#had to resist the urge to give him a billy and just have a scene with him just swinging the fuckin thing around like a madman

[angronsjewelbeetle]

Okay uh, it turned into a fic??

I don't...have an excuse. My brain just. Uh. I'm sorry?

First kisses: Mortarion exclusive ~♡

Probably out of character so um. Apologies for that.

“Clumsy,” he mutters, but  you can hear the way his tone lifts with amusement. He shakes his head, some of his long hair slipping out from the bun he’s pinned it back in as he lifts you upright with ease, dusting off some of the flour from your arm. He gives you a quick once-over, you playfully wipe some of the flour off on his shirt. He scoffs and reaches over to take the screaming kettle off the stove, “it should be ready soon,” he says, right as the timer chimes insistently. Mortarion passes you the oven mits and you lean down, the familiar smell of chamomile wafting up with the steam as he slips the ceramic lid onto the teapot and you bring the small loaf out of the oven, setting it on the counter. “Normally it’s cooked in the coals of a fire,” he says, “you were saying that earlier. And once it’s cooled down a bit, you eat it with syrup, right?” you reply, watching as the taps the base of the loaf and nods. “Hollow,” you say to the noise, “that’s how you know it’s cooked,” he hums, looking pleased, scarred lips twisted into a little smile as you pour yourself some tea, “where did I put that bread knife?” he asks himself, turning around to survey the kitchen. He spots it by the sink and potters back over to the loaf, slicing off a piece and watching the puff of steam rise from within. He picks up the jug of syrup and pours it over the slice, offering it to you as a bit of the dark golden liquid drips over his hand. You take a bite. The syrup is thick and sweet and the bread is thick and warm, you can feel your cheek getting sticky and hear Mortarion scoff again affectionately as he cuts a thick slice for himself. Both are demolished in mere moments and you find yourself chuckling at him as he licks his hand like a cat. “Let me get that for you,” he says, glancing around before sinking to one knee, wincing as his rear thuds against the cabinet as he slouches down close enough to reach you. He grasps your chin gently and turns your face to the side, leaning in. He licks the sticky syrup off, tongue hot against your cheek. He licks across the corner of your lips and pauses. He pulls away a little, you look at him, breath caught in your throat. “May I kiss you?” He asks, voice quiet. You nod. His lips are soft but dry, and all you can smell is syrup and chamomile.

[pumpk1n-writes]

Tell Me All About The Dark Places You Hide ~ Part Seven

➥ in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in. {ft. Beth in depth murder scene; stalking; satanism (if you squint); very murder; I had been watching criminal minds (very warning); killing people; seriously if this stuff makes you uncomfortable please don’t read}

Part Six | Part Eight || Word Count ~ 810 words

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid @katie-tibo @laurajmcmanus @sparklyphantom @minkyungseokie @misscaller06 @juda-the-simp @severuslovebot @adorlia @billysbae @lilac-fangirl @bloody-delusion-expert @rubyroscoe1 @honeynicoole @ok-boke

You directed both boys to sit on the couch in front of you under the threat of your knife. You laughed in response to Billy’s murderous glare. “Give me any one person to kill to show you how much I want into this thing. You can even be there if you want.”

Stu didn’t hesitate. “Mason Smith.”

Your best friend. Who also happened to have the biggest, fattest crush on you that anyone thought possible.

You shrugged. “He was a trophy anyway. When do you want me to do it?”

Billy was taken aback by how quickly you were able to turn on the ones you claimed to love. Stu, however, was loving it. Maybe he’d finally found someone as messed up in the head as he was. But there was no way to know for sure you weren’t all bark no bite, even though he’d felt your bite firsthand. “Tonight.”

You shrugged again, you were so. . . Chill about this whole thing and it scared him. “As Ghostface or myself?”

“Ghostface, in case you fail and he calls it in I don’t want to get dragged down with you.”

Your eyes flashed angrily before settling on him with a cold stare. “I won’t fail.”

***

Darkness crowded in on you with each passing minute, seeming to leer down on you as you crept through your soon to be ex best friend’s yard. You knew you’d be the prime suspect after this, but you didn’t have any relation to the other victims so you hoped it would be enough to stop them from sniffing up your trail. Your alibi was already figured out. You were helping tutor Billy and Stu for their chemistry classes, and then you fell asleep on Stu’s couch.

Stopping a few feet from his window, crouched in the bushes, you gave Billy the signal to call him. You heard the phone go off in his house, and saw him eagerly jump up to get it, most likely thinking it was you. The tiniest twinge of guilt wriggled its way into your stomach. But it was quickly squashed by the excitement of what was to come.

You heard Mason yelling at Billy. So they’d gotten to the part in the script where you got threatened. Perfect.

“I don’t want to play a fucking game, you psychopath!” You heard. You resisted the urge to peek over the windowsill. If you did that and he happened to see you, your whole jig was up. “Uh,” panic was written in your boyfriend’s voice. “I don’t know! His name was James, or Jacob, or something!”

You could almost feel Billy’s disgusted chuckle and his leering ‘incorrect’. If only your best friend agreed to watch more horror movies with you.

You slipped through the unlocked back door. Unlocked for you. You pushed the tiny voice out of your head and continued until you were behind him. The Ghostface costume was scratchy and uncomfortable, but whoever designed it was a genius, because you still had quite a bit of mobility, even if your visibility was severely lacking.

You tapped his shoulder with the knife, and when he turned around you pulled the mask off and smiled at him with as much sweetness as you could muster up.

“Hello darling.”

He went to ask you what this was all about, still not believing that anything about this was real. He never got to finish the question before you slipped the mask back on and sunk your knife into his throat.

After that you were quick to get to work.

Just as you’d promised Billy a few nights ago, you took Mason’s blood and painted the walls with satanic symbols, writing some random words in Latin on the ground. You only remember a few from your classes three years ago, but Latin combined with the symbols on the walls, all in blood at a murder scene, would probably still throw the police off your track.

The other part of your “how to commit a murder spiel” had been making it as gory as possible, but Mason was already dead. So you slowly and carefully carved down his stomach, smiling at the blood rushing out. You cut his fingers off and scattered them around the kitchen, then washed your hands in his sink.

The very last part, the one to truly throw the police off your scent, was to completely wash the Ghostface mask so there wasn’t any fingerprints or DNA, and leave it next the the body. It was far more brutal than the other murders, and so they would feel an overwhelming urgency to solve this before it got more violent.

And in the process question all the satanists at your school who’d be happy to take the blame for these killings.

[cantsayidont]

BLUEBEARD'S EIGHTH WIFE (1938): Frustratingly clumsy Ernst Lubitsch romantic comedy starring Gary Cooper as an oft-married American millionaire who falls for an opportunistic Frenchwoman (Claudette Colbert), who really just wants to marry and divorce him as quickly as possible so she can start collecting his fat alimony checks and thereby revive the fortunes of her broke marquis father (Edward Everett Horton). With this cast, a Billy Wilder/Charles Brackett script, and the famed Lubitsch Touch, it seems like it ought to be a winner, but it's sunk by a disastrous lack of narrative direction and various unwelcome lapses in taste.

There are some very funny bits and an assortment of memorable throwaway lines, but the story lurches and lumbers, the main characters are unsympathetic in ways that aren't very funny, and Wilder and Brackett seem to have assumed that domestic violence was inherently hilarious. (In one particularly disagreeable scene, the Colbert character drunkenly urges her husband to kiss her, only to reveal that she's deliberately just eaten a handful of raw onions, to which she knows he's deathly allergic; he responds by threatening, with disconcerting seriousness, to murder her in her hotel suite, an escalation that's apparently intended to compensate for the lack of any actual punchline.) Cooper seems badly out of his depth, alternating between stoic stiffness and clumsy mugging, which means he's constantly being upstaged by the supporting cast (in particular Horton, who steals every scene he's in without apparent effort). There are some great pieces scattered throughout BLUEBEARD'S, but when it's bad, which it too often is, it's dreadful — one of the worst films from one of the world's great comedy directors.

MIDNIGHT (1939): Less than a year after BLUEBEARD'S EIGHTH WIFE, Wilder and Brackett redeemed themselves with this sparkling CINDERELLA variation, directed by Mitchell Leisen. Again set in Paris, it also stars Colbert, who's in rare form as Eve Peabody, a gold-digging American chorine who masquerades as a Hungarian baroness with the aid of a wealthy fairy godfather (John Barrymore) who wants her to deflect the interest of a suave playboy (Francis Lederer) who's been making time with his beloved wife (Mary Astor). This is complicated by the arrival of the handsome Hungarian-born taxi driver (Don Ameche) whose name Eve has borrowed, who's been looking for her all over the city since she ghosted him.

Using CINDERELLA as a framework gives MIDNIGHT the structure BLUEBEARD'S desperately needed, and the fluidity with which the story's various complications unfold is a delight. Better still, Leisen brings out the best in a mostly superlative cast — just watching their expressions is a lot of fun — and gives the proceedings the air of Lubitschian wit and sophistication that Lubitsch himself had recently failed to deliver. MIDNIGHT does stumble a bit at the end, with the final scenes (featuring Monty Woolley as an irrascible judge) succumbing to the heavy-handed mugging the rest of the film had mostly resisted, but it's not bad enough to sour the stew. As a result, MIDNIGHT is at least in the 85th percentile of screwball comedies, able to stand comparison with better-known classics of the genre.

[luminnara]

 Cherry Bomb | Billy Hargrove x reader

The reader gives Billy a run for his money

Aka you’re loud and tough and have a cool car and for Billy that means love at first sight. I might have written him too sweet here but idc, this was supposed to just be a short little thing and then it took on a life of its own and here we are. Sorta follows the start of season 2 but then does its own thing lol

Masterlist

Requests are open!

PART TWO

Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, f slur/homophobia (thanks neil)

Tags: @smenny @infinitelyforgotten

Billy Hargrove hated this fucking town.

He hadn’t even been at the new house for a full week yet, and he hated it and everything around it. Hawkins was a little shithole, as far as he was concerned, full of hicks who couldn’t tell their left asscheek from their right. And the worst part? It was October, and it didn’t even look cool outside.

God, he wanted to go back to California. At least it was sunny there. At least he had the beach. This place was just gloomy and beige, the townspeople all boring and normal. Nice, conservative families, who dressed in nice, conservative clothes, and drove nice, conservative cars.

That really wasn’t Billy’s scene.

At all.

When he drove to Hawkins High one gray morning, he made sure he made a fucking spectacle of himself. He had managed to toss Max in the car before Neil was awake to start yelling and then tossed her back out in the middle school lot before tearing away again. His stepsister wasn’t about to cramp his style, not when he needed to size up the locals.

He had his stereo blaring a Scorpions casette, he had his favorite denim jacket, and he had half a pack of cigarettes left. His jeans were tight. His hair looked good. And he knew his Camaro was the sexiest car in town.

Because how could it not be? Everybody else drove pickups or ugly sedans. He hasn’t seen or heard a single engine that rivaled his, and that stroked his ego a little bit. At least he could become the king of Hawkins, Indiana while he was stuck there. At least he could get the attention he knew he never got at home.

He could see everyone staring curiously as he pulled into the parking lot. Girls—and guys—were craning their necks to see who was driving this unfamiliar car, and when he got out and grabbed a cigarette to light, he spotted a group of girls who were absolutely swooning. He glanced over them and then looked away again, surveying the rest of the student body while he still had the chance to enjoy the fresh, stinking air. Those girls would be all over him, desperate to use him to get back at their parents. He knew they’d all wanna get with the bad boy from out of town. They’d be good for a quick hookup and then they’d either wander off after their great conquest or he’d get bored and move on to the next one, never giving himself the opportunity to stop and wonder how bad it was for his mental health.

Oh well. It gave him something to do, at least. And he was good with girls, and he liked the attention, never mind that it was hollow and performative and none of them would ever actually care about him. It’s not like he was expecting anybody in this backwater little town to give a shit, anyways.

They were all whispering and giggling, the guys sizing him up. He definitely stood out, with his earring and mullet and denim on denim getup. They were all the picture of small town midwestern America, the fashionable ones all looking perfectly respectable and the less fashionable ones looking fine. There wasn’t much in the way of diversity.

It was boring as shit.

He resisted the urge to stomp out his cigarette in irritation. He also resisted the urge to get back in his car and get the hell out of there. He wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, literally anywhere would be better than—

The sound of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned towards the street.

He was not expecting what he saw.

Because how could he possibly have expected that?

A bright orange muscle car—shit, was that seriously a cuda??—whipped around the corner, narrowly missing a guy on his bike. The windows were down, Sammy Hagar was blasting, and Billy suddenly felt like he was being challenged. As much as he wanted to appreciate this car, whoever the fuck was driving it was seriously pissing him off just by existing, and when they had the nerve to park right next to him, he wanted to explode.

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

Billy puffed his chest out and straightened his shoulders. He was a fairly broad guy, and he knew how to use that to his advantage. He was ready to start a fight just to prove that he couldn’t be fucked with…but then the driver got out, and all he could do was stare.

What the hell was a girl doing with a car like that?

“Hey.” You said as you climbed out, shoving your aviators up onto your head to look at the new guy. “You parked in my spot. I don’t like that.”

He immediately sneered at you. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t see your name on it.”

“Don’t have to. Everybody knows it’s mine.” You said coldly. Then you paused as you looked him over. He didn’t look too bad…but you knew his type. You had to put him in his place before he got too cocky with you. “You’re new, so I won’t make you move today. Consider it like a welcoming gift.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. You were bold. At least there was one interesting person in Hawkins.

“Nice car.” And with that, you turned away, and Billy watched your ass as you went.

———————

You tried not to think too much about the new guy, but that proved difficult when everyone else was talking about him. You were unlucky enough to have a locker close to Vicki’s, and when you approached it before lunch, you found that she, Carol, and Tina were blocking it as they talked.

“—I mean, did you see his ass?” Carol asked in a comically loud whisper.

“I heard his name’s Billy Hargrove,” Vicki said. “He just moved from California.”

Great. At least you knew his name now, for when you inevitably ran into him again. It really wasn’t that you didn’t like him—on the contrary, you were interested. Very interested. You liked his looks. You liked his car. You could guess that you had at least a few common interests. You just didn’t want to deal with him being a complete ass to you, not that it was anything you couldn’t handle, having grown up with three older brothers.

And you also didn’t want to deal with girls like Carol and Vicki and Tina, who did their best to bully you and grew increasingly frustrated when their insults seemed to roll off of you like water off a duck’s back.

“Move,” you grunted at them.

They paused their conversation, looking you up and down with disgusted expressions.

“Oh.” Carol said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s you.”

“It’s me, and this is my locker,” you growled. “Move.”

She did, but not without a loud scoff. “Freak.”

Water off a duck’s back.

You sat alone at lunch, waving at Robin but ultimately deciding to fly solo. All you had was a sandwich, anyways. You were planning on sneaking out for some fresh air if you could, maybe taking a power nap in the car—

“This table have your name on it, too?” A familiar voice sneered.

You looked up to see Billy Hargrove standing there, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, no food in sight.

“It does,” you said, watching as he took that as an invitation to sit down across from you.

You could already feel the girls glaring daggers at you.

“I’m not sure you understand the concept of what I’ve been trying to tell you,” you growled, putting your sandwich down. “This is my spot. Now you’ve taken both my parking space, and my lunch table.”

“Don’t care.” He put his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands as he looked at you. “Name’s Billy.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Your admirers won’t shut up about you.” You tossed your head in Carol’s direction. “Why don’t you go sit with them?”

“No room,” he shrugged. “Besides, I figured I’d come introduce myself.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

He sighed and put his hands on the table as he straightened up. “Because nobody else in this stupid fucking town has a car like mine…besides you.”

You wanted to laugh. Not at him, but at how honestly cute he was being. “You like it?”

“Where the hell did you get a Barracuda around here?”

“Guess you underestimated this stupid fucking town, huh?” You grabbed your sandwich again.

Before you could enjoy it, though, Billy had snatched it out of your hands and taken a bite, staring you down. Daring you to do something about it. But you were determined not to react, because you knew his type…and you knew he was trying to get a rise out of you.

You also knew that he didn’t have any food on him and hadn’t tried to get any, and you felt like maybe he could appreciate half a sandwich more than you could.

“Who’d you get it from?” He asked through a mouthful of food.

“It was a gift.”

“Don’t tell me you’re some stuck up rich bitch who just gets cars as presents every year,” he scoffed, seeming genuinely offended.

You rolled your eyes. “No, it was my mother’s.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull and you actually did laugh that time.

“No fucking way,” he said. “Women don’t drive cars like that.”

“She did.” You shrugged, using every skill you had ever gained from dealing with your brothers to not jump across the table and strangle him.

At the use of the past tense, you saw him hesitate for a moment. “She dead?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But she can’t drive anymore. The boys all had their own rides by the time she had to quit, and she’d never sell it…so I got it.”

“Big car family, huh?” He asked, almost seeming like he was warming up to you.

“My dad owns the mechanic shop here in town.”

You saw Billy really perk up at that one. “You know, I never did catch your name, sweetheart.”

You offered him a sickly sweet smile as you stood, stepping away from the table and patting him on the shoulder before you left. “Maybe next time, handsome.”

He stared after you as you walked away from him for the second time that day, knowing that not only did he have to talk to you on a regular basis now, but also that he would already do just about anything for you. 

—————-

You left school without any further Billy incidents. You half expected him to catch up and try to race you or something, but your drive back home was peaceful—or as peaceful as it could be with the way you drove on Hawkins’ quiet roads—and completely uneventful.

Your family lived in a cozy old house situated right next to the shop, and as you pulled up, you saw that your dad and brothers were working.

“You better not let Mom see the way you drive that thing,” Danny yelled as you approached the garage.

“Don’t let your old man see, either.” Your father grunted, wiping his hands off with a rag before tucking it back into his pocket. “Good day at school?”

“It was fine.” You shrugged, leaning on a car. “There’s a new guy.”

“Family moved in on Cherry Lane,” your second brother, Curt, called from beneath a car as he worked on it. “The mom was in this morning. Said she’s got a daughter and a stepson and a husband named Neil.”

“I met the son,” you said.

“How was he?” Your father asked absentmindedly as he walked to the desk to pull out a logbook and scribble in it.

“An asshole.”

“Language,” he growled out of habit, not bothering to look up.

“A jerk,” you corrected yourself.

“Better.”

You heard the sound of wheels against the cement as Curt pushed himself out from under the car. “We need to have a talk with him?”

“No, I can handle it.” You snorted a laugh. “He drives a Camaro, you know.”

“Damn, really?” Danny asked. “And here I thought the ‘Cuda would always be the nicest car in town…”

“It still is!” You argued.

“Get him to bring it in and we’ll see.”

You rolled your eyes. The concept of Billy fucking Hargrove coming into the shop wasn’t one you felt like visiting quite yet, even though you figured it would be inevitable. If not for service, since he seemed the type to try to do everything on his own, then for parts. You knew the boys—and your dad—would appreciate the Camaro, but you had your doubts about how much they’d appreciate its driver.

“Maybe,” you grumbled, tightening your grip on your backpack strap and heading across the lot towards the house.

“Hey, sweetie,” your mom called as you entered the kitchen through the back door. “How was school?”

“There was a new guy and he took my parking space.” You grumbled, plopping down at the table across from her.

“Did you give him a piece of your mind?” She laughed.

“Sort of.” You paused. “He likes the Cuda.”

“Then he has good taste,” she smiled.

“He said women don’t drive cars like that.” You grumbled.

“Then, unfortunately, he’s a man,” she snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Your father was like that when I met him…’til I finally got him to race me, and I smoked him.”

You grinned. You’d heard this story dozens of times, but it had always been one of your favorites.

“Of course, that was what…fifty nine?” She laughed. “Sure didn’t have the Barracuda back then.”

“So what’s the moral here?” You asked. “I should race him and then when the Camaro can’t keep up he admits he was wrong?”

“Camaro? At least he really does have nice taste. What’s his name?”

“Billy,” you sighed, laying your chin on your arms. “Billy Hargrove.”

———————

The next morning, you were running late. You were never one to show up particularly early, but you had a feeling that if you didn’t make it before Billy showed up, your parking spot was in jeopardy. Sure enough, when you pulled in, the Camaro was already there, and your mood was quickly souring.

“Billy Hargrove, get out of my spot!” You yelled over the sound of Iron Maiden.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he smirked, leaning up against his car.

“Move!”

He looked around. “The only other free spot is this one right next to me. Not sure what the point would be.”

Oh, he was definitely just trying to get under your skin.

You let out a loud noise of disgust and pulled into the space anyways. When you got out, slammed the door, and marched away without another word, Billy just watched you go, grinning to himself like a madman. He had been thinking about you all night, and not even in a dirty way--okay yeah, that was involved, too, but not exclusively--and he had actually been eager to head to Hawkins High just because he knew he’d be able to see you. 

He’d never felt this way before, and he really wasn’t sure what to do about it besides keep bugging you. He had already asked around and gotten your name—as well as the numbers of about six different girls—and judging by the way the others talked about you, you weren’t all that popular. On the one hand, he could see why; you were loud and liked to give everybody the finger, just like him. On the other hand…well, you were just like him, and as far as he was concerned, that was fun.

He wanted to get to know you better. He wanted to do more than just give you a ride and try to get as handsy as you’d let him. He was curious about you, and he wanted to get you to like him enough to actually have a real conversation.

You spent the next few days trying not to give him too much attention, but he was always there. He always parked in your spot, because apparently, it was his spot now, and your spot was right next to him. He always sat across from you at lunch, and after the third day, you started bringing extra snacks. Not for him, but because you knew he never brought anything for himself and if he had his way he would eat all of your food. 

“Why don’t you ever bring your own lunch?” you huffed on day five. 

“Didn’t have time to stop at the store this morning,” he shrugged as he tore through a bag of chips you had thrown at him. 

“You outta food at home or something?” you asked. You were just glad he was leaving your sandwich alone so you could actually enjoy it for yourself. 

“No,” he snarled with a little too much oomph. 

You stared at him for a long moment but kept your mouth shut. You could tell you’d somehow hit a nerve, and it seemed that Billy Hargrove, the obnoxious, attention-seeking bad boy, was a little more complex than you had initially thought.

 He was silent after that, looking pissed off as he ate. The problem wasn’t that they didn’t have food. Sure, they didn’t have nice three course meals for dinner every night, but they had food. The real problem was that his father called him a pussy anytime he did something as simple as make himself a sandwich, because Neil called that women’s work, and Susan was usually gone for work by the time Billy was getting up for school. And it’s not like Max was gonna make him anything when she hated his fucking guts. So, basically, he was relying on you to give him your scraps at this point, even though he refused to tell you and look like the weakling his father always told him he was.

You spent the rest of the day wondering about it. The tone in his voice when he gave you that no had been angry and defensive, and he was definitely upset about your question for a reason. You figured something had to be going on at home, but you had no idea what that might be, and you weren’t about to push him when he obviously didn’t wanna talk about it.

So you didn’t bring it up again, but you did start bringing more snacks. 

As much as Billy annoyed you, you had to admit he brightened your days a little bit. Okay, a lot a bit. You found yourself enjoying the way he shamelessly flirted and all the stupid pet names he gave you, and you started seeking him out for a change. He was a complete dick to everyone else, but with you? With you, he was actually halfway decent. He even carried a textbook for you one time. 

You liked it. And, as always, the sneers and glares from Carol and her friends hardly bothered you. 

“Slut.” Vicki said as she passed you in the locker room. 

“The mirror’s over there, Vick.” you said as you pulled your gym uniform on. 

You heard her scoff before someone shoved you forward into your locker. When you turned, you saw Carol standing there with her arms folded over her chest, a nasty smile on her face. 

“Okay, what is it this time?” you asked, pulling your shirt down and squaring up with her. 

“I just don’t see why he hangs around you.” she said. 

“Who?”

“Hargrove,” she hissed. “Duh.”

“You already have a boyfriend, Carol.” you rolled your eyes, sitting down to pull your gym shoes on. Three older brothers and a childhood full of schoolyard fist fights meant that there was nothing Carol could do to scare you...especially because you had gym with her, and you knew she couldn’t pack much of a punch. 

“Just stay away from him!” Tina snapped. 

“Why?”

“Because he’s ours!”

You glanced up at her. “I don’t exactly control him, you know. He does what he wants.” You stood and turned away, then paused and looked back at them. “And who he wants.”

They stared at you, their jaws dropped in shock. You just shrugged and walked away, heading out of the locker room and up to the gym. Would you regret starting a rumor about yourself? Probably, but it was worth it for the look on their faces. Plus...you wanted them to stay away from Billy. You told yourself it was because they were just annoying and you were saving him the headache, but there was a little bubble of jealousy you kept trying to push back down. You didn’t want them to go after Billy, because over the past week, you had grown so used to him bugging you that you had begun liking him. 

And you didn’t want to think about that.

At least you had gym, right? It would be a perfect distraction, and if push came to shove, you could probably find a way to hit Carol with a dodgeball or something. You wouldn’t have to think about Billy Hargrove and whether or not you liked him at all, because for the next hour or so, you had nothing but physical exertion to focus on, and no boys would be around to--

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

The boys were inside playing basketball, and unfortunately, it was shirts versus skins…and extra unfortunately, Billy was on the skins team.

And he looked good.

He was absolutely destroying the other team, and when he got the ball from a frustrated Steve Harrington and made a basket, you found yourself biting your lower lip. Billy was glistening with sweat in a way that was so sexy you thought it should be impossible, and for a guy who smoked so much, he seemed totally athletic. At least he could back up that macho man attitude he always put on.

“Oh my god,” someone whispered from behind you.

“He’s totally better than Steve Harrington…”

“He’s hotter, too!”

You glanced back to see most of the girls from your class had all clustered in the doorway, their eyes all glued to Billy. That jealousy rose in your chest a little, and you had to face forward again before you said something else you’d regret.

