.” you kid, placing your handbag atop the island.

Mat spares you a quick glance, rolling his eyes whilst he lets you watch him whisk some eggs for breakfast.

“Like it?” he cocks, pertaining to how your eyes were pinned hard on his biceps that he was, for the most part, effortlessly sporting. It’s true, though. He didn’t need to flex because it was just there.

“Coffee or Juice?” he asks, as the kind friend and roommate that he is. 

Anthony, as surprising as it was, takes incredibly long showers. If people hadn’t known him well, they’d easily think he’s abusing himself there. But you’ve got to admit that not having him around felt nice for you didn’t have to feel so seen with Mathew.

‘Course, there’s nothing more, like a fix-in on the side, to your set up. You just appreciate the feeling of not having to lie to Beau about all the ugly concealed underneath all the innocent gazes you and Mathew exchange.

“Coffee.” you answer shortly, realizing that you forgot the material you need for today’s meeting.

“Where are you going?” Mat asks when he catches you receding out into the hallway. You didn’t bother looking back, “Forgot something!”

He gets back to whisking the eggs when a chime comes off his phone. He takes it from the counter, placed just before the plates he left to dry last night, absent-mindedly putting the bowl he was holding onto the island, toppling over the green juice he has prepared for himself. 

“Shit.” he curses as soon as he sees it for it was already spilling all over the place, making the mess you’ve been secretly anticipating the moment Mathew said he’d make breakfast.

Panicking at how you’d see he’s successfully screwed such a no-brainer task, Mat grabs the first thing he sees on the marbled surface and uses it to clean the mess he’d made.

“Huh.” he muses to himself, realizing that the silk fabric didn’t do much in helping him clean up. He tosses it over the sink carelessly and grabs a few napkin rolls from one of the cupboards. 

So much for making an effort to feed Anthony Beauvillier. 

“Now, that was fast.” you say with a smirk once you’ve entered the kitchen, startling Mathew as he continued cleaning up after his mess. 

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” he sarcastically laughs, discarding the paper towels onto the sink along with the used ones. 

Thankfully, your stuff was at the other side of the island so it was very much safe from all the chaos happening at the other end of the marbled surface. However, your laugh dies down the second you realize that your handkerchief was no longer where you’ve last put it.

“Hey,” you call on Mathew, “What’s up?”

“Have you seen my handkerchief? I know I left it somewhere.” you anxiously ask, eyeing every corner of the room hoping to see Nana’s handkerchief, the one she gave to you on your 18th birthday.

“What does it look like?” Mat asks, now holding a pan in his hand as he prepares breakfast.

You proceeded to describe your grandma’s handkerchief in the most specific and perhaps excruciating detail Mathew has ever heard someone talk about something as mind-numbing as a handkerchief.

Despite that, Mat lights up the moment it hits him, not realizing the bigger mess he’s about to walk into. He rejoices at how he knew exactly what you were looking for, “Oh! You mean this?” 

With clueless eyes, you watch Mat go over the sink after he wipes his hands dry, fishing out an all too familiar fabric from the sink. Once your eyes land onto the cream colored silk handkerchief, with details carefully sewn by hand, drenching in what seems to be Mat’s morning drink, your heart falls to the pit of your stomach. 

“What did you do??” The sudden rise in your voice startles an unsuspecting Mathew. You eagerly went over to his side and hastily snatched the smooth fabric off his hands, “It’s ruined!”

“What? I didn’t know it was yours!” Mat’s eyes are wild with confusion. Puzzled at how you were so fixated on the useless fabric. It didn’t help him anyway. There’s nothing much left to do but to throw it. It’s garbage. 

“You ruined it!” you lash out, letting Mat get eaten up by the sudden anger bubbling inside your guts but he was rather quick in defending himself, “I didn’t know it was yours since I grabbed the first thing I could find. Why are you getting upset over a shit-ass handkerchief?” 

Your mouth falls and you shake your head, finding his defensiveness quite appalling. “You’re an ass.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was yours.” he explains, “Come on, it’s just a stupid handkerchief I’ll just buy you a new one.” he tries to laugh the tension off, sporting his signature grin.

Mat take shots of the stunned expression on your face, “Stupid?” you repeat what he said, your eyes already starting to sting with tears. Clearly, you were far too overwhelmed to even acknowledge Mathew’s half-assed apology.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” your words bite and that’s when things took a turn for the worse. 

“I said I was fucking sorry! What the hell do you want from me? Shit a fucking hanky?” he rans a hand through his hair, “Do you realize how childish you’re being right now?”

Outraged, and perhaps disappointed by how he was too high up his horse, your voice takes up a higher tone, entering what seems to be an early screaming match between you and Mathew.

“Could you just–” you breathe, “for one second– stop being so goddamn stupid and get over yourself!?” were words that welcomed Anthony the moment he stepped into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist, a grin on his face visible as he poured himself a glass of water, inviting himself in the screaming match you and Mathew have exclusively put forth for him.

“Stupid is not when you’ve already apologized a hundred times! Stupid is being such a crybaby and a bitch about it!” Mathew retorts, gaining his better end of the argument.

“What a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Anthony chimes in, a hand resting on his chin, adoring his two best friends upon getting used to the best worst duo he’s ever known in his life. 

“Shut up, Beau.” you say, throwing him a glare.

“Well, beautiful is definitely not in Y/N’s dictionary.” Mathew chides with a smirk, enough to earn himself a scoff from you. 

“You know what? I don’t have the time for this bullshit.” you cuss, finally retreating, your already heavy heart taking a better hold on your thoughts, blocking your ability to even come up with a clever remark to come back at Mathew.

You throw the delicate, yet already ruined piece of fabric towards his way as hard as you could before marching out of the kitchen and head off for work.

“Fucking unbelievable.” Mathew curses under his breath once he catches the silk linen, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the morning task at hand. 

You were fucking unbelievable.

Once the boys were left alone, Tito raises a brow, briefly looking back after your footsteps, “What happened here, anyway?” he asks, having realized what must’ve caused such a heated argument so early in the morning. 

“I used this handkerchief to wipe the whole thing off and she just went ape shit! I mean–” Anthony cuts Mathew the moment he recognizes the thin cloth he was holding.

“Woah, woah. Wait a minute, you used this?” he muses, stressing on the possibility of what might have been Mathew’s biggest mistake of the day, his eyes darting between him and the fabric.

With furrowed brows, admittedly weirded by how Anthony reacted almost the same way you did a while ago. “It’s just a handkerchief, man. I can go buy her a bunch if that’s what she wants.” he says defensively.

Anthony shakes his head wildly, his irises now dilated as he examined the stain already sitting on the material. “No no. Oh god no.” He says, snatching Mathew’s phone from the counter to google quick remedies that might remove the said stain from the already ruined cloth. 

“What do you mean no? You guys spend way too much time together, you’re beginning to be as weird as her.” He scoffs, sipping on a glass of water. 

“No, you dumbass. This was her grandma’s!” Anthony says, eyes fixated on the delicate handkerchief. Remembering how you’d told him how long it has been in your family that having Nana give it to you after all the years you’ve spent admiring it from afar meant so much to you than anything anyone could have possibly given you.

“So?” Mat casually replies, closing his arms to his chest before adding, “Is she dead or something? Didn’t you guys visit her for the Holidays?” 

“What?? Why would you even say that?– You’re such a jerk.” Tito shakes his head, appalled by how Mathew easily shrugged the matter off when he knew full well how sentimental he himself could be.

“Well, how am I supposed to know?? If that thing’s so important I wouldn’t leave it on top of some random shit lying around!” He counters, defending himself for reaching for the nearest cloth he could find when he did whatever he does best when he’s in the kitchen.

Tito clicks his tongue and looks at Mathew exasperatedly, “Tell me, where did you find this exactly?”, to which Mathew only answered with a quiet voice, “It may or may not have been placed on top of her purse…” he avoids Tito’s gaze, finally catching on how he was the one in the wrong. 

“See? Jerk. Now, go figure out how you’ll take the stain off.” Anthony demands, his voice embraced by a definitive tone. One that made Mathew know he wouldn’t be able to persuade him into letting this go. 

Tito takes one good look at Mat’s catastrophic attempt to feed the house, striding his way out of the kitchen, “And make sure you apologize!” he adds, footsteps receding into the hallway, leaving Mathew scratching the back of his head out of guilt and frustration.

You have spent the following days either avoiding Mathew or ignoring his existence completely. Anthony talked to you the night that incident happened and assured you that he would do his best to have it fixed. You didn’t want to bother him nor take time off his already busy schedule, but you were just so bummed to even say a word.

That night, you spent the entire evening in your room, facetiming your mother, saying how much you’re missing home. You can’t bring yourself to tell her about the handkerchief. For some people, and that people being Mathew, it might’ve been just some silly thing but Tito knew how much that small piece of cloth meant to you. 

Mathew, on the one hand, was for sure guilty to his bones. He didn’t see you that night nor the nights that followed. He didn’t think much of it but when he found himself searching for that same handkerchief in the hopes of replacing it only to find out that it was nowhere to be found in the market, was when he did realize that ruining the one thing that held you closer to home was the last push your non-existent relationship with him had to have for you to finally lose any ounce of amour nor civility you once had for him. 

Anthony wasn’t a stranger for said changes either. He began waking up to a still apartment enveloped by a wall you profusely built between you and Mathew. You even unknowingly shut Tito out in the process as well. It was like you were grieving. Like, it was a whole different kind of heartbreak he knew he can’t get you out of that easily. 

You tried making it up for your best friend of course. Knowing that you haven’t been yourself since that day. You thought about the possibility of having taken the whole thing too seriously that you might’ve overreacted a bit. Nonetheless, no matter how much you try to push it in the back of your head, Mathew’s mere presence began irking you in ways it never did back when you used to enjoy the bickering you exchange with him, especially in bed.

“Thanks for dinner, belle.” Anthony politely says, earning a smile from you so effortlessly upon hearing the pet name he uses for you. Something Mat only shrugged off, trying to piece out the same gratitude, “Thanks, y/n.” he genuinely adds. But as expected, he had nothing.

You pick up all the empty plates, including Mathew’s, who was sitting in front of you while Anthony sat at the end of the table. Tito hurriedly wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes the plate from you, “Let me help you with that.” he says with the same kind eyes that has never failed to win you over. 

“Yeah. Okay, sure.” you shortly answer, leading the way towards the kitchen, leaving one Mathew Barzal feeling small and alone at the dining table. 

𖥸

If there was one thing you’d gladly acknowledge after all the years of watching people kiss Mathew’s ass was that he was is really good. He’s fast and he can do unimaginable damage on the ice. There’s no denying that he deserves to be the face of the New York Islanders. But we know you don’t care about any of that. The only thing you care about was how unbelievably good he is at everything he does that not even you or your pink rubber toy could suffice. 

He was just that damn good. 

As your eyes shut whilst you mount your pleasures on your own, biting your lips to choke in your own moans, Mathew handling you was what circled your mind since you started defiling yourself in the bathroom. You let your arousal be washed away by the warm water trickling down your skin, envisioning Mat’s rough hands grazing your body, touching your core like his hands were meant to do nothing else but that. 

It was wrong and pathetic, but you couldn’t think about anything else. You and Mathew have been avoiding each other for days. The dynamic went so much worse than when you weren’t sleeping together and you know that Tito was bound to notice it soon. Thankfully, the boys were on another roadie for a week so you had quite some time to think things through about your current sitch with Mathew. You didn’t like any of it because it felt like you gave a fuck (which obviously, you didn’t). You just feel obligated to sort things out with the biggest ass that ever lived because you didn’t want to involve Tito into the mess you’ve wrongfully made yourself. 

You hop off the shower feeling unsatisfied. You haven’t gotten laid since the last time you were with Mat. Which is sad, not just for you but also for her. You’d think considering the boys aren’t around you’d bring someone home, maybe even one or two. But just thinking about going on bars alone so you could find a potential bone-mate is already far too tedious and you weren’t in the right state to do so. You had so much going on at work, anyway. And you can always use a wand to scratch an itch. Neither would satisfy you more than how someone-who-will-not-be-named could, but you might as well be pathetic without having to hook up with some random dude whose name you’ll eventually forget in the morning. 

You opted to wear an old pull-over you borrowed (took) from Tito years and years ago and partnered it with some leggings so you’d be comfortable enough for the rest of the night. You have nothing else to do and you are already fed up with your workload that watching a crappy movie off of Netflix doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

With a giant bowl of popcorn and two bottles of beer in your hands, you march your way into the living room, ready to spend the night binge watching romantic comedies, crying and laughing in between. Or maybe just fall asleep on the couch while your comfort TV series is on. 

The boys won three games out of the four that they had during the trip and you only saw the ones they won so you were thankful that you didn’t have to sit at home alone watching their faces fall after that OT lost against the Flyers. Anthony phoned you that night and you can just feel the relief in his voice that you didn’t have the time to see it. They weren’t playing like they should. Thankfully, they were able to bounce back. 

Your eyes were beginning to grow tired halfway into the movie when you hear the front door open, followed by luggages dragged into the house tirelessly. 

“Y/N?” Anthony calls out.

You hit the movie on pause and hurriedly make your way towards the hallway. “You’re home already?”

They were already taking their coats off when you met them halfway, Tito was putting his away while Mat had just taken off his toque and was running his hands through his hair, unconsciously meeting your eyes upon hearing your voice. 

You quickly break it off when you give Tito a quick embrace and plant a small kiss on his cheeks, “I texted you.” he says, eyebrows quirked, surprised that you didn’t know. 

In an effort to avert any more of his questions you immediately point towards the movie you had on, “Haven’t checked my messages, sorry.” 

“So, you guys ate dinner?” you ask, passing Mat a quick look. One that came as a surprise because he wasn’t even hoping to hear a word from you given the way you two left things a little too on the edge, screwing with the whole thing even more. 

Mat avoids your irises and faintly nods. 

“Big win tonight huh? Told you, you can do it.” you say with a beaming smile, nudging Tito with your hips as you get back to watching your film. “You gotta do what you gotta do, babe.” he winks, lugging his stuff around towards his bedroom. 

“Barz, don’t stay up, Trotz needs us first thing in the morning.” he looks back, reminding Mat who was already standing in front of his door, “Yeah. Sure.” he replies shortly with a tired voice. 

You and Anthony bid your own goodnights whilst Mat mutters a quiet “Night.” when you nodded his way, clearly not enjoying any of the first awkward encounters he’s yet to have with you. Seven days is quite a reasonable time for your anger to dissipate, a short yet seemingly long period of time that’s just enough to kill off whatever guilt Mat had initially felt before you parted ways.

𖥸

“Alright, I’m off.” Tito casually declares, putting on his watch. “There’s food in the fridge, and tell Mat to go easy on my beers.” he gives you a knowing look as he bends down to give you a kiss on the cheek. 

Tito had been seeing some mystery girl for quite some time now. He hasn’t told you anything spicy in particular but by the looks of it, you could already tell that she has him towed. 

“Good luck, loverboy.” you say, swatting his hand away and pushing him out to the door. The two of you cringe at what you said, sharing one last laugh before you watch him disappear out into the hallway.

The apartment was cramped the whole day because Anthony and Mat had the day off. Tito had plans for the night, obviously. As per you, you had plans lounging in the living room, switching through channels in the hopes of stumbling on a show that isn’t half as bad than the rest. 

Thankfully, a Sandra Bullock film was on HBO.

The Proposal, to be exact.

You decide to dive in the film with a cold bottle of beer on your hand. There was no way you’d be washing down the effects of a naked Ryan Reynolds with a glass of water. You haven’t gone mad. 

The film was already at the part where Sandra was proposing to Ryan when you hear Mathew’s door open. You haven’t talked since the night they came back home other than the small nods you exchange upon passing by each other. All of which are mind-numbing and impossible to swallow. The awkwardness has not dissipated completely unlike what you presumed. You were just grateful Tito was always around that you didn’t need to be alone together. 

Alarmed by another impending awkward encounter, you clear your throat and turn up the volume a little to remain focused on the film, investing your sole attention to it even if you have seen the movie countless times. 

Mathew, in his sweats and a gray shirt on, carefully makes his way out the hallway and into the common area after snatching a glass of water from the kitchen. You see him move further into the room but you make sure that he knows you weren’t paying attention. You take that he must’ve been thirsty and needed a drink but you don’t see him move further in the corner of your eye like he was making his way back in his room. It almost seemed like he was actually waiting for you to look his way.

Hesitantly, you follow your gut feel and see him standing a few feet away from you. “Yes?” you ask when you catch him staring. 

Mat blinks a few times, “Hi.” he takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the awkwardness circling the two of you.

When the only thing he gets from you is a tight lipped smile, he shakes his head and proceeds to walk where you were seated. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice deep and clear enough to send your mind elsewhere. 

Regardless, you contain yourself and return a polite smile, “No. Not at all.”

“So, what are we watching?” he sits once you gestured onto the other end of the couch. 

“The Proposal.” you answer before throwing a question yourself, “Aren’t you supposed to be resting now?” you shake your head, absentmindedly chuckling. Not intending to make him feel that you’ve forgotten about what he’d done weeks ago. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” he props his back and lets himself sink in the cloud couch, his legs spread wide eating up most of the space left for the two of you to share. “Oh. I only like him when he’s Deadpool” he points out, cringing at how you were watching another one of your romantic comedy films.

You roll your eyes, admiring how he’s trying to break the tension between the two of you despite his unsolicited sentiments, “I like it when we were on not-speaking terms.” 

Mat mocks you for a while but decides to watch the movie so you let him be and get back to the film, letting a giggle slip every now and then. Something you thought Mat wouldn’t notice.

Watching the remainder of the film went with ease. ‘Course, Mat would steal a few glances here and there (ones he thought had gone unnoticed), but overall the quietude between the two of you was bearable. Almost like it was just two buddies hanging out. 

Although, not long after, your eyes were torn away from the huge flat screen when Mat spoke, “By the way,” he looks at you and calls your attention. 

Puzzled, you watch him take something from his pocket, “Here.” 

Once you see what he has in his hands your heart froze. Mat carefully hands you the cloth with an apologetic smile; his eyes soft with a hint of hope as he watches your reaction. 

“What– How?” you ask in bewilderment, failing to comprehend how he was able to fix the handkerchief. It looked the same as before. All of its details were in place, it was good as new. You were holding Nana’s handkerchief. 

Mathew didn’t bother to dance around and just offered you a quiet chuckle, evidently enjoying the wide smile painted on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” he apologizes, shielding you from all the strings he had to pull just to get that cloth fixed up.

You hold the smooth and delicate piece in your hands as you look at Mat, letting your feelings get a better hold of you, “Thank you.” you say, unknowingly reaching out, your arms wrapped around his neck as you give him a quick peck on the cheek. 

Mathew’s hand instinctively finds your back to support you, startling himself in the process. Nonetheless, the thought was easily shrugged off by how close your faces were, your smiles fading once you meet each other’s gaze. You feel the same rush you felt the night you and Mat got involved for the first time. Your hand was placed rather endearingly on his cheek, your faces, just like all the other times, unreasonably close to each other. Mat then clears his throat and only looks you in the eye. 

Afraid that the innocent hug would lead to something more, perhaps another mistake to be jotted down on the board, you breathe a laugh and break away, “Uh, thanks again. It really means a lot.” 

Mat must’ve sensed that you were being cautious so he puts his guards up and returns a chuckle, “So… we good?” he asks, reaching out a hand your way. 

Your fingers slide into his, gliding its way perfectly, your hands fitted well with his despite the obvious difference in proportion. His grip tightens in the most comfortable way possible. 

A smile breaks off his lips once he hears you answer, “We’re good.”

“I should probably get some sleep.” Mat tells you the moment you pull your hand away.

“Are you gonna be okay here?” he adds.

You looked at him, not wanting him to be obligated to keep you company, “Oh, yeah. I’m a big girl.” you say, making Mathew grin, shaking his head.

“Alright. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

Not picking up on whatever sloppy insinuation Mat has thrown out carelessly into thin air, he hears a simple “Mkay.” 

Thus far, letting him know that his subtle invitation was far from being RSVP’d.

𖥸

“You’ll be in your room?” Mat scoffs, staring at the ceiling while he lays on his bed, “The fuck was that, Mat?” he scolds himself for always coming up with the worst things to say. 

Mathew would be lying if he’d say he hasn’t thought about you (or doing you) for the past week of not being around home. But he definitely wouldn’t deny that the roadie kind of made things easier for him because then he didn’t have to stomach seeing you walk around the flat looking like the hot piece of ass that you were in his eyes. 

Mat knows he needs to pull his shit together. He wasn’t some 13 year-old boy raging with hormones. He needs to control himself around you and he could only do that once he learns how to push this whole thing between the two of you behind him. 

What happened with you and Mathew shouldn’t have happened at all. It was just a moment of weakness, and he hated that he’d let his dick (and apparently, him being one) ruin the relationship he once had with you. 

Before that night, seeing you do yoga and work out on the terrace was just seeing you drenched in sweat, and in your work out clothes looking icky and constipated. Something he’ll later on tease you about and he’ll end up catching the water bottle you throw in his face. But now, after all that fucking, seeing you sweaty and all worked out in the same yoga pants is just like walking into a porn commercial. Like the ones they show before the actual porn. In fact, he doesn’t even have to watch any of it. Tents and Boners were pretty much sponsored by you from then on. It’s sick, and he knows it. 

However, the tension he feels with you is palpable that he’s even certain that you feel it too. But how can he be wrong? He sees how your eyes blink a few times when he’s fresh out the shower, he sees you follow his trance when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, and you never fail to slide him shadowed hints with every touch you “accidentally” pass at him. The kind that’s short enough to remain innocent but not so much as to keep him at bay. Mat hated everything about it. He hated that he wanted you– and he hated that he thinks he might be right about you wanting him too.

All that self-loathing aside, did he regret it? 

That was one of the things he feels bad about. Because as much as he wants to lie and push it aside, he didn’t regret any of it. He didn’t like you that way and just thought about you sexually but he just wishes that you could push past this and just be friends. He was still sexually attracted to you, yes. But he knows he’d eventually get over it and be back on his game. That is if he can ever find someone who’d be as good as how you were the last three times you’ve let him be with you because it would really help him a lot if he could stop picturing your mouth getting stretched by his cock every time he hops into the shower.

Mat was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door. The shy banging sound made his heart beat rapidly in an instant, knowing full well that the two of you were alone in the house and that Tito was, in no way, going to be home for another hour or two.

A faint knock follows the first one before he gets to the door. 

“Hi.” you greet him, a moment unfolding like it was déjà-vu.

“Hi.” 

“Did I wake you?” you sheepishly ask, your hands balled into fists before eventually settling down to hug your own build, unsure of where to put your hands exactly.

Mat quickly shakes his head, “No. I couldn’t sleep myself.”

You offer him a smile, acknowledging how he’s been nothing but good to you ever since they got home. Of course you wanted to get your hands on him being that you were completely dry and horny ever since you’ve ignored him completely, but you haven’t gone mad and you weren’t a complete neanderthal. You can keep your hands to yourself and act like a decent human being. 

“I’m sorry for making things weird between us.” you say, your eyes heavy with guilt. “But I’m only apologizing for being so unreasonable for the last couple of weeks.” you reiterated.

To which he only answers with, “You shouldn’t be. You have every right to be unreasonable– and I know that I’ve been a giant prick that day. It’s what I deserve.” he bites his lower lip, scratching his brow as he continues, “That’s why if there’s someone who owes someone an apology, it should be me. What I did was pretty crappy, so… I’m sorry.”

Like all the other times, Mathew towers over you wearing the same confidence he does when you’re around. Your bodies were reasonably apart from each other but close enough to mean something else if someone had walked by. Mathew was still in his room while you were out in the hallway, separated by the thin line made by the door frame. 

You feel Mat’s steady breathing and everything went still. He looks down at you, pretty eyes drowning yours. His messed up bed hair ridiculously makes up for how dressed down he was. No, actually, he looks fine even when he is. And all of that sight instantly makes your throat dry as you feel something curl in your belly, enough to make your hands sweaty as the thought of tasting his lips again cruised your mind entirely.

Mathew was no stranger to the said feeling either. He watched you punish him more at how plump and inviting your lips were. Or how your hand brushed on your clothes as you remain uncomposed under his gaze. 

Mat was becoming accustomed to how the two of you meet. Same time, same place, only this time, a different hallway. He steps further and crosses the line that divides the two of you, making you take a deep breath as his scent floors every nerve in your body. Waking what has been awake ever since that moment you shared back in the living room even more. 

“Yeah, okay.” you gather yourself, “I– I should probably head back.” 

Just by how his shoulders dropped, you knew you had said the wrong thing. And you hated that you did. Mat clears his voice and swallows, breaking off his gaze, “You probably should.” 

“Good night, Mat.” you smile, trying to regain yourself. 

“Good night.” he replies as he watches you turn your back before finally closing the door behind him. 

Frustrated for he was already starting to feel things more than just being “sorry”, Mat leans against the door and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and tries to get you out of his head. 

He was about to walk away from the door and sleep off his frustration when he hears your faint footsteps on the other side of the door. He rests his head back on the wooden surface and sighs, “You’re still out there, aren’t you?”

There was a total silence for a moment, devoid of the knowledge of how you had your fist, ready to knock yet again, suspended in mid-air. 

Mathew hears you deny sheepishly, “No.” 

You hear him let out a small laugh, knowing that he was trying to contain himself. 

The door sprung open again, and for a second you thought how what you’re about to walk into will start another mess for you and Mathew. But how could you possibly think about it that way when you have nothing else but this man standing at the other end? 

A friend that took no seconds to waste as he finally lets his thirst and perhaps foolishness, get the better hold of him once he cages your heated face in his hands, crashing into your lips as fast as he’d taken you to his end of that thin gray line that has once irkingly parted him from you. A gray line you’re both willing to cross if that meant sharing another night in between halls and thin walls.

[acciomalfoy]

the way the planets align (fred weasley x reader)

A/N; this fic is @fromashescomephoenixes child and i assisted in raising it :) so go check her out rn cos she is wonderful!

summary: y/n grew up alongside her two bestfriends, but life had other plans when y/n moved to france when she was 11. prior to the triwizards tournament, fred and y/n are forced to face the lives they lived, and the radio silence of the past year has an explanation afterall.

word count: a whopping 7.5k

-

It’s funny, really. How quickly life can pick you up, and how quickly life can throw you back down.

 “Faster!” I had screamed as the wind rushed through my hair. I remembered this moment the most. With the wind rushing through my hair and knotting it like nothing else, I felt like I was an eagle all the way up here. My nest? Quite simple really. The boy sitting in front of me. 

 Reality though, was quite different. I was on one of the Weasley’s seven brooms, and Fred was sat in front of me. I hadn’t met many quidditch players, but I already knew that Fred was a damn good one. We had had a plan, you see. Once we arrived at Hogwarts, we were going to become the youngest quidditch players ever. We had it all planned out..  

Fred began his descent to the ground in a swift plunge, and I clutched onto him tightly. If I made it to the ground, I was going to murder the idiot. 

 “Freddie!” I yelled out, and he only laughed.

 “Don’t worry y/n! I’m the best quidditch player of all time,” He yelled back, and I wasn’t quite sure what occurred in that moment, but as soon as Fred slowed down his descent by a fraction, I knew I was in for it. 

 “Sure you are,” I giggled. “Although I’m slightly better,” The wind caught Fred’s response to this, so I never heard it. Looking back, I wonder what he had said. For once, everything seemed perfect. When we reached the ground, I was torn between kissing the ground and wishing I was still flying with Fred.

 “I’ll never get sick of flying like that,” Fred smiled. The summer had made his freckles stand out even more than usual. I grinned back at him as we raced into the burrow.  

 “Darling y/n!” Molly greeted me cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you in ages! It must have been at least two hours,” she teased in a loving tone, and I could only grin back at her.

 “I missed you!” Ginny cheerfully chimed in as she gave me a hug. I waved to her and gave her a hug while Fred and George grabbed a couple of pumpkin pasties out of the cupboard.

 “Good afternoon y/n,” Percy greeted me as he peered over the top of his book. He was wearing strange glasses, which he swore he needed but Fred and George said he simply fancied that they made him look more grown up.

 “Er, hello!” I cheerfully replied. Percy always seemed so much more grown up than Fred and George and I, that I almost felt awkward talking with him.

 “Oh!” I remembered suddenly. “Would it be okay if Fred and George come over to my house for dinner tonight?” I asked Molly. Percy glanced up, but quickly resumed his uninterested reading.

 “Please mum!” Fred and George begged one unison. They liked my house because mum always made dessert. Although George always liked to tease me by saying Fred likes dinner anywhere that I was. I didn’t mind that idea, in fact it only made me blush, but I knew George was joking. Molly nodded her approval and we ran out the door, eager to spend the afternoon in the sun. 

 We began our hike to our absolute favourite picnic tree, where the sun was softly filtering through the leaves of the forest. We were by no means quiet as we joked and laughed our way through the woods.

 Finally we reached our picnic tree. I was the first to shimmy up the ladder. We had found the tree about three years ago, and from then on it became our hideout. The tree had such a huge trunk that even with all three of us we couldn’t get our arms around it! The trunk split into three large branches about eight feet off of the ground, and grew on from there.

 “We’ll have to find a new hideout at Hogwarts,” I sighed, but spoke loudly enough so they could hear me down the ladder.

 “I bet there’s some sort of secret room we could use!” Fred suggested eagerly.

