#and then my brain was like what if mum turned the hot water on without me in there we cant afford to get a new filter its almost $100

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

mental health check. i checked. its still FUCKING THERE-

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[hoedorokishoto]

Trust - Part 2

Shoto Todoroki x Reader 

warnings - explicit sex, swearing 

previous | part | next

Todoroki had gotten taller since the last time I had been this close to him. His body also filling out and getting stronger from all the training. Changes that weren't noticeable until I was inches away from him, measuring his body for any new costume changes that might be required. From watching the training exercise I had concluded that putting a mesh suit under his current costume was the best course of action. One that was highly resistant to both hot and cold, to decrease the number of small burns and frostbite he seemed to get from using his quirk at high outputs. The same mesh being impenetrable and good if a villain ever decided to stab the future pro.

"Shinso said you are very good, and that I'm in good hands." Todoroki said, looking down at me as I continued to take his measurements.

"Were you worried beforehand?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow, and standing up. His dual-coloured eyes continued to burn holes in my back wherever I walked around the workshop.

"Is there a reason you keep staring at me?" I asked softly, not mad but uncomfortable with the constant attention.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable; I just like watching you work."

"I'm excited to see what you come up with."

Todoroki looked the part of being cool and confident but sometimes the way he spoke reminded me of what an awkward little bean he could truly be. Hitoshi stating that his social skills could still use a little work.

"Well, I'm glad you are excited. I think I could make a lot of cool improvements."

It wasn't a lie, I was excited. Any opportunity to further my career as Hero Support or be in the workshop creating new inventions was always a plus to me. It was the Hero in front of me that I had reservations about. Being with new people who I didn't really know wasn't my idea of fun. Neither was small talk. At least we had that in common, both of our silences falling over us like a heavy blanket, and it seemed that neither of us knew how to escape it.

"Are you-."

"You shou-."

You both said at the same time, looking at each other. A smile crept onto my face as Shoto's cheeks darkened with a small blush. Shoto looked down at his feet, his two-toned hair coming down to fall over his eyes.

"You were saying?" I asked, stepping closer to Todoroki, and looking up into his eyes, trying to keep him flustered, finding his awkwardness cute and endearing. He didn't step back, sizing me up.

We were so close I could feel the heat coming off his body, the proximity causing goosebumps to spread down my arms.

"I was saying you should have seen my first hero suit; it was really bad. Or as Ashido says tragic." Todoroki said, his voice low, his face still so close I could feel his breath. Todoroki was handsome, I would have to be blind to deny it. His features were sharp and prominent, his half and half colouring only adding to his air of mystery. I wanted to test the waters; see exactly how far I could push him.

"I have a feeling you could wear a sheet and still look good." I stated. Dropping back down in front of him and measuring his inseam.

"You think so?" Todoroki asked a smirk plastered across his face as he looked down at me.

"If I wanted to see you naked I think I know just how I could make that happen." I said.

Despite my brave statement I still blushed as he looked down at me still, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I bet you haven't seen anything like this." He answered quickly, leaving my mind racing. The position we were in doing nothing to help me try to get a handle on the situation.

"Are you trying to fluster me?" Todoroki asked, leaning down and putting his fingers under my chin, guiding me back up to stand with him.

"Is it working?" I asked, a similar smirk falling across my face. Leaning into his touch, his left hand warm on my skin.

"Maybe..." Is all he said, stepping off the platform and turning towards the door, picking up his bag and school uniform jacket as he went.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked, turning around one more time to look at me, my eyes wide, trying to comprehend the situation. I didn't speak, just nodded my head in his direction and spun around. Heading to the workbench to write down all the measurements I took while it was fresh in my mind. I wanted my mind to be anywhere but thoughts of Todoroki and whatever had just happened.

                                                               *

The regular noise of the 3H dorm filled my ears as we all sat down for dinner, various pots of stew and bowls of rice steaming, spread out across the table. The day had ended like any other, covered in grease and staying in the workshop at least an hour later than you intended to only coming back to the dorm when one of the teachers turned off the lights and refused to put them back on.

"Todoroki huh, that's cool. He has a really cool quirk and you're a genius so it's like a match made in Heaven." Mei stated, her hair sticking up behind her goggles and her skin looking just as grease-stained as mine.

I just nodded, scooping rice into my mouth to avoid any real conversation, wanting to be showered and in bed as soon as possible. The exchange between Todoroki and I was still fresh in my mind even now. The intensity of his dual-coloured eyes burnt into my brain.

"Y/N lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not lost for words; I just don't have anything to say..."

"So you are lost for words?" Mei laughed, swinging her arm around my shoulder, and hugging me close. I was grateful that I had found her, other than Hitoshi she was my first real friend, bonding over our love of machinery and design. She was quick to call me out on my bullshit when I needed it and quick to be a shoulder to cry on. On top of that she was a genius who always had insight into whatever project I was working on, helping, and lending advice whenever necessary. If you looked up mum friend in the dictionary she was it. If your mum stayed up all night, had big boobs, ran on coffee and had a steam punk obsession.

Ding

Sen – Hey, how was your day? You busy tonight?

Even the way he typed was perfect, down to the last comma. I wished that Sen could be anything other than someone I fucked around with but the feelings one should have just weren't there. I often wondered if I was keeping him from someone, someone who could return his feelings. Someone who deserved to receive nicely punctuated text messages over dinner wondering about how their day was.

Y/N – Your room or mine?

                                          ��                  *

His grip on my waist was so hard I thought it might bruise, but that was an afterthought as I felt Sen thrust up into me, filling me up and hitting the spot inside me that caused a knot to grow in my stomach, a sign of my impending orgasm.

I looked down at him, his eyes closed as his head was thrown back, his face was cute in this situation. Different from the handsome angular face he usually wore. His brown hair was stuck to his temples, our bodies sweaty from the activities we were currently partaking in.

"You feel so good." Sen moaned out, his mouth starting to kiss up my neck, his handing snaking around and holding the back of my head and neck. Holding me somewhat steady as I continued to ride him.

We both picked up the pace, chasing our orgasms as the sound of skin on skin rang out throughout the room. He kissed me, hard. All teeth and tongues. Both of us coming together with a loud moan. I slumped into him, his arms circling around me pulling me closer as we both caught our breath. I wished I hated him, I wished I didn't care about his feelings. He was comforting, it was times like this that I really wished I could like him how he wanted me to. How he deserved.

I rolled off him, planting my feet on the ground, walking around the room looking for my clothes that had been thrown around the room. I heard Sen shuffle behind me, taking off the condom, tying it off, and throwing it in the trash can by the door.

He came up behind me, I could feel his presence looming over me like a ghost. He reached out and touched my side as I pulled my jeans back up and clipped my bra up.

"You don't have to go." Sen said quietly, almost a whisper. There it was, the words that had the power to cleave my heart in two. Not for my sake but for his, at every turn I was reminded how bad of a person I was, I reminded myself that no matter how nice people were to you or how good it felt when they were inside you, nothing ever really lasted, and the people who claimed to care the most were always the first ones to leave. Why couldn't Sen see that?  Romantic relationships were a distraction which I didn't want to get myself involved in and neither should he.

I turned and took the shirt from him that he held out, slipping it over my head. Collecting the last of my things like my phone and shoes and stopped in front of him once again.

"I'll text you later." I said softly, stepping up onto my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Not looking back as I left his dorm and made my way to the elevator. Praying that all his classmates and Mr. Vlad were asleep.

I made it out of the 3B dorms without any fuss, no hero students, or pro heroes in sight. Thank God. The night air was cool and made the walk back to my dorm quite pleasant, I wasn't in a rush, taking in everything around me. The students jogging around the grounds and the dorms that were lit up with life. The 1st years loudly yelling and laughing, no doubt getting used to dorm life.

I came to a stop outside the 3A dorm, contemplating visiting Hitoshi knowing that regardless of the time he would be up and if he weren't he would wake up for me. I wanted to talk to him, but I also didn't want another weird almost lecture like he gave me the other day. It was hard to talk to people who knew me better than I knew myself sometimes because there was never any hiding. There wasn't anything that I could hide from Hitoshi, even if I tried.

Just as I was about to move on the large doors of the dorm swung open, a very pissed Todoroki stepping out, being followed by an equally as pissed Momo Yaoyorozu. Without thinking I ducked behind the nearest bush and hid. Not meaning to spy on their conversation but also not wanting to look like a creep who snuck around other people's dorms at night.

"I honestly don't know why you are being like this Shoto. Just get over it and we can go back to how everything was." Yaoyorozu said in the distance.

"It was almost 2 years ago; I don't want to do anything with you. Even if I did want any form of relationship with you I definitely wouldn't want it to be like how it was back then." Todoroki replied.

Both of their voices distant, further enough away from the dorm so their classmates wouldn't hear but not close enough to me that I could hear all their conversation.

"That's a bit harsh. We should be together. Both of our fathers think it's a good idea."

"When have I ever given a fuck what my father thinks?"

"Shoto, don't be vulgar. You have been hanging out with Bakugo for too long. He has started to rub off on you."

"I don't want to have this conversation with you anymore Yaomomo, I've said what I had to say, it's you that keeps bringing it up. I won't be getting back together with you, I won't be sleeping with you anymore and I won't even consider it just because our stuck-up scum bag fathers think it's right!" Shoto yelled loudly, there was no doubt that everyone in the vicinity had heard.

Yaoyorozu stomped her foot and pouted, turning on her heels and walking away.

"Well, I still have your cashmere sweater! I'm keeping it!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah well I still have your virginity, so I guess you win some you lose some." Shoto said back, causing Momo to huff and walk back towards the large doors. I chuckled at his statement, this Shoto vastly different from 1st year Shoto, different again from the Shoto that was in your workshop earlier today.

Yaoyorozu didn't look back as she entered the dorm, leaving Shoto Todoroki standing in the moonlight, looking even more ethereal than usual. If it were even possible.

And me, standing in a bush looking like a creep.

[scottydog4-blog]

Okay.

It’s been a day.

There are now a LOT of gifs and Twitter-pinions about the premier, and I have some too.

When I finished ‘More Joy’, I quite literally thought “I want them to go back to how it was”…. and I felt like a complete Sharpwin traitor. I actually wanted to box it all back up and have the old Max and Helen back, corridor walks and longing stares, all happening safely inside the walls of New Amsterdam hospital. And at the same time I wanted to rewatch the whole episode to see new Max and Helen again because they were (mostly) adorable.

Then I spent the day reflecting and the more I thought about what I didn’t like, the more I realised one thing. I didn’t like that they weren’t at the hospital. It felt so weird to see them at Helen’s place, half dressed and TALKING, openly. It was a bit too much for my over analytical, ready-to-pick-up-on-all-and-any-subtext brain. It was a change seeing them like that, and I don’t seem to like change. Which is hard because it seems season 4 is not only about joy, but about change.

Yes yes, the first scene was 🔥🔥🔥 endless gifs. In hindsight, I wish I’d never seen any previews but alas, I’m a spoiler junkie. It was awesome though.

The second scene was slightly dramatic and achieved its goal of throwing a nice cold-bucket-of-water on the moment 🥶🥶🥶

The third scene did feel a little out of left field because in Helen’s season finale London movie her mum was not very likeable and for most of Season 3 Mina was a pain in the ass, so wanting us to root for her to go hang out with both of them instead of her very warm and loving NA fam and her new hot boyfriend is a hard sell! But go read someone else’s analysis of that because a lot has been said about her past and her healing journey etc. I can accept it, it’ll just sting a bit (see hatred of change above).

I’m going for the next three scenes.

Scene four. I loved it because they were up and they were walking about and talking normally and I think them walking and talking is as much part of both of their characters as their longing looks. He’s followed her down endless hospital corridors, now around her apartment, and maybe soon across an ocean. And yes you can complain about the I love yous, or you might love how they happened. Whatever. All I saw was Max react to her saying ‘I love you’ as if finally, even to him, this was completely obvious. I mean, his face is like ‘duh’. It’s why he’s ready to fight so hard for her. He’s not second guessing that she loves him anymore. And that felt good to see.

Scene five. I hated it. I still do. But I hate it because it makes me feel uneasy and uncomfortable, like it becomes painfully obvious that their long distance solution is not going to work and it’s awkward watching them realise it to. Which is the point. Because we all need to get that long distance is just not going to work. If they went down that route for an episode or two (or five) then that would mean Helen would be able to leave, and Max would stay, and that’s certainly not what we want. She’s one of our favourite doctors and she has amazing patient storylines and being Max’s long distance girlfriend is not just a down grade for Helen (and Freema), it’s insulting. What I think most viewers would have liked by the end of this scene is literally for Helen to give up on her London dream so everything goes back to being easy and we would get Max and Helen staying at New Amsterdam, same as they always have been, only now perfectly in love. Also an insult to woman everywhere. But you know who absolutely never tries to suggest that, who keeps making suggestion after suggestion, who literally declares different iterations of “it’s gunna work” every time she implies that it won’t. Max. He never asks her not to do this, only reassures her they’ll figure it all out. And that also felt good to see.

Lastly, scene six. My absolute favourite (yes, above scene one). It makes complete sense now why the last scene on the roof is the most comfortable one to watch. Because it’s them. Max and Helen. Back at New Amsterdam. On their roof. Just existing next to each other. Clothed (lol). “Oh hi” never sounded so good after all the ups and downs during the episode. Glancing at each other as they chat in front of the NYC skyline. That feeling that everything had changed evaporated instantly. Change MAY be coming, but for now they are still here.

And when they do start to talk about them, it doesn’t feel so weird. In fact, this scene is literally pure JOY. How can you argue otherwise? Max, who admitted on the very same roof to the very same woman how he’d let his wife down because he couldn’t turn down his chance to climb ‘Everest’, is now willing to do the exact opposite and GIVE UP his Everest so Helen can climb hers. Because he loves her. Plus, LOOK AT FREEMA’S FACE. How does she do all those emotions like that? And then there’s Max, who just looks back at her like ‘of course I’ll follow you, you’re my joy silly.’

SO MUCH JOY ON THAT ROOF!!!

People are only mad because they are freaking out about how the show creators are going to possibly make this work without them. And that in itself is just totally unnecessary.

New Amsterdam is a show about the Medical Director, Max Goodwin, and all his awesome staff. It’s about patients. It’s about shining a light on things and causes that matter. It’s about New York (see all those rooftop scenes, that skyline is the other character). People LOVE it just as it is. WE love it. Those things are the premise of the whole show. So can everyone CHILL. What they’ve done, is they’ve put that thing we love on the line and now we are all wanting to know how the hell they’re going to fix this mess. And they are going to say OVER and OVER that Max and Helen are DEFINITELY leaving because implying otherwise undermines the whole storyline. We need to feel they are leaving to be invested in whatever happens next. Time jump or mind changes or any number of things they might throw our way to get a back to the premise of the show. And we are going to tune in week after week to find out. And that my friends, is how television works. And thinking they were going to do otherwise was just setting yourself up for disappointment.

To the people demanding Max and Helen be happy for at least one episode… um, they looked very happy in episode 1 and they look very happy up against an ambulance in episode 2, and in the corridor smooching in episode 3, and wandering the streets of NYC some time in the future…

To the people who thought they were getting 5 full minutes of sexy times. I believe what we were told was we’d be ‘happy with the first 5 minutes’ (e.g. that glorious time before Helen said ‘I should never have…’)

To the people who read every single article and Q&A - Schulner LITERALLY said so many times that the season would be about discovering your joy and what happens after you get what you want. I think one time he even mentioned ‘chasing after’ it. We were basically warned and WE ARE LITERALLY LIVING THIS NOW TOO. We got Sharpwin, now we have to live with what happens next. Cause and effect in action.

To the people annoyed with all the drama this show has caused. It’s a… drama show. It was to be expected.

So let’s try to relax and enjoy the ride :)

[fedtothenight]

this competition asked to write a short story in the dystopian genre and my entry's below - don't rb!

the sweetest fruit

The boy gasped, straining against the padded frame of the jeep just as the vehicle slowly came to a halt. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing at a spot about a hundred feet from the group. ‘Look, Mum! That’s so cool!’

Half-instinctively, his mother had already grabbed a fistful of his tank-top, ready to yank him back. She had spent the entirety of the trip sitting as still as possible, facing forward, eyes stubbornly fixed on the self-cooling top of the car in a pointless effort to fight her motion sickness: her patience was already wearing very thin without her eight-year-old personal safety hazard trying to get himself killed.

‘Ethan, for the love of God,’ she snapped. ‘I already told you to stop leaning over the frame! Do you realise how dangerous that is?’

‘No, Mum, you’ve got to look!’

‘Emma, darling,’ her husband whispered, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You should really look at this. It’s magnificent.’

Whatever it was, even her fifteen-year-old daughter - who had spent the last thirty minutes texting her friends back home without so much as a glance at the scenery - was jaw-slacked, so she slowly got up on her wobbly knees and peered over her shoulders.

In the shadow of a tree, protected from the sweltering heat, two lions were feasting on a zebra. Perhaps belatedly, as it’d taken her a second to drink the sight in, she realised that the poor thing was still alive: writhing as blood, red and hot and pulsing, gushed out from where the bigger lion - the male - had bitten into its back.

The smaller one, the female, soundlessly sank its teeth into the dying animal’s neck, and the latter gave one last weak kick, finally falling limp. When the lioness stood again, it was almost impossible, from this distance, to see her eyes amidst the bloodied mess on her face.

‘Oh, my God, Matt,’ Emma said. ‘This is beautiful. Nature truly is beautiful.’

‘You don’t really get to see this kind of show anywhere else today,’ their guide said from the driver’s seat. He sounded proud, as if he’d hunted and fed the zebra to the lions himself.

Alberto wasn’t wrong, Emma reasoned. Given that they were parked in the middle of the privately-owned biggest North American savanna, he - or rather, his employer - was the one effectively feeding the lions. Like feeding mice to cats. She glanced at her children, glad they could have a window on a reality that was long gone. To think it would have taken a trip around the world to watch this spectacle - imagine the motion sickness then! If only, she considered wistfully, there could be a way of replicating glaciers just as accurately.

‘Honestly, it seems a bit unfair that they get to eat real meat,’ Ethan said at the dinner table a few hours later. He was picking at his plate, moving the fried grasshoppers they’d been served for dinner around, but not really eating any. ‘While we are stuck with insects and microprotein or whatever.’

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired and sunburnt, her sensitive pale skin suffering under the blistering sun of the region, so different from the temperate weather back home North. She had a splitting headache, too. She was, yet again, at the so-called end of her tether. ‘Ethan…’

‘You should be glad you get to eat at all,’ her daughter said at the same time. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal to eat meat. These animals are here for show, anyway. They were originally from Africa.’

‘Shut up, Becca,’ Ethan mumbled. ‘Everybody knows there are no animals in Africa. There’s nothing there.’

Becca’s cheeks were tinted pink, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Of course there were animals. There were animals everywhere before the Climate Crunch.’

‘Both of you, stop it,’ Matt interjected. ‘Ethan, your sister is right. You should be grateful that we are here in the first place. That said…’ He leant forward, voice down to a whisper: ‘I have a surprise for you. Or, well, Richard has a surprise for us. When he arrives tomorrow, he’ll bring us real meat. Bovine meat.’

‘But it’s illegal,’ said Becca.

‘It’s technically illegal,’ Matt acknowledged. ‘It’s not if you know how to get some and no one from Animal Conservation finds out. Do you think our president only eats insects? Please, Becca. Use that big brain of yours.’

‘Yes,’ Ethan snickered. ‘Use your brain, Becca.’

‘That is too generous,’ Emma said. ‘Inviting us here in the first place was, when even he hasn’t gotten here yet. Now this. I wouldn’t know how to repay him.’

Truly, all she felt was jealousy. Her guts twisted with the sheer force of it. Yes, she had known that Richard was comfortable. The gated, heavily guarded estate spanned for thousands of acres, comprised the 5000sqt villa they were staying at (five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, marble floors and solar panels on the rooftop), an indoor swimming pool inspired by vintage photos of Amalfi, two indoor tennis courts, and the savanna they’d explored earlier in the day. ‘The biggest conservation area in North America since they repurposed the Midwest,’ he’d bragged in a video call, two weeks before. ‘You will love it. The holiday you deserve. Make yourselves at home.’

But meat? He could get meat?

Matt’s family had designed DeNuketify, which was basically the only effective way of purifying ocean water from whatever nuclear waste Japan kept spewing so that it could be used and, most importantly, drunk. They had managed to flee the continent with the last handful of greencards about the time her family did, too, taking their precious Queen’s accent with them to found Nova London. She was the governor of Nova London now, for God’s sake. The bloody queen herself was long dead but she was alive, and yet, yet - they had never had meat.

‘We don’t have to, Emma,’ Matt said. ‘We just need to remember how lucky we are to enjoy this meal, this house, this holiday. Look at that,’ and he nodded towards the TV screen again. ‘Actually, Alexa!, volume up!, I think the Italians have finally surrendered.’

The war correspondent’s voice grew louder. She - they, Emma reminded herself: Becca always told her not to assume anyone’s gender - was wearing a dust mask and reading from a bundle of documents. ‘The last military hospital in the island of Palermo was destroyed four days ago by a Canadian airstrike,’ they were saying. ‘The rebels surrendered soon after, followed by the group of extremists in the Nebrodi island. Etna had already surrendered last year.’

‘It’s important to remember that these actions were necessary to finally put a rest on the instability of the region,’ they added. ‘Canada will fund a complete restoration of the Southern archipelago. The remaining civilians will be provided with a shelter and then, when the time comes, a suitable job. Nova Italia will be the sixteenth Canadian state, the fourth offshore. There are also hopes to extract petroleum from the seabed of the sunken city of Gela.’

‘Watch them make it into a holiday hotspot,’ Matt commented. ‘The weather is still nice there.��

‘Ooh, I heard about this.’ Becca picked her phone back up and started furiously typing away. ‘There’s this journal entry soldiers found over there, under the rubble, that’s gone viral. It was translated into English. Wait, I’ll pull it up. Alexa, volume down.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it,’ Emma said, uneasy. ‘We’re on holiday. Should we not watch a movie? Something funny?’

Becca waved her away, as if she was an annoying fly. ‘It’ll be good practice for my drama class.’

Matt didn’t help—he simply shrugged, half-apologetic, as if to say: Let her do her thing.

Becca made a show of clearing her throat, too, before she started reading from her phone—her high voice now grave, studied, as if she were speaking to a larger audience: ‘I wonder what peas taste like.’

Right then, the scene on screen changed to footage of what looked like a destroyed village, something out of an apocalyptic movie. Emma found herself unable to look away.

‘Nonna used to say that her own great-grandmother grew them in her garden. Figs, too,’ Becca read. ‘They say they were the sweetest fruit.’

Emma wondered if this journal was actually written by a child or a teenager. It didn’t sound like an adult at all. She couldn’t help but picture a girl, a brunette, not much older than Becca, perhaps a rebel, or a trainee nurse on the sweet cusp of adulthood, holding this journal of hers, or perhaps a gun. It violently reminded her that her own daughter, too, would have to serve her time in the Forces in three years.

On screen, the Canadian soldiers walked among the ruins, zigzagging between torn up clothes and discarded weapons, surely looking for surviving rebels under the rubbles.

‘Isn’t it silly that we can hear the fighters overhead and that all I can do is think about food?’ said Becca. ‘I wish we could also eat figs and be happy.’

On screen, the camera zoomed in on a long-forgotten man's shoe, some crumpled photographs, on a pile of bodies in black bin bags.

‘Grandma - I miss her - left me a poetry book, too, from T.S. Eliot. I hope the book is with me when I die, so I can give it back to her when we meet again, afterwards. So I can tell her that T.S. Eliot was wrong.’

On screen, one of the soldiers approached and showed a little trinket to the camera: a bloody, heart-shaped locket that must’ve once been golden, hiding the miniature pictures of two brunette children that would never have a name.

‘That’s enough,’ Emma said. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop reading.’

‘The world may have not ended with a bang, but it didn’t end with a whimper, either: the world didn’t end at all. Sometimes,’ Becca finished reading, ‘I wish it had.’

‘What a load of rubbish,’ Matt scoffed. ‘Everyone should feel lucky to be alive. I bet this journal is a fake. Alexa, turn the TV off.’

As the screen faded to black, Ethan finally popped a grasshopper in his mouth. ‘I can’t wait to have meat tomorrow.’

[harrysgloves]

Fine Line (Chapter 7)

>>>Catch up with the Fine Line Masterlist!

word count: 1.2k

story summary: Since you were kids you and Harry had always walked that fine line of friends or something more. Now, pregnant by someone else, you find yourself staying with your long time best friend after things go sour with your boyfriend of 3 years.