When you looked at him again, you caught Billy’s gaze, and a blush spread across your cheeks. He gave you a nod and a smirk, and—had his eyes always been that nice? No way, right?—and he actually winked. He winked at you before jogging off to join the rest of the guys at the other end of the court.

The girls erupted in excited whispers as everyone insisted that he had winked at them, but you were too shocked to say anything.

“Ladies,” the PE teacher growled from the sidelines. “We’re outside today. Chop chop.”

You tore yourself away, following the others in a daze. How had this happened? Just a week ago, you had been totally annoyed by this guy, and now, you couldn’t stop thinking about his abs. You didn’t want to stop thinking about his abs.

He didn’t want you to stop thinking about them, either.

When he saw the way you stood there and stared, Billy finally knew for sure that you were into him, and it made him happy. It also made him happy to know that you had seen him beating Harrington, and as all the other guys congratulated him on winning, he was busy running a hand through his hair and thinking about how he could spend more time with you.

At the end of the day, you walked out to the parking lot to find Billy leaning up against your car, a cigarette in his mouth. Your weird mood immediately soured, and you gave him an angry look as you stomped up to him.

“Off my car, Hargrove!” You barked.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He chuckled, puffing smoke in your face. “Afraid I’ll chip the paint?”

“Afraid you’ll get your sweaty hands all over it,” you snapped.

He grinned and leaned down, looking you in the eyes. “Thought you liked me all sweaty. Or was that some other girl eye-fucking me in the gym today?”

“That was definitely Carol,” you rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat spreading across your cheeks. “I was busy watching Steve Harrington.”

Billy’s eyes darkened angrily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Now move.”

He took a step to the side, just far enough for you to open the door and toss your bag inside. “What’s Harrington got that I don’t?”

“What?” You asked, looking back at him.

“You heard me.” He said bitterly. “What’s that douchebag got going for him?”

“Billy, I was kidding.”

“…oh.” He furrowed his brow. “Yeah.”

“Steve is popular. I don’t really talk to anybody popular besides Carol and her friends, and that’s not exactly by choice.” You climbed into your car and Billy actually closed the door for you before leaning on the open window.

“Why not?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Don’t really get along with them.”

“Don’t you have any friends? You’re always all alone, doll.”

“I like Robin.”

“Who?”

“Yeah, alright. I gotta get home, Hargrove.” You turned the key in the ignition and the barracuda roared to life in a way that had Billy grinning again.

“This is a nice ass car, babe.” He said over the sound of the engine. “She suits ya.”

You had to smile at that. “Thanks, Billy.”

His heart warmed at the sight, and he decided he wanted to see you smile more often.

“You wanna go for a drive, sweetheart?” He asked, still leaning through the window.

“Don’t you usually pick your sister up after school?” You asked as you grabbed your sunglasses and put them on.

“She’s got a skateboard. She’ll just go to the arcade or something.”

You looked at him for a moment. “…alright, fuck it. Where you wanna drive, Hargrove?”

“I was hopin’ you’d lead the way, doll.”

“Then hurry up, because I don’t drive slow.”

You threw the car into reverse and he only had a second to jump back before you were peeling out. With a triumphant yell, Billy jumped into the Camaro and took off after you, tires squealing as he tore out of the parking lot.

You weren’t too bad at first, obeying all the basic things like stop signs and the concept of crosswalks. But as soon as you were on a two line highway outside of town, you opened it up, glancing at your rear view mirror every so often to see Billy grinning behind you as he kept up.

The cars were roaring, the road was empty, and soon, Billy had pulled into the other lane and was riding next to you…and something about it felt so fun and so right to be racing alongside him. 

You led him down the highway a ways before hitting the breaks and turning onto a smaller road and he followed begrudgingly, a little pissed that he didn’t get to race you for real. When he saw your destination, though, his anger dissipated.

The lake was beautiful.

And you were beautiful, too.

He got out of his car to join you as you spread your jacket out on the ground and sat on it. When he sat down next to you, he realized how quiet it was, and for a moment, he just took it in. He wasn’t used to quiet. He wasn’t used to peace.

“I like to come out here this time of year,” you explained, looking at the water. “It gets busy sometimes when the weather is nicer, but come fall, there’s usually nobody around.”

“It’s nice,” Billy commented.

“You know, you almost kept up with me back there,” you teased, nodding towards the cars.

He scoffed. “I was going easy on you, baby.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“All these pet names. What’s the deal?”

“You don’t like em?” He asked, looking down at you as he leaned back on his hands.

“…I didn’t say that.”

His signature smirk returned. “They just suit you is all. ‘Specially Princess.”

“What?” You smacked his shoulder playfully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He just laughed. “It just fits. You’re a princess with a pony car.”

“Muscle car.”

“Whatever you say.”

And you laughed, and it made him laugh, and you decided it was a nice sound coming from him.

“You’re not too bad, Billy Hargrove,” you said.

To him, that was practically a declaration of love.

“Oh yeah?” He asked, inching closer.

“Why aren’t you a jerk to me?”

The question caught him off guard. “…what?”

“You heard me.” You said, noticing the momentary vulnerability in his eyes. “For the past week I’ve been watching you hit on girls like Carol and tell Harrington to go fuck himself. The worst thing you do to me is eat my lunch and take my parking space. You’re practically a gentleman with me. What gives?”

Billy didn’t know what to say. He didn’t like feeling so exposed, because you were managing to strip away every single barrier he had put up to protect himself over the years. He wanted to clam up or tell you to fuck off, but when he looked down at you, he realized that he wanted to talk to you…and he’d never tell you to fuck off, because he never wanted you to leave.

And he didn’t want you to think he was just an asshole, because he wasn’t.

But he couldn’t possibly spill his guts to you.

“Guess I’m just sweet on you, babe.” He managed to say smoothly.

Your heart fluttered. “…are you?”

His heart fluttered, too. “Might be. What’s a guy gotta do to get a date with the hottest chick in Hawkins?”

You were full on blushing, and he thought that it was downright adorable. That was a sight he was used to—girls blushing because of his sweet talk. Normally, this would be when the clothes started coming off, but he was fine with talking, even though you drove him wild. He wanted to hear your voice, and he wanted to spend time with you, and he didn’t want to scare you off.

Meanwhile, your mind was racing. A date? With this asshole? Sure, you had grown used to him being around, but he was the type of guy to ask a girl out, fuck them, and then dump them again. You really didn’t feel like having your heart broken over some idiot like Billy Hargrove. But then again, you had three older brothers would make him regret ever speaking to you if he pissed you off, and you really did like him…

“Ask me,” you finally said.

He let out a tiny breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and gave you his best panty-dropping smile.

“…wanna go to Tina’s party together?” He asked.

You grinned. Tina would blow a gasket if she saw you walk in with Billy, and you’d pay good money to see how pissed off Carol got.

“I didn’t get an invitation,” you said.

“I did.” He shrugged.

Of course he did.

“Just come as my date, sweet cheeks. Unless you’re scared.”

“Scared?” You scoffed. “Of what? Bad beer and public make out sessions?”

“Didn’t know you were into those,” he smirked, leaning forward.

He was suddenly looming over you, and you couldn’t look away from his beautiful blue eyes and those dark lashes that framed them.

You swallowed hard. “I’m not.”

“No?” He asked, and you could feel his breath on your face.

“…maybe.”

“Maybe?” His smirk grew into a grin. “How ‘bout we find out?”

You wanted to kiss him.

You really, really did.

Fuck. How had this happened? You weren’t supposed to get a crush on the asshole new kid. You were supposed to put him in his place, get him to stop parking in your spot, and then maybe toss him a bag of chips or a cookie once in a while so he didn’t starve at lunch. That was it. So how had you managed to develop such a crush on Billy Hargrove?

You wanted to kiss him. You really did. But…you knew his type, and you didn’t want to become another one of his conquests. You didn’t want him to get in your pants and then move on to easier prey. You were sure he could just look at Vicki or Tina or Carol and they’d be on their knees ready to do anything he asked in a heartbeat, and you were also sure that it would absolutely kill you to watch.

But you really, really wanted to kiss him.

“Babe?” He asked impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Eyes on me. C’mon.”

You focused on him again, mentally said fuck it, and grabbed him by the front of his jacket.

His eyes were wide with surprise as you yanked him down roughly. For a moment, he tensed, and his immediate reaction was to wrench himself backwards and out of your grip, because whenever someone came at him fast like that, it ended in bruises and split lips. But then, everything was still for a moment, and he was just staring into your eyes. He wasn’t used to girls initiating things. He wasn’t used to not being in complete control with them. But he found that he kinda liked it, especially when your lips met his in a kiss that felt all too sweet to be coming from someone who had just taken complete control so quickly.

But oh, did he love the feeling, and as you sat there at the edge of the lake, kissing Billy Hargrove, he decided that he never wanted it to end.

——————-

You crushed an empty beer can in your hand and tossed it away. The look on Tina and Carol’s faces had totally been worth showing up with Billy, even if you had lost him not five minutes later when one of the guys from the basketball team grabbed him and said something about a keg. Now, you had just finished your first beer, you were very skeptical of the weird punch bowl in the kitchen, and you were on the hunt for this keg and the idiot who was probably chugging from it.

You walked out into the yard and were immediately greeted by the sight of a crowd and the sound of chanting.

Yep.

This had to be it.

“Billy! Billy! Billy!“ the guys yelled over the sound of Motley Crue.

Yep. You found him.

You watched, mildly jealous that he had so much beer and you had just run out, as he finished the keg, threw his head back, and sprayed some in the air. The guys all erupted in cheers, Tommy H. loudly announcing that Hawkins had a brand new keg king.

A smile played at the edges of your lips. You were...proud, sort of? You knew the boys at Hawkins High took the whole keg king thing very seriously. In fact, before Steve Harrington had come along, your brother Curtis had carried the title, and you had helped Danny drag his drunken ass into the house on more than one late night occasion. Now, apparently, Billy was the new king, and even though his bare chest was covered in spilled beer, you thought the look and title suited him. 

You didn’t think the stickiness would, though, and you were immediately reminded of all the showers you’d had to toss your brothers into after parties just like this one.

“Alright, keg king.” you said, pushing your way past a couple boys to stand before Billy. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He was leaning against Tommy heavily, still trying to get his sea legs back. When he looked down at you with a lopsided grin, though, you could see that his eyes were still fairly focused, and when he spoke, he was pretty coherent. At least he could hold his alcohol.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, chest still heaving as he caught his breath. 

“Hey, Billy.”

“Didja see me?”

“I did.” you laughed at the manic look on his face. “Very impressive, dethroning Harrington like that.”

“Harrington’s been a pussy ever since he started dating Nancy Wheeler,” Tommy sneered. 

“That’s not very nice, Tommy.”

“What the hell are you doing here, anyways?” he scoffed. “No way you got invited. Fuck off.”

Ah, there it was. Tommy’s dazzling attitude. He had never liked you, because you had never put up with his bullshit—or Carol’s—and you generally tried to avoid him. Unfortunately, it seemed that he was practically gluing himself to Billy, and you’d been seeing him following the new boy around with the rest of the jocks lately.

“You fuck off,” you snapped at him.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

“You heard the lady. Fuck off, Tommy,” Billy snarled, giving him a rough shove.

You were pretty sure you heard Carol gasp excitedly somewhere in the crowd.

“Yo, what gives, man?” Tommy asked as he stumbled back. “She’s a total freak. She shouldn’t even be here.”

You watched as Billy’s eyes narrowed, and all you could see in them was rage. He grabbed the front of Tommy’s Halloween costume and yanked him forward, and for a moment, you thought he was going to waste him right there.

“Don’t fucking talk to my girl like that.” Billy growled, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened.

“Your—what?” Tommy tried to glance at you but Billy grabbed his chin and held him in place.

“Understood?” He demanded.

“Y-yeah man,” Tommy stammered quickly, nodding his head.

“Good.” Billy let him go with another shove before turning to you. Then, as if to illustrate his point, he took your face in his hands and pulled you in for a hot, wild kiss that left your head spinning.

You could practically hear the shock on Carol, Tina, and Vicki’s faces.

 “You were saying?” Billy asked casually, letting you go again. 

You cleared your throat and steadied yourself again, taking in a breath to replace the one Billy had stolen.

“I was saying you’re covered in beer and you’re going to get sticky unless you wash it off,” you said, ignoring the stares everyone was now giving you. “Come on. You might even get to kick someone out of the bathroom mid-fuck if you’re lucky.”

He grinned at that and was immediately at your side, arm draped over your shoulders as he steered you towards the door. He was enjoying the party, you could tell; he loved all the attention he was getting, and he loved the free booze, even if it was shitty. He had already been crowned keg king, and the girls were all making bedroom eyes at him while their boyfriends tried to act tough enough to hang with him. But instead of paying attention to any of that, he was holding your hand like a lost kid at the fair, following you through the crowd obediently.

You spotted Nancy Wheeler drinking the questionable punch, and Steve Harrington looking distraught. Whether it was about her or the fact that he was quickly losing his seat as the most popular guy at Hawkins High, you didn’t know, but you tried to offer Nancy a concerned glance and received a confused look from Steve instead.

“Hey, don’t pay attention to him,” Billy grunted said you led him out of the kitchen. “Fuck that guy.”

“Alright, Billy. Whatever you say.”

“I mean—don’t fuck him,” he growled. “I’d kill him if he touched you.”

“How sweet.”

You could tell the massive amount of beer he has just consumed was starting to hit him when you glanced back to see a lazy smile on his face.

“Y’think so?” He asked.

“Yes, very sweet.” You stopped in front of the bathroom and banged your fist against the door. When no one answered, you tried the handle, finding it unlocked, and you shoved Billy inside.

“So rough, baby,” he smirked as you pulled the door shut. “If you wanted to get me alone, coulda just asked…”

“Hold still, Hargrove,” you mumbled, pulling one of the perfectly white hand towels off the rack and wetting it in the sink.

He leaned up against the counter in a way that you knew was premeditated, stretching his torso out and giving you the best view of his golden skin as possible. When you turned towards him, you paused for a moment, appreciating the sight before shaking your head and smoothing the towel down his chin and neck. 

“Shit!” he hissed, jerking back. “Couldn’t’ve made it warm at least?”

“Come on, you big baby.” you laughed, scrubbing him clean. 

“It’s cold.”

“Being cold is better than being covered in beer.”

He huffed indignantly but held still, stewing. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone trying to take care of him. The soft touches, the light laughs whenever he made a particularly grumpy face, the lack of blood and bruises and pain...it was new to him, after so many years of nothing but shouting and pain. 

“There.” you said, wiping his chest off. “Better.”

He quirked an eyebrow as he looked down at you. You were standing between his legs, pressed right up against him, but there was no blush creeping across your cheeks as you checked your work. 

“Y’know, this is usually the part where the chick is throwing herself at me.” he commented as you stepped away to wring the towel out in the sink. 

“Oh yeah?” you asked. 

When he didn’t give you another smooth reply, you glanced up at him. He was looking down at you almost thoughtfully, his eyes following your every move as you laid out the wet towel on the counter and turned to look at him properly. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He immediately scoffed. “Nothing.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He paused, then reached for you. You let him pull you to stand between his legs again, his hands moving to your waist. Instead of trying to kiss you, though, he spoke, and he asked you the last question you expected him to.

“Why’d he call you a freak?”

You were expecting something more flirtatious, some attempt at getting in your pants because you were together in a bathroom at a Halloween party and Billy was buzzed thanks to becoming keg king. You really didn’t think he cared about why Tommy H. and his clique thought about you, because why should he? Billy was already the coolest guy around, and he’d only been in town for a week. You didn’t really get why he was even into you, besides the fact that he liked your car. 

“Why do you care?” you asked stubbornly. 

He fixed you with a look that suggested he was just as stubborn as you were. “Tell me.”

“...Fine.” you sighed. “I dunno. They don’t like me because I don’t like any of them, and I’ve had a locker next to Vicki for years, so I’ve been dealing with them just as long.”

And a lot of their parents talked badly about your family even though they needed them to fix up their shitty stupid cars, and you’d been an absolute terror on the playground in elementary school, and your brothers had spent more nights at the sheriff's department than you could count and in a town like Hawkins that meant you were bad news. 

“I’ll make them stop.”

“You really don’t need to, Billy.” you said. “I’m fine. And if I really needed help...well, I’ve got three big brothers.”

He snorted angrily, like a bull about to charge. He didn’t like that you were refusing his help. He wanted you to want his help, because he was offering it and he never offered it to anybody. Didn’t you realize how highly he thought of you, that he would stoop so low?

“Fine. Whatever.” he jumped off the counter and eased you back a few steps. “I need another beer.”

And then he was returning to the party, and you were left staring after him, wondering what the hell his deal was. 

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

“My god, Billy,” you groaned. “Could you at least give me a little help here?”

He just grunted and tried to push you away, which decidedly did not make it any easier to get him out of the car. 

“Quit!” you hissed, hauling him into the street and kicking the door shut behind him. “God, how are you so heavy?”

“M’ muscles, baby,” he slurred, his head lolling back as he licked his lips and grinned. 

You wrinkled your nose. “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Yyyyeah....”

After he’d stormed out of the bathroom, you’d lost track of him for a while, choosing to wander and stop thinking about him for a while. Apparently, during that time, he’d won at least one other drinking contest, mixed up a bowl of something that was even worse than the weird punch, and by the time you found him again, he was completely sloshed. 

Getting him into the Camaro had been decidedly easier than getting him out again was. He’d already puked on the grass at Tina’s once, and you hoped that meant that he had reached the stage where all he needed was a boatload of water and some good sleep.

Unfortunately, you didn’t actually know where on Cherry Lane he lived, and when you’d tried to ask, he had been vehemently against going back home. There were moments of clarity in his drunk eyes, but all you saw in them was absolute terror at the prospect of dropping him off at his place and then figuring out your own way back again. 

“‘M not goin’ in there,” he said as you ducked under his arm and half-dragged him up the street towards your house. “He’ll kill me...”

You frowned. “Who?”

“M’old man,” he hiccupped. 

Your frown deepened, but before you could try to get anything else out of him, you saw the front door open and you froze. 

“What the hell is this?” your oldest brother, Kenny, asked, standing there with his arms folded over his chest and taking up the entire doorway. 

“Just shut up and help me get him inside!” you hissed, trying and failing to drag Bill up the steps. 

Your brother took in the sight and sighed. “You owe me, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid,” you grumbled as he joined you on Billy’s other side, hoisting him up easily and getting him up to the porch far more quickly than you’d ever be able to on your own.

“Why’d you bring him here?” he asked as you let go of Billy to close and lock the door. 

“Because I don’t know which house is his, and he said his dad would kill him,” you said, following as your brother dumped Billy on the couch. He grunted and for a moment you were afraid the movement might make him sick, but he just rolled over, tucked his face up against the cushions, and immediately passed out. 

Well, at least he was easy to put to sleep.

“...This that Hargrove guy?” 

“Yeah.”

Kenny grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over Billy unceremoniously. “Go get him some water. He’ll be fine down here til morning.”

You sent your brother a silent thank you look before running to the kitchen. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy spent the night drunk on that couch after a party, and after seeing Billy in action, you doubted it would be the last. 

“He’s the new keg king,” you commented when you came back and set a cup down on the coffee table.

“I thought that Harrington kid was?” your brother raised an eyebrow.

“Not anymore.” you looked at Billy almost fondly. It was a stupid title, keg king, but you were still a little proud of him. 

You could tell that Kenny was the tiniest bit impressed, just as you’d hoped he’d be. He’d graduated from Hawkins High five years ago--and then Danny had, and then Curt, and now you were on your way--and he had been one of those guys who would yell and fight and drink more beer than humanly possible at house parties. Now, he was slightly calmer, but all three of your brothers still knew how to throw down. Actually, now that you thought about it, maybe you didn’t mind Billy’s antics and asshole attitude because it felt so familiar.

“Well. He’s lucky you brought him back here, because nobody else’s house is better at making hangover breakfast.” Kenny snorted, heading towards his room. Before he opened the door, however, he paused and fixed you with a glare. “And you better stay the fuck upstairs all night. No funny business.”

You felt your face heating up. “Kenny!”

“Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” you grumbled, making for the stairs. “Don’t let him choke on his own puke in his sleep.”

Your brother rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

“Night, Kenny.”

You trudged up the stairs and managed to take a shower before going to bed. You were fucking exhausted, but at least you were back home, and Billy wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere. The worn out old couch downstairs wasn’t the comfiest, but it was a perfectly good place to sober up. You just hoped he wouldn’t leave before you got the chance to check on him in the morning and get at least a shitty thank you for dragging his ass all the way there.

When Billy woke in a strange house, on a strange couch, he was more than a little freaked out. He couldn’t see the piles of trash that would indicate he was still at Tina’s, and he definitely wasn’t back at his place, because there was no way Neil wouldn’t have already beaten the tar out of him for sleeping on the couch. 

He pushed himself up and immediately felt the familiar nausea and headache of a hangover. He could remember most of the night, right up until he had walked away from you. After that, everything was a blur, and he had no idea who had given him a ride, or if he had even gotten a ride, but he was at least a little glad that he didn’t seem to be covered in vomit or mud or anything that would indicate his night had gone worse than it did.

He downed the cup of water in front of him greedily and then put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He felt like absolute shit, but it could be worse. It could always be worse. Now, he needed to find his keys, and his car, and then a bite to eat, and then he could spend the rest of the weekend making himself scarce in the hopes that Neil wouldn’t catch him.

...Fuck.

Neil.

Billys father would have definitely noticed he hadn’t come home by now, and he wasn’t going to be very friendly when he did. Billy wasn’t getting away without a good beating this time, that was for sure, and the thought made his throat tighten as anxiety rose in his chest. He had to get out of there, wherever there was, before anything happened. 

He stood as quickly and as quietly as he could, noticing that his boots were still on. Had he just crawled into some random house and passed out on there couch? He wouldn’t put it past himself, honestly. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” a feminine voice asked as he reached for the door. 

He froze and turned. There, through the doorway to the kitchen, he could see a middle-aged woman sitting at a table, sipping from a mug as she watched him. Behind her, there was a big guy standing in front of a stove, cooking what smelled like bacon and eggs. At the sound of the woman’s voice, he looked back over his shoulder towards Billy, fixing him with a smirk. 

“Glad you didn’t die in your sleep, keg king,” he mocked. 

Billy immediately bristled. He didn’t know who this guy was, but he was asking for a fight if he thought he could just--

“Be nice, Danny,” the woman chuckled, taking another drink. “I can’t count the number of calls I used to get from Hopper to come grab you out of the drunk tank.”

The guy rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

The woman looked at Billy again and then gestured to the chair next to her. There was already an empty plate and silverware set out for him and a full glass of orange juice, but he didn’t move. This was way too strange. 

“Come sit down, sweetheart.” she said. “You need to eat. Then you can run off.”

He didn’t budge. He didn’t trust this. Nice things like this didn’t happen to Billy Hargrove, and parents didn’t just sit there and not shout when they found out their kids got absolutely shitfaced the night before. He was too hungover to even manage that award-winning smolder he was so good at that always got all the moms going. 

“Sit down,” Danny growled, setting a plate full of bacon down on the table. 

Billy just raised his lip in a sneer. 

Danny rolled his eyes before yelling towards the second floor. “Hey, shitheads! Breakfast!”

Billy heard thumping upstairs, two doors slamming open, and then something that sounded like a shoulder hitting a wall. 

“Fuck off, Curt!” you shouted. 

“Move, pipsqueak!” a guy yelled. 

Billy turned in alarm to see another guy, this one more his age than the one in the kitchen, tearing down the stairs, with you hot on his heels. You were still in your pajamas, but you looked like you were in far better shape than Billy was...and suddenly, he started putting two and two together, and he realized exactly whose house he was in. 

“Hey, you’re up!” you smiled at him.

“Outta the way, keg king,” Curt growled, shouldering past him. 

“Be nice, Curtis.” your mom said.

“Come on.” you seized Billy’s arm, pulling him towards the table. “You have to eat before Curt gets it all, or else there won’t be anything left.”

Your brother was already chowing down, but he managed to fix you with a glare that you happily returned. 

“I should go.” Billy mumbled, trying to pull out of your grip.

He underestimated how strong you were, though, because you just tightened your hold on him and dragged him towards the chair next to your mother. “No way. I didn’t go through all that trouble getting you back here last night for you to just leave without food.”

He made an irritated noise, but when both of your brothers and your mother glared at him, he sat down. There you were, feeding him, just like you did at lunch every day. When your mother smiled at the sight of him reaching forward and taking a piece of bacon--with his fingers, not a fork, something that would have earned him a sharp slap at home--he realized where you got it from. 

Your family was way different from his.

“Honey, will you go get Kenny and your father?” Your mother asked, turning towards you. “They’re already out in the shop.”

“But I just sat d--”

“I’ll make sure your brother doesn’t eat all your food.”

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing your chair out and running out the back door. 

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the sound of bacon crunching, before one of your brothers spoke up. 

“You like my sister, huh?” Curt growled. 

“Fuck off,” Billy spat back. 

“Ooh,” your brothers laughed, glad to finally get a reaction out of Hawkins’ new keg king. “Pretty boy here does talk.”

Billy shoved another strip of bacon into his mouth and sneered. “Shut the hell up.”

“Boys, don’t antagonize him when he’s not feeling well.” your mother said calmly, looking at her newspaper. 

“Not our fault he can’t hold his liquor,” Curt said, leering at him from across the table. 

Billy may have been exhausted with a splitting headache, but his temper was still there. He slammed his hands down on the table--your mother picked her mug up just in time to avoid any of her coffee spilling, as if she was very used to doing so--and leaned towards your brother, just about ready to grab him by the shirt and teach him a fucking lesson. 