 “Or we could just stinkbomb whatever room we want, and then no one else would want to use it!” George suggested as he popped his head over the top of the ladder.

 “Yeah, but I don’t know if I could even get used to that scent,” I wrinkled my nose in memory of the one we set off last Christmas.

 “Ah true,” Fred sighed. “Bet there’s a charm for that issue though!” We giggled and continued to talk about our plans for Hogwarts. We’d all be going next year, although I was still waiting for my letter since my birthday wasn’t until the next week. 

 -

 Dinner was certainly memorable that night. Fred, George and I walked back with about fifteen minutes to spare. They ran across the lane to get changed in time for dinner. I put on my favourite maroon dress and dashed downstairs just in time to hear the doorbell.

 “Hey guys!” Their marching grind beamed towards me and we sat down to a delicious dinner of homemade pizza. I should have noticed something was up, because we only ever had homemade pizza like that when there was big news. At the tender age of 10, this was the worst news I had ever received.

 “Are you boys excited for Hogwarts?” My mum had asked Fred and George. Of course, this launched us all into our carefully laid out plan. This extended to everything from what house we would be in, to what desserts we would eat on the first night.

 “Well, we have some exciting news,” My dad began. I glanced up, curious if my letter had arrived early or something. Unfortunately I was a bit preoccupied by a bit of cheese that was extra gooey on my pizza.

 “You’ll all get to experience two wizarding schools! In a way at least,” Mum announced this and we all instantly wanted to cheer. Secretly I hoped she would say we were all going on a gap year to Durmstrang. There was something so mysterious about it!

 “We’ve enrolled y/n at Beauxbatons as we’ll be moving there in August!” Dad positively beamed towards us all. Obviously they expected a rush of excitement about this, but what were we meant to say? I stared at my mother.

 “Without Fred and George?” My mom nodded a little sadly to confirm my worst fear.

 “But I’m sure you could all write letters or something!” My dad piped up. I felt like crying, but I couldn’t cry in front of Fred and George. Well, I could. They’d be very supportive, but I didn’t want to show them just how upset I was about it.

 “Excuse me,” I pushed aside my plate and left. I bounded up the stairs to my room, which was decorated with Holyhead Harpies posters. In a matter of moments my world had come crashing down. Beauxbatons was in France for Merlin’s sake! I would be completely and utterly alone. I sighed quietly, and opened up my window, leaning against the window sill. 

 It was quiet for a long time, the only sound I could hear being my own shallow breath as I tried to control my tears. A freckle covered arm nudged mine, and when I looked to my right I saw my best friend.

 “You know that nothing will change, right?” He asked quietly, and I laughed humorlessly.

 “Everything will change, Freddie. I can’t abuse Snape with you guys, or be the youngest chaser on the quidditch team. I want to go to Hogwarts.” I leaned my head on Fred’s shoulder, and he let out a long breath.

 “We can write to each other every week. Yeah, we can do that. Everything will be the same, nothing could tear us apart.” It was quiet again.

 “You promise?” I whispered, and he entwined his pinkie finger with mine.

 “I promise.”

••••

 Fred had fucking lied, I thought bitterly. We were sixteen now, and the letter exchanging had fallen through two years ago. I felt resentment rising in my chest, but I knew it was no one’s fault. It’s just the way that things unfold. Now, as I stood outside the Great Hall I had dreamt of entering my entire life, I had to still my hands as they involuntarily shook. I had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to even be afraid of really, and yet I couldn’t stop my heart from clouding my judgement as it always had as a child. Maybe there was just something about Fred that made me lose all inhibitions. 

 “Now!” Madame Maxine shrieked, and the doors flew open with a resounding bang. There was a split second where we froze, the eyes of Hogwarts on us. It wasn’t until the older girls flew forward did the rest of us, and without even seeing him I just knew where Fred was sitting.

 Something about a sixth sense, our parents used to say. I was Fred’s twin instead of George, with how finely tuned our minds were. We were always able to sense when something had happened to the other, or pinpoint the exact location of one another despite being apart. 

 I willed myself to look away from the flurry of red robes in the centre table. Knowing my luck, I would see a Weasley with questions written all over their face. It was something I couldn’t handle right now. Something that maybe I would never be able to handle. I curtseyed when I was supposed to, eyeing a yellow-robed boy who winked at me, and we continued marching forward.

 I knew that the house of courage was the next house to be curtseyed to, and I decided that if I had gone to Hogwarts, I definitely wouldn’t have made it into that house. I stared at the ground as I curtseyed and continued forward. During the dance we performed I was looking at the roof or the ground, anywhere but the sea of students in front of us. We hurried to the side, and I made the fatal mistake of looking into the crowd.

 Right into the eyes of a smiling Fred Weasley. 

••••

I sat down angrily at the Ravenclaw table. I’m not sure if anger was the right word for what I was feeling. But really how else am I supposed to describe the heartbreak, the sense of loss, and fear I felt. It was all too much. I simply couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. Especially as it was the hall we had so expertly planned our pranks, and conversations, and lives for. 

 What hurt the most, quite possibly, was knowing that there had never been a relationship to begin with. I wasn’t sure how old I was when I realised Fred was definitely better looking than most, and at some point during our letter exchange I had begun to fall for my friend. 

 “Y/n?” My friend Marie nudged me. “You looked beautiful out there!” She encouraged me eagerly, seeing that I was incredibly quiet.

 “Merci, Marie.” I managed a small smile towards her. “I just feel a bit out of place,” I shrugged. 

 “Well, I’m sure any number of boys here are eager to make sure we feel right at home,” Marie wiggled her eyebrows towards me as I let out a small laugh. I rolled my eyes before picking up a fork. “What about...” Her eyes scanned the room for a minute.

 “That one!” She pointed towards the Gryffindor table. I nearly choked on my piece of potato when I saw that of all the boys in the room, she had picked him...

 Fred Weasley’s eyes burned into mine again. I couldn’t stand it a moment longer and I murmured a quick excuse before rising from the table and leaving the hall hurriedly.

••••

When making the choice of leaving the hall, I had forgotten one thing. I didn’t know my right from left in this fucking castle. Everything was dimly lit, and there were endless corridors and nooks that aided in my getting hopelessly lost. I could vaguely recall the halls from Hogwarts: A History, but that had been six, seven years ago. 

 Eventually, I gave up and collapsed into a secluded corner. All things considered, there could have been a worse spot to allow four years of harsh feelings catch up to me. The starlight dimly illuminated by shaking hands, and bounced off of my silvery blue skirt. It was altogether peaceful, apart from my soft shuddering sobs. 

 “Hey,” a voice suddenly broke the secrecy of my break down.

 “Fred, I don’t want to see you right now.” I groaned. His warm brown eyes and soft freckles were too much. They still made my heart flutter and my head spin. As if I was soaring through the air on my broom again, a little girl having a crush on a little boy.

 “What? Why not?” He asked, flabbergasted. I turned the other way, and began to trace the soft patterns of my wand, as I often did when I was nervous. 

 “We’re not friends anymore. You clearly forgot me.” I accused him. It felt good to finally see him and show him how awful he had been to stop writing.

 “You’re the one who stopped writing to me!” He fired back, and I slowly shook my head. He had ignored my letters for over a year and had the nerve to lie to my face about it. 

 “Go. Away.” I coldly turned, and positively bolted down the hall. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. Letters had begun growing scarce around our third/fourth year, and it was seemingly reasonless. The trail had truly gone cold at the end of our fourth year, and that was when the real heartbreak had set in. What a time to be alive. 

••••

“George, did you keep writing to y/n?” Fred was sprawled on one of the many lounges in the Gryffindor common room, while George was lying at his feet. 

 “No, we never even started writing to each other,” He shrugged. Y/n and George had never been quite as close, and they naturally fell out of touch when she moved. 

 Fred pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of his robe pocket, and lovingly smoothed it out.

 “She stopped writing to me in fourth year.” Fred whispered. At this George sat bolt upright. The thought of Fred and Y/n not being best friends was a startling one, one that had never come across his mind. 

 “What do you mean?” George asked, clearly stunned. His twin and y/n had written weekly for as long as he could remember. “Why didn’t you check if it got lost?” Fred shook his head.

 “I did George,” He held up the crumpled paper he was holding. His pained expression was almost too much for the twin to bare. “I wrote four fucking times. This one was going to be my last hope,” He crumpled it back up, and shoved it into a pocket dejectedly. 

 “Oh Fred...” George sighed. “I suppose a prank on Gin is out of the question then?”  

 “I can’t right now.” Fred ribbed his face in his hand. He felt so lost and confused after his encounter with y/n. How could she have thought he would ever want to stop writing to her? Something must have happened to the letters, but he felt like he must be kidding himself if he thought that 5 different letters could get lost. Errol wasn’t that old, was he? 

••••

I dressed quickly in the morning in my pale blue, silky uniform. Although I still sometimes wished that I had gone to Hogwarts, I had to say that the Beauxbatons uniform was much better. As I exited the dormitory I bumped into my friend Maurice who had just exited his dormitory.

 “Salut!” Maurice greeted me cheerfully as we fell into step beside each other. 

 “Quoi de neuf?” I muttered. Though we all mostly spoke English around each other, we also had fun, shorter chats in French. At Beauxbatons they taught most classes in English, except for potions since it was so precise and they couldn’t risk as translational mix up. 

 “You okay y/n?” Maurice asked, pausing and placing a hand on my shoulder. “Aunty Lisa told me to keep an eye on you,” I sighed. Of course, mother would set my cousin on my tail to make sure I didn’t stress. 

 “Never better,” I grinned. “I might, er, run to the bathroom before breakfast,” I turned and threw a wave towards Maurice before I left. I hurried down a random corridor and hoped I’d be able to find a hufflepuff or something to show me to the great hall later.

 For now, I didn’t pay any attention to where I was going as I slowly walked around. I let my eyes drink up the lovely sights of Hogwarts. It was still sinking in that I was finally seeing it, even if I was seeing it under much different circumstances than I had hoped. I ducked away into a corridor as I heard hurried footsteps coming up behind me. Unfortunately I had misjudged, and they were coming towards me, not passing me. 

 “Y/n?” I heard a voice that I vaguely recognised, but couldn’t place. “What are you doing here?” After a moment of thought I finally placed the voice to Percy Weasley. 

 Bloody hell, of the hundreds of student in the castle it seemed I’d only ever meet the Weasleys. 

 “Hello Percy,” I mustered up as much cheerfulness as I could and I tried to walk past him. He grabbed my arm, and I was forced to stop and converse with him.

 “Well!” He smiled broadly, “How have you been?” Clearly he had a much different memory of how close we had been, because he was acting about ten times kinder than I’d expect. 

 “Really well, thank you.” I turned my lips up, hoping to achieve a smile. “Are you hoping to participate in the tournament?” 

 “Oh heavens,” He laughed in a very uptight manner. “No, no. I work for the ministry now.” He said with an air of self importance. 

 “Well, congratulations.” I spoke, with a hint of sarcasm and I made to excuse myself.

 “Would you like me to walk you to breakfast?” I cringed as my escape was foiled. 

 “Er, actually, I was heading to my dorm.” I lied on the spot, cursing the sound of my grumbling tummy. 

 “Oh! Which tower are you in?” I again cursed my poor lie. Thankfully, I was saved (or further doomed) by Fred coming around the corner. 

 “Y/n! Can we please talk?” Fred sprinted towards me and grabbed my hand. I saw some sort of emotion flicker cross Percy’s eyes as I shouted good bye and followed Fred. I laughed once we turned a corner.

 “Thanks Freddie,” I grinned a moment, forgetting I was meant to be angry with him. One more look at his honey brown eyes sent the negative emotions straight into my heart, however. “I’ll be going now,” I began to leave haughtily.

 “No. You won’t.” Fred begged. “Please let me talk to you.” I nearly yielded, but couldn’t stand the idea of my heart broken again with excuses of why my friendship wasn’t worth it. 

 “I can’t talk to you, Fred. Merlin, it hurts for me to even look at you. It’s heartbreak if I’ve ever known it.” I whispered quietly before racing away. Somehow I ended up in the Great Hall, with snot and tears on my face. 

 Before entering, I gently cleaned my face with a charm, and reapplied the natural makeup I had on. Determined to brave the hall before risking running into another Weasley, I calmly walked towards the Ravenclaw table.

 “Oh Marie,” I groaned. It was I could do to keep my composure and not sprawl my head onto the table. Luckily, as my best friend she was able to see this. She patted my back gently, and placed a fresh chocolate croissant on my plate. “Thank you” I smiled. 

 “Of course,” She smiled back towards me. “Did you get lost?” She giggled slightly. 

 “More hopelessly than you could ever know!” To her this would seem like dramatic flair, however I truly felt lost at heart. Unsure how to proceed between Fred’s excuses, Percy’s kindness, and the stress of possibly entering the tournament. I wanted to believe that Fred was telling the truth about the letters, but it didn’t add up.

 The last letter I had sent before Fred stopped writing had been a special one. I had been unable to hold in my feelings towards him any longer. At the end of the letter I had explained that I loved him. Not in the sisterly, or friendly way that I had previously led him to believe. But a real love. 

 Of course he stopped writing. I couldn’t blame him. But I had hoped that he wouldn’t let in stop our friendship. It had hurt. It still hurt, because even though I was young I also knew more than ever that I loved Fred. 

--

“I heard that a ministry official is going to ask you to the ball, y/n.” Marie whispered in that way of hers, and I stared aghast.

“What? Surely that’s illegal.” I whispered back, and Madame Maxine stared at us over the rim of her glasses. I swallowed before picking up my quill.

“Nothing’s illegal for ministry officials, silly. Have you heard of Percy Weasley before?” I froze. Percy fucking Weasley. 

“No, I haven’t. He sounds like a proper nonce.” Marie and I broke into peels of laughter, and another look from Madame silenced us. 

“Will you say yes?” Marie had long mastered the ability to speak with her mouth closed, and had tried in vain to teach me.

“Absolutely not.” I replied, and the sounds we heard for the rest of the lesson were quill scratching parchment and our headmistresses voice. 

-- 

It was on my way to another lunch in the gardens that I was ambushed by arguably my favourite Weasley.

“Hey Georgie.” I couldn’t help the old nickname fall from my lips, and he smiled at me.

“I’ve missed you.” He said, and I smiled sadly.

“I’ve missed you too, silly. I assume you didn’t find me for pleasantries though. You were never the most tactful Weasley, were you?” I laughed at the look of sheer outrage on George’s face, and he eventually chuckled.

“Rumour has it that you stopped talking to my brother a year ago.” He said, and I sighed.

“Fred stopped writing to me after I sent him a letter confessing how I felt about him. Take that as you will, but I took it as a clear rejection.” I took a deep breath, now able to say Fred’s name without falling into pieces. George stopped.

“What? Fred said you stopped talking to him, and I don’t like to think of my brother as a liar.” He said hotly, and I stared at him.

“Am I a liar, Georgie?” 

It was quiet for a long time.

“No, you’re not.” 

-

“Miss L/n!” I should have known that I couldn’t escape Percy Weasley. He was relentless, and I wondered if he knew what the word no meant.

“Hi, Percy. I’m actually on my way to class, I’m afraid.” I tried to end the conversation before it could begin, but no such luck.

“Perfect! I’ve been meaning to walk you to class for a while! Gentlemens chivalry and all.” He looped an arm under mine and I reluctantly started walking.

“Now that I’ve got you here, I wonder how you managed to rank top three in all of your classes. Naturally, I always ranked top five, but that’s mildly less impressive. I think it goes without saying that I topped most of my NEWT’s, but I’m still intrigued on what your methods are. There’s still plenty of learning and memorising that goes on at the Ministry, you see, and I think that you and I would make a great team. Who knows, maybe you can be my assistant when I’m Minister of Magic one day.” I tuned Percy out as quickly as I could. Really, I couldn’t think of anyone who would actually want to listen to Percy for five minutes, let alone the rest of his life. 

I thought wistfully of Fred during the walk to my class, and how much my heart ached at the mention of his name. Maybe I had been harsh on him. Suppose our letters had been lost in the post? It wasn’t unlikely, and it sure would explain why he seemed so confused and upset. 

“Well, this is my stop.” I interrupted him as he droned on and on and on and on and-

“It was a pleasure as always.” Percy picked up my hand and I tried not to gag as he kissed it. Was there anything quite as horrible as this was? I didn’t think so. Oh, maybe your best friend cutting contact with you after you confess your love to him. My life was going spectacularly.  

“See ya.” I darted inside the classroom, spying Maurice and Marie sitting by the door. 

“Hey, y/n.” They chorussed. I noticed with relief that Madame hadn’t arrived yet, and I slid into the seat beside Maurice.

“Salut.” I sat in silence thinking about how weird Percy was, when my breath caught in my throat.

I hadn’t been ranked top three in every class this year, and the last time I had been ranked top three must have been in fourth year. I recalled a quill in my hand as I wrote to Fred excitedly, and the emptiness I had felt upon not receiving a letter. Was it possible? 

I think it was about time I had another chat with George. 

-

“Where are you going George?” Fred glanced up, half interested. His gaze was still fixed on the list of products him and his brother were assembling.

 “Ah, just for a stroll,” George explained as he subtly picked up Fred’s robe instead of his own. The twin hardly nodded, as he became immersed once more in the list of clever tricks and treats they had assembled. George thanked Merlin for his good luck and slipped out the portrait hole.

 Once safely in the corridor, George felt around in the inner pocket to find what he was looking for. Thankfully, it was right where Fred had left it. As always. George pulled out the crumpled parchment, but didn’t dare to open it. It was too personal he had decided. He was simply acting as a messenger, he reminded himself.

 Y/n had invited George to meet her in the library after lunch. Thankfully, after being at the castle for nearly two months at this point, she knew her way around. Now, George thought, all that’s left to do is deliver a letter.

-

“George!” I hissed from a secluded corner of the library. This library was nice, but if I’m being honest I preferred the lighter atmosphere of the library at Beauxbatons.

 “Oh! Hello y/n, fancy seeing you here!” George teased and winked towards me. In return I rolled my eyes, but still had to suppress a giggle at his overused joke. 

 “Look I need to ask-“ I began to feel a little flustered.

 “How did I get my dashing good looks?” He ran a hand through his hair and struck a pose. 

 “No I-“ 

 “Sorry doll, I’m taken. But I have a twin!” George sent finger guns my way, and pretended to swagger away.

 “No! George!” As frustrating as it was, I had missed George’s little jokes. “Did you know Percy had a crush on me?” I questioned firmly. George’s jaw dropped open.

 “I mean-“ He ribbed his neck sheepishly “We used to suspect it in first and second year. But Fred beat him up about it and we thought that was that!” I buried my face in my hands, cringing at the very thought. Merlin’s soggiest sock couldn’t make this any worse. 

 “I think I know what happened,” I sighed. I felt defeated, and mean. I couldn’t believe the things I had said to Fred. How I’d brushed him away. Now the task at hand was talking to that Weasel that had ruined everything. 

 “Well, I don’t know exactly what conclusion you’ve reached,” George gently spoke. “But I think you should read this,” Before he left he pressed the folded, crumpled parchment into her hand. 

-

“George!” Fred sang out as soon as George entered their dorm room. “I have a plan!” He leaped from bed to bed in a happy spirit that often accompanies new hopes.

 “I’m going to ask y/n to the ball!” He exclaimed. George sighed, unsure how his brother thought this would instantly fix things. Luckily for Fred, George had pulled a few extra strings for the odds to be completely in his favour. 

-

“Marie!” I sobbed as she came into the dorm. This was probably not how she expected to find me tonight, and the shock on her face was obvious. 

 I had ripped the covers off of my bed and wrapped them around me like a large cocoon. Then I had promptly laid down and cried for the better part of an hour. At least it was a good test of my makeup setting charm.

 The letter is what did it. Oh! The letter! I cradled it ever closer to my heart as I sobbed again. He had written with all the heartbreak I had felt, with all the love I had felt, with all of the friendship I had felt. And it never got to me! Just as my letter never got to him!

 “He loves me Marie!” I gasped. “He wrote me five letters.” Marie, like the true friend she was, promptly crawled into the cocoon with me and began to rock me softly. 

 “Hush, mon caneton,” she whispered. I steadied my breathing and hugged her tightly. Thank goodness that we had both decided to come on this trip. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

 “I love him too,” I admitted. 

 “Well what are you waiting for?” Marie asked with a knowing look on her face, and I slowly nodded. She was right.

 “Go attack that little weasel.” I laughed in delight, and Marie gave me a soft shove out of our cocoon of blankets.

 “Go!” She repeated, and with another shove I stumbled out of our room. I had no clue where I would find a certain Percy Weasley at this hour, and I didn/t quite know where to begin. Only one person reminded me of Percy, and I figured I may as well head to his room.

 “Professor Snape.” I smiled politely as he opened the door after I knocked, and he merely scowled.

 “Pray tell me what you are doing outside of my classroom.” He sneered, and I stopped smiling.

 “Do you know where I can find-” I was rudely interrupted by none other than the man of the hour.

 “Miss L/n! How I’ve longed to see you!” Percy popped out from being Snape, and I found myself being guided away from the dungeons by the very person I wanted to slap.

 “I’m sure I have longed to see you more.” I said, and he squeezed my shoulder. I almost threw up, right then and there.

 “Why were you looking for me, my dearest?” I was two seconds away from punching the smarmy bastard in the face, and I took a deep breath.

 “I just wanted to let you know that if you ever try to come between Fred and I again, the letters you stole will be the least of your worries. I will ruin you, Weasley, and you better not forget it.” I snarled as I shoved his shoulder before walking off, and the stunned silence fueled my satisfaction.

 It was time to find my Weasley.

 Twenty minutes later and I couldn't find a trace of him. My heart sunk to my stomach. What if my coolness had finally gotten through and he had given up? Was he avoiding me? I slumped into my seat at dinner and leaned my head on Marie's shoulder.

 "I can't find him," I sighed. She reached over and patted my back while she swallowed her bite of quiche.

 "Well, he couldn't have gone too far!" She attempted to cheer me up. Out of habit, my eyes wandered over to the area where Fred and George usually sat. I raised an eyebrow as I found that their spots were empty. Loud footsteps behind me caught my attention and I snapped my head around the other way.

 Thank Merlin, it was George. He was jogging towards me and his robes flapped behind him.

 "Y/n!" He greeted me once he was within earshot. I waved and grabbed another piece of pizza.

 "You play quidditch at Beauxbatons, right?" Marie perked up beside me and grinned before proceeding to sing my praises.

 "She's only the best chaser I've ever seen! You should've seen last sea-" I cut her off, blushing furiously.

 "Yes. I play quidditch." I rolled my eyes.

 "Great, can you help me with something?" George begged. I nodded and followed him out of the room. The sun was just beginning to set, and the air was quite chilly. I wondered what he could possibly need help with at this time. Especially since quidditch had been cancelled this year!

 After we left the hall, and I was extremely puzzled what was happening I began to ask a few quesitons.

 "Do you know where Fred is? I can't find him," I asked George who looked completely bewildered.

 "Fred? No I have no idea!" His voice reached incredibly strange pitches and I realised quite quickly that he was lying.

 "So. What do you need my help with?" I suppressed a grin as I began to see what was happening.

 "Er," There was a pause while George thought of what exactly he had summoned me for. Luckily for him, Ron and Ginny were walking by at that exact moment. "Ron was thinking of trying out for keeper!" He explained desperately.

 Ginny's eyebrows shot up, and she slugged Ron in the arm.

 "Good for you little brother!" Ron's face burned red as they walked away and he began to make excuses.

 "Don't we need Ron for this then?" I grinned at George, and he began to mutter something under his breath.

 The rest of the walk passed relatively quickly as George and I caught up about everything that had happened since I moved. We easily fell into conversation thanks to Fred keeping us both updated on the other. Finally we arrived at the field.

 "Godric! I'm late for something." George looked at his non-existent watch and ran away before I could stop him.

 "What the hell?" I muttered as I began walking back to the exit of the quidditch pitch. Unfortunately, in my angry haze I tripped right over a broom that was lying on the grass. Gingerly, I picked it up, and paused. Why not, I thought, as I mounted the stray broom.

 "Y/n!" From a distance, I thought George had come back. I sped forward slightly, moving the broom precisely and smoothly to greet him. Of course, by 'greet' I meant cast a harmless hair changing charm. Luckily (for his sake,) I quickly noticed it was Fred. Unluckily (for my sake) I was now incredibly flustered and unsure what to say. I chanced a timid wave, and thanked Merlin when he returned it, equally timidly.

 "I'm sorry!" I instantly shouted, speeding down from my perch in the sky. I pulled out of the short dive just a few feet off of the ground.

 "No y/n," Fred shook his head "I'm sorry. I should have known you would never stop writing." He stared at his feet, looking ashamed. "Must've been that goddamn bird," He let out a nervous laugh, but continued to stare at the ground. I didn't want to bring Percy into this yet. He didn't deserve a place in what I hoped would become a treasured memory.

 "It wasn't your fault," My heart was breaking at the pain on his face. But how do you break this sort of news kindly? "I shouldn't have thought you would stop writing either, I just-" I trailed off, unsure what to say.

 "What was in that last letter you sent?" He asked glancing up. I paused, hopping off my broom. Fred followed in his actions, and our eyes finally met.

 "Wait, you never even saw it?" I knew that he'd most likely never seen it, but I had always imagined Percy had let him receive it at least. Little did I know the precision that Percy carried out his plans with.

 He had begun by snatching a letter here and there. Laying the foundation for doubt of each other's consistency of correspondence. He had saved the letters sent by me, burned the ones sent by Fred, and written his own imaginary replies. I had become an obsession for him. So much so that when he saw me this year, he thought we would instantly pick up where we had left off in his imagined reality.

 The day I had sent the letter to Fred. That all important letter. He had taken it and saved it for himself. Looking upon my words of love, and imagining they were from him. The thought of Percy receiving those words instead of Fred brought tears to my eyes.

 "No," He admitted.

 "I wanted to tell you-" I cut myself off. What if all Fred was searching was the friendship we had previously shared? I bit my tongue and held a silent debate until I finally plucked up my courage.

 "I love you," I let the sweet words fly away towards him. I hoped they'd be returned. That their fragile wings would be cradled, rather than crushed. A momentary surprise froze Fred. The stress of the situation made those few seconds feel like hours. Hours of anguish and feeling entirely exposed and unprotected. Finally, Fred sprang in to motion. He rushed towards me, as his lips found mine, my eyes fluttered closed. It was just Fred and I, the aligned planets watching as their plan fell into place. Fred tasted like strawberries and he sucked softly on my lip. I couldn’t help from running my hand through his messy hair, and I felt him grin into the kiss. 

 "Go to the Yule ball with me my darling?" He asked softly as we broke apart.

 "Of course my love," I let my head rest on his strong chest as we let the last flickers of sunset wash over us.

 The ball had approached much quicker than expected. Over the past two weeks, a lot had happened. First, I had explained to Fred what Percy had done. I didn't want to create a rift between the brothers, but it was the only way to fully explain and resolve the situation. Fred had looked very solemn, and confronted Percy who denied everything. Unfortunately for him, he carried around my last letter with him which was quite incriminating when we discovered it.

 Fred and I had hardly spent a moment away from each other.

 I had a periwinkle blue mini dress on, which hugged tightly around me. Over top, I had a sheer silvery blue gown that shimmered like stars as I moved. All of the Beauxbatons girls had picked something of the same color scheme, but this dress felt so me that I didn't mind. After curling my hair into delicate ringlets I helped Marie curl her hair and then we left.

 I took a deep breath as we glided down the stairs after Madam Maxine. I could hardly contain my excitement. My heartbeat felt similar to when I was anticipating a particularly good match of quidditch.

 Fred was standing there looking spectacular in his dress robes. He had charmed his tie to be a periwinkle blue, and he was holding a small bouquet of lavender flowers. The moment I smelled them, I remembered that moment with him on that broom. I remembered the rush of adventure, the hint of recklessness, but most importantly: the trust. I trusted him so much.

 He took my hand, and we silently walked into the ball. It almost felt too perfect. Too cliche, not unique enough for such a special story. Our story that we were writing one page at a time.

 After a few songs spent pleasantly dancing, laughing, and whispering lost words to each other I had an idea.

 "Freddie?" I whispered as I leaned my head onto his chest.

 "Mmm?" He swayed us gently to the sweet music.

 "Can we leave?" I asked. "I want to go on a broom with you again," I explained. His face softened and he took my hand as we walked to the quidditch pitch.

 Here we were. Up in the air again. I spread my arms, testing if my eagle wings were still there. They were. And as an eagle, I had finally reunited with my nest. I brought my wings back down to take hold of the broomstick. This time I was in control, and I'd had a bit more practice than 10 year old Fred had had. So, I sent us into a steep dive, almost until it felt like a free fall.

 After the rush of adrenaline I soared back up until we reached the roof of Gryffindor tower. I couldn't stop myself from imagining how many sleepless nights we could've spent talking here. How many breakfasts, and boring classes I could've spent with him.

 As I saw the moonlight softly reflect off of Fred's pale face I realised then and there. He was my soulmate. He was my perfect match. He was the person that I didn't want to spend a single minute without unless I absolutely had to.

 I told him so too.

 "Freddie," We were holding hands again as we laid on top of a soft blanket he had conjured to lay down on the roof. The incline of it was just barely safe to lay down on without sliding off. I didn't feel scared though, I had Fred to anchor me.

 "You look beautiful in the moonlight y/n," He turned his lively eyes towards me. I blushed and smiled slightly.