Singlemom!Reader x Harry Styles

chapter summary: You make breakfast for your best friend and he leaves you breathless.

warnings: Language // Harry is a dumb ass tease.

a/n: And this is the closest we’re getting to smut anytime soon. Sometimes writing slow burns is hard for me. Basically because I’m ungodly h*rny for this man. Let’s be real, we all are.

>>>

You woke that morning finally not sick to your stomach, for once. Your arms stretching behind you as you sat up in your super comfortable bed. Eyes flickering over momentarily to the bunny lamp that was on the nightstand beside the bed. A smile forming on your lips as you looked at it.

Harry sure had a way of being adorable when he wanted to and there was no doubt in your mind that this room was absolutely decorated with you in mind. The walls painted a deep navy blue which was always your favorite color. The bedspread was a stark contrast of bright white that matched the sheer curtains that let the perfect amount of morning sun into the room.

The bed was a beautiful gold frame that you knew you could never afford even if you saved every penny to your name. But the real kicker was the paintings of the bunnies above what was now, your bed.

Harry was always a cheeky thing when it came to keeping his promises. Sparing no expense when it came to making sure you’d always have a room in his home for you.

Your fingers ran down the stairway railing as you studied every picture he had on his wall. One’s of you two in high school. One of you wearing a Harry shirt at the X-factor audition. Another one of you, Gemma, and Abby at your graduation. A few of his mum and sister. Even a really good one of Mitch and Sarah cuddling on the tour bus from last year.

But none of Camille or any of his other love interests over the years were anywhere in sight.

As you walked the house. You started to wonder if any of his girlfriends had ever been in this house. No shred of evidence any of them ever existed laid around the neat and organized place.

If you didn’t know he was dating someone, you would have never been able to guess it. No pictures or notes from her were on the fridge. Instead, a birthday card you had gotten him 3 years prior was smack dab in the middle with a magnet you’d gotten him for Christmas. The handwritten message glared back at you as you opened the fridge door.

“Hazza,

Hope your birthday in Japan is amazing. Can’t wait to see you again and make our birthday wishes together.

Love you always, Bunny.”

You smiled one last time at the card that had a bunny with a birthday hat on it as you shut the fridge door.

You and Harry had made so many pledges to each other over the years. Deals and pinky promises, you both took a tad bit too seriously. One of them was to never make birthday wishes without the other.

Every year when it was exactly in-between both of your birthdays you two would have a mini party together. Just the two of you. A cupcake with a candle on top of it as you both made a wish at the same exact time. It was a weird childhood tradition that carried on way too far into adulthood.

But you always figured this way you go two birthday wishes a year.

You flipped through the endless list of songs on your phone. Selecting your favorite one to cook before tying up your hair on top of your head. Hands working mindlessly to make the breakfast you’d made for you two so many times before.

You didn’t hear Harry get up. His lanky form resting against the doorway in the kitchen. Watching you. His arms crossed over his bare chest, head lying against the wooden frame of the door. His heart felt like it was going to burst at any second from seeing you like this.

God, how he missed seeing you like this.

Your body twisting and moving to the song. Your voice singing the lyrics a bit off-key but he thought it was adorable. Every thought running in his mind was screaming at him. Kiss her. Hold her. Tell her again. Maybe this time it’d be different. Maybe this time it’d work out.

He let out a breath, pointer finger, and thumb pulling at his bottom lip before pushing himself off the frame.

He knew he was getting himself in trouble. Knew he should stop feeling this way. Put some distance between you two. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the sight of you in his house, making him breakfast.

His arms wrapping around you made you jump. Your hand pressed against your chest to calm your heart.

“Fuck, you scared me.” You laughed, turning on the spot to look at his sleep filled eyes.

“Makin’ waffles?” He asked, his eyes peering over top of your head to look at all the ingredients you had laying out.

“Yup. Glad I bought you that waffle maker last year. And you said it wouldn’t get any use.” Your own arms wrapped around his waist, resting your head on his chest.

“We usually eat breakfast at yours.” He said with a slight shrug. His hand sliding up and down your back. His fingers running along your spine.

You groaned, face pushed in farther to his bare chest. Eyes closing as you silently cursed.

“I have to call movers this week to get my shit out of there.” You pouted, lips in a frown as you hugged tighter around him.

“He’s still not answering?” Harry asked, pausing his hands moving on your back when you pulled away.

“Even if he did answer, I’m not sure how that would go.” You said as you turned back around. Busying yourself with the last waffle in the waffle iron.

“‘Ere, let me.” Harry said as he reached for your hand a little too late. Your fingers catching the edge of the hot iron.

“Ouch!” You yelled, your hand jerking back quickly as it stung and burned. The blazing red skin on your fingers was already bubbling up. Your lip trembled. Eyes water filled with uncried tears.

“Fuck, bunny.” Harry cooed as he took your hand. His eyes took in the damage done. “Gotta be careful.”

His soft pink lips pressed a gentle kiss to your fingertip. Your eyes widening as you inhaled a sharp breath. Your thighs clenching together as your mouth hung open in shock.

Your brain suddenly put together the fact he was shirtless. Standing so close to you that you could smell the shampoo he used. Your chest was inches away from his own as he held your hand in his. His eyes flicking to yours as he pressed those soft cushions against your burned skin again.

“Feel better?” He asked when he pulled away, his eyes still trained on yours as you nodded your head yes.

Swallowing thickly when he didn’t immediately drop your hand. The tension in the air grew thick as his hand around yours tightened slightly.

You’d lie to yourself later and say between your legs wasn’t throbbing but you knew deep down that heat of desire was burning there. Your legs pressed together tightly as a soft whimper you tried your best to suppress slipped out of you.

Maybe it was the hormones. Or maybe it was the fact you couldn’t miss the way his glance flashed down to your bare legs and back up to your eyes. A slight smirk dancing on his lips.

Either way, you knew living here with him while your hormones were raging was going to be the hardest thing you had to do.

“Ready fo’ breakfast?” He asked, hand finally dropping yours as he turned to walk towards the table. Your mind blank as you stared after him. Hoping to the gods that you packed your vibrator.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 25

 Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: y/n and bucky fight

A/N: ik braid sewing was way more popular in roman culture than in greek one but i personally love it and it’s probably the one way i can get my hair to stay put whenever i go on a run. hope you enjoy xx

Next Chapter

Y/N was homesick. 

Ever since the dinner all she could think about was the mortal realm, the sounds of rain hitting the glass of her window as she cuddled under her large duvet, her old kettle steaming from the hob, Anne’s laughter and countless tellings of various failed love attempts, the children in her kindergarten, all of it. This wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy Bucky’s company, she loved it, she loved having him around but the thought of being confined here forever without ever getting to see at least her flat again terrified her. 

Another day had started in the Underworld and per usual Bucky was the first up on his feet and out to prepare the Spring Festival necessities while Y/N was left behind. There wasn’t much to do rather than ever so slightly meeting with Hecate who had started to just plain ignore her existence whenever she visited the Elysium, speaking with Psyche whenever she unceremoniously was thrown into the Underworld by her mother in law and walk the river Styx’s shores. Y/N had returned to the kitchen, placing James’ kettle on the stove and grabbing a mug as she sat on the balcony, losing herself on her own thoughts and only being removed from it by the kettle steaming out of control. She jumped from the balcony feeling her feet weirdly tingle, which was ignored fast as she grabbed the white mug and the kettle, pouring hot water onto it. The weight of it proved somehow to be too much for her and before she could act on it, she let go of the mug, loosing strength in her hand and the once silent atmosphere was filled by the shattering sound of porcelain. 

     - Shit. - she mumbled as she leaned down to grab the big shards, putting them on top of the balcony, before bracing her hands on the edge of it, forcefully shutting her eyes. One of the servants, alarmed by the sound, came rushing in, immediately grabbing a mop and brush. - It’s alright, I can clean it. 

    - We don’t want you to hurt yourself, m’am. - the man smiled at her before dismissing her from the kitchen. Y/N climbed up to her bedroom, getting dressed in a regular beige dress before going out of the house, basket in arms. She thought about collecting some plants for the house and so she made her way to the Elysium. 

The sound and smell of nature at its bloom immediately brought a smile back to her face. Some trees had begin to show its fruits and most of the flowers were in bloom. She collected some flowers and fruits before taking a seat on one patch of grass watching the souls carelessly live their life. However one particular soul caught her attention. 

    - Mum? - she furrowed her brows, lips slightly parted as she got onto her feet watching a figure that looked particular like her mother. - Mum! 

She dropped her basket, bunching the fabric of her dress in her hands as she rushed over to the figure. It was her mother, it looked like her mother, the same hair, the same eyes and the same warming smile she got whenever she rushed into her bedroom after a terrifying nightmare as a child. Her mother however looked at her like she didn’t know her, turning on her back to join some other souls.

    - Mum! - Y/N called out once again but her mother only ignored her and soon enough she could feel her tears rolling down her cheek. - Mum, please

    - Y/N. - a familiar voice called out her name. She turned around to see the redhead goddess of witchcraft with a worried look on her face, she could even say care. - She doesn’t remember you, Y/N. Elysium souls have no recollection of their mortal lives. 

    - But she’s my mum. How can she not know who I am? - Hecate’s heart clenched at the words that sounded way too similar to those once spoken by James once he became the King of the Underworld. She tightened her lips, patting the girl on her shoulder and handing her the basket she had previously dropped.

    - We should probably go meet Hades. - she put her other hand on her shoulder, successfully removing her from here she was standing and taking her to the path that led to where she had least seen James which was in the Fates domain within the Elysium. The Fates’ side of the Elysium was always something rather odd, even for Hecate. Y/N watched as they passed halls and halls of name boxes with several coloured orbs.

    - What are those? - she pointed to the orbs that were inside the box containing James’ name, her curiosity perking up. 

   - Memory orbs. The Fates control and keep every single memory experienced by a god or mortal, I’ve heard their colour determine what type of memory. 

   - I think I wanna look around. - Y/N stated and Hecate stopped to pounder. She probably would be able to find the god of the dead quicker if Y/N wasn’t stopping every inch of the way to question about something that sparked her interest. 

   - Okay but stay here, don’t go wandering off! - she sternly said before going off her way to find James. Y/N watched as her figure disappeared in the hall and immediately rushed to James box, carefully pushing it out onto her arms and then onto the floor. Her eyes shined as she looked at the pretty colours flow inside the orbs, a special red one calling for her attention. Y/N knew she shouldn’t pick it, she shouldn’t be curious, these were James’ memories and she shouldn’t be lurking on them but her curiosity got the best of her and she immediately grabbed the red orb. What she wasn’t expecting was the sudden feeling on her left arm, almost feeling it being teared off which made her drop the orb onto the ground. Hand flying to hold her left arm as the orb rolled a bit away from her, flashes of someone screaming Bucky’s name and the harsh feeling of cold snow and sorrow rushing through her as if they were her memory. She stared at it, unbelieving to what had just happened and to the pain that had lodged itself on her left arm yet nothing was harming her and no injury was seen in sight. 

   - Y/N? - she heard James’ voice and immediately tried to place the orb back on its box which only made the pain return which in turn made her drop the orb once again. In no time James’ had localised her, his eyes going from the box with his name and the red orb on the floor to Y/N’s laying against the shelf of boxes, her hand holding onto her left shoulder. His lips tightened as he crutched down to where she was laying. - What are you doing?

   - I saw my mum. - she decided to sway the topic but the one she had swayed to somehow hurt her. - She didn’t know me. 

   - Don’t take it personally, sunflower. - he kissed her temple, flesh hand coming to caress her cheek. - It happens to everyone. My parents, my sister, even my friend don’t remember who I am.

   - Why? Why do you make them forget if they’re in paradise?

   - I guess the memory of leaving their loved ones in the mortal realm pains them too much. Would work more like a punishment. 

   - What about you? Isn’t that punishment to you too?

   - No, sunflower. I remember them all.

   - That’s not what I mean ... they don’t remember you. - she leaned her head against the bookcase, staring into his blue eyes. - Isn’t that too harsh of a punishment for a god?

   - The only punishment is being alive, sunflower. Not forgetfulness, not remembering, it’s still being alive after so long.

   - James ... - she took her hand way from her shoulder to cup his cheek, caressing it ever so slightly. She brought her face closer to him, lightly pecking his lips. 

   - We should go, this is no place for you. - he cleared his throat, getting up from his sitting position and offering her his hand. She however did not take it, still feeling the ghost pain in her left arm. - It’s not real, Y/N. You are okay.

   - I can feel it. - she looked up through her lashes at him. - What happened?

   - It’s not important.

   - Why do you always do that? - she knew she shouldn’t be mad, heck he should be the one mad at her but with all that had happened today so far, something in her snapped. - Why do you always tell me it’s not important when it clearly is? Don’t you trust me?

   - Of course I do, sunflower. You just don’t need to know about my past, it’s irrelevant. 

   - Is that memory the one of how you lost your arm? - she pressed him, looking away from his arm to the orb. - Is that what happened? 

   - Y/N, don’t question me. Come up. 

   - You are not the boss of me. - she ignored the hand he had offered to her, instead holding onto one of the shelf’s wooden bars and getting up by herself, storming off. 

   - Y/N, stop. - Bucky took the tone he normally took with his employees which immediately made her stop and turn to look at him before storming off again in a huff. - Y/N, cut it off. Damn it, I’m ordering you to stop. 

   - You’re not ordering me to do anything. You’re not my King and you will not talk to me as if you were. 

   - There is a lot of stuff that you don’t understand, Y/N. 

   - Then explain it to me. - she almost begged him. 

   - I cant.

   - Why not?

   - BECAUSE YOU WOULDN’T LOVE ME IF I FUCKING DID, Y/N. - he held her forearms, looking at her with what looked like tears starting to accumulate near the corner of his eyes, ready to roll down his cheeks. - You don’t know half of it and if you did you wouldn’t have spoken to me.

   - I would. 

   - No, you ...

   - I know you were the Winter Soldier. - she blurted out casually, almost as if she was talking about the weather. Truth was she knew, after he had told her about Steve it didn’t take long for the memories of when she went to the museum to hit her. She knew an abbreviated form of the story, not exactly what he’d been through, but she knew. Bucky was taken aback by her statement, blue eyes wide staring at her. - I know you were the Winter Soldier and I love you.

Bucky was still staring at her, eyes fully wide as his brain still processed those words. She knew. Well, of course she knew, it wasn’t like she hadn’t grown up in the new age of superheroes. She just, she just didn’t appear to be the type of woman to care much for that. Yet there she was, arms crossed across her chest, calm complexion. 

   - Say something. - she bite onto her lip nervously. She let go of her crossed arm position, slowly padding towards him, her hand trailing from his metal one to his shoulder, fingers dancing on the place where metal met flesh. - Please. 

   - What do you want me to say? - he leaned his head on her touch, thoughts running through his mind of how his fellow deities would react to him being this submissive to a mortal of no god birth or immortal blood. - Because I sincerely don’t know what to tell you, Y/N. 

    - Do you wanna tell me how it happened? I know how it felt and I’d rather hear it from you.

   - Not today. - he kissed the top of her head. - I will, just not today. 

Y/N left Bucky to do his work despite his complaints of wanting to be with her after seeing her mother. She knew better about not messing with the Spring Festival which was fast approaching. The sooner it got, the least she saw of James with all the preparations and meeting with Zeus that Bucky wouldn’t let her hear or even be nearby. Soon enough, it was only one day until the Spring Festival and Hecate had invited her to be with her nymphs for the opening ceremony, something she had been rather excited over as that meant she wouldn’t have to mingle with the rest of the gods and goddesses who mostly did not enjoy her presence or the fact she was with the King of the Underworld. 

Y/N excitingly opened the box Hecate had delivered to James’ home in the early morning, happy to see what she was wearing. Following what the Charon and other nymphs had discussed with her, every nymph wore a colour and a flower in order to honour the goddess of spring and the harvest. As she removed the protective silk paper from the gown, she noticed her colour was white and in a smaller box near the dress was a hair crown of white roses. She guessed it made sense, considering the flower seemed to haunt her.

The day couldn’t come sooner and much to Bucky’s dismay Y/N was out the door in the morning, box in hand and headed to the Elysium, specially Persephone’s groves. All the nymphs were getting ready, laughter and song in the air along with various flowers thrown on the floor giving the dead nature of the grooves some sort of happiness. 

Y/N took to getting herself dressed before taking a place in one of the free vanities to do her hair. She looked around looking at the nymphs happily pining, curling and sewing their hair away in unbelievably hard hairstyles. Y/N tried her best to pull her hair up only to sigh and lean against her chair. 

       - I’ll give you hand. - Hecate walked from behind her, her stoic look still present on most her features as she grabbed the silver brush from the vanity. Y/N understood why Hecate wasn’t a fan of her, she, after all, was extremely passionate over her domains and protecting everything. 

      - Thank you. - she watched her reflection in the mirror as Hecate divided her hair in two and braided each section. Following, she grabbed a needle and white yarn, sewing the two braids together and upwards in what looked like a singular double braid that now wrapped itself around the lower part of her head from ear to ear. Hecate placed the brush on the vanity grabbing the crown of fresh white roses and placing it upon her head.

     - You’re all set. Come on. - Hecate rushed her to walk into where the celebrations were to set place. In the middle of the beautiful greenery there was a porcelain mast with various coloured ribbons which was started to being surrounded by various deities. - All the nymphs of the Underworld get a coloured ribbon the same as their gown and dance around the mast, wrapping the ribbon around it until it snaps. The ribbon that doesn’t snap is decided maiden of the harvest and gets to crown someone to be her consort with their own flower crown. The pair gets the first dance.

      - Oh, I’m a terrible dancer.

      - You probably won’t get it. You’d have to be greatly in favour of Gaia in order to get it. - she tightened her lips. - However, in the slightest chance you get the honour of being chosen maiden, remember to pick Apollo, Priapus even. Any of the gods related to the act of love and beauty will suffice, it’s good to be in their graces.

Y/N stood in line with the other nymphs, her eyes scouting the crowd for her Bucky, but it was him who found her first, watching from afar as some minor gods spoke of various new achievements and demigods they’re fathered. However, now that he had spotted her, he was much more interested in looking at her unless of listening to them. He watched as she scurried around like a nervous little nymph to the mast, grabbing the white ribbon and finally took in her whole appearance, judging her to be officially the prettiest of all living things. Hecate ordered Apollo and his muses to start the sweet music that filled Elysium’s air which made the nymphs and Y/N start to go around the pole. 

Her eyes left the pole for a few seconds, watching as every single god and goddess of the Greek pantheon watched in awe before immediately turning to look at the pole, watching the pink and purple ribbons snap away causing some disgruntled noises for a few moments. One by one most ribbons snapped away until hers and a blue one were the only ones standing. Y/N sighed, ready to go back to James, expecting her to be the next one to snap until the sound of ripping fabric removed her from her thoughts. However, instead of seeing her own arm freed from the ribbon, she watched as the last blue ribbon laid on the ground and her own still tightly wrapped around her wrist. 

She quickly unwrapped the ribbon of her wrist, quickly massaging it before bringing both hands to take her own rose crown off her head as she stared at the crowd in front of her like a deer in headlights. A few gods cleared their throats, smirks on their faces, clearly expecting the honour to be bestowed upon them. Hecate’s words rang like heavy bells in her head but she was never one to follow them and soon enough she found herself walking towards the exact and only person she knew would be worth such bestowment. Next to him, stood Ares and Zeus who quite conceitedly took a step forward only to wide their eyes as the mortal woman who had just been chosen by Gaia’s forces to be the maiden of the harvest placed her white rose crown confidently upon the head of the God of the Underworld.

     - Now, what about that. - she could hear the goddess of love and beauty mumble under her breathe, somehow being the only deity not surprised by the odd choice. How ironic the maiden of the harvest had picked someone who did not even harvest the souls he ruled over. James rather surprisingly took her hand in his, guiding her to the middle of the circle the gods had created, turning his body to face hers. 

     - I can’t dance. - she whispered under her breath, ashamed anyone but him could hear it. 

     - I can dance well enough for both of us, sunflower.

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​​​ @inlovewith3​​​​19 @nwbstan​ @romanoffs-heart​

[mixedsnape]

Snapemas day 3: Smiles

In December, on the half day just before Christmas break, they were making presents for their parents in class. Most kids made glittery picture frames or salt dough ornaments, felt stockings or construction paper snowflakes. He didn’t know what to make, so he sat in the corner and pushed around the wooden beads on his desk.

[owo I only finished this at like 4 in the morning so its. late. also uh Tobias is here, but theres no like. Abusive stuff going on.]

@deepperplexity

3. Smiles 

Severus' dad was scary. He never knew when his dad would be mean or nice, if he would come home with a big frown and start yelling and throwing things or if he would come with a grin and a gift from work. He liked when his dad was happy, he could deal with his dad being mad, but he never knew what to do when he was quiet. 

He knew when winter was coming, not just because he had to bundle up in his mums old coats to go to school, but because his dad would start getting quiet. He stopped being angry and happy and sometimes wouldn’t even talk to him. He would come home and lock himself in his room. He didn’t even come down for dinner sometimes. 

His mum told him once that dad was like a bear. When winter came, he just got tired is all and they had to do a little more around the house so he could rest. So Severus made sure to be extra quiet around the house and to pay attention in school and help his mum make dinner at night, so that when his dad got home, maybe he could be happy. 

But winter came every year, and his dad went quiet anyways, taking his bottles up to his room at night and gone before he woke up in the morning. Some days, he didn’t leave his bed. And Severus couldn’t do anything about it. 

In December, on the half day just before Christmas break, they were making presents for their parents in class. Most kids made glittery picture frames or salt dough ornaments, felt stockings or construction paper snowflakes. He didn’t know what to make, so he sat in the corner and pushed around the wooden beads on his desk. 

“Severus?” his teacher, Sister Catherine, came up to his desk, kneeling down to see what he was doing, “Have you decided what to make?”

He shrugged, hoping she would move on, but she didn’t seem to take the hint. “Well, you could use those beads to make a bracelet for your mummy? Or you could come make an ornament?”

“It's fine,” he really didn’t want to go over to make something with the other kids. Most of them didn’t like him. 

“Well you can’t just make nothing,” She picked him up out of his desk, ignoring his little yelp, “Find something!”

Severus nodded, mostly because he knew he didn’t have a choice.

He looked around the class for something easy, something he didn’t have to try on.  He didn’t want to even touch the salt dough, he didn’t like the sound of the construction paper being cut, the glitter-

The glitter? He went over to the bottles of glitter, sparkling in the dull classroom light, beside the pompoms and sequins and pipe cleaners. He picked one up and shook it, watching the light catch on the different little pieces as they moved. It made him smile, just a little, and he had an idea of what to make. 

He scrambled across the table to grab the big, nearly empty sequin jar and dumps a whole pile of glitter into it. Then, he grabs another colour of glitter and dumps that in too. He shakes the jar around to mix everything up and he thinks it looks amazing. 

Severus looks around for something else to put in, to make it even better. He grabs the wooden beads from off his desk, a few of the mismatch coloured legos from the play area, and a few of the colourful push pins off the teacher's desk (when she wasn't watching). He puts them all together in the jar until it’s half full with colours and sparkles and it makes a loud clinging noise whenever he moves it. He’s too caught up in watching everything move together to realize Sister Catherine is coming up behind him.

“What have you made, Severus?” She asks, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Its um,” He looks at it and bites his lip, “It’s a pretty jar. For my dad.”

“It’s pretty!” Sister Catherine grabs for the jar and Severus can’t do anything to stop her. She holds it up to the light to see the glitter and tries not to frown when she sees the thumbtacks. She shakes the jar and hears it jingle, “this is so nice, Severus! But you know what would be nice? If we could make it a little bit quieter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think it looks really nice, but maybe your dad would appreciate a little quiet?” She holds his hand and brings him away from the desk and to the classroom sink, “If we fill it with water, we can watch the glitter and the... colours fall without it being so loud.”

Severus nods, and she helps him lift the jar up into the sink basin and fill it up. Once it’s full, it’s too heavy and slippery to lift it out, so she has to help him again to carry it over to his desk and he really hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. 

Sister Catherine tells him they’re going to start cleaning up to finish off the day, and Severus spends the rest of the day staring at the glitter and wanting to hurry up and go home.

At the end of the day, he puts on his coat and shoes and promises his teacher he doesn’t need any help carrying the jar and he sets off.