“Boys, no fighting at the table,” a gruff male voice said, and Billy immediately sat down as your father appeared. 

Billy was waiting. Waiting for the shouting. Waiting for something along the lines of you fucking pussy, practically begging for table scraps, sitting there like some fucking faggot with no shirt on under your jacket and that stupid pretty boy earring. He was bracing himself for a fist in his face or hair. He was ready to be yanked from his chair and shoved into something. It’s what his old man would have done, so why shouldn’t yours?

You snuck around your dad and took your seat next to Billy, glancing at him. Everyone had noticed the sudden quiet that came the moment your father came in, and your mother gave you a knowing look, as if she recognized something you didn’t. 

“I told you not to work before breakfast,” she chastised your father and older brother as they sat down. “Makes the whole kitchen smell like oil and grease.”

“Gotta finish that job for the Wheelers,” your father grunted, scooping a few helpings of scrambled eggs onto his plate. He took a drink and then finally seemed to notice Billy sitting there, looking sullen and hungover, avoiding eye contact as he crunched on bacon. “You the Hargrove boy?”

“Yessir.” Still no eye contact.

He realized too late that he hadn’t even looked up at your father, and once again, Billy was bracing himself.

“Bet you’ve seen better mornings.” Your father chuckled. “I like that Camaro. You bring that here all the way from California?”

You watched as Billy relaxed slightly, and he finally managed to look up at your father. You didn’t understand why he was so tense. He was practically afraid. Yeah, your dad could be stern when he wanted to—he had three sons within a fairly short time frame, of course he had perfected the tough dad routine—but he was never mean.

And then you remembered Billy’s drunken statement from the night before, about how his old man would kill him if he came stumbling home so late and so drunk, and realization dawned on you. At the time, you had thought he wasn’t serious. Tons of people said stuff like that, and they always meant that their parents would be seriously pissed off and they’d be grounded for a month. You were starting to get the feeling that maybe Billy’s dad wasn’t really the grounding type.

“I did, sir.” Billy said, some of that smooth façade crawling back into the picture.

“You take good care of it.” Your dad commented. “Kenny brought it into the garage first thing this morning and we popped the hood. Doesn’t even need a tune up.”

Billy puffed up a little and you had to resist the urge to laugh at him. It was actually cute watching him interact with people in a setting where there were no girls and no Tommy H. tripping over themselves to impress him. 

“Thank you, sir.” Billy said. 

You noticed how stiff and polite he was, and it bothered you. He said sir like he had to. It was more than just because he was talking to your father. It was as if he was afraid to fuck up, because he was afraid of what might happen if he stepped out of line.

 Just like that day at lunch, you found yourself thinking about how there was so much more to Billy Hargrove than pretty eyes and a bad boy persona, and you felt like you were chipping away at the walls he had put up, slowly but surely. 

---------

After he left your house, you didn’t see or hear from Billy for the rest of the weekend. 

It worried you a little bit.

Thankfully, you had plenty of work to do, and your dad saw to it that you spent most of Saturday and Sunday helping in the shop. Less than thankfully, however, that meant dealing with an onslaught of questions from your brothers, all of whom had plenty to say about Billy Hargrove and why he’d better keep his mitts off their baby sister. 

You could tell they actually liked him, though. By the end of breakfast, they’d actually almost been getting along, even Curtis. You knew it meant that you would be able to bring Billy over more often, and you hoped that he would actually accept the invitation now that he had gotten some free food and realized that they weren’t all going to beat the shit out of him. 

On Monday, he wasn’t in your parking space, and that worried you a little more. You left it open for him, seeing as it had become his space, and tried to wait around...but when he still hadn’t shown up by the first bell, you gave up and went to class. 

He finally appeared at lunch, leaning up against your locker in that way that made him look extra gorgeous. You had to admit, the guy knew how to work his angles, even in the shitty fluorescent lighting of the hallway.

“Hey, sweetheart.” he greeted.

“Careful, that’s Vicki’s locker,” you said dryly. “Might get her a little too worked up if you get your cologne all over it.”

He snorted a laugh. “You like it?”

“Your cologne?” you paused and leaned in. “...Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Just alright?” he taunted as you opened your locker.

“Yeah, you heard me.” you shoved your books at his chest for him to hold while you pulled out your lunch, and you saw the way he winced as they hit his ribs. “...Hey, you okay?”

He immediately bristled in that overly defensive way he always did. “I’m fine. You’re always so fucking worried about me, babe. It’s a bad look.”

“Whatever, Billy.” you rolled your eyes. 

“What’s for lunch?”

“A sandwich you will not be sampling for me, and a sandwich you will be sampling for you. My mom insisted that I bring you one.”

When he was quiet, you glanced up and saw a strange, faraway look in his eyes. He almost looked emotional. You wanted to ask if he was okay again, but you knew the answer would be even more volatile this time, so you simply took your books from him, shoved them in your locker, and then slammed it shut. 

He threw his arm around your shoulders as you walked to the cafeteria, seeming completely at ease and not at all bothered by the fact that absolutely everyone was staring at the two of you. You could see them all whispering, some trying to hide it behind their hands, others not bothering at all and just talking about you at a normal volume.

“Oh my god, are they seriously together?”

“What’s Hargrove want with her?”

“I thought he was into Carol. It’s what she’s been telling everyone.”

“Yo, Hargrove!” one voice called out over the others. 

Suddenly, you were faced with Tommy H. and a few of his friends, guys from the basketball team who probably didn’t even know your name. They forced you to come to a halt, blocking the hallway as Tommy looked over your head to talk to Billy. 

“We’re gonna scrimmage in the gym. You in?” he asked. 

Billy offered him one of those smooth, nonchalant smiles. “Nah. Got plans.”

Tommy’s eyes slid down to you. “...Seriously, Billy?”

“I said I got plans,” Billy growled. “You got a problem with that?”

Tommy suddenly smirked. “Oh, I see. Not really my type, but let us know how it is, yeah?”

The rest of the guys chuckled, and you suddenly got the feeling that you were the butt of a joke. When you looked up at Billy, you saw that he was laughing along with them, in that fake way he always did with people at school. People he didn’t actually give a shit about.

People who weren’t you.

“Come on,” he muttered, nudging you around Tommy and urging you to walk forward.

“Do they really think we’re about to go fuck in your car?” You asked bluntly, glaring up at him. “And you didn’t correct them?”

“What d’you want me to say?” He asked angrily as he glanced down at you. “Just leave it, doll.”

“I don’t want to,” you grumbled, leaning into his side anyways. “I shoulda punched him…”

You didn’t get a chance to see the fond look Billy cast your way. Even though you were tucked right up against his bruised ribs, he loved having you there next to him, and he never wanted to let you go. He didn’t care what dickheads like Tommy H said, he was into you for more than just sex, though judging by that kiss by the lake, you’d probably be great in the sack. No, Billy legitimately enjoyed the time he was spending with you, even though he didn’t really know how to show it.

When you sat down for lunch and he still hadn’t brought up Friday night or the morning that followed it, you decided that you would have to be the one to breach the subject.

“My parents like you, y’know,” you said.

He raised a brow as he bit into the sandwich you’d brought for him. “They tell you that themselves?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Your family’s weird as hell.” He said bluntly, not caring how rude it sounded.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

“Uh, they seriously don’t have a problem with drunk guys like me crashing on their couch?” He scoffed. “My—most parents would lose their fucking minds.”

“They kind of just…would rather somebody not end up on the side of the road somewhere,” you shrugged. “My brothers partied a lot when they were in school. Actually, our whole family has kind of a…reputation.”

“What kind?”

“The kind where everybody else’s parents talk shit, but they can’t be too mean to our faces because they need their cars fixed.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t care about reputation, then.”

You let out a loud laugh. “You? Not care about reputation? That’s rich.”

“What?” He asked, irritated. “I don’t. Not really. In fact, I—you know, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“You don’t, but it might be kind of nice if you did,” you pointed out.

He gave you one of those angry snorts, the kind that he always paired with a disgusted grunt in the back of his throat, and it made you smile. At least Billy was back to normal after the weekend, even if that meant he was back to being a dick.

——————-

It was a night a few weeks later that you learned why he was such a dick.

A sound outside your window startled you, and when a second one followed, you decided to check it out. You turned the lamp on your bedside table on and slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, thankful for your carpeted floor and the way it muffled your footsteps. When you reached the window, you saw a familiar face, as Billy Hargrove was clinging to the side of your house.

“Oh my god,” you hissed, opening the window and grabbing a handful of his denim jacket to pull him in. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s fucking midnight or something—are you okay?”

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t okay.

You sat him down on the edge of your bed and he just stared down at the floor. His lip was split. He had a black eye. A nasty bruise was forming on his jaw. He looked like he had just coke from a fight, though you had no idea who he possibly could have been facing when word around school was that he had already beaten the absolute shit out of Steve Harrington.

“Billy, are you okay?” You asked when he didn’t answer.

This time, he gave a slow shake of his head, still refusing to look up at you.

“Hey,” you stepped between his legs and gently took his face in your hands, mindful of the bruises as you tilted his head up to look at you. “What happened?”

“…Neil.” He said. Somehow it was more to himself than to you.

For a moment, you had no idea who he was referring to. You wracked your brain trying to remember if you went to school with anybody named Neil, and you came up empty…until you realized that you had heard the name before, from your brother.

“…a daughter and a stepson and a husband named Neil.”

You suddenly felt sick to your stomach as all the pieces of the puzzle began falling together. Every time he winced when you shoved him too hard. The way he was so nervous at breakfast. His bad attitude. It was all starting to make sense, and you hated it.

“He isn’t here now,” you whispered, pulling Billy’s head to your chest in a hug. “He’s gone. You’re safe with me.”

That broke him. Because he knew he was safe with you. He always had been, from that very first day where you let him eat your sandwich at lunch.

You felt him shudder as a silent sob rolled through his body. You didn’t care if he cried on your pajamas. He needed it.

“Don’t tell,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against you. “Don’t you dare fucking tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t tell,” you murmured as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I promise.”

This time, you heard the sob that wracked him and it broke your heart.

“Wanna spend the night?” You asked.

“…not on that shitty couch.”

“In here. With me.”

He hesitated, then nodded, and a minute later, he was curled around you, breaking down, holding you tightly like you were the teddy bear his father had never let him have as a kid. You could feel the chain around his neck tickling your skin every so often, and it reminded you that it was Billy Hargrove whose chest you were pulled up into.

And nobody else’s.

[randomshyperson]

Sorry for your loss - Final Chapter

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction pining, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, domestic Wanda, hurtful behaviors. 

Chapter Warnings: Mention of Smut, Brief Smut.

Tag list: @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @imapotatao // @aimezvousbrahms / @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia // @myperfectlovepoem

Author’s note: I don't know what to say exactly, just good reading, and sorry for any spelling/translation errors. I hope you enjoy the ending, and who knows, maybe a second season?

Read on AO3 || Serie Masterlist here

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Chapter Five - I will love again

You were up early on the weekend.

Since you were going to travel to New Jersey for Wanda's father's wedding anniversary, you didn't want to keep her waiting.

When you arrived at Wanda's house, she was already on her feet, running back and forth through the house, trying to find Tommy's lost toy, who kept crying that he wouldn't travel without it.

"Make yourself at home, I just need to find that bear." She said to you as she opened the door. You placed your only luggage on the floor as you looked around. Billy was watching television, and Tommy was sitting on the kitchen counter, crying.

You walked over to him.

"Hey, Tommy, why are you crying?" You asked stopping beside him, keeping your voice calm so as not to make him more nervous.

"I want my teddy bear!" He cried out between tears.

"Mommy will find it for you." You reply. "What is the name of your teddy bear?"

"Star Lord." Sniffles the boy. Your distraction is working, because he stops crying to talk.

"Wow, that's an incredible name!" You say. "How did you get the Star Lord?"

Tommy sniffles again, wiping his tears with his forearm.

"I got it for my birthday." He counters. "Billy got a skateboard, but Star Lord is cooler."

"Is that so?" You retort with interest in your voice, realizing that Tommy was barefoot and his socks were on the countertop, you show him that you are interested in hearing him talk as you help him finish getting dressed for the trip.

"Yes, it came in a huge, red box." Tommy counted with a smile as he gestured at the size of the object. "And he sleeps with me every night, so I need him to go to Grandpa's house."

"Oh, yes, of course you do." You agree with a smile as you tie the boy's shoelaces. "Do you remember the last place you played with Star Lord?"

Tommy sniffles thoughtfully.

"I don't know." He replies tearfully, you rush to ask about his favorite memory with the bear to avoid him to cry again, and it works.

When you finish tying the child's shoes, you pick him up on your lap as he tells you about the day he took Star Lord swimming, and then you sit him down in the living room next to his brother, and he is distracted enough by the cartoon on the TV to forget about the teddy bear.

Wanda joins you in the living room a minute later, looking nervous and with her hands empty.

"Hey, I think I have an idea." You tell her as you mentally review the things Tommy said. "Finish getting them to the car, I'll go find the bear."

You found it.

Ten minutes after you left the room, inside the pool.

Wanda couldn't hold back her laughter when you arrived in front of the car with your wet clothes up to pool height.

"Your idea was to get into the pool instead of using the cleaner to reach the bear?" She teased as soon as you handed her the toy. You laughed awkwardly, watching her give the bear to Tommy and seeing the boy celebrate excitedly. "You're not getting in my car wet like that."

You laugh, and then you have an idea. Approaching Wanda with open arms, you see her raise her finger in warning, but you are already hugging her with wet clothes, making her laugh.

The joke only ends because Pietro is parking the car in front of the house next, looking at you both curiously.

"Should I let dad know we're going to be late?" He teases putting his sunglasses up. You let go of Wanda as both of your giggles slowly stop, the two of you looking like children who have been caught up to mischief. "Come on girls, we have a road ahead of us."

"Shut up Pietro." Wanda grumbled humorously, starting to push you into the house by the shoulders. "Watch the boys while we get changed."

"Yes, ma'am." He retorted wryly as he took off his seat belt and got out of the car. You let Wanda push you inside.

Upstairs, you had smiles on your faces as she searched for clothes that would fit you.

"Are you sure it isn't better if I grab something I brought in my suitcase?" You ask distractedly as Wanda rummages through the closets.

"I don't want you to be one change of clothes short, I don't know what we'll end up doing over there." Wanda retorted. "And don't worry about it."

Wanda eventually handed you a set of very soft sweatshirts and underwear. You smiled in appreciation, looking away from the clothes in your hand to the woman in front of you.

As you turned toward the bathroom, Wanda spoke.

"You can stay."

Swallowing dryly, and ignoring the unregulated beating of your heart you turned to her again, one eyebrow raised not sure you had understood correctly.

Wanda sighed heavily, as if she was gathering the courage to say it again. But her gaze said it all. She was inviting you to change in front of her.

You felt your face heat up, but you gulped dryly, forcing yourself to reason correctly.

"I... I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Wanda retorted in defiance, and you let out a breathless laugh. She seemed to misunderstand your reaction, because her expression immediately fell. "Oh, you don't want to. Damn it, I..."

"What?" you interrupted quickly. "No, Wanda. I want to." You confess half breathlessly. "I really do."

"Oh." 

You shift your weight between your feet, feeling your stomach turn with the way Wanda looks at you. 

"But not like this." You say, swallowing dryly to confess correctly. You approach Wanda slowly as you speak. "Not in a hurry." Wanda breathes heavily, leaning back against the cabinet. You stop walking just inches from her body. "I want to be with you, with enough time to kiss every inch of your skin.” You confess again her lips. “Touch every spot that will make you lose control and scream my name."

"Fuck." Wanda gasped against your mouth, almost near enough to touch while closing her eyes. 

Ignoring the tightening sensation at the tip of your stomach, you fought your baser instincts and pulled away, sighing.

"Let's hurry before your brother comes to get us."

You smiled at Wanda, ignoring the urge to kiss her. She just nodded, trying to normalize her breathing. You took advantage of her lack of reaction to turn around and walk towards the bathroom. You had better get out of there soon, because you feel that you couldn't resist that woman again.

//-//

Tommy and Billy were singing in the back seat as you drove to New Jersey. You laughed at the scene, thinking they were adorable.

Your gaze was watchful on the road, following Pietro's car to his father's house.

When Wanda began to murmur the song, you looked at her for a moment. Absolutely stunning, with her red hair flying in the wind, the smile in the corner on her lips. The sunlight making her eyes sparkle.

Turning your attention forward because Wanda caught you looking, you bit back a smile, feeling your heart race a little. But neither of you commented, and you didn't care that Wanda was looking at you now.

//-//

When you arrived, you whistled impressed at Erik's residence. It was practically a mansion, but really it was just a very well built summer house. The neighborhood was very nice too. Wanda smiled playfully at you when she noticed your reaction.

The boys ran out of the car, excited to hug their grandfather who was already waiting for them at the door. They also hugged Charles, who was a short, balding man, very friendly.

"Grandpa, can we go ride the horses?" Tommy asked excitedly, and the man laughed lightly. 

"Go wash your hands and get something to eat first okay, boy?" Erik said to the boy, ruffling his hair.

The child agreed, entering the house along with his brother and his cousin, who had gotten out of the cars shortly after.

You were unpacking the bags from the car after parking and felt your breath catch when Wanda picked up one of the bags and caressed your hand with her fingers as you handed it to her. She smiled innocently, passing you to walk toward the door, and you cleared your throat before closing the trunk and following her.

"You must be Y/N." Erik greeted you as soon as you came to the door. "It's very nice to finally meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Erik." You replied with a smile. "And you too, Charles."

The man smiled, giving you room to pass him and enter the house. Wanda was standing in the living room next to Pietro and Monica, who had their suitcases on the floor.

"Papa, which rooms are empty?" She asked the man who had entered behind you.

"You can occupy any one upstairs." Erik warned closing the door as he and Charles entered.

You accompanied the group upstairs. Wanda placed the boys' backpacks in one of the bunk rooms, since the children always slept together. 

"You can have the room down the hall." She said, showing you the direction. "Next to mine."

She whispered the last part like a secret. You wanted to ignore how your stomach churned at the suggestion. Pietro and Monica passed you both, the man gave you a playful look, but made no comment. They would be in the room across from yours and next to the children's.

You guessed that the other door at the other end of the hall belonged to Erik and Charles

After putting your suitcase on the bed, you left the room. Pietro opened the door at the same moment.

"Come on, Y/N, I'm going to give you a full tour of the Maximoff residence." He announced excitedly and you giggled, following him around the house.

//-//

The Maximoff residence was much larger than you thought it was. There were even stables and a large wooded area that was part of the place, but Pietro didn't take you there, he just pointed you in the direction. You eventually discovered that the place used to be a simple farm, inherited from Pietro and Wanda's paternal grandparents, and when Erik married Charles, they renovated the place with money from the Xavier family, who were British and had a fortune built up in the vineyard area.

Pietro led you back to the kitchen when he finished showing you the property, patting you on the shoulder as he sat down on the kitchen counter, grabbing the jar of candy on the counter.

"The guests will be here soon, Pietro, get down from there." Warned Erik noticing his son's position. He was in the kitchen too, finishing sorting out some of the appetizers. During the tour, you noticed the decorations set up in the gardens, some tables and chairs and party decorations.

"Yes, papa." Grumbled Pietro as he obeyed. He reached over to accept the tray of food his father handed him.

"Take that outside please." Erik asked and you moved to get out of the way of Pietro, who gave you a wry smile as he passed, making you laugh slightly.

"Can I help too?" You asked noticing that there were still things to be carried.

"Thank you, dear, you are very kind." Erik said as he handed you one of the trays. You nodded and then turned around.

The garden was really nicely decorated, you noticed now that you were up close, placing your tray on one of the tables. There was also a small stage, which you imagined was meant for Erik and Charles to repeat their wedding vows. You smiled, remembering how your marriage to Natasha had gone. It was just nostalgic to think of her now, and it didn't make you unhappy anymore.

"I think you're all set now." Erik said behind you, arriving with a tray and placing it on the table next to yours. Pietro who had left earlier, was stealing one of the candies and received a disapproving look from his father. "Really, boy?"

Pietro laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

"I'm hungry, papa." He playfully retorted and you laughed at the interaction.

"Go help the ladies with the kids." Erik commands with a grimace, and Pietro laughs as he walks away. When he leaves, you feel slightly anxious about being alone with Wanda's father, but his posture is friendly. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you properly, Y/N. Would you like to take a walk with me before the party?"

You ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach when you agree. And Erik takes one last look at the decorations before leading the way.

//-//

A few minutes of walking later, where Erik asked you several questions about your life, your job, your age, who you lived with, that sort of thing, you reached a plantation area. You imagined it to be the vineyards of the property.

You could see the manor house in the distance, and the backyards, and a lake many meters away. The landscape was breathtaking.

"It's beautiful here." You comment beside him.

"Yes." Erik agrees with a smile, also looking at the scenery as you do. "I enjoyed your conversation, you are as lovely as Wanda usually tells us."

The comment makes your cheeks warm, the image of Wanda talking about you makes your heart soar. Erik seems to appreciate the way you react to it, smiling gently as he adds, "It's nice to know she's found someone nice to love."

You swallow dryly, glancing quickly at the man next to you, but he has his gaze on the landscape. You feel a warmth in your chest, mixed with embarrassment and happiness.

"Thank you, Erik." You say clumsily. 

"For what?"

"For accepting me here I guess." You retort with a smile. "For having me into your home. And well, for saying those things about me and Wanda." You say and he makes an understanding noise through his mouth. You are silent for a moment, until he speaks again.

"You know, when Magda, their mother, passed away, I thought I would never love anyone again.." Erik tells nostalgically. He keeps looking at the field in front of you, but you stare at him, attentive to his words. "But then I met Charles. And well, it did. It's different from what it was before. And I wouldn't change it for anything."

You nodded in understanding, letting the words echo in your head. You also think about how Agatha said you could move on. There was no problem in loving again, as intensely as before.

"I figured I'd be uncomfortable talking about someone marrying my daughter, but here we are." Erik comments humorously a moment later, making you chuckle awkwardly. "I guess it must be the way you look at her. You look like a lovesick puppy. "

You scratch your neck awkwardly, looking at the scenery, making Erik laugh at your blurriness.

"Don't get upset, I'm just teasing you." He comments with a smile, patting you on the back. You laugh clumsily.

"Do you guys have a garden around here?" You ask trying to change the subject, just as you notice the glass structures in the distance, capped by the vineyard. You figured if you turned around you would find your way to them.

"Oh, yes." Erik confirms. "Charles loves gardening. We have two greenhouses over that way. Would you like to see them?"

"Yes." You confirm with a smile. "But it can be after the party."

"Oh yes, I should get back and welcome the guests." Erik agrees as he checks his watch. You start walking back to the area of the house next.

//-//

You meet a lot of people at the party. It's a little overwhelming, because you really didn't expect Erik to invite so many people, and although you're glad that they had so many friends, your anxiety has increased a little. You were smiling politely at two ladies who said they were Charles' college friends while trying to pay attention to the story they were telling when Pietro rescued you.

"I need to steal my sister-in-law for a second ladies." He said and you widened your eyes. He only realized the mistake of his words when he noticed the looks on the women's faces in front of him. " Shit, I don’t mean like she got married to Wanda... I..."

You snuck out from behind Pietro when the ladies started attacking him with questions about the wedding, and when the ceremony had taken place and why the family wasn't called. You took the opportunity to escape when Pietro was convincing the ladies that you were not Wanda's wife, and that there was no secret wedding.

Walking over to one of the far tables, you frown in disbelief as you watch Luna run under the food table, clearly looking for a place to hide from her cousin, who is looking around a few feet away.

You crouch down, pulling the towel up to speak to the child.

"Luna, honey, maybe that's not the best place to play." You tell her with a smile. She looks around.

"Sorry, Aunt Y/N." She asks. "I'm hiding from Billy."

"Oh, is that so?" You ask extending your hand to her. She accepts, and you help her stand, taking care that she doesn't hit her head on the table. "Do you remember the path we took when we first got here? Try to hide behind that tall statue, I'm sure Billy won't find you."

"Wow, that's right, Auntie. Thank you." She mumbles, leaving with her head down next, watching for any sign of her cousin. You smiled, knowing that everyone at the party would get a glimpse of the children playing if she stood where you spoke.

You noticed that the two women who were talking to Pietro looked at you, and not wanting to be dragged back into that conversation, you made your way back to the house.

Bumping into Wanda on the way, you giggled.

"There you are." You remark.

"Where were you?" Wanda retorts with a mixture of curiosity and humor, noticing your "escape mode" posture.

"Well, apparently all of your father's friends like to meet everyone, so I've spent the last thirty minutes being introduced to everyone at the party."

Wanda gave a pout of pity.

"Sorry, dear." She says and you smile awkwardly, feeling your cheeks flush. "I'm looking for the boys, they need to change for the suits." 

"I saw Billy in the gardens." You tell her as you gesture briefly in the direction. "I'll go find Tommy for you."

Wanda smiles, biting her lips. You nod but when you make mention of moving away, she holds your forearm and moves forward, depositing a kiss on your cheek. 

"Thank you, sweetheart." She whispered, smiling mischievously at you before she turned away and left the kitchen. You bit your lip, feeling your heart racing. You didn't understand why Wanda was teasing you, but you weren't complaining.

//-//

Non Readers Pov

Wanda laughed affectionately when Billy launched himself onto her lap as soon as she found him in the backyard.

"Luna, dear, your mother is calling you too." Warned the red-haired woman to her niece who nodded turning toward the direction her aunt pointed. 

"Mommy can I play after I change my clothes?" Asked the boy as the woman carried him back to the house.

"Of course honey, but you have to be careful, okay? You can't get your suit dirty."

Just before she reached the entrance, someone called her name, causing Wanda to turn her head curiously.