 "I love you so much," I began. He kept his eyes trained into mine. Giving me his full attention. "I don't want to lose you again, okay?" I took a somewhat shaky breath. " I just mean, the past couple weeks have felt like a dream.” I said, and Fred held my hand.

 “I know, pretty girl. You won’t lose me again, not if there’s anything I can do about it.” I squeezed his hand back, and we watched the night sky in all its glory.

 I was standing in my dorm room, nearly ready to leave when an owl flew into the window. Plonk, I realised it was poor Errol. It appeared he could hardly handle a flight around Hogwarts anymore. I tucked him into a small blanket and gave him an owl treat. He let out an appreciative coo and snuggled into the cozy nest I'd made. I unrolled the parchment, and twirled the sprig of lavender that had been in the ribbon between my fingers.

 Dearest y/n,

 Today you go back to Beauxbatons. I'm sorry I can't be there in person, but I'm happy to tell you everything is going really well.

 The shop looks amazing, although they can't have it ready for us until some time next year. I figure this will work well anyway since we still have a few more products to perfect. (Thanks for helping us with the antidote for the puking pastilles by the way!!)

 Also, the apartment will be perfect I think. We would be on one of the very top floors, so you might feel a bit at home given your talent for quidditch. It's close to diagon alley, but actually in muggle London, which I thought you might like. I said we'd take it within the next 8 months, since I'll obviously be leaving school before graduation and you'll be graduating in March.

 I hope the carriage ride is fairly nice. I know it won't be perfect since yours truly isn't there (wink wink) but I hope I'll be able to visit soon! I have to go for another surprise I'm working on, but I'll owl soon. I have my eye out for lovesick, letter stealing brothers this time!

 Yours forever and a day,

 Freddie

[minimitchell]

5- “I thought we were friends.” please ☺️

Ben has four good friends in his life; the kind you tell all your secrets and keep for the rest of your life.

Him, Jay and Lola have always been friends; they’ve grown up with each other and have known one another since they were kids. Frankie on the other hand is a newer friend, who has joined their little ragtag group of people after Ben met her when he was helping out at an after-school club; she’s teaching other students sign language and they’ve immediately bonded over that.

And then there’s Callum.

They’ve been friends ever since Callum rocked up here in Walford with his weird older brother and even weirder dad a few years ago. They clicked immediately, easy banter and teasing flowing freely between the both of them, and it took no time for him and Ben to become really close.

Callum’s home life isn’t exactly the best so he spends most of the time after school at Ben’s house, or they’re hanging out with the others at the park or somewhere else around here. They become sort of like a package deal - where one goes, the other soon follows.

Things are damn near perfect until that one day - the night of Callum’s birthday party.

He’s finally eighteen, the last one of their little group to finally become an ‘adult’, and they’re having a party for him at Ben’s house. Partly because his own birthday was only a couple of days ago so it’s the perfect opportunity for a joint do and partly because Callum’s dad would never allow him to throw a party at their flat.

It took a lot of convincing and begging for Ben’s dad to agree to this but fortunately for them he had in the end - under the condition that they would get the house clean again before he comes back that Sunday.

Ben doesn’t want to toot his own horn but the party is definitely a success. Half of their year is here - singing and dancing and getting increasingly drunk. He takes a no doubt regrettable amount of shots with Frankie in the kitchen, presses in close to grind against Lola on the makeshift little dance floor in the living room and gets roped into a game of beer pong against some of the guys from their year.

More importantly though, he makes sure that Callum is happy. There’s a big grin on his face that hasn’t left all night, even if it got progressively less sober and more dopey as the night went on, and he seems to have the time of his life, laughing and shouting lyrics to cheesy pop songs with all kinds of people here.

He’s happy and that in turn makes Ben happy as well.

It’s all he could ever ask for.

When the last people eventually leave it’s close to four in the morning. Their friends are long gone and Ben can’t wait to fall into his bed and sleep, he’s that exhausted. He’s already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.

Callum is spending the night, not just because this is his party as well so they both have to clean up the mess tomorrow but because it’s just what he does. What they’ve done a million times before.

But there’s something different happening today.

Today, right there in the dark of Ben’s bedroom, where they’re both already tucked in under the cover, on the night after his birthday does Callum finally spill his biggest secret to Ben. The two little words hang in the air between them for a long moment while Ben thinks of what to say in response.

I’m gay.

It keeps replaying in his head; Callum’s careful, hushed voice now ingrained in his memory, probably forever.

Callum knows that Ben is gay as well. He’s been there for most of his figuring out, knows all about him fooling around with guys at parties and the casual dates he goes on sometimes. Ben always had a hunch, an inkling, that Callum was into guys but he never said anything about it, not wanting to push Callum in case he wasn’t ready to face that yet.

Apparently, all he had to do is wait him out and let him figure it out on his own.

It could be perfect as well. He could just tell Callum he understands and that it’s okay, that of course it doesn’t matter to Ben. And there’s that little, hopeful voice inside his head, he’s tried so hard to suppress over time, that whispers that maybe this crush simmering away inside his chest could be something more now one day.

Only, it doesn’t quite go that way.

He does say all the encouraging things to Callum, gives him the support he needs and deserves right now. But because Ben is just so fucking stupid and there’s still massive amounts of alcohol swimming in his veins, he also does the worst thing he could possibly do - he leans forward and kisses Callum. His best mate. And even worse, when Callum’s hands start wandering and tugging off his clothes he does nothing to stop him.

.

The next day is horrible.

There’s a pounding in his head that doesn’t seem to lessen even after he’s taken two Aspirin and drunk a large mug of coffee. The house is a mess and Ben is more than thankful for the fact that his dad isn’t coming home until later tonight. He probably knew what would greet him otherwise.

Ben got out of bed the second he was awake enough to do so, leaving Callum behind to sleep the rest of the alcohol off.

He can’t believe he was stupid enough to sleep with his best mate; stupid enough to get caught up in the moment and damn any consequences. Terrible consequences at that.

Because how can they stay friends after this?

How can they go back to how they were before when Ben knows how Callum feels now; how he sounds and what he tastes like.

He doesn’t want this to ruin their friendship, because it undoubtedly will. They’ll maybe decide to give it a try, Ben will ruin it like he always does and they’ll never want to speak a word to each other again. Or, they become something and in the end, Callum leaves because that’s all they ever do. No one ends up choosing Ben.

He doesn’t want any of that to happen.

Callum is the first person who completely gets Ben, in and out, often without saying anything at all. He trusts him more than anyone, more than Jay even, and Ben doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Callum by his side.

And of course he went ahead and fucked it all up.

He has already cleared the cans and bottles from downstairs, starting a load in the dishwasher, when he hears the stairs creaking and footsteps coming closer. It sets off panic in Ben’s chest because now is the time to decide whether he wants to outright tell Callum he’s at least a little bit in love with him or ask him to forget about the whole thing.

In a fit of pure panic, he does neither. He pretends nothing ever happened at all.

“Hey.”

Callum’s voice is hesitant, barely audible over the low hum of the radio Ben turned on in a desperate attempt to drown out his own thoughts. He looks over at Ben like he’s some wild animal he’s trying to approach, obviously wanting to gauge his reaction to what happened between them.

Ben doesn’t dare to look at him, can’t bring himself to face him right now, so he busies himself by getting another big trash bag from underneath the sink, avoiding Callum’s eye as much as possible.

“Nice of you to finally join me. You can get started in the living room, do some hoovering maybe. There’s crisps everywhere.”

Yeah, getting Callum into a different room, putting some much needed space between them, sounds like a good idea. At least, until Ben can figure out what to do to get out of this situation unscathed and with his dignity intact.

“I thought we could maybe get some breakfast? Talk a bit?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately, mulling his words over in his head. He wants to say yes but he’s too afraid of what could happen if he does. Is this Callum wanting to let him down easy? Telling him thanks for this experience but I’m not interested in anything more?

He couldn’t even blame him really. Callum should go out and explore, figure out himself and what he’s into without being chained to someone else. Ben is glad he could give him a good first time - at least he thinks it was good for Callum, because it was pretty incredible for himself - but he’s under no impression that he won’t be just one of many for Callum.

As he should be. Because Callum is funny and smart and gorgeous in a cute way and he deserves to have a lifetime of romance and adventure. He deserves a line of guys falling over themselves to be with him. He deserves better than Ben; better than someone who already has quite the reputation for being an easy lay at school.

“I thought we were friends. Friends help other friends clean up before their dad gets back and yells at them for leaving the house in a state.”

It’s a flimsy deflection. Ben is all too aware that Callum knows his dad isn’t coming back until later. And although it’s close to midday already, they still have all the time in the world to clean up. There’s no reason they shouldn’t stop to have a hangover breakfast first - except the fact that Ben is a giant coward, of course.

“Are we?”

“What?”

Ben finally meets Callum’s eyes across the kitchen table and it’s immediately obvious that he’s said the wrong thing somewhere along the way. Because Callum’s face is hard, his expression unimpressed and mouth a thin line. There’s something softer in his eyes though; something sad or pleading maybe, betraying the thunderstorm clouding his face.

“Are we just friends? ‘Cause I don’t think friends do what we did yesterday.”

Ben blows out a breath, hand coming up to scratch at his face in a nervous habit. Apparently, they are talking about it now. This will all end in tears, Ben’s sure of it.

“Technically it was today.”

“Ben!”

They’re quiet for a long moment; the only sound in the room the whirring from the dishwasher and the radio playing some old song about heartbreak that hits a little too close to home right now.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cal.”

The tone of their conversation seems to shift then. Callum’s face shifts from mad to something that looks a lot like defeat; like he’s not even considering this having a good outcome anymore. It makes Ben pause somewhat because it means there was hope there sometime before.

He’s trying hard not to latch onto that hope, because what if he’s mistaken?

Callum takes a deep breath, like he’s racking up the courage to actually say what he’s about to say, and Ben is scared but ready at the same time to cling to every word.

“I want you to say you don’t regret it. Because I don’t, not at all. I know we’re mates but I always hoped it would happen. I always hoped that when I was finally ready, it would be with you.”

Ben doesn’t want to let himself hope, still stuck somewhere between denial and self-protection. Just because Callum wants him too, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t crash and burn and ruin their friendship in the process.

“Callum, you deserve better than me.”

Callum walks around the kitchen table, stopping only when he’s standing in front of Ben, placing both of his hands on either side of Ben’s face to get him to look up at him. He has to fight the strongest urge to lean into Callum; it feels too good to have him touch him again like this. He’s only felt Callum’s touch a couple of hours ago at this point but it already feels like he can’t breathe without it.

“No. I deserve what I want to. And I want to be with you. And I think you want that too. Let's just give us a chance, yeah?”

Ben tangles his hands in the fabric of Callum’s white shirt, using his hold to pull Callum a step further into him. The doubts are still there, and they probably will remain rooted in his head for a while, but they aren’t as loud when Callum is looking at him like he is now.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s try this.”

It’s hard not to be infected by the bright smile taking over Callum’s face at that, Ben trying to hide his own smile by scrunching up his face and looking at the ground as best as he can when his face is still being held by Callum.

He’s willing to give his best when it comes to this; to be the best boyfriend Callum could ever have. Because he wants him to be happy, and more so he wants to be the one who makes him happy. He’ll try at least.

Callum’s thumbs brush over the skin over his cheeks for a second before he leans into him and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s just a sweet, short peck but it’s enough to send Ben’s heart into overdrive, hammering against his chest in such a wild rhythm he’s sure Callum must be able to hear it.

When they part, Ben presses his forehead against Callum’s, not ready to let him go yet. It’s paradoxical - this whole morning he’s tried to tell himself they don’t have a future together and now that it’s within reach, under his fingers and on his lips, he doesn’t want to be without it ever again.

“You think cleaning the rest of the house can wait?”

Ben breathes out a laugh, letting go of Callum’s shirt so he can reach up and tangle their hands together, pulling him along with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs again.

No matter what happens in the future, they’ll figure it out.

Together.

[fourrarri]

He’d never thought himself much good at giving gifts. At least not the traditional way. A general non-interest in materialism and a fondness for practicality that grew with his age having made a habit for him of gift giving at random to address a need rather than wait for any specific occasion. Not something that anyone ever seemed to mind but had always caused him a prickle of disquiet in him when it came to birthdays, or christmas. Anytime he was left floundering for gift ideas really. Especially when the occasion for gift giving was someone near & dear to his heart & well within means to buy whatever they wanted much less needed.

Still, he’d always loved a challenge, and Lance. . . Well, the hitman was nothing if not that no? And so much more besides, as he’d been delighted to find in the time he’d gotten to know the man thus far. Knowledge he’d put to proper use making the birthday boy’s gifts over the last month. Gifts that not only fullfilled Joel’s fondness for practicality but that he hoped would meet the other’s fondness for aesthetic beauty as well. 

But perhaps above all, he hoped they’d translate how much he appreciated what Lance had been willing to share of himself with him. His openess. His history. How very genuine he always was in any response he gave him. Joel wanted to honor that. Show him somehow beyond words that he’d heard him, that he cared. That he was glad to know him. Who he’d been, was now, and if Lance was keen, who he’d become.

“I uhh--, made each of your gifts myself. Well, mostly. I didn’t actually make the packaging on these first two, just what’s inside em.”

The first of the gifts was a bottled set of massage oils. Each one had a color scheme of preserved blossoms to indicate the essential oil he’d picked for fragrance. Flowers that he’d picked himself either having found them while hiking or from various flowershops. The florals he’d then dyed, dried, arranged, glued, and set inside each bottle before adding the oils. 

It was no secret that Lance not only enjoyed attention, but absolutely thrived on it. Had made it clear on a handful of occasions that he was not above demanding it, loudly. Or turning into a complete bratling when it wasn’t given to him for longer than he had patience to wait. Lance also liked to touch, to be touched. And if Joel had thought to indulge himself his fondness for ‘taking care’ whilst gifting the man something that encouraged lavish amounts of pampering and focus all on him, well. He rather doubted the other would have issue with it.

“These are massage oils infused with aloe and other essential oils for skin care and fragrance. Should come in handy the next time the sun toasts ya a bit more than you meant. Or when you’re feeling neglected.”

The second wasn’t any less playful or indulgent. They were at a glance a bit of an inside joke, one that only a very small handful of people would probaly ‘get’ if what Lance had told him was anything to go by for how many people knew how he really made money. The gift was a set of lip balms he’d made with a mix of beeswax, shea butter, vaseline, and jojoba oil. Each one had been carefully colored with a combination of powder made out of the leftover blossoms, and food coloring to add tint to them along with their protective and restorative properties. 

The set itself was shaded from translucent to various nudes that ranged from natural pink to warmer spice hues. When adding the tint, he had paused, idly wondering if the addition of color to the balms would be too feminine a detail for Lance’s taste. A thought that had gone as fast as it’d come when he recalled the man’s new habit of painting his nails. How much value he placed in his appearence, how little he placed in social norms, how he was seemingly content to enjoy what he liked and not question it beyond that. How very fond he was of Lance for it.

His favorite part of this particualr gift however, was that the case for each one was a hollowed out, reforged, and repurposed rifle cartridge. This detail had probably been what’d taken the most work on his part but in the end he was more than pleased with the results, was certain Lance would be to, as evident in the smile curving his lips as he spoke.

“All that drinking and sunshine dries out your lips chéri. These should help with that, keep you kissable. Some of them are tinted to if you’re feeling flirty.”

The last was the only gift that he’d actually bothered to wrap. To hide. He’d wrapped it meticulously, kept the corners pristine. The paper was ocean blue, patterned with metallic designs. Tied with gold ribbon, topped in an immaculate bow. Inside was a simple white box, and below the lid, buried within more blue, delicate tissue paper was a driftwood picture frame. The frame scaled perfectly for the sketch portraying a memory Lance had described to him in detail from his childhood and coupled with his recall for the one picture Lance had, that he’d shown him upon asking. A picture of him in his boyhood and his mother.

The sketch had taken the whole day. Had been born from a deep rooted desire to somehow give Lance something of that day beyond what he held in his memory. To replicate the warmth he’d had in his tone when he’d spoken of Marianna, described her for him, how she’d been more of a mama to him than the one who’d actually given him life for the most part. 

A fact that the man himself had seemed content with upon it’s revealing but had cracked open something hot and hurting inside his throat, in his chest. Something that felt like tears. Was tears. Tears he’d furiously blinked away, turned his face & hid when Lance seemed to nearly notice. Had fallen free once home and he’d contemplated how his friend had learned to normalize loneliness. Normalize family being something you acted out for company and performed rather than actually had. Normalize not having any pictures of them in your home for everything family photos were meant to be and never had been for him. 

He hadn’t thought about it. Simply grabbed his sketch book, sat on the chaise in the corner of his living room, just beside the french doors that led out to his porch. The same ones that allowed sunlight in enough to warm him as he worked.

He’d let his hand skate across the page, pencil loose in his fingers, slowly, slowly, the shape of child Lance, the details of Marianna he’d given him coming to life. The profile of her face was hidden, back to the viewer’s sight as she turned, scanned the ocean debris at her feet, the tumble of soft sand in the churning wave line. Smile lingering at the corner of her lips. A peek of profile through her hair but only details, not her whole face. Curls tumbling down her back, the wind catching them, lifting a few stray tendrils. Pointing, reaching, directing a grinning Lance to another sea treasure she’d spotted for him to bring back home.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d spent on it; shading in her shadow on the sand, working to capture the gentle folds of of her sundress, capturing every detail Lance had told him about her. All he knew for certain was that it had been early noon when he’d started, and when he’d finally stopped the sun had already gone down. 

He didn’t color it. Knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Lance why. How sometimes the best and worst memories looked better in black and white? In the crisp shadows of grayscale, how if you tried to bring back too much you could lose it all? That a memory was its own breed of ghost? How he knew beyoind a doubt he could never capture the blue of the ocean, the warm shade of her eyes, the soft highlights of her hair. Like trying to pin down the wind. Same as capturing her visage without a picture, he didn’t dare attempt bringing the life of color to this memory. Didn’t want to trespass any further than he potentially had.

The smile from before fades, breath catching in his throat enough it hurts to swallow around. Makes him work to force words around his words, his feelings, how little room they leave for anything else.

“Really not good at telling people about how I feel about them when it really counts. Always preffered to show them instead so---.” the words trail off, and he reaches out a hand for the last gift, pushes it within Lance’s reach as his heart begins to hammer away at the cage his ribs suddenly are.

“Not sure if it’s anything like you remember but I wanted to do something for you. Something special. And this wouldn’t leave me alone till I finished it. Ended up drawing it the same day you told me about it. Really hope I didn’t fuck up.” He elects not to tell Lance he means in general, not just the sketch itself. 

“You mean----, a lot to me Lance. I don’t even have words for it and I have a few languages to choose from. Hasn’t helped. But I wanted you to know, wanted to show you. Anyways, happy birthday.”

       💸 ║ ❛   ————— It always overwhelms him a bit, all these feelings towards Joel and how observing he actually is. Definitely not a man he’s ever met before. And Lance had men before that showed interest in him, tried to promise him the world but in the end the motives were completely focused on the MONEY and lifestyle of the rich and famous. And it’s not like Lance never understood, money and luxury are things he himself enjoys the most as well. But that thought just always runs around his mind; people wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him if he didn’t have all the money, the cars and the big mansion. JOEL is a different kind of man though. Lance managed to convince himself that even if there wasn’t all this money and luxury, Joel would still be there. But most importantly, Joel IS actually here, between all these nice things and in the end all he cares about is putting the smile on Lance’s face. 

          Lance examines all the gifts while Joel goes off explaining the details. He does listen to what he has to say very carefully but his mind is telling him things. What is it that Joel sees in him that makes him so sure he’s deserving of these things. It only makes Lance notice that he’s only good at accepting gifts as long as he knows the person didn’t really put any effort into it. But all the effort Joel put into it, Lance doesn’t wanna ruin the good moment. Ruin it with his bad thoughts punishing him for feeling grateful for something he doesn’t quite deserve. He is pretty good at shutting his mind off if things make him too vulnerable, so that’s his solution.

          A bright smile forms on his lips while looking at all these nice things. Suddenly it just feels so warm inside him, almost pressuring as if there’s something he just has to let out. It’s just a feeling of genuine HAPPINESS that Joel manages to break free, and usually that feeling is archived once he’s had a few shots. No alcohol this time, there’s no need for it. Not even his mind is running to it. Blue eyes wander from all these beautiful gifts to Joel, only for a short moment though. He’s desperately trying to form a sentence in his head to not seem like a child who’s got all the presents it wished for. But talking, expressing himself is hard when he tries to not get over that spot of vulnerability. 

          ❝   Qué digo, qué digo.. Thank you, amorcito, honestly. I really don’t know what to say.   ❞  And just as he tries to fight his brain to throw out ANY WORDS, there is another gift coming. Joel seems much more nervous about it, much more emotional. Lance doesn’t wonder too long after he eventually unwrapped it and now examines this personal work. It just causes him to feel a lot of emotions, they just hit him like lightning, yet he’s QUIET for a moment. While there’s still this burst of happiness, there’s also an ache in his heart that’s not easy to handle. A picture like that doesn’t exist but when he looks at it it feels like there’s something real about it. Lance never had a picture of MARIANNA, but if he did he wouldn’t hide it away like he does with the picture of his own mother. Marianna deserves much more than what he’s able to give her. And the fact that Joel actually took the time to awake the memories in his heart does cause him to get very emotional about it. Things like that make him cry like a baby when he’s alone, so he’s really fighting some tears. He doesn’t wanna cry on his birthday.

         ❝   I can’t believe you did that. Man, soy demasiado emocional para esto. This is a lot. I love it.   ❞   At least he got out a little bit before his emotions make his eyes all watery. Still, he fights hard not to cry over it. So the best way to hide that is to simply throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. The hug holds on for a moment until Lance interrupts it to place a kiss on Joel’s lips.    ❝   Merci, chérie.   ❞

[hargrove-mayfields]

Through the Lonely Throng

It’s impossible to sleep at night with so much noise.

The woods in Hawkins are filled with it, and from his window in the white house at 5280 Cherry Lane, Billy Hargrove can hear every last screeching katydid and snapping branch and the leaves rustling so loud when the wind blew.

Things were so much different back home in San Francisco, where the sounds of the night were distant and more like white noise. Then he could hear distant cars, their tires smooth on pavement, and the sounds of the ocean if he listened hard enough. He missed that more than anything.

Indiana was so much more, suffocating. The noise overwhelmed him in a way the bustling city life of Cali never had, and he knew that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But it did to him, in a city that was actually made up of more than middle of nowhere neighborhoods and a few corner stores, he had his room to breathe. There was freedom in having somewhere to hide.

There used to be places to go when he couldn’t stand to be alone or when he needed to be, there was always an escape. He supposed that was why they moved here, so his father could keep better tabs on him, so he wouldn’t have the liberty he did in a developed city.

Now in Hawkins, he was just stuck, all the time, nowhere to go but back home again. Every single day was the same old thing without anything to do, and it was wearing down on him. He missed the life he used to have, missed his friends and the distractions and his fucking mom. Indiana was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Everytime Billy thought there might be a silver lining, anything at all to look forward to, his hopes were shattered again like glass when you dropped it, only he never seemed to hit the ground. Constantly in a downward spiral since he’d stepped foot in this shithole town, his life had gotten so far out of his own control.

He’d already done so many things he regretted, but the thing was, he felt like he’d been watching from the backseat as it happened. The isolation and torment of the new way he’d been forced to live was breaking him down piece by piece, and everyday he became more and more like his dear old dad.

Staring out the window by his bed, a plume of smoke drifting up towards the twinkling stars from a cigarette between his fingers, he felt so, so uneasy. With himself, for all that he’d done, and the people he’d hurt, with his father, for uprooting him and putting him in this tiny box, deliberately bringing out the nastiest parts of his temper, and fucking Hawkins, for keeping him cornered and taking away everything he ever held dear.

The tears on his cheeks weren’t a surprise, he’d always been a stupidly emotional person, no matter how tough he tried to be. His momma told him that meant he was strong, that any boy who wasn’t afraid to show his emotions was very brave. Look where that got him.

Speaking of his momma, she’d been on his mind a lot lately. The idea that, had she not just drove off without him he wouldn’t be here now, it haunted him. He could’ve been happy, if she’d chosen him, chosen her baby over a life of freedom. She’d said once over the phone that she’d come back when he was older, that you couldn’t run fast enough with an eight year old, but that she wouldn’t forget him.

There’s a few months left until his eighteenth birthday, and he hasn’t heard a word from her since.

So much for dreams of a dramatic rescue, for the hope that his mom would come back for him and swoop him away from the arms of his abuser. Tough shit, kid.

Even if she had stayed, he knows in his heart things wouldn’t be any different. Except for maybe that Neil probably would’ve murdered the both of them by now if complacent little Susan hadn’t come along. Maria Hargrove was a fighter. Susan Mayfield took whatever was coming without complaint. Funny how he hated them both anyways.

Sometimes he thinks about how they’re victims too, how not everything that happens is their fault, but then he remembers the look on his mother’s face as she walked out the front door for the last time, or the way Susan would ignore him when he was injured, going about her day, picking up dishes and folding laundry while he lay on the floor with boot shaped bruises up and down his body. Of his mother’s tone of voice when she picked up the phone after she abandoned her son, or the way Susan would inform on what he’d been doing no matter the consequence just to stay in good graces with her husband.

Like hell did those women deserve it, but did he either?

Was it fair that, since he was just eight years old, he’d been being beaten and battered and abused in every way by anyone and everyone who got close to him? Did the fact that Maria got hit a few times make it okay to subject her son to the daily torture he faces just for existing? Does Susan’s fear excuse turning a blind eye to what she knows her husband does behind closed doors?

But does his own hurt make it okay to bully his step-sister and her friends? No, it doesn’t.

His excuse is that he’s scared.

Scared for Susan, as much as he hates to admit it, that one day Neil will get bored of beating him up and move on to his dainty little wife. Woman like her wouldn’t be able to take his punches, and if she couldn’t stand up for her step son, she definitely wouldn’t stand up for herself.

He’s scared for his friend Tommy, because he’s been seen spending too much time around him, and his dad is getting suspicious. Thinks that just because they hang around each other there must be something going on. Whether it was just regular teenagers up to no good or an accusation of queer shit, either would set his father off, and Tommy would be the target if they didn’t distance themselves a little.

And he’s scared for the Sinclair kid, because Neil has made it very clear that nothing good will come of Max hanging out with him. Billy’s kind of caught in the middle on that one, he doesn’t want Max to think he's the dickhead when his dad is, but he wants her to just keep her distance, be a little more cautious so something bad won’t happen.

Back in California, he’d had a black friend in kindergarten, and as soon as he found out, Neil called the school and had his classes switched just because they’d been too young to get a beating for it. Lucas was fourteen, and if eight was old enough for his own flesh and blood, then that was good enough for Neil to lash out. But they were just rebellious teenagers with no concept of real world consequences, and they were going to get themselves killed.

More than anything, he was scared for Max. He can tell she doesn’t really know what’s happening around her. Susan does her very best to shield her daughter from Neils rage, and that means not telling her about it at all or letting her see it. On Neil’s bad days, Max would still come home talking a mile a minute, pushing him over the edge to a violent fit that his son would have to face, and she’d be none the wiser.

At first, it’d pissed Billy off that she could go home free so often, but by now the fact that she was completely blind to it scared him that one day, she’d be next. Just a few weeks ago he’d had to step into the middle of an argument between his father and step-sister, and got a split in his eyebrow so bad it still hadn’t healed. It was only a matter of time before he didn’t catch it in enough time, and Max’s little safety bubble would pop forever.

But doing his best to keep all of them safe meant doing his worst, and he hated it. What choice did he have when he had to keep Max and Lucas separated and the target on Susan’s back small? How could he do that other than to be strong and mean and just like Neil?

Because, if he had a mean streak himself, that’d threaten his big bad dad, and he’d get his ass beat. Coming home wasted and making a scene, he’d get his ass beat. A call from the school or a concerned parent about that rowdy boy down on Cherry, and he’d get his ass beat. Wash rinse repeat.

Be the worst Billy he could be, and Neil would take it out on him, not on Max who holds hands with black boys, or Tommy who doesn’t even know his best friend’s a queer and just wants to have a friend, or Susan who didn’t know what she was signing up for when she said I do.

Still, making that choice, deciding to take the worst of his father's rage for everyone else and still not seeing an ounce of empathy or concern thrown his way put a bitter taste in his mouth. At this point it was like, why even bother keeping up the sacrifice? Nobody appreciates all the pain he goes through to protect them, why not just be good?

Because it wasn’t just for them.

If Neil knew his son wasn’t manly and brave and cocky and cool like everyone thought he was, Billy was sure he’d already be six feet under. The act had saved his ass on more than one occasion, when tears fell from his eyes and accusations of being a dainty fairy started to fly, the leather jackets and the metalhead music and the fucking cologne on his balls kept Neil from going too far. It was a counterbalance sort of thing, because he could think of nothing else that would stop his dad from lashing out at everyone around him.

He knows how he acts is wrong, but he doesn’t know what else to do, what else could stop Neil. Unless somebody would just grow a pair and put Neils sorry ass in prison, then things wouldn’t have to be this way.

But it was that way, the cops didn’t believe Billy when he was 10 and innocent, let alone now that he’s just some washed up trouble maker, and Neil kept up a pristine reputation among the communities they lived in, so nothing was done about it.

Everyday the line between who he actually was and who he needed to be to survive and to protect those around him from that monster got blurrier and blurrier.