He knows the way home, he’s walked home every day since he was old enough to know how, and he goes a good few streets without slowing down, but now he’s being weighed down by the heavy jar and the cold. He can tell that he’s moving slower than normal and it only makes him want to move faster so he can get home already!

He doesn’t want to stop for anything but halfway home, he can feel himself slowing to a crawl and the jar is getting colder and colder in his hands, freezing his fingers. He stops for a moment to check on his jar and can see the glass fogging from the inside, the water beginning to freeze.

Something flips in his brain and he panics, trying to think of a way to stop it from freezing. Without really thinking, Severus lifted up his jacket and slid the cold glass jar up to his belly, holding it through the fabric and getting back up to speed. He clutched the jar tight, mind racing as kids' minds are wont to do, trying his best to keep it warm in the freezing cold. If it froze, he couldn't give it to his dad, couldn’t show him how pretty it was, how hard he worked on it, and then how was he supposed to cheer him up? How was he supposed to help? 

Severus squeezed the jar until his arms hurt, from the weight and the pressure and the cold, until his chest stung from the glass pressing up against it and he could feel his body heat warming it. He just kept thinking, what if he could make his dad smile? If he could make him happy again? If he could be the one to make things better?

He's almost home, he swears almost there and the jar is finally warm and it's getting warmer and warmer until it’s hot and he’s holding it to stave off the cold from himself (and doesn’t see the slowly spreading glow coming off of it). The heat gives him that little push he needs to turn the corner onto his street, skidding on the frozen street and huffing up to his door, panting and knocking real loud so his mum can let him in.

“Severus?” the door swings open and his mum is standing over him, tired and smiling and worried all in one, “Were you supposed to get out early today?”

He nods, still gulping air and he’s so thankful when his mum pulls him inside and out of the cold. He toes off his shoes and carefully peels off his jacket, making sure not to drop the jar and turned to his mum, "Is dad home?"

She nods and he doesn't say anything about how that means his dad didn't go to work that day, instead asking, "Can I see him?"

"I suppose so, just behave yourself," His mum looked him over, eyeing the jar in his hands, "What is that?"

"I made dad a present in class today," he lifted it to show her, “I wanted to give it to him."

She looked between him, the jar and the stairs for a minute, then sighed, telling him to go ahead. 

Severus tried not to run up the stairs, but he wanted to see his dad now and having to run everywhere was so slow! So he bounced up the stairs and into his parents room, completely forgetting to knock until the door was already swung open and he was staring into the dark room, the only light coming in from the open door. 

He could hear his own breathing and the creak of the floor when he walked over to his parent’s bedside, to his dad, curled up under the blanket and facing away from him. 

“Dad?” He nudged his shoulder, “Are you awake?”

He moved, shrugging off Severus’ hand, but didn’t answer.

“Dad,” he tried a little bit louder, “Daaad.”

“What, boy?” his dad grumbled, turning his head just slightly. He couldn’t see Severus, but it was at least a sign he was listening to him.

“I- well,” He lifted the jar up a little higher, steeling himself, “I made you something in class. I wanted to give it to you.”

His dad was quiet for a long moment, but sighed, picking himself up a little bit and turning to face him, to see what he’d brought. He looked at Severus, eyes squinting in the dark, and then to the jar, face twisting. “What is that?”

“It’s a... jar.” He held it up to the light and shook it so his dad could see all the glitter and sequins and blocks and beads he had put inside and he swore it didn’t shine like that at school, but maybe it was just the hallway light going through it, “I thought it looked nice and maybe it would help cheer you up!” His dad sat up fully, so he held the jar out for his dad to take. As soon as the jar was out of his hands, he felt how cold the room was and wondered just how hot the jar actually was. “I hugged it the whole way hope to make sure it didn’t freeze!”

The jar looked a lot smaller in his dad’s hands, but he was staring at it, watching the beads and glitter fall through the water. Severus couldn’t help the pride he felt when his dad’s lip twitched just a little in the corner. His dad, even if he was still quiet and tired, smiled at him and Severus beamed. 

“It’s great, Sev. Thanks.”

[orangepeelers]

thunderstorm beneath my skin

i’m actually very proud of this :)) first time writing angst and hurt/comfort but overall i think it turned out pretty good!

also happy birthday j <3

***

Remus felt like he had been peeled open and scooped out.

The news of his mother’s death fell around him like pouring rain, soaking him to his skin, cold seeping into his bones. He read the owl again and again, as if the words would rearrange themselves and assure him that it was just something he’d made up, that he’d take the train home in two weeks for summer break and his mother would be there, holding her arms open to embrace her son. But they stared back at him from their parchment home, blinking as he traced their ink paths for the thousandth time.

James cleared his throat. “You alright, mate?”

Tearing his eyes from the parchment, Remus blinked. The boom of the Great Hall resumed around him, rain evaporating and leaving only mud. But it lingered on his skin, its cool whisper clinging to his robes, frosting his limbs, trapping him with its news.

James and Peter peered at him from across the table, concern widening their eyes. From next to him, Sirius placed a hand on his, reaching a hand up to tuck Remus’ hair behind his ears. He stared into their faces, eyes so familiar from years of tracing their patterns, yet so foreign in the moment. White noise roared in his brain, drowning out anything else.

His mother was dead.

He blinked at them and cleared his throat. “I- Yeah. Yeah, yeah, just uh, just something dad said about the dog. It’s nothing.” The lie clung to his throat, viscous words inching their way out in his small voice.

James frowned. “Whatever it is, you can tell us. You look pale.”

Remus shook his head again. “No, no it’s nothing.”

Sirius carded his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Are you sure? You can-”

“I’m sure!” Remus snapped, a little louder than necessary. He cleared his throat again, as if the truth would inch its way up and explode out of his mouth, knocking away the frail defenses Remus was setting. “I’m fine. I promise.” He gave them all a wan smile, trying to convince them of his facade.

James slowly went back to his food, clearly not convinced. “Okay, Moons.”

Peter opened his mouth, then thought better of what he was going to say and went back to picking at his beef roast. Tears pressed fingers at the back of Remus’ eyes, clawing their way around his throat. He pressed the heel of his palm to the space between his eyebrows. He would not cry. He had two more weeks here. Two weeks where he would pretend everything was fine. Two weeks of pranks and OWLs and a Hogsmeade trip. 

He could make it.

Few words were exchanged for the rest of dinner. Remus’ outburst had cast a thick curtain around their section of the dining table, making all the noise of students feel far away. Maybe Remus was the only one who could hear it as thunder shook within his skull, all of the memories of his mother soaked and electrified by lightning.

He would make it.

He had to.

As they trudged up to the common room, Sirius laced his fingers through Remus’ and squeezed. Remus offered a dingy gray smile, paled with grief. Sirius looked into his face and squeezed again, asking a question.

What’s wrong?

“Tired. Studying for owls, y’know.” Sirius nodded pensively and they stepped through the portrait hole.

“I think I’ll turn in early tonight.” Please don’t ask me why please don’t ask me why please don’t-

“Get some rest, Moons. You look like you could use it.” James placed a hand on his shoulder, genuine concern lining his irises.

Remus just nodded, not trusting his voice. Sirius pulled him gently, but he knew that if he collapsed into his arms the truth would come rolling out, loosened by his warm chest and shoulders. So instead he pulled his arm out of his grip and tried for another grin. “Really tired. Sorry.”

The brief look of hurt that flickered across Sirius’ face crushed him further, but he schooled it into a warm look of sympathy. “S’alright baby. Goodnight.”

Remus felt the weight of their stares as he made his way up to their dormitory. He knew his lies weren’t fooling them, but he couldn’t tell them the truth.

Telling the truth would cement her death into the ground. Each word would be a shovel of dirt above her grave, burying her forever. He couldn’t bear the gravity his words would bring thundering down.

***

Remus had gone one week without telling his friends the truth.

It kept him awake at night, his mother’s face smiling in his dreams before melting into grave dirt, his friends’ concerned frowns, rushing around and around like he was on a merry go round, spinning away helplessly. 

He saw the way they looked at him at mealtimes and in the common room, like they were seeing someone who was terminally ill but couldn’t quite place it. He noticed how Sirius deflated more and more each time he avoided his warm embraces and soft kisses. Remus knew that if he gave into their familiarity, paper body crumpled in Sirius’ arms, he wouldn’t be able to put himself back together. Even now, he saw how he flaked away each day, brilliant paint chipping and leaving dull green-gray. 

They were in the common room now, the only ones doing last minute studying for OWLs. James groaned at his parchment and books, hands flecked with ink as he chewed on the back of his quill. Peter peered at his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, face utterly perplexed. Next to him, Sirius was ignoring his books and studying Remus, face pensive.

Remus gave up on reading the same paragraph for the hundredth time, letters treading on the muck in his brain but failing to leave any impression. He made half-hearted eye contact with Sirius, eyes tired from his lack of sleep.

Sirius smiled brightly, snapped out of his reverie. “Hey, Re.”

“Hey.” Remus tried for a smile, but his face fell limp from attempting the same expression that had evaded him for a week.

Sirius made the same face he always did when he knew something was wrong. Remus had memorized it by now, just like he’d memorized the dip in his voice when he asked what was wrong, or the clouds in his gray eyes when they peered at him with concern.

“How are you?”

Remus cleared his throat, lie ready to spring out of his mouth. “Fine.”

“Really, Re. I know something’s wrong.”

“I told you. I’m fine. How goes the potions work?”

The perpetual frown on Sirius’ face deepened. “Remus. Please tell me. Maybe I can-”

“I said I was fucking fine!” He snapped, chips of paint tumbling to the ground around him. “Why won’t you believe me? Why won’t you?” He gestured at their corner, Peter and James now watching closely. “I see the way you all look at me. I’m not made of china. Maybe I’d be fine if you just left me the fuck alone.” Tears burned just beneath the surface of his skin, hot and insistent. A lump formed in his throat, like all the lying he was doing had caused an allergic reaction and now he would asphyxiate to death.

Sirius wore a wounded expression, words piercing his skin. James reached a hand out. “C’mon, Moons. We just want to know what’s bothering you. Let us help you.”

Remus looked down at his hand, and back up at his face, features swimming with sympathy. The tears pushing at his eyes were winning their fight. “I- I just- I have to go.”

Before he could run to his dorm, he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to look back at its owner. Remus felt like a wounded bird, flitting around on broken wings, flailing uselessly. 

“Remus, baby. Please. Please look at me.” Sirius’ raw timbre took all the fight out of Remus. He turned to look at him, really look at him, for the first time in what felt like centuries.  From within their stormy depths, his gray eyes offered a lifeline. Something inexpressible by words, something to both drown in and be saved by. An outstretched hand offered to pull him from the edge of the cliff at which he stood, smothered in nothing, and into the arms of his sun and moon. 

In that moment, Remus felt like the world’s most fragile object, exterior shattering to powder, falling around their feet, leaving only a raw wound. His tears came rushing out, floodgates finally crushed by their pressure.

The outstretched hand yanked him in and held him close, its strength and warmth the only thing keeping the thin walls around Remus standing. He collapsed into Sirius’ arms, loud sobs racking his body as tears streamed down his face and soaked his robes. Sirius rubbed his back and whispered.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, c’mere, c’mon I’ve got you…”

Being in Sirius’ arms felt like he was drinking water for the first time ever. He still smelled like sandalwood and warm nights spent by the common room fire, his arms still encircled him like they were the safest shelter from storm.

He whimpered into his chest. “My- my mum, she’s-” the words stuck to his throat, resisting leaving their home from the past week. “She’s gone- she’s dead.”

Peter and James made quiet noises of surprise. Sirius held him closer, as if he could ward off all bad things by keeping them as close as possible.

“Oh, Moons. Why didn’t you tell us? You’ve been living this whole week like that?”

Remus choked through his sobs. “I was- I was afraid that if I told you guys it would be real. I wouldn’t be able to- ignore it anymore.”

“It’s okay, love. Look, we’re here now-- we’ll always be here for you. Always, baby.” Sirius said the words into his hair as his hands rubbed circles over his back. “You don’t have to be alone. You are never alone.”

Remus took a shuddering breath, all of their words clinging to his skin, keeping him warm. Sirius could piece him together, hands caring as he placed each fragment into place, holding them so they stayed. With each shuddering breath, he shook a little less, melting into warm arms. 

“We will always remember her, Remus.” James promised. 

Peter offered a soft smile. “She’ll live in our memories.”

Sirius whispered quietly, just for him. “You will always have her in here.” He tapped his head. “I will always be here to help you pull yourself back up, even if you feel like you can’t. It’s so, so hard. I know it is. But we will share some of the load.”

And in that moment, Remus knew it hurt now, it would always hurt, but each day, the press on his chest would lessen. The constant storm roaring between his ears would subdue, watering flowers and nourishing greenery. 

He could do it.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 209

209

The problem with supernatural senses was the ability to hear everything. Lance sympathised with Keith, cringing in second hand embarrassment for how his fiancé tried to talk to Pidge. Keith’s awkwardness was a thing of legend. There were a lot of “ums” in his sentence, and he’d twice assured Pidge “that it was okay if she didn’t want to”, before he finally asked if they could talk. The pair of them heading into the house as Hunk kept his eye on them.

“Catching” Hunk staring, Lance decided to say fuck it to manners. Hunk wasn’t upsetting Pidge on purpose. Shay wasn’t upsetting Pidge on purpose. They just weren’t quite clicking and though it wasn’t his place to say it, he didn’t want Pidge to feel left out because her best friend was dating the woman of his dreams

“Hunk, what’s up?”

“Pidge just went off with Keith... I thought they were going to check on Shiro and Curtis... I’m just... uh, I’m kind of wondering why they left”

Scratching the back of his head, Hunk stumped the other “adults” at the table. Allura and Coran both nursing empty tea cups, with Krolia kicked back and holding her half empty beer near her stomach

“It’s nothing to be worried about. They’ll be fine”

“Yeah, but... Dude, don’t you think she’s been acting weird lately? She doesn’t message me as much as she used to, and she didn’t defend how useful UV light could be to hunting vampires”

Hunk took the bait. Sure, Lance had been leading him

“Keith noticed Pidge isn’t happy and he’s gone to have a chat and make sure she’s okay”

Hunk gaped at him. Lance would have chuckled at his friend’s surprise if he hadn’t squashed his ego down. He didn’t want to hurt Hunk, nor did he particularly enjoy the conversation they needed to have. Shay pressed her lips together for half a moment in thought, before breaking her silence

“I can’t remember anything that would have upset her. Are you sure she’s upset?”

“Pidge is learning how much adulting sucks. We’re all in relationships now. We don’t do the fun things we used to do together. We don’t have games night anymore. We don’t hunt. Her best friend is moving in with his girlfriend and she wants to be involved. You guys haven’t done anything technically wrong, she just misses the old times. She’d decapitate me for the hell of it if she heard me. She’s feeling a little insecure right now, but Keith’ll calm her down”

Hunk immediately teared up. Nooo. Not Hunk tears. Whenever Hunk got teary, he did too

“I didn’t... I didn’t realise”

The first tear rolled down Lance’s cheek, causing him to sigh at himself mentally. He was so weak when it came to Hunk tears

“That’s because you haven’t done anything wrong. I’d be mad if you had and my face wound be all scary. Everyone grows and changes. Keith and I can hardly deny we’re very focused on each other. It’s really easy to do when you’re in love. Maybe at the end of the night you could suggest a games night? Or you could have her look at properties with you? She’d probably be able to blackmail the realestate agent into giving you cheaper rent...”

“I didn’t...”

“Dude, I know. I’m in no position to talk either. I let her down too. I let all of you guys down. I love you, bro. I love her, too. You guys are my family. Pidge just needs a little reassurance your still best friends for life... I kind of hope they’re not inside too long, I need to pee... I can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over... I want to meet them already”

Allura placed her hand on his shoulder

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon. We all can’t wait to meet them. You and Keith shall be amazing parents”

“Yeah. It’s going to be weird not having them inside me anymore...”

Lance loved it when they moved. He loved resting his hands on his belly and feeling them moving. Already so full of life. He loved belly rubs from Keith, and the way Keith cuddled into his stomach, peppering kissed to his stretched skin as if trying to kiss their twins through it. But everything else was getting too much. The joint pain. The fatigue. The constant heavy feeling in his chest. The last week of feeling constantly ill. His stupid yoyoing ego that couldn’t understand how a pregnancy had weakened him so much. The fits of anger. His overly active sense of smell. He was tired... and tired of waiting... but he... he also wanted to wait until he went into labour naturally so he could keep feeling them inside of him. For years he’d wondered how it’d feel to be human again. To fall in love and do all the other amazing things humans did... He’d never felt more human than in the last month of his pregnancy. He wasn’t sure he could mentally cope with his ego if he and Keith did chose to wait much longer. Mums to be were amazing. Movies just didn’t do justice to all the ups and downs of pregnancy. Feeling a tingling in his skin, Lance looked down at his arm, realising he was starting to burn under the lack of cloud cover. He wanted to give Keith and Pidge privacy, but if he stayed outside much longer, he’d go up in flames... Then again, Keith did say he was “smoking hot”.

*

Lance’s living room had also been transformed. The same bunting that hung outside, hung from everywhere it could inside. Stopping by the bathroom, Lance waddled in on Keith and Pidge mid-hug. Keith probably didn’t know what to do with being hugged so fiercely, still, it was a nice moment between the pair of them

“Hey, guys. Got room for one more?”

Breaking the hug, Pidge moved to make space between her and Keith. Lance waddling over to drop himself down between the pair of them. Yeah. Keith had a point. Maybe it’d be better to deliver early rather than feel cramping when he sat wrong, or sat too fast. He’d recognised that with fatigue came pain sensitivity. Small cramps had been happening more often over the last week, and he’d been reduced to crying over them more than once.

Leaning in, Keith kissed his cheek, Lance smiling at the action because he was so grossly in love with Keith that even a small kiss still managed to make him feel a million times better

“I thought I left you outside?”

Lance moved to show Keith the start of the sunburn on his arm. He’d run it under cold water to ease the burn, but it was still warm and tender to the touch

“You did. Apparently too much sun is bad for vampires... who would have thought?”

“I did wonder if I should find you an umbrella...”

“I’m fine. Plus, I’ve got my two favourite people here, so I thought I’d come stock up on some love”

Excusing himself to the bathroom, Lance knew he’d upset Hunk yet Hunk had to figure out how to make things right with Pidge without his meddling. He probably could have been more tactful about things, and picked a better time to bring the subject up. This was supposed to be party, not a counselling session. Feeling the twins kicking up a storm, he took Pidge’s hand, placing it on his belly. His friends were good about not just touching his belly without asking first, Pidge the one who seemed to hesitate the most when it came to feeling him being bashed up internally

“I think they know that their Aunty Pidge is here”

“Either that or they’ve inherited Keith’s inability to sit still”

Keith pouted, Pidge poking her tongue at him causing the werewolf to huff

“Lance is just as bad as I am”

“Lance has changed a lot since you came into our lives. You both have. You can tell you two are dating. You’ve got that old married couple vibe where you finish each other’s sentences and sound the same”

Lance couldn’t deny it. Keith had picked up so many of the expressions he used. And Lance had definitely picked up Keith’s habit of swearing openly.

“That’s what happens when you fall in love. Actually, Keith and I have something to tell you. We’re madly grossly in love, not just in love”

Pidge rolled her eyes at him

“I already know that. One bite between you and you’ve both turned into idiots”

“You know what they say, “Once bitten, twice stupid””

“Dude, it’s “once bitten, twice shy”. But I like your one better. You bit Keith to save his life and you both turned into love struck morons with a shared brain cell between you”

Keith frowned heavily at Pidge’s joke, Lance snorting due to how true it was

“He really does feel like the other half of me. I’d be happy to share a brain cell with him any day of the week. I know you’re worried about the future, but you’re always going to be a sister to me, and an aunt to the twins. No more sad, Pidge, not when she’s a scary little ankle biting gremlin that we all love”

Pidge pulled her hand back, looking to her lap

“Hey, you know I’m proud of you, Katie. You’ve been through a heck of a lot, like the rest of us. Things might have changed and they might be scary, but you’ll always have a home here with us... provided you don’t bring your work home and destroy my house with your experiments”

Pidge groaned deeply

“You blow up a circuit board once and they never let you forget it. And, if you call me “Katie” again, I’m going to give you a dead arm to go with that dead body of yours”

“Oh no! The gremlin’s getting angry. Quick, babe. You’d better make her a coffee before her wrath descends upon us”

“Fuck you”

“I’m flattered, but I’m in a loving and committed relationship... I mean, if I were two decades younger...”

Pidge punched his arm to shut him up

“You suck”

Lance continued with his shit stirring mood

“Quite well, don’t I, babe?”

“I’m not getting into this, but yes”

“See, my skills have got Keith’s stamp of approval”

“You’re going to have my footprint stamped to your arse if you keep traumatising me like this”

Wrapping his arms around his gremlin, Lance kissed her hair. Pidge trying to shove him off

“I love it when you’re mean. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you”

“Keith, help. Lance is being weird”

Keith hefted him back so Lance was laying awkwardly in his arms looking up at his fiancé. Bopping him on the nose, Lance went cross eyed as Keith let his finger hover

“Babe, leave the bitey creature alone. She’s fine. More importantly, did you put cream on your arm?”

Lance didn’t really prescribe to the use of burn cream seeing he healed on his own. Cold water would forever be the best things for burns

“Burn cream isn’t always good for burns, aaaaand the aloe vera is in our bathroom. Which is upstairs, and totally too much effort right now”

“You can’t ignore it. Where else got burnt?”

“I don’t know. Stop picking on me. I thought we were picking on Pidge”

“We’ve done that. I’ll grab the aloe vera, and Pidge can get you some blood. We have the whole day to relax... provided no one’s gone and planned party games”

Pidge burst that bubble. That tiny bubble of maybe fitting an uncaught nap in... This fatigue thing was ridiculous

“Oh, dude. There’s totally party games. We’re going to set up penalty beer pong under lunch”

Keith scrunched his brow. From how he was positioned, Lance kind of wanted to poke his finger right up Keith’s nose. It was like his nose was staring down at him, begging to be poked

“Should I be worried?”

Lance didn’t like to brag, but beer pong was his jam. His first time through college not so much, second time, he was pretty much undefeated. With how long it took to set up, it wasn’t usually one of their party games. Poor Keith had no idea what penalty beer pong had in store for him, Lance would have to defend his fiancé’s honour

“Seeing it’ll be you and Lance facing off, you should definitely be worried. Buuuut I totally didn’t tell you that. If you two are going to keep being gross, I’m going to go back to the party”

Whelp. Keith was on his own then... It was nice knowing him

“It’s okay, Pidgeon. Go forth and abandon us. Leave us... be that way... We’ll be back out as soon as I’ve had some blood and this sunburn starts healing. Maybe I should change into something longer, I don’t want to burst into flames at my own baby shower”

Keith bopped him on the nose again, before helping Lance sit back up

“That’s probably a good idea, babe. You’re smoking hot as it is. That’d make you literally flaming hot”

Pidge was completely right. They really did share one brain cell. The idea leaving a stupidly huge grin on his face that Pidge called “creepy” before leaving the pair of them.

*

Penalty beer pong... of all the things they could have played, they’d chosen some kind of abomination that belonged in hell. After lunch, Hunk had taken Lance aside, while Matt and Pidge took Keith inside. Both of them forced to wear headphones so they couldn’t hear each others answers to the questions for their friends had prepared. Keith felt very very dumb. 20 questions on Lance should have been easy... but their friends had really wracked their brains being creative and going for the odd, mostly unknowable things that he was supposed to know about his “boyfriend”.

With the living area the only place big enough to fit all of them, the coffee table was covered with a thick piece of plywood where the cups were set up. Keith didn’t like to admit that he’d never played beer pong. He’d never had the kinds of friends that did, nor did he go to college. One of the more popular games at Blade headquarters was darts with knives instead of darts, and vampire faces for targets. You took a shot if you failed to stick the knife in the vampire when it was your throw. He’d never been invited to play with James and the rest of them... He and Shiro used to have shooting target competitions, but that was just the pair of them with the winner getting out of some mundane house chore, that Adam usually scolded them about.

Kneeling across from him, they’d both avoided the penalty cups so far. Keith thought not getting the ball in one meant not having to drink what was it in. No. Instead the penalty was played out for each question they got wrong about each other. Each cup contained some kind of condiment construction Keith really wanted to avoid. It started tame, first with chilli sauce, then soy, then vinegar... slowly progressing in quantity and combination. The last cup was a grotesque mix of what seemed to be a little of everything from Lance’s pantry. Having swapped questionnaires, Hunk and Matt were their quiz masters. They were fifteen questions in, Keith not feeling the effects of the vodka he’d had to chug when Lance got the ping pong ball in his cups. His fiancé, not able to drink, was delegated water. Keith wasn’t sure that Lance actually won anything from playing against him seeing he’d have to pee the moment the game was done.