"Sweetie, I need to ask you something." It was Ruth Eisenhardt, a nasty distant cousin of Wanda's known for gossiping, and lots of it, about all her relatives. "I just heard from Aunt Susan that you are dating that pretty girl you brought over." 

Wanda felt her face heat up, but kept her expression impassive. Before she could add anything else, the woman was speaking again.

"Of course we are all happy for you, but when I went to share the good news with Uncle Jeff, he said that Pietro had already denied this affair. Now I'm left not knowing if you're really going out with that beefcake."

Wanda let out an awkward giggle, frowning slightly at the way her cousin spoke.

"We're not exactly together, cousin." The redhead replied. "But that's not really your business."

Ruth grimaced in surprise, but then her expression changed to one of malice.

"You know, I'm just confirming it. Because after all, we don't have pretty things like that lying around in New Jersey."

Wanda clenched her jaw. Ruth was exactly the kind of girl who had a mania for taking what didn't belong to her.

"Cousin, don't flirt with her." Wanda said. "I'll only warn you this once."

Ruth giggled, surprised at the reaction. But Wanda didn't continue the subject, turning and continuing toward the entrance of the house.

"Mom what's flirt?" Billy asked next, drawing Wanda's attention away from her own not-so-pleasant thoughts about someone taking what was hers.

"It's a way adults talk, honey." Wanda explained, biting her lips thoughtfully briefly. "When they want to be more than friends."

"Like best friends?"

Wanda laughs briefly, denying it.

"No, Billy. Like lovers."

Billy makes a noise of agreement. "Why can't Aunt Ruth flirt with Aunt Y/N?"

Wanda sighs lightly, forcing a friendly expression so as not to confuse her son.

"She can."

"But you told her..."

"I know." Wanda interrupts with red cheeks. She takes a deep breath, smiling at her son. "Can I ask you something sweetie?" Billy nods in agreement. "If mommy started dating someone, would you be upset?"

Billy frowns, denying it.

"Mommy, you want to date Aunt Y/N don't you?"

Wanda's eyes widen in surprise.

"Where did that one come from?" she asked.

"You didn't like it when Aunt Ruth flirted with Daddy either, I remember Aunt Monica's birthday." He tells, and Wanda sighs slightly, remembering when she caught Ruth complimenting her husband as she ran her hands through her hair, and Wanda might have gotten a little carried away by accidentally flipping a wine glass in her cousin's lap. On the way home, when the twins asked, she said that she was upset with the way Ruth spoke to their father, and now Billy was able to understand everything. "And now you don't want Aunt Ruth to talk to Aunt Y/N like that." He concluded as if it was obvious. Wanda smiled as she went upstairs, careful not to trip on the steps with Billy on her lap. "Mommy, if you date Aunt Y/N will she move in with us?"

"I don't know dear." Wanda replied with a shy smile. 

"If she lives with us, will you let her sleep in my room?"

Wanda laughed, looking at Billy curiously.

"And why is that?"

"Because she knows how to play dragon. And also tell fairy tales." He says counting on his fingers. "And she also helps Tommy with his headache, so she can sleep on our rug and when he wakes up at night, she helps him."

Wanda smiles fondly, shaking her head slightly.

"Those are very good reasons indeed." She says. "But I think Y/N would like to sleep in a bed, no? The floor is uncomfortable."

Billy looks thoughtful and Wanda laughs briefly as she sets him down on the floor, already inside his room. She helps him out of his clothes to put on his party suit that is already on the bed.

"I can sleep in your bed mommy, and then Aunt Y/N sleeps in mine next to Tommy so he won't be alone."

Wanda laughs again, denying with her head. She bends down to button her son's shirt.

"Tell you what. Y/N sleeps in my bed, and if Tommy feels bad, she goes up to his room, how's that sound?"

//-//

Reader pov

"I think it sounds amazing." You spoke as you entered the room, a mischievous smile on your lips. Wanda startled slightly, surprised that you arrived at that moment, but she smiled shyly as she looked at you before turning her attention back to her son. 

"Yay, mommy!" Billy spoke excitedly. Wanda sat him down on the bed again, helping him put on his shoes. You guided Tommy gently by the shoulders to the bed, and as soon as he had a look at the suit he began to undress.

"I didn't know you were going to live with us, Aunt Y/N." Tommy comments as he removes his sneakers.

"I didn't know either." You retort, biting back a smile at the sight of Wanda's reddening cheeks. "I guess your mother forgot to invite me."

Wanda mumbles at you to shut up, making you smile.

"Mommy, you have to let Aunt Y/N know that she is going to live with us now." Billy said making you cross your arms, and turn to Wanda, joining in on the joke.

"Yes, Wanda! You need to let me know about these things." You say with false seriousness, and Wanda rolls her eyes in amusement, finishing putting on Billy's shoes and getting up to face you.

"Y/n, honey, you're going to move in with me when we get back home, okay?" Wanda asks in the same tone. You bite back a smile, ignoring how your heartbeat has quickened. You can't help but look at Wanda adoringly however, and her expression goes from playful to shy in microseconds.

"Okay, Wands. I'll love living with you." You say to her next, sounding slightly affected. The twins let out an exclamation of excitement, and break the bubble you are in. You clear your throat slightly as you turn your attention back to them, looking away from Wanda.

"Wow, you guys look great." You comment as you see the boys properly dressed next. The suits are very nice indeed.

"You can go back to the party, but be careful not to get your suits dirty. No playing in the dirt!" Wanda warns the boys, who are already running excitedly outside. 

"Okay, I'll go get ready too." You say next, thinking to check your cell phone as well, since you haven't turned it on since you left New York. "See you at the party?"

Wanda nods in agreement and you turn to leave.

At the door she stops you, pulling you by the forearm lightly and raising her hand to your neck, then bringing your lips together.

You both sigh and you feel your whole body tense up and heat up all at once. Wanda pulls away in the next moment, breathing as out of rhythm as you do.

You want to ask her why she did this now, but you think the question can wait until later, because she brings your lips together again, in a kiss far less innocent than before. Wanda closes the door with one hand, and with the other she pushes you against the wood. 

You gasp, letting your tongue run across her lip, and she gives you passage.

Her taste intoxicates your senses quickly, your hands moving up to her waist as hers move to your hair, deepening the kiss. You both gasp for air against each other's mouths, unable to separate. 

Panting, you feel your head spin as Wanda moves her tongue against yours, slow and sensual, and you can't help but squeeze her waist tightly, enjoying the feeling of her sighing against your lips.

You switch positions next moment, pressing Wanda against the wood of the door, your knee coming up between her legs. 

"Oh." Wanda moans breathlessly breaking the kiss. You move your kisses down her jaw to her neck, sucking on the skin and releasing just before marking. Your fingers play with the hem of her blouse, and Wanda brings your head up, kissing you again.

You press your body against her, wanting her to be touching you everywhere. The sensation makes you breathless, and hot in all the right places, causing you to moan.

You think you could kiss Wanda forever if she'd let you. The feeling of having her in your mouth is the best you have ever felt.

There are noises of footsteps coming from the stairs, and you both sigh when you hear them. It's Monica coming up with Luna, who is chatting animatedly. It's just what you need to snap back to reality, and slow down the kiss. 

You keep your foreheads together, and your hands around Wanda until the sound becomes distant, signaling that Monica has entered their bedroom with Luna.

You let out a giggle, and Wanda follows you. You look just like two teenage girls making out in secret. When you stop laughing, you kiss her again. Calmer this time. Before you let go, she bites your lip, tugging lightly, and making you gasp before letting go.

"Come on, go change." She commands, pushing you lightly. You smile because she keeps her grip against your blouse as she tells you to leave.

"It is you who are keeping me here, Maximoff." You tease with a smile. Wanda smiles too, and steals a kiss from you before letting go. You stumble backwards out of the room, grinning like an idiot, but you don't care, because Wanda looks at you just the same.

//-//

Wanda looked stunning in her party dress. You wanted to kiss her again, but you knew that if you did you would smear her lipstick, and she would have a lot of inconvenient questions ahead of her. So you just smiled, and breathlessly confessed how beautiful she looked, enjoying her flushed cheeks.

By the time you joined the party, the guests were arranging themselves at the correct places, and you joined a conversation circle with Wanda at your side, greeting a few more people. 

As the sun set, Erik and Charles signaled that the ceremony was about to begin.

//-//

It was all very beautiful. 

Maybe you cried between one confession and another, but everyone was emotional, so no one really cared.

Your cell phone had lots of pictures on it when you came back to the house, after saying goodbye to the guests who left when the party was over. You were holding Tommy by the hand, while Billy went with his mother, and the boys looked very tired.

"Let's go to bed, okay?" Wanda warned the kids as they followed her upstairs.

Erik wanted to open a bottle of wine, so after the kids were in bed, all the adults were outside on the balcony. Wanda sat very close to you, and you resisted the urge to put your arm around her.

"I guess I'll never get used to parties." Erik then comments, smiling nostalgically, making the group smile.

"I hope you're looking forward to the twenty-year anniversary one, papa." Pietro humorously retorts, and Erik laughs, looking at his husband tenderly.

"I look forward to it."

You smiled at the passionate way the couple looked at each other. You wondered what it must be like to stay married for so long. 

"I know we are all tired, but I had something to tell you." Erik then says, exchanging a look with Charles before continuing. "It's about the farm."

"What about the farm?" Pietro asked curiously.

"It 's yours."

Pietro frowns in confusion, looking at Wanda, who has the same look on her face.

"Papa, what?" Wanda asks, and Erik lets out a short laugh.

"You know I've always wanted to remodel this place, ever since you were kids." He recounts. "And Charles and I finally did it. But now we're old. And you two have your whole lives ahead of you, and well, you are our family. So Charles and I agreed that the house should belong to you both."

Wanda and Pietro exchange incredulous laughter.

"Papa, what? Are you sure?" Wanda asks looking from her brother to her father and stepfather. The older men just smile and the next moment they are hugging their children. You and Monica exchange looks of amusement. 

"So, does this mean we're moving?" Monica comments once everyone is seated, and elicits a giggle from the group.

"Let's save all this serious talk for tomorrow, shall we?" Erik asks with a smile. "Today, let's just enjoy the stars."

"Someone is feeling romantic." Charles jokes making the group laugh. 

"Papa, tell us some of your stories." Pietro asked with a smile, and Erik sighed, taking on a thoughtful expression.

"Um, let's see." He begins. "Have I ever told you about what happened in Budapest...?"

//-//

It was quite late when you and Wanda were finally alone, after Charles and Erik came in, you stayed talking to Pietro and Monica for a few more minutes, until they walked in as well.

You smiled at Wanda as she leaned back in her armchair to face you cross-legged, and you mimicked her position.

"Hey." She called out to you with a smile. 

"Hey."

"Did you enjoy the party?"

"Yes." You assured her tenderly. "It was pretty good actually."

Wanda nodded slightly, her gaze falling momentarily to your lips.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything you want, Wanda." You retort, making her smile.

The redhead looks intently at you.

"Did you mean it?" She asks and you blink in confusion. "About moving in with me."

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you smile.

"You're not even going to ask me out first, eh?"

Wanda laughed, looking away with flushed cheeks. You swallowed dryly, lifting your hand to turn her face toward you again, stroking her cheek lightly. God, Wanda was beautiful. Her bright green eyes looking back at you, the way her hair fell around her face, every part of her. 

"Don't you think we're happening too fast?" Wanda asks insecurely, you don't put your hand down, enjoying the feeling of her skin. 

"It depends." You answer letting your gaze wander to her, your free hand searching for hers in your lap, twining your fingers together.

"On what?"

"If you care about me..." You whisper as you bring your faces closer together, stopping when your lips are almost touching, and you and Wanda both close your eyes in anticipation. " As much as I care about you."

You kiss Wanda before she responds. Sweetly and softly. The sensation makes you smile against her lips, and you ignore the urge to deepen the kiss to pull away.

"Is that your way of saying you're in love with me?" Wanda teases half breathlessly a minute later, her tone playful and confident, but her rosy cheeks give away how affected she is. You think she's irresistible.

You laugh lightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face before looking into her eyes.

"I'm in love with you." You confess simply, watching her blink in surprise and amazement. "So, you still think it's too fast?"

Wanda smiles, denying it, and then approaches you.

"I'm in love with you too" She confesses as a secret against your lips. You feel your stomach rumble with nervousness and excitement, but you don't say anything else, because Wanda kisses you again. She asks for passage with her tongue a second later, making you sigh.

You hold your mouths together in a passionate kiss for long minutes, panting against each other' lips as Wanda moves to sit on your lap with her hands on your neck while your hands move up to her waist. You feel hot and bothered, squeezing her skin as if you want to merge with it. It is only when your kisses begin to move down to her collarbone that Wanda gasps saying that you two should go upstairs.

She moves off your lap, breaking the kiss, and you bite your lips, chasing her mouth again. Standing up, Wanda slides her tongue against yours one last time, making your head spin, before she pulls away, smiling at you as she pulls you by the hand into the house.

She signals with her finger for you to be quiet as you enter, and you swallow dryly as you observe the way her eyes are dark.

Getting to your room seems to take forever, especially since you can barely breathe, but finally you arrive.

Wanda locks the door after you enter. And then the atmosphere changes, because you both know what is about to happen.

She smiles shyly at you and you hold out your hand to her, leading her to sit on the bed beside you.

You exchange a glance before you sigh softly, slowly moving closer to her face. When you kiss her, much more tenderly and gently than any other time, Wanda melts.

She raises her hands to your neck, deepening the kiss as she falls onto the bed and takes you with her. You kiss her firmly, swirling your tongue around hers slowly, making her shiver. 

There is no rush in what you are about to do, and you certainly want to enjoy every second of it.

You rest your weight against Wanda, enjoying the feeling of having her beneath you, and the sound that escapes her throat. Your mouth separates from hers only for you to move your kisses down her collarbone, causing Wanda to close her eyes and sigh.

Your hands reach behind her back to pull down the zipper of her dress. When your fingers make contact with her exposed skin, Wanda bites her lips, entwining her legs together in search of more friction.

Your kisses move down as you pull the dress off her body, Wanda shifting on the bed to help you undress her. You move away from her neck to remove the piece completely, your gaze falling to her exposed skin the next moment. The redhead blushes at your stare, but all you can do is admire. The sight of her bare breasts makes your core throb, and you feel the urge to touch and kiss every inch.

You kiss her again in the next second, but part your mouths again quickly to move your lips down her body.

At the first touch on her breasts, Wanda gasps loudly. You smile, controlling the urge to tell her not to be so loud, but you are distracted by the growing heat in your core when you suck on her nipple and she whimpers, bringing her hand to your hair to keep you there.

Dividing your attention between the nipples, you kiss, bite, and suck the sensitive skin, keeping enough of it in your mouth for the skin to be marked red, which elicits a hearty moan from Wanda.

As your kisses begin to descend again, Wanda's body tenses. You kiss at the height of her navel before looking up, and already find her looking up at you with darkened eyes, biting her lip.

"Everything okay?" You ask in a sigh, trying to reason properly out of the bubble of lust. 

Wanda's hesitation causes you to raise your face back toward her again, keeping your hands by her side so as not to fall against her body.

"What's wrong?" You ask gently, trying to find any sign of discomfort. 

"Nothing." She says with a shy smile. "It's just... it's the first time I... since..."

"Yeah, I know." You interrupt half breathlessly, knowing exactly what she is referring to. "Mine too." You confess, but at this point, you knew she should have guessed it too. You have been grieving partners for quite some time, after all. "Do you want to stop?"

"No." Wanda quickly denies, biting back a smile. "I feel good."

You smile, nodding in agreement.

"Me too." 

You kiss Wanda gently again, but before the kiss gets more heated, you pull away to whisper against her lips. "Let me know if you feel uncomfortable at any time."

Wanda nods, bringing your lips together next.

//-//

When you awake, it is probably the best sleep you have had in months. Wanda is curled up on you, her clothes spread across the room lit by the sunbeams from the window.

You mumble that you have to get up because the children will be up soon, but Wanda says that her father will take care of them, and kisses you until you completely forget where you are.

When you finally get up, and go downstairs for coffee, neither adult comments at all on the way Wanda's hand remains in yours throughout the meal.

//-//

While Wanda is talking to Pietro and Erik about how they are going to organize the inheritance of the farm, and the children are playing in the backyard in front of the veranda, you decide to call your mother.

You end up learning that she got a buyer for your apartment, but you tell her that you would deal with these matters when you get back. After checking email and that sort of thing, you turn off your cell phone again.

Taking one last look at the children, you walked back into the house, catching a small piece of the conversation of the others in the living room about what would be done about Wanda's flower shop, but you didn't intrude. 

"We know a lot of people around here, Wanda." Charles was counting. "I'm sure we'll be able to find a new location for the flower shop."

Wanda looked slightly apprehensive, probably considering all the consequences of the relocation, but she relaxed her posture completely when you entwined your hand with hers.

When the conversation was over, it was decided that the families would move to the farm. Selling the properties in New York would take some time, but they would still move to the city during the vacations. It was going to be a rush, but Erik and Charles were willing to help too.

Since you guys were leaving that afternoon, you went back to your room to pack. And Wanda joined you a moment later, kissing you on the cheek before sitting down on your bed.

" All good?" You asked as you folded your socks.

"Yeah." She confirmed with a smile. "I'm just trying to believe that all this is really happening."

"It's not every day we get a farm, is it?" You joke making her laugh. Wanda bites her lips next, looking at you fondly, and you look away to your bag, feeling your face heat up.

"I forgot to ask you something yesterday." She begins somewhat shyly. You frown slightly, muttering for her to ask. "Are we dating?"

You laugh in surprise, throwing your folded party clothes into your suitcase, before approaching Wanda, raising your hand to her chin.

"What do you think, love?" You ask against her lips, dragging your mouth down her jaw to the height of her ear. "After what you did with your tongue yesterday, you're not going anywhere."

Wanda gasps, clenching her hands in the bed. You smile because you know the memories have hit her all over again. But you turn away next, smiling innocently at the woman in front of you before turning your attention back to the suitcase.

"I don't get a ring?" She teased next, making you laugh briefly. You looked back at the door before advancing against her, kissing her firmly, completely overturning her confident posture. When Wanda sighed against your mouth, you pulled away, and she grumbled, her hand reaching up to grab your belt and pull you back to her, but noises of footsteps made her give up.

Soon the boys came running into the room, talking excitedly about living on the farm and riding every day, and you wanted to laugh at the way Wanda had to disguise how affected she felt by your small make out session to answer her sons' questions.

//-//

After saying goodbye to your hosts with hugs, you sat in the back seat with the boys, because Tommy insisted that he wanted to show you a video game. Wanda drove you to your apartment, and after getting your suitcase from the trunk, you waved goodbye to the boys, and approached the driver's window.

"I'll call you, okay?" You tell her with a smile, Wanda nods, and you kiss her. Tommy and Billy make disgusted noises in the back of the car, and you and Wanda laugh as you part.

Waving to everyone in farewell one last time, you wait for Wanda to leave with the car before you go into the house.

"Kissing girls on the doorstep, heh? Looks like high school all over again." Your mother teases from the kitchen just as you enter. You laugh as you close the door.

"Spying through the kitchen window, Mom? And I thought I was a grown-up." You retort in the same tone as you walk to the kitchen to greet her with a kiss on the forehead, tossing your suitcase on the counter afterwards.

"Are you really dating then?" Your mother asks and you murmur in agreement. She smiles. "I'm so happy, honey. I can't wait to prepare for the wedding."

You roll your eyes humorously, picking up an apple from the countertop.

"We need to talk about your apartment, by the way." She starts again, looking through her briefcase for something. "I've found buyers, and well, I'm already looking at some houses for you, too." She says as you take a seat next to her at the table. "Of course I love having you here, but we both know you can't wait to have a place of your own again."

You sigh lightly.

"Yeah, Mom." You confirm. "About that..."

//-//

"You're late." Agatha remarked as soon as you stumbled into her office. You gave her a lopsided smile, closing the door as you entered.

"Sorry, I had a date and lost track of time."

Agatha raises her eyebrows at you.

"A date, hm? Let's talk about it then."

//-//

You had just deposited Melina's share of the apartment in the bank when your cell phone vibrated.

A message from Bucky, asking if you were coming to therapy with him today, as he was already at the station. You reply with an emoji, and a text saying coming.

//-//

"I am immensely happy for your progress, even though I am upset that you will not be continuing with us." Stephen says to you and Wanda, in your last group session.

"Well, New Jersey has its support groups. But this one is always going to be special." You tell him as you lightly tap his arm. Stephen smiles as he hands you the progress brooches. Wanda has her hand intertwined in yours, and the man in front of you looks at that before commenting.

"You know, I always find it curious the way pairs develop in the group." He comments. "We never ask that the activities be romantic, but still, many of them end up falling in love."

You and Wanda exchange a mixed look of embarrassment and happiness.

"I guess we have you to thank for that." Wanda says next, but Stephen smiles, denying it.

"Not at all. I'm happy for both of you. After all, I always thought you would get along together." He hints last, making you and Wanda laugh softly.

//-//

"I just need to lock up and grab a few last things in the office, and then we can go." Wanda told you when you arrived at the flower shop. The establishment was now empty, as the moving crew had already passed by.

You waited for her in the reception area.

With the key to the flower shop in hand and the last files that were there, Wanda hesitated. You looked at her, standing in the center of the place, eyes watering, and smiled as you approached.

"Everything okay?" You asked as you touched her arms, stroking her to calm her down.

"Yeah." She sighs, looking around one last time before looking back at you. "It just feels like I'm ending something. Like a chapter in my life."

You swallow dryly briefly, nodding.

"Are you scared?"

Wanda smiles.

"Terrified." She confesses. "But I have you, so I know I'll be all right."

You smile, lifting your hands to your neck to kiss her. It's brief and sweet, and it's exactly what you both need to be sure you're doing the right thing.

 "You're a flirt, aren't you Maximoff?" You tease with a smile, and Wanda giggles lightly against your lips.

"And you are breathtaking, love."

You felt your face heat up, kissing Wanda again.

"Are you sure about what we're doing, Wanda?" You let the words escape your anxious brain next. Wanda raised her free hand to your face, caressing your cheek.

" Absolute." She assures. "You are my future."

You swallow dryly, affected by the intensity of the confession. A shy smile escapes your lips in the next moment.

"And you are mine."

[youareinlovees]

LA Lockdown (submission)

(um hi, hope you don't mind me submitting this to you but I got inspired to do some ~creative writing and Nat got deactivated 😭)

May 2020

It’s a beautiful day in LA. Joe sits at one end of the couch on the outdoor terrace, absorbed in his book. Taylor is sitting at the other end, looking out at the view across Beverly Hills and occasionally looking at her phone, her feet up on the seat and her legs draped across Joe’s lap. It’s an idyllic scene. Lockdown might be boring him stiff, with all his upcoming acting projects being pushed back indefinitely, but he knows that he does have it pretty good.

Joe gets distracted from his book by the sight of his phone screen lighting up with new messages in the Frosty Crew and partners group chat. Picking up his phone, he sees that Jesse has sent a link to a Reductress article entitled, ‘Have you made the Bon Appétit focaccia yet or do you live with someone you can fuck?’

He chuckles, but before he can respond, another message pops up in the chat.

Taylor: Not to brag but some of us have managed to do both

She looks across from the other end of the couch and smirks at him. In response, he taps out a message of his own.

Joe: And it was thoroughly enjoyable Joe: Orgasmic one might say Joe: I am of course referring to the baking that Taylor did yesterday

Taylor: Aw baby I didn’t know you liked it that much Taylor: We can have it again later if you like

Joe: Later? That’s an awfully long time to have to wait

Jesse: do you two know you can just text each other directly if you want to schedule sex?

Taylor slides her legs further across Joe’s lap, intentionally rubbing herself against his groin and shuffling closer to him. He grins, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in so he can press a few light kisses to the side of her neck.

Billy: Text each other? She’s probably sitting in his lap right now.

Joe momentarily pulls away from kissing down Taylor’s jawline to add a final message of his own.

Joe: Oh shit, busted Joe: Billy you need to stop spying on us through the security cameras Joe: Anyway I’ll talk to you lot later

Taylor tugs his phone out of his hands and puts it down next to her own on the table, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now that you’ve finished telling everyone that we’re about to fuck, can we actually get on with it?’ she teases.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking straight into her hypnotizingly blue eyes, ‘I think you’ll find you’re the one who started it, actually.’

‘Excuse me, Joseph, but which one of us was too impatient to wait until later? It’s only the middle of the day. I would have been perfectly content waiting until after whatever movie you’ve picked out for us this evening.’

She’s a vision, her messy hair falling across her shoulders, dressed in an old Rolling Stones t-shirt and a comfy pair of short shorts that cling tightly to her ass. They’d played a game of tennis earlier and he certainly hadn’t been complaining about the view whenever she bent down to pick up another tennis ball. Now, he runs his hands up under her t-shirt, over her stomach and round her back.

‘Well,’ he says, pretending to be disappointed, ‘if that’s how you feel, I guess I’ll go back to my book.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she says breathily, straddling his lap properly and grinding into him. He takes one hand out from under her shirt and pushes it into her hair instead, pulling her head firmly down towards his until their lips meet.

They kiss passionately, desperately, Taylor moaning into his mouth, breaking apart only to pull off each other’s t-shirts. She’s still moving back and forth on his lap and driving him wild. He’s almost fully hard by this point, and suddenly he stands up, taking her by surprise. She’s still wrapped around him, her long bare legs encircling his waist.

‘We’re going back to bed,’ he says firmly.

They could just have sex where they are, or on one of the many other couches downstairs - they’ve done it plenty of times before - but he has a sudden urge to show off to her a little, give her a practical demonstration of the benefits of all the working out he’s been doing during lockdown. He carries her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom as she bites his earlobe and kisses his neck in a very distracting manner.