So here he was, listening to the dumb katydids in the trees keeping him awake, chain smoking and reflecting on his choices, some of the most recent and very poor ones sticking out in his mind's eye.

On Halloween, he’d almost killed a bunch of kids just to scare Max. Every night he thought about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been quick enough pulling the wheel. Getting beat up by your daddy doesn’t excuse that, even if in his head he was just trying to teach Max a lesson.

Then he’d broken her skateboard for talking to Lucas behind his back. That had actually been an accident, but he was still threatening to do it when it broke and he was still screaming at her. For trying to protect her from Neil, he sure did treat her just the same way his father did him.

The icing on the cake was that the same night, he’d lost his cool and totally scared the hell out of everyone. Max is pissed about the skateboard and sneaks out of her room in the middle of the night, he doesn’t notice because she’s like 13, she doesn’t need a babysitter, Neil and Susan find out before he does, and there’s bruises on his back and a sore spot on his cheek and he can’t find the little twerp for the life of him. All her friends' parents have a different answer for where the kids are, and when he finally finds them they’re under the supervision of a random teenager unrelated to any of them in a strangers house.

Now, when they moved here, Susan had been concerned about the area, she’d heard trafficking was bad in the Midwest compared to their sunny California, but Neil had told her it’d be fine. As Billy pushed his way into that house that night, he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t. One of the kids that was supposed to be there was missing, the one who’s house they were in, is just, gone, and he can only think the worst. His thirteen year old sister is being prostituted or some shit and he’s kind of freaking out, and he turns it around on Lucas.

Lucas, who hadn’t done anything wrong but be a kid, but who had been warned about hanging out with Max, and had now gotten her involved in some kiddie porn thing, and Neil was going to kill him and he’s fucking terrified. Then he’s in a fucking fist fight with Steve Harrington, who he’d thought was just the somewhat dopey leader of the basketball team, but was apparently leading whatever the fuck this operation is and lying to him about it.

He wins the fight and he almost kills Steve, thinks he has every reason to if his suspicions are correct, but Max picks up some random syringe, which, again, he’s convinced would only be necessary if they were drugging and selling out these kids, and fucking stabs him with it. He doesn’t remember anything else, but he knows Max has gotten a lot cockier around him and the other kids hated him like, a thousand times more.

There’s still the creeping feeling in the back of his mind that there’s something else going on, but he didn’t want to be like that again. He’d already known he’d crossed the line to being too much like Neil, but that night had really cemented it in his head, and he regretted all of it. A thousand different things could’ve played out, and he’s pretty sure that because of him, the worst of all possible scenarios had occurred, and he wished he could go back.

But he couldn’t, so he tried to apologize, but Max wouldn’t hear it. He’d been halfway through saying he was sorry when she’d opened the car door and stomped away, slamming it shut in his face. That was fair, he deserved that, but he wished so desperately that there was something he could do.

He guessed his problem was just, keeping doing what he knew was wrong until it was too late, and then not knowing how to like, change from that. Just apologizing meant nothing at this point and he knew it, but he hadn’t meant for this to go on for so long. Which also meant he sure as hell didn’t know how to fix it.

It made him feel hopeless, being caught between so many different expectations, especially when he realized that he had set most of them for himself. He was a monster of his own making, and he would have to own up to that before anyone would forgive him.

——

Things never really work out for Billy.

The instant things start to look better, Neil would do something that set his son back to the start of it, and he’d screw things up with Max and her friends all over again like clockwork.

It felt like he would always be trapped alone with the quaintness of Indiana, locked up in the confines of his bedroom, unable to break the cycle of abuse.

He never expects that statement to be as true as it is.

Glass shatters, he panics, tires squeal, he loses control, broken ribs, he can’t breathe. In and out, he can’t remember, chemical burns, his face and his throat and his chest burn like fire, fades to black, what did he do? It hurts, he’s sorry, burning heat, he didn't do it, it hurts. Gun fire, he floors it, fireworks, he wants it to end, seven feet, he was happy, blood on the tiles, he’s not gonna make it.

Billy Hargrove dies on the Fourth of July, 1985.

He doesn’t get the chance to move on, doesn’t get to prove his father wrong, or ever have the chance to live his own life.

There’s no turn around in his young life to get back on the right path and leave behind his trauma, to be better than what his abuser did to him. He’ll never see his mom, or his home or his sister ever again.

He doesn’t have the chance to make it up to Lucas or Susan or Steve or Tommy or Max. Or to escape the mindset he’d been raised into so he could be free and safe and happy again.

Billy’s last words are an apology to his sister. He chokes on his own blood, or maybe not his own, he’s not sure, and he goes out of this world at only 18 years old, a monster of his own making.

[starlingsrps]

poppy allen character development.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME:  poppy lieke allen

NICKNAME(S): nope.

PREFERRED NAME(S): poppy

BIRTH DATE: october 25

AGE: twenty seven

GENDER: cis female

PRONOUNS: feminine

ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual

NATIONALITY: american

ETHNICITY: american-dutch

CURRENT LOCATION: los angeles, ca

LIVING CONDITIONS: neat and tidy, well decorated. she's definitely in laurel canyon, purposefully kind of a bitch to drive to.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: santa barbara, ca

HOMETOWN: montecito, ca

PLACES LIVED: montecito, new york, london - wherever the hell she's filming tbh. los angeles is home.

SOCIAL CLASS: upper upper. when your eighteenth birthday is a people magazine cover, you don't pretend.

EDUCATION LEVEL: high school

FATHER: bryce hawthorne, 57, movie star

MOTHER: saskia werhoff, 52, model turned lifestyle guru

SIBLING(S): marieke allen, 25; matthias allen, 20

BIRTH ORDER: poppy, marieke, matthias

CHILDREN: absolutely no.

PET(S): nope; allergic to most things with fur.

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: her mother's family in the netherlands, her father's in nebraska.

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: legion and documented online.

ARRESTS?: nope.

PRISON TIME?: nope.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: actress

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: spokesperson

TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: trust fund

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: like why wouldn't she be

PAST JOB(S): does she look like she's ever done intensive work?

SPENDING HABITS: poppy's version of reasonable is absolutely not the same as a normal persons. she thinks she's reasonable but that's just because she doesn't own a diamond encrusted birkin. she buys things that are high quality and doesn't really have experience with things that aren't.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: real estate portfolio. she owns her house and a condo in new york. both are points of pride for her.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: B-

OFFENSE: B

DEFENSE: B

SPEED: B

INTELLIGENCE: B

ACCURACY: B+

AGILITY: B

STAMINA: B

TEAMWORK: C+

TALENTS: poppy has an incredible work ethic and sense of loyalty. she knows she's lucky to be where she is in life but she's going to show up the same as anyone else on set and give her best every time. she knows her self worth and she does not compromise on it one single bit.

SHORTCOMINGS: that can come off as.....abrasive.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english and dutch

DRIVE?: yes

JUMP-STAR A CAR?: she was definitely taught by her father but it did not stick.

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: see above.

RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes

SWIM?: yes

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no

PLAY CHESS?: no

BRAID HAIR?: yes

TIE A TIE?: yes

PICK A LOCK?: no.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: abigail cowen

EYE COLOR: blue

HAIR COLOR: red; boosted from strawberry blonde to red-red.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: long and swishy. it's a signature at this point. that pantene hair deal did not just materialize on it's own.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: both - a bitch is Nearsighted.

DOMINANT HAND: right

HEIGHT: 5'7

BUILD: willowy and toned, great ass.

EXERCISE HABITS: daily - she looks at it as part of her job description and between her father's biceps and her mother's devotion to yoga, she wasn't really raised with much of a choice but to use the gym.

SKIN TONE: fair, little freckled. a lot freckled if the sun has gotten to her.

TATTOOS: none

PEIRCINGS: ears

MARKS/SCARS: none

NOTABLE FEATURES: the Hair, upturned nose

USUAL EXPRESSION: attentive

CLOTHING STYLE: carefully curated. god i miss polyvore this would be so much easier. hold for pinterest board.

JEWELRY: whatever suits/is loaned for the occasion. she has a lot of small pieces that she owns for daily wear and a few really nice bits that she got from her parents as gifts.

ALLERGIES: dander, almonds.

DIET: nothing super weird/out of the ordinary, definitely erring on the trendy and consciously healthy end of things.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: nah.

PSYCHOLOGY

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type eight

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

TEMPERAMENT: choleric

ELEMENT: water

SOCIABILITY: A - poppy is incredibly charming and social.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: ehhhh i'll give her a B-. like she's not bad but when her temper gets triggered, hell will reign.

OBSESSION(S): nah

COMPULSION(S): nah

PHOBIA(S): failure

ADDICTION(S): nah

DRUG USE: she does smoke, she does know, she doesn't care.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker.

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: no (yet i think a certain someone might get something thrown at him)

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: even and cultivated. she has a pretty feminine voice and has done a little voiceover work.

ACCENT: nope.

QUIRKS: she squints a lot, even if she does have her glasses on or contacts in. this bitch is Blind.

HOBBIES: she does read a lot and she does enjoy trying new things. nothing crafty but she's pretty down for new activities.

HABITS: daily workout, twice weekly call with her Team, grooming, work. she likes to stay busy and likes to stay organized - her planner is sacred.

NERVOUS TICKS: don't fucking touch her planner.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: personal success. she was well known before she jumped into acting and modeling on her own by virtue of her parents but she absolutely wants to be her own person. she doesn't use her father's SAG name (legally, they're all allens rather than hawthorne but SAG), she doesn't do any mommy and me/daddy and me projects and she steers any interviews away from heavy talk about her family.

FEARS: personal failure. she knows she'll be okay no matter what - she's got the cushion of wealth and privilege - but she does not want to ever fail on her own merits.

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, generous, hard working, passionate, driven, fearless.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: bossy, stubborn, abrasive, no sense of limitations, single minded.

SENSE OF HUMOR: good! kind of dorky, prone to dragging the shit out of people.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: ehhhhh what is often

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: sex working, being alone. she spends so much time surrounded by people that being alone to relax is a luxury.

ANIMAL: she thinks dogs are awesome but she can't be around them without a shitload of benadryl so like, bears?

BEVERAGE: the iced coffee IS surgically attached to her hand, thanks!

BOOK:

CELEBRITY: her parents, corny as that is. least favorite is her brother, who's big on tiktok and habitually trying to use her pool for shenanigans.

COLOR: red

DESIGNER: she's a valentino bitch.

FOOD: a really, really good steak.

FLOWER: gardenias

GEM: pearls

HOLIDAY: christmas

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: flying

MOVIE: father of the bride

MUSICAL ARTIST: kacey musgraves

SCENERY: the ocean. she's a coastal california girl and she does not like to be far from the water.

SCENT: ocean, gardenias, coffee.

SPORT: baseball

SPORTS TEAM: dodgers

TELEVISION SHOW: nothing specific but she will watch food network competition shows for hours.

WEATHER: bright and sunny

VACATION DESTINATION: exotic and warm.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: having her career measured on its own merits; oscar. she doesn't not want a family and such outside of that but her career is her focus. she's in a good place and she doesn't want to put anything on pause.

GREATEST FEAR: poppy is alarmingly fearless. the only thing she truly fears is failing herself. nothing else really matters.

MOST AT EASE WHEN: with her family on the ranch in montecito to hang out and relax. she likes being around her sister - marieke is a classics student and has been bouncing about europe for the past seven years and they don't get to see each other very often. marieke is calm and completely removed from hollywood and she's basically the human equivelent of going to a spa.

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: not....no. poppy may be slightly uncomfortable but she is never going to let that show or acknowledge it.

WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: a scandal she can't recover from.

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: her career, the first time she wasn't mentioned in conjuction with her parents in a magazine article in the first paragraph.

BIGGEST REGRET: nope.

MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: she's sure there have been but they're all pretty buried.

BIGGEST SECRET: keiran, 100%.

TOP PRIORITIES: her career. it's a thing she can control.

[mrs-captain-evans]

Blind Date - Chris Evans x Ofc

Summary: Melanie (ofc) has been set up on a blind date with Captain America himself, Chris Evans. How will it go? Pairing: Chris Evans x Ofc Word Count: 1841 Warnings: Fluffy

A/N: Today is my birthday! So to celebrate I have written this little piece which sprung from an idea due to a friends first (and awful!) date. Thank you @mycapt-ohcapt for once again being an amazing support. Forever grateful <3

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

This was the worst first date you’ve ever been on. Your best friend, Emily, set you up on a blind date with, what she described as, the perfect man who will make all your dreams come true. She gave you his number last week in case any plans change, but the only thing she told you was his name, Chris, nothing more. When you asked for his last name she said you’d bail if you knew who he was. You were sat at the 2 person table in a luxurious and exclusive restaurant in Boston fearful for your life. What if he was a serial killer? He didn’t sound creepy in his messages, but you still felt panicky.

The restaurant was far more expensive than your liking. Looking around at the other diners, feeling out of place, you couldn’t help but notice the time. He was 35 minutes late! If it wasn’t for the fact your glass of wine cost more than your weekly shop, you would of left 15 minutes ago.

Feeling frustrated and wanting to take your anger out on your best friend, you pulled out your phone to send her a text, ‘Ugh, he’s so late *rolling eye emoji* This is the last time you set me up, the fucker couldn’t even cancel himself. The waiters are giving me funny looks. You owe me big time for this!’

With a tight smile on your face, you looked towards the waiters, who were giving you a sympathetic look and asked for the check. Reluctantly paying for your drink, hoping your card didn’t decline, you thanked your server while vowing to never listen to your best friend again.

Standing up and downing the rest of your wine, you moved to leave, but a tall, muscular man with a full beard and a frantic look on his face caught your eye. The hostess pointed in your direction and the man politely nodded and turned in your direction striding towards the table. Reaching you, he apologised instantly “Oh god, I’m so sorry, my meeting overran, the traffic was terrible and I couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

Realising who your date was, you replied with a dazed edge to your voice, “That’s okay, I was just about to leave but I’m going to quickly use the restroom.” Before giving him a chance to reply, you rushed off in the other direction to compose yourself.

Chris Evans. Your date was Chris Evans. Captain America, Chris Evans. You couldn’t believe Emily, how could she? Not only was he the hottest bachelor in Boston, he was your celebrity crush. You were aware that Emily was distant friends with him but you never thought she’d actually set you up with the actor. You always knew that letting her plan the whole date was a bad idea, she picked the most over the top restaurant in Boston and now you were going to have to sit with the man, trying to act normal.

Heading back towards the table with a smile on your face, you noticed your wine glass was now full again and Chris sipped from a glass of his own, with the remaining bottle in a silver bucket to the right of him. As you approached the table to introduce yourself, Chris noticed you and awkwardly reached his hand out towards you, miss judging and knocking your glass over, tipping it straight onto your brand new, and expensive, dress.

“Shit! Fuck! Sorry.” Grabbing some napkins and passing them to you, he continued apologising, “I am so sorry, let me pay for the dry cleaning.”

Irritated at him for not only ruining your new $170 dress, but also being late, you couldn’t help your sarcastic response, “No point in dry cleaning, it’s ruined!” Looking up at him, seeing the sheepish look on his face, you couldn’t help but carry on, “I can’t just afford to spend nearly 200 dollars on a dress for it to be destroyed after wearing for an hour! This is the last time I ever let Emily interfere with my love life.”

“Look I am really sorry, I can’t apologise enough, I’m just- well I’m nervous.” Seeing him shifting on the spot, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, blushing, you felt bad for snapping at him.

“No I’m the one who should be sorry, I shouldn’t of snapped at you.” Still trying to wipe off as much as you can, you gave Chris a small smile, showing him he was forgiven.

Both of you sat back down and finally got onto the formal introductions, “I’m Chris Evans, the biggest and most awkward dork in Boston. Nice to meet you” He sent a wink your way.

Laughing at his humour, you flicked your hair over your shoulder, throwing him a cheeky smile, “Melanie Clarke, or Mel, the most wine drenched girl in Boston right now.”

“Yeah, I asked for that!” God, his laugh is infectious. You couldn’t help but look around the room in discomfort. This was not your kind of place, you’re a simple girl who loves a local and casual restaurant with home cooked food and doesn’t cost a months rent for a three course meal.

Noticing your uneasiness, Chris asked you if everything was okay. Wanting to be honest, you told him how you felt, “I’m not really a fancy kind of girl, I prefer little quaint, family run places. You know where the owners know your name and you can have a fulfilling meal surrounded by charm. Nothing that breaks the bank.” Seeing his embarrassed smile, you tried to make him feel a bit better, “Don’t get me wrong, this is a beautiful restaurant.”

“But..”

You looked into his eyes, shrugging slightly “It’s just not me.”

Seemingly delighted with your response, Chris let out a sigh of relief, “Thank god, I hate places like this. Do you wanna get out of here? I know a great pizza place”

“Yes please, I thought you’d never ask!”

Signalling for the check, Chris reaches into his pocket to pay the bill. Frantically searching through all his pockets, raising his voice slightly “Fuck! I cannot believe this.”

Surprised by his sudden outburst, you glanced at his annoyed face, “What’s up?”

Repeating his words and no doubt feeling mortified, “I cannot believe this! My earlier meeting overran and I left my house in such a rush to get here on time, that I forgot my wallet.” Shaking his head in disbelief, cursing at himself, “Chris you dick! And shit, you were late anyway! And now you’re cursing in front of a lady, fuck!”

As much as you enjoyed seeing him squirm in his seat, you felt a tiny bit sorry for the actor. You had a feeling he wasn’t always this horrendous at the dating scene, he did have a bachelor boy reputation after all.

The waiter comes over with the check and recognising the guilty look on his face, you reached into your purse and produced your credit card. “Don’t worry I’ll get this, a bottle of wine can’t be too expensive right?”

Wrong. As you studied at the bill you nearly choked on your own breath when you saw the figure at the bottom of the slip, $120. Trying not to look startled, you forced a smile the waiters way, hoping that your card didn’t decline. Thankfully the payment went through and you politely thanked the waiter.

Breaking the silence, Chris cleared his throat from across the table, and spoke to you in a timid voice, “All I seem to be saying to you is sorry, but I really do apologise, for everything.” Not wanting to be a bitch, you acknowledged him with a curt nod, trying not to let your anger boil over. “Please let me at least drive you home.”

“What and potentially get run over? No thank you. I’ll call a cab.” You exhaled loudly while pulling out your cell phone.

Just as you were about to dial the number, Chris’s small, gentle voice interrupted you. “I’ve really screwed this up haven’t I?” Closing your eyes for a brief second, you let his words and tone of voice sink in. Opening your eyes, you could see he was slumped in his chair, not making eye contact with you and looking very ashamed of himself.

“Sorry Chris, I just don’t think it was your day.” Feeling a bit guilty for barking at him a moment ago, you wanted to let him down gently.

He lifted his hopeful eyes, and while he stared into yours, asked “I’m guessing a second date isn’t on the cards?”

“I don’t know Chris.” Shrugging lightly, you couldn’t help but think this was all a big mistake.

With a smug smile on his face, and a knowing smirk, you suddenly felt on the spot, “Oh c’mon, please, I owe you big, remember?”

Confused at his question, you furrowed your eyebrows together not understanding him, “Huh?”

Grilling you further, “The ‘he’s late, what a fucker for not cancelling, you owe me big time’ text.”

Completely forgetting you had his number, texting him back only 5 hours ago confirming you were still on for this evening, you must of accidentally sent your message to him instead of Emily! Now you were the embarrassed one, “I umm- oh shit”

Chuckling lightly at you, “Looks like it’s not your day either.”

Mortified at making such a rookie mistake, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Nope, obviously not.” Your voice was tight and your breath was coming out in short bursts. Noticing Chris’s laughter you were pulled out of your near anxiety attack and couldn’t help but feel amused. This was definitely not the way you thought your evening would turn out, but as much of a catastrophe it was, you were happy you shared this awful experience with such a charming and humble man.

“Look, I know this evening hasn’t gone well. Actually it’s been a disaster, but I would love to see you again.” Pausing a little, he sent a wink your way, “Plus I owe you that pizza right?”

After a small debate in your head, you quickly decided to give him another shot. After all it was Emily who planned this outrageous dinner date. If you were both in a more comfortable environment then things, may perhaps, be more successful.

“Okay Evans, you’ve got yourself a second date….just.”

Smiling widely at you, he stood up, checked his watch, and held his hand out for you to follow his lead, “C’mon, it’s only 7.45pm, my condo isn’t too far from here, I can pick up my wallet and treat you to the best pizza in Boston. It’s the least I can do for being late, and ruining your dress. Oh and for making you pay for that ridiculously overpriced bottle of wine.”

Placing your hand into his, you both walked out of the restaurant feeling a lot more relaxed with big smiles on your faces.

“Just you wait until Emily hears about this!”

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

Thank you all for reading! Please reblog and comment, it’s very important to all writers on here.

If you would like to be tagged, please leave a comment or send an ask.

Tag List: @mycapt-ohcapt @princess-evans-addict @gigglegirl77 @coffeebooksandfandom @the-sunshine-in-the-dark @loricameback

[whatthefoucault]

A Chronological List of Works by me, whatthefoucault: the Everything Edition

So it turns out I’ve actually written a very good number of words.  Almost all of the superhero things I’ve written fall into the same timeline/continuity, which I like to call Earth-212, adjacent to a few canons and then sort of also has a life of its own. I wasn’t sure how best to organise this, but here’s an attempt at placing all of these works into a vague chronological order, though almost all of them can be read independently and the reading order doesn’t really matter. Largely stucky, with some other Cap Fam shenanigans, and also a lot of entries for frostmaster and other Revengers business, some Hawkeyes, and various others. Heed the tags in each fic, but bear in mind I’m here for softness, recovery, finding one’s place in the world, and that’s largely what I’m here to write about.  If this list of everything-in-chronological-order is overwhelming and you want to get more specific, here’s:

Cap Fam

Revengers

Miscellaneous

The Stargazer’s Field Guide To Constellations

By the time Bucky happened upon him, doubled over on the front steps of the library, Steve was already as green as a plate of creamed spinach.

And My Heart Beats So That I Can Hardly Speak

Steve doesn't dance, but this was a special occasion.

(A Few Inches Too Far) Underneath The Mistletoe

It was purely by chance that Steve happened upon a scruffy little sprig of discarded mistletoe on their way back from dinner with the Barnes family.

So Take It From Me, Captain America

"Ok, Captain America PSA number four, take one, and... action."

Sextown, U.S.A.

The message was vague on details, but the urgency in Wade’s voice told Steve it was serious, and that he should come alone.

“Help me, Steve Rogers,” he pleaded. “You’re my only hope.”

Steve had to admit that that got to him.

(It would be three months before Steve would see Star Wars for the first time. Needless to say, he was not amused when he did.)

... In which two supersoldiers form a very special bond across several time zones, many states, and more all-you-can-eat breakfast than anyone should ever eat in their life.

Advanced Seminar In Postmodern Cultural Analysis, Lesson Five

In which Steve Rogers and his very good friend Wade Wilson hang out.

The Sand And The Sea

Clint and Kate have not talked about that thing that happened.

Bring Your Silver Arrows

After that thing that happened with Kate, Clint's going through some stuff.

Continental Breakfast Not Included

Sam had definitely asked for separate beds, but they had been driving since before sunrise, and it was almost midnight.

This Is Going To Make For An Interesting Expenses Claim Form

The scene before him as he rushed to the bathroom door, one pant leg still flapping awkwardly underfoot, would have to anyone else been highly out of the ordinary, but they were superheroes, after all.

The Season For Plums

One day, a man went to the market to buy plums. 

Notes From A Dirty Attic

I don't know what I'm doing.

My name is Bucky. I come from Brooklyn. I died in the war.

Particle-Wave Duality

While Bucky is napping, Steve reads to him.

Blackout Nights And Tight Spaces

It was cold, then sleep, but it was different this time. He was dreaming.

Caprine Management

In which Steve meets Bucky's new friends.

Everyone’s A Winner

Little did the Grandmaster know, when he settled in by the pool, that his evening was about to become much more interesting.

The Art Of The Co-Operative Endgame

The Grandmaster surveyed the board as Loki prepared to make his move, and - oh, this was interesting, he thought - there was a very good chance indeed that Loki might actually win.

Moonshakes

"Hey Scrappy," said the Grandmaster, "what do you think of the new guy, uhh, Loki?"

Gamalost

In which the Grandmaster has found the right companion with whom to share one of his very favourite things.

or

When Loki falls out of the sky and into the Grandmaster’s lap, he gets everything he hopes for and more. The more comes in the form of cheese. A lot of cheese.

Two Seat Sofa, Hensta Light Brown

"So..." Steve hesitated to finish the question, "are we dating?"

(In which Steve and Bucky come home.)

I Guess That This Must Be The Place

He closed his eyes, and prayed his words would project over the distance, somehow:

Count down from a hundred, and then come and find me, my sunshine.

... in which the Grandmaster embarks on an intergalactic road trip in search of his love.

A Constellation Of Sunlight, Beneath The Cherry Tree

It was well into the night when they lay together, but it was not until the morning that they made love.

Rugbrød, Fløtemysost, og Molter

There were some things the Grandmaster needed to know about Loki, and it seemed, from the shift she felt in her bones as she awoke, that this was the morning to address them.

No Less Than Three Kinds of Cheese

The sun was out and the park was beautiful, but it was still too cold for a picnic.

Sugaring

Every morning, Steve sets out from the little cabin to tend to their maple trees. 

Solskinnsboller

The fact that no bakery in the entire staggering metropolis he currently called home had ever so much as heard of solskinnsboller was tragic, but Loki was nothing if not resourceful. He would just have to make them himself.

Butter, Sugar, Flour, Eggs

"What was my grandma's name?" asked Bucky, apropos of nothing.

Syzygy

It was cloudy enough that most people chose to forego the beach that Tuesday, but such things would not deter the Grandmaster and Loki from a day out.

American Globs

Objectively, he knew everything was fine. He knew they were fireworks, and that they were beautiful, and back in the day, he and Steve used to sit under the stars together and watch them light up the sky with wonder and delight.

But time had passed since then.

It’s Like Right Now

Nat and Sam visit a street food market.

Me And My Baby Gonna Touch That Leather

"I think we should fuck," said Bucky, as Steve began climbing back under the duvet.

Say The Magic Word

"Hey, if you're going past the kitchen, do you think you could get me another coffee?"

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

… in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

The Nemophilists

“Conspicuous,” said Steve, apropos of nothing. Bucky was putting away the last of the clean dishes.

“Conspicuous?” asked Bucky, nesting the heatproof glass bowl precariously in a short stack of significantly smaller cereal bowls.

“Yeah,” said Steve, scooping last of the leftovers into a container that, it turned out, was a tablespoon too small. “I’m.”

Nemophilist: (n.) One who is fond of the forest.

The Shape Of A Snake In A Defensive Coil

In which Loki's not very well, and the Grandmaster volunteers a solution.

Long Hair Problems, And How To Outsmart Them

“So I guess we’re not getting up early to line up for brunch?”

The End Of A Century

This is the story of a sister and her brother.

As the shadow of the war fades and gives way to new conflicts, Becca Barnes battles the constraints of the twentieth century: an education, a marriage, a career, with the ghosts of her youth never far from her memory. As the twenty-first century barrels on through its awkward teenage phase, Bucky Barnes builds a new life, with new friends, and a burgeoning relationship with his lifelong companion Steve, the erstwhile Captain America, as they struggle to find their place in the world. The last time Becca saw her brother was on the eve of war; neither of them expected, some seventy-something years, a hip replacement, and one new arm later, to be reunited.

This is a story about family.

And Our Dreams Are Making Us Nice Stories

Steve had been adamant that a party was unnecessary; however, his friends had insisted, bundling into his little Brooklyn apartment with pizzas and a selection of local microbrews and seven-layer taco dip and two dozen supermarket cupcakes emblazoned with the most neon buttercream he had ever seen piped into the stripes of little American flags.

A Ghost That The Others Can’t See

"What'd you tell her about me?"

"Only the good stuff."

From the Mighty Forest of Vacherin to the Belegen Fields

When it came to special events, the Grandmaster did not do understated.

The Littlest Balsam In Brooklyn

In which Bucky and Steve get a tree.

When Life Gives You Limoncello

In which Bucky has baked a pie. 

Blessings

At last, the shape of life after everything had begun to come into focus. Bucky and Steve consider the next steps, and some friends come to visit.

Kinugoshi

When the Grandmaster had suggested somewhere special for lunch, Loki was not expecting a small, four-table restaurant in an unremarkable suburb of Kyoto, but there they were.

Stargazing

"You know what? Let's get out of the city," Steve suggested after dinner.

(In which Steve has a very quiet birthday.)

The Mighty Hrothgar

"Uhh, I dunno about this place, stardust," the Grandmaster said to Loki, his tone hushed. "I've introduced myself to, like, five dogs, and none of them have said a word. Why don't they like me?"

The Fundamentals of Sciurine Linguistics

Sam Wilson was sure about three things: the words Captain America were enough to nab a table for two at the most popular noodle bar in the East Village on short notice, everyone loved a good noodle bar, and ramen was up there with corn on the cob and chicken wings as the worst possible food choice for a first date.

Eight Evenings In The Kitchen

The Barnes-Rogers Hanukkristmas season was always going to be one spent almost exclusively in the kitchen.

Light Showers And A Gentle Breeze

They had been under no illusions that there would be a guarantee of snow, but nothing could have quite prepared them for the abundant, relentless sprinkle of rain.