“Lance. What is Keith’s most annoying habit?”

Throwing the ping pong ball, his fiancé landed it perfectly in the cup. That’s how it went. Question, throw, answer, shot...

“His amazingly lacking self confidence since turning into a werewolf”

His damn fiancé got that one right... like the rest of them.

“Keith. How many years, combined, did Lance spend attending University?”

How the fuck was he supposed to know that? He didn’t know how long it took to be a lawyer... he didn’t know how long it took, or if Lance had any recognition of prior training to drop the amount of time he was required to study, plus his fiancé was a smart little shit... Lance looked sympathies and smug at the same time. Yeah. His questions were far easier than Keith’s had been. Tossing the retrieved ping pong ball, it landed in one of the penalty cups

“Um... I’m going to with... um... 12 years”

Lance groaned, Keith knowing he’d gotten the answer wrong. Matt delighted in telling him

“11 years and six months. Apparently being a lawyer in the early 90’s meant less time in class... Your first penalty shot is chilli sauce. Bottoms up”

If a jalapeño’s had sex with another jalapeño, then their offspring continued in breeding, that would only explain the fire in Keith’s mouth. His eyes running as his throat burned. That wasn’t simple chilli sauce in there

“God... it burns... what the hell is that?”

“Ghost pepper sauce”

Lance shot Matt a glare

“That’s not very nice. You guys are dicks”

Matt shrugged at Keith fanned his burning mouth

“Then he shouldn’t have gotten the question wrong”

“We didn’t really talk about it. Babe, you okay? Rieva, can you get Keith some milk, please. You guys are banned from giving Keith chilli ever again”

“Chill, dude. He’ll survive. Right, it’s your turn”

Lance plucked the ball from what looked to be soy sauce, unamused Keith’s ego wanted to flip the stupid board of cups over. Their friends were slightly laughing at his reaction to the chilli and Rieva hadn’t gone to get him a glass of milk

“Okay, Lance. What’s Keith’s deepest secret that he’s hiding at he moment?”

Keith had answered “He’d always believe in mothman until his dying breath”. Lance hummed at the question

“That he doesn’t hate Lotor as much as he says... it’s either that, something to with me, or something to do with his crush on mothman”

“Correct...”

No. That wasn’t correct at all! The game was rigged

“You two didn’t bother telling us that you’re engaged! Which is a secret to do with Lance, so technically correct!”

Suddenly Keith got the feeling that beer pong was less about what they knew about each other and more about what the group suspected and wanted to confirm

“They’re what?!”

From Pidge’s yelling, she mustn’t have been in on it... So this was all Matt’s idea to get them to confess to their secret engagement?! He could strangle him for putting them both on the spot like this. Right. He could play it cool... yep. No secret here

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude. We found the empty ring box in your bedside drawers. Why didn’t you tell us?! Do you know how happy we are for you guys?! This is awesome... Maybe not as awesome as Rieva saying yes to me, but we’re supposed to be your friends! We need to have a party to celebrate this”

Ahhhh. Keith wanted to laugh in relief. They hadn’t been caught yet, and now it seemed like a pretty fun idea to mess with Matt for going through their things

“That’s was from Krolia. There was never any ring in that box”

“You expect us to believe that?”

Keith glanced to his mother, Krolia shrugging as the others also looked to her

“Miriam and I both thought they’d make the cutest grooms. It’s not my fault he hasn’t proposed yet”

“What makes you think I’d be the one asking? Lance could always ask me, right, babe?”

“Yep. I totally could have been the one to ask him”

Sharing a look, Matt and Hunk both chuckled. Their “Sunshine Teddy” shaking his head

“Man, we all know Lance is the romantic one. He’d spend everyday waiting for you to ask, rather than asking you. Then, he’d expect the whole fairytale night. Dinner at a fancy restaurant. A bouquet of red roses as big as him...”

Hunk counted on his fingers, Matt adding as Hunk stalled mid-thought

“Don’t forget the champagne and the hotel room”

Hunk quickly counted those two on his fingers

“Yep. Lance is too much of a romantic”

Matt nodded quickly

“He’d drop hints too... Romcoms. Jewellery brochures... Though you’d probably miss them like you missed Valentine’s Day”

The pair were ganging up on him, Keith depressed about the fact they were right. Lance would have loved all that, but his fiancé didn’t need all that. He’d proposed in a horrible hotel room...

“Keith is romantic. Sure, his idea of good date is a trip to a shooting range, or some other combat related activity, but he’s very romantic. I don’t need all the fuss, I just need him”

Hunk faked feeling faint as he grabbed Matt by the arm, Matt playing it up and acting as if he were concerned

“Hunk?!”

“I’m okay... I never thought I’d live to hear Lance say something so unLance like. Pregnancy has changed you, man. Next thing you’ll give up watching your soap operas... Dude, my heart can’t handle the changes”

Keith mentally thanked Lance for trying to stick up for him. He wasn’t the world’s greatest fiancé, yet he felt better that Lance thought he was good enough for him. His fiancé had more to say on the matter

“You two keep picking on Keith. He’s awkward and he’s a little emo, but he makes me happy. We could get engaged in a room so dingy that Jesus couldn’t save it, and I’d still be happy”

Hunk waved his arm, kind of weirdly and kind of as if he were trying to gesture “how big this was”. Keith felt his lips turn upwards as Lance pretty much told everyone they’d gotten engaged while away, yet none of their friends would put two and two together

“But as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been a sucker for those big movie engagement scenes”

“Movies aren’t real life. Matt, that box wasn’t any of your business. What were you doing in our room?”

“Helping Shiro and Curtis build your present. We were looking for an adjustable spanner”

Lance leaned back to rest his weight on his hands, bottom lip wobbling

“You know the tools are kept in the laundry, and you know you’re not supposed to be in my room...”

“We were...”

No one messed with Lance’s room, or his bed. Lance washed and changed the sheets alone, swapping the blankets whenever the whim took over

“I don’t care. I’m sorry, but I can’t... I need air”

Keith jumped to his feet before Lance started started struggling to his. As Coran went to help the vampire, Lance slapped his hand away with a sad “sorry”. Moving to Lance’s side, Keith looped his arm around his waist

“You guys can take over playing. No listening in”

[artificialqueens]

Everything And More, 1/3 (Blu/Cheryl) - Juno

Summary: Blu and Cheryl discover they are soulmates … at the worst time possible. Does distance really make the heart grow fonder?

(A/N: This is a prequel to another fic I wrote which is on AO3, but can be read on its own too. Just wanted to do something with some DRUK girls, and there will be more to come! No CWs for this chapter. Hope you enjoy this so far.)

“Surprise, surprise!”

Cheryl had only had to open the door to the oddly quiet living room to instantly jump out of her skin the sight and sound of all her friends, the synchronised bangs of party poppers, streams of colours through the air. Something shattered in the kitchen through the open door at the back of the living room (most likely the walking hazard that was Kendall knocking a mug over), but shrieks and cheers covered up most of the noise.

She instantly turned backwards to meet Vivienne’s smug smile, as she stood behind her, and hit her with the paper KFC bag that was in her left hand.

“I knew you were doing this!” Cheryl cried, although really she would never have guessed.

“Give over, Chez, you had no idea. You thought we were just going for nuggets. Anyway, d’you like it?” Viv’s grin was a little forced.

“I love it! Babe, thank you so much!” Cheryl tugged Vivienne down the six inch difference in height to hug her round the neck.

A gentle ahem from inside the front room interrupted them, and Cheryl turned to Divina, standing waiting her turn.

“Divina did the decorations,” Viv muttered, but she needn’t have said; it was obvious by their precise locations and mix of pastels (but no other bright colours) that it was Divina’s hand leading all of this set up. Cheryl just dragged Divina towards them both, happy they’d put their mutual dislike aside even if it just for this.

“You didn’t think we’d let you go off to America without one last party, did you?” Divina exclaimed.

“Guys! You really shouldn’t have! Oh, I’m gonna cry!” Cheryl finally put down the KFC bag, nuggets spilling on the floor, to wipe her eyes.

Divina seized her by the cheeks. “Less of that, Cheryl, no tears today, okay? Come in and we’ll get the party going.” Divina steered Cheryl into the living room out of Vivienne’s arms, and Baga grinned as she handed her a mug.

But Cheryl knew better than to drink it right off the bat.

“What’s this, Bags?”

“Just coke,” Baga shrugged.

“Coke and what?”

“Coke and a mug.”

“Coke and what, Baga?”

But Baga just grinned. “Drink it and find out!”

Cheryl put the mug to her lips and … Oh, yes, coke and some fucking paint thinner, she realised. This was going to be an interesting afternoon. Just Baga feeding them all more and more alcohol from her mum’s special cupboard and topping it all up with water or apple juice or whatever hair-brained scheme Baga seemed to have thought up next.

Speaking of her mum …

“Viv,” Cheryl realised, turning to her, “does my mum know you’re all here?”

Vivienne blinked and looked at the painting on the wall.

“Viv! Tell me!”

“What are we playing first, girls?” Baga ignored Cheryl, steering her to the dining table which was large enough for six, and littered with bottles and cans. “Make space! Cards? Anyone brought cards?”

“Baga, no way, I told you I’m not playing Ring Of Fire again.” Kat folded her arms, glaring at her.

“Shut up, Kat. Who wants Ring Of Fire?”

“I’ve got a deck of cards!” Vivienne declared, producing one from her bra.

“No way am I playing with those.” This time it was Divina’s turn to put her foot down. “Not when they’ve spent all morning in Vivienne’s tits. I might catch something.”

“Only thing you’ll catch is some class, girl.” Vivienne replied smoothly.

“Class? From you? I don’t think.”

“Okay, okay!” Baga huffed. “Jesus Christ, you lot. Someone else suggest something then. Chez, get that down your neck.”

Cheryl focused on drinking while the others argued about the game. Viv and Divina kept shooting barbs at each other, with Vinegar egging them on and Sum waving her hands in the air trying to calm both of them down. Baga’s face grew redder and redder as she fought not to shout at them, while Crystal, Kat and Kendall went to the back door to vape.

Wait.

“Is Blu not coming?” Cheryl asked in the kitchen, but the argument was reaching a crescendo. She drained the mug and went outside to the back garden. Crystal was blowing smoke rings, while Kat and Kendall sat in the grass, legs intertwined, passing Kendall’s vape pen between them and picking at the daisies.  

“Where’s Blu?” Cheryl asked Crystal, thinking Kat and Kendall were too preoccupied for company.

“She’s still got flu,” Crystal replied, blowing a cloud of smoke through the centre of her newest smoke ring. “She couldn’t come.”

——

Fuck this. Fuck the flu.

Blu felt like shit, and not just because of the flu. She was missing Cheryl’s surprise party. God, what irony. She hadn’t missed a day of term over the whole of sixth form, and now she had the worst flu of her life at the end of the summer holidays, right before everyone was going to uni and right before Cheryl was flying to America.

She looked down at her phone from earlier when she’d messaged Viv.

Blu: sorry im still sick

Blu: mam wont let me out the house

Blu: best i can hope for is to be better for monday to come to the airport

Viv: Can’t be helped girl xx

Viv: Hope your feelin better soon xx

She’d wanted to see Cheryl’s face when Viv brought her in for the surprise, because Cheryl would never guess in a million years and her face would be a picture.

She’d wanted to savour every minute she was still with her best friend before he had to get on the plane and go on that scholarship.

She’d wanted to give Cheryl her present at the party. Nothing worth a lot of money, or big, but something that meant a lot to Blu and she hoped to Cheryl too.

Sighing, she looked over at the corner where it was wrapped, ready to go. Where she’d almost fallen on it this morning, getting up and out of bed. Telling her ma she felt fine, before her unsteady legs gave out under her and she crashed into the wall.

It sucks being in bed all day.

She looked down at her watch - one of those new ones with the soulmate-finder on it, to see that the day was moving frustratingly slowly. There was nothing onTV, she’d watched what felt like the whole of Netflix, and she still didn’t really want to eat.

With a growl of frustration, she tugged the duvet over her head and snuggled down, hoping that being good and staying in bed would help her fever hurry the fuck up and leave her in time for Monday.

Then I can say bye.

She couldn’t let Cheryl go without saying goodbye. Cheryl was far more than her best friend.

Coming over from Belfast after her parents’ divorce two years ago felt like wrenching a tree from its roots and trying to plant it in rocks. London was too big, and even now Blu still wasn’t altogether used to central London, but here on the outskirts wasn’t as bad.

In addition to a different country, she’d had to shift her studies here too, and her first day at her new school had felt like all the wires in her brain had been rearranged. Besides, having the badge of honour of being the New Girl among these sixth formers who had already known each other for five years was never going to be straightforward.

But her first lesson, on her first day, Business Studies, had seen the prefect Cheryl toss her hair back from her shoulders and pat the empty space at the desk next to her, her smile charming and so fucking genuine.

It had been all Blu had needed for something hot to blossom in her chest.

She’d been so confused. Back at school in Belfast, she’d convinced herself having crushes on her girl friends was just a phase, as her ma had said, and she would grow out of it. But meeting Cheryl had made her sure that it definitely wasn’t just a phase. The crushes she’d had in Belfast came and went, like clouds on a windy day; like the boys who had entered her life but who had never felt real, and had let her go like the wisp of smoke she turned into. But Blu had never once moved on from Cheryl. Cheryl was the sky beyond the clouds. In her mind now, that was all there was.

Blu had shook when she’d told her ma she was certain now, over Christmas holidays in Year 12 - certain that she didlike girls, this wasn’t going away, and there was This Girl in her life now, and This Girl was incredible, kind, talented, gorgeous … and probably as straight as a poker. And her ma had nodded along with her confession, reassured her, let her cry at the relief.

Cheryl remained This Girl.

Incredible, kind, talented, gorgeous, and Blu was convinced poker-straight.

Blu opened her eyes, stunned to see the clock had moved on to seven pm in what felt like no time at all. She’d slept, by some miracle.

Her throat felt much better, too.

——

Three rounds of Ring Of Fire and countless attempts at Among Us later, and Cheryl was warm and drunk and swaying happily to the music from Divina’s Spotify playlist. Among Us had gone to pieces after everyone had collectively decided that Crystal was just always going to be the imposter and Crystal made no attempt to dissuade them; simply flipping her hair back and winking at them.

Cheryl felt the familiar sensation of Vivienne’s fingers at the back of her neck, tugging her hair back to braid. It transported Cheryl to being in Year 7 again, when Cheryl had had her super-long hair, and Viv had been obsessed with braiding it at every opportunity. Now, with long gentle fingers at the base of her scalp, Cheryl let herself ascend to cloud nine of relaxation.

“You having a good time?” Viv asked softly.

It was a tone she didn’t really use with the rest of the group; her own quiet way of caring. Cheryl tried to nod.

“Stop it, girl, your braid is coming out!”

“Sorry. Viv? Mum did know about this party, didn’t she, babe?”

Vivienne cackled in response to Cheryl’s tentative question. “Of course she did, like Divina would have decorated your house like that if your mum hadn’t known about us giving you a party.”

Divina spun round at her name, her red hair seeming to flare up. “Vivienne, if you don’t stop -“

But Divina was interrupted by a sharp nudge in the ribs from Crystal, and a pointed glance to Sum, who Cheryl only just noticed was lying on the ground, her hands in her rucksack. She sat back up with an impish grin.

“Do you want to play some pass the parcel?” Sum asked, her eyelids drooping as she handed a parcel wrapped in brown paper to Cheryl. Her words were slurred; Sum was the lightweight of the group, for sure. Still, Cheryl was drunk enough not to think that pass the parcel was a stupid idea.

“Let’s do it then!” Cheryl shouted above the music. “Everyone get on the floor!”

“Some of us don’t need to go far, do we?”

“Shut up, Kendall, I’m not that short!”

“Just shut up and sit down, Baga,” Cheryl pulled her down to sit with them all. “Right - who’s got the music on?”

“Me,” Divina said, holding her phone up. “I’ll do the stops.”

The parcel took forever to go round everyone, with them all having a turn to unwrap a layer. After the seventh layer was unwrapped, Vivienne realised that Divina was not stopping the music when she had the parcel, resulting in yet another argument. But once everyone had had a turn, as expected, the parcel landed on Cheryl as the music stopped.

It was a small box, big enough to fit in her hands as she cupped it. It had to be the last layer before the gift was revealed. Obviously, Cheryl thought to herself, they’ve planned all of this.

She tore the paper off, and was stunned.

“This is - guys -“

Cheryl had seen the adverts for the soulmate-finding smart watches, but holding it in her hands … it felt surreal.

“We wanted to get you something meaningful,” Sum was smiling warmly as she spoke, “and so we all got together and bought you this watch.”

Sure, Cheryl would have loved to have owned one of these watches before, but they were so expensive and so new, that she thought it would probably be years before she’d own one at least. And now, here was the small box that held one, of her very own.

“God - you must have spent a fucking fortune on me, you didn’t have to do that …”

Cheryl found tears come readily to her eyes as Baga gave her a hug.

“Chez, it’s fine. Maybe now you’ll find an American soulmate!”

“Maybe.”

“And then you can stay in America and not come back!”

Cheryl forced a smile as she patted Baga on the back, letting the tears fall now.

“We’ll need to set you up before you go so when you get there you can meet some American as soon as you land. There’s some, like, personality quiz or something they make you take so they can set you up with a soulmate. Give me your phone and I’ll set you up.” Divina reached for Cheryl’s phone.

“Hey, hey, what makes you think you’re going to be setting her up, Divina?” Viv protested. “We all bought it, so we allget to do it.”

“Why can’t you fucking -“

“Shut the fuck up! Both of you!” Crystal shouted above them both; the only one still seemingly sober. “God, you’re both being fucking childish.”

“We’re all doing it,” Vinegar announced, and her authoritative tone as always caused the rest of the group to go quiet; Divina as docile as a lamb as she handed over Cheryl’s phone and the watch.

The nine of them poured the rest of the spirits and the mixers into each other’s mugs and glasses, and gathered round Vinegar as she downloaded the app onto Cheryl’s phone and started filling in the questions on the personality test.

They’d been a group for seven years, and although they didn’t always all get along now, it was the closest Cheryl felt to anyone. Cheryl glanced round at her friends, close as sisters but loyal as family, feeling tears hot in her eyes once again. The slight unnerving feeling in her gut that she had every now and then threatened to throw her off course again, intrusive thoughts creeping back in.

Is this the right thing?

Divina and Viv weren’t staring daggers at each other for the first time in the last month; instead working in tandem and chuckling softly at each other. Vinegar, her tongue worrying her lip in concentration, tapped answers to the questions as the girls called them. Kendall motioned to Kat with her vape, and the two backed away to the door of the kitchen, Sum following them.

A Levels had been and gone, and school was officially done. Cheryl’s scholarship to the prestigious Iman Performing Arts college in New York City was secured, plus the resettlement grant which would pay for moving costs.

She was the only one leaving England behind.

Blu would get it. Blu knows what it’s like to move countries. But Blu has the flu.

She giggled to herself at the rhyming thought, the only thing she could do to keep from crying again. Baga was already eyeing her to make sure she didn’t. The last thing she wanted was for her makeup to smear any more than it already was.

But it felt so much like her bubble of school, of normal life, was ending; ready for this new world of academia and New York to begin. It was a dream come true and a nightmare rolled into one. But Blu would understand, because she’d already moved to another country.

She wished for Blu more than ever at that moment.

Before she could think about it too much, her phone was thrust back into her hand by Vinegar, the questions all completed.

“There you are, babes.” Vinegar pointed to the bottom of the page. “If you like what we’ve done, just hit go.”

Cheryl didn’t feel as if all the words were going in, as she looked down the page, reading descriptions of herself, answers to family questions, life, hobbies, hopes and dreams. She could see the words, but they didn’t register; and as she read them, they felt as if they were describing someone else, someone who maybe existed in a mirror rather than a physical form.

When she got all to way to the top, she blinked at the ‘looking for’ box. Vinegar had entered Men, but Cheryl hesitated. That wasn’t … quite right.

This is it, Chez. Now or never.

Vodka was great for a confidence boost. She tapped the button where Vinegar had added that she was looking for Men, and changed it to Any gender instead.

A detail that wasn’t missed by Vinegar’s inquisitive gaze.

“Wait, hold on, hold on. Chez? Chez!”

Vivienne turned to look, and so did Divina and Baga.

“Oh, finally!” Baga exclaimed, dragging Cheryl back into a hug. “We wondered if you’d admit it before you left.”

“What? How did you know?” Cheryl cried.

But none of them would tell her; just smirking at one another and alternating her with hugs.

——

Cheryl’s flight wasn’t set to leave until five, but she had to be there three hours early to get through customs - how did that make sense, Blu thought, when she could arrive forty minutes before and still get back to Belfast - and so Blu had wanted to be there early, but there were so many people on the Tube, plus a breakdown at St Pancras, meaning she had barely any time to sprint across the glistening tiles at Heathrow airport.

Where is she?

The departures board said her flight was already going through baggage check in and security. There wasn’t much time. She followed the signs to the bag drop …

“Blu!”

Crystal was coming towards her, and Blu saw behind her Divina, Viv and Baga; all presumably having come down in Divina’s cramped little third-hand Ford KA. Viv was rubbing her eyes, and the telltale mascara lines on her cheeks told no lies.

“That’s it, then,” Crystal nodded, looking gravely at Blu. “She’s putting her bags through and then - well, she’s gone until Christmas.”

“You can still catch her after she comes out of baggage check in, Blu,” Divina said gently.

Blu didn’t pause to second guess; she sprinted past them, towards the baggage drop, watching people queue with their cases, looking at the queues for any sign of her.

And there she was.

Cheryl in the flesh, coming out of the baggage drop and about to ship herself almost halfway around the world; her normally perfect blonde hair tied off her face; her normally flawless makeup not even slightly present. Just Chez in a baggy shirt, denim jacket, and a pair of leggings, ready to fly. Ready to leave this bubble behind.

Blu had never loved her more.

Before she had the chance to call her, their eyes met. Blu watched them expand, the elated grin flood her face, and her arms open as Blu ran into them. Cheryl caught her, squeezed tightly …

Time stopped.

How was she meant to let Cheryl go? They’d only known each other these last two years …

They hadn’t had the time as besties the rest of them had had, but Blu knew that Cheryl just felt like a part of her now; as if each of them were a jigsaw with one piece of each other that fit perfectly.

It’s not the end. It’s not the end.

But as much as Blu repeated that to herself, something churned in her stomach at the thought of Cheryl leaving.

When time finally flooded back into their day, as Cheryl pulled away; Blu watched her green eyes fill with tears and Cheryl hurriedly wipe them away.

“Sorry,” Cheryl muttered, “I knew I was gonna cry at some point.”

“It’s alright,” Blu whispered, her own voice breaking too much to speak louder.

Cheryl nodded, taking Blu’s hand and squeezing, gazing at the ground, giving Blu as reassuring a smile as she could muster when she was evidently breaking in two.

“I’ll be back at Christmas,” Cheryl was murmuring, meeting Blu’s eyes again, “and in summer. That’s not long. Christmas is only, what, four months away. And we’ve got Skype. Facetime. Whatever. We’ve got - we’ve got everything. We’ll stay in touch. We will. We all will. We …”

“I know.” Blu nodded back at her. “We’ll talk - every day if you want, Cheryl.”

Cheryl nodded again, hitching her rucksack higher on her back.

“I have to go through security.”

“Before you go -“ Blu had almost forgotten. Her own present. She tugged it from her bag, small as it was, wrapped in brightly-coloured paper. Cheryl would probably guess at what it was from the size and shape, but she still rattled it next to her ear for good measure, before laughing and taking off her rucksack to put it in.

“I’ll open it on the plane.”

“Alright,” Blu replied, but Cheryl was frozen, her eyes wide, pleading. Asking something that Blu couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand.

“You don’t want to miss your plane, do you?” Blu whispered.

“No.” Cheryl took a deep breath. “Thank you, Blu.” And with a shy smile, she leaned in and ever so gently gave Blu a kiss on the cheek.

It was the last thing Blu expected. She held her breath, wishing time would stop again, wishing she could hold on to this moment, or drag Cheryl back off the plane. But they’d had so much time. Over school, over summer, and nowwasn’t the right moment.

“Bye, Blu. Thanks for the present. See you at Christmas.”