He lowers her onto their bed, climbing on top of her to kiss her again. ‘You’re still wearing far too many clothes,’ he murmurs into her ear. She shivers in anticipation - he knows how much his voice turns her on when it’s right in her ear like this - and lifts her arms above her head in response, allowing him to pull her sports bra off and turn his attention to her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples. She gasps as he aggressively sucks a hickey onto her underboob, pushing her hips up against his body in an effort to seek out some much-needed friction.

‘Joe, please,’ she begs. ‘Enough with all this teasing, I need you now.’

He smirks, pressing his hips firmly down into hers, stopping her grinding motion. ‘Well, since you asked so nicely…’

He draws back to kneel on the floor at the side of the bed, pulling her hips towards him. He can practically hear her heart thudding in her chest as he hooks his long fingers under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them off in one motion along with her underwear. As he pushes her thighs apart and drapes her legs over his shoulders, he can see that she’s soaking wet. He decides to cut out the teasing, having made her wait for long enough already, gripping her hips and going straight for her clit.

The sound she makes in response is almost enough to make him come then and there, but he’s made of stronger stuff than that. As he continues, he can hear her breath catching in her throat, feel her perfect thighs tightening around his head, her body squirming under his attentions as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Before long she’s coming, her whole body shuddering and her back arching off the bed as she moans out uncontrollably, ‘oh, Joe.’

He works her through her orgasm until eventually he looks up from between her legs to see her lying with her head thrown back, breathing heavily, hands clutching the sheets on either side of her, and a blissed-out expression on her face. She’s radiant, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he feels a surge of satisfaction at being the only person allowed to bring her to this state.

‘Fuck,’ she mumbles deliriously, her cheeks flushed red. ‘That was so good, babe.’

But they’re not done yet, because he’s as desperate for her as she is for him. Pulling his sweatpants and boxers off, he climbs back onto the bed and hovers over her, repositioning them so that her head is on the pillow now. Taylor whines softly as he pushes into her, clearly still sensitive from the high she’s just had, so he starts off at a gentle pace. She feels so so good around him, and he nuzzles into her neck and groans softly into her ear. He loves feeling connected to her like this, their bodies intertwined and her hands in his hair. He lifts himself back off her slightly to look into her eyes.

‘s okay,’ she whispers to him, ‘you can go harder.’ He notices her gaze lingering slightly on his arms, which have bulked up noticeably in the last few months. He suppresses a grin. If that’s what she’s after, that’s what she’ll get.

Without any warning, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, thrusting into her with a newfound aggression. She moans, her mouth falling open and her eyes rolling back as she hitches her thighs up higher around his waist. She writhes in pleasure underneath him as he hits her spot, taking advantage of the new angle to penetrate her more deeply. With her hands restrained, she can only tighten herself around him and respond to every stroke by undulating her hips up into him. ‘Don’t you dare stop,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so close, Joe.’

The desperation in her voice turns him on even more. He can feel himself getting close, so close, and he quickly moves one of his hands down to her clit, repositioning the other one so that it’s still pinning down both of her wrists. ‘Are you going to come for me, Tay?’ he asks, his voice low and commanding. The combination of his fingers, his relentless thrusting, and his voice pushes her over the edge for a second time, and he feels her whole body shaking and clinging onto him as she comes hard.

The sensation of her body clenching around him is enough to make him explode as well, and he collapses on top of her, finally releasing her hands. She winds her arms around his shoulders and through his hair, which by this point is a complete mess, as he lies with his head on her chest, both of them slowly getting their breath back and letting their heart rates come back down to normal.

Joe can feel Taylor smiling against the top of his head. ‘Sorry for tearing you away from your book, babe,’ she says cheekily. ‘I’ll have to make you some more of my - how did you describe it? - orgasmic focaccia to make it up to you.’

He laughs at her silliness as they both get up to look for their clothes. ‘That’s okay, love, you’re good enough to eat on your own.’ Taylor snorts and pretends to smack him on the arm with her shorts, but she can’t resist replying, ‘In that case, maybe I can arrange a special dessert for you after dinner tonight.’

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.

[mckennamayfairgoode]

Show Me the Foothold From Which I Can Climb [Part One]

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Request: i saw that your requests were open and i wanted to ask if you could do something for billie x reader, i LOVED your other one. -requested by anon

Warnings: Nothing yet, except minor character death, but it will get VERY heavy later on. (Future TW include: addiction, alcoholism, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts.)

A/N: I’ve spent too long working on this, so I decided to break it up into parts and post it instead of going back over the same scenes again and again. I’m not sure how many parts it will be. Probably three or four. A big thank you to @lucyintheskywithxanax​ as usual for being my plastic duck. You are The Best (no, really, you are). ❤

Song: Mountain at My Gates by FOALS. Also mentioned is I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

“Let’s take five minutes, okay? Sorry, everyone, they’re being stubborn today.” Billie smiles apologetically at the camera crew and the sight of it alone is enough to ease the mounting frustration in the room. Shoulders relax and tension melts away as if the atmosphere hadn’t been stifling just moments before. You call it ‘The Billie Effect.’

“Five minutes and we’ll try again,” the director agrees, giving the crew the go-ahead to take a break. There’s a spattering of pleased murmurs before everyone uses the opportunity to disperse around the house or go outside for some fresh air.

You adjust the camera on your shoulder and watch as the director walks up to Billie, his hands moving in animated gestures as he speaks. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can imagine. The long day has not made him any more pleasant to be around. The smile on Billie’s lips is charming as she attempts to sooth his ruffled feathers. It only takes a moment, one hand resting on his shoulder to make the interaction seem more intimate than it is, before he turns away from her with a satisfied expression that makes something inside you tug unpleasantly. Once he turns away from her, Billie’s bright expression falls and her brows pinch together. 

You wait for him to walk away before easing up to her side, eyeing his back as the distance between you grows. “Was he giving you trouble?”

“He’s the director of the show, Y/N,” she points out and when you turn to her, you see that her smile has returned, beautiful and real and just for you. Your heart seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

You shrug the shoulder not currently occupied by a camera. “Yeah, well, without you there wouldn’t be a show,” you remind her, annoyance clear in your tone.

Billie laughs, low and husky. “Easy, tiger.” She wraps a hand around your bicep and runs her thumb along the edge of your shirt sleeve, barely dancing across your bare skin and shooting tingles up your spine.  “Everyone has their part to play, even him.”

You roll your eyes. “It’d be easier if he played his part somewhere else,” you mutter.

She grins, her big brown eyes dancing with amusement. You watch that familiar teasing glint bleed into them like wine stains into a beige carpet.  “Careful there, sweetheart. I’m starting to get the impression that you care about me.”

“And I’m starting to get the impression that you want me to care about you,” you retort playfully, watching the pleased smile morph her beautiful face into something soft and sweet. No one gets to see her like this. No one but you. That smile only lasts a second before her shoulders tense, just barely, just enough for you to notice. Her gaze flicks to the side. You’ve been around long enough to know that she’s feeling or seeing something you can’t. Your voice softens into a soothing tone. “Everything okay, pretty woman?” 

Billie startles, her grip tightening on your arm as she steadies herself before she flashes you a comforting smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” She raises a slender hand and with one long acrylic nail extended, points to a spot in front of you both. “I can feel them right here, but they won’t come out.”

You both look at the space like your combined staring power will overwhelm the spirits and force them to reveal themselves. You don’t realize how close you’ve drifted to one another until you go to nudge her shoulder with your own. “They will,” you say. 

The darkness in her eyes eases at the conviction in your tone. She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” she asks. “We’ve been here for eight hours and have nothing to show for it.”

You resist the urge to move a wayward curl back behind her ear.  “You’re Billie Dean Howard. No one can resist you.”

Her smile turns sly. “Not even you?”

You turn to face her and feel your heart stutter. She’s already looking at you, her eyes warm and tender. “Not even me,” you finally say, your tone leaving no doubt that you are dead serious. The space between you is so small your noses would brush if you tipped forward. There’s a split second where you think you might kiss her. If you weren’t in the middle of a haunted house surrounded by your coworkers, if you were alone, and if she was looking at you like she is right now, maybe you would lean in and wipe that sly smile from her face with your lips. 

“You ready, Billie?” A masculine voice startles you both out of the moment causing you to jerk away and take a step back from each other. Billie is elegant and composed as usual, but your heart thunders in your chest like you are a storm splitting open the sky. You glance at her lips. Had she been leaning in too? 

Billie gives the director a nod before turning back to you. The intensity hasn’t left her eyes. You search them for a moment, find the sincerity there and anchor to it with your heart. A slow grin spreads across your face and you nod to the starting marker on the floor. “Come on, pretty woman. I promise to get your good angle.”

She scoffs, an amused expression lighting up her face. “You always get my good angle.”

“It’s not the only thing I plan on getting,” you flirt. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll prove it to you later.”

Billie laughs and tosses her wavy curls back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing,” she purrs, trailing her fingertips along your shoulders as she passes behind you.

You watch her go and know your expression must be lovestruck. Her presence always makes you feel weightless, a bird’s wayward feather in free fall. You think you might be able to float to the ceiling if you tried.

“You don’t really believe in this bullshit, do you?” a voice asks over your shoulder. You glance behind you to see your new assistant standing there looking perplexed and bored.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting the camera on your shoulder. “Why are you working here if you don’t believe it?”

He shrugs, following you to the mark and standing behind you. “Needed the experience,” he says simply.

You look into the viewfinder, adjusting the angle and shuffling until the sunlight streaming in from the living room window carves highlights into Billie’s cheekbones. She looks like a marble sculpture, like she belongs in the Louvre and not this haunted house in southern California, like she will be cemented in time, beautiful and endless. “Stick around,” you tell him. You pull back, look over the top of the camera, and lock eyes with Billie from across the room. “She’ll get them to show. She always does.” 

--

“Holy shit.” Your assistant's voice comes out in a breathy whisper, barely audible over the rattling sound of wheels rolling along the pavement.

You grin but resist the urge to snicker, because you’ve been there before. Skeptical and unsure, drawn to Billie of course, in awe of her smile, but not a believer in anything you couldn’t physically see. Then she had brought a derelict house to life with light that was not natural and shadows that liked to play pretend and you had watched her speak to someone whose presence you couldn’t even feel. That moment had changed you. 

Once upon a time, you had been so very small and fearful of the things you did not understand. Locked in your castle and warned away from the room at the end of the hall, you were protected, but sheltered, and your world had been so very small along with you. Until one day, you met a princess with golden hair and big brown eyes, who was kind and good and could see things you could not. 

The princess had taken you by the hand and led you to the end of the hall where she cracked the door open so that you could take a peek into the room you were not allowed in. Inside that room was a darkness and in that darkness was a glimmer of something bigger than you. You’d tugged at her hand to ward her away from the things you feared, but she stood tall and faced the darkness head on.

“Don’t be scared,” she’d said. The princess turned on a light - you think it came from within her - and the darkness shrank back, twisting into shadows that held out their spindly arms but could not reach you no matter how hard they tried. She looked at you and she smiled. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised and you believed her. You were a mountain and you were not afraid of anything. 

“You’ll get used to it,” you say, reaching the studio van and gesturing for him to help you load the equipment cases inside. 

He doesn’t look like he believes you. In fact, he looks like he might lose his lunch right there on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t be the first who couldn’t handle a glimpse of the other side. Ignoring it won’t make it go away, but you don’t say that. Instead, you latch the doors behind you, bid him goodnight, and meander down the sidewalk in the direction of your car. 

You watch the van’s tail lights disappear around the bend for only a moment before Billie’s soul inevitably calls to yours and you turn to look for her. She’s still standing on the front porch speaking with the homeowners. Not surprising. Billie hates to leave a job half finished. She nods her head empathetically, places a hand on the man’s arm, and says something charming no doubt. The couple laughs in response, just as you knew they would. No one can resist Billie Dean Howard. You lean back against the hood of your car, tuck your hands into your pockets, and wait.

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes later, she struts toward you like she’s on the red carpet and not a cracked, chalk-covered sidewalk in the middle of the suburbs. Your heart flounders in your chest like a fish on the deck of a boat and you wonder if you will always be this helpless when faced with her presence. “Hey, pretty woman.” You nod to the road behind you. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“And where would you be taking me on a Friday night?” Even across the distance, you can see the mischievousness in her expression. Billie loves to play games, and you are more than happy to indulge her.  

You reach in your pocket for your keys, absentmindedly playing with them as you grin. “Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Try again.”

Billie slows to a stop in front of you and tilts her head, eyeing you with a barely concealed smile. She tries to look stern but the glitter in her eyes betrays her. “What are you up to, Y/N?”  

You shrug. “I’m just keeping my promises,” you say simply. You reach over and open the passenger door for her with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

--

“We’re here,” you announce, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind you. 

Billie follows you at a leisurely pace, her head turning this way and that as she takes in your surroundings. She looks out of place up here, like a beautiful porcelain doll left in the middle of the woods. She is your diamond in the rough, your supernova in an empty sky. She burns. You wonder if it’s for you.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” you respond, already knowing the question that will leave her lips.

“Why have you brought me to a cliff?”

You laugh and hold out your hand. “Do you trust me?” you ask, serious despite the light tone to your voice.

Billie does not hesitate. She sets her well manicured hand in yours, looks you in the eyes, and says, “Always.”

You have to swallow the lump in your throat to respond. “Good, because I was going to drive us both off the cliff, but there’s a concrete barrier in the way. We’ll have to go on foot and just jump off instead.”

She chuckles, low and throaty in just the way that makes your spine shiver. “Oh, darling. I’m going to need some incentives if you’re going to make me do all that in these shoes.”

You smirk and, mindful of her expensive heels, begin leading her down the smoothest path to the cliffside. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I’m sure you can,” she purrs. Her hand in yours is soft and warm. You have held hands before. Large hands, small hands, the hands of those you love and hands from a distant past that you haven’t held for a very long time but still remember. There had been fingers wrapped around a thumb bigger than yours, hands clasped palm to palm as your brother helped you cross the street, pinkies interlocked to cement promises that would surpass time and age, fingertips pressed together beneath the table in the library with the girl who always laughed at your jokes. They were not like this. Holding this hand felt like coming home. Like you were meant to hold it. Like you have held it before.

As you near the aforementioned barrier, you turn to her with an impish smile. “Close your eyes,” you say.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t usually do that on the first date.”

Your heart jumps, excited, happy, hopeful. “You let me bring you to a cliff on our first date?” you ask, playfully appalled.

Her smile grows fond. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

You bite your lip to quell the grin forming and tug at her hand. “Come on, the incentive lies in what will happen after you close them.”

“Well, how can I resist when you put it like that?” she teases, shutting her eyes and trusting you to guide her the rest of the way. You do, one careful step at a time, until you are near the edge. You look out over the view and feel your soul untangle itself from your heart, but it does not leave, not yet. It wants to be free, but it doesn’t want to go alone. 

You glance back at her, just a moment, maybe just to check that she’s real and not a vision that lives in your head. “You can open them now.”

She does. 

From a bluff overlooking the city, you watch as the sun sets, a jeweled crown that settles itself on the head of a skyscraper, radiant and eternal. Just for her. For the princess in your fairy tale. Almost as if you had willed it into existence all by yourself, lights start appearing in the city. Streetlamps, headlights, lights from offices and businesses and apartments; all of them blink on, one tiny speck at a time, until the whole of Los Angeles is alight with stars of their own making.

You don’t say anything and neither does she. You don’t need to. Billie’s fingers slide between your own, more intimate than any night you’ve spent in bed with another woman, and she squeezes. Just once. Your soul follows the invisible thread between your hearts and entangles itself with hers. They float away together like flower petals on a summer breeze.

You turn to her as she looks off into the horizon. Your eyes follow the shape of her face, from her forehead to the gentle slope of her nose, the curves of her mouth to the jut of her chin, and you wish you were tracing it with your fingertip instead. The setting sun casts a glow to her hair turning it different shades of molten gold and pink and you think you have never seen a more beautiful sight.

When she turns to face you, your eyes meet and your noses touch, much like they almost had earlier that day. Only this time there is nothing stopping you from closing the distance. Your breath hitches, your heart thunders, you are a feather in free fall, but you will not be afraid. Billie would never hurt you. Not your protector, your safety, your light.

You tangle your free hand into her hair and pull her close enough to brush your mouth against hers. It’s soft and tender, flowers grazing in a moonlit meadow, the gentle fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, the ocean lapping against the sand on a lazy, summer night. 

Her other hand reaches for your cheek, pulling you closer. You melt against her, breathe her in, think maybe this is what happiness is, maybe this is what eternity would feel like as long as you are with her. She sighs into your mouth like she has been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Your soul ignites as her nails graze your cheek, gentle and revering, like you are precious, like you are important, like you are the flower petal that may float away.  Maybe you fell in love with her then. Maybe you have been in love with her all this time.

--

“Hello?”

“Hi there, sweet thing. Where are you?” Your tired ears perk up at the sound of Billie’s voice, a smile lighting up your face as if it had been waiting just for her. 

“Hi, baby. I’m at the studio going over the footage from yesterday. Are you still at the interview?” You glance out of the nearby window. Night has already fallen and rain pelts against the glass like a swarm of angry bees. “It’s late.”

“It ran over by two hours,” she explains, her voice tight and clipped. 

You furrow your brows. “You don’t sound happy about that. Did it not go well?”

You hear the flick of a lighter. “If you call four hours of talking in circles ‘well’ then one would say it went perfectly fine.” She sighs. “Maybe I was just impatient.” 

“For what?”

“For you.” Your breath catches in your throat. You almost trip going down the stairs but manage to catch yourself in time. “Y/N?” 

“I’m here,” you manage to say. 

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’d like to see you tonight. What do you think?”

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you finally reach the main lobby and come to a stop in front of the studio doors. Thunder rumbles through the building, shaking the glass and seeming to bounce off empty corners to echo back at you. You can barely see the street behind the sheets of rain. Maybe Hell has finally frozen over and Los Angeles is in the midst of a hurricane. “I’m thinking it’s the perfect night for a movie and takeout,” you say once you’ve gained control of your vocal chords.

Billie exhales. The sound of it wavers; she’s smiling. “My place is closer; is that alright with you?”

“Yes, of course,” you respond and hope you don’t sound too eager. Even though you are. Even though all you want is to see her look at you with that exasperated fondness that makes your heart melt. You want her to push you away, to laugh, to pull you right back in before she kisses you senseless. You just want to be home.

“Good,” she pauses and you can picture that fond expression in your head as clearly as if it were right in front of you. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, trying and failing to soothe your expression into something calm and collected. “See you soon, pretty woman.” You don’t even bother putting on your jacket before dashing outside into the torrential downpour.

--

Traffic in Los Angeles is always congested at best no matter where you go. Cars, taxis, and buses stay bumper to bumper until you get further away from the city and closer to Billie’s suburbs. The rain makes it hard to see the road, let alone other cars, so you keep your hands tightly gripped around the wheel and maintain a steady pace as you follow the bright yellow shape of the taxi in front of you.

Even with the storm raging around you, you feel invincible, like nothing can touch you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning cracks the air, and rain pelts the roof of your car like lead bullets, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is a paradise and it is so quiet. Your thumbs tap rhythmically against the steering wheel as you sing along to the song on the radio.

“But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more-”

You let the music sweep its way into your very being, washing over you and bringing with it a sense of peace. It makes you think of Billie and you realize you’re never not thinking of Billie, not anymore, not since she planted herself in your earth and lit up your night sky with a blazing sun. It feels like she has intertwined herself so closely to you, to your heart, to your soul, to your spirit, that you are no longer sure where she ends and you begin.

Captivated by her smile, enraptured by her kind heart, drawn to the passion that runs through her veins in lieu of blood, lovesick, lovestruck, love, love, love. Every little memory you make with her anew blinks on like a star in a sunset painted cityscape and you want to point your finger in its direction and tell her the tale of how a princess - with light embedded in her soul - saved you from your castle.

You’re thinking about her still when you notice the taxi peel off into the next lane. You don’t see him until it’s too late. 

A boy on a bike.

He darts in front of you out of nowhere or maybe he had been there the whole time and you just couldn’t see him in the rain. You see him now. Time slows down to a crawl - or maybe it never slowed at all; maybe you have been on the other side all along. 

He’s wearing a blue jacket. You notice it as your foot slams on the breaks, as you twist the steering wheel to the side in an attempt to swerve around him, as your car’s tires screech and slip against the rain-soaked street. It’s navy blue. You hear the sickening thump it makes when you hit him, feel the car jerk as you crash into a utility pole and the airbag knocks you in the face hard enough to make you black out for a second. Maybe two. You’re not sure. All you know is that when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by the smell of chemicals from the deployed airbag that burn your nostrils when you breathe. Your body aches from where you slammed against the seat belt on impact, your face, your chest - your heart, you think - but you can barely feel it. You are numb.

You blink rapidly to clear the dark spots from your vision, but all it does is serve to make you dizzy. Your head spins, feeling much like the inside of a snow globe after it’s been shaken up by an overeager child. With panic churning  inside you like a hurricane, you claw at your seat belt. Your fingers are shaking and clumsy and they don’t seem to work anymore and sobs well in your throat because this can’t be happening. It must be a dream, a nightmare, anything but what you know deep in your heart that it is: reality, the darkness whispers. A tendril of it slithers through the keyhole. It watches you. It is grinning.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter, or at least you think you do, before throwing open your door with one hand and scrabbling for the seat belt latch with the other. You manage to hit the release and go careening out of the car, landing on your hands and knees with a smack against the wet pavement. 

A man runs up to you, clutching your arm and pulling you up with large, gentle hands. Rain falls into your already blurry eyes, clinging to your eyelashes like tears as you look up at him and notice he has a full, greying beard. His mouth is moving but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

You look away from him, searching, wild, crazed. Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you are a lunatic. A crowd has half formed on the side of the road, sporting parkas and umbrellas. Like anxious birds, they flutter around a slumped figure laying unnaturally still on the ground. It wears a navy blue jacket.

You push the man away, stumbling on shaking legs like a newborn foal as you attempt to cross the distance between you and the flock of people. Dread fills your bones, cements itself as a lump in your throat, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Someone on their cell phone tries to reach out to you, but you shove their hands aside. Rain soaks the thin cloth of your t-shirt causing the material to cling to you like a second skin. But you can’t feel it. You can’t feel anything. 

You fall to your knees before him, landing with a splash in the puddle beneath you. Your mouth moves rapidly as you speak words you can’t hear: a chant, a plea, a prayer. Wake up! Come on, kid, just wake up. I’m so sorry. Please, wake up. All my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You beg - to gods, to monsters, to spirits and ghosts and the nature of things - but it falls on deaf ears as if you had never spoken at all. You feel for his pulse, for a sign, for anything. There is none. The darkness laughs. It is muffled behind the door but you can feel the vibrations of it running through your veins.

You hunch over yourself, fingers clutching at the wet pavement as you dig your nails into the asphalt, wanting to crawl inside your own body like a cocoon, wanting to feel something, anything. The ringing in your ears is so loud, so intense it fills your head and drowns out every other sound. The woman who has knelt down at your side and put her hand on your shoulder as she tries to speak to you. The thunder you can feel rumbling through the earth beneath your palms. The sirens from emergency vehicles you only know are there because the red and blue flashing lights cast a glow on his motionless form. You have never known another sound. It rings and rings and rings. It is endless.

You want to close your eyes. You want to block it all out, pretend that you’re still in your car, that you’re almost to Billie’s suburbs, and any minute now, she will greet you at the door. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. Her eyes would glimmer and she would smile, beautiful, radiant, the light inside of her too bright for her to do anything but shine.

Billie- Your mind latches onto her like she is your buoy in the middle of the sea, and just the thought of her will keep you afloat even as the darkness uses its spindly arms to pull you under the surface. You reach for the invisible thread that binds your hearts together and, insistently, desperately, you tug. I’m so sorry, Billie. You force your eyes open. You force yourself to look at him. At the boy you did not see.

His bike lays in the middle of the road, bent and misshapen. The back wheel is still spinning.

From your open car door comes the notes of a familiar song. It echoes through the night, beneath the steady beat of the rain and the high, rumbling noise of thunder, and it is not beautiful anymore. It is haunting.

“Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles-”

You can’t feel anything.

“-to fall down at your door.”

--

“Will sh- b- okay?”

“Mil- conc-ssi-n, sh- in shock-”

“Try -alking t- he-”

Voices echo around you, so muffled and distorted that you can’t understand what they’re saying. They sound like they’re coming from very far away and the effort it would take to listen far outweighs the energy you have. You feel drained, like you’re sitting in the bottom of a fish bowl and the words bounce off the water to somewhere else. Not to you.

Not until you hear her.

“Look at me, Y/N.” Hands cup your face in a gentle hold, fingers tenderly stroking the skin of your cheekbones. The voice is so familiar. It cuts through the haze fogging your mind and you reach out as if to embrace it, to let it crawl inside your heart and warm you from the inside out. “Come on, sweetheart. Look at me.” 

You blink. Billie? Your eyelashes flutter as the world gradually comes into focus, no longer a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. With it, comes an angel. An angel with sunset hair and glimmering eyes and a kind smile. “Pretty woman?” you ask, and you wonder what happened to make your voice sound so raw and broken.

“There’s my girl,” she murmurs, ducking her head to meet your eyes. “Focus on me, baby.” You try to, holding her gaze like you would rather drown in it than face the demon you can feel hovering over your shoulder. She has a furrow between her brows, the one she has only when she’s truly upset. Why is she so sad? Why are you?

“Billie, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, but you can’t remember why you’re sorry. Only that you should be. Only that your heart aches, you smell like chemicals, and it feels like you just went a round with a boxer and lost. But it’s all a blur and you can’t remember why.