In which Bucky and Steve go somewhere quiet for Christmas.

Nine And Three-Quarters

"I don't get it, stardust," puzzled the Grandmaster. "It was supposed to be right here. Between Platforms 9 and 10."

Strollin’

"Hot dogs?" asked Steve.

"Hot dogs," agreed Bucky.

The Greatest Thing

In which the Grandmaster plays an early afternoon slot at his very first Midgardian jazz festival.

On A Quiet Morning In The Last Forest In Brooklyn

“We said we wanted to keep the guest list short,” protested Steve. “Just close family, and close friends. Nothing expensive, nothing... tacky.”

“As if you’re one to complain about tacky,” countered Tony. “I got my invitation by group text. Who does that?”

...in which Bucky and Steve get married.

The Witches Of Føroyar

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, nestled in a little cottage just beyond the rocky shores of a tiny, windswept island, lived two very special people indeed. The green witch drew his power from the moon and the stars and the deep, dark night sky; while the gold witch shone with the power of the sun, dazzling and bright. They loved the island and the mountains and the stormy sea, but most of all, they loved each other very much.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

noise echoing (part two of two)

sequel to silent conversations, season 11 au, part one

my depiction of msiv had to be pretty heavily altered because of the fact that the entirety of msiv is about looking for jackson, which isn’t actually an issue here, so. some scenes and scenarios stayed the same. warning for violence.

Life returns to normal again. They watch William a little closer, but he seems to be genuinely remorseful for scaring them, with no intention of ever doing it again. They don't talk about it more than they need to. William has apparently inherited his mother's ability to not talk about things, and Mulder and Scully are more than happy to not relive those three terrifying days.

Life is good, even. William hangs out with friends occasionally, but he spends most of his summer holed up in his room reading or watching Netflix, or out in the woods with the dogs. Scully spends the summer writing a series of medical journals, and Mulder pecks away at a book he's been saying he's going to finish for years. They take X-Files where they can find them nearby. They break their rule only once: when Skinner disappears for a few days in the fall. Mulder is hesitant, even with the monster tease in Skinner's apartment; he doesn't want to leave William. Scully says, “It's Skinner, Mulder,” and that's really all it takes to convince him. William spends the next few nights at Jordan's house while Mulder and Scully hunt their boss down in Kentucky.

“I'm glad you went,” William says after it's all over. “I like Skinner. He definitely does way more for you guys than any normal boss. And besides, it sounds like he really needed your help.”

“Mr. Skinner,” Mulder says at the same time as Scully, in that mocking tone that makes her glare. She's been correcting William on that ever since he started imitating Mulder at age three, which Mulder has always found absolutely hilarious and William followed suit. They share a smirk across the dinner table. “I agree, Will,” says Scully, giving them both a stern look that relays exactly what she thinks of their comments. “But I don't know how much help we ended up being. Your father fell into the hole instead of getting Skinner out of it.”

“Mr. Skinner, Scully,” Mulder says playfully. “And besides, that wasn't my fault, I was blindsided. You're the one who left him in the hole!”

Scully jabs the fork at him. “He told me to go, Mulder, we were in pursuit of the suspect! And besides that, he was injured.”

“Exactly,” Mulder says. “Exactly why you should've gotten him out and tended to him.”

“He got himself out,” Scully says defensively. “Exactly why I think he could've handled it himself. I mean, who knows what would have happened if we hadn't come… but Skinner was very capable on his own.” Mulder makes a face at her, clinking his fork against hers like a sword.

“Wait, wait, wait,” says William, pointing his fork at the both of them. “You left your boss in a hole? After he'd been impaled?”

“It was circumstantial, William,” Scully says mildly.

He laughs, swishing his fork around his plate. “How have you guys not been fired yet?”

“I've asked myself that question every day for over twenty-five years, son,” Mulder says. “This isn't even the worst we've done, as a collective.” Scully swats his shoulder with a napkin.

William faces his junior year head on, with loads of homework and the fear of the ACT looming. Mulder and Scully look for any trails from the men who came for William over the summer, but there are none. The leads have dried up. They are all waiting for the day that someone will send people after their son again, but that day seems far off and distant. They remain on edge, keeping their guns in their bedside table and jumping at unexpected sounds, and the paranoia never fades as 2017 turns to 2018. An incident resulting from a birthday dinner for Scully leaves them even more on edge, with a series of drones coming to the property and an automated vacuum trying to set the house on fire. It's quickly figured out that the attack is a result of Mulder not tipping at the robot sushi place they go to, which culminates in William stealing Mulder’s phone and tipping before the house gets burned down. The three of them bicker over whether or not Mulder’s typical cheapness caused the attack, whether or not it is unwise to go to a robot sushi restaurant, and other fun targets as they clean up the house once again. (“Your jobs are ruining our home,” William says sourly as he sweeps up broken glass. “This,” Scully says sternly, jabbing a finger at him, “had nothing to do with our jobs.” “But it was an X-File,” Mulder adds, dropping a mangled drone in a garbage bag. “Shut up,” Scully and William snap in unison.)

Life is normal. Aside from the expected paranoia and surprise visits by an army of drones, life is normal. Life is normal until it isn't.

---

In the spring, William starts having nightmares again. Scully is startled out of sleep one night by the sound of him crying out from his bedroom. On instinct alone, she climbs out of bed and rushes to his room, finds him only asleep, tangled up in the blankets and tugging at the sheets like when he had bad dreams as a child. Fed raises his head from the pillow to give her a sad look.

“William.” She shakes his shoulder to try and rouse him. “Will, wake up.”

His eyes fly open, as dark as Mulder’s in the dimly lit room. Scully wishes she could remember when they turned from the clear blue of her mother's to this dark color, but she cannot.

“Mom,” he mutters, struggling to sit up. He reaches out and scratches Fed on top of the head. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.” He sounds sheepish, apologetic. Mulder's son through and through.

“Will, are you okay?” Scully asks, straightening the comforter on his bed. “Did you… see something?”

His face stony serious, he nods. “It's starting,” he says. “Soon, it's starting. And we need to be ready. We need to stop my grandfather before it all ends.”

---

When they come for him, they come when he's at school. He didn't see that one coming. He never sees the important things anymore.

A part of William is relieved. It's easier to blindly protect people here.

He's walking to class with his friends, laughing and talking about the end of school and finals and their upcoming senior year when he remembers he left his book on the wall outside, where they had sat and eaten their lunch. “I'll be right back,” he says, and breaks away from the cluster, pushing through the busy hallway towards the doors to the outside. When he gets there, he finds two men dressed in black suits and sunglasses. One is holding his book. The other has a corner of his jacket lifted to show off his gun.

“You'll want to come with us, kid,” says the guy with the book.

“And you'll want to come quietly,” says the guy with the gun. “Or we’ll make sure each and every one of your friends in there have a bullet in your skull. And then, before we hit the road? We'll pay a visit to your home and do the same to your parents.”

William goes. He's terrified, but he goes, because what the hell else can he do? He can't let them hurt the people he cares about. He steps closer to them and feels the gun jab hard into his side; a huge hand closes down on his shoulder, guiding him towards the car. He's praying that someone will see, will help, but no one does.

He's already forming a plan in his mind: how to overpower them as soon as they're far enough away, how to telepathically contact his parents, but as soon as they get into the big black car, the book guy pins him to the seat with his overlarge hand.

“We were warned about your powers,” says the gun guy. “Don’t worry; we have a remedy for that.”

And the needle slides into William's neck, a cloud of drugs overtaking him before he can fight back.

---

When Monica Reyes shows up at their office, Scully's first instinct is to be confrontational. The first thing she sees is red-hot rage. All she can think of is that Monica took her son in her vision. Monica, who helped bring him into the world. She's barely even in the door before Scully is out of her seat, gun aimed.

Monica's hands fly in the air. “Whoa, Scully,” Mulder is saying, hand flying to her shoulder.

“Mulder, you remember what we saw,” she hisses, not looking away from her. “What she did.”

“You know,” Monica says. It's not a question. She does not look afraid; she does have guilt on her face. Just a touch of it.

“I saw what you do when the world is ending,” Scully says, her hand wrapping hard around the gun. “What you do to my son.”

“Dana, you need to listen to me,” Monica says slowly, sincerely. “It's not what you think. I'm here to help you.”

“Scully, maybe we should listen to her,” Mulder says, a hand hovering over her shoulder. “She can't have Will, he's still at school.” His voice is lined with uncertainty, though; they have lost the luxury to say, He's just at school, and believe it.

“I don't have William,” Monica says, but Scully can hear the but in her tone. She hesitates a moment, her hands quivering in the air.

“Who has William?” Scully asks, and God help her, her voice is shaking. (Not again, she pleads, not again, not again.)

Monica sighs, bowing her head slightly. “It's Erika Price and her associates,” she says. “They were disappointed that Mulder had never made serious on his claims of killing his father. They hope that Spender's love for the boy will give them their opportunity. That they can lure him there and take care of him for good.”

Mulder makes a small sound full of fear beside her. Scully's hands are shaking, but she carefully lowers the gun a few millimeters. “And why are you here?” she snaps carefully.

“Because years of infiltrating the fucking Syndicate once I found out Spender was still alive has taught me one thing,” Monica snaps. “These people—both branches of them—need to be stopped no matter what. And I want your son to be safe. This is the best chance to make sure of all of these things.”

Scully sets the gun down flat on the table, presses her hands into the edge of the table to steady them. “They have William?” Mulder asks in a quivering voice.

“Yes.” Monica is giving them a look full of apology. “I am so sorry. But I can assure you that they won't hurt him. They want him unharmed.”

“Oh, great,” Mulder snaps. “That's so comforting. What happens after Spender is dead, when they don't need him anymore?”

“Do you know where he is?” Scully says, her ears rushing with white noise. “Will you take us to him?”

“Of course, Dana,” Monica says with a great deal of apology in her voice. “I want this to be over just as much as you do. I'm sorry it ever happened in the first place.”

Scully's fingers twitch, itching to grab her gun. She wants to shoot someone, to hurt the people who hurt her son. “Will you wait outside for a second, Monica?” she says sharply. “I need to talk to Mulder for a minute.”

Monica meets her eyes sincerely, nods her head and steps outside the door, closing it behind her.

As soon as the door is closed, Mulder grabs his phone and dials William's number. “Mulder,” Scully tries, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing it. Trying to comfort him. “Mulder, if he's in school, he's not going to answer…”

“He'll answer,” Mulder says, gripping the phone hard and putting it up to his ear. “He'll answer if he sees it's me. He knows…” His voice falters, trails off, and he clutches the phone harder.

“Mulder, I think she's telling the truth,” Scully says shakily, as much as she hates to admit it. “I think we have to go with her. I think that might be the only way to end this.”

“Damn it!” Mulder slams the phone down on the desk. “Voicemail. Goddamnit.”

“Mulder.” A tear slips out of her eye; she wipes it away impatiently. She wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Mulder, please.”

“Let me call the school. Just let me call the school.” He wipes his eyes, his nose. He's not looking at her. “Scully, we have to know for sure before we go with her. We have to know that we can trust her. Just let me call the school. I have to know if he's there.”

Scully's throat is sore, clogged up. She nods. Mulder picks up the phone and starts dialing. Scully steps away, straightening her jacket. She wipes her face again, steps out of the office where Monica Reyes is waiting.

She's standing against a pile of boxes, arms crossed over her chest, an unlit cigarette between two fingers. “How did you know?” she asks.

Scully leans against the opposite wall, sniffles before answering. “How did I know what?”

“That I was working with Spender.”

Scully clears her throat before answering, carefully. “Well, you dropped off the radar when you and Doggett got the X-Files taken away. That was one indication. But I knew for sure after… after William and I had a shared vision. Of the contagion. What happened when Spender released it. I sent William with you to keep him safe, because I… because I still trusted you.” She inhales sharply. “But you took him to the smoker.” She wipes her face again with a trembling hand. “So. That's how I knew.”

Monica swallows nervously. “Dana, listen,” she says. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I was telling the truth. I'm a double agent. I have been ever since William was a baby. Ever since I found out Spender was still alive.” She takes an uncertain breath. “I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would blow my cover,” she says. “I never thought it would take this long. It took me fifteen years to figure out their plan, and two years to try and stop it.”

Scully nods. She can feel her stomach turning over on itself, the burn of bile at the back of her throat, and as nausea overtakes her, she runs for the bathroom. The door slams behind her as she bends over the toilet, retching. “Dana?” Monica is pounding on the door. “Dana, it's okay. We're going to find him and he'll be okay. This will all be over soon, and you can go back to your lives…”

She clutches the toilet bowl with both hands, knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip. She's shaking, quivering on her knees on the tile floor. Tears drip off the end of her nose. She's so cold. Will, she thinks desperately. Will, please, can you hear me, please answer. Please. There is no answer. She rests her head against the porcelain bowl, breathing hard.

When she exits the bathroom, Monica is waiting for her, mournful look on her face. “Dana, I'm sorry,” she says. She reaches out and touches Scully's elbow. “I should have told you years ago. Are you okay?”

Scully nods. She offers a small smile, the biggest she can muster, but it fades quickly. Monica squeezes her arms before letting go. Her eyes are sad.

Mulder exits the room, his face white. “They counted him present in homeroom this morning, but I had them check and he wasn't there for his last two classes, and you know Will wouldn't skip class,” he's saying, but then he seems to see her. “Scully, are you okay? You look sick.” He reaches out to touch the side of her face with a gentle hand.

She nods, swallows back the horrible taste in her throat and steadies herself. “I'm fine, Mulder. Let's go get him.”

---

The last time her son was kidnapped, she and Monica drove off to Canada to save him. What followed was a tumultuous series of events in which she thought Mulder was dead, she thought she had to choose between Mulder and William, William indirectly caused the death of his kidnappers, and she thought her son was dead. Monica comforted her as she cried in the ashes, holding William close. She'd told Mulder about it years later, after he came back, when William was completely safe, napping on Mulder's lap with his thumb in his mouth. It hasn't felt real since it happened, a dark fairy story.

This feels real. Her son is gone again, and she and Mulder are blindly following Monica Reyes in an attempt to bring him home. He is older now, able to fight back, but his whereabouts are less mysterious: Scully knows exactly who has him, but has no real idea what their intentions with him are, and she is terrified.

The smoker is in South Carolina, Monica tells them. When they go to tell Skinner, he reacts in a similar way that Scully did, distrusting of Monica. It takes a few more minutes to convince him that Monica is trustworthy, and this largely comes as a result of Mulder snapping at them both angrily. “We don't have time!” he shouts, smacking Skinner's desk with the flat of his hand. “We're wasting time right now. Time my son doesn't have.”

Skinner sighs, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “Mulder, we may not have time on any front,” he says, ignoring Monica and addressing the two of them. “Kersh is up in arms about some conspiracy you were talking about on the Tad O'Malley show…”

“That was me,” Scully says. Mulder and Skinner both look at her with some surprise; she crosses her arms over her chest tightly. “William saw it coming,” she says. “He said it would start soon. I knew that this was the only way to warn people, by feeding that crackpot information and letting it spread like wildfire.”

Skinner sighs again. “Well, whoever did it, Kersh is ready to shut you both down. He was ready to do it later this evening. You can report William's abduction, but I doubt he'll let you work it…”

“This goes so much further than William, sir,” Scully snaps. “The fate of human civilization could depend on what we do here today.” She looks at Monica out of the side of her eye, who nods. “And besides that,” she adds tightly, “he's our son and I don't give a damn about protocol. We're going for him. And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it on the down low.”

Skinner looks between the three of them, reluctant. And them he stands, reaching for his gun. “I'm coming with you,” he says.

Scully blinks. “Sir?” she asks, uncertain.

“You're right,” Skinner says. “This is important. And you need backup. I'm coming.”

Scully exchanges a look with Mulder. He looks frightened and relieved all at once. He reaches for her hand, squeezed it briefly. We're coming, she tries, and hopes that William can hear her.

“I'll get us on a flight to South Carolina,” Monica says.

---

When William wakes up, it is to the sound of gunshots. A sound he's entirely too familiar with. His mind is still swimming, his stomach turning, assumedly from the drugs. He turns on his side, curling into a ball. God, he thinks. Oh, god, I hope that isn't anyone I care about getting shot. He lays his head flat on the floor and tries to breathe evenly.

He lets his mind wander, tries to see what he needs to see. He checks on his friends first, makes sure the men told the truth about not hurting them if he came willingly. They're all fine, Jordan and Theresa and Ben, they're fine. He breathes out a sigh of relief, his knees against his stomach. He checks his parents next and finds them on a plane. Headed for him, wherever he is. Skinner sitting in the seat behind them and that woman from his vision, Monica something, across the aisle. His dad sleeping fitfully against his mom's shoulder, making distressed sounds in his sleep. His mom sitting back in the seat, her hand pressed to her stomach like she's nauseous or something. He screws his eyes shut and thinks at her: Mom. Mom, can you hear me?

The vision fades, but he hears his mother's voice, loud and solid in his mind. Will? Oh my god, sweetie, are you okay?

I'm fine.

Oh my god. William, do you know where you are? We're coming to find you.

No, I don't know. I just woke up. I'm sorry. He swallows back the bitter taste of nausea in his throat and tries to sit up. His head spins like a fun house ride.

It's okay. It'll be okay. Will, is anyone there? Are you alone?

I'm alone in the room, but I heard gunshots a few minutes ago. He scoots backwards across the grimy floor, sitting with his back against the wall. He's too tall to sit like this, curled up in a ball like a little kid.

Hang tight, Will, his mother commands. Hold on, we're coming.

---

William isn't sure how long he stays huddling against the wall. The gunshots have been stopped for a while, but he can still hear people moving around in the house. Not close to him. Every now and then, his mother will call his name in his mind and he will answer, I'm here.

And then, the sounds of moving don't seem so far away. There are echoing sounds down the hall, sounds he gradually recognizes as footsteps, and he clenches his teeth. Mom, someone's coming, he says, nearly shouting. He needs her to hear, hopes she is close.

There's no answer. Static in his head. Mom, are you there? he tries. Can you hear me? Mom!

Nothing. It's like there's a block somehow, another presence in his mind, and he fights against it to no avail. There's no connection, and the footsteps grow closer, closer until the door swings open and a man that William has only ever seen in dreams and visions steps in.

I've been eager to meet you, William, says the man who stinks of nicotine, and it takes William a few good minutes to realize that he isn't speaking out loud.

---

“He says that someone is coming,” Scully says in the car as they drive through Spartanburg, her voice full of panic. “Something’s blocking me, I can't say or hear anything else, but the last thing he said was that someone was coming.”

Mulder’s hand clamps around hers. “Monica, do you know where we're going? Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” Monica says from the driver's seat. “We're twenty minutes away, just hang on.”

Mulder turns to Scully, squeezes his hand. “Can you hear him?” he asks, almost pleading.

She shakes her head. “No, but you know how it is, it doesn't always work. Can you hear him?”

He shakes his head. She lowers her head, hair hiding her face, and he wraps his arms around her briefly. In the front seat, Skinner dutifully ignores them. Monica watches the road.

“We're going to find him,” he says quietly.

“You said that the last time,” she murmurs.

He shakes his head. “This is the last time. I'm ending it now. This is never going to happen again.”

She presses her forehead into his shoulder and he kisses the top of her head. “It's going to be okay,” he says.

She nods. He rubs a hand over her back before pulling away. He reaches for his gun, pulls it out and turns the safety off. He watches Scully reach for her own gun, her hand brushing slowly over her stomach as she goes.

They drive, towards whatever will happen next. The end of the world or the salvation of it. All that seems to matter to Mulder is his son.

---

“What do you want from me?” William snaps, careful to speak out loud as he gets to his feet. He hates this man, has only seen flashes of what he's done to his parents over the years, but he knows he has plenty of reason to hate him.

The man smiles. He stinks of nicotine. “I wanted to meet you,” he says. “To get to know you. To carry on our family legacy.”

William balls his fists in his pockets. “You are not my family,” he spits. He wants nothing to do with this man.

“I'm your grandfather, William,” the man says in a charismatic tone that has William itching to punch him. “And I think you'll find when my plans fall into place that I'll be some of the only family you have left. You and myself and your mother, we'll be some of the sole survivors.”

His vision, nearly two years old, his dying father. William clenches his teeth, snaps his chin with a mind-force behind it that would normally send his target flying. But he finds a sort of resistance, a wall against the force he's sending forth that locks the old man in place. He pushes harder, and the man pushes back with a force that almost sends William to his knees. Blood drips out of one nostril. For a moment, they're locked into a bottle of strength, until William gives out. Weak, he slumps against the wall, wiping blood off his face.

The man—his grandfather—smiles, satisfied. “These parlor tricks won't work on me, my boy,” he says. “Although I know they have worked before for you. My apologies.”

William's eyes narrow, fury building inside him, and in one solid moment, he runs at the man. Telepathically, his grandfather might be stronger, but physically, William outweighs him. He slams into the man like they're playing football, shoves him into the wall. His head cracks against the door frame. William doesn't stay in place for long; he runs past him, feet pounding the floor.

“You won't get very far, my boy!” the smoker calls from behind him, already getting up. There's no way he should be okay after that, William heard the smacking sound of his skull, but he is.

“Like shit,” William hisses through his teeth, running faster. He's going to get out of here. He wants to go home. He's tired of this being his life.

---

The place that Monica takes them to is a sprawling manor house on the edge of a murky green lake. She leads them straight to the front door, uses a key to get them in.

Inside the house, they find several corpses in the front foyer. Men with bullet holes in their foreheads. Mulder’s fingers twitch around the gun as they pass the bodies.

“We'll split up,” Scully says in a low voice. She doesn't think William is dead, but then again, she doesn't know, does she. “You two clear the house. Mulder and I will find William.”

Monica looks like she wants to argue, but Skinner nods wordlessly. They head in opposite directions from the foyer.

Mulder and Scully walk together through the house. They pass a woman in the next room, sitting in an armchair with a similar bullet hole in her forehead. “Erika Price,” Mulder says in a low voice. The woman he met in New York. The woman who Monica said ordered William's abduction.

“If she's dead,” Scully says, her fingers numb and cold around her weapon. “If she's dead, then what happened to William, Mulder?”

Their answer comes too quickly. Gunshots from the direction Skinner and Monica went off in. Pounding footsteps upstairs. Someone is running away.

Their eyes meet briefly, and then they are running too, following their son's footsteps towards the back of the house.

---

The smoker has gotten back on his feet and is in pursuit. William can feel it.

He takes a wrong turn and ends up at a series of glass doors at the end of the hallway. Outside, a balcony. He doesn't think, only pushes through the glass doors and locks them behind him with a look.

Inside the house, he can hear more gunshots. Someone is here, someone is fighting, and he doesn't know if anyone can help him. But he does know one thing: bullets can very easily shatter glass. He isn't any safer out here than in there.

William's eyes scan over the side of the house, his mind racing. He sees the trellis, the white ladder-like thing covered in vines that nearly reaches the ground. He doesn't think, just swings a leg over the railing and balances himself on the trellis. As he lets his weight fall onto it, he digs his fingers hard into the greenery. He begins to climb down it like a ladder. His heart is pounding, pounding. He doesn't think about what he's doing, and once he's only a few feet above the ground, he lets himself drop and composes a silent thank you to Coach Ruthers for making him climb the rope in gym as a kid.

He begins to run again, as far as he can until he hits the edge of the lake, the dock bobbing in the water. He stops at the edge, breathing hard, considering whether or not to swim for it. His parents might be in the house.

And suddenly, he can sense it. His grandfather approaching, calling his name. William can't think straight, so he projects as the first person that comes to his mind. Someone he hopes that his grandfather won't want to kill right away.

“Fox,” his grandfather says when he sees him, as if this is a surprise. Addressing William as his father. “I heard your associates downstairs, but I didn't expect to find you down here.”

William doesn't move, doesn't say anything. Does he not know? he thinks in a panic. Does he not know about the projection? Or does he just want to see Dad? His heart thudding, he starts to move away until he sees the gun pointed at him.

“You really don't give up, do you?” says the smoker, cocking his gun. “But then, you have so much to lose. It's what we have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” William hisses in his father's voice.

“I need the boy,” the smoker says, and William's skin crawls. He's drawing closer, gun aimed at him. William backs up, closer to the edge of the lake. “The boy is mine. My grandson, my successor in the future ashes of the earth.”

“The boy would rather die first,” William snarls, and he would, if he had to choose, but he really doesn't want to die. He's scanning behind the smoker, hoping that his parents are inside. Mom, can you hear me? he tries. Dad?

“You have no right to the boy,” the smoker says. “He may be your son, but he exists because of me. You and your Scully have me to thank. And now your time with him has ended, I'm afraid.” He raises the gun.

William's heart is thudding so hard he can hear it. He considers dropping the projection. Reconsiders, tries another approach. “You'd shoot your firstborn son?

“Shot my second-born son once,” his grandfather says with a hint of satisfaction. “But I need you to know, Fox, when I gave you life, I never fathomed the moment would come when I would need to end it.”

“I don't think you can do it,” William says, trying to play his cards right, trying to get out of this. This was such a stupid plan, he should have jumped, or screamed for help. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. Mom, he thinks, desperate. Mom, Dad, help me, I'm out here. I need help, please.

“Then you don't know me very well,” says his grandfather, and shoots.

---

Scully sees the smoker going down the stairs, out the door. He doesn't see them. He's going for William, she thinks, grips Mulder’s sleeve and tugs. He sees what she's looking at, nods. They follow him, staying back far enough so that he doesn't see them.

The smoker gets outside before they do. They hang back, watching him from around a corner, when Scully hears the clock of a gun at the back of their heads. “Drop your weapons,” the man behind them says evenly.

Their guns clatter as they hit the ground. They raise their hands together, exchanging nervous looks; Mulder’s eyes are dark back and forth from her to the doors where Spender exited. Scully feels a flickering of irritation in her mind, annoyance and fear; We don't have time for this, she wants to scream, our son needs us.

“Keep your hands in the air and turn around,” the man says. They obey, shoulders against the wall. The man smirks at them like a jack-o'-lantern. “The famous Agents Mulder and Scully,” he says smugly. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Where is my son?” Mulder hisses through his teeth. “What did you do to him?”

“That's not your concern now,” says the man. “I have orders to shoot you—” He prods the side of Mulder’s face with the barrel of his gun, and Scully grits her teeth, furious, ready to tell this man apart. “—on sight. So I think you should just come with me, and…”

The back of the man's head explodes in a mess of blood. They both jump at the loud sound of the gunshot. When the man falls, they can see Skinner standing behind him, gun still smoking.

Scully's mouth hangs open in astonishment and relief. “Sir…” Mulder says.

“Go,” Skinner snaps, waving his gun at the door. They grab their weapons and go.

They start out running as they approach the water, but they both slow as they see what is happening. The smoker is holding Mulder at gunpoint. The smoker has Mulder at gunpoint at the edge of the water, but that isn't possible, because Mulder is right beside her and has been since Washington. He's saying something with Mulder's voice, but this is all impossible, it can't be him. Scully can't breathe. She gropes for Mulder and finds him right beside her, a solid and warm mass.

“Then you don't know me very well,” says Spender, and fires.

The bullet hits the not-Mulder in the forehead, and it's only then that Scully realizes who he is.

Her scream shatters the windows and splits the sky in half.

---

The smoker doesn't seem to hear or acknowledge Scully's scream. He's watching Mulder's body fall into the water. Mulder’s son wearing his face.

His father has just killed his son.

“Hey!” Mulder roars, with a fury so deep that he can feel it in his teeth, in his bones. The smoker whirls, and Mulder shoots him. He fires again and again, shooting his father as he draws closer and closer. He can feel every bullet.

It isn't just his bullets hitting Spender. Scully is shooting, too, walking beside him and firing again and again. Their bullets hit Spender together, dozens piercing him again and again.

When Mulder hears the click of Scully's gun that means it is empty, he surges forward. He pushes his dying father into the water with all the fury in his body.

He once told himself that if he killed his father, it would be for his son. He wasn't wrong.

His father falls into the water with a splash.

“William!” Scully screams, and she's running towards the water, she's close to jumping in, but Mulder catches her before she can.

Night has fallen. The water is dark and cold, and he can't see his son's body.

His body. He is going to throw up. He wants to scream.

“William!” Scully is pushing at his arms, clawing at him. “Let me go, Mulder, I have to…”

“Scully, stop,” he says, holding her against him.

“He's down there!” she shouts, bucking in his arms, almost falling over the edge. “He's down there, he's hurt, I have to get him out of there, Mulder…” Her voice is wobbling horribly, her fingernails digging into his arms. She sobs once, a hollow sound.

“He's gone,” Mulder says, and it doesn't feel his words, his mouth moving. He's not here, he's somewhere out in a field in summer where it's warm, and his son is there and Scully, and they are happy….

“Our son,” he says, and it sounds like sobbing, and he meant to say is gone, but he can't make the words come. He's shaking, clutching Scully to him just to tether himself to the ground. It can't, it can't be true. No. “Our son,” he whispers.

Scully is limp in his arms, even if she's still struggling. She's sobbing, her shoulders shaking. He thinks he hears her whisper their son's name.

He presses his tear-smudged face into her hair, whispers, “Scully.” She's shaking in his arms, and he's crying, too. He moves his cheek against her hair, and then he sees it: a white hand gripping the side of the dock, trying to pull himself up. It can't, it can't be, but… “Scully,” he says, more insistent.

“What…” Her eyes flicker across the dock until she sees it, and he feels her freeze against him.