Blu feigned nonchalance. “If we let you back in the country.”

Finally, Cheryl managed a laugh. Squeezing Blu’s hand for the last time, Cheryl pulled away, finally letting her go.

Blu let her, and watched her walk away to the escalator up to Security, the first steps to her new life in America.

It was only when Blu reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes that she saw the blue notification light on her new watch. She hadn’t figured out what all the notification lights meant yet, so frowning, she tapped the button on the screen.

‘A soulmate is within a 10m radius. Please press the blue button to start your timer. You have one day for your soulmate to respond. You then have 100 hours to connect. Alternatively, please press the red button to decline this opportunity.’

Blu felt her legs tremble.

No fucking way.

She was frozen to the spot, reading the message over and over.

Turning her head back up, she watched Cheryl reach the top of the escalator. About to head to Departures.

Now was the only chance she would have before she lost her.

But Blu couldn’t move.

Finally, her legs seemed to obey her as she tore to the escalator, taking the steps three at a time, and at the top - sighing with relief - Cheryl was still there, putting her liquid items into the tiny plastic bags, draining her bottle of water to the last drop.

“Cheryl!”

Cheryl spun at the shrill sound of her name, a split second before Blu launched herself at her. She opened her arms and caught her a second time that day.

“Blu? What’s wrong? What -“

“We got you a soulmate watch, didn’t we?” Blu could barely catch her breath, her heart hammering. “Are you wearing it right now?”

“Yeah, it’s here,” Cheryl nodded, and held up her wrist. Something caught her eye, and frowning, she looked at it. “Why is there a light on it?”

Blu didn’t reply; she simply held up her own watch, with the same notification light.

“You’ve got a soulmate watch too? Wait, why is yours like that as well?” Cheryl said, but Blu didn’t need to respond. Cheryl’s mouth fell open, and she turned her eyes from the watch to Blu; who watched her realisation and her every thought as it crossed her face.

Cheryl - isn’t straight either?

“You -“ Cheryl’s eyes filled with the same easy tears that she always seemed to produce; always the easiest cryer of the group of them, always the most emotional. “I can’t believe it. You did, too?”

Blu nodded, weak with relief. “Since the start of sixth form.”

Cheryl gasped. “Since we got paired up for business studies! God, two years! Two years we’ve wasted, not doing this!”

Before she could ask what she meant, Cheryl tugged Blu towards her, closing the distance, kissing her lips; and it was everything and more that Blu had dreamed it would be. Cheryl might not have been wearing makeup, but she still smelled divine, her warmth a solace, a right place to be. Blu wrapped her arms around Cheryl’s waist, hoping to go deeper, but Cheryl let her go suddenly.

Blu saw her eyes cloud over once again.

“How am I meant to get on the plane if we’re -“

But she couldn’t finish the sentence, words failing Cheryl for probably the first time in her life. Blu looked at the Departures gates, ignoring everyone else around them, and took a deep breath, swallowing hard.

“For your dream, Cheryl,” Blu whispered. “This is what you’ve wanted forever. You’ve always said that. Remember - remember that day you got the scholarship through? When we were in class?”

“God, we got so drunk that day,” Cheryl giggled.

“Yeah, well, you need to go for your dream.”

“But - “ Cheryl swallowed, her voice an octave higher than usual. “But we’re soulmates, Blu.”

Her words wrapped themselves tightly around Blu’s heart, and she thought she’d never in her life forget the ice-cold sorrow in Cheryl’s voice … but she couldn’t let that influence anything rash.

She sniffed, trying to hold her tears back. “You have to go, Cheryl. You’ll miss your flight. I’ll be here for you, when you get off it again, at Christmas. I promise.” Blu rubbed her arm. “I’ll be right here, at Heathrow. Go get your dream, girl.”

“God, we’re stupid,” Cheryl muttered, “for not realising sooner.”

Blu pressed Accept on her watch, and a new message came up.

‘Thank you for selecting. Your soulmate has one day to respond. You will be notified when they make their decision.’

“Tap yours.”

Cheryl giggled. “Why? It’s definitely me.” But she did so anyway.

Blu felt her watch vibrate again, presumably with another message, but she didn’t care; Cheryl was here, and the watch had somehow made everything they’d both hidden for two years come into the light, fall into place like the missing jigsaw pieces.

“What - what now?”

But Cheryl didn’t reply; she grinned through her tears as she pulled Blu back towards her for a last kiss; one that felt like sustainment, like life itself. Blu could do nothing now but enjoy this moment, the final one for now.

Cheryl finally let her go, and Blu had to tell her to go before she changed her mind.

“Get your flight! Go and get your dream!”

Cheryl looked at the security desks, then wistfully at Blu.

“I’ll be back at Christmas, alright, babe?”

“I’ll be here for when you land. I promise.”

Blu let her go.

[orionwhispers]

Wishing It Was You; Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - hey guys... its been a while. I started this in april and finally finished it. she might be my longest yet my fave imagine ive done. im tired and lazy so sorry if there are any mistakes. PLZ let me know what you think and my ask is always open!! ily)

Tommy knows he's standing next to Grace.

He can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can feel the pressure of his hand against the curve of her waist, can smell her expensive perfume, with it’s notes of rose water and lemon, lingering on her neck, but all he sees is you. Grace is leaning into him, her giggles sounding like twinkling diamonds as she laughs at a joke he hasn’t registered, his mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the woman standing at the other side of the room.

He hadn’t expected to see you here. In fact, he hadn’t expected to ever see you again. It strikes him like a bullet in his gut, leaving him winded and gasping for air in the middle of an expansive ballroom, the gin on his tongue suddenly as hot as acid.

Have you seen him yet? The thought fills his brain like a buzzing hornets nest, the feeling is immediate and prickling at the back of his skull.

Do you know he’s here? Have you noticed him?

Most importantly though… Did you come alone?

His hand unconsciously tightens around Grace’s waist and she smiles at him, as sweet as sugar, completely unaware of the femme fatale on the opposite side of the room, capturing her husbands attention and luring him like a siren.

He bites his tongue until he can taste metal and copper. A fresh wave of guilt and shame collapse over him but he swallows it down like it’s nothing but a lump in his throat.

He loves Grace, he adores her. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

At first he thought he was going mad. He hadn’t believed in ghosts and spirits since he was a boy, sat in a caravan, reading tarot cards with his Mum. He became too used to death and decay in the war, too used to seeing blood and rot to believe in a chance of a second life - not when he had sinned so much in his first.

He hadn’t thought of you in so long. Hadn’t conjured up the image of you in his mind like he used to do late at night, imagining the feel of your skin against the pads of his fingertips, the smell between your shoulder blades, the weight of your ribs underneath his.

You were always at the back of his mind though. No matter how hard he pushed you away, your smile and voice would always linger at the back of his head, a beam of sunlight whenever the shovels would get too loud.

You were real though. You were back. He could tell only because of the way you captivated everyone around you, the faces of those enchanted by you were proof that you weren’t just a memory his drunken mind had created. Throwing your head back and giggling, chewing on the bottom of your painted lips, you had everyone under your spell.

He can’t take his eyes away from you. Its like he’s a puppet and you’re toying with the strings without even realising. He’s tethered to you, no matter how far apart you may be.

“Tommy?”

Grace’s syrup like voice cuts through him like a blade, and he straightens up. He’s acting like a teenager and the thought repulses him, he’s a businessman, not a child. He’s fought in the war, dealt with fearless gangsters and killed men with his bare hands, how come seeing you has rendered him breathless?

He turns to look at her, her gentle features illuminated under the chandeliers, her brow is furrowed with a mixture of mild irritation and curiosity and he lets her familiarity wash over him like the ocean. She smiles kindly at him, turning her attention back to the guests surrounding her, and Tommy feels a clench of white hot shame that whilst he is stood next to his wife, his mind is dizzied with the thoughts of another woman.

Grace is Grace.

She’s beautiful and soft and kind and warm. She was the stability he needed, the type of woman he needed to come home to, she tended to his wounds and listened to his rants and kissed his scars. She was too good for him and he knew it. She had lied and deceived him in the past, but it strengthened their love, rebuilt their trust like a fortress. He loved her, he wanted to have a family with her.

But she would never be you.

You were as familiar as the peaked cap that adorned his head, you were as much as a part of him as the gun in his holster. Your face flashed in his mind whenever he heard the last gasp of air from an enemy, it was you who appeared in his dreams and rescued him from the depths of his nightmares. It was as if you were stitched into his skin since the very first day you met when you were children.

He needs to get home, he can’t stay. Too long and you’ll sink your claws into him. Too long and everything he’s worked so goddamn hard for will start to crumble around him.

He flattens his palm against the back of his wife’s dress, ready to make hasty excuses and polite apologies and leave, nestle her into the back of his car and drive far away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before words can slip from his tongue, he spots a smug, sparkling eyed Polly approaching, arms spread, lips curled into a smirk.

Fuck being polite. He’s Tommy fucking Shelby, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

His hands curve around Grace’s spine and she tuts in protest, ready to scold her husband for his haste, but she snaps her lips shut at his flushed expression.

“Oh Tommy! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Polly approaches, already buzzed, arms spread like a bird in flight, just waiting to engulf him. A cigarette dangles from the corner of her cherry painted lips, her eyes gleaming with a mix of alcohol and mischief.

He inwardly curses, Polly cornering him like a lioness, ready to tear him and his wife apart. She’s practically chomping at the bit, the delight of seeing your familiar face and the knowledge of what that’ll do to Tommy and Grace making her float across the floor. She’s drunk on elation and glasses of champagne, her mind too fucked to even think about the consequences.

“Oh Tom!” She repeats, cradling his face like he’s a boy again. Under any other circumstances he would be delighted to see his Aunt so happy, a sight he was rarely blessed with, but now he’s wishing for anything else. Grace’s grip tightens, he can feel her stare on the side of his skin, burning holes into his flesh. Polly feels her gaze and turns to the blonde beauty, her disdain for her nephews wife enough to drill the final holes into his coffin, sealing him shut into eternal darkness.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s back.”

Grace stiffens beside him, arching a penciled eyebrow at her husband and opening her lips. Tommy can feel his palms moisten, an unfamiliar sensation that takes him back to being a teenager, one that only ever occurred around you.

“Who’s (Y/N), Thomas?”

————————————————————

You were the same age as Ada, reserved and soft spoken, new to Birmingham and all of its smoke and gristle coloured cobbles. She saw you one day in the school yard; sat alone on your first day, picking at the skin on your swollen lips, round doe eyes following the other children roughhousing and laughing. She was immediately drawn to you, her inquisitive mind growing protective, and it wasn’t long before she strode over to you, confident as ever, introducing herself and deciding to take you under her wing.

The two of you became fast friends, sharing jam sandwiches and apple slices under the sun, skipping along the streets and throwing stones into the cut at dusk before your parents hastily called you inside and scolded your recklessness. You barely left one another’s side, spending every night you could at each others house, giggling and gossiping under the covers, trying on your mothers makeup and making sticky pinkie promises to be best friends forever.

The years passed and you still remained attached at the hip, growing closer than ever as your limbs grew and you wandered into adolescence, facing every problem you encountered together. You were Ada’s shoulder to cry on when her mother passed, sleeping next to her in a single bed for month on end as the night terrors kept her awake. You grew closer to Ada’s family as well, especially considering the amount of time you spent there. Aunt Pol became a surrogate mother to you, chastising you and supporting you and always being there for you, sometimes with a smack on the back of the legs, like the time she caught you both smoking before you hit your teens.

You became a fond fixture in the Shelby household, slotting in like just another straggly stray at the dinner table every night. You were young, but you weren’t stupid, you had known the Shelby boys since the very first day you came back to their house and even as a child you could sense the mischievous aura surrounding them. As you grew, so did your curiosity, and it wasn’t long before you learnt of the betting shop located in the back room of Pol’s house. Ada and Polly were both protective of you, and managed to keep you out of trouble despite the spark of interest that brewed in your stomach and so that back room just became another chest to lock in the back of your mind.

They both knew that there was something different about you, and as you grew from a timid child to an inquisitive teenager your thirst became insatiable. Ada had always recognised the unpredictable nature the you harboured, you could be quiet and meek but under the surface your brain was a kaleidoscope of spontaneity. It was you who suggested late night adventures and rain splattered trips that got you both into trouble, you who dreamt of cities and lives bigger than the both of you. Ada adored that about you, your desire for change something she wasn’t used to in the dismal, grey town she grew up in but deep down she was terrified that you wouldn’t ever be satisfied.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed the impulse in you. From the very first time he saw you all those years ago he noticed the crackle of electricity under your docile exterior, bubbling under the surface like lightning that struck the sky. Of course, back then you were just a child and Tommy was far too interested in pursuing the betting shop than taking notice of his little sister’s friend, but he always kept an eye on you. The two of you had a bizarre relationship, despite the age gap between you both, you managed to find a level ground. Whilst Arthur and John would ruffle your hair and swing you over their shoulders as if you were still a toddler, Tommy would talk to you as if you were an adult, the two of you could bicker like siblings but there was a mutual respect underlying it all, you both connected by your need for more.

It came to a head when Tommy was counting money at the betting shop one evening in August. The sun was fading to the colour of a bruised peach and the air was still warm, notes stuck to his fingers and he hummed in frustration just as the large doors swung open. His head snapped up and he came face to face with a flushed Ada, her cheeks were as red as a Gala apple and tears welled in her wide eyes. Tommy immediately reached for the gun shoved in it’s holster ready to send bullets flying over his watery eyed sister, before her exasperated voice broke through the silence.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s had a fight with her fucking dad and now she’s gone! Please, Tom, can you help me find her?”

As Tommy had the family car, he was left trawling through the country lanes surrounding the city whilst Ada and Pol searched your usual hiding spots in Small Heath. According to Ada, you had about a two hour head start from your house, and Tommy’s foot itched over the pedals at the thought. This was hardly the first time you had run away, usually it was over to Polly’s for the night after you had had enough of your family, but after a particularly bad spout with your parents last year, Ada had found you halfway to London. You were definitely a flight risk.

Tommy’s hands clenched over the steering wheel as the sky darkened, you were a beautiful teenager, walking alone through the streets at dusk; it was a recipe for disaster. Tom knew you could hold your own, but the creatures that lurked around at night were ravenous and there was no way in hell he would let them sink their claws in you.

Tommy could feel heat prick at the bottom of his spine. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that the feelings he harboured for you stemmed much more than the ‘sibling love’ he disguised them as. The attraction between the two of you had always been there, something magnetic joining you both before you could realise it. Over the years it had blossomed, despite his attempts to distinguish the fire that you brought out in him, something about you had captivated him.

All of his thoughts turned to wisps of smoke as he rounded a corner, nearly swerving into a thorn bush as he spotted you. You were walking with determination, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he watched you march forward like a solider, your small frame filled with force. Your hair was loose, draping around your shoulders like a halo, bouncing with every step you took.

He trailed behind you, edging his foot off the gas and waiting as the car slowed next to you. He knew you noticed the intrusion from the way your shoulders tensed briefly, and he allowed the car to match your pace, the two of you moving like boats on water. He knew you would be the first to speak, and allowed your words to run over him like warm milk and honey.

“Hello, Thomas. Out for a drive?”

He smiled, rolling his eyes slightly before responding. “C’mon (Y/N), time to come home.”

“No thank you.”

“It’s getting late.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He tensed his foot against the gas, the car rumbling lowly and rolling forward. He pulled it into park right in front of you, the dark exterior blocking you from walking any further up the lane. You exhaled in frustration, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flushed the colour of Shepard’s delight, and he cant help but bite back the smile curling in his mouth. He patted the seat playfully and watched as you scuffed your foot into the mud like a child, coyly sucking on your tongue before clambering next to him, crossing your arms and settling into the leather.

Tommy’s hands rested on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers for a moment before turning to face you, examining your skin under the dim light. Both of your fathers had a lot in common, alcoholic, nasty and violent, something dark like rum boiling inside of their blood, men who ruled with fear and aggression. There were no marks he could see, not like the time your arm was coated in purple thumb prints that left him seething, only calmed once you and Ada had snuck off to her room and he could control his thoughts with a cigarette. That night he pretended he couldn't see Polly watching him like a hawk.

“He didn’t hit me this time.”

Good. He would have killed him.

“Kind of wish he did though, Mum bought a new frying pan that could have come in handy.”

He let you talk, the birds and the wind the only noises disturbing the peace. You were quiet, and it was rare for you to open up like this, so he cherished the moment despite the underlying bleakness of it all.

“I know it seems childish, but it just feels easier to get away.”

He hesitated, looking down at you picking your nails in the front seat of his car. The words forming on the edge of his tongue tasting like whisky, not knowing how to comfort you without implicating himself. He tried to imagine himself as Polly or Ada, the kind of person who would know what to say.

“You have people that care about you, you don’t need to fuckin’ up and leave.”

“I know I do, but anywhere is better than Small Heath.”

He blew air through his teeth. “It ain’t so bad.”

You swivelled to face him, round eyes and raised eyebrows set on him like a sniper. “Really, Tom? You do know you’re saying all this sat in the front seat of a bloody Bugatti? Bought with dirty money might I add?”

It’s the first time he’s seen you so heated and despite the truth in your words the sight of your small face twisted in annoyance is enough to make his lips curl, only adding fuel to your fire.

“You can sit here and tell me that all you want, but you know better than anyone that there’s more out there than Birmingham. I can see it in you Tom, and if you want you can act like you don’t need anything more, then that’s fine by me! But I hope you’re alright with lying to yourself.”

He stared deep into your eyes, expression blank and solid as if your words had truly punched him in the gut. You watched him for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly and eyebrows scrunching, wondering if maybe you had over stepped the line before his eyes glimmered and he held his hands up playfully, peaked cap bouncing with every exaggerated movement.

“Alright, bloody hell. Remind me not to get in a fight with you. I can see how much our Ada has rubbed off on you.”

You let a tiny smile tug at the edge of your lips before it expanded and took over your face, tossing your head back and letting your hair fall over your shoulders as you grinned. Tommy swore he felt his heart skip a beat. He started the car as quickly as he had stalled it, feeling it purr and jut under his feet, the world righted once again now that you were sat next to him. The car rolled over a bridge, and after you crossed over onto the other side he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak.

“If you ever feel like running away again, come and see me first, alright?”

He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel yours on the side of is neck, running softly over his flesh like fingertips.

“If I didn’t know any better, Thomas,” You spoke teasingly, using his full name just to get under his skin, “I’d think you were going soft.”

The evening sun beat down onto the two of you, and as the car lurched forward he mirrored your own smile, because maybe he was, for you.

————————————————————————-

After that long drive home it was like a switch had flipped. The two of you became closer, as if an invisible thread was tying you both together. You were allowed into the betting shop more often, counting coins and change and bickering playfully with the Blinders. Tommy took you to your first horse race under the guise of “teaching you more about the business”  you wore your finest dress and he pretended he couldn't feel his breath catch in his throat when he looked at you. His hands clung protectively around your waist as you downed a glass of strawberry wine, rolling his eyes and smiling as you laughed into him as the horses galloped and the crowds cheered. You spent evenings climbing through the window in his bedroom, sitting on the sloped roof tiles as rain pattered onto the streets below, sharing a cigarette and watching the stars peek through the smoky air, unsaid words bubbling behind both of your lips as yours knees pressed together.

The rest of the family noticed the change between the two of you, but said nothing. Even Ada couldn't help smiling to herself when she saw the glances that you shared, her kind and clever older brother was the only man she could possibly think was good enough for her best friend. Although she would never admit it, it meant he was distracted enough to not notice her leaving to spend time with a certain man named Freddie.

Tommy drove you to the beach for the first time, exploring the pier and walking barefoot across the sand. Your wide smile as you danced in the surf and talked under baying seagulls was forever cemented into his mind, he vowed silently that he would move mountains just to see you happy, the feeling unlike anything he had ever felt. He taught you how to shoot a gun, your body pulled flush against his as you squealed in delight as the bullet ricocheted off the can. Your conversations flowed like running water, able to converse and laugh about everything and anything from dusk till dawn. He was mischievous and playful and would crack jokes even on your worst days, when your father was mean and your mother was distant, he would make you feel whole again.

That’s why, on a rainy Thursday as the two of you walked side by side by canal, you pulled his face towards yours with your small hands and kissed him. He froze, with all of his previous girlfriends he had always initiated things first, but with you he had felt uncharacteristically hesitant, terrified of scaring you off and losing you. However as your parted lips met and he felt you smile into his mouth, tasting of cherry jam and stolen tobacco, he let his hands snake around your waist as if they had been carved there. The wind whistled and the rain splattered both of you, his peaked cap sheltering his ruffled hair and your face from the droplets, it was freezing but heat crackled between the two of you. You were practically half his size, resting on your tip toes to meet him fully, but in that moment he knew you had him utterly under your thumb.

The relationship the two of you shared was pure and untainted. It was all soft skin and moonlight painted faces, freckles and wide teeth and apricot coloured skies. His hand would brush against yours as he walked you home, you’d laugh into his neck at the Pictures, your words would mingle together at midnight as you sat and talked. Things couldn't have been more perfect, as sweet as the whisky tea you would drink with Ada and Polly, as merry as the laughs you shared with the brothers and as syrupy as the kisses you would have with your first love. But just like the smoke that filled the once clear sky above your heads, your life was soon to darken.

It all happened so suddenly, maybe your blissful youth had created a candy coated picture over the political dramas happening around you, but now they couldn’t be ignored. There was going to be a war. You knew from the start the brothers would be drafted, they were filled with pride for their country, they were young and fit and strong, they knew how to fight, punching and slashing with their razor blades, but you loathed the idea. You bit your tongue until it bled, knowing there was no point in arguing, but that didn't stop you staining your pillow with tears every night.

You refused to let the boys see you in such a state, and tried your best to enjoy the last few days you had until you would be separated from your family. The ache in your chest remained despite your false bravado, dinners were different, quieter, and you would often catch Polly staring at nothing, as if she could see a ghost.

Tommy took you away the night before. He drove the caravan for miles, his favourite dappled mare pulling you through fields of wildflowers as the sun followed you overhead. You parked in the woods by the river, silence falling over both of you. His hands laced through yours, thumb running over your soft skin, and you watched him, drinking in all of his beautiful features like whisky.

“Will you wait for me?”

His voice is quiet, so unlike his usual boyish, playful tone. Seeing him so vulnerable was like a bullet entering your heart. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt dance against your cheek.

“Forever.”

He intakes sharply. He plucks a daisy from the grass, toying with the tiny flower between his large palms before turning to you and pushing it behind your ear, looking at you in a way that makes your body melt like butter.

“I love you.” He watches you, gauging for your reaction, but you don’t give him any, you just look up at him with those big fucking eyes. He exhales, turning back to face the water as he continues. “Known it since we first met. Since that very first day, when we were just kids, I knew. You had a hold on me since day one. I couldn’t leave without telling you…telling you how grateful I am for you.”  

His voice softens, “How much you mean to me and because of that,” He clears his throat as if struggling to get the words out, “I’ll understand if you want to move on, find someone else or…”

You don’t let him continue, you attach your lips to his as if they were magnetic, feeling him collapse under your touch. You pull away much too soon for his liking, a smile reaching your eyes as you press your forehead against his, the light making you look angelic. “Stop talking.” You kiss him again, harder, in that teasing way you have mastered so well.

“I love you too.”  

Under the stars, as the moonlight bathes the caravan in a soft eerie glow, you pull off the straps off your sundress, watching Tommy follow you as if he’s in a trance. Calloused, firm hands meet your tender flesh as he worships you like a Goddess, unable to believe that you are human. You give yourself to him fully, and it’s unlike anything he’s felt, the connection flowing between your bodies stronger than anything, love and lust connecting as your bodies mesh. Despite his earlier sentiment, as he buries himself inside of you, he loathes the idea of another man touching you and you can feel the heat radiating from underneath his skin and pull his face to you, staring him down, telling him everything he needs to know.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Candles flicker around you, painting your limbs the colour of the sunrise. You playfully touch his nose, and then his lips, dragging them open with your finger. Your bodies are slick with sweat, exhausted but alive, feeling as if you are the only two people in the world despite the knowledge of what lurks ahead, you just feel young and blissfully in love.

“You won’t forget about me, will you Shelby?” You tease. “Won’t find a nice French woman to take my place?”

You’re joking but he kisses you silent, eyes connecting to yours, “I’ll never be able to replace you, little one.”

——————————————————————

No one expected the war to last as long as it did, least of all you. Every day you sat by the radio, waiting and wanting desperately for news that it was over, but every day you would leave with tears filling your eyes. You busied yourself the best you could during those long, dark days. You and the girls ran the betting shop, you looked after John’s kids and Finn as if they were your own - despite your young age, the war had forced everyone to grow up.