Billie reaches up and brushes your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.” Her smile is forced and the implication behind it only stirs the panic forming inside you until it spins so fast that it feels like you’re standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

“Ma’am, we need to speak with her,” a voice speaks suddenly from the doorway and you snap out of your trance, out of the safety of Billie’s gaze, and find yourself in a hospital room, in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm. The walls are a stark white that hurts your eyes to look at. It’s bare and sterile and impersonal; it feels like you just woke up in a padded cell where you are gradually losing your mind.

Billie looks over her shoulder; you follow her gaze and feel your stomach drop unpleasantly. A police officer stands just inside the door. You become suddenly aware of a bone deep chill pervading your entire body. There’s a blanket pulled up around your shoulders but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Why can’t you stop shaking? 

“No,  you don’t,” Billie says, the words tense as they leave her lips. The edges are sharp and you know if you were to reach out, they would cut you just as easily as a blade. You have never heard her sound like that before. “She’s still in shock. She won’t be able to tell you anything you haven’t already figured out from the cameras.” Your mind falters. The hurricane intensifies, becoming a swirling mass of wind and rain. It threatens to swallow you whole.

The officer steps into the room and raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just procedure, Ms. Howard.”

Billie frowns, standing up and sliding in front of you as if to shield you from him. “I don’t give a damn. You could drag the Dalai Lama down here for all I care. I’m not letting you speak to her until she knows what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not the Dalai Lama, I’m an officer of the law and if she’s responsive, I need to take her statement,” he insists, not unkindly. He looks over Billie’s shoulder at you, his expression apprehensive and sorrowful. Something is very, very wrong. You can feel it in your bones. The hurricane lashes out at you, angry and scared. You wonder if the hurricane is you.

Their argument drifts to the background as flashing lights from the window capture your attention. Blue and red. Familiar. The colors start to blur as rain hits the glass pane and you can only watch, mesmerized, as one droplet becomes two and three and then thunder - it rumbles so loudly it startles you and your heart leaps, pounds, races in your chest - and, suddenly, as if it had been this way all along, the hurricane is not inside of you anymore. It is all around you, surrounding you, and you are stuck within, caged like a bird, trapped like a ghost in a haunted house, you are a lunatic in a padded white cell. 

And then you remember.

Rain. So much rain. Sheets of it that slick the pavement and thunder that shakes the earth. But you are going to Billie’s, where you are warm, where you are safe, and a little rain is worth it to see the look on her face when she opens the door and sees you standing on the other side. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. And she would smile and she would shine and you would walk among the clouds like a god. 

Something inside you stirs, something troubled, something bigger than you. An exiled giant chained to the mountain pass, a forgotten creature locked in the depths of Hell, the darkness behind the door. For the first time since meeting Billie, you feel afraid.

A taxi, bright yellow, the color of sunflowers and sunshine and that knitted sweater Billie likes to wear in the summer. It veers off; you watch it float away, along the yellow brick road, maybe into the sky to Neverland, down the rabbit hole, it goes and goes and goes. And then a boy and a navy blue jacket and a bike with a misshapen wheel that never stopped turning.

The darkness pushes at the locked door, snaking it’s spindly arms along the edge, seeking for a way out, searching for a weakness. You can feel its eyes on you, watching you through the keyhole. 

A mistake, you didn’t see him, you tried to stop, to swerve, you tried to do anything else but what you did, it’s your fault and you know it, you did this. The road was so wet, you could feel it beneath your hands, flashing lights illuminate his body, blue and red, someone touches your shoulder but you can’t feel it, wake up, wake up, unnaturally still, a song, your ears ring, it’s endless, still, so still, blue and red, it casts a glow to his face, but I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk- You dig your nails into the pavement. You can’t feel anything. 

You did this. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

You can feel it the moment the lock shatters and the door swings open. It feels inevitable, like you have been staring into the abyss this whole time, and it has finally decided to swallow you whole. The darkness slithers out and you watch it with bated breath. You have never known a fear this great, the moment you stared into the darkness and didn’t have your light. 

Your soul calls for Billie, screams out her name, begs and pleads for her to protect you like she always said she would. You reach out for the invisible thread tethered between you and you tug and tug and tug but your hands are slippery and you can’t hold on. Your fingers brush her sleeve. 

The darkness seems to smile. You can feel its amusement, its maliciousness, its cruelty. You are frozen in place as it moves towards you, ensnared like a rabbit in a trap, you are a lunatic in a padded cell. It’s spindly arms reach out. I’m so sorry, Billie. It embraces you like an old friend.  

You let it.

[fanficteen]

gone (3)

carlisle cullen x reader

tw death mention; implied self-harm

“Bella’s asking for you.” “Bella can suck it,” you answered, shortly, glaring at the table. Billy sighed. “Go and talk to her.” You turned your glare on him instead. “I may not know much about witches, but I’m not blind. This is killing you.” You sighed, but got up anyway. You were more likely to get Bella to give up on you than you were to get Billy off your case. Bella’s eyes lit up when you appeared, leaning against the doorframe. “Go on, then. Tell me why the vampires are so great,” you suggested, dryly. “I’m not going running back into Carlisle’s arms like you did Edward’s. They left us. He left me. So I’m clearly not worth much to him.” “It’s not like that and you know it.” You did know it. As much as you didn’t want to admit it. But you just stared back at her until she sighed. “I don’t understand, (Y/N). All this is doing is making you both miserable. Why won’t you just hear him out?” “Because he abandoned me, they abandoned you, they abandoned the Pack to deal with a murderous rogue vampire and her newborn armies. I killed for him, Bella.” Her eyes went wide. “I cut off Victoria’s head and burned her body in the hope that they’d come back and I can’t wash that blood off my hands.” You stepped back to shut the door, but Bella caught it. “Don’t you think a relationship worth killing for is worth talking out?” “Not to him, apparently.”

You made the mistake of letting Rachel drag you out of the house to help her pick an outfit for a date with Paul. You did point out that Paul couldn’t care less what she looked like and in return she had pointed out that just because you looked like shit, she didn’t have to. You’d had no further arguments as she’d dragged you to the car. In hindsight, you should have argued your point better, because apparently you weren’t the only one who’d been dragged on a shopping trip. “It wasn’t his fault. I’m the reason we left.” Edward winced as you threw up your shields, forcing him out of your mind. “I was under the impression your father could make his own decisions,” you snarled, as Rachel made a beeline for where Alice and Rosalie were pretending to show Bella a dress, though you knew well they could hear every word. “You know, being 400 years old.” “He was just trying to support me,” Edward returned, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving past him. You couldn’t help the gasp that slipped from your lips, Edward’s grasp immediately loosening so you could wrench your hand back, resisting the urge to cradle it to you. “Please. I know he loves you and I know you love him. You can’t just–“ “I can’t just what? Walk away? Give up on him?” You scoffed. “Please, Edward. I walked away from the empty space that used to be a relationship. You left. You all left. And for what? So that psycho would leave us alone? Yeah, great lot of good that did any of us. You don’t get to just come back like it’s all fine and dandy.” “What’s wrong with your wrist?” You didn’t answer and the other vampires’ eyes shot to you, now, giving up on whatever pretence they’d had of not listening. “Why didn’t you –“ He cut off, golden eyes flashing from your apparently unblemished wrist to your face. “You –“ “Shut up,” you threatened, lowly. “(Y/N),” Alice murmured, dropping the dress she’d been holding and taking a step towards you. “Don’t.” “What’s going on?” Rachel questioned, she and Bella watching the scene at an absolute loss. “Why are you all looking at her like that?” Rosalie just continued to stare. “(Y/N)?” “I’m sorry.” You shook your head, backing away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where is he?” Emmett gaped at you as you materialised in front of him on the Cullens’ doorstep. “Emmett, where’s –“ Carlisle’s Mercedes rolled into the driveway behind you and you turned to him, immediately. “(Y/N)?” He was in front of you the moment the engine stopped. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” “You need to tell your kids to leave me alone, Carlisle.” Confusion flashed across his face as he glanced at Emmett, but cleared when Bella’s truck pulled up, spilling the girls and Edward out into the yard. “Did you know?” Rosalie demanded of Carlisle, making the newly arrived Jasper exchange a confused glance with the equally confused Emmett. “What?” Carlisle questioned, bewildered. “Can we rewind for a second?” Emmett requested, desperately. “What are you all talking about?” You watched a wave of calm wash over the scene, bouncing off your shields. “Why don’t we all go inside and talk about this?” Jasper suggested, as he forced his family to find their heads. You opened your mouth to refuse but were cut off by Alice suddenly grabbing your shoulder. “(Y/N), please. Let us fix this.” You narrowed your eyes, but nodded anyway. Alice had always had a soft spot in your heart, and especially after they left, when she had been the only one who had bothered to answer your frantic phone calls, for even a brief moment, before Rosalie’s voice had entered and immediately cut the call off. You wondered if she knew where you had been standing when you’d called, and decided you probably didn’t want to know the answer.

“(Y/N)?” Jasper prompted, once you were all seated in the living room. “Do you want to start? I have to admit, I think we’re all pretty surprised to see you here.” “Really? I try and spend every Friday with the people who have hurt me most in the world,” you retorted, brightly, but Jasper just looked back at you, placidly. The gentle understanding in his eyes almost vexed you more than Edward’s pleading. “I don’t understand what you want from me.” “A chance,” Rosalie murmured. “A chance?” you repeated, coldly. “Like the one you all had six months ago?” “You can’t hate us forever over one mistake!” she snapped, raising her voice. “Rose,” Emmett warned, but she was on a roll now, surging to her feet. “Everything we did, we did to protect you and Bella. You’re not the only one who suffered while we were away! We didn’t see Edward the whole time until he tried to kill himself and now the Volturi are on our backs! And you won’t even listen!” “You want to talk about what happened while you were away?” you asked, icily, looking up at her. The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. “First, I realise my best friends and the love of my life have left without even saying goodbye, leaving my other best friend in an essentially catatonic state. I am now entirely alone, because my home before now was with a werewolf family that didn’t want me while I was associated with vampires.” Rosalie opened her mouth, but you cut her off before she could speak. “So I throw myself into my magic and work for weeks, thinking that maybe, if Victoria was gone, you’d all come back. I fight and kill a vampire and burn her corpse. Nothing changes. I try to get in touch with you all and no one answers until I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and Alice calls, only to be immediately cut off. Charlie drags me back to my Dad’s house and I discover that my brother is only interested in one girl who hangs out with vampires.” Bella winced. “So I figure, what the hell, I might as well learn to be a proper witch, right? And then, after a grand total of six weeks of peace, who should come barging back into my life except you.” You dropped your eyes back to the floor. “And after all that, you want me to listen?” You got to your feet. “I just want to be left alone.”

“But that’s killing you,” Bella finally found her voice. Your stomach dropped. “What?!” The Cullens demanded, eyes flicking between you and her. “Then maybe it’ll stop hurting,” you answered, quietly. “(Y/N),” Alice breathed, voice shaking. You glanced over at her. “We can fix this.” “Can you?” Your eyes bored into hers, like sinking into pools of ichor. “Just give us a chance.” Once again, you gave in to her. “What did Bella mean, (Y/N)?” Edward asked, as soon as your shoulders dropped. “I don’t know how she found this out.” Something told you it was Billy. “But a witch’s soulmate bond is a piece of her soul. So a neglected one becomes, basically, a septic soul wound. It can take years, sometimes even a century or so to take full effect, but it will, eventually, kill you. Provided you’re not killed by something else first.” “So if we hadn’t come back, you would’ve died anyway?” Emmett realised, horrified. You shrugged, looking away. “Jesus, (Y/N), why didn’t you–“ “Because I didn’t want Carlisle to be with me because he thought I’d die otherwise!” you snapped, before he could even finish. “I wanted to have a soulmate who loved me, not just someone upholding a responsibility to keep me alive.” “I can do both,” Carlisle murmured. You heard him stand, felt the gust of air as he crossed the room to stand behind you. “Can you? Because that isn’t what it felt like when you disappeared without so much as a goodbye,” you asked, tiredly. You turned around and met his eyes, shining wetly despite that he couldn’t shed tears. “And I really want you to be able to do it, Carlisle, because despite recent months, I don’t think I really want to die.”

Tags

@mylovelyjoon 

@kyrah-williams

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Love On-Set (Pt. 09 of 10)

Pairing: Dacre Montgomery X Reader

Word count: 2.9 K

Summary: You knew acting on Stranger Things season 3 would be a challenge, and you also knew, from the start, you'd have to work closely with Dacre Montgomery. But is wasn't a big deal for you, since this is your job and you're determined to act professionally. You had it all figured out, or so you thought, until the moment you were out face to face with Dacre. Then, this job became a lot harder than it was supposed to be, since you can't seem to focus whenever you're around Dacre. And you'll have to be around him a lot until the end of production.

<- Previous part (08)

Next part (10) ->

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

The Heart Is A Wild Creature

The good part is that you passed out more from exhaustion than from the metal bar hitting your face, and the wound on the apple of your cheek is small. The bad part is that you have a concussion, and the doctor said you have to rest for ten days. Which means the shooting will be frozen for all this time. You tried telling them you're fine, because you feel fine putting aside the headache, but James said he won't put you through all the stress of shooting at the risk of getting you more hurt than you are now.

So there's nothing else to do. After you shower and change out of Amy's outfit, you head out of the dressing room happy to find only Dacre by the door and not everyone else. They were pretty worried, talking all at the same time and pissing off the doctor more than once. Giving Dacre a small smile, you watch as he takes the bag from your hand.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, a hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the set.

“The headache is fading thanks to the painkillers but every now and then I feel dizzy.” Shrugging your shoulders, you touch the small wound on your cheek. “Who would guess such a small thing would give me a freaking concussion.“

“James said someone miscalculated something.” You can see your trailer at a distance, and you brace yourself when a cold wind blows. “He was mad. It could get someone badly hurt, maybe even killed.”

“I bet he fired the guy.”

“On the spot.”

When you get to your trailer, you go straight to the bed, resisting the urge to just throw yourself on it, and instead just lying down carefully. “A freaking concussion. Can you believe that?” Hugging a pillow, you lie on your stomach. Dacre soon joins you, lying on his side so he can look at you.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Dacre says, and you move to be on your side too. In the last two weeks or so, you've been sharing his hotel room, as well as his bed. So you're used to this proximity, but it doesn't mean you don't feel a little nervous.

“I got pretty scared too.” You mutter, looking at your hands. “Ten days off. It's way too much.”

“Yeah, I was kinda hoping the shootings would be over soon.” His tone changes and you furrow your eyebrows. You want it to end too, to get some well-deserved vacation after these rough months. You don't even know if you'll be called for the next season, since Amy's ending is still a mystery. James won't tell until you have to shoot the scene. The same goes for Billy.

“Why? I mean, I want some vacation too, but... It sounds like you have some other reason.” It might be sleep overwhelming you, or the trailer that decided to spin around, but you move closer to him, hiding your face on the crook of his neck. “You're warm.”

“Let me...” Trying not to move too much, Dacre pulls the blankets, wrapping them around both of you. “I just want us to go back to LA. So we could have, Uhm... A normal life, you know. Go out on dates without worrying about rushing back to a hotel.”

He's right. Going out now is always a mess. You barely have time, and you're either rushing to get to set or to the hotel and somehow manage to get some sleep and be well-rested for the next day. “It would be nice, but...” You can't help but think about it. What you have with Dacre is good, is amazing, but it's not official. People on the internet are talking about it since there are new pictures of you two together being posted on Instagram on a daily basis. But that's them, and this is you. Two different things entirely.

“What?” He mutters, and you wonder how long it'll take until you fall asleep.

“I was just thinking that... We're... You know...” Your cheeks are burning, and you're thankful he can't see it now.

“You know you can tell me everything.” His voice sounds distant now, and you only mutter something in response, your head spinning a little as you breathe in deeply, sleep overcoming you.

“Yeah... We should be dating by now, but that's ok.” Whispering, you lazily pull the blankets closer. “But I'll get some sleep now. Love you.” Then you let your body sink into a peaceful, calming sleep.

•••

You're aware of the sunlight, coming through the window and making you close your eyes tighter. You don't want to wake up yet, and since the first thing that comes to your mind was that metal thing hitting you in the face, you know you won't be shooting anything today. So why bother? It's probably pretty early yet. Pulling the blanket over your head, some undistinguished chattering fills your ears, and you furrow your eyebrows. Who's being so loud this early in the morning? And why are they hanging around so close to your trailer?

“Oh, my.” A low voice says, and it is very, very close. But it can't be Dacre. Dacre hasn't even moved yet.

Slowly, you push the blanket away, raising your head from Dacre's chest just to check what's going on. But when you see a bunch of people by the end of the bed, standing like a small crowd of idiots, you're suddenly wide awake, sitting up straight, a yell caught up on your throat as your sleepy brain struggles to process what's going on. “What. The hell!” You shout at your co-stars, who also seem to be a little surprised. Joe and Gaten have their eyes wide, Natalia is just smirking, and Noah and Charlie are exchanging a glance. You're still working on why they have this stupid look on their faces when the mattress moves as Dacre sits up as well. Then you already know.

“I knew something was going on but... Guys...” Joe mumbles and your eyes get when Noah picks up his phone, turning the camera at you.

“Gimme that!” You yell, crawling through the bed and grabbing Noah's phone as he tries to set it free from your hands. It doesn't take much until you're both laughing, trying to make each other fall.

“Hey, hey. Both of you.” Dacre raises his voice, and soon enough he's separating the two of you, but you smile victoriously since Noah's phone ends up in your possession. “You can't move like that. You have a concussion, remember?”

“I'm alright.” As you say it, you feel yourself losing balance. Holding on to Dacre, you shrug your shoulders. “A little dizzy, but besides that, I'm ok.” Quickly, you go through Noah's camera, happily noticing he didn't have time to take any pictures. “Here. Better luck next time.”

“I'll be ready.” He says with a smile.

“Hey, my people. The van is waiting.” Millie shouts and moving to the side a little, you see as she opens the door and comes in. So that's how they got in. You didn't lock the door last night.

“Millie you're not gonna believe it.” Noah starts, running off, away from where you could reach.

“Well, we just came to say that the van is ready to take us back to the hotel.” Joe, being the idiot he always is, teasing the hell out of you, says in a fake, mean voice. “You're very welcome.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait for them to leave before gathering your stuff. You decide to take it all back to the hotel since it'll be ten days until you have to get back here. You also wait for Dacre to do the same, and you're happy to know that nobody noticed his things are here too. Then you head to the van, holding on his arm because he basically forced you too, despite you feeling completely well. You both take the usual sit, on the back, ignoring people's stare. Well, you're ignoring and blushing, trying not to let them see it.

But something is off. All the way to the hotel, Dacre is silent, thoughtful. When you're nearby, just about to enter the parking lot, you lightly elbow him. “Hey... Is everything alright?”

He nods, giving you a small smile. “Yes, it's just... Remember when I said you talk in your sleep?”

“Remember when I told you not to listen?” You feel relieved when he giggles.

“Well, it's more like when you're almost falling asleep. It's cute, actually.” As he speaks, the van stops and you move to get out. “But you said something important and we need to talk about it.”

“Ok.” Swallowing hard, you nervously run a hand through your hair.

In the elevator, you keep up with the small talk, managing even to make sassy comments at Francesca. But when you get to the hotel room, you can't help but try to remember what you might have said, but nothing comes to your head. Biting your lip and taking a deep breath, you leave your luggage on the hall that leads to the bedroom and moves to sit on the couch. Dacre joins you soon after, and when he opens his mouth to speak, your phone starts ringing.

“Sorry. I'll just hang up.”

“It's alright. You can answer it.”

“Are you sure?” Holding your phone towards him so he can see it's Natalia. Whenever Natalia calls, it's not just to say something.

“Yeah.”

Squinting your eyes at his expression, you answer the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nat. What's up?”

“Where the hell are you?” She basically yells, and there's a laughing Millie on the background, saying something you can't understand. “We knocked on your door and this completely random person showed up.”

“Oh...” You haven't told them yet, but you probably should. Giving Dacre a glance, he furrows his eyebrows, a question on his eyes. “I... I kinda checked out of my room and then checked in to another room.” The sentence sounds a little confusing, and you roll your eyes at Dacre's fun expression.

“And why haven't you said anything? Where are you?”

“Uhm...” Looking down, you feel the heat spreading through your cheeks. “Do I really have to say...?”

There's a moment of silence before Natalia takes a deep breath. “She's in Dacre's room.” She mutters, probably to Millie before hanging up. They won't let this go. Ever.

“I think they're coming here.”

“You think? I'm sure.”

“Dacre, I–”

“Hey, relax, alright.” He cuts you short, leaning closer to place a sweet kiss on your lips. “I promise what I want to talk about isn't bad.” You breathe out, relieved. “So let's see what they want and we can talk later. We kinda have a lot of time in the next ten days.”

“Alright.” Taking a deep breath you move to get the door, and when you open it, Natalia, Millie, and Sadie are coming from the elevator. “Hey, girls.”

“I can't believe you let me knock on someone else's door.” Natalia starts as Millie gives you a meaningful stare before just walking inside with Sadie.

“I didn't know they'd give my room to someone so quickly.”

“Since when you've been sleeping here?”

“A while...” When you try to remember exactly when, your head starts pounding a little harder, so you just give up.

“Look, I was promised a group reunion, movie night, and room service.” Sadie raises her voice from the inside, and both you and Nat move to the living room. “Can we get this going?”

Sadie got what she was promised. A few moments later everyone is here, fighting about which movies you'll be watching and then fighting over what you'll eat. Dacre has to tell them to keep it low every time someone's voice starts rising, but you wouldn't mind if it wasn't for the headache.

Hours later, after three movies already, Gaten joins Millie on an Instagram live. And of course, since you're the newest couple, even though you're not official, she turns the camera at you and Dacre, seated on the couch with his arm around your shoulders. She talks about the accident and how Dacre, apparently too far from you, ran like a lightning bolt when he saw the metal bar hitting you. And you really hope her phone camera won't get that you're blushing.

“Alright, people. I love you, but I gotta go...” She waves at the camera, smiling and spinning around so everyone has a chance to wave too. “But let's end this with a kiss from our OTP. What do you think?”

It doesn't take a genius to know who she's talking about. “If we do this, it'll become public so we should just–”

“Look at them. So cozy together.” She sing-songs, gesturing for you to get it done. “C'mon. Kiss the girl.”

You were just about to protest, to say anything to make her let it go when Dacre's hand come to your chin, pulling you close until his lips connect to yours. You weren't planning on kissing him right back, since it'd be better to just keep it simple, but it's stronger than you. And there's this thing in your head that turns everything off the moment Dacre's lips touch yours. So you're quickly deepening the kiss, a hand holding the collar of his shirt.

“Uhm... Alright, alright.” Millie says, and it makes you pull away with your cheeks burning. “That was even better than I thought, so... Goodbye, everyone.” When she ends the live, she gives you a stare and a smirk, to which you roll your eyes. “When are the two of you becoming official? I expect a formal announcement.”

“You're very nosy, did you know that?” Dacre says and Millie shows off her tongue. “Well, I don't know if you guys have any plans for tonight, but I do, so...”

“Are you kicking us out?” Gaten asks, crossing his arms.

“Good to know you got it.”

“They're planning a romantic night, that's so cute,” Sadie adds, making everyone mutter something stupid at the two of you.

Even so, it takes half an hour for the last conversations to end and for the whole group to leave. When you close the door after saying goodbye to Noah and Finn, you make your way back to the living room.

“Alright. I'm dying over here so let's just talk. What did I say?”

“You said you love me.” Dacre just bursts out from his place, standing by the coffee table.

You don't know what to say. It's too early for that... Right? Even though you have this feeling, it's way too early to let him know that. Biting your lip, you look down, unable to sustain his stare. “Oh...” Nervously, you run a hand through your hair. “I'm sorry. I know it's too early for this, I just–”

“Do you?” He cuts you off, sitting beside you.

“Do I what?” It's a stupid question, but it comes out anyway.

“Do you love me?” With his index finger under your chin, Dacre lifts up your head until you're staring into this amazing ocean blue eyes.

There's no other possible answer, just the truth. The overwhelming, crushing truth. You've been trying to hold back your feelings, but the heart is a wild creature, or so they say, and it wants what it wants. It loves who it loves, and nobody can control it. “Yes.” You mutter, voice weak and low because wild hearts can also be broken, and that's the last thing you want. “I know it's too early to say that, but when I'm sleepy the words just come out and I can't control them.”

A laugh escapes his lips. “I've been telling myself to hold back. That it was too early to call it love but I guess it's just how it's supposed to be with us.”

“What... What do you mean?”

“I'm completely, wholeheartedly in love with you and I never thought it was even possible to love someone this much.” Dacre cups your cheeks, placing a delicate kiss on your nose. “I know it happened fast, and quite unusual if you ask me, but it was perfect. The truth is that the only reason why I went to talk to you on your first day on set was because I couldn't stop thinking about you since we shoot that scene for season 2.” As he speaks, a smile comes to your lips. Not in a million years you'd think you'd catch Dacre's eyes. “It took a hell of a long time, and that love at first sight thing was wearing off but when I saw you again... It came back like an avalanche. So I had to go and talk to you and ever since... You're everything I can think about.”

“So...” Biting back a smile, you wrap your arms around his neck. “What happens when two people are in love with each other?”

“Correct me if I'm wrong but they start dating.”

“They start dating.” You repeat, standing on your toes.

“So it's official now.” He states. “We can change our Facebook status.”

“Dacre, we don't have a Facebook account.” Giggling, you remind him, your lips brushing on his.

“Then I'll make one just so I can update my status.”

“Or you can just kiss me already and be done with it.” You suggest, smiling victoriously when his arms encircle your waist, pulling you even closer to his body.