Mulder lets go of her, falls to his knees at the edge of the dock and grips the wet hand. He pulls it, pulls the person up onto the dock, the quivering, dripping person, and it is his son, his son soaked to the bone, water cascading off his shoulders. Shaking, a bullet hole in his forehead.

“Dad,” William says, his teeth chattering. “Mom…”

Scully makes a small, whimpering sound. Falls to her knees beside them and wraps her arms around him. Mulder gathers them up against him, holding his son against his chest, rocking them. “William,” he's saying, the words spilling out of his mouth. “Oh my God, Will…”

“It's okay,” William is saying, “it's okay, I'm okay, it's okay…” But he's crying, he's sobbing with his face half pressed against Mulder's jacket.

“Shhh,” Scully says, and she's got a fistful of Mulder’s shirt, clutching William with one hand and Mulder with the other, and she is comforting William as if he's still a small child. “Shhh, baby, it's okay, we've got you. He's dead now. We've got you.”

William's taking shaky breaths, nearly hyperventilating and shivering with cold, but he's breathing, he's alive. His son is alive. “I'm sorry,” Mulder says, and he means for saying William was gone, but it could be for any number of things. William takes a few more shuddering breaths, shivering hard. The lake water is getting them all wet, but he doesn't care. Scully is crying and William is crying and they're all three trembling, sitting on the cold ground, murmuring things that blur together and don't seem to make any sense.

His son is alive. His father is dead. It's finally, finally over.

“It's going to be okay,” he says into Scully's hair. William nods his agreement. Scully makes a choked sobbing sound, tightening her grip on them both, sniffling into his chest. “It's going to be okay,” Mulder whispers. “It's okay. It's over now.”

William nods again. “It's over,” he says. “It's over.”

He rocks his son and his wife back and forth. It’s over and they’re together and they’re alive. For now, that seems like enough.

[peakyblinders-au]

Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

Submit to “peakyblinders-au” on Tumblr

Tumblr Url & Your Real Name: @peakersblindy - Erika

Character Full Name: Kassandra Shelby née Kitakis

Nicknames/Alias: Kassie

Backstory for nicknames/alias/names: you don’t have to add anything here if its unnecessary

Gender: Female, she/her

Gender Role: housewife & mommy

Sexual Orientation: straight (unless may carleton shows up)

Age: 27

Birthday: November 26, 1892

Deathday: please don’t kill me i need to make sure my son is ok

Birthplace: Sparta, Greece

Ethnicity: Greek-born but raised in England (Greek English??)

Family Members: not related to any of the Shelby’s or their friends by blood but by marriage/child through Tommy

Children: Tommy and I have a son together, little James Rokko Shelby. I met Tommy while he was in France as a tunneller, I was a nurse in the army and had to bandage him up fairly often. We understood each other well and fell in love and had a baby. Jamesy was born in France and is only a few months old when we get to go home

Face shape: oval

Eye colour: green

Hair colour: brown

Hairstyle: Long and wavy like a goddess

Skin tone: light olive skin (that tans easily)

Complexion: like a goddamn porcelain doll (not really but i wish so yeah make her beautiful!)

Body type/Build: thin with proportionate features

Height: 5’5”

Weight: 125 lbs

Breast size: 34b

Facial Hair: no thank you except for eyebrows

Scars/Birthmarks/Prominent Features: septum piercing (does that count?)

Preferred hand: Rightie

Health: able-bodied

Phobias: drowning, James losing his daddy

Addictions: whiskey and cigarettes because of Tommy (but she enjoys them responsibly because mom)

Mental Disorders: Has severe daddy issues from a messed up childhood, only Tommy knows the truth about it and knows how to comfort her and help the nightmares. She just needs to feel loved and taken care of and Tommy does that for her.

Attitude: SPICY very spicy, but also very loving and compassionate and friendly to those she trusts. She’s an actual Spartan so no one messes with her. She has resting bitch face (much like Tommy which is why they understand each other). She would literally take a bullet to the head for her son.

Expressions: lots of angry eyebrows, she bites her lip when she’s nervous or worried, lots of shrugs and “idk” when she is annoyed

Residence: She lives in Tommy’s mansion. She shares a bed with him (on the nights he actually sleeps) She’s the Wifey™

Political Affiliation: She grew up dirt poor so she probably secretly admires commies but she would never join herself. She tends to take Tommy’s side on politics whatever it may be at the moment

Friends: She is close with Arthur, Ada and Finn, but tends to butt heads with John. She’s friends with mostly everyone as she is known as Mrs. Shelby and likes to keep her acquaintances in good standing. Childhood friend of Alfie Solomons. He was her older neighbor growing up in Camden Town and she spent hours playing with him to get away from her dad. She is very good friends with Ekaterina, she took her in because she saw a tiny part of her younger, wilder self in her. And also probably Nikki and Denise’s characters- if that’s okay?

Enemies: She’s a Shelby now so anyone who crosses them is dead to her. She doesn’t like Kimber, Sabini, or anyone else that takes a stab at her husband/baby daddy.

Boss: Tommy is her boss, she is an integral part of the business because she handles ALL of Tommy’s paperwork

Pets: James has a small white dog that follows him everywhere and protects him at all times (You can name him)

Finances: She works for and with the Shelby family so she’s a Rich Bitch™

Marital Status: married Tommy in France by the river after she told him she was preggy

Sex Life: HELL YEAH smut this bitch up!

Lovers: she’s only ever fucked Tommy and isn’t tryna get with anyone else YET

Turn-ons: omg all the dommy!tommy stuff pretty much: choking, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, nipple tugging; when Tommy comes home covered in blood

Turn-offs: Creepy old men, she is very wary of men who remind her of her dad

Dom or Sub: sub but can definitely be dom and take control of the situation when asked (or hinted at)

Fantasies: I’m gonna aim high and say a threesome with Tommy and Michael…

Occupation: she manages all the clerical work for Shelby Company Ltd. so she’s at the office most days, but she’s with her little boy every minute she’s not working

Income: Shelby money

Work Experience: she took care of the wounded men at the Somme

Religion: I’m with tommy on this one: ALL RELIGION IS A FOOLISH ANSWER TO A FOOLISH QUESTION

Criminal Record: A baddie at heart and when no one’s looking but never on paper

Morals: morals because she has to teach her son to be a proper gentleman but also no morals because she deals with the Shelby’s and their enemies

Main Goal: Main goal is just to support Tommy and his terrible decisions, and raise their son and try to steer him away from the family business and send him to school to become a scientist or something

Ambitions: really just wants to be a good wife and mommy, set a good example for her son

Regrets: never going to school for a proper career

Secrets: Her dad was a real piece of shit and molested her throughout her infancy and childhood hence her severe daddy issues- Tommy is the only person alive who knows about it and can soothe her

Best memories: when she told Tommy she was pregnant and Tommy looked at her wide-eyed as a single tear started to fall down his cheek and the biggest smile come over him, he took her face in his hands and put their foreheads together “so you’re havin’ my baby eh?”

Worst memories: the last few months in France were akin to torture because everyday as she sat rubbing her growing belly, she hoped Tommy would come back at the end of the day. She was so afraid of seeing him go into the tunnels and never come back out.

Hobbies: She loves to knit little hats and gloves for Jamesy, she also knits Tommy some hats and he’s been seen wearing them only to be made fun of my his brothers. She also loves to have a few whiskeys with Tommy at the end of a long day ;)

Skills: she was an army nurse so she is a first aid expert and is the one everyone runs to when they’ve gotten hurt in a fight or an accident

Likes: rainy days by the fire, dark colors, flowers, laughing, being a mommy

Dislikes: blatantly rude people, people who overstep their boundaries, know-it-alls

Superstitions: the only thing she believes in is science

Quirks: she’s weird and clumsy but also very knowledgeable about certain things

Guilty Pleasures: talking back, getting people to admit they’re wrong

Strengths: charming, good with money, loyal to a fault, organized, she just loves to make sure her people feel supported  

Weaknesses: JEALOUS, a little vain, argumentative, doesn’t like to give in, can be childish

Languages: Greek, English, and French (learned it to talk with the soldiers)

Accent: from Camden Town so ?? Londony i guess

Speech Impediments: none

Voice: kinda on the low side but gets increasingly higher when she’s excited about something

Reputation: she doesnt really have one she’s just known for being Tommy’s wife/secretary and baby momma

Backstory: She comes from immigrant parents with 4 siblings so she was always kinda scraping what she could for herself and always very independent. She had a tumultuous relationship with both her parents and at the age of 18 she left to join the army as a nurse. She didn’t care what she had to so as long as she got to get away from her awful father. She ended up breaking off all contact with her family. During her time as a nurse she saw it all: broken bones, missing limbs, and strained spirits. That is where she met Thomas Shelby. He had been shot when he was brought in. She had never seen a soldier look so handsome and perfect while lying there bleeding. That was the first of many times she bandaged Tommy up and sent him back out to the battlefield. They became very close and eventually she became pregnant. It was shock all around at first and then instant excitement and love and hope for the future. They were married by the river in front of all their friends and Tommy’s brothers. Their baby boy was born in France but soon after they were able to come home and Tommy brought his new family back to Small Heath.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I watched most of the inauguration through Lady Gaga on Wednesday.  Regardless what you think about politics in America, we can all admit the moment changed decisively.  Or at least the side of us that don’t storm capitols with guns or anything.  My landlord stutters to find words for me other than “good” when I deliver the rent check early.  So by now, these kind of winds of change solidify something about me at least.  Regardless what you’ve heard about me people talk nonetheless.  Just like they talk shit about the president whoever it happens to be at the time.  America has always been extremely tribal.  You don’t have to watch Gangs of New York to figure that one out.  I live in a city with a well defined Sanctuary culture.  I’ve walked the walk and talked the talk the last four years.  Living under Trump with that kind of pressure and fear daily starts to turn neighborhoods into pressure cookers.  Everyone is on edge.  Nobody knows how to be nice.  Wednesday I decided to put my best foot forward in this new era and shovel the snow on the block.  It didn’t go unnoticed.  I definitely got some dirty looks which is something I’m used to by now trying to put some good in the world.  One of the gang members on the block came up to me later that day to thank me at least.  They don’t live here on this block but they also shovel the snow.  They’re named after a chess piece.  I’ve already told the story about footwork dj’s bragging they used to come over here and beat the crap out of them.  The savagery I’ve seen and heard about over the years doesn’t shock me.  Rich people have been pitting poor people against each other out here for years.  Some might call it the “Daley Way.”  Others might look to scandals surrounding machine politicians who’ve held offices for years on end.  Trump couldn’t get enough of calling us a corrupt city.  But generally he got away with a lot of dirty tricks on the ground here without much consequence.  Anyone with half a brain and street sense these days doesn’t trust much authority at all.  And yet I voted in this election pretty clearly for the current candidate.  So I do pay attention to the presidency a little more intently these days.  While watching some executive orders get signed the subject came up about the damage of what happened to people like myself.  It was a word I hadn’t heard.  The word was dignity.  Through the last six months, I seemingly lost it all.  My job, my entire friend network, the last twenty years of professional connections.  It vaporized as if it was never there in the first place.   Dignity is the right of a person to be valued and respected for their own sake, and to be treated ethically.  When I think about dignity it makes me cry.  Because it’s the thing I never had.  Most of us do not have it in this current climate even though we kid ourselves we do.  We don’t even bother to treat each other with dignity because we’re so busy looking out for ourselves.  Communities lose trust.  People become isolated and edgy.  Hope dies with the days that don’t change.  It is just me out here.  Or is it just us?  In that six month void of watching ancient history peel away and forget you even existed, I thought a lot.  I struggled and became something more resilient.  And I saw the same old problems staring back at me from a different vantage point I call home.  I kept my dignity intact paying the bills and keeping my mouth shut.  And yet things have not gotten much better other than my finances and my muscle tone.  I’m humble about everything by default because I’m still deeply hurt it was all taken away.  The dignity for others is pretty much linked to self respect.  Some people don’t know how to treat themselves better.  Some people don’t know how to be good because we reward absolute vapidity, selfishness and greed.

I will always strive to be good.  I’ve written here on my “vent blog” week after week to report that.  Only to have it joked about, ignored, copied, and dismissed by some people.  You can’t stop good connecting to the source.  If you stay focused and in the proverbial light you will some day make it through.  My birthday is next month.  A third birthday in a row where nobody other than my parents and the internet reach out.  One year I flew to New York during fashion week and spent the entire trip alone.  Of all the fourteen trips to Korea, none of them were with anyone but myself.  I’ve only had myself to rely on through all of this at times.  And yet through the process of trying to be better I’ve met better people.  Maybe through all this I’ve learned how to be a better person for people as well.  But for the most part I’m still just as invisible as I was.  Neglected and disrespected for years by people I trusted.  And whatever happened was a sort of forced letting go.  I was a black hole on a balance sheet during a pandemic.  My pension was a liability.  Friends that I still talk to now feel comfortable acknowledging that I was done dirty.  But that’s it.  No resolution.  No opportunities.  A period of intense exile.  Like I was being taught a lesson.  And the opposite happened.  As dumbfounding as it is to go through the entire process, I’ve found hope in bettering myself in small ways.  I didn’t close off or shut down.  I managed intense feelings of sadness and anger by pacing myself.  I wrote about what I felt week after week.  I made small corrections.  I added up my spending.  I tried to live my life without friends or company other than my cat.  A neighborhood exists around me that is persistent with characters of all backgrounds.  My mother is getting vaccinated next week.  Others will follow shortly after.  Chicago for the most part has adjusted to the hardships of the new normal.  We just keep pushing on like the song.  And yet people become callous, elite, and separate.  Two sides of a city.  The rich and the people who live and walk the streets here.  If you’ve held it down this long most people appreciate when you are still around.  And yet people around here are still deeply motivated by fear and scarcity.  America is the same way.  It judges people’s worth not on their singular talents but by comparison and control.  It’s nervous when you have the confidence to go it alone and embarrassed to admit it did so out of neglect.  America is worse.  Much like the army, it tries to break down your uniqueness for the benefit of the whole.  Herd you into groups that can be managed instead of celebrating the individual will.  The mediocrity that is celebrated is the celling in which you threaten to crash.  Everybody would rather sabotage your plans than see you succeed without them taking a cut.  Everybody would rather have a judgement to hang over your head when you creep past them in a race fair and square.  And when things start to get less dirty and the air clears, the history remains.  People still lie.  People still try to tarnish everything you have done out of a deep hatred.  A hatred that they couldn’t rub you out.  That you remind them how worthless they really are.  Being good gets you targeted time and time again by jealousy and lawlessness.  And I don’t want to be anything but good.

Lies and truth have their own infrastructure.  Blockchain as a technology is based on trust.  We keep secrets possibly because no one knows what we risk at the end of the day.  We tell lies instead of saying nothing at all because we feel pressured to be transparent.  Everyone wants to know every little thing for both good and bad reasons.  Being able to stand up to the lies and speak the truth can be subjective in a post truth era.  After all the things I’ve lost, I have no real time for games that are set up against me.  I play enough Hearthstone for that.  But communities are often to blame for proliferation of disinformation.  Sometimes people get manipulated.  Sometimes entire histories on a person get buried accidentally.  Sometimes people tell other people behind your back never to talk to you.  I’ve lived this.  I have never felt so isolated in my life.  As if the real intention was to break down my dignity to manipulate me further.  And largely that is what happened whether you want to process that or not.  I’m reminded when I deal with how fucked up my health insurance is that nobody really gives a shit.  But there’s a reason it persists.  And there’s no consequence to the lies that people uphold in the face of a fairly inconvenient truth.  We make a choice to support or ignore.  We make a choice to acknowledge the dignity of somebody being alive and in pain.  And I’ve seen people just walk away.  I’ve also seen people in my life grow closer in a way I cannot explain.  When I feel that feeling.  When I feel that love, I try to put more love back into the world.  I try to create a little bubble around me that protects all the good in my life I still have.  To make a place for us to all live with dignity regardless of what we believe, who we fuck or what kpop band we ship on the internet.  I literally fucking tried every day and then some.  And I literally have faced the worst kind of loneliness you could ever face.  Uselessness.  That whatever I do doesn’t matter much compared to what I used to be.  I used to be a slave.  A revenue generator for an investment scam maybe.  A body to manipulate for information.  A person to spy on all over the world without my consent.  I’ve lived all these situations in such damaging ways for years with no recourse and nobody to listen other than here.  Week after week on my vent blog people joke about behind my back.  No one really knowing that this is about the truest I could ever be with anyone.  And knowing after all the hell I’ve been through, that it matters.  What I say and what I write.  Because it’s the truth.  I am a good person.  I do try to be in the face of the worst kind of attack on my freedom.  They tried to take away my dignity.  They can lie about it all they want.  It doesn’t mean they’ll get anywhere further with me.  It’s already behind me.  That’s how you keep your dignity here in America.  By proving them wrong. <3 Tim

[suit-lady]

Baby Drama.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: This is a request from this drabble list by @fooooooooooooooooooood.  #4: “I’m too sober for this.” #10: “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.” and #13: “I lost our baby.” Thanks so much for the request!

Warnings: Swears. Come on, y’all. It’s me.

Word Count: 1655 (I know; leave me alone)

A/N: Okay, the chances of this being what you imagined are honestly so slim… But, if you can’t tell by the length of this, I had a lot of fun writing this fic! I hope you all enjoy reading it! xoxo Also, in case this wasn't obvious, Peter and reader are both high schoolers taking a home ec class together. The baby is fake, it's all in good fun. Love y'all xoxo

This semester, Peter’s schedule was loaded, save one class. Home ec was going to kill Peter. While learning things like how to cook for himself and how to appropriately do laundry were probably good for him, he couldn’t care less. Plus, the class was made up of part sweet kids who were taking the class because their mothers told them to, douchier guys who were taking the class to impress female students, and other kids looking for an easy A. Peter hated this entire hour, and he watched the clock even worse than usual when cooped up in that classroom-made-kitchen.

Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the midterm project. Nothing at all.

“Okay, class. I’m assigning partners. Everyone is on the board. Find your name, find your partner, and then we’ll get started.”

You walked up to Peter, introducing yourself, “Hi, I’m (Y/N). You’re Peter?”

He nodded, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you. He hadn’t expected someone so gorgeous. “That’s me,” he finally managed to spit out.

You took a seat next to him, flashing a lovely smile, “Alright, I’ll be straight up with you. You don’t seem like the type to end up in this class,” you talked in a low voice, nearly lost in the partner-finding commotion. “So…why are you here?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, faking macho, “the ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

“Come on, Peter,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “What’s the real reason?”

He sighed, replying, “My aunt wanted me to have a low-stress class this quarter.”

“Hey, that’s why I’m here!” you said with a laugh that rang a heavenly echo in Peter’s ears. “But this is my most stressful class to be honest with you.”

Peter laughed this time, agreeing, “Yeah, it’s mine too! It’s so out of my comfort zone.”

The instructor cleared her throat to gather everyone’s attention, so you just mouthed “same!” before the pair of you turned your attention to her. “Class, today we’re going to start our midterm project. Parenting.”

Some kids, including you, groaned. Peter, however, sat in shock. What the hell did this lady mean?

Then, she pulled out a large box behind her desk, chock full of life-like baby dolls. Oh, hell no. The groaning became cacophony, but the instructor hushed everyone. Slowly, the babies were delivered to each pair of students, and you were all designated parents for the next three weeks. The mood in the classroom was very sour at this.

“Lighten up, kids! This is what some of you are looking at in several years! Hopefully after college, but… it’s best to learn now!”

You were given instructions on how to care for the baby, and you looked over it with Peter. “Looks like we’re gonna be spending the next couple weeks attached at the hip.”

A nervous chuckle left Peter’s lips. “Yeah, looks like it.”

-

The first week and a half wasn’t bad at all, except that Peter found himself falling head over heels for you. Other than being great with the kid—fake or not, you were incredibly sweet, and both Aunt May and Ned adored you. You invited him over for dinner once at your place, and he’d come home with a smile sweeter than sunrise. Finally, May couldn’t help but press.

“You like that kid, don’t you?”

“I—what?” Peter had responded, the shock evident on his face as a deep blush creeped up his neck.

“(Y/N). I can see the way you look at each other. It’s there.”

“Wait…each other?”

May smiled. “What, you don’t think (Y/N) likes you too? I see the looks you give each other while you’re doing homework. I know.”

Peter’s head spun at the possibility. “N-nah, Aunt May,” Peter stuttered. “(Y/N) is way too good for me.”

“Peter, I’m too sober for this. Don’t tell me that you aren’t the loveliest boy that goes to Midtown.” When Peter opened his mouth to tell her just that, she held up a hand. “No, Peter! I’ll have none of it!”

“Whatever, Aunt May,” he said in a disdainful tone, but his mouth was threatening to turn up into a smile.

“You better ask (Y/N) on a date while you have the chance, Peter. You don’t know how much you’ll talk when this little project is over.”

The thought of not talking to you anymore hurt Peter to his core. Whether you said yes or not, he decided that he’d rather know than go on wondering. He was going to ask you the night before the project was over. Maybe, if he gained the courage, he’d ask you before, but he doubted it.

-

Then, the worst possible thing happened.

You were going out to dinner with some friends to celebrate a birthday, so you asked Peter if he could watch the baby that evening. Usually, you would watch him until around supper time, then one of you would go over to the other’s house, you’d do a bit of homework for the required amount of “mutual time with the baby”, and then Peter would keep the baby until the next morning. Peter could still be Spider-Man that way. This time, however, Peter had the baby while leaving the school. Flash had said something obnoxious on his way out, but Peter paid him no mind.

As usual, Peter hurried out of the schoolyard, paid a visit to Mr. Delmar to grab a sandwich (the #5) and some sour gummy worms, and raced off to start his nightly duties as Spider-Man. He swung around the city, looking for riffraff as usual. Even though nothing seemed out of the ordinary on that warm Wednesday evening, he stayed out until his usual time. He left a little voicemail for Tony, saying that there hadn’t been much action today, but the suit was really great and thank you so much for the opportunity. Then, he went back to grab his bag and his clothes.

Oh no. Oh fuck no.

His bag was gone.

-

“Heyyyyyyyy there, (Y/N),” Peter greeted you warmly the next morning, sliding into his seat next to you.

“Hi, Peter,” you said with a kind smile. “How’s the baby?”

Peter coughed awkwardly. “Okay, so, uhm, please don’t be mad.”

“Peter,” you warned with a glare, “our baby better not have been dropped into the mud or something like that.” You gestured to a pair of your friends, whose baby was permanently stained a horrendous shade of brown.

“Uh, nope! Not that, nope,” he said, his nerves beginning to kick in.

“Okay, then…what?” you asked, a worried curiosity painting your features.

“Uh, well, you see, I might have, possibly, maybe, definitely lost our baby.”

Your eyes widened, and you covered your mouth, trying hard not to scream. “You fucking did what?”

Peter’s eyes widened as well, but at your language. “I, um, lost my backpack last night, and the baby was in the backpack.”

With a heavy sigh, you leaned back in your chair. “Peter, losing the baby is an automatic fail. What on earth are we going to do?” You thought for a moment. “Hold on, isn’t that, like, the eighth backpack you’ve lost this year.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Uh, maybe…” Then, his thoughts turned to Ned, his Guy in the Chair, the one who always looked out for him, the one that had encouraged him to put a tracking device in his backpack. “Wait. (Y/N). We might be able to save the baby.”

After informing you about the tracking device, you sighed again, this time in relief. “Peter Parker, I swear, you’re going to make this class the death of me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, (Y/N). I promise I’ll have the baby tomorrow.”

“You better. If not, we’re spending all weekend together, looking.”

-

Your serious tone in class caused Peter to look as hard (and as fast) as he could for his backpack. After setting up the GPS ping with Karen and Ned, he was off. He found the backpack moved to some random dumpster, robbed only of Peter’s lunch money for the week and his sneakers. Nice. Not only was the baby safe and sound; he hadn’t lost one of his favorite signature nerdy t-shirts.

-

The pair of you were sure you’d end up with an A on the project. When the report and all the required graphics were all together in an aesthetically pleasing fashion, you got a little caught up in the excitement. Peter had held his hand up for a high five, but you had pulled him into a hug. Immediately after, you held him at arms’ length, eyes wide and cheeks bright pink.

“Peter, I am so sorry.”

“Uh, no, (Y/N), it’s okay; I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something.”

You waited, but he just sat there for a moment, refusing to make eye contact. “Yes?” you said after you couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Uh, well, working with you the past several weeks has made me realize I really like you, (Y/N). I was hoping we could maybe keep hanging out after this? I know this really great sandwich place…” he trailed off.

“Peter Parker, are you asking me on a date?”

He flushed a deep red. “Uh, maybe…” He smiled at you, his eyes full of anxiety.

“I’d love to, Peter.”

Still caught up in the excitement of the project being finished, and then adding the joy that Peter Parker had asked you out, you pulled him into another hug. This time, however, he pulled away a bit, looking into your eyes, almost searching for something within them. Then, in a moment of boldness, he pressed his lips against yours in the sweetest, softest kiss you had ever experienced. The smiles you shared afterwards said all the words you couldn’t express, and you couldn’t remember being happier than you were right then.

Tag List: @toms-spidey, @peterandchurros, @peterfuckinparker, @peterfightmeparker, @trackingthislamp, @lgbt-avengers, @sachiparker, @softnerdypeter, @tomfooleryholland, @hollandaised, @homecunnings, @ theweirdlunatic 

[apvxoxo]

Apple Girl Pt.1

I randomly thought this up, and I actually like where this is headed more than my other story lol. Hope you guys enjoy <3

The store clerk was giving Paula a hard time again. Every time we ever went into the record store he would badger us without fail. Trying to push us to buy more than we could afford. "Sir," I shot my eyes to her in fear . She has the worst temper for a 16 year old girl. I can only imagine what she'll conjure up. "Could you please give us some space. We know what were looking for and we don't need any assistance." He eyed both of us head to toe. Putting both hands in the air in surrender, "Well I'm over here if you can't find your way"

 "Oh we will, thank you." She pushed a caustic smile at him rolled her eyes and went back to shuffling through the records.Her finger nails filed through the bin so fast her nail polish started to chip right on the edges.  

"Paula you don't think there all gone do you? I will be so devastated I just need this album I just.."

"Renee, enough. Look at me," she grabbed both of my shoulders positioning me in front of her,

"We will get it I promise. If i have to go to Jimmy Page himself. Were going to get this album." I only let out a small laugh, I felt defeated. All I wanted was the album, and I knew it would be gone by the time school was out.

" Paula what about the store on main st.? Could it be there?" She kept flicking through the music without hesitation of my inquiry.

"Renee, why don't you start looking through that box over there. Take a deep breath, and look." I scuffed my shoes on the floor slinging my arms at my side making my way over to the box. I knew it wouldn't be in there.I lazily flopped my hand onto the first record flicking it back with only one finger, nope. nope.. nope... This is hopeless.

"Paula lets just go home. I don't even want to look anymore it's just a waste of time." She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her thumb pinching the bridge of her nose in defeat.

"I can't believe you want to give up. This isn't just another album Renee this is Houses of the Holy were talking about. This is definitive of our music experience that we get this and you just want to give up?"

"Do you think I want to stop! I told you it would be sold out, I'm just as mad as you. And for the record, I'm the one who even got you into zep. So don't take this into your own hands as if you were the one who discovered them. You wouldn't even know jack shit about them if it wasn't for me."

She narrowed her eyes at me while sucking her lips in. I was defeated what can I say. It had been a long day and at the rate we were going I didn't even want to look at another bin of records ever again.

" Alright Renee. Have it your way. And next time I happen to discover something I'll be keeping it all to myself."

Not like you'll ever find something as incredible as led zeppelin.. moron

"Then you can just walk home alone! Fuck this!" She stormed out of the store pushing past customers, the old bell on the door almost fell clean off. I'm surprised the handle didn't bust. The kids stared back at me for some sort of apology, as if I was responsible for her actions. I just gave them that fake smile and slung my bag over my shoulder.

Fuck this is right.I made my way down the sidewalk avoiding all eye contact with the women who always fed the birds right on the bench near my apartment. I usually always strike conversation with her, she gives the best advice. But today, I was in no mood. It must have been at least 6:00 and I hadn't eaten since lunch, I pulled out the apple my mom insisted that I bring with me, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.I hate green apples and there was little bruises on it. I opened my mouth wide to take a bite, fuck being lady like. But my foot skid along the uneven grooves in the pavement and the toe of my shoe caught the divet where the sidewalk ends.I lunged forward just enough to toss my apple about a foot away.

"You have got to be kidding me " I leaned down to scoop the apple, I always avoided bending over on the street. You know how men can be. So I squatted down level to the apple it had rolled under the bus stop bench,

"That's weird" A snake-skin boot stood at the exact same spot ,and it was a huge boot at that. I'm not talking size 9 or 10 I'm talking at least 11..and a 1/2. Reaching my hand mindlessly under the bench a grasped the stupid apple. While sliding my hand out I accidentally swiped the boot

"Oh sorry, I'm just trying to grab something." A soft voice that sounded almost ..familiar replied. Wait, was he was British?

"That's quite alright love, what's got you on all fours down there anyway?"

I finally looked up to see who the hell was wearing snake skin boots in mid June,

"It was just this app.."

The snake skin boots, the British accent, the recognizable softness of his voice.. It can't be.

"An apple? All that for an apple huh? Must be a hungry girl." .. It was "Your.."