Four years is a long time, and that’s exactly how you felt as you waited on the platform, hand in hand with Ada, waiting for your boys to come home. You felt as if you had swallowed rocks, nausea bubbling inside of you, acid in your throat. He had been home three times since it had started. Three times in four years had you been able to see his face in real life, touch his skin, tell him words that wouldn’t do justice on paper. You had seen the effects of the war distort the people around you, heard awful tales of shell shock and seen men returning home with missing limbs and broken hearts. Every day you waited for that call, that piece of paper that told you Tommy wouldn’t be returning, but blessedly it never came, and finally, he was coming home.

You’ll always remember that day he came off of the platform. The last time you had seen him had been so long ago, but even then you had noticed the grey of his skin, the pain in his eyes. He was quieter, milder, refusing to speak of the horrors he must have endured, instead focusing on light happy stories. You wondered how much he had changed since then.

He was beautiful.

He still had that boyish look, his sharp jaw and tousled hair, but he looked older, haunted. You felt your knees buckle at the mere sight of him, the way his eyes danced over the platform, looking for something, someone - you. Your eyes met and you watched them glimmer, something you had been starved of for so long that you devoured the feeling. Euphoria bit through your skin and tears pricked at your eyes. You ignored everyone else, storming through the crowd like you were the solider, racing with your arms wide open, not caring how childish you looked. He smiled in what looked like relief and laughed in exhaustion as you fell into his arms. He held you so tight that you could feel the air expel from your chest but you didn’t care, you cried hot, wet tears into his shoulder, and you felt him bury his head in your hair. He looked at you, breathing hard and opening his mouth, but before he could speak you smashed your lips onto his, melting into his touch like all those years ago.

“Welcome home, Tommy.”

——————————————————————

Weeks passed, and it was as if the darkness had seeped into his skin. You longed to tear it off of him, wished that you could swap yourself with him, carry a little bit of his pain, but you knew that was impossible. Night was when he found solace, with you wrapped up in his arms, breathing in your sweet clean scent, something he had been deprived of for far too long. If you strayed too far in the night, woke up for some tea for a sore throat or simply because your mind was restless, you would hear the gut wrenching moans and cries leave his lips and would dart up the stairs two at a time to crawl back onto him. The first time you heard it he sounded like a fox with its paw in a trap, something so inhumane that it stayed with you like an awful lullaby on loop in your brain. As you managed to wake him from his own nightmare, he pulled you impossibly close, breathing into your hair as you whispered words of comfort, feeling utterly helpless.

After the war, everyone had their own poison. Arthur started boxing, channeling his anger and frustration into fighting, Freddie started protesting, looking for change in places he found wrong, and for others like Danny Whizzbang, sometimes the war clung its teeth in too far and refused to let go.

Tommy however, became obsessed with power.

You had known about his incredible work ethic and savvy business skills since the very first day you met, but now his hunger was insatiable. He was up before the birds had started chirping, planting soft kisses on your collarbones as he left for work, and didn’t come to bed until you physically had to drag him away from his desk. You were worried, but as always he conducted himself in a manner that made it seem like he was always in control, smooth and charming, unfazed by his hectic schedule and the looks you sent him.

It came as no shock to anyone that Tommy had been leader of his unit, the kind of man that people would listen to and follow without hesitation, the kind of man that knew how to be in charge. You knew some things about what had happened in the tunnels, horrors so unimaginable that it tore your heart in two to think of him suffering, and you were just left wondering what kind of marks that would leave on a man. His high ranking earned him thanks and praise wherever he went, he was honourable and that lead more and more men to join the Blinders, wanting to be close to such a powerful man, wanting the things he could offer.

The experiences he’d suffered through had led him to become disillusioned and determined to move his family up in the world, especially you. He became increasingly overprotective, a trait you at first found endearing and then ultimately suffocating, you knew he meant you know harm, wanting to shield you from the things he had endured, but you felt like a child again. You longed for trips to the country, to walk along the beach with him, to sleep under the stars, but it was as if that part of him had been killed on the front line.

You would be a liar if you said you were unaware of the illegal activity going on in the betting shop, you had always known of the shady dealings going on behind closed doors, but they thrilled you, excited you, mainly because you always knew that Tommy was in control, he could never get hurt. Your whole life you had always wanted more, hungry for a lifestyle that never bored you, but now you were wondering if you had bitten off too much.

He was changing, morphing in front of your eyes like a creature you had read about in a storybook when you were a child. Growing up his violent tendencies were sporadic, but with both of your fathers being unpleasant men he was always tainted by his family reputation. You had helped sew razor blades into their peaked caps, had seen the fights in the school yard over petty childish things, and had wiped his knuckles clean when he beat Tim Green black and blue after he called  you and Ada vile names. Back then it was exciting, the adrenaline making you fall onto him, enthralled by this beautiful man, feeling safer with him than you had ever felt before, but now you were wondering if you should be scared.

He would rather die than hit you. He had never called you anything other than sugary sweet pet names, never once raised a hand other than to caress your cheek, never in a million years did you think he would ever hurt you, not intentionally. But it pierced your heart like a bullet, walking down the street, watching those you once called friends hide in their houses, whisper his name like it was sour milk, spit at your feet once you had left. It never bothered you what those small minded people thought of you, but knowing the awful things they thought of your Tommy, that killed you. It felt like a knife in your ribs when you leant back against him and felt the unfamiliar weight of a gun tucked into the waistband of his expensive trousers, as if it was nothing more than the cigarettes he constantly carried. It clawed at your throat like a rabid dog, when he came home at midnight, covered in blood that wasn't his, his eyes grey and pale.

You wanted to be by his side throughout everything, holding his hand and being the woman that he had turned to for everything, but it felt like you were hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want you involved, wanting to rise up on his own merit, and give you all of the rewards without seeing the carnage he was leaving behind, but that wasn’t you. You weren’t some housewife who just tended to his wounds and looked the other way when he stuffed the local officers pockets with bribes, you wanted to be his equal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was that he didn’t trust anyone else.

Some nights you would sit staring at the moon from the windowsill of his small bedroom, reminiscing on making love under his scratchy sheets, giggling into his skin, thinking of days when you would tell him anything and everything, and he would always know what to say. You hated yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he had fought for his country, with the terrors he had lived through, of course he would be a changed man, but this seemed more than that and it tore your heart in half.

He’d slip into the room at midnight, any miseries of the day diminishing when he saw your small frame, and he’d wrap his arms around you, whispering into your hair. Any bad thoughts you had would vanish as he cradled you, reliving all the times you had in the past, feeling as if home was a person, but you would be jolt at his words. He’d tell you of all the things he would buy you one day, spun tales of all the things you deserved as if he could magic them from thin air. He spoke of a large manor, marrying you in a ceremony with a thousand roses, expensive cars and hand-cut jewels, things that were enough to make anyone salivate, but not you.

The war had forced you to put your life in perspective. Those gut wrenchingly long nights away from your lover, biting your lip raw wondering if he was suffering. Days spent feeling numb, trying to distract yourself from thoughts that plagued your head, you wanted to escape. Small Heath had suffocated you, the smoke and the ash now clung to your lungs thicker than ever, and you were desperate for a gasp of fresh air. You thought that was what Tommy wanted too, thought that the both of you would flee Birmingham, climb on to a ship, sail around countries neither of you could pronounce, kiss under hot rain and see the buildings you read about in the newspapers, but maybe not.

You would have to make sacrifices. That’s what love is, you told yourself, tying your hair up with an expensive silk hairband that Tommy had bought, that wasn’t really you. You loved him, adored him,  you were so head over heels with him that the thought of leaving made you feel nauseous. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he asked you to. This was the man you wanted to marry, the only man you could picture yourself having a life with, and you knew that he felt exactly the same. That’s what love is, you remind yourself, staring at the unfamiliar painted face in the mirror, it’s about compromise, right?

When Arthur bought the Garrison, despite Tommy’s apprehension, you took a job as his accountant and secretary, helping him keep business afloat when all he wanted was to drink his money. You fell into a comfortable routine, waking up early and working late, taking extra time on Sundays to learn how to bake, going a little further into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market, reading books that had sat on their shelf for years. You wore a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts, but deep down you were so mind numbingly bored, it felt like you had slipped on somebody else's skin, trapped in your own ivory tower. It all became worth it though, when Tommy would come home, his skin igniting against yours, lips savouring the taste of your flesh, the only good thing in both of your days. His hips pressed against yours, scratching your nails into his back and feeling him melt under you, enthralled by you, both of you so totally in love that it radiated around the small room, you knew why you did it. Curled under his arm he would smile and laugh, tell you snippets of his day, talk about the future, and hearing his words and charming accent, the way they fell from his lips like wisps of gold, running his hands through your hair, knowing that it was for a better future for both of you, you accepted your fate.

Ada noticed it first. Of course she did, you two were practically sisters. You knew each other like the back streets of Birmingham, like the lines and curves on your hands. She watched the way your vibrancy dimmed until you could fit in with the grey coloured photographs on Polly’s coffee table, listened as your giggles and playful teasing came to a halt and you spent more and more hours alone, separated from the world. She was heartbroken, torn between shaking you and forcing you to come to your senses, willing your vivacious personality to rise to the surface, and knowing that doing so could ruin the best thing Tommy had going for him, and shatter both of you into a million pieces. The rest of the family saw it as well, your light dulling with every day that passed, but they were unsure how to help without stepping over the protective line Tom drew around you, and with business tougher than ever, there was more than enough on their own plates.

To Tommy you were the most precious thing in his life. Because of you, his youth had been damn near perfect, meeting you had changed his life and he felt that he owed you the world. After the war you had rescued him from the depths of his own murky head, your letters and the image of you in his battered brain and been the only thing keeping him alive on he frontline. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, it had always been you that had pulled him from underwater, your smile putting the air back into his lungs. You made him feel alive, made him feel like in the world of smoke and debris he could breathe, that even on his lowest and darkest days, it was you that kept him going, but even he knew that was a lot for a person to carry.

You were wilting like a flower and he despised it. You had always been so beautiful. You could light up a room just by entering it, could trap men and enamour women with nothing but a look, could take his breath away with just a smile, but you were fading away. He had felt the darkness radiating off him since he returned home from the war, and he had fought tooth and nail to stop it corrupting you, you were too perfect, too pure, to be dragged down with him. He thought that he had kept you untainted, thought that he had done what was best for you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He watched you when you weren’t looking, his eyes always finding your features no matter where you were. Whenever he was nervous or unsure he would find you and his breath would steady and his heartbeat would calm as if you were a shot of rum on his tongue. Almost a year after he had returned home did he start seeing you clearly, he had been so wrapped up in love, in coming home, in becoming the best man he could be, that he had clouded over you like fog on a winter morning. The glisten in your eyes had faded, they had dulled like a worn penny, and your collarbones and ribs began to rise from under your flesh. He tried to think of the last time he had made you laugh, a proper belly laugh like when you were kids, and he came up empty. He knew what the reason was but he refused to accept it, refused to admit that their might be cracks in your perfect relationship, because losing you just might break him.

He tried to be better for you, but he was too far gone. He could feel you slipping away from his fingertips and there was nothing he could do. You had tried to change for him and in the process you had lost part of yourself, and the war had carved a hole between both of you. It was heartbreaking and nauseating, both of you loving each other too much, but ultimately becoming different people. He refused to let you go without a fight, he knew he was being selfish and possessive but he couldn’t just let you leave, you had both been hopelessly in love since the very first day that you had met, you were soulmates. He chain-smoked you like a cigarette, took in your body like it was holy, craved your touch like it was medicinal, you were his everything. You were the reminder of the good days, looking at you and he was transported back to his youth, chasing you under apple trees, kissing until your lips were full and swollen, laughing until your ribs grew rough. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and every evening you clung onto his body, inhaling his sweat and tobacco covered skin, tracing his tattoos like they were bible verses, a million words lingering between you both. You were clinging on for dear life, knuckles glowing white as you refused to release your grip, desperate for everything to work out.

On a Friday, he let you go.

Curled up beside him, you felt otherworldly. He allowed himself moments of weakness around you, to everyone else he was the devil incarnate, but he softened whenever he touched you. He wanted these final moments to last forever, his girl wrapped up in his arms, the only bright light in his world of darkness. Tears were welling in his eyes, something so unfamiliar to him that he had to catch his breath, clear his throat before he could speak.

“I’ve not been good to you.”

Your head rose, resting on his strong chest as you peered at him, noticing how he refused to look at you.

“If I was a better man, a stronger man, I would have let you go sooner.”

“Tommy…”

“I’ve been selfish, little one. Too fucking selfish, and I see that now.”

You sat up further, already knowing his next words, your heart racing like one of his prize mares in your chest. You cling onto him, knuckles tensed as you feel him under you, willing him to look at you, but he can’t. He knows that if he sees your beautiful face, watches the tears slip down your cheeks and your lip quiver, he’ll crumble. That’ll be it, he’ll have broken, sweep you under him and try to piece you back together, but he knows this time he can’t.

You trace your fingertips over the hairs on his chest, the rhythmic motion helping to calm your rapid breathing. You feel like you’re in the firing line, on your knees, head bowed, just waiting for the final shot to blow your skull into pieces.

“I’ve never loved somebody the way I’ve loved you.” He coughs, rubbing his nose, and you’re not sure if its because it’s the tobacco in his lungs or the lump in his throat. “And know I’m realising that, what I’ve put you through, was wrong.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Tom, none of it. I’d do it all again if I could. In a heartbeat.” He knows you’re telling the truth, the honestly in your tone making his heart swell, but it doesn't make it any easier. He knows what he has to do, he has to be the bigger man, no matter how much it’ll wreck him, he has to do the best thing for you.

“I know you would, but that’s not the life you deserve.”

Silence falls across the room. Both of you bathed in smoke and ash and moonlight, memories flutter around you like torn photographs, drifting down onto the wood floor like snowflakes. The air is thick with tears that you both refuse to let slip, you had both known this time was coming since long before either had you had spoken the words. This was love. It tore you and ripped you in half, and neither of you had gone down without a fight. You loved one another so much that it had consumed you, swallowed you both whole and you wouldn’t change a thing. Despite the pain, it had been the best years of your life.

“I don’t think I know how to exist without you.” You confess, your lover such a part of you that it feels like you’re going to lose a limb, a terrible hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“You will. You know I wouldn’t let you go if it wasn’t safe for you, you know I wouldn’t…I’ve got some money for you, to find a place to stay, somewhere far away from here, OK?”

“I’m not taking your money, Tom.”

“Yes you are.You’re not leaving unless I know you’ll be alright, eh?”

“No I’m not T, seriously -”

“Always so bloody stubborn!” He laughed, pinching your outer thigh playfully, a gesture so innocent and intimate and awfully familiar that it makes you both deflate with sadness.

You refuse to let the silence engulf you. Refuse to accept that this might be the last time either of you smell one another’s skin, the last time you can take comfort in one another, refuse to accept that forever might not mean what you thought. Refuse to accept that saying goodbye felt like the right thing.

“Tom. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll rule the world one day. But promise me something, promise me you won’t lose yourself? Promise me that you won’t do anything that you can’t come back from. For me?”

He nods, burying his face in your hair.

His exasperated laugh sounds like sparkling champagne, “I almost drove myself mad thinking of what I was gonna say to you, but I couldn’t find the right words.  After everything we’ve been through though, we don’t need words do we, little one? I love you and you love me, that’s more than enough. No matter what happens, it’ll be us forever. Even if we’re apart. We don’t need words to say what we mean.”

Your lips met his, making him come alive just as you had done under the canal all those years ago.

“So let’s not talk.”

Tommy wished forever that he could burn the image of that final night behind his eyelids, see you whenever he closed his eyes. He dreamt that he tatted you on his skin, could trace your figure whenever things got too rough, that you would pull him back to shore. That final night felt like a dream, you both cried, sank into one another’s bodies, muffled one another tears with open mouthed kisses. Your beautiful gangster falling apart only for you, his darling angel clinging to just him in those final hours. Your bodies had intertwined for the last time, exhilarated with lust but exhausted from sadness, communicating through touches and kisses.

Tommy slept the best he had done for years. No dreams of shovels, no thoughts of the business racing through his skull. Instead he let himself get utterly wrapped up by you,falling into a satisfied sleep with his girl next to him. Woozy and delirious, when he first opened his eyes he forgot about everything that had happened, felt that unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside him and thought that he’d find you nestled in an armchair drinking sweet tea, but nausea filled the pit of his stomach like acid when memories came flooding back.

It wasn’t until he saw the envelope he had filled with notes and coins for you, unopened on the desk, and your treasured photograph of the two of you from that very first beach visit, left on top, painted with a cherry red lipstick print and the words, “Goodbye, Tom. I love you.” Did he lose it. He flung the peaked cap off its hanger, let out an animalistic roar and shattered his fist through the wall, before falling to his knees and burying his head into his hands.

———————————————————————————————-

He had heard that you came back. Similar to a alley cat, you snuck in and out of the city under the cover of moonlight, only being seen by those you wanted. He had heard that when Ada fell pregnant, and she stayed locked away in Freddie’s basement flat, you were the only person she let in. Sometimes he would loiter on those back streets after work, hoping and dreaming for a glimpse of you, something to satisfy his hungry mind, but he never got so lucky. You kept in contact with the others, sending them letters and postcards, but they kept them hidden from him, and he pretended  he didn't fantasise about ripping them open and devouring your words. Polly and Ada would speak of you sometimes, but would fall silent whenever he was nearby, and he would pretend he was unbothered, despite the want of knowing where you were clawing him inside out.

He threw himself into work harder than he had ever done before. He could feel himself slipping away, and without you to ground him he felt the darkness start to consume him, but he would never blame you, you were too good, and he would have ruined you. He dreamt of you every night, thought of you in every spare moment, so it was easier to be doused in another’s blood or making a dangerous deal than to be left alone to his own devices. Wondering if you had met someone new made him feel violently ill, it was like torture thinking of another man making you happy, another man touching you, making you smile. Almost every night he paid a visit to a whore house, fucking somebody else and dreaming it was you, he knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t stop. You lingered in his brain constantly like the smoke that left his sullen lips.

He became used the the thought of being alone. Enamoured with the idea of being on top; controlling and dominating the streets was all he cared about. You were always at the back of his mind, wherever he looked he saw you, thought of you, it drove him crazy, but then again you always had. He was in desperate need for a distraction, some form of happiness to grasp after you had left, he knew he had to move on, but he was uncertain he would ever find it again. He had to get used to the nauseating fact that you were gone, and then, like a ball of sunshine, the new blonde barmaid smiled at him and he felt his world lighten.

But now you were back.

————————————————————

He can’t remember walking towards you.

His feet and brain were disconnected, he had become an entirely different person than the calm, collected business man he usually was, his composure crumbling the moment he saw you. The second he saw a falter in your conversation, when you excused yourself from the enamoured, sleazy men around you, practically drooling as you stood before them, did he know he had to say something to you or risk regretting it for the rest of his life.

He apologised quickly to Grace, half heartedly and rushed, something he knew he’d have to explain later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He also didn’t miss the curl of Polly’s lip at the sight of her nephew infatuated with you, reminding her of the teenager she missed dearly.

Every move of his was calculated. From business to his personal life, he refused to let himself be ruled the same as the common man, everything he did was deliberate and precise, but even he’ll admit he was tongue tied as he pushed past the rest of the people in the ballroom, eager to reach his target.

You had stepped outside. Desperate for the relief of cool air against your flesh, the comfort of the stars above you and the solace of a must needed cigarette between your lips. Tommy couldn’t help the smile on his face, 5 years of separation pouring out of him as he exhaled at the sight of you, so close that he could reach out and graze your skin with his fingers. It was intoxicating, you were intoxicating, and he hated himself for still being enchanted with a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

Movement behind you made you turn your head, dazed and hazy from the alcohol and the smoke filling your lungs, but you felt stone cold sober as your muddled mind placed the man before you. Air left your body like a pinched ballon, your chest expanding with surprise.

He’ll admit seeing you so flustered at the sight of him did wonders for his ego. Igniting the flame inside of his stomach that proved that you still thought of him, still cared for him. But just as quickly as you lost your cool, you regained it instantly, straightening up and letting a soft smile grace your features, and he felt himself melt.

You looked so familiar, yet different.

You were more tanned, freckles across the bridge of your nose, constellations he could remember tracing when he was a teen. Your hair was longer, tousled into a style he had never seen on you, but it looked right.

He could tell your dress was expensive, embroidered and embezzled with lace and crystals, a finely crafted necklace sliding off of your collar bone, and thoughts of gifts from admiring suitors sent him into a tailspin. He loathed himself for it, but his eyes narrowed to your left ring finger, audibly exhaling when it came up empty, and he didn’t know if he should feel relieved or ashamed.

A moment of silence and shared memories flashed between you quicker than the spark of a match.   A warm familiar feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach, so gut wrenchingly nostalgic you feel as if you have been winded. Both of your senses are heightened, you can smell him, imagine the feel of his hair, despite it being almost shaved to his scalp, imagine the tattoos under his expensive suit, can practically recall your nails tracing them in a sleep induced haze. You had forgotten just how he made you feel, and the recognition makes you both halt.

He breaks the silence first; as if to prove to you his new status. He was no longer as boyish, as playful, he controlled the room, owned it, and the devil sitting on his shoulder wondered if that extended to you.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello, Tommy.”

He almost falls to pieces at the sound of his name on your sugar sweet lips, reminding him of the times before the war, the times he had locked away in his mind. You’ve turned a strong man weak, rendered him speechless and you grab the control as it slips from his fingertips.

“It’s been a long time, Tom.”

“That it has.”

“You’ve been away for quite some time.” He inhales sharply, determined to clasp the reins once again, determined to dismantle you and get a reaction, “Didn’t even see you at Freddie’s funeral, would have been nice of you to show up.”

The funeral was years ago but he still hates the fact that he hadn’t seen you that day, he was burying one of his best friends and yet you had clawed all over his mind like a virus. He even stayed after everyone had left, saying private words to his friend, and wondering if he could catch a glimpse of you, but that evening he walked home as alone as he came.

You raise a brow in challenge, your eyes glinting with a mix of disbelief and humour. “I stayed with our Ada for over a month when Freddie died, I was by her side through the thick of it. I didn’t come to the funeral out of respect, I didn’t want it to be about anything other than him.”

He swallows your words, nodding slowly. Letting the silence settle around him like smoke before he asks you his next question. “Where did you go?”

A small smile fell on your lips, and you looked up at him in a way that almost made him turn his head as it was too familiar, too painful.

“Anywhere and everywhere. Paris, Rome, Berlin. It was nice to see them rebuild after the war. I stayed in America for a year or so, Boston and New York, and then settled on the beach in California for a bit, it was beautiful.” He listens to every word that escapes your mouth, noting how happy you sound as you describe your travels, so breathless and elated as you reminisce.

“You did always love the sea.” He says gently.

“Yes,” you smile, “I do.”

“What brings you back? To a party like this?” He changes the subject, not wanting to linger in the past, fearful of what that might bring up in him.

“I’ve been in London with a friend, I owe him a favour and ended up here.”

Him. Three words that strike him in the gut and nearly make him double over. He can feel the heat rising in him, he’s married and it’s been years since he’s seen you, but the thought of you with another man makes vomit and red hot anger ascend inside of him.

“He’s just a friend, Tom.” You say slowly, offering him an olive branch, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself but you want to, because it’s just as hard for you. “He owns a distillery but he doesn’t do well at parties, so I offered to take his place.”

He laughs humourlessly, almost breathless from disbelief at the sheer incredulity of it all. “Solomons? Of fucking course.”

“You know of him?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“You could say that.”

“Well,” You grin, “Looks as if we have something in common.”

The knowledge that you were mere miles away, laughing with Solomon’s, head thrown back as you made time for a man that wasn’t him, drove the nail further into Tommy’s own coffin.

“So your dress? Your jewels? Presents from him?” It comes out harsher than he intended but he doesn’t care, the sight of you has made him as inebriated as a dozen shots of whisky on an empty stomach and he allows it to distort his words.

“I make my own money, Tommy.” You respond.

He steps closer, the toe of his expensive leather shoe inching towards you like a high tide.

“Do you ever think about me?” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and he sees emotion pool in your eyes, and he watches a breath escape your lips.

“Everyday.”