×

@baker151910 @shinydixon @dreamin-of-dacre @hanoi15 @lickmymelaninn @foccus @multific @uncookspaget @kellysimagines @peakascum @thisbreakableheaven @nope-thanks

[tcstu]

January’s Honorable Mentions

This month’s piece generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous tales buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening in this scene. If you enjoy one of the Honorable Mentions below, please let the writer know. I’m sure they would love to hear from you.

As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart​​. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:

January 2020

May 2019

January 2019

The piece for this month was titled, “Hide and Seek.” Here it is along with the Honorable Mentions for this month:

(These entries are listed in the order they were received and do not reflect a system of ranking.)

Untitled

Written by: @emilyelizabethfowl​

Ten

She couldn’t tell whether the breeze she felt came from nature or from Its wings.

Nine

At least she didn’t have to worry about the smell betraying her hiding spot.

Eight

Sound, however, was a different matter entirely.

Seven

But her legs were starting to feel numb…

Six

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to move them, just a little, would it?

Five

Just a teeny tiny little bit…

Four

Slowly, carefully, she stretched her left leg.

Three

Then, bringing it back, she stretched out her right one.

Two

But she did it too fast, too carelessly.

One

Losing balance, she fell down. Her elbow knocked into the giant sheet of metal she was hiding under, the sound carrying far.  

Zero

Barely seconds later, giant talons dented the metal, ripping it away easily.

Found you!

Aw, shucks.

She stood up, turning to face the creature.

“Best three out of five?” she offered.

It’s already past your bedtime. A deal is a deal.

Ah well. It was worth a try. She climbed the creature’s back, clinging tightly to the feathers longer than she was tall.

She’d win their next game for sure!

“Eleanor And The Great Bird”

Written by: @evanthenerd83​

“Do not move,” Eleanor whispers to herself, thin frame curled inward.

The flapping of wings drowns out her panicked breathing. Dust swirls around. Bits and pieces rain down, and they sound like bullet casings striking metal.

Eleanor could recognize the sound anywhere. It is as familiar as her grandfather’s wartime movies. Black and white visions of the dead.

“Do not move,” Eleanor reminds herself, eyes scanning the words scratched into the steel.

The great bird passes overhead, and the entire shard shakes with its might. She bites her lip. A moment of terrible silence.

It is circling around. Coming back.

“Do… not… move,” Eleanor repeats, unaware that it doesn’t matter.

The shelter is just a jagged piece of roof. It isn’t big enough to hide her, not all of her. Not her shadow.

And unfortunately, the sun is burning in her direction.

The great bird has locked on.

The great bird makes one last turn…

Sit Com

Created by @daalseth​ ( Doug Aalseth )

"Ma!!" came the anguished cry.

"What is it?" replied his mother, her voice drenched in fatigue.

"Billy smashed up my 172 scale model Medieval Human Village."

"Now Tommy..."

"It wasn't me," shouted Billy. "I wouldn't do nothing with your stupid model."

"Yes it was," shouted Tommy waving his wing at the table. "That's your feather laying right there."

"Nuh-huh."

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-huh."

Their mother rubbed a talon against her throbbing forehead. It was going to be a long day. Maybe it was time to just kick the little bastards out of the nest? She looked at the two chicks arguing. "No," she said softly, "I'll give it one more day."

“Whatever It Takes”

Written by: @winterrose42​

I dug my fingers deep into the ground as I curled tighter into myself, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain effort to concentrate. This had to work- in the end it’s all I could do, whatever God that’s left forgive me. I could feel the beast looming impossibly large behind me, breath wuffing over the ruined plains like winds before a storm. A low growl thundered from its throat and I dug harder even as my fingernails protested and bent from the dirt being shoved underneath them. I couldn’t fail. I had to find them, and to do that I needed to make it out alive. To do that…

I felt it suddenly, claws slicing easily into the dirt deep enough that I’m sure someone could make a bomb shelter of it later. The tips of its heavy wings brushed the uneven ground, dragging stone and steel along as they swayed in rest. Feeling the pull of its head was the worst; it had seen me that much I knew, darting from toppled building to ruined tower to hastily put up shelter as  fast as my legs could carry me had not been fast enough. It’s great shriek had nearly deafened me as it shook the earth landing just a few yards away from where I had crouched. The few warriors who had gathered to head off the beast- they all knew in their hearts they hadn’t a chance of making it.

That’s what I kept telling myself as the beast’s arm raised and came crashing down to sweep away fallen debris and lean to steel sheets and scattered weapons, armor and men alike, leaving them to try and bury themselves yet again. Collect their wits and reorganize perhaps. I couldn’t afford to give them that chance. Setting everything in motion the wings swept back, the arms came up, the eyes focused forward, sharp beak opening wide with vocal chords straining to make its signature call- and so it was done.

All at once I severed the connection, feeling impossibly small and weak and useless once again as the ground shook like an earthquake with the speed at which the beast fell, screaming its indignation at being puppeted for as long as it had, intelligent eyes snapping forward to those running for better cover, myself sitting still and forgotten for the moment in light of more easily accessed prey. I covered my ears and closed my eyes, whispering out a prayer of forgiveness to carry on the artificial wind for those who cared to hear it.

Eventually the shaking ceased, noise quieted, beast placated if only for a moment making it possible to crawl out and stand up though I dared not turn around. Sticking to the irrational belief that my imagined carnage was worse and therefore I was absolved of blame I squared my shoulders and turned west.

I had survived and would continue to do so through whatever means necessary. I would survive. And I would find them.

Maran-do

Written by: @spoldhamindieauthor​ (S.P. Oldham)

Maran huddled beneath the toppled roof of a ruined dwelling, sitting now upon the ground, broken and battered. All of the buildings in this tiny hamlet told a similar story; one of destruction and wrath.

Maran heaved a silent sigh. He had sent out Maran-do, his mind partner, when the day was still bright, her task to bring down anyone he had not dispatched. Very few would be daring enough to try to evade her. It would take a remarkable being indeed to slip past Maran-do unnoticed, avoiding her wicked talons. He had never known it happen yet.

Maran-do hung in the air now like a dark, oppressive shadow. She had been the foretelling of death for so many souls, Maran had long since stopped counting.

He had never imagined she would foretell his own death, too. Maran frowned, trying to recall such a thing happening before. What could possibly cause a mind-partner to turn upon its host? It was unheard of.

He knew the tiniest movement would be enough to alert her to his whereabouts. Resisting the urge to break cover and run, Maran struggled with ordering his thoughts. That was the biggest problem. Maran-do was inside his head as well as outside it. She knew his own mind better than he knew it himself.

How could he possibly escape? Wherever he went, Maran-do would go with him. Why had she turned on him? In a rare moment of self-pity, Maran gave a sniff.

It was enough. He could feel the air outside shifting, darkness looming over his hiding place like an unstoppable, oncoming storm. For the briefest instant, Maran felt the terror and utter helplessness so many had known before.

A large talon tapped impatiently before him. Inside his head, the words ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’ blossomed into life like clouds of puffed smoke, Maran-do taunting him with his own phrase.

“Why?” Maran breathed, “Why do you turn upon me?”

More words of smoke, ‘I am to be mind-partner to a greater one than you, little Maran,’ using the childhood endearment, ‘Your mind is weak. You take much pleasure from death and killing. I belong to a greater mind than yours,’ she repeated.

She raised her foot. Maran flinched as, above him, the beams and planks of the rough wooden roof began to splinter. Instinctively he crouched, making himself smaller, as if he could avoid being crushed.

He had just enough time to wonder how she could survive without his mind to host her. Then he was gone; snuffed out like a bare candle in a blizzard.

Maran-do stretched her wings, letting out a silent shriek as her head turned to the west. A new host awaited her, a new name forming in her mind even as she rose from the earth. A path of flight was shown to her fathomless mind, stretching like an umbilical cord across the skies.

Maran was dead.

So was Maran-do.

Tethered

Written by: @wildler

I heard the spirits before I saw them—their strangled moans carrying through the smoke-stained air. Carys whinnied beneath me, her ears twitching in all directions.

“Easy girl,” I murmured, stroking her neck. “Only a little further. Should be the next clearing.”

The sound continued, growing stronger as we pushed closer to where the village was rumoured to be. I tugged the hood of my cloak from my head, sweat sticking my hair to my neck. It seemed my limited healing skills had arrived too late to be of use—but my other skills—well, perhaps I would return to the king with something more substantial than rumours at last.

We entered the clearing, the devastation hitting me like a sword to the gut. Homes had been scalped, gutted and burned. Their charred remains left crumbling into the earth. Spirits inhabited the ruins. Flickers of human outlines that cried out as they relived their violent, final moments of existence. Their fear keeping them tethered to this plane.

I dismounted Carys and pressed my hands to the ground, shuddering as the sweat on my neck turned cold. A haze of panic blanketed the site like thick smoke, making it impossible to get a sense of the events leading to its ruin. I sank my fingers into the soil and focused my will, trying again.

Sounds and smells came rushing at me, distorted screams on a hot jet of air. My eyes sprang open to find the spirits staring in eerie silence, their gaze passing right through me to something on the horizon.

I heard the presence before I saw it—a monstrous shriek carried on a blast of flame.  It was an end too terrifying and binding to escape.

And so, I relive it again.

[sodone-withlife]

this time

here is yet another introspective dark angst fic torturing Hotch, but you will be glad to know that he doesn't die in this one (what a change from my last two fics lmao). this was written while trying to scratch the writing itch that’s not letting me adequately study for APs and while listening to one-hour loops of Freaks by Surf Curse and Billie Eilish’s cover of The End of the World.

the theme was inspired by the first song mentioned- Freaks by Surf Curse. the same deal applies to this—little to no proofreading was done, all mistakes are mine.

warnings: alcohol, suicidal ideation, implied/mentioned child abuse, canonical character death

word count: 1.9k words

I haven’t seen him take a break in months, not even after Morgan stepped up. Just look at him, he obviously hasn’t slept for a while, I don’t know how the hell he hasn’t collapsed yet.

How is he supposed to take down Foyet if he’s not even able to take care of himself?

How could he sleep when he knew his subconscious would conjure up images of Haley’s cold, bloodied, motionless body, of her unseeing eyes that managed to be accusing, even in death?

How could he sleep when he knew he would be stuck in a never-ending loop of finding his son’s tiny body that he imagined would be even tinier in death, of dreaming about hearing Jack’s agonized screams as Foyet tore into him with the same knife that had nearly killed his father months earlier?

Alcohol.

His father’s vice, and the one he swore, when he was old enough to understand what was happening, that he would never add to his already long list.

But ever since the early morning night he returned to his apartment after spending hours upon hours dealing with the bureaucratic nightmare that was the Turner pig farm case, all of the promises and vows he had made over the years, to himself and to his family, had dissolved and disappeared like dust in the wind.

I swear I’ll make the world safer for you and Jack.

Garcia had been so fearfully confident in the Marshals Service, wanting reassurance in her belief that Foyet would be caught.

But Hotch knew the profile like the back of his hand, and his answer left his lips with easy confidence even as an oppressing feeling of dread came over him.

That was the start.

Foyet’s voice remained in his head, a vicious devil casting doubt on his every word and his every decision, giving voice to his worst fears and darkest impulses that he had long hoped to suppress.

I swear I’ll protect you and Jack for the rest of my days

Then Foyet was waiting in his apartment, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row and one of the worst crime scenes he’s come across in all of his years of prosecution and in the bureau. That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world, he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness for an agonizing length of time before he finally succumbed to unconsciousness

The smell of antiseptic was an unwelcome greeting, and it wasn’t long before he was reminded once again why his mind’s tendency to be strangely clear, even under hospital-grade antiseptic, with its sharp grasp on memory was a curse.

He sank deeper into the bed, all the air suddenly gone from his lungs as he stared at the red streak of his own blood he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

I swear I’ll never become my father, drowning in alcohol and breaking promises as easily as he made them.

The picture that was left behind wasn’t a warning, but a promise.

Somehow, Hotch knew that Foyet was throwing the promise he had made to Haley and Jack back in his face.

He had promised to protect them, but they were being targeted by a prolific, sadistic serial killer. They were forced to go into the system, and he doesn’t even know where they are, so how can he protect them at all?

Alcohol.

His father’s vice, and one that he ended up adding to his already long list.

The only way he could sleep through a night without waking up paralyzed from the nightmares, from Foyet’s voice taunting him like a parasite finding its home in the dark recesses of his mind.

But his apartment suffered for it, as did his sober mind every morning as he was faced with the evidence of just who he was like when he was intoxicated.

—broken glasses small spills from shaking hands papers thrown askew waking up with a gun at his side and a pounding headache and urges to snap at anyone and everyone and to hit something just like his fathe—

His promises were broken so easily, and so he feared perhaps the only promise that had been occupying his headspace since he last saw his family would follow suit.

We will catch him, and you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you

So he avoided sleep as best he could, if only to lessen the all-encompassing dread that fell over him when his subconscious started torturing him with the imagined images of his worst fears.

Headaches, the aching emptiness that had always been and only grew over the past months, the cold numbness that he walked with, they were nothing compared to being too conscious of just how out-of-control everything had become in less than a year.

They were nothing compared to teetering on the edge of the pit of despair that threatened to swallow him whole with every reminder of the clock that was ticking intensely, of each grain of sand that was falling through the hourglass.

They were nothing compared to anticipating the time bomb ready to go off at any moment as he moved through his days, tightly strung and dreading a break in the case that would end up being found too late.

I promise.

...

The clock struck twelve—

the last grain of sand fell—

and the bomb exploded—

taking Haley and much of his heart with it.

But Foyet lived on in his mind, even as his beaten body—beaten by his hands, skull caving in under his fists and warm blood splattering over his face, grief and rage reducing him to his darkest urges that remained more present than they have ever been—was cremated and his ashes sent to unknown places.

Then Jack moved in with him, and his son was living in the apartment in which he had been stabbed nine times.

He gave his statement to Strauss and the other higher-ups, and he was cleared of the same crime that the same higher-ups had pressured him to punish Elle for, even despite her acquittal.

Oh, Elle.

Pulled in from Seattle with high ambitions, only to be crushed by this job… and by me.

Too much like me.

He took his time off, helping Jack settle in and having Jessica over as he made funeral arrangements, a burden he forced himself to take on in order to remind himself of the costs of his hubris.

Then the funeral was over, justified grievances from Haley’s family aired, Jack visiting the Brooks family for the weekend, and the team in Nashville for a case.

And all he wanted to do was sleep, because all of a sudden, his nightmares were gone and he was seeing what his life could have been like—

If he had remained in prosecution to become the youngest DA in county history.

If he had remained in the Seattle office and kept his ambition in check.

If Gideon hadn’t sent him to Boston to help with the Reaper case.

If the case hadn’t stuck with him like it had, hadn’t occupied a special place in his mind for years.

If Boston hadn’t ended the way it had, and Gideon was still unit chief.

If he had put in to transfer to the White Collar division earlier.

If he was less of an addict to the chase, to the danger, the adrenaline pumping through his veins with every case—

—and he was seeing that his life could have been so much better.

Just days ago, sleep was his torture, and wakefulness his refuge.

He was living alone with the demons in his mind, so the alcohol was in the cart out in the open and his firearms no less than a few feet away at all times.

But now, wakefulness was his torture, and the depths of sleep his newfound refuge.

A child was now living in his apartment, so the alcohol was shoved into the back of a cupboard and his firearms locked inside the biometric gun safe high up on a shelf.

—intact glasses in the sink hands remaining steady papers neatly organized and case files hidden from Jack’s innocent eyes mind clear and feeling the weight of his service weapon in his bloodstained hands disjointed thoughts coalescing into one—

The stone bench under the weeping willow in front of Haley’s gravestone was cold to the touch, and the stillness of the late evening was only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves as squirrels and birds moved about. Slowly, he shifted on the bench so that he was lying on his back and staring at the moon through the leaves.

The gun in the hip holster pressed into his side and the one on his ankle kept his left leg still as he let it hang over the side. He remained as alert as ever, twitching with every rustle but resisting the urge to get up and look around.

It was a startlingly clear evening even though it had stormed just the day before, and slowly, unwittingly, old memories from years ago came back into his mind and mixed with the false, happy images his traitorous mind had conjured up in his sleep.

And even though they weren’t as clear in wakefulness as they had been in sleep, he was filled with a deep, aching longing for the times that have never been, for the happiness that had died with Haley, and for the love that had only lingered because of Jack.

Never had the service weapons he wore daily been such a source of temptation, not even in his darkest days after he swore to never taint with the legacy of what he might be able to use it to do and before Foyet happened.

But you know just how much worth your promises actually have.

Remember what happened in just the last nine months?

He turned his head to look through the near-darkness at Haley’s gravestone, looking to her for guidance.

The temptation only grew stronger, and the storm in his mind picked up the pace.

Is death not just a permanent sleep?

Would they find him like he found Haley, lying on his back and looking completely at peace? If it weren’t for the blood that would be pooling around his head saying otherwise, might they believe that he was just sleeping?

Wouldn’t it be nice to sleep, to remain in your head with only peaceful dreams to keep you company?

An hour went by, and slowly, a few raindrops started making it through the leaves to fall on his face. He forced himself up before the storm that was moving in from the east grew to be as strong as the one in his mind.

Soon, he was back in the apartment, his weapons locked in the safe, alcohol still stashed in the back of a cupboard, and the bed was feeling too big and too empty.

Exhaustion sunk deep in his bones, and just as the wind and rain outside picked up, the storm in his mind died down.

There was no fight against the sleep that was slowly claiming him, and he slipped into the dreams that felt like the familiar, comforting warmth of her smile.

I dream of you almost every night.

Hopefully, I won’t wake up this time.

[cockasinthebird]

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee the more I have, for both are infinite.” -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2 Scene 2

He had brought Laurie, Amy, Becky here. Never Nancy. Robin several times, at first with certain intentions, but it quickly became their place to watch the sweaty, athletic bodies of cheerleaders and football players, all the while sharing what shitty weed they could come across in such a puny town.

“Man, you can really see everything from here, huh?”

And now he has brought Billy here. It's only been three days since he caught him red-handed, slipping a loving note into his locker.

-

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

Billy had stood frozen in place, utterly paralyzed by the perfected fear of facing something you had not prepared for. Never intended to prepare for, as he explained to Steve that he was content with just wishing from afar, green with envy and yellow with melancholy.

But Steve had refused him that, to let this die before it has even had a chance to bloom under the sun or moon, as he just wants to feel the truth behind the letters, and encouraged him to continue.

-

Although restless through the night till Friday, he felt relief most unimaginable, as he opened his locker and found more of the same handwriting.

“For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.”

And Robin had explained, “It simply means that life only exists around you. That with love everything is beautiful, and without it everything is dead.” She then looked to Steve with an inquisitive gaze. “Do you know who it is?”

He didn't speak, but nodded still.

-

In a few short hours, the sun will set to color the sky in beautiful hues of red, and Steve is happy, but sickeningly nervous.

On Friday before Billy got to drive home, Steve had found him and asked to meet under the bleachers on Saturday- today.

“Yeah,” he finally says and scratches the hairs on the back of his head, but carefully so as to not disturb the well kempt style. “I come here with... a friend, to smoke and watch the football team practice.”

Billy turns to look at him and grins, knowingly yet with reservation. “Oh? You wanna join the football team?” His gaze travels up and down with a teasing glint in his perfect blues. “I don't think you have the physique for it.”

And Steve laughs at that, arms crossed high up his chest in a hesitant stance. “No, I...” he braces himself before attempting to be bold, “I'm just enjoying the view.”

Yet Billy proves bolder, his grin twisting into something more suggestive, and takes a few all too confident steps closer. “See anything you like, then?”

Bright pink paints across Steve's pale skin, and his lips twitch as he parts them to whisper, faintly, “Yes.”

Gently so, Billy reaches out to touch Steve's arms and pulls them apart, to tangle their fingers together in a frighteningly perfect fit, calloused on soft. A first touch of skin that is not mean or cruel. And hopefully not the last.

Both in agreeance of such dear notions, they move closer till the toes of their shoes meet, a foot or so apart, never having been this close without bloody intentions. It is a bewildering thrill, that forces both hearts to beat with reverence.

Steve watches lips closely, as Billy speaks with a lull, “Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books, but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.”

And they both laugh at the comparison that seems all too apt. For once a quote that even Steve, a fool, can understand without Robin to act as his royal translator.

“But how do you know it's love?” Steve then asks and he meets heaven in Billy's eyes.

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” his voice that of an angel, at home behind those well-cushioned lips and beneath that canopy of a mustache.

“In English?” Steve chuckles out with the warmth of his aching heart, and squeezes Billy's hands tighter in a frail attempt to show his appreciation for such fanciful words.

“It means that love at first sight is true, that from the moment our eyes met, my heart was yours.”

Words that brings forth something so deep in Steve, a feeling that has suffered the painful silence of lying dormant, that now upon awakening, he cannot resist its vivid urging for him to lean in through the air heavy with emotion between them, lips parted.

But even then, with all too daring a gesture from the brunette, Billy doesn't do his part justice, till he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

And Steve's mouth spreads soft like butter on warm bread, as he gives a light and affable laugh, “God yes.”

The joyous sounds they both harmonize in becomes muffled when they embrace one another so fondly, that all the agony and misfortune they've caused each other in the past simply melts away by the heat of their yearning.

Billy raises up his hand to gingerly hold Steve's chin between his fingers, to keep him still so that Billy alone can angle his head to the side and find himself an explorer on Steve's skin, along the shoreline that is his jaw, across the moles on his skin like precious landmarks, to fall along the slope of his exposed neck from wherein hums echo, till his journey is obstructed by the border of his brightly colored tee.

“How do you know Shakespeare?” Steve asks, and pleads with loving hands for the return of those clear eyes.

The amiable smile that Billy carries so well goes crooked, and Steve is quick to dread the witty response that comes out as, “By reading.”

“Intelligent, handsome, and funny,” Steve laughs near mockingly, but with only playful intentions that becomes clear once his expression grows fond once more. And by the peeking of Billy's tongue, he understands that the tone of it all was apparent. “I mean why do you know so much Shakespeare?”

Billy lets out a complacent sigh, brushes Steve's hair behind his ears, as he thinks of a proper way to convey his internal monologue, ever the lustrous garden that it is. At the very least he can start with the undeniable truth,

“My mom was into plays, as in a lot. She often talked about going on Broadway some day.” His gaze travels aside to somewhere farther off than possible, as if in a dreaming state to lovingly relive the memory of her. “She would read me his stories and sonnets, and when she...” Then blue eyes falls to the green beneath, a shade darker with a dreary shadow over his mind. “When she left us, my dad and me, all I had of hers is this necklace and a dear love for Shakespeare.”

Steve's fingers a feather across the golden pendant nestled between clean pecs, the dolefulness palpable in his faint expression. When warm fingers wraps around his own, just to then be lifted up to meet Billy's lips, plush against each digit.

“I've been... very angry for a very long time, Steve,” the honesty to his tone jarring.

And Steve's name sounds more precious than buried gold when carried along by that dulcet voice. His heart throbs at it, ready and willing to stop dancing forever, if that would mean this to be his last memory of too short a life.

“I've been a real shithead to you.”

A confession that makes Steve burst out with unexpected laughter. “Oh have you now? Even with both of my hands and yours I can't count all the times you've hit me in the last year or so.”

“I know!” Billy doesn't mean to smile the way he does, but Steve's own stretch of perfect lips infects him. “But I hope you can forgive me for it, although I don't deserve it. I just want you to know how sorry I am that I took out all of my frustrations on you. It has taken me all my life to find out what's wrong with me, and then found that it comes down to two things only. My fucked up dad, and...”

He hesitates now more than ever, does not meet the eyes of kindness that bestows their grace upon him, and instead he plays around with Steve's fingers between his, watching as winter skin meets sun-kissed.

Steve remains a quiet statue of patience, knows exactly what endeavor Billy is about to step through. One that he has not been brave enough to face himself, but understands all too well the danger of it, viewed from a window of presumed privilege till he only short ago discovered a crack in the glass.

But perchance the road wont be as treacherous with another near his.

Silence drags on, however, and Steve observes how the bravery of spilling guts in such candor falls sourly into the pits of despair, and in a show of solace for such pain, Steve is now the one to bring their hands up to kiss them with such tenderness that would make anyone believe love to be the truest of human emotion.

“You don't have to finish that sentence,” Steve whispers benevolently, then guides warm palms to cup his grateful expression, hoping that this gesture will prove to Billy everything he knows.

“Yeah?” he requests for reassurance never the less, but who among any one person can resist such clear form of validation and not to be tempted by the belief of such words to be lies.

“Yeah,” Steve coos out and leans into that touch as was it the one of a lover's already.

And this time Billy does not find cause to ask for acquiescence, as he too leans towards the touch of infatuation, to taste the mirth of youthfulness on Steve's soft existence.

[rpf-bat]

When You Wanna Be A Movie Star

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 13. Prompt: “Stigmata.” 

You’re a struggling actress, living in Los Angeles. When an audition doesn’t go the way you hoped, your friend Ray, tries to cheer you up, with a movie night. You tell him he can pick the film - and he immediately chooses Stigmata (1999). 

You jumped up when the phone rang. The caller ID, told you it was the producer of the television series that you’d auditioned for last week.

“H-Hello?” you said hopefully, trying not to sound like you were out of breath, from running across the room. 

“Hi, Y/N,” the Hollywood producer said jovially. “I just wanted to give you a courtesy call today, to let you know that we’ve selected another actress for the part.”

“.....Oh.” Your face fell. 

“Thanks so much for answering our casting call, though,” the man said politely. “We’ll be sure to give you a call, next time we’re seeking new talent.” 

“....Thanks,” you replied, tears welling up in your eyes, as you disconnected the call. You resisted the urge, to throw the phone across the room. 

I didn’t get the part, you thought miserably. I worked so hard to get my audition monologue just right, and it still wasn’t enough. 