I had to stop while I was ahead. I couldn't let him see how starstruck I was. I would look like the million other girls. I had to stand out in some way or another. Paula always told me to act older, I still don't know what that means.

"Um yea, You know no big deal." Maybe act like I don't care? Is that what being older is like? His face grew warm and his smile grew, he patted the spot next to him on the bench.

"Would you like to sit down?"

"Oh sure, " play it cool, play it cool I moved my bag over my lap, neglecting to remember all my Led Zeppelin pins that covered it edge to edge. I scooted a comfortable distance to him as he peered down at my bag. He glared up at me without raising his eyelids.

"Nice pins. I uh, hear their alright."

The underlying tone of humor in his voice relieved some of the tension, of which I created.

"Thanks, Robert. Er..can I call you Robert?". Can I call you Robert? Was I brain dead? I guess it just felt polite.  What a great time to practice my manners. 

His eyes squinted when he laughed, and all his teeth were exposed. Oh how I loved the little chipped tooth.

"Well it is my name, I'd hope you'd call me Robert. But I guess that leaves out my introduction doesn't it? What's your name apple girl?"

"Renee," I could see the wheels turning in his head, how can I mess with her.

"Hmm I much prefer apple girl. Renee is so mundane . Doesn't really fit a girl like you, maybe a 30 year old but not quite you."

"Well, I think my mom assumed I would be 30 at one point so that's probably why she chose that name."

He laughed exposing his teeth again, and a newly discovered dimple. One deeper on the right cheek. Just one more thing to love.

"very true, but your what 18 19?" Oh shit. I can't blow this.. just lie. A little white lie wouldn't hurt, definitely not now.

“Uh yeah, 18. I just turned 18."

"Oh well, happy birthday then Renee. Perfect timing."

Jesus Christ this man had me in a trance. I wasn't even really listening to what he was saying just watching his mouth as he talked. The length of his upper lip would curl every time he spoke. I counted the times he would adjust his hair in between sentences.. 6

"Perfect timing? For what?" "Well to celebrate of course! I'm off to a party tonight and I still need someone to bring. Lucky enough I've run into you. You would like to go, yeah?"

Oh..my.. this couldn't be real. I shook off the excitement/nervousness building in my chest and conjured up an answer. "A party?.." He interrupted me,

"Well to be fair, it's much more of a get together if you like. Only a couple of people nothing crazy like the typical New York parties I'm sure your used to."

What New York parties. Hell, the best party I went to this year was my Nana's birthday and it was only fun because she got tried blowing out the candles and face planted the cake. So I'm not well versed in parties. But I couldn't turn this down. No fucking way. I'm going, Plus I could bring Paula. There is no way she could be mad at me after I tell her this.

"Well, could I bring my friend? I mean it's a bit last minute and I'd like to bring someone just in case."

"But of course, she can accompany our Jimmy over there. Have you met him? Well of course you haven't. Would you like to? Come on. He loves to meet the fans." My face was pale and expressionless, Robert got some sort of kick of seeing me so nervous. It must have been a control thing for him. I was able to hold enough composure around Robert, I can do the same for Jimmy. I hope.

"Jimmy ,c'mere someone you should meet"

 He stood with his back facing us, his black curly hair caught the almost setting sun making it look almost auburn. He was just as tall and long as I'd imagined him. He spun around balancing a cigarette in his mouth, he immediately put it out when he saw us approaching.

"Well hello there, whose this?"

Robert held me around my waist with one arm. He was nudging me forward to shake his hand, I extended it apprehensively god he was beautiful too.

"Hi Jimmy, my name is Renee. It's really nice to meet you, an honor really. I just love your music and...well thank you for everything."

He kept my hand in his and smiled, such a sweet smile. Tilting his head to the side and nodding as I spoke. An unsaid thank you. It's my pleasure darling.

Robert spoke up after the extended exchange between me and Jimmy.

" Well, that's more than I got for an introduction. Wheres my bloody thankyou!"

Jimmy lessened his hold on my hand and looked to Robert impassioned, "Robert would you leave her be. Bloody hell, have you always got to be the center of attention?"

Surprisingly I wasn't shocked by their banter. I grew up with 3 older brothers. I learned to be comfortable around boys fighting. However these weren't exactly boys. I figured I should speak up, cool the air.

"Robert, you didn't let me finish. I was going to say, thank you both for everything. Your music has really changed my life. Goodness, you should really let people finish Robert."

He bit his lower lip and looked down to his shoes. Hands on hips, like a little boy who'd just been scolded. It felt kind of nice talking to him like that. Getting through the elation barrier he created. It was quite funny seeing him flustered actually.One more dig, then I'm done

"Patience is a virtue you know."

He blew air out of his mouth, lower lip covering the top blowing the frizzy curl from his forehead. He cracked a smile and looked to Jimmy,

"So, I've invited Renee here to Richards party. I figured it was perfect since I haven't got someone to bring and she's just had a birthday."

Jimmy looked back to me grabbing my hand once more he kept his eyes closely locked on mine. Lifted my hand to his mouth and placed a soft, kinda wet if I'm honest. Kiss

"Your birthday is it. Well isn't that lovely, how old? 16?" How the fuck did he..Well I can't be too taken back. I didn't exactly pass for 18 or even 16. Hell, I still got the occasional kids menu at restaurants. I just nodded my head in a neutral rotation. But I'm sure my expression read as, of course I'm 16.Robert interrupted looking to me shaking his head brows furrowed,

"No. She's just turned 18 Jimmy. Not as young as the ones you like. And besides she's got a friend for you anyway. What did you say her name was?"

"Her name is Paula, she will be so excited to meet you guys. I should probably go and tell her actually it's getting kind of late."

Jimmy looked to me eyes squinted still smiling, "And is she 16 too then?"

"I'm not 16!" I blurted out with a whine in my voice. These boys just give it right back, they love to tease you. But I know Paula could take it. She had a way with older men. Jimmy just kept that derisive grin on his face.

"Well, it's been a pleasure Renee. Tell Paula I can't wait to meet her, if she's half the lady as you I should be delighted." He walked back to the limo that had been waiting and shimmied his skinny boy inside. Robert took me under his arm again and cleared his throat,

"Sorry about Jimmy, you know boys. Once they've see someone else have it, they've got to have it too."

"Isn't that just all kids though? Not just boys?"

"Alright, you win. All kids do that don't they. Now can we get Paula on the way or she can meet us there?"

He thought I was going with him in the limo. He thought I was 18, he thought I had it under control.

Okay that may be pushing it a little. I had to go home anyway I needed to give my mom some excuse.

"Well do you think I could swing home first I've got to get ready and..You know how us girls are."

"Oh nonsense you look divine! Just come along with us I don't want to be late. We can swing by Paula's and then off we go. See just that simple."

Just that simple.

"But Robert, I don't.. I mean I have to.." He started pulling me along toward the limo urging me to the door, "Not another word. I've had enough, your coming with me and that's that." He shoved me into the back seat with Jimmy and Jonh Bonham. I sat closest to the window dividing the driver from the backseat, what was I doing. Robert shifted his way in close to me, he placed his hand on my leg. Might I add the size of this hand.

"Alright altogether right? Wheres Paula's house we'll get her first."

"She's right off of.."

My mind trailed back into the conscious, Paula's mom would see me get out of the limo. Paula's mom would see Paula get into the limo. Well if she even got that far.

"Well go on spit it out Renee" Jimmy chimed in while lighting another cigarette

"Cat got your tongue darling?"

I got myself this far I can keep going. Just keep cool. I replied to Robert while still looking to Jimmy who was now smiling,

"No, I'm fine. She's right off of porter street I'll tell you when to stop. "

I kept my eyes to Jimmy, Jesus it seemed like some sort of initiation to give the new girl a hard time. It wasn't like I was already a nervous wreck or anything.He put the cigarette in between his lips and crossed his legs. Softly batting his eyes.

Once we pulled up to Paula's apartment I tapped on the drivers glass, It was just transparent enough that I could see the irritated glare he gave me through the rear view mirror.

"It's right here, this tan brick one here." Thank god, her mom wasn't home yet I had just enough time if I scrambled.I touched Roberts hand that was still draped over my upper thigh,

"Okay I'll be back. She might be a minute but just wait okay."

"Not too long now, we don't want to be too late. We are the life of the party you know?" I can only imagine.

I smiled while my cheeks blushed and moved out of the limo. I lightly shut the door behind me and walked steadily to the door. Slowly made my way up the steps, opened the door. And as soon as I shut it behind me, I ran like hell.

I tripped and stumbled up the flight of stairs down the hall and twice to the right. I kicked and pounded my fist onto the door. My breath panting,

"C'mon Paula please.." She opened the mail slot to see who it was, once realizing it was me,

"Go home Renee I don't want to hear it. "

"Paula open up this is an emergency"

"Your definition of emergency isn't exactly accurate Renee. What could it possibly be."

If she makes me ask one more time I'm breaking down this door. "Paula, what does 3 of the four members of Led Zeppelin are downstairs in a limousine waiting for us to go to a party with them define as?"

It was a drawn out silence until I heard the lock switch, she even had the bolt locked. 

She slowly opened the door stood in the doorway, hand on hip.

"Renee, what kind of a story.. I mean really you could just apologize you don't need to make up some lame story searching for my forgiveness."

I had no time to beat the shit out of her, I just pushed past her grabbing her arm and dragging her to the window. Both Jimmy and Robert were standing outside of the limo leaning against it. Jimmy still, cigarette in hand puffing out smoke through pursed lips,

"Look for yourself." Her eyes widened to the max, she put her hand over her mouth to muffle the scream.

"Renee! Tell me how you puled this off. What on earth are they doing here, I'm so proud of you" The rightfully deserved praise put aside, we needed to go.

"Just thank me later. C'mon Jimmy is waiting for you." She smiled and jumped in place squealing out of excitement, I grabbed her hand leading her to the door.

"Wait wait, what about Mom?"

"Forget it I'll just tell her your at my house."

"But didn't you tell the same thing to your mom?" Shit, I had left one component out of the equation. Something came over me, I didn't care, I needed to go to this party. I don't care if I never left the house again after this.It was well worth it.

"We will worry later just come on." We ran down to the lobby and looked in the mirror quickly before leaving. We looked to each other once more grabbing each others hands, lets go have the night of our lives.

We opened the door and looked to the boys still leaned against the limo arms folded.I was more desensitized to seeing them in real life. But Paula was just in the midst of the shock phase. She squeezed my hand all the way down the stairs and until we approached them. Jimmy smiled and stood up straight, Robert looked at me the whole time not taking his eyes away from mine.Jimmy flicked his cigarette and put out his hand palm facing up.

"You must be Paula, well I'm Jimmy." Paula apprehensive, placed her hand in his. Mouth slightly agape nodding her head, "Jimmy Page..Jimmy.."

He laughed a breathy laugh while putting his other hand on her forearm, he seemed to loved the girls who fawned over him. I assumed it just reminded him who he really was and what he really meant to people.

Robert was much more modest. So humble so..

"And I'm Robert, its a pleasure to meet you. And no need to thank me love. Renee has taken the liberty."

So dense.

Robert spoke up again, "Well girls let's get on then, enough of the run around yeah?" Jimmy puffed his cigarette once more before flinging open the door. Extending his arm to invite us in,first Paula then me.Robert followed sitting closest to the window Paula opposite to Jimmy and me in between them. Jimmy leaned into me softly whispering

"She's lovely. But ever so nervous, weird.." I only looked to him confused saying nothing with words, but my expression dumbfounded.I replied,

"What's weird? "You strike me as the nervous one. I guess I shouldn't be so quick to judge huh?"

He smiled again his eyelids heavy and peering down to my legs.I guess he liked more of a challenge. Which oddly, I had no problem giving it right back to him. I hope that Paula will loosen up, I'd like to divert most of my attention to Robert.

"Yeah,you know I thought you would be a lot cuter in person." He stifled his breathy laugh bringing his hand to scratch his chest, he kept his eyes on me while rubbing it

"Your nerves must have clouded your vision then yeah?"

“Maybe so Jimmy.."

Enough of this.I looked back to Robert who was fiddling with his fingernails,

"You know you shouldn't bite at your cuticles. It's really bad for your nails"

He paused to look up at me curling that side grin lips slightly puckered. He adjusted his belt buckle and extended his arm around me,

"I do a lot of things that probably aren't good for me love. I'm a big boy I can take it.But what about you? You must do something bad?"

I tried to think of something sexy to reply to that.. not a shock, I got nothing. I mean don't men like good girls anyway?

"No,nothing really. I'm pretty much a good girl." He bit at his bottom lip again. His eyes had that devious look like he is going to attack,

"A good girl huh? We'll have to fix that."

[ttevol-neb]

The Worst of Circumstances

I’m totally not breaking into your flat it’s just I got locked out of mine so I picked your lock and was going to use the fire escape to climb through my window - BENCUS AU

Chapter 4 - Unsatisfying Advice and Skills of Persuasion 

"So you think I should leave it, then?" Marcus clarifies, as tiny, eager hands grab onto his hair and tug, hard.

"Henry, don't pull." Ted admonishes his son softly before raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Yes, I think you should leave it."

Marcus brings his fingers to the child's hand and unclenches his surprisingly strong little fist. He gingerly pulls it away with, thankfully, only a few thick strands of black hair included.

"Come on, buddy, sit properly." Marcus encourages, manhandling the toddlers body so he's sat on his lap, facing Ted. His father is currently cutting slices of cucumber and carrot on the other side of the kitchen counter and Henry seems to find tugging on Marcus' collar interesting enough for now - what is it with small children and pulling on things? - so Marcus looks back up at Ted. "Are you sure?"

Marcus has to admit that being told to let it be wasn't the response he was hoping for. Marcus thought  his best friend would show a little more excitement when he recounted the epic tale of the night before and the discovery of the man he's ninety-nine percent sure is his soul mate.

It'd only taken an hour for a locksmith to come out, and a further thirty minutes for his front door to be in full working order again. After an uncomfortable goodbye with Ben - Marcus had opted for a hug and Ben for a handshake, which resulted in Ben's hand getting awkwardly crushed in between their chests - Marcus had hightailed it to Ted's, in dire need of his ever present voice of reason. Marcus can't count the number of times Ted has talked him and Winston out of impulsive decisions that, on reflection, they shouldn't have needed to be talked out of in the first place.

"Marcus," Ted says, stepping around the identical little boy sat cross legged on the floor smashing transformers together, and pulling plastic plates down from an overhead cupboard. "You broke into this guys flat, scared the life out of him, drank his beer and ate his food, kissed him, found out he had a boyfriend, and then continued to come on to him. And you actually want to carry on pursuing it?"

Marcus grimaces. Well doesn't that just make him sound like a massive douchebag. Marcus isn't that detached, no matter how much evidence Ted has to the contrary.  He knows how bad his situation looks when you lay everything out, but it was different at the time. He really fucking likes this guy.

When Ben was looking up at him through his sinfully long lashes, all doe-eyed and demure, Marcus couldn't imagine doing anything besides letting himself fall a little and kissing him. And it's not like he would've pressed Ben to kiss him if Ben didn't want to. Frankly, he finds those that constantly pester people to get with them annoying and a little bit sickening. If Ben hadn't have been responding to him like he was, all quickened breathing and wide eyes, then Marcus would've left it. He knows a lost cause when he sees one and this is not one of those times.

There was just something a bit off about Oliver. Marcus probably doesn't have the most objective standing here, but he can't shake the feeling that he and Ben don't work together in that effortlessly smooth way that couples can. Especially with them being together for as long as they have. It isn't right.

And when Marcus was with him, all he could think about was that them meeting felt like it was written in the stars.

Ted's looking at him, the bastard, waiting for a reply, even though it's clear there isn't one that doesn't make it sound like he wants to terminate a strangers relationship for his own selfish gain. Damn Ted and his indisputable logic. Marcus resigns himself to that fact that he can't find the words to describe it without saying it really isn't as bad as it looks! which is a sure fire way to make him think it most definitely is as bad as it looks.

"Well it sounds bad when you put it like that." Marcus mumbles sullenly into the mop of blonde curls in front of him, frowning at Henry's little feet.

"That's because it is bad." Ted states, an amused smirk on his face, as he arranges the vegetables on the table with the rest of the food. "Honestly, I don't know how you can't see how pushy you are sometimes."

"But he's pretty." Marcus pouts, fully aware that his voice has climbed to that whiny pitch that makes him sound like a spoilt child. After both his mother and Winston pointed out it happened whenever he got frustrated, he decided to embrace it and use his pouting power to it's full potential. Sure enough, Ted's expression softens slightly, even mixes with something close to pity.    

"I'm sure there are plenty of other pretty guys out there who'll sleep with you."

"Not like him there isn't."

Ted pauses in setting the table and looks to Marcus for a moment, his tongue between his teeth. "Are you seriously going to break them up just so you can shag him?"

"No, no, it's more than that. He-", Marcus sighs. This is proving more difficult than he thought it would be. How can he articulate something he can't even put into thoughts in his own head? He knows the sudden want he feels for Ben isn't solely about sex, but he admits he'd be more than happy to fuck him and then take it from there. The difference, for what Marcus thinks is the first time in his life, is that he would look forward to the taking it from there part just as much as the fucking part. Just from that one night he knows there's something between them, something worth exploring. He knows he'll regret it if he doesn't. "It's hard to put into words, okay? It's more than just physical. Like... I don't know, I just wanna hang out with him, sit and listen to him talk or... whatever." Marcus tries to explain. "And I don't want to break them up, thank you very much, I just... don't exactly want them to be together either."

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Ted reinforces stubbornly, making sure the rose tinted glasses are fully yanked off Marcus' face.

Marcus run a hand through his hair. "You don't get it, Ted, you didn't see him."

"I don't think I have to, mate, the facts speak for themselves. He's with someone." Ted heads for the bottom of the stairs, none the wiser of the scowl aimed at his back, then yells, "Heather, lunch is ready!"

Henry fidgets in Marcus' lap until Marcus cottons on and lowers him enough that he can scramble to the ground and sit himself at the table, his brother not far behind.

"But he's perfect," Marcus complains, defeated. And to think he was so excited about this. "And in the flat right below mine. What're the chances?"

"Next to none," Ted acknowledges as he helps his sons dish food onto their plates, "Which is why he's unavailable."

"I can't just leave it, Ted, not now that I know he's there."

"He has a boyfriend." Ted reiterates.

Marcus huffs. "You're no fun, you know that?"

"Aw, come on." Ted protests, amusement still annoyingly present in his tone. "That's not true, is it boys? I'm fun, aren't I?"

"Yeah!" Henry yells, flicking sweetcorn off the end of his plastic fork in his excitement.

"Daddy plays monsters 'nd ev'ything!" Ryan assures adamantly, through a mouthful of chewed up crisps.

"See. Monsters and everything." Ted smiles, giving a definite nod. "And are you sure you want to get involved with him? I mean, he cheated on his boyfriend. I'm pretty sure that takes him out of the running to be the angel you think he is."

Marcus' stomach twists uneasily. He hadn't thought of that. Hateful as he is, Oliver does love Ben, that much is clear, and would be heartbroken if he ever found out.  

"Just remember that, okay?" Ted asks before turning to the stairs again. "Heather, come on! Before the munchkins eat it all!"

Approaching footsteps sound from the hallway and Marcus only just has time to brace himself before three feet of  happiness barrels into him, nearly knocking him over.

"Marcus!" Heather smiles toothily up at him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle as he sways precariously backwards.

"Hey, princess!" Marcus greets, hoisting her up onto his hip. He has to heft her up again so she won't slide down his leg, and takes a moment to debate if she's got heavier or if he needs to work out more. He indicates to the messily folded piece of paper in her hand. "What's this, then?"

"It's my cake." She says proudly, unfolding it and holding it up in front of them.

"A cake? Why would you need a cake?"

Heather whacks his shoulder playfully, smiling through her gapped teeth. "You know why!"

"Hmm," Marcus wrinkles his brow and scrunches up his nose, feigning thought. "No, no, I don't think I do. What could you need a cake for? It's not like there's a special day coming up or anything."

"Marcus!" She squirms against his side, laughing. "Stop! You do remember!"

"Nope. I don't remember anything that would need a cake. Do you, Ted?"

Ted looks up from wiping snot from Ryan's nose, puzzled. "No, don't think I do."

"Dad! Stop it!" An edge of frustration comes in to her voice. "It's my birthday next week!"

"Oh! Right!" Marcus relents as Ted makes similar noises of realisation. "That's the big event! Remind me how old you're going to be again?"

"Seven!"

"Right, right. Well, it's a wonderful cake." He places her on the floor. "Go on, go eat."

Marcus watches as the kids chow down on their lunch, absently smiling at the love and contentment that he always feels when he's around Ted's family. The shit radiates off them. Lucky sods.

It's not long, Heather is only on the fourth round of describing the dress she's going to wear on her birthday, until Marcus' thoughts wind back around to Ben.

He's definitely less giddy about the whole ordeal than when he first arrived. Part of him wants to be mad at Ted for ruining his excitement, to shake him and say "Why can't you just be happy for me?!", but the rest of him knows he's only telling the truth. Ben has a boyfriend. It's as simple as that. He's not even playing the game, let alone up for grabs.

The problem, though, is that Marcus is finding it increasingly harder to ignore the squirming of his insides whenever he thinks about Ben. That it was difficult to tamper down in the first place probably isn't helping. Or that he thinks about Ben a lot.  

Dammit, Marcus can't just let this slide. There's something good and real and potentially amazing on the table here. Ben felt it too, that's why they kissed, Marcus knows it.

One last shot. Marcus will give Ted one last chance to show him a glimmer of a real reason to pursue this. That's all he needs, just the edge of a valid justification and he will take it and run.  

"You really think I should leave it?"

Ted sighs and digs the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"I mean, this guy could be the one and you want me to forget about him?"

"He's not the one. You spent one night with him. In different rooms, I might add."

Marcus grunts and folds his arms across his chest. "You're no help-"

"Just because I'm not telling you what you want to hear-"

"I should've gone to Winston."

"Why didn't you?" Ted squints at him, "It's not like he has a family to look after while his wife is away or anything."

Marcus slumps in his seat. "Because he's set me up on another date tomorrow, hasn't he? And if I talk to him about Ben he'll get all offended. You know what he's like."

"I don't know why you don't just tell him to stop, you know."

Marcus shrugs. "Makes him happy. And more often than not I get a decent blowjob out of it, at least."

Ted rolls his eyes and fights a losing battle with a grin. "That figures."

"I was thinking about bailing on this one, actually. Saying I'm ill or something."

"Because of your neighbour?" Ted asks, annoyance rising in his voice. "Are you kidding me? Marcus, you have no chance with him."

"You didn't see what he was like with me-"

"Did he, or did he not, explicitly ask you to leave it?"

Marcus sighs. Damn Ted all the way to hell for always making so much goddamn sense. "Well-"

"Answer the question."

"Yes, he did, but-"

"No. No buts. Go on this date, get your blowjob, and move on to the next one. Let the guy live his life in peace. I'm sure the last thing he needs is you, a stranger, bursting in to it and spouting all this crap about soul mates and perfection and the bloody one."

"Dad?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What's a blowjob?"

-*-

Marcus decides it would be rude to not at least thank Ben for letting him stay the night. And Oliver, of course, as well. His mother brought him up with proper manners after all, even if he does only remember them after breaking and entering.  Ah well, better late than never.

He decides to splash out on a fancy bottle of wine, which proves harder than he thought it would due to his somewhat limited wine-drinking knowledge. He's never strayed further than Tesco's own label, which he ordinarily buys with the goal of downing fast and getting shit faced, so it's not like he knows which ones actually taste nice. Beer and even liquor are more his forte. He must have looked well and truly befuddled whilst staring at the bottles in the supermarket aisle, as a nice young lady in a crisp white shirt and a shiny name tag comes over to offer her assistance. They decide on a bottle of Pinot Grigio that she promises him is "delicate yet sharp without being tart" to which Marcus nods and pretends he understands.  

After scaling two flights of stairs (the bloody lift is still broken) Marcus presses the doorbell of flat 2b and poses with the bottle of wine held beside his face, plastering on a cheesy grin, ready to be the picture of innocence and gratitude when Ben opens the door. There's no way he could turn that away. Not that Marcus thinks he would, what with them being friends and all, but he's just making sure.

Ben raises an eyebrow and leans against the door frame, unconcerned. "So you do know how to use a doorbell, then."  

Marcus sighs, drops his facade and the bottle of wine down to his side - goddamn this angelic bastard -  but a smile that seems to have a life of its own breaks out across his face, regardless. God, Ben really is beautiful, and he seems to be radiating the smell of butter and sugar and spice and all things nice to boot. That, coupled with his kind eyes, inevitably turns Marcus' insides into a molten mess, which is something he really should've been able to predict.  

"Would you prefer I send a carrier pigeon through the window to announce my arrival?" Marcus asks solemnly. "Or a marching band? Because that can be arranged. I know people."

Ben grins. "No, no. I just thought picking locks was more your style."

"You're never going to let me live that one down are you?"

"No way in hell." Ben chuckles. He leans his head back against the door frame, exposing the skin of his neck that is far too unblemished for Marcus' liking. Ben's eyes narrow. "And how would you get a marching band through my window, anyway? That sounds like a logistical nightmare. All those trumpets and french horns."

Marcus ignores, quite gallantly in his opinion, all the horn based innuendos that instantly pop into his head. "Well if you'd have let me finish attempting to get to my flat through it then I'd know, wouldn't I?"

"Nice." Ben nods, that adorable look of disbelief on his face again. "I like how you turned that one around on me."

Marcus shrugs indifferently. "I tell the truth."

"You can do no wrong, can you?"

"I'm practically Jesus."

"Right." Ben laughs. He straightens, and Marcus doesn't know if he imagines Ben's stupid eyes dart down to his lips - just for a millisecond - as he shifts his weight, or if Marcus' fucking feelings for this guy are making him see things that aren't there. Either way, Ben's voice is a lot softer when he speaks again and he's giving that wonderful little half smile that Marcus can't get out of his head. "Plain old doorbell it is."  

"Hmm," Marcus agrees, equally as gently. The warmth in his stomach bubbles mildly. "How boring."

They pause, simply looking at one another, content smiles on their faces. They seem to take each other in, acknowledge and appreciate the existence of the other, in the comfortable silence that lingers for a few moments. Marcus can feel his heart trying to tunnel its way out of his increasingly flushed chest.

Suddenly, he can't remember any of the conversation he had with Ted. He knows he made a decision to do something (whilst scrubbing quickly congealing rings of jam from Ted's kitchen table), but that thought has helpfully decided to be elusive right now. He definitely resolved to do something with this whole I fancy the pants off a taken guy debacle. Ultimately, Ted wasn't happy with him, that he can remember, so changes must be made. Or maybe he concluded to not do anything at all, now he thinks about it. All Marcus knows for certain is that the heat in his middle is creating smoke in his brain and if he's being honest with himself, all that really matters is the here and the now, in this doorway with Ben and his horribly unmarred skin.

Fuck what Ted thought. It probably wasn't important anyway. What could be more important than being right here, on this day, at this very moment?

Ben clears his throat and gives a minute shake of his head. Marcus wouldn't have picked up on it if his senses weren't so primed on him.

"So did you want something? Or are you delivering bottles of wine to everyone on the second floor?" Ben smiles easily. "Let me guess - It used to be water."

"Ah, no." Marcus smiles at the wine in his hand. If he looks at Ben smirking at his own joke for any longer he may just discover his inner vampire and lunge for his throat. "I'm not that good, I'm afraid. Marching bands through windows I can do, but water into wine? Haven't practised that one so much."

"Shame. Let me know when you perfect it."

Marcus holds the bottle out between them. "I got this for you."

Ben looks at it through narrowed eyes.

"You got me wine?" He asks slowly, apprehensively.

It takes a few seconds of them both staring incomprehensibly at the other, a vastly different kind of  stare than before, until the penny drops.

Ben thinks Marcus is making a move on him.

And, yes, okay, Marcus admits that, with how he was behaving before, it's not too ostentatious an assumption. And even if Ben did ask him to leave it just that morning, Marcus supposes it still wouldn't be so out of character for him to just press a little bit further, test the waters a tiny bit longer.

Despite all that, the way Ben is so suddenly on guard at the mere thought hurts. He's not so bad, is he? Taken or not, is it really that horrible to have him flirting?

With half of him feeling sorry for himself, and the other half worrying when he became so conscious of his flirting skills and other people's fucking opinions of them, Marcus can't help the small, self-deprecating laugh that slips between his lips. "Don't worry, sunshine.  It's for you and  your guy. To say thanks for letting me stay last night. And for not hitting me with your frying pan and calling the police."

The tension in Ben's shoulders visibly lessens as he smiles, which is as good as throwing a bucket of ice water onto Marcus' melted insides, solidifying them into heavy lead and bringing him back to reality.

"You know. Like friends do." Marcus can't help but add, biting back the urge to yell you kissed me back, dickhead!

"Yeah. Right. Friends." Ben replies, a little too brightly, and wraps his fingers around the neck of the bottle. "Thanks. That's great."

Marcus shrugs stiffly. "Least I can do."