He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly feeling 15 again, if anyone saw him now they would be in utter  disbelief that he was the same ruthless gangster they knew. He is within reach now, you could extend your fingers and feel him under you like you had once done a million times before, you wonder just how different his lush suit would feel compared to the ones he had run around in when he was a teen. His eyes scour your face, drinking you in like water, comparing your face to the last time he had seen you. Neither of you let your eyes meet one another, darting away like rivals, and yours slip over his head back into the crowd.

“Is that your wife?”

His head snaps up as if he has been doused in ice water, and he follows your gaze across the floor. He sees Grace, surrounded by other women, but her eyes trained on the two of you. He knows later he’ll have a conversation he isn’t ready for, knows he’ll have to explain feelings he’s kept hidden for years, but he turns on his heel, away from his wife and towards you.

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not you.”

Silence. He loathes himself for his words but hates himself even more that he doesn’t regret them.

“Good. You deserve someone better.”

Your eyes finally meet.

His are stoic and unwavering, lacking the spark you loved but still the same ocean eyes you loved to drown in. Yours are filled with emotion, finally exposing yourself after so many years, you soften him to the touch as your eyes meet his, melting him like an icicle.

“I know what you’re thinking, Tom.”

“You always have.”

You smile softly. “I almost came back you know.”

His ears prick up like a bloodhound, his heart bursting under his flesh.

“I heard rumours. People would whisper in the street about a devil, I knew exactly who they meant before they even spoke your name aloud.”

He inhales sharply, not knowing where the story will take him, desperate to regain control but ultimately knowing he’ll always be trailing after you.

“They said you were cunning and brilliant but they also said you were ruthless and cold blooded. They said you were a man on a mission, a man destined to get to the top, they told me they were scared of you. Terrified.”

He steps closer.

“I begged Ada to tell me everything, managed to get her drunk from expensive liquors, you know the ones she loves? The ones that taste like the sweets we would nick after school?”

He nods, the memory distant but familiar. The taste of sugar on your lips, teeth clashing together, giggles that sounded like bells.

“She told me the darkness came back, took you away. She said she was worried for you, she told me she didn’t want to lose her brother, not again. I was going to come back, but I was a coward.” Your voice falters, and he wants nothing more than to cradle you in his arms but he knows he can’t and instead watches the rise and fall of your chest. “I was worried that if I came back you would get worse, I’m not good for you Tom. You know that.”

“You’ve always been good for me.”

“You say that cause you love me,” You tease, “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy.”

He looks at you, older now, taller. He can remember the colour of your hair from the sun, the grass that stained your knees, the way you felt under him. He can remember everything. If you aren’t good for each other, why is he still under your spell?

He can see the way your face contorts, passion evident on your features.“She told me you met a woman, fell in love and got married. I was mad with jealousy at first, like a bloody woman possessed.”

He hates the way your admission makes him feel smug.

“But Ada, she told me she was good for you. She told me how she makes the shovels stop Tom, she makes you a better man. I knew in that moment that you deserved her, and she deserved you. You deserve to be happy, because you’re a good man, Tom.”

You walk towards him, luring him to you like a ship to the shore. He responds immediately, so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, smell the wildflowers that linger on your neck.

“I asked for a sign that night,” you say softly, “a sign that you would be alright.”

“A sign?” He asks almost playfully, just enough teasing in his tone to remind both of you that maybe he isn’t too far gone.

“Yes, a sign, and I got one.”

You tear your eyes from him, down to your diamond encrusted purse in your hands. You open the clasp, and rummage around, slipping out a piece of paper no bigger than your palm. You rest it against your fingertips before holding it out to him, and he slowly takes it, not missing the sparks he feels as your hands touch.

He turns it over, and let’s out a genuine laugh, one that shocks you both.

It’s a newspaper clipping, from one year ago, the black and white print almost seeming harsh under the light of the moon. He traces the picture with the pads of his fingers, smiling more this evening than he can ever remember.

He clears his throat and reads softly, “Tommy Shelby’s mare “Little One” comes first place at national derby.”

Your eyes connect once again, the corners of your mouth upturned. “Little One.” You repeat, “She was my sign.”

He nods, looking down at the picture of the thoroughbred he loved dearly. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, but she’s stubborn as all hell, can be aggressive too.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Oh, that she is.”

You tentatively place one hand onto his chest, as if you are taming a wild animal. He responds to your touch like he’s been craving it his entire life.

“I should go, Tom.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or do, something so rare for a man always one step ahead. All he can think of is to cling to you like a child, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he can.

“I don’t want to lose you, not again.” He admits, his tough facade shattering like glass.

“You let me go once before Tom, you can do it again.”

He holds you against his chest, not bothering to wonder who can see him in such a fragile state. A lifetime of memories flutters between you like pages of a book. Everything unwinding in your mind, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You feel like a teenager again, can smell him beside you, feeling as if you are curled up back in his single bed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to go back to your wife, Tom. Your beautiful, kind wife. The wife who is good for you, and you’re going to go and be happy.”

He thinks of it all, the money and the mansion. The power, the gold and jewels and paintings that lather every wall in his house, he thinks of everything he has, and wonders how any of it compares to you.

You place one palm against the side of his cheek, pulling him into you and you shake your head as if you can read his mind. You plant a soft kiss against his skin, it scorches into him like a branding, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. He exhales shakily, watching as you step away from him, forever beautiful and young and enchanting, slipping back into the teenager he chased around sunflower fields and danced with under the stars. Back then his hands were freckled and tanned, now they are covered in blood.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

“Goodbye, Little One.”

He swears he only turns away for a second, to locate Grace, to try and think of any explanation for his erratic behaviour this evening, to not let you see the emotion flooding over his face like a tsunami, and when he turns back around, maybe to stop you, or maybe to get one final look before you go, you’re already gone.

[doctors-star]

21 ♡

prompts

petrichor - the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of dry weather

Ruth is not wearing her stockings. Their lovely wardrobe lady would be scandalised.

Actually, the stockings wouldn’t be the half of it, since she also isn’t wearing her heavy walking skirt of fine, deep green wool, nor yet her pretty olive calico shirtwaist; no hat, no hair rat, no shoes. She is sprawled in a chair in the shade of the kitchen, trying not to let any part of her sweaty skin touch any other part of her, in just her shift and petticoats and corset, and she is waiting.

For midday to pass, or the heatwave to break, or for her brain to get itself working again. Whatever happens first.

It is miserably hot. There hasn’t been a raincloud in nearly a month and the temperature has only risen; the novelty of an actually summery British summer has now thoroughly worn off, and even those people who can wear shorts and t-shirts rather than corsetry and wool have taken to retreating indoors around noon. Alex and Peter, the poor sods, have been hauling water up to the market garden for a week solidly and still everything is wilting; their animals are cowering in the shade; and after some excitement yesterday that had ended in Ruth and Peter holding his waistcoat spread open in an impromptu sunshade over one of the sound engineers, now prone and somewhat groggy, as various producers and medics had fluttered about and fussed over heatstroke, the entire crew has packed up and gone home until the temperature will concede to being reasonable. In all honesty, she ought to be sheltering away somewhere too, as should Peter and Alex; so, naturally, they’re off up the market garden in sunhats and SPF 50, and Ruth had thought she’d have a go at the laundry.

She glowers in the vague direction of the copper. Sod the laundry.

There’s a sort of clattering sound in the yard which she has come to associate with the boys returning from some task all tired and clumsy, and lo, the bright rectangle of the doorway is dimmed: Peter places a bucket carefully on the floor by the door and then crumples quite slowly and gently to the floor, lying full-length on the cool flagstones with a sigh of relief.

Alex, eyes adjusting to the sudden comparative darkness after the incredible blinding sunlight of outdoors, trips over Peter’s feet. With some careful flailing, he manages to grab the back of a chair and hold himself upright, and then he frowns down at Peter. “Now, why didn’t I think of that,” he says conversationally.

Peter closes his eyes and smiles rather smugly at the floor; Ruth spares him a fond look, but then goes back to looking up at Alex with mounting concern. “Oh, you do look red, love,” she chides gently, reaching up to his rather tomato-tone face. Obligingly, he leans down so that she can press the backs of her fingers to his forehead - even to her warm hands, his skin feels very hot and unhappy. “You should have come in sooner.”

“It’s hot outside,” Alex mumbles in his own defence - but rather weakly, like he knows that this line of argument is not going to get him terribly far. “I did wear my hat, and suncream.”

“And we should have come in earlier,” Peter agrees around a mouthful of flagstone. “Sorry - I should’ve-”

“You’re not my mum, Peter, you don’t get to send me indoors and fuss over me,” Alex says, rather irritably; Peter, like a champion, refuses to rise to it and instead pouts up at him.

“Not even a little bit? Can’t I fuss just a little bit, because I love you so much?”

Alex can’t seem to help a smile. He looks a little sorry for his heat-induced crossness, and conveys this by nudging Peter’s leg with his foot and feigning a frown. “Not even at all,” he says sternly. “You horrible, tanned man.”

Ruth snorts an inelegant laugh and Peter beams at them. Rather than fry, as Alex seems inclined to - a fate which Ruth is working furiously to avoid - Peter has gone a rather pretty brown colour. Nicely suntanned, and not horribly burned. It’s alright for some. Ruth reaches out her bare foot and prods his shoulder with a toe. “It’s all grime, really.”

“Hah!” Peter reaches out and wraps one large, sweaty palm around her ankle. “Jealous. Look,” he says, lifting her foot slightly so that Alex can see the contrast - his hand against her shin, which hasn’t seen sunlight in at least a year. “Look at this idle, workless woman. See how I labour in the fields to maintain her white and shapely ankles.”

Ruth kicks free, trying and failing not to grin at him. “What do I do, then?” Alex says, slumping in his chair and pushing his damp, sticky hair back from his forehead.

“Absolutely nothing, you’re purely ornamental,” Peter says, stretching languidly and propping his chin up on one hand to smile at them.

Alex rolls his eyes and turns bodily to Ruth, ignoring Peter. “Idle and workless, are you? I thought you were laundering today.”

Ruth makes a face of such furious displeasure that both Alex and Peter both splutter in surprised laughter. “I did not,” Ruth says with an expression of pinched displeasure, “have much success.”

“Why, is the copper playing up?” Alex says with a frown. Ruth elects not to go into just how a copper could play up, large saucepan as it essentially is, and instead just scrapes some loose hair off the back of her sticky, sweaty neck with a wince.

“I almost wish it was,” she confesses. “Nearly steamed myself to death.” Alex and Peter are already frowning in concern and sympathy, and so she decides not to tell them about the rather close call: the unbearable heat and walls of steam coalescing into spotting vision, light-headedness, lungs full of thick, unbreathable moisture; sitting down rather quickly; and then the undisclosed length of time spent lying on the floor wondering if it were possible to drown in steam. They would only fret.

“Are you alright?” Peter says, reaching out and tapping her instep in deference both to his instinct to touch and comfort, and to her instinct to kick anything that makes her any warmer than she already is.

“I’m sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the day in my underclothes,” she tells him.

Peter grins. “I’m not sure what answer that is.”

“Honestly, me neither,” she says, smiling when he laughs. “Let’s go with fine.”

Alex pops his waistcoat buttons open and shrugs it over his shoulders and onto the back of the chair. As he does, a breeze skitters abruptly through the door and makes a quick circuit of the room, rustling a newspaper and tugging at Ruth’s skirts like an errant child; just as abruptly, the light outside dims and the sky turns a well-lit grey. The air turns heavy and expectant, tasting of lightning on the tongue, and there is an almost tangible pause as if all the world were taking a breath.

“This always happens to me,” Alex says without much irritation as he frowns at the world without. “I start dressing for the weather, and it changes straight away.”

Peter tilts his head. “Take your shirt off,” he suggests mildly, “and it might even rain.”

Obligingly, Alex hauls his shirt over his head and then, less obligingly, balls it up and lobs it at Peter’s head. Ruth huffs in amusement and pushes herself up out of the chair, stepping carefully over Peter to stand in the doorway and watch the weather. Alex follows and sticks an arm out, bare skin turned up to the gunmetal heavens; there is a curious feeling of hesitancy, as if the clouds have come over all shy and embarrassed of a sudden, and were only willing to offer a few sparse raindrops; and then it starts raining. Properly. Finally.

Ruth smiles gently and turns to place a palm on Alex’s bare sternum. “Weather mage par excellence,” she declares.

Alex smiles back and draws his arm back to fold his fingers around hers and hold them to his sweat-sticky skin; Ruth pulls them both out into the yard to stand under the clouds and let the rain wash them clean.

It is glorious. Her instinct is to run for shelter and screw her face up under the sudden onslaught of water, but she overrides it to tip her head back, eyes closed, and relax. It is such a relief; it is cool, and the air is clear of cloying heat, and it is simply so pleasant to be not hot for a change. The clothes she is wearing are too thin, really, and soak quickly, and her feet are bare and picking up bits of dust and dirt from the hard, dry yard, and Ruth feels present in a way which she hasn’t, this past week. She has been hiding indoors from the heat and pulling away from heavy clothes and blankets and the arms of her lovers to avoid claustrophobic sweating, but this too has made her oddly separate. But now - now - she can smell the earth and the rain in a delicious swirl of summer countryside, and she can feel water beating insistently against her skin, and there are stones digging into her feet and she reckons she could walk miles like this, just like the cavemen used to do, as if she were some kind of neolithic hunter with an almost supernatural knowledge of the natural world. The countryside smells so beautiful, and it is, in its way, hers.

She opens her eyes. Alex is watching her, waiting patiently, and when her eyes meet his he squeezes her hand. “Hi,” she says softly with a tiny embarrassed smile.

He beams at her warmly. “Hello.” It is so pleasant to be so quietly understood.

Peter has his head tipped back too, arms spread wide to encompass all the rain he can reach, and Ruth has to grin. “How are you, Mr Darcy?” she teases gently, nodding at his water-soaked white shirt.

“What a glorious feeling,” Peter says very seriously, shuffling forward without opening his eyes to wrap them both in wet cotton. “I’m happy again.”

Alex tilts his head, idly freeing one arm to sling around Peter’s shoulders - so naturally, it appears to take no thought at all. “Singing in the Rain?” he checks.

“Mm,” Peter agrees, pushing sodden curls out of his eyes and opening them to grin at Alex and Ruth. “But also, you know, generally.”

Ruth smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. Her toes dig slightly into the dirt - fast becoming mud - and she inhales the smell of rain-soaked dust, allows it to settle in her lungs, and is generally rather happy herself.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 60

While I would have LOVED to rush in and nabbed Ryan to bring him home with us, that wasn’t exactly doable.  For one, Billy wasn’t quite ready for that just yet.  Not after a full night of my back being turned to him, my anger radiating like waves at him, and me being shut down from our usual evening activities - no, we had to make up first and foremost. 

Billy Butcher had needed intimacy - at least my kisses to keep him focused and free from rushing headlong into attack mode when we learned that Stormfront was most definitely NOT the mysterious headpopper.  He’d shown me, after we both spent time learning how to coexist and work together - building tension that no doubt could be seen by the densest of the dense - that he wanted me even when he didn’t need to use me JUST as a distraction.  

I’d seen how he could be when he felt territorial.  The night of that damn date with the LAST man who would ever get to BUY a date with me would burn bright in my memory banks for a very long time.  And I knew how I could forget dinner just to taste HIM.  

But this?  Finding our way back to one another after we truly had a battle of wills, after I shut him out and turned my back on him?  This was an intimacy that both of us came into knowing that we had to prove to the other that we were all in and that we BOTH had to show that we knew it meant a give and take.  

We went inside, taking the chance that Terror’s snores wouldn’t throw us off our game TOO badly, but in all honesty we wanted to be in our bed - inside our house.  

Slower, softer, calmer - we took our time - taking one another’s clothing off, appreciating every inch of skin that was bared.  Reminding one another of every reason that we loved each other - through words and actions.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Billy look so soft - not bodily, that was just as BILLY as always, but his eyes and his touch.  The way he traced my curves, the way he said my name - soft, quiet, almost as if he was praying and I could only reciprocate.  

By the time we came together, truly joined and fully bare, I felt like we had finally truly seen EVERYTHING - that nothing was left to expose - that William “Billy” Butcher and Veronica “Ronnie” Taylor knew one another better than they ever had.  And maybe now we could finally move past any hiccups and insecurities - maybe now, our eyes locked on one another’s - we TRULY believed in one another.  

Mornings got back to our normal routine, so did our workdays.  We returned to the meetings with supes - because as MM and the others found those listed in our files, we had to check in - either in person or via virtual meetings.  Terror was doing well with my parents, we were luckily dodging the need for that damn salve from the vet - and we’d talked Mom out of buying MORE additions for his playroom.  

Sunday rolled around and I felt sick.  Not only because we hadn’t come to a decision, not a final one anyway, about Ryan, but actually physically ill.  FUCK.  I could hardly roll out of bed, much less get up and dressed to go with Billy for the visit.  

“Ya can’t go,” Billy was staring down at me with enough concern to make me want to die.  “Ronnie ya look like death,” glaring up at him he chuckled.  “Gorgeous death, but death nonetheless.”  

I groaned.  “I have to go,” moving hurt, from the soles of my feet to the tips of my hair, it felt like I was on fire.  “I’m not steaming, am I?”  

He shook his head, but looked MORE concerned.  “No, why?”  

“Because I FEEL like I should be,” another groan and I pushed my face into my pillow.  “Everything hurts.”  It was muffled, but I figured he could make it out.  

“I can stay home,” ugh, no.  “Ronnie, ya can’t stay alone.”  

Peeking out, I rolled my eyes.  “I’ll live,” sighing, I had to force him to go.  “Ryan’s expecting us - YOU, Billy.”  He wanted to argue, I knew it.  “GO, please?”  

“Let me call someone,” I considered it, who - “Yer mum?”  

“They’ve got that thing -” his turn to groan.  “Just go, I’ll be fine.”  

“Ya can’t get outta bed,” he shook his head and grabbed his phone.  “Give me a minute.”  

Frenchie and Kimiko were going to keep me comfortable - MM and his wife were out of town with their little girl and Hughie and Annie were off doing whatever Hughie and Annie ran off and did.  All I planned on doing was sleep, possibly lay and contemplate how horrible I felt when I couldn’t sleep - so I could have given a shit who was keeping me comfortable or company.  

Billy kissed my forehead before he left and PROMISED me he’d keep his cool, visit with Ryan and NOT make waves.  Honestly, I just wanted quiet and peace.  He could have said he was planning on kidnapping Ryan, beating the shit out of the male half of his guard, knocking Miss Whatsherface out, and nuking the neighborhood and I would have agreed.  

Frenchie and Kimiko kept Terror occupied downstairs, after Frenchie assured me he’d check in to see if I needed anything during the day - and then blissful quiet.  

The flames of hell have to be cooler than the fever I was feeling.  And pain, dear GOD the aches, body and otherwise, because I still didn’t know how my HAIR could hurt.  Exhaustion took over and I passed out - thankful for the quiet, but wishing like fuck that I could also have some relief from the heat and pain.

Have you ever gone to sleep - whether sick or not - and had a dream that made you go “wait a fucking minute” because it made you question what you were going through in reality?  If you haven’t, congratulations, that kind of dream is both irritating and fucking creepy as hell.  When I drifted off, achy and feeling like someone had doused me in lighter fluid then flicked a BIC, I had nothing on my mind other than “sleep, glorious, sleep”.  My brain, however, had different fucking plans.  

Out cold, without the coolness sadly, all the conversations I’d had with ALL the labrats, doctors, and other weirdos that I’d come across during my time after Homelander had decided to play “let’s shoot Ronnie up with my little swimmers AND some funky ass self destruct variant”.  Warnings about future pregnancies, birth control options, and all the ways I nearly died weaved into the dream that flickered through my fevered brain.  

Every birth control method has a percentage of failure - we ALL know this, it’s not like it’s hidden.  When Homelander, the caped asshole, chose to play GOD with my body, he fucked up my genetic makeup - while eventually Grace’s group had gotten me “fixed” there were still issues to worry about.  Issues that were reason enough to fear a future pregnancy - hence the birth control option topic.  I’d used the shot method for as long as I could.  Who wouldn’t?  It was the less mess less fuss method, plus, if you were lucky (I was), it meant you were menses free until you went OFF it.  

We had sat down, me and the labrats, and worked out the odds.  The shot seemed to be logical - condoms were a given too, but again, those were easily forgotten or one tiny hole AND - One by one we shot down the other options, until the shot was what was left.  But what if - what if we were WRONG?  

I woke up when the bed dipped, my eyes were burning and I still ached, but the fire had died down a touch.  

“Hey,” Billy was back, his hand - always hotter than me felt cool on my forehead. “You still feel hot.” 

“I know I’m hot,” he chuckled.  “How was Ryan?”  

“Still needy,” he laid down beside me and pulled me close.  “Are you sure -”

Nodding, I snuggled into him.  “About Ryan?”  His lips brushed my forehead.  “Yeah.”  

“Then we get ya better and we start plannin’,” I sighed, now I just had to -

“There’s -” clearing my throat, dry from sleep and lack of hydration, I smiled when he reached out and a bottle of water appeared in his hand.  Helping me up, he held it while I drank.  “Thank you,” licking a drop from my lip, I sighed.  “I need a pregnancy test.”

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Road Trip - Epilogue

pairings: logicality (platonic or romantic, depending on how you view it) words: 3990 chapter warnings:  talks about upcoming death, vomiting (brief & non descriptive), passing out, swearing, alcohol consumption chapter summary: patton finds out and then, finds logan. (or, the beginning of the end.)

a/n - this is the first chapter of my big bang fic! do not let the title fool you, heh. i hope you enjoy <3

[read on ao3]

[masterlist]

*credit to art in this chapter goes to @lemonyellowlogic​​ ✨*

---

Patton Morgan closed the door behind him  and took one long, deep breath. 

That wasn’t so bad , he thought as he pushed up his glasses. 

And he was pretty much right. It wasn’t that bad, especially given what he’s heard from all his friends about this place. He would always listen to their stories the day after their 21st birthdays with a racing heart, watching as they broke down in either happy tears or devastated ones. In both cases, they made it seem like their Doctors made a whole, cruel show of it.

But all they did was sit him down, looked through his files, and told him. 

And he was going to have to know eventually. 

Everyone has to know eventually. 

Patton gritted his teeth as if trying to force a smile. It wasn’t bad. None of this is bad.

He walked down the hallway slowly. He walked past doors that were cracked slightly open, with quiet sobs and angry murmurs floating out of them. He heard a door open next to him and before he knew it, two people bolted past him. They knocked into Patton’s shoulders trying to chase each other. 

Lots of crying. Patton frowned, almost resentfully; pretty typical for this place.

He stared ahead, watching as the two people made it down the hall and turned the corner. He assumed they left the Clinic judging by the loud, hollow slam of the front door. 

He then looked to the door that had opened and caught a glimpse of a man in a white coat, sitting still at his desk and looking at papers on a clipboard. 

The man suddenly stood up, taking off his coat and grabbing a brown, leather messenger bag as he walked towards the door. Startled, Patton took a step forward, moving out of sight and staring straight ahead as if he were a deer trapped in headlights.

As he heard the man walk out of the room and leave behind him, he felt as if there was a ringing in his ear; which was when he realized that he couldn’t quite feel his hands. 

Patton looked down at them, almost quizzically. 

They were clenched up, his nails digging into his palms. He held them up in front of him and concentrated–  really concentrated– on them. 

They didn’t even feel like they were his. 

And then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"Mr. Morgan?” Patton blinked and turned around to see his Doctor standing behind him. He cleared his throat. 

“Um– yes. Hi.” His voice sounded so distant. Even his own heartbeat sounded closer; in fact, it was all he could really hear.

The Doctor’s sympathetic smile made his blood run cold.

“You dropped your wallet in my office.” Patton looked down to see that yes, she was offering him his wallet. He didn’t even realize its absence in his pocket. 

“Oh.” He took it slowly, not looking at her. (Everything suddenly felt so slow; so sluggish.) “Er, thank you.” 

“Of course.” Her smile didn’t seem as sympathetic anymore; it just felt forced, like she was playing some character.

“You know, Mr. Morgan, I understand that the news you received was...well, not ideal.”

Patton didn’t even feel like he had the energy to stop her from talking. Instead, he just numbly nodded as she began to lead him down the hall. Each step felt like he was staggering forward into a hot, dry desert.

“You know,” she continued, “there are a lot of people going through the exact same experience as you.” 

I’m sure there is, Doctor, Patton thought resentfully. That’s such good news.

He was squeezing his wallet now. He tried his best to stuff it and his shaky, shaky hands back in his pocket.