You knew that if you stayed home tonight, you’d do nothing but cry about it. It was better to go out, and try and take your mind off it. Feeling in need of emotional support, you called your best friend, Ray. 

You two had known each other, since your second year of film school. But, rather than graduate alongside you, Ray had dropped out, in order to go on the road with his band. His gamble had more than paid off - The Black Parade had recently been certified platinum.

Despite his newfound fame, Ray still always managed to make time for those that knew him before he got ‘big’. He picked up on the second ring. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he said warmly. “How are you doing today?”

“Not so good, Toro,” you confessed. “Would it be alright with you, if I came over, and hung out tonight?”

“Sure, I didn’t have any plans,” Ray replied. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s almost Halloween,” you pointed out. “How about a horror movie night? You can pick whichever movie you want, I don’t care.”

“In that case,” Ray suggested, “how about Stigmata?”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You showed up on his doorstep, later that night, a few bags of microwave popcorn in hand. 

“Hi, Y/N,” Ray smiled, opening his door for you. “Thanks for bringing the snacks! Come on in.” 

You walked into his spacious living room. His television was twice the size of yours. You couldn’t wait to see Patricia Arquette’s hands bleed in super-high-definition. 

“Out of all the horror films you have on tape,” you asked, raising an eyebrow, “you really want to watch Stigmata?”

Compared to other titles in Ray’s vast collection, like Friday The 13th or Dawn Of The Dead, you thought that Stigmata was kind of obscure. It had done decently well at the box office, when it first came out, but critics had panned it. 

“Well, I’ll always have a soft spot for Stigmata,” Ray confessed, “because you were in it.”

“I was barely in it,” you recalled. “I was just an extra, in the background. I didn’t even have any dialogue.”

“Still, it was your first role ever,” Ray remembered fondly. “You were so proud of yourself, when it first came out, you made everybody from school, go to the theater, and see it.” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. You’d thought, at the time, that it would be the beginning of your success story. Instead, over half a decade later, you were still struggling to get gigs. You’d had no choice, but to supplement your income, with a stereotypical barista job. 

It was Ray, who had actually become someone important. 

He sat down on the couch, patting the seat beside him. 

“Are you ready to get spooked?” he grinned. “I’ll go pop the popcorn, if you get the VCR started.” 

“Sure,” you nodded, taking the VHS tape, from his outstretched hand. You were surprised that he still had a VCR. Over the last few years, DVD had quickly become the primary format for new film releases. Then again, Ray was an old-fashioned guy - most of the films he liked were classics.

You popped the tape into the VCR slot, and sat back down on the couch. He sat down beside you, a bowl of freshly popped corn in his hand. You dug your hand into the bowl, and dumped a handful of salty, buttery comfort food in your mouth, as Ray pressed play. 

The film opened with Gabriel Bryne’s character, watching a statue of the Virgin Mary, cry tears of blood. 

“Did you know he won a Razzie Award, for Worst Supporting Actor, for this film?” you scoffed. 

“Aw, did he really?” Ray laughed. “Poor dude. He tried.” 

“He was actually a decent guy,” you recalled. “He wasn’t too snooty, to talk to all the extras, who were filming this scene with him.” 

“Oh, look, there you are!” Ray said excitedly. He hit the pause button, freezing the frame. Bryne’s character, Father Andrew, was walking through a bustling Brazilian marketplace. The you of six years ago, stood behind him, playing the role of a nameless shopper. You were looking down, scrutinizing a piece of fruit that was for sale. 

“Yeah, blink, and you’ll miss me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I was in this movie, for a whole thirty seconds.” 

“Every time I watch this movie with the guys,” Ray confessed, “I point those thirty seconds out.”

“Do you really?” you blinked.

“Yeah,” Ray chuckled. “I’m like, look, there’s my friend! Isn’t she cool?”

“I’m not cool,” you frowned. “Ray, I’m not even cool enough, to get a part, on some stupid daytime soap opera.”

“Is that what you were upset about, when you called me earlier?” Ray realized, frowning. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I thought I did really good, at my audition. But, I guess I blew it.” 

“It’s okay,” Ray assured you, giving you a supportive pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll knock your next audition, out of the park.” 

“No, I won’t!” you said glumly. “Ray, I’ve been trying to get famous for years now, and I’m no closer to my goal, than I was the day I started.” 

“Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, okay?” Ray grumbled. “Last week, I was super sick. Like, coughing up a lung….” 

“Oh, no,” you interrupted, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” Ray assured you. “My point was - I was feeling like absolute crap, and I just wanted to get some NyQuil, take it, and go to sleep. So, I’m standing in the cold and flu aisle, at the drugstore, and of course, this girl in a My Chemical Romance shirt comes up to me.” 

“Yikes,” you groaned. “She wanted an autograph?”

“Yeah!” Ray nodded. “I was like - really? Right now?!” 

“Did you tell her no?” you wondered. 

“Nah, I signed her thing,” Ray confessed. “But, honestly, I hate getting recognized in public like that, when I’m just trying to go about my business.” 

“You could have paid somebody to go to the store, and get the NyQuil for you,” you pointed out. 

“I mean, I could afford to,” Ray admitted. “But, I really don’t want to do that. I just want to be….a normal guy. Like I used to be, when we lived in New Jersey together.” 

“You’re not that guy anymore,” you frowned. “You’re the guitarist of one of the most popular bands on the planet.” 

“I don’t care about popularity,” Ray shrugged. “I just like making music.” 

“It’s not fair!” you snapped. “You have all this notoriety, and you don’t even want it! Meanwhile, I’ve always dreamed of becoming a Hollywood star - a household name. But, my biggest claim to fame, so far, is some shitty Pizza Hut commercial!” 

“I...I actually really liked that commercial,” Ray said softly. “Every time I saw it on TV, it put a smile on my face.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “My line in it, wasn’t even that funny.”

“I didn’t like it because of the script,” Ray confessed. “I liked it, because seeing your face, made me happy.” 

“What’s so special about my face?” you asked.

“Well…..it’s a very pretty face,” Ray mumbled, blushing. 

“Wh-What?” you stammered, your ears turning red. “You think that I’m pretty?” 

“I’ve always thought that, Y/N,” Ray whispered, his brown eyes, staring softly into yours. “I don’t love Stigmata, because of the script, or the cinematography, either. I don’t even care, that Billy Corgan did the soundtrack for it. I loved it, just because….I love you.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Could Ray actually return, the feelings you’d been keeping secret?

“You mean, you love me….like you love all your friends?” you guessed, trying not to get your hopes up. 

“No,” Ray shook his head, looking away from you, shyly. “Y/N… I mean, I love you, like a man loves a woman. I want you. Like...how Frankie wanted Father Andrew, in the second act of the movie.”

“Doesn’t he reject her advances, because he’s a priest?” you asked, recalling the film’s plot. 

“.....Are you gonna reject mine, too?” Ray breathed, eyes downcast.

“No,” you shook your head. “I sure as hell didn’t take any vow of celibacy, Toro. I want you right back.” 

You leaned over on the couch, and kissed him. He tasted salty, like popcorn. But, his touch, as he gently pulled you closer, was oh so sweet. 

“....I’ve wanted you all along,” Ray confessed, gently kissing you a second time. “I just didn’t know how to ask you, to be mine.” 

“Well, if you’re asking me now,” you smiled, pushing him backwards, into the couch cushions, “then I’m yours.” 

[lou-is-creative]

Unpredictable (pt. 10)

ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ: 6 Underground

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ: Four/Billy // Eight/???

ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ: Four/Billy x male!Oc

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9: That’s pretty gay

ꜱᴏɴɢ:  Eden - Sex

𝔹𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥!

AN: Pic isn’t mine, but I am deeply in love with this quote (and this chapter)

TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!!! gayyyyyyyy !!!!!!!!!!!!

Little did he know, that on the other side of the wall, there was another person facing the same problem.

Four was tired. Tired of waking up in cold sweat for the sixth time that night while Five was peacefully sleeping next to him.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes before he finally made the decision to go to the bathroom.

It was on his way back as he noticed that the door to Eights room was still a little bit opened. He stood there for a while, looking at the it, wondering whether the other was already back. His question, however, was answered by Eight himself.

"You want to keep standing there? I feel watched."

Four blinked a little before shaking his head, approaching the room.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure, but be careful not to throw down the door, still haven't figured out how to repair it yet."

Four chuckled as he carefully got through the gap between the door and it's frame. And it was reminding him of a time where he had been sneaking out, through the hole in the fence of his home. The times where he and his peers would go and meet up in abandoned houses to drink, smoke and talk about dreams they'd never pursue.

It was a period of his life that left it's damage. Arguments turning to fights, friends turning to strangers, home turning into a place he'd avoid at all cost.

But as he got inside the others room, he knew that all of that was gone. There was just this guy he befriended that seemed to be as troubled by trying to sleep as he was.

His eyes were already used to the darkness so he could make out the others silhouette easily. As he sat down on the mattress, his eyes were focused on the door.

"Maybe you can ask Seven for help, he fixes stuff all the time because he's the only one able to do that. He might complain but he'll do it."

"I will, tomorrow. So, why are you awake in the first place?"

Four bit his lip softly. He didn't really want to talk about his nightmares, although he knew that Eight would keep it secret and probably even help him. The problem was more with his ego than with his friend.

But Eight seemed to understand.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I can't sleep either."

Four looked at the door, kind of as if he was in a deep trance. Until Eight softly punched his shoulder.

"Hey!"

"What hey, I’ve been asking you a question and you didn't respond! Pay me some attention."

Four laughed a little as he shook his head.

"There you go. I like the laughing Four better. Anyways, I was asking you about what happened between you and Five?"

The blonde froze for a second.

"Did you hear us?"

Eight nodded slightly, his eyes focused on his friend who was now running his fingers through his hair, trying to find an answer.

"I guess a good combination of alcohol, the feeling of comfort and the rest was history."

Four laid down next to Eight and looked at the ceiling.

"It was nice, I missed sex. You know, you can't go out much and meet people."

Eight hummed in response to let his friend know that he understood before he turned on his back, eyes still on his mate.

"Aren't you cold?"

He asked and Four looked down. He didn't wear anything but his boxer briefs.

"Well yeah, kind of?"

The other shifted a little and lifted the blanket to share it with his friend. And there they laid, facing the ceiling, in comfortable silence. Until Four somehow drifted off. He was so knackered that he didn't even notice how he fell asleep. Eight didn't notice either, until he looked at his friend who didn't respond to his question again.

"Sleep well."

He just said and turned around to find some sleep himself. It was warm under the blanket and the rhythm of Fours breath made him dizzy so he soon drifted off into a tight slumber.

But against all his hopes, his peace didn't last long. He woke up through someone scratching his side.

The scene, however, did confuse the sleep-drunk boy to the fullest.

He had turned to face Four who was facing him. It was somewhat close but not cuddling. Four simply had his hand on Eights side, right at the end of his ribcage. That was no cuddling. And especially not with the way Four dug his nails into the others skin.

Eight wanted to complain and yank his hand away but he noticed that Four wasn't even awake.

"Hey, hey... Four!"

Eight rested his hand on his friends chest, attempting to wake him somehow.

"Four wake up, you're having a nightmare."

But nothing seemed to help and Fours grip only got tighter as his body started trembling. He was enormously stressed and Eight was enormously overtaxed.

"Four!!"

He shook the other male and desperately tried to get him to wake up until he somehow managed to lose the others grip on his body, causing his friend to sit up in panic.

He was wide awake, sweating and panting.

Eight now sat up as well, looking at the man with a worried expression. Four turned his face away, attempting to hide how affected he was by this reoccurring nightmare, but Eight didn't even try to look at his face. Instead, he reached for the others hand. It was a completely random act to Four.

Random, but enough to distract him. The blonde rested his hand in the youngers before wiping his face with the other.

"What are you doing?"

He then asked and cleared his throat. Still, his gaze remained on their hands.

"Giving you something you can hold onto."

Eight calmly said and Four silently grabbed the others hand, causing him to smile slightly.

"I just want you to know that you can talk to me whenever you feel the need to."

It was silent afterwards. Awkwardly silent for Eight. Did he go too far?

"Do you sometimes... Well have that one dream which is just... Shit and that keeps coming back no matter what you try to get it off your head?"

Four finally asked. It took him a lot of time and courage to finally let it out, but eventually, he knew that he could trust the other.

"You mean nightmares?"

Eight paused for a bit. He wasn't the type of person to talk about things that were personal or that he had kept secret long enough, but he felt the urge to get it off his chest.

"I do. Frequently."

Four looked at him, trying to figure out what Eight could possibly think of right now. Before their gazes could meet, the blonde turned away.

"What do you do to stop them?"

Eight just shook his head a little and looked at their hands.

"Although I hate to admit it but the one thing I am not able to handle are those kind of things."

Four stayed silent for a second.

"With 'those kind of things' you mean emotions?"

Eight raised a brow as he turned to him.

"Rude!"

He exclaimed and again, punched Fours shoulder before they both ended up laughing.

"How are you feeling?"

The younger finally asked and looked at his friend, who was still holding his hand and now looking at him.

"Better. Thanks to you."

Eight looked a little confused.

"I did nothing."

"You did."

"What?"

"You gave me something I can hold onto."

Four smiled softly before looking up to face him.

"I want to give you something in return."

"You don't have to-"

He raised his other hand, taking Eights left hand. The smaller looked rather confused.

"Someone who holds onto you."

Eight looked at their hands for a minute and smiled to himself.

"How late is it? Maybe we can watch the sunrise?"

He finally asked and tried to find out where the hell he had placed his phone.

"Don't you think that's a bit gay?"

Four asked back and the other raised a brow.

"Dude we're literally holding hands, at this moment I don't know if it can get any gayer than this."

"Oh I think it can."

Four wiggled his brows and Eight did his best not to laugh.

But even his best was not strong enough to resist him. Although it was questionable whether or not he even wanted to.

"You're such an idiot, I swear."

Four grinned and stuck out his tongue a little and then grabbed Eights phone to find out how late it was.

"The sun will rise in about three hours."

He exclaimed and put the phone aside again. Eight sighed, looking at their hands.

"So no sunrise, huh?"

He laid back a bit and Four did the same.

"Seems like it. We should probably get a bit of sleep."

"You are aware that Five will be very mad if she discovers that you've spent the night with me instead of her?"

Eight laid down and starred at the ceiling again. Four bit his lip. He knew that Amelia would be hella pissed if she found out about them sleeping in one bed after he just slept with her. He shot their hands a small glance before he stood up and slightly pulled Eights hand.

"Come with me."

"Where the hell do you want to go?"

"Don't be a pussy Eight, just come."

"I'm not a pussy."

Eight stated before he stood up. It looked complicated since he didn't want to let go of Fours hand.

But Four had other plans. He grabbed a pullover from Eights bag and threw it at him before putting on one of those himself.

The smaller was left dumbfounded but pulled the hoodie over his head. He then looked at Four, who grabbed his hand once again to pull him with him. He rushed through the floor and the big room where they planned their missions before arriving outside.

A cold wind blew shallowly and brought a bit of sand with it. Eight made a small noise of disgust as he wiped away the sand from his mouth. Four just chuckled, a big grin on his face, bows raised.

"Tasty?"

Eight looked rather unamused

"I'll give you tasty."

He scoffed and Four laughed quietly before he tugged at the others hand.

"Come on now."

"This better be worth the loss of my freezing feet."

"Stop making a fuss, Eight. It will be. Trust me."

Trust me. A sentence that would have been more than normal for anyone else. Common even. But not for them. Not for the two kids who had always struggled when it came to trust. Because they had no one to speak to, no one who cared or no one whom they wanted to bother with their struggles.

But as Four looked at Eight, the smaller held his hand a little tighter, smiled a little wider and felt a bit safer.

And they knew, that after years of not knowing whom to talk to, or times where their trust was abused, they had found each other.

"Fine, show me."

It was all the blonde wanted to hear. A small nod followed before he pulled Eight along again. They walked a while. Away from all the planes, from the spare amount of light, away from the other ghosts.

"I may not be able to watch the sunrise with you, but we can watch the stars."

They looked up in unison and the smaller breathed out a small 'wow'.

The sky was clear and full of stars. It was like looking at all the beauty in the world that they grieved to see all their lives. And it had a unique feel of calm and comfort to it. As if it was their place. Their home, their shelter. The place they had been searching for.

It was quiet between the two of them but they didn't mind. It was Four who broke the silence.

"I come here when I can't sleep. It calms me."

Eight nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, seems like a better method than smoking and drinking."

Four turned and looked at the other.

"You smoke?"

The small boy shrugged, his gaze still at the stars.

"Sometimes. When I'm stressed or can't sleep. I actually almost went out to smoke before you stood in front of my room."

He admitted and took a deep breath.

"There's actually something I wanted to ask you."

Four blinked and furrowed his brows.

"What would that be?"

Although Eight didn't feel like his friend would be judging him, he couldn't bring himself to face him.

"I did kill an innocent girl today. Didn't I?"

His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. But Four understood every word.

"If you wouldn't have killed her, you would have been dead now. There is no chance you could have made it out alive."

With having that said, the taller tightened his grip a bit. Eight just shook his head.

"I mean, yes. But if I would have followed the plan, she would have lived, right?"

Four furrowed his brows.

"This really seems to get to you. Did you... Like.. did you like her?"

The smaller shook his head.

"No. Not like that. She was alright. She seemed like a good person to me. I was just wondering whether or not this had to happen..."

It was quiet for a while before Four finally let go of his friends hand and grabbed him by his shoulders to turn him so he'd look at him.

"Listen, there is always a chance less people would have been killed, or a particular someone would have survived. But if we had, if you had followed the plan, she probably would have died as well. You did well in that mission, more than well and because of you, we will be able to plan ahead and get some shit done."

Eight stayed silent, but he nodded shortly. Their eyes met and the taller couldn't help himself but pull his friend into a hug. The comfort and warmth was something both of them found calming. No words were needed, although the smaller murmured 'thank you' against the others chest before letting go.

"We should probably get inside."

Four then suggested and Eight nodded softly. They made their way back while looking at the stars above them.

"Thanks for showing me this."

Eight said quietly as they got inside. The other just shook his head and smirked a little.

"Well, you can thank me with a cigarette when we can't sleep again."

Now it was the raven-haired's turn to grin.

"As long as you're with me then, it's fine. And now hurry back into the room before she wakes up."

Eight said and Four nodded.

"Good night then."

The smaller said as he walked over to his room.

"Eight?"

Four exclaimed and the other turned around.

"Hm?"

"You're a good person."

Eight was confused for a moment before he smiled softly. He just wanted to express his doubt, as Four interrupted him.

"Don't even try."

He warned him, his finger raised.

"Alright, good night mate."

The blonde smiled shortly before returning to the girl in his bed. The other, however, shook his head smiling as he walked into his room.

[doloresabernathysworld]

His Dark Materials season 1 episode 2

I'm a little late this week, and I really haven't had the chance to rewatch the episode, but here is my review.

I have to warn you that I'll be discussing a lot of things from the books, so if you haven't read them you should probably skip this.

Again, I'm doing this on mobile, and I don't know how to add cuts - if anyone knows how to do it on mobile I'd be glad to learn, because I don't have a computer.

A lot of things happened in this episode, so instead of going by order of events, I'll talk about it by characters.

Starting with Roger and Billy. Their reunion was beautiful, and I'm in love with Roger's character. He's such a sweet boy, consoling Billy, even though he is frightened himself. And we are able to see the faith he has in Lyra early on. And his interaction with Mrs Coulter was fantastic, it was like he was saying "I'm on to you" without giving too much away.

Then we have the Gyptians. It was nice to see Ma Costa still on the fence about the expedition, and heartbreaking when Coram gave her Billy's vest. In the books, Ma Costa trusts John Faa, and now we see why. On that note, am I the only one picking up something more between them? And then there's Tony. Ma is afraid to lose another son, but given the evidence there's no way Tony will just stay put if there's a chance of rescuing his brother.

Now for the biggest surprise in the episode: Lord Boreal. I have to say I'm loving what they are doing with his character. Yes, I did picture him older and kind of slimy, but I don't mind at all this new take. Boreal is sophisticated, and threatening in a non obvious way, and that's what makes him so dangerous. The scene in Jordan was amazing, we got to see the authority the Master commands, and we see Boreal is sneaky, pretending to yield just so he can do his own bit of research.

And then he crossed to our world and my heart stopped! The window is so gorgeous, it was so nicely done, I was mesmerized by it. And the feel of our world, it was so subtle, it reminded me of the descriptions given from Will's and Mary's pov. I know some people are on the fence about this reveal, but as I see it, it makes sense showing us now what Boreal is doing and introducing Will's plot before he appears. I've always wondered how Boreal knew Will's identity, and I had to conclude it had to do with his father, but it's nice to see it explained.

As for Asriel, I don't think it'll take that much away from his storyline. Right now, Asriel wants to find a way out of his world, true, in order to find a place that the Magisterium doesn't control, only to discover that the Authority has control over multiple worlds. And now that it's confirmed that Asriel will feature in season 2, I think it really is important for the audience to know there are portals into other worlds, even if Asriel thinks he is the first to cross. Plus it doesn't take away any merit of Asriel's doings, because he's still the first one to cross worlds in the open.

About the scene with Adele, I gasped loudly when Boreal touched her dæmon, but for the people who don't know about the taboo it wasn't that shocking, just enough. I think it will have more impact upon rewatching, and if the experience with the books taught me anything is that going back to understand some things is bound to happen. It also shows us that Boreal has a mind set that tells him some rules don't apply to him because of his status, which is a big theme in His Dark Materials.

And now the main event: Lyra and Mrs Coulter. I think the dynamic of their relationship is spot on. We got to see Lyra being a child full of enthusiasm in the Artic Institute, then begin told she needed to act differently, and Marisa equates obedience with trust. The bath scene was done well enough, although I missed the part where Marisa stared at Pan until he behaved like the golden monkey. A thing that I liked was Marisa calling out Lyra for lying, and all her talk about letting Lyra be mold by her really was a red flag. Marisa wants a clone of her, a version of her with a more easy start than the one she got.

The parallel between Lyra and Pan afterwards and Marisa and the monkey really illustrates their differences. Lyra feels the need to be loved, and is interpreting being well treated with love and affection, so she goes along and that's sad. Even in the books it said that Lyra was happy but lonely, like she was missing something. As for Marisa, she's so secretive that she hides parts of her to her own dæmon, meaning her own self. Both Lyra and Marisa are lonely in their own way, but at least Lyra has Pan.

From here on, we see Lyra being molded by Marisa, but showing resistance too. At first is by trying to be charming, by showing she's smart with the talk of Dust. Then Lyra sees her away from her dæmon, and the protests are more feeble. Then mild protests about the dress, and then the bag.

Marisa, meanwhile, is dealing with Lyra the best she can in order to keep her facade longer. In the Dust conversation, Marisa is hurting her dæmon in order to steady herself, and him too. Then Lyra sees the monkey without her, and Marisa just lies in her face, gaslighting her, saying she's just sleepy. But when she's alone again, she hits her dæmon, and that tells us she is someone who deals with self-hatred, and doesn't tolerate failure.

It was nice to see the rivalry between the factions of the Magisterium, and to get Marisa and McPhail to interact this early to establish a pattern. That visit, more than anything else, makes Marisa very frustrated. Her charm is useless with McPhail, and she can't manipulate him easily. And when Lyra points out that she's upset and lost control, she takes that as an offense and starts a fight with Lyra, only to feel in control again.

The confrontation between the dæmons and the speech Marisa gave was done beautifully, and I liked the modification. I liked that Lyra wasn't complying, and the mention of Asriel makes Marisa lose control yet again and reveal that he's Lyra's father. And the monkey lets go of Pan and immediately turns to her, (I think anticipating the abuse he would endure), and the confrontation stops at once.

Now, I saw some posts about how Marisa was hurt by Asriel and still holds a grudge, but I have some thoughts about this matter. From what I can remember from the books, including La Belle Sauvage, Marisa was married and had an affair with Asriel. Asriel wasn't the one who abandoned her, she chose to continue married because that was more advantageous for her. She lied about baby Lyra, telling her husband the baby was dead and rejecting her completely. I'll probably write a meta about this whole thing later.

In my opinion, Marisa wanted Lyra to admire her the way she admires Asriel, so hearing Lyra invoque Asriel like a protector hurt. So of course she talks badly about him, so she can tarnish Asriel's imagine and isolate Lyra even further. She doesn't reveal her own identity because she wants Lyra to like her first. So she gives Lyra space.

Then Lyra finds out she's being spied, and breaks into Marisa's office only to discover some blueprints, and that discovery was the only iffy part of the episode for me, but we'll see how it'll play out.

Then we have two interesting moments. First, when the golden monkey caressed Pan. Marisa is trying to show good intentions to Lyra, she's trying to get back to good terms. And at first she seems to think she's succeeded. The second is the breakfast scene, when she mentions Roger and how he must've forgotten Lyra already. I loved how Lyra tells her, without raising her voice but full of defiance, that she's lying. Marisa gives her the same look before the confrontation and orders her to eat, and Lyra does, but her spite all visible.

I enjoyed the party scene, but I was hoping to see Lyra talk with Boreal. But I get it, now that he's so visible to us it would be dumb to have Lyra not recognise him. I also enjoyed the fact that she escaped from a window.

The kidnapping scene at the end was the perfect way to finish the episode, it created an urge to keep watching.

One final thought, in Northern Lights Lyra mentions once that the monkey was far away from Marisa in a disturbing way, but then nothing more is said in that regard. With all this new content they're showing us, I'm really curious about what we'll see regarding Mrs Coulter and her dæmon.

I loved this episode, I'm really happy with where this is going, and I'm happy I'm not only watching something I read, but also new things that make the plot and the world building richer. Let's hope next week's episode makes me feel the same way.