Ben nods and looks to the label of the bottle, running his thumb over it and reading. The angle of his stooped head now means that Marcus can appreciate his small, straight nose and it's dusting of pale freckles in all their glory. He might as well be biting his lip and sighing like an infatuated teenager for how obvious his pining must be. Marcus also now notices how the ends of Ben's eyelashes, just where they attach themselves to his eyelids, are a gleaming golden blonde colour. Fuck, this guy must be  the son of a fucking God. And to think he'd been just one floor down for so long. All the times Ben could've been sat studying a recipe book with a cup of tea, or sweeping up crumbs from the kitchen floor - fresh from the batch of scones he just made, of course - or tutting at the loud music coming from one of Marcus' parties above him, and Marcus was completely non the wiser. It was a cruel trick of fate that decided they wouldn't cross paths before now.    

Fuck what Ted thought, fuck it all to hell. There's something here and Marcus'll be damned if he lets this slip through his fingers.

When an ambulance siren sounds outside and bounces off the plastered walls of the hallway, Marcus notices the silence they're in. The dead silence. The kind that you daren't so much as breathe in; the awkward type.

Oh, God. He's stood alone with Ben, and it's awkward.

They've been quiet for too long and Marcus is pretty sure he still has that dopey little fucking smile on his face that always seems to be there when he's in Ben's company. He shoves his hands in his pockets to stop them from fidgeting and drawing attention to himself.

Ben glances up, gives a little smile (which is just so Ben) and goes back to reading the label. This only makes Marcus more worried because there's no way that there's enough information on it to take this long to get through, which means Ben's re-reading it so that he doesn't have to actually say anything, meaning that they've run out of things to talk about and, Oh God, Ben thought he was making a move on him.

Marcus should've just left it. He should've taken last night for the one off that it was and gone on to plainly coexist with this wonderful man. He should've forgotten about repaying him, accepted it as a simple act of kindness from one neighbour to another, and sealed the most perfect kiss he's ever had between planes of glass to be kept in his memory for a rainy day or a lonely night.

Ben finally looks up and takes a deep breath, his eyes jumping back and forth between Marcus' as he looks to gear himself up to say something. His fingers have turned white where they're clutching onto the bottle and Marcus can feel his heart pounding in his ribcage.

Suddenly, Ben exhales and shakes his head at Marcus through a sheepish smile, blurting out "I'm sorry."

Marcus' eyebrows jump up. What?

"For what?"

Ben motions vaguely with the bottle. "I assumed you were... uh..."

"Flirting," Marcus fills in with an embarrassed chuckle of his own. Might as well get it out there. "No, I know, it's alright-"

"No, I shouldn't have thought-"

"It's fine, I get it-"

"It wasn't fair of me to-... I just assumed-"

"Ben, it's fine-"

"After this morning and everything-"

"Yeah, I know, don't worry about it-"

"I shouldn't have done that, really-"

"It's understandable-"

"Just with everything that's happened..."

"Yeah, I know-"

"And, I mean, I did ask you to leave it, so..."

"Yeah."

"I was just a bit unsure what you were doing there for a second, that's all."

"It's okay."

"Not that I think you would... uh, after I asked you not to-"

"I-"

"I know you'd never do that." Ben says confidently, almost sharply, stopping them rambling over one another.

He's looking up at Marcus like he really believes it, trusts that Marcus wouldn't go against his words. But his eyes are begging him, pleading with him to accept this, saying I'm sorry and please just leave this and I don't want to fall out here. He needs it to be true that Marcus won't push. And Marcus wants to. He really does want to leave it and be friends with this guy because surely it would be better to have him as a friend than not at all. Not to mention it's the right fucking thing to do.

However, there's still that stubborn little malicious section of his brain that won't allow himself to give Ben up. It's sitting on his shoulder and whispering in his ear, convincing him that he needs this, that things won't be okay if you let him be the one that got away and why are cutting you're own arm off, arsehole? That's bad for us.  

"Well," Marcus says lightly, almost under his breath like there's any chance he'll get away with it. "Never say never."

Ben's easy going look goes unmistakably strained, and his left cheek sucks in from where he must be biting it on the inside.

"In this case?" He says harshly, setting his shoulders and looking Marcus dead in the eye. "Never."

Ouch.

"You can think about it if you want." He mutters, sarcastic but hurt all the same.

"Marcus," Ben sighs, "I'm not going to have this conversation with you again, okay?"

Marcus looks to him and if he thought Ben's eyes were pleading before, they're nothing compared to how they look now, and Marcus is suddenly torn.

On the one hand, Ben looks so worried. No matter how much he's tried to cover it up with putting his foot down, the discomfort in his expression is obvious. Marcus feels something drop in his stomach at the sight of it. Part of Marcus' brain is saying stop, you've upset him, you wanker! Just leave it so he can smile again! It's making him want to do anything to get that distressed look off Ben's face, including turning on his heel, taking off down the hallway and never seeing him again.

Alternatively, that very same pleading look is telling Marcus that Ben knows there's something here to fight for. That he's trying to get Marcus to agree with what he says because he's trying to convince himself of it, too. If Marcus says he'll leave it, that they shouldn't be doing this, then Ben has no choice but to believe it. He also gets conformation that his relationship with Oliver is obviously a wonderful one. Why would Marcus want to come between them if it were? Consequently, he then has no reason to take the plunge and leave Oliver.

Then again, there's always the possibility that Marcus has interpreted everything completely wrong and Ben just wants him gone.

Bloody hell.

And so Marcus is torn, and simply stands there with his mouth hung open as Ben stares him down, all defiance and I'm not going to have this conversation with you again.    

When it becomes apparent that Marcus' powers of speech have abandoned him, Ben glances down the hall and exhales softly.

"Well," he says, turning back to Marcus, his demeanour back to bone-meltingly friendly as he holds up the wine bottle. Marcus wonders if Ben has ever read Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. "I should get this in the fridge."

"Right, yeah." Marcus manages to squeeze out.

"You could come in for a bit. If you want. I mean, Oliver's due home soon, but..."

Despite possibly having whiplash from the change in tone, Marcus feels his chest lift a little.

He should say no. Ben's just being polite, that's all. This is for him to refuse and be courteous, to respect Ben's wishes so they can both come out of it looking like decent people. But Ben's smiling again. And Marcus still has that unsatisfied feeling of having unfinished business clinging to him like poisoned ivy grows on a building.

"Sure."

If this wasn't the reply that Ben wanted, he doesn't show it. He just stands aside for Marcus to come through.

Ben's home is just as welcoming as before, perhaps more so with what look like recipe books and hand written notes spread out on the coffee table, and re-runs of That 70's Show playing on the small tv in the corner.

Marcus somehow feels out of place, big and bulky in amongst the warm flat. He feels like an intruder, and isn't that just fucking ironic. When breaking in, he felt very little remorse, but, now, when he's been invited in, saying he's uncomfortable doesn't do it justice. He's still caught in that quandary of knowing he shouldn't be here but wanting to stay with all his might, and his feet can't seem to stay still because of it.

As Ben makes his way to the fridge, Marcus watches and tries to work out what the fuck is happening. He needs to do something to get this twitchy feeling out of his bones. Where do they stand now? If he had actually wanted Marcus to leave he wouldn't have let him come in, surely, even out of politeness. He would've kicked him out on his arse. Is Ben actually giving the mixed messages Marcus thinks he is? Or is this all in his head?

It's then that Marcus realises he fucking hates subtext.

He might as well try and sort this out now. The tension and instability of it all will only torment him until he does. Patience has never even come close to being his middle name. And he knows Ben isn't as sure about this as he keeps saying.

He fucking hopes to God he's right.

"I'm confused." Marcus says.

Ben takes his hand off the handle on the fridge door and turns to him. His eyebrows have gone up his forehead and he looks intrigued, but that doesn't cover the underlying resistance that tells Marcus he knows what's going on here.

Deep breath.

"I'm confused because I don't know how you can just let this lie. There is something between us, Ben. Something... noticeable. That's the only way to put it. I don't know what it is, or how this might work out, or even if it's fucking worth it, but it's something. Something that could work. I'm sorry to do this again, I am, but... I can't just let that go."

Ben sighs and puts the bottle of wine down on the counter next to the fridge with a heavy thunk. Marcus carries on before Ben has a chance to cut in with arguments he's already heard.  

"I know that it's ludicrous, okay? I know that. But it's not everyday that I break into flats, you know." That gets a smile out of Ben, "But I did last night. And of all the people in London, it happened to be yours. On the night your boyfriend was still out. And you decided to let me stay." Marcus starts to take small steps closer to him, like someone trying to get close to a wild animal. "Who does that? Who lets a stranger that picks the lock on their front door kip on their sofa? That's crazy. But you did. You didn't even think of turning me away, did you?" When Ben only gives a small smile and rubs tense fingers over his forehead, Marcus prompts. "Did you?"

Ben leans back against the counter. Marcus hopes that was the fight draining out of him. "No, I didn't. You're my neighbour-"

"You didn't know that." Marcus continues. "I had no way to prove it. I could've been anyone. I could've pissed off with your most prized possessions in the middle of the night."

"Marcus, that's-"

"Don't stand there and tell me you can't feel it, that you didn't let me stay last night because there was something about me that you couldn't refuse." As he comes to stand in front of Ben, Marcus' stomach is in knots. This feels like the ballsiest thing he's ever done. "I don't wanna say it's fate, but..."

Ben's nerve breaks and his gaze slides to the floor. Marcus thinks that may be a good thing, that he doesn't want Marcus to see what he's thinking. He seems less tense than he was out in the hallway. Marcus hopes that's because of his words and not just because of the comfort of being inside his own home.

In a bold move, and because Marcus has always been an all or nothing kind of guy, he braces his left hand on the surface next to Ben's hip and gently takes Ben's chin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Now Marcus never thought he would be soppy enough to say things like "I saw galaxies in his eyes", but when Ben lets him tilt his chin so they're looking at each other, his breath is taken from him.

"Even right now." Marcus says softly, leaving only a small gap between their bodies. "Don't pretend you don't feel... something... between us, right now."

Ben's fingers are gripping tightly onto the side of the counter and his chest is rising and falling quickly but his eyes, oh god, his eyes are almost glowing, mirroring everything that Marcus is feeling. This is why Marcus can't let go. This look says I want you too. And even if he does look a little worried, the deer caught in headlights again, all that makes Marcus want to do is kiss all the concern away.

Fuck, Marcus wants him.

"I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like this." Marcus says as he softly runs his thumb along the edge of Ben's bottom lip and feels him give a little sigh against it. "We just... fit. Please don't fight it."

Gingerly, Marcus moves his hand from the edge of the counter and places it on Ben's hip. It fits just as perfectly as before. For all the trepidation in Ben's eyes, he doesn't push him away. He doesn't exactly move in to Marcus either, but he doesn't push him away, which has to count for something.

"Marcus, I...", Ben starts, but his words quickly die in his throat. After a tense moment, he gives a little breathless laugh instead. "God, I hate you."

Marcus smiles back and takes the tiniest of steps closer. "Yeah, I kind of hate me too, right now. But you know I'm right."

Gingerly, Ben's hand comes to rest on the forearm Marcus has against his hip. Marcus' heart does something close to a somersault.

Marcus dips his head, brushing his nose against Ben's cheek and letting their mouths hover in front of one another. It feels like there's a magnetic pull bringing them ever so slowly closer and closer together. Marcus much prefers this version of Ben, the soft, willing version that makes them feel like two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together. Not to mention that being this close to him but not actually kissing is, strangely, erotic as fuck.

Ben's eyes have fallen shut. Marcus can just see the ends of his eyelashes resting on his cheeks as he places their foreheads together. God, Marcus feels like he's burning up. Ben's grip tightens on his arm as he tilts his face up ever so slightly. Their lips must only be a millimetre apart now, and Marcus is sure Ben's pulse is thudding as fast as his own. He can almost taste it.

Three sudden, loud pounds on the door makes Ben's head snap up.

"Babe, it's me! I forgot my keys!"

Marcus' blood runs cold and he glares over his shoulder at the door. Bloody fucking Oliver! Marcus had him! Just a couple more blissful seconds and they would have been lip locked!

Ben quickly pushes past him, out of Marcus' embrace, and takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair and pulling on it. For the second time in two days, Marcus is left to rearrange himself as adrenaline rushes through him.

"Look," Ben says quickly and quietly, whipping around to face him, and with more venom than Marcus ever thought he was capable of, "I've already admitted that I feel something for you, okay, so I'm not going to do it again. But Marcus, and I need you to listen to me now, okay? I mean really listen. Whatever stupid little crushes we have somehow developed on one another, within less than twenty-four hours of knowing each other, don't even come into the question. Words can't describe how obsolete it is. It means nothing. Because I know that in the bigger picture I am meant to be with him," He points one sure finger at the door, "alright? I'm with him and I'm staying with him because he's my soul mate, and, yes, you're handsome and you're funny and you're interesting, but I love Oliver and I'm with Oliver and you can never be Oliver. Got it?"  

Marcus opens his mouth to protest but it feels like someone has their hands clasped tightly around his throat.

Oliver knocks on the door again. "Ben? You there?"

Ben takes one, deep, composing breath as Marcus blinks gormlessly at him. The world stands still. Marcus is pretty sure even the clock has stopped ticking by, holding its breath.  

Marcus wishes his brain hadn't seemed to have short-circuited, simply showing him the same error message over and over, so he could grab Ben by the shoulders and eloquently persuade him to pretend he's not in the flat so Oliver will go and find a cafe or something to occupy himself with. They still have more talking to do, this isn't how this is supposed to end. What he wouldn't give to click his fingers and transport Oliver far, far, far away. But Marcus' shell shocked body can conjure no words, and Ben's opening the front door before Marcus even has the chance to will the colour back into his face.

"If I had a penny for every time you forgot your keys, I'd be a very rich man." Ben smiles easily.

"Well hello to you to."

Marcus drags in a deep breath to try and will some feeling back into his body. He can only hope he doesn't look as dumbfounded as he feels as Oliver walks in and spots him.

"Back again?"

"Marcus was actually just about to leave." Ben supplies, "He brought a bottle of wine for us."

"Oh, that was nice of you." Oliver smiles at him.

Marcus feels a pressure build in his chest, getting the urge to snatch the bottle off the counter next to him and run out the door lest he does anything to give this suited oaf of a man something to be happy about.

"You were kind enough to help me out so..." He rushes, "Just something to say thanks."

His head is throbbing and he shoves his hands in his pockets so Oliver won't see how they're shaking. His throat is still absurdly tight and his chest feels like its cracking, caving in to him.

'I'm with Oliver and you can never be Oliver.'

Act normal, he thinks, just act normal.

"I'm more into beer myself but you seem like wine sort of people, so I hope it's okay."

"I'm sure it will be." Ben says, short and with an air of finality, though the smile on his face stays strongly where it is.

Marcus finds his eyes and sees the hard edge in them, the solid set to his jaw. He thinks that may have been his cue to go.

"Ben's a beer person, too." Oliver says.

"Oh, really?" Marcus smirks, although this bit of trivia seems bittersweet after all the words Ben just snarled at him. "Great minds think alike, ey?"

The suggestive tone goes (thankfully) over Oliver's oblivious head, but Ben's smile disappears instantly.  

Marcus decides that, yes, now is the time to take his leave before he steps over the line, if he miraculously hasn't already. Although of course there is a part of Marcus that wants one of them to slip up and for Oliver to cotton on to the sexual tension between his boyfriend and another man, he also doubts that Ben would appreciate that. He thinks he's probably so far into Ben's bad side at the moment that one more inch would lead him to fall over the edge and down into the abyss of never-to-be-spoken-to-again territory. That's the last thing he wants.

He says his goodbyes and, with one final, desperate pleading look to Ben, who looks steadily back at him, he steps out of the flat and into the corridor. The door is shut behind him with more force than he thinks is necessary.

With a weight in his chest and a frown on his face, Marcus heads for the stairs.  

[louisdupont]

Come Here Often? (I Do, Actually) - Part II

Here’s more of that stage door AU. Tagging @hollywoodx4 because she’s my Eliza person. 

Part I is HERE. In this one, Alex & Eliza actually speak. Quickly beta’d on mobile so apologies in advance for any glaring errors!

Alex is running through Smooth Opening Lines in his head, because he has probably around three minutes to get his shit together, when John drops a fun bombshell. Fun, meaning, all of Alex’s shit melts instead and there’s no possible way to pull it back together–not in three minutes, not in three years. “Elizabeth Schuyler, in the flesh,” he says, and he’s eyeing her too (but uh, not like Alex is). “She was really good, who knew?” Alex goggles for way too long, and John snaps his fingers an inch from his friend’s face. “What is the matter with you? You look like the Harry Potter cat after she gets seen by the basilisk. Chamber of Secrets was underrated–” “Schuyler? Like Philip Schuyler? Senator? Democratic, known progressive, for immigration reform, pro-choice–” Alex rattles off these facts like they’re somehow relevant, but actually they’re just spinning him further out of control. He was a fan of Schuyler and his politics, but for all his research, he’d never discovered that the man had made a deal with God to get an actual angel for a kid. Who, incidentally, was stepping closer still, making her way down the line of waiting fans. “Dude, if you talk politics to her, I will pants you amongst all these women and children and leave you for dead. Seriously.” Alex rolls his shoulders–it’s meant to seem like a stretch, but this mom next to him is seriously impeding on his space to flirt, and Elizabeth Schuyler is two people away. To nobody’s surprise, she is actually more beautiful up close. He doesn’t remember what politics even are as she turns to John, who does, actually, have his playbill from the show. “Hi, how are you?” It’s a standard greeting, but he’s pretty sure it’s the most sincere one ever exchanged between humans in history. She’s smiling at John, and Alex should really stop looking at her mouth. “Thank you so much–I had no idea the stanky leg was on Broadway, but you made it happen and it was awesome,” John the Apparently Seasoned Theater Goer replies, and so she’s laughing when she finally looks at Alex. Her gaze leveled at him takes stunning, surprising effect–there’s a familiar roaring in his ears but the wave doesn’t drown him this time. He’s just washed in that same calm as before. “You were incandescent.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward in a practiced move–it’s only he that knows exactly how new this is for him. Funnily enough, she doesn’t look away and her own lips curl upward in an amused smile. She’s blushing though, and he is living for it. “The show was great, but you were my favorite part. I don’t mean any offense to your company, but they must know who they’re working with. It was a honor to witness in person.” It’s not actually just a line. She’s a brilliant performer, and he’s never had a problem simply being honest. She’s so brilliant, that somehow everything feels new again, and somewhere in the space of two hours watching this show–HER–had been that illuminating flick of the switch. He doesn’t have a playbill to sign and otherwise distract, but she’s still standing there in front of him, and he can tell she’s sizing him up. Alex is up for it though, and doesn’t relinquish her attention, nor does he back down, making his face as open as possible. People, including John, and Annoying Theater Mom #1 start to notice their complete inability to stop looking at each other, and the moment cracks. “Thank you,” she murmurs warmly, before moving on to the next awaiting fan, but he doesn’t miss how she glances back at him from under her lashes. Alex drums his fingers on the metal barricade once in a kind of victory dance before John is tugging him away, this time toward the train stop. “Uh, what the hell?” Alex snorts out a laugh–now that he’s out of Eliza’s immediate presence, that wave finally ebbs back, washing him back to reality. But, if his brain was a theater marquee in this moment, it would be pinging “It Wasn’t One-Sided, Fuckers!” in bright lights. “I was ‘showing my appreciation for her performance,’” is all he offers, quoting John’s own words as he shoves his hands in his pockets as his friend smacks him in the shoulder. John’s seen the Hamilton routine at work a thousand times–even, at one point been the recipient–but somehow, he’s never seen it like that. “Thanks for a lovely evening, Laurens.” Alex turns in 42 pages of different campaign stump speeches the next day, but not before he buys a ticket to see Eliza Schuyler again (he did that on the train ride home). *** He’s in the second row again, in the exact same seat, because even though he’s confident that just being in the same building as Eliza is enough, he wants to be able to see her (full disclosure: it’s like 78% see her, and the other 22% wants her to be able to see him). Last night hadn’t been in his head, which why he’d shelled out 200 bucks on a guarantee to see her again barely ten minutes after leaving her the first time. His boss had wanted him to parse through his various speech drafts, so Alex was here straight from the office downtown, pulling his tie off and stuffing it in his pocket. He flips through the playbill–that he’ll actually keep this time–before the lights go down, and this time, he’s ready. Alex is already focused on the spot where Eliza steps to make her first entrance, but the surprising-hilarious-amazing-intriguing thing (depending on which of Alex’s accelerated heartbeats you ask) is that she’s looking at him too. And he catches the small smile that’s aimed at him before it grows wide for the audience. It’s not long before his brain is drained of anything but her, and he relishes in the fact that since he’s literally always looking at her when he can, even when she’s not the focus of a scene, he catches every single glance she chances his way. As she comes out for her bows, he whistles sharply as he claps, and even though she doesn’t look over…she knows. An expert now (after one time), Alex finds a spot by the stage door quickly, this time with playbill in hand. Other people are wondering who all of the cast will emerge, and he’s pretty sure a few of the other cast members give him a second glance, but Eliza comes out and she’s next to him quicker this time. “Did you miss something last night?” she asks casually, smiling a little as she takes his program to sign. “I wanted to see if brilliance is consistent in the theater,” he leans against the metal frame separating them, closer still. “Turns out it is.” She doesn’t meet his gaze, but that’s probably best–he needs to work on not looking so much like he’s planning a wedding to this person he’s spoken to twice. They exchange murmured thank yous, more smiles, but then a little girl is claiming her attention and Eliza’s beaming down at her and laughing about the kid’s enthusiasm for the dancing fish in the show. Alex heads home, and actually sleeps for more than six hours–a rare miracle. The next day, he turns in another 4 four speeches, and his boss commends him for making these a little more coherent, with minimal coffee spills and ink stains on the latest printed drafts. Since campaign management is heading over to deliver his work to the aspiring congressman of the moment, Alex gets to go home early. But he doesn’t. He grabs a quick bite, and heads over to the theater. *** This time, Alex is actually engaged in conversation with the love interest guy in the show–lucky asshole–when Eliza steps out from the stage door. Now three days in a row, they’ve done this silent conversation of smiles and glances from onstage to audience, and outside, she spots him first. Alex, for his part, actually wants to know how some of the sets work, and he’s still talking to this guy, Adam–of course he just has to be really fucking nice too–when Eliza sidles up, smirking, the amusement plain on her face. “Ahh, wow. Thank you so much,” he adopts an affected fanboy-ish tone, smiling cheekily. “You were great.” That part is genuine–because she had been, for three nights in a row. It’s pretty fucking spectacular that she seems to appreciate (or tolerate?) what is basically him stalking her–he’d spent a fee hours last night arguing with himself about this. But then, she’s the one staring at him while working, so he figures he must be in pretty okay shape, and not as far into creepy territory. Eyeing him for a second as she shakes her head with a smile, she looks down at his playbill to pick a place to sign. “I appreciate the effort, you know,” she gestures at his suit and tie with her Sharpie. “You don’t always have to dress like you’re going to a job interview just for us.” Alex offers a sheepish smile he can’t actually help. Admittedly, he does look a little out of place–everyone else is a little more casual. But then, see, Alex’s interest isn’t really casual, which is also why he actually fumbles for a reply. “All the books say dress to impress.” That’s going on his Top Ten Worst Lines in History. On his next birthday, he will remember this and actually wish for a redo of this moment. “Well, nicely done,” she says quietly, almost like it slips out before she can catch it. “The navy suits you. I like it.” There’s a roaring in Alex’s brain that suddenly cuts off all neural connection to his mouth. “My favorite color’s yellow, but if you show up in a Big Bird suit, I will avoid you.” Her cheeks are pink, and his smile is so big, his face could break–actually, it might be already, he can’t feel much, not when there’s a new, cute smiley face next to the swirly “ES” on the playbill in his hands. *** His evening train is late the next night, which ruins things a little. An hour before, Alex is scrambling around his bedroom, trying to find his one yellow sweater that definitely does exist (he just has to find it), when John walks in. He’s not alone. “Oh my god, he lives,” Herc yells, feigning surprise, followed by a joyous Lafayette. His roommates are all bundles of endless wit. “Laurens made it sound like you were off on one of your work benders again.” Scoffing dramatically, Alex checks his laundry bag again. “I’m actually ahead. Still waiting on the edits from my last drafts.” “Yo, where have you been the last couple nights?” John flops on the bed, somehow avoiding the many books, pens, and Alex’s glasses (!) in an effortless pose. “You haven’t gotten in until 11, and I know you leave the office at 5 on the dot so you can ditch the ties. You’re not here working like usual, and you weren’t at your coffee place either. So what gives?” The sweater is clean–a bigger victory than one might think–and was partially hidden under his bed. Alex quickly pulls it over his head, shrugging as he straightens it. His hair is okay, the jeans are his best, shoes and socks are on. “I’ve been seeing shows. You said I should get out more. Was tired of being a mushy avocado.” He’s really fucking late, so Alex would prefer to leave it at that, as he grabs his wallet and keys. “Which shows?” Laurens sits up, skeptical. “Like musicals? Like Broadway? You?” “Man, I have to get 150 blocks south in the next hour,” Alex whines, but Herc and Laf are looking past him at John, who really knows him too well. It’d be less annoying and more cute in most other situations. “Oh my god, have you been going back to see Eliza Schuyler? No fucking way. Every night? Have you spoken to her every time? I swear, if her father has you arrested for stalking, I will stand outside your holding cell live on Periscope.” And that’s how Alex ends up in the third-to-last-row in the balcony that night, watching Eliza continue to deliver that same rush of calm power, even from a couple stories down, surrounded by all his curious roommates. *** Alex doesn’t ask them to follow him to the stage door, but they do. Of course. He’s the only one with a spot on the barricade though, and he pulls at his sweater anxiously while John catches the other two up on what happened that first night that started all this. Eliza’s very business-like when she comes out to the same excited cheer of the crowd, but he can hear her interacting with people just as genuinely as she’s done the past three nights, even though some assholes are a little too exuberant. When she gets to him, the surprise on her face is obvious, and her eyes soften when she notices his clothing. Alex offers her a boyish smile and a half shrug, stepping up closer but she beats him to the punch. “Come here often?” she says jokingly, and he doesn’t miss how this time her fingers brush his when she takes the book from his hands. “I do, actually.” There’s a strong argument to be made that Alex doesn’t even know what the word “pretense” means. “I’ve recently seen the light about musical theater and the work that goes into it,” he continues matter-of-factly. “Welcome to the enlightenment,” she says with the air of someone who’s had to defend her job more than once. He gets it–arts education is an issue that’s come up a few times at work, with funding is always going back and forth. “Which exactly is the part that’s had you come back four nights in a row?” Eliza’s not even signing his playbill–she’s holding it hostage, just like she’s holding his gaze. It’s fine, Alex is so fucking ready. “I mean, the emotional catharsis is a big part. Musical theater makes me laugh, makes me cry,” his eyes slant slyly as he continues listing things. “Musical theater’ has a great voice–pure like a bell, and it cuts me open and bleeds me in the best way. ‘Musical theater’ also has these really great, gorgeous dark eyes, and is somehow always gracious to strangers–even the weirder ones, which I really admire.” Alex’s friends always liked to say he was as subtle as a gun. And it’s not really a self-own, except that it is. “Mostly though, it’s how when I come here, I feel better.” That’s the honest to God truth, and it shows on his face as he confesses. “So. Does ‘musical theater’ have a particular place she likes to eat, and does she ever like company?” Eliza’s head tips back and Alex decidedly does not look at her throat as she laughs. Everything hangs in the balance now, he can’t afford to get distracted by smooth expanses of skin. Pushing his playbill back into his hands, Eliza glances behind him–no doubt at his friends–and then to the crowd around him. He learns another thing about her–she know the definition of decorum. Of course she does. “Sounds like there’s a few more things you need to find out.” “I’m sorry I wasn’t in my spot tonight,” he starts suddenly. “My roommates insisted on nosebleed seats because they say I have to pay rent. No pretty girl exceptions.” That earns him another, wider grin, and suddenly she’s covering his hand that’s gripping the barricade for dear life with her own. “I’ll talk to you soon, I’m sure. Was great to see you.” The last part she says a little coquettishly, back to playing the game of the “star” and the “fan.” With one last lingering glance and an almost knowing smile, she moves on to the woman next in line, who’s been staring at them, a little dumbfounded, during their exchange. The lady catches on soon enough–when Eliza Schuyler is speaking to you, you get your shit together quick–and while Alex is smiling, his mind is racing with possibilities and interpretations of their conversation. He’d been straightforward and she’d served him back a riddle–nothing he hadn’t seen before from anyone he’d tried with, but the difference was he actually cared about working this out, whatever it was. At some point, he’d fallen deeper in this than he’d originally intended–he just knew she was important. True to form, his friends don’t let him live in his head for too long before they’re making fun of him for his shameless swing and miss as they start back home… “Hold up,” Herc interrupts John’s latest incredulous comment–honestly, how many times is he going to emphasize “Schuyler” like that–and he grabs Alex’s wrist. “She really did that, oh my God–” Twisting his arm, Alex sees it instantly and he relaxes. There, next to her signature, Eliza’s written a phone number. Worst case scenario? He ends up calling Pizza Hut and takes the heavy hint with some cinnamon sticks. The best case scenario? While his friends continue to debate the amount of alcohol Eliza Schuyler probably consumed before giving up her number, Alex takes a seat on the A train next to them and shoots a quick text to the number. Could I buy you lunch? I can promise to look good, zero awkward silences? It’s barely two minutes before his phone vibrates with a reply, and he can’t help but shove his phone in the faces of his obnoxious friends. Greenwich is a haul from his job, but who fucking cares about that thing when this is actually happening.

100 W Houston, 11am? I’ll look forward to it. :)