“I can recommend a multitude of resources that can help you in this difficult time. There’s a group meeting next Sunday, they accept new members every month. Not to mention the possibility of becoming a Doctor, giving you the gift of more–”

“That’s quite alright,” Patton said, reaching the end of the hall. He didn’t have the heart to remind her that he didn’t even have until Sunday. And he didn’t have the energy to scream at her for the last suggestion. 

A gift. He clenched his jaw. He didn’t need to make new time for himself. He just wanted to convince them that there had to be some time– any time – left in the world for him.

The Doctor kept looking at him as if looking at a lost puppy. That was when Patton suddenly became too aware that he was just standing there, speaking loudly and staring into space, in front of an entire waiting room of people who all probably had it worse.

And they were all staring at him.

He then looked at the Doctor. Her hair was tied back in a neat, brown ponytail; and she wore a small button on her white coat that said “Ask me about the Procedure!”; as if smugly dangling the idea in front of him.

She looked too perfect ; a mere shell of a human, frozen in time,

and so full of life.

Then, a bitter thought: You’re never going to go through this.

“Have a good day, Doctor,” he gritted out, the air growing thin enough that it escaped through his teeth. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge her when she morbidly said “Take care” as he walked away. Part of him wanted to, though — make a scene, maybe throw a chair at her. 

I can do things like that now , he thought, because what does it matter, anyway?

And, as if a switch flickered in his brain, he stumbled out of the clinic and towards the nearest trash can he could see to throw up.

He felt himself sweat and shake, holding onto its cold, metal edge as if it was the last real thing he was ever going to hold. 

When he felt like he was done, he made his way towards the parking lot, hoping to get to the bus station on the other side without being sick again. 

But it was no use. His vision was suddenly blurry, and he felt as if the pavement was slowly being flipped upside down. 

Patton went to the car closest to him, and leaned against it, doubling over and holding onto his stomach. He could feel himself breathing loudly, as if there wasn’t any air in the world left for him and–

 --- 

Patton woke up in the passenger seat of a car he didn’t own. 

His first instinct was to scream, but he felt a cold hand on his shoulder and his entire body froze. He could feel his breathing start to pick up again. 

“You’re awake,” a new voice floated into his ears, which were still receiving any and all noise as faded murmurs. 

“I imagine that the situation you find yourself in is rather daunting and confusing,” the voice continued, “but I would ask that you try your best to remain calm.”

Patton blinked, trying to clear the lines from his vision. He pushed his glasses up and turned his head to see a man wearing glasses as well; though his were darker, more square than his light brown ones. His hair was dark brown and slick back, other than the strands that fell across the side of his face. He wore a black polo shirt, with a navy blue tie rested on top of it.

“Who…” He coughed, his own voice sounding so foreign in his mouth. The man frowned, fishing through his bag before pulling out a water bottle. He offered it up to him. 

“I will answer your questions as you drink.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest — “I have water,” he would say, or “I’m allergic” (Something stupid like that) — but the man just shook his head. 

“It is important to stay hydrated after all; especially after passing out.” 

A beat of silence. Patton didn’t even have the energy to be shocked because yeah, that would make a lot of sense. 

Instead, he just nodded and took the bottle. He nervously fumbled with the cap as the man began to talk. 

“My name is Logan.” He cleared his throat. “Logan Fray. You passed out in front of my car and I didn’t want to keep you outside in the cold so I brought you into my car.”

“Kind of an odd choice of action,” Patton mumbled, taking a long sip of water and wincing. What kind of response was that?

Logan, to his surprise, chuckled. 

“I suppose it is,” he hummed. “I apologize if I scared you, I only intended to take care of you.”

Patton sighed, lowering the bottle and looking at Logan meekly.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly. “I...I really appreciate your help,” he chuckled, hoping to lighten things up. “It’s sort of like you’re my hero or something, heh.”

A pause. Logan just nodded. “It’s what I do.” 

Patton took another sip of water and stared straight ahead in the uncomfortable silence. He saw the Clinic sign through Logan’s car window, its bold font proudly flashing down at him in the sky. 

“Did you receive bad news?” he heard Logan suddenly ask.

Patton felt his lip begin to tremble as he closed the water bottle and put it in the cup holder between him and Logan. He kept looking at the sign, nervous tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. 

He heard Logan sigh. 

“My...my deepest condolences.” He sounded so sincere ; which was admittedly a nice change of pace from the cold demeanour inside the clinic. 

“It’s okay,” he looked up at Logan, giving him a tearful laugh. “You have to know eventually, right?”

Logan looked at him with some kind of indescribable remorse. 

“...I suppose you’re right.” 

They sit in silence again, staring at the damned building. 

“Could I drop you off somewhere?” Logan finally asked. Patton shrugged. It didn’t really matter; he took a bus, after all. Then again, he didn’t really want to sit in a bus full of strangers, surrounded by their full and hopeful lives. He felt awful just thinking about it. And then, he felt more awful thinking about what he’d tell his mum when he got home…

“I don’t know,” Patton murmured. He looked at Logan. “Where are you off to?”

“Um, I was supposed to go to McCather’s,” he replied with a frown. “It’s a bar fairly close-by.”

“Supposed to?” 

“I was going to meet with a friend,” Logan explained, “but I cancelled after finding you.”

Oh. Patton tried not to sputter out a teary, pathetic apology. 

When Patton didn’t say anything, Logan just nodded; moving his stare down to his lap as an awkward silence filled the car. Patton snuck a glance at him and noticed that he was tapping on his thigh, seemingly deep in thought.

“Can I be your friend?” Patton suddenly blurted out. 

The tapping stopped. Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a confused expression. Patton shook his head. 

“Sorry, that was weird, heh.” He cleared his throat, smiling nervously. “Let me start over. My name is Patton. And I know I just threw up then passed out in front of your car, but I...I promise I’m much cooler than that, heh.”

Logan chuckled, still not looking up at him.

“And now that... that is out of the way,” Patton continued, “I’d like to be your friend and go with you. To, um, the bar. If...if that’s okay.”

A pause. Logan finally looked up at Patton, and his gaze felt more intense than its absence. He was looking at Patton as if he was studying him. 

Logan then cleared his throat.

“Usually, I would be entirely against this,” he finally said, but was already putting on his seatbelt and starting the car. 

“Me too,” Patton replied, and leaned his head on the window as the car began to move. He smiled sadly. “Today’s just different, I guess.”

 --- 

Patton had always remembered bars to be bright and loud; with neon lights hanging on red, brick walls and people cheering every two seconds for something. 

But for whatever reason, this one didn’t live up to the expectation. Maybe it was because everyone looked like they all received the same news. 

“A week.” Logan winced as Patton took another sip of his drink. “That’s...awful.”

“It is .” Patton closed his eyes at the bitter taste. He set the glass down and stared at it. “It’s such a stupid system. And– and it’s such a stupid place. The Clinic–” he hiccuped– “is stupid .”

Logan just nodded solemnly, sipping his drink until it was done before raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention. Patton sighed, shaking his head. 

“I really shouldn’t have any more,” he said. 

“That’s fine,” Logan hummed. When the bartender came over, he said, “One more glass for me, then the bill.”

He began to take out his wallet and Patton’s eyes grew wide. 

“You don’t have to–”

“Nonsense. My treat.” A pause. “For a friend.”

Patton broke into a small smile, which soon turned into a long sigh as he slumped over on the bar counter, his chin resting on his folded arms. 

“You know,” Patton sniffled, “I– I didn’t even get to go everywh’re.”

“There are not many people who do, you know. Statistics and all.”

“ Still .” Patton buried his face in his arms, his voice muffled as he continued. “Now I can’t go anywhere .”

“Oh, come now,” Logan scoffed. “You can go anywhere you want. I know it may not seem like it, but you have all the time to do that now. I am sure that there are services for predicaments like this — if you wanted to go somewhere, they would most likely assist you with that.”

“I’m not some Make-A-Wish kid, Logan.”

“And what I’m saying is that you can be.” 

Patton giggled as he made a move to finish his drink. The bartender came back with Logan’s drink and the bill underneath it.

As he fished through his wallet, he asked, “What would you wish for?”

“What?”

“Right now,” Logan repeated, “what would you wish for?”

The question, for some reason, made Patton giggle again. He forgot how giggly he got when he was tipsy. 

But when Logan looked at him with a certain kind of knowing he couldn’t deflect, Patton sighed. He looked down at the counter surface that was so close to his nose before lifting his head. 

“The Grand Canyon,” he declared. Logan chuckled. 

“You want...the Grand Canyon?”

“I– I wanna visit it.” He looked at Logan. “My dad tried to take us– he tried three summers in a row, actually– but...well, it never really panned out the way he wanted it to.”

He smiled, more sure of himself. “I wanna go to the Grand Canyon and– and yell something at it.”

“And what would that be?”

Patton slumped back down on the counter. “No one’ll ever find out.”

Logan rolled his eyes slightly as he counted the bills in his wallet. 

“You know–” Patton hiccuped loudly– “maybe I should’a just done the Procedure.”

In the corner of his eye, he watched as Logan froze. 

“It sounds like such a grand adventure, doesn’t it? Being a Doctor?” The words came out as a sad drawl. If Patton wanted to be bitter, he clearly wasn’t capable of it. “I’d have unlimited time to just rain on everyone’s parades; pitter-patter, pitter– ”

“Patton–”

“And then!” he exclaimed loudly. “Then I could go anywhere I want. I mean, if they’re even allowed to leave the Clinic.” He scoffed. “But hey! It’s the ‘ultimate sacrifice’ for unlimited time, isn’t it?”

Logan said nothing in response, but Patton could see his face scrunch up in thought as he put bills on the counter next to his now-empty glass. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?” he mumbled. Even quieter, he added, “Was I too much?”

Logan shook his head with a small frown.

“I’m...deliberating.” 

“Deliverin’ what?”

Logan gave him a tired laugh then, after a bit of silence, turned to face Patton.

“I want to tell you something,” he said. “Two things.” 

Patton perked up from his seat and stared at him. 

“Number one,” Logan smiled. “I want to take you to the Grand Canyon.” 

Patton became sober in almost a second.

“You...you what?”

“It’s a two day trip,” he continued. “You’ll be back before you know it, then you can spend your last few days with people you care about.”

“ Logan .” Patton laughed, almost nervously. “You’re...you’re not serious about this, are you?” 

“I’m always serious,” Logan said, seriously. He pointed down at his shirt. “Necktie.”

“Logan, you’re drunk.” 

“Evidently, you are as well,” he replied pointedly. 

“Logan!” Another giggle. Patton almost wanted to fall right against him as he swatted at him playfully. “Shut up, shut up, shut up… ”

“We can take my car,” Logan was practically beaming now. “We can exchange numbers and I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We can split gas and the cost of the motel, or we can just sleep in my car– I don’t mind.” 

“ Logan …”

“It just makes sense , Patton.” Logan suddenly took his hands into his own. Patton blushed even more; they were so warm . 

“Say no if you want to,” Logan murmured, staring down at their hands. “But I think– I think we should do it. I know it is illogical to believe in fate of any sorts but fuck. This could be our last leap of faith– our last big... thing .”

Patton frowned. “ Our? ”

A beat of silence. 

“That is, um, the other thing,” Logan finally said, his voice now barely above a whisper. 

“I have a week too.”

 ---

Patton stared at the ceiling of his empty apartment, lying still on his bed. For some reason, he was antsy; as if every second that passed was a wasted one. 

So many seconds then, he couldn’t help but think. There’s been so many seconds…

He sighed, sitting up and squinting at the rising sun that peeked through his window. He rubbed his eyes, reaching over for his glasses on his bedside table. 

As he did, he felt the surface of the table buzz. He frowned, slipping his glasses on and looking at the source of the noise. 

His phone. His heart nearly sunk at the realization and he softly muttered, “Shit.”

That’s why his head was hurting then, he assumed. Parts of the night returned to him. He remembered giggling on a barstool, he grimaced at the memory of him humouring the idea of even considering becoming a Doctor, and his heart nearly stopped as he recalled exchanging numbers with a complete stranger who offered to take him to the Grand flippin’ Canyon…

Patton picked up his phone carefully, as if it would set him on fire upon contact. He turned it on and winced at how bright it was. 

Logan | Today | 7:03 am

Dear Patton, 

I hope you did not find that I was too forward last night. 

“That’s an understatement,” he muttered under his breath.

I am messaging you to apologize for my actions. While I was sincere in my sentiment, it was incredibly foolish to suggest such a concept so persistently and without much regard for how you felt. I do not know why I was so insistent about travelling with someone I barely know, but...well, there is no more time for logic, is there?

Regardless, I hope you are feeling better this morning, and I wish you the best with the time you have left. 

Sincerely, Logan.

He stared at the text for a few more seconds, almost perplexed, before closing his phone and looking out his window once more. 

“The time you have left.”

Patton sat there for a while, watching the sun rise in the slowly-awakening sky. Across from him was another apartment building, its windows filled with the silhouettes of people moving around their homes.

They all moved with purpose ; like they all had somewhere to go. 

Then, Patton looked down at his phone. 

For whatever reason, his mind couldn’t stop going back to the conversation with Logan. He never really stopped to think about the odds of bumping into someone with the same fate as him. It made him wonder how many people were given the same sentence by the Clinic. It was almost ridiculous. 

The whole situation was ridiculous, actually. Patton couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh; a stranger wanted to go to the Grand Canyon with him…

His mind suddenly drifted to the Clinic; to the grey walls and the grey chair the Doctor sat him on as she went through his files. He remembered her cold stare as she lifted her eyes to her computer screen, the green digits almost burning into his head. He thought about the way her eyes never met his as she told him.

A week. 

They only gave him a week.

Without even thinking, he opened his phone and pressed ‘ call’ as soon as he saw Logan’s name. 

“...Hello?”

Patton inhaled sharply upon hearing him. His voice was quiet and muffled, and Patton could still hear the sleep in it.

“Um, hi.” He straightened his back. “It’s...Patton.”

A pause. 

“Oh. Hello, Patton. Did you receive my texts?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” 

“I see.” Patton could feel himself grow stiffer; why was this suddenly so hard? He had drinks with the guy, after all. 

“Was there something wrong?” Logan continued. “Or is there something you need further clarification on?”

“No!” He sounded too loud, all of the sudden. He softly continued, “No, no there wasn’t. I...I appreciate you letting me know.” 

“Of course.”

A beat of silence. Patton shifted slightly in his seat. 

“Um, Logan?” Patton suddenly asked, his voice small. 

“Yes?” Logan replied readily, as if he was just as anxious for noise as Patton was. Patton sighed.

“Last night–” Patton tried to focus on the window and the rising sun; move with purpose – “I...I don’t know if I really understand what you were offering.”

“Oh.” Logan sounded so echoey, so distant. “In all honesty, I do not know either. It is as simple and absurd as the offer of a preposterous road trip with a stranger.”

Patton paused. The way Logan phrased it made the whole situation...well, preposterous, for lack of a better word.

And then, Patton winced. What was he doing? He should be going home . He should be on a train back to his mum’s so he could tell her that he failed to live past 21; and that yeah, he gave it his all, but he didn’t give enough. 

“Patton?” Logan cut through Patton’s thoughts like a knife. “ Are you still there?”

His voice was filled with so much knowing. 

Patton squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tug at the longing in his chest.

I can do this, he thought. 

Then, he decided: I can give something– anything– for once. 

To me.

“Do you really have a week?” he finally asked.

Patton heard some shuffling on the other side, before he heard Logan speak. 

"...I do.” 

Patton’s breath hitched. His hand was shaking and he didn’t even know why. 

“I apologize if that information made you...uncomfortable,” Logan continued slowly. He heard him clear his throat. “My intention was not to guilt trip you into a decision you did not want to make–”

“No, no,” Patton said firmly. He felt himself inhale sharply, as if gathering the words that sat in his throat in one place on his tongue. “Gosh, you know what? You...you’re right.”

“About?”

Patton held his breath as he took a leap of faith.

“There’s really no time for logic now,” Patton finally said with a small smile, exhaling in relief as he did, “is there?”

---

next chapter >

[mydemimonde]

‘muse’ ch. 6 | matt (bbtl)

CHAPTER 6

“I don’t know what came over me” Mia confessed to her friend Javed. Both were at the living room in Mia’s house, drinking some tea. After her outburst that afternoon, she locked herself up in her room, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. But her mother told her Javed was waiting for her outside, and had no choice but to go downstairs and see what was going on.

“Matt looked really hurt and confused. He didn’t say a word after what you told him, he went straight to his house” he stated with a brooding look. “Is everything okay?”

Now Mia felt bad. Really bad. “It’s just… my emotions accumulated and I exploded” he looked at her, curiously. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. When you left the party the other night, I went upstairs and accidentally walked into Matt and Emma making out.” She sighed. “They were about to have sex”

“Oh” he stood there, not knowing what to respond.

“That’s not the worst. Yesterday he took me to the store and made me pick a necklace. I thought it was for me, but it was for…”

“For Emma” he gave her a sorry look, his friend nodded and looked down.

“I know I over reacted, that was shitty” she covered her face with her hands, frustrated.

“Hey, you said it yourself, your emotions piled up” she lifted her head and he continued his statement. “You have the right to feel sad. You know I’ll be here, always”

She smiled and leaned forward, hugging him. “Thank you so much, J”

“Anytime”

“So, are you coming tomorrow for lunch?”

“Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world. Should I bring something?”

“Just your presence” both lads laughed. Javed looked at his watch. “You have to go, right?”

“Yes, mum needs help with the sewing. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” both got on his feet and Mia walked him to the door.

“See you J, send my regards to your mum”

“Will do”

Once she got her pyjamas on, Mia grabbed her book and sat on her bed. She tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate, her mind was elsewhere. Maybe she was too rude to Matt. Poor guy, he was so shocked and hurt when Mia snapped at him. It wasn’t his fault, it was her ability to hide and bury her emotions so deep, and then combusting when she’s overwhelmed.

She put the book down on her desk and walked towards the window. There, she had a view of the street and Matt’s house. Especially the living room and his bedroom. There he was, sitting on his bed with his guitar. She couldn’t hear from the distance, but she was sure it was a beautiful tune. It seemed like he was writing a song, because from time to time he would stop playing to grab a pencil and start writing on a paper.

Mia stared at him for a while, she noticed his sadness. Eventually, he placed his guitar aside, turned off the lights and went to bed. She closed the window and went to sleep as well.

- - - - - - -

There was a knock on the door, and Oliver opened it. “Well, hello Javed!”

“Hello Mr Bradley” he answered with a polite smile and tone.

“I told you to call me Oliver, no matter how much time has passed” he patted his back and closed the door. “You’re part of the family”

“Thanks Oliver”

They all sat on the table and Susie came from the kitchen with lunch. “I hope you enjoy this” she put the dish in the middle of the table and told them to help themselves.

“Is this your special recipe you would cook when we were children?” asked Javed after eating the first bite of it.

“Yes!” she sat on the other corner of the table, facing her husband. She looked at the empty chair next to Javed. “It’s a shame Matt couldn’t come”

Mia chew on her salad and nodded. Nellie frowned. “What happened?” she noticed Mia and Javed exchanging looks. “Did you have a fight?”

“No, not at all” declared Mia quickly, almost with her mouth full. What a professional liar. “He had another… event going on”

Oliver hummed. “I miss that lad. Hope next time he joins”

Mia just nodded in silence, focusing on filling her glass of water.

They talked about many things during lunch, Javed listened with interest at everything the family did over the past six years in Liverpool. Then, he told them about the struggles he and his family had everyday with money, especially now that his older sister’s wedding day was getting closer. The Bradleys just listened to him.

“Well, if you need help with anything just tell us. In fact, there’s a vacancy where I work, you can tell your father” Javed’s face lit up at Oliver’s words. “No experience needed”

“Really? Thank you so much”

Once lunch was finished, Mia and Javed helped Susie to wash the dishes, not without splashing water and playing around. The day was beautiful with the sun shining, they wouldn’t let the last day of holidays go to waste. They took their bikes and went cycling.

“What do you want to do after finishing school, J?”

“I want to go to college, Manchester, but my dad won’t let me. He wants me to stay here in this hole, so I don’t know”

“You will get into college, you’re so smart and resilient, you can do whatever you set your mind to” Mia loved his friend so much and hated when he teared himself down. “I know it’s hard to rebel against your parents, especially against your dad. But don’t let him decide your future”

Her words of encouragement made his eyes soften and his heart fill with joy. “Thanks Mia. And what do you want to do after school?”

She pursed her lips to the side, thinking. “I really want to get out of here. I’m not saying that I don’t like Luton, because I grew up here, but… I want to see the world; you know what I mean?”

“A hundred percent”

“I want to move to another place. I want to go to college and become a writer. Or an artist, I’m not quite sure yet. All I’m sure about is that I long to go to college”

“And we will” they smiled at each other.

They cycled for hours, until the sun started to set. They were parking their bikes when they heard a voice coming from behind them.

“Hi…”

It was Matt. They turned to look at him. “Hello mate” Javed greeted him, Mia started playing with the hem of her shirt, uneased.

“I saw you earlier. Why didn’t you tell me you were having lunch?” his blue eyes were full of hurt.

Javed looked at his friend, confused. “You didn’t tell him?”

Mia blinked. “Uhm…” she glanced at Matt, who was now feeling betrayed. “I was… I was going to tell you. But then you told me today was Emma’s birthday, so…” her voice lowered at the last words.

“I could’ve come anyways, the party wasn’t gonna start until tonight” Matt looked puzzled. Mia’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t form any words. She didn’t know what to say. He lowered his head and bit his lower lip. “Okay, I get it” his shoulders dropped and he backed away.

“Matt, wait” Mia went after him and grabbed his arm, but he let go of her grip.

“What do you want?” his voice cracked with a mix of anger and sadness. “Ever since you got here you’ve been acting strange. I thought we were gonna be friends like the old times, but you’ve been treating me like shit, or trying to avoid me” his eyes began to fill with tears.

Mia, you absolute idiot. Look what you’ve done.

He looked away, avoiding her eyes. “Look, if you don’t wanna be friends anymore, just tell me and I’ll understand. Because this…” he gulped “this is hurting me”

Matt turned around and went inside his house, leaving a speechless Mia behind.

- - - - - - -

Three days passed since the last day of holidays. Three days since Matt’s angry words at Mia. Three days since Mia realized she truly acted like an insensitive bitch towards Matt. He didn’t deserve that treatment; he deserved an explanation. But she had no idea what to say.

Sorry for being an asshole Matt, I was being a bitch because I don’t know how to express myself and control my emotions, I’m jealous of Emma because she’s pretty and hot and she has you wrapped around her finger, and all I can do is watch both of you from a distance and suffer in silence.

She sighed and grabbed her books. Literature lessons ended and now it was time to go home. Miss Clyde was an incredible literature teacher, but made them work very hard. Mia liked that kind of pressure though; it made her focus and make her best effort.

“How was Literature?” asked a panting Javed, who came running from Biology class.

“Very interesting. We discussed about Mary Shelley today. How was Biology?”

“Ugh, disgusting. We dissected a frog today” she pretended to vomit. “I know, Miss Wallis loved it though” he started looking inside his bag, frantically.

“What’s with the rush?” she watched how some of the books threatened to fall from the bag, and helped him look for whatever he was looking.

“Mia, I just had my eyes opened. And ears”

She giggled. “What are you talking about?”

“The boss. Bruce freaking Springsteen” he handed over the cassettes.

“What?” she took them and examined them.

“He’s just… amazing. It’s like he knows what’s going through in my brain, his songs speak to me on another level”

On the way home Javed talked to Mia about his new idol, agreeing on everything he said. Ever since her mother listened to him, she started to enjoy his music.

A few steps close to their homes, they saw Matt coming out of his friend’s car. Mia stared at him.

“I think it’s time to talk to him” Javed spoke and noticed how she was doubting his idea. “You can’t avoid him forever”

“I know. But I literally have no idea what to say”

“Saying ‘I’m sorry’ would be a good start” she slowly nodded. He sighed. “I hate being in the middle”

“I’m sorry for putting you in this position, you don’t deserve this” she patted his back.

“He’s the one who doesn’t deserve this. He deserves an explanation” he always said the right words. He was a great adviser.

“Yes, you’re right”. She saw how Matt laughed at something his friend said, then he said goodbye to them. When he lifted his head and saw Mia and Javed, he quickly looked away and went inside his home.

“Well, I better be going. I need to finish an essay, see you around” he ruffled her hair and she giggled.

She stood there, thinking about what to do. What Javed said was true, Matt deserved an explanation. She sighed and headed towards his house.

Here we go.

- - - - - - -

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